The Littlest Warrior

The scream not only broke the peace of the otherwise calm and lazy afternoon, it struck straight through to the heart of Vindil. His head jerked round at the shrill sound, and he was instantly moving in the direction from which it had come. Calling out now, he yelled his companion’s name.

“Aphrod! Aphrod!”

A second scream followed the first as Vindil’s feet hit the ground, he was panicked now…"Eru, what is happening to him?” His mind raced as his body speedily made its way to the source of the scream.

“Aphrod!” he called again – no response. Only the sounds of a scuffle met his ears. Then, there it was again, another scream, then suddenly behind him the sound of hoof beats. Glancing over his shoulder as he ran, he could see Braneth riding hard, and behind him Lethros and Elrohir and he called out to them.

“Hurry! This way!” he yelled as he pointed out the direction with the end of his bow. Moving off to the side of the trail he allowed the riders to pass. As the last rider, Rilloth, approached, he leaned over the side of his horse extending his arm, and Vindil grabbed on and swung up behind him onto Swiftwing’s back. Another scream and then a groan of agony was heard as the elves rode into a dense grove of Sycamore trees.

Finally reaching a small clearing, Braneth was dismounting before his horse even came to a full stop. Drawing his sword he ran to the battered body before him and felt for a pulse. One by one, the other riders made it into the clearing as he knelt beside Aphrod’s body trying to rouse him. His initial attempts were futile, and now he could see why; several dark gray-to-black handprints dotted the exposed skin on Aphrod’s body. There was one on his left wrist and hand, and another on his right. One near the side of his neck and another where his shirt sleeve had been ripped away, revealing a fourth larger wound on his arm. The flesh was withering and already dry, as if the very life had been drawn from it, and it appeared to be spreading. As he scanned the surrounding area Braneth called out. “He lives! Quickly, help me get him up.”

The Captain immediately took charge shouting out his orders, the anger, and tension in his voice apparent. “Panír, Imril, Rilloth sweep the area, stay within sight of each other, the assailant could not have gotten far, find him!” Gingerly he helped Lethros lift the unconscious elf, placing him on the back of Lethros’ mount.

“Vindil gather your horse and ride back to the house with Lethros – take Aphrod’s horse as well, leave nothing behind that you must come back for, ride hard and do not stop until you reach sanctuary – hurry! Elrohir, with me!”

Fanning out into the bushes the elves searched for any trace of the attacker, suddenly after several minutes Rilloth called out, “Im gar rein!” (I have track) immediately the others converged on his position.

“What see you Rilloth?”

”It is small, barely there, but there none-the-less. See? he said as he pointed at the imprint left in the mud. He is wearing soft boots…the track is too light to be that of a human.”

“What are you saying?” demanded Elrohir. “If not human then what?”

“The track is too light for a human milord, too heavy for a dwarf, too small for a hobbit or a troll, and not iron shod like an orc.”

“Rilloth, that only leaves one option, and that cannot be.”

“See for yourself milord, the sign does not lie. Whoever left this track…is an elf.”

Elrohir pushed to the front of the group, kneeling down he examined the track for himself, praying that Rilloth was wrong. Unfortunately his prayers would not be answered this day, but then he knew that before he looked. Rilloth was arguably the best tracker in any of the four Elven realms, and had once pursued a fox for more than ten miles during the heat of summer when the ground was hard packed and unforgiving, and had found his prey. Elrohir learned a valuable lesson that day; when the best tracker in the realm tells you it is so, it is so. The group stood there dumbfounded. One of theirs? One of their own had done this? But how could that be?

Braneth rose, his gaze never moved from the track, but the set of his jaw told everyone what he was thinking. “Everyone mount up…we must get back to the house. If this killer is an elf, then the other patrols must be made aware of it immediately.”

“Aye,” Elrohir responded, “I do not think my father was expecting anything like this…”

