Last Ride of the Heir RPG

[piosenniel]

The Perky Ent's post

The summer’s sun blazed a gentle beam of light across Arathorn’s face. A cool wind was on the horizon. A peaceful tiding of leaves dancing in the wind as Arathorn walked into the courtyard. Rivendell’s beauty was beyond comprehension this time of year. Finding a small bench, Arathorn pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. Gazing into the sky, blue with small clouds, Arathorn began to write a letter.

~*~

My dearest Gilraen,

I have reached Rivendell and I couldn’t be any happier. I haven’t located Elladan and Elrohir as yet, but I’m sure they’re around somewhere. How is our beloved baby? I’m sure Aragorn will turn out to be a great man. Something….a deep inner feeling, tells me his life will be a tale of ages. Though I have taken my last look into his eyes for a long time, I could see it. I still can’t believe he’s two years old and can already run so quickly. He’s a great boy. Take care of him, and yourself.

Arathorn paused for a minute, and then concluded:

I’ll be back as soon as the stars will allow. I love you Gilraen, so be careful.

With undying love,

Arathorn son of Arador

~*~

Arathorn took a while to seal the letter, and then summoned a Ranger admiring the Elvish architecture. “Borodun! Borodun! Borodun, come! I have a delivery for you. As I know you know, I said you could head back for The Angle as soon as we departed, but I need to get this letter back as fast as a dragon,” Arathorn said to the stout ranger by his side. “Ay sir! I’ll deliver it post haste. It was good to see you again. I’ll see you on your return?” Borodun said with a grin. “But of course Borodun! Now ride with the blessings of the Lost Kingdom and the glory of men!” Arathorn exclaimed with gusto. And with that, Borodun fetched his horse and departed from Rivendell.

“Now where are Elladan and Elrohir?” Arathorn said as he looked around. “They said they’d meet me in the royal courtyard. What’s taking them so long?” Arathorn pondered as he continued to look around. Just then, two arrows appeared in the ground, at his feet. “Did you miss me?” Arathorn said as he laughed. “Yes. Lucky for you we did miss you! How’ve you been Arathorn?” Elladan asked as he patted Arathorn on the back. “Like a king! How else!” Elrohir said with a great smile. “Not quite, gentlemen. Are you ready for the trip?” This question did nothing more than break the twins out in hysterics. “Ready? Oh course we’re ready!” Elladan said. “If I’m not ready, let’s see if I miss you!” Elrohir exclaimed. And as Elrohir reached back to pull an arrow, he felt something strange. What he felt, was nothing. His quiver was empty. Embarrassed, Elrohir ran to get more arrows. Elladan hit his hand on his face and said, “I’ll go with him, to spare you the trouble of humiliating him!” and then left.

Arathorn waiting for quite some time, became quite restless. So restless that he pulled out his sword and started preparing for the fights. Time waned. After an hour, Arathorn shouted with a great anger.

“Where are my Elves and Rangers!?!”

[piosenniel]

Arvedui’s post

The cool mist that comes before the dawn flitted its way into the locked chamber, blending with the warm musk of the room and the dying embers of the fire in the woven iron grate. In the dew there was a cold sighing feel, as a wet cloth must seem to a fevered man. And the relief the grey air brought was not wasted on the figure sitting in an oaken chair, encircled by tomes and lost in thought. To the unsuspecting eye the form was a man in the middle of his years, seeming very young and hale, yet worn and burdened with the knowledge of age as well, fingering a hansom blue ring on his right hand, his gray eyes gazing to some far away place.

That was, until two soft thumps tickled his sensitive ears and brought his eyes sharply into focus.

Elrond Peredhil let out a groan of frustration at the end of his reverie and was rewarded only by a quiet chuckle from the opposite end of the room where the disturbance has come from. "Diran le (I see you), Elladan." He called out wearily to the lithe already moving out of the shadows behind him.

"Forgive us Adar, but even I must make some noise to enter a barricaded study." Answered a new voice to his right, now coming into the flickering light of embers.

"I wish you would take the hint that a locked room implies." Elrond replied mutinously, but already he was smiling despite himself.

