Caledorn took a massive leap from one balcony to another, drawing his ebony daggers in midair as his cloak billowed behind him. He could hear fighting away to the east, but it soon began to fade away. It sounded as though the enemy was being driven back, though why they would attack only to retreat so soon was anyone's guess.
As he gripped onto the side of a large mallorn tree, his sensitive ears heard the sound of footsteps beneath him. They were light, like the steps of one well-versed in the art of stealth, but Caledorn could tell from the slightly uneven patter that whoever it was was tired.
Like a squirrel he silently crawled down the side of the tree, headfirst and eyes scanning the ground below. His breathing was silenced by his mask, and he made no sound aside from the slight brush of his clothing.
Suddenly an orc emerged from the underbrush nearby, moving slowly and looking around furtively as he carefully made his way closer. He was clad in black robes, which was unusual for an orc, and instead of a sword he held a twisted oaken staff. He was completely oblivious to the elven warrior, who watched the orc approach with silent patience.
As soon as the orc was close enough, Caledorn released his grip and fell from the sky, landing atop the orc like a leopard ambushing his prey. His dagger quickly went to the orc's neck, and with his other hand he cast the pathetic creature's staff away.
"Don't kill me! Please!" The orc shrieked. His cry was cut short by Caledorn's gloved hand cupping against his fanged mouth.
"Silence! Are there more of you nearby?" Caledorn asked, pressing the blade a little harder against the orc's neck. The orc gulped and drew a shallow breath, his eyes bulging as he squirmed.
"Yes! I mean no! They all fled! The paleskin elves chased them off!"
Caledorn's eyes narrowed and he briefly looked around before glaring back down at the orc. "Why did you attack? And how?"
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"So it would seem that Sauron's power, and that of his servants, is waxing," Caledorn said as he pushed the orc to his knees in front of Galadriel and several of her warriors. "He said that a sorcerer aided them in entering the forest."
Galadriel looked upon the orc, her expression one of revulsion and anger. Her icy blue eyes burned with a cold fire, and she took a step closer.
"Tell me, yrch. Who was this sorcerer?"
The orc looked terrified, but he held his chin higher and let out a snarl. "I'm not telling you a thing, elf witch!"
Caledorn kicked the orc in the small of the back, causing him to howl in pain. "Show some respect, orc filth! Or I will show you a world of pain."
The orc bared his rotting teeth, sneering as he looked from elf to elf. "Your time is long over. You do not know what is coming. Leave now while you still have a chance."
"You are strangely articulate for one of your kind, orc. What is your name, and whom do you serve?" Galadriel seemed genuinely interested, though Caledorn knew that she would analyze every word the orc spoke for information.
The orc looked as if he was about to refuse, but Caledorn twirled his blade around close to the orc's ear and he immediately reconsidered.
"I am called Maugash. I serve the Lady of the Dead Tree. This will be her forest, and she will tread upon your bones. Mark my words, elf filth." He spat on the ground, and Caledorn slapped him across the face with a gloved hand.
"Interesting," Galadriel said thoughtfully as she began to slowly circle the orc. Her bare feet softly slapped the ground as she glided past Caledorn. "The Lady of the Dead Tree. She is the sorcerer... Or sorceress, as it were. Is she not?"
Maugash flinched, knowing that he had given too much away. "You will never know, witch. A tide is coming. A great storm, one that will engulf this forest, and the entire world, in darkness. Even now a great serpentine host marches upon your friends to the north. Erebor, shall burn. Dale, shall burn. Mirkwood, shall burn. Surely, even this forest shall burn, and with it all of Middle Earth. We will find what you seek to hide from us... We already know where It is."
Galadriel suddenly stopped walking, and her expression changed to one of fear. "What do you speak of? What do you know?"
The orc sneered again, his voice mocking. "You know of what I speak. When my Lord claims it for himself, there will be no dawn for your kind."
"...How?" Galadriel asked. All power had seemed to drain from her, and she appeared weak and frail. "How can you know this?"
Maugash's lips sealed together, but his eyes glinted triumphantly. Caledorn's fists clenched together, and with a cry of anger he kicked the orc to the ground.
"Take him to the dungeons," Galadriel said. "I am not yet done with him."
As the elves led him away, Maugash watched Caledorn and Galadriel, the same expression of smug victory upon his face. Caledorn glared at the creature in silent fury, wanting nothing more than to run him through with his blades.
"Stay your anger, at least for now," Galadriel said, seeming to perceive his thoughts. "Now is the time for planning. We must move quickly, though I fear we are already too late." She turned her gaze to Caledorn, her stoic expression returning to her. "Summon the others. We must discuss this newfound knowledge at once."
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By the time everyone was gathered it was nearly dawn. Gerithor appeared to be exhausted, though whether he was just tired from the fight or overwhelmed by emotion none could say. He had found the body of the young ranger Belon, and ever since then he had been strangely silent.
Gloin and Kalan sat together, with Glorfindel at Gloin's side. Gloin attempted to light his pipe but Kalan swatted it away with a disapproving glare. Taliel and Caledorn stood in a corner of the room, whispering quietly among themselves. Near the center of the room stood Gerithor, Halbarad and Celeborn, all of whom were pointing animatedly at a map that sat upon a white pedestal. Edhael sat beside Kalan, and seemed ill at ease without his lute. Several other elves, most likely from Lorien, lounged about the room as well, but made no effort to mingle with the other guests.
