Across the stony plain stretching from the foothills of the Misty Mountains, along a wind-beaten trail lashed by sharp gusts, two brothers advanced steadily. Their horses' hooves struck the earth lightly, their movements measured and controlled. Then suddenly, Elladan—his bow slung across his back—flinched. As if a void had opened inside his mind, his face clouded for a brief moment. He turned to Elrohir beside him and spoke, unable to conceal the sudden tension in his voice.
"Brother…"
Elrohir halted and looked at him calmly, curiosity flickering in his eyes at this unusual behavior. Swallowing, Elladan continued:
"…You did reply to Mother's last letter, didn't you? The one that arrived… a hundred and twenty years ago…"
At that question, Elrohir's gaze froze. He faltered slightly, then raised his hand and pointed at his brother with a trembling finger, stunned.
"…Wasn't it your turn to reply?!"
Elladan's face darkened further. He frowned as though stepping into a defensive stance.
"No! I wrote the one before that! I even sent a rare orchid seed with it! It was definitely your turn!"
For a moment, Elrohir stared blankly at the ground. He sifted rapidly through the dusty corridors of memory in his mind. Then, struck by the weight of realization, he slapped his forehead in dismay.
"…Oh no…"
Confronted with his brother's negligence, Elladan rolled his eyes as if already foreseeing the disaster awaiting them.
"Oh no indeed… Every year we sent Father a report…"
Elrohir's expression darkened further. A faint ache crept into his temples as he muttered:
"But we haven't replied to Mother for a hundred and twenty years…"
Unable to hide the despair in his voice, he added:
"…I think we're finished. Either she'll deliver a speech that lasts for hours, or she'll sulk at us… Should we turn back?"
Elladan looked at him with an even gloomier expression.
"How long can we keep running? Forever?"
For a brief moment, Elladan remembered that they were immortal Elves. With the heavy realization of that truth, he slowly nodded.
"…Right."
After a short silence, his eyes suddenly brightened as though he had grasped a lifeline.
"I've got it! Let's blame Grandfather! We'll say we couldn't reply because we've been occupied with the task he assigned us! We've been dealing with his affairs for the last eighty years anyway. It's not even a lie."
Elladan shot his brother a sideways glance as if weighing the idea.
"If Grandmother hears about that, I think she'll report us."
The image of their authoritative grandmother surfaced vividly in Elladan's mind. His shoulders sagged and his expression darkened once more.
"Right…"
The two brothers sighed deeply and sorrowfully in unison. Before them lay two unpleasant possibilities: either they would endure hours of endless scolding, or their mother would sulk at them for several centuries. Continuing down the road with these grim thoughts weighing upon them, Elladan introduced another possibility:
"…Should we use our sister as a mediator for peace?"
Elrohir paused to consider it. When he did, it seemed the most reasonable path available. He nodded in agreement.
"…Let's."
While they calmly advanced and conversed in the midst of this familial crisis, shadows shifted behind the surrounding rocks and sparse shrubs. Ambushers were silently encircling them—but the two brothers had already noticed. It was not their first ambush, and rather than tense them, the situation almost relaxed them. Elladan spoke with a faint smile.
"At least we'll be able to relieve some stress."
Orcs slipped soundlessly from both sides of the road, some already drawing their bows and aiming their arrows at the brothers' chests. Elrohir let out a soft chuckle in response.
"I agree…"
In that instant, the orcs burst one by one from their hiding places, forming a tightening circle around the brothers. The encirclement was complete. Orc archers waited with their fingers poised on the bowstrings. The brothers halted and cast a brief glance around them. From within the crowd, several massive figures stepped forward. These were far more muscular and taller than ordinary orcs, their green skin thick and battle-scarred. Heavy armor covered them from head to toe, and their lower tusks jutted past their lips.
Elrohir frowned.
"Great orcs…"
The orcs roared in a thunderous challenge that shook the air and ground alike:
RRRROOOOOOAAAAAAAARRRRR!
Completely ignoring the deafening noise, Elladan had already readied his bow and was mentally compiling his list of targets.
"…The rest are all Uruk-hai. About fifty in total."
