murder

Time for Action

Durthang burned quietly.

Not with open flame.
Not yet.

But beneath the fortress, hidden in forgotten maintenance shafts and abandoned furnace tunnels, death had already been planted by Deorla’s own hands.

The battle outside still raged.

What did I think when I first saw Azrazôr? If I am honest, I am uncertain. He looks the part, he acts the part, and he feels the part. So why am I not elated?

The cave yawned wide before her like the mouth of some slumbering beast. Deorla stepped into its gullet with blade in hand and eyes sharp in the dark. The scent of old fire, unwashed bodies, and rotted meat clung thick to the air. This was no mapmaker’s den. It was a nest.

Orcs. And not few.

Deorla left the kin house before dawn, cloaked in her ranger garb—muddy greens and deep browns, worn soft with years. It blended well with the trees, the moss, and more importantly, with anonymity. She carried no banners, spoke to no one. The fewer eyes on her back, the better. 

Dear Guriwen 

Now I will tell you what happened next.¹

So, me and Princess Éowyn and Mr Elessar and all the Rangers and hobbits had just arrived at Isengard, where the army of Rohan were besieging the wicked White Wizard Aruman,² and found out that the King had been poisoned, which was quite bad.

 Syllea skips into the Prancing Pony, expecting it to be any other day. Full of mischief, laughing, and maybe some writing. Seeing Demlemoth not in his usual spot by the stairs she set herself down there.

The two figures were not the only guests at Edoras’ tavern that night, but their attention was less on the chatter among them, once they met, and more on each other and the grave matter they discussed…

Ídhror had gone to bed, leaving Ashwyneth's father to "think over the decision". 
It was pointless, as he'd already decided.
Ash had left many years ago, so he gained nothing from her. But if he gave her to this wealthy Gondorian, Ídhror, then he would gain much from this bargain.