The four of us encircle Gondrinn. I stand high upon a rock so I can look down into the camp. Gisuna, ever the bear, is hidden in some deep thicket. Seregrian and Ithilwe are out of my sight, but I trust that as a good thing. I can see a blur of a small company below, and the rush as they start to pack up their camp. As dawn breaks over the hills, I see my opportunity and creep closer; close until I am against a pillar of the ruins, and can peer around to see in.
There is an archer across the ruins, opposite me. Three other men rushing about to pick up the camp. Their language is familiar to me; it is one I have heard before, but have no learning in. I can understand nothing that they say. I see a fifth man approach; even from my distance, I can see that he is notably wounded and bloody. He looks unlike them; his hair is lighter in shade - closer to grey, whereas the other men are dark-haired and dark-skinned. My assumption is correct that they are unlike, as they treat him like a hostage - forcing him to his knees.
I am about to go charging in, but Gisuna beats me to it. She roars in like the beast she is, towering over the injured man and swiping his keepers away with a large paw. The rest of us rush in after her. The archer flees into the hills, and I curse softly as we lose him. Seregrian keeps one man stilled just by her watchful gaze, though he remains standing. A second has fallen nearby, though is clearly still alive by his stirring. I hold the third man beneath the point of my sword. Instantly he breaks into sobs, rapidly speaking in a language I do not understand. I look up towards Seregrian, but she does not know what he speaks either. The blubbering man speaks only two words that I recognize.
“Slave” and “Harad”.
The man who had fallen to the ground was on his feet now. Ithilwe was by my side. I could see him rise and move to lunge at Ithilwe, and instinctively I moved and threw my shield up in front of him protectively. The blow bounced off of my shield, and the man's second attempt was halted by the fact he now stared down the shaft of an arrow. I left him to Ithilwe, and pointed my sword back at the one who had identified himself as “slave”. In my distraction, someone (perhaps the archer had returned) had struck down Seregrian, and the man she had been minding rushed away and dove into the river of the Midgewater Pass. The numbers were dwindling.
Gisuna had safely moved the man we reached out of the line of fire, and had shifted back to her manling form to speak with him. I picked up little from the distance other than his name; Ioranir. It held no significance to me, so I paid it no mind for now as I held my blade towards the throat of the slave.
“What do we do with them?” Ithilwe asked me. I could feel Gisuna’s gaze on me as well, waiting for my decision. I looked down at the man in front of me, the Easterling, a race of Men whom had allied with the Shadow before… And felt only pity. I slowly lower my sword.
“Let them go. They shall know mercy from my blade today; these lands will show them not.” I decide. Ithilwe lowers his bow, and the two remaining slaves vanish from our sight and disappear into the Weather Hills. Now, we are free to speak with the man we rescued.
He introduced himself to us again in broken Westron as Ioranir, someone who had been a part of the Company of the East Road, and had been searching for a way back to them. He told us briefly of his tale in the Misty Mountains, but my concern for his injuries made me speed up the process of leaving Gondrinn. Gisuna and Ioranir take the path of the water, whilst Ithilwe and myself run along the banks. He stays with them while I scout the Pass to find where it empties into the Midgewater Marshes.
As I am running, I get the sudden nervous sensation that I am being followed; but even in all my elven grace, I am not fast enough to stop my attacker as I feel a blade slice through my side, through my armor. An Orc, that bears the image of the White Hand. After a brief struggle on the bank, I emerge victorious, but wounded. Blood is staining my armor already. I know that we do not have time to deal with it; once we make camp in the Marshes, Ithilwe will be busy tending to Ioranir’s wound. Despite knowing I risk his ire, I decide not to tell him until we are safely back at headquarters.
Making camp in the Marshes proves to be as uneventful as one would assume; Gisuna falls asleep quickly from her injuries and the excitement of the past few days, and as predicted, Ithilwe tends to the wounds of Ioranir. I manage to locate our steeds (unwaveringly loyal, are Thalawest and Aegelir), and a third steed has joined them. I think it belongs to the slaves we set loose; very well, it can now belong to Ioranir. Once I return with the horses, we pack up quickly and race back to the headquarters even quicker.
We briefly speak with Daphnee and Anastasiar, but are all too exhausted to continue the explanation of the past few days longer than a few minutes. The two women go inside to rest, and Ioranir follows suit. Gisuna, still sleepy, hunkers down in the grass and dozed off immediately. Ithilwe and I go inside and sit down.
“You are not allowed to be angry with me,” I brace after a long silence.
“Why?” He asks, immediately suspicious. “What is it you have done?”
“I have been bleeding since we came over the Midgewater Pass.”
It is safe to say he was very cross with me, and sits me down in front of the hearth as we oft do; he removes my armor and treats my wound. Not as gently as I think he should, but he shushes me when I voice such a complaint. He relaxes once more once it is clean and bandaged; with his head against my shoulder, the rest of the evening is spent silently pondering what is to come next.
