Chapter contains: recap of the first seven episodes of Season 1, offscreen character death, angst, minor character death, canon-typical violence, Troll eating habits (if you've seen The Hobbit you know what I mean)

Word count: 5,513

"Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Then world behind and home ahead"

It had been two weeks since they had started moving.

Two weeks since Commander Galadriel of the Northern Armies, who had arrived with salvation in the form of so many Númenórean soldiers and Halbrand, their long-lost king, rode away with said king, who was on the brink of death. Two weeks since the Númenórean Queen Regent Tar-Míriel had sailed with the majority of her soldiers, including Captain Elendil and Lieutenant Valandil, leaving behind only one garrison to assist the Southlanders and recover their own missing. Two weeks since they had set out for Pelargir.

Every single Númenórean and Southlander felt the ache of those past two weeks in their bones, their legs, their feet, in every fiber of their beings, in their very souls. Arondir belonged to neither group, but even as an Elf with higher stamina he still found himself wearied by the trek. The ash cloud from Orodruin's eruption had stirred up something in the air, and for much of the journey the sky had been grey and gloomy with a heavy layer of clouds that blotted out Arien, Tilion, and even Varda's stars alike. For the majority of the road thus far, sometimes a strong enough east wind had carried with it the foul, sulfuric stench brought on by the mountain that had spit fire-rock, even though they had long since cleared the smoke.

The group had largely fallen in behind Arondir, letting him lead in nearly every way. If he wasn't around, the Southlanders deferred to Bronwyn and the Númenóreans deferred to their garrison's leader, Norothgraw. Usually the three of them collaborated on things that affected all of them, such as food sources, medical supplies and care, and guard duty. Mercifully, there had been no conflict or strife between the three of them, and Norothgraw's sister and second-in-command, Laerhith, got along with Bronwyn rather well.

Theo worried him, however. Commander Galadriel had given the lad her sword, an incredible gift, and he had only (to Arondir's knowledge) let go of it exactly once- and that was when he allowed Arondir himself to look it over very briefly. He clung to that blade like a lifeline, as if he could draw from it the very strength he had proclaimed for the Southlands as he raised that same sword in the air as Galadriel and Halbrand rode away. No one had the heart to try to take it from him, not when he carried himself higher and behaved himself better with the incredible weapon on his person.

Arondir himself had no horse, preferring to either lead Bronwyn's by the reins or, when speed was necessary, ride on it with her. Theo had his own horse, and for safety's sake he was made to ride it behind his mother rather than beside. Norothgraw and Laerhith on their mounts rode either side of Bronwyn. The wounded, women, and children all had their own horses, sometimes two or even three on one horse (often one or two young children were placed with each other or a parent), and a few soldiers did also for tactical reasons. However, most of the Númenóreans had volunteered to give up their horses for the Southlanders, meaning most of the foreign soldiers walked, although the horses not ridden by women and children had a rotation of men who took turns riding them, for fairness' sake.

"Captain Arondir." Norothgraw's voice called out, and the Elf turned to look at him. "There seems to be a clearing up ahead. Should we rest there for the night? It is growing dark."

Arondir looked back ahead, his advanced Elven sight showing him far more than the Númenórean could see. There was indeed a small clearing ahead, and from what he could tell through the trees it seemed empty. However, he would need a closer look before deeming it a safe place to rest for the night.

"I shall go ahead and see." He announced. With a soft, almost nonexistent tug on the reins in his hand, Bronwyn's horse- Tallagor- stopped, and Norothgraw and Laerhith signaled the caravan behind them to stop also.

Arondir walked forward alone, the familiar shape of his bow fitted into his palm a comforting feeling. He did not draw an arrow, as at the moment there was no sign of any danger, but he knew better than to assume that it was completely safe without having first checked it.

