The morning was cool and calm. A single cloud moved off across the blue dome of the sky, as if it had somewhere to be and was running late. Elden watched a raptor intently as it surfed through this great expanse, searching for prey. Soon, though, it came to the same conclusion he had: there was no game to be had. The bird banked and soared back up east, to the evergreens that dotted the base of the Misty Mountains and likely to its nest. He was lying on his elbows at the summit of a hill, casting around the landscape for answers. He didn't really know where he was going. It wasn't that he was lost; he simply didn't have a destination other than as far away from Edoras and the memories that placed contained as possible.
His mouth was full of leaves. Bitter and fibrous though they were, they would sustain him until he could find real food. Traps were out of the question because he was not staying, and he had not seen any warrens, despite keeping a careful watch of the ground. After being hunted by generations of clever Dunlendings, the Dunland variety of coney had grown equally clever in hiding their holes and their young. He hadn't seen a single tell-tale mound of dirt during his entire journey, let alone a floppy ear. At this point he would have taken a meadow vole. There were plenty of grubs in the soil and the trees, but he wasn't that desperate. Not yet.
A noise drifted on the edge of hearing. It was a subtle, almost imperceptible music. He reached down the front of his shirt and clutched the ring, bringing it out into the light of day.
The noise was louder, but still not enough to say he actually heard it.
It would whisper things to him, at times. These would be louder, actually audible utterances, but they would always occur when he was in the thick of something, and needed advice. He would always remember it afterwards, like a memory of something that happened to someone else.
Take the sword. You will need it.
The guard is sick. He will not notice you.
Ride west. There is a valley that will shield you from their eyes.
It did not alarm him, because the advice was always good. Whenever he had the ring on, he always seemed to be able to find what he needed quickly, and tough scrapes always broke his way. The important things were more prominent, and the unimportant ones, less pressing. Still, he did not keep it on any more than he had to. It gave him the distinct impression that it wasn't something to be used trivially.
That, and whenever he put it on he felt like he could see through the entire world, down to the roots of the deepest mountain, a highly unsettling sensation.
He put the ring away and strode down the hill to the patch of trees where he had camped. The horse was up and grazing and he decided to give it more time considering all the work it had done for him yesterday. From a breast pocket he produced a pipe and lit its ashen contents with a fire-striker he had palmed at market in the Helm's Deep encampment. It had bothered him somewhat; the family that owned the stall was not rich, but his need had been greater than his restraint.
When the bowl was empty, he ashed it on the ground and untied the horse.
"You need a name." He said absentmindedly as he climbed back into the saddle.
A waft of smoke drifted up from the patch of grass that had received his ash, a single red cherry still burning.
"Smoke. That sounds good. You're quick and light on your feet. What do you think?"
Smoke had no reply beyond a gentle nicker.
"I will take that as a yes."
He proceeded north, up the Old South Road, keeping just off to the right so that he could track the roads progress, but also giving him the space to hide from travelers, which he did several times. The season for the trade caravans had long passed, but there were still groups of men on the road, most going south. Occasionally he would observe a lone traveler from his hiding places and wonder where he was going and what he carried. It would have been very easy to rob them, especially with the ring, but he didn't feel the need. The Eorlingas would be stopping travelers now that they had lost his trail, and a story about a highway robber who could turn invisible was the last thing he needed reaching their ears. With any luck, they would think he had faded away into the wild and turn back to Edoras and their waiting hearths.
He wondered briefly what that felt like, having a home and a family waiting for you.
The hills and valleys grew more prominent as he went. The bones of the earth stuck up from it in odd places, jagged spikes of rock and long steep cliffs where the dirt had been eroded away by uncounted ages of rain and wind. It was nestled in this scenery that he first spotted the village. He circled around it for an hour, watching closely for any sign of the Eorlingas, but there was none. He considered avoiding it altogether but hunger overpowered caution.
It wasn't much of a village, more like an encampment. The only permanent structure was a stable and a small dwelling, open to the air on two sides. A row of carcasses hung on hooks, their leather and claws in piles behind the counter. Elden dismounted his horse, feeling distinctly out of place. He could feel the eyes of the hill-folk boring into him even as they carried on their conversations or their work.
A group of rough characters were standing by the gate, smoking and jesting in harsh voices. Their attention turned immediately to him as he passed by.
"That's a fancy sticker, horse master," The ugliest among them said, his voice twisted with mockery. "Whose helpless corpse did you peel it from?"
There was a general shout of laughter at this, and several of the men moved to block him. Elden halted, reins in hand.
"Yours, if you don't move out of my way."
The retort didn't seem to faze the ugly one.
"That's right; slay the witless hill-folk for King Éomer like a good little boy!"
Several of the villagers had stopped work and were resting on their tools, watching.
"Éomer is no king of Rohan, and no king of mine. The Lord Regent rules the land while he rides to and fro with Elessar on endless campaigns of glory and conquest."
