Thorneth and her companions lingered in Minas Vrûn for four more days. This gave Thorneth’s wounds time to fully heal. During the rest, she picked out a new blade, having lost her old one in her duel with the Champion of Angmar. By the King’s leave, she could have any weapon she wished, and Thorneth selected a sword forged by ancient Westernesse techniques. Dagúl it was named by its smith, the Slayer of Sorcery, for it was made to drive back the evil that came out of Angmar.
Imrathien also fashioned for the Company hooded cloaks using the lore of her people. They were similar to the cloaks worn by the Rangers of Arthedain to blend in with the woods, but there was something beyond the green colour which made these cloaks especially adept at concealing their wearers among leaves and grasses. To further complement this, Thorneth had Dínendír’s new hauberk dyed green.
On the fourth day, a rider arrived from Nan Wathren. He reported that the fortress was being assailed by the Angmarim forces which had driven the Elves of Lin Giliath from their home; these orcs and evil men now issued out of Meluinen through the eastern pass. If Nan Wathren were to fall, the Witch-king would have armies both to the north and the south of Minas Vrûn.
The messenger urged Arvedui to flee while the southern road was yet open, as it may not remain so for long. The Last King did not heed the advice and was intent on holding out upon the North Downs to give those seeking refuge across the Lune as much time as he could. Thorneth, meanwhile, took this into consideration.
The Fellowship of Last Hope departed the next day at dawn. Along with the two Dúnedain and the Elf, they brought Caranhelf the mare. Though their mission relied upon stealth, Thorneth decided that it was prudent to have a swift steed should they be discovered, so at least one of them may be able to ride with haste. If all went well, the horse was still of great use carrying their supplies.
Hurrying south before the fortress at Nan Wathren was overrun, the Company made it without issue to the Bridge of Cirith Núr, which is known now as the Trestlespan, though in these days it was a majestic stone bridge. On the other side of the bridge lay a village named Pontgar. Inhabited mostly by the Men of Bree, it had only a militia and no soldiers of Arthedain. News of the Fall of Fornost had surely reached them, but it was unlikely that Nan Wathren would send a messenger to inform them of the situation at the fortress.
As such, Thorneth decided to stay the night and seek an audience with the mayor while they were in town. She told him that Nan Wathren was under assault, and once the fortress was overrun, the enemy would have an unobstructed path towards their village. The bulk of the Angmarim were likely to head north in order to encircle the King at Minas Vrûn, but Thorneth still advised the mayor to abandon the town and head south with his people, for it was better to be safe.
The mayor promised to act on her counsel. With that, Thorneth departed the town hall and returned to the Lazy Lynx, the local inn at which the Company was resting. It was a rather large establishment, as Pontgar lay upon the road to Fornost Erain and many travellers stopped by on their journeys to and from the capital of Arthedain. When the North Downs became increasingly dangerous due to the war with Angmar however, the inn had fallen on difficult times.
Thorneth joined her companions in the common-room, a space clearly intended for more patrons than what the inn had at that moment. Their selection of food was similarly sparse, but the members of the Company were used to humble living, graciously accepting what the tavern keep offered them.
As they ate, the three found themselves approached by a pair of Hill-men, a man and a woman. The two were not locals, for they were dressed in garments different from that of the Bree-folk. Claiming to be curious fellow travellers, the strangers asked what brought the Company to Pontgar. Thorneth replied that their purpose was their own, though they were happy to converse on other matters.
Briefly, they discussed other subjects before one of the strangers mentioned that she recognised Thorneth and Dínendír as Men of the West. Her partner then began asking questions about Fornost and Minas Vrûn and how the King was faring. Before Thorneth could answer, Dínendír interjected, saying that they were merely commoners, not wholly a lie on his part. “We know little of wars and Kings,” he claimed, “and were hoping to get away from such things.”
“Yet you seem armed and arrayed for war,” the strange woman pointed out.
“These are dangerous times,” Dínendír replied. “It is wise to be prepared, even if we do not march to war.”
“And what of the Elf?” the other stranger asked. “It is not so common to see Elves and Men travelling together outside of marching to war, is it?”
