Trigger warnings: Language because Asgarsîr is a serious pottymouth when he's angry. As is Thoronmîr.
Oh, and there's mentions of torture… and blood.
Happy reading, y'all.
"Courage… what a fickle thing." Dînaerlinn lamented to herself as she walked quickly through the woods, with Brennil in tow, her heterochromic eyes darting around, searching for any sort of danger, the recent news and red sunrise making her feel uneasy.
The sooner she got Brennil to the safety of Alquawen's talan, the better.
"It's something that's always there, but then as soon as you need it… poof! It's gone, blast it all!"
"Nana? Nana, wait! I can't keep up!" Brennil yelped as she stumbled.
Dînaerlinn stopped, coming to the realization that she'd been speedwalking.
"I'm sorry, iel. Here, climb up." she offered, stooping down to make it easier for her daughter to get on her back. They continued onwards through the woods, Brennil resting her head on her mother's shoulder.
"I can't help but now wish that Grandfather Sîrgon And Grandmother Arfae hadn't chosen such a secluded spot to build their home." she thought to herself, the quiet location, having once been a saving grace for her anxious mind, now a massive burden.
She'd never thought there'd ever be a situation where being closer to the village would be a better option in the name of safety.
A loud rustling in the trees caught her attention, making her freeze in place.
"Nana?…" Brennil whispered, fear in her voice.
"Shh," she murmured, looking around her cautiously, her eyes scanning the trees carefully.
A red and gray ball of fuzz flew out of the treetops, landing on her shoulder, causing her to gasp.
"Oh… it's only you." Dînaerlinn sighed in relief, seeing it was just Chatter. "Very well, then, I'll carry the both of you." She murmured as the squirrel settled down atop her head.
She kept walking as quickly as she could, going up the nearest rope bridge, leading from the ground to the trees above, as soon as she reached the village.
"Mornar? Mornar, wake up!" Beleg hissed, quickly strapping his quiver and bow to his person, having quickly gotten dressed and ready upon seeing the figures approaching. "Mornar!"
His companion did nothing more than mutter something unintelligible in his sleep, gripping his sword tighter.
"Al, I think you might have given him sleeping potions that were too strong for his own good…" he thought at his sister, not knowing if she was even awake. "He's practically out cold!... good grief, for an ellon who doesn't sleep much, it would probably take an oliphaunt to wake him up at this point!"
"I'm sorry." he murmured to his friend, before flipping the mattress over in a quick motion, sending the Nargothrondian tumbling to the floor with a yelp.
"Oi! What was-"
"Oh, shut up and get dressed! We have to get to the courtyard! Now!"
Mornar rushed to the window, looking outside at the red sky, and people gathered in the courtyard. He stared, speechless, and although he had no way of being certain, he couldn't shake the feeling that his worst fears about their situation had become a reality.
"Beleg, what is it?" Alquawen mumbled, having quickly gotten dressed after hearing the commotion, even though she was still half asleep, her silver hair still tangled.
"I don't know, but it's not good."
"What do you mean?" she tried to ask, but her brother was already gone, running down to the courtyard, and Mornar came flying out of the spare room only a second later, nearly crashing into her.
"What's going on?!" she cried in exasperation, trying to wrap her mind around whatever had happened. Mornar paused, trying to put it all into words.
"Only one way to find out." he finally said, unsure of how else to put it, offering her his hand.
She accepted, and they darted out the door, past Dînaerlinn, who only then realized that there were people approaching Pessmenel when she looked down the road as they passed her.
"Bren, I need you to stay here."
"But-"
"Listen, meleth, I'm not sure what's going on, so I just want you to be safe. It's alright, iel, Chatter will stay here with you, so you won't be alone."
She set Brennil down, who immediately hugged her, her tiny body shaking.
"Naneth, I'm scared…"
"Oh, meleth… don't be frightened. Your faith will always prove itself to be stronger than your fear." she murmured, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Just stay put, alright?"
Dînaerlinn rushed across the bridges, leaping down from the bridge closest to the courtyard, somersaulting into the fall and getting up again in a singular fluid motion. She raced over, her small feet a blur.
Her breath hitched as she caught sight of General Caranmîrion ordering his men to draw their weapons.
She forced her way through the crowd, finding herself in between Alquawen and Niphredil.
"Linn, what's happening?" Niphredil asked, praying that her friend would have some sort of answer thanks to her military position.
"I'm not sure." She replied, brandishing her crossbows. "Grab one of my knives just in case though. You too, Al."
The ellith did as they were told, the knife, which was a decent sized dagger to Dînaerlinn, practically a letter opener to Niphredil, who was rather tall for an elleth.
