The Fall Of Doriath by gamil-zirak

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Bitter Grievances

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BITTER GRIEVANCES

THE FALL OF DORIATH

Chapter Eleven...
"BITTER GRIEVANCES"

The meandering winds were cold and biting. Ubiquitous frost glistened callously upon grass, leaf and bough as wintry mists loitered in the valleys and dells of Doriath. The sky above was heavily laden with a grey gloom that had denied the lands below the sun's radiance for many weeks, and invited a pall of dejection upon the low spirited denizens of the forest. The freezing rivers and streams were icing over and the trees stood mournfully, suffering their bare exposure to the elements in leafless silence.

The doe splayed her fore legs and lowered her head to the steaming stream. She was a majestic creature; all supple muscle and taut hind, coated in a heavy grey coat of protection. She drank her fill and gave a splendid shiver for the water was uncommonly cold, like the weather. Instinctual awareness raised her noble head as she listened to the forest sounds about. Her twitching ears caught the twitter of a robin, the shuffling of badgers, the swish of a fin near the water's surface. Her keen sense of smell led her head this way and that, straining to catch the elusive scents of the forest. Yet her glistening black nose was overpowered by the waft of decay. The forest was sick with a malady, the like of which she had never known before, and it troubled her.

It troubled all the animals of Doriath. Many of them were leaving the forest, headed for the vast southern plains or eastward towards the wooded lands that were nestled beneath the mountains of Ered Luin. The fleeing woodland animals were agitated by the unsavoury change that had come over the land they called home and they were not alone. Even now, the once silent eastern borders were teeming with elves engaged in some great labour. Yet the forest animals were grieved. How could the elves hew the great oaken groves that had fenced Doriath for years beyond count, and in their place build dour wooden walls and sombre towers upon the hill-tops. The doe could not comprehend the meaning of this, but it were plain something was gravely amiss. And borne upon the wings of this omen was a graver peril for her kind. For the elvish hunters now sought the deer in greater numbers, seeking more hides to protect them from the bitter cold, and in the making of leather for their armour. She herself had lost her mate but two days ago and she mourned her loss all by her lonesome, having been left behind by the herd as they would not wait for her grief to assuage. Indeed, Doriath had become a hostile place to live.

A scurrying movement broke the doe's train of thought and twitched her head in its direction. It was a tiny vole flitting through the wintry undergrowth and headed towards the seeping rot that was spread at the foot of a nearby holly tree. A good meal awaited it; a squirming feast of worms and maggots. The doe would have winced if she could, but she was not made that way and could only snort her faint disgust. With that, she turned away from the stream and began to nibble at the tufts of frost-ridden grass that grew about the bank. It was meagre fare, but she would not touch the sickly bark of the trees that deer stripped for food in winter, hungry though she was. For she ate for two, herself and what lay in her womb. But what did her unborn calf have to look forward to, she wondered. A mourning forest riddled with decay. She raised her head, munching away in a state of thoughtfulness. Would her calf ever know the Doriath that was, before the pestilence. The healthy hues of rustling green in the meadows and sighing brown of the valleys. The waving gold upon breezy hilltops and the sparkling silver of enchanted waterways. The sweetly scented airs upon the nose and the joyful chirping songs in the ear. The more the doe thought of these things, the more she realised it was time to leave; time to look for greener pastures.

Her musing was disturbed by a scratching beneath her, and she looked down to see the vole darting in rapid circles about her hoof. No doubt there were worms underfoot that it was attempting to reach. The doe lowered her head to the agitated rodent, thinking to nudge it clear when a faint whistle cut through the air above her, followed by a sharp thud. She froze for an instant, in which she comprehended her dire peril. She fearfully noted the quivering shaft that was embedded in the wounded holly tree, and knew enough of arrows to guess the direction from which they were fired. The hunters were on the prowl and almost upon her, for the forest decay had masked their scent. The doe gathered herself for a spring and a last thought came to her as she launched herself away from danger. How strange it was that the irritating vole had saved her life. She shot through the air and settled upon racing legs that panic steered, and winged away from her peril in a blur of bow-shot speed.

