May you live in interesting times by 0ur_Ouroboros

A Child

Undistilled fear pulses through the little body as he stumbles through the brambles, unable to keep up with the others ahead. Having seen the sky's newest star, they are deserters of Angband. They are deep in the forest. “Do Sauron’s werewolves follow?” he asks. “No, we are out of their reach. Quiet!” the woman looks back at him. He cannot make out her expression in the dark. She places him behind a fallen tree trunk, in a nest of soft-green moss. “Wait here,” she says, yellow eyes darting over her shoulder. He draws knobby knees to his chest, becoming utterly still. It is beyond his understanding what he feels then, a pure instinct, a drive. His body must survive , even if he cannot identify a reason.

Within minutes he hears shouting. He shrinks further down, knowing one of the voices is hers. A deep thud, followed by dull crunching sounds. He hears words then, spoken in a language he doesn’t understand, but they remind him of water flowing. Hoofbeats and bows pulling back arrows are the next sounds that follow. He looks up, seeing a pale face framed in dark brown. The eyes are a brighter blue than he has ever seen. He realizes then it is one of those of whom the old stories are told, around campfires and steel-forges. “ Moavhas ,” the orc-child cries. “ Moavhas !”

“You know the tongue. Nelyo, what says this demon?” hisses Maglor to Maedhros, who follows a few steps behind.

“Eh, never mind, it matters not,” Maglor shrugs as he raises his sword. Maedhros stills his brother’s arm, and Maglor turns to him with shock.

“ Mother ,” Maedhros responds. “It says mother .”