November 13, 1564 TA ~ I ~

"Halt!" Above the yellowing trees rose a commanding voice and the small company of woodland elves ceased their noiseless marching. The elves remained at attention until the same voice ordered them to relax. Arbane sighed and drove the end of his spear into the leaf-littered ground.

The company was quickly separated into three squadrons. The first went off to set up a perimeter around camp, the second prepared food, and the third set up camp. Arbane was stuck pitching the captain's tent with Cyran by his side. Cyran chattered needlessly while stretching the tarps over the lightweight poles.

The tents were quickly set up and Arbane found himself without anything to occupy his hands. He sat outside his and Cyran's tent opening and closing his hands over and over again. Almost without realizing it, he began tapping his foot.

"Already?" Cyran approached Arbane from behind. Arbane jumped to his feet and began pacing. Cyran stretched himself out in front of the tent flap. "You're jumpy."

"Aw, bug off," Arbane muttered. Despite himself he laughed. "I wish we were moving."

"You're too tense. Relax. Enjoy the spring weather."

Arbane eyed the light snow dusting with distaste. "If only it were so easy," he said. The first squadron returned from the forest. Captain Illithen approached her tent, but was interrupted by Lieutenant Berendir, an aspiring captain who had tagged along on the mission. Rumor among the company was that he possessed a certain fondness for Captain Illithen. He certainly spent more time with her than any other elf in the company did.

"Oh, perfection," Cyran snorted, "wonder what lies Sir Beauteous has concocted to discommode us."

"He hasn't even started speaking yet," Arbane admonished. Cyran rolled his eyes.

"Still making doe-eyes at the Captain then?"

Arbane tossed a clod of dirt at Cyran's head to shut him up. Cyran ducked and rolled out of the way. They froze when a small group of soldiers strolled past them on the way to their own tents. When they passed Cyran brushed the dirt and snow off his uniform.

"Mianorin. Gilwynn," Captain Illithen called. Cyran groaned softly.

"Here we go." Arbane and Cyran rose and quickly jogged over to where Captain Illithen and Berendir waited. Berendir wore a displeased frown on his face.

"Captain?" Arbane asked when they reached her.

"There is need to sends scouts ahead."

"Where?" Arbane asked eagerly as he stepped forward. Captain Illithen's eyebrow shot up to her forehead, but amusement sparked in her eyes. "Sorry," Arbane apologized and stepped back.

"Come with me," Captain Illithen said with a nod toward her tent. Arbane, Cyran, and Berendir followed her into the cramped space. They stood around a rickety table adorned only with a large map of Mirkwood. Captain Illithen pointed to their current location just south of the Forest River.

"There is a small village northwest of our current location on the border. Two weeks ago an elf from there was found near dead at the castle gates. They said an attack had been carried out on the village by men from the north. Men that are still there."

"You want us to go in?"

"I want you to observe from a safe distance, Mianorin. That is what scouts do, is it not?" Arbane wisely chose not to answer and Captain Illithen continued. "The village's exact location is unknown. It has risen only in recent years and they have refused communication or aid."

"Why is that?" Cyran foolishly asked. Captain Illithen gave him a withering glare. Arbane came to Cyran's rescue.

"If we know why they cut themselves off we might be able to give a better report."

Captain Illithen sighed. "Very well, if you must know." Berendir shot Arbane a jealous glare. "They once resided deep within the forest, but in recent years The Threat has driven them from their homes. For the most part they are self-governing with only little ruling from Oropher. Their beliefs differ greatly from ours in that they adhere to the Old Religion, are highly superstitious, and are wary of strangers."

Cyran gave Arbane a sidelong glance when she mentioned the Old Religion. Arbane dutifully ignored him, but couldn't help flinching a little.

"This particular village is fond of capturing emissaries and not giving them back," Captain Illithen was saying. "And with the men there-"

"Just a bleeding moment," Cyran stopped her. Captain Illithen's glare would have melted the skin from his face if he had been looking at her and not at the map. "Have any of those emissaries come back?" he asked. Captain Illithen shook her head. "Brilliant."

"Which is why I only want you to observe from a distance. Get an idea of how many men have invaded and report back. You will have four days to reach the village. Two days to scout and two more to return here where we will be waiting." She pointed to the forest's edge directly north of where they were currently camped. "You will leave at first light tomorrow."

"Yes, Captain," Arbane said.

