With the darkness brewing and only getting stronger as the years pass, it seems all hope is lost. The tragedy in Mirkwood was set to hold back the elves even more, but it only made them stronger. A couple of millennia after the incident, all seems well. For some unknown reason, the light gradually became brighter; or was this all a ruse? The darkness never truly rests; always on the move, but sometimes swifter, quieter... like the winds. Sometimes so strong that the birds struggle against them, but often so soft that it is nothing but a gentle breeze against your skin. Regardless, it is always there. The leaves rustle in its presence, but at some point, at least one has to flow against the wind. --- (I suck at summaries) A Lord of the Rings fanfiction. It's still a work in progress, but I've got the entire thing outlined so it's just a matter of me writing the chapters. I'm honestly excited for this, and I hope you all enjoy it!