pardon the use of ubb code, but unfortunately the only format that I can produce that is accepted by this site is .txt which does not allow for any sort of formatting. Therefore I have used ubb code to identify italics, since I do include a fair amount of "monologues" so to speak in this particular piece of writing. For those who are not familiar with ubb code, it goes as follows:
[i] insert text here [/i] ---italics
[b] insert text here [/b] ---bold
those are the only two ubb codes I will be using, so hopefully it will clear up more than confuse. Hope you readers are enjoying this story.
chapter 2
The three moved through the trees quickly, the two elves gracefully leaping over obstacles, while the dwarf let his axe and stout frame move anything in his path. The sound of the horn rang through the trees several more times, sounding more urgent by the moment.
All of a sudden, several uruk-hai turned to see that pursuit was hot on their trail, and stood to fight. They did not stand for long, but lay in humbled heaps upon the fallen leaves. Damiarena, Legolas, and the dwarf who briefly introduced himself as Gimli, son of Gloin; he did not think it appropriate to be standing alongside someone in battle without a brief introduction; met even more resistance along the way. Several more of the uruks had heard the inevitable noise of the small scuffle and had turned to fight.
Legolas brougth forth his bow, and they all fell within mere moments.
"What is it that they are after?" Damiarena asked as they ran on.
"The little ones," Gimli replied in a huff.
"Little ones?" she questioned, dreading the answer.
"Hobbits."
[i]Gandalf must know of this, then... he was always the one most knowledgeable concerning hobbits[/i]
She had no time to ask any more questions, for they had all stopped dead in their tracks, shocked by the sight ahead of them. Boromir of Gondor had fallen... at first glance, it would almost seem as if he were merely resting against a large tree-trunk. But the tale told by the black-feathered arrows protruding from his torso, and his ashen face, spoke differently. In his hand was still clasped his sword, broken near the hilt.
[i]...so much like Elendil himself... appropriate that it was Aragorn who found him so...[/i]
Around Boromir, lay many bodies of slain uruks. Aragorn knelt beside him, still clasping Boromir's hand. As he looked up, his face was drawn with sorrow and streaked with tears as his gaze met their faces.
"Never did I expect to meet you again in so dark an hour," Damiarena spoke with a strained voice, fighting to control the tears she knew wished to rush forth.
[i]Boromir the fair, firstborn son of Denethor... he was destined to be Steward of Gondor... and now... the fates have made their cut. An ill omen is this meeting, I fear for middle earth. I fear for the race of man...[/i]
"Damiarena Di'Isilian. If only our meetings were not always destined to be in times of strife, my heart would feel joy at the promise of your company," Aragorn greeted her. She smiled bitterly.
[i]Yes, my friend, it is always so, perhaps I learned well from Gandalf himself.[/i]
"One comfort we have at this moment, is the company we keep," Legolas spoke, and turned to embrace Damiarena in belated greeting, "Rena, it has been too long since those peaceful days in the halls of my father."
"I fear it will be longer still ere either of us return," she replied, trying to conceal the way he spoke her name tugged at her heart.
[i]If only responsibility were not so heavy a burden. My shoulders are stooped beneath it, there is no room for another's arms around them.[/i]
As if reading her very thoughts, he broke away from the brief embrace. Yet for a moment, his azure eyes met hers, dark as a midnight sea. Damiarena quickly averted her own gaze, instead focusing on the fallen body of Boromir. A sudden pall fell over the group, and they stood with their heads bowed in grief, for it seemed to them plain what had happened.
"What of the hobbits then? I did not see them amidst the skirmish... where is Frodo?" cried Gimli in desperation, sharing a fear that seemed etched in the elf's and the man's face as well.
[i]This must be strange business indeed, his concern seems deeper than just worry over well-being of friends. Is there even time to ask? Do any of us have time to spare at all?[/i]
"I do not know," Aragorn answered wearily, "with his last breath, Boromir told me that the Orcs had taken them captive, I do not believe they are dead. Alas, I did not ask him if Frodo or Sam were with them, not until it was too late. All that I have done today has gone amiss. What is to be done now?"
"First we must tend the fallen," said Legolas, "we cannot leave him lying like carrion among these foul orcs."
"But we must be swift," said Gimli, "he would not wish us to linger on his account. We must give chase to the orcs, if there is any hope of saving the remaining members of the company," the others nodded somberly in agreement. Aragorn stooped down to collect the cloven pieces of the horn of Gondor, while Legolas inspected the black arrows that had felled their companion. A look of confusion swept across his face momentarily, and he continued examining the bodies of the enemy. Silently the elf motioned to Aragorn, lifting up a helmet for him to see. A print of a hand, in rough and hastily pressed white paint, stood in sharp contrast to the dark leather and metal.
"This is not an orcish marking that I have ever encountered," Legolas remarked.