Just how long she ran and sprang a flitting path of escape through Region's woods, the doe did not know, but soon her panic instinctually subsided, and she slowed her pace to a nervous canter. Her nostrils flared a recurring sprinkling of dissipating vapour and her glistening grey coat steamed a cold sweat. A breaking flock of blackbirds startled the doe, but her senses told her the danger from which she fled was far behind. However, she could not stop for she knew the relentless elvish hunters would still be on her trail. The doe took in her surroundings as she moved and noted she had come far. The holly trees grew thickly here, and overshadowed the wintry floor with a heavy canopy of leathery leaves of pale gold, through which peeped tiny orbs of shining red. The trees stems were of great girth, and rose with clearly defined branches to vaulting crowns that peaked more than sixty feet in the air. By their knobbly grey bark and warted limbs awash with twigs that sprouted un-spined leaves, they seemed very ancient. These old trees grew in that part of Region which the elves had named Iaur-Ladrenn, the Old Valley. That vale was held in great reverence by the Sindar, and it were here where the Noldor had once settled and Thingol and Finwe used to meet during the long march from Cuivienen.

On the doe went, with her head lowered in reverence as she passed beneath those hoary giants. To her right the land fell away into a deep trough, at the bottom of which was a broad stream meandering a flowing path, unhindered by ice and sparkling with crystal clear clarity. Here the tufts of grass still held colour and were frost free, and the keen air that wafted among the tall stems held a hint of warmth that defied the wintry pall through some ancient power that grew more palpable as she went on. The doe's mood brightened with the welcome change to the forest. With the growing sense of ancientry that permeated that region also came a sense of peace and a reassurance of safety. The piquancy of the airs lay heavy all around and seemed to emanate from the elderly trees that gently swayed about her. Indeed, the ailment of foul scented rot that gripped the forest was cured in this part of wood, or at least had been halted.

The doe eased her pace to a slow walk, halting at times to nibble the sweetened grass as hidden birds chimed their songs in the heights while the four legged scampered about in the lows. Thickets of holly shrubs now grew in abundance about her, carpeting the forest floor beneath their majestic elders. Up ahead, the bushes grew thickly and close together, almost like a low dark green hedge of sharply spined leaves. The doe halted before the prickly border, with a twitching nose that poked an investigation. After a short while of steady prying she found a way through, a small space at the base of the hedge that did not bar the way forward with knotted twigs and branches. She ducked through the hole and then was through, emerging into the open of a shaded clearing.

It was an immense round hollow almost half a furlong wide and fifty feet deep. Its rim was bordered right round by the spiney hedge of holly bushes but nothing grew within the bowl save a single growth that rose out of it from the centre. It was a mountain of a tree, rising fifty feet from the hollow's base to its crowning branches that hung another sixty feet above the level of the forest floor, and enshrouded the entire hollow in a gigantic mass of wooded ancientry. For old it seemed, older than all the trees that grew about and beyond it. Its warted trunk spanned almost twenty feet in girth, and its branches that upheld an immense mushroom of incredible growth were thick, taut and a dull grey as if sculptured of heavy stone. Its crowded thickets of twigs were all bearded as were the hairy swarms of rounded leaves that were spineless with age.

The doe splayed her legs and bowed low, for this was Rochorn, mightiest of the trees of Region and second only in greatness to Hirilorn in all the forests of Doriath. The ancient tree's leaves began to rustle and the airs seemed to waver with warmth and a sense of airy contentment. The doe's obeisance had been acknowledged. At that moment, a sound of movement came from the opposite end of the hollow, as if something large now approached with heavy steps. The doe grew alert at once, with ears pricking up and sinews tensing for flight. Yet her reactions were due to instinct rather than actual fear, as the scent was not that of an elf. Then she saw. There, beyond Rochorn's rising mass, came what seemed to be a tree. It was a chestnut by all accounts, but unlike any chestnut the doe had ever seen. It was about thirteen feet tall, and brown skinned. It had a tall head whose long face held large deep solemn eyes and ended in a mossy growth of a twig-like beard. It was long of arm and leg, having four fingers and seven toes, that swung and strode with supple deliberation. But it looked old; as ancient as the forest about it, with wrinkled skin and gnarled bark.