"Hey!"
The shout was from a girl not much older than him. She wore the furs of the hill-folk, and there was a fierce look in her eye which immediately caught the attention of the ruffians.
"Stop bothering travelers you worthless pile of worms! Do you want us to all die of hunger because we have no gold for planting when the spring comes? Begone! Or my father will have many words to speak with you."
This was apparently not an idle threat, as the group drifted away, grumbling and cursing the girl.
"Thank you." Elden said, sheepishly. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes I did." She replied. "They are cowards, but liquor and numbers make them bold."
"I suppose it would be rude of me not to buy some of your father's supplies now."
"Rude, and also unwise." She said, looking him up and down. "Your pack looks very light. Have you been on the road a while? Where are you going?"
"Only three days." He replied, careful to avoid mentioning the circumstances of his flight.
His feet followed her almost automatically, until she flitted behind the counter and he could follow her no more. His eyes traveled up to the hanging meat, and his stomach rumbled. A swarthy, bearded man emerged from the stable-half of the dwelling and set his beefy elbows on the counter, motioning his daughter away.
"What can I do for you, stranger?"
"How much is that?" Elden said, pointing to a whole torso of some animal he couldn't identify.
"Three silver."
Elden fished around in his pocket for a moment under the watchful gaze of the stable master. After much searching, he found that there were only two coins in his hand.
"Do you have anything… smaller?" He said.
The stable master laughed and reached underneath the counter, producing a brace of rabbits tied together with a length of rope.
"Two coins."
Elden slapped them down and slipped off his pack, setting it open on the counter. He began to untie the rope around the rabbit's necks and stuffed them one at a time into the sack, trying to conserve as much room as possible. Between them he placed a stretch of cloth to keep the moisture in until he could cook them properly.
"Had trouble hunting?" The stable master inquired as he shined the dirt from the coins with a corner of his bloody apron, only further marring them. "You Rohan folk are always looking after deer or boar, something you can hunt with a spear from horseback. In the hill country sometimes you have to think small, and look at your feet."
"Speaking of which," He continued, and Elden suspected that this had been his intention all along, "how much would you part with that horse for? I'll give you a whole gold piece for it."
Elden was stunned. He hadn't imagined Dunlendings possessed that kind of money. It was a kingly sum for a horse, even one so fine as his black stallion.
"That is more than a fair price, and I wish I could take it, but Smoke is not for sale."
A bemused smile played at the cracked corners of the man's mouth.
"Smoke? What kind of a name is that? I thought the men of the Riddermark named their horses after great kings!"
"Perhaps, but I name my horses by their fortune and character." He said, patting his horse's flank. "If you ever try to catch Smoke with your bare hands, you will see that he is aptly named."
"Are you looking for work, then?" The stable master's daughter said over the roar of laughter from her father.
"Always." Elden replied.
He wasn't really, but something about the girl had changed his mind.
"Work, eh?" The stable master said, sizing him up. "What kind of work has this regal lord of men done in his life?"
"I've chopped down my share of trees and plowed my share of furrow" Elden replied, somewhat defensively, placing the last of the rabbits into his pack and shutting it.
"I've no doubt you have, but I have no need of another pair of hands at the moment, and you…"
With a lightning quickness that Elden would have thought impossible for one of his stature, the man's arm snaked out and grasped his, turning it over in his iron grip. The mark of Mandos stared up at the sun. The swelling had gone down, leaving the tattoo with a bleached and lifeless appearance.
"…you are running from something. Whatever it is, it is villainous enough to warrant killing you. I don't need that kind of trouble."
He released Elden's arm. The girl's expression had changed. Where before she had regarded him with interest, even covetousness, now she looked at him with suspicion and fear. Elden knew that look.
"Whatever you are running from, lad, I suggest you keep going."
Elden nodded and shouldered his pack.
"I understand. Good tidings to you."
"And you."
He placed his boot in the stirrup and mounted Smoke before pressing his heels gently into the stallion's haunches. He did not need any spurs; the brief shock of cold leather against the horse's legs was enough. They left the village behind them in a cloud of dust. Elden looked back over his shoulder, past the billowing folds of his traveling cloak.
Five figures emerged from out of the flying dirt and spread out, as if to overtake him. They were only a few dozen paces away, but his steed outclassed theirs and he knew it. Leaning down against Smoke's flank, he whispered in his ear. They were words his father had taught him, and all horses seemed to know them, although they all responded with different degrees of willingness.
"Noro lim!"
These words combined with another gentle nudge to the flank spurred the horse on to a still faster pace. Ahead of them the Old South Road curved away to the northwest. Elden ignored its change in direction and continued off the side, into the bush. The trees were growing thicker now, and as he crested a ridge he caught sight of a mighty ribbon of water, one of the tributaries of the Greyflood, curling down from the fingers of the mountain to sprawl across his path. Perched on the far bank was an elven ruin, a silent guardian of the southern border of Eregion, a former kingdom of the fair-folk.
