Darkness Reigns: The Resistance

[PatriotBlade]

"There are four others in our traveling party. We are all Rangers."

Just then, there was a sound from the bed behind them and the young man Garreth was at Tarryn's side in a mouse blink.

She was starting to stir awake.

"It burns! Garreth! Save me!" She cried softly, her face twisted in pain.

"I'm here!" He caught her flailing arms and gently held her still as he spoke softly to her, reasuring her. "We're safe now. I'm here to guard you, just sleep, Tog-Wea."

She soon settled back into a deep sleep.

"I'll have some broth ready for her when she wakes." Bard stated.

Garreth nodded, his brow creased with worry. "Alatar, was she dreaming?"

[earendil81]

She smiled. It may not be the best course but she would not be the one telling Boromir that his heart would be denied in this matter. She knew how Denethor's son would react. She was actually not looking forward to that particular meeting.

As for the rest...
"Angmar... It will be something else. The Lord of the Nazgul is there." She shuddered slightly. Earendil would never have said it but she was afraid, more of Angmar than Barad Dur if it could be. She remembered the power of the Nazgul when they had found the Ring. She had been in Bree when the halflings had been killed. Nothing to be done and she had cowered, she who had thought herself beyond fear. She had been terrified. She was ashamed of the memory and she was dreading the time when she would find herself face to face with the Lord of the Nazgul again. She hoped it would not happen. She knew, as surely as she knew that the Lothlorien was gone, that if she faced him again she would die.

"All hope holds in the fact that a Maiar could become complacent? Has it ever happened?" She asked with the tiniest bit of irony. Humour, even if as dark as this, was needed in those times. The wizard would not laugh; she had not really expected him too. But had there been the trace of a smile? Maybe.

Their low talk was then interrupted...

[Cock-Robin]

"It seems that she was dreaming." said Alatar. "But what, even I cannot discern. It would be well to ask her when she awakes."

He got up and paced. "And then, we must all go north. What we face now is quite serious, and yet this brings new hope, I deem. Hope that must be acted upon when we go. And hope they all need there."


----------------------------------------------------------------------

"It is a fool's hope, I admit." said Pallando. "But when he is secure, posessing his ancient power, it is easy to fall into the trap that power contains, and think he is secure beyond all assault. All the enemies that he feared are gone. The pockets of resistance, I deem, he doesn't consider more than a gnat. But we must grasp that hope, however slim."

[earendil81]

There had been some noise, maybe someone walking around very silently... But Pallando spoke then.

All the enemies that he feared are gone. The pockets of resistance, I deem, he doesn't consider more than a gnat. But we must grasp that hope, however slim."

She sighed.
"I don't know how he would feel about the heir to Gondor being alive, and holding Narsil reforged... It was long foreseen that it would be his doom; but we lost the Halflings. I don't think I had ever seen him so desperate and furious. All this because this man did not let him in in time. Or me for that matter."

She shrugged.
"The hope is slim, but was it ever more than that before? Even during the Last Alliance, there was little more than what we have now. But there were more elves then. There are so few left now; he's made sure of that. And we have lost the most powerful; Elrond was destroyed in little more than a few days. Lothlorien..."

He was looking at her questioningly.
"I made Boromir pass through on the way here. He was not in favour of it, but I knew the region more than he. It was reckless, I know. But it was home once... It is no longer. Nothing is left, except for a child's hideout. I guess there is hope in that too."

She heard the noise again...

[Claymore]

Though Djazi had tried to keep it quiet, he had woken Baran up with his coughing. Oh he might have thought he had his brother fooled but Baran knew perfectly well that Djazi's condition was worsening. He was not blind and he had seen the red stains his little brother had tried to hide in his scarf. He had been drifting in and out of sleep after that, listening with half an ear to Morwë and Djazi's conversation. By the time the southron went to sleep he was wide awake however. Though before he had been a creature of the day, after they had gone back to Gondor he had been forced to change his rhythm. Despite being resistant to sunlight these days orcs still preferred to move at night and as a result so did the resistance. As soldier he had learned to grab sleep whenever he could but nowadays he had a tendency to be more alert during the night. He had used to be amazed at Djazi's ability to be wide-awake seconds after being woken in the middle of the night. Not anymore. In fact he might be even more alert during the night than Djazi was now. He had noticed that Djazi slept more and more. A way of hoarding what little reserves he had left he guessed. He threw off his blanket and stood up. Back in Ered Nimrais, if they weren't conducting a raid he would would shake off this nervous energy by checking the sentries but that was not necessary here. Instead he took a walk, his head swirling with much the same thoughts as Djazi earlier. After five years of desperate fighting, it seemed they finally had a small but real chance. It would not save his little brother he knew. If these had been other times he would have brought Djazi to the Houses of Healing and if he was lucky they might have cured him with a lot of good food, rest, and potions to encourage the body to fight. The Houses were gone now however and with them a lot of knowledge from the old West that would take years to regain. It would probably be too late for his brother. With a resigned sigh he leaned against a wall and lit his pipe. Smoking was a habit he had only recently gained. They intercepted cargoes from the Shire sometimes and the first time they had been very surprised to find a couple of barrels filled with westmansweed. They had been puzzled to do with it at first but some of the men from Rohan knew of this peculiar hobbit custom of smoking it and soon half the men and a couple of the women had been walking around with a pipe. It took off the edge of hunger and the fragrant smoke covered the smell of misery that usually hung over the camp. He was happily puffing away when he heard two people approaching.
Seems nobody can really sleep tonight
He shrunk further against the wall to give them some privacy but they stopped right around the corner and he could not help but overhear. They were discussing Boromir it seemed and how big their chances were. He wanted to leave but then decided that he wanted to ask some questions.
He tapped out his pipe against the wall to indicate his presence and walked around the corner.
-Excuse me to intrude but I would like to ask some questions.
Pallando seemed to start but Earendil wasn't surprised at all . He guessed her elf-hearing had already told her he was there.
-Please do so.
-How is Boromir?
-Wat do you mean.
-I haven't seen Boromir in eight years. The Boromir I knew was a great leader, but also reckless. In Ered Nimrais we have to be a lot of things, but reckless is certainly not one of them. With Minas Tirith on one side and the Orthanc on the other we are literally stuck between a hammer and a hard place. The only reason why we have survived so far is that we have made ourselves as undetectable as ghosts. Boromir would bring us hope yes, but the recklessness of the Boromir I knew could also very well mean our end. I guess he must have changed like we all did but I don't know how, so I'm asking you.

[earendil81]

So that had been him; men had learnt to move cautiously it seemed. Almost as silent as an elf and yet not quite. The man would not notice but her eyes narrowed just slightly; his calm demeanour even though he was "intruding" upon their conversation and the fact of his obvious friendship with Boromir which a part of her could not help but envy. Yet, he did not seem to trust his leader at this point.

Boromir would bring us hope yes, but the recklessness of the Boromir I knew could also very well mean our end. I guess he must have changed like we all did but I don't know how, so I'm asking you.

She might have laughed... She actually did smile.
"I think I am the reckless one if you heard but a little of the conversation we were having. And Boromir the reasonable 'child'."

She looked straight into the Gondorian's eyes.
"I imagine you could say he still is reckless. His plans are and risky but never has he put any of his companions in more danger than we already were. Some other leaders would not have devised the attacks or even dared to think of some things he did. But always he has been cautious in the actual action. We never lost a man in any of our parties with Boromir as a leader. There are but a couple in the Ered Luin who could claim so. I can't. But he is your Lord and you owe him your fealty, whether he is reckless or not."