"Aye, Captain," Cyran echoed. Captain Illithen barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

"Captain," Berendir chose that moment to speak up. His voice carried strong displeasure. "Would it not be better to send more qualified men than common foot soldiers?"

Arbane steeled himself for the onslaught of riprimandation that would surely come from the captain. It never came. Instead Captain Illithen looked at the young lieutenant thoughtfully.

"And why is that, lieutenant? Pray tell."

Berendir swallowed nervously. "I... uh... I just thought that it would be..." he hesitated between words, choosing them carefully and slowly.

"You thought what?" The captain's voice was soft but steely. Arbane bit the inside of his cheek. Cyran was openly grinning. Berendir opened his mouth and then thought better and closed it saying;

"Never mind."

"Come, lieutenant, if you wish to be a captain you must be willing to voice your concern. What is it about these two that is unqualified? Come, tell me." Captain Illithen's face was blank, but her eyes sparked savagely.

"They are foot soldiers," Berendir mumbled.

"Yes, you established that already. Speak up," Captain Illithen snapped. "And you," she pointed to Cyran without looking, "wipe that grin off your face." Cyran went from smug to terrified so quickly Arbane forgot his friend had been smiling. When Berendir said nothing more she said, in disbelief, "That's it? Or do you think they need someone of higher standing to accompany them?" Berendir nodded. "Very well, you may accompany them and provide authority should they need it."

Berendir gave a strangled cry of indignation, but Captain Illithen quickly cut him off.

"Mianorin and Gilwynn have been a part of this army long before you or I were born, lieutenant. They know this realm better than any other so I suggest you take your prejudice and bury it out of sight or I will demote you to weapon valet and stable hand. Understand?"

"Yes, Captain," Berendir muttered under his breath.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes, Captain!"

Nodding sharply, Captain Illithen dismissed him. She turned to Arbane and Cyran.

"Gilwynn, you are dismissed. I would like a word with Mianorin."

Cyran saluted neatly and ducked out of the tent. As soon as he was gone, Captain Illithen's perfect posture sagged and her face lost its hardness. Arbane remained stiff and attentive. Captain Illithen rubbed her temples and sighed.

"I do not know how they do it," she groaned. Arbane considered not speaking, but he dreaded the awkward silence that would follow.

"Who?"

"The other captains. They make training seem so easy, but every day it is a fight not to strangle him where he stands. I know Berendir is young and ambitious, but he is too easily influenced. It would be easier if his father were not so powerful."

"Maybe it is a test," Arbane offered. Captain Illithen looked up at him with wide eyes. He'd never noticed how large they were before, like the open plains at sunset when all had faded to shades of amber and rust.

"You think?" she asked. Arbane pursed his lips. He really didn't know.

"Perhaps, or he is simply being difficult."

Captain Illithen laughed. "Perhaps. I am almost glad to be sending him away for a short time, even if it means you will suffer for it. Perhaps he will learn something."

"I will endeavor to teach him, even if it is that Cyran likes pranks more than his head upon his shoulders," Arbane said and Captain Illithen laughed again. He offered her a rare smile. She smiled back, but was suddenly serious.

"Why did you never become a captain?" she asked. Arbane froze. His heart pounded and his hands turned clammy. "I have seen your records. You are far more than qualified."

"I'm too anxious," Arbane said shakily. He took a deep breath and calmed himself.

"That is not what you said last time, nor the time before."

"There is always more than one reason why someone choses what they do. I have many reasons."

"So, you're not ready, not ambitious enough, and too anxious. What are you?" Captain Illithen crossed her arms as if to block Arbane from leaving though the exit stood behind him.

"Missing my dinner, Captain," Arbane replied patiently.

His use of 'captain' reminded her who he was and who she was to him. She straightened and her face turned back to stone. He found he liked it better when she was his Captain; rigid, solid, decisive, understandable and not the soft elleth that slipped and melted through his fingers before he could get a feel for her.

"I will get the truth from you, Mianorin. You are dismissed," she said curtly. Arbane nearly bolted from the cramped tent to the free air outside. He found his hands were shaking slightly. Shaking his head he set out to find if there was any food left.

...

Early the next morning Arbane and Cyran were waiting just outside the camp for Berendir to arrive. The sun had not yet risen above the horizon, but they sky was streaked with light and the birds were singing merrily in the canopy. Arbane listened to their songs and mentally checked off what song belong to what kind of bird. It kept him from pacing restlessly. Cyran paced around him.

