In the past, when you first came to the place of your birth, you were an untrained girl daunted by a new world. I, being one of the most trusted generals of Lord Celeborn's galadhrim, was tasked in training you in combat and in the impossible task of burgeoning your knowledge on your given abilities.

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D E V E R
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          Grasses swayed stiffly, their course green stalks playing in front of my eyes. I looked passed the dark greenery, shaking my head as the grass tickled my ears and neck, to the old shed. It was times like these, when I could've watched from a long distance away, I wished to be an elf.

          These green plains, east of Dale and Mirkwood, were barren of everything except for course grass. People only ever passed through these fields. Only ever set up a tent with a dancing fire, making plans to continue onwards the next day. With no river or stream cutting through the course plain, no other vegetation except for grass and the occasion course brush, no permanent structures dotted the landscape.

          This shed, it defied those standards. No house accompanied it, no farm. Just a free-standing shed, alone in the wilderness.

         It reminded me of a votive candle. Short and had to have a reserve of secrets inside to fuel my and the Western Hope's suspicion. But within this vast landscape, it'd drown in its secrets.

    But not before I delve into them.

    I knew something had to be dwelling within those walls, something important. Even though Eomer was only a little skeptical, Aragorn had the same suspicion as me. People were dying, orcs were raiding towns. This was our chance to be one step ahead of those organized attacks, to learn of the next raid and stop it before it happens.

    Mother's pendant felt like a weight around my neck and I couldn't stop myself from seeing her sightless eyes.

    I tapped a rhythm on the ground, hard and painful, and strained my ears. Past the droning of wind through the thick stalks, I heard only silence and so with careful feet, I picked forward, keeping low to the ground.

    The shed's dark wood walls appeared to come from the trees native to a forest east from here, the logs would've had to have been carted here by a team of horses or trolls, possibly even wargs. However, trolls would have been extra effort to bring all the way out here and wargs were sometimes hard to control. Horses though, orcs—or honorless fools—could have easily stolen those. Judging by the terrain and how hard it would've been to get supplies here to feed those alive, horses would have been used.

    I flipped my knife from its sheath, knowing if an adversary rounded the corner—which was highly unlikely—I'd throw by holding the blade since the handle was heavy. Instead of throwing the knife, I scratched a starburst pattern into the wood and then crept quickly to the door.

    Heart pounding up my throat, I pressed an ear lightly to the door—and tapped softly in a quick, common threshing bird's pattern. Retreating, I pressed myself up against the wall as the door opened. Hatred coursed through my veins as an orc peered out, its squinting eyes peering almost uselessly into the daylight. Those eyes seemed to be an abyss of hatred and evil, devoid of anything good.

    A distorted voice grumbled. "Only a bird was it?"

    "Shut it, Grund. I'll stuff your corpse with bird feathers if you don't shut it about stickin' birds."

    "Ha! You need better insults—"

    The orc shut the door, but I inserted a piece of thick cloth into the door frame, preventing the door from closing fully. And just like the inattentive sentries the orcs were, they didn't notice.

    From my belt, a gathered three blades in hand, holding the blade with the hilt out, and quickly shoved open the door. The room was horribly dim, but I had no time to let my eyes adjust. I threw the first knife in the direction of the voice, allowing my ears to trust the orcs location before my eyes. Then I threw the second knife at the orc in front of a small table, the knife half-buried in the back of its skull. Quickly, I took the third knife in the candle-light and slit the creature's throat before it could scream.

    I turned around, already expecting the harsh rasping of the first orc. It lay in a growing puddle of blood, gnarled hands clutching at the knife in its throat. I stood before its body, boots thudding softly. 

Dark eyes roved mine, pain glazing over those abyss irises. Abyss eyes. One hand reached out for my boot and I could feel it touching my shoe. Disgusted, I kicked the limb away and went to retrieve my knife from the skull of the other creature. Wiping it and the blade I used to slice its throat on my trousers, I went and searched the small table and chest.

I found nothing of use, nothing to help the Western Hope, nothing lighting whatever plans Alagosson has for Middle-Earth.

A few minutes later; still nothing.

