AN: This is a continuation of a series of stories titled Interrupted Journeys. Parts One through Seven have already been posted. It should not be necessary to read those parts of the series to understand this story, though you might understand the characters a bit better if you did.

This part of the story is set in Legolas's childhood. It explores the canon events in 1980-1981 TA from the point of view of the Woodland Realm. (It is rated PG-13 for battle violence and OC death.)

..when the terror came out of Moria and the Dwarves were driven out, in their stead Orcs crept in...
Unfinished Tales

Chapter One: The terror of Moria

Deep in the shadow of the mountain, Dolgailon crouched low amongst a tangle of black roots and branches. They twisted around him like devouring snakes, providing the only cover that he and Colloth had against the eyes of the Enemy. It was a poor cover indeed. Placing the palm of his hand against one of the branches, trying to touch its slimy surface as little a possible, he peered at the rocks that rose above him only a few hundred paces away. Dol Guldur. Orcs swarmed around it like flies about a corpse, feeding off the dark mist that hung in the air, stagnant and putrid with decay. This was the first time that anyone had ventured so close to Dol Guldur in hundreds of years. Anyone who had returned to tell the tale, at any rate.
 
An orc ambled within a sword's swing of Dolgailon, its guttural breaths echoing around them.

Acutely aware that he had not yet returned to tell the tale of what he had found himself, Dolgailon flattened himself against the grimy rocks and remained stock still. Enduring the proximity of his face to the filthy ground was certainly preferable to capture, but it was revolting just the same.

The orc's panting breaths quickened. Something had aroused it. The scent of elves?

Dolgailon slowly closed his hand around the hilt of his sword. If the orc had seen or smelled them, he and Colloth were dead. There were too many orcs in the vicinity to entertain any reasonable hope of escape should an alarm be raised. But he would make certain there were many fewer orcs before he died himself.

The orc stopped, just a few paces away, but Dolgailon did not dare risk moving to turn and look at it. A moment later, he heard a trickling sound and a salty stench arose around them.

Dolgailon clenched his jaw in an effort to not gag and lifted his face a few inches from the ground despite the danger of being seen.

A few moments later, the orc released a growling, satisfied sigh as the trickling sound stopped. Leather and metal slapped together as he gave himself a little shake, then his heavy footfalls resumed, carrying him further away from the mountain.

"Enough," whispered a voice in Dolgailon's ear. It was accompanied by a tug on his tunic. Colloth moved off northward through the knots of branches.

Dolgailon took one last, long look at the mountain, pausing to sense anything he might. Then he followed, slipping through the meager cover on his hands and knees, silent as a shadow. Every time his hand fell into one of the dark little puddles of stench that pooled here and there amongst the rocks, he could not restrain himself from jerking away sharply.

He and Colloth traveled as swiftly as they dared, ever alert for orcs, or worse things, until hours later they came back to a small crypt formed by a broad, dead tree trunk and several large stones that jutted high into the air. The stones had holes drilled into them, as if a door had once hung on them and sealed the little room, but that door had long ago rotted away. Dolgailon and his companions on this expedition had called it a crypt when they found it because, in its hollow, they had found the bones of several creatures, along with remnants of orc armor and the sorts of buttons and buckles that would be used on elven clothing. It was a good hiding place, offering both shelter and security, so they camped in it, agreeing not to think too much about the fates of its former occupants.

As they approached the crypt, Dolgailon spotted his regular guard, Galudiron, peering from behind the rocks. Ostensibly, he had the watch, but Dolgailon knew that Galudiron would be watching for him whether or not it was his current duty to guard their encampment. The argument over who would provide Dolgailon's escort to Dol Guldur had been heated. In the end, Colloth had won, since he had been the guard to accompany Aradunnon to that dread place several time before and had been one of the few to enter its passages since it fell under the Shadow.