Without taking his eyes off the enemy for even a moment, Elrohir added:
"Add around twenty great orcs."
Analyzing the line that encircled them, Elladan saw that the rear had been fully sealed as well.
"They seem well prepared, brother."
Elrohir gripped the hilt of his sword, preparing to draw it, and confirmed:
"They do."
Without breaking his concentration, he whispered to Thoron, who was perched on Elladan's shoulder:
"Take flight and observe the surroundings. Warn us at the slightest sign of anything."
Thoron let out a soft chirp, beat his wings, and swiftly rose into the gray sky.
At that moment, a great orc unlike the others pushed his way forward through the crowd. He stood nearly two and a half meters tall and was clad from head to toe in black plate armor. His helmet resembled a Great Ork skull, completely concealing his face. With a massive sword strapped across his back and a cloak whipping in the wind, he cut an imposing figure. Arms crossed over his chest, he studied the twins with crimson eyes glowing from behind the helmet. His voice, muffled within the helm, sounded even more menacing as he spoke calmly in the Common Tongue:
"Surrender, Orc-hunters… My master wants you alive."
Elrohir showed no reaction to the armored giant's offer. Leaning slightly forward in his saddle, he asked:
"Oh? And if we refuse?"
The armored orc let out a low, rumbling chuckle from beneath his helmet. His voice sounded like rusted metal grinding against itself.
"Then you will earn our respect… won't they, lads?"
At his words, the great orcs around them bared their crooked teeth in grins, then roared in unison in a thunderous challenge. The twins carefully studied the noisy circle surrounding them. Without moving his lips, Elrohir whispered in a voice only his brother could hear:
"Plan?"
Elladan squeezed the hand holding his bow once, as if to release tension, then answered without taking his eyes off his targets:
"Improvise…"
Elrohir nodded faintly, apparently satisfied.
"Improvisation is good."
Then, as if he had lost all hope, he spread his hands wide and slowly urged his horse forward. Adding an artificial tone of surrender and theatrical despair to his voice, he shouted:
"All right, we surrender!"
The orcs' attention immediately focused on the rider moving forward. At this sudden surrender they had been waiting for, a wave of relaxation spread through their ranks. The archers loosened their bowstrings slightly and lowered their weapons.
Meanwhile, Elladan silently communicated with the horse beneath him:
"When I dismount, move away from here and hide."
The horse nodded its head as if understanding its master's intent. Elladan continued scanning the surroundings, noticing that most of the orc archers had relaxed. One by one, he marked them as targets in his mind.
Just as he prepared to act, an Uruk-hai standing beside the armored leader noticed the approaching swordsman and growled a warning:
"Do not come closer, Elf! Drop your weapons first!"
But Elrohir had no intention of stopping. Continuing to ride forward, he waved his hands in exaggerated helplessness and called out mockingly:
"Ahhh! Come now, we're just two defenseless elves. What could we possibly do to you?"
The armored great orc chuckled; he found the elf's manner of speaking amusing. His hands itched faintly with the desire to fight the elf, but the current situation did not allow it. He stood calmly with his arms crossed, while others of his kind grinned in silent agreement. Seeing this reaction, the Uruk-hai cursed inwardly and barked a rapid command in the Black Speech:
"SHOOT HIM! BUT DO NOT KILL!"
The moment the order was given, Elladan was the first to move. In rapid succession, he loosed arrows at the opponents he had already targeted, incapacitating ten archer orcs in a matter of moments. Each orc he struck was hit either through the temple or directly in the eye socket, a testament to the archer's extraordinary skill.
The remaining archers, not yet targeted, quickly took cover behind rocks and fired random shots at their elven enemies. But their opponent had already dismounted, evading the arrows with swift movements. As he ran toward the rocks on his left, he brought down four more orcs with four arrows. Then he threw himself between two boulders, observing the archers while also remembering to call out to his brother:
"THE ARCHERS ARE MINE, FOCUS ON THE FRONT!"
As Elladan delivered his message, Elrohir urged his horse toward the armored orc, ready to swing his sword at any moment. The armored orc did not even change his stance as the horse approached, clearly showing he felt no fear. At the same time, he muttered with anticipation for the coming battle:
"Finally, some movement."
