Glorfindel sat high atop his proud stallion, mane of blond hair dancing in the wind as the small party of ten elves rode out across the land. It was only meant to be a small scouting mission, but Glorfindel had insisted on heading it himself as they were to examine a rather distant valley which had some reported orc sightings. The Lord was loath to allow his elves to travel such a distance without his protection and thus he found himself at the head of the party.

Flanking either side of the ancient warrior rode the sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir. They had insisted on joining the scouting party as well as Glorfindel had refused to stay in Imaldris. While they usually looked to the elder elf for guidance and knew him as a more than capable warrior, they were worried for him. Glorfindel had never slept well through the night without the aide of Lord Elrond's sleeping draughts since his return from Mandos' halls. The past several weeks however had been particularly trying and both twins knew that something must have getting worse. Still, the re-born elf refused to speak on the matter, only spending more and more hours of night wandering the halls, gazing at the tapestry of his battle in the Fall of Godolin.

The twins loved their father's seneschal dearly and thus insisted on their attendance in the small party as a way of being able to ensure that they could keep an eye on the elf. Although few could come close to matching the skills of the Lord of old, the twins themselves were well past their majority and more than capable fighters. They also thirsted for orc blood and sought to wreck whatever vengeance they could for their mother's sake. Some wounds burn too deep to forget.

The further they rode from Imaldris, the more vast the plains became. Soon, the small party found themselves in a veritable sea of grass, long strands brushing the knees of the elven riders and constantly swaying in the breeze. Warm sunlight basked the elves and the clear blue sky seemed welcoming. It was almost perfect.

All too soon however, the beauty of the scene was broken. A cry from Avorn, one of the guards of keenest eyesight in the party, alerted the other elves.

"Orcs and wargs on the horizon," he called in alarm. "By Eru there must be nearly a hundred."

Glorfindel swore in Quenya under his breath before quickly ordering his soldiers. There would be far too many orcs for such a small band to hope to defeat. They were all lightly armed as they were only supposed to be a small scouting party. Even several days from Imaldris, no one predicted that such a large force of Sauron's ilk would wander so close to the hidden valley.

Nonetheless, Glorfindel knew that should they stay to fight, the orcs would surly kill his soldiers. He had no desire to waste precious lives and knew that a warning must reach Imaldris at once. Danger was closer than anyone had previously thought. Before he could order a retreat however, the orcs appeared quite clearly before them.

"Archers ready," Glorfindel called out, holding a hand up as a signal to nock their bows. "Fire!" At his command, the soldiers released volley after volley of arrows, wiping out the first several lines of attackers. The orcs kept coming however and soon they were forced to put down their bows and take up swords.

Glorfindel, for his part, felt far more comfortable with a blade than a bow. His gleaming sword was forged ages ago in hi beloved city of Gondolin and had been held by Lord Elrond as a piece of history. Now, it fit in his hand like it was made specifically for him and it served as a deadly extension of his arm. He swung his sword with great strength as he cleaved betwixt the shoulder and head, slicing down orc after orc.

Soon though, it became apparent that the elves were losing the advantage of their skill. Several had taken wounds that while not life threatening, slowed them down and placed the tiny patrol at an even greater disadvantage.

"Elladan, Elrohir," Glorfindel called out, his voice drawing the attention of the two young lords who were locked in a battle with four orcs each. "You will lead the others back to Imaldris. Take a wide loop around the crags, ride as silently and swiftly as you can. You must alert your father. This group is surly but a small branch of a much larger hoard."

"We will not leave you, Glorfindel!" Elladan, like usual, was the first to shout protest. His brother however seemed to understand Glorfindel's plight by the grim set of his gaze.

"Elladan, you must," the Seneschal replied. "I will draw their attention as far from Imaldris as possible and then seek to loose them. Should we all stay here we will perish and no warning will reach Imaldris. Both of you must return for you must lead the party and your brother must tend to the wounded. Go now before it becomes too late." Glorfindel was screaming about the sounds of the battle, part of him thanking Eru that the orcs never learned the Grey tongue.

Elladan looked torn. Black blood stained both him and his brother, but he could see splashed of red, Eldar blood on some of his brethren. It was true that Elrohir was the most experienced healer among them and the next highest ranking elf aside from them was severely wounded, but he was loath to abandon his mentor to the orcs.

