i linte pilindi

“i can’t help but feel like i was no help yesterday. in fact, i fear i was more of hindrance. i do not like to think that my unwillingness to participate in violence makes me useless, but … this team cannot afford a liability.” 

       He wasn’t a fighter. Harlowe’s first thought upon hearing the dog’s bark was that he was not a fighter. He knew well enough that something was horribly, horribly wrong before looking up to see the beasts, but the fact that he was no fighter settled prominently in the front of his mind. He had a weapon, blessed thing, but knew very little about using it. Not to mention, he didn’t think the handcrafted knife, long as it may be, would be suitable for the current situation. 

      His eyes focused as best they could on the wargs, moving faster than he liked, faster than he thought they should be able to go. They had the upper ground, and it didn’t take extensive readings on strategy to know that the upper ground was an advantage in many cases. Harlowe swallowed thickly to clear his throat, calloused fingers wrapping around the hilt of his knife. 

     Perhaps by instinct, he looked through their small company to locate first Theodore, and then Wulf. Their leader would be able to handle himself. He’d seen him fight. Wulf, on the other hand, likely felt about as secure as Harlowe did. At least Harlowe’s size permitted him some kind of advantage, right? 

      He moved, feeling that his feet should be doing something, anything, and found himself shouldering up by Arion. “You are a marksman,” He breathed, “I have this knife.” He brandished it, the silver glinting slightly despite the overcast sky, “What do I do with it?” 

          Low, guttural growls made every inch of Arion come to life. The sound was abrupt, the low rumble of thunder, but it spilled from drooling lips not storm clouds. At last, the wargs had arrived. Arion had sensed their presence soon after they had slipped from the safety of the city walls, and he knew well that they would strike when they felt their prey was most vulnerable. 

          Wargs, he’d learned long ago, were impossibly deft hunters. 

          Here, once again, they’d proven their worth. Arion searched the canyon walls surrounding them, stretching upward like a trap, and he took a deep breath. This would be a fight to the death. The party would not escape the wargs without an ugly, bloody fight. 

          Slowly, with great care, Arion drew an arrow from the quiver on his back and pulled his bow taut with anticipation. He would not fire into the pack of wargs, lest he infuriate them, but if they charged forward he would not hesitate. 

          In fact, Arion had been so focused upon the creatures standing far above, that he’d failed to notice the man next to him until he’d spoken. Arion glanced at him briefly, studyind his expression, and then down at the knife. “You are better suited to close range fights with a weapon like that,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. “But I promise you, should you get that close you will be in mortal peril.” He knew that the man wanted to help, but he thought it best to be honest. 

If Wulf survived this, he would resolve to write in very poetic terms of this battle in his journal. He’d never really written about a large-scale fight before – mostly because he’d never been in one, only observed them from a distance – so he would have to be sure to write it well. It could even have a title, perhaps. I Hate Wargs, or maybe, All I Can Do Is Run, or even, Thank The Gods For Skilled Warriors.

Maybe something a little better than those. In his defense, coming up with titles was very difficult in the middle of such a chaotic situation.

He’d run, he’d hid, he’d gotten chased, and now, he found himself scrambling to hide behind Arion, who was currently looking very fierce and capable with his bow. Wulf gave him an apologetic grimace, shakily tapped his shoulder, and pointed out a warg who’d been on his trail, kicking up dirt as it ran to follow him – right toward Arion.

          Arion pulled his bowstring tight, allowing himself a mere second’s breath, before loosing three arrows at once into an impossibly large warg. The creature roared, its white fangs flashing in a final attempt to take Arion down with it, but he released another arrow directly into the creatures gaping maw and it fell to the ground with an ugly thud. 

          There was no time for rest or relief. Arion felt a tap on his shoulder and immediately spun around, reaching for another arrow quickly before realizing exactly who’d been standing behind him. He squinted, briefly confused by Wulf’s presence. “Pray tell, what are you––” he started, before following Wulf’s pointing finger and hissing through his teeth. Ah, yes, he had an answer to his question. The man was hiding. 

          Arion didn’t waste a moment. This was precisely why he’d been brought into the mission, he was meant to protect the other members of the quest as best he could. He took a breath, steadying his arm and his aim, before letting another three arrows fly into the creature’s pelt. They stuck out in bizarre angles, like a mad porcupine, and Arion could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. These creatures were the very bane of his existence.

