LunarDragynfly

Anlaf had fixed the back door to the larder so that it only opened from the inside. Thievery was a way of life in the Lone Lands. Most of the locals knew when the barrel laden wagons from the Southfarthing delivered their barrels of Old Winyard and Longbottom Leaf, and it wouldn’t do to have the Forsaken Inn run low on the two things that made life bearable because someone had helped themselves to Anlaf’s stock. The larder door snicked shut behind Anlaf as he stepped out into the cold rain. Now, there was no turning back. Anlaf twisted the cudgel in his callused palm until the knots and bumps found a good fit. His leather boots s

“Come with me, my Lady.” Elrond might have dismissed Mithrandir’s words as the product of a moment of weakness, the result of being tormented by the Eye and caged by Orcs. But, Galadriel had known from the long look Elrond had given her that there was no dismissing the turmoil in her own face as she tore her hand out of the injured Wizard’s grasp and signaled for Radagast to take him away on his rabbit sled from Dol Guldur. But, there had been no time for anything but the Nine, and then the Eye Itself.  When Galadriel had finally collapsed victorious but near death, the Ring Nenya all but spent in power, Elrond had s

There came a piercing shriek, a cry of deepest black mingled with midnight cold and the despair of dead dreams. Hilla covered her ears and screamed as she curled up on the beer soaked floorboards behind the bar. Anlaf’s unshaven face went white. His hands shook as he grabbed a well-used cudgel from atop a barrel of Old Winyard. His bloodshot eyes turned toward the Fairy Lady standing before the barred door, the oak staff in her hands pressed against the wood. The white crystal glowed with a pale, phantasmal light that licked the edges of the door like a cold flame. To the terrified mortals cowering behind Galadriel, the scream was just

As Hilla poured the last pitcher, Galadriel slipped lower into the washtub, the golden strands of her hair spreading out over the steaming water like a sunset over a lake. She tried to ignore the distant, rolling booms coming through the open shutter, brought to her on a hissing north breeze that left bumps across the white skin on her bare shoulders. Angmar is stirring, she thought. Hilla wiped her hands on her apron and squinted out the window. “Looks like rain.” She reached out a callused hand to close the shutter, but stopped when Galadriel sat up in the bath. “Please,” Galadriel said. “I’m not used

The Nazgul kicked the helmet away from the fallen Goblin’s face. Yes, it was Hazbok, the Lieutenant of Minas Eriol. Former lieutenant, the Nazgul thought wryly. The lieutenant was as dead as the rest of the Goblin soldiers the Nazgul had sent to regarrison the ancient fortress. Orcs would have been preferable, but the Master’s mightier warriors had been slain or scattered during the disaster at Erebor five years ago. So, the Nazgul had shown himself to Gurzstaz, the chieftain of the Goblins of the Midgewater Marshes, and demanded tribute in the name of his Master. The Goblin Chief had grudgingly handed over one hundred of his be

Anlaf had begrudgingly allowed Hilla to put “the white sprite” in the empty room next to hers on the upper floor. As she and Galadriel reached the top stair, the Lady stumbled. Hilla caught her arm as Galadriel clutched at her, the twisted wooden staff clattering to the floor. Hilla was amazed at how light the tall Elf was in her arms – she could have carried her up the stairs, if need be. “See now, Lady. I knew you was pushin’ yourself too hard. Let’s get you to bed.” Hilla wrapped an arm around Galadriel’s waist and, stooping for a moment to scoop up the staff, guided her golden-haired charge

Hilla placed the hot cup of tea into Galadriel’s trembling hands. She wrapped her fingers around the simple brown earthenware and bowed her head over the rising steam. “Praise be to Elbereth for good, kind folk.” Galadriel sipped delicately, then glanced up at Hilla. “My people do not carry coin – “ Hilla patted Galadriel’s arm. “Don’t you worry, love.” “What you mean?” The hard green eyes on the barkeep matched the edge in his voice. “This ain’t no hospice, Hilla.” His dirty rag ground into the bar as he rubbed it back and forth. “Mind your t

 The door to the Inn banged open. No one was expecting this. Not on such a stormy night. Weathertop was crowned with a halo of lightning. What was more disturbing was the person in the doorway. She wore a gray, drenched hooded robe, but that did not hide her pale skin nor her pointed ears. Nor especially the strands of long, golden hair that spilled out from behind her high cheekbones. Several of the Men in the Inn narrowed their eyes at the statuesque stranger. She was obviously one of the Eldar. But there was something about her that told them that acting on the thoughts racing behind their penetrating eyes would be a fatal mistake. Maybe