In War

[Susan Delgado]

Welcome to In War, by Ransom!

The reflection of moonlight on the white walls of the Tower of Minas Tirith gave the ancient tower an aura of sadness and mystery. Meanwhile, the same cold January breeze that caused the numerous banners to flap in the winds chilled the soldiers of the Citadel Guard to the bone. None of the various staff and soldiers in the White Tower had anything resembling a reasonable amount of sleep for several weeks. Fair Gondor's enemies were stirring, and her very existence would soon be threatened. Messengers and servants ran hither and thither, carrying messages about everything from the city?s food supplies to the readiness of the Hosts of Gondor.

Lord Turgon grunted angrily as he threw the latest report into the outbox on his desk. The Chapter Master of the Order of the Black Rose and chief of intelligence began to pace in front of his desk. The simple fact was that Gondor was unprepared for war. True, she had the second largest standing army in Middle Earth. True, years of successful harvests had left her economy strong. But her foes were too many to count. The Corsairs of Umbar were raiding the coastline, and an invasion from the sea would probably come soon.

Easterlings streamed into Mordor. The roads from Harad to Minis Morgul were clogged with oliphants and troops. Worst of all, the numbers and boldness of the orcs seemed to increase with each passing hour.

Gondor had few friends, and what few reports Turgon had gotten from his agents in Rohan seemed to indicate that Theoden of Rohan seemed completely under the thumb of the trained ape named Grima Wormtongue. Even more troubling was the reports of orcs near the Wizard?s Vale. Could Sauron have overthrown Saruman and amassed an army in the north? If so, Gondor would have to fight on too many fronts to count. Several dozen knights and twice as many agents had died in the last two weeks, putting a dent in Gondor's intelligence service. And if this news wasn't bad enough, three Errand Riders had disappeared on the road to Pelagar with the fabled Mistress of Minas Morgul nearby.

Turgan glanced out the small window at the moon, attempting to discover the time. Much to the knight's chagrin, the moon was almost directly in the center of the dark sky. It would be another long night. The lord quickly buckled his long sword to his belt before blowing out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.

***

While designing the fortifications of Minas Anor, the Numenoreans had obviously lavished a great deal of attention on the Great Gate. The massive structure was almost a fortress in its own right. About as long as it was wide, it gave the impression of having been carved out of a solid piece of rock. Two towers, rising twenty feet above the battlements, silently stood watch by the main weakness of the city. All of Gondor was nervously anticipating the coming war, and the pacing of guards seemed to come from every direction. Even the inch of bright and cheery snow that coated the city did little to alleviate the general feeling of doom and gloom.

The guards had opened the inner gate, allowing those waiting to leave the city
shelter in the fortified tunnel sandwiched between the inner and outer gates. Because of the snow and the biting wind, very few people would be inclined to leave their houses today. Despite the over cast sky, the faintest hints of morning were beginning to shine over the eastern horizon. Soon, the outer gate would open and citizens would begin to wake. Sir Barak Mindalel intended to be far away from the city by then.

For one who took pride in stealth, Barak's six foot six inch frame was painfully obvious as he paced back and forth at the mouth of the tunnel. The knight shivered at the touch of the cold winter wind, which had somehow managed to bypass his suit of martial plate armor. On the bright side, the ornate helm with its heavy cheek guards and nose guard kept his shaved head warm. His boots made soft clicking noises on the cobblestone as the Gondorian headed toward the ten horses tethered just inside the gate. The knight carefully moved down the line, examining each animal before stopping in front of a black warhorse at the end. Fara nickered softly at the approach of his master, his eyes betraying a fair amount of annoyance at being forced to stand in the snow. The creature had always been ill tempered in the morning, so Barak paid no heed to the horse's complaints. He drew his Lochaber axe from the saddle sheath, carefully searching for the smallest knick on its two-foot wide long blade. This was a largely futile gesture since the axe had been checked by one of the finest blacksmiths in Minas Tirith last night. Still, it paid to be prepared.

He grasped the four-foot long blade in both hands before turning and marching back toward the iron brazier the thoughtful guards had lit on the other side of the tunnel. The only other human in the tunnel was warming her thin hands over the dancing flames. She was a small woman, standing a mere five foot three inches above the ground. Her thin frame was covered by one of the heavy green cloaks issued to the Rangers during the winter. Without the slightest twinge of surprise, Barak noticed the familiar black tabby peering out of the hood that was supposed to be covering her long red hair. He could swear that Mara would take that cat into the middle of a battlefield without a second thought. The soft clink of metal against metal gave away the light suit of chain mail she wore when traveling. The iron basket hilt of her chlaeger, a heavy fencing sword, almost sheepishly poked out from beneath her cloak. There were probably half a dozen knives hidden on her body, but Barak didn?t want to expend the energy to find them.

Mara ignored her friend's approach, much more intent on keeping her thin body warm. She nodded her greetings before turning her attention back to the fire. It wasn't that she was ignoring Barak. To the best of her knowledge, she hadn't said a single word since her birth. She slowly moved to the other side of the brazier, allowing her to gaze out into the still deserted streets.

The rank of Lieutenant of the Citadel Guard had been rewarded to Barak several years ago. Considering that he was away from the White Tower for most of the year, he didn't fulfill many of the requirements. The tower over the golden shield was embroidered on the back of his cloak, marking him for all to see as an officer of Gondor. Whomever Turgon had hired to assist him would find the knight quite easily. Barak began to fiddle with his axe, throwing it from one hand to the other as he waited. In truth, he had no idea who the Lord had chosen.

The recent losses on the intelligence front had lead to a new obsession with secrecy. The knight glanced at the sky again. With Nienna's blessing, this unpleasant mission would be completed as quickly as possible.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Rhys jogged down the corridor, looking for the room his sister would be practicing in. He needed to tell her something...something important. Rhys stopped when the hallway came to a fork, and then he wandered aimlessly down the left hall. Rhys had no clue which room his sister would be in, and cautiuosly opened random doors, hoping to find a familiar face. When the long left hallway came to an abrupt halt, Rhys ran back up the corridor and then down the right hall after the fork.

The first door he opened brought success. He found his little sister in a makeshift ring, along with some other man Rhys had met once. One punch from the man brought two jabs from Jisela, his sister. Rhys chuckled. It was sink or swim with her, and she always turned out to be a pretty good swimmer.

"You could use an uppercut once in a while, Jis!" someone called to Jisela from the sidelines. Jisela nodded, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her opponent was almost a blur to her as her eyes stung with sweat. Light jumps to and fro brought Jisela ever closer to the idle opponent, until it was too late for the man. Jisela sent an uppercut his way, sending his chin and head flying upwards. Satisfied, Jisela waited for her next opening.

Unable to see the man's sly move as he inched towards her, Jisela let out a slight yelp as she came crashing to the ground after her feet had been swept from under her. She stood up, and before she could do aught else, a fist came flying at her face. Jisela was sent flying backward and onto the floor again.

