CHAPTER 1: NIGHTMARES OF UNGOLIANT
The breeze continued to play with Elanor's brown locks, a gentle dance orchestrated by the wind. A contented sigh escaped her lips as she luxuriated in the embrace of the grass beneath her. This spring day, a rare oasis of serenity, held a tranquility that Middle-earth hadn't known in years.
In recent times, an oppressive weight had settled upon the air, casting a shadow over the once-vibrant landscapes. The sun, once a generous benefactor of light, had become a scarce visitor, and the once-lush forests now harbored a darkness that seemed to seep into the very roots of the ancient trees. Whispers from the south spoke of increasing orc assaults on the realms of men. Travelers passing through Eriador, seeking respite in the lone inn where Elanor toiled, brought with them tales of bloody battles and the desperate defense of Gondor against the relentless onslaught of Mordor. Rohan, the last bastion shielding Eriador, faced its own trials as orcs encroached upon its lands from the north.
As Elanor lay in the grass, contemplating the peril that encircled her world, she listened to the conversations of those who sought shelter at the inn. Gondor teetered on the brink, and Rohan strained against the tide of darkness. The once-pervasive peace now seemed a distant memory.
Her gaze lingered on the sun, its brilliance temporarily blinding her when she closed her eyes. Danger lurked in every corner of Middle-earth, and the idyllic scene before her belied the turmoil that lay just beyond the horizon. Thoughts of Maggi waiting impatiently for her at the White Horse brought a smile to her face; his grumbling and foot-tapping were constants in her daily routine.
Reluctantly, Elanor stirred, rolling onto her stomach. Her love for her work warred with the desire to linger in the warmth of the sun-drenched afternoon. The forest, a haven she had visited just over an hour ago in pursuit of herbs and mushrooms, beckoned to her. Maggi's impatience awaited her return, his voice echoing in her mind.
With a grumble, she rose, the grass clinging to her dress. Her bag, laden with herbs and a handful of mushrooms, swung at her side. Enough to satisfy Maggi's demands, she thought, but her heart yearned for more moments beneath the sheltering canopy of the beech trees. Her fingers brushed against the fragrant leaves, a silent farewell to the solace that would have to wait for another day. Elanor stepped onto the path, leaving behind the sunlit haven as she ventured toward the responsibilities awaiting her in the opposite direction.
A quarter of an hour meandered by, and at last, Elanor emerged from the forest's embrace, stepping into the familiar village of Lasdren. This quaint settlement, with its humble homes and familiar faces, held the memories of her childhood. As anticipated, Maggi awaited her at the inn's entrance, a mixture of impatience and concern etched across his slightly flushed face.
"It took you a long time!" he exclaimed.
Elanor offered a sheepish smile, "Sorry, I strayed from the path."
"Are you kidding me? You often get lost these days, wouldn't you tell me nonsense?" Maggi retorted, his frustration evident.
Elanor opened her mouth to respond, but the words seemed to elude her. Maggi, well aware that she had no excuse, let out a resigned sigh and motioned for her to enter.
"Between you and your trees. If you hadn't been human, I might have mistaken you for one of those pesky elves of the old age," he grumbled.
Handing him the bag filled with herbs and mushrooms, Elanor watched as Maggi quickly inspected its contents. Finding nothing to comment on, he entered the inn without a word, leaving Elanor to follow. Once inside, Maggi wasted no time in giving her instructions.
"Go and wash the tables, and then prepare the barrels. Hurry up; our first customers will be coming soon."
Elanor nodded, relieved to escape another potential argument. Such disagreements had become a commonplace occurrence of late. Maggi, her adoptive mother since the tender age of nine months, had taken her in and kept her at the White Horse inn ever since. Orphaned with only vague memories of her real mother, Elanor recalled her name: Rain. Her mother had rented a room at Maggi's inn just before succumbing to illness during a particularly harsh winter.
Out of either pity or necessity, Maggi had kept Elanor, unable to turn her over to any of his clients. She understood the difficulty Maggi faced; after all, she was an additional mouth to feed in a family already stretched thin. His financial woes were exacerbated by the dwindling number of customers at the inn. Nedd, Maggi's husband, had once run the shop with his wife, but the changing times forced him to ply the rivers, smuggling goods from Bree to the coast. The inn's management fell upon Maggi's shoulders as the need for money compelled Nedd to venture out as a merchant.
