Shadows in the West

Sauron's forces are beginning to be unleashed. He has formed an alliance with Isengard where Saruman is breeding an army of uruks to let loose on Rohan. The Nine have left Minas Morgul to head North in search of a land where an insignificant halfling carries a certain trinket of great value to Sauron. The Dark Lord has sent advance forces up north to reinforce moria, a collection of goblins, uruks, and the more deadly trolls. The Witch King is unleashing battalions to attack Osgiliath. Dol Guldur is preparing to attack the wood elves of Mirkwood and Lorien. Though this is only the beginning, the Hope of Men is already failing. They must hold their own while their greatest hope, yet unkown to them, jouneys to the land of their darkest dreams to destroy the one thing that will ensure their own destruction...

The Tale of Elidar...
Elidar stood in his column, awaiting the order to march to what must be his doom. Osgiliath. Ever since he had been notified he would be serving in the regular army, he dreaded that he might be chosen to go there. Though he was honored to be defending a place of such importance to Gondor, to Minas Tirith, he was terrified because he knew Osgiliath would be the first place to fall when Mordor's impending strike finally came.
He was suddenly pulled from his thoughts when the horn sounded, the horn signifying their march to the ruined city. He could see sadness in the eyes of many of the citizens as the main gate of the city opened. He heldn his head high and proud as they began to march. he had to show that he was not afraid, to strengthen both the courage of the men under his command, and the courage of Minas Tirith's citizens. He was a specially trained soldier, a Guard of the Citadel, he would not cower in the face of this danger. There was rumor that the Rangers of Ithilien had spotted great numbers of orcs leving the Tower of Sorcery for Osgiliath. As Elidar passed through the main gate, he saw the city that could become his resting place...

URZAG (Uruk)

"Get up you sluggards," came the raucous noise of Guráshk from somewhere outside Urzag's hut. "Whip yaselves into shape, or I'll do the whippin' for youse! Up, I say!"
Grudgingly, Urzag roused himself. "So we're for it, now, garn!"
"Shut ya bleatin', Urzag," came the guttural response from Balzag, his brother, who shared the hut with him and twenty eight others, sweltering in the pungent heat there, created by so many closely confined sweating bodies. "Youse knew what youse were up for when you joined up. If ya too scarit ta come then slink home to Mother."
"She'd have me guts for garters if I did, and you know it."
"Garn! Just get up."
They stumbled outside, all thirty of them, only to be balled out by their Captain, Guráshk, again. A huge Uruk, one of The Eye's veterans, was standing out in the parade ground. "Hurry, you scum. Get to it, I says!" Two hundred yards behind him loomed the Black Gate, strong, impenetratble, forbidding.
Urzag allowed himself a deep, steadying breath, knowing fear. This was it. Out through the Gate they'd soon be slinking, and then off to... Off to where, exactly? Well, off to wherever his captain lead him. No one but Guráshk and a few of his leaders, knew where they going. Maybe it was better that way.
A whip cracked, made the band of Uruks jump nervily to attention and marshall themselves into an untidy line. Best not upset Guráshk, whose temper, even for a Uruk, was short.
The Captain came down the line, bow legged and face snarling, his scimitar out of it's scabbard, as if kept ready to cut the throat of any orc showing reticence. Urzag stood straighter and grinned obediently, even if inside his gut crawled with hate. "My brother should lead us," he thought sourly. "He's a better Uruk than you, Guráshk, curse you."
Then Guráshk was upon him, casting his supercilious gaze upon him. "Ahh! Urzag, you maggot, Mummy let you out, has she?" He grinned mercilessly. "Pah!" he spat at Urzag's feet. Next he swung away. "March, you lubbers! March - heave to!"
And the orc band did march, ragged, moving like hideously ugly chimpanzees, toward the Gate.
A horn blew.
The Gate began to open.

ROSA MUGWORT (Hobbit of Bree)

Rosa Mugwort hurried home from The Prancing Pony with the darkening night about her. Her home town, Bree, did not seem the safe and secure place it had once been, what with dark rumour circulating, and all the strange folk from foreign lands wandering through the land. Even now, there were some strange folk staying at Barliman Butterbur's hostelery. Said they had fled the south because a Shadow was growing there. That might be the case, but nonetheless, some of these Men looked queer, like no Men the girl had ever seen before. And of late, she had seen the mysterious Ranger, Strider as he was called, coming to and fro from Bree, and at all hours this past month or so. Rangers were queer folk, and no mistake.

Rosa made her way to the house she shared with her Granny and Grandpa, an old house near the West-gate where old Harry would have long been on duty with the gate firmly locked. High above, stars were twinkling, as they had always done, which Rosa found comforting.

She pulled a currant bun from the hessian bag she always carried her things in. It was her before-bed morsel, but as her unease was making her hungry - not that she wasn't always hungry - she decided to eat it now rather than later. She was munching on the bun, waddling down the road, and almost at her house, when she heard noises coming from further down in the dark. A lantern light glowed suddenly at the West-gate, and Rosa saw old Harry come out of the lodge there to peer at unseen folk over the gate.