"Nor have I," Aragorn added with trepidation showing in his eyes.
"Saruman. It is his work, that symbol is the white hand of Saruman. These orcs were sent from Isengard itself. As you have seen, they have travelled and fought by the light of day, they are an abomination of an abomination. Somehow the devilry of the white wizard has made orcs into an even fouler breed. Saruman seems to be gaining in power every day, and his dark alliance with Sauron is a force to be feared. Feared and crushed nonetheless," Damiarena declared with a face that showed no emotion, she had veiled her own thoughts with the facade of cold calculation
Grim nods acknowledged her reasoning, the company crestfallen at the enormity of their tasks before them.
"But who shall confront Saruman? All fear his power, and his voice. Only the bravest or the fool would try to lure him out of his tower," Aragorn wondered aloud.
"What of Gandalf the Grey? Aragorn, you were a friend of his as well, has there been word of him?" Damiarena asked, her heart dropping at the dark looks on the others' faces as the words left her mouth. Gimli shifted his feet uneasily, while Aragorn let out a long sigh.
"I fear that Gandalf is beyond speaking... he has fallen into shadow," Legolas spoke softly, the grief clearly marking every word.
"Then no choice is left before me... other than to continue the work of Gandalf... the little work that I had known about prior to his passing."
"You do not mean... you're leaving," Legolas stared intently at the leaves on the ground, not willing to look into her dark eyes.
"Yes. I must. Duty is a heavy burden on all our shoulders, but we must be strong and not buckle beneath its weight if we are to succeed. You all will do what is in your hearts, and I will do what is necessary," her voice was stern and cold in her announcement, a voice her father had taught her to use. She now used it most when trying to conceal emotion, it was easier that way.
"Rena, would it be too much to ask where it is that you must go? I fear that you speak of a place dark and foreboding... i can almost see the darkness in my mind..." Legolas asked of her pleadingly.
"I will travel to Fangorn. The borders of the forest must be protected from Isengard. The shepherds of the forest must be warned that the white wizard will be guest nor friend to them any longer."
"It is not safe to travel into Fangorn, even for you! And to be so close to Isengard is perilous for you especially!" Legolas cried out, his voice straining with worry.
"Nevertheless, I have no choice. Farewell, my friends, and good hunting to you all." She quickly turned and stalked away from them, not casting a single look over her shoulder. She bit down on her lower lip, the little flash of pain sobering her, making it that much easier to just walk away.
[i]Farewell, Legolas of Mirkwood.... I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me... forgive me yet another time...[/i]
[i] insert text here [/i] ---italics
[b] insert text here [/b] ---bold
those are the only two ubb codes I will be using, so hopefully it will clear up more than confuse. Hope you readers are enjoying this story.
chapter 2
The three moved through the trees quickly, the two elves gracefully leaping over obstacles, while the dwarf let his axe and stout frame move anything in his path. The sound of the horn rang through the trees several more times, sounding more urgent by the moment.
All of a sudden, several uruk-hai turned to see that pursuit was hot on their trail, and stood to fight. They did not stand for long, but lay in humbled heaps upon the fallen leaves. Damiarena, Legolas, and the dwarf who briefly introduced himself as Gimli, son of Gloin; he did not think it appropriate to be standing alongside someone in battle without a brief introduction; met even more resistance along the way. Several more of the uruks had heard the inevitable noise of the small scuffle and had turned to fight.
Legolas brougth forth his bow, and they all fell within mere moments.
"What is it that they are after?" Damiarena asked as they ran on.
"The little ones," Gimli replied in a huff.
"Little ones?" she questioned, dreading the answer.
"Hobbits."
[i]Gandalf must know of this, then... he was always the one most knowledgeable concerning hobbits[/i]
She had no time to ask any more questions, for they had all stopped dead in their tracks, shocked by the sight ahead of them. Boromir of Gondor had fallen... at first glance, it would almost seem as if he were merely resting against a large tree-trunk. But the tale told by the black-feathered arrows protruding from his torso, and his ashen face, spoke differently. In his hand was still clasped his sword, broken near the hilt.
[i]...so much like Elendil himself... appropriate that it was Aragorn who found him so...[/i]
Around Boromir, lay many bodies of slain uruks. Aragorn knelt beside him, still clasping Boromir's hand. As he looked up, his face was drawn with sorrow and streaked with tears as his gaze met their faces.
"Never did I expect to meet you again in so dark an hour," Damiarena spoke with a strained voice, fighting to control the tears she knew wished to rush forth.
[i]Boromir the fair, firstborn son of Denethor... he was destined to be Steward of Gondor... and now... the fates have made their cut. An ill omen is this meeting, I fear for middle earth. I fear for the race of man...[/i]
"Damiarena Di'Isilian. If only our meetings were not always destined to be in times of strife, my heart would feel joy at the promise of your company," Aragorn greeted her. She smiled bitterly.
