COURIER FROM GLORFINDEL

---------------Lindolmar 6th June-----------

"The army of mordor has many in it's service", Lindolmar thought to himself
as he watched with keen eyes from a high vantage point of some distance to
their northwest. He and his swift horse Sarnefol had negotiated the
turbulent water of the Entwash and were well into the West Emnet, heading
towards Edoras 20 miles distant. Now, to his extreme left he could view
the hordes of mordor with some trepidation. "How will these Rohirrim
survive an assualt of such proportions?" he wondered. "They must truly be
brave warriors to hope to take such a force in victory." He knew it would
take at least two or more days for the forces of mordor to draw on to
Edoras in any strength, they moved slowly. The black clouds emminating
from the east however, gave him wonder as to the effectiveness of daylight
on orcs who only traveled in darkness. Twilight ruled even this area now
and he was uneasy.

Looking down to the west he spied a group of some 60 horsemen, a strong
scouting expedition no doubt, and they too were gazing at the mordor
horde. Their armor looked to be that fashioned by the edain and they
carried circular shields, he could make out the emblem of a horse upon
them. They rode their horses boldly, not like the thralls of mordor made
to move under lash and fear. He decided to go to them and hope they would
recieve him. He had much information to give the horse lord named Eomer,
now King of the Rohirrim. Perhaps their king was with them or they might
take him directly to meet with him, thus eliminating his stealthy approach
and saving much time.

After moving behind the hill he was on, he rode to the lowlands beyond and
came upon the Rohirrim unannounced from the rear. They were thrown into a
panic initially, not expecting him and moved to a protective stance. He
held up his hands to show he was no threat before they were able to fire
any missles at him and tried to smile in a friendly fashion. He held his
breath in anticipation and sat his horse quietly awaiting their
summons. They did not speak to him but muttered to themselves with
dangerous undertones. "This isn't going as I expected," Lindolmar thought
and decided to request to approach their captain.

"Horselords of Rohan, I, Lindolmar, bring valuable information to your King
Eomer. I am on my way to Edoras. May I have leave to approach
you?" Lindolmar spoke frankly but politely, seeing no need to beat around
the bush about the matter.

The group of horsemen spoke to one another and drew apart allowing him to
enter among them but arranged a trap that would have him captured if they
were not friendly. With fear well hidden Lindolmar rode into the space
they made for him and they closed around him from the rear.

"What is this?" The captain of the men came forward through the weapons
leveled at the courier. "You are an Elf are you not?", he said, eyeing the
fair-haired intruder who rode without saddle or means of control of his
horse and wore weapons and clothing not of the make of any human hand. The
men looked with hard eyes at this new development and wondered at the elf
who sat before them in such a strange manner.

"That I am," Lindolmar said evenly, "but I present no danger to you or your
men." The men around him laughed at this humorous statement, noting that
half an eored with weapons targeted on him was certain victory. "I have
stated my business to you," Lindolmar looked at the officer in charge, "My
name is Lindolmar of Lorien, I was sent with my message by Lord Glorfindel
of Imladris. It is urgent that I speak with your king directly."

"Get down from your horse elf, and hand us your weapons carefully," the
captain said, "we will decide what to do with you." The captain thought to
himself, "Lorien is it?", remembering legends both true and
untrue. Lindolmar did as he was requested but with mental reservations, he
hoped it was the correct way to show he was harmless but he was very
uneasy. He handed his sword to one man and his bow to another. "Your
dagger?" said a third, looking at the ornately carved sheath. Sighing
Lindolmar removed it and handed it up. A forth man got off his horse with
a length of rope, "I need your hands", he said flatly.

Lindolmar refused and looked toward the captain. "What is this? I have
shown you I am honorable in every way yet you act as though I am your enemy!"

"We will decide who our friends are elf, do as you are told or you will be
killed without another thought," the captain bellowed. Two sharp spears
pricked Lindolmar's back and one his neck. He offered his hands to the
rope holder and laughter erupted once again from the group, anger boiled
inside the messenger but he held it in check. The jailer roughly tied one
hand to the other behind Lindolmar's back and to his belt. Another rope
was placed loosely about his neck and he was told to mount his horse. More
laughter erupted as the men expected some sport in the following of the order.

