The goat scraped at the frozen ground, searching for lichens and mosses that had survived the harsh winter frosts. Every now and then, the creature lifted its head, unconcernedly scanning the trees, but at this time of year, most hunters were hibernating, or had retreated to the lowlands in search of more forgiving climates.
Most hunters.
A noise like a breath of air, and the goat folded its legs and slowly slumped to the floor, a long shaft of wood quivering in its flank. Silently, a figure darted out of the undergrowth to crouch beside the fallen prey. Its clothes were grey, blending perfectly with the dappled shadows of the forest. Muttering softly, the figure drew a long curved knife and gently buried it in the goat's breast, stilling its feebly kicking legs.
"Admirably executed," called Talagan, emerging from a stand of pines and striding towards the hunter. "You have come far."
Lathron rose, pushing back his hood to face his mentor. Indeed, he had changed much over the past year. Gone was the young, frightened child who had arrived half-dead at Edhelion. His face was lean and stern, so that he looked older than his eleven years. He had grown almost a foot, and beneath his thick, winter clothes, his limbs were lithe and strong. His hair was medium length - darker than it had been - and swept out of his eyes, but he still wore a scarf over his face. In the gap between them, his eyes were emerald green.
"Thank you master," he replied, bowing low. "Do you find me ready?"
"I find you more than ready," Talagan smiled. "You have demonstrated great skill in the hunt. You are highly proficient with the bow, and strike swift and true. Your woodcraft is exemplary. I wouldn't be surprised if you were a match for the Elves of Greenwood the Great themselves, and yet you show respect for the prey. That is good. That is a hunter's most important skill. When you take a life, no matter how desperate the need or how clean the kill, you are sending a soul from the world, and you must mourn, for it is a sorrowful moment."
Lathron looked puzzled. "Surely there are some prey, some foes, which a hunter should not mourn for? What about predators - bears or wolves?"
"Ah, but to a hunter, all things are prey, never forget that. The hunter stalks unseen by all unless he chooses, and that gives him great power, for who can defend against that which they cannot see? In the tales and songs, it is the great warriors or captains who receive the renown for their deeds in battle, but even the mightiest champion may be brought low by a stray arrow. The strongest captain is helpless against a knife in the dark. It is the hunters, the rangers, those overlooked in the shadows and on the sidelines, who win wars." His face grew very stern as he looked down at Lathron. "Never forget - I have given you power over other living things. Not just over beasts but over other peoples. Never abuse that power, and when you find your prey at your mercy, spare him a thought, for against you he is weak and pitiful."
A face swam in Lathron's vision. A sneering face framed by golden hawks and searing flames. 'There is one whom I will never pity,' he told himself. 'When the time comes, I will show him no mercy.' But out loud, he replied "Of course, master. I shall remember."
"That is well," replied Talagan. "Now, let us carry this goat back to the refuge. Night draws closer, but we will feast well this evening."
They trudged in silence through the frozen forest. Slowly, the last rays of sunlight faded behind the trees, and the shadows lengthened. Far above, the evenstar appeared - EƤrendil, the mariner, ferrying the light of the silmaril across the heavens. Talagan murmured at the sight, as he did every night. "May the light of the Valar guide and protect us."
But then he stopped, staring at another star appearing in the sky. "That is not a good sign," he muttered.
"What is it?" asked Lathron, staring at the new star with trepidation. It hung small and red in the eastern sky, an easy sight to miss for the untrained eye.
"It is Gil Agarwen - the Blood Star," replied Talagan, quickening his pace. "It is an evil omen, of dark deeds, and blood to be spilt. It has not been seen in Middle Earth for a long count of years. That it should appear now is... disturbing."
"But what does it mean?" persisted Lathron. "What's going to happen? When was the last time it appeared?"
"'Twas over four thousand years ago, replied Talagan, quickening his pace. I need not tell you what events occurred at that time."
Lathron shuddered in sudden fear. He looked again at the star, glaring down like a red eye...
"Come, we must hurry," called Talagan from ahead. The young hunter hurried after him, suddenly shivering in his thick winter cloak.
Three others were watching the sky that night. Three others saw the red star appear, and three others recognised its fateful meaning.
In the far-off valley of Imladris, a tall man with dark hair looked up from his scrolls to see the star hanging like a drop of blood, and shook his head wearily.
Further still, in the shining city of Caras Galadhon, a fair woman in robes of white glimpsed the star reflected in her mirror. A tear fell into the basin, sending ripples across the surface of the water.
And farthest of all, atop the high pinnacle of a great black tower, an old man, dressed all in grey, stood alone. He made no movement, no sign at all that he had seen the star, but the eyes which reflected the glow of his pipe gleamed suddenly. Slowly, he drew a long breath, and released a cloud of smoke. It twisted in front of him, resolving itself into the form of a crumbling fortress, beneath which was a ring, or perhaps an eye. He nodded once, and blew the smoke away into the night.
Dun dun duuuun.
The plot thickens. The length of the chapters doesn't. Trust me though, when I start writing combat I find it hard to stop. Things get exciting soon. (Spoilers... There goes another reference. Teehee.)
Lathron Aleniel, Elf Hunter, Firefoot Server.
Disclaimer: almost all of the names of people, places and general things are owned by Tolkien Enterprises, New Line Cinema or Warner Brothers, and are fictitious, or if real are used fictitiously and solely for the purposes of entertainment within boring disclaimers. The others are owned by me. Any similarities to any real life person, alive or dead, is probably almost but not quite certain to be entirely uncoincidental.