[i]Yes, my friend, it is always so, perhaps I learned well from Gandalf himself.[/i]
"One comfort we have at this moment, is the company we keep," Legolas spoke, and turned to embrace Damiarena in belated greeting, "Rena, it has been too long since those peaceful days in the halls of my father."
"I fear it will be longer still ere either of us return," she replied, trying to conceal the way he spoke her name tugged at her heart.
[i]If only responsibility were not so heavy a burden. My shoulders are stooped beneath it, there is no room for another's arms around them.[/i]
As if reading her very thoughts, he broke away from the brief embrace. Yet for a moment, his azure eyes met hers, dark as a midnight sea. Damiarena quickly averted her own gaze, instead focusing on the fallen body of Boromir. A sudden pall fell over the group, and they stood with their heads bowed in grief, for it seemed to them plain what had happened.
"What of the hobbits then? I did not see them amidst the skirmish... where is Frodo?" cried Gimli in desperation, sharing a fear that seemed etched in the elf's and the man's face as well.
[i]This must be strange business indeed, his concern seems deeper than just worry over well-being of friends. Is there even time to ask? Do any of us have time to spare at all?[/i]
"I do not know," Aragorn answered wearily, "with his last breath, Boromir told me that the Orcs had taken them captive, I do not believe they are dead. Alas, I did not ask him if Frodo or Sam were with them, not until it was too late. All that I have done today has gone amiss. What is to be done now?"
"First we must tend the fallen," said Legolas, "we cannot leave him lying like carrion among these foul orcs."
"But we must be swift," said Gimli, "he would not wish us to linger on his account. We must give chase to the orcs, if there is any hope of saving the remaining members of the company," the others nodded somberly in agreement. Aragorn stooped down to collect the cloven pieces of the horn of Gondor, while Legolas inspected the black arrows that had felled their companion. A look of confusion swept across his face momentarily, and he continued examining the bodies of the enemy. Silently the elf motioned to Aragorn, lifting up a helmet for him to see. A print of a hand, in rough and hastily pressed white paint, stood in sharp contrast to the dark leather and metal.
"This is not an orcish marking that I have ever encountered," Legolas remarked.
"Nor have I," Aragorn added with trepidation showing in his eyes.
"Saruman. It is his work, that symbol is the white hand of Saruman. These orcs were sent from Isengard itself. As you have seen, they have travelled and fought by the light of day, they are an abomination of an abomination. Somehow the devilry of the white wizard has made orcs into an even fouler breed. Saruman seems to be gaining in power every day, and his dark alliance with Sauron is a force to be feared. Feared and crushed nonetheless," Damiarena declared with a face that showed no emotion, she had veiled her own thoughts with the facade of cold calculation
Grim nods acknowledged her reasoning, the company crestfallen at the enormity of their tasks before them.
"But who shall confront Saruman? All fear his power, and his voice. Only the bravest or the fool would try to lure him out of his tower," Aragorn wondered aloud.
"What of Gandalf the Grey? Aragorn, you were a friend of his as well, has there been word of him?" Damiarena asked, her heart dropping at the dark looks on the others' faces as the words left her mouth. Gimli shifted his feet uneasily, while Aragorn let out a long sigh.
"I fear that Gandalf is beyond speaking... he has fallen into shadow," Legolas spoke softly, the grief clearly marking every word.
"Then no choice is left before me... other than to continue the work of Gandalf... the little work that I had known about prior to his passing."
"You do not mean... you're leaving," Legolas stared intently at the leaves on the ground, not willing to look into her dark eyes.
"Yes. I must. Duty is a heavy burden on all our shoulders, but we must be strong and not buckle beneath its weight if we are to succeed. You all will do what is in your hearts, and I will do what is necessary," her voice was stern and cold in her announcement, a voice her father had taught her to use. She now used it most when trying to conceal emotion, it was easier that way.
"Rena, would it be too much to ask where it is that you must go? I fear that you speak of a place dark and foreboding... i can almost see the darkness in my mind..." Legolas asked of her pleadingly.
"I will travel to Fangorn. The borders of the forest must be protected from Isengard. The shepherds of the forest must be warned that the white wizard will be guest nor friend to them any longer."
"It is not safe to travel into Fangorn, even for you! And to be so close to Isengard is perilous for you especially!" Legolas cried out, his voice straining with worry.
"Nevertheless, I have no choice. Farewell, my friends, and good hunting to you all." She quickly turned and stalked away from them, not casting a single look over her shoulder. She bit down on her lower lip, the little flash of pain sobering her, making it that much easier to just walk away.
[i]Farewell, Legolas of Mirkwood.... I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me... forgive me yet another time...[/i]