Knowing their leader's strength and intentions, the armored orc's subordinates waited eagerly for the fight to begin. None had any intention of interfering in the duel between the two warriors. Unlike the creatures in Arda who bore the same name, these great orcs placed great importance on the way of battle and on honor. This did not mean they would foolishly challenge the elf one by one; valuing honor and being stupid were two different things. While the strong fought single combat in the open, the weaker ones cooperated to defeat the enemy and survive until they themselves grew stronger, protecting one another's backs. Their understanding of honor was not to rush blindly toward death, but to know one's strength and act accordingly.
At that moment, the Uruk-hai, whose eyes darted between the two opponents ready to strike at any moment, could no longer restrain his fear and fled the area at once. The armored orc did not stop him, though he could not help but grumble:
"And they call these wretches orcs… To me, they're no different from goblins."
As his opponent approached on horseback, the armored orc moved for the first time, stretching his bones until they cracked. Finishing his warm-up, he fixed his sharp gaze on his enemy and grinned savagely.
"Let me show you what an orc truly is."
As if by unspoken agreement, both began to move. Elrohir spurred his horse into a charge, intending to strike first with the momentum of the mount, but the armored orc seemed to anticipate this. He waited calmly for the horse to come closer, appearing utterly relaxed, though those who knew him would have understood that his focus was already entirely in the battle.
When the distance between horse and orc shrank to a point where reaction should have been impossible, the armored orc suddenly stepped to the left and, using tremendous strength, threw a punch at the rider accompanied by a deafening battle roar.
The sudden development surprised Elrohir, but his reflexes held true. He swiftly raised his sword in a block and managed to stop the blow, yet the force that struck the blade tore him from the saddle and hurled him backward. Fortunately, with reflexes like a cat's, he landed on his feet—but that did not change the fact that his body slid backward, leaving deep tracks where his boots scraped the ground. In that first clash, he had lost.
With arms trembling from the impact, a single, perfectly clear thought formed in his mind:
"… All right… this one is strong…"
Feeling the weight lift from its back, the horse obeyed its command and fled the ambush site. The armored orc crossed his arms over his chest again, looking at his opponent and chuckling softly.
"Come," he said, his voice muffled.
"Come and show me your strength."
This challenge was enough to make Elrohir frown. The situation turning so suddenly into a one-on-one duel had surprised both the archer and the surrounding Uruk-hai. The elf drew a deep breath, cleared his mind, and lunged forward like an arrow released from a bow.
Seeing the speed of his opponent, the armored orc chuckled again. Uncrossing his arms, he drew the massive sword from his back in a single motion and delivered a powerful vertical slash toward the elf charging at him.
The elf narrowly slipped past the descending weight of heavy metal and immediately counterattacked. He thrust his sword swiftly toward the eye slit of the orc's mask. The orc tilted his head aside with agile precision; the blade scraped against the helmet, scattering sparks. At the same time, the orc's missed heavy sword crashed into the ground with a thunderous impact. Earth burst upward from the force, and a small crack formed in the soil. Elrohir leapt back, maintaining distance. His eyes flickered briefly to the crack in the ground and the dust rising into the air.
'…This won't be like blowing off some steam…' Elrohir thought.
'This one isn't like the ordinary great orcs we've faced. He's on an entirely different level.'
The orc lunged forward again, this time faster, launching another vertical strike. The elf raised his sword into a defensive position; at the moment the two weapons collided, instead of resisting the orc's strength head-on, he subtly twisted his wrist and redirected the attack to the side. At the same instant, he drew the dagger at his waist and thrust it toward the orc's throat. The orc swiftly lifted his free hand, and the dagger glanced off the plate armor with a sharp clang. As the massive creature tried to seize the elf's arm, the elf retreated quickly. Yet the orc seized that opening, spinning on his axis and using the momentum to unleash a wide horizontal slash.
