Sunlight broke through the forest canopy to create splashes of light dancing over the ground.
Songs poured from above, sung by birds of many colors and of many songs.
"Come on, we'll never reach Gondor if you keep stopping to look at every flower on our path. We've barely passed the Old Forest Road."
From his position stooped over a plant, an Elf of the Mirkwood realm stood straight, "We are making fine time to Gondor, Níracas, and can stop to enjoy our surroundings. Legolas told us himself that this was a simple message to Elessar and didn't need all haste. If it did we would have horses."
Sighing, his companion turned back to continue down the path, "Honestly, Ristar, if all duties were left to your logical speed, things would never be completed even on an immortal's timeframe."
"I'm sure I'm not as bad as all that."
Níracas turned to give his friend a look and raised his dark eyebrows, which stood out against his fair skin and light hair styled in the manner of the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen formally known as Mirkwood. The forest had been renamed when Thranduil and the Lord Celeborn met under the boughs of Mirkwood on April 6, 3019 of the Third Age.*
"Well, Níracas, it might not be as bad as all that." Hope shone in Ristar's green eyes. "Besides, between the Brown Lands outside the southern border of the forest and the river Anduin there is not too much to distract one from their destination."
Still, Ristar was met with silence in return. They continued casually towards their destination, finally enjoying a time of peace and quiet. Níracas broke the silence, "The Brown Lands are plain and if it weren't for the stars one may not know which why is which after the sun sets. We will be in that land soon, my friend, and may need to travel at night. Those lands are filled with dark creatures that blend into the long fields."
As their distance grew from where the elves had stopped, a human released a long held breath and slowly stood, shedding the layers of forest debris used to conceal himself. Not seeing the elves any longer, the man made his way into the surrounding forest into a camp.
Upon entering the small camp a mysterious man dressed in a black cloak turned from his position on the point. Lowering a pair of glasses designed for long sight, he gestured for the scout to come closer.
"Their quest?" The man's voice rumbled so low, striking apprehension even in those joined on his side.
"To deliver a message, my Lord." Keeping his eyes lowered, the spy made no attempts to look the other in the eye, aware of the consequences.
"Their state of readiness?"
"Low, my Lord, they do not anticipate an attack."
Raising a fat cigar to his mouth, the man in black's face was consumed in a cloud of smoke, but the smile could easily be seen on his face as his teeth reflected to dull light.
"Excellent."
Afraid to ask, but needing to know, the scout Quintil spoke to the dark man, "Lord Tieced, how are we going to move close enough to our target?"
"Easy," Tieced smirked, "I have hunted their kind for most of my life. Once you know their tendencies, they are simple to attack." Contempt dripped into his words, "They are so arrogant, they think because they are immortal they are invulnerable."
Men begin to come together in the camp, geared and ready to attack, peering down the path leading to Gondor.
The winds blew down that path as if trying to warn the unsuspecting travelers
"Do you think we'll make it before the stars shine?"
Glancing to the west, Níracas saw the sun bidding its farewell to the day.
"I don't believe so, perhaps we should stop for the night. There is a clearing just beyond these trees suitable for a fire. Like you said Ristar, we're in no rush." They began to settle down for the night, creating a small fire and listening to the crickets, their song replacing the birds of the day with their equally comforting tune.
Watching the flames put Ristar into a contemplative mood.
"How much longer do you think we'll stay in Eryn Lasgalen, Níracas?" Ristar brought his green cloak around him, for the winds had been picking up all afternoon. They were now enough to even bother an Elf and make the fire flicker and its light barely able to hold back the dark before being dimmed by the force of the wind.
"I'm not sure. Legolas wishes us to relocate and build Ithilien. Perhaps he wishes to find a new life. I do not believe he finds much satisfaction in being commander of the armies of Eryn Lasgalen, though his father pressed him to take on the responsibility. Fighting the bands of Orcs and random demons that still plague Eryn Lasgalen is not very fulfilling to someone like him. He sees too much beauty in the world to have to constantly face such darkness. It will take some time before he does actually leave our home Eryn Lasgalen, though."
Looking into Níracas' eyes and seeing the certainty there, Ristar nodded and said no more. He knew that Níracas was a highly experienced Elf and even stood in the War of the Last Alliance by the legendary Oropher's side. The ages of life he had known just gave Níracas a dignified and wise face, especially when one looked into his eyes one could see wisdom there.
Though they needed no sleep, the pair of elves knew better than the travel in the dark of night through the southern parts of Eryn Lasgalen. Though The Ring had been destroyed, evil still plagued the land. In addition, the resident spiders always kept elves on alert for the sound of their scurrying on the forest floor and above in the trees. Green was worn by both travelers to help them blend into their surroundings and not attract too much attention.
