#who is currently mid-angmar | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paperdoe · 4 years

Text

An Unexpected Friendship

(Disclaimer: A Lord of the Rings Online fic about a real in-game event. The Great Goblin had incapacitated Rho, but the lynx companion Lore Masters can summon still lived and killed the Goblin King, completing the quest for me :D. People familiar with the game may be confused about the timeline. For clarity, I skipped the Misty Mountains quest pack until I completed the Mines of Moria/Mirkwood storyline, then went back for quest and general deeds. I chose this Great Goblin instead of the world instance one, as the dynamics of the world instance would make a slightly different story than originally planned.) He had never intended to adopt a wild animal. It went against his laws.

So the wild animal adopted him.

Daerhovan tucked the lower half of his face into his scarf in an effort to fend of the biting winds howling down from the Misty Mountains. Though he walked across it’s snowy expanses with ease, cold and fatigue were beginning to catch up with him. The last of his rations had been given to those who were tired and wounded after the attack upon Dol Guldur. The giftee’s were concerned and tried to refuse, but Daerhovan insisted. His trek across the Misties would be swift. And he could feed off the land.

Daerhovan had only wanted to return to Eriador, especially Angmar, to observe how the land was healing after the fall of Carn Dum’s Elite. He wanted to stop thinking about a certain dwarf who’s face and body had been slow to leave his mind. Daerhovan looked up, his keen eyes spotting a good vantage point in the form of a rocky precipice. From atop, hazy images of towering forests and the faint glow of sunlight heralded the location of the Vale of Imladris, though the elven settlement itself could not be seen. Daerhovan’s heart stirred at the prospect of a warm bed and proper food that didn’t consist of stunted roots and stinking Snowbeast meat. Nimbly, he scaled down the short cliffside, being careful to avoid loose rocks when he saw footprints. And blood. Relatively fresh.

Curious, Daerhovan crouched to inspect the tracks. They were smaller than a sabre, and shallowerer depressions around the pads indicated thick fur. This was made by a Mountain Lynx, for sure. The blood must have been from its prey.

But as Daerhovan moved forward to study it’s movements, something seemed off. It’s steps were deep, and it’s stride short. The animal had appeared to drag its belly through the snow on a couple of places throughout it’s trek. The blood increased as the tracks went on.

“Poor thing…’ The elf murmured. Obviously the animal had not caught prey, but was heavily wounded and exhausted. Distracted from his original quest, Daerhovan carefully followed the struggling animal’s journey. It did not take long for him to find it’s end. And it’s end it was indeed.

A clump of thick ruddy fur was half buried by snow drifts. A rumble of sympathy sounded from within Daerhovan as he gently touched the spotted fur of the dead lynx. What had happened to it? His pondering was cut short as a thin wail sounded from the pile of rocks in front of him. Daerhovan practically leaped to it, spotting an opening from within the pile. The wailing persisted. Peeking inside, he could see a small scrap of fur in the gloom. This lynx must have been a mother, and this must be her cub.

Without thinking, he peered more closely at the inside the den, seeing only one cub, and reached a hand inside the hole, carefully feeling around for the animal. Locating its neck scruff; Daerhovan gently transferred it out of the den and immediately into the warmth of his cloak. The vale was not far. He could make it before the cub succumbed to the cold. In the back of his mind he knew was doing something against his nature. It had always been his belief to let nature live it’s dance of life and death without his interference. So why had he taken a cub, doomed to die without it’s mother’s care? He had seen newborn animals die before. As harsh as the statement sounded, why was this one any different?

These thoughts raced through his mind as Daerhovan swiftly descended from the Mountains. He kept his distance from the Snow beasts and lurkers, making the tail end of the trek uneventful. Daerhovan hoped that Gloin’s camp would be occupied, alas for his luck, the occupants must have moved somewhere else. Grumbling, he checked on the cub; still clinging to life, but barely. He had to quicken his pace.

As he made his way through the narrow pass towards the North Gate of Imladris, the cold relented it’s grip, and warm sunlight broke through. Red rooftops of elven settlements glinted.

---

“Leaving already? You’ve barely arrived!”

Daerhovan grinned sheepishly at Maeglir. A high elf like that onto Glorfindel, who also resided in the valley.

“She grows stronger each day. I want her to grow up beyond the valley.”

Maeglir merely clicked his tongue in response, wandering over to inspect the cub, who was currently curled up in a nest of soft blankets. Daerhovan smiled warmly at her, stroking it’s short, tufted ears. Alright, she was adorable.

It had been nearly two months since he found his way into Imladris. More like stumbled in.

