The war for Middle Earth ended at the Black Gate of Mordor one morning in early spring. The forces of Sauron were scattered to the far corners of the world, broken on the rock of the free armies. We in the Forests of Rhûn followed the news with great joy, and great dread as well, for our scouts in that far land told of great masses of Rhûnish warriors returning to our lands.
The Easterlings have ever allied themselves with Darkness, preferring to seek power and domination wherever it may arise. Sauron's defeat was but the latest in a long history of poorly formed alliances; this time, however, the Rhûnmen returned with Orcs. If they could not rule all of Middle Earth, they would dominate what portion was left to them.
My Order watched the horizons for signs of their coming. The great Councils met in our Keep, trying to forge alliances and treaties where none had existed for generations. As the first forces trickled back into Rhûn, our people drew further into the Deep Forest and further into the wastelands. The Easterlings patrolled the edges of the Forest, killing those who strayed beyond its borders, gathering strength for conquest.
~***~
I was a secretary in the stronghold of the Shadowwalkers, an assistant to the Order Protector himself. I had traveled, in the relatively peaceful days before the War of the Ring, across the lands of Rhûn with my Master, studying the cultures and religions of the people of our lands, absorbing and recording as much of the languages, legends, histories and customs as I was able. I often wondered why my Master was interested in such things; our people had little dealings with the other populations of the land, and all the writing I did only seemed to be filed away in the depths of our library or in the recesses of my own mind. It was a small job, to be sure, and one not likely to bring me either adventure or advancement, but I loved the work. Until the High Council ordered me into the Western lands, I thought myself quite content to be a mere assistant.
~***~
One year after the fall of Mordor, the High Council ordered a band of Clanfolk to travel to Gondor to beg aid from the victorious Westron forces. Despite my young age and because of my travels, I was appointed the leader of our small band, entrusted to take them into foreign lands and seek out whatever aid we might find. We rode out in the evening of the third day after the Council met, a band of twenty Avari bearing the white banner of the Allied Clans. Ten of us wore the indigo, grey, or black robes of the Shadowwalkers, chosen servants of the Twilight Mother. We were mounted on the finest Plainsfolk horses, massive black animals bred to fight and kill and cover great distances; we could only pray that they would be protection against any warriors we might encounter.
~***~
The King of Gondor took his throne beside his fair Queen in the city of Minas Tirith. His companions gathered around them, content to rest a while in the comfort of the city before parting ways. In time, the Fellowship parted, returning home or undertaking other travels. The Western lands rebuilt slowly throughout the year, and life slowly returned to order. The lands of Middle Earth were at peace, and no one gave thought to the lands to the East of the mountains.
~***~
We chose to skirt Mordor, traveling along the outer edges of the Ered Lithui toward the battle plains of Dagorlad rather than the direct route through the heart of that foul country. We hoped to avoid bands of Easterlings and Orcs, for we could not stand against too great odds.
Our luck held until two weeks before Midsummer. We reached the near side of the Dead Marshes in that time and had begun to believe that we might make Minas Tirith unmolested. Our horses were forced to slow by the near-vertical ascent up the side of the mountain range we climbed to avoid the marshes, and we were entirely unaware that we were being followed until our hunters struck.
~***~
I clutched the reins tightly as Hellebore shied suddenly. My cousin, riding a little way off my right side, laughed out loud. I leaned over in the saddle, checking the ground for snakes or rodents, trying to ignore his teasing.
"Can you not control the beast, Mornië? We gave you the gentlest mount we had and yet-" His voice cut off short. I heard a strange gurgling noise; as I rose in the saddle, one of the Healers screamed.
Three massive beasts bounded up the slopes toward us, bearing Orc archers. The beasts snarled and roared, leaping at our riders. I yanked Hellebore around in a circle; my cousin fell from his horse with an Orc arrow through his throat. The Warriors closed ranks, surrounding the Mages so that they could work in some measure of safety. They tried to raise a chant and failed as the nightmare creatures tore through our fighters. I drew Rage, the long geas-blade that hung at my side, willing her to save a few of my compatriots as well as killing Orcs.
I heeled Hellebore, goading her through the protective ring of warriors toward the beasts. I could feel anger rising from the Blade, a fiery tingling that poured up my arm and seized my brain in a fog of blood-lust. The Blade snaked and twisted in my grasp, drawing me into an intricate pattern of feint and retreat. Hellebore lashed out at the monstrous beasts with teeth and hooves; I heard a skull crack beneath her steel-shod feet. I slashed at a passing rider, splitting him from hip to hip.
A horn sounded below me, yanking my attention from the battle momentarily.
Dozens of Orc riders poured up the side of the mountain. I reined Hellebore between my tiny band and the oncoming horde, the rage in my body begging for more blood. Someone grabbed my sleeve, dragging me around in my seat. I stared wildly into the green eyes of Niquë, another female Shadowwalker. She shook me until my teeth rattled together.
"We have to flee, Mornië. We cannot hope to win this. We have lost too many already. Hurry-up the slope. We must try to outrun them to the Harad Road. Do not descend the slopes-we cannot risk the horses in the Swamps." She raised her warhorn to her lips and sounded a single clear note. The ring of Warriors split open, allowing the Mages and Healers to flee first. We harassed the horses, digging our heels into their flanks, shouting commands over the din of battle. I turned back for an instant, in time to see the white banner fall, trampled beneath the feet of one of the foul creatures.
~***~