Arondir walked into the middle of the clearing, standing at approximately the center of the long-grassed ground. He turned slowly in a full circle, scanning deep into the woods, stretching his capability of sight to the furthest limits. There was no sign of anything foul or unkind, nor even much sign of life. Closing his eyes, he turned again, this time straining his ears much as he had his eyes. Again, there was nothing he could detect that seemed unsafe. Opening his eyes again, he walked back and forth across the clearing, treading carefully and featherlight, scanning the ground for tracks. He could find none that did not appear to be caused by deer or other animals that would normally pass through.

So at last, he returned to the group, anxiously awaiting his verdict. "It appears suitable." He reported. "We will camp here tonight."

Norothgraw signaled, and the group moved forward again into the clearing. As usual, the Númenóreans arranged a ring of tents that housed soldiers at the exterior, forming a perimeter, and the healing tent was placed close to the middle. On one side, just outside the outer ring, the two stable-sweeps that had remained behind put posts into the ground and strung up rope between them, herding and leading the horses into the makeshift paddock. Tack was stored in a small nearby tent where the stable-sweeps slept, along with one soldier.

They had very few cots or beds, and every one had been given to the wounded, the elderly, or the one woman who was with child. They had been offered to Arondir, Bronwyn, and Norothgraw, but all three had immediately turned them down to be given to others instead. Instead they had sleeping-mats, or for many, merely a few blankets to rest on at night. But every one slept in a tent, which was something.

Arondir, Bronwyn, and Theo shared one small tent, and there were only two sleeping-mats between them. Theo had one of his own, where he slept on his side with Galadriel's sword held close to his front and the single bag of his only belongings at his feet. Bronwyn went to bed very late at night and got up very early in the morning to tend to the wounded, checking that they had not gotten worse during the trek or during the night. Also, Arondir would take a guard shift as soon as Bronwyn went to bed, but once he retired there were a few short hours between his shift ending and her getting up before dawn that they were both abed at the same time. In those hours they shared a sleeping-mat, with her head on his chest and his arms around her, their legs sometimes intertwined. Neither of them had spoken about it in any fashion; after all, they were in the habit of saying what they wished to in any way- and in every way- but words.

Mercifully, neither Theo nor anyone else had seen them, and if they had, they had not said anything to them about it. Theo would understand, but he would tease Bronwyn about it, and the little brat (as she had once affectionately called him) could be relentless. And not at all subtle.

The three of them began settling in for the night. While Bronwyn and Theo laid out the sleeping-mats and blankets and placed their meager possessions inside the tent, Arondir brought Tallagor and Lothroch, Theo's horse, to where the rest were being kept. He removed and cleaned their tack and groomed both horses before turning to leave.

However, he found Laerhith there with an anxious expression on her face. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"

"Well, Captain Arondir, I've spoken with my brother, and I'm afraid we're running low on food. There is enough for tonight, and breakfast tomorrow, but after that we will not be able to feed even half of us. We have cut rations to as small as we dare, but doing so will not get us any farther. Did you see any sign of deer, or fowl that we might hunt?"

Arondir nodded. "Yes, some. I could hunt now and collect any berries or fruit I can find. If I had others with me, we could gather more, but it is not safe to leave the group. I cannot ask it of anyone."

Laerhith nodded in understanding. "I have some skill with a bow; I will come with you. I will ask a few who I think might be willing, but I will not command anyone."

Arondir nodded his assent, and they departed away from each other. The Elf went to his tent, where he found Bronwyn and Theo as he presumed he would. "I must go out." He told them- her, mainly- in a low voice.

"Whatever for?" Bronwyn queried, immediately concerned.

He hesitated. Checking outside the tent-flap to see if anyone lurked close nearby, he dropped his voice even more. "This must remain our secret. Only Laerhith and Northgraw know that I am sure of." He waited until they had nodding their understanding and agreement, both of them wearing serious faces. "We are nearly out of food. The midday meal tomorrow will not feed even half the camp. Laerhith and I are leaving soon to hunt, and she may have a few others with her. I hope to return before first light, that we may add to the food stored without anyone else knowing how low they run."

Bronwyn's dark eyes were wide with concern. "Is it truly that bad?"

Arondir nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so." He retrieved his quiver and bow, which he had left in the tent to deal with the horses, and made to leave the tent.