Colloth exchanged a nod with Galudiron as he and Dolgailon entered the crypt. Everyone inside looked at Dolgailon intently. Galudiron studied him for signs of injury. Morillion and Ostarndor waited anxiously to hear what Dolgailon had seen.

"Even around the mountain I saw many fewer orcs than I would have expected," Dolgailon whispered. This far into the Enemy's undisputed territory, not even the Elvenking's Troop Commander dared to speak in a clear voice.

"They are still there in great numbers, to be certain," Colloth added, "but not as many as the last time we attacked the fortress in the mountain."

That caused Morillion and Ostarndor to raise their eyebrows and look at Dolgailon expectantly.

Dolgailon shook his head swiftly. "I do not intend to attack it," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. He would not attempt that, for no other reason than, if he proposed such a plan to the king, he would likely find himself locked up in a little cell like this one under the stronghold after being condemned for dangerous insanity.

"Then why take the risk of approaching it?" Ostarndor demanded. He had been the captain of the Southern Patrol since Dolgailon was relieved of that duty. He had been an officer of that patrol since the first battle against the evil in Dol Guldur. His bitter disappointment was unmistakable.

"I wanted to know if I would still sense the same presence there that we always have sensed there, and I did," Dolgailon answered. Everyone knew what the presence was--the intense evil that drew the orcs and spiders and fed them. "I wanted to see if I would find any of the Nazgul about there, since it has been so long since they have appeared anywhere else in the forest," he added. Then he shook his head to indicate he had not.

Both Ostarndor and Morillion frowned.

"While you were gone, another large contingent of orcs passed, heading west to the border," Morillion commented. This far south, Morillion's troops, the warriors in the Western Patrol, would not encounter those orcs. But it was Morillion that first reported the orcs' travels westward out of the forest. The reason for their movements was the mystery he most wanted to solve. After all, anything that amassed on the western border might eventually be his problem.

"How long ago?" Dolgailon asked.

"An hour, maybe less," Morillion replied.

Dolgailon reached for his small pack. "We will follow them. We are finished here and now I want to see what the orcs are doing in the west."

Morillion and Ostarndor seemed very satisfied with that order. Colloth and Galudiron were much less so.

"Those orcs are leaving the forest, commander," Galudiron said, catching Dolgailon's arm as he moved to leave the crypt. "Good riddance. Outside the forest they are not our problem."

"We do not know that until we see what they are doing outside the forest. This is all very bizarre behavior, Galudiron. I want to understand it so that I am certain our borders are properly defended."

"How far onto the plain do you intend to follow them?" Colloth asked.

"As far as I must to find out what they are doing there or where they are going," Dolgailon responded. And he strode out of the crypt.

*~*~*

Thranduil nodded a greeting to the two guards standing on either side of the Gates. Presently, they were standing straight as an arrow, due to the presence of their King. Only a moment earlier, before they noticed the King, they were standing at the very edge of the landing that led up to the bridge, barely at their posts, and they were completely focused on the training field beyond the Green, which was not where their attention belonged at all. Thranduil eyed them a moment longer and then he stepped up onto the bridge that crossed the river and surveyed the Green, searching for his father-in-law. The guards in the family quarters told him that Amglaur had accompanied Legolas, Galithil and Berior onto the Green, but neither he nor the children seemed to be amongst the elves dancing and singing in front of the stronghold now.

A thunderous uproar of voices drew Thranduil's gaze to the training field.

There, on the far edge of the field, a large group of warriors lined both sides of a trail leading into the forest. They were all leaning forward to peer down the trail, cheering louder and louder by the moment. A horse race, Thranduil concluded, given that several well lathered horses were grazing in the field, waiting to be returned to the barns for a nice bath. Then Thranduil raised his eyebrows. There was Amglaur--with the warriors, cheering loudly enough that his voice raised above the others. Surely Amglaur was not gambling with the warriors! Shaking his head, Thranduil started across the bridge. It was just as well that his father-in-law was enjoying himself now, since the news that Thranduil intended to give him was somewhat alarming.

