Thank you for the beta work, Ruiniel! As always, I am so grateful for the time you free for me in an attempt to make this better and to listen to my insecurities and obsessions.
And thank you d Elfe, for reminding me on the workings of childbirth and how adrenaline influences the process. Long time neh? Need to catch up on your amazing stories.
An update! Sorry for the long wait. Please enjoy and if you have the time, leave me a review? Reviews do keep me going.
CHAPTER 28 - ON THE THRESHOLD OF THE IMPENDING NIGHTFALL…
On the threshold of the impending nightfall, Suldal paced restlessly, kindling his rider's excitement. Elrohir struggled to keep him in rein while the weather turned worse on top of it. When the steed calmed down a little, he eyed their young charges.
Olban seemed to misunderstand the situation and spoke to his companion in hurried succession, causing panic to rise within his friend. Elrohir sighed inwardly at the naivety of the boys. The sight of fire and orcs was not enough to come to deductive conclusions yet, nor to panic. Olban was interpreting the urgency of two Elf Lords to investigate as fear. They trusted their accidental saviours too blindly. He felt woe deep within himself at the innocence and the ease with which lies could be slipped into young mortal minds.
"My lord!" Olban's voice released him from his dark reveries. His voice sounded thin, the wind grasping the words, hurrying them away. Curious enough, the young scout was not staring towards Elrohir, but towards the hilltops. Elrohir's sharp eyes followed his gaze and was stunned to see another fire moving wildly within the torrent of winds. His hand signalled slowly to his brother behind him while he kept on staring at the light, afraid to lose it out of sight, lest it disappear.
A low loud curse. Grey eyes met. Understanding.
Elrohir felt relief flooding him at the prospect of leaving the scouts for a while. He was not one to care for youngsters. Then again, neither was his brother, whose easygoing chattiness was often misjudged. Others thought him to be more kind and caring, but Elrohir knew the depths of his brother's darkness and wondered if his own could ever match it.
Elladan explained to Olban; "My brother will ride to scout the top. We will remain here and scout for the lower light." He was shouting to reach above the winds.
Elrohir pulled his mantle more tightly around him while adjusting the straps of his weapons. Elladan led Mithroch alongside Suldal and grasped his brother's shoulder in urgency, hissing in his ear; "Only to scout."
"You know I cannot make that promise." Elladan's eyes held understanding but something changed since their last ordeal and their shared trust was fragile. A world of unsaid things passed between them. Then Elrohir nudged Suldal in the flanks and the horse charged off and uphill.
A torrent of thought whirled inside Elladan's mind while watching his brother disappear within the gusts of wind and weather. His figure was soon eaten by darkness, while above radiated the flames, drawing the eye in, beckoning.
Elladan felt it in his heart. That light was arrogant, shining so brightly and triumphantly on top of those wretched hills. Not lifting the darkness around it, but crowning it, the light enhancing the dark of the shadows until they seemed limitless. He reached out for his brother's fëa. But Elrohir had closed himself off, his focus on stealth and speed.
He was alone.
Slowly he turned towards the young scouts. Olban nodded at him with a seriousness that seemed beyond his years. Elladan knew their situation had not improved with the recent developments. HIs heart clenched for a moment for their predicament.
"I need to scout that light in the distance. It might be your kinsmen, but it seems folly to make a light for everyone to see and unlike your ways. I will bound the slopes of these hills downwards to transfer you as far from the evil that lingers here as possible. Then you must hide until we come for you, or until the sun rises. If we do not return before daybreak; return to your village as quickly as you can. Do not come looking for us."
They both stared at him, too white eyes in too white faces. So young. So innocent. The message sank in only partially. There was some understanding, but no true realisation of what might befall them. He grasped Olbans shoulders, shaking him. "Can you do this?"
The young man nodded bewildered and Elladan repeated: "The light is our beacon. We will keep it to the far left of us. When your dagger lights up we will seek shelter. If you see me engage in a fight before that…just stay hidden until daylight or flee."