"Wait." Bronwyn stopped him with her voice. He turned back curiously and watched as she tied her berry-red cloak back on and emptied a satchel. "I'm coming with you. I know my share of plants and even mushrooms; I can gather."

Arondir hesitated, not wanting to lead her away from the safety of the camp. But when she slid the sheath of one of his Elven blades by the belt-loop onto a strip of fabric like what she used in her hair and promptly tied that strip tightly around her waist, he knew it was an argument he would not win. With a sigh, he dipped his head in a nod of assent. "Very well."

"I want to come too." Theo spoke up.

"No." Arondir and Bronwyn refused in unison.

"But Mother-"

"Stay here and rest." She cut him off gently. "You are more weary than you care to admit, and you do not know how to hunt or gather as Arondir and I do. Rest. We will be back as soon as we can."

The two left before he could give them any proper argument. Bronwyn and Arondir waited in the treeline on the other side of the poor excuse for a paddock. Laerhith met them there about half an hour after she had first spoken to Arondir, with four men in tow. Three were Númenórean and the other was from another Southland village. Laerhith frowned slightly upon seeing Bronwyn, but wisely said nothing. "We are ready to leave." She declared. "This is Daelum, Barathûl, Bruialagos, and Amlodd."

Only Bruialagos was without a bow, but he carried a large, empty satchel, and had two large blades strapped to his waist. It could be assumed that he had a good knowledge of plants, which would be an important supplement to their diet.

Arondir nodded at the group, then turned and led them into the forest. They walked deep into the surrounding woods, every one of Arondir's steps measured and sure, yet so light they were silent. The others did their best to tread carefully, avoiding sticks and dead leaves that would crack and crunch, or puddles and miry mud that would splash and squelch, but they couldn't be as eerily silent as the Ellon seemed to be so effortlessly.

Arondir held up an arm to stop them after a while, and the group immediately froze in place. Hands went to arrows and blade-hilts, and Arondir alone walked forward with slow strides before pausing again.

After a few moments, a single tawny deer stepped out from behind a tree, its wide set of antlers showing that it was a stag, a buck. Round dark eyes seemed not to notice them as a grey and pink nose twitched, scenting the air. His head lowered, and he began to graze at the grass of the forest floor.

Bronwyn watched as Arondir drew and nocked an arrow and drew it back with the string all in one swift and fluid yet near-silent motion. She had unfortunately seen him shoot Orcs- and what they had both thought were Orcs- during that dreadful siege of Tirharad, and a few days earlier when he had saved Theo from the onslaught of Orcs as they fled back to Ostirith. But she had never seen it up close or seen him hunt.

She watched as he held himself quite still, the arrow not even quivering in the slightest, before letting it fly with a low thwacking noise. The arrowhead passed through the buck's eye and emerged out the other, killing the deer cleanly. The animal dropped to the ground, and the group collectively relaxed, no longer needing to be so silent or still to avoid scaring their prey.

Arondir knelt at the buck's side, removing the arrow, and placed a hand on the deer's neck as he closed his eyes. He murmured in Elvish under his breath, words Bronwyn couldn't understand, but from what Laerhith could glean from it he was asking Oromë to send more stags and beasts of the forest to feed them, as well as apologizing to the stag and thanking it for feeding them.

They gutted the deer right there, and Laerhith and Bruialagos dug a pit to bury the organs to avoid attracting predators. Once the deer was field-dressed and its meat was wrapped securely in its hide, they moved on again, with Daelum carrying their bounty.

They went on to collect a satchel's worth of berries and mushrooms and a meager amount of fruit, and two more deer were shot, along with a single rabbit and squirrel.

They returned to the encampment an hour and a half before dawn, and almost immediately Arondir sensed that something was off. It was quiet- too quiet, far quieter than it should've been even at this dead hour. Arondir tried to brush it off, sure he was sensing trouble where none existed.

"Where did the horses go?" Laerhith asked abruptly.

The group stopped as one and turned to look at the paddock. There were still several horses, but a noticeable number had gone missing.

