Afternoon.
Flying scavengers lamenting within the air.
Dead branches rustling in a foul wind.
Sickly leaves crumbling.
The eyes of Dol Guldur never sleep...
The two soldiers have positioned themselves behind a massive rock, in midst of a thicket, directly under the bridge.
One of them, a haggard, muscular elf with a large bow whispers:
"They are late."
"Do not forget where we are at the moment, Rhovelion. I prefer them doing it step by step and succeeding rather than rushing it and failing" answers his companion, a slender elf leaning against his spear.
In front of the thicket stands a third soldier, a sturdy, tall fellow with a large war-hammer. He gnarls:
"Would you shut up?"
Rhovelion frowns. He is not overly fond of foreigners, be it elf or not. He has developed a strong sense of disapproval towards this soldier with the war-hammer. Out of nowhere, that Noldo has appeared, with nothing but a grim face, harsh words and crude insults towards the Malledhrim. Rhovelion suspects some sinister purpose. After all, the Noldor all bear some kind of sinister plans, he thinks. Have they not participated in all those wars of old, bringing doom and destruction to the lands of the woodland folk? He opens his mouth, ready to teach that western brute some manners.
"Rhovelion, wait" the elf with the spear grabs his arm.
"Can you smell it?" he whispers.
Rhovelion takes a deep breath... Smoke.
"Are you sure, Laegir?"
"They did it! Only a large fire could produce such a smell from that distance!"
"Still, that doesn't mean they..."
The Noldo interrupts them, looking back:
"Would you shut up that chattering? Better get ready."
He gazes up, grabbing his war-hammer. Still nobody visible at the secret path.
The smell of smoke gets stronger. Noises from afar.
Afternoon.
Sickly leaves crumbling.
A skeleton in a rusty cage swaying in a foul wind that has risen, squeaking softly.
The strong smell of smoke within the air.
Many noises from afar. Voices screeching, bellowing, howling.
The Noldo stands still, listening.
The rusty cage squeaks a bit louder, exposed to the growing wind.
"Shut up with that" gnarls the elf.
"Not impressed by your smirk."
The skeleton in the cage does not answer but with a silent and delighted grin.
A grin that has been ongoing for many years, perhaps dozens of years.
Remote sounds of weapons reach the ears of the elf.
"Damn it. Wrong area" he mutters.
He turns around and runs toward the second outer bridge.
Afternoon.
They hurry. Torist takes the secret path.
Alarm has been raised. The ugly sound of a horn is heared.
But the guards are overwhelmed quickly.
The air thickens with danger.
Tiny windows are lightened. The eyes of Dol Guldur never sleep.
They hurry. Torist catches sight of the two soldiers.
In the same time, they hear the sounds of a patrol, crossing the bridge.
It doesn't take long. "Golug! Golug!" they scream. The Orks quickly descend.
The Noldo arrives just behind them.
"Pull back!" shouts Torist. They hurry. The two soldiers are staying back, covering the retreat. Spear and bow are joined by a large hammer. Dozens of Orks swarm towards the defenders.
Torist looks behind for a last time. Rhovelion fires a long arrow, piercing the throat of an attacker. Laegir parries a blow with his spear. Two foes fall to his whirling weapon.
The Noldo shatters the skulls of three attackers.
Soon, they cannot see the three soldiers anymore.
The task is done. The fires are set. The diversion has been created. The silent company has been given some time.
"Pull back, Golodh!" shouts Laegir.
But the Noldo looks unwilling to retreat.
"It is not our fault if he does not follow the orders!" cries Rhovelion.
"We cannot let him die here!" replies Laegir.
"There's no other way!"
The archer nocks another arrow and pierces the chest of another attacker, freeing the left side of the Noldo.
"Go! Do not tarry any longer!" The war-hammer finds another spot with plate armour, and the shattered body of another foe hits the ground.
Rhovelion clenches his teeth. Haughty westerner! Looking for his own demise with such passion.
"You are a fool!"
He grabs Laegir. "Come!"
His companion gives up, following the archer.
They run down the secret path.
A sturdy Ork with a broad shield charges at the Noldo.
"An Valariandë!" the elven battle cry is clear and strong, invoking a fair and terrible memory, striking flesh and mind alike.
They clash into each other. Plate armour grinds against chain mail. The Noldo creates distance with a massive headbutt, following up with a strike.
The war-hammer descends towards the collar bone of the attacker, but the Ork swiftly dodges.
Sometimes, the end comes quickly. Hitting a stone upon the ground, the hammer shatters into a thousand shards. Hirilormë, called the wrathful lady by some, whose strike has been felt by hundreds, whose weight has shattered countless plates, chain mails and bones, is no more. Mastered by a tiny, simple stone, it breaks.
The Noldo swiftly reacts, throwing the hilt at the attacker. With lightning speed, a bright dagger is drawn. Blocking a shield smash with his gauntlet, the elf slices through the foes throat. But the attackers are too many.
Two runtish Orks jump at him.
While wrestling with them he stumbles back, sliding down a slope.
---
(Translations:
Golodh - Noldo (Sindarin)
Golug - Elf (Black speech)
An Valariandë - For Beleriand (Quenya))
