[b]Pelennor Fields[/b] The heavy thunder of horses moved down the north road like a veritable storm head on the horizon. Sweeping across the land, from Anorien, moving South swiftly. Steeds of pure snow and deepest night. Their hides unblemished and immaculate despite the ardors of traveling across country. Their mane's flowed like silk flapping in the wind. The whipping of their tails like the trailing clouds of an approaching rain shower. The lead rider wore garb of black and dark forest green. Her armor was black, edged in gold with fine filigree, though it was not actual gold. Simply pained as such. Art even for instruments of war. Her clothes where soft, tailor made, but capable of surviving a rugged life style. Practical. That is what she would have said. For the lead rider, a woman, possessing a face most fair matched the movements of her steed with extreme proficiency. Horse and rider were one. Her black leather boots firmly in their stirrups. A pair of elven daggers hung in sheath's posterior to her sword which hung on her hip. A quiver and bow at her back. A helmet dangled from the side of her saddle. Her saddle bags snug in fine brown leather, but plain and unadorned. Flowing in the breeze like a falling comet were fierce golden locks of hair. Like fresh spun gold thread they trailed behind her beautiful face. Eyes shining like Silmarils themselves. Behind her trailed a small group of elven riders wearing grey-blue cloaks in golden armor. Only four, one bearing a banner for the Greyhavens of Lindon. Two bore spears while the other had a bow and quiver strapped to their back. She had originally pleaded to travel alone. She preferred it after all. But at the urging of Cirdan, who had sent her in his stead, for the longing of the Sea was strong in him bade that she travel with a small party. Perhaps he knew that dark powers stirred? The lead rider could not guess. "Altariel. Riders from the city." The elf bearing the banner indicated with a point of the small standard. Altariel looked off, her elf-sight clearly making out the riders. Their gallant steeds, polished armor, and the Swan sigil. Knights of Dol Amroth. The Prince of that fief was here it seems. At current pace they would intersect. No doubt watchers high up in Minas Tirith had noted the arrival of riders coming from the North. No doubt messages from sentries had noted riders passing through Anorien. They had made no attempt to hide from the eyes of Gondor. Friends and allies. Altariel shifted and her steed maneuvered gracefully in the direction of the Gondorian patrol. Moving at a direct course to meet them. The other four elven riders formed up alongside their leader. It was a direct intercept course. No doubt the riders could now make out the five other riders coming directly at them! Still, given the distance, it took several minutes for the two parties to actually become close. Altariel leant down and whispered into her steed's ear. Almost immediately the pace of the elven riders began to slow. Like the horses themselves knew how to approach without direction of the rider. The two parties met with the elves deferring to Altariel and thus remained silent. Altariel lowered her head, raised her right hand to her heart, and from her lips came a voice like a siren. Sweet, possibly bordering sultry for her tone was that of strength and not like a passive maiden, honey to the ears. Nor did her stature lesson among Knights such as these. Standing at 6ft 3inches she kept her shoulders squared and back straight. Respectful, yet not submissive to those she was meeting. "Aiya Meldor." [i]Greetings friends[/i]. Lowering her hand she looked at the lead rider. A man fair of face, the blood of Numenor in him, none other than Galador II of Dol Amroth! "I come in place of Cirdan, The Shipwright as he is known, Lord of the Greyhavens. I am Altariel Eledhwen Eldun Emmeril." She once more lowered her head for a moment in respect and awaited for Galador's reply.