A/N: Woo new chapter. On a roll. Not particuarly pleased with this one, however. Especially the battle scene. Bleh...oh well. Hope you guys like it more. And I want to thank my wonderful reviewers! Really helps get me going and Im very glad you all like it so here's the next one. Enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: I dont own The Silmarillion or any related plots, characters, or geography. Too bad.
CLAIMER: I DO own the Thalos River Elves, so no takies.

What sudden ill the world await,
From my dear residence I roam;
I must deplore the bitter fate,
To straggle from my native home.
George Moses Horton, "The Southern Refugee"

Chapter 3: The Journey South

The following day was even drearier than the first of the Thalos Elves' departure. The skies above remained a thick slate-grey, and midsummer's heat closed a tight fist around the caravan of Eldar. They had spent the night at their chosen camp and swiftly packed the following morning to continue their travels. They left hardly a trace that they had been there at all.

A silence had hung over the Elves. Their numbers, greatly dwindled since the Orc attacks on their village at the River Thalos, moved about quietly. The only speech they cared to make was that of business-asking if everything was packed or a direction to hitch the horses up to the carriages. There was only one perfect word to describe the atmosphere that hung about the company-depression. They were well on their way even before the sun climbed up to the peak of its celestial arch.

Maecelofin's family was once again in one of the carriages. Neither Tinuthiel nor Nimariel had slept well the previous night. They had been far too distressed-Nimariel for grief of her husband's death and Tinuthiel for fear of her lover's possible demise. So now the muggy heat of the day had Tinuthiel lying on her side with her head in her sister's lap, sleeping. Maecelofin knew she was particularly tired on this day when he noticed that she slept with her eyes closed as opposed to open-which is the fashion of Elf kind. Nimariel leaned back against the ribs of the carriage, dozing with an unfocused look on her face. Maecelofin sat between Tinuthiel and Celeriel-silent. The carriage rattled along for endless drawn-out hours.

The Elf child watched his mother and aunt for a while, but they were quite still and since both were fading in and out of a miserable sleep, Maecelofin found them to be as uninteresting as the rest of the silent group. Twelve Eldar were seated within this particular carriage, and none had anything to say. Even Celeriel lacked her usual luster and flare. The silver-haired she-Elf was as quiet as sleeping Tinuthiel.

An hour past noon the caravan halted. Maecelofin was the first to climb out of the covered wagon, dismissing the words of caution from old Celeriel as he slid himself to the ground. Other Elves were climbing out of their own carriages, while those who had walked sat and rested their feet. Quick meals were made, and Maecelofin and his family fed off of sweet breads and swiftly-roasted meats before Lord Thrandolhir called for the journey to continue. After some pleas from Maecelofin, Tinuthiel and Nimariel decided to walk. The young Elf was in a considerably better mood-he felt that if he had to spend another hour in that wagon he would have gone mad. The sun was high in the heavens, and a haze of humidity hung over the mountains. The clouds over them were particularly dark and heavy with the promise of a storm. The air was thick, but the Elves' resilience kept them at an even pace. Maecelofin watched the activity of the traveling company as he walked, his hand grasping Tinuthiel's. The horses' pelts were slick with sweat, but they pressed on according to their masters' wishes. For the most part the group stayed fairly close together for protection. Warriors, who had rested from battle since their days at Thalos, now rode atop their steeds with bows at their backs and swords at their belts. These riders flanked the caravan, keeping more to the outside in order to better defend their fellows in the event of an attack. Maecelofin spotted Thrandolhir riding at the front upon his dapple grey mount. He held himself in the dignified fashion that had been bred into him. Regally straight posture marked him as not only a warrior but a determined leader. A wickedly elegant sword hung sheathed at his side. Maecelofin's stomach churned at the sight, falling into both awe and mild discomfort towards the king. He hoped he would never in his lifetime have to fight such a ruler.

The boy's spirits were greatly lifted nonetheless, and he seemed eager now. The vastness of the empty wilderness around him was mesmerizing. All his life he had been tucked away in his quiet little village by the mountains, and now he was in the wild. Tinuthiel and Nimariel had seen the primordial places of Arda before in their lifetimes, and so it held no wonder for them. They remained silent, and to Maecelofin their gaits seemed slow and dreary.

