The Scorched Star

Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap
A breathless footfall on the cool marble. In the eerie silence, it resonated within the hall.
Creak.
The door opened wide and the Elf-maiden stared into the sunny sky.
Rustle.
Daerundros beheld the fair Vale of Imladris, her home, and peered around precariously, looking for the one named Miste, as Lindeledhriel had instructed her. The muscled Elf, now garbed in reinforced leather armour, with quiver and bow borne on her back, glanced sidelong and caught sight of the Grim ranger staring down at the lawn before Elrond's house. Daerundros sighed and walked over.
Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.
There they were, a fair few Elves garbed in White, performing a lament so tragic, and mourning with it. Daerundros wondered if someone had died, but although she did not recognize the tune, she was saddened by it.
And then she had begun to hate it.
"Ah, it seems you have found them first." Daerundros stated matter-of-factly, trying hard to keep a neutral tune as she watched the mourning Elves and their lamenting tune of sadness, "Why not approach them?"
The ranger stared past her and at the Elves, almost gawping, "I cannot...their sadness pains me more than my own ails. What is it they play to?"
The words sent a pang of loathing through her core. Sadness, mourning. All despised, and the chorus of pain flowing from the Elves brought on a desire to cover her ears, because she was sure that if she listened any longer, she would feel the pain as well.
"I am not sure." She stated coldly, "I do not recognize the tune as far as I can hear."
The ranger leaned against a nearby pillar and closed his eyes. Daerundros could not tell what he was feeling, but she saw him fold his arms, watching. Daerundros herself watched as well, but soon her restlessness gained the better of her, and she blurted out: "Well? Are we going to stand here and watch them wail their woes out, or are we going to deliver the message?"
The ranger creased his brows as the melodies swept past the pair. Daerundros' heart began to ache now, and she began to stoop a little as the burden of the song settled itself onto her shoulders.
"...So be it." Came the response from Randir, the Grim-handed man.
"This tune saddens me, I do not wish to hear it." Now a scowl had formed on Daerundros' lips and she turned away abruptly, walking slowly with Randir, for he had begun to stagger as he struggled to get away from the edge of the terrace. As they approached the ramp, Daerundros could make out a green-garbed figure in the distance, but her attention was drawn to the glimmering brooch on it's chest.
His kindred? Was her first thought, and she raised her brows as she spotted the figure slowly moving up the path and headed directly towards them. She caught the glimpse of a feminine figure clothed underneath stark armour. Now a frown creased her brows.
"Do you need help descending the ramp?" Daerundros asked, eyeing Randir again, knowing his injuries. She frowned but the ranger persistently moved on, hampering down the path with limps and winces.
The figure had presently halted to a stop before them and pulled down her hood to reveal a woman's face. Long dark-brown hair cascaded down to her shoulders. The seven-pointed star glimmered on her chest briefly, before it was obscured by a curteous bow.
"I heard that a ranger was tended in this house." Came the first words from her mouth. But Daerundros did not pay attention and frowned to herself, looking at the Ranger-woman briefly, and then back at Randir, and then down to her feet, an obvious look of worry on her face.
Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.
It seemed to her, even as she stood there, her mind was lingering elsewhere. Green plains, holly bushes, and the smell of tea. Back in Eregion, her mind wandered and thought of the Warband from the White Hand, surely already on the verge of passing over the Last Bridge, and she also thought of the prowling remnants and scouts it had surely deployed within Eregion, to crush the small Elven-scouting parties that remained there. The song sung by the Elven Minstrels of the Harp burdened her and she brooded idly.
Time went by her fleetingly. She greeted and bowed as the Elven figures came to and fro, but never listened. Her mind lingered.
Time waited for no one.
Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.
Before she knew it, she registered the presence of Anglachelm, Tûr of Vanimar, and she found herself automatically bowing. He was accompanied by Vorongwe and a few others. Only the Grim-ranger's voice, now somewhat loud and clear after all her thinking, brought her back from her saddened thoughts.
