To Rescue Celebrian - RPG

[Mithadan]

Game Owners: Mithadan; Lugburz

-------------------------------

Nenmir rode his sweating and tired steed north through Eriador along little known paths. He had stayed close to the Bruinen in his rush to return to Rivendell and during his two weeks of travel, he and his horse had rested little. Weariness nagged at him and his body cried for sleep, but he dared not pause, even now as he approached his destination.

At last, he reached a rise where the Ford of Bruinen could be seen. As his horse clambered up onto the hillock it stumbled, then righted itself before proceeding towards the River at a fast trot. "Easy, faithful friend," whispered Nenmir. "Not much farther now, and yet we still have need of haste." The horse responded to his master's bidding and shrugged aside his weariness to break into a gallop.

Yet it was hours later when the rider crossed the Fords of Bruinen and, at last approached his destination. They descended down the path to Imladris as rapidly as they safely could and approached the Last Homely House just after midnight. His passing had not gone unmarked and as the rider followed the path leading to the door of the Hose of Elrond, several Elves were waiting there for him. Among them was Elrond himself.

"Nenmir," he cried. "Why are you here? You were to escort my wife to Lorien and stay with Celebrian until she was ready to return." Then Elrond gasped, for he saw that Nenmir was sorely hurt and that the snapped shaft of an arrow protruded from his shoulder.

The Elf nearly fell as he dismounted and two others stepped forward to take him by his arms and support him as he spoke. "Alas!" he cried. "Celebrian is taken by Orcs! We were assailed as we climbed the Redhorn Pass. The Orcs were in hiding and attacked us as we rounded a shoulder of cruel Carathras. The others of the escort were slain or scattered. But Celebrian! They seized her by her arms and dragged her away to the east. I followed as best I could, but they took her..." He bowed his head in grief and anger. "They brought her through the Gates of Moria..."

[Mithadan]

Elrond felt as if a icy cold hand had suddenly gripped his heart and he slumped in grief and fear. He stood frozen for a moment as others rushed to Nenmir's aid, yet he was not idle. When he straightened, his face was a mask of dismay, but his eyes shone clear and bright.

He had reached out with his mind and touched Celebrian. "She yet lives!" he cried. "Come! Assemble the heads of the house! We will meet in the Great Hall in one hour. Summon Elladan and Elrohir! We will need trackers of great stealth, a healer and any who have knowledge of Moria and the area surrounding it!"

Esestor, who stood nearby, nodded and turned to go. "Wait!" said Elrond more softly. He bowed his head and in a rough voice, continued. "Find Arwen. Tell her what has come to pass. But tell her that her mother still lives."

Elrond turned and went inside The Last Homely House. Behind him, his folk rushed about setting matters in motion...

[Airerûthiel]

Torfitien could not sleep; she had spent the best part of the night tossing and turning. Her intuition, which was unusually strong even for an Elf of Lórien, told her that evil no longer slept in Middle-earth. Sighing heavily, she rose from her bed and dressed in a simple blue and silver gown. Normally she would not have chosen to wear this, but it was all she had left. Torfithien had never liked wearing dresses, even as a small girl - maybe that was due to the fact that she had grown up with no mother, maybe it was because she felt as though her personality and inner desire for adventure was restricted by wearing gowns.

Her dreams had been troubled with visions of Celebrian being captured, hurt, maybe even killed. This set a bitter taste in the mouth of one who had known Elrond's wife since she was young, and she had been looking forward to her visit to the Golden Wood; many long years had passed since the two friends had seen or spoken with one another.

Torfithien allowed herself a wry smile at her use of the word 'friends'. While everyone referred to herself and the daughter of the Lord and Lady of the Wood that way, the two of them refused to acknowledge the relationship between them as such. But they had a strong bond nonetheless, and were as close as sisters.

She turned her thoughts away from these evil things that plagued her mind at such an hour, when all she wanted to do was dream away her cares and allow herself some well-deserved rest before morning came once more. As she stared out from the edge of her talan into the moonlit night, she dimly heard a strange sound - it came from the direction of the long-forgotten mines of Moria, a day's journey from her home in Lothlórien.

Intrigued as to what it was, she put on her fine grey cloak and crept down the long silver rope-ladder as silently as possible, being incredibly careful not to disturb any of her fellow Elves. She was walking to Caras Galadhron, where she hoped to find brief peace of mind and allow her restless mind to become calm once more, when suddenly she collided with a male Elven warrior who was clearly in a rush to get somewhere.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Torfithien asked, wary of this stranger. She did not trust others easily, particularly those she had never met. Her dark blue eyes met the grey ones of the male Elf, refusing to blink as she gave him a piercing stare.

"I am Glil-Ganduil, and I was part of the group escorting the Lady Celebrian to this very wood to visit her kin," he replied. "We have been attacked by Orcs. All others who were with the Lady are slain or scattered, but she..." He struggled to speak, finding no words to convey his seemingly turbulent emotions. "She has been captured. They took her into the mines. I believe she still lives, but whether that is true I know not. I wish to inform the Lady Galadriel of what has happened, but I seem to have lost my way. Would you be so kind as to show me the true path?"

A horribly bitter taste settled in Torfithien's mouth as the harsh reality of her friend's plight set in. She was in complete shock, letting Glil-Ganduil's words wash over her like the ocean over pebbles on a beach. All she caught was a request to give Elrond the message about his wife.

"Of course I will do this for you," she said. "When would you like me to leave?"

"As soon as possible, Lady Torfithien," replied Glil-Ganduil. When met with the surprised look on the female Elf's face, he replied, "The Lady Celebrian spoke highly of you on our journey. I remember she was eager to see you once again. She has missed you over these years you have spent apart." A small smile played on his lips as he looked at her.

Torfithien's heart was suddenly filled with gladness at this news of her childhood companion. Trying as hard as she could to show her still considerable concern, which dominated her emotions at that moment, she said to the messenger, "If you give me a boon, I shall return the favour. Caras Galadhron is not too far from here. I shall escort you there and request that you have permission to speak with Galadriel and Celeborn as soon as possible. In return, you must tell them that I have gone west to give your message to Elrond."

Glil-Ganduil nodded as the two began to walk in the direction of Caras Galadhron. "I will grant you that boon, Torfithien," he said. "But you must realise that, much as they love the Lady Celebrian and respect your position as her oldest friend, they will never allow you to do anything that may involve battle and conflict, purely because you are female."

Torfithien merely shrugged her shoulders. "Well, Glil-Ganduil, as much as I despise myself for going against the words of the Lord and Lady, I feel it is only my duty to honour my bond with the Lady Celebrian and help her in her hour of need. After all is said and done, she is still my friend, and friends are for nothing if not for each other to rely on when they are needed."

"Very well, though it is to your own folly should you fail in your task," replied the male Elf. "You may take my horse - Randir waits for a rider in a nearby glade."