Olban nodded at the logic in his words. They were inexperienced in a fight and their horses could not keep up with the powerful elven steeds, bred for battle. Still, the Elf Lord was alone and without his brother. It seemed wrong to be ushered into hiding like a child while others risked their lives. Olban licked his lips. He was certain the Elf lords saw him as a child, but he was a man in the eyes of his kinsmen. He gritted his teeth, conflicted by the wish to aid and the realisation that their vulnerability might slow the Elf Lord down.
He tried to suppress his nerves. They were going to separate. It was a calculated risk to send the better warrior towards the fight. But his emotions rebelled against the logic of it. He tried not to fidget. Their previous ordeal, still fresh in his mind. His companion seemed better, colour returned to his cheeks, but he seemed too weak to ride still. He had to keep his safety in mind as well.
Elladan stroked Mithroch, urging the horse to be calm for a moment longer. But it seemed that the restlessness was contagious. When a large gust of wind swept over the hilltop, making the landscape roar, Mitroch pranced while uttering a loud neigh. Unable or unwilling to keep the animals restrained any longer, Elladan let go of that contained energy and started to find his way down in between the boulders.
The scouts followed albeit with a slower pace. Lower and lower they descended, until they picked up pace when the boulders relented and gave way to tall grassy slopes, the skirts of the forest enclosing the dark green flowing mass of movement. It was flat enough to ride straight out for a while. Within the chaos of weather and night it was hard to see tracks with certainty. There seemed to be two slim trails through the grasslands, heading straight for the fire in the distance. Scouts then, no doubt wargs.
The feeling of the descent, the storm around them, the power of the animals underneath them finally unleashed made Elladan feel euphoria. And while the winds pulled at his mantle and hair, rain lashing at his face, his heart hungered for blood and the adrenaline of battle.
He turned to look at his charges and the wide eyes of Olban crossed his and for a moment the question in them caught him off guard; keep us safe?
With effort he reined in the bloodlust, pushing down the swirling pit of rage, chasing the thought of blood from his veins.
Not yet.
Keep them safe.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Tension thrummed through horse and rider, a sensation that seemed to oddly contrast with the increasing waves of wind and rain crashing into them. Elrohir was not fooled by the storm, the Warg had extraordinary sensory skills and would pick his scent up even in this weather. But he knew how to track unseen and undetected. He stared upwards towards the dark jagged edged hilltops. The heaviness of something darker than the shadows pressed upon him still. But to outrun the evil that had pervaded these lands was folly.
Guided by memory, he led Suldal southward where he knew a small pass in between the hilltops. He was uncertain how long ago he had ventured through this pass, but the image of it drifted to the surface of his memories. He was raised by these lands. He could hardly remember a time where he had not travelled to all these now wild territories with his brother. From a distance the memories were a blur of moments in time, but when needed small useful pieces of information would emerge. He had lived long enough to trust these little snippets of information without doubt. The pass would still be there, maybe withered by time, but he was certain how to find it.
After some time fighting against streaking rain, it seemed that his memory was brittle. It was not so much of a pass, as a narrow passageway of steep rock, covered in climbing plants that he recognized to be wild creeper, green in summer, bright red in autumn. But now the leaves had surrendered to the strong winds and it was as if a large ball of rope had been spread out of the rocks.
Suldal was struggling, energy and nervousness ruining the use of muscles. Elorhir had to bend over several times to stop and calm his friend. But it took all his patience to do so, for he felt time pressing down on him, urging him on. And when he finally reached the top he egged Suldal on with impatience and they sped over the hilltops further towards the heart of the downs.
After plunging over the apex of the downs, the terrain sloped downwards into a coombe that seemed dipped in ink. Here Elrohir felt the dark thrumming of evil course through the soil, Suldal and then himself. A dissonant that was inescapable, penetrating his very being until he realised he was grinding his teeth, holding the reins with white knuckles. But he pressed onwards, fighting the growing fear, forcing his body to relax.
Fighting fear was easier thought of than done. The tension kept on triggering Suldal and it took all of his willpower to keep the horse controlled and calm. He trudged onward into the coombe and for a moment the dark was so intense that he expected to tumble into a void. The presence of sturdy soil beneath Suldal's hooves was a confusing, contradictory mix of movement and expectations. Horse and rider stumbled.