What was the use for this hut! Why construct it where no one was likely to see it if the enemy wasn't hiding anything!

Seething, I swept my hands across the table, sending crude, dirty plates and discarded weapons to the ground in a clatter.

The items hit hollowly.

I froze, understanding lighting a second later.

Of course! How did I not think of it!

Moron, I thought, while rushing to move the dead orc body to lean in the corner, then placed a cup in its hand. I turned to the other, my boots now seeming too loud on the wooden floor. The second orc now dead, I yanked my knife from its throat, and in one fluid motion wiped it and shoved it in its sheath. Then, while my heart jumped in my throat, I propped the orc against the wall, placing another cup in its dead hand. Quickly, I snuffed out a candle to darken the lighting and hid in a corner by the table.

And waited.

Not even a second later, a section of the wooden floor lifted up, one of the plates sliding down the trap door.

An orc head peered out the hole. I scowled, reaching for a knife to embed in its worthless body.

"Drunken fools," it sneered. "Wake up!"

When the orcs did not awaken, it grumbled under its breath, shoved the trap door all the way open with a loud clack! and stomped out onto the wooden floor.

    Swiftly, I came out of the shadows. Slapping a hand over its mouth, I sliced its throat. Blood sprayed like a woman's fan, droplets shining in the yellow light. Much more careful now that I knew there was a world beneath us, I lowered the body to the floor, allowing the orc to bleed out on the ground.

    I stared at the trap door I somehow missed for a moment, giddiness building inside me. I smothered the emotion. Later.

    I took out my other two blades, one in my left hand to throw and the other two in my right hand, hilt outwards. Long, steep steps descending downwards, light illuminating another wooden floor at the bottom.

    Another level.

    How deep does this base go?

    I set my jaw; gather as much information as I can, and then get out.

After killing several orcs.

Goal: 15 dead honorless corpses. Low goal, but that leaves room for more.

    I felt the presence of the dead orcs behind me as I descended the steps. Seven more to go. I smirked, feeling the thrill of a challenge, and balanced the knives in my hands.

    In the blades' metal, I could just make out my reflection, just make out a few weeks' worth of grime and blood around my dark green eyes, splattered throughout my growing beard. Soon, I'd need to shave off the dreadful thing. I was tired of the dark hair tickling my lip. As with the brown hair brushing around my ears.

    I paused near the bottom steps, listening for more enemies lurking, searching the lit ground below for moving shadows.

    Moving forward with caution, I let my ears locate the orcs. Then—

    I swept out of the cover of the steps, taking in the room in a matter of seconds.

    An orc sat at a long table, counting what appeared to be coins, a stack of men's coin-pouches piled behind it. Quickly, I slammed its head against the table, dropping my knives to break its neck with one swift motion.

Another enormous creature pounded up the steps from a lower level.

    "I say we leave. They can't keep us here forever, locked up like hogs!" The orc dragged behind him a cloth bag, big and bulky. A body.

    The hefty orc continued, mumbling, "forbidden to leave..." The creature dropped the bag, staring at the dead orc slumped against the table, neck at an odd angle.

    "Morgoth's throne..." The creature noticed me, abyss eyes widening. Right before hatred entered its being, a bloodlust for death.

I lunged for my knives, fingers fumbling and only managing to grab one. I heard the orc unsheathe a crude sword, expected the blade to curve towards me. I twisted away, yet the blade nicked my arm, cutting through my shirt.

Anger, as red as the blood beginning to seep into my sleeve, sung through my veins. Grunting, I ducked underneath another swing, sidestepping around the creatures next step. Yet, the creature kept a safe bubble around it, its sword many times longer than my knife. But in the midst of this attack, I couldn't reach for my own sword.

Grunting in frustration, I tried yet again to thrust past its defense, yet I was easily swept aside.

I leaped back, confusing the orc as to why I wasn't engaging, and in the span of a second stopped. I took in my surroundings.

A discarded cloak lay on the table's bench.

A dark floor-board by the wall was loose, its corner an inch higher than the rest.

A pile of bronze coins next to a discarded coin purse.

A hook on the wall, behind the orc.

