The night while filled with darkness continued to bathe in the silver-blue under the man's radiance, its shining light filtering through the branches of the trees crossing the mountains. Imlardis would be well-hidden, but the belt surrounding the borders buzzed and hummed with warning as his movement lingered at the edge, a barely distinct shape gliding fluently, almost silently. Expertly hidden from the narrow keenness of the elven eye.
He pressed his back against the smooth bark of a tree's trunk.
Hands and and blades tucked under the shrouding folds of his cloak, cowl drawn so low that even his chin vanished with the marrow gray of bone that shaped his mask, the shadow merely peered between the cluttered fixtures of the valley. Where beyond the rocks, beyond the river, on the foundation of stone and nature cut deep with more waterfalls, the small ancient city of Rivendell stood with all its unhindered glory.
On the outside.
But on the inside...
They were hidden.
Frosty pale eyes remained fixed forward, as though he could see them from where they stood. Almost feel them. So close, yet so far. A tremor surged, as did the burning tingle pricking at the back of his neck, more surely the phantom of the Defiler's contracting grip; a vicious reminder of the circumstances he had to consider.
"…if you should engage without my consent, it will be more than your pretty face that I will tear from your bones…"
Jaw tightening, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the trunk, trying to control the chilled shivers that seized his frame whenever he heard that low, gravely voice.
"...and not even the face of death will hide your true image."
He breathed through his nose and opened his eyes. His gloved hands grips the hilts of his hidden blades.
Time seemed to pass into the evening as his gaze remained fixed on the kingdom centering the valley below the perch where he hid. It seemed slow. Torturous...but he had long learned the importance of patience.
All good things come to those who wait.
Another voice from long ago-so long ago-came back to him. One that was nearly forgotten.
Sometimes it was true. But rarely did anything "good" ever happen to him anymore. Not even his survival. He crossed his arms.
For now, he would wait. All night, or days, if he had to.
He did say he would bring word back…but he never said how long. Either way, he always came back, whether he wanted to or not. His Master knew this. But for now...
Death would bide its time.
And he will wait.
This was meant to be the beginning of my next chapter, but then I remembered that he didn't stick around. So, alternate scene?
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