[Imladris]

Gorby

I tried to keep my dratted pony at a somewhat reasonable pace as we dashed as quickly as we could (which wasn’t very fast at all I’m afraid) after those who had killed that poor blind prisoner. I could tell that the others were impatient (you can read it in the humans’ but not so much in the elves), and I could feel my face turn bright red with embarrassment. It was because of us hobbits that we couldn’t go as fast as we needed to go. I remembered something that Merry or Pippin had once said and I had to agree that we really were nothing but a rag-tag piece of luggage.

Turning to Anson, who trotted beside me, huddled in his ragged jacket, I said, “So, what do you think about this wretched business?”

“Dreadful…awful,” he said quietly. He turned his head, and I could see that he was looking back towards the Shire and all the way back to his own hobbit hole.

I frowned. It was my fault he had come on this horrid business, my fault that he had left hearth and home and pipeweed, my fault that he couldn’t dance and sing with his own siblings. “Do you think that Eodwine is still alive?” I said hopefully. He probably wasn’t though – more likely one of the skeletons Lira and Eswen had found. I shuddered.

Anson shrugged in reply. “I want to go home. Falco can find some strong able bodied men to rat out these men who serve the new Dark Lord….” His voice faltered and his ruddy cheeks blanched paper white.

A chill crept up my spine and I said, “Nonsense. The man may style himself as a new one, but the old was conquered and we can conquer this one as well. I just hope we find Eodwine soon.”

“We really should go back,” Anson muttered, as if he was ashamed of himself.

I looked at him sympathetically. I wanted to go back too – I had not idea there would be so much danger when I had been almost forced to join. But, what if Eodwine was alive…could we leave him to be tortured to death? But he probably wasn’t alive and then we’d be one band going against who knew how many.

I shook my head. Suddenly, an echoing stillness descended around us…the horses stopped, the elves’ eyes hardened. I looked up, and saw mounted men with twisted faces surround us. Lumiel ordered us to stay in the center and then a circle was formed around us hobbits. I swallowed hard. Then, as if their arms were commanded with a single tug of a string, they drew their swords. Then they paused. The glint of their drawn blades was like the lightening heralding the thunder of their mounts as they charged down upon us.

Lira

With an elvish blessing, Lira drew her knife and held it ready in her hand. It would be almost useless against their mounted assailants, but it would kill at least one before she herself fell under the onslaught. She wondered why the hobbits did not draw their crossbows, and then saw that they no longer carried them. She shook her head. They, with typical hobbit foolishness, had probably forgotten them at the manse.

Like a river released from a dam, they roared towards the small group. Arrows sung as the elves loosed them and several men fell to the ground; if the arrow had not killed him, the hooves of his fellow riders quickly trampled his remaining life into the ground. But in an instant their bows were useless and they fought hand to hand. With a shrill whinny, Merkaliel reared to her feet, her sharp hooves casting both man and beast to the ground.

A tortured scream and she saw Gorby fall – an arrow buried in his pony’s heart. It seemed as if time slowed as she saw the hobbit crawl from under the animal, his face white, lips trembling. Turning, she saw Esgallhugwen and Lumiel hewing their foes before them. Anson was helping Gorby climb onto his own pony. Should she leave the others and bring the hobbits to safety, away from death and bloodshed? With a brief struggle she made up her mind and, going to the hobbits, she said, “Make for the manse and hide somewhere, anywhere! I’ll follow behind.”

Somehow, they fought their way through them; somehow they made it towards the edge of the ring that encircled. Shrubs straggled the barren land and to the left was a dead copse of small trees. An arrow whizzed, and Merkaliel stumbled to her knees. An arrow protruded from her neck, blood dripped down, staining her amber coat. With a cry, Lira leaped clear and landed on her knees beside the fallen horse. Rising to her feet, she looked around for Anson and Gorby. Fear clutched at her when she Anson’s pony galloping madly across the plain, and Anson himself was lying prone upon the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Gorby was no where in sight.