“That is not true,” stated Thorneth. “As I have said, and I will say again, our business is our own.”
At that the two strangers departed from their table, seeing they would gain no information from the three companions. Once they were out of earshot, Dínendír said to Thorneth, “I think they are spies of our enemy. We should strike them down while we can.”
“I believe you are right,” Thorneth agreed. “Though you are the King’s Guard, not the guard of this village. Be alert tonight, and tomorrow I will speak to the mayor again before we depart. He and his militia will deal with these strangers as they see fit.”
So they slept through the night with one of them keeping watch. The next morning, Thorneth proceeded to the town hall once again to speak with the mayor. Upon arriving at his door, she found that the lock had been forced, and entering the room she saw the mayor slumped over his table with a knife wound in his back.
Thorneth carried the mayor in hopes of getting him to the village healer in time to save him, for she saw that he was not yet dead. The two strangers awaited her outside, and with loud cries of murder they gathered a large crowd of locals. The Hill-men accused the Ranger of slaying the mayor and the villagers were roused. Those of them who belonged to the militia quickly brought out pitchforks and axes and anything they could use as a weapon.
“I did not strike your mayor, and he is not dead!” Thorneth tried to explain. “There is still time to save him, if you would let us go to your healer!”
“Look, she holds his body and has his blood upon her hands!” shouted one of the strangers. “Who else could have done the deed, other than her?”
“Why would I bring his body for all to see, if I had performed such an evil deed?” Thorneth asked the people. “Would I not conceal it and blame it on another?”
“Do not listen to her!” the second stranger exclaimed. “The West-men have long sought to dominate our people! They murdered the mayor and parade his body so we would submit to their might or see the consequences of refusing to do so. No more! Under the banner of the Iron Crown we are numerous and strong, and together we can strike back against these invaders!”
As they were arguing, Dínendír snuck his way through the crowd. Before Thorneth could speak further, he plunged a knife into one of the Angmarim spies. The second raised her blade and swung, but was no match for one of the King’s Guard. Dínendír hewed off her weapon hand and then slew her.
The villagers were stunned by his sudden attack. None joined in on the fighting; some took steps back, while others pointed their tools at Dínendír warily. As he cut down the Hill-men there was great outcry, and many began calling for the Dúnedain’s heads.
“You murderers!” cried the militiamen. “There must be justice!”
“You will find that it is these spies of Angmar who are responsible for what happened to your mayor,” Dínendír said. “For your sake and ours you shall let us pass.”
“We got the numbers,” answered one of the militia. “Why should we listen to you?”
“You have the numbers,” the Guardsman admitted, “and it may be that we cannot fight all of you. Though if you attack us, we will defend ourselves, and many of you will fall before we do. Has enough blood not been spilled this day?”
The militia hesitated and glanced at one other. Imrathien revealed herself from behind the Lazy Lynx with her bow held ready as well. Seeing the raiment and weapons of the Company, the townsfolk chose to back off. Thorneth was allowed to make her way to the village healer, where she left the mayor. Afterwards, the Company gathered their belongings from the inn and departed quickly, lest the villagers change their minds and attempt to apprehend them again.
As they left the town behind, Thorneth walked close to Dínendír and said to him, “You should not have killed them.”
“They were spies of the Witch-king,” Dínendír stated. “You heard them advocate for the Iron Crown of Angmar, and I have no doubt they wounded the mayor.”
“The people of Pontgar needed to realise it for themselves. By striking them down before the villagers decided they were guilty of the crime, some will now think we are the villains of this tale.”
“We had no time to hold a judgement,” argued the Guard. “Our mission is urgent, and slaying the spies where they stood was the swiftest way out. What others think of us will matter not if we fail, for there will be no more people left to think ill about.”
“That may be, but we cannot think of the task at hand and nothing else,” the Ranger countered. “We must hope that there is still a future for our people, and consider it.”
“I apologise, my lady. I did only what I thought was needed.”
Thorneth sighed, “What is done is done. Let us continue. We have an urgent mission ahead of us, after all.”