It was a still night and Harry's voice carried, though the replies were quieter, their murmur was dulled by the planks of the gate, no doubt.

"What do you want, and where do you come from?" Harry asked.

An indiscernible voice replied.

Harry said: "Hobbits! Four hobbits! And what's more, out of the Shire by their talk."

Harry opened the gate.

Rosa, who had kept walking, came to the door to her house and whispered to herself in the dark there. "Hobbits? How strange. Oh shush you, Rosa, listen. I've just missed what's bein' said!"

"All right! All right!" continued Harry once Rosa began paying attention again. I meant no offence. But you'll find maybe that more folk than old Harry at the gate will be asking you questions. There's queer folk about. If you go to The Pony, you'll find you're not the only guests."

Then four small figures came along the road, with Harry peering at them curiously, his old face splashed in light from his upheld lantern. Rosa kept as quiet as a mouse as they came past the front of the house, and though she was no more that ten feet from them, they failed to notice her in the dark. They must be queer folk. For a start, they were from the Shire, if she had heard right. The Shire where queerness was delved deep, as her Granny often said; and these hobbits seemed to prove the theory, travelling at such an unrespectable hour with their packs and ragged weather worn clothing. And then they were gone on up the road, making for The Pony it would appear, and not to the hobbit part of the town. Queer, alright.

Rosa glanced back at the West-gate, to see it was closed again. Harry was nowhere in sight. She sighed, gladder than ever for the Gate's existence. The world outside the town seemed dangerous of late. Silly thought, but what happened next did nothing to allay it. For a dark shadow suddenly appeared over the West-gate. Silently it seemed to flow over the gate and then take on human form. Rosa gasped, then held her breath.

The shadow, a tall narrow shadow, came quickly up the road on long legs. It was clearly a Man now, not a phantom, and it wore a green cloak and hood. The hobbit girl continued to keep a hold on her breath. The Man - for it was a Man - came abreast of her, before hurrying on, almost silent, more silent than Men were known for when traispsing, but not at all unusually for a Man who was a Ranger. Stealthy folk they were, and this one she knew. It was that "Strider" chap. And he was stalking those hobbits!

When he was gone, Rosa hurried inside her house, bun half eaten in her hand and forgotten for the moment. She briefly contemplated telling her Granny and Grandpa what had transpired. They were sitting by the hearth in the kitchen, Granny sewing, and Grandpa cleaning his gardening tools. But she decided to say nothing. She knew what they would say. "Look here, young Miss, don't you go fretting over affairs thar are not narn of your'n business. No good peekin', else you'll like as not get your nose bit off, or worse. Leave that kind of thing for those who would spend their idling time in taverns and the like!"

Granny was probably right, but Rosa, for all that she was careful not to gossip in front of her grand parents, liked to know what was about. Remembering her bun, she went straight to bed and finished it in the safe comfort inside her blanket. But she couldn't wait to go to work at The Pony tomorrow morning. That was such a great place for getting news.

KHÍM (Dworv - Lunnly Meltin)

Khím waz uh varry uld dworv und too steel bee billdin worls ut iz venrubble aje wuz uh wundar. Ee waz wid Boldor un Bizkar, iz yungar cuzzens, dun uhlong za rivva frun za Grate Gayts ov tha Meltin', und za worl zay waz bildin runn long a drup neer uh gard toweller za Kung undr za Meltin hud bilt reecendlee. Ithud beenuh lung day und Khím's buk waz sorr un stef. Za soon wazza sledden dun za skye inna arvanuun, und Khím waz glud ovit, farr sunn 'e culd goer truddjin uppa ruud buk unta za Meltin.

Seain zat za uld dworv waz strooglin, Boldor sed, "Hay, Khím, youse takin' uppza toolies wiles wee funnash up wid ziss last blokk ere. Stard pukkin' up za chizzellz."

Khím waz glud ta ear zose wirds. Wypin za swed frum iz brow, 'e stardded pikin' upp zeir cheissellz und hummars.

'e waz juz finnushd luudin zeir wheelieburruh, wen 'e sorr a straynge site a çommin' up za ruud. It were un bigg Mun onna bigg blik ors. Za Mun waz ull un blik too. Za ruud juz ballo waz stil ruff un nurro forr orl zat zee dworvs hud bein buk ut Airybor forr a lotta yeerz, forr zer waz stil mooch ta doo to repar za draggin Smorgg'z devvustayshon, und soo za blik orsMun hud ta wide upp slowlee pikkin iz wey carfoolee.

Khím ud tym ta poosh iz wheelieburruh ut za wey. 'Ime wondrin oo ee iz,' sez Khím az za blik orsMun rowed upp und waz almo upun im.

Soodenlee, Khím feld uh orrid prumuneeshon. A bud feelin cum ohvar im, a chell wunnid up iz spyn, iz air stood up on und. 'E feld un soodun urj ta tuk upp iz troostee hummar un worn orf za orsMun, tell im ta goo uff somair ells, fur fur uwuy frum za dworv kyngdum. Butt att za sum tym, Khím coodna moof inza boddee; likwiz Boldor und Bizkar, tho zeir eyez stel culd moof, und zey swoppéd spishoss glunsez wid uld Khím.

