His breath puffed in the icy air. The small group of four had been chasing the orcs for several hours. Beside him, his brother also ran. Anwaren was still leading. The path of the orcs was not hard to follow. It had been made by the orcs, after all. The earth seemed to groan under the elves feet. It yearned for retribution. A storm was coming from the north. The sky, previously a soft light grey, was turning dark and tumultuous. The wind was beginning to pick up. It burned Elros' face while he ran. The forest was in horrible shape. Bark was stripped off trees. Where previously pristine snow had covered, now dark mud sullied. The ground was treacherous under foot. Elros cursed the foul creatures not for the first time since starting the journey. He felt his eyes begin to fill with tears again. He smothered his pain with anger. Anwaren called for a halt. The elves obeyed him. They were far from weary, but a break was welcome. Elros moved to the red-haired elf's side.

"Why are we stopping?" He didn't want to delay. The more time they wasted; the further the orcs retreated.

Anwaren looked outward at the marred forest. He did not answer. His low hood covered much of his face, but Elros could tell he wore a grim expression.

"What is wrong?" he questioned.

Anwaren's green eyes met Elros' eyes. "These orcs are heading towards Bruion's home. Why would they go there?" Concern laced the reply.

At the name Bruion, Elros was confused. "And who is Bruion? What importance does he have?"

Anwaren turned to face the other elves, who were silently watching the exchange. He motioned for them to start walking. He himself began to trek through the muck. Elros followed closely.

Anwaren spoke, "Bruion is a healer. He is a very old elf living alone in the southeast of the Greenwood somewhat near the Elvenking's Halls. He came over the mountains from Beleriand with most of the Sindar that went to live in Lothlorien. Bruion is very skilled, but certainly not a threat. He holds no power save in the curative arts. Why would the orcs risk coming so close to the borders of the Woodland Realm for him? It does not make sense. How would they even know about his presence here? He is far from renowned."

Elros listened intently. Anwaren had a point. Elros had never heard of Bruion and he had lived here his entire life. His mind went through possibilities. "How do you know they are heading directly towards his residence? Perhaps they are merely bold and wish to try an attack against the hunters of Thranduil's Halls."

Anwaren nodded in acknowledgement of this observation. "I know not where else they could be heading. Few live near Bruion, and those that do are only farmers who cultivate fruit-bearing trees and many flowers. Not even of the like of me and you." Anwaren's eyes strayed down to his feet in a look of uncertainty, but his jaw remained set. "Perhaps they are only bold. Perhaps they are only bent on destruction and know not where they go, but perhaps not."

"They had no reason for attacking us," Elros stated. The still-fresh memory of the carnage wrought by the orcs made his breath catch just slightly. He felt somewhat better doing something - Anwaren cut into his thoughts.

"You are correct," he admitted. His eyes suddenly flashed with fury. "It is not right," he growled. "Curse them."

Anwaren's curse was taken by a strong gust of wind. Elros stayed silent, letting his leader vent. Elros himself felt like killing something, but he held his anger in check. Barely. He could hold on a little longer; till they reached the orcs. Anwaren curled his fists into a ball. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Foul creatures. Spawn of the dark, dank places. May their end come swiftly," he continued his ramble. "Filthy dogs. They are unfit to live. Creatures birthed from malice and hatred. That is all they will receive! Curses and hell be upon them!" The last two sentences he bellowed forth into the gathering storm. The restless forest echoed his rage. The trees brandished their limbs viciously in anger at being so disfigured by the orcs. The howling wind snarled and tugged at the elves garb. It seemed to goad them on to destruction of the fiends who had ruined, marred, and defaced the land.

Anwaren's vehemence was contagious. Elros could feel the energy emanating from the surrounding elves change. The mood felt suddenly volatile. Dangerously so. Even his brother, who was usually more reserved, appeared spurred. It fed Elros' desire to avenge his family. He felt his mind slipping into the black void of fury. Part of him wanted to let the darkness take him. To cover over him and permeate his soul; all hint and vestige of grief utterly forgotten. However, there was another part of him that was so frightened of giving into the rage. That part of him feared being overtaken and never being the same. He didn't want to be broken, but he didn't want to be drowned in anger. To wallow in fury for the rest of his life just to get over the pain of loss. He didn't want to be chained to that drug. He was afraid of that end. He feared it perhaps more than the grief that knocked on the door to his heart.

"Tolo." Anwaren ordered.

The elves improved their pace.

XxX

Bruion made his way through the snicket towards his storehouse. He stood tall, rather much taller than the average Silvan elf. He had light brown hair that was always tied back. On his face, he proudly wore silvery whiskers; a sign of his extreme age. He possessed a brilliant, rare smile. He laughed not often, but one could see subtle wrinkles from happier times around his blue eyes. His muscles were ropy and tight, but his hands looked gentle and soft. His fingers moved with exquisite grace in desperate odds with his violent manner, unpleasant disposition, and his often coarse language.

The weather was beginning to turn sour. It was cold. The short, wood fence on his right side sparkled beautifully with evening frost in the setting sun's mild light. It separated his plantation from the horses' large, clearing. On his left side was the beat-up siding of his armoury building. He had always had a mind to keep prepared, and what better way to prepare then with weapons? He smiled grimly as the memory of the first battles against Morgoth replayed through his mind. Yes, weapons could mean the difference between life and death.