"Ouch. I bet that hurt. Take a break, Ganar," came the voice of Rhys, Jisela's brother. Jisela wiped the trickling blood from her chin as it streamed from a cut in her lip. Jisela was suprised...Rhys almost never came to her practices. He was usually too busy with a mission from the Order. Rhys handed Jisela a square of cloth for her cut, and sat down beside her.

"Something wrong, Rhys?" Jisela asked, wiping the blood onto the once clean cloth. Rhys ran a hand nervously through his thick, curly mop of black hair.

"No, not really. I've got a message though, for the both of us." Rhys replied, and handed Jisela a piece of parchment. Jisela opened it, and her eyes widened as she finished reading its contents.

Rhys and Jisela,
Report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before dawn tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be inside the gate. Speak to him for further instructions. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow as well as combat. Your normal wages will be tripled for the duration of your service. Further rewards will be forthcoming should you perform well. Horses will be provided.
Javon

"You better clean up there, Jis. Bring the old boots, alright? There's snow involved. Might want to bring that bow as well..." Rhys would have continued on chiding his sister, if Jisela had not shot him an annoyed look. Rhys raised his hands in defense, then got up and left his sister. "I'll see you later tonight, and we'll go together tomorrow."

Jisela nodded, and went to get clean and ready. Triple payments for a week would be a lot of money between the siblings, or enough to seem like a lot. Jisela also fully planned on 'performing well', as she tried to do on everything she undertook. Jisela only hoped that Rhys was up to the challenge too.

[*Varda*]

Unfolding the small piece of parchment in her hands, the young woman read the contents inside.

Rosanna-

Report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before dawn tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be inside the gate. Speak to him for further instructions. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow as well as combat. Your normal wages will be tripled for the duration of your service. Further rewards will be forthcoming should you perform well. Horses will be provided.

Morgan

A smile curled on Ros’ face. More money, potential rewards…this seemed like a job worth doing, should she make her services useful. She sat on the hard bed in her empty little room, gazing around. A break from this place would do her no harm. Getting up, she threw a few silver coins and personal belongings into her bag, and pulled on her warm cloak, setting the hood over her loose brown curls.

She stood by the window, staring into the inky darkness of the night sky, and watching the white frost of the snow begin to settle around the window pane. She should set off soon, she thought to herself, or the snow would be falling too fast and thick to journey at such a time of night.

Her bag over her shoulder, and her sword by her side, she wrapped her cloak tighter about her, descended the creaky wooden stairs, and set off towards the Great Gate.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Darian cleaned off his sword in the secret refuge of Henneth Annûn. They had just returned from ambushing a band of orcs that had entered into the woods of Ithilien early that morning. Now, word had come of a company of Southrons that would be heading up the Harad road towards the Black Gate the next day. Darien replaced the arrows that he was unable to recover, and placed his sword back in its scabbard. He looked at it and it reminded him of his father. His father had bore it, and under his care it had slain many a foul orc. He went and watched the sun rise over Mindolluin. That always helped him calm himself after a fight.

Footsteps behind him came to his ears. He turned to see his friend, and fellow Ranger Mablung, come up bearing a letter.

"For you, my friend. It comes straight from the Steward." He handed it over and waited.

Darian opened the letter. It read:

Darian, Ranger of Ithilien-

You are ordered to report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before sunlight tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be in the inside of the gate. Speak to him for more orders. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow and combat. Horses will be provided.

Denathor, Steward of Gondor

Mablung stood there watching him.

"What does it say?" he asked.

Darian handed it to him.
"I need to report to the White City tomorrow morning. It looks as if I'm heading on another journey." It looked as if he wouldn't get the rest he wanted after all.

"Did you receive one also?" Darian asked.
"Nay. It looks as if you shall be setting off alone. Damrod did not receive one either. The other Rangers are needed here, I assume."

"Well then, I shall gather my gear and head off. I have the rest of the day to get to Minas Tirith." Darien headed off to his quarters. Mablung followed.

"You need not report to Captain Faramir. He has already seen this letter."

They entered Darien's quarters. He quickly gathered his equipment, which wasn't much; just his weapons, a few extra clothes, and some rations.

After he geared up and was ready to depart, he turned to Mablung.

"My friend, I fear this is where we depart. May the grace of the Valar protect you and preserve you until our next meeting." Darien said.

"And may the Valar speed your journey. May your journey to Osgiliath go unchallenged. I doubt that once you reach Osgiliath, that the rest of the way to Minas Tirith will be dangerous." Mablung replied.

The two Rangers clasp hands for a moment. Than without another word, Darian headed off to find himself a horse, while Mablung returned to his post.

[DayVampyre]

While the night had a sting of bitter coldness to it, Reed was not aware of it. Being inside one of the city's pubs and sitting by the fire she was taking in the revilery of the friends that had gathered for a celebration. Not that there was much to celebrate, but there was no reason to not enjoy some merriment. Reed thought that she had earned a night's repose after all she had just finished a very important bit of work for her 'benefactor' Cyrus. Taking out a bit of silver to by a round for drinks a young man approached her. The lad had wiry brown hair and carried a envelope, which he promptly handed to Reed. She took it and handed him two silver pieces. Excusing herself from her friends, Reed took the letter and a pint of ale with her into a quiter side room of the pub. She lit a candle and flipped the letter over. On the back was a wax seal bearing a very ornate 'C'. It was Cyrus' mark. Reed pushed a few stray brown hairs out of her eyes and pulled out a knife. She slit the wax seal off and and pulled the parchment out...

Reed:

Report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before dawn tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be inside the gate. Speak to him for further instructions. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow as well as combat. Your normal wages will be tripled for the duration of your service. Further rewards will be forthcoming should you perform well. Horses
will be provided. Try not to get yourself hurt this time.

Cyrus

Reed stuffed the letter back into the envelope. The letter was dated yesterday.
"Incompent little fool, I could have used this yesterday, I doubt now I have much time." Reed muttered to herself, quite angry at the lateness of her letter. She finished the pint off and stormed out of the bar making her way to the Great Gate of Gondor. The night was as cold as it was dark Reed thought as she wrapped her black cloak tighter around her body.

[Manardariel]

Eorlyn walked outside on the porch. She clenged her fists, trying hard not to scream. How could he??? How could he do this to her? She was stunned. She was shoked.

"Eorlyn, please come here." A voice rang out of the house. Deep, inpatient. Patronizing.

"Yes, father?" she called back, totally the dutiful daughter he wanted her to be. But behind her forehead, her brain was working up an excuse to get out of here.

"Father, Nightmane may be foaling tonight. I´d like to check on her," she said. She had him, and she knew it. Her father was a true Rohirimm, and his horses were his prized property- his horses and his daughter. His daughter who, at the moment, was dissappearing into the dusk of Minas Tirith, walking to the stables.