Alquawen watched the approaching figures intently, gripping her borrowed knife tightly.
"The one in the middle, he's wounded." Mornar murmured to her quietly, his sword held in front of him, pointing at the ground.
Sure enough, the figure in the center was stumbling.
"Perhaps they're seeking assistance?" Alquawen replied, praying that was the case.
"Doubt it. The other two aren't even helping him."
"The one on the right just shoved him." Beleg whispered, his bowstring taut as his brow furrowed. "Daecrist, what do you think?"
The carpenter grimaced.
"I'm not entirely sure what to think, to tell you the truth, but I can safely say that whoever they are, they aren't friendly." he muttered, keeping his bow trained on the ground. Eleithel nodded in agreement, her knives at the ready.
"Aye. I don't like the look of this lot."
Dînaerlinn watched them approaching, holding onto her crossbows so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She squinted, trying to see the figures through the sun in her eyes.
Her mouth went dry.
The silhouette in the center looked all too familiar.
"No…" she whispered, hot tears pricking her eyes. "After all the cruel tricks you've played on me… Eru, why this?"
Alquawen gaped in horror as the edain walked straight into the courtyard, forcing their prisoner to the ground.
Fernthîr shuddered, his eyes wide.
Blood trickled down his muscular frame, mingling with his sweat and tears.
Until last night, he had no idea that the horrors he'd suffered even existed.
"State your name and business!" Thornonmîr growled, not even bothering to give even the slightest glance at the wounded half-blood.
"We are merely a nameless tribe, elf, but we have reason to be feared." The larger of the two men growled in reply as his counterpart grabbed Fernthîr by the scruff, forcing him to look up.
He furiously tried to blink back his tears.
He might not have been a full blooded elf, but he still had the pride of one.
He suddenly noticed a familiar face in the crowd, Dînaerlinn, the elleth who'd practically raised him. Tears of grief and rage were slowly traveling down her cheeks. Her teeth grinding together in hatred. Her hands shaking as she pointed her crossbows at both men, her fingers dangerously close to pulling the triggers.
He'd never seen her like this.
It was only then that he truly realized just what lengths Dînaerlinn was willing to go to.
Dînaerlinn looked on in silence, feeling a mixture of sadness and unspeakable fury, and not knowing which emotion to respond to.
She wanted to cry, to vent her frustrations and pain to the heavens, yet she also wanted nothing more than to put a bolt in each of the edain's throats, but not before making them pay for what they'd done.
It was an ongoing battle, the rational side of her screaming that if she killed them, she'd lose her position in the military, thus losing her ability to care for her daughter and Fernthîr, and the emotional, seemingly bloodthirsty side of her, wanting to watch Fernthîr's tormentor suffer. Lusting for their blood.
But then… then there was the motherly side.
Which told her to drop her weapons, run forward, and give him as much comfort as she could before she died alongside him.
Alquawen watched nervously, placing a hand on Dînaerlinn's shoulder in an attempt to calm her.
If the Captain did anything rash, she would be putting herself and Fernthîr at risk.
She couldn't blame Dînaerlinn for her feelings however.
Fernthîr's condition was sparking anger in her own heart as well. A deep gash on his temple was bleeding profusely, coating the right side of his face in blood. He was covered in a multitude of injuries, varying from whip cuts, to bruises, to burns, and even to stab wounds.
They'd even pulled one of his fangs.
"We caught this… thing in the woods, and had some fun with it to try and gain any information. However, it wouldn't say anything… I'm surprised it didn't crack, we played a little rougher than usual." the man, who'd had his knife at Fernthîr's throat, dragged it up, creating a thin red line up the half-blood's neck, before intentionally slicing his jaw in a swift movement, causing Fernthîr to jump in surprise at the sudden pain and motion.
"That thing isn't one of ours." Thoronmîr snapped. "As far as I'm concerned, you can throw whatever the hell that is back where you found it. We don't want-"
"Fernthîr!" Dînaerlinn shouted angrily, becoming sick of hearing him called 'it' and 'that'. "His name is Fernthîr, and he is worth no less than any of us!"
A slow smirk crossed the man's face as Dînaerlinn suddenly realized the position she'd accidentally put herself in.
"Well, it would appear that this 'Fernthîr' has a friend here after all. And a pretty one at that."
She shifted backwards uncomfortably, but still kept her crossbows trained on him as he approached.
"What can you tell us, love?"
"Nothing you'd be interested in." Asgarsîr growled, stepping forward as he rested the tip of his crossbow against the man's head. "Get back before I pull the trigger."
"Your girlfriend, elf?" came the snarky reply.
"What's it to you?" he spat as he walked around the man, getting in front of Dînaerlinn, his crossbow trained directly between his opponent's eyes. "Fuck off. I'm not playing around, asshole."
