Faorie stands in the Hall of Fire, meditating over recent events when a man makes his way to stand before her. She looks to him and he looks to her.
He kneels before Faorie.
Faorie is rather surprised by his immense sense of formality. She bows in return. “Suilad, friend,” she says.
“Do not bow.” He stares at her for a long moment. “Yer an elf. I will hev' no elf bowing before me.”
Faorie studies the man briefly, observing his wardrobe that seems to cover nearly his entire body besides his eyes. “What is your name, traveller?”
“My name is o' no consequence. I come far from t' West.”
“And your journey has led you to Imladris. What brings you to the hidden vale?”
“I am here,” he says roughly. “Nothing else matters.”
Faorie stares at him for a long moment and chooses not to pursue the subject further. She begins to smile. “You have spoken to Lord Elrond regarding your arrival, have you not?”
The stranger stares into Faorie's eyes. His eyes are black and heavy. “I hev'.” It is apparent that this is a lie.
Faorie nods once. She holds her hands before her and speaks gently, “It has been quite some time since last I've seen Men walk the paths of Imladris.”
He continues to stare at Faorie in what should be a discomforting manner. “Aye.” He narrows his eyes. “And how did ya' know I was a man?”
Faorie leans her head slightly to the side. She smiles gently. “You speak in the manner that's recognized by Menkind. Your tone is rough, your voice is deep. I can see that you do not hail from Imladris, nor Lothlorien, nor Mirkwood.”
The stranger remains still for a moment. “Well said.”
“You are not truly hidden, though you wear a mask, traveller,” Faorie says in a somewhat gentle tone.
“Er ya sure?”
She expresses a hint of amusement as part of her response. “Of this, I am certain.”
The stranger then walks up close to her, less than a foot away. He is very tall and gruff, and his clothes are black, his skin dark. He looks down heavily into Faorie's eyes and in this it becomes apparent that this stranger is attempting to intimidate. His eyes are filled with cold and death, and what Faorie perceives to be mallice.
She remains in place, her expression neither shifts nor falters.
The stranger speaks quietly: “Ya know nothing o' me.”
Faorie studies his eyes for a long moment.
“I was raised in a hidden village in Eastern Rohan, of the Varsydian tribe. That village was destroyed... burned to ash by Rohirrim from the west of us. They viewed us as savages, for our languages and faces were different from their's. Killing men... women... children, they showed no mercy.
“Those that escaped fled with my brother n' I to a large cave in t' mountains. We trained, both mentally and physically. We began t' steal weapons, armour, and food.”
Faorie continues to listen quietly, still studying his eyes as he speaks.
“My brother n' I became so skilled in the arts o' fighting that we joined... a group...” He says no more.
Faorie stands still as she was when he first entered the Hall. Her eyes are no longer studying, but whether or not his words have caused a mental shift is uncertain.
“A war is coming.” He narrows his eyes. “Many who you trusted are not who you think. Many who you have allowed into your kin, and those that have joined others, are spies. Warriors in disguise.”
Faorie remains calm, staring at the stranger.
He leans in closer to Faorie and whispers, “Death to those that oppose the Dark Lords. May Imladris burn.”
Faorie widens her eyes.
The stranger runs behind her, out of sight... as if he disappeared into thin air.
She searches Imladris in attempt to find the stranger again, but he is gone. A letter has been written to Lady Elisbeth, and what comes now is yet to be seen.