With long steps it now came, plodding heavily as it descended into the bowl until it stood before the ancient giant. "Hroombar!" murmured its voice that was a rumbling deep sound like the echoes of a distant thunder. The leaves upon the twigs that jutted out of its bark began to shiver. There was a great hissing in the wind as the mighty holly tree's own leaves and branches began to rustle and sway as if caught in a forceful wind. But the airs were calm, save that their piquancy was more keenly felt, emitting a heightened feeling of warmth and welcome. The chestnut then made a slow movement, creaking forward inch by inch by the waist if one could call it that. It only managed a shallow angle where its eyes looked to the ground before straightening again with a wooden snap. The doe then realised it had attempted a bow. The doe bent her own fore legs and lowered herself to the ground where she sat in amazement, forgeting all else about her.

The Ent stood before Rochorn and took in the mighty growth with a sombre fascination. It had been many years since he last tread this way, for the gardens of Doriath did not need tending as the wholesome power that had prevailed in that land had been a good enough shepherd. But at times the Ents would come, as a matter of pilgrimage to see the two offspring of the Ancients of the Spring of Arda. For to see their majesty and hear their words of wisdom was a thing all Ents thought to experience at least once in their lives. It was almost a right of passage for Ents to undertake the journey to see them and gain insight and enlightenment for their kind. For nowhere else in the northern and western world did there yet live the seedlings of the ancient giants who grew and throve during the primordial days of the Lamps of the Valar. Only two were known to have survived the ages, and yet they had never felt the light of Illuin and Ormal. For they were but seedlings during the great conflict between the gods, sprouting in the deep soils beneath the green twilight that lay at the feet of the vaulting giants whose crowns met with the very clouds in the starlit skies. But when their shoots finally rose into the airs of the world, all was dark and silent.

For the Age of the Lamps was ended, as their pillars lay in mountainous ruin upon the shredded lands and the lamps themselves were spilled and broken. Then a change came over the Ancients of old as tree, fern, moss and grass darkened, and those not caught in the ruin of the tumults of war shrivelled into shadows of their former growth and glory. But these two shoots continued to flourish, until their growth was halted by the Sleep Of Yavanna. And during that long sleep the shrivelled woods and forests of the ancients were renewed. And at the awakening of the elves by the waters of Cuivienen, the landscapes burst into life once more. But now the trees and fauna were as they are now, no longer massive giants but growths whose limits were of miniscule proportions as compared to what they were before. But these two, Queen Hirilorn and Lord Rochorn, were somehow blessed with a part of that former glory. They were the last two trees to grow to but an echo of the size of their sires of old.

"Great Rochorn," the Ent said in a deep and sonorous voice. "Once again the Ents seek your counsel."

A hundred branches creaked and swayed in the windless airs, and there rose a great hissing of leaves. Swarms of butterflies and moths suddenly rose from the leafy heights of the huge tree, clouding the airs with fluttering hues of yellow and purple. Then through the hissing of leaves came a faint whisper that came to the ears as if borne upon a coiling breeze that wafted about the hollow; now sounding nearer, now echoing further away. "What counsels would you seek from me, Shepherd?"came the whispered query.

The Ent emitted a low rumble. "Word has come to us of the affliction of the gardens of Doriath," it said. "And I have seen for myself the black rot that stains the lands. What is this new malady and why has it festered in these fair woods?"

A great creaking now came from above and the Ent bent upward and saw all the trees that surrounded the great bowl sway and shudder as their shivering leaves whispered faint pleas and emitted far off wails of sorrow. A keen wind suddenly swept down into the bowl and the ent gave a booming murmur of disgust, for the new airs were tainted with the scent of decay.

"Yea!" whispered the ancient holly. "Here is but a breath of it. The sickness that festers is that of a great despair."

The Ent turned back to Rochorn with solemn questioning eyes. "What sorrow and despair afflicts thee?" he asked.

"That which is to come," replied Rochorn. "The earth rumbles and groans under the feet of an approaching doom. Soon the airs of this land shall ring shrill with the dint of steel, and be filled with wails of death. Blood shall flow in caverns deep and in meadows cold. And all that shall remain is the great silence, with not an echo of the joys that came before...Yea Shepherd! The gardens of Doriath are caught in the throes of a grief and despair for what is to come. Such is the ailment that rots both root and leaf."