When he found a pace once more, and willpower to calm his companion enough to cross through the coombe over the dark plains, he was intent on drawing a large circular movement. Approaching from the west side, he hoped to elude the senses of his enemies.
Slow the going was. The winds, now beating against his back, egged him onward and despite the gradual progress, the journey felt easier. The glow of fire was on his right hand side now, a small pinprick in the distance. The rain had ceased falling for a moment and he became aware of the wetness of his clothing, his mantle heavy, his hair clinging to his face and neck. His thoughts meandered towards Suldal and he reminded himself to take care of his friend when the weather brightened, rain rot needed to be averted if possible. He blinked at the mundane thought, the idea of horse care after dealing with Gorchack seemed unreal.
The fear that he had felt at the slopes of the hills had ceased somewhat, but now he hurried towards his target he noticed an increase once more. What was the cause of this? The land remembered, but the evil of the past should have faded equally all over the Downs. Why were there peaks in the fear and intensity?
The inevitable thought that followed suit was of a new force rising, one that was festering and gaining strength within the shadows of these old ruins. Remnants of the distant past and the power of the Witch King. The new that fed on old memories, like a dog gnawing on bone gaining strength little by little.
Evil whispers seemed to hush when he steered Suldal upon a barren and windswept clearing. The feeling that the evil that resided around the hills was suddenly aware crept up upon him. Or was it simply the wind that eased for a moment, seemingly holding its breath while he noticed a hastily extinguished fire, chaotic tracks and the stench of Warg everywhere.
Shaking the feeling of unease, he moved towards the edge of the height and stared down in concern. How long since they left? He felt angry at himself for slowing himself down to uphold stealth for an enemy that already fled. Why had he bothered, for he had known it was them. Should he simply have waited for them to descend? He sighed, and not for the first time, he wondered if he could ever change, and not head into danger without second thought.
His eyes failed to find their target on the slopes of the downs. He started doubting himself. Or was the weather messing with his senses? He turned towards the site once more and followed the tracks with his eyes, stroking Suldal all the while. The tracks did not lead towards the light that lay far below at the foot of the hills. And he felt uneasy. He knew orcs to be predictable, but who knew what that Gorchack was scheming. He had to find out.
Making up his mind, he followed the trail, which descended with an odd angle towards the north. The wind increased again, pushing him downwards. And after a steep and dangerous rocky descent, he came upon an old path. Broken it was, but built with enough mastery that the white stones were still light of colour and easy to follow in the dark. Elrohir followed for some time the steps that the men of old had walked. After some time the path ended abruptly giving way to a gully turning with a sharp angle, plunging into darkness further downhill.
The fear that had been absent, returned slowly with the increasing darkness. With each step of the horse, the dread intensified and the Elf was certain now that the emotion was artificial and caused by something entirely outside of himself. And with each step of Suldal's hooves, he felt the fear like a magnetic pull. Somewhere down there, there was a power that reigned him in, like a fish on a hook. But the nature of it eluded him. Behind the fear there was a void that could not be known.
The walls of the gully rose higher and higher and with it the darkness intensified, while the wind raged over the edges but could not touch him, leaving the air around him stale and suffocating. He noticed his breathing becoming difficult, but still he went further down.
Just when he thought there was no more air left to breathe he reached the end of the gully and the earth parted to give way to the remnants of an ancient stone structure half buried in the face of the hillside.
Old stones stacked by forgotten men, defended by the courageous and brought down by betrayal. Some seemed blackened by recent fire, a part of the roof was still intact. Elrohir descended Suldal, leading the horse by hand. The windows were black holes and the darkness they held caught his eyes and did not let go. Elrohir felt his breath stop.
Movement behind the ruins alerted him to the band of orcs that was leaving the ruins to descend further down the hill. What were they doing here? Was this power forcing their will and purpose?
The evil he had felt on the top of the downs had come from this place and still it eluded him. He knew it was here, but it wasn't. The dark was lying to him while sending wave after wave of terror into the earth, nullifying his fëa.