As Thranduil walked across the field, the cluster of warriors swiftly spilt apart. Thranduil's eyebrows rose again, this time even higher. At the very head of the path he could now see all of Legolas's friends and cousins standing near Amglaur. Berior, along with a young warrior opposite him on the other side of the path, stood with an arm extended out over the path, apparently marking the finish line for the race. Both were waving and stamping their feet, cheering on three riders that were approaching at breakneck speed from the dark path. Thranduil's jaw tightened. It was one thing if Amglaur was betting with the warriors himself. It was an entirely different thing if he was encouraging Legolas and his far-too-young cousins and friends to take part in such debauchery. But Thranduil did not see either Legolas or Tulus. He breathed a little easier upon realizing that. After all, it had been less than a week since he had caught Legolas participating in these contests. He would be none too pleased to see him back at it already.

The riders broke from the forest, their horses running so fast that they flew well past the cheering crowd before they could be reined in. At the sight of them, Thranduil's jaw fell open and he came to a complete stop, staring at the lead rider. It was Legolas. His cousins, friends and the majority of the warriors quickly surrounded him, shouting and slapping both him and his snorting, dancing horse in a congratulatory manner.

"That is my horse!" Thranduil exclaimed, though no one could hear his irritation. He was still far too far away from the crowd to be heard over their yelling.

He resumed his march across the field, striding even more swiftly, eyes fixed on his son. Legolas was leaning forward, stroking the flank of his excited mount and speaking into ears that twitched about. Thranduil had to admit he was somewhat impressed when Legolas managed to calm the powerful war stallion enough to put a stop to its stamping and dancing. Tulus, the third and last rider to emerge from the forest, had jumped down from the horse he was riding and approached Legolas, reaching for the stallion's headstall and stroking his neck soothingly. He looked up at Legolas with a broad grin that he appeared to be trying to restrain. Thranduil could not hear him over the still cheering crowd, but could see that he was also offering his congratulations. Legolas smiled at his guard and jumped down from the stallion to be immediately surrounded by his cousins and friends. Aewen, in particular, Thranduil noted, threw her arms around Legolas's neck and kissed his cheek. The young warrior that Legolas had been racing rolled his eyes, jumped down from his horse and turned away from the crowd in response to that.

Thranduil slowed his pace to study the situation a bit longer. He recognized what this was: a rematch for the coin that Legolas had won earlier this week. And Legolas had won the rematch as well. Thranduil had to make an effort not to laugh. The young warrior--Torthil, a First Year, if Thranduil remembered correctly--looked very disgusted. Disgusted enough to be labeled a rather poor loser, in Thranduil's opinion.

"Legolas keeps the coin!" one of the young warriors exclaimed as Thranduil drew closer.

"How many times are you going to lose that coin to him, Torthil?" taunted another, laughing.

Torthil glared at him.

Legolas also responded with a disdainful look. "That was a close race," he said.

Torthil only grimaced and, jerking his chin in a signal for his friends to follow, all but stalked away, pulling his horse by its headstall towards the barn.

"That was an incredible race, Legolas!" Berior shouted, ignoring Torthil. "I wish adar had been here to see it. He would have appreciated it."

"We appreciated it," two other elves said in unison. They were standing in front of a pair of warriors, their hands out, obviously collecting their winnings.

Thranduil frowned. One of the elves was Dollion, Aewen's father, the Captain of the Guard in the capital, and a notorious gambler--Aradunnon's former partner in crime in the gaming at the Oak. Thranduil expected nothing less of him but to make a wager at any opportunity. Still, he was not so pleased that the opportunity to wager arose from his own son's actions. The other winner was Crithad, Brethil's father. He disapproved of gambling nearly as much as Thranduil and Thranduil definitely did not want to believe that Legolas's participation in the race had inspired Crithad to bet on it.

Legolas looked at them uneasily. "Honestly, I do not think my adar would approve of this. Please, let's not make too much out of it."