In a guest room offered to him by Elrond Half-elven himself; he spent days nursing the cub back from the brink of death. She had been cold, and starving. Sustenance had been difficult to come by at first, but another elf had eventually prepared a formula the cub could sustain herself on. The resident elves had been won over by it’s plight, and helped Daerhovan care for her.

“But where would you go? You know how dangerous the wilderlands are outside of the Valley. Echad Candelleth, or even Thorenhad would be safer.” Maeglir argued. Daerhovan grinned warmly at the half noldo. Though they didn’t consider themselves to be good friends, Maeglir still had a protective streak. Daerhovan met his deep blue gaze, indicating Maeglir’s Vanyar blood. “Centuries have I lived in the wilds. I can manage.” He looked down at the cub. “I don’t wish for Verya to be conditioned to the care of those who would only pamper her. She must remain wild.” Maeglir’s eyes thinned shrewdly at the Silvan elf. “You’ve given it a name? That contradicts your statement. You have subjected yourself to bond with it.” Maeglir huffed, excusing himself from the room. Confused mumblings of “Foolish” and “Much better places to raise infant animals” could be heard as the door creaked shut.

Daerhovan chuckled lightly, turning his attention back to the cub. She looked so safe in her makeshift nest. Was it really wise to take her out of here? Maeglir might have been right about giving her a name ...But he didn’t know what else to call it. Besides, her name reflected the brave and relentless spirit she had displayed so far. He only found it fitting.

---

Daerhovan already had a place in mind to look after Verya, until she could take care of herself. In the wilds of the High Moor; wild boards, bog guardians, giant flies, and bears prowled, but if the young lynx was to survive out here, she must know her place. His plan was to relocate her to a place nearby and stay with the feline as soon as she could take care of herself. He dared not take her farther west of the Bruinien Gorge, worried that her thick fur would cause her to overheat in the lowlands.

He brought no horse with him as he and his feline companion trekked upward through the vale, towards the entrance of the Hidden Valley. He wondered if he should carry her up the climb, but Verya seemed to be holding up well. Their exercises around the Vale seemed to have made her legs sturdy enough to increase her stamina. Daerhovan looked up into the trees, mimicking the whistle of the loudest of the chirps of birds that could be heard. Calling it to him. Daerhovan held an arm up as a Stellars Jay answered his call, alighting on said arm.

Would you scout the higher grounds for me, my friend?

The bird twittered, and flew off into the forests.

---

Large bears and boars prowled in the wilds, his feathered messenger relayed. Daerhovan sighed. He’d communed with such animals before, but both tended to be fiercely territorial; despite his assurances he would be out of their way.

But perhaps there was one place..

---

He had found it once before. A little glade that marked the border between The Trollshaws and Eregion. He’d always been fond of the sights of the Misty Mountains in one direction, with towering trees in another. Grand, but quiet.

Daerhovan looked down on his companion, beaming. “Welcome to your new home…”

---

Daerhovan rapped his staff against a boulder. Startled, the hare he had been after scampered away, and Daerhovan prayed it would head in Verya’s direction. The felid merely gave it a passing glance before twisting her neck to wash her back. Alright, so maybe hares were still too big for her.

Days passed without any hunting progress from her, and he began to worry she was depending too much on him to take care of her. Daerhovan tried to keep his distance, quashing his anxiety about leaving the cub alone.

He sat in the shade of a young oak, pondering what to do next. A flash of blue burst from the bushes across from him, a ruddy feline in hot pursuit. Daerhovan stood up in surprise as Verya gave a mighty leap, slapping down the bunting with one giant paw. She noticed the elf afterwards, and to him it seemed her blue eyes gleamed with triumph.

---

Weeks passed. Verya was beginning to master hunting on her own. Her biggest catches had been hares and the occasional turkey. As an adult she would be able to take on goats and possibly anything slightly bigger. She was also rapidly growing in size, and on the rare times Daerhovan had to carry her (usually when she got stuck in brambles) his arms would start to strain. Her physicality seemed to be adapting to this warmer environment, as he noticed her fur was slightly thinner, despite the fact it was mid Summer. He was worried at first that she may have taken ill, but her pelt was still glossy and well groomed. He still mostly kept his distance, observing her from afar.

Weeks turned into months, and Verya was on the cusp of adulthood. Her weight and height had greatly increased, and she could tackle a man to the ground if she so wished. With a pang in his heart, Daerhovan realized it was almost time to leave her alone for good. His original plan of returning her the the Misties moot now as she adapted more and more to the climate of the Trollshaws. But there was one final test before Daerhovan was confident enough to leave her.