After going back to collect some essential supplies for the journey and change into a tunic and trousers that had previously belonged to her brother, Torfithien thanked Glil-Ganduil for his generosity and set off on the west road to the Last Homely House. She rode long and hard for nigh on twelve days, through both day and night. Finally, after a long night of non-stop galloping under a full moon, which brought an extremely heavy fatigue to both herself and her horse, they reached Imladris.

"Not much further now, Randir my friend," said Torfithien as she dismounted. "We have nearly come to our destiny." And with that, she began the walk down to the House of Elrond. A small party of Elves were waiting for her, almost as though her coming had been expected.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Torfithien of Lórien!" the tallest one said (this was a thin distinction) as he bowed low. "We have heard from the Lady of the Golden Wood that you were bringing news of the Lady Celebrian, but alas! your message is untimely. Only a few hours ago another messenger arrived with news of the attack upon the party travelling to your home."

Torfithien's heart sank with the realisation that she would now have to face the long ride back to Lothlórien with nothing to show for her journey. "My thanks to you," she said, turning away as she began to walk back down the path towards where Randir waited for her. She had not gone more than around twenty paces when she heard someone calling to her.

"Wait!" The Elf turned to see the one who had greeted her standing behind her. "You are a representative of Lothlórien, and a friend to the Lady Celebrian, are you not?" For once, Torfithien merely nodded as opposed to correcting her definition of the connection between herself and Celebrian. "Elrond has seen you and requests that you at least attend the council being held. You are a little late, but I suppose that we can overlook that small mishap."

Torfithien nodded her gratitude and began to walk through Rivendell to the council-place. The Last Homely House was beautiful beyond belief - she could hardly believe how wonderfully calming and splendid the place was. Eventually the road through the garden-like grounds of Elrond's House led her to the circular council-place, where various others were seated already.

[ February 26, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[Dark Shadow]

Vanimorén sat alone in the forest near Imladris. He was often found here, for it was only when he was alone among the trees that his mind could really focus. But his mind could find no rest. Something was different, there were discontented thoughts clouding his mind, and he felt restless. He leapt lightly to his feet, and turned in the direction of the house of Elrond. Something was amiss. He began to move swiftly through the trees, feeling the tension in the very trees. When at last he reached the great hose, it was in uproar. Elves were hurrying here and there, and if ever there had been a sense of tension in the forest, it was doubled, even tripled here. Vanimorén got the impression that he was the only one yet to hear of some great tragedy, for all seemed to be moving with a sense of purpose, as if they all had something to do, somewhere to be. In fact, he had never realised there were quite so many elves in Rivendell. He was hesitant to step forward and interrupt anyone, for everyone seemed very busy, so he stood and watched for a while.

Well, I brought it on myself he thought, if I had been here rather than wandering in the woods, I should know what is going on, and there would be no problem.

Finally, in desperation, he stepped forward to ask of the nearest elf what news had been brought that so many should react in such a way.

“Forgive me,” he began to the first elf who paid any heed to him, “but what may I ask is happening. I have just returned from the woods, and I feel that I am missing something.” He felt embarrassed that he should be asking such a question, but he was obviously not going to find the answer by standing and watching, gormless as any passing orc. He smiled nervously, but the other didn’t return it.

“We have received news from the party that was travelling with Celebrian to Lothlorién. Nenmir has returned, and he has returned with the news that Celebrian has been captured by the orcs. She is said to be still alive, and counsil is being held as to what should be done about the matter.” The elf then turned to go about his own business. Vanimorén stood, wondering. Orcs. They say the orcs dwell in Moria. It has been many years since I journeyed there, or even looked upon the land of Eregion. Although I deny it, I know in my heart I would greatly love to see those places again. However the lady Celebrian is not used to such darkness, and now the orcs are there I doubt if Moria is beautiful any longer. Every moment spent in that dark cavern must be torture for her. Then, after a short pause he called after the elf,

“Pray tell me, where is this council to be held?” He asked. Having been pointed in the right direction, he followed the path until he saw before him the circular council-place that the elf had described to him. Others were already sat, and he wasted no time in joining them, although he did wonder if the council was to be selective. Maybe he wasn’t welcome. But he was here now, and that’s what mattered. If Elrond wished to send him away, then that would be as it would.

[Garen LiLorian]

The great West road stretched before him, the moonlight turning its packed earth into the semblance of a winding river of silver. His horse running smoothly down it, Angóre felt the current of the road sweeping him away, as it were a real river, and one he could drown in. On his left the Trollshaws loomed, broken trees giving the place a look like the mouth of one of it's namesakes, or like one of the tombs of Men. The forest seemed to swallow the incandescent moonlight that illuminated the surroundings so clearly to Elven eyes. The dark forest held a wealth of memories for Angóre, memories that had been worn smooth of emotion by long use. The end of his life lay there, the end of his family and the end of his emotion.

But the Trollshaws were not his destination this night. He was bound for Imladris, the end of a long year of errantry lay behind him and the comforts of the last Homely House ahead. He slowed his horse to a walk, feeling the night breezes wafting gently over his skin. Rivendell still lay a good days journey away, even by the paces of the great elf-horse he rode.

And so, a day later, Angóre crossed the ford of Bruinen and came into Rivendell. The atmosphere was quiet and hushed, with none of the omnipresent music that was such a part of this house. Angóre could feel a great loss here, a sadness that he felt could never be remedied completely. Quickly he caught the sleeve of a passing elf. "Tell me, friend, what has happened here. Why sits the merry house of Elrond so silent?"


The Elf told the story of Celebrian's capture, of her imprisionment in the deep of Moria. Angóre stood as one stunned for a long moment. "And what now is the state of affairs?" He asked, very quietly. "Lord Elron has summoned a council. Elladan and Elrohir have been summoned as well as the lady Arwen. There it shall be decided what action we will take. Namarië, mellon" And the elf moved on.

Angóre did not hesitate. Straight away he strode into the hall of Elrond, and seated himself among the many Elves present, including one he did not know, a lady elf, dressed as those from Lórien. He nodded greetings to those he knew well and waited for Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir to begin.

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir was a statue of stoic determination. He stood next to his brother and heard his father address the Council. Inside were a myriad of thoughts and emotions. He was already contemplating the path they would take to reach Moria. His vast experience on errands had made him and his brother masters of the lands around. But times were changing, and fell things were in abundance. His blood rose when he thought of the orcs holding his mother captive, but he reminded himself of his need for balance and composure. The time would come to deliver vengeance, and bring his mother back to safety.

'We shall have to cross to the Eastern side near Imladris,' thought Elrohir.

Who shall ride with Elladan and him? Elrond seemed to be addressing this very question as Elrohir brought himself back to the present surroundings.

[the real findorfin]

Fingil sat at the council, arms crossed, listening. The Lord Elrond had explained the situation and Fingil's heart had gone out to Celebrian, oh fair lady!

He thought back to the moment he had heard the news, and the look on his lord's face. He had been in the libraries of Imladris, when Elrond had entered and thrown himself down. It was not often that his lord lowered his air of calm, and Fingil realised that something was amiss. He had enquired of his lord what the trouble might be and his blood had boiled then. He was calm now, calm and determined.
Celebrian had been almost a mother to him and he loved her for it.

