WARNING:
Before you begin reading, I must issue a warning because there is a serious misunderstanding due to a translation error.
Shadowmane = Male.
Snowball = Female.
Since I'm using AI-assisted translation, I quickly check and identify strange sentences. While doing this, I automatically ignore expressions like "He/she, His/Her," but this has created a serious gender confusion. I have corrected the errors I found, please be aware that this will be the case from now on. Happy reading.
Note: Due to certain circumstances, I couldn't review the translation of this section in detail. If you see any errors, please let me know.
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Struck by the weight of the name she had just heard, Celebrían lunged forward abruptly. Caught off guard by the sudden movement, Vaelor instinctively stepped back in reflex. In Celebrían's voice rang that unmistakable panic that tightens a mother's heart.
"Show me the hawk! Immediately!"
After a brief moment of surprise, Vaelor grasped the situation with the composure of a seasoned soldier. He gave a short nod and gestured to the crowd behind him. The healer elf who was carefully carrying Thoron in his arms stepped forward, parting the gathering as he approached. The moment Celebrían saw the hawk—his wings and body wrapped in white bandages, his form exhausted and frail—her knees truly trembled. She turned at once to the captain of the guard beside her and cried out sharply in Elvish, her tone edged with command:
"TAKE AS MANY MEN AS YOU CAN AT ONCE! STAND READY!"
The guard captain, frozen in shock for a heartbeat, quickly recovered and saluted with a nod. Barking a series of crisp orders, he hurried away at once. As Vaelor observed the flurry of urgency unfolding around him, he began to weigh the situation more carefully; the possibility that the two elves caught in the ambush might be Rivendell's own princes had not even crossed his mind. Arwen, her hands trembling, gently took Thoron from the healer and pressed the hawk to her chest as though he were a fragile treasure that might shatter. The healer elf interjected softly, attempting to ease their fear:
"His condition is stable, my lady. He was struck by a crossbow bolt, but fortunately the wound is not life-threatening."
As Arwen stroked Thoron's head with a sorrowful expression, an authoritative and dignified voice suddenly cut through the air, silencing all other sounds.
"Do you still have that arrow?"
Startled, Arwen turned and whispered in astonishment:
"Grandmother?"
All eyes shifted to Galadriel, who had appeared beside them as silently as a shadow. Though the elves of Rivendell were accustomed to her quiet arrivals, Vaelor and his company were shaken by the sheer presence of the ancient being before them. With Galadriel's arrival, the very atmosphere seemed to grow heavier, as though time itself had slowed.
In truth, Galadriel had first come because she sensed the wounded spirits of these newly arrived elves and the dark imprints upon their minds. In her life spanning over eight thousand years, she had never encountered suffering of this kind; it had unsettled her even as it stirred her curiosity. She wished to know in which corner of Arda such profound anguish had taken place. Yet now, with the news that her grandsons had fallen into an ambush, her priorities shifted. Her first act had been to extend her mind across the distance to feel for the twins—only to find, to her astonishment, nothing at all. The absence of any trace deepened her frown and fed the growing unease within her.
Under Galadriel's icy gaze, the healer elf stammered:
"A-ah… Y-yes, one moment."
He hastily reached beneath his cloak to the belt where he had tucked the bloodied crossbow bolt and presented it to her. Galadriel's eyes hardened. With a slight motion of her hand, the arrow lifted from the elf's grasp and floated before her, as though borne by an invisible current. Examining the fine craftsmanship etched upon it, her suspicions crystallized.
"Dark Elves."
The moment the words left her lips, the world seemed to freeze. The elves of Rivendell, who harbored a deep-seated hatred for this ancient foe, burned with fury at the thought that such enemies had dared target their princes near their own lands. Yet in their Lady's presence, they maintained their silence.
Celebrían could no longer remain still; she turned as if to leave and prepare herself personally. But Galadriel's voice halted her.
"You will remain here. I shall go myself to retrieve my grandsons."
Celebrían stopped and looked at her mother; Arwen and the others stared at Galadriel in astonishment. At that very moment, the crossbow bolt suspended in the air shattered abruptly, disintegrating into dust under Galadriel's unseen wrath. Though she appeared outwardly calm, the crushing pressure radiating from her betrayed the violence of the storm within.
"I wish to see with my own eyes where these parasites found the audacity to lay hands upon my grandsons."