His blue eyes lapped up every sight around him until after a while even this new environment was growing old. They walked for hours and hours in silence, and his though his feet were beginning to ache he said nothing for fear of being caged inside the carriage once more. He caught the gaze of a dark-haired Elf whom he did not know. The Elf had been watching him, but deterred his gaze once Maecelofin caught on. He shied a bit closer to his mother's side, though Tinuthiel did not seem to notice the uncomfortable attention being channeled towards her son. The white-clad Elf, Maecelofin knew, was lingering under a cloud of sadness, and so the boy did not press the matter with his mother. Perhaps it was nothing and he was imagining things…but then Lord Thrandolhir had not seemed to think so. Maecelofin settled for sticking closer to his mother for the remainder of the day.

They halted once more at dusk; the sky was still cloudy and dark. Fires spat to life once more in scattered spots within the camp. Maecelofin was exhausted. His muscles and feet ached from walking, and he had begun to suffer fits of yawns that began nearly an hour before the caravan finally stopped for the night. Blankets were drawn out and once he had eaten, Maecelofin immediately took to a closed-eye sleep, nestled at his mother's side. Nimariel also went to sleep after eating. The night cooled the humid air considerably, and this was a blessing. Tinuthiel remained awake, sitting with her knees drawn to her chest as she gazed into the orange glow of the little fire before her. The distant sound of conversation drifted softly about the camp as little groups began to converse. Celeriel and her husband and sons were nearby. Gilthalen and his boys had ridden with the soldiers during the day. Horses were being fed and offered drink, as well as wiped down, and they were allowed to graze. A small group of warriors branched away in an attempt to hunt, though they had a feeling they would find little to shoot at on these open lands save possible Orcs.

Tinuthiel glanced about the camp, the sporadic fires glistening jewels in the glum of velvet darkness. The shapes of Elves were silhouetted against them, or lit by a gentle orange glow to their faces. Tinuthiel's blue eyes wandered silently, and she could not help but think back to the camps at Maglor's Gap those years ago-when Maedhros the Tall could be found examining his troops' inventories or grooming his horse, or convening with the High King Fingon over battle plans. Tinuthiel closed her eyes, savoring the ache that accompanied such memories. How she longed to step back into that time, before Maedhros had been lost to her…before her brother Ciranthos had died and before they had been forced to once again flee their home. She longed to step back into Maedhros' arms, and just for a moment close her eyes and breathe deep his defining scent-crisp and fresh like rain and rich like horses.

She was drawn from her reverie by the sound of oddly hushed voices-so soft that only an Elf's ears could have detected it. She opened her eyes and found herself not in Maedhros' arms but rather the target of watchful eyes. A small group of women were glancing at her and whispering to one another as they sat gathered around their fire. But just as had occurred with Maecelofin they glanced away for the most part. Only a few continued to gaze. Tinuthiel felt her stomach tie itself into a knot.

Maecelofin had spent his life in or directly near their house at the village. Tinuthiel had not let him mingle with the rest of the village members, nor had any ever spoken to him. They caught glimpses of the strange child from time to time but mostly Maecelofin's identity was an enigma and a rumor. Now the illegitimate grandson of Feanor was out and about for the entire village to see.

He was a mark of Tinuthiel's sin, or so it seemed to them. He was proof of her infatuation with a Son of Feanor, who was admired by some but reviled by others. Tinuthiel was unwed. And Tinuthiel had bore the child of a Prince of the Noldor.

A dull anger rose into Tinuthiel's chest, and rather than turning away she straightened, calmly meeting the eyes of those who spied upon her. After a moment they went back to their business, and Tinuthiel relaxed some. She looked down at her son, who was sleeping peacefully. An elegant, pale had extended and she gently stroked Maecelofin's fiery hair. The copper locked slipped and laced through Tinuthiel's fingers, and not for the first time she looked at her son and saw her lover. A new ache gripped her heart. Whispers were surrounding Tinuthiel. They were surely targeting her child as well.

It was not Maecelofin's fault he was sired by a Kinslayer.

It was not Maecelofin's fault his parents were unwed.

But Tinuthiel was wise enough to know that Maecelofin would suffer for her choices all the same.