Arondir frowned. There was no reason to have taken horses out of the paddock, and even if one person had chosen to let his or her horse out, that didn't explain the others being missing.

Warily, the group pressed onward, into the actual camp. Several tents had been damaged- flipped over, crushed as though trampled from above, torn from their stakes and apparently dragged, and so forth. There was no sign of human life.

The deeper they moved into the encampment, the worse their mutual feeling of dread became. They searched the remnants of every overturned and wrecked tent, but could find no one. A sleeping-mat lay half in a fire; Bronwyn hastened to drag it out and stamp out the flames, scooping loose dirt onto it to be sure that it was out.

Something in the waning firelight caught the healer's attention, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Deeply concerned, Arondir moved to her side, and followed the path of her gaze with his own. Dread coiled in his gut when he saw exactly what it was that had elicited such a reaction from her: Theo's sword, and no Theo to go with it.

"He never lets go of it." Bronwyn breathed. "Never. If someone or something came into the camp and attacked, he would've kept it with him."

Arondir stood, gently but firmly bringing the healer to her feet. "Search the rest of the camp. See if you can find anyone or any sign of what caused this." He directed the others.

The four split up, and Laerhith called her brother's name with increasing distress. They turned over every tent-cloth they could find, searching for anything- a clue, a Man or Woman asleep, a dead body. Yet again and again, nothing. With every failure to produce anything, their worry grew. At this point, even some poor dead soul would be almost welcome, as it would be something rather than nothing.

"Captain Arondir." Bruialagos called, and the Elf and his human companion turned to find the Man's face grim. "Amlodd, he-" the Númenórean's voice failed him. "Come and see."

They followed him back to where he had left the Southlander and were met with the sad sight of two bodies. One man and one woman together, a heavy tent support across their corpses, which were still partly covered by tent fabric.

"Oh no." Bronwyn breathed sadly. She crouched beside them, brushing hair away from their faces. "I know them- Owein and Melerei. They came from a village north of Tirharad. They-" The words caught in her dry throat, and when she was able to force the rest of the sentence out, it came rushed and jumbled. "They were the only ones of their village that came to Ostirith and did not go with Waldreg."

They had stayed loyal and true to their own people, and they had died for nothing, it seemed. And slain by an unknown foe that had killed and taken all others, unless some had managed to flee and save themselves.

Arondir bowed his head. Loyalty should not be repaid with a death without honor, yet that was what had befallen the husband and wife. He murmured for a moment under his breath: "Let find they peace after death."

"Captain Arondir!" The breathless and frantic voice of Laerhith interrupted them, and the blonde appeared with pale hair wild around her frantic face. "I found something- come."

She led the way across the camp and pointed at a damp patch of earth, where water from washbasins had been dumped. In the mud was a wide round imprint, as if a giant log had been stamped down and removed. Frowning, Arondir crouched at its rim to better inspect it.

"Whatever made this track is taller than a house." The Elf mused. "How could I have not heard it?"

"Perhaps it was silent, whatever it was." Bronwyn offered. "But what could do such a thing?"

Their answer came from another source before Arondir could give any sort of answer. A great hulking figure emerged from the trees, a vaguely person-shaped beast with thick leathery gray skin and a ratty loincloth. Its face was disturbingly human-like, and it (he?) muttered to himself (itself?) in a high-pitched and whiny voice.

"It's always bloody me who's got to go nag-picking. Rob can't get off his fat arse once in a while, oh no, always got to be me."

The group exchanged confused looks and found Arondir's mouth in a hard line. "Trolls." He breathed in disgust, just loud enough for them to hear.

Concealed behind the remnants of a tent, they watched as the Troll picked up two more horses by their bellies and stomped back into the woods. Once he had disappeared from sight, Arondir stood, nocking an arrow. "Stay here. I will follow and free their prisoners."

"So that thing took my son?" Bronwyn pressed.

He nodded. "Yes, but there is more than one, it seems."

"I'm coming with you."

He shook his head. "No, Bronwyn. I cannot let you, any of you, follow me into such danger. I can move more quietly and hide more easily if I am alone."