The elf ducked beneath the deadly arc of metal that passed just above his helmet. As he straightened, the orc's free hand—having released the sword—slammed into the elf's abdomen like a sledgehammer. At the last moment, Elrohir held his sword horizontally to absorb the blow, but instead of taking the force directly, he twisted his body to redirect it. Using the speed of that rotation, he drove his dagger into a gap in the orc's armor—beneath the armpit. Black orc blood spurted lightly. Ignoring the pain, the orc lashed out with a forward kick. Elrohir blocked it, but instead of bracing in place, he used the force of the kick to slide backward. When he had widened the distance between them, he released the breath he had been holding; a faint mist rose from his mouth into the cold air.
'His skin and muscles are like stone…' he thought.
'I still haven't inflicted serious damage.'
The armored orc, feeling the sting in his arm, studied his opponent.
'…I was careless…' he thought.
'The one before me is not one of those arrogant elves who idle in comfort. He has fought and hunted across every corner of Middle-earth for the last four hundred years… His level is entirely different.'
Then a mocking yet faintly regretful expression formed on his face.
'…What a shame… I would very much like to fight him in a duel to the death right now—but under the present circumstances, that is not possible.'
Unexpectedly, the orc lowered his sword, relaxed his stance, turned his back, and began walking toward his own men. Seeing this, Elrohir's brows rose in astonishment.
"Why aren't you continuing the fight?"
Without looking back, the orc answered as he walked away with heavy steps:
"…Now is not the time… I hope you survive this place. Then we shall fight fairly."
The elf tried to comprehend what was happening, but he no longer had time to think. The Uruk-hai around him suddenly swarmed. He decapitated the first attacker from the right in a single stroke, turned left to block an incoming blade, and plunged his dagger into the uruk's throat. He deflected the strike of another approaching from behind and knocked him down with a hard kick. He stood in the midst of a dance of death.
Meanwhile, the armored great orc calmly reached the other leaders and slung his sword across his back. Another great orc—muscular, wearing half-plate armor and sporting a goat beard—approached and asked:
"What did you think of him?"
The armored one sighed and chuckled.
"A worthy opponent… Which is exactly why I dislike this ambush style. You know, uncle, he is my prey, and his brother is my sister's… My sister went mad when she heard about this ambush. We had to lock her up to keep her from ruining things. Father himself stands guard at her cage."
The goat-bearded orc grinned, as if trying to calm his nephew.
"I know. But orders are orders. And ambush is not dishonor—it is an art of war."
"I know," said the armored one.
"But in our traditions, if an orc has chosen an equal opponent, no one interferes in that fight. And there are not only orcs here… This situation tramples our traditions."
Some of the surrounding great orcs grumbled in agreement; others looked at them with disdain. Though they respected the elf's skill in battle, they were not inclined to show mercy after losing their kin. An orc wearing a Warg pelt stepped forward.
"Enough whining. Focus on the task! The Green Raiders will not interfere in this fight—we are merely observers. The rest of you, move! We want the elves alive, but do not underestimate them. You saw what the warrior did—"
"Ah! Shut your mouth! Don't act like you're our leader!"
another orc interrupted. Stepping forward with his own men, he continued,
"Just because the tribes formed an alliance doesn't mean we take orders from you! We'll handle this ourselves—we don't need your help!"
The Warg-pelted orc looked at them silently for a moment. Seeing that several other great orcs shared the same opinion, he sighed.
"True, I am not your leader. Do as you please then. The Green Raiders will simply watch—"
"No!" another orc snarled.
"We don't want anyone from the Grathun Nozgai tribe interfering! This is our hunt!"
The goat-bearded orc raised his brows at this surge of confidence.
"Are you sure? Don't come crying to us later."
Another great orc curled his lip.
"Heh! Just because the whelp of the 'Honorable Giant' struggled a bit, you think we will too?"
The armored orc turned a calm, icy expression toward the insolent orc who had spoken.
"…Do you truly think that?"
He stepped forward until he stood directly before the challenger. He stared into his eyes with a freezing gaze, as though trying to rip the courage from his very soul. His voice was low but threatening:
"For centuries our tribes have not fought. It seems you have forgotten the strength of Grathun Nozgai."
After these words, the armored orc placed his hand upon his shoulder and gripped the hilt of his massive sword. Seeing this, the other orcs instantly seized their weapons, readying themselves for battle. But at that very moment, his goat-bearded uncle grasped his arm and intervened with an authoritative tone:
"Enough, Guşga."
