DEFINING MOMENT

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

TA 3019

Henneth Annun

"We found smoke in the ferns, Lord Faramir!" Damrod burst into the cave, droplets from the waterfall clinging to his cloak. "Yet no signs of Orcs or Men."

Faramir stood and shoved the remaining portion of roasted rabbit meat into his mouth. He was starving—or at least that's what it felt. "Show me," he ordered as he buckled his sword about his waist. He grabbed his cloak and flung it about his shoulders.

"Keep your wits about you," he ordered quickly to his men in the cave with him. His scouts had told him there was a host of Haradrim coming this way through Ithilien. The Rangers would make an attack later that day. He drew his hood to hide his hair and stepped out of the posts.

"I left Mablung and Elion to guard the ferns," Damrod quickly briefed Faramir as they moved swiftly through the tall grass. "We don't think its orcs, nor goblins. It isn't Dwarves. We also saw a skulking thing down by the pool yonder. He escaped us. I suppose he's a spying breed of Orc, terribly ugly."

"We shall know soon enough," Faramir said.

They walked in silence through the hidden paths of Ithilien. How strange that travelers would pass through. Had they no wits? Perhaps they were scouts sent by the Haradrim. But Faramir doubted such was the case. The Haradrim stayed in one large host, wore bright colors, and fought like the whips of their evil master were driving them forward.

"We are coming near, now," Damrod said. He gave a sharp whistle. "You see the smoke rising?"

Aye, Faramir did see it. He could even smell the savory smell of cooking meat and hear the small mutterings of something in the fern.

One of the two men watching the place whistled back. There was silence from the ferns, and then a rustle inside. Then it stopped altogether.

Damrod stepped forward, his voice low. "Come, men. Here is where the smoke came from. We have it like a coney in a trap. Now we'll find out just what it is."

Faramir motioned with his hands for all four men to surround the ferns. His men spread out quietly and swiftly. And then they strode from their four corners to the center. The ferns rustled, and two children burst out, brandishing small swords. They stood back to back, eyes wide with fear and chests heaving.

One child glared at each man, his face dark with fear and anger. The other was pale and thin with wide blue eyes full of alarm. He looked as if he carried a great burden. As Faramir studied the two folks, he realized they both looked like young men, but they were beardless and only came up to Faramir's waist.

"What have we found?" Elrion stared curiously at them.

Damrod released the hilt of his sword and smiled ruefully. "Not Orcs."

"Elves?" Mablung asked doubtfully. The poor Ranger couldn't tell a chicken apart from a rooster, let alone Dwarves from Elves.

But these folk were not Dwarves.

"Nay," Faramir stepped closer to the two and studied them carefully.

They wore grey cloaks over their shoulders with a little green brooch fastened about the neck. Their swords had been specially forged for their size, and they were sharp and glinting.

"Elves do not walk in Ithilien these days. And I've heard Elves are wondrous fair to look upon."

The heavier-set of the two, the glowering one, stepped forward. His curly sandy hair ruffled in the breeze, and there was a look of honest frankness about him. But his hazel eyes snapped. "Meaning we're not, I take you! Thank you kindly. When you've finished discussing us, maybe you'll say who you are, and why you can't let two tired travellers rest."