Gaeros wrenched his longsword free from the corpse's makeshift wooden breastplate, spinning a web of wet splintered entrails in the process. His gaze darted quickly, left then right as he tried to catch his breath. Using his free arm, the Man of Gondor reached down, grabbing several rolled parchments and shoving them into his vest. He then swept his longbow up off the ground, quickly slinging it over his shoulder. With his bow secured and sword in tow he quickly stepped over the still warm body, hurrying forward in a nervous jog determined to escape. Still, he paused if only for a moment; saddened to see his horse Admir lying in a pool of blood.
No time to mourn. Grunting and howling could be heard just over the hill and clumsy iron footsteps were getting louder. Gaeros, lightly-armoured in the hunting leathers befitting a noble of Dol Amroth, looked back in frustration. Then, the hunter became the hare and Gaeros' instinct took over. With full momentum he sprinted off trail running several hundred feet before diving behind the shelter of old ruins.
Minutes later the brigands reached the road and the fresh corpses of five of their own. Like a pack of starving wargs they howled in frustration at losing their prey. They were a mixed group of men, orcs and some as half-breeds. Gaeros huddled cautiously inside the embrace of an eroded pillar. Knowing he was now at a safe distance he reached back, grabbed an arrow from his quiver and nocked it into place. “Soulless, degenerate filth.” the hunter whispered to himself in lament,“She was my best horse, and a true friend”.
His rage grew deeper as he heard two of the orcs arguing over the horse meat trophy. He pulled back on his bow string, wanting to end them. His aim darted back and forth surveying the pack. Regrettably, there were too many of them to retaliate and he relaxed his draw. The savage brigands outnumbered him more than a dozen to one. The horse was a faithful mare but not worth the hunter losing his life over.
“What are orcs doing here?” Gaeros seethed. Ever since he had crossed over the White Mountains he had made it a point to stay a safe distance from any road. The road left you open; left you vulnerable. That strategy had kept him safe and it kept him alive. But now in order to make it through the southern entrance to Bree-land he was forced to cross through the narrow Vale of Andrath with little cover. This being a common trade route one would think it a relatively safe, well guarded area. Unfortunately, this was no longer the case and Gaeros had arrived to discover the entire area plagued by corruption. Something had emboldened the brigands. These were no ordinary bandits; men who walked in the company of orcs served a darker purpose and according to a quick glance of the parchment he picked off of the dead half-breed, plans for large scale attacks were afoot.
Seeing the reach of the Dark Lord's power into Eriador first-hand only strengthened Gaeros' resolve that much more. He knew he had made the right decision in heading north. There he would pledge fealty to Lord Commander Gilgarad and The Order of Dol Amroth and meet the Darkness head on. The Darkness he believed, that had taken the life of his beloved mother and consumed the will of his father.
He would not waist his destiny on petty vengeance against the brigands that ambushed him. Instead, he would live to see another day. Serve a higher purpose. In any case, he reversed an ambush of five ruthless killers and managed to acquire some very vital documents in the process. He was determined to somehow relay this information to the Liege-Lord. Perhaps this intelligence would even secure his position among the coveted ranks of the honorable Swan Knights of his homeland.
When the opening came Gaeros reluctantly slipped away; between the ruins and through the rubble; making his escape; never looking back. The hunter ran for what seemed like ages, north up the Greenway until he saw the outline of the small city, “Bree”, he voiced with a cold bitterness. Bree was surely not one of Gaeros' best-loved places to be. It was after all a denizen for braggarts and boasters; rogues, scoundrels and a safe haven for exiles. Exiles like his father. Gaeros could not be certain but he had heard a rumor back on the Bay that his estranged father had been seen in Bree. Regardless, after weeks of rural travel the hunter could use a modicum of civility no matter how crass.
Bree was a major thoroughfare within the realm of Eriador and surely someone would have the information he would need to find The Order. Besides, the town was walled and relatively safe. The Hunter reasoning with himself thought, “Well...one could find a hot meal, a warm bed and a woman to warm it.” Gaeros pressed forward. Then, looking down at a blistered toe, peaking from his worn leather boots; “Hmm...Most importantly”, he thought “One could purchase a new horse.”
