#*|* entrance to the land of terror *|* :: minas morgul

[rangers-arecool]

@scion-of-kings asked :: ❝ i hate this place, too, and i am afraid. ❞ (For Almáriel if that's cool!)

  "Only those with no sense would not be afraid. Or those with nothing left to lose."

  The golden haired former Númenórean murmured that last bit under her breath, having not having noticed who had actually spoken. She straightened up from the map she was looking at and managed to just avoid jumping at his appearance. Then dread stirred because the High King should have been safe in Minas Anor.

  Almáriel closed the door of her current home behind him, thankful that the illusions were strong enough to keep anyone from noticing. She lit a couple of candles to clear some of the darkness away and turned to face him, worry and wariness in dark grey eyes.

  "You should be in Minas Anor."

  There was no titles given and only a tiny bit of respect, which quickly faded after a moment. She knew that Elendil knew where exactly she had gone and he would have only told Isildur. Not without endangering her life here, so how had Gil-galad managed to find her?

  A simple Mariner's daughter and herbalist, few would actually mourn if she was discovered and caught. That was her opinion at least. The High King of the Noldor was a completely DIFFERENT matter entirely because he would be missed by far more than just his kin.

[rangers-arecool]

  There was little communication between the healer and the outside of a fallen Minas Ithil. Once every two weeks, she would try to venture outside via a hidden entrance and send a report off to Elendil to keep him up to date of what was happening inside it’s walls. Yet each passing day brought an increasing risk of getting noticed and captured, making her glad that she could make illusions.

  Something had stirred up those who now wandered and guarded the former Númenórean city, preventing her from being able to leave for the past few weeks. And so no reports had been sent, which concerned her. But for now, the herbalist put that worry to one side and focused on the bigger concern at hand; namely, making sure they stayed hidden.

  For a brief moment, there was silence but then Almáriel sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Ideally, we wouldn’t be having this conversation because this city would be under Isi’s control and you’d be a welcomed guest.”

  That was in an ideal world though; not the reality that had kicked in from the moment her parents had failed to return. Grey eyes glanced at the silent clock on the mantelpiece, before moving to close the curtains and lighting some candles around the room. With each candle lit, barrier runes were activated; an added protection from when she first moved to the city when Isildur built it.

  “Yes. But the protections I have up are not infallible. Should someone more powerful than me take note of your presence here and full on attacks, the runes will drain of power within two months.”

  Almáriel turned to look at the taller elf as she answered his question quietly. She cleared the table and carefully unrolled a blue tinted map that looked like it should be ruined from water damage. Yet it was still just as clear and readable as the day she first created the map at Isildur’s request.

  “Al at your service. I grew up around Isildur and his siblings.”

Minas Ithil was no more, and hadn't been for some time.

The magnificent city he'd come to know in a few rare visits to the southern realm was tarnished in a way that was so reminiscent of past wars to let him go through its streets, now darkened, without a wary soul —Isildur had warned them about what he feared they would find were they to go deep into Imlad Morgul, but there hadn't been a choice.

Gil-galad had seen too much destruction in his long life to know this could only be the beginning of something worse, but that admittance, quiet as it had been, had been intended for himself only.

He turned around, prompted by that voice in the dark, acknowledging for the first time the place he'd taken refuge in. Knuckles whitening on Aeglos's handle, the High King studied those features unknown to him.

"Ideally," Gil-galad said, tilting his head to meet the woman's gaze, "I would not hear worry in a stranger's voice, nor would have I walked into an ambush."

They had thought they could secure the vales leading to that pass up in the Ephel Dúath, and that elven stealth would be on their side there, but they had been spotted and chased before they could have possibly plotted their way out.

His blue-grey gaze roamed across the room, from the maps over the table to the little details that gave away the kind of life that was lived in those quarters.

"Is this place safe?" the High King asked.