It was all over. The Guardians were gone, with only one who still draws breath. Danglir... Idhrenneth… Minvagor… Amathdir… all gone. Estella had heard no word from her father since he was sent north and only presumed that he too had fallen, fallen to the Enemy, the Enemy that she now hated more than anything else in all of Arda.
There was nothing left for her to lose. Nothing left in this world for her. Her friends, her family, were awaiting her in the next. She grabbed her blade and bow, slamming open the door and rushing outside. The assault party was just beginning to leave. She was never a part of it; she was instructed not to join due to her unstable condition. But since when had the reckless adventurer ever followed orders?
Silently she made her way to Tyl Annun, behind the small group tasked with driving the evil men out of the ancient ruins. As they engaged in battle she began to let loose her arrows, and one by one her enemies fell. But the strike at Tyl Annun was a trap, for the cunning Men who claimed loyalty to the Enemy anticipated this move. They hid and at the best moment lashed out with force. The last of the Guardians fought valiantly, but they could not stand the assault.
Wounded and exhausted, the Rangers had no choice but to call a retreat. But there was no way they could flee from the trap; no way could they outrun the horde in such a weakened state. Estella knew that this would be the death of them all, if something is not done.
They didn’t all have to die here. Those others, they have family, friends, comrades, But Estella had nothing left for her. She stood her ground upon the bridge of Tyl Annun while the others retreated to safety. Arrow after arrow she shot at the mass of enemies and her volley prevented the crossbowmen from getting too close.
She fought upon that bridge, alone, as she had often fought. It could have been only a few minutes, but it felt like hours upon hours. The enemy advanced slowly, and soon she was surrounded by men. She battled with all her might, but she knew even the greatest of swordsman would be no match for so many, and her skill with the sword was not as refined as her skill with the bow. As a club flew in her direction, she knew that this was the end.
It wasn’t. She awoke, in a dark and damp room, to the smell of smoke and rotting flesh. Her head was dizzy and spinning and her mind greatly disorientated. But she knew exactly what was going on. Men came down; the same Men she had thought would be her killers were her torturers. They whipped her repeatedly with a metal lash, broke her right leg and removed her nails, some examples of what was done to her. They wanted information, but Estella would give none. For no matter what they did, they could not inflict any more pain than what they already had.
They finally decided to end it all. But before they could do so, another attack force had arrived. The men Estella saved had spread news of the trap, and now their friends had come to repay the favor. This time, it was the Enemy that was overwhelmed, and Estella was rescued from the deep dungeon in which she was held. They took her back to Tinnudir, where she was tended to. Her physical injuries were healed, though they left many scars, but some wounds were not so easily mended.
Soon, she could once again stand, and eventually sat at the table the Guardians had always occupied. But she understood that sitting there changed nothing. Her friends were gone, and along with them the Guardians. Though she received word that her father still lived, almost everything else she had ever cared about was lost.
The cheerful, adventurous youth was gone. That Estella died there, in the dungeons where she was broken. Her body, her mortal form, however, was still intact, though not what lay within. She was but an empty vessel, a body whose only purpose now was to hold blade and bow. She had become a weapon, nothing more.
She stood, walking away from the table to sit at the next, ignoring the pain in her leg. Now, there were none sitting at the table in Tinnudir Keep.