"I believe Elladan received all our lessons on locks and their implications, father." The right-hand figure, a tall and fair looking creature with mischievous gray eyes, continued in a tone of complete innocence. "And you know his hearing can be very selective at times. A most strange affliction."

"Besides," said Elladan, speaking up for the first time, with an amused lilt to his voice, "You enjoy the intrusion."

Elrond shook his head and rose languidly to face the figures. "My perceptive sons, what am I to do with you?"

"Sending us into the wild in the company of a bunch of scruffy rangers seems to be your favored solution." Elrohir remarked offhandedly as he sank unto a polished stool.

"Arathorn is here, then?" Elrond asked, more sternly than before. He frowned and his mind began to work frantically again. It would be soon, but if he them bereft of...

"You are not pleased at this?" Elladan asked with a concerned note in his voice.

"Nay, nay." Elrond answered, sighing and then forcing a smile. "What news from the Angle?"

"Much of the same." answered Elrohir. "There may be orcs massing near Angmar, but otherwise not a lot to note."

"Oh, but he does have a son now," Added Elladan as an afterthought. "Named Aragorn."

Elrond nodded, a mixture of relief and happiness flooding through him. "That is well. Arathorn will need an heir."

"You foresee him being even shorter lived than Arador?" Elladan questioned, and Elrond paused before he answered, knowing of the friendship between his son and the Dunadan.

"A storm is coming." He answered grimly, keenly aware of an invisible weight pressing down on him, and deeply saddened by its presence. "And if it passes, Arathorn will not live to see the light on the other side."

"The darkness may not descend for many lives of men yet." Elrohir said, trying to be optimistic.

"True, but enough of this." Elrond waved his hand and batted away the subject, judging that he could ignore it until he could find another quiet dawn in which to lock himself away and think. "I suppose you both intend to go with him on whatever new venture he's planning?" He asked as a matter of form, sad to see his sons leaving Imladris again but reconciled to their going.

"Aye, so long as there are orcs, we shall hunt them with any who go with us." Elladan answered, a quiet fury evident in his voice.

Elrond gave a melancholy smile, half lost in a memory, and then placed his hands on his sons' shoulders. "Go then. Namarie, iynn nin. Nai hiruvalye man faroth!(My sons! May it be you will find the hunting good)" They embraced, and Elladan and Elrohir left, unlocking the door as they went. Elrond gazed after them, thinking with a sudden, brutal clarity that this hunt would be more than any of them bargained for. He sank back down into the comfort of the books surrounding his chair and knew that for Arathorn, and his son after him, the darkness had dawned, and a war was beginning.

[piosenniel]

Eowyn Skywalker's post

The day was fair in Imladris; the wind rustled the trees and grass. It was fair and bright; all was quiet and peaceful. And in that time, Hanindur, son of Seragon sat, and watched the trees twitch in the wind.

"Why does the weather play such games, when peace is not to be found, and a shadow roams freely in the lands?" asked Hanindur softly. He sat in the shade of the peaceful trees, and watched. The sun shone brightly, and there was little shadow in the hidden valley, beyond that which lay under the trees.

Birds chirped, as if there was nothing in the world to fear. And they have little to fear, thought Hanindur. Why would they fear, when it is us, the men, and elves that must fear them. Anything could be a spy... who knows what watches in the dark shadows of time?

A cloud drifted over the sun, shadowing the area. It was but a cloud, nothing to be feared, but Hanindur jumped. Shadow... fear and doubt. There was something about the shadows that caused him fear now, ever since the death of his father.

It had been all dark that day, and though the sun still shone, it hung heavily, and darkly in his mind. And evermore his thoughts drifted to shadow, and to darkness... the past that was so dark to him now.
He fell into those dark thoughts, and drifted into a world that no longer existed to him, days before his father's death.

A voice cried out in anger.

Hanindur jumped, shaking himself out of his thoughts, and out of the dark times that he had been recalling. "Where are my elves and Rangers?!?" he heard someone shout. It was the voice of Arathorn.

He jumped up, and walked over to where he had heard the vioce shout, and Hanindur realized that much time had passed, as his shadow grew long as he stepped over to Arathorn. "I am here, if you wish for my help, Lord Arathorn," he said, his voice low. "Your Rangers have not abandoned you."