He smiled again as he ran his fingers over the rough timber that composed the railing. Several horses were grazing in the field beyond. The sound of his feet crunching on the gravel sounded exceedingly loud in comparison to winter's silence. He was heading to the storehouse to lock up. He made it his job every day to patrol the entire estate every evening. Not out of need, but partly out of habit and partly out of paranoia. Yes, Bruion would be the first to admit he was paranoid. He shivered as a cold breeze seeped icy air into his clothes. He pulled his collar up against the chill. The wind gently toyed with the bits of hair that had managed to escape his braid. He finally made it to the shed.

His plantation was arranged in a large circle with the outbuildings surrounding the central dwelling. All the buildings were connected by alleys and trails that each found their source in the middle courtyard, which comprised of a well and a cobblestone square.

The storehouse was a simple wooden building with two very large heavy doors. Inside, it was stuffed with stacks of hay bales. It was a dark place, but dry and even somewhat warm. The room was filled with the sweet smell of alfalfa hay. He stepped inside and grabbed a door by the handle. It creaked ominously as he swung it shut. The other door made an identical noise as he turned and closed that one too. The metal handles burned his hand; they were so cold. He firmly pushed the rusty latch down and into place then stepped back. He would have to be replacing that soon. Making a mental note, he turned and began to head towards the armoury. Or maybe he would check on the stables first. He wasn't exactly sure. Nah, he thought as he began to make his way to the beloved weapons in his outbuilding. He could do that later. The horses could wait.

He actually found himself whistling an ancient tune as he made his way towards the weapons store. This had been a good day. No one had been hurt, his many servants were running at full efficiency keeping his busy farm in good order, and he had even been able to enjoy a bit of hunting this morning. A soft snort from behind him interrupted his reverie. He turned and looked at the scraggly dog. He was a large dog with a wiry, grey coat and skinny features. He had a wispy length of "beard" hanging down about a hand's breadth from his chin. His intelligent, amber eyes looked up into his master's with insatiable curiosity on most days, but today he seemed worried. Bruion immediately wondered what was wrong. He knelt down and scratched the dog's head lightly.

"What is wrong, mellon?"

The dog sat and looked adoringly into his master's face. Bruion frowned feigning irritation.

"You don't want to tell me? Or is it a secret?"

The dog scrunched his nose and showed the old elf his yellow teeth in a big grin. Bruion couldn't hold in his mirth. He laughed and gave the dog a hard pat. "Your too much for me." He straightened then resumed his walk towards the armoury. He had only taken a few steps before he realised that the faithful hound was not following. He turned to face him. Eldhoron was laying in the middle of the path with his face low to the ground. A hint of worry began to whisper warnings through Bruion's mind. Something was definitely wrong. Eldhoron didn't behave like this. Ever. He was always energetic and erratic. Bruion looked around scanning for what could have possibly put his beloved sight-hound in such mood. No immediate threats presented themselves. Perhaps it was something to come. Perhaps the dog sensed something. Memories of the last time Eldhoron had been behaving like this flitted through his mind. That had been the time when the plantation had been attacked by a group of orcs some odd years ago. He sighed and called for a servant. Maybe this day wasn't as good as he had thought.

A stout, blonde elf came to Bruion's side. "Yes, my lord?"

Bruion didn't take his eyes off the dog. "Call everyone back home. The day is done."

"Of course, my lord."

Bruion could hear the smile in the young elf's voice. It nearly made him smile as well. He loved his servants. Each one was as a son or daughter to him. He often doted them with half days and they all shared his table at supper. "Come along, Eldhoron," he ordered as he moved to lock up the armoury. The dog obeyed this time, but reluctantly.

XxX

After he had finished his rounds locking up the other outbuildings and making sure that all the servants had come inside, he entered his large home. The house was far from meagre. After years and years of adding onto it, it had grown into a huge complex with many rooms. The entire house was made of thick, dark timbres and the floors were of grey slate. The halls were wide and panelled with red oak. Many were embellished by paintings or pelts from the older days. Bruion took a deep breath as he entered. He was growing anxious. Something was out of place. The more he thought about it; the more nervous he grew. He quietly made his way to his room. As he walked through the myriad halls, he could hear the merry sounds of his servants preparing for supper. He smiled slightly as his paternal side warmed at the thought of them having such good fun. He didn't want to mar their time with a feeling of foreboding. Bruion turned his thoughts away as his ears picked up the sound of footfalls drawing near.

"Adar." The voice was quiet with a slightly worried edge to it.

Bruion faced his son, Osgar. He was a fit elf with the same blue eyes and light hair as his father. His eyes echoed the pain he had seen in the wars against Morgoth. He seldom spoke save to his father. The scars of war danced up his muscular arms and disappeared under his rolled-up sleeves. Bruion's heart ached for his son. He had been through too much for an elf his age. They had all been through too much. He silently cursed those foul sons of Fëanor then turned his attention back to the present.

"What is it, iôn nîn," he asked gently. He knew what was the matter, but he wanted to make certain.

"Something is amiss. The dogs are behaving very peculiar today. An ominous feeling is permeating the forest abroad."

Bruion nodded. He had hoped that it had been something else, but his son would not have come to him unless he knew he couldn't leave his father out of it. "I know. I fear what it is, but we must not let anyone know just yet. We need order, and fear often causes the opposite. I'll tell the rest of the household after supper." He placed a hand firmly on his son's shoulder. He gave a half-smile, "Don't worry about it. Me and you can take it."

That actually brought a smile to Osgar's face. "Of course, Adar," he said with swagger.

Bruion lightly patted his cheek. "Now go get ready for supper! I'll be in there in a few moments."

Osgar nodded respectfully and made his way down the hall. Bruion sighed once he was sure the ellon was out of ear shot. He reassured himself that, if anything, it would be a small band of orcs. That they could take.


Tolo = "Come" or "Follow"

Please leave me a review. :)