Time sped up, the orc yelling as it cut for me. I ducked under the swing of its blade, simultaneously reaching for the coins on the table.

As the thing followed through the momentum of its arm, I flung a handful of coins at the creature's face. It roared, stumbling back as it batted at the air in front of its face. A moment later I threw the discarded cloak at its head, knocking the sword from its hand and taking hold of its now-cloaked shoulders.

I pushed the orc and as it tried getting its footing, it tripped over the loose floorboard and fell right into the hook on the wall.

The orc's neck crunched as the hook met bone.

Breathing heavy, I stepped back, the hook keeping the orc standing as the clarity slowly faded in its eyes.

I stared at the creature for a moment, sneering as the life bled from it. Serves you right.

You all deserve death.

    I turned, wiping sweat from my brow, and retrieved my knives.

    Orc feet and howls echoed up the dark stairwell. Scowling, I pushed back damp hair and readied myself for battle.

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    Several minutes later I leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. With each rise and fall of my chest, I glanced around at the fallen creatures. Five dead.

    Five more to go.   

    I hesitated, however, when I stood before the second stairwell. There was an unknowable amount of orcs down there. I'd have to sweep the entire area, let no orc evade me and prevent me from escaping.

    I ignored the possibility of becoming trapped in an enemies base, I didn't have time to dwell over such things. Dwelling on thoughts only risked doubt and fear settling in.

    And besides, I could take these orcs. They'd all die by my hands.

    I took the steps two at a time, slowing when I reached the bottom. This level was empty, the ones previously occupying this space having traveled to the level above. Dead now.

    I traveled down several more levels, each one slightly different—and colder—than the previous. Orcs were on all levels, of course. But all fifteen now lay in puddles of their own blood.

    Finally, I rounded a corner with a couple of orcs guarding a doorway.

    Both orcs slouched, looking at the walls, the floor, doing anything but being attentive. Maybe if they were doing their task correctly—and well—they'd have seen me coming.

    It took all of ten seconds to incapacitate both. Carefully, I guided their fall, so as to not alert whatever was behind that locked door.

    The door was made of metal, thick and heavy. The price-tag for such a creation was hefty unless you had towns and cities waiting on your every whim. Which is exactly the kind of wealth Alagosson had. Not only did he have kingdoms run by his minions, but he had every orc, every corrupted man, every uur rauko and warg under his control. Miners, bankers, farmers. He had a hold in Middle-Earth's economy. It didn't matter that some towns were left free from his grasp, those towns barely had a partner to trade with. Even if they did, they would have to risk lives traveling to trade. It wasn't enough that Alagosson had orc and mercenaries roaming the land, but hundreds of uur rauko from the Battle of the Black Gate still roamed free, nine years later.

    Life had been reduced to its knees, most every free person having to go back to the bartering system. Yet, the transition wasn't easy. Towns often destroyed themselves over the economic issues. Is it worth the risk trading? Is it worth risking collapse by changing the social, economic, and political structure?

    Unbelievably, some of the free peoples often argued to side with Alagosson, their political figures actually swaying others to their perverted side. They claimed siding with him would prevent their societal collapse. In a way it was true, yet siding with such a person would corrode morals, kill the people's joy, their freedom. Eventually, they'd be working slaves; living their own individual lives but all their profit going to whatever Alagosson was working on. They'd live knowing if they stepped a toe out of line, they'd be killed.

    I stepped forward lightly, pushing all other thoughts except for my goal out of my mind, and crouched before the door's lock. After quietly assessing it, I took out my lock pick. Nine years ago I wouldn't have known how to pick a lock. Death and certain doom is a great motivator to learn plan-thwarting things.

    Years of picking locks granted me the magnificent skill of picking locks at a near-silent level. As I quietly unlocked the door, I tapped out a rhythm with my toe in my shoe.

    Click.

    Holding my breath, I eased the door open. A multiple room suite greeted me, its temperature much warmer than the colder levels. By no means was it fancy. It was stern and almost devoid of any personal touches with stone walls and everything in its place, like a soldiers' quarters.

