Chapter 4 – A Mûmak and an Elf

Faramir led his men towards the spot he had chosen for the ambush with as much energy as he could muster. He was weary, so weary, of the fighting, of the killing, of the constant warfare and siege. Boromir wanted peace as much as he but he had thrived on the constant challenge and endless strategy. And now he felt alone, alone as he had not been since his mother had passed. There was a great emptiness in his heart where before he had felt a merry boldness and ringing laughter. The pale boat had but confirmed what the distant horn and his aching heart had known; that his brother was gone wither he could not follow.

Faramir was a good captain, even an inspired leader, but where some felt the joy of battle for a just cause he simply could not. He took pleasure in peace and prosperity, in helping the people in their simple tasks and petty problems, in reading tales of the great days of long ago. Day-dreaming about elves and other such nonsense his father called it, but to Faramir it was a ray of hope in the darkness that pressed so close. For long ago men and elves had fought and died together, Firstborn and Secondborn, mortal and immortal working in harmony as Eru had intended. And they had triumphed, Morgoth had fallen (with the help of the Valar) and even Sauron had been diminished by their alliance long ago in the dawn of his city.

He longed for those days, for while there had been unfathomable sorrow and uncounted tears there had also been light and joy and beauty beyond mortal ken. He thought upon the tales he had heard, the beauty of Menegroth of the Thousand Caves, crafted by dwarves and filled with elven light. There in Doriath had shone the brightest of elven beauty, Luthien the Beloved. Of Gondolin, the hidden kingdom, where peace had flourished and great heroes born. Of these two had sprang Eärendil and Elwing, foreparents of the Dunedain, the legacy of old he, himself had a dim share in.

Damrod looked back at him and grinned and he turned his thoughts from the days of the High Elves to the task at hand. He grimaced, they were ambushing men not orcs; it was always harder to kill fellow men. Orcs were twisted and vile creatures, better off with no life at all but men were kin, and Faramir was not one to judge what motives or threats had brought them to the side of the Dark Lord. However, they threatened Minas Tirith and he was ready to die as well as kill in her defense so he strung his bow and smiled back at Damrod.

He gave the trees a sharp glance, his men were well concealed, their green and brown garments blending perfectly with the forest.

He looked around startled.

Something intangible had changed the forest around him. It was a good change, somehow it seemed a little brighter, the trees a bit greener, the grass less faded. It lightened his heart imperceptibly, the weight of his task was less burdensome, his city less doomed and shadows less thick.

His practiced ears caught the tramp of marching feet and a heavier note, Mûmakil. The sound grew in intensity until the air rang with the iron tread. The leading soldiers passed through the defile and still they waited. Nearly half of the enemy had passed when he finally gave the signal. A sharp whistle on the wind and chaos ran rampant. A hail of arrows fell on the unsuspecting Haradrim and the air filled with the cries of the wounded and dying. Another whistle and another flight of arrows and another. He unsheathed his sword and leapt forward, his men around him, bursting from concealment, battle cries on their lips.

They swept forward pushing the Haradrim into further disarray. He swung his sword methodically, never wasting a single stroke. The blade reddened at the first pass. There was a faint sound behind him. He turned swinging his blade up instinctually.

A ring of steel on steel.

The blade was crimson now.

He swung forward again, Anborn was fighting three, his sword and dagger silver blurs. Faramir took one by surprise and the steel meet soft flesh.

A grunt of pain and silence.

The second turned and meet his blade as he brought it up. Anborn finished off the third with a thrust. Faramir caught a glimpse of red behind him and a silver flash as his friend covered his back. Around him the enemy was retreating, they had lost over half their original number. As he turned back to the battle a new sound intruded itself unto his consciousness.

A bellow and a shake in the ground – the Mûmak.

He saw it a second too late distracted, by a sword thrust to his left. It was huge, by far the biggest that he had ever seen. It was upon him, charging in blind fury to where he stood, a tiny figure against a charging mountain of muscle and tusks.

"Valar save me" he whispered.

There was a flash of gold and green and amazingly the mûmak turned blindly away from him.

He watched it frozen for a moment. There on a rise to his right stood a slender figure clad in green and brown, long golden hair adrift in the wind. The arrow flew as Faramir watched and he guessed rightly that his salvation had come from the same quiver. The elf, for so Faramir guessed his rescuer was, leapt to the side as the mûmak charged down. Faramir gasped, he was underneath the beast. He caught a glimpse of steel behind one of the huge legs and another flash of gold as the elf jumped forward from beneath the falling bulk.

The mûmak fell forward on its damaged leg and the elf had another arrow to his string in a blinding movement. The beast fell silent as it was struck and lay quiet. Its killer made an oddly respectful gesture towards his dead foe and turned towards Faramir.

The captain stood stunned as the arrow flew towards him.

I apologize for the shortness of this chapter, but the cliffhanger came out of nowhere and begged to be used. :)

Hopefully I will be able to update all three of my stories tomorrow :)

I thought I'd give a non-PJ version of elf vs. Mûmak a try. Something cool but believable.

Till tomorrow...

Shire Rose

Love the reviews everyone...