"Stand down, Lieutenant." Thoronmîr growled, giving him a glare. "And you, sir, back off. Now, what do you want from us? You failed to mention that."
"We want your surrender. There's a lot more of us than you think, and if we don't get your surrender within twelve hours, our commander will order an attack, and we will not hold back. To us, it doesn't matter who falls to our swords, men, women, children, it's all the same to us. What say you? Will you spare your people, elf?"
Thoronmîr bit his lip, silently judging the men.
They were armed, and although their weapons were poor quality, they still had the ability to deal quite a bit of damage, particularly if their numbers were great.
He and Daecrist locked eyes.
Although they were rivals, they had a common enemy, and were willing to put aside their differences to solve the problems that faced them. At least for a little while.
"Not on your life. We're more than willing to give you and your commander an attitude adjustment. Now, as the Lieutenant said: fuck off."
The man gave a wide smirk.
"Twelve hours before all of you die then, and he's first to go."
The adan holding Fernthîr suddenly drew a dagger, burying it up to the hilt in the half-blood's side, causing Dînaerlinn and Alquawen to shriek as Fernthîr crumpled to the ground like a rag doll, seemingly lifeless, curling inwards on himself, as though he expected another blow after the finishing one.
Alquawen couldn't help but cling to Mornar like a lifeline, sobbing as she gasped for breath. He held her tightly, numb with shock over the altercation.
As soon as the men walked away, Dînaerlinn was at Fernthîr's side, cradling him against her as she cried.
The smell of blood was overpowering her senses, making her feel nauseous, but the faint scent of woodland still clung to him, reminding her of when she'd first found him, caught in a hunter's trap in the woods outside of Pessmenel. She'd freed him, and he had practically been attached to her hip ever since.
Aearon fell to his knees beside them, carefully reaching around Dînaerlinn to examine Fernthîr, placing a hand on his neck.
"He's alive!" He breathed, visibly relaxing as he felt the half-blood's pulse beneath his fingertips. "I think I can save him, but we need to bring him to the infirmary." He looked over, surprised to find that Thoronmîr had come over, and was kneeling by Fernthîr's feet.
"Aye, do that, he's got courage." he murmured. He stood up, looking around at the inhabitants of Pessmenel. "We're going to all have to fight, not only for our lives, but for our home as well. Fernthîr's already given his blood to protect us, it is time for us to protect ourselves. We need to have every able bodied fighter in Pessmenel, and every healer able to work while on the run on the battlefield. But, aside from muscle, we need brains. If anyone has any ideas for booby traps or strategies, please let myself or Daecrist know. We can't allow any petty differences, disagreements, or quarrels to get in our way. Every single one of us needs to be able to work together.
Soldiers, go to your barracks and prepare yourselves for battle. Marchwardens, scout the area, and see if you can figure out how the edain will attack us. Healers, get your supplies and make sure that you have everything you need for the battle. Civilians, start building barricades around the village, the soldiers and marchwardens will be there to assist you as soon as they're able. You're all dismissed."
The crowd slowly dispersed, Faron assisting Aearon with getting Fernthîr up to the infirmary, Asgarsîr gently helping Dînaerlinn to her feet, leaving Thoronmîr and Daecrist alone.
"It's strange how it takes an event like this to bring people together and make them put aside rivalries." Daecrist murmured. "If only we could do this without our livelihoods being threatened."
Thoronmîr hummed in agreement.
"As do I, Daecrist, but there are some injuries that take longer to heal." he said, trying not to sound bitter, although he couldn't exactly help it. It was strange to think that their once friendly rivalry had turned into a harsh sort of hatred between them.
"I know how you feel, Thor, Callonind was my brother. I looked up to him too."
"But he died, and he died protecting you because you ran out into the middle of a battle, you dumbass!" Thoronmîr snapped, his anger getting the best of him. "And for what?! Why did you do that?! You wanted to prove yourself, and you cost us our captain as a result!"
"You think I haven't blamed myself for his death since it happened?! Thor, I've been beating myself up everyday since that happened nearly fifty years ago! I've died a little each day since that happened! He practically raised me!" Daecrist shouted in response, trying not to let his tears fall. "You might have lost a mentor and a captain, but I lost a mentor, a captain, and a brother who was practically my father for most of my life."
Thoronmîr breathed, trying to calm down as he and Daecrist stared each other down.
"We have to stop this. We're not… we're not accomplishing anything by arguing. We have to start preparing for battle. It… it's what your brother would want us to do."
Daecrist sucked in his breath, nodding as he roughly blinked away his tears.
"Aye, he would say that. Let's go."