    The first room held simple seats and a low table. A single vase sat at the table's center, a bright blue flower in its hold.

    The next was the same, but the furniture was more ornate. The chairs had stiff pinkish cloth with a rug covering the area.

    I moved past all this, gripping my knife—

    "—didn't meet the quota, we can make up for it this spring! We'll have cabbage, peas, turnips! Meat will have cured by then, my lord!"

    Peeking through a second door, I saw a burly man, sword at his waist, on his knees. Sweat poured from his receding hairline. His eyes kept darting to something I couldn't see. In front of him stood a tall elf, with deathly pale skin and shoulder length dark hair. From here I could make out his gray, almost white, eyes. They seemed to be like his skin, losing their life. I immediately knew who it was.

    Alagosson had been a flurry of action and command on the battlefield before Mordor nine years ago, but during that battle, I hadn't gotten a good look at him. Seeing him now, he reminded me of Prince Legolas. Paling skin, eyes that seemed swimming in grief, yet hardened over by something I didn't understand. Both held themselves up strong though, one could almost forget about the weariness that must be lurking beneath. It never occurred to me that Alagosson could be a fading elf.

    "Very well. For your diligent work, I shall extend your deadline. If by the eighth week of spring I do not have what I asked for—" the fading elf paused. "I'll have my uur rauko slaughter your family, and after you've watched and have been executed, I'll appoint another who can meet my needs."

    Behind Alagosson sat a petite female elf, her fair skin so radiant it was practically glowing. She was a spitting image of what I assumed to be one of Eru Iluvatar's handmade creations. A Vala or Maia of some sort. Of course, the most evil man—elf—was the one that got the beauty. The elf-maiden sat on the couch behind him, knees halfway up to her chest. I found myself surprised. So Alagosson did have a lover, and it wasn't Duvaineth.

I wasn't surprised that she didn't wear a dress. She wore a sturdy tunic and trousers, both fashionable. She didn't look up at her master, instead, she mindlessly picked her nails while gazing at the same thing the man kept glancing at.

I forced myself not to open the door any wider to see the thing of interest. Instead, I stayed put and listened. I was not here to assassinate Alagosson, though it was all I could do to not shove my dagger in his gut, I was here to gather information.

All the leaders of the Western Hope all seemed to agree that killing Alagosson would only create a power vacuum and someone possibly worse could fill in his spot. I could see the logic but... He'd look good dead.

Even if I did just learn he is fading. I hated that I felt pity for such a monster. Hated that I barely understood what 'fading' meant for an elf. Aragorn had explained it to me once, when I had protested that the grief-stricken Legolas shouldn't be involved in the laying out of the Western Hope's plans and actions. Yet, I still couldn't grasp it.

    As Alagosson began to turn away, the man scrambled forward, horrified. Yet he abruptly paused all motion when he glanced at the hidden thing, then gulped.

    "I've caught news of Gwaraith!"

     I froze. Gwaraith. At the base, we had heard of her. Rumored to be the ghost of Lumornel, traveling Middle-Earth in a flurry of violence. 'Great Betrayer,' back from the dead to quench her thirst for the death of the good peoples of Middle-Earth.

     Of course, it wasn't actually her; Lumornel had died. Aragorn, Prince Legolas, King Thranduil of Mirkwood, and many other soldiers had seen her be slain, had seen her corpse. Legolas had even held her body, felt no heartbeat. This Gwaraith was either a figment of imagination or a murderer and thief posing as Lumornel. And besides, if Lumornel was alive, she'd have come looking for the Western Hope. She'd be a lousy prophecy-written if she'd been alive all this time and not come looking for those she needed to help.

    Alagosson paused, an odd mixture of fear and hope on his face. His lady paused as well, her brown eyes snapping to the man, her sanguine hair shifting slightly.

    "She's been through Calambel! A few of my men ran into her! She injured one of my men!"

    Then Alagosson strode forward and lifted the man up by the shirt until he was standing. "Well, she must have had a reason for injuring a man. What was it?"

    The elf was terribly good at hiding his emotions. Turin! Almost as good as me! The surprise had melted off his face and he had craftily placed on amusement laced with authoritative intimidation.