For the most part she had hunted in the woods of the Trollshaws. But lately Verya had been wandering into the wilds of Eregion. Perhaps to seek out bigger prey? Daerhovan tracked her movements, surprised as she ventured further than she ever had inside the region.

He finally caught up with her after a couple days since he first tracked the lynx. A freshly killed goat at her paws, jaws tugging on the last strips of meat. Surely she brought it down herself? Only one way to find out. Daerhovan clicked his tongue as he approached, alerting her to his presence. She whipped her head around, hackles raised, but relaxed when she recognized his scent. He spoke softly in his native tongue, praising her for the kill. Reassuring the lynx it was all hers while giving the carcass itself a wide berth. Glancing swiftly at her paws, he saw the goats fur still caught in the sharp claws, and he had his answer. She had passed the test.

---

The landscape gleamed with silver light as the full moon traveled slowly over indigo skies partially obscured by the dark shadows of towering pines and mountains. In the gloom of the forest, Daerhovan worked swiftly yet quietly as he packed his essentials into his satchel. Verya had returned to the glade after her hunt, and last time he checked, was sleeping soundly in a den she had found, an old badger set fortified by tree roots. It was as good as anytime to leave now. He hated to admit it, but he was dreading the parting. The little glade felt like home almost, and he had grown very fond of the lynx. (Which he had dreaded in the first place, but it couldn't be helped). Looking back at her den, a pang in his heart almost convinced him to stay for a few days more. Why did this feel wrong?

No, she must not grow accustomed to people. He tried to convince himself. With a heavy sigh, he turned back from the glade, through Giant Valley, until he found the Great East Road again. Planning to visit Imladris once more before heading north into Angmar.

---

“Tell the council your report, Nogmeldir.” Elrond’s clear voice rang throughout the hall.

The haggard looking elf nodded, clearing his throat. “I talked with those camped atop Vindurhal, and braved the blizzards to the half buried dwarven settlement of Hrimbarg. Elf, man, and dwarf alike confirmed reports of increased activity within and around Goblin Town.”

“Did you find out any reason why this would be?” Glorfindel chimed in, his hard grip on the armchair betraying his seemingly calm demeanor.

Nogmeldir nodded vigorously. “I was getting to that. They’re rumours, mostly, but it’s said a Great Goblin has once again taken the throne. I found Gloin of Erebor camped close to the lower entrance, and he confirms the goblins have become more aggressive. People have gone missing, with trails of blood and scraps of clothes leading to the mountain they reside in.” The scout gingerly pulled a ratty scrap of cloth from within his satchel. “And there was this.” His voice was soft, but grave as he passed the cloth to Elrond.

Daerhovan, who had also been called to the council shortly after his return to Imladris, peered at the cloth curiously. “Is that writing upon it?”

Elrond nodded. “Indeed. They are orders to fortify the outer ramparts.” Penetrating grey eyes fixed on Daerhovan. “Telphindor, you mentioned curious workings near Goblin Town on your first trek through the mountains some months before. Do you believe these are the outer ramparts mentioned?”

Daerhovan thought back to that time, a little before the downfall of Mordirith. He had been sent to the Misty Mountains to scout the water sources to see if reports that they were being poisoned were true. (Which indeed they were, though the perpetrator was unknown.) More concerning news from person to person had brought him to the High Pass. During one venture, he had found the goblins preparing black powder for fire pots. And what seemed like newly constructed bridges and tents of crude goblin-make swathed throughout the peaks and gullies. “I do.” Daerhovan answered tentatively, feeling uncomfortable with all the attention on him. “The goblin forces seemed more organized. And I could see what appeared to be couriers running to and fro from the mountain to the camps.”

Elrond nodded grimly. “Yes, I remember your report. I had thought Angmar was involved.” The lord of Imladris leaned on one shoulder, brow furrowing in deep thought and concern. “Now...now I wonder if there has been another Great Goblin all along.”

Glorfindel stood, his countenance imposing. “I wonder that too. But now I believe they were indeed in league with Angmar. But since their downfall the Great Goblin could be trying to finish what they started in the Mountains. Whatever that was. And assuming these rumors are true.”

“Then I deem it is necessary to investigate them.” Elrond responded heavily, his gaze sweeping across those present. “One of you must venture into the High Pass. And into Goblin-Town itself.”

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the council. Daerhovan noticed those present twiddling their thumbs and looking grave. He knew Elrond, Glorfindel, or Elrond’s sons themselves would go if they could, but he was aware that other pressing matters kept them here. Nogmeldir looked exhausted and cold, as if the chill of the mountains was reluctant to let go of him. Others looked too afraid to venture into the heights. Daerhovan sighed inwardly. It was going to have to be him, once again. “I will go. If it pleases the council.”

