[Kransha]

Idruil hummed the tune of a song quietly to himself, scratching nonchalantly at the stubble around his beard. He sniffed the air, letting the cornucopia of smells fill him. The mélange was not particularly savory so he continued, gently kicking the haunches of his steed. He goaded the horse to the side, tugging on the reins to turn him. He proceeded down the angled streets of Minas Tirith, occasionally glancing up at the upper levels and sighing, then returning his gaze to whatever empty patch of street lay directly ahead of him.

His eyes looked up from beneath the tattered red hood to see the other people on nearby. Many were on foot, and some were rudely staring at him. He dismissed them, not caring who noticed him or what they thought of him. That never mattered to Idruil, others’ opinion. He only cared for his own needs and how they related to him. Some would call that selfish, but he considered it minding his own business. He didn’t need to get involved with other people unless they had something he wanted. He didn’t need money, although he often worked for it, and he didn’t need glory, which he had plenty of. All he wanted or needed right now was something to do and he intended to find just that.

The horse-mounted figure, hazel colored eyes half closed and scanning the area around him, contemplated and mused as his slightly rough voice continued the song. It was a wearily sung song, related by Idruil with little enthusiasm. It was a verse he’d learnt from chauvinistic warriors in Minas Tirith about “this great and wonderful land,” as they’d called it. A quant piece, not particularly good, but Idruil wanted to get his mind off of pointless nostalgia that was filling it.

”There is light on the hilltops, and light in the trees.
There is white in the city of Gondor, of Gondor!

When the sun hits the mountains, when the stars hit the sea,
There is white in the city of Gondor, of Gondor!
There is light in the cities of Gondor!”

Riding aimlessly had grown tiring now and Idruil resolved to get some exercise on his own two feet, rather than the four of a horse. The slow-moving steed halted and snorted impatiently as he swung his legs over its side and narrowly avoided falling off. He dusted himself off for no particular reason, as if cleansing himself of some grime that no one else could see, and grabbed the horse’s reins again with one hand. He staggered forward weakly, getting used to using his legs again and walked on, still as aimless as ever, through the streets with the horse close behind. Perhaps he could find some place to sit down and get a drink, which he sorely needed. He headed towards another clump of city buildings, talking to himself under his breath, and walked towards the foremost one. It was a large whitewashed structure, made of what looked like a single slab of burnished marble. To Idruil, all of the buildings on Minas Tirith’s seven levels where the same and he’d long ago grown bored. Many would scoff on his dismissal of the White City’s beauty, but he didn’t care for aesthetics. He looked up at the gentle sunlight bathing the Tower of Ecthelion, which loomed far above him, and the levels below him. He had to admit it was quite a sight to behold, but it had little architectural or colorful diversity. He preferred Pelargir and Linhir to this city, though this was considerably grander.

He found a small hitching post beneath a frail awning and swiftly tied his horse’s reins to it. He honestly didn’t care what happened to the horse, considering it wasn’t his. It brayed noisily as he turned around and walked briskly away, not knowing if he’d bother to come back for the steed. He picked up the pace for no apparent reason and walked beneath several more awnings and protruding roofs towards the wider road, which led to bigger and better things. Or at least he fervently hoped it led to bigger and better things.

He came to one of the few buildings in the vast city which he knew well; the Military Archives of Minas Tirith. He had seen or heard of other famous structures, like the Tower of Ecthelion itself and the Houses of Healing, but he was not familiarized with the layout of the seven levels, after being away in Lossarnach and Lebennin for a considerable amount of time. He looked up at the structure and assessed it with his cold eyes. He wandered around it, admiring the sternly set walls and various ornaments. He’d always wondered what it was like inside there, considering how much he enjoyed reading those stories and comparing him to his own humble tales. Of course, the archives were off limits, and heavily guarded.