    The man stumbled over his words. "S-she stole a jar of jerky, my lord. My men were trying to get back what she took!"

    Alagosson stopped his slight pacing and quirked a brow. "Really? Did she succeed?"

    The man gaped. "My lord?"

    Alagosson dipped his chin. "Did she flee with the jar of meats?"

    "Why y-yes, my lord."

    The elf huffed a laugh, so quiet and quick I almost missed it, then tucked his hands behind his back. "Describe her appearance."

    "Just as the prophecy stated, my lord. Hair of winter, eyes of green, and as beautiful as an elf. In fact, she had elven ears. She moved too quick for my men and her knife skills were unbelievable. She sliced Ayoden so quickly her blade was a blur."

    Alagosson paused, his brows furrowed for a minute before he smoothed them out. He nodded, as if he knew this.

    "Did she say anything?"

    "Only that she did not want to hurt us." He paused. "My lord, I did not believe her. After all, she did end up slicing up Ayoden real well."

    "But he lived."

    "Yes; his cuts weren't deep. He's up and performing duties, my lord. I don't lose men, sire."

    Alagosson glanced at his girl then to the man, looking almost wary. "Did she display any... unordinary abilities?"

    The man shook his head, "if you mean by her famed light and darkness, then no. My lord, she moved faster than anyone I'd ever seen."

    The elf waved his hand as if saying, 'yes, elves do in fact "move fast."' Then he sat down on a couch adjacent to the one his lover sat on and moved a few fingers towards the door. "Ensure he leaves without stealing anything."

    I jerked, quickly looking for a place to hide. The only place ended up being behind a chair. Manwe's empty throne! A chair couldn't cover me!

    The door opened, and I stiffened behind the blush fabric of the sitting chair. The man's boots clomped on the stone floor, softening as it hit the room's rug. Following him came a growl.

    My breath caught, ice flooding my veins.

    Sure enough, an orange light seeped across the floor, following the man as he left.

    I peered out behind the chair just in time to see the tail end of the uur rauko leave the room. The creature's humanoid appearance made me shudder, as it made me do every time I encountered one. I went to great lengths to avoid such creatures. When I did stumble into their paths, I was lucky enough to be a great deal of length away so I could run and hide.

    Legolas had said that their temple was their kill spot. He could easily shoot the creatures with his bow from a distance away, but I had almost no talent with the weapon and I didn't trust myself to combat an uur rauko with a dagger or sword. I knew I'd either be killed or end up like that dwarf that hung around Legolas and Aragorn. My face is just too handsome to put in harm's way.

    But future-face-scarring or no, I followed the monster and the man. The other option would be to be discovered by Alagosson—

    The man paused, frozen by the sight of all the dead orcs. After a moment, he moved past them—

    The uur rauko pounced, growling in delight as it pinned its prey to the floor. The man screamed and thrashed, but the creatures sharp claws sunk into the man's shoulders, keeping him in place as its searing tongue soften the man's flesh.

    I jerked out of my stupor, taking advantage of the creature's passion for the kill. I fell to my knees, taking hold of an orc body and dragging it to the farthest wall away from the creature—farthest away from the light. Laying flat on the floor, I heaved the orc half on top of me, half obscuring the creature's view of me. Then, I forced my dagger into the corpse's body and stuck my hand into the creatures gut. I pulled out its intestines, coving myself with them and its blood, hoping it'd cover my scent. Especially the blood dripping from my wounds.

    I breathed through my mouth, trying to ignore the rancid scent, but the terror made it easy to forget about orc entrails. The uur rauko feasted on the man, his screams having been swallowed by silence.

    Forever drug on, until the creature finished sloping up molten flesh. I froze completely, held my breath, and kept my eyes wide open as I heard the creature's deep breathing and its feet pad away from the remains of the man—toward me.

    But it didn't even pause before it entered through the doorway it had come from and returned to its master.

    I forced myself to remain there for five minutes, counting each second as it ticked by—then I shoved the orc off me and ran as fast as my legs could carry me out of the bowels of Alagosson's abode.

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So... did you like Dever??

Any thoughts on him?