A story I wrote from when I was back in Dol Guldur.
The root seemed to lift itself out of the ground, and catch hold of the fleeing elf’s
outstretched foot. In seeming slow motion, the slender warrior toppled face first into the
muddy ground. Usually graceful and athletic, this elf was puzzled as he returned to his feet.
Never before had he been so clumsy. He attempted to locate the offending root, with no success.
Now he was beginning to get annoyed. He swiftly turned and started down the path again.
Perhaps it was the importance of the message he carried that made him hurried and
careless. He thought about the news that he carried, about the traitor who had come, unwelcome,
back into his homeland. He must get to Thranduil and warn him that Hirgail was sneaking about.
Hirgail had once been a great hero, a friend to all. His fall from grace was a devastating blow
to the morale of everyone in the kingdom. The tired elf had seen him, two days prior, creeping
down a cliff near a cottage. His shadowed form appeared to be like a black spider. The wraith
like figure snuck around the cottage and went in through an open window. Wrought with a paralyzing
fear, the elf had been unable to sound an alert, aid the family inside, or even move.
Nothing left, not even the dark figure. Hours later the elf slowly entered the cottage.
He was horrified by what he saw and had been running non-stop since. 4 or 5 more hours, perhaps before
the sun set, and he would be at his destination.
The elf came upon a small crystal clear stream, and realized he was thirsty.
He slowed, and took a knee at the waters edge so that he could quench his thirst.
He drank deeply, marveling at the crisp, wonderful taste of the spring. Satisfied, he rose,
and made his way back onto the path, and quickly resumed his mission.
This morning had started off a beautiful autumn morning, not exactly cold,
but not warm either. The leaves had not started to fall from the trees yet, so his run
through the morning mist was silent, and seemed almost unreal. The evil, which he had seen
the day before, was quickly fading from the forefront of his memory. He doubted it would ever
be entirely gone. Lost in thought, he continued along the path. Even while letting his mind
wander, his senses were in tune with his environment. His sharp eyes saw everything.
His hearing missed nothing. There, a squirrel crunching on an acorn. Over there, a snake
slithering through the grass. Somewhere behind him, a wren sings an ominous note. He walks on,
his pace quickening, his fear growing. Wrens don’t come this far north this time of year. He spins
around, sure that his enemy is right behind him…and sees nothing. He stands, listening,
observing, and waiting. Nothing. His heart returns to a more normal pace. He is safe. The elf
finally decides that there is nothing dangerous behind him, and turns to continue on his
journey. As he turns, he walks right into Hirgails forehead, and the evil elf lands a devastating
blow to the bridge of his nose. Landing on his back, he looked through blood-tinted tears up at
Hirgail, pleading for his life. Hirgail, ready to plunge his blade in, pauses, and kneels next to
the wounded elf. He leans in close, pressing his lips against to the elf’s ear, and whispers,
”I have not the power to give life. I am only entrusted to take it. Fear not, noble elf,
for your king will soon join you” With that, Hirgail stood, and slipped his blade into the
elf’s throat, ensuring a silent death.