"Mae govannen, Hir nin. Im gelir ceni ad lin. Man anirach cerin an le?- ...what can I do for you? Ah...a question I had hoped you would not ask so soon, I confess."
The ranger looked up gravely, but it seemed to Daerundros, he avoided Anglachelm's gaze, perhaps too brightened by the radiance to look. Anglachelm's own gaze, however, roamed over Amlarad, assessing him keenly.
"If you are to stay in the safety of the valley for a while more, questions can wait." Anglachelm replied in his mighty voice. The ranger seemed to shrink down in face of the Elven-Lord's tall stature.
"He is wielding arms already." Another observed, but Daerundros only looked towards Anglachelm and Randir.
"Heading out... to face with the foe that caused you such wounds..." Anglachelm trailed off, "This is not wise."
Daerundros perked her brow as she felt a tinge of disbelief as Anglachelm spoke. He was mighty in his own right, but his assumption over Randir's intentions sparked dislike, and she hastily interjected, "If I may speak, Lord Anglachelm."
The Elf-lord turned his gaze towards her, but she was not intimidated, instead, she said, as politely as she could muster, "He is not to challenge his assailant. He is headed west. With me."
"West?" Anglachelm asked, looking somewhat confused.
"To the Last Bridge."
"...to chase rumour of a Warband heading thither, Lord." The Ranger replied, and Daerundros smiled for it. She looked up at the house and was now fully aware of the company that was now gathered; The Ranger-woman, silent behind Randir. Then there was Anglachelm, dressed in the rich hauberk of his house dyed Blue, and surrounding him were three others, dressed in the same hauberk, yet coloured White. She made out Vorongwe standing to his left, but the other two Elves were a mystery to her.
"A warband?" Another question. Daerundros smiled grimly as the ranger nodded to her.
"Aye, a Warband bearing the Arms of the White Hand."
The disbelief was clear in Anglachelm's face, "White Hand... of Curunir? That north?" He then shook his head and gazed at Daerundros, "You must be mistaken... there is no White Hand in the Shaws. Nor a single orc."
A pang within her told her that her pride had been wounded somewhat, and she felt her teeth gnashing together. Her pride demanded her to stand up to the Lord's condescending words, and so she did.
"We know not the Warband's purpose." She made a good effort not to sound spiteful despite her distaste, "But I am sure of it, for the scouts have seen. Remnants linger in Eregion."
"Surely not my scouts." The Lord stated. Daerundros shook her head and tapped the badge on her chest.
"No, not yours. Mine."
"...and Eregion is not clear of them. You are right there."
Amlarad's voice interjected suddenly and Daerundros turned to look at him.
"My lord...this is a rumour, perhaps. One that I intend to root out. Will you allow it, before your banners set forth?" He said gravely.
"Allow what?" Anglachelm asked, turning his head in Amlarad's direction.
"For myself and my company here to chase them at their heels, and discover the truth of it?"
The Elf-lord pondered a while before stating slowly, "You are brave, Atanacano, and deserving of the Name we have given you."
Daerundros smiled wryly at his comment, but her thoughts were rather unfocused and she missed the last words of the exchange. Her mind still lingered elsewhere.
But then his voice, full of pain and retribution, snapped her back to reality once more, and she felt the weight of his burden descending down on her.
"...I will not yield the houseless hills and sunless woods unfought, my Lord. But perhaps I should bow to wisdom. If so...I would wish it that my company here go in my stead."
Incredulity. Dull pain. Surprise. His wounded words stroke a deep gash through her visage and she found herself in a position of struggling. Her voice rose up in obvious protest.
"Your oath, Randir-"
"-can be held by others with the same purpose." He stated firmly.
The words hit her like stone, the impact shaking her stout resolve. As soon as he had uttered the words, she felt the full weight of the burden on her shoulders and her mind, and she struggled to stand and comprehend what was bestowed upon her.
She was now the bearer of his Oath.