As Elanor set about washing the tables, her mind wandered to the challenges her adoptive family faced. The once-thriving inn now battled the hardships brought by changing times and the looming shadow of war. Yet, amidst the struggles, a sense of belonging and gratitude to Maggi lingered in Elanor's heart. She cherished the family that had embraced her, even if it meant navigating the occasional clash of wills with her adoptive mother.
Five years had passed since the day Elanor first ventured into the village of Lasdren with her bag of herbs and mushrooms. In that time, Maggi's frustrations seemed to have found a frequent target in her, casting a shadow over their once-close relationship. The departure of Maggi's children — Hadrim, Uriel, and Hafred — had left a void in the household. Uriel had married a shopkeeper from the village, occasionally helping out at the inn, while the two boys had ventured south near the grey stream. News of their endeavors reached Elanor's ears, one establishing a farm and the other following in his father's footsteps as a boatman. Maggi, though not openly sharing his feelings, harbored discontent over their choices, a sentiment exacerbated by the scarce visits and the absence of daughters-in-law.
During these times, Maggi's possessiveness intensified, particularly when his sons returned south. Elanor bore the brunt of these emotional outbursts, navigating the unpredictable moods of her adoptive mother. It was a challenging aspect of her life, one that occasionally made her question the prospect of motherhood in the future.
Maggi's persistent urgings for Elanor to marry echoed in the background, emphasizing her supposed beauty and age as reasons she shouldn't linger indefinitely in the tavern. Yet, Elanor found solace in her role at the White Horse inn. She relished the tales spun by the soulful men and prowlers from the North, finding fascination in the stories that graced the walls of the establishment. Marriage, and the responsibilities that came with it, felt like an uncharted territory she was not yet ready to explore. Her lack of readiness and the immaturity to start a family kept her firmly rooted in the present.
Shuddering at the thought, Elanor dismissed Maggi's claims that her dreamy and adventurous nature hindered her grasp on reality. Perhaps there was truth to it, but the tavern felt like home, a place where she belonged despite the occasional discord.
As the afternoon waned, the inn began to stir with activity. An immense, bearded man — a colossus in stature — became the first customer. Elanor, ever the gracious hostess, rushed to welcome him, leading him to a table with a pint of frothy beer and a platter of hearty meat and cheese. Behind the counter, she observed as the inn gradually filled with patrons, leaving only a few empty tables scattered throughout the room.
Maggi, wiping a glass with practiced ease, offered a warm smile to the bustling crowd. The White Horse inn embraced its role as a gathering place, where tales were exchanged, and weary travelers found respite. The vibrant hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses created a lively atmosphere that would endure long into the evening.
"We're conjuring up a delightful recipe tonight," Elanor whispered close to Maggi's ear, the warmth of her breath aimed at creating a momentary cocoon against the laughter and boisterous chatter of the patrons. Maggi, in these moments, revealed a side that could be quite pleasant, Elanor mused.
The doorbell tinkled again, heralding the arrival of another guest. A tall figure, shrouded in a hood, stepped into the inn. Elanor and Maggi exchanged a brief glance before Maggi leaned in, his voice a low murmur in Elanor's ear.
"Go check our reserves, and haul up a barrel. I think we have more."
Elanor nodded and gracefully maneuvered her way through the bustling crowd to the cellar, leaving Maggi to attend to the mysterious newcomer. The man took a seat at the back of the room, his features obscured in the dim light, and lit his pipe while Elanor set to work preparing the evening stew. The flickering firelight revealed glimpses of her gray eyes and brown hair as she moved about the kitchen.
Armed with an oil lamp, Elanor descended the stairs to the basement. The air grew cooler as she began to count provisions and take stock of the barrels. Her murmured count echoed in the quiet cellar.
"2, 4, 5..."
The realization dawned upon her—what remained wouldn't suffice to carry them through the week, let alone the next two days. A shortage of foodstuffs, including salted pork, further compounded the predicament. Elanor ascended, dragging a barrel behind her with practiced strength. The weight tugged at her back and shoulders, but she navigated the stairs with ease, years of experience shaping her movements.