Za blik orsMun ruud pars wiv nary uh glunse ut zem ina return. Za coldna zee iz fayse, forr itt wer idden in a blik ood.

Zen za blik orsMun waz parsd zem. It were lik uh spell ud bein brikken und Khím cood moof ugun.

"Wot in blayzez wod dat?" sed Boldor, iz normlee flowid fays gun witush in coolor.

"Ime havein nutt za clue," unswars Bizkar, und Khím culd swar za yunggar dworv'z voyse waz u'trumbal.

"Kwik nowse," Khím sez. "Me bee athunkin' ziz orgars bud, varry budd, butt zis wheelieburrah und ower toolz musst bee tukken up ta owe kworterz nonaless. Ziz bee surlee a muttar forr za Kyngg unyhow. Iv it bee a mutta ta involf uz, weel nowe suun enuff. Cum lads. Hop ta it."

Dootifoolee za too yungar dworvs pukked zeir hummar und chizzell, respekkfoolee, innta za wheelieburrah, und orf upp za nuwow stownee ruud zey troodjéd inna faydin lit.

ODO BANKS (Hobbit of Needlehole)

The esteemable and respectable gentlehobbit, Odo Banks, was holding forth at the Frog and Duck in Needlehole, a stout ale before him on the drinking board, and a small crowd of rustic hobbits about him in the smoky air of the bar.

"As I see it," Odo was saying, "All this talk of black men riding horses about The Shire are balderdash and birds droppin's."

"Well, that's not as I 'eard, Sir," answered Toby Hardbuckle, Odo's Chief of Thatching, a long faced hobbit, and a long time worthy of Needlehole. "They was big and black and with hissing voices to chill the very blood. That's what I heard, and I see no reason not to believe it. Down in 'obbiton it was. Askin' for a certain Mister Bilbo Baggins they was."

"And who, pray tell me," Odo scoffed, "is this 'Bilbo Bagins" chap you're gaffing about? Never heard of him. And why would a black Man be a 'lookin' for such a one. It's beyond reason, I say."

"Ooh no, I as éard it was true too," put in Barnaby Bracegirdle, Odo's wife's cousin. "As true as I'm sittin' 'ear puffin' on me pipe." And the black haired hobbit blew forth a pall of white smoke to mingle in the already smoky air.

"What rubbish and poppycock," Odo cried, as he let loose a hearty benificent laugh, being three quarters pickled already, and in a good, if condescending, mood. "Hey! Proudo, bring another ale, my good hobbit."

"No, no, it's true," Toby enjoined. "And you have éard of 'im, Odo. That's that "Mad" Baggins we've all 'eard of. The one oo ad the treasure and all."

"Oh him," Odo almost snarled. "Of course, I do know him. Unrespectable sort he was - but 'es been disappeared for years."

"Some says as he went i'visible," Posco Bulger, one of the younger thatchers, informed them with eyes like saucer's, his tone one of superstitious awe. "And some says he still wanders The Shire, 'specially at night."

"A ghost, as I've éard," put in Toby in a hushed voice.

"Of course, a ghost," Proudo the Publican put in as he thumped a frothy ale in front of Odo, and being a tavern owner knew many a Shire tale, true or imagined. "He'd be well over a hundred and twenty years old by now. If he went off into the wild blue yonder - invisible or not - he could not have lasted. Poor soul. Fell in a ditch and his bones left mouldering all these years, I'd warrant."

"And may they rot in peace," Odo grumbled, taking a swig of the ale Proudo had supplied, not likling at all this talk of old "Mad" Bagins.

He remembered the fellow now. Like everyone in The Shire, he had heard tales of that queer hobbit, who'd gone off years and years ago, only to come back again with a fortune in treasure, got from the dwarves or something, and him not working a honest day's labour in his life to earn it by all accounts. And then, years after, he holds his Eleventy First birthday and runs off in the very midst of celebrations. Some say he "disappeared" into thin air. What rubbish. But it was a queer thing to do, run off like that, the old fool, and quite insulting to his guests. Odo had no time for talk of such folk as "Mad" Baggins.

"And what about this talk of 'walkin' trees' in Bindbole Wood?" Odo asked suddenly, purely to change the subject. "Surely, that's as silly a thing to talk about as black Men on black horses!" And Odo grinned into his ale, thinking this would rouse his frends to greater heights of animation, and he was right.

"I see you laughin' at us, Odo," Toby laughed. "But that story has been going around for ages. 'eard it from lots of folk. You can't tell me there's no truth in it."

"I can - and will!"

"Well, you prove to us it's not then."

"How can I do that, you wag?" Odo laughed back at him.

"Go to Brindbole Wood and have you a look. No one has been there. If you went, you'd find out the truth."

