He kept riding and riding until the horrid sounds fainted. He then finally reached the Isen river, and looked behind him. The camp's fires were nowhere to be seen and all Angelnarth could hear now was the water's peaceful gurgling. He dismounted, and gingerly crossed the deep waters of the river while guiding his horse behind of him by its reins.
His thoughts were clouded by doubt and concern. He was worried about the fate of these lands now that the well-known leader of the Istari has joined forces with the enemy. But more importantly he was worried about his new friends. A newfound threat, powerful and unrelenting as ever was after their lives this night, and yet all he did was ride away in pursuit of his quest's success, leaving the Rohirrim to their fate.
He was miles away from Isen, but his concerns would not let go. It was still dark. On the left of his track he spotted the gloomy, vast ancient forest of Fangorn. Angelnarth looked up on the sky as he kept riding as fast as his horse could. His eyes glimmered with hope as he fixated them above the tall trees, to the great seven stars of Valacirca, the Sickle of of the Valar, that showed him the way to the north. The boisterous rythm of his horse's galloping was all that could be heard, as he was crossing the open plains of west Rohan. A red dawn soon came to find him as he was crossing a shallow river upon his white steed. He could almost see the forest's edge, which he would follow in order to head north, all the way until the Limlight river. His destination, Thinglad, was but a few miles from the river's coast. He rode for some more hours until midday, and soon enough he spotted a small, rustic village ahead of him. He would not enter the village, there was no need. He came down from his horse and found shelter under the shade of a huge rock, which lied in the middle of the treeless plains, and still not too close to the Rohirric village. The horse needed some rest, and so did he. He lied on the lush, green grass and as the soft breeze gently relaxed his body, his worries quickly seemed to fade away one after the other, the weary Dunadan was asleep before he could even realise it.
He remained there for many hours, as his exhausted body and mind ordered him to, sleeping in peace. In his dreams, he was back in Imladris, back to Her side. Where he belonged. He felt safe and loved, even for this little while.
He suddenly woke up. He looked around in anxiety. The sun was still illuminating the plains, but the dusk was drawing close. Angelnarth then realised that his long rest and hopeful dreams have cost him a whole day. "Stupid, good for nothing.." he mumbled to himself as he got on his feet. And then he heard voices. Screams, of men, women and even children. He rushed away from the rock and his eyes quickly fell upon the sight of the village. The little houses were in flames as screams, groans and other horrid sounds were coming from the streets. He mounted his horse and rushed his way there.
It was men. He expected orcs, but he saw men with lit torches and bloodied weapons on their hands, killing and pillaging, raping and putting on fire everything on their paths. Angelnarth drew his swords and came down from his horse. "Megil nin na fael, amath nin na sarta. Tonight i take lives of my own kind", he whispered to himself like a prayer, and advanced into the massacred village's streets. He walked amongst the brutalized corpses of the villagers, his eyes fixed in front of him. The thirst for vengeance was growing strong into his heart.
Three men came out of a burning farmhouse. They wore rags, covered with dirt and stained with the blood of their victims. One of them had the White Hand painted on his face. Angelnarth understood the notion quite well by now. The wildlings ran at him with their clubs raised, but the Dunadan extended his Noldorin blades and moved between them with such speed, slitting the third man's throat before the first one's corpse touched the ground. He kept walking down the village's street, determined for vengeful bloodshed.More men kept showing up from ruined houses and dark alleys, Angelnarth making his way through them the way a farmer walks across his crops, reaping on his way. He was tranquil, but death was in his eyes.
All of a sudden he heard more voices coming from the south, the way he earlier came from. But it was clear to him, these were not voices of men. Grunts of orcs, half-orcs and the White Hand's Uruks, as a former scout Angelnarth could tell. Even if they were not aware of his presence, he could not go back to his horse. He had to run away from the village now, and disappear into the night. The mission he was entrusted with was at stake.
He ran to the edge of the burning village and then headed north, to find the bank of Limlight. He managed a few yards away from the flames, but his time the enemy was ingenious as he was strong. "Get him, worms, or it will be your heads we return to the Wizard!". Angelnarth turned. Tall, strong-looking figures were behind him, their shadows chasing the Dunadan like demons in the dark. He kept running forward, but soon he could hear one of his enemies footsteps closing in on him. This orc was fast. He quickly turned while on the run and with a lightning-like draw of his sword, he slashed the creature along its chest. He then kicked him fiercely in the stomach and kept running ahead. Except from running, he now heard a warg's distant howling from his behind. He momentarily turned again to see, but it was too dark to tell. Something shined in the distant of the plains in front of him. Angelnarth struggled to see. It was almost like the reflection of moonlight upon water. It was Limlight!
The wargs wild gaits were but a few yards away from him, but he was close. He held on to his swords to the sides of his waist, and kept running with everything he had. Crossing the river was his last hope.
The sound of a warg's growl reached him from just behind his back. They finally caught up. He seemed to be done for, this time. He closed his eyes, accepting his fate. But the Valar have not forsaken him. An arrow flew into the still of the night, passing right next from his ear, its sound ringing like a bell in Angelnarth's heart. He was not alone.
Angelnarth stared in front of him again, as the silver blades of the Elven sentinels flashed into the night like beacons of hope. He stopped running and turned, raising his own weapons into the air. The Sindars closed up behind him, as the warg riders and the Uruks assembled in front of them. "Herio!" Angelnarth yelled and charged against the hunters who have become the prey.
((This is an OOC message. I want to thank everyone who has read my stories so far, and also all those who have RPed with me in the past and kept me good company as well as a good inspiration for my stories. I wish everyone a happy new year, and i'll soon enough come up with more of Angelnarth's adventures. Cheers!))