Alquawen stared steadily at the billboard in the village courtyard. It was where they posted all their news, what was happening, who was doing what for events, and whatever was going on in their daily lives. Now, however, it was where they'd posted who was going into battle, and a sheet for volunteers to sign their names.
She'd told Aearon that she was willing to be a field medic, but now, actually seeing her name on the list was making her have doubts.
She briefly wondered if this was how Beleg felt before a mission.
She sighed, trying to release the tension in her muscles.
She had to get ready. Standing around worrying was useless.
She went home, and pulled out her riding clothes from her wardrobe, which consisted of a pair of brown leggings, a pale green tunic, a leather belt with a few pouches, which she planned on filling with healing supplies, and a pair of knee-high boots.
She placed them on a chair with a groan, flopping onto her bed, burying her face into her hands. She sat up, reluctantly looking at her outfit.
"Ai, Eru, I think I made a mistake…" she murmured, blinking back tears. "But I can't go back now. They're already finding armor that will fit me… besides, they're going to need help. And… and I can't show any sort of courage unless I'm afraid first."
She steeled herself, and got dressed, walked to the infirmary to get what she needed.
Mornar's breath hitched as he saw Alquawen's name on the list.
He'd been planning on volunteering, but now, he absolutely had to.
He scanned the volunteer list until he found the section for volunteering to be a guard for the healers, and quickly signed his name.
It was strange, knowing that he could very well be literally signing away his life.
But, if his destiny was to lose his life at the hands of an adan attempting to harm her… so be it.
Now to find some armor.
Alquawen stared, her blue eyes wide, slowly filling with tears.
She felt so small in her borrowed armor, and felt even smaller seeing his name on the billboard, knowing he signed it there so that he could be there as a guardian.
She ran all the way to the armory.
She forced her way through the doors, carefully pushing past soldiers, marchwarden, and volunteers, stopping dead in her tracks as she caught sight of him.
The only armor they had that would fit him, ironically, was made of black leather, which made him look even more imposing at his towering height. A shoulder plate guarded his left shoulder, seemingly attached to his breastplate. His cuffs were layered plates of leather on top of fingerless gloves guarding his palms. His sword was strapped to his side, intimidating to others, but reassuring to her, almost as though it was telling her that she would be protected, come hell or high water. His dark hair was tied back as usual, allowing her a clear view of his profile, sharp, angular, and familiar, as he adjusted his cuffs. His dark eyes carefully looked over his work, serious, and sharp as flint, yet sad as well, shining with a sort of desperation. He turned, his eyes lighting up when he saw her.
She stood there, her silver hair swept over her shoulder in a ponytail. She wore a simple light brown leather breastplate with shoulder plates and cuffs. She had several pouches attached to her belt, filled with various supplies, and a satchel stuffed with bandages slung over her shoulder.
She looked so small, so fragile.
Like a scared child in armor, silently worrying, having no other choice other than to place their trust in something greater than themselves.
He couldn't help but be afraid of failure, yet at the same time a wave of protective confidence washed over him.
"Do you think we'll hold out against them?" she asked, her voice small, as she walked over to him, her eyes gentle, yet frightened as she looked up at him.
"I'm not sure. All I know is that regardless of what happens, we'll be together either way. I don't know about you, but I personally find that comforting."
A small smile slowly spread across her face, finding comfort in the fact that he felt the same way she did, or, at least, she hoped he did.
If she died, she wouldn't mind if she died beside him.
"Aye, I think it is as well… best of luck." she murmured as she hugged him, catching him off guard.
He blushed, carefully hugging her back, a smile gently crossing his face, unable to help wondering why on earth she, a gentle little thing like her, was even remotely drawn to him at all, as fractured as he was.
An eagle shrieked somewhere in the surrounding trees, pulling him out of his reverie.
They were all like birds, really, Mornar concluded. All of them, weak and frail in their own ways, yet strong enough to fly.
He looked down at Alquawen, her cheek pressed against his breastplate as she clung to him.
She truly represented a swan in every way, from her grace and beauty to her gentleness and protective nature.
He sighed, holding her a little tighter, wondering if he had the strength to fly as well. Perhaps his own wings were weakened, battered by the years of hardship.
But, in that moment at least, he came to the realization that even though he was rough around the edges and damaged in more ways than one, not only would Alquawen still need to hide under his wing occasionally, but that he'd always let her as well.
Even if his wing was broken.
And that's it for now! I'm so sorry that this didn't get out yesterday, my academic life has been pretty haywire.
In short, my school is a circus, my classmates are monkeys, the majority of my teachers, clowns, and I'm a spectator!
At least my grades aren't too bad lol!
Thanks for reading, I'll hopefully see y'all again soon!