“None of us was…but it is of no account – whoever has done this, whoever has brought this plague down upon our people will pay – it matters not if he be mortal, or elf, or some mystic being from another world, it matters not – the price for his treachery will be the same – death.”

~~~~~


The activity in the kitchen of the Last Homely House was frenetic. Lady Nilya’s troops were darting in and out and back and forth as they prepared for the evening meal. With seven extra mouths to feed the Lady was directing traffic and spewing out orders like a seasoned general. Food from Lady Nilya’s kitchens was always guaranteed to be delectable, however when there were guests about she had a tendency to ‘put on the dog,’ to show off a bit, for she did not like it said that the chefs of Lothlórien, Mirkwood or the Havens set a better table then she. Yes, she knew that it was pure vanity that drove her in those situations, but she decided that she was entitled to a little vanity. After all, she’d lived a very long time, and she would not have it said that after all these years she could still be ‘outdone’ by some mere slip of an ellith from any of those realms. As she passed along the rows of worktables she would stop periodically to examine the various dishes, and to occasionally add her little finishing touches.

“Adril, add a little more chopped parsley to the stew, if you please…”

“Yes ma’mam.”

“Indórië, are you keeping an eye on the bread?”

“Yes Lady Nilya.”

“Watch it carefully dear, it only takes a minute or two to go from perfectly browned to burned to a crisp in that oven…”

“Perwaen how many more pies are in the oven?”

“Six, Milady.”

“Very good, we must make certain there are enough desserts with the extra warriors about…Eru how those ellyn love sweets,” she laughed.

“And let us not forget Lord Elrond and Estel Lady Nil, the little one was fare bouncing in his little boots when you agreed to lead the hunt for his ‘boo’ berries.”

“Aye…that he was,” she laughed, “and I dare say Lord Elrond was rather pleased with the prospect himself. Pity that we had to wait the extra days for them to fully ripen, but he shall have his pies tonight.” Moving further down the table, Nilya stopped to rearrange several bowls of roasted potatoes so that they would not spill over on to the floor when they were carried into the dining hall. Then she mentally went through her checklist.

Wine, ale, cooled water, buttermilk for the baby, stewed venison, rainbow trout, roasted chicken, dumplings, green peas, roasted potatoes, ‘cloud’ potatoes for Estel, mushrooms, biscuits, fresh butter, preserves, honey, 3 kinds of cheese, sliced spring melon, and last but not least blueberry pie. “That should just about do it,” she said aloud.

“Menwen, are the tables ready?”

“Yes milady, except for the flowers…Thorodir has just gone out to the sannan (the gardener) to get them.”

“Well at least you have put him to good use, all these extra sentries standing about - serves no purpose if you ask me…except to get in my way,” she declared. Titters and giggles were heard throughout the room as she continued invoicing her objections. “Warriors with weapons in the house…having to take one of them with you wherever you go, well I never!” she grumbled. “When he comes back make sure that you supervise their placement, and be sure you give them a good shake – I will not have ants and bugs crawling across my supper tables.”

“Yes ma’mam.”

Just then, Nilya’s keen ears caught the sound of horse’s hooves; whoever it was they were in a hurry, and they were riding hard. “Menwen, run to the front door and see who it is that approaches, the last thing we need right now is more visitors.”

“Yes Milady.”

As Menwen made her way to the door, the Lady quite unexpectedly took a seat on the stool in the corner. An uncharacteristic feeling of anxiety swept over her, and she felt light-headed. Indórië, was the first to notice the lady’s weakened appearance, and moved quickly to her side.

“Milady, what ails you?” she said as she reached out to take Nilya’s hand. Though the kitchen was as hot as always, Nilya’s hand was cold as ice. “Perwaen, quickly…a cup of water for the lady.” As Nilya struggled to regain her bearings and clear her head, Indórië stood at her side fanning her with an apron.

“What is wrong?” Perwaen questioned as she took to a knee at Nilya’s feet. Still unable to articulate an answer, the elder elf merely shook her head in obvious confusion. Looking back and forth between the two ellith at her side she was only able to utter a few words. “The food, do not let it burn,” before slumping unconscious against the wall. Cries of “My Lady!” and “Elbereth No!” went up around the kitchen as the members of the cooking staff moved to Nilya’s side, Perwaen quickly took charge and began to set things back in order.

“Indórië, fetch one of the healers, quickly!”

The elleth turned so speedily she almost bowled over Menwen and the returning sentry Thorodir, as she ran head long through the door in search of a healer.

“Adril, tend to the food…Lady Nilya will have all our hides if her supper is ruined over a little fainting spell.” The look that passed between the ellith was telling; both knew that this was no mere fainting spell, but neither wished to alarm the other helpers. “Come now…,” she said clapping her hands together, ”…the rest of you back to your work, tis merely the heat.”

“What has happened?” queried Thorodir as Nilya’s eyes fluttered open.

“It is nothing,” Nilya sighed breathlessly, “I merely became a little overheated, tis nothing…why are all of you gathered ‘round me? Go, get back to your duties, go, shoo!” she said flapping her apron bottom at them as they slowly moved away. Perwaen however was not so easily moved.

“I have sent for a healer,” she whispered, as she cautiously eyed Nilya for any further signs of distress.

“Good, then perhaps he can help you carry some of this food out to the dining hall, for that is certainly the only reason why he will be needed in this kitchen this evening.”

Despite the great lady’s show of power, Perwaen was still not convinced, and Nilya knew that she would have to give sway to her in some way or the elleth would dog her footsteps for the rest of the night. Peeking to make sure the others were out of earshot she adopted a softer stance and nominally acquiesced. “I will see him when he comes,” she said softly, “…tis nothing, I will be fine.”

Perwaen finally nodded her agreement and turned to go back to her duties leaving one last caveat, “When supper is over you and I will have a talk…yes?” Nilya nodded her agreement and tentatively made to stand. Finding her center of gravity she took a few halting steps then drew herself up straight once more. With her balance restored, she once again took command of her kitchen and gave instructions to her troops, while in the back of her mind she tried to figure out how she would explain to the persistent Perwaen how this feeling of evil had just come upon her. More importantly, why she had not mentioned that it was not the first time.
~~~~~~~