Odo laughed even more loudly. "If it would shut down these silly tales, I might just do that. With no tales to spread, Toby Hardbuckle, I might get more thatchin' from you."

"Do it," Toby retorted, quite rudely, the ale in him making him forget for a moment he was talking to the hobbit who employed him. "That's the only way you'll shut me up."

"Don't be ridiculous," Odo smiled, benignly, overlooking Toby's tone.

"Yes, why not, Mister Odo," put in Posco. "That'n way you'll prove half the village wrong."

"It would certainly give you braggin' rights, Mister Odo" Proudo added, grinning behind the bar, where he had rertired to wash plates and cutlery.

This gave Odo pause. He would not have minded at all proving their balderdash wrong. But Bindbole Wood was a strange place. Folk did not go there. Even woodcutters kept away, they said it was inhabited by unnaturalness, though none could venture exactly how that 'unnaturalness' manifested itself. Odo refused to believe any of it, but.... well, folk had been avoiding the place for as long as he could remember it, and why?

Seeing his doubt, Toby and the others began to laugh.

"See," Toby exclaimed. "You're not near as prosy as you think you are."

For better or worse, Odo could but rise to the challenge now, or lose 'face" as he saw it. Putting on his 'business' face, he thumped down his tankard, making ale slosh onto the drinking board. "I'll do it. And now I'll be off home."

"You won't," Toby said. "You be kidding us."

"No, I'm going to go there. I'll prove you all wrong. Just make sure you folk work hard while I'm gone. You won't see me come morning, 'cause I'll have risin' at break of day and left you sluggards in bed a'sleepin'."

And so saying, our Odo stumbled to his feet and walked proudly, and somewhat unsteadily, out of the Frog and Duck, leaving his friends and employees to their pipe smoke and fanciful tales.

NESSA THALION (Sindaran Elve, Mirkwood)

She was patiently sewing a dress for her Ladyship, the Queen, Thranduil's consort, when Baingil Randir, Chief Guard of Mirkwood, came in unexpectedly. Baingil had not often been seen in the Hall of Threads.

"What brings you here?" asked one of the Ladies, Nienna, in surprise.

Bangil looked sternly upon them all as they sat at work with their gold and silver threads. "News is come," she told them in a clear voice, "Dol Guldur has been retaken by the Enemy. Be warned. No one is to leave these Halls without express permission henceforth!"

And Baingil was brusquely gone again, leaving the Ladies to ponder the impact of her words.

Dol Guldur taken by the Enemy! This indeed, was dire news. Nessa, with the others, jumped up and hurried out into the passage, and on down toward the Elven King's Hall, leaving their needles and thread behind on the couches.

A voice soon broke out in the passage behind them as they went. "Move aside! The King's Son would pass."

The Ladies of the Thread Hall stepped closer to the walls, allowing Legolas Greenleaf to pass through their midst.

Nessa's heart missed a beat when she saw him - the Prince, one so handsome, so somber; one so keen of eye: though his eye did not apprehend her as he swiftly passed. Such a Lord he was! Though there was something earthy about him too, something that spoke of wind, and rain and the scent of leaves; something that spoke of a life outside the Hall and it's east comfort.

Rarely had Nessa seen him, and yet, rarely could she free him from her thoughts. She sighed quietly and watched him go ahead of them. Seeing him, her soul knew both joy and sadness. She walked more quickly now, her thoughts now fixed on a certain Elven Prince, and less on dark tidings.

"You are in my way," came Baingil's clear voice again as she came past, walking quickly and with authority. Nessa assumed she had been down to the Craft Halls and had swung by other passages to return this way.

Watching her, Nessa was full admiration, for women rarely attained such high station as this Chief of the Guard. But as soon as she thought it, Nessa Thalion's thoughts returned to Legolas.

Ah! Legolas!

And the joy and sadness was back...

AÉNNA (A Lady of Rohan at Edras)

"Keep your clammy hands off me, Orlaff," Aénna rebuked the hairy faced Rohirrim just back from the Westfold, and half primed with mead, even as she unclasped his groping hand from her bosom. "What do you take me for? Some slatternly wench worthy of no respect! Get away, a'fore I dig your eyes out with a knife."

"Easy, lass, easy," Orloff complained. "I'm but lookin' for a bit of tenderness."

"You'll not get that kind of tenderness here with me. Get away." And Aénna gave him such a shove with her hand, the big man fell back against other men jostling near the bar.

Having extricated herself, Aénna got herself around to safety, back behind the bar, where several of her tavern girls were serving the returned Rohirrim band. There was a strong smell of grime and blood and sweat and hard toil in the air. She could not blame the men for their excitement and noise and boisterous behavior. No doubt they had had it tough for many a day, far from hope and home. But they were in Her tavern in Edras now, and she was not one to accept unwanterd liberties from any man.

"We will be in for a long night," said Eowyn, one of her serving wenches, who already looked tired.

"Both a long and a hard as well," Aénna laughed. "Hey, you girls. Stick together. The lads are bent on having fun tonight. Take care of each other!"