After all orcs and wargs left, his throat felt dry and his blood like ice while the hairs on his neck stood straight as needle pins. He did not know how long he stood there watching. Staring into the darkness. Waiting in fear until he saw something, anything. And the dark seemed darker and more immense. And he became smaller and smaller, frozen like prey waiting for the final blow.
Deep in the back of his mind, he had heard of nameless creatures that neither Morgoth nor Sauron knew, the things that gnawed at the roots of the earth, living in the darkness, thriving there. And a deep shudder rippled through the Elf for he knew now, why the evil of the WItch King had not disappeared after all this time, but seemed to have been growing in the dark anew.
His mind could not carry the weight of reality and he blacked out. When he came to, he noticed in panic that his body was still stepping closer, like a sleepwalker in the night. He tried to fight the movement of his body, but it seemed futile. He could not stop shaking and cold sweat was on his back. But his feet stepped closer and far away in his mind he screamed out in horror.
The darkness seemed unmoved by his silent screaming. Suldal also seemed unperturbed. And with each scream the darkness grew in size and intensity. And powerless, Elrohir stared at the expanding process while feeling himself diminish into nothingness until the dark was impossibly large, endless, empty and darker still. Only his mind was there, alone, a tiny speck within infinity where a power was lurking that was greater than the creators of his world, older than the oldest gods. And he stepped closer still until he stood right before one of the empty windows, the darkness mere centimetres from his face.
He could feel it, like a warm breath.
He tried to move. To unsee. To close his eyes, anything. But there was no escape. He could not move. He could not disappear, nor hide. And the darkness grew and thickened even further. He did not want to see, but he had to stare. He stared and the horror of what might be lurking , what he might see was too much to bear. He realised then that he was screaming aloud now, scaring Suldal.
In his utter desperation he tried to feel his fëa, but there was silence inside of him. The thrum of his life and his connection with the world, seemed to have diminished, like the light of the stars at the sight of the sun. The emptiness inside of him felt strange and alien and the horrible feeling increased with each movement he unwillingly performed.
It could not end like this. Empty, he was rapidly collapsing in on himself, the fear breaking him down. He kept screaming in despair and in terror. Desperately tried to move or snap out of it. But without the feel of his fëa, his power was useless in the face of the infinity all around him.
In terror, he fell to his knees, his hands grasping the windowsill. Where he expected his finger to touch a sticky tar blackness, the rough stone dug sharply into his skin.
It brought a small moment of clarity. A tiny opening. His body awoke to a brief liberation sensation and he felt like a swimmer coming up for air.
Escape!
Desperately, his mind scrambled, falling apart in figments. But his panic made way for determination and for a split second he threw down all his barriers, searching for that silver thread.
He held his breath. He felt like an elfling learning to feel his surroundings for the first time. Everything was awkward and slow, not moving as it should or as he wanted. But then, he felt it, that silver thread towards his brother. He tentatively connected and his head cleared.
The silver thread became his rescue and he grasped it in his desperation with all his force and power and his head became clear and bright. The dark diminished for a moment and he stumbled backwards, away from the window.
Panting he grasped the reins firmly whispering to his friend, "Noro lim, Suldal!"
And with a final effort he pulled himself into the saddle, and horse and rider sped away from that cursed place.
With wind and rain beating on his face, the severity of his situation hit him hard. How long had he stayed there, captured by fear? Would he have ended up as the bones he found in the grass? There was no answer. There was no knowledge of these creatures, only Mithrandir might have an inkling, and an encounter was unheard of. Were they connected to the orcs? Or were they merely thriving on the remnants of the Witch Kings magicks?
The wind seemed to push him down hill now and his mind cleared further. He stopped for a moment to watch. A small glow downhill was all that spoke of presence. He let his fëa spread out like a fan, wider and wider. His mind was aided by the feel of the wind, pressing and pushing, and he felt space within his thought and concentration to centre himself. Slowly he reached for his brother, but before he felt the familiar thrum of their sibling bond, another fẽa stood out like a beacon, strong and steady in the dark night.