"I made plenty from it," Dollion replied with a grin, allowing several copper coins to fall through the fingers of one hand into the palm of his other.

Legolas put his hands on his hips in an attempt to appear stern, but the effect was ruined when he stumbled forward a step as Dollion clapped him on the shoulder.

"You have nothing to worry about, Legolas," Galithil said. "Uncle Thranduil told you to give Torthil a chance to win back his coin. That is all you were doing."

Legolas looked at him sidelong. "Adar also said not to agree to any bet that was dangerous," he replied.

"This is a course that the First Year warriors train on," Galithil shot back. "How dangerous could it possibly be? Besides, your daeradar checked it out first. And gave his approval!"

Legolas turned to Galithil fully, raising his eyebrows as he did.

Amglaur draped an arm across Legolas's shoulders. "If your adar gives you any trouble when he hears about this race, you tell him to talk to me. I will remind him that his own adar was positively famous for the race courses he put together around Menegroth. It is only right that a child should take after his daeradar."

Legolas openly laughed in response to that. "I doubt adar will accept that as an excuse," he said. "And which of my daeradar's are you truly hoping I will take after with all this foolishness?" he added with a grin.

"Me, of course, and exactly as you imply--by aiding me in my pursuit of new ways to cause your adar a healthy amount of grief," Amglaur replied, with a wink. "Simply tell him I gave you permission and that will do very well."

"Very well indeed," Thranduil called, finally close enough to the celebratory group to no longer go unnoticed. Some of the warriors had already snapped to attention in response to his presence.

Legolas spun to face him, looking distinctly guilty.

The stallion next to Legolas, still breathing heavily, recognized his master and strode over to him, nuzzling Thranduil's shoulder with his nose and giving him a hard shove in the process. Thranduil turned his attention to his horse, reaching to stroke first his nose--the horse snuffled at his hands searching for treats--and then to scratch his neck.

"He is a fine horse," Thranduil commented. "I expect he performed well for you, Legolas."

Legolas bit his lip. "I hope you do not mind me borrowing him, adar," Legolas said softly.

Thranduil merely raised an eyebrow. He did not truly mind. Indeed, the exercise was undoubtedly good for the horse and something he enjoyed thoroughly. And Thranduil had taught Legolas to ride himself. On this very horse. He knew his son could handle him. Still, it did not hurt to let Legolas squirm a bit for borrowing the horse without permission to run a race that half the populace, apparently, had wagered on.

"Of course he does not mind," Amglaur replied for him, smiling. The smile was clearly a challenge. One Thranduil could not rise to under the current circumstances and Amglaur knew it.

"After all, one does not leave one's best horse in the barn during a horse race," Galithil added.

Thranduil turned to him, a barking laugh escaping him despite his best efforts to appear disapproving. "That was certainly something you learnt from Legolas's daeradar," he said.

Amglaur, still with an arm around Legolas, now reached with his other arm to draw Galithil to him. "Of course it was," he confirmed, smiling blandly at Thranduil, holding his son and foster son firmly as they both looked down and struggled not to giggle.

Thranduil shook his head and turned back towards the stronghold. "Amglaur, come with me please. One of the messengers from the Southern Patrol brought some news from Lothlorien that might interest you."

"News from Lothlorien?" Amgalur exclaimed, now completely serious.

Thranduil took some satisfaction from that and continued without response across the field.

*~*~*

"Pauron and his wife said they had fled from Lothlorien? Fled was their exact word?" Amglaur demanded. He sat leaned forward in his chair, his hands formed fists on the table surface and his grim expression bore painfully into the warrior across from him.