She paused softening slightly.
"Boromir wants to go back to Gondor. He has been wanting so since I first met him on his way to Rivendell. I was the one who had to tell him Gondor had fallen, and the one who had to prevent him from going back there. He hates me for that." And for something else she was not going to tell this man or any of them just yet. "But close to Mordor as he would be, you would be in danger no matter what. Once the word is out that Boromir is alive, and it will at some point, Sauron will crush you. He won't allow the possibility of the throne of Gondor to be restored, even through a Stewart. I know it to be so, but I promise you both that I shall not be the one to tell Boromir."

There was a slight twinkle in the Wizard's eye; could he have guessed? Oh well, there was nothing to it.

[Claymore]

Baran listened carefully before answering Earendil's words.
- Ah yes. That is a good point, though maybe you don't have to fear about that. So far we've have managed to keep our names and descriptions from the Dark Ba$tard, even Djazi, who's rather recognizable. We have a rather final policy on survivors.
-Which is?
-Leave none.
It spoke of the darkness of the times that neither even blinked at the ruthless words.
-As for the fealty, yes I may have owed it him once. But that was eight years ago and Gondor is no more. I consider Boromir a friend but if his orders were to threaten the lives of my men I will ignore them. My loyalty is to my men first and half of them, I will note, are from Rohan and owe fealty to another throne. Besides, Djazi owes loyalty to no throne at all and he is as much the leader of our resistance as I am. He can and will ignore any decision that threatens the lives of our men and our men will follow him.
Baran looked Eärendil in the eyes.
-If Boromir comes with us he'll have to prove himself even as the Steward. Life is even more dangerous in Ered Nimrais than it is here. This has made us a tight knit force and we are of many different places. I know him enough to know he is up to the challenge but he can never become reckless while doing so.

[earendil81]

She shuddered and for a moment could not say a word. When she spoke, although her voice was low, it was shaking with hardly controlled anger.
"Do you think it was easy in the Ered Luin? Do you? Where do you think he came first once he had the Ring. Gondor, for all its strength was but a shadow of the power it used to be. No, his fit hammered strongest in the elves' haven; ask that young elf Morwë, if he remembers. I am sure he will be glad to hear that his woes are not as bad as those of Ered Nimrais. Do you think Minas Tirith was the only city being destroyed. What used to be the Grey Havens is in ruins, orcs are crawling in its sacred sanctuary by day and night. Cirdan only allowed us to take him away because he is the only one left in Middle Earth now who has seen the trees of Vinyamar.
Imladris was crushed and Lothlorien; there were rings of powers there although it was hidden from men. But nothing is left. What has become of Elrond and Galadriel, I don't even want to imagine. For they were great in power and with Ring in his hands what sort of wraiths could they become? Even more terrifying than the Nazgûl. I know in my heart that they would have passed rather than do so but did they have the time to act. No, don't tell me, or anyone that your place is harder than ours. We have struggled and survived for 5 years under the same crushing fist as you have. Hunted even more because we are the last remnants of Numenorë and of the Eldar."

She turned away pacing; she needed to calm down. Only this was not the kind of discussion she wanted to have. She needed loneliness, solitude. She breathed in deeply.
"I don't think there is any question of Boromir leaving for the South from what I understand," she looked at Pallando who had been gazing at her intently and yet saying nothing for the past minutes. "But as I said, I promise you I won't be the one telling him. And as it is, I think you shall see by yourself that he is changed, beyond what you could imagine. What little discussion you had with him earlier will not have told you much. He knows who he is and what his fate could be at the end of this dark road. Both the good and the bad fork of the crossroad we are at."

[Claymore]

Baran stared after Eärendil, maybe a bit stunned by the scope of her anger.
-Please forgive her words. The elves have been through much and you might have been too harsh.
Pallando's words after being silent through the whole conversation almost startled him.
-Nah I can guess where she comes from. Everything had already gone to hell when me and Djazi came back north. I didn't care however because at least I had still hope I could see my wife and children. We had not heard of the demise of Minas Tirith yet. When we saw the ruins... well Djazi says I went mad from grief... Djazi himself is probably even worse off. Not only is his family dead but his whole tribe was also murdered. He is the last of the Lion Tribe. It has been about ten years now, but I can't even imagine how it is from him. As calm as he seems now, he is a real fury during a fight. Believe me I know why she reacted like that. I also know how it is elsewhere. We wandered for a while before we set up our resistance. I've seen how it is elsewhere and what I haven't seen I can guess. She is probably right when she says that the fighting is hard everywhere. Sauron's black soul, maybe the fighting is even worse in Eriador and here than it is in Ered Nimrais. His Darkness might think of you as merely gnats but we really are. As far as I know however you aren't going hungry on top. Before we came here we hadn't eaten enough for months and we hadn't eaten our fill for at least a year....
-Is it that bad?
-It is now, though we used to manage. The first years we didn't find much food but enough to get by. We have a lot of former Rangers in our ranks and I'm convinced Djazi can find something to hunt everywhere. But ever since two years ago things have steadily been getting worse. I don't what's the cause but it seems the land is being poisoned. Whatever prey there was is disappearing fast, and drinking from the wrong stream will make you sick. We used to have about a seventy children running around and even a few newborns. Last winter all of the babies died and pretty much every child under five. We did not come here for for strategy or coordination, sir. We came here for hope because after last winter we were almost ready to give up.
There was a silence after which Baran sighed.
- Ah well, I'm going back to the blankets. We've got a long day tomorrow and I guess I'll have to tell Boromir. I prefer to be moderately well rested before I start arguing with him.

After having made himself comfortable again he quickly fell asleep, lulled by his little brother's breathing. And if there was a slight wheeze to the sound he chose to ignore it.

[earendil81]

She stared after Baran as he left them. So it was finally happening; Cirdan had said it would but it was much earlier than any of them could have feared. But what would be the fate of Middle Earth if only after five years streams and sources in Ered Nimrais were polluted. It had taken decades, centuries even for the poisonous fumes of Orodruin to make every river, every pond in Mordor potentially toxic; only five years in the mountains.
The lack of wild creatures was easier to explain although the reason behind it was no less grim and terrible. Orcs would always kill more than they needed and the let the game to waste; and who would want to eat food after it was torn apart by these black creatures? They would starve the humans in slavery and also those in hiding.

“This is not right. We won’t be able to sustain this if the earth is already starting to die.” She was sad then, all anger gone. Only for just a moment darkness seemed to be creeping everywhere all over again as if it did not do so five years before. She sighed, but Pallando kept silent. If anything he seemed attentive to what was happening outside although there was no window where they stood.

Still a sound came out in the night, a bird’s sound, a shrill cry in the night for a dawn that would not come fast enough. And there was some hope in that cry; she knew the stories of old and how dawn had changed the odds in favour of the desperate? Why not them? Why not now? They were engaged in a desperate fight, but so had they been when the Ring still was not his. And so had the elves and the Numenorëans at the end of the Second Age when Elendil and Gil-Galad rode against Mordor. The wizard smiled as if the bird was singing a message only he could understand. She took a chance then…
“Do you think that the news Alatar was called will have been better than the one given from the South?”
Still no answer, but just that smile, shared with only himself. Wizards could be so peculiar.

“I want to hope that some people will have come from the South of Rhûdaur. There was a group of Rangers that Aragorn had sent there before the war to stay near Tharbad and the Gap of Rohan. I don’t know if they could have survived between the Mouth in Orthanc and the Sorcerer in Angmar, but we did so why not? If we could coordinate some attack on the three ‘minor’ realms we might have a chance. That is what Cirdan hoped for.”