He knew that the bond had been back in place, but up till now he had not allowed himself to feel how strong it had become. He took in a deep breath and let it slip out through his nostrils. He could feel her, the connection like a silver thread invisible but strong. For the first time since they met her, Elrohir did not recoil from the sensation, but tentatively allowed himself to feel. And in the process, Elladan's strong fẽa crept up on him, an ever present current that increased like a crescendo, demanding presence. But his brother was still far from the small speck of light at his feet, hidden by weather, ruins and darkness. And then suddenly, he felt the rain again on his face, and his mind moved back to the reality of his surroundings.
Rin.
She was down there, like a sitting duck. Nex to that fire!
Cursing he thundered downhill, slightly angled to the right, in search of his brother.
Soon tension took hold of Suldal and he felt fear peak through the horses body. He halted with difficulty. Then, two shapes appeared, facing him head on and he recognised the hunched backs of wargs.
He cursed and pulled his sword with force, baring his teeth. What a misfortune!
Xxxxxxxxx
Rin's irritation kept lingering. It was insufferable. A blazing fire to cook water! If she could see it, so could anyone! She hoped that the storm was their saviour, strong enough to spread out smell and smoke too quickly to be noticed by others.
Still it baffled her that they took this risk. During their journey she had felt like the inexperienced one, with no skills on survival in the wild. Then why this now?
While she had been stuck halfway up the hills, the others had discovered that the walls were part of a labyrinth of ruins. Entering into the airless corridors felt strange on her skin, while the winds swept over them, roaring. The silent air was damp and the floors were covered with slimy mosses and plants she did not recognize. They were low enough by lack of sunlight that there was no risk of tripping or getting stuck.
The part where they took shelter seemed the dead-end of an ongoing main corridor with smaller ones connecting to it. Rin could not see the end of it. The first corridor that intersected the larger one had a barrel vault still intact and seemed to run downwards into the ground. Rin thought it was a bad idea to go into that corridor, the chances of collapse seemed astronomical. But that seemed to be exactly the wish of Maeva when she was trying to make herself heard above the storm.
"Why would you risk being buried underneath these ruins?"
"Rin, the situation is critical! The baby has been inside the womb without fluid for too long now. And the adrenaline of this situation is keeping Gilraen from surrendering to the delivery process. It is important to get her in a state of concentration."
"But it is a dead end, if the orcs come you have no means to escape!"
"No, it is not! I have checked. There is a centre space with a round opening in the roof. There is a large staircase and two other escape routes from there. I will take torches there to make a small fire, so you can put this one out."
Rin faltered. "But these ruins are ancient! The risk of her being buried underneath those stones is too great!"
Maeva rolled her eyes at Rin, making her feel stupid all of a sudden. The girl said exasperated: "The risk of the baby not being born is just as lethal! Just make sure she is safe for the coming hours! Do what you do best and so will I!"
Rin blinked in anger. "Keep you safe? With that fire screaming our presence here? Are you insane! I cannot hold off so many orcs on my own!"
Maeva's eyes softened and she embraced Rin tightly. "We will do what we can. There is no other option. I know you will do your best. Take care dear friend. Be safe."
Maeve left Rin astonished. She walked with determination, pulling a large branch from the fire, lighting her way into the corridor. Gilraen followed meekly, face closed off. Soon the small light disappeared. Rin felt like a child in the face of such courage and such sense of reality.
"How can she see enough to deliver that baby?"
Darian smiled. "She already prepared a spot and placed a lantern and took torches, she will make a fire there to cook water, in hindsight it seemed more practical. The horses are already there, resting." He stared at the black shadows where his loved one disappeared.
Rin shook her head. "She looks cute, but she is damn headstrong, that woman!"
Darian laughed. "That she is!"
With Maeva gone, the concern for Gilraen and the baby vanished to the background. Already they were planning their defence. Rin assessed Darian from the corner of her eye. The two of them would have to work together, but she had no idea if Darian could handle a sword.