"If he doesn't show soon, I'm leaving."

"Give him time," Arbane said as a cardinal sang. Cyran huffed impatiently and thumped his bag on the ground and sat beside it.

"Soldiers," Captain Illithen greeted them crisply. Cyran stumbled to his feet and hastily saluted her. Berendir stood just behind her, bleary eyed and yawning. Cyran glanced ruefully at the young ellon.

"I trust you two will take good care of this one," Captain Illithen stated. Berendir seemed not to hear her.

"Yes, Captain," Arbane answered for them both.

"Good luck then, I will see you in eight days. May the Valar grant it be sooner." She held Arbane's gaze for a few seconds longer than he felt comfortable with before turning on her heels and heading back into camp.

"The sooner we get done the sooner we get rid of Sleepy," Cyan said to Arbane, who nudged him sharply. They set off without a word, leaving Berendir to catch up as best he could. They traveled the rest of the day in silence but for the occasional exchange between Arbane and Cyran on their course or commenting on animal tracks they passed by.

Cyran often traveled further ahead while Arbane stayed closer to Berendir to make sure he didn't get lost. He tried to point out different things to Berendir, but he never replied so eventually Arbane fell silent until Cyran doubled back to him. He had found a decent spot to spend the night that was sheltered and permitted a fire.

Later that night when the sun had disappeared they sat around the fire discussing their approach to scouting the village without being seen or caught. Berendir came out of his self-pitying shell long enough to disagree with them and then fall silent.

"Arbane," Cyran said suddenly.

"What?" Arbane asked as if surfacing from a deep dive. His eyes held a distant look. His mind was elsewhere and Cyran knew where.

"You don't think that," he paused, unsure of how to phrase the rest of the question.

"Yes," Arbane said, already knowing what his friend wanted to ask. Suddenly Berendir spoke up.

"What did Illithen mean by 'old religion'?" he asked.

"Captain Illithen," Cyran corrected. Berendir scowled and refused to repeat his question. Arbane answered.

"The Old Religion is a set of beliefs practiced by wood elves before King Oropher was crowned." Arbane picked a leaf apart as he spoke.

"I know what the Old Religion is," growled Berendir. "What I want to know is why Captain Illithen mentioned it."

"In case you hadn't been paying attention, the people in the village we are scouting practice it," Cyran said, Berendir's obvious disdain making him short tempered. Arbane lifted his palm to calm Cyran down. It worked, barely.

"So, what do you know about the Old Religion?" Berendir asked Cyran. Cyran scowled at him. Berendir either did not notice or chose not to care. "I've read about it some. Pretty barbaric stuff." Arbane shifted uncomfortably. "Sacrifices, blood rituals, ritual maiming. Can you believe they still practice it?"

Arbane rose to his feet suddenly and startled Berendir. "I am going to check for spiders," he said stiffly. Berendir frowned.

"Spiders don't come this far north, you know that."

"Doesn't hurt to check," Arbane said and disappeared behind the trees. Berendir turned to Cyran, confusion written on his features.

"What is his problem?"

Cyran glared at him. "You're a special kind of idiot. You can take first watch," he said and rolled himself in his blanket and went to sleep.

Arbane did not return to the fire for a very long time. He wandered a good distance away from the small camp and looked up at the sky. Branches and leaves blocked his vision so he found a sturdy beech to climb. The beech was generous and offered him solid branches to place his feet as he climbed all the way to the top. His head broke free of the leaves and far above him glittering in the sky were stars too numerous to count. He wrapped his legs around a branch and sat, feeling the wind brush past his face and watching the stars wheel overhead.

Arbane returned when the moon reached its zenith. Cyran was awake and slowly scanning the trees and listening for approaching quarry. He watch Arbane approach and sit down beside him. For several minutes neither said a word.

"You okay?" Cyran asked.

"Yeah," Arbane replied. Cyran poked the failing fire with a stick.

"You think they're out there?"

"I hope not." Arbane rose to go to his makeshift bed in the leaves.

"Goodnight, Arbane."

"Goodnight, Cyran."

...

Over the following three days Berendir slowly came out of his bitter silence. He still talked down to Arbane and Cyran, but Arbane found that he didn't mind so much so long as Berendir stayed off the topic of the Old Religion. Cyran, however, could not bring himself over. He made clear to Berendir that they were not on friendly terms and would likely never be. He made no effort to be cordial either. While Arbane understood where he was coming from, he still wished Cyran would give Berendir a second chance.

