F.A 1486 Ithilien
Raen Vanyawen, a Watcher of Draugan devised a preposterous plan - slay Legolas Greenleaf the Elflord of Ithilien. Believing the Elves were trying to steal the Draugan Forest from the Woses, Raen was determined to slay Legolas to dr...
It was high noon and the Sun sailing hot above the clouded skies and the sloping meadow was green with scattered yellow wild flowers, brushes and trees. Beren pulled the reigns and his mare came to a trot then to a walk. Raen was mounting irritably behind him. She insisted on taking the pathless hills right side of the Great Road to avoid notice and they have fallen far behind the company of the Elves. They've left the Grey Ford and now heading southwards to the North Gate of Minas Tirith after Raen's plot failed.
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'I don't get it, the string was cut,' Raen murmured as she climbed down her horse. Beren unmounted after, swung their packs over his shoulder then the two walked towards the nearby cluster of trees to get some shade. 'I was very careful, someone must have cut it.'
'What's done is done, let it pass.' Beren said in a rather calm voice. He was the kind of man who doesn't like troubling himself with things of the past, though never forgetful, he is wise beyond his age however underrated in sword-skill for his fair face and love for music. Beren is thirty and one in years, a grown man both in age and experience but never did once he speak about his life in Pelennor and why he ended North when he was born in the South.
'I failed our people.' Raen added in a heavy tone.
'You failed no one.' Beren followed her closely, pulling his mare he named Snowmain.
'We lost that one chance, Beren, and I completely wrecked it. Now you have to go with me to this...ridiculous mission.'
Brushing his forehead with his sleeve, Beren laughed. 'Why so worried? I do not mind tugging along with my fair friend. Long it has been since I saw the seven rings of Minas Tirith, I wish to see its beauty again. And Emyn Arnen...'
'Your home!'
'Once.' Beren said. 'My home is in Druadan. Yet there are faces I want to see in the South, and so do not think this quest is not my liking too.' They have come to the shade of the great oak tree at last, it was leaning eastward casting a deep shade.
Raen sat on the protruding root with brows pressed tight, pouting her lips as if an angry child. Beren let their horses graze nearby then hurried to her side. There was silence for a moment, Beren stood on one leg squinting at the winding Great Road before them. He drew a wine-skin out of his bag and sat beside his friend. Before them was the empty road with trees lining up on both sides, behind them was the outskirts of the forest connecting to Stonewain valleys and South was Mindolluin with its jagged grey shadow.
'Water?' he asked. Raen snatched the water-skin and drank as Beren watches. A strange feeling started to squeeze his heart again. In his younger days he had admired Raen for her undeniable beauty, though he was not the first one to notice it, and in the years that came after her beauty did not falter, instead she grew fairer and skillful, and his fondness molded into something deeper.
