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Old 06-16-2004, 07:57 PM   #260
Hilde Bracegirdle
Relic of Wandering Days
 
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Menecin

Menecin made wide search of the area, in which he sought for some sign of Naiore or of his daughter, before circling back toward the stream, creeping silently among the trees, as was his wont from his days of soldiering in Gil-Galad forces. He had searched for Naiore once since that time, and flinched revisited by the vision of the many orcs that had bore down on him, imagining them to be at hand once again. The same single-minded desire flowing strong through his veins, the urgent sense the he must find her and free her, pervading his thoughts. Only now it was not Naiore, but her daughter that he sought. This was his duty, and a thing he again felt compelled to do.

For even in the dawn of the Third Age, when Naiore Dannan was thought a trader by many, having fought beside Sauron against the alliance, he along with a some others had sought her out, believing that it was not of her own free will that she had done what had been attributed to her. Then he had not abandoned her, as her parents had done, leaving behind their shame as they sailed westward. He would not forsake her in her bleak circumstances. Even now, though she had tried to kill him in Ithilien, he knew he must somehow try to bend her will once again or else break her, though surely either might die in the attempt, for well he knew of her murderous intent.

But there was the matter of Vanwe. In earlier days he had easily cast aside his life at court to find Naiore, but this was his daughter and he could not leave her, or have her witness that which he saw as necessary. And she should not, having only just found her parents lose them again to wander Middle-Earth alone, once again.

Thinking these thoughts, Menecin followed the water walking among the deep shadows of the trees, hidden even from the stars, until he came to a place where the current became broad and slow. And there carefully hiding himself amidst the darkness, he sat watching closely for those who might wish to ford the water, and also eyeing the steep sides of the valley for those he searched for. But none came, save two men and a horse that moved slowly through the gloom, along the bank toward him. And seeing from a short distance that the one, a ranger by the look of him, wore an orc’s sword at his side as well as one more suitable to him, Menecin stood up in the darkness to greet them.

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Rauthain

After discussing the matter with several of the rangers staying in Imladris, Rauthain learned of a trustworthy fellow soon bound for more northerly terrain, and who was willing to pass through the Ettenmoors before making his way westward. And Rauthain had, over a lengthy supper arranged for Juta to be taken back to his rightful owner, as soon as this traveler had prepared himself to leave. That they had reckoned to be in a few days’ time. And so Rauthain in his eagerness to settle this business, thought to see to state of the horse though the hour grew late, and to determine if Juta was indeed sound enough for the journey back. For the old ranger would not have his friend think that any harm had come to the animal entrusted to his care, and the gentle beast had done his service well.

At last entering the stables, the two men passed through the corridors that held the tall and proud horses of the elves, who snorted at them and stamped in the lamp light, until at last Avanill called to Rauthain, saying that he had found Juta in a dark corner of the stables far from the other mounts that lodged there. Grabbing an oil lamp from off its stand, the ranger held it in front of him to gain a better view. “What a site you are, my friend,” Rauthain pronounced under his breath as he drew near, for the horse was heavily mud flecked, with all manner of chaff entangled in his hair. “Then again, I suppose that same might rightly be said of me, if you could but speak.” He joked, sliding open the stall’s door to pass inside.

As he patted and swept the dusty brown shoulder removing the lose dirt, Juta swung his head around to study the ranger with one large brown eye, and swiftly turned back again swishing his tail as he heard the door close and Avanill lean against it. “You know, you might stand a better chance of finding a fresh horse if you showed that you knew how to take proper care of one,” Avanill advised the ranger, amused. “The both of you look as though have been camping in Midgewater Marsh.”

Rauthain squatted down easily, checking Juta’s hooves for signs of damage. “Yes well, we have not been keeping to the roads or sleeping in comfort. Neither have I had idle time,” he said grinning as he stood up, feigning an attempt at picking out burrs in the dim light. “And my attention was not to be spared for such things, for I have had to keep one eye on my traveling companion so that he might not stray. But now it is a different matter, true?” The old ranger not waiting for a reply, squinted looking around the stall, “I could use a little more light than this dim spot affords. Perhaps you would accompany me and share your appraisal of Juta’s appearance if not your help, so that as you suggest we that we might acquire decent animals and that more quickly.”

Handing the lamp to Avanill, the old ranger drew the horse from it’s stall and once in the passage, began rapidly cleaning its mane with a well practiced hand, and the tail also he swiftly uncluttered, as Avanill held aloft the light. After finishing this, Rauthain led Juta outside, picking up a brush along the way. And Juta, no longer hemmed in by walls, held his head higher, listening attentively to the sounds of the night. Setting down the lamp by the door, Avanill followed along as the ranger headed toward the river, little more than a broad stream at this point, but very swift. Walking upstream, Rauthain looked by starlight for a calm pool in which to bathe the horse, but had to go some way before at last he saw a spot where the water flowed wide over the unyielding stone. But he sensed something amiss, and as he looked about, his hand moved to his belt, the sound of Avanill unsheathing his sword echoing nearby. The thought that the orcs might have found some other route to this place flickered quickly through his mind. And seeing movement among the trees, Rauthain brandished a sword quickly, but was unexpectedly met not by the clash of metal, but rather by a calm greeting in the ancient tongue of the Quendi.

Immediately, the ranger lowered his blade aghast to find he had drawn not his own that lay newly sharpened at his side, but the far more sinister sword of orcish make that he had taken up when he traveled alone. “I am heartily sorry,” he said apologetically, beginning to discern the shape of a tall elf among the shadows. “We have but only today come from battle, and I have not yet forgotten that orcs would threaten this sanctuary. I am Rauthain son of Hauthain, one of the King’s rangers,” he said with a short bow. “And this if you will, is Avanill, who has fought bravely in the defense of Imladris this day.” Stepping forward and sheathing his sword once again, the younger man nodded, acknowledging the elf’s presence.

“It is good that you remain on your guard, for there is more at hand than merely the orcs,” the voice deep yet rich replied. “Though I have seen no one other than yourselves the many hours I have watched this place.”

Wondering if he spoke of the Ravennor, Rauthain studied this stately one who stood motionless among the trees. Surely he was no watchman, but rather seemed of noble descent, great care softening a piercing glance. The ranger held his peace, for something in the manner of this elf troubled him, and he would not venture to speak further of his business there or of Naiore. “We have come only for a short while,” Rauthain explained, “To bathe this poor beast as best we can, and will not risk more, if you deem it unsafe here.”

“Of that I am certain,” the elf said gravely. “But here, let me relieve you of this corrupt weapon you carry,” he offered. “For I am familiar with what might be done with it, and it is not seemly for such a weapon to be present in this refuge. It bodes evil to see it here.”

Indeed Rauthain had considered casting the blade aside when upon the stair that very morning, but something had stayed his hand. At the time he reasoned that it should not find it’s way into the wrong hands by chance, and so seeing the opportunity to be rid of the thing, and knowing that the fair folk might find such weapons to be offensive, he surrendered the hilt to the dark haired elf gladly, thanking him.

“I will see to it then,” the elf said as he took hold of the sword and held it, testing its balance in his hand. “And do not tarry overlong out of doors, but find your comfort tonight in the brighter places.”

It struck Rauthain as strange that such a warning should be given a ranger, and he asked Avanill if he desired to leave. But the young man’s courage did not waver at the elf’s the ominous words. And when Rauthain turned again to the trees, he saw the elf no more, but only the straight trunks, grey in the flickering starlight.

Last edited by Hilde Bracegirdle; 06-16-2004 at 08:22 PM.
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