[piosenniel]

Mad Baggins' post

Beroth was enjoying his stay at Rivendell; he had never encountered Elves before and he loved learning about their ways and customs. The quiet, comfortable rooms were quite a difference from sleeping outside beneath the twinkling stars. He walked down the corridors silently, taking in the beauty of Rivendell as slowly as possible. He stopped to run his hand over an intricately carved pair of doors. The wood felt smooth and was a rich cream colour. Beroth was about to have a closer look when his keen ears caught a noise at the door. He sprang back and pretended to have been examining the wall as a young Elf maiden stepped out of the doorway and walked gracefully in the other direction.

Beroth sighed, feeling extremely foolish. The Elves were so eloquent and fair; sometimes he felt like a clumsy oaf in their presence. He walked further down the hallway, pausing every so often to look at a particular piece of art. Reaching a doorway that led to a balcony, Beroth stepped through it and into the bright afternoon sunlight. He leaned on the balustrade, breathing in the sweet air. Suddenly, his peace was disrupted by a loud roar from below.

"Where are my Elves and Rangers!?!"

Beroth groaned and hurried off the balcony, down the hallway and towards the courtyard from which the shout had come. When he passed through the gateway to the courtyard, Arathorn was indeed there. Beroth reached him and bowed, saying, "I am here, Lord Arathorn. What is your will?" He straightened up and gave Arathorn a winning smile.

[piosenniel]

ArwenBaggins' post

"Papa? Papa!" A small, black-haired girl tugged on the loose leggings of a tall man dozing in a chair overlooking a beautiful, gleaming city. "Papa, lookie wat I drew! See! It's Lord Arathorn an' you fightin' some orcs!" The girl pointed to some crudely drawn stick-men and dog-like crawling figures. The man smiled and rubbed his daughter's head as she continued more solemnly, "Mama 'tolded' me dat you're gonna leave us 'gain ta fight off some baddies… but she's lyin', isn't she?"

Eirian's smile faded quickly from his wrinkling face. He bent and sat the toddler in his lap. A cool morning breeze drifted in through the balcony. It ruffled the silken nightgown of his young tot, making her giggle. He watched as Elves glided across a bridge a little way off- some were in armor. "No Evelyn, she's not lying. It will be two mornings from now, I regret to say. Darkness is stirring…" His deep eyes drifted away for a moment, but a creak of the tree growing through the middle of the room brought him back to reality. "Although, you are only four, you wouldn't understand. Why don't you go find Mama and we'll help her make breakfast," He smiled again and sat her on the dusty ground.

The girl smiled and nodded, waddling past the large tree and disappearing behind a satin curtain. Eirian stood and followed, adjusting the sword at his belt. After pushing back the lavender veil, he was met by a slender woman with a large stomach. "Good Morning Lovely," Eirian kissed the top of his woman's head and started cutting a loaf of bread. The world was good at now, if only then.

~*~*~*~

By mid-noon two days later, a modest pile of supplies was sitting just inside of the room. Evelyn was crying and rubbing her eyes on her mother's skirt. Eirian embraced them both and put his pack over his cloak, stepping out of the door. "Fear not for me, my dears. I will return, and peace will be restored. I love you both," He kissed his wife and hugged his teary-eyed daughter once more, adjusting his knapsack and putting a hand on the hilt of his sword.

He took his time getting to the royal courtyard. While he was ever avid to start killing the blasted beasts, he felt a deep quilt inside leaving his four-year-old daughter and a wife that could give birth to his third child within a month.

“Where are my Elves and Rangers!?!” Eirian heard this shouted as he entered the yard. He saw Arathorn standing with his sword unsheathed and in front of the other Dunadan.

"Come now Arathorn," Eirian unveiled his sword as well and steadied the blade. "We can not have you in a bad mood… have you see Elladan and Elrohir? They passed my door earlier, but I haven't seen them since," He shrugged and swung his sword over his head, practicing his swift killing strokes.

Eirian again sheathed his sword, sighing and finding a nearby stone bench to sit on. He flicked a piece of dark hair from his face and began, "Those fellows must think we are Elves as well; they are taking quite an eternity!"