However, a lapse in concentration led to a misstep on the last stair. Her foot collided with the unforgiving edge, threatening to send her and the barrel tumbling downward. Yet, just in the nick of time, a strong hand gripped her, preventing the impending fall. The dark-haired man from the entrance stood beside her, effortlessly lifting the barrel before setting it down with a thud.
Elanor, slightly disoriented, regained her balance, meeting the man's concerned gaze. "Are you okay?" he inquired.
"Yes, thank you," she replied, her voice carrying a note of surprise at the unexpected assistance. The mysterious guest's unexpected strength and timely intervention left Elanor both intrigued and grateful.
The man tilted his head slightly, allowing Elanor a closer inspection. Recognizing him, she couldn't help but feel a mix of surprise and familiarity. He was one of the prowlers of the North, known as the "Great Steps." Despite his ominous nickname, Elanor recalled his visits with a sense of respect. He had an air of elegance that, if not for his reputation, could easily be mistaken for that of a noble lord. Rumors surrounded him, suggesting lineage from a line of extinct great lords.
"Elanor!"
Maggi's voice interrupted her contemplation, and he arrived with the Grand Pas stew in one hand and a tray of bread in the other. Aghast at Elanor's apparent disruption of a paying customer, Maggi quickly interjected, "Excuse me, sir. She's a bit clumsy."
Elanor furrowed her brow, intending to retort, but Maggi beat her to it. "Ever since I took her in, she's always had flabby feet. How about you take a seat? Would you like some salt pork from the Shire? Your stew is ready, here it is. Come on, follow me."
The prowler gracefully followed Maggi to his table, enduring the relentless chatter of the inn's landlady with polite decorum. Maggi returned, seemingly at peace, having temporarily forgotten his earlier insult to Elanor in the presence of the distinguished guest. Elanor, however, hadn't let the remark slide and nursed a slight sense of offense. After placing the barrel behind the counter, she roughly cleaned a few glasses with a dirty cloth.
"Have you counted our reserves?" Maggi asked.
Elanor nodded. "Yes."
Maggi turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Well then?"
"We're running low on salt pork, and we've got four barrels of dark beer left, including this one," Elanor replied, pointing to the barrel at her feet.
"Oh no. How about going to Bree tomorrow to stock up? Maybe even Ouestefel, it's a long journey, but I need some provisions that I couldn't find in Bree. It's much farther south, but hey..."
Maggi hesitated, his eyes fixed on Elanor. Quick to nod, she agreed, "Yes, okay."
A sense of accomplishment washed over Elanor, and her smile returned. Maggi, however, still cast discreet glances her way, silently pondering her decision.
Internally, Elanor felt a surge of joy at the prospect of a brief respite from the inn. A day's journey on horseback awaited her to reach Ouestefel, situated to the south on the border of Eriador with Rohan. This meant she wouldn't return for at least two days.
With a lighter heart, Elanor spent the rest of the evening cheerfully attending to the inn's guests. Maggi observed the change in her demeanor but chose not to dwell on it, opting to overlook the shifts in her adopted daughter's mood. The patrons reveled in Elanor's company, praising her beauty and lively spirit. Seated at the counter, she engaged in conversation with a small group of men who regaled her with tales of their various escapades over the past months.
As the night wore on, the tavern gradually emptied, and patrons retired to their rooms. Grand-Pas lingered in the back of the room, solitary as always. Elanor couldn't help but wonder why he never interacted with the other customers. When she inquired, Maggi simply shrugged.
"He's a little weird, you know."
The following day, Elanor prepared at the crack of dawn for her journey. Maggi handed her the recipe from the previous night's inn, specifying the provisions needed, along with spices and a few utensils. She hitched Finrod, their only draught horse, to a cart.
Traveling with only the essentials — a piece of bread and cheese, a change of clothes and underwear in a bag, her purse, and her inherited sword — Elanor carried the weapon bequeathed by her late mother, a gesture of trust bestowed by Maggi a few years earlier during her first solo trip. Despite Maggi's occasional reminders that she was not Elanor's real daughter, the honesty in their relationship prevailed.
