Shadowhunter – Chapter 2

by Jul 10, 2006Stories

Ayhnil, son of Thranduil and Tandruthil Greenleaf
was born on the 13th of July in the 1991th year of
the Third Age. Though loved and cherished dearly
by her mother, her father paid less heed to her,
and always put his elder son, Legolas, before her.
When Ayhnil was just 6 years old, Tandruthil
vanished during a walk in the groves of Mirkwood.
Though the Elves laboured long and hard to find
her, no trace could be found. Thranduil, distraught
by his loss, paid even less heed to his daughter.
Ayhnil had no-one.

After years of seclusion and mourning, Ayhnil
desperately believed it was the vile forces of
Dol Guldur that had taken her mother. Hoping
to avenge her ‘death’, she hoped to find a great
Elven warrior to teach her in the arts of combat.
She was told that the best teachers of war were
to be found in Lothlorien, the Golden Wood, and
so, without her father knowing, she travelled to
Lorien.

Ayhnil gazed up in wonder at the trees of the
Golden Wood, amazed by their height and
splendour. It was autumn, and the red-brown
leaves appeared to sparkle in the morning sun
as they fell gracefully to the floor. Ayhnil had
walked for almost two weeks through mud and
cold nights, alone and afraid of what darkness
might come from the shadows in the night. But
by chance or fate, she encountered no fell thing,
and after looking upon Lothlorien she knew that
every step she had taken was worth it.

The Princess of Mirkwood jumped from her day
dreaming to hear a sound she least expected in
this blessed place, the sound of steel on steel;
the sound of battle.

Lightly and quickly she ran across the leaf littered
floor towards the sounds, perhaps she might find
the warrior she had been looking for.

Ayhnil looked down from a rocky, vertical hill as
she marvelled at what she saw. At least ten – no,
twenty Orcs lay fallen on the black stained grass.
Two figures remained standing, staring at each
body with stern looks. One of the figures darted as
fast as the wind towards a fallen Orc, cleaving its
head off as the creature made one last cry of pain.
Ayhnil gasped at this, and immediatly the other
figure aimed his bow at her, the arrow a second
away from firing.

The archer sighed as he acknowledged what the
onlooker on top of the slope actually was. He
lowered his bow and placed his arrow back in a
quiver laced with gold. The blade wielding figure
flung back his hood to reaveal a fair face, that was
most certainly Elven.

"Why are you out so far from Caras Galadhon,
child?" asked the blade wielding Elf as he wiped the
Orc blood from his weapon. The archer simply
looked on with an inquisitive tone to his face.
"My name is Ayhnil," she answered, quite brightly
for the occasion. "My father is Thranduil, the King of
Mirkwood."

At this, the Elves looked at each other, obviously
suprised.
"Is your father nearby then?" said the archer.
"No. I am alone."
The look of shock grew even more on their faces.
"You have come all the way from Mirkwood to here,
alone? Either your father is unaware of you or he has
gone mad!" said the swordsman.
"Well, yes. My father barely knows me after my
mother died."
"Come down here, so we may discuss this whole
matter."

At that, Ayhnil gracefully leapt down from her perch
to the ground, avoiding the Orc corpses that stunk
even more so from down here.
"I wish to train in the arts of combat. That is why I
have come here, to find a master."
The swordsman laughed, but the archer looked
upon her with interest.
"I will train you."

The other Elf looked at his comrade with a face that
said ‘are you mad?’ But the archer ignored him and
smiled.
"May I ask, what is your name?" said Ayhnil, taken
quite aback.
"This is my brother Rumil. I am Haldir."

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