THE HALF ELVEN
A Lord of the Rings fanfic.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, most characters; most items and most places belong to J.R.R Tolkien or Games Workshop (to whom we owe the name of the Hill Troll, Buhrdûr, and Gûlavhar, the Terror of Arnor).
Prologue
A small fox lifted its head into the air and sniffed cautiously. There was a strange scent in the air, a scent that it had not smelt for a while now. It was the scent of death. The fox, hearing almost silent footsteps coming down the path, ducked for cover under the roots of a large tree.
At least fifteen pairs of feet tiptoed along the beaten track, all clad in either thick leather boots or, in the case of two pairs, Elven platemail. A voice came from above one pair of boots as they turned around, leading the rest of the group to a halt.
"Quiet, we're almost there," whoever it was said in a stage whisper. Then, they turned round again, and the group sneaked off into the night.
Rhudaur, thought Arathorn, was quiet that night. Too quiet. The recent reports from the Rangers that guarded these lands said that there had been Troll activity here, but as far as Arathorn could see, no Trolls had been here…
His thoughts turned to his wife and child. Gilraen had given birth to his son, Aragorn, two years previously, and he missed them both.
Suddenly, there was a cry of pain, and a Ranger collapsed dead on the path. Arathorn ran over to him and bent over his body, into which an Orc arrow had embedded itself.
"Orcs!" he spat, and drew his sword. The remainder of the company did likewise, as at least thirteen Orcs jumped down onto the path from the banks, weapons raises, itching for battle. Before anyone could move, a huge shape jumped down from the bank and hit Arathorn hard, pinning him to the ground. He looked up to see a huge, drooling Warg with open jaws.
An arrow hit the Warg's side and it collapsed, rolling off Arathorn. He spun around to see Elrohir, the son of Elrond, his bow raised, already knocking another arrow.
"Well met, Elrohir, son of Elrond!" Arathorn cried.
"Well met, Arathorn, Dúnedain Chieftain!" replied Elrohir as he sheathed his bow and drew two Elven blades of exceptional craftsmanship, ready to parry a charging Orc.
Around Arathorn, the battle raged intently, and it seemed that the Rangers, caught off guard, were losing. Arathorn had lead them into a trap.
There was a cry of horror from further up the path. Three trolls came rampaging down it, two of them swinging their clubs wildly, not caring if they hit Man or Orc. The third, and biggest of the lot, cleaved a Ranger in half with a long, rusted blade. The troll was Buhrdûr, Hill Troll Chieftain, servant of the powers of Angmar. From that moment, Arathorn knew that in this battle one Chieftain had to fall.
"Arathorn!" someone yelled, "Look out!" Arathorn instinctively turned around to see who had spoken, but then felt a terrible pain in his back. As he collapsed, he turned to face the Orcs, whose bows were drawn, ready for another volley.
Buhrdûr smashed his way through the ranks of the Rangers until he came to Arathorn's dying body. He placed his large, stinking, heavy foot onto Arathorn's chest and laughed. He pulled up his blade and sunk it into the captain's flesh.
The trolls left the battlefield after the fall of Arathorn, followed by the Wargs and Orcs. Their work was done. Now it was time to report to their master. Nobody chased after them, for the force was not strong enough. Instead, they bore Arathorn's body back to Rivendell, where it remained.
"You do realise, father," said Elladan, Elrohir's twin brother, "That Gilraen will have to be informed of what has happened."
"I have already sent word of Arathorn's death," replied Elrond, bowing his head solemnly, "Gilraen plans to send Aragorn here to grow up, she thinks it would be safer for him."
"And what do you think, father?" asked Elladan. Elrond did not speak for some time, but gazed out at the starry sky. After some time, he spoke.
"I do not now, Elladan. I do not know."
Wow, that was pretty long for me. Or was it pretty short? For those of you who are wondering where Arwen is, she's off with Granny Galadriel and Grandad Celeborn in Lórien. She might feature later in the story.