Lethros rode into the courtyard at full tilt, shouting for the healers as he came. Vindil appeared right behind him leading Aphrod’s mount carrying all their supplies. The gate sentry Hírómë ran beside Lethros’ horse until it slowed on the cobblestone walk, then he continued up the front stairs taking them two at a time disappearing inside the door. Raised voices in the courtyard brought Glorfindel, Cilinwë and the newly assigned guard for the first floor, Malrin, bounding down the stairs, as Ecthíras, the Captain of the Gate, approached from the side of the house.

“What has happened?” Glorfindel demanded as he grabbed the horse’s reins and brought him to a complete stop. “Where are the others?”

“The southern outpost was attacked, Aphrod is badly wounded. Where is the healer?” Lethros cried desperately as he scanned the doorway searching for assistance. His call was answered moments later when Lord Elrond and his second assistant Sereth came running down the stairs with Hírómë close behind. As Lethros gently eased the injured elf from the back of his horse, he related the events of the day to Glorfindel, who, along with Ecthíras, began issuing commands to secure the courtyard and the house. Lord Elrond and Sereth gave the unconscious Aphrod a preliminary exam as Elrond’s third assistant Olmarth emerged from the house carrying a stretcher.

“Careful now,” Elrond cautioned, “be careful of his hands.” “Quickly, get him into the infirmary, Glorfindel…?”

“Take care of your patient milord, I will handle all else.”

Nodding his assent Elrond quickly followed the healers and the stretcher-bound Aphrod into the house. Vindil followed right behind him, while the commander re-organized the sentries and the household guard. Lethros, who was only now catching his breath, began again to give a more precise report of their encounter with the attacker. Just as he was starting his story, hoof beats were again heard on the road leading to the front gate. Braneth’s patrol rode hard into the courtyard, the lead horse pulling up just shy of running over the balrog slayer, and Glorfindel called out as the party dismounted.

“Did you find anyone? Was there any trail?” Before Braneth answered, he turned pointing at Hírómë

“Shut the gates! Lock everything down!”

“What has happened?” Glorfindel demanded as they moved towards the stairs.

“We did not find the culprit, but we have news, come, we must speak to Lord Elrond as soon as possible.” Turning, Braneth addressed the Gate Captain, “Allow no one to enter that you do not know, and do not let anyone approach you, no matter how innocent they appear. Do not let anyone you do not know get close enough to touch you!”

“Glorfindel this attacker has taken on a guise that none of us expected!”

“Of what do you speak Braneth…?”

“We have reason to believe that our attacker is an elf.”

The commander stopped still in his tracks grabbing Braneth by the arm and halting his steps. “That is madness…no elf would…no elf COULD do what this monster has done.”

“Well this one can – I can find no explanation for it either my friend, but there is little doubt Del, Rilloth found track, whatever his thinking, whatever his reason, our assailant IS an elf. Come, Lord Elrond must be made aware of this as soon as possible.”

“Our Lord has his hands full at the moment, and we have more important issues to handle, we must secure this house and warn our other outposts.”

Issuing his orders as he walked towards the house Glorfindel continued, “Rilloth, Panír! As soon as you have caught your breath I want each of you to get a fresh mount and ride with Braneth to our other outposts, if there is one of these…’elves’ there may be more. Take Geleph and Golros with you. We cannot take the chance that our people might come upon this ‘elf’ unsuspectingly. Have them pack up and return at once to the house – they are not to stop or make camp. I will not have our people alone out there at this monster’s mercy. Ecthíras find Erestor and make secure the house. Hírómë locate Rúmil, and Haldir, Haldir is most likely with Estel, have him take the babe to Lady Nilya in the kitchens – make sure she understands that Estel is not to leave her sight.”

“Aye Milord.”

Just then Malrin interrupted, “My lord, by your leave…I would like to ride with the sentries, this beast has plagued us for weeks, please my lord give me the chance to hunt this creature.”

Glorfindel considered Malrin’s motives, but more importantly his demeanor; he would not send a warrior out into a perilous situation who might be a danger to himself and his companions. Carefully he scrutinized the elf before him, ‘Eagerness, yet control…’ he thought, then he came to a decision. “Very well, go with Braneth, he will see to it that you are well mounted, All of you – be careful, take no unnecessary chances.”

“Aye milord!”

“Imril, alert Illarion (the Bow Master) have him make sure we have enough arrows in case there is an attack, then go to Moldórë (The Armorer), we may need both bows and armor before this is done – the rest of you – to the war room!”