Lindolmar leaped to Sarnefol's back with athletic ease, the jailer holding
the rope almost pulled him back off in his surprise. Several of the men
quieted and wondered at this strange elf, having only heard tales and
legends of the race they did not know what to expect and were wary. Other
men who had taken Lindolmar's weapons looked admiringly at the
workmanship. The sword was very ancient, marked with runes of magic and
kept keen as any blade ever seen, the bow was intricately carved in designs
and gold marked the strengthening curves that decorated both upper and
lower limbs. The dagger was a work of art, with gems and runes and
symbols, it also was ancient.

"Come, we ride to unite with Eomer King and to give him a prisoner of much
mystery!" The men formed for the march and the captain gave the order to
move out. Lindolmar was kept within the column as they trotted west in the
dark noon, his keeper holding the rope rode beside him on a bay horse whose
temper was taken out on Sarnefol and himself. "What have I gotten myself
into," the elf wondered as he tried to keep his leg from the snapping teeth
of the keeper's horse.

MALTRIEL

Date: June 6; noon until night
locations: about 20 mi. From Edoras; then to Edoras; up the hill to the doors of the Golden Hall

The mordor army was moving slowly but steadily through the Eastfold, creeping up on edoras, destroying everything in sight as they went along. The dark cloud loomed overhead, the air was heavy and oppressive and seemed to choke both breathing and hope. Even the light of the noon-day Sun was filtered, and the brightest part of the day was as dim as the twilight of evening. As the days had passed and the foul host of mordor drew ever nearer, strange things had been happening in the Mark... harbingers and portents of doom, the people whispered in hushed voices...confirming the dark days in which all now lived.

First it was the female rider from Mordor that had been captured on the 2nd...she looked just like Eowyn, but Eowyn was dead.... captured on the fields of pelennor and carried away by the Nazgul to torment and death. No one at first knew that Eowyn had disguised herself as a man and sneaked off to fight, and both this realization and the thought of her suffering in Mordor came as a horrible shock to her people.

The captured rider had claimed vehemently that her name was Maltriel, and she was from Minas Tirith. All marveled at her words, for no one in the White City would serve Mordor, and Gondor had never been a vassal state to Mordor, as she had claimed. Some thought she was fey and a thrall who merely resembled the White Lady; others thought she was a fell spirit inhabiting her body. Whatever she was, she was stricken with illness and was so weak she could barely walk.

And now there was this strange elf in their midst who claimed to be from Dwimordene... the fabled golden wood of the elves that men looked on with suspicion and fear. It was rumored that few who dared venture into the wood ever came out.... and those who did were changed in some way. The wood was beautiful, yet its beauty was regarded as perilous... a place of sorcery and magic. For did not an evil sorceress live there?

Lindolmar's keeper, a young soldier, eyed the elf's every move with suspicion, suspecting him to do some sort of magic. He kept a tight grip on his end of the rope around the elf's neck, and wondered if a mere rope could restrain such a creature who hailed from a place like the enchanted forests of Dwimordene.

The company moved on, heading for edoras... the captain ordered the men to go at a faster pace than previously. Many of the men talked among themselves about the strange elf, who claimed he had an urgent message to tell the King.... each having their own tale about his business in the Mark.

They arrive at edoras by nightfall.... night only marked by a darkening of the foul mist hovering in the sky and upon the deserted villages and endless plains of grass. The hill of Edoras can be vaguely seen as a black mound against slightly darker mountains in the distance. The company rides through the gates of the walled city.... up the long path to the Golden Hall sitting upon the hill.

the company dismounts their horses, and attendants lead their mounts to the stables...the elf needs no assistance getting off his horse, even though his leg is a bit sore from the bad-tempered Rohirric horse. an air of tension and anxiety lies upon the few remaining people in the city, and everyone fears for what might befall in the dark days to come. The elf is led up the broad, wide stairs which pass through a terrace of green grass to the paved platform upon which Medusled stands. The Hall was famous for its thatched roof of gold, but there was no sun now to reflect upon its beauty. Guards sit on stone seats at the top of the steps, and look at the strange prisoner with surprise.

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