Ayisha POV

"We should go," I hear the orc say. I stand up and follow him, pulling my hood back up. I hear the Wargs approaching. We start on our way once again, moving south. I look around; there are no trees, only rocks and grass. If Luca was still following us, we would spot him and the rest of them long before they are close to us.


Third Person POV

At a fleeting glance, the strange pair would look like a broad man and lanky boy or a devoted wife on the backs of two stout mules. But if one were to look closely, they would notice the ropes binding the smaller figures hands together, and the mounts are not mules, but Wargs. The two make their way across the barren plains, unaware of the gaze upon them.


Ayisha POV

"Is there some way we could lose my kin?" I ask after an hour of non-stop travelling. I look over at him, my gaze not faltering.

"There is," he says after a moment of thought, "a few ways actually. The first would be to use a stoneblessing, but all the Stoneblessed are dead" I go to talk, but decide against it, allowing him to continue. "another would be to leave a red herring, throw them off by making them think we are going elsewhere, but we would need to lay a false trail, backtrack, all too complicated, especially with a captive," I nod in understanding, "the other thing would be to go where they would not dare"

"Where?"

"Dol Guldur, Isengard or, if all else fails, Mordor, possibly Goblin City" he finishes, huffing quietly. I do not talk, instead looking over at him. Mordor?! Why of all places Mordor! "We would not be followed?" I ask, not believing that I was actually considering the option.

"No, all four places are too well guarded," he replies, a little taken aback at my response. I try to remember where they are located, Dol Guldur being closest to Greenwood, practically in it, then the Goblin City, Isegard and furthest from my former home, Mordor. I urge Arcus forward a little, to be in beside the orc. "We go where they will not follow, wherever it is, I will go, and go willingly," I say, offering a hand as best as I can for a handshake. He glances down at my hands and then at my face, before pulling out a dagger. At first I think the worst, but I try to remain calm. He brings the knife down and severs the rope binding my hands. I drop one but hold up my right. I see a small grin light up his face as he takes my slender hand in his broad one. "Deal, but you try anything, I will not hesitate to bind, gag and treat you like I would a slave," he warns, but not as sinister as he could be.

"Understood," I say, a Cheshire grin covering my own, "Does this mean I can have my weapons back?"

"No," he replies, "I do not trust you, yet"

"Don't worry, I don't trust me either," I agree. He is too cunning; I would have no hope of escape. Besides, he would probably know my plan before I did. I chuckle at the thought, but when my captor looks at me, I only laugh more, shaking my head slightly as I try to regain control of myself. He chuffs and turns around, pushing us south-east, which left us with only one option.

"Mordor," I whisper, too quiet too be heard.

We travel until the sun starts to set. The wind was biting, and storm clouds are rolling in from the east, the distant sounds of thunder reaching us. I had never liked storms, ever since I was little and there had been the fire in the garden outside of my chambers. I tried to warn someone, but no one took notice, and it soon spread into my chambers, reducing them to naught but ashes. When they found me, I was in a corner, burns all up my right arm. They took me to the healers and I was completely healed within a month, with only a faint scar remaining. Even to this day, I was always uneasy when a storm passed over home, I always had to do something to keep my mind off it, often brushing Arcus or reading. When we actually stop, I dismount and try to busy myself, without success. I try to help my captor but all he does is set out a bedroll and gathers a few sticks for a small fire. We have stopped under an overhanging crag, to provide shelter from the oncoming storm.

We both sit by the fire, him eating dried meat, myself eating a piece of Lembas. I sit near him, to keep a little warmer, our backs against the rock. I hear thunder and shiver, pulling the cloak closer around me. "Afraid?" my captor asks.

"No"

"Lair," he says, although not mockingly or leeringly, "I can almost smell it"

"Well why ask?" I say, before moving closer to him, only a few inches away now. I finish the Lembas and yawn; I am more tired than I originally thought. Lightning streaks across the sky as rain begins to plummet from the clouds above. "There is nothing wrong with fear," he says quietly, "no one is fearless"

"Ada is," I mumble. And Amil, she is more than I ever will be, I add silently. My captor does not reply, instead he wraps an arm around my shoulders. I do not shy away, instead, moving further into his embrace. "Get some sleep, she-elf. We will be safe here. Gingiberi and Arcus are watching," he mumbles, shifting slightly. I nod and close my eyes, for once, completely unafraid of the storm raging above us.

I dream of walking down a hallway and into a grand library, filled with thousands of books. There are books on the arts, fighting, tactics, sewing, map reading, history, you name it, it's there. But there are only a select few that stand out, all with a common theme; languages. Every language has its own book. I pull out a few and move over to a single desk and chair, set up in the midst of the labyrinth of knowledge and open the first book. The first page is empty, as is the second, but I flick through the entire book, and find one short passage:

Nessa the Dancer, Spouse of the Champion of Valinor, stolen and forced to carry the child of Morgoth. After miscarriage of the child, she becomes infatuated with the dark Lord of Valar.

Aulëand Tulkas Astaldo place blame on one another for the disappearance of Nessa, with Tulkas attempting, and succeeding to kill Aulë, who had led Nessa into the hands of the Dark Lord. Tulkas finds Nessa, only to be captured and, in the end, killed by his spouse, with a dagger through the back of the head. Realizing what has occurred; Nessa is overwhelmed with grief and turns the dagger on herself, ending her own life. After hearing of the Stoneblessings, Morgoth creates a sick kind of memorial to the three fallen Lords and Lady. Stonejinxes. Steel, for Aulë; the first to fall, Onyx for Tulkas and Bornite for Nessa.


Bolg POV

I sit there, the elf has been asleep for a while now, and the storm is as fierce as ever. Why I had decided to comfort her is beyond me. I cannot be getting feelings for her. Orcs and Elves do not love one another, I think, putting it down to pity.

The problem is, sometimes what we think we know is right, can often be the most incorrect of things. – tjlockwood

I look down at her, her hood down and her face relaxed. Not scared, or sad, or apologetic, but calm, as if nothing is wrong in the world. I feel something warm against my chest. I pull a faded cord made of leather. On the end is an unhewn piece of Onyx. I was one of a few, a mere handful, rarer than the Stoneblessed. There are only ever three of us at a time, if the stories of the Chosen are to be believed. Stonejinxed. I almost spit at the thought. If it were not for Morgoth, Nessa, Aulë and Tulkas Astaldo, we would not be jinxed. I look down at the stone, to find it, not quite glowing, but not as it should. I look over at the elf sleeping, she must be jinxed also. But with what? I wonder, before dozing off, into a dreamless sleep, one word echoing in my mind, Ayisha.


Author's Note:

I hope I can upload another chapter before Christmas and my birthday in five days, so if I don't, it means if I don't, I actually have friends! *dun dun DUUN!*