Somewhere in the North High Pass, Third Age 2462
Two years after the end of the Watchful Peace
Day 7, Foredawn
Black blood splattered across the snow.
A hollow scream pierced through the air, and Díllothel drew back her two-handed sword. The orc that she had killed crumpled to the floor in a foul heap. She raised her blade up to cleave the head off another and let out a string of curses.
"Hallothel!" She yelled out, twirling gracefully to avoid an incoming axe-strike, "Himmaethel! I do not care which one, but someone has to go back and give a warning! Goblin-town stirs once more!"
Himmaethel felt as if she was in a nightmare come true. She was locked in battle with two other of the foul yrch1, one wielding a crude, curved sword, and the other lashing out with the sharp edge of a halberd. Hiding behind her shield to avoid a skewering at the hands of the cruel point, she turned swiftly to avoid a downward slice from the other orc and stabbed at his stomach with her spear -- he recoiled back, yelping in pain as he bled from his wounds, and the elleth charged forward with her shield to knock the other orc down, falling on top of the foul creature.
As she drew her knife to prepare to slay the disgusting orc, she caught glances of Hallothel and Díllothel locked in struggle with other yrch, Díllothel warding off three with masterful parries and dodges, Hallothel beating two others back with a dagger and her longbow as a blunt object. Hallothel's quiver was empty, the arrows spent from shooting down as many of the hunting party as she could before they reached the edge of the forest. Two were felled out in the open, their corpses creating a trail leading to the forest - three had been felled under the shadow of the fir leaves. They had all climbed upwards to hide among the great boughs, but without any bows of their own, and the yrch sniffing out their scent, Díllothel and Himmaethel had been forced to drop down and engage, reasoning it best to cull their numbers slightly to gain as much of an advantage as possible: Yet even so, things looked grim for the trio, and Himmaethel feared that their little party would not make it out unharmed.
The orch she struggled against gave a hard blow to her stomach as the point of her knife came down. Himmaethel wheezed, dropping the blade into the snow, and suddenly she was brought down in a flurry of white, two grimy hands pressing up against her windpipe. She kicked her legs out and gasped.
Díllothel gave out a cry. Amidst the struggling, Himmaethel could see and hear snippets of the twins' yelling and fighting.
"Himmaethel--!" There was Díllothel's voice.
"Nidhin--" Hallothel was cursing loudly, "-- nîr haer gîn--!2"
"Get Himm--!"
"Díllothel! Drego3 -- Ego yrch!4"
She was starting to see black spots. Air. Need air. Her arms flailed out. Fists closed. Her palm was in the snow, desperately searching for something -- anything -- to strike the orc's head with. Her fingers closed around a fist-sized rock that she smashed against the orc's temple.
Whether he was unconscious or dead, Himmaethel did not care. She pried the body off herself and sat up, coughing and grasping at her throat. Her head was spinning. Her survival instincts screaming at her. She was bleeding somewhere in her arm - the warm stickiness was impossible to miss, and a searing pain came from the wound. The twin's struggles, she heard as if there was a wall between them, muffling what was being said, though she could still make out what they were yelling.
"Hallothel! Flee! Run! They must be warned!" Díllothel was screaming.
"Have you lost your wits?!" Hallothel shrieked in return, "I am not leaving without you!"
"Cendir - is waiting - back home!" Díllothel's response was marked by a series of clangs as blades clashed together. The twins were now back-to-back against each other, "Would you rather - leave him - an unwedded - widow?!"
"And leave you to die?! No! I will not allow it!"
"Himmaethel will aid--" Díllothel stopped yelling.
And then the screaming began.
Her head rose up. It was a terrible, prolonged scream, filled with nothing more but pure rage and sorrow. Himmaethel's heart pounded furiously and tears started to pool in her eyes. The scream broke her daze and sent her scrambling to her feet, but when her gaze lifted she found that it was not Díllothel that was screaming, but Hallothel. She savagely cut the head of her opponent off and threw herself at a grinning orc whose blade was soaked red.
Díllothel was lying a few feet away from her twin, drowned in a pool of her own blood.
Himmaethel let out a shrill yell of despair and moved to impale another orc stood in her way. This must have been the fourth that she had slain. Hallothel seemed barely aware of her surroundings as she attacked the remaining orcs with a fury so savage that Himmaethel wondered whether she was still hale of mind. One strike. Two strikes. A knife to the gut. Another scream, this time one of pure hatred and rage - and yet Hallothel charged forward still, the hilt of the knife still embedded into her abdomen.
She tumbled to the ground on top of an orc and began to bash his face repeatedly with Himmaethel's fallen shield.
"What are you doing?!" Hallothel screamed at her, "Flee! Run! Warn the others!"
"But-!" Himmaethel protested, but she was cut short by another shrill yell. Hallothel had been stabbed in the shoulder.
"NO! Go NOW!" Hallothel threw her something glimmering that she automatically caught in her free hand. It was the beryl necklace from before. Hallothel continued to scream, tears streaming down her face, "There is no... hope for me! I go... to the Halls of Mandos! Cendir..."
Hallothel's head was yanked back by thin, bony fingers. Himmaethel did not linger to watch. Biting her lip to control her sobs, she turned and fled from the forest, letting her feet carry her to the icy hills of the Hithaeglir.
Footnotes
1 Yrch - pl. form of the Sindarin orch, "orc"
2 This is a Sindarin insult that Hallothel is screaming out. The full sentence is "Nidhin soged i nîr haer gîn" and means "I will drink your bitter tears." Essentially, Hallothel is rage-yelling at the orcs in defiance.
3 Drego - "Flee" in Sindarin.
4 Ego - Another Sindarin curse. Ego means "Get lost!" in a very rude manner, so Hallothel is basically telling her attackers to piss off.
https://realelvish.net/ is the source for most of the Sindarin seen here.
Critique and feedback welcome.
