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Old 09-10-2003, 07:04 PM   #31
Elora
Shade of Carn Dûm
 
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Join Date: Apr 2003
Location: Kalrienmar
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Elora has just left Hobbiton.
Sting

Naiore

Naiore slipped soundlessly through the trees away from the inn, however that which she led was not so light of foot. The gelding snorted reproachfully at her as she dragged it further. The trees were too thick to ride it away from the stables. Damn, she was running out of time. She had to retrace her steps and erase their tracks and be back in position by dawn!

Vanwe had not appeared during the night, safely ensconsed in that upper floor room. So Naiore had used her empty hours to better prepare under the cover of the night. The stable was far from secure. Devorin had snored, a considerate indication of his location and state of alertness, as Naiore had raided the Inn's gelding from it's stall.

It wasn't the fastest creature she had ever set eyes upon. Certainly it was no match for the tribute Mordor had waged from Rohan. The brown horse was strong though, wiry with stamina and resilience. Plus, it wasn't a Ranger's mount. It had been a sore temptation to hamstring those horses, but the furore that would ensure would make her life more difficult again.

After some time, Naiore and her purloined gelding reached a thick grove. It was a tangled, inhospitable mess. It was also her erstwhile home. She located her concealed entrance, carefully removed the brush and led the horse in. Within was her pack, sitting against a knarled tree. There was water too, by way of a sluggish, bracken stream that wandered on its way to some festering marsh. Naiore tied the horse to an overhanging branch and departed, taking care to replace the brush carefully.

The woodcraft of Elves was not easily defeated. Swiftly, she set about altering tracks. She worked feverishly, bent to her task. When dawn did announce its presence, streaking the sky rose, Naiore only narrowly managed to slip into the relative safety of her vantage by a slim margin.

The inn was still quiet, so too were the stables. Naiore lifted her water bottle to her lips and took a long, considering sip. One more day in this place, that was all. If Vanwe did not emerge, she would go in and get her. Not all the forces of Elves and Men would stop her in this!

Vanwe could not be allowed to fall into their hands. Her daughter was too dangerous to hand across to her foes. Rangers circled her like wolves... they knew, curse them into the darkness! A cold light of fierce rage and determined survival took up in Naiore's starlight grey eyes. She lowered the water bottle, replaced the stopper and settled in for another long stint.

One more day and Vanwe's doom would fall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vanwe

Devorin groaned, blinking sleepily and then rolling out of his bed. Scratching a stubbled chin, he wandered through the stables. Had it not been such a busy night, the empty stall would not have been so clearly apparant. Devorin lurched to a halt, peering at the stall and casting back in his mind. Yes, Déor should be there. Devorin frowned at the puzzlingly empty stall.

He blinked at the ground at his feet. In the soft soil were Déor's tracks, his shoes distinctive and familar to the Stablemaster, and a set of footprints. Devorin squatted, peering at those. A woman's if he guess aright, glancing at their slender outline. An Elf's too, for they were light.

Vanwe, bless her, must have taken Déor out to stretch his legs. It had been a while since the gelding had been riden. He smiled at the prints and the mysterious Elf he'd taken in as an assistant. True, she was like no stable hand he'd ever heard or come across, still he would not be without her. Straightening, Devorin turned and went back to his lodging to do something about shaving. Cook hated him appearing for breakfast unwashed and unshaved.

Vanwe awoke in Lespheria's rooms with a shuddering start. Her skin was clamy and the room was dark and empty. The very inn seemed crouched and waiting in that stillness. Vanwe straighted from where she had slumped in the chair. The fire had gone out long ago. She ran her hand through sleep mussed hair and the mist of dreams she had emerged from, glancing around her strange settings until she recalled where she was. The nightmarish blend of Harad, Umbar's prisons and the Rohirrim faded slowly.

The drapes for Lespheria’s windows were still drawn, blocking the lightening dawn. Vanwe arose to pull them apart as she recalled the evening’s events and the plans she had formed. A small knot of uncertain tension hung low in her stomach. Aside from that, she seemed calm and still. It did not seem as natural as the pre-dawn stillness of the scene before her.

She turned back to the table that she had rested her head upon during the night, and the small scrap of paper that lay upon it. In the uncertain light, Vanwe read it more from memory than from sight.

NAIORE:

Do not mention her name in Harad, anywhere!

Umbar is watched by Men of Gondor. She has not been there for a long time, and her house is abandoned. The soldiers are vigilant and fell...


Vanwe recalled their intense questioning of her after they sighted her on the docks. With their black uniforms, with a silver tree and seven stars, they had leaned over her and they did not believe her at first. Umbar had been the first of a series of valuable lessons. She'd avoided Minas Tirith assiduously as a result.

No sight of her in Dol Amroth. Thieves say she is gone north and will not speak further.

Speak not her name in Rohan! Even the sight of her face is enough to bring their bright spears. Terrible tales... can't be true...

She went north and has not returned south. They wait for her.

She is not on the roads.... the wilds of the north?... what is the Shire? Where are Hobbits? She died in Mordor? Menecin killed her?


There was another question that had since been scratched out: What are Rangers? Vanwe had learnt that asking her questions in the northern wilds.

MENECIN:

He is dead - died in battle... Naiore killed him... he killed himself... he is alive but hidden by the Elves (most dangerous of all)... he died in Mordor.... Mordor is broken and many soldiers are there now - seven stars and silver tree. Stay away! He went to Valinor.... where is Valinor? Ships.... Umbar does not have ships to go to Valinor. Neither does Dol Amroth


It was a patchwork of questions and snippets, but she'd recorded each one painstakingly. Some contradicted others, some were blatantly untrue. Most Vanwe had come to after much struggle. Certainly, word of an Elf of her description asking about ships to Valinor at Umbar and Dol Amroth had created a stir.

Vanwe stared at the paper and wondered if any of it was of assistance to Hanasian. Perhaps it was. It was all she had to give him in return for his help. She needed his help, and she had little of consequence to trade for it aside from that paper, 3 meagre coppers and her own abilities which were far from impressive.

Vanwe set down her notes and crossed to where a bowl held water and began to splash it over her face. She needed a clear mind, not one fogged by questions, vague doubts and unwelcome memories. Besides, Hanasian may be more minded to aid her if she looked not quite so crumpled and worn. She peered into the mirror and sighed. Afterall there was only so much water could do.

Her mind turned then to how she could manage to speak to Hanasian without the others. Shaking out her skirts, Vanwe collected the piece of paper and folded it back into the pouch that hung at her hip from the belt. She then crossed the room and opened Lespheria's door. The hall was empty this early. She'd need an early start if she was to do her work and find time for other, more important things.

First order of business was to bring down that basket of pots that Cook had asked for. It sat in the attic. Vanwe closed Lespheria's door and pocketed the key, startled that she had left it in the door! Shaking her head at her absent mindedness, she made for the attic in the still early morning. Cook had asked for the pots yesterday. Vanwe fancied that she would not appreciate any delay and so the sooner the better.

The attic door creaked slightly as she opened it and entered the store room. Rows of boxes and baskets filled the attic. It was simply a matter of locating the one with the pots and pans. Vanwe left the attic door open as she set to her dusty task.

Last edited by piosenniel; 05-11-2006 at 10:39 AM.
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