Chapter 3        Complications

Mornings in Minas Tirith were Aragorn’s favorite time of day.  Very often the first hints of dawn would find the King of Gondor relaxing against the railings of the veranda outside his room, contentedly watching the birth of the new day.  Morning was his time, a few precious hours during his normally full and busy day in which he could relax and forget about the concerns and duties that came with being King.   It was in these hours of peaceful solitude that Aragorn abandoned his mantle as King and allowed his mind to drift back to simpler times.  Sometimes his thoughts were focused on the future, yet more often it was the past--when he had been free to wander the land as a ranger--that occupied his mind.

On this particular morning, however, Aragorn’s thoughts were on neither his past nor his future.  Truthfully, he wasn’t thinking on much of anything, instead allowing his mind to drift lazily like one of the high clouds flying overhead.  He sat casually on the thick wooden railing, one knee pulled up comfortably to his chest while the other dangled loosely, his face the picture of contentment as he watched the first rays of the sun light up the low hanging clouds in bright gold and orange colors. 

Below him, the city was awakening, and a myriad of sounds drifted up to him on the cool morning breeze.  He could not help but smile slightly when a baby’s loud wail suddenly cut through the morning stillness, the cry demanding immediate attention.  He could picture the tiny infant in his mind, arms and legs flailing and face screwed up in a picture of discontent.  The high wails ceased just as abruptly as they had started, as the child was undoubtedly lifted into the comfort of its mother’s embrace.

Aragorn sighed softly and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wooden post at his back and reveling in the sun’s warm rays.  He knew he would have to leave his perch soon and begin to tend to his daily duties, but for now, he simply relaxed and enjoyed the moment. 

“You look quite content, Melethin,” a quiet voice spoke gently from somewhere to Aragorn’s right.

Aragorn smiled, and without opening his eyes, reached his arm out to the side in a gesture that Arwen should join him on the veranda.  With a soft laugh, Arwen complied, and Aragorn let out a sigh of pleasure as she moved into his embrace, her side pressed to his and her head coming to rest against his shoulder. 

They stayed like this for several long minutes before Aragorn at last forced his eyes open and looked down at his wife.  Arwen’s eyes had drifted closed, and a small smile brightened her already beautiful features, yet as she felt Aragorn’s gaze on her, she also opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“It is a beautiful day,” she commented lightly, and Aragorn nodded his agreement.

“You should have seen the sunrise this morning,” he replied.  “The clouds were each a different color, and the horizon looked as if it was lined with gold.”

“Perhaps I shall rise with you tomorrow so that I might also see this wonder,” Arwen said seriously, gazing out toward the Pelennor fields.

“Do you know what I like the most about the sunrises, Arwen?” Aragorn asked softly, his own gaze distant.  “They are all different, none the same as the one before.  I know that each morning I shall see this wonder in a new and vastly different way, and thus, I never grow tired of watching them.”

Aragorn sighed heavily. ‘Would that my own life could be as varied,’  he thought soberly.  Once it had been, yet now he was forced to endure the same thing day after day; long hours of court followed by countless meetings with advisors and generals.   Lately, he had found himself wishing that something, anything, would happen to disrupt the endless monotony that was his life.

Arwen moved slightly against him, and when he glanced down at her, her gaze was sympathetic, as if she had somehow read his dark thoughts.

With a final glance around him, Aragorn jumped down from the railing and pulled Arwen more fully into his embrace.  “Let’s go on a ride this afternoon,” he suggested without warning, his gaze turning toward the distant fields past the city walls.

“Do you not hold court this day?” Arwen asked in surprise, pulling back far enough in his arms to look up into his face.

Aragorn’s face soured, and he nodded.  “Aye, I hold court today,” he responded, “just as I held court yesterday and shall be forced to hold court tomorrow.  It never ends, Arwen.”  He clenched his fist in frustration, his face taking on a determined cast.  “However, I have decided that I want to take you on a ride this afternoon, and so we shall go on a ride!  I am sure the court won’t disappear the few hours that I am absent.”

Arwen gazed up at him seriously for a few seconds, her eyes showing concern, but then she smiled softly.  “A ride sounds wonderful, Estel,” she commented.  “It will be nice to escape from the palace for a while.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Aragorn answered, gracing Arwen with his most charming smile.  “Now that that is settled, shall we go and find some breakfast?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Arwen echoed with a laugh, turning and hooking her arm through Aragorn’s elbow as he escorted her from the balcony.  “I’m starved.”