At sixteen, Elanor had received the sword from Maggi, who chose not to keep it for herself. The forested journeys to Bree and Ouestefel had commenced at this point in Elanor's life. Although Maggi concealed it well, there lingered a reluctance in sending Elanor so far alone. The forest, she asserted, was not a safe place for a young girl on her own. In the past, her husband and sons had managed the inn's shopping, but with their absence, Maggi had no choice but to dispatch Elanor while she safeguarded the White Horse.
"Be careful; these forests are no longer very safe after dark," Maggi cautioned.
"I know. I'll be careful," Elanor assured.
Maggi kissed her on the cheek as a farewell gesture. Elanor gently spurred Finrod, and the cart, led by her, swiftly departed the village, leaving the quaint Lasdren behind in the distance.
Elanor traversed the forest, enduring an entire day's journey until she finally arrived in Westefel shortly before nightfall. Fatigue clung to her bones as she secured lodgings at the Grey Bear Inn and a stable for Finrod. Collapsing onto the bed prepared for her, she succumbed to sleep almost instantly.
The morning light found her still form, and it was late morning when she stirred. Elanor hastily rose, preparing for her market endeavors. Aware that she needed to complete her shopping before noon to avoid a night journey, she held a distaste for traveling through the forest after dark, rumored to be teeming with various nocturnal threats—wolves, stray dogs, outlaws, and even orcs. The mere thought of encountering a band of orcs sent shivers down her spine.
Her footsteps echoed through the quiet streets as she strolled towards the market, attending to her errands without a sense of urgency. By mid-afternoon, she had procured almost everything on her list and loaded it onto the cart, save for the elusive spices Maggi had requested. Elanor spent over an hour scouring the market, harboring a growing resentment towards Maggi's specific demands. Finally, towards the end of the market, she located the desired spices at a stall and, albeit reluctantly, parted with a small fortune to secure them.
As she made her way back to the inn, her intention to secure a room for the night collided with an unexpected realization. Upon inquiring about the price, she rummaged through her purse, only to discover that she lacked the necessary funds. A sense of bewilderment washed over her as she recounted the coins, trying to comprehend how Maggi had failed to provide enough gold for another night's stay.
Looking up at the innkeeper with a mix of embarrassment and helplessness, Elanor stuttered, "I... um, I'm sorry... I don't have enough."
The innkeeper eyed her with a measured expression, posing a straightforward question, "So, do you want to book this room or not?" He added, "That'll be two more bronze pieces for the stable and the cart," glancing toward the exterior.
"I...I," Elanor hesitated, grappling with the unforeseen predicament. "I don't have enough," she admitted, her gaze shifting from the innkeeper to the waiting cart outside.
The innkeeper's bulging eyes and abrupt dismissal sent Elanor out into the chilly evening air. The disappointment was palpable as he uttered, "Sorry, my little lady, I can't give you a flower today. There are a lot of people in town this week, and this is my last room. If you can't pay, there's nothing I can do for you."
The door slammed shut, leaving Elanor to face the street with a sense of dejection. She ventured through the city in search of alternative accommodations, only to find that all the inns were either exorbitantly priced or completely sold out. Glancing at the sun, she realized there were at least three hours left before it would dip below the horizon.
"It's too late to leave," she mused.
Yet, despite the lateness of the hour, Elanor found herself without a choice. Contemplating the options, she weighed the risks of staying out on the streets versus navigating the supposedly perilous forest at night, rumored to be teeming with bandits and unknown monsters.
After careful consideration, she made a swift decision. "If I'm going to stay alive, I might as well head back now," she resolved. The prospect of spending the night on the city streets, risking theft or worse, didn't appeal to her.
Climbing back onto her cart, laden with barrels and provisions, Elanor placed her sword beside her. "Come on, Finrod, trot!" she urged.
The horse responded with a brisk pace, galloping out of the city with a sense of urgency instilled by its mistress. Elanor mentally calculated the estimated time it would take to reach home. With a bit of luck, she could cover the distance in a little less than six hours, arriving around midnight and completing a significant portion of the night journey.
Filled with anxiety, Elanor urged Finrod onward, the horse charging homeward at a brisk pace. As the sun dipped below the horizon barely two hours later, a quarter moon intermittently illuminated the path, offering sporadic visibility. Despite the moonlight, a palpable unease settled over Elanor. The forest, veiled in a hushed stillness, echoed only with the thunderous clatter of Finrod's hooves on the earthen trail.