It was white as bone, the murals and adornments bleached dry by the trackless march of time. The great pillars that had once held up its mighty structure lay cracked and desiccated, smoothed by wind and broken apart by the wax and wane of many winter's worth of frost. A stone bridge that had once spanned the river was in a similar state of decay. Elden had no time to search for another route. He was committed.
The water was as cold as the distant ice caps that fed it, and by the time he was halfway through his toes were beginning to go numb. By the time he emerged on the other side, his pursuers had crested the ridge behind him and were racing towards the water. Smoke was still shivering and in no mood for a chase, but Elden urged him onward anyway. If he could just make it to the cover of the ruin, he would have a superior position from which to deal with his assailants.
In a well practiced maneuver, he put his full weight on one stirrup and swung his leg over Smoke's haunch while the beast was still in mid-gallop. He spun and hit the ground running, giving the horse's rear a hearty slap. It whinnied loudly and galloped on ahead through the maze of ancient stone, disappearing from sight. Elden clambered up the side of a pillar and leaped onto a ledge, the only remainder of a second floor that must have once commanded a view of the entire foothills surrounding. He thrust his hand into his pocket eagerly, and slipped the ring on.
The light of late afternoon left the sky, replaced by a dull mist. There was no sun. No stars. No moon. No light of any kind save for an eerie glow that permeated everything, and illuminated nothing. The shadows lengthened. The world spun. The stones whispered.
It was louder now, much more insistent, and it was not only coming from the ring. The walls themselves glowed as he stalked past, their ancient symbols retracing themselves in cold fire for him to see. The stones were not whispering to him, they were whispering to the ring.
Alla mélamar, elda tanwë.
Alla, eldamar. Immo sam sinya heru.
He could see the group of riders finish their fording of the river and gallop confidently up to the structure, where they dismounted. One of their number bent down and examined the ground, finding Smoke's obvious trail immediately. The leader motioned to the rest, and they fanned out, each taking a slightly different route into the maze of columns and fallen architecture. His limbs enervated by a strange power, Elden slid silently down to the next level, watching one of the men light a torch as he passed below his hiding place.
"Come out, horse master!" The ugly one called. "We only want your fancy sword!"
The last thing the man felt was a warm breath on his ear and a sharp point at his back.
"Come and take it from me."
The torch fell from his lifeless hands and into the wet grass, going out with a hiss. His closest partner turned, but the shadow of Elden was already upon him, and his scream was silenced by an unearthly burble as the blade cut clean through skin, sinew, muscle and bone.
The remaining three quickly converged at the place where the bodies lay, their minds, so cocky and sure a moment ago now fogged with panic. Elden could see this. He could smell the fear drifting off them in waves. It excited him, fed his energy, allowed him to leap an improbable distance from one side of the ancient lane to the other. Two more men were cut to pieces by his sword, and the leader fell back, his eyes locking onto the spot where Elden stood. Elden looked down and saw a splatter of another man's blood on him, outlining his invisible form.
"Curious…" he mused.
The ruffian crawled backwards, his weapon forgotten. Elden kept pace silently, until the man bumped his head against a wall and could go no further. He slipped off the ring, and placed the blade at the man's throat. The man's eyes were screwed shut, his cracked lips mouthing the words "Eru" and "Illuvatar".
"Are you… praying?" Elden said, almost amused. "Tell your gods to come down here and stop me."
As he had suspected, no force prevented him from leaning forward and driving the piece of metal into the man's trachea. Afterwards, though, he felt as though he shouldn't have. That one had been different, not like the others. Another Elden had killed those other hill-folk, but the one that lay at his feet… that had been him, through and through. A strange feeling settled over his heart, and he suddenly wished to hurl the ring from him, but he did not.
I suppose now I am a murderer as well as a thief. He thought.
Only if you believe it. The ring whispered.
He opened his palm slowly, tremulously.
There it sat, untarnished gold against pale flesh. He returned it to his chain and put it away at once, feeling somewhat sickened. At the sound of footsteps he turned, blade raised for another kill, but it was not the sound of feet, it was the sound of hooves.
Smoke chewed a mouthful of grass, regarding him with indifference.
"You know, in retrospect, you're probably the only real friend I've ever had."
The horse had nothing to add to this statement, so he took his place back in the saddle and departed the ruins, riding north through the thickening trees of Eregion. To the west, the sun passed through the door of night on its endless journey across the sky. Darkness fell over the landscape like a blanket, as if to hide what had been done.
[Translations from Quenya, in order of appearance:
Noro lim! Faster!
Alla mélamar, elda tanwë. Welcome home, tool of the elves. (elda tanwë: literally, "elf device")
Alla, eldamar. Immo sam sinya heru. Hail, elvenhome. I have (a) new master.]