Five minutes later, Eorlyn entered the stabels of the "Steward Cavalery Training Acadamy". It took her one look at the pregnant mare to see she wouldn´t be foaling untill next week. But, of course, she had been sure of that. Nightmane was merely an excuse, a beutiful and proud one, yet nevertheless an excuse to get off her father´s hands. Her father who had finally gone to far. Who had dared to choose a husband for her. And one she didn´t even know, let alone approve of! Eorlyn felt fury risng up with her again. What did he think she was, a prized horse he could sell to some rich bloke of his choosing?? Eorlyn knew she couldn´t go home and play dutiful daughter now. Instead, she walked over to her best friend´s house. She and Estel had known each other since childhood, and were like sisters to each other. Eorlyn was all set to tell her friend about her father, but it was Estel who had the bigger news.

"Guess what?" she exclaimed. "Naryion´s home!"

"Really??" Eorlyn was so delighted she forgot about her father this instant. Estel´s oldest brother, Naryion, was a ranger of Ithilien, and -to the girls- a welcome divertion from their usual lives.

After a wonderful night of tales and laughter, Eorlyn left. She grabbed her cloak, and only then saw a role of parchment with the seal of the steward. Couriously, she grabbed it. It was an order to Naryion. The girl´s eyes flew wide opn as she read it, and when she had finished, her mind was made up. Carefully making sure no one was looking, she grabbed the order and ran home.

Her room was dark, but for the small candle burning. She had survived her father´s tirade. Next to her foot she had a bundle of clothes, food, and her own sword. Now for the hardest part. Word by word, Eorlyn copied the order, careful to use a male, cold sort of handwriting. When she was done, she looked at it in a pleased sort of way. The order now read:

Eorlyn,

Report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before dawn tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be inside the gate. Speak to him for further instructions. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow as well as combat. Your normal wages will be tripled for the duration of your service. Further rewards will be forthcoming should you perform well. Horses
will be provided.

She decided not to add an empolyer. Her lips formed a half-smile at the words "further reward should be forthcoming". She would have her reward: an adventure out of the city. She would be rewarded.

In the middle of the night Eorlyn stole herself out of the house. She silently bade farewell to house and father. "I´ll be back soon," she wispered. Then she walked to the Great Gate.

[Orual]

"Almarien, this message just came for you. It's from the Steward."

Almarien looked up from where he sat, rocking his infant daughter, and saw his auburn-haired wife walking briskly to his chair. Her green eyes were worried, but also curious. A letter from the Steward was a rare occasion.

"Let me see," Almarien said softly, reaching for the letter. Talanna gave it to him, and he turned it over in his hands.

The royal seal. He exhaled slowly. He had only half-believed that it was truly from the Steward, but no one would dare to forge the seal. It was punishable by death. He fingered it, felt the wax, felt the markings. What could the Steward want with him?

He looked up at Talanna, whose eyes were begging him to open it. He did so.

"Sir-

You are ordered to report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before sunlight tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be in the inside of the gate. Speak to him for more orders. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow and combat. Horses will be provided.

Denathor, Steward of Gondor"

He sat back, stunned, for a long, silent moment. Talanna frowned at him. "Almarien, what does it say?"

Wordlessly he handed it to her, and stood up to go into his room. Reading it, she followed him.

"Tomorrow morning! Such short notice, Almarien! And combat? Has it come to that already? Oh, but it's the dead of winter. How--"

Gently laying the baby on the bed, Almarien put a finger on his wife's lips. "What must be, will be," he said softly. It was a phrase that Talanna used frequently. A single, hot tear ran down her cheek, and Almarien felt a matching one on his own face. "I need to pack."

So many things to prepare. He had to make sure that his sword was sharpened, that his bow was in good condition, that his boots were well-oiled and in proper shape. He ran a hand through his red hair. Such short notice.

He would have to tell his children good-bye. Six-year-old Talormé, who he had been teaching to shoot a bow. Four-year-old Alanai, who would watch, utterly absorbed, as Almarien sharpened his sword. And the twins, Talômi and Talmérië, who were just barely rolling over.

He touched the engraved sheath of his sword. His father's sword, and his father's father's. Just like the ring, it was an heirloom of his line. One day it would pass to Talormé. Would he live to see that day? Would he live to see the twins walk and talk?

He fiercely shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. It was not for him to question the Steward's decisions; it was for him to do his duties. And his duty was to be at the great gate of Minas Tirith, the very next day, before dawn.

And he would be there.

[Helkahothion]

Krosan walked trough the rugged bushes of Ithilien, keeping in mind the message he had been given. It was like it was yesterday when he got the letter that bore the seal of the white tower. Actually, it was yesterday. The letter had stated:

Sir Krosan Wayfarer,

You are ordered to report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before sunlight tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be in the inside of the gate. Speak to him for more orders. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow and combat. Horses will be provided.

Denathor, Steward of Gondor

He was so excited. It was two years since he had sworn loyalty to Gondor. And he was not forgotten. As the growing got thinner, he saw the great walls of Minas Tirith growing. It had always impressed them, the way they looked. Not even twenty Orc armies where going to break that thing down. Minas Tirith was surely the safest haven in whole of Middle Earth. Krosan wiped the black hair out of his face. He walked on, but his hair cought a branch. He took a piece of rope and tide it down. His long legs stepped to the gate and as he approached it, he could see the impressive walls towering above him. The wind cought his cloak and he rushed to the entrance. As he went to the gate, he saw others standing there. It appeared that he was not the only one who was not forgotten. He reported at the gate and soon afterwards, Sir Mindalel came walking out to greet the others.

[Ransom]

Shortly after the dawn of organized warfare, veterans the world over had developed certain skills to make military life easier. One of the first lessons involved flow of information, Let the officers worry about fighting the wary—information didn’t help a man when he was slogging through knee-deep mud on half rations. Unless your officer was completely incompetent, you would know who your foe was exactly when you needed to. Certainly the three Rangers knew something of the principle, thought Barak knew that the bowmen of Ithilien generally valued flexibility over strict tactical orthodoxy. The more experienced of five agents that the Order had assigned to him probably knew something as well, though their work generally took place in the city and not in the open countryside.

Each of the eight had trickled in before the deadline to select (and pack) a mount. Luckily, most had some experience with either traveling in the snow or traveling light. Noticeably missing was any sort of beast of burden. A small amount of rations had been placed in their saddlebags. Reasoning that such animals would slow the group down, Barak had decided to seek food and lodging at the villages south of Minas Tirith. After packing, the group had gathered around the brazier with the knight and Mara.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Sir Barak Mindalel. I trust that you all have your orders?”

A series of ayes and nods came from around the circle. The knight didn’t want to waste time checking the documents at the moment—that could wait until they stopped for the night. Three fresh heads adorned the gates this morning, a grisly reminder of the constant skirmishing of between Gondor and Mordor. Each had given information to the enemy about the military of Gondor, and each had paid the price for their folly. From their considerable experience, the Order had so far managed to keep the enemy from learning about the activities of Gondorian spies at home and abroad. Barak trusted the system. Everybody here had a reason to be here.

“Three days ago, three Errand Riders left the White Tower with documents vital to Minas Tirith’s survival. Each was to have arrived in Pelagar yesterday. None arrived at the appointed time. All had been commended at some time during their career for dependency, and each one knew the terrain fairly well.”