"Elladan," Glrofindel warned, voice low so that only the two of them would hear. "Please do not force me to make it an order."

Elladan turned swiftly to slice off the hand of an orc who was attempting to surprise him from behind before turning back once more to Glorfindel, the reborn hero of old and his dear friend. The sadness in Glorfindel's usually cheerful eyes was what it took to break his stubborn resolve. He nodded quickly before turning to sweep his gaze across the elven warriors.

"Retreat," he called out. "We ride past the crags back to Imaldris. We must warn Lord Elrond."

With that the elves began subtly backing up, bringing themselves closer to the horses who remained. Elvish steeds were far too loyal to abandon their masters in battle and thus the ones who had been separated from their riders remained but a few paces back, prancing anxiously as they waited for their ever faithful masters to mount them once more.

Asfaloth, Glorfindel's trusted steed, heeded the command soon uttered by his master and stampeded though the throng of orcs. Glorfindel then, with all the agility and grace of an elf, gripped his mane and launched himself atop the stallion. Together they raced in the opposite direction of the elves, drawing the attention of nearly all the orcs who quickly gave chase.

The remaining few orcs were quickly slaughtered by the elves who hopped aboard their own steeds and rode back to Imaldris with as much haste as they could manage. The entire company knew what their leader had done. They could only hope that the valiant Balrog Slayer could pull off another miracle, that his steed would ride with the speed of the wind and that he would succeed in losing the horde of orcs.

They all prayed to the Valar as they rode.

Evelyn perched lazily in the crest of a massive apple tree's branch whilst Nightshade laid curled up at its base. The sun was shining brightly and birds flocked around the girl and her companion, neither raising a hand to the little creatures who drew bravely close. There was never a need to hunt songbirds and thus the creatures knew to trust the pair. Their sweet songs blended together creating a music which Evelyn thought must be far fairer than anything Middle Earth's gods could ever create.

While the human and wolf pair were appreciative of their secret cave as it gave them shelter in the night and was a perfect place to hide from elves, men, and orcs... Evelyn couldn't stand being in there long. The enclosed feeling of being underground, the darkness, the walls on all sides all reminded her far too much of her time spent languishing in bitter solitude, a prisoner in a cell. Besides her regular dreams of fire and a golden haired elf, whose identity Evelyn had long ago guessed but never dared to confirm, Evelyn now suffered from regularly reoccurring nightmares of cramped spaces, damp walls, and locked doors. She often woke in a cold sweat, crying out silently lest she rouse imaginary guards, and panting with exhaustion as she swore that her escape had been a dream, that she was still locked away in an empty cell of solitude.

It was during those nights that she found herself pushed back to awareness by a wet nose and hot breath. Her beloved Shade was always quick to wake her, pressing herself onto Evelyn's chest, wet nose nuzzling her neck and breathing heavily until Evelyn was able to control her own breathing. Nightshade's heartbeat was slow and steady and as Evelyn reaches up to wrap her arms around the wolf's neck, her rapid heartbeat always syncs with that of the wolf. The two were an inseparable pair.

The peace of the day was soon broken as Nightshade suddenly went from lazily lounging at the roots of the tree to standing, ears perked and eyes scanning the horizon. Evelyn sat up as well, knowing that Nightshade would not be so alert for nothing.

"What is it," she whispered, voice low.

In response, Nightshade growled lightly and lifted her nose high, smelling the wind. In that moment, Evelyn knew what her wolf had found. Orcs were coming.

Evelyn quickly reached behind herself and pulled forth her cloak, fastening the clip around her neck and tossing the hood up. A quick nod to Nightshade was all the instruction that the wolf needed to begin walking at a brisk yet silent pace towards their hidden home. Upon reaching the tree-root entrance, Nightshade sat down to block the door whilst Evelyn took to the sky, stretching her massive black wings outwards and flying far too high for any being aside from the mighty eagles themselves to see her. Somehow her vision remind clear, and Evelyn did her very best to not ponder too long as to why.