It was Aragorn’s turn to laugh.  “Well you should be,” he responded lightly, his hand drifting down to rest on Arwen’s abdomen, “You are eating for two now.”

Arwen placed her own hand over Aragorn’s, her eyes glowing with the joy that always seemed to surface when she thought of her baby.  Though she was only a few months along in her pregnancy, she had already fallen deeply in love with the child she carried in her womb, and Aragorn knew that she would make a wonderful mother.  He only hoped that he would make just as wonderful a father.

When they reached the dining hall, they found Faramir and Eowyn already there, Faramir’s plate piled high with what looked like a mixture of eggs and sausages, while Eowyn’s plate held a single slice of bread.

“I think I shall follow Eowyn’s lead,” Arwen whispered to Aragorn, causing him to glance at her in surprise.

“I thought you were hungry?” he commented lightly, noticing Arwen’s slightly pale features and the way she carefully avoided looking in Faramir’s direction.

“Not anymore,” Arwen replied simply, moving away toward the far table laden with a variety of breakfast dishes.

Aragorn watched her go, then moved forward to greet Faramir and Eowyn, slipping into the nearest seat and relaxing back with a small sigh.  “Where is Gimli and Legolas?” he asked, glancing around for the two friends.  “I had expected them to already be here.”

Faramir was about to answer, despite the fact that his mouth was full of eggs, but Eowyn elbowed him hard in the side, then answered for him.  “Legolas and Gimli left the palace early this morning, my lord.  It seems that Gimli somehow managed to convince Legolas to accompany him to the forges down by the wall.  I expect they will be back later this morning if you have need of them.”

Aragorn shook his head.  “I have no need of them, my lady,” he laughed.  “I was just wondering, for those two very rarely miss a meal while visiting here.”

“Rarely?” Arwen scoffed, returning to the table with two plates, one heaping, and the other with only a small slice of bread. “Never, I think would be a better word.”

Aragorn rose quickly and reached out to help Arwen with her burden.  “Thank you, my love,” he said, as he took the heaping plate from her.  “Though I could have served myself.  I was merely greeting our guests first.”

Arwen merely smiled in response and handed Aragorn an extra fork before gracefully sitting down. 

Aragorn sat also, then returned his attention to Faramir and Eowyn.  “What about Kenson and Dar? he asked.  “I invited both of them to dine with us this morning.”

As if in answer to his question, the door to the dining hall opened, and the mayor of Calembel strode in, followed closely by a bleary eyed Dar.

“Good morning, Kenson, Dar,” Aragorn called out, rising from his chair to greet his guests. 

“Good morning,” Kenson replied cheerfully. “I hope we are not late…”

“Nonsense,” Arwen interrupted, leveling both Kenson and Dar with a radiant smile.  “Aragorn and I have just arrived ourselves.  Please, help yourselves.”

Kenson bowed low to her, then turned and made his way with his son toward the table laden with the breakfast dishes. 

“You look weary, Dar,” Arwen called after them.  “If your sleeping quarters were unsatisfactory…,” she began, but Dar quickly shook his head.

“Oh no, my lady,” he said hurriedly, accepting a plate from his father.  “The rooms were wonderful, thank you.”

Arwen nodded her head, then smiled gently.  “You meet with your captain today, don’t you?” she asked.  “You must be nervous.”

Dar didn’t answer, but Aragorn could clearly see the lad’s features pale at Arwen’s words, and the hand that held his plate trembled slightly.  He guessed then what had kept the young man from sleeping peacefully; Dar was extremely nervous!

“I am sure you will do wonderfully today, Dar,” Aragorn said firmly, hoping to encourage the lad, yet Dar only seemed to grow even paler at his words.  He returned to the table with only a half filled plate, and immediately began to push the food around with his fork, never actually lifting anything to his mouth.

“I trust at least you slept well?” Aragorn asked Kenson, as the man took his seat next to his son.

“Wonderfully,” Kenson responded with a sigh.  “I must admit that I am not looking at all forward to the return trip to Calembel and another week of sleeping on the hard ground!”

“When do you leave?” Faramir asked, leaning back in his chair and contentedly tapping his full stomach. 

