Blood in Eregion

The silver-toothed comb passed smoothly through his thick dark hair, with only the faintest of rasping sounds; the usually coarse mane that he bore smoothed almost to silk. He had been combing it slowly for the past hour, the repetitive motion calming his mind and allowing the anger and frustration to flow out of him. As his thoughts became clearer, he began to think of the progress that they had made so far. They had left the valley of Imladris far behind and had journeyed south, across the High Moor and through passes that he did not know. They had arrived two days ago, and were still delaying in that land called Eregion, although for what reason he did not know. It was a desolate place full of sorrow, a painful reminder of a forgotten age of light and beauty. The shadow of evil still lingered over the lands, too strong for even the Noldor of Celebrimbor to have overcome. Ruins of ancient splendour littered the landscape, as though the bones of the unhappy dead had been rendered in stone and glass.

The air had grown ever colder as they journeyed, as though the lands of Eregion sought for them to turn back from their futile quest. Winter had arrived, and their quest would only become more difficult as the weather worsened. Pausing for a moment, he quickly looked around the small camp as his breath smoked silently in the cold evening air. The fire had burned low, the embers still glowing hot and red as they spat out the occasional spark. Danel and Parnard rested uneasily, often turning in their sleep or waking and looking around as though still dreaming. Rainith had chosen to stand watch over them, and Estarfin had seen her a few times circling around the camp through the sparse trees, as silent as a memory given form, her feet still bare despite the cold. Perhaps she wished to remain distant from them, for she had been guarding the camp since before the Moon had risen the previous night. He suspected that the rumours that he had heard in Imladris were true, that there was some sort of trouble between her and her husband, that all was not as well as it should be. Maybe that was why she kept her distance and her council? He shrugged to himself; it was no care of his what troubled her. She carried a good sword, and would be able to warn them of any danger. That would so do for now at least. Perhaps one of the others would speak to her, for it was not his place to intrude on the thoughts of a Caun.

Belegos too was absent from the camp, and that troubled his heart. If they were set upon in the wild, there were few others that he would rather have at his side. Belegos had said that he would go on ahead, to scout the pass to the mountains that they were to take, for such was the role of a guide. He had left the camp the previous night with barely a word, and no sign of him had been seen since. Estarfin smiled to himself as he thought that Belegos could be standing within bowshot of them, and they would be none the wiser. The smile faltered and faded as the words of Sogadan flowed through his mind; that Danel had turned all against him. His expression became as cold as the evening air as his eyes lingered on the sleeping form of Danel. Perhaps he could no longer rely on any of his companions, and this land was dangerous, as he had learned only that night.

Tearing his eyes away from Danel he pulled a small leather pouch from the pile of weapons and travelling gear in front of him. He pushed the silver comb with the pearl handle into the pouch with excessive force, and pulled out a few thin leather thongs, laying them in his lap. Taking a handful of hair, he quickly separated it into strands, and then began to quickly braid it with well-practiced movements. He ignored the throbbing pain in his ribs, there was nothing that he could do to heal himself any faster, so he simply gritted his teeth and continued. He had already repaired the leather armour plate that had been damaged by the strike that broken his rib, and he had checked the mail shirt that he wore for any sign of damage. It had been rash for the three of them to explore the ruins that Danel had called Pembar, they should have known that danger lurked within. He sighed softly to himself and tied off the first braid with a thin strip of leather, before taking another strand of hair and beginning again.

The white ruins shone under the starlight, although there was little beauty left in the marred stonework. Estarfin, Danel and Parnard had left their horses further up the slope and advanced towards Pembar quietly, trying to stick to the darker shadows of the holly trees as they approached. Their light footsteps made little sound as they walked through the fallen leaves, each taking great care as they stalked towards the ruins. Estarfin had his spear in one hand and his shield in the other, and he led the other two towards the ruined structure. Parnard and Danel still had their weapons sheathed, clearly not wanting to betray their advance by the chance glint of starlight upon metal. They halted as they came within bowshot of the walls, and watched carefully as the foul crossbreeds stood around small fires speaking in some harsh, guttural tongue. There was a look of revulsion upon the Elves faces, the usual beauty of their visages twisted in a rictus of hatred and anger. Estarfin took a step forwards, but a gentle yet firm hand on his shoulder restrained him. Turning, he saw Danel withdraw her hand swiftly and shake her head very slightly.
"They are too many and we too few Estarfin" she whispered.
"We will not wait and cower in the shadows in fear of these beasts." Estarfin hissed.
"We cannot storm this place, there are too many, and they may be hiding anywhere." Danel replied, a note of exasperation in her hushed voice.
"Then we will draw them out, and slaughter them in the open. We need..." began Estarfin.
"Bait" finished Parnard, and with that he was gone.
"Coward!" cursed Estarfin as he watched Parnard flee, anger written across his face. “Why did you bring him?” He turned to face Danel with an accusatory expression. She opened her mouth to speak, but paused, looking over his shoulder. Turning, he saw Parnard sprinting headlong towards one of the torch-lit entrances, his sword in hand. Frozen for a moment in confusion, Estarfin and Danel stared in amazement as Parnard let out a great shout and charged into the ruin.
"What is he doing?" asked Danel.
"Giving us our chance. Come." And with that he broke from the shadows, sprinting to the ruin and slamming his back against the stonework. Danel followed a moment later, taking position on the other side of crumbling entrance, Sárphir grasped in her hand.

