The Price of Pride

42: The Grip Shadows of the Morgul Knief

ActIV

Mellon

Chapter 42: The Grip Shadows of the Morgul Knief

Cardolan, August 26th 3018 T.A.

The night passed in a quiet stillness, with none among them seeking the solace of sleep. Instead, they found themselves gazing up at the stars that dotted the vast expanse of the night sky. The darkness around them felt less like a void and more like a comforting shroud, offering a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos that had defined their journey thus far.

There was no need for words; they had spoken enough, shared more than they usually would with anyone else. The confessions, the shared fears, and the deepened understanding between them had left an unspoken bond that required no further elaboration. The silence was heavy but not burdensome, a mutual acknowledgment of the burdens they all carried.

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, the group stirred from their contemplative states. The pale glow of the morning sun slowly chased away the lingering shadows, and with it, the weight of the night began to lift. They rose from their spots, stretching stiff limbs and shaking off the remnants of sleep that had eluded them.

Legolas and Xena were the first to return to the camp, their steps quiet and measured. They found the rest of the company still in the early stages of waking, each moving with the same deliberate care as they began to pack up their belongings. The morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the ground, adding a touch of surreal beauty to the otherwise somber atmosphere.

The routine of breaking camp was familiar and comforting in its simplicity. Elros and Thalion began gathering the bedrolls and blankets, folding them neatly and securing them to their saddlebags. Mírdan tended to the horses, ensuring they were ready for the day's journey ahead. Xena busied herself with extinguishing the remnants of the campfire, scattering the ashes and covering them with earth to leave no trace of their presence.

Legolas moved among them, silent and efficient, his keen eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of trouble. Though the night had brought a temporary respite, the reality of their mission loomed ever closer. The journey was far from over, and the road ahead promised more challenges.

Once everything was packed and secured, the group gathered by their horses, sharing brief glances of understanding. There was no need for lengthy discussions or reassurances; they all knew what needed to be done. One by one, they mounted their steeds, the familiar creak of leather and the clink of metal breaking the morning's quiet.

The journey through Cardolan was a relentless push forward, driven by the urgency of their mission and the ominous shadows that seemed to stretch ever longer as they rode. For three days, they traveled along the banks of the river, the landscape of Cardolan passing by in a blur of desolate beauty and lingering menace.

The land bore the scars of the dark times that had befallen it—burned-out villages, decaying bodies, and the ever-present scent of death that hung in the air. The group moved with a grim determination, stopping only for a few hours each night to rest their weary bodies before pressing on again at the break of dawn.

Each member of the company remained alert, their senses heightened by the knowledge that danger lurked around every bend of the river. Orcs roamed the lands of Cardolan freely, and more than once, they found themselves under attack. The skirmishes were quick but brutal, with the elves' skill in archery and swordplay proving invaluable in dispatching their enemies with minimal loss.