Kenson frowned and shrugged, sending a worried glance toward the pale face of his son.  Dar didn’t even seem to notice. 

“I am not sure,” Kenson said slowly, his eyes never leaving Dar.  “I will probably stay for a few more days, but I must return to Calembel soon.  I left the city in capable hands, yet I do not like being absent from there for too long.”

“You are welcome to stay in Minas Tirith for as long as you wish,” Arwen told him.  “And have no fear for Dar, for we shall take good care of him,” she added with a sympathetic glance toward the nervous young man.

Dar at last glanced up and managed to smile weakly at Arwen. 

For the second time that day, Aragorn found himself thinking what a great mother Arwen would make.  He leaned back in his chair and listened as Arwen expertly drew Dar into a conversation, her soft voice and gentle manner somehow seeming to have a calming effect on the lad.

A loud knock on the heavy wooden doors brought Aragorn from his thoughts, and he casually called out the command to enter.  A young soldier entered the room hesitantly, then quickly made his way to Aragorn, bowing low before handing the king a simple white parchment.

“Sorry to disturb you, my lord,” the soldier apologized, “yet a young boy just brought this to us at the gate, claiming that it was of utmost importance and should be delivered to you immediately.  We attempted to question him further, but he fled from us.”

Aragorn nodded, flipping the parchment over in his hands and examining the seal.  The mark was that of a simple hand pressed into deep crimson wax, and Aragorn frowned as he tried to place the seal in his mind.

“Thank you,” he said to the soldier, dismissing the man to return to his post.  He realized that the others were all watching him curiously, so with a shrug, he broke the seal and flipped the parchment over, his eyes scanning the message quickly.

You mocked and scorned me,

Destroyed and abandoned me.

Yet sometimes a simple nuisance,

cast aside and forgotten,

can turn into a dangerous enemy.

Be warned, King of Gondor!

My war with you begins today

Aragorn read the message again, then a third time, hardly able to believe what he was seeing, his heart pounding wildly within his chest. 

“Estel?”

Aragorn tore his gaze away from the parchment at Arwen’s concerned call, his eyes turning to meet his wife’s.

“What is it, Estel?” Arwen asked softly, immediately aware that something was wrong.

Aragorn merely shook his head and handed her the parchment, aware that the eyes of the rest of the table were upon them.

Arwen read the letter swiftly, her eyes widening slightly, before she glanced back up at Aragorn.

 “A threat?” she stated as much as asked, her voice calm, but her expression showing deep concern.

“What?”  Faramir demanded, rising swiftly from his chair and moving around the table to read the message over Arwen’s shoulder.  He swore softly when he had finished, causing Eowyn to throw him a disapproving look, but he hardly seemed to notice.  He turned his attention instead to Aragorn.  “Know you who sent this?” he asked.

Aragorn shook his head, his mind still flipping through a long list of possibilities ever since he had first read the message.  “No,” he answered out loud.  “Yet there are many possibilities.  I have made many allies since becoming King, yet I have also made a fair number of enemies as well.  It could be anyone, from a disgruntled farmer who disliked my ruling in court, to an old ally of Sauron who seeks revenge for the overthrow of the dark lord.  Truly I know not.”

“Yet why does it come now?” Arwen asked, passing the message over the table so a very curious Kenson, Dar, and Eowyn could read the words.

Once more, Aragorn could only shake his head.  “I know not,” he repeated softly, his mind still humming with a thousand possibilities.

“Well, I intend to find out!” Faramir stated angrily.  “I shall question the guards at the gate, then find this young boy who delivered the message.  If I have my way, we shall know of the guilty party before nightfall!”

Aragorn nodded slowly, rising from his chair.  “The guards are a good place to start,” he said calmly, though he was truly beginning to doubt that this would be settled as easily as Faramir seemed to hope.  A cold feeling of dread was washing over him, and try as he might, Aragorn could not shake the feeling that whoever had sent him this message had been planning this moment for quite some time.  Nor could he shake the feeling that he should know the author.  Despite his words to the others, Aragorn had sensed something personal in the message, and he guessed that at one time or another, he had met, or at least seen this person face to face.  Now if only he could remember.

Aragorn let out a small sigh and rubbed a hand across his eyes.  Hadn’t it been only an hour ago that he had been wishing for something to happen?  Now, it seemed as if he was going to get his wish, and not in the way he had expected.

My war with you begins today.