The oppressing silence was broken with breaths of relief and approving murmurs. Elrond smiled, though Daerhovan thought he looked apologetic. “You do indeed know these mountains, Telphindor. I could not think of a better choice. It is decided then. You will scout Goblin Town to confirm these reports. May Elbereth look down kindly upon you.”

---

The Galladhrim elf leaned over the bannister on the balcony to gaze out across the Hidden Valley. The red tiles of the rooftops appeared washed with silver from the moonlight. Silhouettes of tree tops swayed lazily in the breeze. Daerhovan let his eyes sweep the top of the ridge that bordered the High Moorlands. Was Verya doing alright? Had she established her territory? Did she have enough prey and water to sustain herself on? Footsteps announced Elrond’s arrival from behind, drawing Daerhovan away from his musings.

“I have sent word to Gloin by way of a raven. He will be expecting you in three days time, at the least. From Nogmeldir’s report, he has moved his camp near to the base of the main entrance of Goblin Town. Practically in plain sight.” Elrond said, incredulous.

Daerhovan couldn’t help but chuckle at Gloin’s choice of location. That seemed like him, alright. “Lets just hope his presence is intimidating enough for goblins to stay put. They must associate him with Glamdring and Orcrist. Despite the fact he never wielded them.” Elrond nodded, staring at Daerhovan with a serious expression. “You remember the mission?” Daerhovan nodded. “Enter Goblin Town, find evidence of a king, and get out.” Elrond murmurd agreement. “Avoid conflict as much as you can. If any goblin sees you, dispatch them immediately. If they manage to sound the alarm, I fear you will not make it out alive.”

“I won’t become goblin fodder.” Daerhovan smiled, trying not to betray his nervousness.

“Please don’t.” Elrond smiled in return, placing a reassuring hand on the other elf’s shoulder “Has that lynx you found established a foothold for herself?” Daerhovan shrugged, resting his head in one hand ,watching the moonlight flicker like dancing lights in the nearby river. “I believe she has. I just hope I taught her enough.” Elrond followed his gaze, and Daerhovan thought he saw the elf lord’s eyes widen. In what emotion he couldn't discern. The Lord of the Valley gave Daerhovan a knowing look before leaving the balcony. “Perhaps your paths have yet to intertwine.” He winked as he left. Leaving a confused Daerhovan to ponder his cryptic words.

---

The alpine winds howled down from the lofty peaks that pierced the gray sky. Though Daerhovan couldn't make out said peaks even with his elven sight. The relentless winds brought barrages of snowflakes swirling around him and his mountain goat mount, blinding them to their surroundings. Maggie bleated anxiously, letting Daerhovan know she didn’t know which way to turn. The elf gently patted her neck, speaking elvish words of reassurance. The gray furred animal was a gift to him from both fellow elf and dwarf during the Iron Garrison’s reclamation of Moria. Though he let her wander free in the mountains she had been born in. Calling to her when needed, and today she was truly needed. Her name was mannish in origin, and Daerhovan stuck with it, finding the sound of it rather cute. The elf squinted into the blizzard, trying to make out shapes amidst the wall of snow. He did his best to quash his own anxiety, less Maggie’s own grow. Cautiously, he urged her forward. As they traveled a large rocky outcrop in the middle of the landscape rose from the snow, offering the promise of shelter. This would be as good a camp as any right now, until the storm cleared. Daerhovan set out his sleeping roll, anxious of starting a fire, never mind the fact that a flame couldn’t last long in this weather. Nickering softly, he called Maggie over. She might smell like...well, goat. But at least they could share each other’s warmeth.

---

Harsh bleats of fear and anger roused Daerhovan with a start. Instantly he got to his feet, seeing Maggie rearing and stomping towards something yet hidden from him. “Ai! What causes you fear?” He called to her in the special language he reserved for beasts, as taught to him by Radagast. Danger past snowdrift. Smell of blood. The words of the goat came to his mind as clear as day. Daerhovan quirked a brow. Smell of blood? Had a predator been stalking them? Daerhovan creeped forward, staff in hand, but ready to reach for his sword if need be. “Who goes there?” He called, repeating the command in beast tongue. A ruddy head with ice blue eyes and black tufted ears poked from behind the drift, slowly climbing out to reveal herself fully. Verya tilted her head, appraising him.

