[Envinyatar]

Veryadan

. . . moving toward Weathertop from the marshes; making camp the evening before meeting the other groups atop the hill . . .

Veryadan had taken the last watch for the night. No signs of activity save the occasional passing of some small animal in the darkness were noted by him and he was glad of it. There were only three in this little company, and though they were all skilled warriors, still two blades and a bow would not stand against the numbers of foul creatures they had surmised had recently been in the area.

His companions and he had talked long into the night about what they had found that day and what it might mean. They were concerned about the thought of Orcs and Trolls having banded together to maraud the northwestern reaches of the kingdom. Left unchecked they had fears of the Orcs becoming bandit-lords - laying claim to ‘territory’ and placing sections of the King’s free subjects under their domination and tyranny. It would be a long and tiresome war with many losses if the Orcs were not stopped now while their numbers were small, their organization less developed.

As soon as first light broke to the east, Veryadan stirred the few embers of their little fire and called to his companions who were already stirring from their blankets. Once Aidwain was up, he filled their small pot with water from a nearby creek and set it to boil for tea. ‘We should set out toward Weathertop as soon as we’ve broken our fast,’ the Elf said, kneeling down to roll his blankets and tie them. Veryadan nodded, fetching his pack and handing round a few handfuls of sweet oats for the horses who were trying to make do with the sparse, coarse clumps of grass that grew in this area.

Meal done, fire out, coals scattered, the three took to their mounts and headed south a short ways, then turned east. They were in no hurry; their meeting with the other two groups would not be until tomorrow. It was early evening still when they reached the southern foot of Weathertop at the point nearest the Great East Road. Veryadan looked up toward the plateau. ‘Well, there’s a small track I can see winding it’s way up,’ he said pointing toward a broken line zig-zagging up the hill. Looks like we’ll have to lead the horses up.’

He was just about to dismount when Aidwain spoke up. ‘Amon Sûl, you know, is what we Elves named your Weathertop.’ He laughed as he spoke. ‘And a fitting name it is. Hill of the Wind! Let’s save being blown about for tomorrow. It shouldn’t take that long to climb up.’ The Elf pointed to an area across the road – a small clearing with some trees to shelter under.

Veryadan laughed also, seeing the wisdom of the Elf’s choice of camp. ‘Now all we need is something tasty and hot for dinner! I, for one, am tired of dried meats and fruits. It’s still light out, anyone have an idea?’