Elrond called for volunteers and Fingil rose at once.

"Master, my knowledge and my sword are yours. In whatever use they may be. I will aid in her rescue!"

Fingil left no doubt in his voice, she would be rescued!

[Airerûthiel]

Torfithien stood up slowly, regally, and then remembered she had to be a lady no longer. "My Lord Elrond, the Lady Celebrian was the closest thing I ever had to a best friend. If my knowledge and my sword can aid the attempt to rescue her, they are yours to do what you will with."

One of the Elves, who had spent much of the council looking in Torfithien's direction with a look of contempt, jumped to his feet. "Lord Elrond, you cannot permit this Elven woman to go! It goes against everything we have been trained for. She has no right to simply walk into this council and offer her services, friend of the Lady or no." He went on in a continued defamation of Torfithien, whose blood was boiling as she tried to maintain an air of calm determination.

Elrond spoke, his voice a little more subdued than normal. "Torfithien of Lórien, if this was not a desperate situation I would ask you to leave instantly. But as it is - you have been brought up by your father and brothers, and are as skilled in tracking and sword-fighting as any capable male Elf in Middle-earth. The fact that you have known the Lady Celebrian since you were young must also be taken into account."

Elrond turned to the group. "Torfithien is an exception to the rules of this council. She and Celebrian have been friends for many centuries, and as such I believe that constitutes the right to join the quest. Now, do I have any more volunteers?"

The Elven Lord sent a small sad smile in Torfithien's direction as he sat back down, and she returned the expression. Inside, however, her eternal thirst for adventure had been reawakened. Maybe, just maybe, this would be her chance to prove to the others that just because she was female did not mean she was not worthy of being a warrior.

[Dark Shadow]

Any more volunteers? Volunteers for what? So far nothing had been specified of what they were doing, or where they were to go. There had been much debate about Torfithien’s right to be present, but they hadn’t yet been told how many would be needed to go, nor where those would be going. He rose slowly, watching everyone, hoping he was not out of line to ask questions.

“I, like the others would be more than willing to risk anything to save Celebrian, but I must ask; where exactly are we headed, and what will we be facing?”

It was unusual for Vanimorén to be practical this way, but today he felt different, and was acting in a way most different to his customary character. He looked around the assembled council, wondering if perhaps his mind had wandered again and he had missed something, but for once he doubted it. In fact, Elrond had hardly spoken since he had arrived, and Elladan and Elrohir were similarly quiet. The tension in the atmosphere was almost unbearable, and Vanimorén began to hope to be chosen as one of the rescue group, regardless of where they were headed, simply to escape the horrible, horrible anxiety.

[Mithadan]

Elrond looked gravely at Vanimorén and the others standing about, many of whom were now also volunteering to join the search for his wife. Then he stood and raised his hand. The room fell quiet, awaiting his words.

"Nenmir reports that Celebrian was taken to Moria and it is there where you must seek her out. But his will not be an open assault. Not by force of arms will her freedom be gained. It is said that now many Orcs have entered Moria in the time since it was abandoned by the Dwarves. To assail that dark place would be foolhardy."

He walked around the table to where his sons stood and looked at them silently. Their faces were grim, yet determined. He nodded as if they had spoken to him and turned to the assembled crowd. "Only through stealth can Celebrian be saved. Thus only a few will be chosen. Elladan and Elrohir will go, for they would not allow any others to go in their stead. For their companions, I shal choose several, but they shall not be warriors. Trackers, rather, those more skilled with the knife and bow than with the sword and learned in the skill of moving unseen and unheard. And a healer."

He looked about the room and considered carefully his choices. Again, a clamour arose as others sought to present reasons why they should be allowed to accompany the sons of Elrond. He nodded to to Torfithien, then to Fingil and Vanimorén. Then Elrond looked about again... A healer, and perhaps one other, he mused.

[Garen LiLorian]

All was chaos in the normally quiet and serene council chamber. Elves were shouting like Men, each putting forth reasons to be included. Angóre, by contrast, was seated calmly in his chair. Only his eyes showed any light, a flash that had been instilled at the name of Moria.

"Lord Elrond," his voice was swallowed by the roar of the chamber. "Master Elrond!" The din subsided, and many faces turned towards him. Elrond nodded, and Angóre rose. "Well you know me, and well you know of my deeds and journeys over the area which these rescuers shall travel. I boast not when I say that those areas are as well known to me as any, and, though I have never ventured the dark of Moria, gladly will I do so now and gladly stay there, if it will be required of me to free Celebrían. Will you accept my arm and knowledge in aid of this quest?"

[dragoneyes]

Tintallë watched in silence at the chaos around him. He wasn't quite sure why he was here, he didn't think he was good at any of these things. In truth he was a great healer and his skills with the bow weren't the worst in Rivendell either but that wasn't how he veiwed himself. He had been taught everything he knew by his father, who had been training him, ready for any crisis such as this. He could hear his father's voice in his head 'What are you doing sitting there while all the places are being filled? Quickly, they haven't got a healer yet.' That was true, he listened to what the other Elves were saying, they were all boasting tracking skills, fighting skills and knowledge of the area, no healers as of yet. He looked around at Elladan, Elrohir and Elrond, they looked the worst hit by this news and so they should be! Tintallë's heart went out to them, if there was one thing he had to do, it was to help others when they were in need, he hated to see others' pain and he always had to do something about it.

Tintallë made up his mind, he would go, he wasn't sure if his father would ever forgive him if didn't at least try. "Lord Elrond, I know something of the ways of healing, even if I am not all that good. I can also use the bow and dagger, though not willingly." He knew he hadn't put his case forward as well as he could, but Elrond knew what he was capable of all the same and nodded in agreement.

[ March 05, 2003: Message edited by: dragoneyes ]

[Lugbúrz]

As Elrohir saw his father put together a group to assist him and his brother in their grave task, his thoughts ever leant towards their immediate concerns. How were they going to get to Moria?

He looked at his brother, and both of them seemed to have been pondering the same issue. Nodding in assent, Elrohir slowly made his way and approached the elf from the Golden Wood. Pulling her away from the Council, he asked her his question in the tongue of the elves of the Wood.

"Forgive me for this intervention, fair Lady, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with you."

Satisfied with her anxious nod, Elrohir continued, "you travelled further than Nenmir, but happened to arrive just as soon, pray tell, by which lands did you come upon Imladris so quickly?"

His question was most sincere but it had a tinge of irritation, for he realised that such bravery may have been better served by reaching Moria directly. He did not of course doubt the wisdom of his mother's friend, but frustration was an unfamiliar emotion for the son of Elrond.