Guşga glared at his uncle for a moment in anger, but eventually nodded and calmed himself. The goat-bearded orc then turned his gaze toward the troublemaking group.
"Very well. We will not interfere. We were not pleased with this situation anyway."
At this declaration, the other great orcs grumbled among themselves and moved toward the battlefield; only eight orcs remained behind. The older orc with the skull-shaped helmet let out a deep sigh and looked at his nephew.
"My son, you are still young, so you do not see certain things. Before your father took leadership, our tribe was far more savage. Though we respected one-on-one duels, we also set ambushes like this, raided villages, and plundered caravans… But your father thought differently. He began forming ties with merchants. We learned that not everyone could slay the giant beasts we hunted—and their corpses fetched far more coin than we imagined. With that wealth, we bought more supplies and equipment. We even did something no tribe would dare: we placed certain human towns under our protection, and in return we benefited from their healers and goods. What I mean is, among great orcs, we are that 'abnormal' tribe."
The goat-bearded orc nodded in agreement and added:
"They are right, Guşga. Those orcs who just left—that is our original nature: savage, cruel, barbaric… Your father did not earn the name 'Honorable Giant' for nothing."
Guşga grumbled quietly to himself at what he heard. His uncle, as if wishing to lighten the mood, chuckled mockingly.
"And besides… if those two elves resemble their father even a little, they will not become easy prey here."
While the battle raged below in all its fury, several hidden eyes watched the scene from high in the mountains. The moment the clash began, a goblin on one ridge raised a mirror to the sun and sent a signal to the opposite slope. The goblin who received the message quickly relayed the signal to the western hills. From there, the news reached watchers lying in ambush in the mountainous region near the borders of Rivendell.
These three men, dressed entirely in black, wore faintly glimmering scorpion pendants around their necks. One of them, seeing the reflected signal, turned to his leader.
"The signal has arrived. They've begun."
After giving a short nod, the leader took hold of a bat, tied a small note to its leg, and released the animal. As the bat beat its wings and glided toward the northwest, the spy leader turned to the man observing the border through a telescope.
"What's the situation?"
The observer adjusted the lens and continued speaking.
"A few dwarves met with the Oakenshield and the Black Knight. Then the Black Knight veered south… Other than that, everything is clear."
The leader frowned. Another man interjected:
"Should we hunt him? We could finish him while he's alone."
The leader shook his head.
"No. The Black Knight is not such easy prey. For now, we remain loyal to our master's plan; our priority is to capture the orc hunters."
As the watcher silently returned to his duty, movement began at the watchtowers near Rivendell as well. An elf who noticed the signals called out to his commander:
"Commander, there's something strange."
The officer in charge of the tower quickly came and examined the reflections on the horizon. The moment he understood, his face tightened.
"These are signals! Inform Rivendell immediatel— UGH!"
Before he could finish, a crossbow bolt pierced his throat, dropping him to the ground. The other watchers, startled and scrambling for their weapons, barely had time to react; within seconds, all five elves lay dead. Similar scenes were unfolding in the other towers. The assassins, moving with precision, swiftly eliminated the elves, then changed out of their bloodstained clothes and donned the fallen guards' armor. Concealing their faces, they took the watch posts. They had been preparing for this moment for a very long time.
In the valley where the twins had fallen into an ambush, there was yet another group of hunters. About four hundred meters away, a figure perfectly concealed aimed carefully with a heavy crossbow. His skin had a purplish, sickly pallor. As he stared at his targets with cold eyes, he thought:
'So these are the grandchildren of Galadriel and Celeborn, and the twin sons of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell—Elladan and Elrohir… They seem talented. It is a pity that I cannot sacrifice them to Anath Raema… But if Sauron is right, their remaining alive will serve us far better.'
The dark elf smiled with sadistic pleasure.
'Perhaps I will present Galadriel—or Elrond himself—to Anath Raema… What a magnificent sacrifice that would be.'
At that moment, the cry of a hawk echoed across the sky. The dark elf lifted his head and saw the twins' loyal animal, but paid it little mind.
