Nerion pulled down his scarf and tugged off his cap to expose his pointed pierced ears. "Do I look like an orc?" He replied in the language of man before switching to elvish. "I am sure you read your history books young prince. You should know exactly what I am".

Those blue eyes didn't change as the prince of Mirkwood took in Nerion's elvish features mixed in with the colourings of an orc. They remind cold, not full of hate for that would need care and feeling, but simply cold. Like the life of an orc was merely nothing of worth. The blade lifted higher. The prince responding in the language of man in a calm coolness. "I know what you are. Thiog hui'uan. Halfbreed".

Nerion tutted disapprovingly. "Thranduilion. You are such a young prince".

"You know my father". It was a statement, an unhappy one.

"Once", Nerion acquiesced. He thought about saying more but he was weary of explaining himself. Instead he just sighed at the young elves. He doubted that either of them had hit their two thousandth and five hundred year mark yet. He briefly wondered if he had been so passionate at their age, but the he recalled what he had been going through at their age and his mood dimmed.

"I assume you are also here for the dwarves", he said instead. One hand waved at the dwarf in the bed. "I am afraid that that one is dying. So if you could turn your attention to saving him rather than skewering me, I would appreciate it". He smiled coldly. The scars on his face contorting at the expression.

At his words the red haired she-elf sheathed her weapon with a warning look and rushed over to the dwarf's side. Nerion kept his gaze on the prince as he stepped back and into the doorway. The night at his back for a moment as he stood silhouetted against the dark. Outside, there was a crash and yell. He winced at the noise and raised a brow at the young prince. "Trastad?" He asked before he ducking around the frame and running towards the noise. Feet carrying him at almost flying speed down the steps before he was leaping onto the paths.

There was a muttered curse- "Rhaich!" -behind him before a gleam of blood silver hair blurred in the moonlight and he heard the soft patter of elven feet. He had expected the elf prince to follow him and he wondered if the young elf could keep up. He maybe swift but Nerion had spent the last forty years on these waters and he knew them well.

He rounded a corner and found a fourth dwarf on a bridge. A orc bearing down on him. His hands moved to his dagger but the swift breeze of an arrow blew his hair into his eyes as the shaft flew neatly straight through the orc's chest and out the other side. The Dwarf glanced at them in shock before gathering up a bundle of Kingsfoil in his hands and racing past them back toward's Bard's house.

Nerion didn't even glance at him, skidding to a stop as his attention caught on the long limbed giant of an orc that had stepped around the house. In the moonlight, far close than before, it was easy to recognise the great scars that curled across the orc's head and the blind white of one eye. The warped metal of his armour was also recognisable from the bear claws of long dead skin changers attached to the shoulder guards. Nerion grinned viciously. "Bolg", he greeted. "Gujat avime no ukee". Orcish as foul on his tongue as he recalled.

The talking monster stopped in its tracks at the sight of the black haired elf. It's lips twitched into a sadistic amused grin. "Lat. Jiak nauk-membas lat". Great rasping breaths, like a boar about to charge, echoed in the narrow corridor of houses as Bolg readied his huge double bladed cleaver and stepped forwards.

"Miukuk alnej?" Nerion's grin widened as he unscathed his second sword. Behind him, he heard the elf prince unsheathed a sword of his own.

He moved forwards and ducked as two more orcs lunged out of the shadows. One blade passing neatly over his head before he flipped forwards over the second. There was a clang of steel as the blonde met their blades, leaving him free to kill the orc he had been wanting to carve up for centuries. He felt almost buoyant at the thought.

Bolg struck first. His cleaver swinging down in a high ark over his head with a strength that Nerion knew he would barely be able to block. He didn't even try, merely side stepping the blade, feeling the air of it against his face, before punching the orc right in his undefended blind eye. It was a particularly personal blow and he took joy in the groan of pain it caused as the orc staggered a step to the side. Yet it only seemed to make it more angry.