The structures around them provided shelter, but it also gave the orcs too many entry ways for attack. And if they climbed to walls the situation would be even more difficult. She hoped they were bad climbers.
"Are you good with that sword?"
Darians eyes reflected the fire for a moment. "The Elf Lords taught the older generations in our village to fight and they passed it on. I am not useless with a sword."
Rin felt warmth rise. After all she had seen of them, the care the twins showed for the Dunedain people was the most surprising. She had seen them neglect their duties to their family and kin, neglect their own wellbeing and even her own wellbeing. But here in the far North, among mortal men, they seemed to have found something more than revenge. Or it served their revenge in some hidden way that she was not aware of yet. Still, it was here, among these strangers that she found a sliver of what these Elf Lords should have been like, were they not consumed by their own revenge, fear and pain. It made her feel somewhat proud to know them and the warmth that was rising settled in the pit of her stomach like a comfortable cat.
She only hoped that Darian's words "not useless" were not an understatement. Still, she could not help but smile and feel relieved. The twins were with her in spirit albeit indirectly.
She broke away from her reverie. "Should we extinguish the fire?"
Darian stared at the flames. "No, I think it will risk them going after the women. Let us be the bait."
I am one of the guys now, Rin thought absently, but nodded at the sound reasoning.
Staring into the night, she realised that night had truly come. The darkness around them had become gradually more intense and now the light was gone. There was none, neither from the moon, nor the stars. The fire was the only thing that enabled them to see their enemies. And she felt vulnerable. After all her cursing at it, this fire was now their lifeline.
While staring into the rapidly falling darkness, she found her thoughts travelling towards the dark shadows in the ruins up the hill. And as if her thoughts conjured it up, the sticky fear that she had felt there seemed to creep up to her. Was this real? Or did some invisible power plant this fear inside of her? Where were these sensitive Elves when you needed them!
Then a sudden movement, dark within darkness.
She held her breath. Trying to force her ears to hear beyond her senses.
Movement again. Then a short moment of light reflecting on a pair of eyes in the distance. It enhanced a dark shape. While the hairs on her arms rose steadily, she slowly could make out a Warg. With stealth the animal approached, sniffing the air, high on alert. She could not blame it. With only two humans standing in between ruined walls, it was almost certainly a trap.
The warg hit the first shimmer of light and she heard Darian gasp and felt him stiffen. His hand flew to his sword, but she warned him to move slowly.
The Warg gently let his paws descend upon the grass that was growing in between the walls. Like a ballet dancer, the animal advanced, its dirty paws stepping carefully, until it emerged into the light completely. And behind it to her dread, another Warg moved silently into view.
Rin and Darian watched the animals approach. The maw of the first one was stained with dark brown residue, slime dripping from the bottom jaw. Its white nails penetrating the earth. With each gust of wind that dropped into the empty corridors of the ruins a foul smell reached their noses. Carrion.
With her whole body on alert Rin waited for any sign of attack. The moment in the village still sharp in mind she recalled the sheer power of the animal. It all depended on the first few moments. If they did not counter it to their advantage the animal was too powerful to deal with, simply too fast.
The tension crept into her bones, paralysing her. Her eyes watered in concentrated staring. Only Rin's tongue seemed to be able to move. "We should move.. ." the words sounded like a hiss, the echo's eaten by the moist stone walls and the sand underneath their feet.
Darian said slowly. "Are you sure?" he was standing poised as well, like a coiled spring.
The wargs watched them with attention. Small eyes narrowing. With each flex of muscle Rin's body twitched ever so slightly towards action. But she held herself in check, heart thumping in her throat.
Somewhere the sound of metal, a sword maybe? And then a loud yell, and unintelligible words. The animal's ears peaked, tracking the words. And then, with an almost slow-motion-like leap, the animal dashed back into the velvet darkness of the night.
Rin felt her muscles relax instantly. Relief and dread clashed into her at once. The enemy was here now. And they needed a miracle to survive. And with it concern; she was not enough, alone. It was too much responsibility!
Still composed, Rin turned to Darian: "Well … they found us. It is only a matter of time now. We need to keep our wits together. There is no time to move further away from Gilraen and Maeva. This cursed fire will be like a beacon for them."