“Furthermore, the questioning of a few prisoners indicated that some…agents…of Mordor was operating in the area as recently as last week. We suspect that they were involved in the disappearance.”

Some of the more squeamish of the group shifted uncomfortably at the mention of questioning. It was widely rumored that such sessions were quite painful, but no one was particularly interested in delving deeper into the subject.

“We will ride south, passing through the various towns where the riders should have passed through on their final trip. We’ll try to make as much time as possible this morning, while the snow’s light. Introductions can wait for the trail or for the midday meal. Very well, mount up.”

The ten men and woman somewhat reluctantly left there comfortable positions about the fire and mounted their horses. A dozen or so guards unlatched the gigantic gate and began to push the two doors open. Within a few minutes, the guards were left alone to watch the cold and slumbering city.

[ May 09, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Manardariel]

Snow and cold air positively bit into Eorlyn´s face, making her shiver and shudder. Storm, as she had named her new mare, was running along fiercly, not being bothered by snow or wind. Eorlyn was enough of a Daughter of Rohan to tell they had been given prized horses. She looked around at her fellow riders. Most of them seemed in deep thought, probably brooding about what was awaiting them. Fools! What was to come would come, and for now the snow was all to worry about.

Looking for some conversation, Eorlyn led Storm nearer to a woman who seemed about her age.

"Hello" she said, pleasantly. The woman started studying her closely. It seemed to Eorlyn her piercing-blue eyes were going right through her. Spooky. Still, better spooky converation then no conversation. And with a half-hearted smile she looked at the woman.

"Uh... I´m Eorlyn, who are you?"

[ May 10, 2003: Message edited by: Manardariel ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

Darian arrived in Minas Tirith an hour before sunrise. It was a long journey but he had made it in good time. There were some people at the appointed place, but he decided that he would see the nearest inn and have a warm drink, before he set out again.

_____________________________________________

Now, he sat upon the horse that was given to him by Sir Mindalel. He looked into his saddlebags as he sat atop the beast, and he rummaged throught the rations. It looked pretty good, so he was satisfied.

The wind blew the cold snow into his face, so he pulled his cloak tighter around him and pulled his hood down over his face. He felt that the messengars had probably been ambushed by the enemy. Either orcs or traitors from Gondor. But it wasn't very possible that an orc raiding party could penetrate this far into Gondor without being seen and attacked. There was some treachery in this, he felt, that went deeper than his rank. This wouldn't be a seek-and-destroy misison, like what he had been doing in Ithilien with Captain Faramir. They would have to go about this quietly if they didn't want to have Mordor's eye on them.

[DayVampyre]

Reed had been riding in the fray for some time, eyes wandering around the others.

The snow was worrying her. She had not packed for the snow. Reed noticed that her horse's bridle was crooked. Leaning foward, Reed adjusted it and repostioned herself on the saddle.

"Uh... I´m Eorlyn, who are you?"

Reed looked up at the speaker. It was a young girl not unlike herself. She seemed to be of the friendly sort.

"Reed, Member of the Black Rose and trying to stay warm in this nice chill!"
She said, wrapping her black cloak more around her.

Eorlyn seemed to be a few years her junior, by how much though she couldn't quite say. She seemed to be ready for just about anything, sword, arrows, Reed just wondered if she was carrying a scimatar with her as well.

"How about yourself? What brought you out to face the wilds of winter?"

[Manardariel]

"Me?" Damnit, why hadn´t she thought of a good story earlier? She decided to tell her about half of the truth. "I am a student of Naryion, a noble Ranger. He is gravely ill and therefore asked me to go on this mission for him. I am to fill what should be his place in this quest."

Reed nodded. She seemed convinced. Eorlyn felt unsure to not have told her the truth, but she knew she couldn´t. Instead, she patted Storm´s flanks. "Fine horses, we´ve been given, aren´t they?" Reed nodded, and soon they were both involved in a converation about horses.

[ May 11, 2003: Message edited by: Manardariel ]

[Helkahothion]

Krosan rode along silently. He had no intention to talk to anyone. What he heared before was not a nice surprise. If traitors where within Gondor, it could be verily possible if one of these soldiers was a renegade as well. As he rode on, he saw two girls talk about the horses. They where right. It where fine animals indeed. He never had much use of horses and was used to walking. He had learned to ride one tough. It could always come in handy and now it proved so. He was not the best rider of the group. Not by a long shot. But he managed non the less. The ride was boring. He took out an arrow and poked the saddle a bit.

He was not sure what was supposed to be happening when they found the traitors. But he sure as hell hoped that they could kill them. If there was anything he hated, it where people that betrayed their own country. He was longing to snap one of their filthy neck's.

[*Varda*]

Ros rode silently alongside Reed and Eorlyn, only half hearing their talk about horses. She had little wish to get involved in any conversation, being unwilling to talk about herself to people she barely knew. Looking around the group, one of the men, who she thought she heard addressed as Krosan, seemed to share her views on this, paying little attention to anyone else.

With the snow whirling around her face, Ros shivered. She wasn’t well prepared for this journey, but she was sure she could handle herself. She could buy anything she needed when they stopped in the towns, she was sure. Keeping her head down, casting her hood over her face, she tried to protect herself from the snow.

[DayVampyre]

______________


"Well, horses are good and all, but what about when the trail gets too steep for them to be a good use?" Reed asked

"Let's hope that there aren't any then." Eorlyn said, laughing. "So, how did you get into the order? I thought you had to be, you know.." said Eorlyn trailing off, feeling that she may be getting into uncomfortable territory.

"I never said I wasn't, I'm a thief and I got caught."

"How did, what happened?" Eorlyn asked.

"Oh, you know, it was a big job and one of my partners double crossed the lot of us."

"What happened to the others?"

"I got into the order, they...they didn't," Reed said, turning her eyes away from Eorlyn and looking ahead on the path. Taking in a breath, she looked back at Eorlyn.

"What about this ranger that you took up for? What about him?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Rhys and Jisela rode next to each other, right behind a row of three women. Two were chatting about something or other, but niether of the siblings could hear their words. The snow whipped at their faces, and the flakes clung to anything it could. Rhys began to look as if he had aged twenty years, his dark head sprinkled with the icy substance. Jisela laughed at her brother when she saw him shake his head like a dog would to get the snow out of his head. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the snow off his head and neck.

"What are you laughing at?" Rhys grumbled, and rode forward a bit. Jisela sent her horse to trot and caught up with him.

"Oh! Did I upset you, big brother? You aren't going to cry, are you?" Jisela taunted jokingly. Rhys, however, did not see her joke to be very funny. Without warning, Jisela was shoved from her saddle and onto the ground. She quickly stood up, snow covering her body, and picked up a handful of snow. She tossed it at her brother, and hit him in the face. Jisela picked up another snowball and aimed for Rhys, but accidentally hit the man named Almarien in the back of the head. Jisela stood, eyes wide, waiting for Almarien to turn and yell. He only wiped the snow off his neck with rigid motions, and turned to see who had thrown the ball of snow. Jisela quickly jumped onto her horse and rode up to Almarien.