The cleaver swung up with a speed surprising in a creature that size, but Nerion knew not to underestimate the orc. They had fought many times before, enough times for Nerion to know exactly how strong and fast his opponent was. It had been beaten into him enough, carved into his skin each time he failed. This battle had been a long time coming and he was going to enjoy it with a savagery that was not remotely elf like. A sadism that he had learnt first hand from his torturers. Something he would be very happy to give back.

The cleaver swung and hit metal with a clear clang. Nerion grinned at the orc, teeth white against his grey skin. "Jiak ukpiav par lat ukavrengavh agh avoaukav avo lat deaavh". It was a hissed promise. One that brought a roar of rage echoing into the night.

Bolg was fast for his size but Nerion was faster. The orc twisted his cleaver to further drive it against the blades but the elf dropped to his knees and let the momentum carry the huge weapon over his head. The force of it far too much for him to change direction so soon. Before spinning as slicing his blade neatly through the orc's achilles tendons. The orc snarled in pain as he collapsed to his knees, cleaver clattering to the wood as his arms reached out. Nerion just a little too slow to avoid the bone crushing grip that caught his arm and yanked him in close.

He winced at the foul stench of rot that emanated from the beast. The whistling air through cracked teeth as Bolg started to squeeze. The black haired elf gasping as the air was forced from his lungs and his ribs creaked. He couldn't breathe. Arms pinned to his sides, swords clattering to the floor as his hands wriggled uselessly for a moment. 

"Jiak liwo enjoausan lat deaavh", Bolg laughed, voice harsh and cracking.

Nerion winced as he felt a rib fracture but smiled back as his hands found the hilts of two daggers tucked into the back of his belt. "Avhaav liwo be mausan joausan", he retorted as the daggers slide neatly into the orc's lower stomach. A gap in the armour just above his hips. Bolg gasped, arms loosening enough for Nerion to pull back enough to slide the two blades across and gut the beast open.

He stood up as the orc leader fell to the floor, limbs jerking as it made a weak attempt to hold in the black guts spilling over the wood. Nerion panting heavily as he stood up, ribs aching and throbbing. He stared down at the orc with his pale eyes and felt the rage leave him. He felt nothing for this creature anymore. A beast like this did not even deserve the effort of hatred. Bolg just an ant under his shoe. The daggers returned to their spots on his belt and he turned to his two fallen swords. "I have avenged myself", he stated as he picked up the swords and stabbed one down cleanly through Bolg's trachea. The orc jerking in the throes of death, wheezing inhales silencing before going still.

Nerion straightened with a wince and sheathed the blades before pressing a hand to his ribs. Yep, one was cracked. He really hated having broken ribs. He staggered as he pressed a hand to it, wincing as his other hand steadied himself on a window ledge nearby. When he looked up, it was to see the elf prince gazing at him with a furrowed brow. Longsword glinting under the black blood that stained it.

"You speak a foul tongue". It was a statement.

Nerion would have shrugged if his chest didn't hurt. "Apparently I am a orc".

The elf prince seemed perplexed. "You are, but you are also not. What are you?"

Nerion exhaled slowly as he began to stagger his way in the opposite direction of the blonde. His tired voice, older and weighted with history, echoing back behind him as he staggered into the gloom. "The nightmare of all elves". 

Unedited

Not me having three lotr language tabs open for this book. The problem of having bilingual characters.

Thiog hui'uan. - You look like a monster.

Trastad - Trouble?

Rhaich - Curses (Like 'Damn it!')

Gujat avime no ukee - Long time no see.

Lat. Jiak nauk-membas lat - You. I remember you.

Miukuk alnej? - Miss me?

Jiak ukpiav par lat ukavrengavh agh avoaukav avo lat deaavh - I spit at your strength and toast to your death.

Jiak liwo enjoausan lat deaavh - I will enjoy your death.

Avhaav liwo be mausan joausan - That will be my joy.