          Stand strong, shoot straight. Arion had repeated the same four words again and again throughout the warg attack. He had known this was coming, it wasn’t a surprise in the least, but he hadn’t expected to be surrounded in a box canyon. Arion hissed through his teeth, letting a half dozen arrows fly at the beasts that had not dared to plunge into the canyon to feast upon the waiting party. 

          He had been wounded, he could feel the blood running from his hairline, the gash in his side, but Arion managed to ward off the pain with his focus on survival. It took everything within him to keep himself from falling apart. 

          Wargs. He’d learned to fear them through the years, from their flashing teeth to the wicked curve of their claws, they’d brought so, so much pain... 

Kieran listened quietly, eyes focused on the horizon and thumbs absently rubbing Drouin’s neck as he did so. He loved collecting stories; it was one of the unexpected upsides of all the traveling he did.

Oh. Right. He supposed he should have realized he’d be expected to respond in kind.

“Oh. Self-taught, mostly. Had a lot of free time when I was younger and it was nice to get out of the city,” he replied diplomatically. It was a practiced enough line; as much as he liked collecting other people’s stories, he wasn’t overly fond about people knowing his. Their view of him inevitably turned to little more than pity and Kieran hated it.

“It sounds like you have a lot of good memories about it, then,” Kieran redirected with a small smile.

          Arion cast Kieran a sidelong glance. He had been careful not to tell the ranger too much of his own upbringing, too much of what he’d endured to become the archer that he was now, and Kieran had responded in kind. In truth, this mystery piqued Arion’s interest, but he allowed his expression to remain neutral. Best not to show the other man that he was intrigued. What was there to hide? He would like to know, but he knew far better than to pry. Answers would come in their natural state.

          “Your range was not in the city?” He asked curiously, tilting his head slightly to the side, as if trying to picture it himself. The range that he’d learned on had been within the city walls, tucked within the training area for archers and swordsmen alike. He couldn’t imagine learning somewhere remote, somewhere so far away from the place that he was intended to protect. 

a lissuin flower. she would need to write that down later in her book. she wanted to keep a log of everything she discovered along the way. there was going to be so much to see and so much to do, she didn’t want to forget a moment of it. reaching out a pale hand towards the flower, she pulled it back last moment to look up at the archer. “is it alright if i pick it? it won’t…i mean it isn’t pointy or anything is it?” truthfully she wanted to press the flower but was afraid it might have thorns. the thought of it being poisonous didn’t even cross her mind. “a warg? no. i’ve never seen one before. i have seen a drawing of one in a book though. it looks like a giant dog, right? or at least that’s what the picture looked like. a big dog but with big teeth. well…they all have big teeth don’t they? so yes…and no. i guess more no.” the hobbit rambled on.

          Innocence was beautiful. Despite himself, despite his own uncertainties of the hobbit standing before him, Arion couldn’t help but smile faintly in response to her question. They would face much worse horrors than mere thorns on a flower, but he would not tell her that. Let her remain innocent for as long as he could... “No, little one, the lissuin flower will not hurt you,” he shook his head gently, and took a moment to cast a brief glance in its direction. “What will you do with it?” he asked softly, “should you pluck it from its root?” It seemed cruel to end its life, but he would not say so aloud. He had done far worse. 

“In it’s own way I believe preservation to be an art. There is so much that has been created over the past century that I would hate to see fall to ruin and yet…I do not feel suited to be the guardian of such knowledge. I am far too restless. I could not spend more than a few nights away from the light of the moon. I would waste away,” she mused softly getting lost in the thought of starlight for a moment. 

“I have lived a lot in my day and dedicated myself to helping other live as well,” she replied. There was no need to convince her to make reckless mistakes with her own safety, she was already sold on that. But she did enjoy him reaffirming her desires. “My dear Theodore asked, and because I did not have any reason to disacquiesce, I could not refuse. I spend all my time on the road regardless I might as well travel with companions and a destination in mind for once.”

She smiled warmly at him and considered his face, before realizing what she was doing. And she quickly attempted to continue, “And what is your story? What drew you to us? The light of the beacon, the call to adventure, or merely an inability to refuse an offer?”