"Then we better defend this beacon." Darian pulled his sword with a sharp hiss. Fear and determination was alternating on his features.
Rin had trouble coming to terms with reality. Instinct screamed at her to flee. Without the twins felt wrong. Roles were reversed now, Darian being dependent on her this time. And she felt I'll equipped for the task.
Still, the events were set in concrete. They would make a stand, right here. Waiting for a host of orcs so large that even the Rivendell Guard could not stand against them. Memories of another time she felt so powerless facing evil came up in her mind. The lonely darkness that resided within the memories of her youth reared their ugly head, but she pushed it away. She refused to watch her sister fall again.
It felt wrong to leave the women to their own devices. There was no escape now. Only a small impossible way out through all this shit. They had to make a stand. She had to survive her way through this.
A sound made her whip her head to the side. Scanning the darkness at the end of the light circle. Nothing. Was it her imagination?
The wind howled, then another sound. Metal again. She drew her sword in panic. Already?
Another sound and then a figure stumbled into the light. For a moment she stared, trying to make sense. She felt Darian pushing her aside in a protective gesture. The orc, for that was what it was, suddenly charged towards them with a cry. And as if his run broke a dam, the way flooded with others.
There was no time to think. No time to raise her sword. With frightening strength her katana was slammed down by the first orc and she smelled foul stench, the creature too close for comfort. With a cry she tried to free her arm and move backwards, but the weight of it kept pressing her down, pulling her face forward towards it. A grin. Then a flash of metal and a sharp pain. A knife!
She yelled in its face, pulling herself out of his grip and succeeding. The euphoria gave her wings, and pushed away the pain of the wound. And then she was crushed by a wave of more orcs, slamming into her from the front.
She smelled rust above all. The warmth of the bodies was overwhelming, pressing at her. The force of it was so great that she felt crushed between hammer and anvil. There was no room to keep them at a distance with her sword. The tension with which she had to keep the orcs at bay made it impossible to turn to reverse grip. And while the orcs pushed at her she flung her arm awkwardly upwards, slashing the one before her, creating a small space for them to gain ground. A dangerous move, for her whole body was unprotected now and she hoped no orc would take advantage. With this one opening, she had no room to swing the sword back and forth, forcing them backwards. From the corner of her eyes she noticed Darian's relieved face.
A sword met hers, and then there was nothing else but the fight. A torrent of bodies, movement and yelling. The fire enhanced it all. The resistance when metal cut through flesh, the smell of blood and guts, it was all a blur.
Darian, the women, the horses had disappeared from her world, she felt only the grip of her katana. The moving warm bodies close around her made it feel strangely intimate. Her body was moving on instinct, slashing, hacking, kicking. She was vaguely aware that the metal cut in her skin from time to time, but there was no pain. Time had stopped. And after each blow, each spray of blood and each orc, another followed.
After an eternity, Darian's voice penetrated her battle concentration.
"Rin!"
She tried to locate him, but could not afford to be distracted. Then she heard an inarticulate cry and out of the corner of her eye she saw him cornered against a wall. Faced with three orcs he desperately tried to defend himself.
Where she found it in herself she did not know, but with double effort she tried to free herself form her opponents and aid her companion, but it seemed like an impossible task. And Darian was yelling in fear now. Barely standing, holding on. It would not last long before he would be slain and Maeva's loving look at her man flashed in Rin's brain. No!
A slash. A cut. Blood on her face. Gore in her nose. She tried. And tried. But the orcs kept coming and the impossibility of freeing herself to aid Darian made her blood run cold. This was not happening! Desperation filled her. Bleak and dreary, clawing at her heart, eating her courage. Unwanted tears forced themselves out of her eyes. And she kept fighting. Surviving. Trying to come to terms with the fact that she could not help him. She was failing him. She was failing Gilraen. She was failing Maeva. She would fail Aragorn.
And then another thought. She was failing Tessarion. And the twins. And she cried in agony. The pain of her defeat was already crippling her mind, while her body was not giving up.