Unorthodox Alliances

[NotNiceAngel]

Among the thinning number of trees around the base of the Blue Mountains, an unseen elf strolled, bow in hand. It had been less than a half hour since her arrows had begun to glimmer a bright blue. The cause of this color was exactly why Silvreneth was in Dwarf country. Lord Celeborn had requested that Silvreneth, his military advisor and one of three Captains, go to the Misty Mountains. They feared the orcs would travel East towards the larger Elf territories. Now Silvreneth was most likely going to have a skirmish before she even came to a settlement. At least she could fight freely and wouldn't have to worry about civilians. Already, their foul scent was burning her nostrils, and she could hear their roaring.

Climbing into the trees, Silvreneth ran across the limbs, balancing her weight so the branches didn't move as she ran. When she spotted the small group of ten or eleven orcs, she thought it would be easy until she saw a dwarf in amongst them fighting. It seemed the Valar were frowning on her. Silvreneth drew her bow from her back and nocked an arrow. She pulled back the seventy-five pounds of strength in the string and let it rest at her cheek. In less than a moment, her arrow was lodged in the skull of an Orc just behind the fighting Dwarf. She drew an arrow again and shot another Orc; now some them were searching for her. This, at least, would leave the Dwarf with less of a fight. Drawing another arrow, she took aim and fired, but an arrow shot towards her in retaliation.

Knowing a hit with an Orc arrow would be lethal, Silvreneth jumped down from the tree. She shot forward and drew her blade, ducking low to avoid a blade aimed at her neck. Hers sliced through the flesh of two Orcs, sending them to the ground. When she stood, she was grabbed around the leg by one of the fallen and bitten harshly. Pain raced up her spine and an arrow was lodged in the creatures head. In all her 6,500 years, Silvreneth had never been bitten by an Orc. Their kind usually reserved that for mating which made it even more vulgar. Her rage now at the forefront, Silvreneth unleashed five arrows in rapid succession, leaving the Dwarf's four.

 

[Rivine]

Ulan grunted as a mace or some other similarly blunt weapon slammed into his left shoulder. The dwarf spun, roaring and lashing out with the falcata in his right hand. The blade's edge clove through flesh and the offending orc's weapon arm was removed from it's body, causing the creature to howl in pain as it's inky lifeblood spurted from the stump, some falling upon Ulan, not that he noticed. The dwarf had been spotted by the orcs some time ago, perhaps an hour or more, and had lead them on a long chase. But finally their numbers had worked to their advantage and they had been able to communicate with horns so that several orc patrols had converged on his position.

There had been fifteen orcs when they had first closed in, but they had faced the dwarf's ire. But he had not gone unscathed. His shield had already been shivered and it felt like his left forearm might have been fractured. He had also lost his battleaxe, the haft split as he had tried to unlodge the axehead from an orc's spine, but he had buried the rest of the handle into the nearest orc's eye. Despite having whittled his opponent's numbers down some, Ulan was beginning to tire.

He was just about to turn and lash at an orc at his back when he noticed the creature falling. Ulan almost stilled when he saw the arrow protruding from the creature's skull. But he quickly recovered and turned, launching himself against his opponent's with a new fervor, his renewed passion due to the unexpected arrival of an ally. The Firebeard fought like he was possessed. As his sword took the last orc in the gut, eviscerating it, he stepped back, then looked around, his deep blue eyes finally fixing on a figure he would have never expected to see.

Ulan was silent for a few long moments, then nodded in the elf's direction, "Thank you," he said. He knew well the history between their two peoples and the ire between many elves and dwarves, after all, it was his people who sacked the ancient elven realm of Beleriand millennia before. He was silent again for a few moments but then leaned down and cleaned his falcata off on a cloth one of the orcs was wearing before he sheathed it. "We best be going," he said gruffly, "There will likely be more of these sods coming down from the Gates."

 

[NotNiceAngel]

Looking ahead, Silvreneth nodded and squinted slightly. Her sense of smell had never failed her, so why did she come up with a number like that? Why would a fourth of a league of orcs come at a single call? Frowning, she looked at the Dwarf and hooked her bow over her back. There was still a little time to find a place to hide out, but it would be close. "They come," she said faintly. "We must hurry," she said softly as her light feet trotted her over to the Dwarf who looked worse for wear.

