NOVEL WEB Chapter 69: The Road to Nargothrond
The road to Nargothrond stretched endlessly before Arinyanénar, yet his resolve never wavered. The forests of Beleriand whispered with ancient secrets, their quiet serenity belying the dangers lurking in the shadows. Goldenstar—Lauriënénar, his majestic steed, moved with effortless grace beneath him, hooves striking the earth in rhythmic precision. The horse's golden mane shimmered in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the trees, and its coat, marked with intricate golden patterns that seemed to flicker like fire, made it appear a creature born of both earth and flame.
Arinyanénar adjusted the reins, his golden helm glinting faintly as he scanned the path ahead. Amanarótar, his sword of light and fire, rested against his hip, its presence a comforting weight. He felt the land's unease as if it were a living thing. The further he rode, the more oppressive the air became, laden with the foul stench of orcs.
Suddenly, Goldenstar's ears pricked forward, and the horse snorted, stamping the ground uneasily. Arinyanénar's sharp eyes caught movement in the valley below. He dismounted in a single, fluid motion, his hand moving instinctively to Amanarótar's hilt as he crept toward the ridge's edge. Below, an orc warband lumbered through the undergrowth, their guttural speech and crude laughter fouling the air.
They were thirty, maybe forty strong, clad in piecemeal armor and bearing weapons that dripped with rust and dried blood. They carried crude banners emblazoned with the dark sigils of Morgoth. The sight ignited a cold fury in Arinyanénar's heart. These creatures had no right to walk freely upon the lands of Middle-earth.
"Not today," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the breeze. He turned to Goldenstar, patting the horse's neck. "Wait here, my friend. This will not take long."
Goldenstar pawed the ground but obeyed, standing watchfully as Arinyanénar descended the slope, his movements silent and precise. He reached the valley floor undetected, positioning himself behind a cluster of trees. As he stepped into the open, Amanarótar came alive in his hands. The golden blade blazed with fiery light, casting an eerie glow across the forest. The nearest orc turned, its piggish eyes widening in terror, but it had no time to scream.
The blade struck, severing the orc's head cleanly from its shoulders. Blood sprayed in a dark arc, sizzling as it touched the radiant edge of Amanarótar. The body crumpled, and for a moment, the warband stood frozen, caught between disbelief and fear.
"Face me, servants of shadow!" Arinyanénar roared, his voice echoing like a thunderclap through the valley. "Come and meet your end!"
The orcs hesitated, their confidence shaken, but their leader—a hulking brute with a jagged cleaver—snarled and barked orders. With guttural cries, they charged, a tide of darkness rushing to meet the lone figure wreathed in light.
Arinyanénar met them head-on. His first strike unleashed a wave of golden fire that tore through the ranks, leaving a line of scorched corpses in its wake. The heat of Amanarótar was unbearable, and the orcs that approached too closely found their armor glowing red-hot before melting into their flesh. Screams filled the air as Arinyanénar swung the blade in wide, calculated arcs, cleaving through multiple foes with each stroke.
One orc lunged at him with a spear, but he sidestepped the thrust effortlessly. With a flick of his wrist, Amanarótar's flaming edge sliced through the spear's shaft before continuing its arc to split the orc from clavicle to hip. Black blood gushed out, steaming as it hit the ground.
Another orc tried to attack from behind, but Goldenstar, watching from the ridge, charged down with a fierce whine. The mighty steed reared, its hooves striking the orc square in the chest with a sickening crunch. The creature was sent flying, its body limp and lifeless before it hit the ground.
Arinyanénar pressed forward, his movements a blur of deadly precision. One orc swung a massive axe at him, but the elf prince ducked low, spinning and slicing through the orc's legs. The creature fell with a howl, only for Amanarótar to plunge into its chest, silencing it forever.
The leader of the band, a particularly grotesque orc with a patchwork helm, roared in defiance and swung its cleaver with all its might. Arinyanénar blocked the blow with Amanarótar, the clash sending sparks flying as the cleaver shattered against the enchanted blade. With a final, powerful stroke, he decapitated the leader, its head tumbling into the dirt as the rest of the body collapsed.
The remaining orcs faltered, their courage shattered. Some turned to flee, but Arinyanénar would not allow it. He raised Amanarótar high, the blade glowing with a fiery brilliance, and called upon its power. A wave of golden flame erupted from the sword, engulfing the retreating orcs. Their screams echoed through the forest as they were consumed, their bodies reduced to nothing but ashes.
When the last orc fell silent, the valley was still. The ground was littered with the remains of the battle—severed limbs, charred bodies, and pools of dark blood that sizzled and steamed in the heat of Amanarótar's glow. Arinyanénar stood amidst the carnage, his breathing steady, his expression calm yet resolute.
Goldenstar approached, his golden-marked coat unmarred despite the chaos. Arinyanénar patted his steed's neck, murmuring softly. "You fought well, my friend. These lands are safer for it."
As he remounted, the faint sound of movement reached his ears. His hand flew to Amanarótar's hilt, but he relaxed as a group of elves emerged from the shadows. Clad in muted greens and browns, their bows drawn, they approached cautiously.
"Who are you, stranger?" the leader of the group demanded, his grey eyes narrowing. "Speak, or we will loose our arrows."
Arinyanénar dismounted, standing tall and regal. The golden flames of Amanarótar dimmed as he sheathed the blade. "I am Arinyanénar, son of Anórien and Galadriel, prince of the Avari. I journey to Nargothrond to aid my uncle, Finrod Felagund."
The scouts exchanged glances, their suspicion giving way to recognition. The leader stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. "The kin of our king is welcome here. Come, we will guide you to Nargothrond."
Arinyanénar nodded and mounted Goldenstar once more. The scouts led the way through the winding forest paths, their movements swift and sure. As they traveled, the shadow of Morgoth's malice seemed to lift, replaced by the promise of sanctuary and kinship. Nargothrond lay ahead, and with it, the next chapter of his journey.