The warrior twisted the hem of his tunic around a finger. "Yes, my lord, I think so. I was more interested in learning who they were and what they were doing in the Forest and how they had managed to travel here from Lothlorien. I did not question them at length about why they left, but I do remember that they said they had left fearful of something that was going on there and that they intended to stay here, with kin they are looking for. And, of course, I was even more interested in the dwarves they had with them. A threat, they might have been, and one I needed to know more about. They appear to be harmless enough, though, as badly injured as they are. Too badly injured to bring back to the stronghold." He faced Thranduil. "As I said, we need someone who speaks Westron to question them. They apparently speak no Sindarin and none of the warriors in my group speak Westron well enough to communicate with them. And sending some medicine would not be a bad idea either. Their burns were very serious and the village healer seemed worried about her supplies."

Amglaur frowned and leaned back in his chair.

Thranduil nodded to the warrior. "Thank you," he said quietly. "You may go. Tell your lieutenant that we will send someone better equipped to manage the dwarves and their injuries immediately."

Everyone remained silent until the warrior had passed through through doors of the Hall. Then Amglaur turned to Thranduil. "I will deal with your dwarves. I am going going to speak to Pauron and his wife. If they 'fled' Lothlorien, I definitely want to know why. I want much more detail than that warrior supplied."

Seated next to him, Lindomiel nodded her agreement. Like her father, she sat stiffly, her normally bright expression dimmed considerably by the news that the warrior had delivered.

Thranduil frowned. "Naturally I expected you would want to speak to these elves from Lothlorien yourself. That is why I brought you to speak to the messenger from the Southern Patrol," he replied, keeping his tone as even as possible. He knew how on edge he would be if he were abroad and heard that elves were apparently fleeing the Woodland Realm. Especially if they had badly injured dwarves traveling with them. But there was no possibility that he was sending Amglaur to manage dwarves. "Perhaps Celonhael can go with you to speak to the dwarves while you speak to Pauron," he suggested.

Amglaur snorted, clearly not fooled by Thranduil's attempt to placate him. "Whatever is happening in Lothlorien is troubling enough, Thranduil. I would be happy to be relieved of the need to speak to dwarves. Send Celonhael, by all means. But do not doubt that I intend to find out how they are connected to whatever trouble there is in Lorien. Dwarves being what they are, they must be connected to that trouble somehow."

Thranduil only inclined his head towards his father-in-law, ignoring his disrespectful attitude. Then he looked at Hallion to confirm that his steward would see to briefing Celonhael and send him on his way with Amglaur, the sooner the better. But Hallion was shaking his head.

"Celonhael is helping Golwon distribute the winter supplies, my lord," he said. "They will be on the eastern border by now."

Thranduil's mouth turned downwards and his gaze unconsciously drifted around the table to where his absent advisors normally sat. Celonhael and Golwon--not that Thranduil would send Golwon--he was no more suitable a choice to deal with dwarves than Amglaur--were apparently not available. Dolgailon was on the western border, due home no one knew when. He paused, looking at Lindomiel. She undeniably dealt well with dwarves, but it was Fall. She was very busy managing food preparation for the winter stores and assembling the trade items due to be sent to Esgaroth. She did not have time to travel to speak to dwarves. Thranduil's mind turned to his advisors' wives. Perhaps Lindomiel could spare one of them. Ollwen and Arthiel, Silvan elleth, had little or no previous interaction with dwarves. Isteth had. And she was a strong enough personality to manage a dwarf. Still, Thranduil hesitated. Golwon preferred for his wife to leave the Hall when dwarves were scheduled to be present. What would Golwon do when he found out Thranduil sent his wife south to speak to dwarves? That would be an unpleasant scene at best, especially if Golwon returned before his wife. There was always Hallion. Thranduil returned his gaze to him and slumped a little in his chair with a tired sigh at the prospect of a week--possibly more--without the aid of his steward.

"Then I will speak to them for you Thranduil," Amglaur insisted, interrupting Thranduil's thoughts. "I want answers from them. And better that you send me to deal with dwarves than my daughter," he concluded, guessing at Thranduil's plans.

Thranduil's expression soured further. "I disagree, Amglaur," he said evenly. "If I sent Lindomiel, I would likely get the answers that I want. That is far preferable to sending you and having Khazad-dum declare war on the forest when Durin hears how you treated his people in my realm."