With these ominous words ringing through his head, Aragorn rose and followed Faramir from the room.

******

Tervanis leaned back casually against a wooden cart, his eyes watching as the young boy approached the palace guards and delivered the message just as he had been paid to do.  The lad turned and raced away down the stone streets just as soon as he had finished his task, ignoring the shouts of the guards calling for him to stop.  Tervanis smiled and nodded, satisfied that the letter would reach its proper destination.  He continued to watch as the guard with the letter disappeared through the palace gates, then he straightened and turned away.  He was not sure what the parchment contained, for it had already been sealed when Servius had given it to him.  Yet from the little he knew of his present employer, he was sure that it would create quite a stir within the palace. 

‘Of course, not as much of a stir as what I am about to do.’

With this rather amusing thought in mind, Tervanis disappeared silently into the streets.

******

Fire surrounded him like a burning blanket, its heat nearly unbearable.  An insistent hissing sound filled the air, and a thousand hammers pounded away at his skull.  A strong tangy smell assaulted his nostrils, and he was finding breathing a more and more difficult task.

Legolas let out a low moan and raised a hand to his throbbing head.  ‘So this is the price of revenge,’ he thought dully, trying desperately to block the overload on his senses.  He grimaced and glanced around him urgently, looking for any avenue of escape from this torture. 

“Isn’t it wonderful, Legolas?”

Legolas glanced to his side and fought to keep his features calm and unreadable, determined not to give Gimli the satisfaction of seeing him so flustered.  He realized that to flee now would only invite more torment later, so he steeled himself and put on his most convincing smile, all the while marveling at how Gimli could look both innocent and evil at the same time.

He stood with his friend in the section of the city referred to as ‘Fire Lane,’ a name that originated from the glow coming from more than a dozen forges lining the stone streets.  All of the forges had open fronts leading out onto the streets, and the noise, heat, and smell of the place combined to overwhelm the senses.

When Gimli had first suggested that they visit this place, Legolas had been fairly certain that the dwarf was seeking revenge for the fact that he had not told him earlier of Aragorn’s announcement.  He had chosen to play along with his friend, certain that if he refused, Gimli would just come up with something worse.  Now, however, after following Gimli around ‘Fire Lane’ for over an hour, he was coming to the rather grim conclusion that nothing could be worse than what he was now enduring.

 It hadn’t been so bad at first, but Gimli had found ways to make the visit as uncomfortable to his elven friend as possible.  Like right now, when he had insisted on stopping directly in the middle of the largest of the forges, where the heat made the air stuffy and nearly unbearable, and the noise made it hurt to think. Through it all, Legolas merely gritted his teeth and kept his mind distracted with thoughts of his own revenge.

“Can you hear it?”  Gimli shouted up at him, a look of rapt attention on his stout face.

Legolas grimaced and sent a quick glare at his friend.  “Aye, I can hear it,” he responded tightly.  “I think I would be able to hear it even if I were deaf, which I surely will be if we do not leave soon.  Now if you have finished, Gimli, perhaps we can….”

“Not that!” Gimli interrupted.  “I mean the music.  Can you hear the music?”

Legolas looked down at Gimli, seriously wondering if all the noise had driven his companion insane.  ‘Music,’ he mouthed silently, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

Gimli noticed his reaction and let out a small grunt of disapproval.  “There is music in all of this, if you know how to listen for it.  It is actually quite fascinating.”

Legolas made a noncommittal sound and turned away, certain that Gimli was once again merely trying to torment him as much as he could.  The continuous pounding of the smithy hammers was beginning to make his ears ring, and the thick air made breathing a difficult task.  He could not imagine how the men working here actually managed to do their jobs with the air so thick and hot. 

He turned back to Gimli, surprised when he found his friend with his eyes closed, his head tilted to one side, and a look of wonder on his face.  Watching him, Legolas began to wonder if perhaps Gimli really did think he heard music in all the noise surrounding them. 

He looked around again, suddenly listening more intently to the thrum of the forges, the hiss of water on hot metal, and the steady pounding of the heavy hammers.  He still could not detect anything even resembling music, yet there was definitely a rhythm in all the noise…

“Do you hear it now?”

Legolas turned back to Gimli and shrugged his shoulders carelessly, shaking his head.

Gimli frowned, then sighed sadly.  “You would never make a good dwarf!”

