Fire. Burnt wood, turned into charcoal in a blaze of energy. How it should have warmed, yet the flickering of the flames could not pry away the feeling of dread. The night over the once fruitful and lively land had come and gone, leaving its guests scurrying to prepare breakfast, feed the horses and plan for the morrow.
The morrow… one would think the sun would bring some hope, some relief. Even in this accursed part of the world, the rays of light would give some reason to embrace the coming dawn. As the wind grew in strength, taking what was left of the ashes with it, she rose. The whispering of the others did not comfort her anymore. All it did, was to remind her of the whispers of her beloved. Slowly and without aim, not realizing how she arrived at a rock high upon the slopes of Mirobel, she sat down near the steps on the south side. Observing the landscape in silence, her only company was her thoughts.
How strange that her own mind would fool her into thinking that leaving him there, in the field, was the right thing to do. Where the ford Glanduin parted, making the earth rise above its edges to form an island upon which the elves could make a desperate, last stand, her lord had decided to stop. To meet their hunters head on. She still remembered the plea she cried out to him, to find a more advantageous point than this, but somewhere deep inside she knew it was already too late. They had been moving for so many nights and days, losing precious miles to their trackers. Somehow, they knew each step the elves took. In an effort to hasten their retreat towards the once bright city, they had left most of their supplies behind. What little they had with them to that accursed island seemed not worth it now. Nothing they could have done would have changed the outcome. She was certain of that now. Outnumbered and stuck on that island, no advantages were open to them. It was hopeless.
That was when they came. Clashing into them from two sides, from north and south, cleaving their way through the bodies of highly trained elven soldiers. In a frantic few moments, Tindir had managed to instruct his banner bearer Celephindir to plant the banner in the dark soil of the island and to escape. To flee for his life and hope that he would have enough time to raise the alarm to those still waiting in Mirobel. His orders was to bring Himwen with him, even though her protests uasually were of a persuasive kind (kicking peoples shins barely seems effective when one is faced with the sharp end of an orc's sword), Celephindir did not back down. He had led them both, fast and assuredly, back to Mirobel and the temporary safe haven it had become.
All of Vanimar was there, assembling troops, tending to horses, planning and preparing. As if watching through a curtain, she had noticed others in the camp, many occupied with fulfilling a task. Lord Veryacano standing tall and assertive, deploying orders. Young Falron, eager to help. A few newer faces, ones she recognized and ones she had never met. Eruant, a lively hunter and Tamaren, a sweet maiden she had met in Lord Elronds halls. The hammering on metal one of the news faces was bringing into the world made her shiver. Arrowheads being made by Lord Sinor would surely penetrate the armour of what was left of the pursuers. At this moment in time, he and Lord Galvathalion’s contributions to the camp was more than welcome. She could again feel Rainith’s vigilant looks upon her person. She and Galdorion had both been called for, to Himwen’s delight. Or it would have been, had she not been racked with worry over Tindir.
The black slowly turns to grey, allowing for the morrow to replace the night. Some were still up, toiling away at the camp. In her dazed mind, locked away with only guilt by her side, she still remembered lord Veryacano picking up the banner, saving it to be mended by himself. She had stopped herself from snatching it out of his hands, wishing to hold on to a memory of her hammerite. A memory that might be the only thing left of him by the break of dawn.
A swift breeze pulling at her hair, tearing at her cloak, made her come back to reality. Leaning forwards, elbows resting on her knees, her chin in her hand, she suddenly realized she had to go on. He might still be out there somewhere. Even though the previous evenings searches had come up with nothing but a faint trace of his person, they could still be alive. He and his troops. They had to find them!