Amglaur lifted his chin and affected an insulted look. "I managed to serve my brother and nephew in Lothlorien for two Ages of this world without instigating a war, Thranduil."

"That is lucky for Lorien," Thranduil retorted. "But I am still not sending you to treat with dwarves. And before you protest, I am not sending Lindomiel either. She is too busy preparing the winter stores." His gaze again swept around the table. He had no good alternatives. He could not deny that.

"I will go, Uncle," Galithil said.

Thranduil looked at him sharply. He had almost forgotten that Legolas and his cousin had followed he and Amglaur into the Hall.

Galithil sat tall in his chair, facing the King with a completely calm, assured expression, as if his suggestion was one that should be considered.

Thranduil opened his mouth to discount it automatically. Then he closed it again and studied Galithil silently.

"The dwarves are in my village," Galithil argued quietly when Thranduil did not immediately refuse him. "Well, Dolgailon's village and he should be the one to manage their presence there. Since he is unavailable, I should do it. I speak Westron every bit as well as Legolas, and you just sent him to trade with Men. This matter is not even a negotiation. It is simply a matter of conversing with some dwarves to find out how they were injured. And I know you normally would not feel comfortable allowing me to travel to my village, but I would be safe enough going with Amglaur--Amglaur, whatever guard you send with him, and my guard. Three experienced warriors. Surely that is enough protection, along with the Western and Southern patrols, to keep me safe in a village. Especially since Dolgailon is in the south investigating why the Southern Patrol has seen so few orcs over the last season."

"The dwarves are injured, Galithil. Burned, the messenger said," Thranduil countered. "It is unlikely that Dwarves burned themselves in their forge and then traveled to Eryn Galen for aid. They were most likely injured by an enemy in battle. Orcs do not inflict that sort of injury. Dragons do. I do not want to send you anywhere near a dragon."

Amglaur sat bolt upright--the idea of a dragon near Lothlorien had obviously not occurred to him. Lindomiel turned an openly frightened gaze on her husband and father.

Thranduil grimaced, but pressed onward. "If some sort of battle is involved, this is not a simple matter of conversing with the dwarves. Some understanding of military strategy will be necessary when questioning these dwarves to ensure we obtain the information we need to defend this realm from whatever enemy has attacked the dwarves. Beyond that, there is also the village leader--Moralfien--to deal with. It must be impressed upon her that it is unacceptable that she did not inform me of the presence of these dwarves. That is not a message that would be well received from a child, even if that child is the King's nephew. Or son," he added in response to that fact that Legolas had sat forward in his chair, obviously prepared to join the argument.

Legolas drew a breath to speak, despite his father's argument, but Galithil signaled for him to be quiet and spoke himself. "I agree it is not my place, as yet, to manage Moralfien, but I could carry a letter from you to her, if you wish. As for the dwarves and whatever injured them, neither the village guards nor the patrols have reported seeing a dragon or any sign of one, so most likely, if a dragon is even involved, it is nearer to Khazad-dum, so it will be safe enough for me to go to the village with the guards and Amglaur. And I would do a good job speaking to the dwarves, because I enjoy their company rather than being prejudiced against them as many in this family are. I have spent the last twenty years summarizing the reports from the Patrols, my lord, so I have some idea what type of information must be gathered. Lord Amglaur and the guards can help me question them, but I can help keep the meeting civil, which was your primary concern when you suggested sending Lord Celonhael. I think I could help manage these dwarves."

Thranduil regarded Galithil silently for another moment. Then he glanced at Lindomiel.

"I do not have time to travel with Adar to speak to the dwarves," Lindomiel replied to his implied question. "I am sorry, but I am very busy with preparations for winter, as you already said. And even if I did, I would be the first to admit that Galithil is much more familiar with the type of information that goes into a military report than I am. As for his safety, I do not know anything about what the reports from the Southern Patrol have said, but I do trust my adar to take care of Galithil if they go together to the village."