Bronwyn wanted to argue, to insist upon coming along, but she knew that she could not win that argument. Letting out a harsh breath through her nose, she nodded once. "Be careful. Come back." 'To me' went unsaid.

Arondir took her hand in his for a moment. "I will."

Wishing so much it hurt that he could stay with her, he let his hand fall from hers and took Theo's sword from her other one. He turned away, following the Troll's obvious path.

At the end of the path, he found an unsettling sight. Two Trolls had a roaring fire going, and a spit slowly turning over it. A horse and several people were tied to the spit, and from what Arondir could tell they were all still alive. Nearby, a makeshift paddock had been constructed out of rope and trees- some standing, some not- and horses and people alike were trapped inside. Many of the prisoners looked injured; some lay on the ground, others held arms to their chests, others were clearly bleeding. Most appeared tied to each other, a horse, or part of the paddock.

Keeping himself veiled by the trees, Arondir made his way over to the captives, leaning his bow against a tree that formed part of their prison and drawing a knife instead.

One of the prisoners inside- a Númenórean woman whose name he believed to be Curuglaer- spotted him and rose to her feet, moving toward him with a hopeful face. Her mouth opened- whether to speak or to shout, he didn't know. He brought a finger to his lips to silence her before she could make a sound that might expose him. Understanding flashed across her face and she nodded, closing her mouth.

"Captain Arondir." She spoke in a hushed voice as she met him at the corner of their prison. "Are you alone?"

"I came alone, yes." He replied. "But those that left with me are alive."

"Laerhith?" Norothgraw inquired of his sister, leaning into view with a face purpling from bruises.

A familiar boy pushed to the front, and an indescribable relief washed through Arondir's being at the sight of Theo. "And my mother?"

Arondir nodded and watched the same relief he had just felt flood their faces. "Yes, they are well. From Númenor, Barathûl, Bruialagos, and Daelum I know are alive and safe, and Amlodd of the Southlands is with them." He scanned the prison of rope and trees and frowned. "Where is the rest of the encampment?"

Norothgraw's face grew dark, but he didn't answer. Curuglaer did instead. "I know some fled, but not how many. Others… Others are already dead. These beasts have great appetites." Her tone was venomous, and she gestured at the human-laden spit with her head. "That's the second set of us they've put on that spit."

Arondir's heart seemed as a heavy stone in his chest, sinking painfully and dragging his lungs down with it. How many more would die on his watch?

After a moment, he drew in a breath that smelled like campfire and pine and sweat and nodded again. He drew one of his blades and placed it against the thick ropes wrapped and knotted many times around one of the trees and began to drag it back and forth heavily, carving his way through it. "When I have opened this side, slip out one at a time and make your way as swiftly back to camp as you can. Remain in the trees until you reach the path they made from the camp to here."

"Will they not see us?" Curuglaer queried worriedly.

"I shall distract them."

A few moments later, the rope was severed, and the Elf quickly untangled its remnants from around the bole of the tree. Casting them aside, there was now a narrow gap between two trees that the prisoners could escape through. Arondir stepped into the makeshift prison, standing aside to allow the others to pass. "Go. Make haste."

Curuglaer and Norothgraw exchanged looks, then the former took a girl about Theo's age by the hand and led her out. Swiftly, one by one the Southlanders and Númenóreans fled their prison.

Arondir made his way through the desperate press of terrified people to the opposite end of their stockade, passing Theo's sword to him as he went. Drawing an arrow, his eyes found the giant spoon/ladle on the Trolls' pot, balanced across the top. Taking careful aim, he let the arrow fly, and upon the impact of meeting its mark perfectly, it drove the spoon back so far that one end dropped into whatever foul concoction they had designed.

The resulting splash drew the attention of both pigheaded beasts, diverting their focus to the opposite direction of their fleeing prisoners. "What's 'at?" Rob demanded.

The other looked offended, if that was possible. "'ow should I know?"

"Well go check it out then, Bill."