"I'm sorry, Sir! I didn't mean to hit you! I was aiming for my brother!" Jisela spoke quickly, worried the man would be angry at her for throwing the icy snow at him.

[Manardariel]

"The ranger. Oh, you see, he is my... my cousin and took me in about a year ago. That was when my father wanted me to marry a guy old enough to be my father. Naryion stood up for me and- " Stop it, girl, she told herself. She was getting tangled up in tales and lies.

Luckily, at that moment she was interrupted by a confusion behing her. She heard to swishs, turned around to see a snowball fly and hit another ranger on his head. She looked at Reed, and started giggeling slightly. While they watched the girl apologize, Eorlyn coun´t help thinking Who ever said adventures couldn´t be fun?

[Orual]

Almarien wiped the snow off of the back of his neck slowly and stiffly, then turned around a little as the girl, Jisela, rode up to him.

"I'm sorry, Sir! I didn't mean to hit you! I was aiming for my brother!" The girl's brown eyes were wide and anxious. Almarien twisted in his saddle to look at Jisela's brother, Rhys. He looked little less anxious than his sister. Almarien let a moment pass, then broke into a grin.

"It wasn't the worst snowball ever to hit my head. The balance was off. Look here." He dismounted quickly and gathered a handful of snow into his gloved hand, then quickly got back into his saddle. He formed a sphere in his hands quickly and deftly, and showed it to Jisela. "If you move your hands just so around the ball, it'll fly faster and hit harder. Of course, you only do it like that if you really mean to hit them, and want it to count." He grinned at Jisela's look of confusion. "I have four children at home. I've made more than a few snowballs in my time. I'm Almarien. You're Jisela, are you not? And your brother is Rhys." Almarien wiped the snow off of his glove, then extended his hand to Jisela.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jisela broke into a smile, and shook Almarien's extended hand. "Yes, I'm Jisela...and that imbecil over there is Rhys."

Jisela decided to take Almarien's advice, and carefully slid to the side of her saddle, extending her hand to grab a pile of snow. She formed the ball easily, and then held it in her left hand the way she thought Almarien had. "Like this?" She asked, holding the sphere up.

"Hmm. You're left-handed? Then, all you need to do is move these three fingers right here. There." Almarien corrected kindly, and Jisela grinned mischieviously towards Rhys, who was still dusting himself off. Jisela tossed the snowball, and it hit Rhys hard in the chest, just below his neck. Rhys fell backward off his horse, and Jisela had no way to tell whether it was because of surprise and shock, the power of her toss, or both.

"Wow. I didn't think it would work that well," Jisela spoke to Almarien, awed that such a little thing made of such soft snowflakes could knock a strong man like Rhys off his mount. Almarien chuckled.

"So, how old are your children?" Jisela asked the man, imagining Almarien chucking a snowball as she had just done at a little toddler.

"Lets see. Talormé is six, and Alanai is four. The twins are very young, but their names are Talômi and Talmérië." Almarien replied, and Jisela nodded.

"Such pretty names. And they're all so young!" Jisela commented, noting that Almarien must not be very old...probably a bit older than Rhys though. "They'll be fighting up a storm when they get a bit older though, I'll bet. Then they'll grow out of it and appreciate their siblings."

Jisela looked back at her brother, who got up out of a snow bank covered in white, like some sort of snow monster. He glared at Jisela, and leapt back onto his horse.

Rhys trotted up next to another man, whose name Rhys was unsure of. The man was silent, however, and did not acknowledge Rhys' approach.

"Hello, Sir. My name is Rhys...and you are?" Rhys extended a hand to the man who would soon identify himself as Krosan.

[DayVampyre]

"Heh, now if we could only fend of the real enemies just as easily, ay?" laughed Reed as she clapped Eorlyn on the back with one hand.


"They will be just as simply defeated though!" Said Eorlyn laughing pulling her horse ahead little bit. Reed rode up beside her.

"Don't take our foe lightly, I've made that mistake before and it cost me quite a bit."
Reed shivered a bit, the cold was getting to her.

"I think it's time for a little warm-up, what do you say?" Reed said as she pulled a bottle out of the leather saddle bags.

"Nothing like a bit of ale to heat up the spirits." She said taking a sip or two. She had begun to cork it, but then stopped and looked up to Eorlyn.

"Want a bit? I've got plenty." She said offering the bottle.

[ May 13, 2003: Message edited by: DayVampyre ]

[*Varda*]

Ros laughed to herself as she watched Almarien teach Jisela how to throw a snowball. It had been so long since she’d done it herself, fighting in the snow with her two brothers, who would invariably throw her down and pelt her with snowballs, until she screamed with laughter and begged for mercy. It seemed so long ago…

Feeling unfriendly in comparison to all the laughing and talking about her, she caught up with Reed and Eorlyn, and smiled slightly.

“Uh, hello,” she said, looking over at them. “I’m Rosanna.” With that she paused, unsure of what else to say or do. Perhaps she would have done better to keep to herself, despite what the others might have thought of her.

[DayVampyre]

Reed twisted around in her saddle to look at the voice's owner and she was a bit surprised. The young woman seemed to resemble Reed. Hiding her surprise to this, Reed said,

"Hello right back, I'm Reed and this is Eorlyn. Seems to be a bit cool out today doesn't it?"

Eorlyn laughed.

"So, Rosanna, right?" Eorlyn asked, "How did you wind up with us? Are you a Ranger as well?"

Reed could take one look at Rosanna's style of garb and be able to tell that she wasn't. Dressed in a similar style as Reed, she could tell. Rosanna was with the Order, but how she came to be was lost to Reed.

[ May 23, 2003: Message edited by: DayVampyre ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

He watched the others throwing snow at eachother. It was funny, watching them play like that. Darian, however, stayed out of it. After they were done, they were going to be cold with their wet clothes and hands from the snow.

He looked up at the front of the column. Sir Mindalel was leading them forward. Darian didn't know where they were going but he hoped that at the town they arrived at would have a nice inn to warm himself at. He decided that when that time came, he would get to know the others around a roaring fire and a mug of ale.

[Helkahothion]

"Hello, Sir. My name is Rhys...and you are?"

"Sir Krosan Wayfarer. You're sister does not seem to know the nose-filling-up rolling-snowball. Let me show you."

Krosan stepped of his horse and took a hand of snow which he formed just like Rhys had just been thought. He took his sword a bit out of his sheath and made shallow ridges in the ball. He placed his thumb and little finger in the cuts that where made on the side. Then he twisted his arm in a funny way resulting in his elbow almost touching his nose and his hand almost in his armpit. With a swift move, the arm went from the bizarre pose into a straight line and the ball was set of spinning like mad.
It struck Rhys' sister in the face. And Rhys found out what was so special about this technique.
Jisela kept snorting and coughing. Due to the speed of the ball, the snow had been twisted up her nose and down her throat. Rhys and Krosan laughed. Jisela did not seem so pleased. She did not seem to see the fun of it all. Krosan explained that he detested snowball fights. He thought it was childish.
"One of those ball's makes sure the fight is over" He said while still laughing.
Jisela was trying to get the snow out of her nose and was using a piece of her clothes to get her nostrils clean. Krosan held back a little and rode next to her. He gave her his hanky and an apology.
"And might our little snow devil have a name?" He asked politely when Jisela had removed the snow out of her nose.

