The Hunt for Randir - "Confrontation"

Minyelaire kept her hood down in her face. She stood rather relaxed there before him, like a crimson figure, a wraith of dread, light reflects on her from the snow, ltting her glow in a terribly light. Daerundros, in her horror, looked down to see her fallen companion being cornered by the hooded face. Amlarad slowed his breathing and slid his gaze down his blade, aimed squarely from afar at her crimson chest. No! In haste Daerundros jumped down hurriedly and landed lightly on her feet, losing her balance. However, she regained it quickly and she jumps between Minyelaírë and Amlarad, blade drawn, 'Randir!' However, Amlarad staggered forward, moving infront of her with his blade still held aloft in defence, his grim face haggard. Daerundros could see beneath Minyelaírë's hood, her eyes narrowed. However, Daerundros looked to Amlarad and said through gritted teeth, 'Do not even attempt to defend me, randir.' Daerundros pushed past Amlarad deftly. Minyelaire held her blade up as the ranger draws nearer. Her footing shifted, she stood masterly and precise on the snow. Daerundros gnashed her teeth furiously as Amlarad tries to shove himself back out of nobility rather than childishness, though his diminished manner prevents him from success. She rapidly draws her own two blades, "No!"
Amlarad, however resigns for a sideways defence and sidles up beside her, rising himself fully to his towering height, his blade parallel to hers. It was a moment of suspense.
'Stand aside.' Minyelaírë ordered. Daerundros planted her feet firmly, 'No!' Yet suddenly, as she fully acknowledges Minyelaírë, she comes to realization, that Minyelaírë had been hunting them the whole time. Anger risen within her, she gripped her blade tightly and her whole body shook in fury. She blinked, and she felt a tiny blood vessel pop in her eye. A tear of blood cascaded down her cheek. Amlarad heaved his chest up and down as his breathing remains sharp; his mind acknowledged vaguely the voice unlike a man's, and her slender posture within the crimson garb. Yet Minyelaire frowned beneath her hood. Dhêorl, her blade, flames up in blue light. How much it desires to be burried into the man's flesh.
Amlarad flicked his sea-borne eyes to the shimmering blue, his heart misgiving at the clear otherwordly opponent before him.
At that moment, Daerundros spoke: 'He is my friend! I shall not have him perish!'
'S-..' Amlarad caught his breath as she interrupted his next words.
'Stand now aside.', Minyelaírë ordered once more, 'Let it be done what is meant to be.'
'Speak plain your purpose, assailant.' Amlarad said. At this moment, Daerundros' anger rose, as Minyelaírë's words echoed through her head, 'Which is what?! You hunted us for sport... you harm my friend... YOU HARM ME!'
Minyelaire held her blade tight, appearing to restrain herself, 'With thee I have no buisness this day, Daerundros. No buisness of strife that is. Step now aside and let me slay this one.'
'NO!' Daerundros shrieked. Minyelaírë never understood true empathy, the true meaning of friendship. Alas, the being was now so corrupted beyond measure.
Amlarad barked sharply, 'It is my right to face my opponent who has so best me at my game. But to whom does Randir face, that is all I ask.'
'SLAY HIM FOR WHAT?! HE HAS DONE NOTHING TO YOU!' Daerundros screeched loudly. Amlarad snapped his sea-borne eyes coldly upon her, his towering stance now set, despite his aching pains. He stepped forward and flicked his eyes over hers as he intrudes upon her space, though he appears momentarily curious rather than aggressive.
Minyelaire, however, ignores the shouts of Daerundros and turns her vision to Amlarad. The hood falls back, long ears are revealed along side red hair and a marking over the face and a yellow glow in her eyes.
Amlarad spoke softly, 'Of whom do I face; answer me that, and this ragged man shall flee no longer.'
Daerundros pushed past Amlarad with more strength than needed. Amlarad rather staggers back as much as she falls back, for her elvish sight sunders him and he falters, shock and confusion upon his grim face.
'...why?' He asked. Amlarad sagged his shoulders as he returned to the guise of his ragged self, staring at her in disbelief, his blade held limply.
'Why?' He repeated once more. Daerundros spoke in soft tones, though the anger shook her voice, 'You are dear to me, Randir. I shall not have you slain. I have lost many friends already. I shall not lose another.'