Daerhovan stared open mouthed at the feline, relaxing his stance. “Verya! How came you to be here?” He crouched, studying her. She looked well enough. Her fur had thickened, her body was larger. She looked as a grown lynx should. He was glad for that. But how did he not notice the lynx had been following him? He remembered that small detail of Elrond’s knowing look from back in the valley. Had he seen Verya then? Daerhovan sighed, rubbing his temples. It wasn’t a good sign if she intended to follow him. Sternly, he jabbed a finger southwards. “Go home. You were not supposed to follow.”

Verya gave no sign that she understood him. (his comprehension of feline and canine speak left something to be desired still) A different tactic would have to be used. Baring his teeth, he thrusted his head as close to Verya’s as he dared, snarling in her face. (Thank Eru his friends weren’t here to witness his more beastial manners…) Her tufted ears flattened against her skull as she backed up from him, and he thought she finally looked unsure. He just hoped his display was enough to convince her to turn around and stay away from him. With a long, final look at the elf, Verya trotted off into the white wilderness. That familiar pang of regret stung his heart. Surely it was right to send her away? She was wild. She had to remain so. Even if Daerhovan had to put the fear of people into her mind. The more she feared people, the less was her likelihood of being skinned by an opportunistic poacher for her valuable pelt.

Daerhovan returned to Maggie, stroking her muzzle. He could sense the animals relief, and she began to calm down. A quick study of the landscape revealed that the storm had passed, and the sun shone, albeit weakly, through the mist. Daerhovan realized he was in the middle of the Northern High Pass. The distant walls rising up to form a bowl shaped valley. Peering northward, Daerhovan thought he could recognize the mountain where Goblin Town made their home. The blizzard had delayed his journey, time was of the essence now.

---

Daerhovan pushed Maggie onward through the snowy expanse. Hoping to hope that Gloin and his party of other dwarves would still be where Elrond and Nogmeldir said they would. If the goblins had taken them...Daerhovan banished the thought. The mountain loomed higher now. It was a majestic sight, but Daerhovan knew it’s walls were riddled with traps and hidden passages. He grudgingly admired the goblins skills of stealth and booby trapping. His study of the mountain was cut short as Maggie stopped, rearing where she stood. Daerhovan gripped her neck fur, fighting to stay on her back. Danger! The feline returns! Her words rang through his mind. Daerhovan hopped off Maggie, peering behind him into the whiteness. Sure enough, Verya leapt out of the drift she had been hiding behind. He stood still as she began to stalk towards him, caution lined in every smooth movement of her body. He could hear Maggie screeching in panic, her instincts torn between staying with her master and fleeing from the smell of blood upon the lynx’s fur. In the end the latter won, and she turned tail to flee. Daerhovan spun around, calling after her sternly.

Verya paused, gauging the elfs reaction. She padded even closer ,until she was near enough to but her head against Daerhovan’s leg. Purring, she rubbed her jaw along his kneecap, then stood on tiptoe as she wound her body around his shins. Daerhovan groaned. The lynx had more of an attachment to him than he wanted. And now she had scared off his ride.

“GO!” He shouted, startling Verya. His voice ringing throughout the valley. She assumed a stance to prepare to flee, but still met Daerhovan’s gaze. Ice blue into pale green. Daerhovan’s frustration felt ready to spill over. “Go back!” He shouted once again, taking a step forward, trying to look imposing. His tone of voice seemed to get through to Verya this time, and she bounded away. But not before looking back once again before she vanished over the hill. Daerhovan breathed out a sigh, digging his fingers through his hair. Looking around he saw no sign of his mount. No matter, Gloin’s camp couldnt be far now.

---

“There’s Elrond’s help! Figured you would be delayed in the storm.” Gloin’s voice called to him through the archway of stone that lead to the mountain’s entrance. Daerhovan raised a hand in greeting, seeing a familiar goat standing among them. Surprise lit his eyes. “Maggie!” He rushed over, studying her body for any sign of harm. “Of course he greets the beast first.” Gloin grumbled. “More like she found us. Why did she beat you here?” The old dwarf inquired gruffly. Daerhovan paid no heed to his question until after he was sure Maggie hadn’t come to harm, satisfied when he saw nothing, he answered; “She was spooked by a lynx while I was dismounted. Though she fears for nothing, as lynxes are too small to take down goats of her size.”

“A lynx eh? The boys and I will take care of it for her. If it shows it’s snarling face here.” One of Gloin’s companions promised.

“No!” Daerhovan exclaimed. The dwarves stared at him in confusion. “No...Please don’t harm her. Just scare her off if you have to.” Gloin merely shrugged. Daerhovan looked up at the Mountain’s Throat, yawning before them nearby. No less creepy than the first time he stumbled upon it weeks before “Any news?” He asked.

