Disclaimer: I don't own anyone but Cælin. I have the highest respect for Tolkien and I try very hard to keep things authentic. Please R&R.

Prologue

The Wargs came out of nowhere. They sprang from the shadows of the night like demons, leaping upon the unsuspecting Rohirrim. The men of Rohan attempted to fight against the orcs, but it was hopeless; most of the riders were slain when the attack began. Cælin, newest and youngest rider of King Theoden, stood over the body of his mentor, sword drawn as three of the creatures advanced slowly.

"You will come no closer!" he yelled, managing to hold the fear of his enemies at bay. The orcs laughed wickedly, figuring their cruel blades .Cælin gulped, but stood his ground and prepared himself for death. They would not have his adopted father to feast on, not without tearing through him first. The first of the Wargs stepped within range of his blade and the Rider swung his arm in a deadly arc, cutting deeply into the beast's flesh at the back of its neck. The Warg yelped and Cælin was forced to leap aside so as not to be crushed. The orc-rider jumped from its mount and collided with the young warrior.

"You'll pay for that!" it growled fiercely, striking at Cælin as they tumbled to the ground. The other two Wargs leapt forward. One grabbed the young Rider's left leg firmly in its jaws, while the other fell on Cælin's father. Cælin screamed with pain as the Warg bite down. He threw the orc off and struck out wildly with his sword. He cut into the Warg's snout but it only bit down harder and, with a sick SNAP! Cælin's leg broke. The Rider gave another cry.

Suddenly, a cold voice echoed over the battle.

"Enough! Bring the patrol to me; what's left of it, that is!" it said. The Warg dropped Cælin as the orc bowed deeply from its back.

"Yes, of course! What of the dead?" it asked. For a moment, it seemed that the voice had gone, but then is replied, "They are yours!"

"No!" Cælin screamed, "Don't you dare touch them!"

The orc turned to him as he attempted to rise, his sword still in his hand. It laughed at his helplessness. Its fellows ripped his blade away and gripped his arms tightly.

"Save your strength! You'll be needing it, soon enough," the orc warned, its yellow teeth bared in an evil grin. Cælin struggled anyway, his gaze going over his shoulder to his father's corpse. He watched, horrified, as two Wargs closed in, snapping at each other in a contest to see who got to feast first.