The birds were singing and the leaves of the trees lining the small mountain road were rustling softly in the breeze. Prince Elmelethron rode his white horse Rilgilad amidst a group of pale blue robed elves. A few of the elves wore armour over their robes; these were the guardians of Elmelethron and his courtiers, they carried at their waists long elven sabres, glinting in the sun and upon their backs were slung strung bows, crafted from the finest wood in all of Arda. Elmelethron himself wore the white robes of an elven diplomat with a small circlet of diamonds upon his brow. He too wore an elven sabre at his waist and his favourite bow was strung across his back. An elf carrying a banner bearing the golden flower of Elmelethron’s house was walking in front, proudly proclaiming the prince’s passage.
Their errand was a simple one; they had only to travel to a new elven outpost being constructed on the western borders of the Ereb Annon. Elmelethron was then to take command of the outpost, which was to be named Imladris. The trip had so far been uneventful, something which had put the elves (who had completed the majority of their journey) at ease. They had now only to pass through two more mountain passes and then along a valley and they would be at their destination.
As the sun slowly sank beneath the mountaintops, her last rays turning the snowy peaks a brilliant red, an uneasy silence came over the group who had been previously merry and at ease with their surroundings. Suddenly, a single arrow flew down from the walls of the pass, striking one of the elven courtiers in the chest. As the elf slowly keeled forwards, the others seemed to be in a dreamlike state; no one could quite believe what had happened (despite their unexplained misgivings). As soon as the elf hit the floor, the others suddenly became alert. More arrows flew down towards the group, but none found their marks; the elves had already sprung into action and had taken cover behind the rocks scattering the pass’ floor.
As soon as the other elves began to look for cover, Elmelethron had spun Rilgilad around and set off back up the valley. He was hoping that doing so would bring their attackers after him and so spare the lives of his guards and courtiers. He heard shouts from behind him and one of his officers stood up. He was immediately shot down by a hail of arrows and so Elmelethron brought his horse around again. For no more than a few seconds, Elmelethron stood still, not knowing what to do. Should he return to his men, endangering but pleasing them? Or should he draw the danger away at the risk that they would follow and be led into a trap?
He did not have to decide the answer for himself however. During the brief second he had taken to decide his path, one of his adversaries had decided to take Elmelethron’s fate into his hands. A single, black feathered arrow shot through the air and pierced Rilgilad’s breast. The White horse whinnied and then collapsed, trapping Elmelethron underneath him. Elmelethron just had time to see two large groups of brown clad figures come swarming down the mountain, one to surround him and the other to fight off the other elves. Then, his world went black.
The soft light of dawn crept across the floor of the cave and lightly brushed Elmelethron’s face. His eyes crept open, only to be immediately closed as a brutish hand smacked his face. A sudden pain engulfed Elmelethron’s body as a long blade was dragged down his arm. His eyes were forced open by rough fingers and he saw the horrible truth of his incarceration. He was in a large cave, hollowed out of the side of a mountain. It seemed that it should have been an easy place for any potential rescuers to find, but for one thing. There was a large waterfall in front of the entrance, blocking both sight and sound of the cave’s occupants.
Suddenly a burning pain came upon Gil-Estel’s chest, he looked up to see one of his captors (who he had discovered were a dirty band of orcs) had placed a hot poker upon his chest. It seemed that the vile creatures were doing all they could to cause pain to the elf (someone who in their eyes was just as foul as they were to his).
Soon Elmelethron’s body was covered in welts and blisters and bloody gashes and the pain was slowly increasing as more and more hideous torments were inflicted upon him. Suddenly, without warning, the torture stopped. A large orcish figure advanced upon Elmelethron, a nine-tailed whip in one hand and a cruel looking knife in the other. “Tell me…” he hissed in an unforgiving accent “why were you travelling in theess partss?”
“I was carrying.. a.. a message to someone in Ondolond…”
The whip cracked and yet another gash opened up on Elmelethron’s bloodied face. “YOU LIE!!! WE KNOW THE TRUTH!!!” screeched the foul creature. “KEEL HEEM!!”
An ugly orc with long black hair and a pig’s nose approached Elmelethron with a large axe. “Come” he rasped, “Time to die elf!” he spoke with a sickening glee as he imagined inflicting death upon another living being. Elmelethron was pulled down from the board he had been strapped to and flung onto the ground. He was forced into a kneeling position and his head was placed against a rock. The axe-wielding orc lifted his weapon and…