[Mithalwen]

As Laswen had predicted, their debate had proved irrelevant and Losrian and Ferin stood side by side in the ranks of the archers of Ost in Edhil as the assault finally started.

Losrian had been woken by the first volleys and had met her brother as both raced to the muster point . He had not attempted to dissuade her but had insisted that she be kitted out at the armoury like the other volunteers. Although she was tall, the girl did not have the stature of a hardened warrior. Despite the mail and leather armour being as fine and supple as elvish craftsmen could work it still felt clumsy and unnatural to her. Momentarily she thought how ridiculous she must look but fear drove out mirth as she waited for the order to open fire, the battlements offering protection - for now.

The moment came, she nocked an arrow; perhaps one of the many she had crafted herself; so many arrows... so many orcs .. every shaft might find its mark and still there would not be enough she realised. Ferin fired his first arrow then ducked down to reload as Losrian took her turn.


Though the keen-eyed elves shot swiftly and most their darts went home the orcs that fell were instantly replaced by others. They might as well hold back the tide as these relentless waves of foes

Her brother's voice came to her mind. It was as if he had spoken but he had uttered no sound it would be pointless in the noise of the battle. Losrian had little skill at the Osanwe - her family had often teased her that the very young were too self obsessed to interact well with the minds of others but at this close proximity there was no doubt that he had read her mind, her nascent despair; "Estel, Losrian, don't give up before we have to" He gave her a brief smile.

The enemy could not match the elves for archery but they had weapons as lethal and more terrible. Trebuchets that rained fire and iron on the city.

Losrian would long wonder the workings of fate. A moment sooner or later and their places would have been exchanged but the moment that the piece of molten shrapnel fell , Ferin was at the embrasure and Losrian crouched reloading shielded by the merlon. Thus it was his armour and flesh that was rent by the razor shards, his blood that poured away with his life.