[ May 17, 2003: Message edited by: Helkahothion ]

[ May 18, 2003: Message edited by: Helkahothion ]

[*Varda*]

Rosanna smiled at Reed and Eorlyn, seeing them to be friendly, and replied.

“Well, I wasn’t getting up to much in Minas Tirith, and when I got the message, a bit of adventure seemed interesting, despite a little dangerous. I’m not a ranger though, I haven’t even met one before now,” she said, laughing. “I’m not nearly skilled enough for that! I’m with the Order,” this being as much as she would reveal about herself to people she barely knew.

Wiping a bit of stray snow from her face, Ros continued.

“I could ask the same of you. How did you two come to be with this group?”

[ May 17, 2003: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jisela continued to sneeze despite Krosan's inquirey. She did not expect in the least to have her simple snow fight come spiraling back her way. But that was the way with Jisela...always getting what she least expected.

"Jisela," the girl answered distantly as she shook hands with him. Jisela reddened a little - she hated her hands. They were bruised and cut in several places, one or two fingers were still healing from sprains. The wounds were the results of many fist fights and jabbing rounds.

"Krosan Wayfarer. Sorry to have met you on such...icy grounds," The man replied, though he obviously found the results of his shot quite funny.

"Yes, well, if that is the way the ice must be broken, so be it. Most men I meet find their place on the ground after the first punch," Jisela informed Krosan in a tone that was rather matter-of-fact. Krosan nodded and slowed his horse until he returned in pace with Rhys.

"Your sister is a bit...cocky, if I do say so myself." Krosan admitted, perhaps annoyed by the girl's arrogance.

"She gets it from years of giving men twice her size black eyes. But I still hope someday someone will teach her a lesson about being a braggart," Rhys replied, glad to see that the snowball gave his sister a taste of her own medicine.

"Now sir Krosan, what do you think about the recent news about all the traitors of Gondor?" Rhys questioned, wishing to know of someone else's take on the current happenings within the realm.

[Helkahothion]

"Now sir Krosan, what do you think about the recent news about all the traitors of Gondor?"

"This news is very disturbing. It is scaring me that people that life in the city for a long time, where working for the enemy. For all I know you could be one."

Krosan talked silent. He did not mean to alarm anyone. At this moment, he was not suspecting anyone. But he promised himself that he would keep his eyes open. As the day was speeding away, he rode on to Jisela's side. He was amused by the girl. She seemed to think she was one hell of a warrior. Krosan just had to see about that. As he rode next to her, the girl did not even look at him. Krosan did not mind. He enjoyed the silence and sometimes glanced over to the girl. He was surprised to see that she was evading his look and tried to look un interested. He bowed over with his head near her ear and whispered:

"How long do you think you can keep this up?"

[ May 18, 2003: Message edited by: Helkahothion ]

[DayVampyre]

Reed smiled.

"I thought that you might be!" She said happily, "So am I, I was afraid that there would only be rangers on this walking party." She reached out her hand and Ros shook it.

"It's pretty much the same with me, Cyrus sends me a letter to go and here I am. Although I wish he had waited a little longer to send it. Not that I mind traveling though the cold and the snow."

Reed said rolling her eyes.

[Manardariel]

Eorlyn laughed at Reed´s dramatic gesture. While the two women inclined each other in a conversation about The Order of the Black Rose, Eorlyn´s thoughts strained back home. She wondered if her father had already alarmed half the city, including Steward and marshalls. He would never suspect her here, and even if he did- secrecy and speed seemed to be their plan, and Eorlyn was more than fine with that. Right now, she could use some conversation though. She looked around. The brother of the "Snow-Ball Girl" seemed nice enough. She carefully let Storm approach him, trying to make it look not to desperate.

"Hello," she said, when she was finally at his side. Smiling pleasantly, she waited for a response.

[ May 18, 2003: Message edited by: Manardariel ]

[Ransom]

In part because of the difficulties caused by her inability to talk, Mara had always preferred the company of Barak. He was the only person in Middle Earth that understood her various moods, and probably the only person in Gondor who understood her history well enough to comfort her. The knight knew well enough to buy her exactly what she wanted for her birthday. No small feat, considering she had never dropped him any hints in writing. This relationship didn’t only benefit Mara, though. Because he was certain of her loyalty, Barak had shared many of his fears and dreams with her. She had watched as he had sat awake long after midnight, a glass of wine in hand, reminiscing over the times he had spent with a slain comrade. It had been the first time she had ever seen him cry.

While the thick gray clouds still obscured the sun, a gradual change of shading seemed to indicate that it was nearly noon. The white expanse of the Pelennor fields had given way to thin forests on the right side of the road. Mara could see number of small farms on the left side of the road. Without doubt, the murders could not have occurred here. No errand rider rode at night, and the farmers would probably have raised the alarm in case of an attack. Pulling next to the silent Barak, she began to search the woods for any signs of life. Unlike Barak, who often had to engage in the bothersome activity of talking, she could focus solely on watching for any hidden ambusher. As if on cue, she caught sight of a figure wrapped in an old, brown cloak to the right. Quickly bringing her mount to a halt, she leapt off into the four inches of snow that had collected on the road. Pluffy, her cat, was surprised at the sudden changes in its mistress’s directions and jumped out of Mara’s hood with an angry yowl.

Barak quickly drew his axe before turning back to the other. “Halt and weapons out.”

Whatever the identity of the cloaked figure, Mara was fairly sure it was incredibly stupid or incredibility smart. She crouched low and silently drew her Schlaeger before creeping toward the stump. In a sudden burst of speed, she jumped to the side of the stump and extended the weapon in front of her. The figure yelped in fright as it suddenly realized that it was trapped between a sharp blade and the tree trunk.

“Don’t ‘urt me, please! I ain’t got no money.”

Barak peered over the stump from the back of his warhorse. “It’s alright, Mara. You’re the innkeeper’s son, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. ‘twas just enjoying the snow, sir. Pap had to go ‘cross town and ma said ol’ Thom could play in the forest, sir”

In his years of service, Barak had learned that the numbers of sirs in a sentence increased with the amount of unease experienced. The knight nodded at Mara before loudly sheathing his axe. “You can put your blade away now. No need to skewer the boy. Why was your father traveling across town in the snow?”

“One o’ the farmers sent ‘is boy over to da inn. Said he’d found one of pap’s horses wanderin’ through the field without da rider.”

Mara glanced at Barak curiously as she returned her blade to its sheath. Could the errand rider’s mount have returned to its home stable after its rider was killed?

Chuckling in feigned amusement, the knight tossed a small gold coin to the boy. “Run ahead and tell your mother that there will be ten guests for the noon meal. A private room if one’s open.”

