ceri han daro
Fourth Age; Year seven
Gondor, somewhere in the White Mountains
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Early in the morning, when the sun had just risen, the company of guards and the Steward gathered in the main room of the inn for a hearty breakfast. They had left their beds an hour previously and had spent the time preparing for the day. The innkeeper was payed, the bags were packed and the horses readied. As they worked their way through the platters set before them on the table, two men joined the company. Their hoods were pulled low over their eyes and the rain dripped off the from of the fabric. They pulled the sodden cloaks from their shoulders and sat gratefully in font of the fire.
"Good morning, my Lords. This is my friend, Tathoden," Aureldir introduced. "He was with me when we saw King Elessar. He was wounded when we were ambushed." The man by his side supported the story by nodding.
Faramir stood to address them. "I am honored to meet you, Tathoden. I hope you are recovered from your injury."
"Yes, thankyou, my Lord," said Tathoden humbly. He was evidently a little awed by the company he found himself in.
"Please, eat with us. We must be ready for the long day ahead." Faramir invited.
With nine hungry men, the food was quickly gone. When they had finished, they retrieved their packs and walked to the stables. The horses had also eaten a sturdy breakfast and were impatiant to be on the road again. A coin was pressed into the stable boy's hand and then they were away.
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Legolas felt a soft cloth wipe his back. Although the ministrations were gentle, his gritted his teeth and groaned with pain. This arrested the movement of the cloth for a moment then it resumed, even lighter in its touch than before.
"Legolas?" Aragorn's voice reassured him. "I'm cleaning the cuts as well as I can. It's ok, just lie still." Legolas complied but could not help a soft whimper passing through his lips. "I'm sorry," Aragorn said and stopped.
"Please, go on," Legolas said, just wanting to know his friend was there and taking care of him.
After a time, he spoke again. "How are you feeling? You slept long and I was worried for you."
"I am well. Worry about yourself melon nin, for I cannot clean your injuries as well as I should with no water."
Aragorn helped him to sit up then set to bandaging his back with strips torn from the blanket.
"What are we going to do?" Legolas asked.
"There's not much we can do," Aragorn replied in a calm resigned way.
"Aragorn, we can't just sit here and wait for that man to kill us." When there was no reply, Legolas changed his concerns to another matter. "You say we have no water? I am thirsty. Have you been without water all this time?"
"No," Aragorn replied. "Bwana brings me water and feeds me."
"Bwana?" Legolas asked.
"The Lieutenant Barindor Tonalion," Aragorn explained. "He lets me out often and takes care of me."
"What is this? He has us imprisoned. He attacked you. He tor- wh- he hurt me Aragorn. He hurt you. What has he done to you?"
"Nothing, do not worry, all will be well. Try to sleep now."
Legolas did not feel at all sleepy. It had not been long since he had been woken. The pain in his back made him miserable. It kept his focus on the waking situation rather than the sleeping. Aragorn however stretched out like a cat with a languid yawn. He clapped his lips together a few times before lying on his side with his head resting on one crooked arm. Within moments, his breathing evened indicating his fall into dreams.
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The company had ridden hard through the day. The sweat running down the horse's flanks was mingled with rain. The downpour had lightened around midday but had not stopped. Dark black clouds pressed down on them from above. The colours around them seemed muted into shades of grey. The riders had long since stopped trying to keep dry. They accepted the rain that soaked through their beings. Some wondered if they might ever feel truly dry again. Through the trials of the day, one purpose drove them on. All determined not to stop until they had found their Liege for none had greater loyalty than those guards riding through the wilds far from their homes.
Faramir was aware they had travelled much further then he had expected. Although he noted it, he was not surprised because surprise is too sharp an emotion to be played against the dullness of that day. The woods seemed endless on either side of him Several times through the journey he asked like an impatient child why they had not arrived at their destination. Every time, he received the same answer: "Not far now, my lord. Just a little further.
When the sun was low in the sky, sending red slats of light through the trees, their guides dropped their speed to a trot.
"The clearing is just through here, my lords," said Aureldir as he swung to the right and disappeared into a thick clump of trees.
Faramir brought up the rear of the company, passing through a tight but short maze of branches to emerge in a clearing. It was roughly circular with long grass swaying underfoot. The horses spared no time in tasting this emerald carpet. The trees grew high and close overhead but the effect was not claustrophobic, rather reassuring and secure.
"My lord, this is where we lost the trail," Aureldir adressed them.
"It is further than I expected. From your account, I thought it was within three or four miles of the road."
"Yes my lord," Aureldir agreed.
"We were coming from another direction though," Tathoden excused. There was a strange glimmer in his eye which set Faramir on edge.
He asked carefully, "So if you came from a different direction, how did you know the way to bring us directly here?"
Tathoden sent an apologetic look at his companion who sighed in reassignment. To some unspoken question, he nodded.
Then the two men stood with their backs slightly turned to each other and drew out their weapons. One brandished a short notched sword and a cruel curved knife. The other levelled a log shining sword at Faramir's heart. He gripped the elven handle in both hands. Eyes widening, Faramir lept back and drew his own sword. Years of training and experience flashed back to his as he took a defensive position. All around, he could hear his guards readying for the coming fight but did not look round. His eyes were fixed strait on Aureldir as the man charged.
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Legolas watched his friend sleep. Aragorn's face was pale. His breathing was heavy and deep. Legolas felt a nagging concern. He stretched out a hand to rest it over the man's chest. He could feel a regular thumping, steady but slower than it should be. Alarmed, he felt Aragorn's brow. The skin was slightly cold but not enough to cause further worry. Not knowing what else to do, Legolas settled back again to watch over the sleeping man.
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The guards of Gondor were trained well. They reacted immediately, one darting foreword to guard his Steward, the others forming a circle around their assailants. Aureldir followed through with his thrust to have it parried by the guard protecting Faramir. He was thrown off balance. When he righted himself, he found he was surrounded by three men, three better fighters than he. He fought with the grim determination of one in a hopeless position but was eventually thrown to the ground and restrained.
Tathoden roared as he charged at the remaining three guards. His knifes were deadly sharp. He waved them madly in the air. Their was no technique to his fighting, giving confidence to his opponents but they could not get near. Every time one gained ground, he had to jump back again or receive a nasty cut. Tathoden was tiring but knew his advantage and pressed it.
When Aureldir was bound tightly in coils of rope which, though he struggled, he could not break, a guard carefully took up position behind the man stil fighting. He swung the remaining rope over his head.
Tathoden found a rope pulled tightly over his arms from behind. He overbalanced and fell back. Immediately, he was disarmed and pressed into the floor.
The men from Gondor stood around panting. The sword Aureldir had brandished shone from the now peaceful grass. Faramir reached down and lifted it. The handle was made of shining silver and wrapped in well maintained leather. The long blade was inscribed with delicate elven script.
AnarNányë Andúril i né Narsil i macil Elendilo. Lercuvanten i móli Mordórëo. Isil
Faramirs eyes widened as he grasped the significance of the inscription. His quick mind translated the Quenya script.
Sun. I am Andúril who once was Narsil, sword of Elendil. The slaves of Mordor shall flee from me. Moon.
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AN: dun dun duuuuun! How's that? Like it?