An hour into the journey, Finrod's agitation became apparent. Elanor, sensing his distress, sought to reassure him, suspecting that the horse had likely detected something amiss in the woods. Animals possessed senses more acute than hers, and she relied on Finrod's instincts to discern danger. However, his behavior took an unexpected turn, and Finrod came to an abrupt halt, a sudden swerve that threatened to dislodge Elanor from the cart.
"Easy, Finrod!" she called out, but the horse remained frozen, ears pointed toward a particular spot in the forest.
Elanor's heart raced as a sharp crack emanated from her left—a sound akin to a branch snapping underfoot. Fear surged within her, prompting her to command Finrod forward, her hand gripping the hilt of the sword beside her. Yet, before she could react, an unseen force yanked her back by the collar, hurling her out of the cart.
A primal scream escaped Elanor, muffled by a large, gray, repugnant hand that clamped over her mouth. Finrod reared and neighed, surrounded by inhuman screams and yelps echoing through the woods.
To her horror, Elanor found herself pinned to the ground by a loathsome creature—a repulsive orc grinning down at her with yellowed, sharp fangs. The orc's language, strange and incomprehensible to Elanor, sounded menacing as he spoke.
"Look what I caught! This one must be good to eat," the orc squeaked.
As her panic escalated, Elanor glimpsed at least a dozen more orcs converging, some already having clambered into the cart while others held Finrod's reins. The dire situation unfolded, casting a dark shadow over what was supposed to be a routine journey home.
"There are others," another orc in the cart remarked, "this one's got a guard-eaten look."
"And there's the canasson," added a third orc. "No need to eat her; we can play with this female."
The orc holding Elanor leered at her with a sinister glint of lust. She let out another terrified scream, desperately struggling. Her arms and legs flailed in all directions as she attempted to knee the orc, but her efforts proved futile.
"Be still!" he ordered her in the common language.
Ignoring his command, Elanor continued her resistance, prompting a violent slap that split her lip and left her momentarily stunned. Blood welled up in her mouth, and the other orcs laughed.
"What's this?" one of the orcs lifted Elanor's sword and examined it. As soon as he drew it from its sheath, a searing pain shot through his hands, and he yelped as he released the blade. The sword fell back into the cart with a clear, almost musical tinkling.
"Elvish! It's a bewitched sword!" the orc who had touched the weapon exclaimed.
"Leave it be. Come on, let's take the canasson, the cart, and the girl," ordered the orc in the cart.
However, Finrod, steadfast and unwilling to be taken, reared up even more, threatening to flip the cart on its side.
"Kill the canasson; he'll slow us down," the same orc ordered.
"But who's going to pull this thing?" queried another orc, pointing to the cart.
"You idiot!"
The rebuke silenced the dissenting orc, who reluctantly advanced toward Finrod, brandishing a chipped and worn blade. Elanor, now petrified, began to cry, foreseeing the tragic fate awaiting her loyal friend. Closing her eyes, she awaited the fatal blow. Yet, a thunderous crack and a cry of pain resonated, accompanied by the sound of horse hooves galloping away.
"Fool! You missed it."
"I didn't think he was going to be able to escape us!" the orc said, wincing as he massaged his ribs where Finrod had kicked him.
The orcs watched as the horse disappeared at the corner of the path, leaving behind a trail of scattered barrels.
"At least we're rid of it! Let's break camp!"
"Tie up the girl. We'll have fun with that one later," said another orc.
A second orc joined the one holding Elanor, swiftly tying her hands to her feet and ensuring a piece of cloth was stuffed into her mouth to silence her. The cloth tasted repulsively of dirt, but Elanor, helpless, couldn't protest. The orc lifted her roughly, placing her on his back like a sack of potatoes.
Elanor struggled to catch her breath; the stench of the orc was nauseating, and she had to fight the urge to regurgitate her midday meal.
The orcs gathered the fallen items from the cart and, with Elanor in tow, ventured into the forest, abandoning the road behind them. Nodding, blood now streaming down her face, Elanor remained half-conscious. She watched the path vanish behind them, extinguishing any hope of rescue and, with it, any hope of safely returning home. The forest loomed ahead, concealing the grim fate awaiting her.
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