Waiting until the boy was out of earshot, Barak turned to the rest of the group. “Well, that changes things quite a bit. We’ll eat the midday meal at the inn before riding to the next town. If no one saw the riders there, we know that they were killed around here. Now let’s move. The quicker, the sooner we’re out of the snow.”

[ May 18, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Hello," came a voice from next to Rhys. The man nearly jumped in surprise, not having noticed that someone had been next to him. The girl who had spoken was a skinny little waif, blond-haired with dark green eyes. Her stature and presence was enough to tell Rhys that she was a child of the Rohirrim, or her kin were.

Just as the girl had spoken, the leader of their little group called out for a halt and for weapons to be drawn. Little was actually done to heed this, and most stared in curiosity as a slightly stooped figure in a brown cloak waddled by. The situation was soon taken care of, rest and noontime meal announced, and Rhys was able to return to a conversation with the girl.

"Hello there. I'm Rhys. And you are?" Rhys took the girl's hand and shook it gently. She seemed quite fragile as if she was made of glass. Why is she here?

"Eorlyn!" The girl suggested in a cheery voice, despite the drab weariness that the weather usually brought to folk.

"Well Eorlyn, why might you be joining us? Where from?" Rhys inquired, hoping he would receive an answer.

Meanwhile, Jisela said naught in response to Krosan's question. I'll show you how long I can keep it up. I'll keep it up as long as I feel like it! Jisela thought bitterly. They rode next to each other in silence for another few minutes, until Krosan sighed and turned to Jisela, who had been trying to avoid the man.

"How long, did you say?" Krosan asked, as if he might have received a previous answer and hadn't heard it, or thought he'd get an answer out of her this time.

Jisela had the distinct urge to punch Krosan in the face, and let that be that. Instead, Jisela just smiled sweetly, feeling ever so clever, and turned to Krosan.

"What do you mean, sir?" Jisela asked, and then pointed out into the distance on the other side of Krosan. Krosan turned to see what Jisela had gestured to, and in that split second Jisela swooped down from her horse and grabbed a handful of snow. When Krosan turned back around, he received a hail of powdery snow in his face. Jisela turned away immediately and began to whistle innocently.

"I wonder how the food will be at the inn," Jisela mused, ignoring the fact that Krosan had snow all over his face.

[Helkahothion]

"I wonder how the food will be at the inn,"

"I guess I had to see that one coming. Well at least where even. The food? I hope a little less chilly than this snow." Krosan said while wiping the snow out of his face and smiling at Jisela.

Jisela smiled back. The man had obviously not been mad. Krosan rode on for a while and the group entered the town. As they approached the inn, the boy was already awaiting them. Inside, a table was served. They all sat down and breathed heavily. The snow had done nobody any good. The snowballs had been fun, but also icy cold. Krosan was glad to be inside. A table was served and Krosan took a place next to Jisela.

[ May 20, 2003: Message edited by: Helkahothion ]

[Ransom]

In all of its sixty-five year history, the village of Hoplad had never expanded past a two-dozen buildings. Originally, the town had consisted of the battered inn, Soldier’s Rest, and a few scattered farms spread throughout the countryside. The innkeeper during the reign of Ecthelion II, a shrewd businessman named James Gidland, had convinced a number of merchants to resettle near his venue. Besides serving the needs of the local farmers, the trade caravans hauling goods up from the port city of Pelargir often needed the skills of blacksmiths and carpenters to keep their carts in working order. However, even the little hamlet had not been spared from Denathor’s mobilization for war. Most of the young men in Hoplad and the surrounding countryside had been drafted into the army. Furthermore, a number of fresh mounts had been housed in the Rest’s stables to provide fresh mounts for the errand riders.

The current owner of the Soldier’s Rest had elected to adorn the walls of the common room with a weapons and armor. While many a suit of armor sat gathering dust on the walls of the inn, the weapons had been wisely confined to the area directly behind the counter. Thom, his errands completed, sat in a corner playing with a wooden sword while his mother busied herself wiping the counter. Barak and his companions, no doubt, would inspire no small amount of gossip for traveling on such a miserable day. But for now, the group ate a quick meal of bread, cheese, and several slabs of beef leftover from last night’s dinner.

With a bang and a sudden blast of wind, the door of the inn suddenly opened to admit Charles Gidland. The most recent member of the merchant Gidland family and proprietor of the Soldier’s Rest inn was a short, forty year old man experiencing the gradual loss of hair that came with his age. While not especially heavy, there was still ample evidence that Charles was not in the best physical shape. Grasping a long, thing case not unlike the map cases used by Gondorian generals in one hand, he took one look around the room before quickly dashing toward Barak.

“Sir, you wouldn’t be happening to be traveling to Minas Tirith, would you?”

Barak calmly set down a piece of bread before standing and turning to the nervous innkeeper. “Perhaps, master innkeeper, or perhaps not. What would catch your attention as to drag you outside in this horrible weather?”

“One of the farmers outside town found one of the military horses wanderin’ through the fields this mornin’. One of the riders switched off two days ago on the same mount, but ‘e didn’t come back. There’s some blood on the saddle, but the poor beast’s only a bit cold. I know the messengers carry their messages in a little case, so I took it back ‘ere to give to the next messenger out. I haven’t touched it, honest!”

The knight took the map case from the man and examined the wax seal. While the material was slightly cracked, the seal of the Steward was still quite visible. “Thank you, master. I’m sure you’ll be commended for your…wisdom…in this matter. If you would, please load a day’s travel rations into our mounts. We’ll be leaving after the noon meal.”

After waiting for the man to leave, Barak quickly sat down and broke the seal. The Rangers in the group looked on with a mix of surprise and curiosity, in part because opening a message with the Steward’s seal was punishable by death. The knight scanned the message for a moment before quickly replacing the documents into the case.

“It appears that we have found one of the three messages. The rider’s mount wasn’t injured or captured, which suggest that our rider was taken by surprise while on the road. Arbrook’s the next village, a day’s ride south. Possibly long enough for his mount to make it back to its stable.”

“Suggestions, observations, or questions? Bear in mind that the storm is probably keeping whoever ambushed the riders in the area for the moment.”

[ May 22, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[*Varda*]

Having eaten a large meal of the bread, cheese, and beef, Ros leaned back in her chair, her hair falling over her eyes that were closed for a moment. She was then hastily awakened by a loud bang, saw the door swinging open, and a short, balding man hurried in, looking around before rushing over to Barak.

There was a brief conversation between the two men, and Rosanna listened attentively, her hazel eyes widening as she heard of the horse coming back, yet her spirits dropped slightly as she realised they would be leaving so soon, back into the coldness of the winter snow. Hiding this, she turned her attention back to Barak, in time to hear his final question;

“Suggestions, observations, or questions? Bear in mind that the storm is probably keeping whoever ambushed the riders in the area for the moment.”

The table was silent. Ros paused a moment, then asked a question.