'Not yet… I must wait for the right moment. But we must bring down that hawk as well.'
His gaze swept across the strategic positions surrounding them. Under his command, ten crossbowmen, ten assassins, ten witch-elves, ten slaughterer sisters, and ten Black Ark Corsairs lay in ambush, ready and waiting. This was his small but deadly hunting party.
'As a Dreadlord, I must complete this hunt successfully…' he thought.
'Failure is not an option. Otherwise, Lady Morathi will flay me alive…'
Their task was truly difficult, for this was not an assassination but a capture operation. They were only an hour or two from the borders of Rivendell. Elf patrols rarely passed through these areas, but the risk was still considerable. The nearby watchtowers had already been dealt with in silence, and to distract Rivendell, a small army had been set in motion from the northwest. Every precaution had been taken to ensure that no help could reach the twins. Now all they needed to do was capture them alive and then leave the region swiftly before Elrond realized what had happened. They were racing against time.
As Thoron glided through the sky, he noticed flashes of light below and let out a sharp, warning cry. At that moment, Elladan—who had just leapt onto a high rock and felled three Uruk-hai with three successive arrows—furrowed his brow. After quickly turning and shooting another who was approaching him, he called out to his brother:
"Brother! Something is wrong! Thoron has discovered something strange."
At the same time, Elrohir narrowly evaded a heavy axe blow coming from the side with an agile movement. Springing lightly, he drove his knee hard into the face of the great orc. As the orc lost his balance and fell flat on his back, Elrohir dashed forward and thrust his sword into the creature's throat. At that very moment, he dropped low to avoid two horizontal strikes coming simultaneously from both front and back. The first blade cut through the air above him; the second he blocked with his own sword, then slashed deeply into the waist of the orc on his left. Suddenly he felt a chill at the nape of his neck and rolled to the right, narrowly avoiding a spear thrust aimed at him. Rising to his feet and retreating to a safer distance, he managed to speak:
"There's something strange about this ambush!"
Deflecting another attack from the side with his sword, Elrohir continued, breathing heavily:
"Send a signal for help immediately! The watchtowers aren't far!"
Elladan brought down the Uruk-hai attempting to approach the rocks where he had taken cover with rapid, precise shots. When the remaining ones, now under heavy pressure, retreated back into their cover, he drew a specially crafted arrow from his quiver. While still in motion, he struck the flint at his belt and ignited the fuse, then fired the arrow high into the sky. Climbing dozens of meters upward, the arrow burst in the dark heavens with a flare of red light.
Watching this desperate call for help from their concealed positions, the Dark Elves exchanged mocking smiles and continued to wait patiently for the right moment to move.
Below, Elrohir split the belly of a great orc with a deep, brutal cut. As the creature collapsed to its knees, groaning in agony, Elrohir deftly turned his sword and finished it with an upward slash. The orc died clutching its throat in shock.
Immediately afterward, he held his sword over his shoulder to block a strike coming from behind. Though the impact jolted him, he pivoted on his heel and swept his blade in a horizontal arc, but his opponent nimbly stepped back out of range. Pressing the attack, Elrohir struck the enemy's weapon aside with a swing to the left, then followed with a swift cut to the arm using his dagger. Black orc blood splashed across his face, but he paid it no heed.
When the orc, gritting its teeth in pain, charged again, Elrohir slipped sideways to evade the blow and drove his sword straight into the creature's eye. He twisted the blade free, turned, and met another attack from behind.
As weapons locked together, another great orc lunged at him from the left. Noticing this at once, Elrohir hurled the dagger in his hand at the approaching foe. At the same instant, he rotated his sword wrist, unbalancing the opponent before him, slid to the right, and in a single clean motion cut the creature's throat. As that orc collapsed, clutching at its neck, the one from the left narrowly avoided the thrown dagger by leaning his body aside at the last moment; the metal tip grazed only the edge of his ear as it passed. A thin line of sweat trickled down the orc's temple.
Elrohir, meanwhile, stepped back several paces and settled into his fighting stance. As he exhaled deeply, a faint plume of vapor rose from his mouth in the cold air.
---
(4857 Words)