A Ride to the Dark Side--RPG

[Airerûthiel]

Ælfritha sighed heavily as she continued to search for the pack horse's scattered wares. There seemed to be precious little good light left, and she needed as much of it as possible to collect the goods as they lay divided. 'Every little strange misfortune that befalls us on this journey puts another distance between the thieves and ourselves,' she thought to herself as she collected a parcel of medicinal herbs and placed them with the motley arrangement of other fallen items.

Suddenly, the noise of one in slumber was brought to her ears from behind a nearby rock. She walked slowly and carefully towards the stone, not knowing if what lurked behind it was friend or foe. Her breathing seemed to grow louder to her own ears with every step she took, and her heartbeat doubled its pace every time, sending a dizzy sensation to her mind as she tried to consistently exercise control over her ever-greatening trepidation.

The figure that lay behind the stone, wrapped in a blanket and a ragged travelling cloak, was male and at the irresponsible point in his young life that falls between childhood and the coming of age. He looked strangely ethereal, and yet almost too human for his own good. "The child of two races," whispered Ælfritha as her eyes perused the appearance of the young figure. He had hair of a colour rarely seen in Middle-earth, a sort of golden-red, as a flame might look in the first ray of dawn's light, and a face that seemed as though he carried cares of one years older than he.

Reaching carefully out to see whether the perfectly still figure had not chosen to cross into the Undying Lands at this time, Ælfritha gently laid her fingers upon the hem of the half-Elf's cloak. Without warning, he leapt up and partially drew his sword. "What business do you have in the Riddermark?" asked Ælfritha as she staggered backwards slightly, unnerved at the young one's boldness.

"My business is my own, and yet you and your party share it," he replied, his eyes staring icily out at the horse-seller. When he next spoke, his voice was humbler, meeker, as a child who knows he has done wrong. "I seek the ones who took the horses from the stable at the White Horse. 'Tis twice the blow for me, for not only does it greviously wound the otherwise excellent reputation of Bethberry, the innkeeper whom I worked for there, but one of the horses they chose to take belonged to my mother, and me in my turn."

"What is your name, child?" asked Ælfritha, feeling a strange sympathy towards this stranger, who although fierce in words became more servile in actions. "And what of your mother, and your history? Why do you ride upon the back of her horse?"

"I am Maikadurion of Ithilien, son to Orowethwen of Mirkwood and Théomer son of the lands of Men," he replied, "and I ride upon my mother's horse for he is all I have to prevent her image from passing into the world of shadow, there to be forever forgotten. Until the name of my father and my house is restored to its former glory, I will not rest to hold my family's legacy together, and I fear neither pain nor death."

"Greetings, Maikadurion. I am Ælfritha, and my business with this party is simple - four of the horses those thieves took from the stable of she who you served under were mine, some of the finest in all Rohan, and on their way to be sold to another. But for the moment I am a little preoccupied with collecting the wares of a pack horse of this party, which we lost not long ago. Would you be so kind as to help me collect them?"

"It would be a great honour," replied the half-Elf, bowing low as he rose from his position. "I believe that this may well belong to you anyway." He offered out the blanket he had spent the previous night earning some rest in after his collapse earlier that day, due to his virtual non-stop running to catch up to the party.

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]