“Wouldn’t it be a sensible idea to ask around the area a little? Discreetly, of course, but it could help us to get some kind of picture of what these attackers look like.”

[DayVampyre]

Reed glanced over at Ros. What she had proposed seemed agreeable enough. Reed stood, her chair scraped against the wooden floor.

"I agree with Rosanna. We are not too large of a group, but seeing as the utmost discretion is needed, I think a small band of us should go find out what we can."

"And how large would this 'band' be ?" Barak asked. This had been the first time that he had addressed Reed point blank.

"Perhaps about four, I don't know, I am no military planner."

"Then don't speak like one" Barak said, "And how will you be asking these questions?"

"Well, I don't plan on walking up and going 'Have you seen any weird happenings'?" Reed said, now a little hasty and irrated.

"You plan on being one of the group then?"

"I didn't say that"

"You practically did, you're Reed aren't you? I've heard of you," Barak said shaking his finger at Reed.

"Good for you" Reed interjected and then quickly added "Sir" onto the end of her sentence.

"If you really think this is a good idea, then I'm sure there are a few others whom share your opinion," Barak said and then addresses the entire group, "Well, are there?"

[ May 22, 2003: Message edited by: DayVampyre ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

Darian looked up from his bowl of beef stew. With a full mouth, he watched as a man rushed in and addressed Barak. The man had a carrying case, which was for messages. It looked as if it was one of those that carried special messages, like ones from royalty.

The conversation between Barak and the man confirmed his supsicions. It was the case that the errand rider carried with him. It was unopened, which he thought was unusual. If the attackers were spies wouldn't they want to read the message? Not if they already knew what it said, Darian thought.

He listened to Reed put up her suggestion, and Barak basically shoot it down.

"If you really think this is a good idea, then I'm sure there are a few others who share your opinion," Barak said. "Well, are there?"

Darian swiped a bread roll through his soup and took a bite. This was pretty good stuff. After this was all over, he would make sure he visited this inn again.

"I do," he said. The others looked at him. Some were surprised that he had spoken. Probably because he was quite during their trip up here.

"Its a pretty good idea, similar to some tactics that I've used in Ithilien. In Ithilien, we split up and find targets to hit-either orc bands on scouting missions or companies of Southrons heading for the Black Gate. Once a target is found, the Ranger that found the target then alerts the rest and we scout ahead on the trail and set up an ambush. Its as simple as that."

"What we can do here is split up. The only thing that I would change about Reed's plan is the group part. I'd say half of us head out into the countryside and look for clues. Question anybody that we can find. They will go alone, so as to not raise suspicion, and that will make the person they are questioning not feel as if they are in some sort of trouble. The other half stays here in town. They will see if any strange characters came through town, inquiring about the errand rider.

"But, as its been stated, we need to be discreet about it. If we raise suspicion about ourselves, we could get into trouble. Those that are attacking the errand riders will now try to hinder us, if they know about our mission."

Darian looked at the others, particularly at Reed. As the others began talking it over, he looked at Reed and nodded. He hoped that his genuine confirmation of her plan would break the ice between them. He looked at the table, but there were no rolls left. He still had plenty of soup, but no rolls.
He turned at saw a worker of the inn, waiting tables.

Darian signaled the worker.

"Friend, can we have some more rolls?"

[DayVampyre]

Reed sat back down in her seat for a few moments. She looked over at the man who had spoken for her, just a few minutes ago. He was being given a small plate of rolls. Reed wondered who he was. She looked down at her own meal, but was not feeling the pangs of hunger much any more.

She glanced quickly in Barak's general direction. He seemed to be discussing something with the people immediatly around him and Reed did not hope too much that it was the plan that Ros had voiced and that she had supported.

One more look to the ranger that seemed to hold a bit of sway with the qroup. Who, had now quietly resumed his soup and rolls, taking in all that was going on and being said around him.

Reed discreetly got up and left the table. The ranger seemed to be one of the few that took notice of her leave.

The inn, although old and tired, housed a cosy feeling. One could feel safe here, even if the whole rest of Middle-Earth were plunged into chaos. Reed walked over to a small stone fireplace. The flames crackled and danced as she stared into them. Almost hypnotic. There were a few chairs gathered about the fire and Reed took full advantage of being able to sit and it not be moving or hard and leathery.

She played with the top bottons of her black cloak for a bit and then took it off, slinging it over the back of the chair. Even though her shirt was short sleeved, she quite warm. Slipping the small bottle out of her cloak's pocket, Reed took a few sips, being careful to not over indulge on the strong contents within. She had just put it away when presently,

"Nothing quite like a fire and a warm inn to make one forget the snow storm outside."

[Manardariel]

Eorlyn watched Reed dissapear. If she wanted to be alone, fine. The girl shrugged and turned towards Rhys.

She glanced at him through her eyelashes. He was rather handsome. Bright, dark eyes, and a rather open face. He reminded Eorlyn of one of those heroes in the old tales- silent, friendly. Eorlyn smiled at his dark eyes that were glancing over to his sister. He seemed worried about his sister. Eorlyn could just tell how much he cared about her.

He noticed her sit down. His expression brightened a bit, as he looked at her couriously. Eorlyn "accidently" swished her hair back, making her braids fall deep into her face. She know she looked beautiful.
She loved that feeling.

"We weren´t able to finish our conversaion," she smiled at him. "My name is Eorlyn. I am the student of a ranger. I come here in his name. May I ask what your story is?"

[ May 23, 2003: Message edited by: Manardariel ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

He wiped the last of the rolls through the gravy-like remains of the stew. Ahhh, delicious. He was surely going to visit this homely inn again. Darian watched as Reed got up and took a chair by the fire. The others made no more suggestions. Except, they talked amongst themselves and dispersed throughout the inn. He decided to get up and go introduce himself to Reed. The young woman sat with her back toh im as she sat mesmorized by the fire. With her cloak off, he saw top of a tattoo that was on her neck-a tattoo of a rose.

"Nothing quite like a fire and a warm inn to make one forget the snow storm outside," he said as he approached her.

She turned and smiled a bit as his comment.
"Yes," she said. "This is a nice little inn."

Darian took a chair that was next to Reed, and relaxed. "My name is Darian, Ranger of Ithilien."

"Thanks for supporting me, Darian," she said.

"Don't mention it. It's a good idea, one that I hope Barak considers," he replied. "So, I see your in the Order of the Black Rose."

"Yeah. They...got me out of trouble," Reed said. Darian sensed a little hesitation, so he decided not to persue it.

This time, Reed spoke. "How does it go in Ithilien?"

"Not bad, except our forces there cannot stem the flow of forces into Mordor. The men there have been fighting valiantly, but there are not enough of us. Captain Faramir knows that an attack on Osgiliath is inevitable."

"I wish I could be there. The Order, however, has appointed me here," Reed said.
"Is there a lot of action?" she asked.

"Yes, plenty of it. But it is never easy being under the eye of Mordor."

As the rest of the company settled down, Darian and Reed sat in the comfortable glow of the fire, and talked of experiences past and experiences to come.

[ May 23, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]