Within her mind, Galadriel called to her loyal steed. At the same time, she closed her eyes once more and tried to focus on the twins—but the result was unchanged. It was as though Elrohir and Elladan had been erased entirely from this world. The strangeness of it brought only one name to her thoughts:
Morathi… Her hand is certainly in this. But how have her claws reached as far as Middle-earth? How did she pierce the blockade of Valinor?
Pushing these thoughts aside for now, she gave instructions to her daughter and granddaughter.
"Prepare the healing chamber, in case. I will bring them back safely."
At that very moment, a noble white unicorn arrived beside them, sparks flying from its hooves. The absence of saddle or bridle made the creature appear all the more untamed and magnificent in its power. Vaelor and his men, seeing a unicorn for the first time in their lives, stood mesmerized before the legendary being.
With a fluid motion, Galadriel mounted her steed and spoke one final time:
"Take the newly arrived elves to a private area. When I return, I will speak with them personally."
Then she turned her gaze to Vaelor and his company, who had watched everything in silence.
"That is, if you have no objection."
Momentarily taken aback by the direct address, Vaelor quickly composed himself and bowed his head respectfully.
"That would be most welcome, Lady Galadriel… Our situation is somewhat complicated. Until Lord Igris and you return, it would be best if we refrain from contact with the others."
At the mention of Igris' name, Galadriel's brow twitched faintly, but she turned her mount to depart. Just then, Vaelor seemed to recall something and added:
"By the way, my lady…"
Galadriel paused and looked back at him.
"I have already sent my third commander and fifty of our elite companions after them to provide support."
Hearing this, Galadriel inclined her head with a faint expression of gratitude. Then she urged her steed forward; the noble creature surged ahead, gliding toward the valley's exit and disappearing from sight in moments.
Although Celebrian and Arwen felt a measure of relief knowing that a name as formidable as Galadriel had personally set events into motion, the gnawing anxiety within them had not been fully extinguished. After issuing several crisp commands to the guards nearby, Celebrian turned to Vaelor and spoke.
"The guards will escort you to a private area prepared for your stay. Please, follow them."
Vaelor, seasoned by long years of experience, knew that in moments such as this, restraint was wiser than words. He inclined his head calmly and, together with his team, followed the guards away from the square. As they departed, the other Elves lingering in the plaza dispersed to their respective posts. Left behind, Celebrian and Arwen remained still for a while longer, their gazes fixed upon the direction Galadriel had taken—toward the mouth of the valley.
Arwen, unable to conceal the tremor in her voice, finally asked,
"Mother… do you think they're truly all right?"
Celebrian took her daughter's hand. Her voice was soothing, yet firm with conviction.
"Your brothers are very strong, my child. And their friends have already set out to aid them. By the time my mother arrives, they will have bought the children all the time they need."
She paused briefly, then added,
"Come, let us go and prepare the healing chamber as well—just in case."
Before she could finish, the sharp clatter of hooves striking stone echoed violently across the valley floor, followed by an enraged shout that shattered the air:
"MAKE WAY, YOU LOT! MY DWARVEN HIDE IS IN DANGER!"
Celebrian and Arwen spun around in astonishment just as a group of dwarves thundered past them atop massive rams. It was Zoltan, Kargan, Fili, and Gloin. Unlike Zoltan and Kargan, the others had borrowed their mounts from the Witcher dwarves. Close behind them rode Gilan.
After receiving word from Kili, Thorin and Halt had discussed the matter thoroughly. In light of the information Igris had provided regarding the "Red Archers," they had not initially felt compelled to act at once. Their confidence in Igris's abilities was absolute; with Bamsı and Doğan at his side and the support of fifty elite elven warriors, such a force could easily deal with an ambush unit.
But when Zoltan learned of it—and worse, heard that Ciri had involved herself in the matter—he had nearly burst where he stood. Ciri, who had lost her former powers because of Mephisto and had yet to fully master her new abilities, could not be allowed to fight alone in an unfamiliar world against unknown forces. Once Zoltan and Kargan resolved to go, Thorin sent the rest of the group after them to keep watch. Zoltan roared:
"FASTER!"
