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Idruil practically jumped up from where he sat idly on the ground. He heard all the quick-spoken discourse as it played out between the other group members. He, at first, was primarily unsure of his place in all this. So far, it appeared that Maen, with some others, would be proceeding away from the oncoming persons who were trailing the entire company. Atharen and Roryn had volunteered themselves to stay behind and keep these illicit folk at bay, but Ferethor and Delphinious apparently also desired to remain and hold off the Haradrim from reaching their leader. There was more then a little tension risen in the air, except, of course, for that jovial fellow, Delphinious, who seemed remarkably aloof to what was going on.
Idruil, bringing a rough-hewn hand to the cold steel of his hilt, stepped forward into the area where the group was most congregated. He did not know his place here, considering his seeming sudden arrival in this motley society of allies. The man of Minas Tirith had his only hope upheld, to meet all battle that came to him and do what he could for the future’s lore. He planned on accomplishing that goal.
“Ranger,” he said, with a blunt persistence in his gruff voice, “I too will stay. I have been thrust late into this company and I still know little of you, but I will stay true to this mission and see that it is fulfilled. I believe my sword may be useful to you and indeed I plan to use it if this situation comes to that. I trust you will not deny me this request, since it is my profuse desire to help this cause as best I can. If you will not have my sword you may reject its use at your discretion, but otherwise, let me remain and do my part.”
He firmly grasped the steel with one gloved hand, grabbing the reins of his steed, Ecthelion, with the other. He pulled the beast gently sideways, preparing to leap as nimbly as weathered legs could carry him into the saddle and do what he could. He realized, to some dismay and irritation, that he had not drawn a blade in true combat for years now. The last time he had done so was to negotiate with a pair of unruly hoodlums, hardly a fight worthy of tales. He suddenly found his mind scanning over every memory of combat, re-learning the art to his own satisfaction so he could at least attempt to hold his own in open battle.
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