Captain Darian, of the Riders of the Mark, sat on his horse as scanned the hilly horizon. Under his helm his golden hair flowed with the wind, brushing it slightly over his hazel eyes. He brushed it away impatiently and continued looking. There were bound to be a group of Orcs here; Gerin had seen them with his own eyes and so had his van of Riders. 'This must be a trick,' he thought to himself. He had had bent down on the ground to search for Orc tracks often enough. If all the back-aching work was to go for nothing, Darian felt that he might explode with frustration.
Behind him the group of Riders - consisting about 40 or so - exchanged glances. Darian was the most respected and the best fighter and captain of all of the Riders, but he had a terrible temper to deal with. It was well that he was Captain, for if he was ignored and trampled on he had to be restrained from jumping on the culprit. The group felt almost sorry for the Orcs; indeed Darian's swordsmanship would be so great as they would be strengthened by fury of being kept waiting. Darian was not a patient man.
The sky above was growing dark with storm clouds and the darkness of the night. The Riders had gone out since early noon, and already it was twilight. When there were no sign of Orcs for twenty minutes, and some of the men had gone forward in all of the four directions to search, Nelrith went up to his captain. "Captain Darian," he said. Nelrith was an overeager, young Rider, but he was much loved for he could cheer up even the gloomiest of the Riders, including Darian. His fighting skills weren't to be scoffed at, either. He had been trained by his father, who had been one of the most lithe Riders on the ground and horseback. Indeed, Nelrith had developed his agility. There were some rumors that Nelrith had Elvish blood in his veins, but it was rarely spoken of.
When Darian didn't respond, Nelrith coughed and repeated himself. "Captain Darian? We should set for camp this night, and a secure one, as well. It might be a heavy storm tonight, but it might be better to stay here than to make for the closest village."
Darian gave no sign that he had heard, but those closest to him knew that he was planning and thinking. Darian had one of the most magnificent minds that came up with the cleverest jests, plans, and arguements. His eyes gleamed, and then he sighed and patted his stallion. "Very well." The others started to soothe their horses and unpack some of the provisions. Meln was the one who was the best with horses, and he started brewing up a special mixture of herbs, grass, and whatnot that kept the stallions extra strong and agile.
Darian was tempted to tend a fire, but he knew that it would attract attention from the enemy when it was not needed. He kept his spear close by him and his sword loose in its sheath, so that he might be prepared. He did not have to tell his group of Riders to be wary, for the Riders were as good as Darian in his training.
The hills, which were green, gold, brown, and gray all mixed up into a hue that seemed just right for the people of Rohirrim, grew a dark purple, moorish color as the night deepened. As the darkness bloomed, Darian's confusion grew as well. He knew from experience that Orcs were impatient, savage creatures - rather like himself, he thought, laughing drily - and that if hunted for hours on end, they would attack whatever that was following them. Orcs were not very rare in Rohan, but they did not come often, either. Darian, deep in thought, murmured a "thank you" to Fyrell who had handed him some bread and dried meat. He had not even noticed that the Riders had unpacked.
Nelrith and the ones nearest around him looked up in dismay as the first raindrops began to fall. They were not heavy, for in Rohan rain never was, but they seemed to give an eerier mood to the dark night. "Well, that means we can't light a bigger fire now, even if we changed our minds," Nelrith muttered. Some of them had very small "torches" they had lit, and hid carefully under cloaks and surrounded them as not to attract attention from enemies. The fires glowed, their golden and scarlet manes dulled by the shadows.
Darian stood up suddenly. "Fyrell," he asked, "did our brother Riders return from the scout?"
Fyrell was a calm, silent man, he never wasted words of any sort. "No. We have sent some of us after them, so they could return with news, but even they have not returned."
Darian bit his lip. He was - he realized - afraid for the others. He was not that old, only of thirty or forty or so years, and he had never been truly comfortable with lives weighing down on him. He shook his cloak to dry off the water and dried his armor as best as he could, and then jumped onto the bay back of Windmane, his horse. Some of the others rose to accompany him, however he shook his head. "I'm going alone," he murmured.
Myene protested. "Captain, what if you don't return-"
"I will," Darian reassured. "And if I don't, I'll return later with the others."
The next in charge, Sinthe, another Captain, got up anyway and got on his mare. "Darian," he said in his deep voice, "I am coming with you and you would be unwise to stop me." He gripped his spear, and Darian grinned. Darian and Sinthe had been brought up together, almost as brothers, and they understood each other very well. Darian nodded and said, "But no more. I won't hold any more lives with my commands." Darian sprang into the darkness, with Sinthe trailing behind him moments after.
