Veiled Stars » LotR [1] ✔️

Chapter Thirty-One: The White City

"I could move," Legolas suggested. "But then you'd have no protection from the sun."

Elle attempted to cover her laugh with her hand, but Gimli caught her crinkled eyes and scowled.

"Hey, don't get angry at me," she chortled. "I'm didn't force you to chug twelve mugs of ale last night."

"It was actually eleven," Legolas grinned. "He passed out halfway through my sixteenth."

Gimli's face turned redder than his beard and his narrowed eyes looked away, "I would rather be walking."

"Was that a complaint I just heard?" Boromir interjected suddenly, dropping his horse beside them.

Gimli choked on his breath, his gaze snapping upward. "Why in Durin's beard would you say that?"

But Elle sat straighter, grinning ear to ear. "As a matter of fact, I believe it was. Legolas?"

"Most certainly a complaint," the elf nodded. "I say we have a loser in this game."

"Well I say you can take your princely face and go--"

"Gimli!"

They all snapped to Aragorn's voice and the man shot him a warning look over his shoulder.

Boromir roared with laughter, nudging his steed's side and riding up beside Aragorn and Theodred.

If possible, Gimli turned even darker red.

"Good game," Elle winked at Legolas, then beamed at Gimli. "Firefoot likes carrots."

On the night of the third day, Elle took watch, sitting hunched beside the flickering fire.

She fumbled with her thumbs, feeling the heat of the fire on her face. Glancing up from under her hood, she caught a star cut through the night sky.

Elle walked beside a woman without her left eye, thickly built and armed with a double-edged axe.

They were known as the Black Order, a group of criminals and rogues. Elle had barely been in their company for a few days and she was already on edge.

"How much longer, Gael?" The woman spoke up, her greased blonde hair falling in a braid down her back.

Ahead, a stick of a man tensed, looking back over his shoulder. His face was marred with white scars, his eyes a pale green. "Would you calm yourself, Morla? It'll be a few more days, at the least."

Elle lowered her eyes at the tone of his malicious voice, gritting her teeth. She was surrounded by criminals-- she was one of them.

"I say we send the wench in first."

A deep voice rumbled in the back, making Elle start. Her hand went to her stolen dagger as she turned.

The speaker was a bear of a man, taller than Elle by at least two feet and with arms thicker than her torso. He arched a thick brow as she stared. "Got a problem with that, girl?"

Elle thrust her jaw forward, hoping her edging fear wasn't as noticeable as she thought. "I would gladly do the job you're too afraid to do, Larn."

"Oh shut yer mouth," Morla growled. "I'm willing to bet my rations you haven't even taken in a life in your short lifetime."

Anger filled Elle's thoughts and she opened her mouth-- then quickly closed it. She reached up, tugging at her bangs.

She remembered seeing her appearance in a dirtied mirror weeks ago, brown hair cut to her ears, scars across her face. She had looked barely twenty; too young.