Pallando remained silent; wizards were not weird, they could be infuriating. Mithrandir had been the same the few times she had met him. He was secretive and yet she could tell there were so many things going on in his mind that would make him smile, worry or just be plain angry. But he would not share… rarely, and not with her. But she had been a child then, impatient, demanding and curious. He might have said that she had remained a child in many ways. Impatient and demanding she still was in a different manner; curious not so much anymore. Things she had seen since the death of the Halflings could make you wish you’d never been curious about anything.

Still it had been neither curiosity nor impatience that had brought her here; things had to be done and she would rather be here than near Angmar. And the wizards were here; maybe there was something she could do before the end. She looked at the wizard again, hoping maybe vainly to get some kind of response from him. Yes, she might still be a child.

[Cock-Robin]

Pallando watched, and listened. He was not one to waste words or be impulsive. The news that the Eagle brought was hope beyond hope. He listened to Earendil's words and weighed them. He knew her impatience. They had all been impatient since the Darkness came. And those poor Hobbits. He only heard of them in the White Council when they had driven Sauron out of Dol Guldur for a season, and yet had not learned of Saruman's treachery which would prove their downfall.

The Eagle cried again and turned back South, called back by his fellow wizard Alatar. "The time is soon. News comes of a hope none of us dared dream of." he said quietly. Yet he would not explain, not yet.

[earendil81]

He had slept as surprising as it may be even to him. Sleeping among strangers had not become easy to him: shelter was usually no safer than being in the wild either. They had learnt that much since Sauron had reclaimed the Ring. How many people had died because they had foolishly thought that a cave was safe from orcs who would not go scavenging the same places again.
Something had woken him up though and he could not tell what. It was dark still, the middle of the night if he could tell, but there was no window or any opening in this room. And Eärendil was not there; her blanket had been left for her not too far from him but she had not used it. She probably had not slept, not something of a discovery to him. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness though, he realized that none of the elves were sleeping – or whatever it was they did when the laid down to rest; a couple of them were huddled together at the end of the room where the rest of them slept, but most of the others were not even here. Probably in the dark – their realm as much as that of the orcs when you thought about it – trying to find a way around Dol Goldur to fell it, if they could.

Baran was not there either; he had been farther from him at the time he and his friend Djazi if he remembered probably, but he was not in his blanket. The other man thought was, coughing once in a while, plagued by some sickness no one could heal in these days. Healers were hard to come by, even among the elves… But the Gondorian was not there, probably wary about the new setting as he should have been, as he would have been even a few years ago. But no, he had trusted that to survive with such a huge group of people, there had to be precautions, and a serious watch even though the mountain could feel impregnable. Still, he knew that most of the people here were not fit to fight, too young, too old or just not fighters; it was a miracle they had survived here a full five years. Or maybe they had not been there at first. And even then, it was not like they had any choice: children, old men, women even. Like the one they called Eari, although only a few dared.


He smiled… then scowled slightly. It had been hard to accept that women could fight; it had been hard to accept that a woman could be leader of men, and it had been hard not to recognize one in Hallhir. How could this young boy looking hardly seventeen be a woman only five years younger than himself? And how could he trust this woman when she told him that Gondor had fallen; Gondor would not fail nor fall. But it had. And she had dragged him away from home and to the havens at a pace he would not have followed had he not been who he was. She was still trying to obtain his forgiveness for that, and for the lie. Sometimes it would show in her attitude, a way of saying something. But he could not; whether out of pride or out of sorrow, he could not forgive the fact that she had been the messenger of his father and brother’s death as well as the destruction of his country nor the lie. Women had not been supposed to fight like men.

Still it had rapidly become obvious that a lot of female elves did not look much like women; they had this way about them that made them look like one of their male counterpart. Not that the men looked effeminate, but he had come to understand that only when they bore children would the women of the elves fully blossom in their femininity, and there had not been that many in the past five years. Still unlike eärendil, most of them would wear gowns when the circumstances allowed; not her. The only one who was not a woman in the way of motherhood but still had looked like womanhood personalized was Arwen; despite her father’s orders she had remained in the Grey Havens and then had moved to the Ered Luin with them. She would observe the women as most of them left in the last ships to Valinor but never did she board herself. She had been beautiful and sad the Evenstar of the elves; filled with a sorrow that he had mocked at first and pitied after. She stayed because she had to see the end of the Maiar who had destroyed all she loved: her father, Lorien her mother’s country, the man that she pledged her love to. But would she? It seemed they had hope, and they had better not miss their chance.

He found that he wanted to speak with the young Morwë if he could find him. And so it was that he rose and moved towards the huddled elves to ask them about the one, a child really in both elves and human reckoning, who was leading them.

[PatriotBlade]

In Tarryn's dreams, everything was burning.

Heat and flames leapt at her heels, chasing and driving her across all the lands of Middle Earth, ever towards Mordor. She caught brief flashes of faces as she ran, some she knew, many she didn't, but all succumbed to the hungry, crackling flames.

Any tears she may have wished to shed were dried by the searing heat before they could form. She longed to give up and join the throng of the fallen, to let the flames take her, but something made her keep running.

At first, the flickering flames kept her from noticing the change in the light, but by-and-by she realized that a new, steady light was growing at the top of the next rise. Like a star stood there, shining out. It's light was cool, not hot like the devouring tongues that nipped ravenously at her heels and back. Though the light should have been too bright, she was able to see a figure at the center of the light, though she could determine no features, nor whether the being was male or female. It raised a beckoning hand to her and she heard a whisper in mind, "Come. You have almost reached me." The voice was both strong and gentle, with no discerning qualities.

With Tarryn's eyes fixed on the luminous figure, she failed to notice the pursuing flames form into the shape of a hand that reached out and snatched at her ankle. She fell with a cry. The flames leapt to consume her, only she no longer wished them too. She shrieked in pain and struggled to crawl away.

She looked up at the luminous figure to plead for help and gasped. Another figure had appeared with the first, this one shadowy, but she knew him anyway. Hope leapt within her. “It burns! Garreth! Save me!” she cried, still trying to crawl away from the biting, searing flames.

The dream melted away into cool, soft comfort, as strong, calloused hands stilled her thrashing arms, touched her face, and smoothed back her hair. Her mind acknowledged that she had been dreaming as her body relaxed. She heard his voice. He really was here, watching over her. He urged her to rest and for once, she obeyed.

Tarryn woke up in a soft featherbed, propped up on equally soft fluffy pillows, in a lamp-lit room. She could feel a constricting bandage on her right shoulder, under the crisp, clean nightgown she had been dressed in. She noted that the hot, throbbing pain that had been so crippling for the last few days was gone, replaced by the dull ache of healing. She felt parched and frail, as she had upon her return to the Rangers after her mentor’s death. She cautiously flicked her gaze around the room, trying to discern where she was. Nothing stood out to her, though there was something vaguely familiar in the sights and smells of the room.

“Garreth?” she rasped through her parched throat and lips.

“He’s resting, Tarryn”

The warrior girl recognized the voice of her friend Wenlynn, one of her five companions, as the woman came into her line of sight and gently clasped her right hand.

“We made him go to bed, but I’ll ring a servant to fetch him,” the other woman continued as she drifted away again. She retuned in a few moments and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Would you like a drink?”

Tarryn nodded.

Wenlynnsmiled and helped the young warrior woman to sip water from a cup.

“Where are we?” Tarryn asked once the cup was empty, her voice only a little less dry sounding.

“You don’t remember?” Wenlynn asked.

The injured Ranger frowned as she tried to corral and organize her thoughts. “I remember deciding with Garreth to head to Dale when my orc wound wouldn’t heal.”

