Nightfall Without a Star
Disclaimer: I do not own The Silmarillion, Beleg Strongbow, or any of Tolkien's characters that are mentioned in this story. He created Middle Earth, I'm just playing in it.
Chapter One: Captive
The girl closed her eyes against the loathsome visions that confronted her and strained against her bonds until they cut into her flesh and tears trailed from her eyes. It was growing late and the shadows were growing longer as the afternoon wore toward evening.
The Gaurwaith kept their captive bound in the center of their encampment, surrounded by tents ringing with cruel laughter, just beyond the warmth of nearby fires. Snow had begun to fall and the girl was shivering uncontrollably. Bound hand and foot to a pole in a shelterless clearing, she stood like this for an hour, awaiting her fate.
"Bronweg, you wretch, come out and face me!" she screamed. The camp around her was silent for a long moment then the flap of the nearest tent was thrown back to reveal a tall, grim figure clad in dark green.
Bronweg, chieftain of the outlaw band, swaggered up to his captive, grinning wickedly. "Decided you would like to warm my bed, have you?"
The maiden's mild green eyes blazed with sudden hatred. "You'll get no so pleasure from me, Blackheart."
"You would rather die of the cold?" the marauder admonished.
"I would," the girl replied simply.
"What a pity…" Bronweg said, his voice dripping with mock sorrow. With that, he turned to leave.
"You'll pay for this!" she yelled after him. "When my father finds -"
Bronweg turned on her suddenly, striking her across the face. "When your father finds you," he snarled, "you'll be nothing but a corpse."
Backing away suddenly, he yelled to his companion. "Cut her down and bring her inside."
Yanking her roughly from the pole, two of Bronweg's companions attempted to drag the kicking, screaming maiden inside the largest tent. All that had been docile and meek turned savage as the girl fought for her life. The girl clawed at their faces and drew blood from the hand that tried to muffle her screams. Groping for something, anything that she could use to fend them off, the girl's hands soon found the hilt of a small knife that dangled from her captor's belt. She snatched it from the sheath and buried it in the forearm of the man whose grip tightest. There was a howl of rage; blood sprayed from the wound and the man released her. Swinging savagely at the man who still clutched her feet, the girl found herself free. She didn't wait, but bolted into the darkening forest like a hunted rabbit.