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6 Fourth Age: The Shape of Things to Come; [ Open ]
Topic Started: 2 Sep 2008, 01:47 PM (737 Views)
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The gray-clad figure kept low to the ground while moving up the side of the hillock. The terrain of Rohan was a blessing and curse. Prey could not hide in the wide open grasslands, but neither could the predator. There was only a hope and a prayer that the winds didn’t shift. The small band of Orcs had not yet realized they were being followed by four Dunedain Rangers. They were preparing to make camp now that the dawn was approaching.

Aragorn Elessar was perfectly aware that he should not even be here. He could imagine the expression the Officer of Protocol would wear if he knew the King of Gondor had entered Rohan without a procession or even permission. Aragorn would trust in his friendship with Eomer, however. Between standing on ceremony or killing Orcs in his lands, the King of Gondor was willing to stake his life on Eomer wanting the foul beasts dead.

Sliding down the hill with practiced precision, Aragorn came to rest among the group of Rangers. He quickly recounted the Orcs’ numbers and location.

“We wait until dawn, once they’ve settled in. We move in fast and silent.”

Their current location worried Aragorn. He did not expect a caravan of civilians or local farmers to wander through here, although it was not out of the realm of possibility. No, he was concerned over how freely these Orcs had moved through Gondor and into Rohan. It was almost as if they were no longer afraid of being routed. In six years, the Rangers and Riders had kept their lands mostly free of Orcs. So why did they now venture out in what looked suspiciously like raiding parties?

“King Elessar,” a young Ranger whispered, as he emerged into the growing morning light. “Scouts ahead signal someone coming.”

Instinctively, Aragorn loosened Andruil from its sheath. Friend or foe, he would be ready if they happened upon this hiding place.
 
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A black horse galloped across the plains of Rohan carrying its rider towards the center of the country. Having left the woods of Lothlorien behind Celarwen was content that she had managed to arm herself by the kind elves who had insisted she carry one of their elf swords in case she ran into any orcs that might still be trying to cross Rohan. Now she felt at least a little braver knowing that she was carrying a weapon. But she trusted her horse not to make a sound. Ithilia seemed to have a talent for making virtually no noise whilst galloping.

She had managed to ride alongside the River Anduin in two days which had been fair enough as she hadn't wanted to exhaust Ithilia. This was supposed to be a relaxed trip after all no rushing about involved. Still she was impressed that she had made it all the way to the plains of Rohan this fast. But now she was feeling cautious. She could hear the growls of orcs nearby and she knew that she had to skirt around the edges of the camp. She urged Ithilia on quietly and they set off at a canter.

However that didn't stop her from being spotted by a soldier. She brought Ithilia to a steady stop. She felt her heart beat faster as she eyed the soldier up and down. He was no orc that was some small comfort. She tightened her grip on the reins. She wasn't going to dismount. She wasn't that foolish. She didn't know what side the soldier was on. She did however lower her hood. She did not recognise the clothes which the soldier was wearing. She tightened her grip on the reins.

She watched as the soldier send a signal to someone else. She backed her horse a few steps but the solder made a movement and she stopped. She didn't need to exaggerate the situation any more than she was.
 
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With Andruil now freed from its sheath, Aragorn surveyed the two Rangers still waiting at his side. There was close to an hour before the sun was completely over the horizon. To rush in now, with only four men, would put them and the approaching stranger at risk. But to wait was to tempt the winds to change or the stranger to make some noise and disturb the Orcs. The King’s mind was confirmed in a moment.

“Go,” Aragorn ordered the younger of the men. “If the stranger is a friend, bring him here. If not, kill him and quickly.”

Because there had been time to send a signal, Aragorn chose to assume, for the moment, the one approaching was a friend. In that case, the young Ranger would need a similar show of friendship.

Aragorn removed from his brow the Elessar that he had worn on the day the people of Gondor welcomed him as their King, and indeed, every day since then. Whether from the North or West, a friend would recognize the Elfstone for a sign that the King of Gondor and Arnor was nearby.

“I will guard it with my life, my King.”

The King nodded once. He trusted the Ranger to keep his word. No man would want the guilt of losing his King’s symbol of authority. Aragorn settled back into the ground, waiting silently for the Ranger to return, either with a friend or a report of the enemy that was upon them.
 