[Mithadan]

Elladan listened carefully to Torfithien's description of her journey from Lorien to Imladris. She had ridden quickly north across the Gladden Fields, a flat grassy area with few obstacles. Then she had veered to the east to avoid the fens and crossed the River Gladden at a shallows near the foothills of the Misty Mountains. From there, she had continued north across gently sloping lands until she reached the ancient dwarf road which ran down from the mountains towards the east. Following the road into the mountains, she had traversed the High Pass and descended down into Eriador where she had quickly found Rivendell. He nodded approvingly, then turned to his brother.

"The High Pass is the nearest to Rivendell. The passes to the north are not an option. They are too far out of the way and too close to Gundabad which has become a haven for Orcs and other evil creatures. The only other possibility is Redhorn Pass. But since our goal is to pass into Moria undetected, that route may be unwise for it is clear now that it is watched."

Elrohir nodded in agreement, then turned to watch his father select Tintallë and Angore as the final members of the rescue party. Before Elrond could dismiss those assembled, Elrohir stepped forward and whispered to his father who nodded. "In addition to those selected," continued Elrond, "a number of riders will be needed to ride ahead through the High Pass, then rest their horses as the rescuers cross the Misty Mountains behind them. In this way, the rescuers will have fresh horses awaiting them when they reach the east side of the mountains. These riders must leave immediately."

After a number of Elves volunteered for this task and hurriedly exited the council, Elrond dismissed those remaining and spoke to the small group who would set out in search for Celebrian. "While I chafe at any delay, we must plan this venture carefully and gather provisions. You will, nonetheless, leave tomorrow evening. Pack those things which you may need tonight and we will meet again tomorrow morning at dawn to review such maps as we may have of Moria and the lands surrounding it..."

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir went to bed pondering about what he had learnt.

'My guess was correct,' he mused, 'the Eastern side of the Misty Mountains is faster yet, but what about the Hollin gate?'

He had heard from his father about the splendour of Moria and Eregion in the days of Celebrimbor, could they not use that secret entrance to their advantage?

"The dark of Moria is no place to lose ourselves at such a time," said Elladan as he read his brother's thoughts.

"That maybe so, but going in the easy way would be tougher still," replied Elrohir.

"There may be other ways yet," reminded his brother.

"I wish we were leaving tonight, I cannot bear the thought of those vile creatures near her," he sighed, and then retired for an early rest.

[Hirilaelin]

Riding. Riding to Lóthlorien. The mountains. Ambushed, orcs, leering over her, pain, darkness. Captured, all alone, no escape, no!

Wait. Not alone, not entirely. In the darkness surrounding her, something stirred, cried out. Feaelena! Her handmaiden. No, she was not alone. Struggling to rise, she found that her wrists and ankles were bound tightly, so she fell back onto the cold stone of the floor. Pain suddenly flooded her conciousness, making her winch. They had struck her, knocked her out. She tried twisting her head, but a fresh wave of pain assailed her.

She attempted to rise again, but could not get further than a sitting position. A ways from her, Feaelena stirred again. Using her feet, Celebrian managed to inch across the floor, and reached her handmaiden. She called to her softly, urgently. "Feaelena! Feaelena!" The other stirred again. "Feaelena!"

Suddenly, Feaelena regained her senses with a gasp. Celebrian leaned over her. "Feaelena, are you all right?"

"Lady? I am well, though in pain. Where...?" Her voice trailed off, and she rose slowly to a sitting position, straining against the bonds that held her. Celebrian replied. "Moria, I would assume. The orcs ambushed our party, though no others than us were taken, as far as I can tell. But now, how do you fair?"

"It is as I said, my lady. I seem to have been struck on the head, and knocked unconcious for a time, but am now fine but for a small amount of pain, though I am thirsty." Celebrian nodded. "Yes, I know, but I do not think that that particular hurt will be mended for a while."

"Have you seen naught of our captors, my lady?" Feaelena questioned. "Nay. Not a sign. Where they may be, or what they are doing is beyond my knowledge." Suddenly, she felt a presence in her mind. "Elrond!" she gasped. But no, it was fading even now. No... "My lady?" asked Feaelena. "What troubles you?"

Celebrian shook her head. "Nothing. I thought that perhaps... I do not know. Maybe it was nothing, but a delusion brought on by captivity."

"What happened? Are you sure that you are all right?" her handmaiden questioned anxiously. "Yes, I am quite sure, I just thought that I had felt something. But we should rest. We do not know what this captivity may bring, but whatever it does, we must be ready." With that, Celebrian lay back on the floor, and Feaelena did the same.

Sleep beckoned, its siren song of peace and rest almost irresistible, but Celebrian could not rest. She lay still, in the dank darkness of the place, her mind wandering down the avenues of memories, far away from captivity. At last though, her body succubmed to its weariness, and she drifted into dark dreams, any hope of rescue gone.

But some small part of her remembered what she had heard in her mind, and the candle of hope burned still, warming her even in the darkest of her dreams.

* * *

OOC: I hope that this is all right, please tell me if something needs to be changed or taken out!

[ March 08, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Mithadan]

The next morning found the rescue party up early gathering what they would need for their journey and packing for the risky venture. The sun was still climbing into the sky when they were again summoned to meet with Elrond and the heads of his house.

As they assembled, Elrond spoke. "You go into darkness beyond your ken with little hope of success. Yet I have gathered some few things to aid you in your quest." He laid a packet of maps on the table and unfolded them. The first was a map of Wilderland, showing the High Pass and the lands east of the Misty Mountains. Then there were several maps of Moria, not very detailed and faded with age and disuse. He looked up at Vanimorén and said, "You entered Moria before Eregion fell an age and more ago, did you not?"

Vanimorén nodded. "Yes. I entered with my father and Uncle at the invitation of some Dwarven traders. We were brought through the West Gate and visited there. On another occaision, I passed through Moria and exited by the Main Gates in the East. We were visitng kin in Eryn Lasgalen which is now known as Mirkwood." Elrond pushed the maps to Vanimorén and bade him discuss what knowledge he had of Moria with Elladan and Elrohir.

Then he brought forward a case and opened it. Three rods he removed with hoods over their tops. "So that you will not need to rely only upon torches in that dark place, I give you these." He removed the hood from one to reveal a crystal mounted in a setting of steel. The crystal glowed and flickered with a blue fire as if lightning had been captured therein. "These are Noldorin Lamps," said Elrond. "The secret of their making has been lost in Middle Earth. But during the First Age, it is said that Morgoth sought the secret of making these lamps from prisoners held in Angband. While some knew how they were made, and indeed were compelled to make them for the Dark Lord and his minions, he never discovered what magic or craft was used to light the fire within the crystals."

He handed them to Elrohir. "They will not go out and cannot be broken. But they burn always and must be hooded when you have need of secrecy and the aid of the dark." Then he bade the group speak of what path they would take to Moria...

[Sadbh]

Feaelena's head throbbed disconcertingly as she was woken by Celebrian. Her memory of events prior to her waking were dim and her throat was parched, lip soar from where she had bitten it earlier. Finally, she was in earnest called from her sleeping and full awakeness hit her. "Feaelena, are you all right?"

