Elven Bow Lotr Novels & Stories

Just disbelief tightening their faces as they shook hands with each other, pretending control while their world had just cracked open. Mama Wrenlow pushed through the people with surprising force. She stopped in front of Baron, breathless, eyes softening the moment they land on Elowyn. She pressed a small carved box into his palm. She whispered. "It's hers." Baron nodded once-sharp, protective. Then he turned and moved with his remaining pack members toward the path they came from. The witches stood ready, runes glowing under their feet, the air bending as their portal hummed open.

He was simply existing in the space his mate had carved out for him. Brynn shifted slightly against his chest, her fingers idly tracing the jagged white battle scars that mapped across his large hand. "The Elven Elders are going to be a nightmare, you know. When Navarien marches into their woods to bring them back into alignment... they are going to fight with everything they have."

“That’s it? It’s pure gibberish.” Lakon smiled. “Not quite. In fact, it makes perfect sense, assuming you speak the right languages.” “And which languages are those? Lakon’s smile was replaced by a smug expression. “High Elvish of course. We may be going to Favorn Forest.” “Don’t the Dryads and Lady Heartwood live there also?” “Yes, she does. She treats the Light Elves with respect and friendship, if not love.” Sigwulf smiled and opened his mouth to speak.

Made this forest into a crowded atmosphere. "Hurry! Unload your cargo and put it into Elvian carts, or they won't pay us!" The words of one who heard like their leader made me flinch. Elvian? Wait, wait, wait! If I wasn't mistaken, Dimas said they were merchants of Northern Iuna Sigrotia. So they sneaked into the Lurivia Kingdom to have a deal with Elvian? At the moment, I pondered. The sound of approaching footsteps startled me. I stood up. My instincts told me to immediately hide. Then deftly threw away my broken short bow into the corner of the cargo. Not forgot to return the cloth to a wooden basket to cover it.

She trails off, biting her lip. "But what?" I press, desperate for any glimmer of hope. "Lady Arianrhod is... particular," Elowen chooses her words carefully. "She rarely grants audiences, and when she does, she often demands a price for her assistance. A price that many find too steep." Jason's grip on Eden tightens. "What kind of price?" Elowen shakes her head. "It varies. Sometimes it's a physical object of great value. Other times, it's a service or a task. And occasionally..." She hesitates, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

So she made her way towards the other end of the table. Balthasar and Tasha are glaring at Valerie. Even Balthasar wanted to marry his daughter to the Raven prince. The Raven's are the richest and the most powerful clan. Maintaining a good relationship with Raphael will be profitable for him. But Valerie came and is ruining his plans. He doesn't want to offend the Raven prince, but his hatred for the Ernest princess made him lose control of his temper.

There, resting on a raised pedestal of carved obsidian, lay a sword unlike any they had ever seen. It was long and sleek, its blade a deep shade of silver with veins of glowing red coursing through it, as if the weapon itself pulsed with life. Its hilt was wrapped in dark leather, and symbols unknown to them shimmered along its length. The moment they entered, the temperature dropped, and the whispers began again. “Another stands before the blade.” “A choice must be made.” “A price must be paid.” Elior took a step forward, but before he could reach the pedestal, Rael’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm.

"Longer than it takes me to rip your throat out. You rejected me. Called me worthless. Now I'm the one with roots coming out of the ground. How's that feel?" He laughed wet. "Feels like you're dead already. The elders don't negotiate. They erase. And when they come, they'll burn this whole keep just to get to you." Gunnar grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the table once. Hard. "Names. Who's riding with Jakob? How many shamans?" Sveinn spat blood on the floor. "You'll find out when they're at your walls. Elva's blood is a beacon now. Every pack that hates the idea of one king is coming. And they all want her head on a spike before she wakes up fully."

he asked in a harsh whisper. Prince Ron just snickered and held up a hand. “Leave it to me, big brother.” He dug a hand into his robes and pulled out a small container, opening it before Nemyra. “Will this do?” The goddess’s eyes instantly lit up for she recognised what was inside immediately. “Goldenberries! The fruit of the Elves!” Ron shot Alaric a proud smile, tilting the container slightly for him to see. Hehe. There was no one in the world who wouldn't like goldenberries. It was a good thing he always kept some with him.

They cheer and weep and call me saint and savior and bride. I stare straight ahead. The roses look like splashes of blood against the snow. At the northern gate waits a second cage-wagon, larger, drawn by eight black horses that steam and stamp. The bars are carved with runes that hurt to look at. Eldorian emissaries stand beside it (tall, pale, armor like liquid night, eyes glowing faint violet). Their skin is marked with moving runes that crawl like living tattoos. One steps forward (female, wings like fractured glass folded against her back).