They reached the edge of the forest on the evening of the fourth day. Cyran, who had traveled far ahead, had already set up camp just within the forest. There would be no fire tonight. Tomorrow they would reach the village. Arbane took first watch while the others slept.

When morning came the birds were eerily silent and a light wind blew from the south. Arbane was already up long before Cyran and Berendir, having taken the first and last watches. He was busy drawing a circle filled with various symbols. Berendir approached him with breakfast.

"What is that?" he asked. Arbane finished drawing before he answered.

"A precaution."

"Against what?"

"Ill-luck," was Arbane's reply. Berendir frowned in confusion.

"What does it say?"

"By the light of the stars and the call of the sea I cannot travel. I walk under sun and against the wind. May the Valar grant I walk in peace and good fortune."

"Why are you doing it?" Berendir seemed genuinely curious so Arbane answered him truthfully.

"I don't like the smell of the wind. It bears ill omens."

"So this will protect us from those ill omens?" Berendir reached down and traced the edge of the circle. Arbane shrugged, more of a 'if you say so' than 'I don't know'.

"Only those that aren't meant to happen," he said. Berendir rose, squinting at Arbane as if he were a complex puzzle to solve. Arbane's stomach crawled under his scrutinization. Turning to pack his bag, Arbane tried to ignore Berendir's searching gaze.

"You practice the Old Religion," he stated. Arbane froze and Cyran cleared his throat in warning. Arbane resumed putting away his things.

"Yes," he said quietly. Berendir made a small moue of disbelief. Arbane waited for the ridicule that always came. It didn't. Instead Berendir helped him finish and together the three of them set off for the village.

They were closer to the village than they had anticipated, but the smell of smoke was always present in the southernly wind long before they saw the roofs of small huts. Slipping into the tree line, they approached unseen by wary eyes. Arbane, while Cyran and Berendir were searching for a well-hidden camping spot, swiftly climbed a nearby beech and nestled himself comfortably among the boughs.

From his perch Arbane could clearly see the village. It was small, under twenty homes each with a little garden behind it. All the gardens were trampled. The whole village looked as if a mountain giant had tiptoed through the streets, trying not to wreak anything, but still wreaking havoc. Nowhere could any elf be seen. Men milled aimlessly about, men with broad, plain faces and sloping shoulders. These men where not the men of the north Arbane was accustomed to. Their eyes were dark and evil and their features coarse and unrefined. They appeared kin to the Dunedain, but they were not brothers.

Arbane sat for a long time, watching the curious looking men. They paced relentlessly throughout the village, guarding, watching. Every now and then a raised voice would make its way to Arbane's ears, but he could not discern the words. Near the end of evening a man walked through the village. Arbane, bored, but still attentive, lifted his head a little further up to see better.

This man was much taller than the rest with broad shoulders squared against the world. The others moved out of his way with quick, snappish steps. One poor man, hardly more than a boy, was slow in moving away and received a hard boot to the thigh which brought him to his knees. Arbane bit his tongue around the cruelty of the tall man.

The man spoke. His voice carried well in the wind, but still Arbane could not understand him. All he could tell was that the man was asking after something. Two men spun and ran into a nearby house. Moments later they returned dragging a limp figure behind them. Arbane sucked back a gasp. An elf.

The men tossed the elf down at their leader's feet, who scowled at the unmoving elf. He nudged the elf with his foot gently, then harder when the elf did not respond. Still the elf refused to move and the man kicked him. Arbane winced when the elf screamed in pain.

He watched for a few more minutes, but nothing happened and the elf was dragged back into the hut by his arms. The light was fading and Arbane guessed he had about an hour left of light. Regretfully he climbed stealthily down the tree and thanked it for allowing him to stay. He trotted along Cyran's nearly invisible trail to where the camp was. He didn't travel far before finding Berendir sitting on a log sharpening his sword more from boredom than necessity.

Arbane greeted him cordially and found Cyran tinkering with his bow. He flicked a bit of dirt away and looked up at Arbane with a grin. Arbane made a mental note to check his bed before going to sleep.

"See anything useful?" Cyran asked as Berendir joined them. Arbane quickly told them what he had seen. Cyran pursed his lips thoughtfully when Arbane finished. Berendir too wore a thoughtful expression. Before anyone else could speak Cyran said he would watch overnight and wake Berendir near morning to watch.