The Ent stood a moment contemplating the words just spoken to him. "Hroombar," he rumbled with an awkward bodily shake of his head. "You speak of an approaching battle no doubt," he began. "Indeed the evil reach of the North has grown long."

"That it has," replied the sweeping whisper. "Yet the marching evil approaches from the south."

"The south?!" boomed the Ent in surprise. "You are mistaken, for there are no orc-holds..."

"Evil walks not in the guise of orcs alone, Shepherd," hissed the whisper, its breath becoming cold and biting. "Neither is evil wholly commanded by the Dark Throne. For the light that shone before the dawn and the full of the moon resides in this land, and there are some who would take it for their own."

"The sons of Feanaro!" exclaimed the Ent with a rustling shiver.

"Their names I know not," Rochorn replied, "yet of their coming deeds I am assured. The realm of Doriath as we know it is coming to an end. All that shall remain is the silence and bitter memory."

The murmuring of the surrounding wood now rose to a greater noise and commotion, as if a stormy gale now whipped all into a frenzy. The haunting wails and despairing moans of the forest now swept all about the bowl like a tornado of hissing grief. Even the doe now heard the weeping in the winds and she swiftly rose in alarm, with ears pricked up and torso tensing to flee. The Ent gave a subdued boom and creaked forward to bow his long head and his hand went to pull at his moss-like beard in desperate thought.

"But surely something can be done to save Doriath from falling." he said.

"The firstborn of this land will look to it," said Rochorn, "but they shall fail and fall. I have seen it! Nay, all that is left to do is flee. Those of wing and limb who hearkened to my warning are doing so even as we speak. And so should you, Shepherd."

"But elves may depart a land by choice or by death," said the Ent, "yet the gardens may remain to be tended as before."

"That may be," Rochorn replied, "yet more lies behind my words, Shepherd. For long now have many of us looked to you and your brethren with envy, as you were granted the gift of limbs, to walk where you would, when you would. And very soon shall that gift seem more precious to you all. For the fall of Doriath is but a forerunner of an even greater end. See now! A wrath greater than any has ever known shall soon descend upon the earth and shatter its bones and wrend its flesh. Then shall all the gardens you have known and tended be destroyed, and Beleriand itself shall fall into the deep and be swept over by the roaring seas. In that hour you will know an all consuming despair as will we. Yet you shall survive the downfall and be spared to tend anew gardens that lay elsewhere, whilst all your brethren who are rooted to the ground shall founder."

The Ent hardly made a sound, so great was his shock. Only the flash of his great brown eyes revealed his great alarm. "This cannot be!" he finally boomed with a creaking shudder.

"And yet that is the way of it whether you accept or no," replied Rochorn. "You came to me for counsel and that I have given. But I have said all that I will. Leave us to our sorrows, Shepherd, and gather what flocks you can. Over the mountains to the east is your path, and beyond them may lie new lands to tend. Yet I urge you to see to it as swiftly as you may, for though there are still many mortal years left ere the doom of Beleriand should come to pass, they are still too few by our slow reckoning."

The Ent swayed where he stood, his sombre thoughts racing as he attempted to digest the words said to him. He had barely accepted the doom of Doriath but that all of Beleriand were destined to fall was too much to take. The great commotion of creaking limbs and hissing leaves now rose about him again. Moths and butterflies gathered in flittering clouds that hovered fitfully in the basin's airs. The scent of decay swirled about the great bowl, carrying murmurs and whispers of grief and sorrow. The Ent looked up at Rochorn again. "Forgive me O'Ancient One," he said. "yet I cannot wholly accept your word."

"Accept or no, was is to be shall be,"came the reply. Yet the whisper was fainter, as if receding to some great unknown depth.

"Perhaps I should also seek Queen Hirilorn for her counsel in this," said the Ent, more to himself than to the great tree.

"If the word of Rochorn is not enough for thee, then seek her if you will. Yet her words to you shall be the same as mine. Nay, greater sorrow shall be in them, for of the two of us, she will be the first to fall."

The Ent gave a low boom that were a wail of grief. "O'Great Rochorn, leave me not in such despair!" he cried. "Should all fall to such ruin!?"

