Ealendil lets her gaze wander the rolling plains before the Redhorn Pass, no movement, no breeze stirring the grasslands, not even a bird of prey hovering in the air… It was the morning the day after she had left Earcalie north of the dry riverbed of Nan Sirannon. Earcalie had continued on her own back to Imladris, and Ealendil had since been following days old tracks from a large party going north.
Several days before, Elaendil had come with the warriors and wardens of Bar-en-Vanimar, as they had set out, lending their support to Loth-i-Lonnath, in pursuits of the orcs that had killed the elven scout at the ford of Bruinen. Eventually ending up at the ruins at Mirobel, they had followed the river east until they had come upon a large fortification near the mountain side. Here they had made camp on a small island in the river.
The fortification they had chanced upon had been found to be too empty, though there were signs of activity. A closer survey around it had revealed tracks heading in the direction of Nan Sirannon, along the western slopes of the Hithaeglir. Ealendil, following captain Himwen’s directions, together with Earcalie had set out following them, Earcalie on her own mission of course, carrying messages back home to Imladris.
Now she was alone, and the tracks had continued further, following the mountain slopes up into the valley before the Redhorn Pass. Ealendil had eventually come across the party near the long abandoned elven ruins of Minas Elendúr, signs of its presence, smoke and dead animals had long since warned her. Upon carefully approaching the party, she discovered a large group of strangely clad orcs and, what she could only judge to be half-orcs. There were among them uruks of a kind she had not seen in a long time, not since the days of the Fornost campaign.
Though the orc party was large, it was remarkably well-organized, and silent, guards keeping watch around its perimeter. All through the night Ealendil kept watch from the ruins of Minas Elendúr, and just before the sun rose above the mountain ridge to cast its rays upon the plains, the orcs had silently broken camp and hurriedly taken of south. It was a remarkable how well-organized they were. And Ealendil could only think that some local chieftain had risen to claim undisputed rule among the tribes, or some other unifying agency. If this was the case, then the orcs, half-orcs and uruks could pose a greater threat as they were united beneath one single chieftain.
Now, in the morning haze, Ealendil’s mind wandered a little, lulled by the seeming tranquility, the half-orcs had left and quiet reigned once again... Memories came unbidden to her of a time, of a war, of another age… a plain before a gate, a gate of black metal, and a name… Morannon…
Suddenly the sound of twig that snapped behind her brings her full attention back, and in one smooth fluid motion she simultaneously swipes out with her spear as she swirls around in facing the direction of the sound. A large grim looking uruk approaches her grinning, apparently thinking her an easy sport. This was that uruk’s last mistake to make. Reflexes of a warden, though having been dormant, reacts in concert to the teaching and training of old. The fight was never evenly matched…
It doesn’t take long before a deft thrust with her spear pierces the unprotected neck of the uruk, and with a loud moan drops motionless to the ground.
Where had it come from? And, most importantly why had she been careless to let her guard down. Ealendil frowns… too many memories of old.
Sighing she looks up, scanning the surrounding. No, this one was alone. But why? Looking down again at the corps, she pokes it with her spear to verify its lifelessness. Suddenly a strange coin falls out of its torn clothing. Ealendil gasps… that coin… carrying symbols of which she recognizes immediately, Angmar. She had seen such before. But how, but why? She quickly picks it up. This she must show captain Himwen and Lord Tindir. Ealendil cannot even guess at the reason why the uruk had been carrying it.
Shaking her head, Eleandil looks out across the plains again, the tracks of the large party she had been following has now turned around, and headed south. Whatever they had been up to here at the ruins, it was apparently already done and over with, and now they returned back in full force. There was no time to investigate further, and she was alone.
Letting out a worried sigh for her friends back at their camp on the small island in the river, especially Elvealin and Manadhlaer, skilled healers who had accompanied the warriors of the house, Ealendil retraces her steps to where her horse had been grazing. Stroking its mane and whispering words of speed and necessity in its ear, she mounts up and urges it to run fast south, fast to overtake the orc party, and south to warn the others of what is coming and what she found.
