The snow that had recently covered the ground crunched under the feet of Maedhros and his warriors as they returned to Himring after their visit to their brothers. The white blanket was dotted with the rough tracks of the orcs, black smudges that marred the pristine landscape. A sense of unease crept into Maedhros's heart. Unwilling to leave this threat behind, he led his troops along the ominous trail without hesitation.

Soon they came upon the orcs, a dirty, stinking horde dragging a score of exhausted men. Maedhros's guess was correct: the poor wretches were destined to be slaves. The battle was swift and fierce, the elven blades flashing in the dim winter light. The orcs were defeated, but the victory came at a high price. Among the freed captives, there were barely half a dozen living souls.

"Untie them and bring them to Himring," Maedros ordered, his voice weary but firm. He knew that these broken souls would have a long journey of recovery ahead of them. Most were exhausted beyond recognition, their bodies shivering with cold and exhaustion. Only two were able to stand.

Among them was a young woman. Her face, smeared with dirt and blood, showed a stubborn determination. She seemed to have forgotten her own weariness until she was certain that her exhausted companions had been placed on horses and tended to. Only when she was certain that all had been helped did she allow herself to lean on her staff. There was no place for her, but she did not complain.

Maedhros, who had been watching her, approached on his horse. His gaze, usually cold and distant, softened. He extended his hand to her.

"Get on."