After waiting for what seemed like hours, Galadriel finally emerged through two gilded doors at the side of the room. Everyone ceased speaking, and aside from Gerithor, Halbarad and Celeborn everyone that was not already seated did so.
"Greetings, guests and familiar friends," Celeborn said as he raised a hand to silence all present. "To those of you who have not yet spoken with me I am Celeborn, husband of Galadriel. We gather together because this night the darkness of Mordor entered our realm, given passage by the shadow of sorcery. Sauron plans to strike - And soon." At Sauron's name many gasped, for his name was never uttered in this sanctuary. Celeborn seemed to notice his guests' shock and directly addressed it. "We have no time for pleasantries, nor even diplomacy. We must speak our minds if we are to act in time."
Gerithor nodded in agreement and continued where Celeborn left off. "In the battle a prisoner was taken. He divulged important information, though not nearly enough. He spoke of the sorceress that allowed them entry into the forest: A Black Numenorean by the name of Zaskia. She has taken up residence in Dul Guldur, and from there she commands a host of orcs. But she isn't working alone. Scouts have reported that one of the Nazgul has been seen near Dul Guldur as well."
At this Glorfindel stood. "Do we know which one?"
Celeborn shook his head. "It is difficult to say. Some scouts said one thing while others told an entirely different tale. But word is that the Witch-King hasn't been seen for many weeks. It could be him."
Gloin snorted as he rose to his feet with a grunt. "Does it even matter? They're all nasty, nigh-unkillable phantoms that'd love to kill us all. I say we talk about makin' a plan instead of chasin' wraiths, if ya don't mind me sayin' it."
Kalan nodded. "Aye, he's right. No use speculatin' on what we don't know! Let's talk about our next move."
"What of Gondor and Rohan?" Edhael asked suddenly. Everyone looked at him in surprise, taken aback that he had asked anything of relevance.
"Rohan is on the brink of disaster," Galadriel said. "Orcs under the command of the traitor Saruman have driven them to the sanctuary of Helm's Deep. The Gondorians are preparing to defend against an attack on the ancient city of Osgiliath. The enemy has not yet made a move there however, and it seems that they will not for several days at least."
"Aid must be sent to Rohan with all haste," A grim voice suddenly said from the doorway. All present turned to see a man, hooded and cloaked, standing there. His cloak was caked with dirt, and the mud on his boots made it clear that he had traveled a long distance without rest to arrive there.
He slowly pulled his hood down, revealing none other than the noble lord of Rivendell, Elrond Halfelven. He was clad in the ancient armor of his people beneath his cloak, and a bright, cruel sword hung on his belt.
"Lord Elrond!" Gerithor cried, bowing slightly as Elrond approached. "This of all joys is least expected, but most desired! What news do you bring?"
"News both grim and dark. As Galadriel said, orcs march on both Gondor and Rohan. But another force marches in haste from the far East. Cruel men, with armor of bronze and long spears, make their way to Erebor and the northlands. They bring with them weapons of war that could break the very gates of the Mountain. No host of men, elves, or dwarves that stands today could face them and live to tell the tale. We cannot spare many men to aid our allies in the south, for the Enemy marches upon our very doorstep."
"I will go," Halbarad said suddenly. "Our lord Aragorn was in Rohan last we heard, we will not let him go to his doom in a land far away."
"Take some men with you," Gerithor replied. "It would be peril to attempt the journey alone."
Halbarad smiled gratefully at his younger friend. "I appreciate the concern, but we already established that we cannot spare more. I shall go alone, for if Estel shall die it will not be without his kinsmen beside him."
Gerithor shook his head. "He shan't die at all if we have anything to say about it. Take thirty of our men. It's not many, but it's enough to make a difference."
Halbarad nodded. "I shall go and ask for volunteers at once. We will ride at first light."
Elrond grabbed the older ranger's shoulder as he walked by. "My sons, Elladan and Elrohir, have made the journey with me. If it is their wish they shall ride with you."
"Indeed," Halbarad said. "They shall be a force to be reckoned with in the South. For few who tread upon Middle Earth harbor the skill that your sons have."
He began to leave, but he suddenly stopped, turning back to Gerithor and giving him a bear hug. "You are like a son to me, Lastborn. You've made me proud in the past few years, and you've become an even greater leader than I thought possible. Should we not meet again, I would have you know that I view you as the child I never had."
"We will meet again, Halbarad. Be it here, or in the Halls of Mandos." A tear fell down his cheek, but he attempted a smile. "Greet my cousin for me, and tell him that I will keep up the fight on his behalf in the North."
"I shall. Farewell, Gerithor." With that the older ranger left the room, and every eye followed him until he was out of sight.
"He is a brave man," Elrond said. "The road south is perilous. As for the rest of you... You must march to Esgaroth. The city burns as we speak, but it should hold for several more days. Caledorn... I have a special task for you, one of the utmost importance."
At this Caledorn visibly perked up, and his catlike eyes were suddenly alert. "Your wish is my command."
"You have a friend in the East, do you not? Go to him, and tell him that the time has come."
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Chapter Song: We Will Come Back: James Paget