'Bill' stomped toward the kettle and picked up the spoon, then reached into the pot and retrieved the broken arrow. "Someone's been shootin' at our food!"

"Who would do 'at?"

Rob looked around, and his large eyes lighted on Arondir. "'im!"

Bill's eyes traveled the clearing and pointed at the trees. "Look, the food's gettin' away!"

At this realization, the prisoners broke into a panicking frenzy and began screaming, trampling one another in a desperate and selfish bid to escape heedless of those around them. Of the children of Men, only Norothgraw and Theo remained somewhat calm, moving to the Elf's side. Arondir swiftly drew another arrow and launched it at Rob, landing in the thick hide of his chest.

The Troll ripped it out and threw it down. "Never 'ad Elf before." He commented. "Might taste good. Only one way to find out." The Troll stomped forward, massive feet stamping craters into the ground, barrel-like legs plowing through brush.

Rob let out an unexpected howling scream of pain and sidestepped away from the bushes, dragging with him Bronwyn, who was on her side and holding the blade she had borrowed from Arondir, which was embedded to nearly the hilt under the Troll's toenail. Pride swelled in Arondir's chest at her cleverness and bravery, then with his heart seemed to drop into his stomach with dread.

"Oi, what's this?" Bill demanded, scooping up Bronwyn with one hand in a tight grasp that pinned her arms uselessly to her sides.

"Mother!" Theo shouted, rushing forward with his sword before Arondir could stop him. The boy first slashed the inside of Bill's ankle, then drove the sword into the instep of the same foot.

"Oi, tha' 'urts!" Bill complained. He kicked at Theo, who stumbled backward to avoid the monstrous foot, and in doing so mindlessly let the arm holding Bronwyn drop low. Arondir saw his chance and dove for his bow, snatching it off the ground and bringing himself onto his knees as his free hand reached back for an arrow. Drawing it quickly, he aimed carefully and let it fly, sending it into the knuckles of Bill's meaty hand. The Troll yelped and Arondir shot another arrow into the next knuckle over.

Theo looked over at the Elf and realization crossed over his youthful face. His eyes met Arondir's and he nodded, a movement echoed by the Elf. Theo turned to swipe his blade across the open palm of Rob's hand reaching down to grab at him, then ran forward toward his mother. He threw his sword in Norothgraw's direction, surprising Arondir but not compromising his next shot, and spread his arms wide.

As planned, Bill was finally forced to drop Bronwyn, and Theo caught her as best he could- even though the weight of her dropping from as high up as she was completely brought him to the ground.

"You little weasel." Sneered Bill, tearing the arrows off his hand and casting them away. "I'll eat ye raw for tha'."

Groaning and struggling to recover his breath as it had been knocked out of him, Theo wrapped his arms around his mother, who was also struggling for breath, and weakly tried to scoot them backward across the dirt away from the murderous Troll.

A barrage of arrows erupted from the same part of the woods Bronwyn had come from, raining down on the Trolls with minimal effect, though it was an effect nonetheless. Bill and Rob yelped, the latter having a rare moment of intelligence and shielding his face with a log-like arm.

"The trees be spittin' sticks at us!" He cried.

That was more like it.

Amlodd, Barathûl, Daelum, and Laerhith emerged from the trees, wielding their bows as they continued to fire on the Trolls. Northgraw saw his opening and took a chance, rushing forward with Theo's sword held aloft. He grabbed Bronwyn's arm and pulled her to her feet, giving Theo the opportunity to drag himself upright. The mother and son stumbled away to Arondir, to safety, as Norothgraw hacked at the back of Rob's ankle for a few moments before retreating himself, limping heavily.

Unfortunately, the archers' arrows were terribly finite in number, and after another few moments, the wooden sounds of firing ceased, leaving a dead silence. "This is… not good." Amlodd said after a moment, sounding surprisingly calm.

That seemed to spur the Trolls into action, and an enraged Bill stomped toward where the archers stood, snarling. Arondir reached back for an arrow, moving to stand in front of Bronwyn and Theo, but something unexpected happened before he could get a shot off.