Though not all beings wishing destruction to the elves were defeated by the simple wearing of green.
"Are we close enough now, my Lord?" A man peered into the woods, trying to see the small flicker of their victim's campfire.
The dark form rose from the greenery, "Moron, I've learned in my long time in war to never underestimate elves. They can be quite annoying at times with their tenacity." Looking off into the night, he motioned for his men to begin moving forward once more. Slowly, inch-by-inch they had crawled all night and were finally getting within reach.
Ristar, still awake, stared at the winking stars through the forest canopy. As the leaves blew, different points of light gave their greeting to the elf far below. They could see from their position far above what their friend of the firstborn could not.
Yet, there was nothing they could do to warn him.
Instincts, greatly heightened within an elf, began sending warning signs as confrontation grew closer.
"Níracas, awaken."
Open eyes focused quickly, "What is it?"
"The crickets," Ristar whispering, trying to see as far into the darkness as possible, "they are silent." No further explanation was needed as the direness of the situation registered on his face.
Seeing each other's gaze, they recognized their situation.
"Quickly, Ristar, extinguish the fire! We must take to the trees." Spreading dirt and scattering the wood, they turned and raced to the edge of the clearing, to the safety of their friends the trees. "Hurry, something is closing in on us!"
No sooner had the words left Níracas' throat then the sound of an arrow cutting through the air could be heard, meeting its target in the elf's chest. Stumbling with shock, Níracas attempted to stay upright and keep going, but finally ended up on his knees.
"Níracas!" Ristar stopped and turned as his companion slowed and faltered. "They are all around us!"
"Don't stop. Leave me. You can make it."
"I cannot." Ristar shook his head; it seemed to the elf that time itself had stopped in this moment.
Meeting Ristar's look of denial with an equal look of determination, Níracas pushed his friend away, "You must!"
Closing his eyes and praying to the Valar for forgiveness, Ristar obeyed his friend's command. Standing and turning back towards the woods, he traveled two steps before a voice broke through the woods ordering him to halt. A voice with such commanding power that the elf could not help but obey, finding his body frozen where it stood.
"Mirkwood Elves," the voice began dripping with sarcasm, "the most wild and uncultured of all the elves, no matter what name you call yourselves by. Your people are nothing compared to the elves of Rivendell or Lothlorien. Pity. About the only thing you are good for is fighting, which you think you do better than what is actually fact. I guess we owe our existence to that little fact."
Out of the forest emerged the form of a man, large with a face hidden by a cloak.
Ristar stared in shock that this person could sneak up and attack them. His bulk surely would not have allowed him to approach unnoticed. Níracas, as ever the wise elf, kept his mind on this person. Fighting off the pain of his injury.
"Who are you?" He asked from his position on his knees, trying to keep his voice strong.
"Forgive my lack of manners, I am Tieced." Closing the distance between them in only a few long strides, the man looked closely at his prizes. Now, the rest of his men had made their appearance in the clearing, confirming the point to their elves that they were not going anywhere.
"What is it you wish with us?" Ristar asked, his impatience with this man's need of secrecy wearing thin.
Tieced stood face to face with Ristar, staring into the elf's eyes and giving Ristar a chance to peer beyond his cloak of shadows. Brown eyes peered out from beyond the depths, with a frigid gaze that could freeze one's soul. "I'm afraid that you are merely the first moves in a elaborate game. I am sorry."
Stepping around Ristar's side, Tieced held out a blade to the long elven throat. Reaching out with his other hand, he removed the elf's arrows from his quiver.
"I need these, thank you for providing them."
Without another word, Tieced's blade sliced Ristar's throat.
Gasping for air, but breathing only blood, Ristar fell to his knees, looking to his companion. Níracas, knowing his fate, could only whispering comforting words as darkness consumed his long time friend.
"I will journey beside you in the Halls of Mandos shortly, my friend. Lissenen ar' maska'lalaith tenna' lye omentuva."
Hearing these words, Ristar managed enough energy for a short smile before falling into death.
"You are correct, elf, you shall join him." The blade, still wet with Ristar's blood, was stabbed violently into Níracas' chest, giving him a longer and more painful fall into darkness.
When both elves lay dead on the forest floor, Tieced turned to his men.
"Burn them."
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Chapter end notes: * Source: The Encyclopedia of Arda
Lissenen ar' maska'lalaith tenna' lye omentuva: Sweet water and light laughter till next we meet