The replied whisper was now very faint, on the verge of hearing. "Counsel I have given, O'Shepherd. Glean what you will from my words or heed them not. Yet the path of Fate is set and all shall come to pass even as I have said. I offer you no comfort, yet hope I still have given you. Flee I say! Do not tarry. But remember us! Remember the willow-meads of Tasarinan, and the elm-woods of Ossiriand. Do not fail to recall the pine-trees of Dorthonion and the beeches of Neldoreth. And forget not the ancient holly-woods of Region! These are the gardens that once throve under the sky, yet were lost under wave! Remember us O'Ent! Remember!"With that, the whisper faded into nothingness and all of a sudden, the great commotion all about the great bowl ceased. The swirling winds dissipated, and the scent of rot receded. The clouds of moths and butterflies resettled upon leaf and limb and all fell quiet and still.

The Ent stood for a long moment staring thoughtfully down at the foot of the great holly tree, then he made a sound like a sigh that grew deeper, ending in a low rumble. He then turned and began to slowly climb out of the great bowl. He reached the crest and turned his head, looking about him. The trees all about stood motionless and the airs were still. The stench of rot had dissipated and the ent took in a deep breath of the cold fresh breeze that now rustled the leaves of the hollow. His large brown eyes suddenly spotted the doe sitting nearby.

"Hroombar," he boomed again. "What have we here. A leaping lady of the forest, eh?" He gave an awkward bow again. "How long have you been sitting there I wonder. Did you see and hear much?" He looked at her with those deep pools of discerning sight and she gazed back at him with curiosity. "I suppose you did," continued the Ent, "and I am sorry for it all. These are dark times indeed, and dangerous." He put forward his two long branch-like arms and began to wave the doe away. "Leap away now my lady!" he said as he came forward and the doe rose. "Region wood is not for you anymore, and neither would it be for your offspring. Away east you should fly! Climb the high paths of the Ered Luin and go on to the great wilderness beyond. Did you not hear old Rochorn? The land is perilous and soon all shall founder." At this his creaking body seemed to bow and his head slowly swayed from side to side as if shaking in sorrow as a low rumble echoed from his lips. "Heed me now and go!" he called as the moment of grief passsed and he straightened again.

The doe had backed away but her curiosity got the better of her and she furtively came forward to stand before the Ent that now towered before her. Her twitching nose sniffed at his bark, her eyes full of wonder at the tree that walked and spoke with words. The Ent slowly bent towards her, his solemn eyes regarding her with sadness. Then he stopped and looked up behind her. He stood so for a long while, staring past the low dark green hedge of sharply spined leaves. The doe continued her sniffing as she circled the strange tree, her glistening nose poking and prying, oblivious to anything else. Suddenly she too halted and her ears pricked up. She turned to look behind, her body all tensed for a spring. Her sleek head turned up as her nose picked up the unmistakable scent.

As if sensing her fear, the Ent looked down at her and smiled. "I told you to flee, lady," he said in a low and deep voice. "Do not worry, he will not follow. Go now, and fare free wherever your path may take you! And may the coming Spring bring you hope, though less joy for you and your offspring. Farewell!"

The doe looked up at that long mossy face and as if discerning the Ent's speech, launched herself away eastward with winged speed, finally disappearing into the wooded distance. The Ent, who had stood watching her flight, then turned back to stare at the low hedge. He smiled and gave a nod. Then he himself turned to go, taking a northerly route. He had to tell his brethren what he had learned. He had to warn them. He had to counsel them. If there was to be a great exodus, it had better be planned sooner than later. "Hroombar!" he boomed in his anxious thought. There came a sound of a sudden movement and the snapping of twigs from the hedge. The Ent halted and turned to the commotion. He shook his head. He was so caught up in his grim thought that he had forgotten about the hunter and had probably startled him.

He sighed and shook his head. "Go to your people, Firstborn!" he said as he resumed his lengthy strides. "Warn them that a peril approaches Doriath even as we speak. Ready yourselves as best as you may. For war approaches!" His heavy purposeful steps took him further away from Iaur-Ladrenn, and as he went, he cried in a deep and mournful voice: "Alas for the bright land of Thingol and Melian, where once tread Luthien the Fair. Alas for the great woods of Neldoreth and Region, fairer than songs can tell. Alas for the great land of Beleriand who's lands of beauty the Ents shall soon tread no more!" With that, he too faded into the wintry distance, coming never again to the land of Doriath.

