Wanderer

38 - Not My Hands

Jade

It's almost dark as I flit through the streets of Lindon, ignoring the looks from the soldiers, and making for the edge of the city. The hard yew of the bow strapped onto my back helps me keep my grip on reality, and there's a dagger in my boot from the armory which makes me feel safer in some small way.

I pull my hood up as I approach the final gate that separates me from safety, trying desperately not to give into the fear that's making my hands shake. I slip through the crack that was left between the massive stone doors and am faced with a grim sight. 

Long shadows lengthen across the plain behind Lindon, creeping black fingers that stretch as far as I can see, right to a little pass in the mountains. If El and Rian are bringing help, if they arrive, if I'm still alive, then that's where I am going to see them coming.  My gaze travels up - way up. The beacon is several hundred feet up, topping the cliff that Lidond lays in the shadow of.

Behind me, the gate closes shut with a harsh grating sound. I'm out for good. I peer through the gloom at the battlements, trying to see the gatemen. Can they see me? If they can, they'll see my fear. Or they'll be laughing at me. Either one, I need to get moving. I turn abruptly and approach the cliff.

There's a metal ladder that stretches up. Thank Eru it's metal - no attacker is going to burn that, and I have no intention of staying up there any longer than I have to. 

The oil-filled lantern knocks against the back of my knees as I start to climb. I'm glad I didn't fill it all the way, or I would be slopping oil across my leggings.

I settle into a steady rhythm of ascent, and find myself too tense and alert to be afraid. I'm not cold, either, thanks to the cloak around my shoulders.

It feels like hours before I finally pull myself up into the short grass of the top of the cliff. A cold wind makes my cloak flap, but that's not what takes my breath away.  

To one side, the West, there is light in the sky where the sun just set. The pass is there, just a crack between two mountains .

And to the East, there is an army. It looks like a plague, or the result of a grassfire - blackness, spread across the land. I can see two twin specks of light among the sea of black, coupled stars. It's Morgoth - he's coming for the Silmaril, to set it in his crown with the two others.

I shiver and turn away. I cross the grass to the actual beacon. I soak it in the oil I brought - not the lantern oil, a separate store - careful not to spill any on myself. Then I sink down to the ground with my back against the platform that holds up the wood. I look towards the East and put the lit lantern between my knees. Now it's in El's hands. Elronds' and his fathers'.