The dwarves, aided by their powerful rams, climbed the steep incline with remarkable speed while Gilan followed carefully along the narrow path. His purpose and motivation, however, were somewhat different. When Halt and Gilan first heard of spies lurking at Rivendell's border, they had considered it an ordinary matter—but their instincts whispered otherwise. When news of the ambush arrived, that unease hardened into certainty. Thus, Gilan had set out quietly to capture the spies and extract information. Kili and Bilbo had wished to join them, but Halt and Gilan had refused, stating that such a covert mission demanded skills they had not yet mastered. Meanwhile, Halt and Thorin remained behind, occupied with introducing the new members to the group and ensuring that no complications arose.
Celebrian and Arwen stood frozen, watching the dwarves vanish into a cloud of dust. At last, Celebrian murmured in astonishment,
"It would seem the black knight has acquired rather… interesting companions."
The woman believed this group had set out solely for Igris. In reality, she was unaware that this commotion had been started by an old dwarf who had been under intense stress for the past few hours and had nearly suffered a heart attack from worry about his adopted daughter.
Arwen nodded faintly, still stunned.
"It certainly appears so, Mother."
Meanwhile, as Zoltan and the others pressed on at full speed, Zoltan drove his ram relentlessly, complaining to Kargan all the while.
"I only left her alone for a few hours! She went and drank an unknown potion from a clown she didn't even know! Then she lost her powers and got stuck here with us!"
Kargan listened in uneasy silence, but Zoltan continued without pause.
"AND NOW, BEFORE HIS BODY HAS EVEN RECOVERED, HE'S GOING INTO AN AMBUSH WITH A MAN HE DOESN'T KNOW! IN A WORLD HE DOESN'T KNOW, AGAINST AN ENEMY HE DOESN'T KNOW—THIS DAMN BUSINESS—"
At last, Kargan rolled his eyes and exploded.
"AH! SHUT YOUR MOUTH, ZOLTAN! YOU'RE EXAGGERATING! SOMEONE TRAINED BY VESEMIR CAN'T BE THAT WEAK! YOU CAN TELL FROM THE GIRL'S STANCE ALONE—SHE'S A TRUE WARRIOR! STOP NAGGING LIKE AN OLD WOMAN!"
Zoltan shot Kargan a dark look as he urged his ram forward.
"EASY FOR YOU TO SAY! SHE WAS ENTRUSTED TO ME! IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HER, I WON'T BE ABLE TO FACE GERALT!"
Then he returned to muttering under his breath, continuing his tirade in a grumble thick with worry.
"Just how did Geralt ever manage with this girl…? I look away for one moment and she's ingesting some questionable substance. I look away again and she's right in the center of trouble. Seems Geralt and Yennefer had every right to be concerned. You little brat—just you wait until I get my hands on you. We are going to have a very long talk."
Fili and the rest of his company followed close behind, silently observing the peculiar duo riding ahead of them. Truth be told, they had bonded with them rather quickly. The moment Zoltan offered them a taste of his own specially brewed ales, they had become fast friends. Dwarves were among the easiest folk in Middle-earth to befriend—especially when it came to forging bonds with their own kind; such camaraderie formed swiftly and without pretense.
While the dwarves continued along the narrow trail, Igris and Ciri were drawing ever closer to the site of the ambush. Shadowmane suddenly sensed something and came to an abrupt halt, his hooves skidding across the rocky ground and carving deep grooves into the stone. Igris quietly tried to discern why his companion had stopped so suddenly. Snowball, slower to react to the unexpected pause, ran several meters further before managing to stop. Curious, Ciri turned Snowball around to face Igris. She had just opened her mouth to speak when she saw Igris raise his hand in a firm, unmistakable gesture for silence. She immediately fell quiet.
Releasing the reins, Igris allowed Shadowmane to move according to his instincts. The great horse sniffed the air and the earth, sensing what lay unseen, then gradually veered to the left. Ciri calmly guided Snowball to follow.
Trusting his senses completely, Shadowmane abandoned the main trail and accelerated across a grassy stretch encircled by jagged rocks. After a short distance, he spotted fresh blood staining the ground. Lowering his head, he inhaled its scent—and instantly recognized to whom it belonged. He let out an enraged whinny as faint purplish flames began to flicker along his mane.
"That's their blood!"
Igris froze for a heartbeat when he saw the flames rising from his companion. It was the first time he had ever witnessed such an ability. Most likely, Shadowmane himself had only just awakened to it; otherwise, he would have flaunted it before Igris a thousand times already, far too proud to let him hear the end of it. A thought flickered briefly through Igris's mind.
Is his lineage awakening as well?