"Lady I am well, though in pain. Where...?" A short conversation ensued the discourse tired and the voices weary. Suddenly, Celebrian gave a short gasp, whispering ,"Elrond." Fealelena sat up and leaned forward, shoulder aching dully from being pressed against the stone floor. "My lady, are you alright?" Celebrian shook her head and mumbled a reply.

"It was nothing, just a delusion brought on my captivity." They exchanged a few more words, when Celebrian sighed that they should rest. Feaelena nodded silently in agreement and with a shift of her cold body, she lay back down. She felt exhausted, yet a nagging sense of ignorance would not let her sleep.

She closed her eyes and worried her lip, trying to recall the events before she had been woken by Celebrian. She remembered the journey to Lothlorien, the sword hilt that had come crashing down onto her crown, and then a dark haze. Where had her father been?

She shifted on the stone floor, the cold, damp surface pressed against her cheek. Sleep was slowly reclaiming her senses, and with a final turn of her neck, she succumbed to a painful, dream-riddled sleep.

[ March 09, 2003: Message edited by: Sadbh ]

[Garen LiLorian]

Angóre spoke first, his face creased in thought. "We cross the mountains at the High Pass, travel southward and enter Moria from the east? If that be our course, the curve of the mountains takes us many leagues out of our way. Why do we not travel southward through Hollin, attempting Redhorn Pass if it be possible, or if not, searching out the secret West-door of Moria? There are Elves here among us who were young when the gates were open, surely we could find it now." As he spoke, he watched the faces of Elrond and his sons, and knew the answer even before they spoke.

"Because," He continued, his heart heavy, "Celebrían was taken through the eastgate, and our chances of finding a lone Elf in the deep of the dwarrowdelf are slim without trail indeed. Also, where one ambush was there may be another, is this not so? It would be a sad fate for the rescuers to be caught in the same snare. Very well, the longest way round seems to be the shortest way there, though I grieve for the lost time." Another thought occured to him then.

"Our friends and kinsmen in Lórien might help us by finding the trail and preparing fresh horses. Has anyone been dispatched to them?"

[Airerûthiel]

Torfithien spoke. "My kin of the Golden Wood would be more than willing to aid this quest, as both the Lady Celebrian and her daughter walked in that country many years before. I am willing to ride back east, but unless the messenger who was travelling with the Lady has returned to Imladris without our knowledge we may be too late to find her if I do so. It would take at least twelve days to reach them, and by then I fear we may not be able to help Celebrian." There was a tinge of sadness in her voice, as though she knew what was to come of their journey to the dwarven halls.

The dream that had troubled her rest the night before still weighed heavy on her conscience. She had always been plagued by her gift of foresight, and she cursed and welcomed it in equal measure. She had seen a necessary but not entirely unexpected conflict, and less shadowy figures leaving the long dark tunnels than had entered them. But she held her tongue, unsure as to whether it was vital to trouble the already anxious party with what may not yet come to pass - although the hollow feeling in her stomach and bitter taste in her mouth only served to confirm her fears.

"I am sure the Lord and Lady of the Wood possess the wisdom to have thought of this plan you intend to see through, Angóre." She smiled at the male Elf, trying to read his eyes and see the secrets he hid beneath them. "But you were right to think on of this, for there are many who would not consider such a thing."

She turned back to the group, her long hair streaming out behind her like a veil of the night sky itself. "I can only hope that we are not yet too late to save the Lady," she whispered to herself, staring up into the morning sky and trying desperately to read hopeful messages from the patterns of the clouds.

[ March 12, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[Dark Shadow]

Vanimorén remained quiet as discussions of paths and the help of Lorien flew around. All conversation washed over him, he was oblivious to everything, at least for that moment. Calm had been restored, and no longer did any of the elves feel the need to shout, but instead everything felt almost too calm. He almost felt like standing and shouting at everyone, asking if none of them cared, but he knew to well. This was the elven way. They were all probably feeling the same way as he, but were more restrained, and could remain serene and untroubled. In fact, now all Vanimorén’s concentration was focused on staying calm.

After a while, his mind began to turn to more important issues, those that were already being discussed for the part, but also the issue of light. The lights Elrond had given them should be of much help, but Vanimorén doubted whether any light could truly pierce that darkness. He did not voice these doubts though, for it seemed that this would be an unnecessary concern at such a time. In truth, the aspects of the conversation that most interested him were those of the route they were to take. And indeed how they were to enter Moria. He listened intently as Angóre spoke, first of the pass over the mountain, which would lead them through Hollin. The elf seemed to answer himself, and soon conversation passed on, but Vanimorén’s thoughts lingered in Hollin. Perhaps that was the way they should take. But perhaps his heart only said that out of longing. He sat, brooding over this, waiting for someone to notice and call upon him for being the most useless member of the council having put forward nothing of any use to anyone, and sitting, thinking about personal desires at a time when all should be selfless.

[Mithadan]

Elladan nodded with approval at Angóre's analysis. "We cannot risk the Redhorn Pass. We might fall into the same trap as that which captured my mother. Even were this not so, it is clear the pass is watched. Our only hope is in stealth; we cannot risk being spied."

He thought for a moment more, then continued. "As for the Hollin Gate, those few of our people who have passed that way have reported that where the gate once was there is only a blank rock wall. It is the way of the Dwarves to conceal doorways with craft and artifice. To open the gate would require a key or a password perhaps and we have neither. No, for better or worse our path leads to the east. We must enter Moria through its main gate or seek another entrance from that direction. So our path is decided for us; we will take the High Pass and travel south on the east side of the Misty Mountains."

Elrond responded to Torfithien's query. "I do not doubt that Galadriel would provide us with such help as we might request. Yet to stop at Lorien would but cause more delay. And even if she were to offer us a hundred archers it would be to no avail except to turn the attention of the Orcs to our people and prevent their entry into Moria. We will proceed with our small party as planned."

Elrond and his sons looked about the room awaiting other questions or suggestions...

[the real findorfin]

Fingil has remained silent throughout, as suggestions flooded the conversation. He listened to each argument, hearing the positive and negative points of each, ever quiet. He was used to the silence, long years of quiet learning had seen to that. As the talk of the West Gate and Eregion began, his mind wandered to his mental picture of the once grand settlement, and to the Gwaith-i-Mirdain and the Rings of Power, oh to live there in those times.

"...we will take the High Pass and travel south on the east side of the Misty Mountains," Elladan spoke, finally.

"Oh well," thought Fingil, there will be no chance now. He resigned his longings to the back of his mind. He leant back, quite happy to let the leaders take control of their path. He was there to rescue Celebrian, but he was no master of stealth east of the mountains. Wherever Elladan and Elrohir decided to go, he would follow.

He felt suddenly useless, what had he done so far? But at least he was not the only silent one, Vanimorén seemed to be very quiet too. He mentally promised himself to make sure he was needed once they got on the road, he would not be seen as baggage. His skills, which were honed to the northlands of Eriador, would now come to the test in the East and under the ground, in the terrible dens of the orcs. He would make a difference, he would!