There were many girls working in the tavern of Aénna's dead father, Aerulf - Her tavern now. Aénna sighed, but she must tarry on. The days were darkening, King Theoden was ailing it was said, and a great fear and doubt lay upon the land. The men of Rohan needed their women to be strong. Though she, for one, was not about to take any nonsense: just now she saw three brawny men surrounding one of her younger serving girls. Quickly she moved through a press of manly bodies, pushing and shoving without mercy as she went, and soon Aelfrine, the girl, was rescued, and brought safely behind the bar.

A long night it would be, indeed!

Tatharwen knew not how long she had been wandering in the wilderness since she awoke, nor how to speak, not even her own name. She had figured that she had come from over the mountains, and not going toward them, based off of the tiredness in all limbs, and not just her feet when he awoke. She learned the word "Mellon" when she was walking along the mountains one evening. The doors were illuminated by the moon, and she found she could read the inscripiton. The word came to her then, and as she spoke it aloud, the doors had opened. The air was thick and stale, as though the doors had not been opened in several years. She was too frightened to take a step inside, so she quickly went on her way. Now she had finally crossed the mountains, and she was following a river. She knew that she would come across civilzation eventually if she kept on going. It wasn't long before her tired feet found a road that lead into a dark forest. The darkness of the forest did not frighten her, in fact, she felt welcomed by it. Something within her longed to walk among the trees, so despite her weariness, she entered the forest. She stared in wonder at the trees; they did not look how she imagined them to. Weren't they supposed to be tall and thick? These trees were all skinny and twisted into each other, weaving a dense net that blocked out the sky. Before long, she felt the need to feel the wind on her face, so she climbed up the tallest tree she could find. As she pokes her head through the branches, she is immediately welcomed by a gust of wind and the blaring sun. As her pupils adjusted to the new light, she notice an opening in the distance, where the trees were not as thick. She made up her mind to head out in that direction. But as she climbed down from the trees, she was greeted with an arrow pointed in her face. She caught her breath. Before her stood a she-elf with a stern face. She looked Tatharwen up and down. The she-elf asked her something, but Tatharwen didn't understand her.

"Mellon," she said, pointing at herself.

The she-elf lowered her bow, but her stern expression did not change. More elves appeared from behind trees, and the she-elf began to speak to them, never taking her eyes off of Tatharwen. She said something else, but she didn't understand. So instead, she grabbed Tatharwen by the arm and pulled her in the direction she wanted to go.

"Mellon," she said, and Tatharwen nodded as she understood. Then she pointed to herself and said, "Baingil." They didn't speak the entire rest of the journey back to the King's Halls.

DM
Orcs are leaving mordor and heading to reinforce moria. Dol Guldur is being unleashed on Mirkwood, Lorien, the Lonely Mountain, and Dale. Minas Morgul has been opened to attack osgiliath with the aid of Southrons to aid them. Saruman has attacked Rohan. Many men are losing hope in light of the recent mobilization of the enemy. Even now the Nazgul are roaming this Shire searching for a halfling by the name Baggins. Men from the South are also entering within the borders of the Shire, they are squinty-eyed, almost Orc looking folk. Theoden is ordering his troops against attacking the orcs in their lands, though many Rohirrim are disobeying and openly fighting them. Many of Gondor's soldiers are moving to reinforce Osgiliath from the coming onslaught. Thranduil's people are using guerilla tactics in fighting the orcs within their borders. Many elves of Lothlorien are mobilizing to attack moria and defend from Dol Guldur. The dwarves of the lonely mountain are joining with the men of Dale to defend their homes from the attacks. This is only the first wave of the fight, there is still much more to come...

Urzag had fallen in toward the rear of the band alongside his brother. He allowed himself an occasional longing glance over the shoulder. The Black Gate was dwindling in the distance as they marched through the slag heaps with the smell of the as yet unseen Dead Marshes in his nostrils, away on his left somewhere. Already he missed the protective darkness that lay over Mordor. Out here, under the open sky he felt naked. High above, stars gleamed beyond whispy trailing clouds. The night was dark, but not dark enough. He felt like prying eyes were watching him. The hated Paleskins were said to be out in the lands beyond the Mountains of Shadow, laying ambushes, then melting back into nowhere.

Urzag shivered just thinking about it. He cursed under his breath, caressed the haft of his scimitar in it's sheath like it was a keepsake or lucky charm. The touch did not make him feel any better.

Quietly as they could, the band trudged on, forever northward.

Later in the night, Balzag hissed, "We're not going to the river, that's clear."

"Ahgh! Where's that fool takin' us then?" hissed Grizgahl just ahead of them, who was no friend of the Captain either. "We're headin' to Rohan if anywhere. Why would we? That's Saruman's problem as I 'eard."

"Word has it, " Guráshkh said, barely a guttural whisper. "We're not to fight Paleskins at all..."

"Who then?" Urzag spat. "Who else is out 'ere in the middle of this nowhere?"

"Elves," Gurashkh hissed. "Elves is what I 'eard. Now , shut up, and keep at the march."