"What tree?" Cyran asked.

"The beech," Arbane answered. Cyran looked up at the three beeches surrounding them and pointed.

"That one?"

"No."

"Okay," Cyran said and left. Arbane grinned to himself.

"There's a rare sight," Berendir said. The grinned slipped from Arbane's lips. "Do you have something against smiling?" Berendir asked.

"No."

"Then what is it?" Berendir leaned back against a trunk and folded his hands across his chest. Arbane wondered at his sudden mood. He was being almost friendly.

"I don't see the benefit of giving everyone I meet a fake smile. It is tiresome."

"Not even the Captain?"

"What?" Arbane spat. Berendir shrugged.

"Come, you cannot be that oblivious. Even I can see it, though," Berendir paused, "well, my sister told me first, but that hardly matters. It is clear to me now."

"What is clear to you?" Arbane asked with a sigh, realizing that Berendir would likely continue this tirade all night if Arbane didn't humor him.

"The Captain fancies you," commented Berendir coolly. Arbane felt his ears turn hot.

"You are mistaken," he insisted.

"Why do you think Captain Illithen requests you on so many missions?" asked Berendir. "It's not just because you're a good soldier. There are plenty other good soldiers she could choose from, yet it's always you."

"Lieutenant..."

"I used to be jealous of you. I wondered what she saw in you when all I saw was a spineless filly with a bad case of the jitters."

Arbane clenched his jaw and breathed slowly through his nose. Berendir carried on, heedless of his words.

"It took me a while to figure it out, but I think I finally understand why she fell for you."

"Lieutenant, if you respect me or your captain you will cease this nonsense now," Arbane demanded. Berendir paused with his mouth still open. "There is nothing between Captain Illithen and I. There never has been nor will there ever be. Goodnight, Lieutenant." Arbane left Berendir and laid down in his bed. He immediately fell into a shallow pit upon laying down. He sighed deeply, heard Berendir chuckle, and rolled himself tightly in his blanket and fell promptly asleep still in the pit. He dreamt of ways to repay Cyran.

...

On the evening of their last day watching the village Cyran was watching while Arbane and Berendir circled the huts several times, always out of sight. There was little to see beyond what Arbane had seen that first day. The men had a basic routine that took only a short time to decipher. Arbane and Berendir were using that predictability to move about freely.

Circling the village helped Arbane to build up a mental map of where everything was located. He would later report to Captain Illithen and draw out the map he had made in his head. The thought of the Captain made his stomach squirm. Ever since Berendir had mentioned she fancied him, Arbane hadn't been able to rest easy and every time he thought of her his insides twisted.

He pushed the Captain from his mind and focused on circling the village again. He caught up to Berendir, who was less skilled in the art of moving unseen, and motioned for him to go to Cyran. Berendir nodded his assent and carefully made his way back to the beech tree they had been hiding out in. Arbane swiftly followed him.

When they reached the tree Arbane called for Cyran to come down. Cyran didn't answer. He called again. Nothing. Berendir touched the tree bark and his hand came away bloody. He cursed and jumped back. Arbane silenced him.

Stepping back, Arbane saw that a trail of blood led from the tree further into the forest. Motioning for Berendir to stay put, Arbane followed the trail hesitantly. Silently he slipped past tree trunks, always keeping one eye trained on the blood and the other on his surroundings. The forest had suddenly become strange and unwelcome, as if spiders lurked nearby. Arbane swallowed nervously. The trees were angry. Their cores quivered and bark swelled. Arbane flinched when the leaves of the beech nearest to him shuddered.

He had rarely felt the trees so angry. Their sap boiled, making the air thick, warm and hard to breathe. Arbane gasped as the hot air filled his lungs and made the air before his eyes shimmer. He stumbled over a root that had not been there moments before and crashed to the ground.

Laying on the ground he could see under the bushes. A bloody hand was stretched out on the ground moving every so slightly. Cautiously Arbane crawled forward without a sound, dreading what he would find.

Cyran lay on the forest floor, face pale and jaw covered in red welts. His eyes were screwed shut and one hand was pressed against his side while the other grasped at thin air. Blood pooled from a wide gash above his hip and stained the dark earth black.

"Cyran!" Arbane shouted. He was at his side before he had opened his eyes. Cyran tried to smile.

"Hey," he whispered.