          Ah, yes, she had listened carefully to the elven elders. Arion’s gaze flitted to her once more, taking her in curiously, before he allowed it to shift more purposefully to their surroundings. Of course, she understood what she must feel. He, too, had been brought up in a society that demanded tradition, that honored things passed, and Arion could understand the need to an extent. Survival of his race was important, there was no doubt about that, but he had seen empires rise and fall and he knew that history was fragile. Those that were killed, those that were overrun, were forgotten. 

          He and his bow would not stand guard over a kingdom that had fallen so long ago.

          A faint huff left Arion’s lips, a breath of air that only thinly disguised a chuckle. His eyes fell on a far away figure, squinted slightly, and he kept an eye on it for a long moment  before responding. “You have a point,” he replied with a nod, “should you have time, I would like to learn more about healing.” He could help, he’d already had some training, but it paled in comparison to her ability or even Kieran’s. The more she could teach him, the better he would be able to protect his partners and future partners to come. 

if there was any serenity on her features it was merely a disguise. allyria was finely attuned to sense the presence of oncoming danger but she was not content to suffer it in silence. the early years of her life had been spent listening to lives lost just outside the gate and she grew all too familiar with the quiet rest of waiting for the world to end. no more. no silence, no submission. as comfortable as she was without conversation she instead preferred to fill her time with any sort of distraction.

“from time to time i suppose, although all of those as old as myself that i know are now relegated to leaning over tomes or keeping a watchful eye on barricaded doors,” she replied, “it almost feels irreverent to indulge myself in a place without dust covered shelves or suffocating responsibility.”

          She was not wrong. The eldest elves had become protectors, of a sort. They were the ones who had carried on old traditions, who stood watch at old tombs, and who passed on all that they knew to younger generations. 

          “What good will any of that do?” He asked with a little tilt of his head, though he knew that she couldn’t answer this societal question. It was a tradition amongst elves, it seemed.  In truth, despite his own age, Arion had never been contented to waste away in a stone chamber meant for the dead. He preferred this, adventure and challenge. Despite the hardship, the risk of fatality, Arion found that his will to live sparked once more when he was engaged in a quest. 

The sky still threatened rain but it had managed to hold out so far. Kieran hoped it wouldn’t start as they were trying to set up camp; he was really looking forward to curling up to a campfire again. It was still morning, though—they had to a whole day to wait for the rain clouds to build.

Their journey had gone thus far without a hitch and Kieran didn’t particularly want it to go south so soon out of the gates.

To distract himself, Kieran nudged Drouin towards Arion.

“Where did you learn to shoot?”

          In truth, Arion expected to be largely ignored throughout their mission. Not because he was not valuable, but because the others had far larger, louder personalities, whilst he preferred to watch and listen. Kieran’s curiosity was unexpected, yes, but it was not unwanted. Arion appreciated the ranger’s kindness.

          “Long ago,” he replied with the faintest of smiles, as though he was embarrassed about his age, “in Lórien. My master, taught me much of what I know.” A soft sigh slipped through his lips before he spoke again. Thinking back on those days, seemingly drenched in sunlight and nostalgia after all of these years, he couldn’t help but wish for a sweeter, more innocent time. Tûrdir, Arion’s master, had not permitted him to wield a bow until he observed his master, until he learned the stance, and even then he was permitted to practice with a bow but no arrows. As a youngester, he’d been furious, but with wisdom came understanding. 

          After all, it was Tûrdir’s stubborn unwillingness that had made Arion so eager to achieve. 

red curls dangled in front of the young hobbit’s face as she moved in to get a closer look. “whoa.” rosalyn had been to very few places in her life and truthfully had seen very little of the world. so, discovering new things was always exciting for her. “what is that?” she asked.

“ i feel much too old for this. but i admit the call the adventure still reaches my heart.”

          Arion pressed his lips into a thin line as he stepped through the tall grass. Since leaving the safety of Allmeera, he had forced himself to remain attentive to their surroundings. Forced? Well, perhaps this was his typical state of being, but no matter. Wargs, he’d decided ages ago, would not be the end of him. 

          In truth, he had ignored the vast majority of what the other’s were going on about, none of it was as important as their lives or their mission, until Allyria spoke up. He dared to glance away from the rolling storm clouds and blustery plains to study her expression. There was, admittedly, something calming about her. She seemed entirely unaffected by the danger by which they were surrounded. She was an oasis, of sorts.