Wenlynn nodded to show her friend that she was right so far.

“I remember hiding along the shores of Long Lake while Garreth tried to make contact with Old Bard, the former king. I was so weak and tired. After that everything turns foggy or is so strange it had to be dreams.”

The other young woman nodded again. “We made it to the home of Old Bard, in Lake Town after you swooned. We’ve been fed and rested, and Old Bard got a wizard friend to heal you.”

At this news, Tarryn understood the familiarity with her surroundings. She’d been in this house before, a long time ago. She gently tried flexing her right shoulder while her friend continued talking excitedly.

“The wizard is part of resistance we’ve been searching for, and he plans to try to get us there tonight!”

Before the injured warrior could question her friend further, hurried footsteps were heard approaching their room.

Garreth burst into the room and knelt by Tarryn’s bed, opposite Wenlynn, and ever so gently clasped her hand, his eyes shining with concern. They brightened and he smiled at seing her alert and recovering. “Eru be thanked! We almost lost you!”

Tarryn smiled sheepishly. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

With a knowing look, Wenlynn patted her friend’s hand and stood to leave. “I’ll just go make sure my husband and those two ne’er-do-wells are getting ready to go.”

When she was gone, Garreth quickly began telling Tarryn everything that had transpired and been discussed since her swoon by the lake, including his conversations with Old Bard and the wizard, Alatar.

“So how is he getting us to their stronghold?” she asked.

“Not sure. Whatever it is, it won’t happen till after nightfall. In the meanwhile, Old Bard had some broth prepared for you. Let’s see how much you can stomach.”

Tarryn made a face, but submitted to his care, for the time being.

[PatriotBlade]

oops!

[earendil81]

"The time is soon. News comes of a hope none of us dared dream of." He said quietly.

But he would not explain more. It was a dismissal of some sort; not a harsh one in truth, but rather one, which was bound to something that cannot be explained unless the time is ripe. She bowed to the wizard and murmured.
"I shall await for your call and will be there when it comes Lord Rómestámo."

She stepped back and away from the wizard and through the corridors towards the main hall where she might find a blanket and rest, although sleep did not come easy to her. She was part elf and she did not really need it, but since the first fight in Angmar, it had never been the refuge to oblivion that it was meant to be. She sighed. There were so many things that she had thought useless or a waste of time, which she hoped she could have now. Sleep and the rest it would offer were among these things. Still she would need some if she were to be any helpful in the attack to come.

As she went she noticed the guard at each of their station; every other pillar was watched, some by elves of Mirkwood. She would stop to talk to them, discuss in the language they had known, one that was almost sure lost to Middle Earth lest they won. And there was only a slim hope of that; but one they had to hold onto. Of hope she would speak with them, of the elves left on the other side of the mountains, in the Ered Luin of Lindon.

It took her some time to reach the hall and by that time, dawn was near; she could feel it even from this place. She might not be given a chance to sleep anyway... She stood at the entrance watching the crowd in their blankets; some stirring from their sleep, some still deep in the embrace of Irmo, the Dreamer... Some guards were lying down, to rest after their watch. These were moments of rare peace in a world of war and resistance to a power that would seem indestructible.

From here, she had a view of what these people were like; in Ered Luin, there were elves and Rangers left mostly, a few hobbits who had escaped the Shire but very few men. Here, most of them were mortals; women, children and elderly mostly from the region. There were dwarves as well, which were not at all present in Lindon. Cirdan seemed to think there were some hidden in the caves of the mountains, but they had not come out. It was after all a possibility all things considered as they would have avoided war until now. And the enmity between elves and dwarves in what had been Beleriand still remained; what were the chances that they would ally themselves even when Sauron was so powerful? Still it might turn out to be another reason for hope.

She was still lost in thought when a hand came to rest on her forearm.

[Martin the Warrior]

Marine Silverstar starred out over the plain, "Where are those horrible..." She started to say horrible Uruk-Hai, but the pain of what they had done silenced her. She had been following them over a month ago when they had killed two of the kindest dearest people to her in the whole world, Aldor and Adalaza. They had given her more then she could ever have given them. They had hidden her when no one else would have, truly although they were human and she was an elf, there was no denying that. She felt a tear run down her face and the remembrance of the night before a fire destroyed their lovely home, the way Adalaza had said to her, "Remember if ever there was a time for you to go out and try your best at helping others the way I've seen you helping the sheep out in the field, now’s the time." That was the last thing she had heard her say.

Marine took the glove off her right hand and stared at the horrid white scar that reached from the bottom of her index finger and if she could see it right down to her elbow. It had been traced there as she tried to reenter the house when she saw that neither Aldor nor Adalaza were found outside after the fire had broken out. She had barely had time to get out herself, before the roof came crashing down.

She put the glove back on and pushed the memories that came flooding back, back she looked at the ground. Clearly these Uruk's had no clue she had been following them. And that's the way she'd hope it would stay, nothing would stop her until she had her revenge.

Slowly, stealthy, she followed along the river Anduin, once it had been a lovely spot, now it festered and stunk at least the spot she was at they must have crossed here. She could tell they had camped there the night before judging from the fire pit in which the wood was still warm. They couldn't be more than a league away. She could hear her conscience say, "Remember Raina (her true elfin name), don't forget your past, but remember vengeance comes at a price, a price that you may not wish to pay."

The entire month had been spent hiding and viewing the disgrace of it all. Entire villages had been wiped clean off the face of the earth. She'd been hiding from the world since she was 17, even then her parents had allowed her out at night to help with the chores.

She felt her dirk at her side, the weapon she had found shortly after her home had burned to the ground.

[earendil81]

She turned to face Boromir who seemed to be as thoughtful as she had just been.
"You haven't slept eärendil." It was not a question, just a statement. He knew her well now. She nodded softly.
"You look concerned my Lord Boromir. It is not on my behalf I hope."
A smile curved his lips.
"You only call me Lord when you are upset with me. What have I done to earn this now?"

She smiled in turn. She did not call him Lord when she was upset, only when she needed reminding herself of who and what they were: soldiers of a resistance almost crushed but not quite.
"I have done nothing to earn my ire. In fact I am not upset; only wondering. Maybe a little worried. And amazed that such a community could survive so close to Dol Guldur when we haven't been able to create such a big group in Lindon. And we are farther from Angmar..."
"Ah but the WitchKing has more to gain in Arnor... Here we are in the dominion of Sauron himself. Angmar and the rest of Arnor would belong to the Witchking if he tried hard enough. Maybe there is a competition between him and the Tower of Orthanc as to who can submit the rebellion faster than the other."

She raised an eyebrow; it was a possibility. Two faithful trying to earn the highest praise and have humans and elves be the proofs of their allegiance.
"But what of your own concern... Captain?"
"Captain now... You really are worried." She shrugged.
"I have exchanged a few words with Morwë but only a few. It seems that Alatar has returned and he is not alone. That makes for many arrivals in such a short time. I am also worried that our comings and goings might end up being noticed. We should be more careful."
"Will they call for a gathering again?"
"I could not say... But if they do I shall wake you."
"Wh..."
"You look exhausted and don't pretend it is not the case. You haven't slept since we left Lothlorien and even you need to recover. I am not letting you fight if you are not rested. We cannot lose you."

She was shocked, and ready to answer when he said.
"This is an order from your Captain."
She laughed and threw her hands in the air in submission.
"Fine... I shall."

And so it was that after two months of hardship, she did lie down to rest. And she had needed it for as soon as her head was down she went into the restful wandering of dreams of her kin.