They waited for what seemed an age as they heard Parnard running through the building, still shouting at the top of his voice. Estarfin tightened his grip on the spear and hefted his shield closer, feeling his heart begin to beat faster in preparation for the battle. And then, suddenly, Parnard burst from the entrance, closely pursued by a large group of orcs. Estarfin waited for a moment until several of the beasts had passed him, and then, as a particularly large brute ran from the entrance he thrust his spear between its ribs, the point bursting from beneath the collarbone in a welter of dark blood. Estarfin twisted the point of the spear and yanked it hard to pull it free of the terrible wound. With a laugh of savage glee, Estarfin charged into the back of another of the orcs, knocking it to the ground with his shield before stamping hard on the back of its neck. At the same time he span the spear in a wide arc, cutting down two more of the filthy beasts and spinning another around as the point of the spear caught their iron helm a glancing blow. It turned with a roar, the iron boots that it wore crunching across the frozen grass as it sidestepped another spear thrust. It hacked at Estarfin with a short sword, but the blow bounced harmlessly off of the shield. Taking advantage of the opening, Estarfin kicked out hard at the knee of the orc, and plunged the spear straight into the exposed chest of the orc and then kicked the body disdainfully from the spear. He looked around quickly now that there were no more orcs in front of him. He saw Danel fighting two orcs at once, Sárphir a blur in the air as it blocked and parried their wild strokes. He turned his body to run to her aid, but with a twist of the blade a beastly head flew into the air, and was quickly followed by a vicious swipe that opened the bloated belly of its fellow. Grinning to himself, Estarfin turned to see Parnard fighting a desperate battle against the largest orc of the group. It was as tall as Estarfin and broader across the shoulder, armoured in black steel and attacking Parnard relentlessly with a pair of wicked axes. From the pile of corpses surrounding Parnard it was clear that Estarfin had underestimated his skills, but he could see that he would not be able to stand alone against what was clearly the leader of the orcs stationed here. The beast knocked the sword of Parnard from his hand with one the axes, and raised the other to strike him down. Without thinking, Estarfin threw his priceless spear as hard as he could at the orc’s back.

The armour that the orc wore was the finest that the debased smiths of Saruman could create, forged in the fires of Isengard itself and presented only to the greatest and most savage in service to the White Hand. The spear was so old that even Estarfin did not truly know who had forged it; though he had taken it from the smithy of Fingolfin it bore the marks of Aman upon it. It was the finest Noldor steel, forged in Formenos and bathed in the light of Laurelin and Telperion combined. The armour plate split instantly and the point of the spear plunged through the abdomen of the beast. The blow that would have ended Parnard did not fall. With a roar of pain and anger, the orc captain turned and charged at Estarfin, Parnard forgotten for the moment. Reaching for a long dagger in his belt, Estarfin hefted the shield and braced himself for the impact. The axe blow against the shield was savage, and almost wrenched it from his hand. Without a weapon suitable for parrying the other axe, Estarfin had to duck as the swipe whistled over his head. The orc kicked out and knocked Estarfin back, and he stumbled over one of the fallen bodies, landing hard on his back. Another blow from one of the axes rushed towards him, and he barely moved the shield in time. The axe head skidded from the surface of the shield and bit deep into the leather armour that Estarfin wore, winding him as he felt at least one rib crack from the blow. He lashed out at the face of the orc with the dagger, and slit a deep gash in the black cheek. The orc seemed not to notice, and slashed down again with an axe, knocking the shield aside and leaving Estarfin defenceless. An axe was raised for a final time, and then a silver and gold blade emerged from the throat of the orc. Looking down stupidly in surprise, the orc had a moment to examine the bright sword before it was twisted and the head fell away. As the leader of the orcs collapsed, Danel looked down at Estarfin, shaking the blood off of her sword and turning away to check on Parnard.

He finished the last braid, and reached to the back of his head, tying the braids together with the final leather thong. They had mounted the head of the captain upon a stake of holly as a warning to all servants of evil that this land was still haunted by ghosts of the past, and that their blades were still bright. Looking into the distance he saw the shadow that was Rainith move briefly from the darkness of the trees, and then disappear again. Checking that Danel and Parnard still slept, he pulled a wineskin from his pack and began to drink as the stars came out over the blood-stained land of Eregion. As he watched the stars, he thought about Danel. She hated him, and yet had saved his life. He drank deeply as dark thoughts swirled through his mind, and his eyelids grew heavier.