The company slept during the day, it was a joyful sleep and resting. Yet they had to wake up early, before the night was upon them. The settlement had to be fortified in case that the orcs would attack again. Everyone worked hard, left and right of the bridge they put rocks and sharpened branches to keep the orcs at bay. They set traps all around the settlement and they poured tar all over the rocks and lastly at the bridge. The bridge would burn as a last resort, a desperate attempt to gain some time, if it would come at that... If the ranks would break...
The defences had just been set up and the company sat to eat, quick as the day faded away. Not long after that and surely not after everyone ate it started... First it was wolves again, they were howling from afar, wolves?... or wargs... one cannot say. As the time passed the howls were getting closer and a horn sounded from afar, from the West, faintly, blowing high, yet far still. The company looked about with uneasiness and Fiontann ordered them to be ready for what was coming. Another horn sounded, this time from the East and suddenly countless fires were lit into the woods, the orcs seemed to carry torches... A sight that could inspire great poems or fear... And awe... The horn sounded again and the sound of steel against steel and the heavy thumping of marching could be heard as far as the settlement.
The orcs advanced quickly and attacked, the company defended hard. After they held back some waves the warg riders appeared, threateningly running around the defences, they were seeming to take measure for the jump... As another wave of orcs attacked, the company left the flaming pines fell on the tar setting ablaze the rocks and branches, thwarting the riders' plans. More and more attacks were repelled and then it happened...
The ranks of the rocs were opened and the archers fires a volley of arrows, half of the company got hit from the arrows and retreated on the bridge as a last attempt to hold it. Heavy footsteps were heard and chains were rubbing against the ground underneath, getting closer to the small bridge of Meluinen. The ranks of rocs opened and in the dark the figures of three Trolls could be seen, grunting as the goblins took the shackles off their hands. The Trolls started their march towards the bridge and all was seeming lost...
The fight had come to an end seemingly as the Trolls were some steps away... The defenders stood there, wounded and bleeding, minutes before the dawn, staring straight into the face of death... But not yet, from out of nowhere a horn sounded, different than the orcs, delicate and sweet to the ear. The foul creatures stood and smelled the air and snarled something in their filthy language and silver arrows pierced the Trolls and orcs, dropping them dead at once. The goblins and the archers fled to the woods and some orcs stood there to fight since there was no escape.
Out of the dark finely clad horses appeared with their Elven riders and they attacked the remaining orcs, those that didn't ran died in those moments. The Elven host returned to teh settlement just on the nick of time, saving their homes and the lives of the company. With the orcs broken and scattered the next days seemed safe. What left now is to rest and ressuply before starting the journey, but who knows... May the Elves know about the Sceptre of the North... If they trust the race of Man...