"Elves?' the very thought, the very word, burnt at Urzag's mind. 'Curse ém!' he thought with real anger, hating the old enemy even more than the Paleskins. He raised his voice and asked, "What Elves will we find out here?"

"Not here, fool. We've got days ahead of us," Guráshkh swore and gave him a buffet to the ear that near knocked him off his feet. "I tells you as I've 'eard it. The White Sorceress! But shurrup, I says! It's jus' rumours..."

Urzag quailed, though he did not risk showing the others' his weakness, just snarled and cursed Guráshkh roundly for hitting him. But as he trudged on, his heart missed several beats. Surely they could not be expected to fight the White Sorceress in that forest of hers. It was said to stink with foul magic. No, weren't possible. And not even one Nazgul with them. He looked up. Hoping to see one of them. Only prying eye-like stars looked down. He licked his chafed lips - chafed, dry lips.

Elidar was leader of a group of 8 other soldiers who had been ordered to provide aid to a company on the eastern border of Gondor's side of the river.
"Hurry," called Elidar, "we must reach them before they are overrun!"
They drew near to the area that they had been ordered to reach.
"Tirel, Ren, move to the top of that building," ordered Elidar, "draw your bows and assist us from range."
They moved towards the building while Elidar and the others continued on to where theynow heard the sounds of battle. Elidar moved up against the last corner before they would see the fight, his men did the same.
"Alright, on my mark we attack," said Elidar, and they all nodded in agreement.
Suddenly the sounds of battle stopped, and they heard an inhuman yell, followed by the cry of several Gondorians.
"Now," cried Aren, one of Elidar's men, while running out to fight.
"No, wait!" yelled Elidar in a vain attempt to stop him. He then motioned for the others to follow him as he followed Aren.
As he turned the corner he saw Aren, who had seemingly taken the orcs by surprise and had already killed several. Elidar turned to order the other 5 into the fray when he saw that they had halted and were looking upwards in fear. Elidar turned and saw it: a monstrous thing, the size of a tree with big, thick arms and legs and a thick hide. Aren realized the danger he was in and turned to face this new threat. The monster hit the ground and sent Aren stumbling, then used its massive hand to hit him and send him flying into a wall.
Elidar heard Tirel call from his building,"troll!"
Elidar, momentarily struck by fear, came to his senses as the troll turned towards him and his men.
"Run!" he cried as he turned to flee.
He and his men all ran as fast as they could while burdened by their armor and weapons. Tirel and Ren flew down the stairs of their building in an attempt to escape from the danger. The troll leaped after them, and used the club he was carrying to crush Ren before he could get off the stairs. It then grabbed Iler, who had fallen behind, and threw him at the fleeing soldiers and killing two more. Elidar, Tirel, and two others were all that was left. Suddenly, they heard the clapping of hooves and two horsemen rushed by them in an attempt to delay the troll. They used their swords to strike small blows on the troll, momentarily stopping it. Elidar and the others ran straight into a company of Gondorians who had heard the screams of the troll and Tirel's warning and set up a defense. Elidar and his men turned and drew their weapons, joining the company. The horseman returned and the group commander yelled, "hold!"
A group of orcs rushed the group, followed by the troll a few seconds later. The archers of the company let their arrows loose on the troll, wounding it severely but not quite stopping it. The men at the front charged the orcs and began to fight. The troll slammed his club into the ground just to the right of Elidar, killing several men and knocking Elidar off his feet. An Orc leaped on top of him and was trying to cut his neck. A nearby Gondorians luckily killed the Orc but only to end up being picked up by the troll and launched into the air. The troll was quickly losing strength from the many attacks of the archers, it only took one more volley to finally bring it down. The killing of the troll caused many of the orcs to flee. Elidar smiled it triumph and lifted his sword high into the air. He then turned back to his men only to meet the hammer of one of the few remaining orcs. He hit the ground and felt the Orc leap on top of him, then everything went black...

Tatharwen sat in a room full of chatty elf-maidens, all busily sewing away. Baingil had put her here while she went to fetch the King. When she entered, they all looked up upon her in wonder.
"Mellon, " she said again, pointing to herself. Some of the seamstresses began to giggle. Baingil gave them all a few orders before she had left, and when she did, Tatharwen was swarmed by the women. They all asked her questions at once, even though she constantly shrugged in confusion. Becoming even more frazzled by the minute, she tried to use hand gestures to show she couldn't speak to them, but each individual maiden took it as an answer to their own question, and the excitement escalated. It was all too much for her. "I DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.
They all stood back, baffled. Tatharwen herself was baffled. How did she say that? she didn't even understand the words coming from her mouth! A fair haired maiden stepped forward, shooing the other elves back, and took Tatharwen's hand.
"Are you alright, my lady?"
"Yes," replied Tatharwen. Slowly, speech was coming back to her, only in bits, though, so she did not completely understand what the maiden said next. "I do not understand," she shrugged, and the maiden only nodded her head, and gently lead Tatharwen over to where she was previously sitting. The maiden brought over a needle and a spool of golden thread. She gestured that Tatharwen should sew. Tatharwen shook her head. "I don't sew."
"I'll teach you then," said the maiden, and she pulled a chair over next to Tatharwen. "My name is Nessa, what's yours?" she asked kindly, holding out her hand. Hah! like she knew..."Mel," she replied, daintily shaking Nessa's hand.