The two rode off, meeting the wind and the rain as they rushed. It had been some leagues when Darian decided to break off. "I will go off to the South and the West!" Darian shouted. Sinthe nodded. "If we find anybody, we go back. A day from now and we ride back to Edoras!" The two, seemingly just shadows fleeting through the storm, seperated and went their own ways.
Darian scanned for any human forms on the ground or standing, and cursed to himself. The darkness and the hilly elevation, not to mention the wind and the rain, scattered Darian's night vision considerably. He instead whistled piercingly, a whistle for the horses to gather, and waited for the sound of hooves to appear. Luckily with the horses the Riders would be. At least, Darian hoped.
He waited for what seemed about an eternity - in reality it had been twenty minutes - until at last he saw three horse-forms galloping toward him. He recognized, as they gathered closer, that they were wounded, and only one Rider was on them. He was slumped over, and Darian bit his lip in horror.
He whispered to the horses to calm them down a bit and looked over the man. Darian knew it was Taryne, nobody had as bright red-golden hair that seemed to - well, shine dully even now. Darian saw that Taryne must have lost a lot of blood, and that his leg did not seem well at all. Its muscle was almost torn away, and crimson blood leaked out of the armor. Darian ripped off some strips of a spare cloth and wrapped them around the leg, but that was all he could do for now. He had scarce knowledge of herblore and healing; he was a man of fighting and wars.
The Rider Captain blanched when he saw Taryne's face. It had been slashed at with many sword strokes, and it was not at all pretty. The dirt and the rain mingled with the blood to make some kind of paste on the face. One long scar was very close to the right eye, so very close that with passing millimeters it could have been slashed out. Most of the skin on Taryne's face was raw; Darian grimaced in sympathy and disgust. Taryne could be disfigured for all his life. He was sure that the Orcs had done this. 'There must be more than I would have thought,' he thought inwardly.
He turned to the other horses and noticed that one was limping. Wiping away at the rain and setting down the wounded Rider on Windmane, Darian let out his whistle as loud as he dared. When no more Riders or horses came, he sighed and onto Windmane, making sure that the three other horses were following and Taryne was balanced against his chest. He knew that he needed serious medical help at the instant; otherwise he would never wake from the coma he was in.
If on a cue, there was a stroke of bright light, if a sword piercing the ground, and after a few moments a loud rumble of thunder. Darian muttered something inaudible, and then galloped toward northeast where he had seperated from Sinthe. Accompanied by rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning, Darian rode to the spot. He could not ride fast, as he was hindered by Taryne and the three other horses, but he knew Sinthe had not returned. He felt an ... an aura that he had returned.
He looked over Taryne once more. The Rider's chest was slowly and faintly moving up and down, but Darian relaxed a little from knowing that he was alive. "I should have brought a healer," Darian muttered as another lightning pierced the ground. He looked up worriedly. Thunderstorms were not very common in the plains. He hoped it was wet enough not to spread a mass fire. Now that would take days to put out, if the grass had been dry.
Suddenly, with a loud roar, there was a white light shining in Darian's eyes. 'It is just lightning,' he told himself. However this one's radiance seemed to last longer, and the lightning seemed to be a silver flame upon a dark hearth. It seemed to land about 5 leagues away from him, and he pushed Windmane a little in worry. He controlled himself and thought reasonably that Sinthe would have avoided the lightning if he had seen it. Darian stayed away from where the lightning had struck, in case of fire.
Finally, overcome by impatience and worry, he rode off into the direction where Sinthe had first ridden off into. It was some time before he saw a figure standing in the rain, next to a horse and over a fallen figure on the ground, holding a sword - was it Sinthe?
But even from this distance Darian knew it was not so. The man was taller than Sinthe, and he was not wearing any of the Rohirrim armor. Besides, he had a bow and an arrow quiver at his back, with a hood and cloak. Sinthe did not range.
The figure looked up as Darian cautiously approached him. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but he seemed to have long, shoulder-length hair and a Ranger's clothes on. Darian had never seen a Ranger; however he had heard of them. Numenorean, he remembered. He tensed up a little as Gondor was a Numenorean country. If Gondor had caused this... No, that was ridiculous, Gondor did not have wizards and mages to cause up this "magical storm."