[piosenniel]

Hama of the Riddermark's post

Owacyn lay on the couch in his room. He looked up at the elf-wrought ceiling and smiled, it was fascinating. He was trying to distract himself with nice things, as he had a bad feeling in his gut about this attack. No matter how hard he tried to dissmiss it it always came back, snapping at his heels and stalking his every step. He constantly thought about Gwendalyne back in Gondor, and his unborn infant. He hoped it would be a son, but right now he doubted if he would be around to see his child born and grow. He wished he could, he wanted to teach him how to ride and fight, to shoot a bow and wield a sword. He sighed as he lay there. So many things were uncertain at this time.

He was just drifiting off to sleep, pondering this venture some more, when he heard Elrohir running past his window, cursing at himself in elvish. He smiled. Elrohir was a good friend and a fine bowman, even if he was prone to make a fool of himself occasionally. He drifted off to sleep, a few of his trepidations were gone, after all he'd be riding with the dunedain's finest, and the sons of Elrond himself. Somewhat content, he closed his eyes...

"Where are my elves and rangers!"

Owacyn sighed as he opened his sleepy eyes, swinging his feet off the bed he slipped his boots on. He slowly walked and stepped out of the door. After all, an hour was a short time really..."I'm here, my Lord" he said almost resignedly. Arathorn scowled at his manner, but did not say anything.

Owacyn sat down on a step and took a long, slender pipe out of his belt and stuffed it with weed. He lit it and sucked in deep, blowing smoke rings as he let it out of his mouth. He was slightly irritated that Arathorn had shouted so loudly, he had been enjoying a nice rest. Maybe he was a little too eager. He lay back and looked up at the sky. "Owacyn!" snapped the voice of Arathorn, "Get up!". Owacyn sighed and raised himself to his feet. "Yes, Lord Arathorn." he said as he went over and stood by the banister, looking out at the waterfall in Rivendell. He saw Elrohir running back, his quiver bristling with arrows, and a few even tucked into his belt, he grinned. "A little over enthusiatic, Elrohir?"

[The Perky Ent]

Almost instantly, ten people answered Arathorn's cry. Five elves and Five Rangers. "Finally, now, let us look upon our party. Elves, these are some of my most trusted rangers. Let's see here. Here is Hanindur and Beroth" Arathorn said as the men known as Hanindur and Beroth gave a small bow. And now, Eirian, Owacyn, and Paladir!" Arathorn said as three men stepped foward, gave a short bow, and stepped back. "Well, there's our men, now tell me twins, who are you bringing?"

"Ah yes." Elladan said as he looked around behind him, "This is Cerímb! But only, she isn't here due to her skill." "Yes. Here's the real warrior! My son!" Cerímb said, revealing a strong, able looking elf. "This is Eldín. He is strong, but there's a catch." Cerímb said with a sigh. "And that catch would be..." Arathorn said. "Well, he's a deaf mute. But just as strong as any other man. Fear not, for he will prove himself." "I'm sure he will, now, who are the others?"

This time it was Elrohir to took a step foward. "This is Angakemion. We like to call him Anga. And last but not least, Nuwethion!" Elrohir said, revealing each elf. Each and every person in the quartyard had a different reaction to each race. It wasn't exactly the best combination, but it would prove.

"Well, there are matters I must attend to with Elrond. Now, why do you men, and elves for that matter, get to know each other a little bit better!" as Arathorn left, the men began to sit down and talk.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Arathorn went to leave, and stepped away, to speak to the Lord Elrond. Hanindur looked around at those who were to be his companions. Five men, and five elves, himself included.

Hanindur sat down, much like he had sat earlier, beneath the wind-shook trees. And the day was fair and calm still, though a cloud shadowed over the sun, dimming the light a small bit. Shadows seemed to creep from beneath them, though Hanindur knew that it was but an illusion.

A slight wind rustled the branches, and the trees seemed to whisper in the wind; the day was a fine day, and a fine day to set out from Rivendell, the day was worthy of their leave-taking, though Imladris was a lovely place to be on such a fine day.