"What happened? How did this- Berendir!" Arbane yelled. Berendir came crashing through the trees and stumbled to a halt. His eyes widened when he saw Cyran. Arbane was already pressing his hand against Cyran's side to stem the blood flow. His hands were quickly covered in hot blood. Cyran hissed in pain.

"Berendir, I need you to make sure whoever did this is no longer around," Arbane ordered quietly. Berendir nodded and slipped behind a nearby tree. Cyran's lips formed words, but no sound came out. "Hush, mellon nin." With shaking hands Arbane ripped Cyran's shirt open to expose the ugly wound. It was ragged and wide as if someone had taken their hand and scraped through it.

"How did this happen?" Arbane whispered. Cyran chuckled.

"Wasn't paying attention," he rasped. There was blood on his lips. Arbane's heart pounded. He needed a healer. Arbane knew how to care for basic wounds, but this was far beyond anything he had ever learned.

Berendir returned carrying a man across his broad shoulders. He lay the man down on the ground with little care to where the body landed.

"He's alive," Berendir said as he began to tie the man to the tree with violent jerks. He saw Arbane kneeling beside Cyran with his hands still pressed against the wound. "I'll get our supplies." He ran off toward their camp.

Cyran's head rolled to the side.

"Cyran!" Arbane shouted. Cyran opened his eyes and looked at Arbane. "Stay awake. I need you to stay awake." Cyran's hand twitched in the leaves and Arbane reached over and held it tightly. "Please don't leave me."

Cyran smiled. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. Arbane felt something slimy wriggle in his hand. A fat earthworm twisted around itself in his palm. He laughed and flicked the worm at Cyran's face. Cyran flinched and groaned in pain.

Berendir returned with their packs and dumped them next to Arbane. Inside his own, Arbane found his medicine kit and a thick roll of bandages. Cyran's bag held more bandages and a bottle of purifying spirits.

"There is a patch of yarrow to your left," Arbane told Berendir. Berendir grabbed it without hesitation and handed it to Arbane who, using a rock and his own bowl turned the fern-like plant into a pulp. Using one of the bandages he mopped up some of the blood around Cyran's wound. Before he dumped the bottle of spirits to clean the wound Cyran stopped him and asked for something to bite down on. Berendir gave Cyran a strip of leather.

When the leather was comfortably in his mouth Cyran nodded for Arbane to continue. Arbane splashed a generous amount over the wound and heard the leather creak. Cyran's breath came in ragged gasps as burning pain consumed his thoughts. He could focus on nothing else. Arbane quickly dressed the wound and wrapped it, passing the bandage under Cyran several times to hold it in place.

When he finished Cyran had fallen unconscious. Arbane sat back and let his head hang between his knees and just breathed. Berendir sat beside him and tore up a leaf. When Arbane stopped shaking he spoke.

"He needs a healer."

Arbane nodded.

"Tomorrow I will return to camp and bring a healer here. By now they should be where Captain Illithen said. You will be all right alone?" Berendir asked. Arbane nodded. Berendir tried to get Arbane to talk a few more times, but eventually he gave up and went to sleep. Hours passed. A twig snapped. Arbane jerked awake, he had fallen asleep sitting up. Berendir stirred drowsily. The man he had capture was awake and listening intently to the forest sounds. Another twig snapped.

"Up, Berendir," Arbane hissed. Berendir sat up, eyes wide. A shadow moved toward them. "We must go."

"How? Cyran cannot be moved."

"He will surely die if we stay. We all will," Arbane argued. Berendir nodded and went to the captive. Arbane woke Cyran and propped him against his shoulder. Cyran did not make a sound, but Arbane could feel him shaking.

"I am sorry," Arbane said as they disappeared into the night.

...

Captain Illithen paced around the camp restlessly. She knew it was not good for her platoon to see her like this, but she needed something to do and pacing was all that was left. It had been three days since the scouts were supposed to report back. Any other scouts she would not have worried this much, but she knew Arbane and Cyran. They were quick, reliable, and efficient. And Berendir, for all his pride and flaws, was never late. Something was wrong. She could smell it in the foul west wind.

"Captain!" a young lad shouted for her. Captain Illithen ran toward him.

"The scouts have returned," another elf cried. Captain Illithen heaved a sigh of relief. She could just barely make out their forms in the gathering dusk. Her breath caught when she noticed all of them limping heavily and supporting each other.

"Get them help," she demanded. Immediately a dozen soldiers ran to meet them. "Where is Heriath?"