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Celarwen watched as the young man approached her although she wasn't sure whether they were friend or foe. She tightened her grip on the reins making sure that Ithilia would be ready for a quick gallop to get away from them. She narrowed her eyes trying to figure out whether this person was friend or foe. She felt her heart pound in her chest as she listened to the sounds of the orcs in the distance. So far she hadn't been noticed by them but that could change. She was now feeling very scared and her expression tightened desperate not to show it.

She looked up to see the young man approaching her. She recognised the clothes as that of a ranger and breathed a sigh of relief. At least she knew it wasn't an enemy. She lowered her hood as he approached and she managed a small smile. As he stopped and looked up at her she felt flushed and embarrassed. She'd gotten caught in the middle of something and one wrong move could jeapordise everything. She only prayed that she could do the right thing. She looked at the sparkling item in the ranger's hand. As he showed it to her she recognised it as the symbol for the King of Gondor. She looked completely shaken as she nodded at the ranger.

"I am a Lady and friend of Gondor. I am from Minas Tirith" the Ranger gave a look and then beckoned her to follow him. She did so with Ithilia going at a walk. It wasn't easy making sure not to be noticed especially as Ithilia was a black horse but somehow they managed to approach what was some sort of camp. Celarwen felt nervous now that she was fully aware that it was night. It wasn't good for her to be out this late especially as she should have arrived at Isengard by now to stay the night there.

As they arrived, Celarwen dismounted and followed the Ranger to the King. She immediately curtsied and bowed her head low hiding her reddening face at having been the cause of the disturbance. She found herself shaking ever so slightly in the presence of the King of Gondor. She closed her eyes trying to imagine a dark hole would swallow her up.
 
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The gentle footfalls of the returning Ranger and other lighter person alerted Aragorn that the stranger was being brought to him. He was truly shocked to see a lone woman, and Gondorian from the look of her. The black horse was a fine creature with soft steps. Brego and the other Rangers’ horses were picketed below the ridge, where their scents would not drift to the Orcs.

“Take her horse back to ours,” he ordered, in a low voice.

Now that their security was taken care of, Aragorn turned to the young woman. In a still low voice, so as not to alert any patrolling Orcs, he questioned her quickly. He assumed, from her curtsey that she knew who he was, so he skipped over that question.

“How are you called and what is your business here in the Riddermark?”

She had happened upon this place at an unfortunate time, and with this band of Orcs behaving so boldly, it was vital that Aragorn learned why she was here. Their plan of attack would have to change as well. Not only was it four Rangers against a band of Orcs, but they had a woman to protect as well.

It was then that Aragorn noticed she carried an Elvish blade. His eyes flicked from it to the woman’s face, as if trying to make some connection. Perhaps she was a woman of the Dunedain to have been given such a gift. Whoever she was, her story would be very intriguing.

“Where have you come from, and how did you come by that weapon?”
 
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“How are you called and what is your business here in the Riddermark?”

Celarwen kept her head lowered trying to calm her racing heart. She trusted her King but she still felt scared in his presence. She took a few breaths and prepared to answer. Once she had calmed her breathing she spoke. "I am Celarwen and I was passing through from the Ruins of Rauros" she said quietly. "I did not realise there were orcs here, I believed them to be further East so I came this way" she said quietly.

She turned her head and saw Ithilia being led towards other horses. She breathed a small sigh of relief since she had become very close to her horse. She found that she couldn't stop her trembling and her Elvish blade was knocking against her waist slightly. She looked down at it carefully. She closed her eyes again but her hair hid her face anyway.

“Where have you come from, and how did you come by that weapon?”

"I have travelled from Lothlorien. The elves gave me this weapon since they were otherwise unable to convince me to turn back. It was a foolish mistake" she said her voice shaking. She bowed her head even more in embarrassment.

"I am sorry my lord" she added quietly

 
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The King had just opened his mouth to inform the girl, Celarwen, that she was correct. It was a very foolish mistake indeed. He also was about to tell her that travelling alone, without tracking skills and, apparently, no weapon until recently was also a bad idea. Then he was going to find out her father’s name and drag her home.

All of this was before Aragorn felt the earth move beneath him.

He froze in place and raised one finger to his lips. The Rangers had all gathered around again, and they also felt the subtle tremble in the rain-soaked mud. Heavy bodies were approaching softly, just like the Orcs who dwelled deep in the Misty Mountains moved.