The clouds drifted apart, setting light once again over the whispering trees, and it's fair beauty seemed to make Rivendell look even fairer then before. The elven kind was lucky to be able to dwell within such a lovely location. It was not the fate of the Rangers to sit in one place for long.

Hanindur studied the faces of his fellow Rangers, Beroth he knew, for they were, as Arathorn had said, his most trusted Rangers. And by sight, he knew Paladir as well. The other two were not known to him, though there was a familiar feel to all the Rangers, as, in a manner, they were his kin.

The elves too, some he knew, others, not. Being that he had spent much time in Imladris, many of the elves were familiar to him, though not always did he know their names, as to their faces.

The others talked quietly, but Hanindur tended to be silent, a quieter person. So he sat on the green grass, and looked around at the others, burning their faces into his memory.

[Potatothan]

"Well, there are matters I must attend to with Elrond. Now, why do you men, and elves for that matter, get to know each other a little bit better!"

Nuwethion smiled at Arathorn's words. He sat himself down on a nearby bench. Hanindur was a bit apart from the rangers. He looked at him and Hanindur smiled.

"So, we are left here like youngsters when the adults are talking about the important matters and we must get to know each other and be friends. Like many of us aren't already that. How are you young master Hanindur?"Nuwethion asked the man.

"Well, as good as you can be in these times."Hanindur replied.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

"So, we are left here like youngsters when the adults are talking about the important matters and we must get to know each other and be friends," said Nuwethion, with a fairly good point, in Hanindur's opinion. "Like many of us aren't already that. How are you young master Hanindur?" he asked, directing the question towards Hanindur.

It took Hanindur a moment to realize that Nuwethion was talking to him. "Well, as good as you can be in these times." he replied. Continuing, he went on: "But is it easy to be good in these times. They are hard upon us all, is that not it? There is always a darkness now." His voice was low, and dark; he spoke the thoughts of them all, for at times, every one of them had thought that very thing. There was always a shadow now.

The trees were obvilious to this fact, they rustled in the wind without any notice of the shadows that always seemed to creep up upon them. Though the day was fair, and the sunlight bright, and unshadowed, there was the seeeming of a shadow that was inevitable to escape. And Hanindur's words just made it seem even darker, though the light was still strong.

Seemingly, it was too hard for even him, a hardened Ranger, to think of, for that was surely was his mind was upon, for too long. "And what of you, master Nuwethion?" he asked, trying to bring a level of cheer to his voice, but failing in his attempt. "How are you fairing in these days of darkness?"

[Will Witfoot]

Not for the first time in his life, Eldín felt like he was all alone, cut off from the world. It would have made no difference had he been standing alone in a withered glade instead of this company of rangers and his kin. Without the presence of his mother, no light would have shone to mark his path.

He turned to her, studying the eyes which had the look of one who had recently wept. He felt a pang of quilt at the sight of his mother's sadness, and like so many times before he pondered if the quilt he felt at his parent's anguish was just. After his early childhood, not a tear had flown for himself. All his pity had been directed at his mother and father.
As if feeling her son's eyes upon herself, Cerímb turned her head to answer his gaze. Their eyes met and she smiled, a loving smile that sent all of Eldín's doubt back into the shadows.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around to see Elríng, his father, standing behind him. Eldín bowed to him.

Elríng studied his son with an expression of pride on his face. Born without hearing or the skill of speech, no-one had expected Eldín to ever ammount to naught other but a burden for other's. Yet here he was, a tall and able warrior, as worthy as any to face down any enemy. Elríng smiled and embraced his son. Releasing him, he spoke in the silent tongue he and his wife always used with Eldín.

'Hail, Eldín, my son! Tall have you grown and strong is your arm this day, the day you have long awaited. I am proud of you.'

[astarielle]

Elladan chuckled to himself, not thinking much of the rangers' dancing. He thought he could do much better himself. So, he turned to Lord Elrond and inclined his head in the direction of the dancers asking for permission. Lord Elrond gave a slight nod and at once a grin appeared over Elladan's face. He took one more gulp of ale, stood up proudly and walked over to the group of Elves.

He bowed politely to a fair-haired elf in a blue shimmering dress. Then extended his hand and asked her to dance, “Would you do me a great honour and join me in this dance?” The question needed no answer as the maiden took his hand and he led her to a space in the hall.