Gloin shook his head. “All’s been quiet lately. But by my beard I know something more than usual goblin activity stirs within.” He replied, rubbing his chin. “Your mission as described by Elrond doesn’t make much sense to me. I prefer to find out head on, if you know what I mean.” Gloin huffed.

Daerhovan shrugged. “Better to keep the goblins in the dark about our plans, I suppose.” He stroked the pommel of his sword, hoping he wouldn't have to use it. Gloin side eyed him grimly. “Then do what you came here to do. And don’t lose your pretty head.”

---

Peeking as far as he dared over a crumbling wall, Daerhovan cursed inwardly at the sight of many goblins blocking his path. Thanks to his skills of stealth he was deep, deep into Goblin Town. Currently he was hiding inside a small alleyway of a long forgotten dwarf structure embedded into the stone. A broken wall the only thing between him and the enemy past it. Down the hallway of ragged stone yawned yet another tunnel. Though Daerhovan’s elven eyesight could see it opened up into a more spacious cavern within. But how in Elbereth could he get past the goblins in this hall? Perhaps a rock thrown far from his position to distract them...No. He would be spotted for sure. From what he saw, the hall was in want of more hiding places. Maybe it was time to turn back. He had evidence of some sort of ruling head, after all.

His trek through the shabby hole the goblins called a town had proven fruitful as he lay in other hiding places for goblins to pass through. Reports of the enemy forces being more organized rang true. Even more surprising was the presence of orcs. Orders that had been haphazardly tucked into belts were littered on the stone floors, though he was unable to decipher most of them. But they were always signed with the signature of a name that was rough on the tongue. Could whoever be giving these orders be here? Or were they from afar? Daerhovan stared longingly at the tunnel. (Or at least, where he thought the tunnel was from behind the wall.) His mind blanking on what to do next. It felt wrong somehow to turn around. All his instincts seemed to be telling him his answers were close.

His mind tumbled with these fruitless thoughts until a sharp voice cracked the air like a whip. Daerhovan ducked further, heart racing, fearing he had been discovered. Whoever had shouted spoke in a language he couldn’t understand. A dialect of Black Speech no doubt. Grumblings echoed throughout the cavern, followed by the shuffling of feet heading away from him. Still as stone, he waited. The sounds becoming muted, as if they were being blocked by something. Holding his breath, Daerhovan peek over the wall again, finding the room...empty? It seemed like a jest. Surely the goblins were lying in wait for him in some hidden nook he couldn’t see. Or maybe he had just come at the right time. Straining his hearing, the pitter-patter of goblin feet grew ever fainter. The sounds floating from the adjacent tunnel to his right. Hardly believing his luck, the opportunity was now present, and Daerhovan couldn’t waste anymore seconds.

He crept out from behind his refuge, soundlessly stalking towards the tunnel ahead, but not before peering around the other passage to make sure other goblins weren’t keeping watch. With the coast clear, Daerhovan disappeared into the gloom of the tunnel.

The cavern loomed into view, seemingly empty to his eyes. He paused to hear for any signs of life. But all was quiet. Stepping inside, he could see a vast pit in the center of a room. A thin, rickety bridge spanning across. Up ahead a crude looking seat made from bones and ratty leather stood out. Perhaps a throne for a king? Daerhovan didn’t have time to process the sights when wild laughter suddenly rang throughout the room. Heart in his throat, Daerhovan turned to flee, bumping into a strong orc blocking his path. Goblins swarmed into the room from unseen passageways. His hand had just reached the hilt of his sword when a blow from behind him forced him to his knees. Another blow making the world go dark...

Shrill voices pierced through the fog of his mind as Daerhovan came to.

“Kill him!”

“Skin him alive!”

“Hang him from the rafters!”

His senses quickly came back into focus as he realized where he was. Goblins thronged around him in a semi circle. Daerhovan yelped in pain as the hair nearest to his forehead was yanked upward, forcing his head back. A massive, wicked looking goblin met his gaze, sneering in triumph. “I’ve known many fools in my life, elf.” He spat. “But they pale in comparison to you!” A vicious kick to his face sent him rolling over to one side. The Great Goblin planted his foot on the cheek he struck. “Many have dared to slink through my halls! Few have managed to reach my throne. I’ll give you that much!” Daerhovan struggled to sit up, sure that his fear was almost palpable to the goblins around him. But he kept his face calm, glaring at the Goblin king as he finished his little tirade. “Many kings have there been in the past But none so cruel or merciless as I! For I am Ashûrz The Savage!” He crowed, a wild light dancing in his yellow eyes. His subjects shrieked their approval.

