Sevig i Veleth Nîn (heartlesskitten x Wander)

[heartlesskitten]

The sunlight glittered off the fast moving river that tumbled down from the gorge and spread out to tumble over flat stones in the fords. It was the only place to cross the Bruinen safely among the steep hills to continue towards the hidden valley of Imladris. The party of elves drew their horses to a halt, the scout on foot scanning the banks for any enemies. He slipped the bow from his shoulder and searched but found it safe, it was still daylight and there was a strong measure of comfort in that.

Gilwen sat astride her grey horse, the fine hood of ash colored silk covering her fair hair, the cloak hanging in folds down her back and sides. A leaf wrought in silver held it closed, on her brow a faint shimmer of white light could be seen even in the shadow of the hood. Her cousin Calemiriel wore a similar cloak, hers fastened with a broach of elfstone, glittering green in the afternoon sun. Her dark locks spilled out of the hood down her breast over a finely made leather bodice, elegant leaf designs stitched in gold thread decorated it.

“Tavrion seems overly cautious,” Gilwen said, her grey horse prancing in place. “We have not seen even a wolf since leaving Tharabad.”

“This is not Lothlorien, cousin,” Calemiriel replied, watching the scout turn back from the river. “Until we reach Rivendell we will not be safe.”

Tavrion remounted and led them across, the horses picking the safest way through the shallow rapids. Once they crossed they followed a meandering path to a high moor of long grass and rocky boulders tumbled across, a plateau of sorts before they would find the valley they sought. It had been a long journey, though her escorts had been most helpful, Gilwen still felt a pang of homesickness for the safety of the golden woods. Their pace had been slowed by fallen stones in the path and before they reached their destination, the sun was disappearing in the west.

“We should make camp, my ladies,” Tavrion said, frowning at the fading light, his smooth brow wrinkling, “I like it not that we must stay another night, especially up here without the shelter of trees.”

“Do trolls come up here?” Gilwen asked bluntly, the wind picking up and tossing her hood back to reveal her pale golden hair.

“They do,” the scout replied and dismounted, searching the ground for tracks or signs of the enemy.

Calemiriel strung her bow and Gilwen did the same as Tavrion built a small fire. “The night is fair enough not to have a tent, though the wind does pick up on the moor,” he said as they let their horses graze nearby. “I will take the first watch.”

 

[Wander]

“Aye! Sweet flesh I smell.”

“You always smell flesh, hungry always.”

“Shut up! He right.”

The giant creatures bounded forward across the moor and peered forth. There they saw it, light of fire within the area that was usually devoid of any radiance. One of the trolls leaned forward and inhaled heavily.

“Elves!” He exclaimed and then turned to the other two trolls, a grin pacing across his hideous features, and a malicious intent within his eyes that spoke the tell tale of a potential feast.

“Food, lot of.” Said the one behind him and ginned with glee.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Tap, tap, tap, tap! The sound of hooves emanated across the moors as the riders rode with intense pace. At their forefront, in situ a formidable dark steed whose dusky fur and mane camouflaged within the moonless night. The rider atop this steed was of a gargantuan stature. His long straight hair had a hue of light brown and flickered back and forth like hay bristling in the wind. Sharp emerald optics darted forward with intensity as he tugged the reigns, commanding the horse to go faster.

“Hail, Agro!” He exclaimed to the horse.

“Come on men, faster!” He ordered to the soldiers that were straggling behind, unable to keep pace with the horse who was called “Dark Destiny” for its impeccable pace, unmatched by any other beast save Felaróf – The white horse of Rohan.

Earlier, from his vantage point in the mountains, the Prince of Angmar had witnessed a group of Elves heading into the territory of the Trolls.

“Have they no clue? Going there is eminent death! You would expect more from Elves. We need to save them!” He exclaimed. They had been riding along relentlessly for a day. Fortunately, he had spotted the elves entering the Troll territory during the day. At night, there would be no possibility to reach them in time and they would only come on time to witness the trolls feasting on Elf corpses.

As he rode on, the prince’s mind ran towards the possible outcome of the elves and it filled him with a sense of foreboding. Elves are noble creatures. Their lives are far more precious than that of mortal men. I must save them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

“Slowly now, wake elf not.” Whispered one of the trolls as they crept forward.

The other two followed closely until they were right before the sleeping elves and all three lifted their massive monolithic clubs into the air and were poised to strike.

SNAP! The arrow flew into the air and pierced the thick hide of the Troll.

“Aaaah!” It wailed in pain and turned to spot the source of its displeasure. It quickly found it. Poised upon the horse, with another arrow at the ready was the most elegant of humans in princely robes.

The man was grinning, illustrating the shiny marble surface of his teeth as another arrow pierced the troll’s flesh. Furious now, the trolls charged forth towards the approaching men on horses, forgetting about the elves that had awoken under the strain of all this commotion.

Untying the knot from around his neck and extricating the cape from his visage, the prince leapt off his horse and land onto the ground, right before a troll. Unsheathing the mighty steel sword from his side, the prince of Angmar was ready to strike.