They moved as if the music was made by them, spinning away to returning once more. Their feet barely touched the ground and not once did their gaze’s part. The dance was more akin to that of birds, gliding and soaring were the air would take them. As the music stopped, the pair came gracefully to the end of their enchanting dance. He bowed once more, a smile on his face. Elladan turned to his brother almost inciting him to do better, then to his father looking for that recognition of achievement.

“No eagle could have been more graceful than you fair maiden, I thank thee once more.” Said Elladan as the pair smiled and parted. Elladan resumed his place at the table.

[Saraphim]

Elrohir watched the rangers and soon the elves stand and invite nearly every elf-maiden in the hall to accompany them to the music. Even his brother was caught up in the revelry, a rarity indeed, and was soon in the middle of the floor, slashing down the dance floor with a beutiful elven girl.

The song stopped and Elladan met his eyes, with an unspoken challenge in his smile.

It was: Go ahead, dear brother. Best me, if you can.

Elrohir smiled and drained his flagon of the odd tasting mannish ale. He knew what the challenge was simply because, had the positions been reversed, he would have issued the same one.

The problem was that the elf-maidens who had not already danced were in short supply. Elrohir scanned the hall and settled on a rather young one in a yellow dress.

She blushed as he came up to her and bowed.

"My lady," He said, smiling his best charming smile, "I am afraid that my asking you to dance has rather a selfish tryst in it. You see, my brother over there..." He gestured to his double, who was sitting at the table laughing with a group of rangers and elves. "...has set a rather high standard for me. It is my challenge, dear lady, to defeat him in a test of dancing. And to do that requires a strong, suitable partner. Will you help this poor elf defeat his brother in a petty game of footwork?"

The elf-maiden smiled and took his outstreched hand. "I would be honored, my Lord,"

A new song began as the pair stepped onto the dance floor. It was a spirited song, full of exuberance that enlivened Elrohir's heart and set his feet into motion. The elf-maiden was just as good a dancer as he, and soon the two felt as if they were the only ones in the room, with the music watching over.

Elrohir almost thought that he had grown wings on his feet, and his partner as well, she seemed to glide across the floor and responded to his every movement with a likewise beutiful one of her own. He twirled her and she looked like a flower, her gown flowing around her.

The song ended and the two bowed gracefully.

"My lady,"said Elrohir, "I must say that you are the best dancer I have met in a long time."

"Thank you, my Lord. And you are the best dancer I have ever met."

"Well," Elrohir replied, leading her back to her friends, "You are quite young. You will meet better dancers than I in your long life," he bowed again, "Thank you, my lady."

He turned and met his brothers eyes, with a challenge in his smile as he headed back to the table.

Best that, dear brother.

[Mad Baggins]

Beroth twirled about clumsily with the beautiful Elf-maiden in his arms. The song ended and he bowed, nearly falling over. "Thank you, m'lady, for that lovely dance," he hiccuped, straightening and smiling what he thought was a charming smile.

The Elf giggled, placing her hand over her mouth, and curtsied gracefully, saying in a soft voice, "You are most welcome, Ranger." She then turned about and went back to her seat. Beroth smiled and turned around, stumbling back to his place. Not wishing to fall on the floor, he sat down carefully. When he had accomplished this feat, he looked around and saw that other Rangers had begun to dance, and that most of them were completely consumed by the ale as well. Beroth sighed, leaning back in his comfortable chair, and grabbed a piece of bread from the table to eat. He nibbled on it as he watched the dancers twirl and fly around the room. The Elves moved with a beautiful grace that was wondrous to the eyes, and the Rangers...well, you couldn't say the same for the Rangers.

Beroth finished his bread and got up quickly, which was a bad choice. He reeled and almost tripped over his own chair before he gained control of his body. He wobbled across the hall to a lovely young Elf-maiden and bowed, saying, "Pardon me, miss, but may I have this dance?"

Although he lacked coordination, none of Beroth's pleasantness had been affected by the ale, and the maiden smiled and accepted his invitation. Sweeping her onto the dance floor, Beroth felt that he was on the top of the world.