Legolas let out a short laugh.  “For which I shall be eternally grateful,” he retorted.  “Might we be going now, Gimli, or do you intend on standing here until you grow so old that I must carry you from this place?”

Gimli snorted loudly, then turned and stomped toward the open street.

Legolas smiled to himself, then quickly followed, anxious to escape to an area where the air was actually breathable.  He caught up to Gimli out on the stone street, letting out a deep sigh of relief,  pointedly ignoring Gimli’s smug look. 

He turned and strode purposefully toward the inn several hundred yards up the street where he had left Shandarell.  He had decided to return to the palace, and if Gimli chose to argue, Legolas would merely leave without him.

He was half way to his destination when he suddenly felt a chill run up and down his spine.  He halted in his tracks—grimacing slightly when Gimli ran into him from behind—and quickly glanced around him.

“What is it?” Gimli demanded, his voice sounding slightly annoyed. “What is wrong?”

Legolas slowly shook his head, his eyes still searching the busy street as he turned to face his friend.  “I am not sure,” he admitted quietly.  “I just got the sudden feeling that we are being watched, and the eyes are not friendly.”

Gimli frowned at this, then also began glancing around, the expression on his face causing a young woman across the street to let out a slight squeak and grab her small child to her breast.

“Legolas, there are lots of people watching us,” Gimli finally stated, turning back to Legolas and scowling in annoyance.  “Can you blame them?  An elf and a dwarf are not exactly common sights within the city, and certainly not two traveling together.”

Legolas shook his head.  “No,” he said firmly, “It is not their stares that I sense.  I have become accustomed to the looks of the curious, but this is something different.  The gaze that watches us now seems more…focused.” He shrugged his shoulder apologetically, unsure how better to explain his feelings.  “It is not the first time I have gotten this feeling since arriving in the city.  Somebody has been watching us, Gimli, and I know not why.”

Gimli nodded his head slowly, then scanned the busy streets one more time before motioning Legolas to continue on toward the inn.  “Do you still sense it?” he asked after of few moments of silence, his voice tuned low as if he were afraid that their unseen watcher might also be listening.

“Yes,” Legolas answered shortly, his movements casual, yet his eyes constantly wandering as he sought to pinpoint the direction from which his unease originated.  His gaze continually drifted toward his right, yet he saw nothing there to indicate that this was where the watcher might be hiding.  Whoever this person was, he certainly knew how to remain hidden.

“And you say you have felt this before?” Gimli asked from beside him.  “Why haven’t you mentioned it until now?”

Legolas shrugged.  “The feelings were not as strong before,” he explained simply.  “I did not think them worth mentioning.”

They had reached the inn now, and Legolas let out a soft sigh of relief as they left the busy street and moved behind the building toward the stables in back.  The feeling of unseen eyes left him as quickly as it had come, leaving him relieved, yet also somewhat disconcerted.

“Perhaps we should tell Aragorn of this?” Gimli suggested as they moved into the stables, the musty scent of hay and old leather greeting them.

“Perhaps,” Legolas responded distractedly, a small smile forming as Shandarell poked his head out of one of the stalls and whinnied a loud greeting. 

“Tell me again, Legolas, why we rode him down here instead of using our own two feet?” Gimli griped sulkily, moving far to one side so as to not be trampled as Legolas opened the stall door and allowed Shandarell to move forward into the hall.

“Shandarell needs the exercise,” Legolas answered firmly, patting the horse’s smooth neck affectionately.  “Besides, he gets insulted whenever I leave somewhere without him.”

“So you are willing to sacrifice the comfort of your best friend for the comfort of a horse,” Gimli sighed sadly. 

“Of course,” Legolas responded with a laugh.  “My horse does not have as sharp a tongue as you, my friend.  Nor does he drag me to places I do not wish to go!”

“Such as into a fountain!” Gimli shot back, the sparkle in his eyes showing that he was more than willing to enter into a verbal sparring match.

Legolas only sighed and shook his head, motioning Gimli to move forward so he could boost him onto Shandarell’s back.  Normally, he would have been delighted to meet Gimli’s challenge, but for now, his mind was too distracted.  He found himself wondering if the unseen watcher would still be waiting for them out in the streets.  What had started as a niggling feeling of unease, was slowly growing into a sense that something was not right.  After centuries of relying totally on his senses, Legolas found this feeling very hard to ignore.