******

It had been an hour or so since she had started sewing, and Mel was getting bored. How could these women sit here all day and do this? Sure, they had gossip, but she couldn't understand it! Nessa was very kind to her, though. She picked up bits and pieces of what she was saying. Something about a prince that she loved. But now Nessa was talking to the others, and Mel was alone. She began to hum a tune to herself, and before she knew it, she was singing...

When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me... *

As she ended, she noticed that more elves had entered the room, Baingil being one of them. They all stared at her as if she were a star that fell down from the heavens.
"Where did you learn to sing like that?" Nessa asked incredibly, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Sounds as sorrowfully lovely as a nightengale!" said a different maiden.
The word nightengale struck a cord with Mel. Her memory began to swirl. Memories of singing long ago amognst the trees , with Daeron playing beside her. Daeron! Her husband! "Tinuviel, Tinuviel!" No, Beren was her husband, her true love, but Daeron was there then too...
Mel felt faint, she rocked in her chair and nearly fell over, if Nessa hadn't caught her. When the feeling passed, she remembered more than she did before, much more, but still she did not know who she was.
"Take me to the king," she said, slowly standing up. Her voice had changed to a much more melodic tone.
"I will take you to him, my lady, " said a fair haired lord, "I am Legolas, prince of Greenwood. I feel that a certain ranger may be able to help us also..." and he lead her out of the room. Mel looked back and saw Nessa pining after her. No, wait, not her, the Prince! So this was who she was talking about!

They entered the Kings hall, where the King sat on his wooded throne, and a Ranger stood off to his left. She curtsied before the King, as she saw Legolas bow. Baingil was there also.
"Well, what's this all about?" said the King grumpily. "Why is this stranger in our halls? Haven't we enough trouble already to worry about?"
"I found her wandering near the Road, your highness. She knew nothing but the word 'mellon' when I found her, so I brought her here to be interrogated. She is of our race, so I did not suspect her of any treachery."
"So why were you wandering in my woods?" asked the King, leaning in toward Mel.
"I awoke and did not know who I was, your highness, and only knew that a forest was once my home. I assumed at first that my home was here, but I am sure now that it was not."
"So where was it then?" asked Legolas.
"Lothlorien, I believe, if that what it is called. You see, my memory has come back to me know, but there are 2 lives that I can recall."
"Well, that's all very good, but why bother me to know?" said the King, glaring at Baingil.
"Sing again," said Legolas, and she did. When she had finished, all were in awe once again. It was now that the ranger stepped forward.
"It cannot be..." he gaped, "For only Luthien Tinuviel herself could sing such a beautiful ballad. Your highness, I believe the only one who could help her would be Elrond, or the White Lady."
"I was thinking the same, Lord Aragorn. And it has come to my attention that Elrond is holding a council in a months time. I will send Legolas there, and perhaps this maiden should go with him."
" Your highness, I would greatly wish to go to my home first, for I do not remember my life there, and then I would wish to go to Rivendell, if indeed I am Luthien."
"Very well. Aragorn, please escort this lady to Lothlorien, and my son will then escort her to Rivendell in a weeks time."
"Very good, my lord," said Legolas and Aragorn simultaneously, both bowing and exiting.
"Baingil, I want you to prepare this maiden with some provisions for her travels."
"Yes my King," she said grudgingly and she skulked out of the room.
Mel didn't know what her problem was, she thought they were friends! "Thank you, your Highness, for your kindness."
"If you are who you seem to be, my lady, than it is an honor to serve you."
Mel bowed and left the chambers, still confused as to how she could be 2 people at once!

*from the song Dantes Prayer by Loreena Mckennitt

NESSA THALION

Strange times were upon them. Legolas was to go to Rivendell soon. How long it would be before Legolas left for Rivendell, no one could say yet, for he had gone off with scouting parties to spy on the growing Shadow in the south of Mirkwood. Aragorn, having brought a strange gangrel creature from out of the wild, had already left. And Mellon, so newly and mysteriously arrived, was being sent with an escort to Lothlorien. Who was she? A High Lady, no doubt, but who? All Nessa could say was that the lady was beautiful and enigmatic. There was something hypnotic about her.

Nessa chanced upon Baingil in a corridor.

"May I speak? she asked with all deference.

As always, Baingil appeared to be in a hurry. "What is it Nessa Thalion?" she barked, stopping a moment. "I soon leave these Halls on a Mission from the King."

"You too,' Nessa thought with some disquiet. "Is every elf to leave this place?' But aloud, she said, "The Lady Mellon. She is leaving."

"Yes."

"She seems a High Lady."

"That's everyone's impression, but why bring it up here and now?"

"She will leave tomorrow with a guard of elves I'm told, Baingil."

