@saltuary
Ithilien's wild beauty was made only more so by the shadow that loomed in the distance. The ash and smoke from Mordor did not dim the reds, purples, and whites that bloomed defiantly. The garden of Gondor was more true to its people than their white city. It was a wild, enduring place, a riot of rebellious color thriving at the foot of a Dark Lord who sought to choke all light and life from the world.
Even among the blooms, there were thorns. The Rangers of Ithilien. Clad in green with silent feet they guarded their domain and harassed the enemy. Ruthlessly efficient they had earned Tirron's admiration and respect. Which was why he had sought them out. Together they could keep watch, and maybe find a weakness, an opening that could be exploited.
With that plan in mind, Tirron waited outside the entrance to Henneth Annun, ignoring the suspicious glares of the other men. One of his "captors" had left to fetch their captain. With a thought to the future, he ignored his bound wrists and waited.




