Quick as a snake, the goblin King snatched Daerhovan’s collar, bringing the elf’s face close to his. Daerhovan’s stomach heaved from his hot, rancid breath. “You’ll make a worthy feast for my beasts and I. And then your skeleton can join the rest of my trophies.” The goblin gestured to a series of cruel cages hanging from the roof of the cavern. Daerhovan felt a flood of revulsion and horror as he made out corpses within them. Some had remains of gristle still hanging from their bones. His fear intensified, Daerhovan drove his fist into the Goblin King’s jaw. Howling, the goblin let go of the elf’s collar, rubbing the spot his fist had struck. Snarling, Ashûrz screeched into the crowd. “My sword! Bring my sword!’ One of his subjects nearest to the throne lugged the weapon over, Ashûrz grabbed it hastily, rushing at Daerhovan with a cry. Daerhovan looked about wildy for his own weapons. Spotting his own sword a few yards away, he leapt towards it, The aches of his body becoming unnoticeable as adrenaline surged through his veins. Instead of rushing to stop him, the crowd of goblins backed away, choosing to cheer on their king as he strove with the elf intruder. Ashûrz jabbed his sword recklessly at Daerhovan without any hint of masterful swordsmanship. But he was lightning fast, and Daerhovan found himself on the defensive as he struggled to parry away the king’s thrusts. He couldn’t stifle a cry of pain as the tip of Ashurz’s sword cut through the fabric of his upper arm, the tip ripping more than cloth. His staff! He needed his staff. Where had it gone? With it he could do so much more than delay his demise with his sword.

With a maniacal shout of glee, the Great Goblin swung his shabby sword in a swinging motion towards Daerhovan’s neck, aiming to behead the elf. Daerhovan managed to duck quickly, but the tip caught his brow. Blood flooded the elfs’ vision, his surroundings disappearing under the red wave. No matter how many times he tried to wipe it from his eyes, the blood kept coming. One arm hung limp from it’s injury, the other was occupied by his sword. He couldn't use anything to stem the wound’s flow without unarming himself. The goblin laughed again at his enemy’s plight, and struck again. Daerhovan feebly fended off the attacks, using his hearing to judge where the sword was coming at, rather than sight. With a strength he didn’t think the goblin possesed, the mongrel knocked his sword aside with his own weapon. Daerhovan’s heart sank as he heard his life-saver clattering some feet away from him. “Prepare the feasting fires, my subjects!” Bellowed the Goblin King. Daerhovan barely had time to process his surroundings as a yowl echoed throughout the room, followed by a cry of surprise from his foe. He could hear scuffling some feet away from him. Daerhovan hastily wiped the blood from his eyes, stemming the flow with one hand.

The sword had dropped out of Ashûrz’s hands. The goblin himself thrashed on the floor as he fought to shove a ruddy, spotted furred animal raking its claws down his chest.

“Verya?...” Daerhovan whispered, weak from his blood loss. “How did you?...”

The Mountain Lynx twisted her head to look at him, as if making sure he was still alive. The goblin King took advantage of her brief hesitation, shoving the feline off. Madly, he crawled towards his sword. Blood poured from the claw wounds marring his chest and arms, but he seemed to take no notice as he thrusted his sword towards the lynx. Dodging nimbly, Verya bared her teeth, leaping forwards before Ashûrz could re-double his attack. Her fangs met his throat, sinking deeply into the rough skin. With a gurgling cry, Ashûrz clawed feebly at Verya, attempting to drag her off, but she held fast. Only when he sank to his knees, sword hand letting go of his weapon, did Verya unlatch herself. His throat torn open and choking on his own life force, Ashûrz slumped to the cold, stony ground. Dead within seconds.

Triumphant cries transformed into screams of horror as the goblins processed the death of their king. Daerhovan tensed, as did Verya, expecting the goblins to swarm over them in vengeance. But without a leader the crowd seemed confused. Fierce shouts sounded from the tunnels behind. Daerhovan slumped forward. Hardly able to process what was happening as the goblins retreated, only to be cut down by a party of dwarves led by Gloin himself. He could feel Verya’s warm fur pressed against him as he blacked out for the second time today.