[Lebasi]

Exhaustion dragged at him as he walked. But he would not let that show. Not if he could avoid it. If the younger children in the shed that a little over fifty of them slept in saw the older ones flagging, Borimod had little doubt that it would help them to see how hopeless life was, how much of a wasted effort it was in these times to survive.

No, he would have to stay strong, at least outwardly. Almost every one of them, possibly even every one looked up to him. Perhaps he would tell them, when he returned, of the peaceful times he could just remember before the horrors had come. The younger ones would hang onto his words, enrapt, as he spoke of vague times that escaped their memory, and for the ones that remembered, the ones as old as him, or within a few years of it, a reminder was almost always welcome. Perhaps I will speak of Lunt, the thought surprised him slightly; the stories he told about his brother were the most appreciated by the others, maybe because he could tell them with the most emotion and strength, but they were the most painful to him. The distant memories of times that had been perfect for him stabbed into him like icy knives, and knowing how Lunt was cut off from him, alive, but probably on the other side of the Ring of Isengard drove the blows deeper. He couldn't know how they were treating Lunt, weather he was hurt, ill, or worse as he feared, and could do nothing more to protect him than remain a thrall and hope they he wouldn't be killed.

As he dragged himself back into the lodging house, he resolved to speak of his mother instead. They enjoyed hearing about her also: the beautiful woman of the pastures of Rohan whose company every man seemed to enjoy. Every man except my father. He quashed the thought. Borimod didn't know more about who his father was, or why he had disappeared, now only present in some of the farthest reaches of his memory than anyone else, except maybe his mother. Though he had never had the chance to find it out from her. The fact remained that he had been gone long when Rohan had fallen.

He had been right that they would listen intently; they clung to every word as the tale took them to the fields of his home, to the peace, or relative peace, that they themselves had lost so early, or now missed so sorely. In truth the story was short, and about simple, everyday acts. Or what would then have been viewed as everyday. It had to be, for he wanted to keep the focus on the woman, and much that was momentous dwelt too much upon her sons. But to them all, even the teller, it seemed a shining haven, and as it drew to a close, they sighed. Many of them, even the youngest, would in a few minutes be working relentlessly for those they had hated for as long as they had understood what they were.

"What happened to her?" Breathed a young girl, perhaps Lunt's age. Borimod looked pityingly at her. She must have arrived recently, or she would already know and would not ask the question, or she would know enough not to want to know the answer.

"She died. All that land was destroyed, and she was murdered, after the battle had been lost and many of our fathers killed by those that keep us now. They destroyed the people of our countries, both Rohan and Gondor" - a few of them were children of the southern country, but most, like Borimod, were from Rohan - "and what was left they took. Our people fought, but no one will fight now. The men that are left, if indeed any are, are kept, like us, under fear and doubt. Fear is the tool of the Enemy and he uses it well.” He realised quickly how disheartening he sounded and added, though he didn’t believe it himself “Everyone is cowed by fear but that is no reason to give in. Perhaps one day, there will be reprieve.”

“The lady Eowyn does not fear them,” a boy of perhaps thirteen, probably one who had seen the lady’s desperate fighting a few years earlier, before she had been forced into the tower of Othanc, and not seen since.

“The lady has done nothing for more than three years. If she is alive she is as much a thrall as each of us. Though she cannot be condemned for it anymore than any one of you,” he deliberately said ‘you’ instead of ‘us’. He had known for long that he should act, but also that he couldn’t, that he wouldn’t, because it wouldn’t be just his own life that he was risking.

“Why do you not fight against them?” Borimod looked up in surprise: they all knew the reason as well as he did, and knew the guilt that was eating at him. Then he realised who had spoke, and why. The little girl blinked at him, the newer one who had asked about his mother.
“I have a brother, about your age perhaps. I would protect him with more than my life. He also is captive here, but I do not know where. If I fight, or escape, or act against the rule of Orthanc, I have no doubt he would be killed. Therefore I will not act, even if it means I am weak, or I refuse to fight for the freedom of myself and others,” He spoke shortly, his voice now holding no emotion, and would barely speak again, though he knew he should. The girl had not known, and it was not her fault that his brother was in a danger he couldn’t prevent.

[PatriotBlade]

Tarryn and Garreth walked slowly through the corridors of the Lonely Mountain fortress. They weren't speaking. Both of them were fuming -- Garreth at Tarryn for talking Penn into sparring with her, and at Penn for doing it; Tarryn was furious at Garreth for coddling her and for not sparring with her in the first place. Now her healing shoulder had been wrenched and she was moving slower than she had yesterday.

"Why could you not wait for me?" he growled without looking at her.

She glared at him. Had she been in less pain, she'd have hit him. "I begged you to spar with me. If you had, you would have set the pace and I would not have had to look elsewhere to find help getting back in shape!"

"You're still too weak! As evidenced by the way you're holding your shoulder. If you had just waited for me!"

She did hit him. A hard left hook to his jaw. "And just when would you have decided I was ready? Hm? When the sun no longer shines because Sauron's destruction? When we were the absolute last people on the earth? When the only thing standing between me and death is you? This is not the time to be coddling me! This is not the time to be falling in love!" She choked on a sob, then quickly swallowed it and continued in a stronger, more controlled voice. "Love makes men's heads confused and weak in times of war. Yes, it makes them more passionate as well, but I am not the girl in a hut back home that needs protecting! I fight for myself, and I have to be able to. Orcs won't take it easy on me because I've got a bad shoulder! I have quest to fulfill; a quest that will likely end up with me dead! If you keep this up, I can guarantee it! You want me to live? You want me be there in the end for you to court, then HELP ME NOW!"

Garreth was hunched over, rubbing his jaw as he listened to her rant. Much as he hated it, he knew she was right. She needed him to stop trying to protect her so much, and help her regain her strength. But the memory of her on the bed in Dale, fevered, pale, and dying made his stomach knot up. He didn't want her to fight any more. He didn't think his heart could take such another sight. He gritted his teeth and met her gaze.

They stared each other down, both determined to make the other see their side of it.

He held it until he could keep the growl out of his voice. "Trust me, Tarryn. For once in your life, trust someone other than yourself. Wait for me. No more sparring until I say so. Until I do it with you. Please!"

A muscle twitched in her neck as she hissed through her teeth, "No promises, but I will wait for a few more days. So you better not wait too long to grow some manhood." She turned on her heel and strode away, making a great, painful effort to keep her back straight and her head high as she did.

[earendil81]

He was looking at her as she was offering some advice to one of the young elves. The language they spoke was not as familiar to him; it seemed to be some sort of sylvan dialect of the elven tongue. It was fairly easy to adjust to the tongue of the elves in Lindon but then it had been closer to the tongue of Gondor, which had taken on Sindarin words. Yet that one was different. Eärendil explained to him one evening how the elves who had not completed the journey to Valinor had had their own language but when the Sindar came to dominate Beleriand, it had become but a dialect that was spoken amongst the wood elves.

It seemed that she only spoke it so that the children of Mirkwood felt that someone else was conversing in a language they thought dead when Sauron's armies had overwhelmed and destroyed their country. It gave them some courage and a hope that maybe someday it would be spoken again. He had to admire her for he knew how much she doubted her own fate; much as he doubted his. And more in fact, as the arrival of the Rangers of the North had done nothing for the peredhel. He had expected she'd know them. After all, they were kin, Numenoreans of the North following he who should have inherited the crown of Gondor. But she had not known them and had asked him not to reveal who she was. He understood this not but he respected it.