Bruialagos burst from the opposite side of the Troll camp, a lance in his grasp, and with a shout thrust the business end of the lance into the middle of Bill's behind. It sunk in unnervingly deep, bringing an unfortunate amount of the Troll's loincloth with it.

Wailing, Bill fell forward onto his front, groping at his own rear as he tried to remove the weapon, and Bruialagos staggered away, looking very frightened without a weapon. Rob rounded on him with a sneer on his ugly face, and the Númenórean stumbled backward, his leaf-green eyes wide with terror.

The others could only watch helplessly in horror and scream the Númenórean's name as Rob swiped a meaty hand that bled from the knuckles forward, grabbing the man tightly enough to produce the horrifying sound of cracking bones before flinging him away. Bruialagos struck a tree and hit the ground, and he did not move again, his unseeing eyes open but still.

He was dead.

Those that remained were much grieved, sorrow wrenching their hearts. They had lost so many already, and Bruialagos had been a hero for the last few moments of his life. That would not be forgotten- nor, they all silently decided at once- would it be in vain.

The archers that had come with Bronwyn and Bruialagos fled toward the few left in the stockade, the front barrier of which Arondir was quickly destroying to give them more places to run through. Laerhith somersaulted forward and pulled Arondir's knife out of Rob's foot, dodging his hand as she swiftly escaped. The Númenórean woman held the weapon out to Bronwyn, not waiting for the Southlander to take it before pulling her brother to her in a crushing embrace.

Then, the group turned slowly to face the two Trolls prowling toward them. Arondir raised his bow again, drawing the arrow and string back. A few feet away, Theo hefted his Elven sword, keeping its hilt in a firm two-handed grip. Bronwyn warily raised her knife as Laerhith gave one of her own to her brother, and between Arondir and the others that had come with the women, the entire group was armed, though meagerly.

"Ye think yer wee blades will 'urt us?" Bill sneered.

They knew in their hearts that they could not possibly hope to kill both beast, though they were determined to try. Yet as the Trolls stepped dangerously closer, the tide turned.

A horn, loud as the roar of a Dragon and clear as the song of Tinúviel, rang out, bringing all movement to a halt. Hope soared in Arondir's chest.

"What was that?" Bronwyn whispered.

"An Elvish horn." Murmured Arondir.

And like leaves with the golden rays of Arien gleaming on them being carried on the wind, an Elven army poured into the Troll camp through the path they had made. The horn bellowed again, the sound of hope and victory, and firelight flashed on the armor and blades of their salvation.

The title of this chapter, and the opening verse of song, are from Tolkien's 'A Walking Song', the origin of some of the lines from 'Edge of Night' aka Pippin's song. I thought it suited the journey of the Southlanders leaving their homes and going down dark and dangerous paths to find a new home in the world most have never traveled into before.

I'm not sure if Arondir is technically a Captain, but in stories I've been reading he is referred to by that rank, so I applied it to this one. If I'm wrong I apologize.

A lot of Númenórean and horse names are taken from or inspired by , although some I came up with on my own, such as 'Lothroch', which means 'white horse' in Sindarin. Most names will be Sindarin, as according to , Númenórean names were heavily Sindarin.

Norothgraw – strong bear

Laerhith – summer mist

Daelum – shade/shadow

Barathûl – eager spirit

Bruialagos – strong windstorm

Curuglaer – direct translation 'skill song', but a looser meaning would be 'skilled at song/singing'

Amlodd is a Celtic Welsh name, and I chose to go down that route as Bronwyn is a form of 'Branwen', a Welsh name. Most other Southlander names will be Celtic Welsh or variations and I don't know what they mean.

What Arondir says over the crushed couple's bodies is supposedly what Legolas says when he thinks Merry and Pippin are dead. I had to do some research and there's a lot of brackets in what I found, so I'm not 100% sure if it's really that, but it seems reasonable.

The trolls' behavior and habits is heavily inspired by the encounter in Peter Jackson's adaptation of The Hobbit. I had thrown in trolls just to mix it up a bit, but went to canon/canon-adjacent material once I had decided to do it.