Halon stared after the receding ent with wide eyes brimming with amazement. He could not believe an Ent had not only crossed his path, but had actually spoken to him. It's words upon reflection had been grim and forboding, yet...he had seen an Ent! The revelation made him blink his astonishment and he rubbed his grey eyes and peered into the wintry forest. He caught a last glimpse of the tall lumbering shape before it passed beyond his elven sight, dissolving into the distant landscape and he sighed and shook his head. He cast down his bow and leaned against a tree, commiting all that he had just witnessed to memory. His friends would never believe him. Sightings of the Onodrim were rare indeed, and so had gained a somewhat mystical quality among the elves of Doriath who all reckoned it were a major dose of good luck to see one of the tree-folk in the wild. Halon grinned at the thought and shook his head as he stared at his longbow. The good luck had eluded him as he had definately lost the deer he had been tracking. "The Ent-luck went to the deer," he thought as he picked the bow up. "That is the first time I have missed a plain shot at thirty paces, but I would have caught my quarry had I not been startled by the Ent." He turned his attention to the great tree that towered above the bowl and lowered his head in reverence, and as he bowed his thoughts went to the Ent's words to him. "But I was warned of a peril that approaches," he thought, and a slow dread rose in his heart. "Could it be that our enemy has been sighted?!" He looked up at old Rochorn with fear in his eyes. The mighty tree however stood still and silent, save the creaking of his innumerable arms that hung heavily in the air. Rochorn had imparted his wisdom, and would give council no more. But Halon clearly heard the grave words of the Ent ringing loud in memory. Peril approached and the Doriathrim were to ready themselves as best as they may. The Feanorrim were coming! "I must tell the captain this ill news,"he thought as he turned away from that sacred place and bounded away upon his swift elven feet.

~oOo~ Idhrenor stood upon the high wooden tower feeling somewhat ill at ease. He looked down upon a vista of activity; elves cutting down trees, elves chopping and carving wood, elves setting logs in place, constructing high walls and thick barricades. The eaves of Doriath's southern borders had begun to slowly change, the natural serenity of the oaken border giving birth to elven made constructions of a long line of defense. Idhrenor was a military elf, yet it pained him to see the old oaken giants felled, marring the natural beauty of Region that had survived undisturbed for years beyond count. He winced a little at the many rough pathways of the forest now broadened into coarse roads where many milled about as they indulged in their warcraft. Yet he sighed in resignation, realising the necessity of all of this. Doriath was under threat and so had to prepare accordingly for the inevitable confrontation. Such was the design of war.

He turned his elven gaze to the rolling plains of the south, greyed in the chill airs of winter, and caught a glint of the Aros as it flowed languidly towards Aelin Uial, some fifty miles away. He often wondered what was happening away in the southerly distance where their enemies lay, plotting and planning no doubt. All word of the Feanorrim had them upon and about the hill of Amon Ereb, content to await the suggestion of Spring when they would send again for the Silmaril. Yet Idhrenor doubted the reports of their spies, for he had studied well the ways of the princes of the Feanorrim and knew that more could be said about their counsels than was to be thought. He did not trust them at all. He looked down again at the soldiery of Doriath at work beneath him. He did not trust in this work either. Something was amiss with the whole endeavour; something did not sit right in his mind about the counsels of the lords of Doriath. He could not put his finger upon it, but a creeping forboding had begun to fester in his heart. A breeze rose in the east and Idhrenor wrinkled his nose. The noisome airs did little to alleviate his doubtful mood. The forest was ailing and that was an ill omen indeed. He looked up to the grey skies above; the winter would be cold that year, heavier than the last to be sure. He sighed again.

"Captain!" a voice called from below. Idhrenor looked down to it. "Word has it that elves approach from Menegroth."