---

Cold air filled his lungs as Daerhovan awoke. And though the frigid air bit the skin of his face, it was quite a welcome feeling. A “Mrrow” heralded Verya’s presence as she padded over, looking over Daerhovan’s face. Purring loudly, she rasped her bristled tongue over the elf's bruised cheek. Chuckling, he gently fender her off with his good arm. “Yes, yes I see you too. I’m awake now.” Grunting, he sat up to study his surroundings. He was in a stony hall. But the rock was masterfully carved, lined with the furs of animals and the geometric art of the dwarves embroidered on richly hued flags. A fire in the hearth near the end of the room struggled to maintain it’s flame in the cold, The place was quite a contrast to the dark, craggy hallways of Goblin Town. Wasn’t he just there?

It was as if his body was as slow to remember as his mind, for the aches and pains of his battle and beating from the Goblin King made themselves known. Daerhovan groaned as he examined his incapacitated arm, crudly bandaged with rags that were fastened with rope. Verya shifted closer, sniffing his wounded arm. Daerhovan could swear her feline face looked concerned. The door shifted open, bringing in more cold air. Daerhovan tightened the bed sheets around him more closely as Gloin ambled through. “Well if it isn’t the Goblin King slayer! And the elf! Glad to see you in one piece lad.” He strode over, looking apologetic. “Sorry about the bandaging. We’re low on healing supplies out here. Oh, and sorry about your staff. The goblins claimed it as a trophy, and your life was more of a priority.”

Daerhovan gazed at Gloin quizzically, the fate of his staff quickly shoved to the back of his mind. “What happened? How did I get here?” He asked, skipping pleasantries.

“Some of my men carried you out of the mountain while the rest of us cleaved a path through the goblins back to the entrance. There wasn’t much to cleave though, to be fair.: Gloin explained, trying in vain to strengthen the hearth fire. “We quickly bound your wounds once outside, and carried you on a makeshift stretcher to Hrimbarg. Thank Mahal your goat was still there to help.” Dropping the fire tongs with a curse, Gloin gave up on tending to the hearth. His attention landed on Verya, amusement dancing in his old eyes. “You’ve quite the loyal companion there, I must say. Refused to leave you alone along the whole way here. Heh, nevermind the fact that she slayed the Goblin King single pawed!”

Daerhovan studied the lynx, still perched on the bed with him. Wonder filled him as he realized what she had done. “You saved my life?” He breathed, reaching a hand to stroke her ear. Purring, she leaned into his hand, rubbing her cheek against it. “Why?”

Verya said nothing, as to be expected. She merely blinked up at him, bright eyes stark against the dimming room. Gloin sighed. “That hearth fire doesn't have much time left. We need to get you to Vindurhal, and then Rivendell.” Daerhovan nodded, testing his strength as he climbed out of bed. “I think I can make the journey.”

He rode atop Maggie, Gloin on his own goat in front of him, with Verya bringing up the rear. Atop the watch tower of Vindurhal he redressed his wound, before the party made for Gloin’s original camp in a small, abandoned dwarven fortress just above the Valley of Imladris. Daerhovan was allowed to regain his strength for a couple of days before his return to the Valley. He thanked Gloin and his men heartily for their part in getting him out of Goblin Town, and promised to repay them somehow. Gloin had waved a dismissive hand, reassuring him the death of Ashûrz was payment enough. Not satisfied, Daerhovan offered to let them use Maggie as a mount and beast of burden for at least one month before she was to be set free. They had conceded, trying to hide their grateful expressions.

Now he was hiking through the steep ravines and canyons of the Misties as they descended into the Valley. The snow line gradually fading, allowing yellowed shoots of grass to push through the soil. Daerhovan could hear Verya padding behind him. Stopping, he turned to face her. Verya halted as well, looking up at Daerhovan curiously. Her head tilted as if she was asking. “Why have we stopped?” She had never left his side since his rescue from Goblin Town. And it seemed she was sticking with that mindset. Daerhovan sighed. He couldn’t intimidate her again. He had a feeling she would come back eventually. Crouching down, Daerhovan attempted to speak with her in beast tongue. You must not follow.

Verya chirped in response, though Daerhovan couldn’t decipher her meaning. No feelings and impressions formed in his mind. If she understood him she made no indication of it. Daerhovan huffed in amusement, shaking his head as he gently scratched the base of her ears. A wave of gratitude and affection swelled within him as he remembered what she had done to preserve his life. She hadn’t killed the Goblin King to protect herself, but for him.

Perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm to keep the lynx with him for awhile, It was obvious she wasn’t about to let him go either. He would report his adventure to Elrond. And then? He still intended to make for Angmar. Looking into Verya’s eyes, a faint impression began to form in his mind, a thought that didn’t feel like his own.

I will follow.

#fic #daerhovan #CHEESY AF TITLE AND SUMMARY I KNOW #i never said i was good at writing

6 notes · View notes