Yet, when they met at the request of the Blue Wizards and the one called Gareth had confirmed that Aragorn, son of Arathorn was dead, he had seen in her eyes how difficult it was for her not to crumble. Hope had died in her that night; these training sessions were not for her. It was not her own hope she was feeding, it was that of the children and these in these halls who wanted to live a life free of the Dark Lord. But she would not speak of it.

Few had asked yet to train with him; not even Baran and only the peredhel challenged him. And a challenge she was; faster than he but not as strong. She knew how to use her strengths to make him work. Still and not wanting to take away from her, he longed for a male opponent, one he would not feel the need to spare. For whether he liked to admit it or not, he did not want to hurt her physically when he knew she was weak emotionally, at least more fragile than she'd ever been. So he had gone to search for one of the Rangers; they kept to themselves still, which he did not like. They would need everyone and so these newcomers needed to mingle in the same way he and Eari had had to. Otherwise the Wizards' plans would not work.

He was walking when he heard some angry words.
"No promises, but I will wait for a few more days. So you better not wait too long to grow some manhood."
He could not contain a smile; a child, a woman child who wanted to fight. Her voice betrayed her for being even younger than Eärendil. Maybe in her late teens or early tweens, which might have explained how it was his companion did not know them.

"She seems a handful," he said to Gareth knowingly. The man shrugged. "I am in need of training myself. What say you?"

[PatriotBlade]

The young Ranger looked hard at the stranger he'd seen at the impromptu meeting the wizards had called shortly after their arrival in the fortress. Tarryn had still been too weak, so Garreth had spoken for her. She would present her whole story in a few days when an official meeting would be held for all the leaders of the various resistance groups to share their knowledge and come up with a plan.

He shrugged again when the man, Boromir asked to spar with him. Perhaps it would clear his head. "Sure. There's no talking sense into her for at least a few more hours." he massaged his jaw again. It hadn't taken her long to develop her left-hook. Perhaps she was right after all. But at the same time, he inwardly cringed each time he remembered seeing the orc blade rapidly descending toward her head, her arm coming up in the last possible second to turn a killing blow into a crippling one instead. He remembered watching helplessly as the wound festered, slowly killing her. She was right, he loved her and the thought of losing her was more terrifying to him, than the thought of storming the gates of Mordor by himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tarryn wanted to crumble to the floor and cry as she walked away from Garreth. She wanted him to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. She wanted him to take her away into hole and hide there until the end -- leave the world to it's dark fate. That's what she wanted. But that's not what she could allow to happen. She had a heavy burden to bear and a quest to finish before she could allow her feelings and wants to even be examined. She would not allow her emotions to rule her actions, or she would come undone.

When she was a safe distance away and was sure he wasn't following her anymore, she did at least allow herself to succumb to physical pain in her body. She slumped against the wall with a small whimper and slid down it till she was sitting on the floor, cradling her right arm to her body. Shaking and biting her lip, she tentatively reached with her left hand to feel the wound.

It hadn't reopened, and that, at least, was a small blessing. Still clutching her shoulder, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. She tried to breathe slowly and evenly, deep, calming breaths, but the longer she sat there, the more her thoughts and heart raced.

Hot, silent tears of frustration escaped her closed eyes. She wished Aragorn were still here to tell her what to do next.

[earendil81]

Pain and sorrow ran deep within her. Deeper than they ever had since she had caused Rinë's departure to the Undying Lands. Who had she tried to fool? Five years. He had not reappeared in five years. Of course he had been dead. Had she not brought this news to the Lady Arwen herself?

It was different though; then she brought a message from the one they called Strider that the Ring was lost and that he was going to try and reach the Nazgûl before they were back to Mordor and that he expected to die in this endeavour. But he had not been dead last she saw him only ordering her to bring Narsil to a safe place and have it reforged when the time came. When someone would prove to be worthy of the sword. Now this Garreth, or his friend, the one they had brought for healing, had been with him when he passed. And she knew them not. There had not been a lot of Numenoreans left in the North before Sauron regained the Ring; but it had been some time since she was in these parts. And she had not known the younger ones. Also when war came upon them, the Dunedains would have made sure even the children could fight; these children were the last of her kin, the youngest as Morwë and the young silvan elves had been in Mirkwood.

She was struggling against this; it felt like quick sand. The more she fought despair, the more it encompassed her. So she accepted it; there was nothing left. Nothing but Boromir who would wield the sword that was broken. But he was not of the royal line. There was none of them left. The heirs of Elros and Elendil were now nothing but a legend that would be erased in this era of darkness. Unless someone found a way to Valinor and convinced the Undying Ones to come to help. But how? There were ships left in Lindon, but what did the remnants of the free folks have to offer for the help of the Valar? Narsil was not much albeit a great sword. Maybe a life; she'd gladly give hers but she was not the only one and who said she was worth it. No. She would die here and nothing could change it.

As she left the main room she noticed Boromir and the one called Garreth come in and get their swords at the ready. She would not be needed; she could seek loneliness, let sorrow wash over her and maybe she could stand back up to bring the little help she could. Her feet took her to the room she had stood with Pallando only a few weeks before. Since then, nothing had changed. But soon they would hit Dol Guldur. Maybe she would die then...

"Do not despair child. His life may be lost but not hope." She turned around; it was the other Wizard, Alatar. "You are here still. Alive."
She shrugged a joyless laugh escaping her lips.
"This is where you are wrong. He was Estel, the hope we all needed."

[Cock-Robin]

Pallando now spoke. "He was hope, but not all hope." he said. "We knew of the Heir of Isilfur, and knew there were two paths for him. One, he would prevail and reach greater heights than his forebears, and restore what was once lost in the Northern and Southern kingdoms. The other, that he would fall into the darkness that was encompassing the world. Alas, the latter is what I knew would happen, and saw long ago. The curse of Isildur, to keep and not destroy the Ring, had far-reaching consequences which we now see."

He paused. "But not all is lost. Numenor has not utterly fallen, though the line of Elros and Elrond has. Another must arise, bearing Elendil's sword. That will forestall the worst. But now, that is not our main hope. True, the Havens are denied to us, the ships will not avail. Not there will our embassy go to the West. There are three things that must happen, two have come to us. First, the Last Eagle, who shall bear the one who shall come. Second, the Arkenstone of Thrain whom the messenger shall bear, which bears the light of the Three Jewels, the heart of the Dwarves. That was the second choice of Bilbo the Hobbit, the second hope. But the third, who shall it be? That is the puzzle.

Who shall be the one who will bear the tidings to the Valar? The man, or woman, who shall do it? Who shall arise? That is what we must wait for while we do what we can to harry the Enemy, and distract him from our true purpose. To that purpose must we assail Dol Guldur, even if we perish in the attempt. For we are not yet strong enough to attack Mordor."

[earendil81]

She knew there had been two roads; there always are two roads to the same path. But that did not make it easier. He had been more than a king, more than a leader. He was kin.

"I would bring the Arkenstone if it was what was asked of me, but without hope my path lies elsewhere that much I know. It was foretold when I was born. The East is where I must go..."
"Eärendil... you can't escape." She stopped the wizard.
"I know you say there is hope left; you spoke of one before these Rangers came. But all they brought to me is despair. I will do what I can. Valinor would not be closed to me for I belong to Numenor and the Noldor but the West is closed to my heart for now."

Maybe some day she would find it in her to let hope come back but not early enough that it could be helpful to their cause. They'd need to send someone else. But the West was closed; because of despair and because of Angmar. Cirdan had warned her; she could not face the Witchking. He had not said why, but he was adamant she should be the one to cross the Misty Mountains into Lorien and Mirkwood. Not that he needed to insist a lot seeing as she volunteered but his voice had been the strongest to support her going.