Several leagues out, from high above she quickly saw what had alarmed Nightshade so. A hoard of orcs atop massive wargs was chasing a lone rider atop a shining white horse. The orcs had to number at least thirty and they were quickly gaining on the fleet rider. The orcs were the standard brutish type armed with crude weapons that were overly rusted and likely proved more of a risk in infection than actual cutting. Being adverse to daylight, Evelyn couldn't help but wonder what stupid blunder of the rider caused the orcs to be so enraged as to travel under the midday sun. In truth, they shouldn't be too hard to kill, weakened as they were by the light. Alas, they were chasing a lone rider and had the advantage of their savage mounts, they would likely overwhelm him by sheer numbers alone.

As Evelyn pondered this she swept just slightly closer to the ground, still out of sight range for elves and orcs alike, but close enough for her to get a better look. What she saw nearly caused her to fall from the sky in shock. There, atop that shining white steed was a mass of golden hair trailing behind the rider like a comet's trail. It was an elf, and not just any elf, it was the elf that haunted her nightmares. It was the elf who she had saved in that far too realistic dream all those years ago, it was the elf that came to her once every few nights to torment her with his death. It was the only elf in all of Middle Earth that Evelyn could honestly say she had some pity left for.

Evelyn was torn. She swore vengeance against the elves for she knew through bitter experience just how treacherous they were. She had never before lifted a hand to help any strangers who happened to wander past her home for never had a stranger lifted theirs to help her. Yet could she call this elf a stranger? Could she group he who haunted her dreams each night with the likeliness of every single other elf she had met?

Part of her, a hidden, lonely part that had been buried with the innocence of a naive young girl several years ago stirred with pity. He looked every bit the avenging angel he appeared to be every night in her dreams: golden hair formed a crown, a halo around his head, bright blue eyes glistened with perseverance, and a soft mouth curved with he slightest hint of a stern frown. He was beautiful and that small part of Evelyn that had watched him die too many times felt a hint of possessiveness over him.

He is mine, that voice whispered in her head. She had cradled him, comforted him as he died over and over and over again. When one gives so much of their heart to another, does that other being not become part of them?

The hoard was moving on a direct course to Evelyn's home and she had to make a decision. With the deep and lingering feeling that knew that her choice would change the course of her fate, Evelyn angled her wings to a sharp turn and made a beeline for her home. She flew with such haste that her landing was far from graceful as she turned to Nightshade.

"We fight."

Those words were all that was needed as the wolf moved swiftly into the cave, followed closely behind by Evelyn. Once there, Evelyn strapped her twin long knives to her hips, pulled her bow and arrows onto her shoulders, and fasted the leather wrist cuffs that served as her armor. Then, she turned to her canine friend and strapped on hardened leather bracers that she had made to protect the forelimbs of the massive wolf. She then fitted on the leather helmet topped with sharpened obsidian spikes which she had crafted to prevent orcs from being able to crush the wolf's skull.

Fully outfitted, a short nod and the pair were off. They took off swiftly in the direction of the orcs. When they were nearing, a short bark from Nightshade indicated that they were close and the pair split up. Evelyn took to the air, pulling up a cloth to cover the bottom half of her face and nocking an arrow to her bow whilst Nightshade veered off to the left and disappeared in the tall grass.

Soon, the thundering sound of the orcs rang out across the once peaceful glade. On the horizon, they appeared. White rider at the head of a pac of orcs ever gaining in a display that this time reminded Evelyn all too much of the white rider horseman of death leading the apocalypse. But these were orcs and wargs, she knew how to kill these.

Evelyn drew back her bowstring and eyed down the arrow. She angled her wings downward and began her swooping decent. With a soft exhale her fingers slipped from the bowstring and the arrow flew true, sinking into the chest of the warg that was mere inches from pulling the elf off his steed.

The elf, hearing the hiss of an arrow past his ear looked up in alarm and was greeted by the sight of a masked figure bearing massive black wings. He made eye contact with the figure for but a moment before the strange being nocked another arrow and fired once more. It then flapped those wings, as large as an eagle's but as black as a crebain, and rose up into the air, sweeping in an arc before swooping down once more to release several more arrows.

Glorfindel had no time to contemplate longer on the identity of this being as another orc drew closer. He pushed his head down and urged Asfaloth to run faster. It would only be a manner of time before the pack gained on him too much that his rescuer's arrows would be no longer effective. He wanted to allow this being as much time as possible to pick of as many as it could from the air.

Glorfindel but hoped that Eru was feeling generous this day. Mayhaps he stood a chance.