Hunting had been a failure for the Thalos soldiers. They returned as empty-handed as they had left, but none had expected anything more. Tinuthiel had eventually fallen asleep beside her son and sister, and the camp was up at dawn the next morning as usual. Despite severe discomfort on Tinuthiel's part, Maecelofin begged that they not take the carriage again. So they walked once more. By midday, however, the storms that had hung over the mountains had been swept down to the region. Rain came down in pelting sheets. The summer air was thankfully cooled by this, but Maecelofin found himself ushered once more under the cover of the carriage. The rain had come upon them so quickly that the fractured family had not had time to escape the water before seeking shelter, and they each sat soaked. Celeriel, in a fine display of her maternal nature, worked to dry Maecelofin off with a soft towel, and then saw to Tinuthiel and Nimariel, dabbing the wetness from their hair and wrapping towels about them. She had especially taken a maternal interest in the sisters after Nirnaeth Arnoediad and the news of Ciranthos' death.

They certainly needed it.

Celeriel had been one who knew of Maecelofin's identity right from the beginning, and indeed had aided Tinuthiel during her pregnancy. She seemed to not give the boy's lineage a second thought. Instead she insisted upon tough-loving Tinuthiel through her depression and her pregnancy. When Tinuthiel fell into despair over the thought that Maedhros might be slain and that she now had to care for his illegitimate child, Celeriel had, through sharp words of logic and level-headedness, urged the younger Elf to be strong and chased away her self-pity.

The storm hovered over the caravan, soaking the earth and the travelers. Well after midday it showed no signs of easing up. Maecelofin was loathe to find himself stuck once more inside in the small quarters. He could do nothing but lay back and listen to the rain pounding on the carriage drapes and the occasional sound of a whinnying horse. But four hours past the midday mark, Maecelofin heard a sound he did not recognize. It was a high-pitched call, hollow and swift. He lifted his head and immediately noticed a few of the other Elves did the same. This sparked his curiosity. Another high-pitched call was sounded, followed by shouts from outside the carriage. Maecelofin climbed to his feet and made towards the opening of the carriage, but Tinuthiel hurriedly drew him back, pulling him close to her as she and the others stared at the drapes that covered the entrance. The carriage stopped.

"Mother, what-"

"Shh…" Tinuthiel quickly hushed her son, and Maecelofin obeyed. The calls came louder now and more numerous. The Elves listened with bated breath. Outside a horse vocalized its dismay, and Elves were shouting orders back and forth. Commotion could be heard and Maecelofin strained to hear what was happening. Tinuthiel's hold on him tightened some and he frowned. He did not know what was happening but he knew it could not be good.

Then someone else in the carriage whispered one word that made Maecelofin understand.

"Yrch."

A trill of fear and wonder filled Maecelofin. He looked sharply up at his mother, whose already fair face had gone quite pale. Nimariel had a hold on Celeriel's arm, and she was taking deep slow breaths to keep herself steady. Outside came the sound of metal clashing on metal, and shouts and snarls were heard aplenty. The Elves within the carriage let out gasps and small cries of panic and dismay. Orcs were attacking. Some half-rose out of their seats, but froze when they realized the only way to go was out-towards the battle. It was Celeriel, unsurprisingly, who was the voice of reason and quick-thinking.

The aged Elf ordered them all to huddle in the center of the carriage's floor and to keep away from the entranceway and the sides. They all did so, pressed tightly against one another. Maecelofin found himself in his mother's arms, held tightly and protectively to her breast. He held onto her, large blue eyes flitting from the entrance to the silhouetted shadows that now danced across the coverings of the carriage.

Outside the battle was underway. A band of Orcs had emerged from a small, shallow woodland area that the caravan was passing. Arrows screamed through the air towards the Elves. They were quick to respond, instantly drawing their own bows and stringing arrows to retaliate. Lord Thrandolhir turned his dapple grey and yelled out swift orders that the wagons be drawn together and the soldiers to wall around them. But the organization of the Elves did little to assist them, for the Orcs were all over the place. The foul creatures leapt from trees, swinging crude swords and hammers and cleavers. They came in sporadic directions, attacking from the front and the sides. Barks and snarls denoted the presence of Wargs, and the tawny titans came reeling at the Elves. There were four in total, for this was a small patrol band of Orcs. To the ragged vagabond group of Thalos Elves, however, they were a challenging match.

Thrandolhir cut down an Orc in his path. The thundering beats of horse hooves sounded about, and all around him was just a blur of battle and movement. Fair Elven swords were drawn to match the harsh weapons of the Orcs. Wargs leapt and slid in the slick earth. Mud and blood were spattered everywhere. One Elven horse was drawn into a sharp turn to evade a jumping wolf and its hooves failed it, sliding through the mud and it came crashing down onto its side. The Orcs were all over it, bringing an axe down upon the regal animal's throat and the Elven rider was grasped and viciously attacked. Within moments the already wet earth was painted with the blood of Elves and Orcs. The rain fell in clean sheets, soaking the combatants turning the earth to slop. The Orcs pressed forward towards the carriages but the Elven warriors fought them back.

