Yrill retreated to her rooms at dawn’s first light. It had been a merry few days, and an exceptional evening. She was content, more than content with the outcome. She was happy for her old mentor, Danel, and for Estarfin, whom she had come to know quite well by accompanying him and Captain Culufinnel in the search for Danel and Parnard, after they had been captured by Corsairs.
The Huntress had been party to many of Danel’s reminiscences when she had been her student in Lore, back in Eregion before it fell to Sauron’s forces. She remembered well the older elleth’s hopes and dreams. And now, finally, they had been realised, against all probability. A new life lay ahead for her and Estarfin, as they made the home together that they should have built in the First Age.
Although part of her wanted to linger in Númenstáya to see how matters developed, she had begun to feel restless. She had never been one to remain in one place overlong. She knew Danel could well defend herself, and now she had Estarfin, who would protect her with his life, as well as Filignil, part-time cook, part-time weapon of destruction against any who dare try to harm the remaining Lady of Thargelion.
It was time Yrill stretched her legs a little. She had not taken the epessë ‘Urugdagnir’ for no reason. She was, first and foremost a slayer of orcs. It was her ongoing way of making the creatures pay for killing her family, her friends, and her own young students in Ost-in-Edhil. She was a purposely well trained and honed weapon of vengeance who could usually pass through enemy lands unseen. Hunting Orc for a few months would improve her restlessness, and she could return to Númenstáya and support Danel again. It was a self-imposed quest, and one that had worked well for her in the past.
Now none would forbid her from lessening Orc numbers, save if there was some plan in Imladris or Lothlórien that needed discretion. She understood that and, although she thought it unlikely Imladris had any plans beyond the Hithaeglir, it was to Lord Elrond’s house she would ride first.
If naught was planned as far as she could discern, she would seek out Lord Veryacano of the Hammer to make sure. She intended to pass the Mountains, slaying any orc or goblin she could, but then head southeast.
The Golden Wood was not her goal. Nay, it was Mordor she sought.
She changed from her wedding guest attire into her black leathers, and packed a few of her belongings in her saddle bags. A spare, thick cloak for the mountains, although she rarely felt the cold. A second light leather tunic, for further south. A second pair of boots. Most of the space was filled with smaller additional weapons, and provisions. Grain for her horse, travel food for herself. She could always hunt rabbits if she needed to. At least through much of her forthcoming journey that would be possible. She would have to be far more careful as she neared her destination.
Yrill smiled momentarily at the memory ‘hunting rabbits’ provoked. He had told her to hunt rabbits as one of her first tasks in the Order he commanded. She had almost laughed in his face, such a simple task any child could accomplish. Did he underestimate her so much? Would ‘he’ still be in Imladris? She was unsure. She and Dolthafaer, Lord of the Order of the Arrow, had parted as friends, leaving much unsaid. They had gone their separate ways before anything could truly develop. And besides, she had since moved on from any thought of romance for herself. It was not her path. She was vengeance for Eregion personified. There was no room for love, save the love for those she had lost.
Writing a short note, giving word that she was travelling and expected to be away for at least six months, perhaps longer, she folded and sealed the paper. She would leave it with Ceuro, asking him to pass it on to Danel in a few days. Danel was not to be concerned by her absence. Nor was she to know where the huntress was heading, or why. And Ceuro was a reliable and solid sort to trust. She would say no more to him, save ‘Namarie’.
With a final glance around the rooms, two smaller sparsely decorated rooms that had become almost home, she drew a deep breath, picked up her beloved bow and quiver, and closed the door on many good memories.
(See: Black Leathers | The Laurelin Archives by Dolthafaer, and the picture
