Still March 15, 3019

With a hefty swing, Carmegil decapitated a very large hobgoblin type creature. The black blood squirted towards his face but he managed to duck in time. It was unfortunate for Nimwing who had come up behind him, though. It spewed right into her hair and on her cheek… and in her mouth.

"At least it isn't your blood," Carmegil shrugged as he watched her disgusted look.

She may certainly know how to wield a blade, but Carmegil was rather unimpressed by her ability to hold her stomach as she started to retch. He rolled his eyes and blocked an incoming arrow with his sword. Lucky for Nimwing he was there.

"If you're quite done, we have work to do!" He called out to her as he held off another orc. Far above he heard a bow string twang as the orc in front of him was shot between the eyes.

She stood up and glared daggers at the old elf before her. But in response she tightened her grip on her blade and leapt back into the fray. The flash of her Silvan blonde hair was all he saw as she tore off and assaulted an orc captain.

The youth, snorted Carmegil. They all think they're immortal.

With a shake of his head he stabbed behind himself as he heard an orc trying to sneak up behind him. When would orcs stop that pointless trick? It was too easy to see through.

Carmegil moved forward, pressing onwards deeper into the enemy ranks. He cut down orcs left and right, dodging arrows and incoming blades with ease. The forest of Mirkwood wasn't Doriath, but it wasn't unimpressive in terms of size and grandeur. It just wasn't… it wasn't Doriath.

When he smelled it ahead, he feared for his safety the first time that day. The scent of smoke, of burning trees and leaves, was unmistakable. He had smelled it before in the sack of Doriath by the sons of Fëanor in King Dior and Queen Nimloth's day.

"They're setting the trees a-blaze! Everyone down!" He screamed the orders in elvish to the archers far above. "Get down!"

He couldn't yet see the inferno, but he could hear it and smell it. Elven archers scrambled to the forest floor upon his orders, thankful their retired captain knew what he was doing.

"To the river! Make your stand beside it." Carmegil shouted again to be sure he was heard.

As he pulled an injured warrior from the ground and pushed him forward, he saw the first signs of smoke. Orcs were burning the trees as they came towards Thranduil's Halls and the Black Mountains. Their hope lay now with the river.

The fighting had gone on for many hours now, but still the orcs came. Carmegil finally reached the river base he had instructed some elves to set up for the wounded. The fire had been halted by some very determined elves of Thranduil's command, but the damage to the forest was immense.

A shout floated on the wind to him. "Carmegil!"

Nimwing ran over to him, terrified. He frowned and wondered what was wrong.

"Speak, child!" he demanded after several moments. "What news do you bring?"

"Nazgûl, sir." She shivered. "The scouts have caught sight on a Nazgûl approaching Thranduil's company."

Elbereth Gilthoniel, he sighed to himself. Anything else going to go wrong today?

"And the King has lost most of his guard." She finished with a frown.

Of course.

Carmegil nodded. "Well stop standing there with your tongue wagging. Find some warriors and follow me!"

Nimwing rolled her eyes but nodded and sped to some warriors nearby. Within moments, Carmegil had a small posse with him.

Time to rescue the Elven King, he snorted.

When they reached the burned clearing Nimwing knew the King to be in, they found him fighting the Nazgûl one on one. It was Khamûl, the Easterling. His rotting armor was of that foreign land of Rhûn.

Carmegil turned to his companions, focusing especially on Nimwing. "Do not engage the Nazgûl. Just focus on any orcs."

With that, Carmegil sped forward and swung his sword hard down on Khamûl. His sword was that of ancient elvish make, and he knew it would do damage to the wraith. Thranduil's twin swords would as well, but the Elven King had been fighting for a while already.

"Took you long enough," Thranduil glared at him.

Carmegil snorted. "Glad to see you too, my King."

With a roll of his eyes, the Elven King pushed back from Khamûl fiercely and ducked to the side for a breather, leaving Carmegil to battle their foe.

"One problem!" Carmegil called over to him a moment later. "He's already dead."

Thranduil didn't find that funny at all. As he nursed a deep slash to his arm, he was about to reply when he watched with horror as Khamûl, with some quiet, snide comments, managed to knock over Carmegil.

Thranduil was too slow to save him.

Nimwing was not.

With a heavy swing of her sword, she caught the blow and pushed back the wraith. Carmegil groaned and forced himself up as his apprentice battled the Nazgûl.

"She cannot wound him." Thranduil reminded him as they both watched, nursing their wounds.

Carmegil nodded and sighed. He adjusted his grip on his sword and ran in to assist her. Nimwing was exhausted and quickly bowed out, leaving it to her betters.

"A weak she-elf that one is," sneered the faceless Khamûl.

Carmegil snorted and swung at him again. "That weak she-elf is probably the best student of mine I've ever had."

"Poor students for a poor teacher." Khamûl tried to grab his arm but Carmegil spun away. He looked briefly to his left to check on his King. Thranduil seemed fine. Nimwing and a companion of hers were tending to him as the other elves kept the clearing free of orcs.

He was too slow to jump out of the way completely of a swing from the Nazgûl. The wraith managed to clip his leg slightly between armor pieces.

Eru above, he glared. I've helped slay Balrogs. Why is one wraith causing me such trouble?!