[astarielle]

Elladan watched Elrohir dancing, focusing only on them the rest of the room was a mere blur. Elrohir was certainly profficient to say the least, he demanded admiration. But, thought Elladan, so do I. He smiled to himself. This ever ongoing battle to better the other had been going on since they were young, from climbing trees to mastering the sword. As the years went by the brothers accepted that somethings they were better at and some weaker. Yet dancing was not one of them.

He walked up to his brother and slapped him on the back, "You dance well brother, how about a contest - you versus I and.....the rangers can decide who wins?" He miled to himself and knew that Elrohir would accept the challenge.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Hanindur was quite hungry, so, even when the others got up to dance, for quite a while he found himself sitting still, and eating. The food served in Imladris was quite good, he knew that for a fact. And he was rather tired anyhow, not feeling up to dancing with the light-footed elf-maidens drawn by the music. He watched as some of the others stood up, and danced with the elves drawn nearby, and had to force himself to stop laughing at the grim expression on Lord Elrond's face. Hanindur knew that he was slightly drunk then, for there was no reason to be giggling like a young child.

That ale was a bad idea, he decided, forcing himself to his feet, only to stumble right back down, and fall into his seat. Not good.

He gave up trying to stand up, and went back to eating. At least with the slight dizziness brought on by the ale, that was one thing that he could do easily enough, and not have anything to worry about. Shrugging, he picked up his knife, and went back to his food, trying to keep his vision straight. He never had had a good head for beer or ales of any sort. "I think I'm going to regret this," he said under his breath, trying his best to keep his mind focused, and not fall under the influence of the beer.

[piosenniel]

Dunlendings

Dawn was near. A pale light crept through the trees, illuminating the figures asleep by the near dead fire. It was quiet; no sound of birds readying for the day – save for the deep, echoing croak of a lone raven somewhere among the towering trees to the north. A single figure sat huddled near the last embers, hood shadowing his face, head nodding toward sleep. His companions, there were eight of them, lay near – sleeping fitfully on the ground as if pursued by bad dreamings.

Wulfson watched them from his vantage point atop a high rocky outcropping to the south of the road. His tall, lanky form was pressed low against the flat surface, his dark eyes scanning the meager camp for any booty worth taking. He put his finger to his lips as his younger brother, Ulrich joined him. Both watched the scene for a few moments then withdrew to their cold camp a little ways away.

Four others welcomed them back – all tall men, swarthy in appearance, with long, braided black hair. Dunlendings, the rangers and Elves would have termed them. But in their own language they called themselves the Men of the White Horned Mountains, and they bore a deep and abiding anger against those who had displaced them from their homeland – the Rohirrim and the men of Gondor who had given away their land to the horse farmers. And any who aided these two groups were also fair game in their belief.

‘What did you see?’ one of them asked Wulfson, their leader. ‘How many and what kind gather about their little fire?’ asked another.

‘Nine there are,’ answered Ulrich, his eyes on his brother. ‘Two of the Fair Folk,’ continued Wulfson, ‘and seven of those meddling Rangers.’ He spat the last word out in anger. ‘They’re camped just off the Great Road. They look worn out, as if from battle.’

There were low grumblings at this turn of events. The group had been traveling along the road, beneath the cover of the trees for some time, bound for Breeland. A fine group of ten horses had been ‘obtained’ from an unfortunate farmer on the outskirts of the Mark, and they were now bound for sale to certain men in the woods of Breeland who would pay well for them.

‘Shall we head further south to avoid them?’ asked Ulrich, looking to his brother for direction.

A feral light rose in Wolfson’s eyes, and he shook his head ‘no’. ‘We are well rested and well armed and horsed,’ he said with a toothy grin. Pulling his long, double bladed knife from its sheath, he kissed it. ‘Why should we run? Let them run, instead. And our blades taste their blood when we catch them.’

Silently, the others drew their own knives and touched the pommel of each to his. Then two were sent to watch the Elves and Rangers and report back on their activities. The others packed up their few belongings and saw to the horses.

‘We’ll ride ahead to the marshlands before the Last Bridge. There are some rocky outcroppings there, thick with bushes to shield us from view. We’ll ambush them there. Take what we can from them.’

