runando ~ A Thranduil Story

Rush

In the midst of a foggy night, the gates of Mithlond were opened. Sworn to secrecy, the gatekeeper paid no harm to the cloaked rider who raced out of the city. Instead, he opened and closed the gate, threw his keys into his pocket and went home for some rest. No one else would want to be leaving the city tonight, he thought.

The hooded rider rode steadily throughout the night. He made sure not to go too fast, lest he alert anyone nearby. Secrecy was important here, he couldn't have anyone tracing him or getting suspicious. Their neighbor to the north - the Men - were known to be quite shifty. Thus, he and the horse he rode trotted through the forests and hills at a steady pace. By his calculations, the rider knew that the would be at the point of meeting right when the other party would be. If his calculations were correct, of course.

The roads were still fairly quiet as a result of the sickness. The Elves had been lucky, at least in Mithlond. Laineth's cure had been working like a charm and people were starting to get back on their feet again. The city had been almost torn to shreds by the illness, almost a whole generation of elflings had been killed as a result. It would be a sting in a few hundred years when Lindon would need guards, smiths, shipwrights, so many people to do jobs, and they wouldn't have enough people to do such things. They're lucky they're all Elves and not Men and it's just down to more Elves staying behind and not sailing to Valinor as soon as they'd like instead of dying of old age. Who could imagine?

The Men hadn't gotten off as easily, at least that's what the rider had overheard from the few traders on the road. Apparently, some small villages and settlements had been completely wiped out. Everyone had died. In the bigger cities like Annuminas, they had better healing coverage but because there were a lot more people in cities like the capital of Arnor, it spread around like wildfire. The rider shuddered, thinking of how many dead the King would be burying, if he hadn't died himself. In Mithlond they had to do the same, the two Lords had begun to try and recruit gravediggers. They wanted to give each person a decent burial. It would take a long time for all of the Elves' dead to be buried, he couldn't imagine how long it would take for the Men.

Night turned into day, day into night. At dusk on the second day, he finally reached the meeting place. It looked like any other part of the road, there was a well off to the right of the path, but the rest of it was surrounded by trees and rocks. Nothing out of the ordinary. Noticing that he'd arrived early, the rider dismounted and lead his horse into the forest so no one would suspect him. Then, he lowered himself next to a tree and laid his head back. He'd hear oncoming horses, he'd wake up.

The rider very much overestimated how lightly he would sleep.

Next time he awoke, there were multiple horses on the road, but their riders were no where to be seen. He jumped up from his resting spot and looked up at the sky, cursing to himself when he noted how dark it had gotten. Wandering out onto the road, he silently and quickly counted the amount of horses. Noting that there was one extra, he panicked. Someone must have either followed him or caught up with the other party. Unsheathing his sword, he followed the very faint footsteps onto the other side of the road and further into the forest.

Swords were clashing in the distance, shouts in foreign tongues, a cry of a woman. The rider arrived on the scene and threw back his hood so none of his friends would attack him. A clearing was ahead, a small one, but a clearing all the same. In the center was one of the guards of the party, on his knees. Grabbing firmly onto his hair was an orc, an ugly one as well. Its coarse dagger was at the guard's throat, explaining why no one else had jumped forward to save their fellow elf. One of them had and clearly paid the price for it, the orc's matching dagger planted in his stomach.

The Lady the rider had been looking for was at the forefront of the guards, trying to plead with the orc for the guard's safety. The orc, either not understanding what she was saying or not caring for her words, didn't reply. Instead, it smirked slyly and dug its dagger back against the throat of the guard. The Lady let out a cry of fear, almost lurching forward to try and pull the ellon away. Another guard held her back. Now, the rider approached, his Lindon armor gleaming in the moonlight.