[Lugbúrz]

The Misty Mountains. Although they stood nigh to Imladris, they were a statement of segregation. Truly, the phrase in the common tongue - 'Last Homely House' - loomed as large as the imposing mountains, in the minds of the elves that quietly climbed its heights, hoping to make the best of the light that remained.

All of them knew the paths very well, but the passes were no simple matter of memory. They changed every time, and some were fraudulent tracks meant to deceive the unwary eye. Orcs, increasingly populating these precipices, were ever at work to trap the journeying travellers.

It was only with the superior experience of the elves, and the wisdom of Elrond and his sons, that the group reached the High Pass late into the night. The lamps provided by Elrond were priceless in the cloudy night, as they traversed windy mountain paths and the horses stumbled to find their step in the dark and soon grew weary.

They were met there by smiling faces and fresh horses, and were also treated to a snack beside a warm fire.

Once beyond the pass, the group realised that the gathering clouds not only reduced the light further but spoke of the impending storm. The pine forests surrounding them did not provide much hope of shelter in case of rain. The group began scouting the slopes for some place to rest.

"There looks to be a cave there," called Vaniromen.

"We must be careful of caves in these mountains, orcs are known to dig secret passages into most of them," warned Elrohir.

"So let us search them first," suggested Angore.

They made their way cautiously to the cave and dismounted their horses. Their lamps shone bright in the gloomy dark, and as they approached the cave the light illuminated the entrance, showing a dry and empty cave. As they moved inside they saw that the cave had a door in the very back. Realising that this could lead to an orc passage, they decided to investigate further.

As hard as they tried, they could not make the door open, and as they were trying hard, they failed to realise that it was almost time for dawn. Just as they were about to give up and turn around, they noticed that the entrance to the cave was blocked!

Up against the entrance were two huge cave trolls that were in need of sleep!

[Mithadan]

Elladan cried out, "Ware! Trolls!" Then he drew his sword and pushed Tintallë to the rear for he was but lightly armed and not skilled in the ways of battle. He attempted to do the same with Torfithien, but she would have none of it. Instead, she slipped her bow into her hands and nocked an arrow. The others stood at ready with their weapons as well.

The cave was just broad enough for the Elves to form a semi-circle facing the Trolls. Blinking sleepily, they growled and one stepped forward menacingly. Elrohir thrust the Noldorin Lamp in its face and the crystal's blue light caused the Troll to shut its eyes. In an instant, arrows flew through the air and the Troll bellowed.

The scream was answered but not from the second Troll before them. The door to their rear rumbled aside and a third Troll stepped forward into the cave. "Back to back," cried Elladan as some of the Elves turned to face this new threat...

[Airerûthiel]

Torfithien gazed down her second arrow with the air of a seasoned warrior as she quickly got her back against that of another of the party - she was not sure who, for inside the cave it was too dark for even the keen eyes of Elves to make out much. The approaching troll grunted with a sound like that of distant thunder, its footsteps shaking the very earth beneath her feet as it slowly came closer.

The hairs stood up on the back of the Elf's neck as she swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. She had always prided herself of never confessing to being afraid, and although her deepest innermost desire was to scream out loud, she refused to damage her reputation now. Her bowstring quivered with the tension as she breathed out slowly, keeping as still as she could. Around her she could just make out the glint of many arrows as her companions prepared to fire.

Suddenly Elladan shouted, "Torfithien! Get back, quickly!" The female Elf tried to shut out his voice, her stubborn determination getting in the way of her safety, but when she realised that what Elrond's son was saying mattered greatly, it was almost too late. The troll let out a roar at the intruders, and then swung out a fist that resembled a large grey boulder at her. Without thinking, she dropped to the floor, loosing the arrow as she did so.

The shaft pierced the troll's shoulder, causing another bellow to escape from its jaws. Above the Elves' heads, the roof of the cave seemed to be rumbling. "The roof's going to collapse!" one of them shouted - Torfithien could not tell which. Her heart was in her mouth, hammering as though it was an escaping prisoner locked up inside her chest. She was clearly terrified now, but only showed a fraction of her fear as she tried to will herself to stay calm.

'What have I done?' the Lórien Elf wondered, unsure of what to do next. She looked to her companions for guidance, but for once no-one seemed to have any ideas.

[the real findorfin]

Fingil was exploring the far wall of the cave when the commotion began.
As they bellowed and ran forward, Fingil drew his sword and whispered a prayer to Varda. As if in answer, a Noldorin Lamp was thrust forward into the face of one of the trolls. Fingil was about to charge when a huge rush of air flowed through the cave. He turned to see a third troll and his heart turned cold. For a second he remained quiet then an idea appeared in his mind. The others had gathered into a group and he now stood alone, unseen in the corner. He ducked down and opened his pack, bringing out a length of rope. He unwound the silver chain and cried out, "Vanimorén, catch."

He thrust out the rope to his elvish companion, who caught it neatly.

"The legs!" Fingil cried and as the Troll blundered forward he made read to take the strain. He only hoped he could manage it.

[Dark Shadow]

Trouble already? What ill luck the party had. They had barely left Imladris and now, on their first night not only were they to suffer what looked to be a storm, but they were obviously not welcome. As they went to investigate a door at the back of the cave, two huge trolls, probably the regular inhabitants of the cave, blocked the entrance. That was not all they had to worry about; the two in the entrance were soon joined by a third who came through the door at the back. The elves were trapped. They had all formed a semi-circle around the trolls, all but Fingil, who was over by the far wall, but now the circle had broken up with the arrival of the newest threat. While Elladan drew his sword, and Torfithien her bow, Fingil ducked, and rummaged in his pack for a rope. Suddenly he called from the corner,

“Vanimorén, catch!” He threw the rope, and Vanimorén caught the end of it. The two were now on either side of one of the Troll, holding the silvery rope. It began to make its way forward, and Vanimorén felt the rope tense as Fingil clutched it firmly. The rope was taught, and the Troll was none too bright. Vanimorén readied himself, and sure enough, Fingil’s plan worked. The Troll stumbled blindly into the rope. There was however no time for satisfaction. The Troll was stunned, but it would not last too long, and there were still two standing.

[Garen LiLorian]

"'Ware, Trolls!" Elladan's shout rung through the cave, startling Angóre from his contemplation of the bare rock before him. Quickly the small group of Elves turned to face the new threat. "Back to Back!" the son of Elrond cried, and Angóre pressed against the back of Torfithien as she readied an arrow.

Long years of hunting had sharpened Angóre's senses to nearly supernatural levels, and he felt rather than saw or heard the gigantic creature's paw swinging towards him. Torfithien dove, releasing her arrow, but Angóre stood calm, his short javelin braced against the rock of the cavern.

The creature's boulder-like fist impaled itself on the Elven warrior's short spear, and another howl rent the air of the cavern. However, Angóre himself had not escaped without injury. Only the great beast's pain kept it from following through with the swing, but the strength of the creature was enough to send the slight Elven warrior against the wall of the cavern, his breath leaving him in an explosive rush. The walls trembled again.