‘And kill them?’ asked an older fellow, who’d lost one eye in years past in an encounter with a Ranger.

Wulfson’s lips drew back in a gruesome smile, showing his ragged yellow teeth. ‘Kill them all . . . the Elves, too . . .’

[Mad Baggins]

Beroth slept fitfully. His dreams were full of trolls and the lifeless bodies of his two companions, their eyes staring sorrowfully at the red sky. Your time has come! a voice screamed, and Beroth jerked awake. His skin was drenched in a cold sweat and he was quivering. Someone was shaking his shoulder.

"Beroth, it's your watch," he said. "I'm sorry if I startled you."

"Oh...no, no you didn't," he replied, trying to stop trembling. He rose from his bed, shaking off the grip of sleep, and crossed his arms, hiding his hands. His awakener (he could not see his face for the darkness) gave him a strange look and asked, "Beroth? Are you all right?"

"Yes...I just had a dream. It was quite vivid and for a moment --" He gave a hoarse laugh. "For a moment, I thought it was reality. But I'm fine now."

The person put a hand on his shoulder, then turned and walked away towards his gear, singing softly. Beroth smiled and sat down, yawning. A movement upon an outcrop to the south caught his eye, but when he turned swiftly to look, nothing was there. He shook his head, thinking, That dream has made me become skittish. I must calm down.

He yawned again and shivered. He drew his hood over his head and poked at the fire with a long, pointed stick of ash. The chilly night woke him up quickly enough, and Beroth kept himself awake throughout his watch. Soon the eastern sky grew paler, and Beroth realized how fast the time had slipped by. He roused the others and was greeted by a few good-natured grumbles. Soon they were all wide awake and nibbling on a quick breakfast.

After everyone had eaten, Arathorn led them west on the road. Beroth found himself glancing at the place he thought he had seen the movement. He had a feeling that he was being watched, but he shrugged it off as leftover uneasiness from the battle with the trolls. To ease his mind, Beroth began to sing.

[piosenniel]

The Dunlending dog lends its voice to Beroth’s song . . .

The two Dunlendings watched from their vantage point as the group of Rangers and Elves fixed a meager morning meal, and then gathering their possessions, started off down the road. They noted that it was one of the men, and not the Elves, who was the leader of the group. “Arathorn”, they heard someone call him.

From the cover of the bushes and trees set off from the sides of the road, the two outlaws followed at a distance from the center of the group. With them were two of their great hunting dogs, said to be bred from the wolves that lived in what was once their people’s homeland. One of the men in the group they watched had begun to sing. In a wavering, thin voice he had started his song, and at the nods and smiles of his companions, his voice gathered strength.

The dogs twitched their ears at this curious sound and growled low to each other. One of them, thinking to join in the odd howling, raised his own voce in a long, drawn out howl of his own, which was quickly silenced by his owner . . .

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Owacyn jumped out of his bed as he heard the howling of the dog, within seconds Arathorn too was standing with weapon drawn. Owacyn had a look of fear slightly embedded in his face. "What is it?" whispered Arathorn?, "That howl...I know that howl...that's a dunelending hound!" Owacyn replied back. Arathorn looked puzzled. "Owacyn, we've just fought how many trolls?" and you're scared of a dog?", Owacyn looked at Arathorn. "Trolls are slow and stupid, these dogs are almost unbelieveably fast...and deadly...about the size of a wolf..."

Arathorn gulped slightly, "And how many are there?" Owacyn hook his head, "I only heard one...but we should be careful, there could be many more..." Arathorn shook his head, "What a foolhardy venture this is turning out to be, eh? Owacyn?"

[Saraphim]

Elrohir had woken before the howl, but a grogginess from extreme fatigue had kept him from immediatly finding his bearings as a good night's sleep would have afforded him.

Most of the others were already awake. Elrohir looked down at his brother, who was still asleep with a cloak over his head. A well placed kick sent Elrohir's older twin into action, and a snarky comment was silenced when a second howl tore the area.

Elrohir looked to Arathorn.

"Well?" he asked," What do we do now?"
But he knew the answer and was already fitting his bow with an arrow.