With a small sigh, he swung up in front of Gimli and moved Shandarell forward, suddenly anxious to return to the palace and speak with Aragorn.

******

Tervanis watched silently as the dwarf and elf disappeared from his view behind the inn.  He was fairly certain that their strange behavior further up the street was indicative that his presence had been sensed, undoubtedly by the elf.  There had been a few tense moments when he thought himself discovered, and even now, he was not completely sure that he had not been.  He would have to proceed with caution from now on.  He could allow nothing to go wrong this early in the game.

With a small shake of his head, he moved swiftly up the street, walking as quickly as he could without actually running.  He did not want to draw attention to himself, yet he needed to move far enough ahead of the elf and dwarf that he would have time to make sure his plan was in complete readiness. 

He kept his face blank of emotions, hiding the chills of excitement that were beginning to tingle throughout his body.  Following the main thoroughfare, he slipped from shadow to shadow, never meeting anyone’s eyes and giving no reason for anyone to recognize him from the throng of other commoners milling around.

He reached his destination quickly, two shops located side by side with only a narrow alleyway separating them.  A large man with heavily corded muscles and a wide, scarred face stood at the entrance to the alley, his arms crossed loosely across his chest, and his bulky frame neatly blocking the entrance to the narrow passageway. 

The man looked up quickly when Tervanis neared him, then casually moved to one side, opening a narrow path into the shadows behind him.

“The alleyway is clear,” the man whispered softly, his lips barely moving and his eyes focused in the opposite direction from Tervanis.

“Make sure it stays that way,” Tervanis hissed in response, slipping past the man and jogging swiftly down the narrow passage.  He moved to the very end of the alley, then turned to the wall of the shop on his left, his eyes scanning the stone for the small niches that would serve as finger and toe holds.  Quickly locating them, he silently began to climb upward, his movements graceful and smooth.

When he at last reached the top, he rolled cautiously over the waist high railing and onto the roof, his soft boots not making a single sound to alert anyone beneath him of his presence.  Crouching low and using the railing to hide him from the eyes of the people below him on the street, Tervanis began to navigate toward the far side of the roof, where his bow and quiver of arrows lay waiting for him.

He could not hold back a slight grimace of disgust as he finally reached the weapon and pulled it into his grasp.  Although he was talented in the use of almost any weapon imaginable, a bow was not usually his first choice.  Instead, he preferred the hard steel of knife or sword, and the excitement of facing his victims face to face so that he might see the terror of death reflected in their eyes in the last moments of their life. 

Still, Servius wanted it done this way, and he was paying Tervanis enough money that the assassin wasn’t about to argue.  Besides, he had learned much about both elf and dwarf during his time in the city, and knew them both to be formidable warriors.  To attack one, was to attack both, and though Tervanis loved challenges, he knew the danger was too great to risk confronting them openly.  Not to mention that Minas Tirith was nothing like Norvil, where knife fights in the middle of the streets were common place, and people normally turned a blind eye to it all.  No, truly this was the best way.

Despite these thoughts, he could not stop his mind from imagining a battle between himself and either the dwarf or the elf.  Truly such a fight would challenge him greatly, and he felt a pang of disappointment that he would be forced to miss such an opportunity.

Shrugging away these regrets, the assassin quickly strung his bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver.  Moving forward, he peered over the rim of the railing and down to the street below, his eyes focused back the way he had just come.

Many minutes passed, and he was beginning to worry that perhaps the elf and dwarf had chosen a different route for their return to the palace, when at last they appeared around a slight curve in the road.  They moved at a rapid pace, and Tervanis knew that he would have to move swiftly.

His movements were smooth and graceful as he fitted the arrow to the bow, and the complete calmness that always swept over him before a kill kept him steady and patient.  This was his job, what he lived for, and there were very few men alive who could do it better than him.

He slipped down until he was completely concealed by the high railing, then let his eyes drift shut and his ears direct him.  The steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves pounded loudly in his mind, and he counted down slowly as they drew nearer and nearer to the shop on which he hid.

‘Just a little closer.  A little bit more…’

And then they were passing directly below him. 

Gripping the bow tightly, he rose from his crouch and swiftly sighted along the polished shaft of the arrow, his hands completely steady despite the excitement coursing through his veins.  He found his target, and released the arrow.

TBC

Melethin—Beloved