But Shadowmane's impatient cry shattered his speculation. His brows knit together. The horse had found the trail of the twins' mounts. At once, Igris spoke calmly.
"Lead the way."
Without hesitation, Shadowmane surged forward, following the bloodstains at full speed. Behind them, Ciri was no less astonished than Igris; she had never before seen a horse wreathed in flame. Nor was she the only one unsettled—Snowball beneath her seemed equally affected. Together, they raced after Shadowmane.
Not far away, upon a rocky clearing surrounded by towering stone formations, two horses lay on the ground, breathing heavily. Elegant elven stirrups and light armor adorned their bodies. An arbalest bolt had pierced the upper foreleg of one; the veins around the wound had darkened to a swollen black, while crimson blood seeped slowly down its leg. Its chest rose and fell rapidly. Its eyes remained open, aware—yet its body was completely paralyzed. A short distance away, its companion lay in a similar state, struck in the hind leg. Though it could manage slight movements of its head, the rest of its body had turned to stone.
They tried anxiously to survey their surroundings. When the ambush had been sprung, the Dark Elves had targeted them deliberately—but there was one factor the enemy had failed to consider. These horses had long stood beside the twins; they had accompanied them through countless missions, ambushes, and hunts. They were seasoned and perceptive beasts. The moment chaos erupted, the two had separated from their riders and taken position nearby, alert and waiting for a signal. It was then that the Dark Elves had attacked with their arbalests. Acting on pure instinct, the horses had shielded their vital organs, yet they had not been able to avoid the bolts entirely. Without hesitation, they had attempted to retreat—but unwilling to abandon their masters, they had not gone far. Soon their movements grew heavy, their legs unresponsive, until at last they collapsed where they stood.
For several long minutes they lay there in silence. Encircled by high stone walls, only their labored whimpers and the whisper of the wind could be heard. Then their ears twitched at the sound of boots scraping against rock. A shadow appeared in the gap between the stones, followed by a mocking, snickering voice.
"Ah~ so this is where you were hiding! You truly made us work for it."
The man stepped out from behind the rocks. In his hand he carried an ornately crafted arbalest of black and gold, and his armor bore matching motifs. Though his helm concealed most of his face, the distinctive purplish-white hue of his skin was visible through its openings. The Dark Elves had finally found the horses. Without lowering his weapon, the elf shouted in his own tongue:
"FOUND THEM!"
His voice echoed sharply across the rocky expanse as he approached with heavy steps. Stopping beside the nearest horse, he clicked his tongue in feigned sympathy.
"Tch, tch, tch. Seems the paralysis poison is working perfectly. You won't be moving for a few more hours…"
Without warning, he drove the tip of his boot hard into the defenseless horse's abdomen.
PAT!
A dull, sickening sound reverberated against the stone.
The horse let out a shrill, pain-filled cry, as though the air had been crushed from its lungs.
"Eeee-ih!"
The Dark Elf chuckled at its helplessness. As if savoring the cruelty, he continued kicking without pause.
PAT!
"Eeee-ih!"
PAT!
"Eeee-ih!"
"Do you have any idea how far we walked because of you? How much trouble you caused?"
PAT!
"Eeee-ih!"
"Why didn't you just die quietly?"
PAT!
"Eeee-ih!"
PAT!
"Eeee-ih!"
"But there's nowhere left to run now. This is the end."
The second horse listened in agony to the tortured cries of its companion lying beside it. Desperate to move, to rise and help, it strained every muscle with all its strength—but the paralysis venom gripped its body like an iron vise. Tears streamed from its eyes and fell upon the stone as the Dark Elf raised his arbalest and took aim. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, the other Dark Elves emerged from behind the rocks. One of them, his expression twisted with anger, shouted in their language:
"At last we've found them! If they had gone and warned those wretched elves, things could have become truly troublesome."
The elf aiming at the horse glanced back without lowering his weapon.
"Let's finish this quickly. We've strayed too far from the ambush site. No unnecessary risks."
The others nodded in agreement. One of them raised his arbalest toward the second horse. Just as the bolts were about to be loosed, thunderous hoofbeats erupted between the rocks.
Startled, the Dark Elves looked around in confusion—only to see, from atop the high rock directly before them, Shadowmane launch into the air like a massive shadow descending from the heavens.
In that brief moment suspended in midair, Igris took in the entire scene with a single glance. Shadowmane saw that the Dark Elf was aiming at his companion Lómir's head, and rage blinded him. The instant his hooves struck the ground, he charged mercilessly toward that elf.