Later, when they were safe, Silvreneth would have to mend and treat any of his wounds. Despite being an avid despiser of the Dwarves, Silvreneth was still a compassionate being. She wouldn't let an injury go untreated, be it Dwarf or--dare she even utter it--Man. It would make most of her people grimace, but Silvreneth had a way of getting past that. Lady Galadriel once told her it would bring Silvreneth a great happiness and burden. Wincing at a sharp pain in her calf, the Elf tried to focus on her memories. "I know not the land, but isn't there a cave nearby?"

 

[Rivine]

When the elf finally spoke it was to say that more orcs were coming, which was answered with a shrug initially. He began to trod down the slight slope to the east, then said, "Well then, we best be moving," he said as if it were obvious. Ulan would not admit to her that he was in pain, would not let her stop to see to his wounds. What would be the point in that if they were both found and killed then? No, they had to put some miles between them and their pursuers.

When the elf asked if there was a cave nearby he shrugged again, then spoke gruffly, "Aye, there is, but I would not trust any cave this close to Moria. Its likely to be full of that ilk. We've been driving them from many o' there warrens and it seems the all those that survived have been runnin' here." He glanced over at her then and arched an eyebrow, "How is it that an elf of the Golden Wood doesn't know the lands right at her doorstep he asked her?" Without waiting for her answer he sighed a bit, then began to trot steadily. "Come on. We need to put distance between us and those buggers. I doubt that they will cross the Celebrant," he said, speaking of a river that flowed from Drimrill Dale down into the wood of Lorien.

 

[NotNiceAngel]

Clutching her bow tighter in her hand, Silvreneth frowned. How dare this Dwarf that she just saved speak in such a way?! It was typical Dwarf behavior. "We haven't traveled into Dwarvish country since before the First Age. I'm sure you can guess why that is, right?" she snapped accusatorially as she looked in the direction of the Celebrant with a frown. "I hope you can run and swim because it's pretty far away, and the water is deep," she muttered. "I'm not even sure you'll be safe in my country if we make it."

Silvreneth heard an Orc bow let an arrow loose. Turning to dodge, she felt the arrow whiz by her ear. Swearing more than any elleth should, Silvreneth began running and shooting. These orcs were definitely persistent. Lord Celeborn wouldn't like to hear about the numbers in just one attack. Of course, since the passing West of his young daughter, Celebrian, he wasn't even fond of hearing about just one Orc near the border. Within the trees, Silvreneth moved like a snake, shooting with precision and hitting the mark every single time. What were they going to do at nightfall? It was noon, and it had taken Silvreneth two days by land. She didn't know if they could make it.

"How far have they ventured?" she asked as they ran. If there was a place they wouldn't go, it would be their best bet at safety. "We won't make it through the night at this rate."

 

[Rivine]

Ulan rolled his eyes a bit at her response. "Moria ain't exactly been "dwarf country" for some time lass. Thought your kind might be interested on the goings on about here considering it's so close to your forest." He rolled his shoulders a bit, smiling, "I'll make it. If I had to I'd swim an ocean right now," he said confidently, although most of it was bravado. It was not in Ulan's nature to let the odds overwhelm his hope.

As a shot came whizzing through the trees Ulan did the only thing that he could, he ran. The dwarf's feet pounded the earth, their cadence steady, resolute. He heard her bow twang more then a few times, but did not bother to look back. He knew the elf was much more fleet of foot then he was, so if he wanted to keep pace he would have to concentrate on running. Besides, the only weapons he had now were a throwing axe, dagger and his falcata, weapons that wer not conducive to ranged fighting obviously.

When she asked him how far the orcs had ventured he replied promptly between breaths, "All the way... to the Celebrant. All of Moria... is filled. Their warg riders... roam further afield." Thankfully it was not yet night, otherwise they really would be in trouble. The wargs hatted the light more then the orcs did. He ran on for awhile, then called to her, "Just go! You're faster!" It was the only thing that made sense to Ulan at the moment. Why should they both die?

 

[NotNiceAngel]

Silvreneth looked at Ulan, then at the enemy, and then at the Celebrant. If they could make it across, she could call to the wardens. Frowning at the Dwarf, Silvreneth shot off another three arrows and grabbed Ulan by the back of his armor. There was no way in Mordor she was going to leave an ally behind to die. Not again. Her calf was burning and her chest was tight. She was sprinting towards the river; it was only another mile away. An arrow shot past her head, and she swore enough to make Lady Galadriel blush. They were so close. Grunting, Silvreneth raced into the Celebrant's rushing water and felt herself being pulled downstream. It took an eternity for her to breach the surface on the other side, and when Silvreneth looked around she realized they were extremely far downstream.

