The fateless Wanderers

It has been a while since I last wrote in this book. It has been in my satchel wherever I have gone, but still left untouched.

I have been plagued by dreams lately.Not nightmares, but dreams.The same ones coming back night after night.

This one is cold.

He's never been known to complain of such before, having grown up amidst ice and snow, but.. All the same, he is cold. Everything has been one long blur for quite a while now, one can't remember how long he has spent up here, in this horrible place. Angmar.

This one misses his family.

It felt like he was moving for a long time but he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes, at some point he heard some growls, Pren’s image came to mind but he still didn’t open his eyes. Hours or days later, he couldn’t know, he heard some growls again, and someone cursing, he opened his eyes and saw Pren, ready to attack, or rather bite someone, he also saw that both men were in a cart travelling, he couldn’t say where.

An injured man was running like crazy in the night, his eyes were darting left and right trying to spot something in the dark all around. His left hand was stabbed and bleeding, leaving a trail of blood behind him and his feet were stumbling onto the branches and rocks on the ground as he struggled to remain on his feet.

It was early in the morning when Fiontann woke up and after washing and getting ready he strolled around Trestlebridge. He was looking for a guard or the Captain of the guards, under the guise of a bounty hunter he’d get to learn some things maybe. Luckily, Pren got into the role of being his helper quite good and was already in a fight with a man.

The caravan arrived at the Bullroarer’s Sward and made course for the Hobbit villages occupied by the brigands. They were to stop there for a day or two, to let the armed company scout ahead and make sure that the road was clear. The brigands stopped into the safe camp and rested there, while the Dwarves started sweeping the land carefully, with the intent to kill any curious or threatening folk, they could not endanger anything. The men and the Dwarves on the carts ran straight to the barrels and started drinking, after being on the road for days.

The company passed through the Shire late at night, twenty Dwarves moving swiftly into the dark, making sure to pass out of the curious eyes of the Hobbits, their destination; Evendim, their goal; to make sure that the caravan would pass safely. The message came to Kheledul some days earlier, warning them to change their course and instead of Bree-land pass through the Shire and Evendim on their way to Annundir.

The man clad in green took two steps back and looked around carefully, before fixing his gaze on the red cloaked man that had just killed his companion. “You can’t escape Dunadan.” Said the Angmarim and made a step ahead, getting a little closer, holding his sword in his right hand and the man’s that he just killed in the left. The ranger narrowed his eyes and made a step towards him again and swung his sword towards him, trying to slash the Angmarim, from left shoulder to right side.

The man stood on a hill overlooking the Southern part of the North Downs, from afar he saw orcs running back to their camps, scattered and with their ranks broken, except for a shield-bearing company which marched in order. He clenched his right fist that hanged to his side and drew a deep breath, “Those stupid orcs may have destroyed half our preparations…” he thought and pulled his red hood back a little, to allow himself to smell the air, narrowing his eyes.