The King looked directly at Celarwen. His voice laced with the authority of his linage, he gave very firm orders in a low voice.

“Below this ridge you’ll find your horse. Run to him, and ride south as fast as you can. Do not stop unless you hear the call of a lark followed by the hoot of a tawny owl.” Aragorn signaled to the youngest Ranger. “Cover her retreat. Do not cede this ground.”

With practiced precision and warrior’s grace, the King moved from his sitting position to a low crouch. His famous blade held tightly in both hands, Aragorn prepared to attack. In the momentarily silence, a piece of roughly hewn armor clinked fifty paces to the left. They had no time.

“Go,” Aragorn ordered the girl, then sprang up from his crouch towards the Orcs.
 
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Celarwen froze when she heard something in the distance. Something that didn't sound pleasant. She raised her head and looked around noticing the reactions of the rangers around her. The orcs must be moving, she realised. She took a deep breath and turned back to the King as he gave her instructions.

“Below this ridge you’ll find your horse. Run to him, and ride south as fast as you can. Do not stop unless you hear the call of a lark followed by the hoot of a tawny owl.”

She nodded and got to her feet and climbed down the ridge and spotted Ithilia straight away. She ran to her and started untying her from a log. She stroked her mane as she did so. She looked back up at where the rangers where. She pulled out the elven sword and looked at it carefully. She didn't know how fast the orcs ran so it was best to be armed.

Carefully she climbed onto Ithilia's back with the sword. She grabbed the reins and started backing her horse ready to gallop away. She turned to the young ranger. She shook her head. "I can manage from here" she said calmly before turning Ithilia around and digging her heels in. Ithilia set off at a quiet canter being careful not to make as little noise as possible. She glanced at the reflection in her sword to make sure no one was following her.
 
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The fight was over quickly. The Orcs that had come to investigate were dispatched easily, as they had not known what was waiting beyond the ridge, only that something was there. The Rangers penetrated deep into the Orc camp. Those few that were not put to the sword were now fleeing northwest to the mountains.

“Pursue them!” Aragorn ordered two of the Rangers.

There were only six or eight left. It would be no hard task for two Dunedain Rangers to finish off eight tired, hungry, and frightened Orcs. The King looked down at Andruil, the sword that had saved his life so many times, whether in battle or by prestige. It was coated black with the blood of the Orcs. Flecks of the dark liquid had stained his fingers and tunic as well.

“Call for the young Lady.”

The remaining Ranger called out like a lark, and followed it with the shrill too-twit too-woo of the tawny owl. Celarwen might have gotten far during the fight, but the call echoed off the rocks dotting the landscape, and the Rangers were experts at throwing their voices.

They could not leave this filth marring the land of Rohan. Aragorn and his Ranger set to piling the bodies, which they would then burn. It was as they threw the fifth carcass onto the tinder that Aragorn saw a symbol that caused his bones to freeze and his blood to run cold.

In the Orc’s right palm was the Eye of Sauron. Not painted red, as when the Dark Lord ruled Mordor, but burned into the flesh like a framer branded his cattle. Aragorn cast his mind back, but could not recall Sauron ever deviating from the red eye.

“What is it, my King?” the Ranger inquired, also staring at the symbol.

“Check all their hands. Do they all bear this mark?”

A quick search revealed that they did indeed all wear this mark. Aragorn’s jaw clenched tightly. Then he had his answers. These Orcs dared to behave so boldly because they had found a leader. Who, or more likely, what he was, Aragorn did not know. He looked over his shoulder for the girl, wanting to ask her the questions he had started before.
 
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{OOC: Sorry this is the correct account}

Celarwen leant into her horse as she glimsed Isengard when she heard the call. She reined Ithilia in and placed her sword back in its scabbard. She then turned Ithilia around and set her at a gallop. She looked around her at the fields of Rohan. They were so wonderful to ride on. It was too bad that the land was almost ruined from war and gruesome orcs treading all over it. She saw the Rangers camp and she guided Ithilia towards it.

As Ithilia arrived at the camp she quickly dismounted and tied her up soothing her horse by running her hands through her mane. She walked back up to where the King was and she curtsied low once again, her hair falling in front of her face due to the fact she never tied it back. She looked up at him knowing she was at least in a bit of a trouble. Her father would be so mad at her.

"My Lord" she said softly.
 
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