Coughing, Silvreneth sat up and looked at their surroundings. This little turn of events brought them to Loríen's back door. Now they would have to travel all the way to Caras Galadhon which would be a five day trip. "Don't throw your life away," the Marchwarden panted. "You're mortal. You don't know what you're giving up," she said as she tried to stand. Grimacing, Silvreneth clenched her jaw and sat back down on the riverbank. Her leg was sore and stiff, and Silvreneth needed to rest for awhile.

"Dwarf," Silvreneth said with a more relaxed, soft tone now that they were out of harm's way. "Let me see your wounds now. We're safe within Loríen's borders, and the trip to Caras Galadhon is long. I'm not a skilled healer like Lord Elrond, but I know a thing or two. Once that's done we should begin our travels. We might need to stay in one of the old talans. I hope you can handle some time without many luxuries," she said with a small smile that by most would be deemed as lady-like or coy.

 

[Rivine]

Ulan was entirely expecting her to leave him. She had no loyalty to him after all. Elves were not known for being the most trustworthy when it came to cooperating with dwarves... or vice versa for that matter. But he had not at all expected to be lifted up and carried to the Celebrant. "What are you doing! Put me down!" he cried, but all of his complaints were in vain. What nerve! It was totally unseemly of her to do that! Why would she just not let him have his glory? Tell of his deeds to his kin so he would be remembered!? No... instead she had to carry him!

But all thoughts of the undignified way he had been treated left his mind when he suddenly found himself in the water. Ulan spluttered, his armor weighing him down to the bottom of the river. He tried to swim, but to no avail. In his desperation he unbuckled his belt and, somehow, managed to squirm out of his armor. With a desperate push off the bottom he broke the surface, spluttering, clutching to his belt in one hand, his shield arm feeling as if a dragon was inside it and trying to burn it's way out.

Ulan made it too the bank well after she did, still coughing up water. He scowled at her as he regained himself, then said, "What were you thinking?! No... nobody carries a dwarf!" he exclaimed... discounting other dwarves of course and then only under certain circumstances. He felt like he had been wronged. He walked towards her, holding out a finger, "Not a word of it. To anyone. Ever. Understood?" he ordered, but in a much calmer tone.

He then slowly put his belt back on, wincing a bit and muttering to himself, "And I lost my grandfather's mail at the bottom of the Celebrant. He must be rolling over in his grave." His attention returned to her when she said he should not throw his life away. "Well you and yours can die too," he pointed out, "So don't be telling me I wa being foolish. Besides, we dwarves are in a war. If my life is lost for the betterment of our cause then so be it," he said firmly.

Ulan looked off to the woods then, marveling at the height of the trees, but was brought back to the moment when she offered to tend his wounds. "Oh, don't worry about me. Just a few bruises on my arm is all," he said nonchalantly, then added, "And as for not having luxuries, I can live off bloody rocks if I have to!" he exclaimed with a smile, his mouth outlined by his fiery beard.

 

[NotNiceAngel]

Silvreneth sighed and looked at the Celebrant with a scrutinizing gaze. The Dwarf nearly died, and he was pissed because she picked him up? Then he began to complain, but for somewhat good reason. She knew how important heirlooms were to the Dwarves. Sympathy welled in her heart and she wrung out her now stringy blonde hair. "I'll have Orophin fish out when we get back to Caras. If it's heavy enough, it won't drift too far downstream," she said as she watched him move, her eyes scanning for injury. "We can die, but your life is much more fragile than my own, but that fragility is replaced by pride and honor that is legendary of your people," she stated as she limped over to him. "Let me see your arm, Dwarf."

Without awaiting response, Silvreneth took his arm and pushed away the clothes until she found irritated, bruising skin. Frowning, she began to chant softly in Elvish as her words healed the wounded tissue. "It seems as though you may have a torn muscle here. I'll need to put an herb on it and use a few spells twice a day," she said as she stood and went searching. Soon, she returned with two large mallorn flowers and a stone. Silvreneth mashed the flowers and used water to make it into a topical oil. Carefully, Silvreneth applied the oil and began to sing softly. It was a song used as a pain relieving spell that was often used for children with mediocre injuries, and finally she put a cloth over the wound. After that, she repeated the process on her inflamed and swollen calf.

"Since we will be seeing a lot of each other for the next few weeks, we should learn each others names. I am Silvreneth of Loríen; what is your name, Dwarf?" she inquired as she continued to bandage her own wound. "Also...I meant no disrespect for carrying you, but I've lost too many allies on the battlefield. You may think us arrogant because of our long lives, but we Elves try to stop the deaths of the undeserving."