The scene in the cave was chaos. Fingil and Vanimorén had succeeded in bringing one of the great brutes to the ground, and if their cries of triumph sounded pitiful when compared to the great bellows of the wounded trolls, no-one seemed to care. Elladan and Elrohir worked as a team, slashing and confusing one of the trolls, the lamps in their hands blazing as they fought together. The third and final of the beasts bellowed its anguish to the rocks, arrows liberally coating it and the thick pinprick of Angóre's javelin still protruding from its clenched fist.

Angóre drew his blade with eager fingers, his eyes bright. "Torfithien!" The Elven maiden stood under an overhang of rock, fitting yet another arrow to her bow, but looked up at Angóre's call. "Concentrate on the arms, keep them off me!" he called, and threw himself forward before recieving an answer.

The great troll's eyes narrowed as it saw the small Elf moving towards it, blade in hand. Yet another roar boomed through the cavern, and a hand swept out. Angóre dodged, then rushed, his bright blade drawing a dark line down the creature's thigh. Another swing of the beast and Angóre ducked, feeling the wind whistle on the back of his neck. Another dark line, and Angóre danced away out of reach. This was a game he had played often, and in an open field the troll would have stood no chance against him. But here the rock walls hemmed him in, kept him from exercising his one advantage.

Angóre's dodges became increasingly frantic, his counter-attacks fewer and farther between. Torfithien had saved him three times already, her arrows piercing the troll's shoulder and upper arm just at the upswing had saved him from certain death, but now she stood, fitting her last arrow to the bow.

Angóre danced back yet again, drawing his blade across the creature's knuckles as it swung. His narrow chest heaved as he fought, sweat drenching him. Again he dodged by the narrowest fraction. The Troll, maddened beyond reason by this stinging gnat, stumbled forward, his great arms reaching, and Angóre did the only thing he could. Forward he dove, the troll's hands snapped on nothing. Torfithien's last arrow quivered into the beast's chest and it threw back its head for yet another roar. Angóre saw his chance open before him, and thrust the sword home with both hands, the Elven blade biting deep into the doomed troll's vitals, stealing its life.

"Aure Entuluva, amil." He whispered softly as the dying troll sobbed and gasped, and a solitary tear slid its way down his face, losing itself in the mixture of sweat, blood and dirt.

[the real findorfin]

Fingil was nearly pulled forward as the troll blundered into the rope, but with supreme effort, he managed to stay upright, bringing the huge beast down. As soon as it hit the ground, he dropped the rope and drew his sword.

The troll was already writhing around as he and Vanimorén made for it.

"Keep its attention," shouted Fingil and at once, Vanimorén called out to the troll. It turned its head and Fingil dived in. With a short and sharp cutting motion, he slit the throat of the beast. Its groans and movement became less and its head dropped to the cavern floor.

"Well done, my friend," Fingil called. Vanimorén waved back. "Onto the next."

[ March 20, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[dragoneyes]

Tintallë was overwhelmed, there is only so much you can learn from books and tales. He had managed to keep his wits about him though and was now firing arrows at the last remaining troll. He had not done anything that physical, yet he was still sweating, he paused to wipe some from his brow. He noticed that everyone else was now attacking the last troll, it did not last long.

With one final swing, the troll fell to the ground, defeated. Either Elladan or Elrohir, Tintallë couldn't tell which yet, rushed forward and finished it off. Many sighs of relief echoed around the cave. The welcome light of the sun broke over the mountainous landscape. Tintallë felt much better now that it was light.

The Elves regrouped, not saying much for a while until Tintallë broke the silence "Where have the horses gone?" They were certainly not inside the cave, hopefully all they had done was run a little way away, it wasn't safe for unarmed horses to wander alone out here.

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir and his brother urged the group to the exit and surveyed the wreck in the first rays of dawn. The cave was collapsing inwards from the clash of metal against stone. Although the trolls had been subdued by elvish skill, their brutal onslaught had left a permanent mark. The swords were not as sharp; some blunt and some broken. Their supply of arrows almost at an end and their lamps now half in number. The rope was shredded to pieces and the elves were drained of precious energy.

The only intact part of the group were the horses, which were huddled together in a short distance from the cave, sensing danger, and now relieved to see their masters survive it.

After a quick appraisal of the group's dimished capabilities and injuries, the weary elves, deprived of sleep, descended the final slopes of the Misty Mountains.

[Mithadan]

Elladan had stayed behind as the others filed out of the cave. Treading carefully about the bodies of the trolls and the rocks which had fallen from the ceiling and walls, he entered the rear doorway and passed into a dark room. A horrid smell assaulted him immediately and he grimaced at the half-seen things lying upon the floor. The light of his lamp revealed piles of bones and partially cooked meat, shattered crockery and rags. But in the far corner were propped two sheathed swords and a long knife. These he took and carried from the trolls' cave.

Catching up to his companions, he silently showed the weapons to Elrohir, who examined them quickly. "Elven make," he said simply. Elladan nodded. Neither commented upon the blood stains on the sheaths or the likely source of the weapons. They continued down the foothills of the mountains and made camp in a copse of trees half-hidden in a fold in the land.

[Lugbúrz]

Even though they were all tired from their encounter, the elves decided to keep a watch as they rested. Elrohir took the first watch, and as he sat, his senses keen to the surroundings, his thoughts were far away.

'When three trolls can cause such havoc, what hope does there lie for us in Moria?' wondered Elrohir.

As he sat and pondered the road ahead, he set about examining the swords that his brother had showed him. Upon looking at them closely, he realised that they belonged to the elves of Mirkwood. He looked East, and the lands stretched beyond him in open fields. He knew that just beyond lay the River Anduin, and nigh to its Eastern bank lay the first eaves of Mirkwood. On their Southern path lay the lands of Men.

'And what hope will that bring, I wonder,' he sighed, as he got up at the end of his watch.

[Airerûthiel]

Once again Torfithien could not sleep. She sighed heavily as she turned over yet again, staring up at the stars. Although there was a keen wind that night, the Elven maiden did not feel cold at all - she was used to sleeping outside, being as she was a child of the Golden Wood. Her heart ached as she remembered her home in Lórien, so near and yet so far, and she was tempted to try and go back.

But she could not leave her companions. Although she had long learned to be suspicious of others before giving her trust, she was still proud and refused to allow herself to show any signs of weakness. In Torfithien's eyes, to behave in the manner of a lady was to show that one was less than strong. It was not that she did not have the utmost respect and affection for Celebrian, only that she had been forced to grow up fast and in a family where she was the only female.

The memory of her mother's pale slender face came back to her, framed by delicate whispy tendrills of blonde hair that was almost white. She looked as if she was asleep, with a peaceful expression on her face that Torfithien could remember seeing whenever she, as a small girl, had run to her mother with whatever minor worry she had. Oh, how she wished for the touch of those hands stroking her hair again!