At the same time, Igris had already drawn his shield and sword from his inventory. The bewildered Dark Elves instinctively swung their arbalests toward him and pulled the triggers.
The moment Shadowmane saw the weapons trained upon them, his ears snapped upright. Hearing the faint click of the mechanisms, he calculated the trajectory of the bolts and maneuvered with astonishing agility. Two bolts whistled past him, missing by inches, while the remaining two struck Igris's shield and ricocheted away.
As Shadowmane surged forward like a storm unleashed, Igris used the immense agility granted by his hybrid body to vault from the saddle. Upon landing, he bounced once, rolled over his shield across the stone, and sprang fluidly to his feet. Without hesitation, he sprinted straight toward the trio of Dark Elves.
At that very moment, Shadowmane slammed into the Dark Elf who had reached for his sword in panic. Though the elf tried to brace himself and absorb the impact with his shield, Shadowmane's sheer momentum dragged him across the ground as though he were made of parchment. The force of the collision slowed the great horse at last; his hooves dug deep into the earth, carving furrows before he came to a halt. Without delay, he wheeled around and looked toward his fallen companion, neighing anxiously.
"Psst! Lómir? You dead or what?"
The horse lying on the ground drew in a deep breath upon seeing Shadowmane and answered with a strained whinny.
"No… But I can't move. There's some kind of poison on their bolts."
Relief washed over Shadowmane at the confirmation that Lómir still lived—but the sight of the bruises blooming across his friend's body and the bolt lodged in his flesh doubled his fury. Steam-like breaths burst from his nostrils as he turned a savage glare upon the Dark Elf, neighing harshly with unrestrained rage.
Meanwhile, Igris had already hurled himself forward, shield raised defensively. The opposing elf charged as well, shield-first. The impact of the two shields colliding exploded across the rocky clearing. The Dark Elf's eyes widened in shock; striking Igris felt like slamming into the gates of a fortress. His shield bent inward under the pressure, and with an audible crack from his arm, he was flung backward, skidding helplessly between his two companions.
Igris did not relent. He lunged forward, blade flashing. Another Dark Elf barely managed to raise his shield in time to block the strike, but the sheer weight of the blow numbed his arm instantly. He retaliated with a horizontal slash of his own, yet Igris deflected it effortlessly with his shield and countered in one fluid motion—severing the elf's sword hand cleanly at the wrist.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
The scream echoed violently through the valley. Igris ignored it, pivoting instantly to face the remaining attacker. He met the incoming strike with his shield, then drove a brutal kick into the elf's torso, sending him flying backward.
Behind them, the elf with the cracked arm gritted his teeth through the pain and attempted to reload his arbalest. He managed only half the motion before a small bolt pierced his throat. He froze mid-action, clutching at his neck in stunned disbelief as he turned toward the source.
Ciri stood atop the very rock from which Shadowmane had leapt. In her hand was a compact, one-handed arbalest. Her gaze was cold as winter ice. The elf collapsed to his knees and died where he fell.
At that exact moment, another horrifying scream erupted across the clearing—followed by a sickening sound of flesh and bone giving way.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
PAT!
Ciri instinctively turned toward the noise—and froze at what she saw.
Shadowmane stood over the body of a fallen Dark Elf. His torso and legs were drenched in blood—but none of it was his own. Realization struck Ciri with a chill: Shadowmane had crushed the elf's skull beneath his hooves, stamping it into ruin.
Even Snowball shifted uneasily beneath her. The stallion—who had until recently been little more than a shameless flirt constantly pestering her—had transformed into something utterly merciless and savage in battle.
Shadowmane, however, paused once the deed was done. A look of deep disgust crossed his features as he noticed the blood dripping from him. He shuddered, lifting one forehoof and shaking it vigorously, trying to fling away the bits of flesh and sinew clinging stubbornly to him.
"I hate when this happens! Ugh, that's disgusting!"
No matter how much he shook his hoof, the sticky residue would not fully come off. With visible irritation, he began scraping his hooves against the Dark Elf's lifeless body as though wiping them on a doormat.
Finished at last, he turned and trotted over to his other fallen companion, peering down at him curiously.
"Bro? So… you dead?"
The horse sprawled helplessly on the ground rolled his eyes and answered with weary reproach.