What reflected out at Darian the most were the Ranger's - that is, if he was a Ranger and not a man in Ranger's clothing - eyes. It seemed, at first, a silvery hue - like the lightning that had just come down, Darian thought - and then turned a stormy gray as he saw a stranger and possible danger. Even in the dark they seemed to - glow, a little like cat's eyes. They had a mysterious, forever look around them. If Darian had seen an Elf, then he would have said that the stranger had Elvish eyes. However he thought that anyway, as they had - well, the Elvish look to them.
And then he realized.
The fallen figure was Sinthe; without his helm. His mare was nowhere to be seen. However Sinthe was bloody and the stranger had a sword out. And the sword was covered with blood...
Darian had the advantage of height horseback, and he pointed his spear at the Ranger. "Who are you? Speak your buisness and do not move! He was a Captain of the Riders, of the Rohirrim, he who you have attacked." The Ranger glared at him, but did not lower or raise his sword.
"I have not attacked him," he said quietly. "He was lying here whence I came. It seems like he has been attacked by Orcs, or perhaps the Haradrim. And he needs instant healing, as well." Darian still pointed the spear at him. The Ranger seemed to roll his eyes. "I have not told you my name, or rather names, those are mine alone and have no buisness with you. Let me go, and I will heal your -" his gaze glanced over at the wounded Taryne - "companions. I will go my own way afterwards."
"How can I trust you, if I do not know your name or buisness in Rohan?" Darian growled. "I could kill you now, stranger."
"So it is. Trust me."
"I do not put trust in strangers, especially those who come in midst of a dark storm."
"True. Then fate must decide. Or perhaps Thengel, Lord of the Mark."
The voice had some patience in it, as if Darian was a child guarding fierecely over a doll nobody wants. Darian knew it, and felt silly. He thought over the offer, and then sighed. "Fine, stranger," he said. "If you are true to your bidding, let it be. If you are not and the two end up dead, or perhaps you are caught trying to kill me or them, Thengel, Lord of the Mark, will personally see to you."
"I do not hold false to my word if I see it thus," the stranger said. He looked up; the battle of lightning and thuder, rain and wind still ran in the sky. It was not a good place or day to heal; but the Ranger knew that the two needed immediate healing. Now.
He got some athelas out of his pouch from his belt, and got some water out from his waterskin. "Warmer water would be better, but this will do," he murmured, in case Darian was listening. He first saw to Taryne, bathed his face and started to put out and put back in some herbs. However athelas stayed there.
Darian looked to the West. He knew that the other Riders must be worrying, despite their knowledge and the ability of mastered swordsmanship, and he felt heavy himself. Whether drenched by fear or rain Darian did not know, although he suspected both.
The Ranger had nearly finished with Taryne a few moments later. "He needs more help," he sighed. "But that is the best I can do this minute and he will hold - for now."
Darian had not loosened his spear. He was still suspicious of the stranger. "What about him?" he said, nodding at Sinthe. Darian knew the risk of speaking any of their names, if this stranger was a possible spy.
The other seemed to bite his lip. He had strong night vision from his raising from the Elves, and by heritage. "I do not know."
Darian turned his head. "Why?"
"He... He does not come back. My healing skills are limited, because of the storm tonight. He also seems to have been struck by the lightning we had, the big one moments ago."
Darian groaned inwardly. Stupid Sinthe... Sinthe always had been something of a daredevil, no wonder..!
The Ranger glanced at Darian. He could see how worried he was, and that reminded him of a relationship with a certain Slivan Elf.
Darian lowered his spear. "Then you may go," he said, seating Taryne on Windmane and trying to pull up Sinthe. The stranger seemed to have a long-ago look in his eyes. "I do not think I could," he said slowly. "You need more help. How will you seat the second man? On your horse? On the other three, so that he may fall? Nay. You are going to need my help."
"And why does a stranger offer his help? He could have gone his own way, and have avoided more danger of being sentenced guilty."
The Ranger fell silent for a while. "... I know of one, a stranger, who has saved my life when he offered his help. It will be unwise to let me go, Rider. You know that."
Darian had to admit he was right. Despite all his warnings and thoughts, he had to admit. "Fine, Ranger," he glared. "However one wrong move, and the Halls of Mandos awaits."
The Ranger nodded once and got busy with arranging Sinthe on his horse. Then he got on with surprising agility - that even greater of Nelrith's - and looked back. "West," Darian said. He rode behind the stranger to make sure that he wasn't doing any harm, and did not lower his spear. Darian tried to keep his mind blank and alert from the toil of emotions, comments, and judgement on his heart.
After they left the spot there was another flash of silver light, and that seemed to be the last of the thunder and the lightning, although the winds and the rain continued to rage, raging as Darian had never known before.