Rescue, by Senalishia
Mar. 3rd, 2019 02:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
senalishia posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Prompt, Card and Number: ”Be Advised…” - I20: On the battlefield
Format: Double Drabble
Genre: Drama
Rating: General
Warnings: Character death (canon)
Characters: Erestor, Glorfindel
Pairings: None...yet
Summary: A rescue is a great beginning to any romance; or, If you think Legolas is OP, be glad Glorfindel got cut from the movie
Even in their victory, chaos embroiled the highlands of Mordor; Erestor remained on his guard as he trudged back, though his hand had never quite grown accustomed to holding a sword rather than a pen.
Across the plateau, a few Elven soldiers bore Gil-galad's body away; one followed behind resting Aiglos over her shoulder. He started toward them, then halted altogether. Did he need to see the ruin the Enemy's hand had inflicted? Wouldn't he rather remember his King as he had lived, planning strategy and cracking jokes with the command staff--Elbereth, had it only been that morning?
“Watch out!” someone shouted.
His head whipped to the left--nothing. To the right--a warg-mounted orc charged at him with frightening speed. He scrambled for his sword.
Fwit! An arrow appeared in the orc’s neck. Fwit! Another pierced the warg's eye. Hooves grew louder behind him just before he felt himself being lifted and thrown over the back of a horse.
He scrambled into the saddle in front of the rider as they slowed to a canter, and twisted to see who he had to thank for the rescue.
Of course. Of course it was him.
“My deepest gratitude, Lord Glorfindel,” he muttered.
Format: Double Drabble
Genre: Drama
Rating: General
Warnings: Character death (canon)
Characters: Erestor, Glorfindel
Pairings: None...yet
Summary: A rescue is a great beginning to any romance; or, If you think Legolas is OP, be glad Glorfindel got cut from the movie
Even in their victory, chaos embroiled the highlands of Mordor; Erestor remained on his guard as he trudged back, though his hand had never quite grown accustomed to holding a sword rather than a pen.
Across the plateau, a few Elven soldiers bore Gil-galad's body away; one followed behind resting Aiglos over her shoulder. He started toward them, then halted altogether. Did he need to see the ruin the Enemy's hand had inflicted? Wouldn't he rather remember his King as he had lived, planning strategy and cracking jokes with the command staff--Elbereth, had it only been that morning?
“Watch out!” someone shouted.
His head whipped to the left--nothing. To the right--a warg-mounted orc charged at him with frightening speed. He scrambled for his sword.
Fwit! An arrow appeared in the orc’s neck. Fwit! Another pierced the warg's eye. Hooves grew louder behind him just before he felt himself being lifted and thrown over the back of a horse.
He scrambled into the saddle in front of the rider as they slowed to a canter, and twisted to see who he had to thank for the rescue.
Of course. Of course it was him.
“My deepest gratitude, Lord Glorfindel,” he muttered.
