A few days ago I read a story someone on The Lord of the Rings: Online had written concerning his character and I thought that I should attempt that. I've been writing short stories off and on since the first grade and this is probably the first one I've managed to write all the way to the end in probably 11 years. This is basically a backstory for my main character on the Elendilmir server, Ruras the Warden.
A lone elf stands on a hilltop near the bounds of The Shire. He had been in this country before; he adored the rolling green hills and the lush farmland. He came here to think, it was one of the few places left in Middle-Earth peaceful enough to sit and think about all that had happened to him over his long, long life.
He was found by Marchwardens of Lothlorien near the Great River Anduin. They supposed his parents had been slain by the orcs of the Misty Mountains, but they could never be sure. As is the way with the Eldar, he grew quickly among the people of Lorien, and learned the skills of the Warden. He became known throughout his homeland as a hunter of orcs, for the hatred of their kind burned more fiercely within him than in others of his kindred. A need for some sort of vengeance seemed to consume him.
This was why he was in The Shire now. Rumours had reached him in Bree that camps of foul orcs and goblins had been seen near the bounds. Sitting atop this hill, he could see several camps, not just of orcs, but also goblins and bandits. Raising himself slowly, gripping the rawhide-wrapped haft of his spear for support, he let out a sigh and set out for the nearest orc camp, running full-tilt, not feeling the weight of the shield on his left arm, or the javelin on his back. Occasionally he used his spear to brush aside branches of trees but otherwise he ran unimpeded.
Skidding to a stop a few hundred yards away from the camp, he gripped his spear in the same hand as his shield and took down his javelin. The orc guarding the entrance to the camp was not only hideously malformed but was also inattentive; perhaps the eye it was missing had something to do with it, or the fact that its ears had been melted off, probably by a spell. The warden slowed his footsteps, making sure not to tread on anything too noisy he snuck up on his unknowing quarry. Muttering softly in Elvish, he hurled his javelin at the orc.
The javelin flew true, as it always did when he threw. It sailed through the air and embedded its self in the orc's skull, the steel head buried in the soft flesh of the creature's brain. Charging forward, he transferred his spear to his right hand and planted the head in the creature's chest, making certain the foul beast was dead. He pulled his spear and javelin from the orc and cleaned its blood off his tools. He pushed forward into the camp, killing silently where he could, wielding his spear as the farmer wields the scythe, cutting down orcs as quick as they sprang up.
Nearing the end of the encampment he began to hear muffled struggling. Ducking into a shrub near a small hill, he surveyed the area ahead of him. The leader's tent was near, and he could see several hobbit prisoners near, as well as...He armed sweat from his brow, blinked his eyes and looked again. Yes, he was right; a lady elf. He took in her appearance. Tattered robes, face smeared in ash and plaster dust, and the satchel at her side all signified a rune-keeper. Trained in the tongues of Men and Elves, they used words and runes of power for both healing and destroying their opponents. She would make a powerful ally if the warden could but save her.
That was where the problem lay. He had never faced orcs of this type before, they were bigger than the orcs of Mordor, could bear the light of the sun without harm and bore a strange sigil on their armour, that of the White Hand. This was not a problem, these creatures died like any other orc.
Summoning all his strength for the final charge, he let out a yell and bounded down the hill, throwing his javelin at one of the orc guards at the entrance to the camp, and plunging his spear into the throat of the other. Yanking it free of the foul creature, he spun and plunged the head deep into the guts of another orc. Slashing the throat of another with the head of his spear, he pulled a throwing dagger from his belt and, almost casually threw at another beast, taking it in the eye.
The warden glanced at the lady Elf and saw the gag around her mouth turn instantly to ash. She raised herself up to her full height, bonds also falling to ash. Pulling a runestone from her satchel, she muttered something in Elvish and pointed the stone at the warden. He felt his muscles come alive as the healing magic took effect, and he resumed the fight, bashing orcs with his shield, shouting taunts and impaling them with spear and javelin.
The rune keeper also joined the fray, not only healing the warden's wounds, but throwing lightning bolts, and doing a curious bit of foretelling, prophesying how her opponents would fall. The two Elves worked around each other flawlessly, each covering the other's back, taking down orcs by the dozen. Finally the foul creatures were dealt with and the two warriors looked at each other. Standing to his full height, the warden bowed.
'Mae govannen. Im Ruras.'
The rune keeper laughed softly and replied in the Common Speech:
'Greetings Ruras. I am known as Lalaith, though that is not my true name. Come, let us loose these merry folk and be upon our way.'
As the two set the hobbits free, Ruras asked, 'Lady Lalaith, how do you know our path goes the same way?'
Smiling, she answered, 'The runes tell me much of what is to be. Surely a warden of Lothlorien has encountered such powers of foresight?'
'Indeed not, lady. I was a march warden and did not often journey to Caras Galadhon. If we are journeying together, whither are we going? Into the West?'
Lalaith shook her head sadly and looked into Ruras's eyes.
'Nay, strong-heart. The West is denied us for now, our road lies East; into Shadow. You are a hunter of the creatures of the Enemy, you feel the same hatred for them as I. As long as they haunt Middle-Earth, neither of us shall leave.'
Adjusting the rawhide wrapping on his spear, and replacing the javelin on his back, Ruras smiled.
'Then let us begone.'