"In his tent, Captain," the same lad said.

"Go fetch him."

The lad dashed off and Captain Illithen waited. She would not allow herself to rush over and coddle them. There were already too many rumors. Excitement flooded the camp as soldiers crowded near to see what was happening. They had all gathered long before the scouts arrived, bloody, bruised, and exhausted. Cyran was being supported by two elves. His head rolled back and forth. A large bloodstain covered the front of his uniform. Without being told, he was carried off to Heriath.

A strange man bound in rope was brought before her. She ordered him to be brought to her tent and watched. Lieutenant Berendir tried to stand before her and give a salute, but his hands trembled. He stepped aside and his leg gave out underneath him. More elves came and helped him to Heriath's tent.

Arbane walked alone and silently. Captain Illithen felt her throat constrict. She swallowed hard and pushed her emotions down. They would not serve her here. She caught his eye and jerked her head toward her tent and began walking. He followed.

Inside the tent was warm compared to the cool air outside. Arbane lifted the ten flap and limped inside. Captain Illithen's back was to him.

"Captain?"

"Report, Private Mianorin," she clipped. Arbane gave her an account of all that they had seen in the village, how many men there were, and their routine. Throughout his report Captain Illithen did not say a word, not until he reached the point where Cyran was injured and he faltered.

Captain Illithen allowed him a few moments to gather himself, but when he showed no sign of going on she turned around and said;

"How did you come across the man?"

"Berendir found him. We believe he is the one that hurt Cyran." Arbane paused. Captain Illithen's eyes begged him to go on. Berendir's words suddenly came to him and he floundered. "I-uh... we were pursued that night by the northern men for two days. We only lost them after dawn." Arbane stopped. He had nothing more to report.

"Tell me, how did Lieutenant Berendir perform?" she asked.

"Well," Arbane said. Captain Illithen waited for him to elaborate. He suppressed a sigh and did as she wished. "He is proud and quick to judge, but he possesses common sense and good observation of others and is calm under duress and trouble."

"Do you think he will make a good captain?"

"In time, yes. He still has much to learn."

"Don't we all," sighed Captain Illithen. She waved her hand. "Go see Heriath and rest. You are half asleep." Arbane suddenly pitched forward and Captain Illithen caught him before he could fall. He shook himself and stood, realizing how exhausted he was after almost three days without sleep. Captain Illithen's concerned face was next to his. Her breath was warm on his ear. He stepped back and saluted clumsily before exiting and setting off to find Cyran.

...

Three days passed. Cyran was awake and mending. Berendir had fully recovered from his exhaustion and Arbane was marching south beside him with fully three quarters of the patrol surrounding them. Instead of resuming his place beside Captain Illithen, Berendir had taken to staying with Arbane. Arbane didn't mind much, though he still wished Cyran was with them.

"Mianorin, Lieutenant Berendir," Captain Illithen called when the company halted. "You said the men were armed?" she asked when they arrived.

"Heavily," Arbane replied.

"And the captive villagers are held here?" She pointed to a building on the map he had drawn. Arbane nodded. "I only wish we had gotten information from the prisoner. Lieutenant Berendir, what is our course of action?" Berendir's lips parted in surprise, but he quickly recovered. Arbane listened closely, but much of the conversation went over his head as he continually found himself wondering how Cyran was getting along.

"Mianorin?" Captain Illithen was saying. Arbane snapped to attention. "What do you think?" she asked with a ghost of a smile. Arbane frowned at the map and the plans drawn out on it.

"I think the south unit is the weakest," he said.

"That is your unit. Why?"

"Cyran was our strongest fighter and Mildor and his brother are still on leave. Negrethor and Randir are back at camp on guard. That leaves us with fifteen, fourteen if you still wish for me to accompany you and Berendir."

"Put the south unit on rescue. If there are less of them they will be harder to stop," Berendir suggested. Captain Illithen made another mark on the map.

"There is, however, a change of plan," Captain Illithen said. "I do not want you to accompany me. You and Berendir will each lead one unit. Berendir is tasked with securing the village after my unit has taken care of the men in this building." She pointed to the building where most of the men would be. "His unit will follow mine. We will move in from the east while the north unit moves in from the west. This is where your unit will come in. Once we have cleared all enemies from the area, you will lead the south unit on a rescue mission. Get all the captives free and into the forest away from the fight. If something should go wrong, I am asking you not to fight, but to take the people back to The Halls of Thranduil."

