Dark Hunger part 8

Shadows of the Anduin 8

A Troubled Respite

​Tauriel rode on through the endless night, the charmed horse a tireless extension of her will. Yet, even a magically compelled beast had limits, and as the moon began its slow descent, she sensed the horse's deep weariness. She was still miles from the Elven border, and forcing it further risked drawing attention, or worse, breaking the charm.

​With a mental command, she brought the horse to a halt in a small, secluded clearing. She dismounted, releasing the charm just enough for the horse to move freely, to drink from a clear stream, and crop at the sweet grass.

​Tauriel sank onto a fallen log, her gaze fixed on her hands. They appeared smooth and unblemished in the dim light, but as she willed it, the deadly claws extended, glinting like obsidian. Her red eyes narrowed. She had controlled the horse, slaughtered Orcs with brutal efficiency, and satisfied the terrifying Thirst. The reality of her power was undeniable, and with it came the cold, calculating mind of a predator.

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How will I greet them? she wondered, her thoughts racing. Thranduil, the Woodland King, would never tolerate such an abomination within his halls. Her heart ached with a longing for her former life, for the easy camaraderie of her kin, for the simple beauty of the forest unmarred by her inner darkness. But that life was gone.

​Her plan solidified, grim and resolute. She would not ride boldly to the gates. She would approach the periphery of the Elven realm on foot, under the deepest shadows, using her enhanced senses to gauge the patrols and defenses. She would try to find a trusted sentinel, perhaps even Legolas, to explain her plight, to seek counsel, or to find a hidden lore master.

​And if that failed? If she was discovered, if her monstrous nature was revealed? She would fight. She would fight for her continued existence, for the chance to unravel this curse, or at the very least, to die on her own terms, not as a thrall to Rhûn or a trophy for her former kin. The thought was bitter, but offered a perverse comfort.

​The horse, sated, nudged her gently. Tauriel glanced at the sky. A faint, almost imperceptible grey mist was beginning to lighten the eastern horizon. Dawn.

​A small cave, known only to a few Elven patrols, sprang to mind – a natural hollow in a hidden outcrop not far from her current position. She knew it would offer perfect shelter from the lethal sun. Just enough time, perhaps.

​She mounted the horse, a surge of fresh urgency propelling her. The charmed horse responded instantly, galloping through the deepening gloom of the pre-dawn forest. She pushed it hard, feeling the sting of the fading night air against her face. She plunged into the deep, welcoming maw of the cave just as the first golden rays of the sun pierced the canopy outside.

​Inside, the cave was cool and dark, a temporary sanctuary. She quickly led the horse deeper into the winding passages, ensuring it was well-hidden. As she settled into a shadowed alcove, letting her eyes adjust, she became aware of an old, faint campfire smell clinging to the air. Then, her enhanced hearing picked up something else, far more chilling: the distant, muffled sound of voices echoing from deeper within the cave system.

​She was not alone.

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