"But a meeting should be held so that the sword be entrusted to its new bearer. As soon as possible, and before we march on Dol Guldur." If their secret ways could be called a march. And how could she tell them she could not bear to carry it any longer now she knew its owner was passed into the shadow and would never walk these lands again?

[Lebasi]

Somebody was shaking him, which was slightly startling; he hadn’t slept too long in... years, it must have been now. He could only suppose that too much reminiscing had softened him, as the fear that he kept hidden and dulled nestled somewhere deep within him. Still a little groggy from sleep, it took a few seconds for Borimod to realise that he was already sitting up, looking into a child’s face. The immediate danger was nonexistent then, but the danger of reminiscing was not. Even then, he could almost imagine that the face was his brother’s, almost visualise the lost time, expect to be running through lush pastures with the kind of bliss that only came from foggy memories of the clear mind of a child.

But the face, of course, was not Lunt’s and in the dim red light coming from the rising or setting – just at the point where he couldn’t be sure – of the sun, he began to realise that it was familiar only from a few unwelcome questions: the girl from the previous night. And why she was here completely escaped him: as sleep left him, he realised that he hadn’t slept as long as he had presumed and in any case, having been there a few days at the most, she couldn’t have known when he should have woken to be waking him at the right time.

“I think, um. I think I’ve seen your brother,”

The small, nervous statement was enough to throw Borimod completely off his feet. “What? Where? How is he?”

“I-” the girl seemed almost at a loss and he cursed himself: he was losing the collected air that he had carefully built over time “I only saw him briefly. But he’s – alive”

Well that was something, surely. But- “How do you know he was my brother? You know... very little about-”

Perhaps he saw half a smile pass briefly across her face, while on the edges of sight, other shapes of people were stirring, some looking towards them “he looks very like you. Only smaller,”

“And with lighter hair, a fuller face,” Less scars, a readier smile. The thoughts slipped through his defences and he was glad he hadn’t voiced them, not least because they were probably no longer true.

“His hair could have been darkened by dirt. He could be thinner now,” she couldn’t know the harsh blows her words dealt to him. She couldn’t know his deep sense of loss that nothing he knew about Lunt was true any longer. “I saw him as I was... as I was coming in. It was near the doors. I could take you there, and then you could rescue him... and escape... and one day you could fight them, and-”

He had to cut her off. Her idle hope would only end in disappointment “One person will not take down all the might of the Enemy. Least of all me. I alone would simply be killed. Indeed every person held here united would simply be killed. Unless you can fly, escape from Isengard is impossible: we must look for some other hope, if indeed there is any.” His words stopped suddenly, as a movement behind him jerked him around: another boy’s eyes were fixed on them.

“It is not impossible,”

“What?”

“People have escaped before. At least, somebody has. I have heard talk of it, although it is mainly kept quiet,”

“You should go and find him,” the little girl was greeted by a general murmur of assent, and Borimod realised the eyes of most of the shed were trained on him.

“I can’t. Maybe there is a chance that we would both escape, but it is – slim to put it lightly. Whoever escaped before, if indeed somebody did, would have been alone, with no responsibility for anyone else’s life. Then the chance of us surviving – It’s even slimmer. If I was to go, the most likely thing would be my being caught and either killed or sent back here, and Lunt being killed too. I could not cause his death.”

“But-”

“It’s possible that you would also be killed,”

“I’ve heard talk of a resistance in the North, and if you could leave and get there, there are more people here than just us. They may come and storm the place. We could all escape then. If we survive long enough.”

Now he was stuck. He glanced around for support, but there were none of the more level headed people there. Everywhere he looked, younger children looked back, their faces shining through the grime more than he had seen them before. Although to an outsider who knew peace, ‘shining’ would not have been the first word that came to mind. Perhaps he had done too well in instilling false hope in them, though he couldn't reverse it, couldn't allow them to give in.

“I’m sorry. That resistance – it might not even exist. If it does, it’s almost certainly not strong enough to storm Isengard. If I was to go I would be with my brother and most likely that would be – detrimental to the journey –” for a moment, he thought he saw a twitch from the girl beside him, but dismissed it “– I can’t go. I’m sorry,”

The shed looked dark, dank, mouldy again: more like it really was. “We could help you,” somebody was rash enough to offer “We could help you escape,”

“Then you would almost certainly be killed. And so would I. And- and my brother. I am not a better, or necessarily stronger, person than any of you. In fact I am probably worse. I wouldn’t be able to do it. You know how important it is that I don’t put my brother in more danger. If I do anything at all, then I would probably be doing that. I just – I’m sorry, but we will just have to hope this resistance will find us, and hope that it's big enough”

Borimod had often heard silence described as loud, and what followed, he realised, truly did ring like a bell. Like a large, deep and more than a little foreboding bell, with disappointment laced into its tones.

The small figure beside him definitely stirred this time, her face contorted into worry, almost apologetic “Yes. Perhaps it is just a false hope.” To Borimod, it was definitely just a false hope. Although he wouldn’t be allowing their hopes to drop any further, “But- I think... I think you should go and find your brother. Because – I should have told you straight away – if you don’t help him, I think- he might die sooner than you thought,”

[earendil81]

He was looking at the young man; he looked young, younger than him by a couple of decades Boromir decided. Maybe in his early twenties but not much older if not younger. Still in the posture he took Boromir could recognize a worthy fighter. And probably one who would be sly and cunning, something he had to learn in the mountains. There had always been numerous people by his side in a battle; Faramir was there too, men he would have trusted with his life. This Garreth had to fight with no one by his side more often than not for there were not enough of them to scout the forests, the villages in group; maybe in pairs, but not more. He was doing a lot of guessing but there was this air about his opponent that seemed to foretell moves he might not expect.

Then, he nodded.

Neither man settled into his style straight away. There was a lot of posturing and sizing up of the opponent before the first few tentative thrusts and swings were made.

Garreth planted his feet first, but Boromir attacked harder.

To be entirely fair, even though he had expected it, the younger man’s style was a curiosity to the Gondorian. He recognized very little of the Ranger style from sparring with Eari. She was an oddity though belonging to both the Eldar and Numenor. He supposed that her elven training had mingled with the style of the Rangers, giving her a unique fighting style. And he had learned a few things from her; one being that someone who is forced to fight alone needs to be quicker than the one who is always supported.

The man was reminding him of that lesson in quite an intense way. Boromir dropped a blow from over his head, using his shield to protect his exposed flank.
Garreth ducked under and to the side of the blow, leaving himself exposed, since he did not fight with a shield.

The taller Gondorian altered the fall of the blade to follow the youth, but instead of the flat of his blade connecting with the young Ranger's back, the blade connected with the stone floor in the space he should have occupied.

Very fast indeed; it was sheer instinct that caused him to jump; if he had not his knees would have been knocked out from under him. Even then he lost his balance for a moment and had to step back, as Garreth came onto him quick and with movements precise and deadly if it were to actually reach him. The man was serious about this. It took him all his strength not to fall and to bring his shield back in position.

They attacked and pushed each other back and forth along the hall; he could feel the perspiration trickling down his back and behind his ears. It was a good exercise; it was long since someone had given him a challenge and his arms were thankful for the practice with the shield.

Still he was the one calling for a halt; even though they had been in the wild and struggling to get his friend here alive, even though he was probably exhausted Garreth seemed to be willing to go on. Mayhaps he would ask for it, who knew?


(with the much appreciated help of Heather)

[PatriotBlade]

Garreth was winded when Boromir called a halt, though he never would have admitted it. Instead, he leaned against the wall and took advantage of the break.