Maecelofin and his family could only listen to the battle around them, and the Elves inside the carriage clung together and watched the opening in fear. Screams and screeches and commands were heard from outside. Shadows played upon the walls of the wagon. A black Orc arrow pierced the canvas but the Elven women inside were keeping low, and it cluttered to the wooden floor harmlessly. Two more followed it, and the Elves flinched with each attack. Then there was a terrible ripping sound as an Orcish sword tore through the fabric and cut down. Maecelofin gave a cry and some of the other Elves screamed in fright. The line of torn canvas was pulled wider and an Orc cast its foul head in. Maecelofin clung to his mother and the little boy's blue eyes met the red-orange ones of the Orc. Its lips writhed back in a satisfied grin, revealing pointed teeth. It hoisted itself up and began to climb in. The Elves shrank back with cries of help, Tinuthiel nearly crushing Maecelofin to her. But just as the Orc gripped its weapon again it tensed and gave a strangled cry. It fell forward, slumped over the bench with its face to the floor, an Elven arrow piercing its back just between its shoulder blades. A collective sigh of relief was issued and Tinuthiel's hold on Maecelofin eased some. Maecelofin closed his eyes and buried his face into his mother's comforting form.

They waited and listened to the sounds of battle until slowly, they ceased. The hideous Orc cries had faltered and faded, along with the growls of the Wargs. Slowly, the Elves in the carriage straightened, looking around. Glances were sent to the Orc corpse that invaded their mode of transportation. Celeriel boldly stepped over the carcass, peering out of the carriage. After a moment she turned and called to the others, "It is safe now." A collective sigh of relief was issued, and the Elves began rising to their feet. Maecelofin and Tinuthiel's holds on one another loosened and they stood up. Celeriel stepped out of the carriage into the rain, surveying the damage of the battle and seeking her sons and husband, hoping they were safe.

"Stay inside," said Tinuthiel gently. She sat Maecelofin down on the bench as others began to curiously filter out of the wagon. They eyed the dead Orc warily as they stepped lightly over it. Maecelofin did as his mother had instructed, remaining inside as he looked at the Orc.

It was a foul creature. The very stench of it made Maecelofin's muscles tighten. It had long ears-an exaggeration of an Elf's-and splotchy skin that was somewhere between blue and grey. Large orb-like eyes were the murky color of swamp water, and dull with death. Mail, leather, and black metal armor covered it, but these defenses had been no contest for the Elven arrow that protruded from its back. Black blood was smeared about the beast's mouth, staining its pointed, crooked teeth. It made Maecelofin nervous, and he did not know why but when he looked at the Orc he felt a strong sense that he had been wronged, and that he had some personal strife with this Orc. It was the innate loathing all Elves shared for the creatures of Morgoth. Maecelofin would grow to know it well.

And he did not know it then, but he would fight many Orcs in his lifetime.

After a few moments, Gilthalen, husband of Celeriel, climbed in and looked at the Orc. Maecelofin looked up at the impressive figure of the old Elf. With a look of revilement Gilthalen grabbed the carcass and hauled it out of the carriage, dropping it into the mud outside. A tension in Maecelofin's chest eased once the creature was removed from his sight. Gilthalen stepped back out and Tinuthiel and Nimariel climbed back in, followed closely by Celeriel and the other Elves.

"…two dead," Celeriel was saying. "Mark you me, ladies, there will be more before this journey is over." Tinuthiel, wet once more, sat down heavily beside her son, sighing and massaging a spot on her forehead above her eyebrow.

"Valar bless Lord Thrandolhir," said another female Elf as she sat down. We would do best to stay out of this war."

"This war affects us all, Alpheral," said Tinuthiel. The Elf she was addressing straightened, brow furrowing a bit.

"Yes…though it seems some more than others," Alpheral replied stoically. Maecelofin saw a muscle in his mother's jaw jump and there was a flicker of recoil in her eyes.

But before any could speak further the carriage began once more to move.

A/N: I promise the plot's going to move a little further in the next chapter. And it's all setting up for the rest of the story. . Review and make my day!

Yrch - "Orc(s)". Unless I am mistaken...xX