"Yes, Captain," Arbane said. Captain Illithen smiled and gripped his arm in a friendly gesture.

"I am entrusting the lives of these people to you, Mianorin. Prove my trust in you is not misplaced." Arbane did not think 'trust' was the word she meant. Berendir winked at him. Biting his cheek, Arbane saluted Captain Illithen and jogged to where the south unit waited for orders. He stood in front of them and reminded himself that this was not the first time he had led a unit into battle.

Quickly he relayed what Captain Illithen had told him.

"I'narr en gothrim glinuva nuin I'anor! Gurth gothrimlye!" they chanted and the trees quivered. Arbane set his jaw grimly and turned to watch Captain Illithen and Berendir make their way slowly across the open plain. Minutes dragged by as the three other units slowly made their way unseen into the village. Then, with an almighty clash of steel and singing bows they converged on the northern men. Arbane, kneeling in the grass with the rest of his unit, plucked at the grass, lips moving soundlessly as he waited. They passed the house where the villagers were being kept and Arbane jumped to his feet.

"Khila amin!" he shouted and ran to the building. He heard the unit follow him, blood-chillingly quiet. They ran through the village unhindered. Dead men lay in dark pools of their own blood. Arbane pushed flashes of hundreds of battles aside; faces of comrades that he would never see in this life again.

Bracing his shoulder, Arbane broke the door open to a dark room. Screams of fear followed the sharp crack as the door broke free. Arbane heard a soft thud and stepped back too late. A fist dug into his side and another hit his shoulder. He fell back, arm and gut throbbing. Hands held him up while he caught his breath. Five men had followed him out of the building. By the time Arbane recovered they lay dead on the ground.

Inside the house the captive elves praised their rescuers and spilled out into the sunlight, blinking. They were dirty and malnourished, but smiling. Arbane and several other soldiers stepped inside and found a small group of elves still there. They were surrounding an elderly elf lying on the ground. Ragged cuts covered his bruised face and arms. He opened his eyes when Arbane stepped closer.

"Iston i nif lin. Arbane," the elf whispered. Arbane hung his head. He had been waiting for someone to recognize him. "I knew you were here. Nae saian luume', lonneg."

"Amin hiraetha, ada," Arbane said.

"Where is your brother?" Arethor asked.

"Cyran was injured and is staying behind," Arbane answered. He was keenly aware of the soldiers staring in wonderment at him. "Come, ada, we must leave." Arbane helped lift his father. Quickly as possible, Arbane led the south unit and the freed captives into the forest. Only once were they pursued by a small band of men who were quickly dispatched.

Those that were uninjured climbed into the trees for safety while the others hid themselves on the ground. Arbane sat beside his father where he could watch the village. He could not see the fighting and his imagination ran wild with what could go wrong. He shifted his weight and began picking at the hemming of his clothes.

"The battle goes ill, my son," Arethor said. Arbane nodded. He could feel it. His captain was in trouble. "They need you." Arbane barked a sharp order at his unit and they quickly surrounded him, eager to return to battle. He quickly chose three soldiers to remain behind to bring the villagers back to camp. The rest of the unit ran into the village and quickly found the other three units surrounded by far more men than Arbane and Berendir had predicted.

"For Mirkwood!" Arbane shouted. Pride swelled in his chest when he heard the cry repeated behind him. In a few brief, bloody moments the northern men were fleeing back to their homeland as fifteen angry elves bore down on them with the force of a river and the ancient anger of the trees.

Arbane never remembered battles until days later when flashes of memory would plague him. However, he clearly could recall, for centuries after, the relief on Captain Illithen's face even as she scolded him for disobeying direct orders. She had later taken him aside and thanked him for coming back. She offered to recommend him to train for a captain's rank and he refused once again. He was happy where he was with Cyran by his side surrounded by those he trusted the most. 

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Battle Beneath the Trees Contest Entry

Contest Judge:

@Star_Alight

Well, that turned out to be a lot longer than I thought it would be... 

I've found a new favorite OC though! Arbane's pretty cool. Little different from most of my characters.

Translation:

I'narr en gothrim glinuva nuin I'anor - the bones of our foes will gleam under the sun

Gurth gothrimlye - death to our foes

Khila amin - follow me

Iston i nif lin - I know your face

Nae saian luume', lonned - it has been too long, my son

Amin hiraetha, ada - I am sorry, father