Thranduil ignored Galithil's whispered 'thank you' to Lindomiel and turned instead to Tulus and Galuauth, the guard that had been assigned to Galithil while Colloth was in the south with Dolgailon. They were standing towards the back of the Hall in case their charges intended to return to the Green that evening. "What is your opinion on this matter, Galuauth?" he asked. "Do you feel comfortable escorting Galithil to his brother's village?"

Galuauth looked between Galithil's hopeful expression and Thranduil's serious one. Then he looked at Tulus. Tulus gave a slight nod. "I believe I could keep Galithil safe on the way to the village," he finally said. "Especially so if lord Amglaur and another guard were to accompany us."

Thranduil turned to Tulus. "And Galithil's swordsmanship? You have seen more of it on the training field than I have. Is it at least sufficient to give him some hope of being able to defend himself if you should encounter orcs?" Thranduil asked.

Now Galithil's expression became nearly pleading.

"Both Galithil and Legolas handle their weapons adequately, given the training they have had. They are no worse than many of the new warriors I saw defending the villages in the south before the training program was developed," Tulus answered. "Galithil might manage to kill an orc or two before he was killed himself if he found himself in a position where he was forced to defend himself unaided. Of course, I would not expect that to happen."

Thranduil turned to Conuion. "Do you have a guard you could spare to accompany Amglaur?"

The captain of the king's guards nodded. "We are stretched a bit thin, since I sent two guards with Celonhael and Golwon and two accompanied Dogailon south. But I could spare one more, my lord."

Thranduil nodded in response to that and turned back to Galithil. "Very well, you may go," he finally said. Then he looked at Legolas and Amglaur. "All of you."

That earned him a broad grin from Legolas and a scoffing snort from Amglaur.

"But we are going to discuss at length exactly what I expect of you," Thranduil continued sternly.

Galithil and Legolas both nodded as seriously as possible through their excitement. Dwarves had long been something that fascinated them both.

*~*~*

The warriors at the Forest Gate watched silently as the small party of strange elves came to a stop at the edge of the forest just before passing under the branches that formed the Forest Gate. They studied it carefully, peering into the dark forest and up into the branches of the trees. Then one nudged his horse forward a few paces in front of the others. "May we pass?" he called, speaking Silvan, though it was accented slightly differently from that spoken by the warriors in the trees.

"You may," one of the warriors responded in kind, leaping down from his post and landing lightly on the Path. "May we ask your names and the nature of your business? It has been a very long time since we have seen any of our brethren from Lothlorien. That is where you are from, unless I am much mistaken."

"My name is Haldir," the elf responded. "And these are my brothers, Rumil and Orophin. We are indeed from Lorien. We have come in search of our lord Amglaur, who is, we believe, currently a guest of your king."

The warrior nodded. He remembered the name Haldir from when the Queen first visited the Woodland Realm. It was a memorable name indeed, given that he had won most of the contests while he was here. It had been a very long time indeed, but this elf could very well be Haldir of Lothlorien. "You are correct," the warrior responded. "Lord Amglaur resides with the king and queen in the stronghold in the mountain that you will find at the end of this Path. It is a three day journey from here if you intend to ride hard. Longer if your pace is more leisurely."

Haldir put his hand over his heart and bowed his thanks to the warrior. "With your permission, we will attempt to make the journey as quickly as possible. Our business with lord Amglaur is urgent."

The warrior stepped back to the edge of the Path. "The road is yours," he said, returning Haldir's bow.

With a nod, Haldir and his brothers urged their horses to a gallop down the dark forest path.

The warrior signaled to his fellows in the trees around the Path. "Send the swiftest bird we have to the King to inform him of the passage of these Lothlorien elves," he ordered one of them. "And send another to the River, so that the officers there are forewarned of their arrival as well."

*~*~*
Adar/ada -- Father/dad


Elleth/ellyth -- Female elf/elves