“Mithrandir,”
“Mithrandir”
The sound echo’s and rings around the walls of the great hall,
“Come quick” She begs
“Be swift”
The young woman rushes frantically around searching for the absent Mithrandir, alas there comes no reply.

The old wooden doors of the great hall give an ominous creek, in walks a man, his attire as the worn look of war, his robes of Gondor flanked with mud, hair all but drenched with the blood of a thousand Orcs, he slowly wipes his brow;

“M’lady”
“Sir what news of the battle?”

A sombre look passed over him

“Sir? What news of the field? I beg of you do tell!”

No reply

In runs another man; he is dressed as the first, yet his attire seems less grand than that of the first, he is also shorter and less well fed, he bows low to the woman, who grows ever frantic for knowledge.

“My Lord, the Orcs move to the Eastern plain, if we hurry we can cut them off before they…”

He was cut short, the first man interrupted;

“Thank you, alas they will probably already be there, all hope is lost, tell the men to retreat to the Citadel”

The melancholy in his voice trickled along his words like a slow sombre waterfall, he clutched the hilt of his sword, pausing every so often he caressed it, then with an almighty burst he released his sword from its brown leathery sheath. In almost a flash of inspiration he gathered himself.

“Come m’lady, now Mithrandir is lost this is no place for one so fair as yourself”

She obediently obeyed, yet with each step she took, more sorry fill her heart.

“Can it be? My dear Mithrandir gone? No surely not, but what of him? Slain? Fallen?”

Thoughts twisted inside Hirilwen’s fair head.

“Hurry m’lady, for there is little time.” Urged the smaller man, Manberuon”

“But what news have thee of dear Mithrandir?”

His face was grave.

“M’lady, it is not for me to say, dark forces are at work that few understand, save for Mithrandir himself”

Hirilwen ceased her questioning as she knew there was little more she could gain from her exchange with Manberuon, she continued to run with these two men, one either side. Her long flowing locks gliding down her shoulders as she ran. Glancing back she felt at a loss leaving behind the almost comforting walls of the great hall. Here running with two men of Gondor to land unknown she despaired.

“Manberuon, bring about the horses, don’t forget one for our good lady.”

At once he fled to the stables where their horses had waited patiently for their call. Immediately Manberuon returned with three fine horses.

“Manberuon, you are my most favoured swordsman, will you accompany the lady Hirilwen?

“For you sire, to he ends of Middle-Earth”

“Then it is settled, ride out, now, and make haste, travel North and bring me word of Rohan, we may have to lay our party with Eomer, but until then we will continue to fight the forces of darkness. The Lady will be safe in the keep of Edoras”

At once they rode out, making for the realm of Rohan.
To be continued