Minyelaire ignored the exchange, 'Thou facest the one who's exile hath come to an end who is named forth on Ñesdháranël. The enmity of me thou hast, numenorean. As do have all of mankind.'
'Numenorean?' Amlarad's voice rang up in disbelief from behind Daerundros, 'Numenorean you say? Those are a forgotten folk, and they have long gone unto the grave.'
'You face a wanderer, nothing more!' Amlarad added.
Daerundros tried to keep calm, but her murderous look remained. Amlarad lowered his blade completely and stabbed it into the snow, propping himself upon it as he dips his head and grimaces in pain.
'Words spoken from mortal lips are as passing as the man who utters them.' Minyelaírë said, looking straight through Daerundros and towards Amlarad.
'He has done nothing upon you, Minyelaírë. He does not deserve anything.' She said fiercely.
'This has no concern to thee, Daerundros. Now step aside and then we shall continue our journey to the South of World, once this one hath left the world beyond its confines.' Came the reply. Daerundros rebuked her aggressively, 'No. He is my friend. I shall not bear to see him die.'
'Then look away!'
'My lady...let me speak.' Amlarad interjected, just as Daerundros had uttered yet another no. Daerundros looked at Amlarad, frowning, 'Then speak, swiftly!' She regarded Minyelaírë coldly. Her pleasant sea-blue eyes were now filled with an icy gaze that pierced through Minyelaírë's own yellow eyes. Yet Minyelaire stands against Daerundros' look. Nesdháranël's will is not lightly broken and she has seen dread of utter darkness. The look pearls from her as if it would be water on glass.
Amlarad then spoke, 'You seek to strike those Men whom are graced of old? Of those whom are descended to Ar-Pharazon the fool? Then I shall not deny you your vendetta, my lady...no, Randir will willingly accept The Gift. But I crave that you hear well my final words, lest you are to silence my last words of wisdom. Will you stay your blade, and hearken?.' He pleaded silently, Daerundros turned to Randir with a shocked and petrified look, 'Randir, you cannot die...'
Amlarad looked quickly at Daerundros to silence her, awaiting Minyelaire's deference or defiance.
Minyelaire remained silent for short. Dhêorl however seems to let her arm shake, so greedy is the blade. It wishes naught by peace through death and haunts the maid with fine whisperings to slay this one now that Daerundros does not look. But the Avar restrained the blade, 'Speak and I will hearken.'
Amlarad nodded and rose himself one last time as he uttered his final words, unfolding without restraint, his usually calm voice broken with urgency and assurance, 'The Dunedain...a name of sin among those whom still remember their greatest folly. This I know. And in all my long years that I have wandered, there are those of the Firstborn whom still look upon my with mistrust; and they scorn me with their gaze, even if politeness stays their tongue. The mistake of my greater sires dogs our every step, unto the very dark days ahead.' He spoke urgently, 'This I shall not deny. But I will say this; Look upon me, and tell me what you see? I, Randir, they name me. A wanderer's name, of little honour, with naught but mild amusement among those who remember my crooked features. I am a Ranger, and we watch the lands of our forefathers... Every stride we take, 'Every hour we watch, 'We repent for that mistake. We diminish ourselves in humble garb. We crave forgiveness, and every moment I spend in the presence of your folk, I feel guilt for all that has been spilt for our foolishness.'
Daerundros looked down in great sadness, but Amlarad continued; 'But do not judge me, as if I know not repent, or fail to acknowledge the curse of my people. We are bold, and diminished, but we walk still with compassion. For that, I will gladly take The Gift you offer, that Ar-pharazon so feared.'
'No!' Daerundros said through gritted teeth, but Amlarad continued; 'I do not fear death. I do not welcome it. But I do not....crave...the grace of your people.'
'I have never.' He added. Amlarad regarded Minyelaire with a steely and determined gaze; the honesty woven into his sea-borne eyes as firm as his statue-like stance. But Minyelaire looked at her sword that seems to rejoice at the ranger's words. Her looks went up to the ranger and she spoke herself. Daerundros placed her hand on Amlarad's shoulder.
'Thou hast revealed thyself to me and thou shalt know who will give thee the 'Gift'. I am Minyelaírë, the grand-child of Theriñer who has awoken among the people of the one the Eldalië name Finwë. I am what light and darkness fears for I slay them alike and to my own pleasure. I am no elf as thou might worshipest, mortal. And now...'