"Wishing will not make her come back," she said a little too loudly, her eyes snapping open. She knew that now she would never go back to sleep, for the heartache she would feel as soon as she closed would be too great for even the bravest and most courageous warrior to bear. Although Elrohir never knew it, there were two people keeping watch that night.

[the real findorfin]

As they set up camp, Fingil moved purposefully. He had shown himself as the warrior he truly was, and no longer looked like silent baggage. He was content.

As the moon came high, many of them were asleep. Fingil lay, looking up at the stars, thinking of what lay ahead.

Moria, the ancient Kingdom of the Dwarves. Now bereft of dwarves and packed full of orc dens.
The darkness of his thoughts disturbed him but he was resigned to follow whatever course the group took.
The Lamps of the Noldor would be a help, but they could not light the entire kingdom, and there would always be more shadows than light.
The awesome difficulty of their task swamped him but he battled through it, Celebrian was in there and she would come out, alive!

He turned onto his side and closed his eyes, but dreams of darkness and terrible dens haunted him throughout the night.

He was running down many dark tunnels and the image of a Noldorin Lamp was always ahead of him, growing dimmer and dimmer, until it was gone. He was alone and fear gripped him, but was he? Suddenly the screech of orcs echoed around him in the tunnel and he knew that he was trapped. Breathing touched his neck, dark foul breath and he almost choked on the stench. As he felt harsh metal slice into him, his legs gave way and he fell...

and woke. He was sweating and in the still dark night Fingil thought, with a sudden dread, that he had seen his future. Was that what would happen to him, or was it a mere dream? He did not know, but he would not give up. As he fell back into uneasy dreams, the feeling of dread stayed with him and he did not sleep easily.

[ March 31, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[Mithadan]

The morning found Elladan sitting with his back to an oak tree while he worked at the blade of his sword with a whetstone. He sharpened the edge methodically with a grim look on his face. After some time, the edge was again keen and more or less straight. Satisfied, he looked up at his companions as they ate a light breakfast and prepared to break camp.

Angóre drew his own blade and tested its edge. He frowned and looked up at Elladan who tossed him the stone. As he sharpened his edge, Angóre spoke to Elladan. "Once we reach Moria, how do you propose we find Celebrian?"

Elladan looked troubled. "The truth be known, I have no idea," he responded. "Vanimorén visited Moria an age and more ago when Eregion yet existed. He, at least, may be able to guide us through the main ways. But I fear that Celebrian is held in some deep, dark place, far from Moria's main halls. It may be that we will be forced to seek out a 'guide', willing or no."

Angóre's eyebrows rose at the thought. "An Orc?" he asked. Elladan nodded. "Perhaps. We cannot merely blunder about, wandering the halls and stairs of the place. But there may be other ways to find my Mother..."

Angóre tossed the whetstone back to Elladan with a word of thanks. Then they rose and joined the others who were preparing to mount their horses.

They rode long and hard that day and as the sun began to duck behind the peaks of the mountains to the west, they slowed looking for a likely place to camp. Suddenly, Elladan halted his steed and leapt down to examine the ground. Elrohir joined him. Fingil approached the twins attempting to see what they were probing with their fingers. He crouched down between them and saw a pawprint in the soft earth. "A wolf?" he asked.

"More than one," answered Elrohir, pointing to a second print a few feet away. Fingil squinted at the prints, but other than identifying the animal that made them, the marks told him little. Torfithien moved forward to examine the prints. She tested the soil with her fingers and traced the outlines of the marks. Then she stood and faced the others. "A day old and no more," she said with certainty. "They will not be far." Elladan nodded his agreement. "We will seek out a hillock or some place in the open and we shall build a fire," he said.

Tintallë shuddered. "Why not seek the shelter of a forest?" he asked. Torfithien smiled at the healer. "We do not wish to be taken by surprise," she answered. "Trees will not hide us from the noses of wolves, but they would allow them to creep up on us unseen."

[ April 01, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Garen LiLorian]

Angore frowned. "Certainly a band of Elves, mounted and well armed need not fear a mere hunting pack of forest animals," he said, seeking confirmation in the faces around him. Elladan nodded, but his face was grim. "The tracks are not of 'mere' beasts, Angore. See the width, the depth, the length of claw. Far larger than any wolf yet spawned. No, we have happened across a much worse adventure. These are Wargs, demons in wolf form and servants to Orcs. There are three of them, one older and larger than the other two unless I miss my guess." He returned to his examination of the marks.

Angore drew a deep breath. "Wargs! I have heard of such foul creatures, but have not encountered them, by chance or fate. Can we avoid them? Or, perhaps better, frighten them off? I dislike the thought of spending another night resting and watching with lady Celebrian in the clutches of such hosts. Surely we know where we are, where we are going, and there is at least one among us who knows this area well?" He looked at Torfithien and Vanimoren.

[the real findorfin]

Wargs! Fingil shuddered. He had encountered a fair few of the evil creatures during his time in the northlands and was not eager to renew his acquaintance. Although he had won all of his battles against them, he had been severly hurt in his last encounter and still bore the scar across his upper arm.

"We should keep moving," Fingil suggested, "If we all hold brands and are ready for them. We should make a circle, with the horses inside. If these Wargs are hungry then the horses will alert them."

"Perhaps the Noldorin Lamps will keep them away," Vanimoren suggested.

Fingil, nodded in agreement, "yes, the light of the elder days will certainly avail us."

He turned and patted his horse reassuringly, "don't worry," he whispered, "you'll be fine."

[the real findorfin]

And so it was agreed that they should keep moving. They organised themselves as Fingil had suggested, with the Noldorin Lamps dispersed throughout the group and the rest holding burning brands. For an hour they moved and no site or sound of the enemy could be heard. Fingil had begun to relax slightly, perhaps they would not attack?
But as it always is, the moment he relaxed, a great howl broke the silence.
"That was near!" cried Fingil, his sword already in his hand.
"Be careful," Elladan spoke calmly, "keep moving."

The group continued through the dark, their lights creating a tunnel of light in the night. As they walked, some thought they could feel eyes on them, and Fingil swore he had seen a shadow pass just beyond the range of the lamps. More than once, one of the group swung around to meet a non-existant attack. The tension was impossibly high. They all knew what was out there and they all knew what was coming, it was the waiting that was the worst part.

Fingil, who had offered to take the rear with Angore, was listening intently for the footfalls of the creatures, and it was this hearing that saved his life. As the dark shape leapt, Fingil swung around, dodging the beast and rolling. He was up in a second and cried out, "they attack."

The group halted and all faces turned outward. The first creature had disappeared back into the night but as the elves watched, a great circle of dark shapes appeared about them, encircling the group. Fingil could only just make them out, three larger bodies: the Wargs, and many smaller creatures, ordinary wolves by the look of them.

A baying set up and continued for some time as the two groups faced each other. Abruptly the harsh call stopped and the elves tensed. At a lope, which swiftly turned into a run, the Wargs advanced and the wolves followed.

"May the Valar protect us," Fingil muttered, as the first wolf closed

[ April 10, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]