"Yes, the plan is to take her to the White Lady, and with some safety. You know that."

"But she has no maid to look after her - to serve her..." Nessa got out quickly, her words stumbling.

"Ah! I see!" Baingil's stern face allowed itself a smile. "I have so long walked in the circle of males I've forgotten myself... I will need ask the King for permission, but I will put in a good word for you."

For that Nessa was thankful.

"If there is nothing else," Baingil said, back to her businesslike self, "don't delay me further."

As she watched Baingil hurry away about her business, Nessa smiled hopefully. Baingil was a tough one alright, strong, lithe, often sharp tongued, but yet, when reminded of it, still a woman. Nessa was glad she had spoken to her. She knew that noble elve would set things right, if it could be done. But Nessa was worried too, for there could be no guarantee that she would be allowed to accompany the Lady Mellon, and the thought of remaining here, with so many folk leaving, seemed just then to be a burden too great to bear.


.

It had been three days since the small company had last left Mirkwood and they were to take boats up the Anduin to Lorien. The small band consisted of Aragorn, Legolas, and 5 guards, along with Baingil (Mel had requested her presence) and Nessa, who apparently had volunteered to be her personal maid. Legolas was going to go back to Mirkwood as soon as they were on there way up river, and promised to see them all again in Rivendell. His departure made Mel wonder if Nessa would return home as well, but she only quietly curtseyed goodbye.
That night, Mel couldn't sleep. She was plagued by nightmares. All around her were dark pits, reeking of burning flesh and she was desparately searching for someone. Someone was calling for her, but she couldn't find him. Always, she was running away from a wolf; a large, demonic wolf who thirsted for revenge. She turned around to look at it and saw blood pouring from its throat, and just as it was about to lunge at her, she awoke. She sat straight up, breathing heavily with sweat clinging to her gown. She desparately wanted to feel the cool autumn breeze on her skin, but she was told never to leave the tent. Even if she decided to sneak out, she would have to get past Baingil, who ever sat at the tent's opening on watch. She figured she just ask Baingil to step out. If Baingil was watching her the whole time, what would it matter? She rose from her pile of blankets and glided to the tents opening, only to collide with Baingil
"I'm so-" but before Mel could finish, Baingil dropped to the ground as if she had been smacked on the back of the head. Luckily, she wasn't. Mel was perplexed. Was Baingil just really tired? Or...
She lifted a strand of her hair to her nose and gently smelled it. Yup. It was her hair. Memories began to flash before her eyes of everytime she used her hair to get her out of trouble, and she felt faint again. But the feeling was blown away by the chill autumn breeze from outside. She walked toward the bank of the river and waded in to her ankles. It was so cold her feet felt slightly numbed, but, being an elf, it wasn't uncomfortable. She looked up at the stars, and wondered where she had come from. Luthien had died, and so had Beren. How did she manage to be reborn? And if she was here, where was Beren? A deep sadness took her, and she now felt ice cold. Who had Tatharwen left behind? Or who had left her behind? She couldn't remember, but the unbearable grief still lingered. She began to sing in elvish, and then the song she had sang from earlier

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me...

"What do you sing of my lady?" came a voice from behind her. She whipped around, only to see Aragorn behind her.
"Forgive me, Lord Aragorn, but for a second I thought you were... someone I recognized." she finished, turning back toward the river.
"Perhaps I do. We are related, though quite distantly."
Mel turned to face him now. "To whom?"
"I think you know," he answered, holding out his hand. She took it and slowly climbed back up the bank."Tell me, who do you sing to?"
"I don't know, but I miss him terribly. Or, Tatharwen does."
"Tatharwen? Is that your name?"
She hadn't even realized she'd said it. "I don't know, I suppose so. Why, do you know her?"
"I know of her. I was in Lothlorien for a time, and her name was mentioned now and then. Supposedly she was one of the best singers in the land."
"If you don't mind me asking, why were you there?"
"For the woman I love." he said quietly, and a pained expression crossed his face.
"Ah. I know you now. You're a descendant of Elros, my great grand son. And this maiden is daughter of his brother, Elrond. I'm sorry, I wish I could help you, because I know I can, I just can't remember much of my life after I gave up immortality. But I remember all of the darkness. The wolf..."
"Carcharoth?"
A knew wave of horror crossed her face. "No, though I remember him well. This wolf is a hybrid, I beleive, and had blood pooring from it's throat. It wanted me dead then, and it still does now."
"Sauron." Aragorn said solemnly
"Yes! I never wish to meet him again, for I fear his revenge would be great! But he is shapeless and wretched now. He can cause no more terror."
"It greives me to tell you this, Luthien Tatharwen, but Sauron lives. He plagues this world with foul orcs and wraiths, all who are bound to the power of a ring."
"Oh," said Mel, not sure what to make of this, but there was no time to dwell on it. A band of orcs burst forth from the trees and charged the small company. The sound of flying arrows and the screams of their targets pierced the air.
"Stay here, my lady, and take this," he said, handing her a knife. "Protect yourself!" and he bounded up the river bank.