"Aside from the bolt stuck in my backside and the poison circulating through my veins, I'm perfectly fine, Shadowmane. Thanks for asking."
Hearing this, Shadowmane exhaled in relief and immediately slipped back into his usual teasing tone.
"Bro, again with the backside hit? I'm honestly curious—what exactly did you do to earn that kind of bad luck every single time?"
The fallen horse fell silent for a moment, unable to muster a proper retort to that painfully accurate observation. Yet something else he was feeling quickly overtook his irritation.
"…Shadowmane…"
The shift in his friend's tone made Shadowmane tilt his head with interest.
"Yeah, bro? What is it?"
The horse whinnied again, sounding both embarrassed and sheepish.
"…A certain area of mine is itching terribly. Would you… mind giving it a hoof?"
Seeing his friend utterly incapable of moving, Shadowmane recalled a time when he himself had been trapped in similar paralysis—the maddening, unbearable itch that had nearly driven him insane. A flicker of sympathy stirred within him, and he nodded solemnly.
"Alright, bro. No problem. Where exactly?"
The horse on the ground answered with resignation.
"…Right around the bolt that's stuck in me…"
Shadowmane froze.
His gaze shifted to the bolt embedded in the upper hind leg of his male companion… then slowly lifted to the innocent, expressionless face staring back at him.
Shadowmane, known for his fondness for mares, had an already dark expression that grew even darker.
"…"
At that moment, Igris drove his sword mercilessly into the chest of the last Dark Elf who still clung to life on the ground. The elf stared upward at the sky in one final moment of bewilderment before the light faded from his eyes. Once Igris was certain the fight was over, he drew a deep breath, wrenched his blade free from the corpse, and flicked it sharply to cast the blood off into the dirt. After confirming that no further threats remained, he returned his weapons to his inventory and rolled his shoulders with a stretch.
"Ah… not a bad bit of morning exercise to wake the body."
Hearing a series of strange neighing sounds behind him, he turned his head with slight curiosity; but when he saw what was before him, his eyebrows shot up in astonishment.
Shadowmane, who appeared thoroughly displeased with his current predicament, had picked up a rather long branch from the ground and clamped it in his mouth. He was using one end to scratch his fallen companion. The horse on the ground, meanwhile, seemed entirely satisfied, offering detailed instructions between relieved breaths:
"…Yes… right there—that spot is itching like mad! A little lower, please… ohhh… that's it… now a bit to the left…"
Igris shook his head with a quiet chuckle at the absurdity of the scene. But remembering why they were here, his expression quickly turned serious, and he stepped toward the injured horses.
Ciri, for her part, watched everything with blank astonishment; she had learned far too many new and deeply strange things about horses today. As Igris moved, he called out to her:
"Ciri! Help me collect the Dark Elves' bolts and arbalests. These will be very useful later."
Snapped out of her thoughts by his voice, Ciri secured the small arbalest back into its slot on her saddle and nodded in acknowledgment. She addressed Snowball gently as she dismounted.
"Come on, girl. Let's head down and help."
Snowball neighed obediently. Meanwhile, Igris ignored Shadowmane's ongoing "itching session" and knelt beside the other wounded horse. Placing a steady hand on the animal's head, he spoke softly.
"How are you feeling, Lómir?"
Hearing the familiar voice, Lómir seemed to relax slightly and let out a weary whinny.
"I've been better… I just can't move, and that bolt hurts like hell…"
He drew a strained breath before continuing with effort.
"Igris, we're fine. Don't worry about us. You need to go and support the twins immediately."
Igris nodded, even as he reached into his inventory and retrieved a healing salve along with a clean cloth.
"I will. But first, let me tend to this wound. And while I do, you're going to tell me why the twins were ambushed. What do these Dark Elves want from them?"
At the question, Lómir lifted one brow in surprise and gave a startled whinny.
"You… you still don't know?"
As Igris applied the salve to the cloth and began disinfecting the area around the wound—careful not to remove the bolt just yet—he asked with genuine confusion:
"Know what, exactly?"
Realizing that Igris truly had no idea, Lómir braced himself against the stinging burn of the salve and answered:
"They are the princes of Rivendell, Igris. Lord Elrond's eldest children—his true-born sons."
Igris froze mid-motion, the cloth still pressed to the wound. His mouth fell open in stunned disbelief, and for a long moment he simply stared.
"EXCUSE ME?! WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"
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(4825 Words)