"You fight well, Sir. Though, I must say, you're an easier opponent than Tarryn."

"Oh?"

"She would not stop until one of us collapses." He frowned and his mood darkened. "That is why I do not want to spar with her until she has healed more. She will be her own death if I do not hold her back." Garreth's worry could be heard in his voice.

~~~~~~~~

Tarryn was not fully awake when the panic set in.

She was sitting on a stone floor, leaning against a stone wall, with her knees to her chest. She felt like she'd been beaten and the cold had seeped into her bones while she slept, making her joints stiff. Her breath caught in her throat as her heart started racing before she even opened her eyes.

She made no sound and made a great effort to not move she came fully awake and her gaze focused on the opposite wall of the corridor.

She ran through a mental checklist. Doesn't smell like a dungeon, doesn't look like a dungeon. I'm not restrained. Must have been a dream.

With a sigh of relief, she slumped back against the wall for a few minutes before she began to slowly uncurl herself and regain her feet.

It took her much longer than she would have liked to find her bed, but the blankets warmed quickly, which soothed most of her ache, except for her shoulder. Still, it wasn't long until she was asleep again.

[earendil81]

Boromir might have chuckled if the young fighter's voice had not dripped with concern for his friend. It seemed women who fought had this need to prove they could last longer than their male opponent. Eärendil was the same, although with her, it was hard to know whether she could actually go on thanks to her half-elven blood or if it was the same as this Tarryn.

And truth be told he had to admit he was worried for the peredhel for he could not understand how she would survive a fight, a battle with no hope to carry her. He saw it before, men dying because they had already given up on life who could have been saved. He had to find a way to make her care again. But it seemed that even the Wizards could not do that for her.

He was wanting to ask Garreth if he had heard of Eärendil before but he had promised his friend that he would not betray her name to these Rangers and he was a man of his word; not perfect, sometimes too strong-willed but with honour none the less.

"You seem to care much for your friend. However women are sometimes complicated to understand. The peredhel is such too." The man raised an eyebrow. A question? He had to be careful. "She was among the elves during our meeting with the wizards. She came with me from the Blue Mountains. She speaks for Cirdan's people."

Garreth said nothing but was Boromir noticing some questions forming in his mind. Maybe he should have said naught.

"So I was wondering if you would join us for some evening with men; dice and some beverage. We may be a dwindling group of warriors trying to survive under the crush of Mordor but can we not allow ourselves some fun?"
He was trying hard, maybe too hard but these new comers had to be made part of this group fast. Soon, on the morrow maybe, the Ithryn Luin would summon them again and whether or not they were ready, the battle would be upon them soon.

[PatriotBlade]

Garreth hesitated. It would be nice, and perhaps a moral booster for the lads, but he had to check on Tarryn.

"If I can bring my lads along, that would be a nice diversion."

Boramir agreed, and Garreth left to find the other Rangers. He found them chatting together, not far from their bedrolls. Wenlynn and Tarryn were already asleep, so the four men slipped away quietly.

[earendil81]

The four newcomers joined him some time later, all of them seemingly younger than Garreth even. No they actually were young and not only because Rangers aged differently from most other mortals. But Eari said that there were few Numenoreans left and none that she knew of the royal line. Still they were of the old blood.

And soon they were playing with some Dalers and laughing like a group of young men with no worries in the world but that of the next girl they would be courting. He could see in Garreth’s eyes that he was not entirely at ease, but that could be the anxiety about their friend’s condition. He hovered around the game less concerned about the Rangers. A captain of Dale approached him.
“That was well thought Captain.”
He shrugged. “It was a necessity. We cannot hold unless we trust one another.”
“You should tell that to your companion. She has not shown a will to share much with anyone but the sylvan elves.”
He nodded.
“I am much aware of that. But I cannot say I know why.”
“Who is she?”

He realized the man was much like him five years ago. Women were not meant to fight; they were the bringers of life where men brought death, they were the hearth and heart when men were war and mind. And here even under the shadow of Dol Guldur, women had remained that. Even among the elves of Mirkwood who had survived the girls were not really fighters; Morwe was leading them although his sister was older. The peredhel was something else.
And in truth he did not know how to answer his question; Eärendil was a lot of things. And she was secretive; he did not know much about her past. He knew what she told him and what she had let slip during their trip from Lindon.
“I cannot speak to that; Captain… Theofrid. You should ask her.”
“She would not talk to us. And she has become even more withdrawn since the last meeting. She will only speak to you. Not even to the Wizards any more.”
He had to own he had not noticed; but he saw the darkness in her eyes during the discussion. He sighed.
“She has, hasn’t she? I will speak to her; but I do not know that she will listen to me. I do not have that influence on her. I do not believe even Cirdan has. Will you look after them?”, he added sparing a glance to the players.
The man nodded and Boromir went in search of the peredhel.

He found her in one of the rooms that had windows. She had her back to the door and was looking down at a table. At first he could not see what she was observing, her hands caressing some surface. She was not as tall as he, but he had to move to realize what was on the table. He gasped.
“Eari, is it what I think it is?”
She whipped around, her eyes rimmed with tears. She stood straight, rigid even at attention.
“My Lord?”
He stopped in his tracks; he had not expected that voice, or that title. But he had definitely not expected to see what he was looking at just now.
“Is it Narsil? Earendil; how long since you’ve had this?”
She glanced behind before meeting his eyes.
“It is… It’s Anduril, the Flame of the West. That is how Aragorn wanted it called once it was forged anew. Only he was the one to wield it. And now he is gone.”
“You knew him. You… did you love him?”
He had to admit he was afraid of the answer; if Eari had been able to hide that even from the Lady Arwen, what darkness was she harboring in her heart of heart right now?
“I did. He was a brother to me.”
He breathed in deeply as he approached the table. On it was laying a blade of legend; it was the sword that had defeated Sauron before. It remained a symbol of Numenor, the sword of Elendil and it looked as if it was never broken.
“Why do you have it?”
“Because he entrusted it to me until someone claimed it. It is you.”
He caressed the blade; it seemed both ancient and new with some tengwar symbols on it.
“Earendil. Why did you not tell me? You knew. Seek the sword that was broken, in Imladris it dwells.These were the words my brother and I heard.”
“It was no longer in Imladris when I found you Boromir. It was in my keeping already. When the hobbits died in Bree Aragorn ordered me to ride as fast as I could to Rivendell. But when I arrived Elrond asked me to find you; do not ask me how he knew you were on your way. He just did. And he said I was to hold Narsil until it was time to release it. Now is time.”
“You wanted to do it in front of everyone?”
“I believe that Taryn – the girl who was hurt – is the one who holds the name of the bearer. She was there when Aragorn died; he would have told her. But there are none left descending in direct line from Numenor in the North. So we have to look to Gondor; and it would be you.”
“You don’t know that Earendil. It could be one of the Rangers who came.”
She shook her head.
“There are none left. He was hope and now he is gone. Gone.”
And so for the first time since he first met the peredhel she cried. She tried really hard not to, but she did. Awkwardly he touched her shoulder but she shrugged him off and turned away from him. When she faced him again, her eyes were red but dry; almost.
“I can’t. I can’t be weak. If I am I can’t be trusted. I am sorry.”
“Earendil, Eari. All that yields is not weak. And you need to yield or you will break. And then you will die.”
“Maybe.”
He shook her. But she barely reacted. What was he to do? If she broke now they would not make it to Dol Guldur. There were few enough of them; they could not afford losing her. He left and went in search of one of the Wizards. One of them must be able to help.