Idhrenor turned his gaze north where in the distance, beneath the shedding oaks could be discerned a group of elves making their way towards the camp. His eyes narrowed as he peered at them, and then he recognised the one who sat upon the lead horse.
"Go and find lord Tuornen," he called in reply. "Tell him that lord Haradion has come." The sentry gave a nod and made his way towards one of many cabins that sat within the walled confines of the tower's garrison. The king had sent his most trusted advisor to look upon the progress made no doubt, he thought. Most likely he would be disappointed, for the work went slow so as to accomodate lord Tuornen's grand designs. Idhrenor and a few other captains had grumbled about this amongst themselves, but who would gainsay their proud lord. They did what they were ordered as their lords and commanders knew best. That was the military way of it. With that thought, Idhrenor made his way down the tower ladder, having had enough of the seeping cold and bleak musings. Besides, he knew he would be called to be present at the lords meeting. He had reached the bottom rung when another sentry came forward to meet him.

"Captain, one of our hunters has returned from the forest with news."

"What of it," said Idhrenor as he took hold of his grey cloak and wrapped it close about him.

"He did not say all, yet he seems troubled and anxious to speak with you."

"Then he must wait," said Idhrenor, a little annoyed by the vagueness of it all. "Lord Haradion has come and I am bound to be called to the meeting." He started toward lord Tuornen's cabin when the sentry called after him.

"He said he has had words with one of the Onodrim!"

Idhrenor halted and slowly turned back in wonder. "Onodrim you say!" The sentry gave a nod. The captain was silent for a moment and then he nodded. "I will be in my cabin."

"He awaits you there," said the sentry.

"Very well," replied Idhrenor as he walked forward. "I will see him."

~oOo~ Lord Haradion halted and gazed upon the activity before him. The soldiery of Doriath were busy enough, bustling here and there in their work, all carrying something or other, be it tools or wood or supplies. Hammers rang and voices called. Axes chopped, chisels chipped and trees toppled. Laden carts groaned and hooves clopped upon newly made roads. It was impressive how hard everyone worked, yet what failed to gain his admiration was the overall enterprise. Haradion had thought the work would have advanced far further than this. Winter was come yet the defensive line was still more than fifty miles from its goal. It would never be complete come Spring; not at this rate. Why this was so became apparent as Haradion looked on. A wooden tower rose before him, about thirty feet tall. About its base was a walled enclosure that housed many cabins. Why all this added construction? A taller wall was mounted at the very edge of the forest, going back east into the distance, where his elven sight caught a far off glimpse of another wooden tower rising out of the oaken tree tops. No doubt that construction was the same as this, all built at certain intervals behind the grand wall itself. No wonder the fortifying work moved at such a slow pace. The devastation done to the giant oaks was immense, with great tracts of leveled land dotted with miserable tree stumps where once had stood proud growths. Haradion shook his head as he took it all in, and then turned to the elves who now approached his group.

"Hail lord Haradion!" called lord Tuornen as he approached. "This is a welcome surprise indeed."

"I have been sent by the king to ascertain the progress you have made," replied Haradion as he came forward to clasp Tuornen's hand in greeting.

"So I thought," said Tuornen with a nod, "Though not all seems to be to your liking." Haradion's shake of the head in his disapproval had not gone unnoticed.

Haradion sighed. "Perhaps we may speak indoors," he said, not wanting an argument to ensue in front of the men. "The chill reaches my bones and I have walked far," he added as a reasonable excuse.

"Of course," replied Tuornen, observing Haradion's tactfulness. "This way," he said with a wave of a leading hand.

Haradion followed Tuornen across a broad path, made rudely by many passing feet and the rolling wheels of carts, to a wooden gateway that led into the tower's enclosure. Inside were four well-sized cabins, raised no doubt for the captains and for the storage of weaponry, tools and supplies. It all seemed an unnecessary indulgence from Haradion's point of view and he swiftly made his opinion known when both he and Tuornen were settled inside one of the buildings.

"The king expected way more progress than this," he said as Tuornen handed him a flagon of wine to 'tackle the chill'as he so put it. "At this rate our fortifications will not reach completion come spring."

"Your idea of fortifications may differ from mine," replied Tuornen as he sat down and took a swig of his own wine. "But we cannot simply build a simple wall to shield the realm. Our soldiery needs some semblance of housing, or would you have them live rudely in the wild, exposed to the unforgiving elements of winter."

"They have tents they can raise," said Haradion, "where they can sleep and where supplies and armoury can be housed."

"We are not a rag-tag group of defenders, my friend," said Tuornen with a shake of his head, "but are the great army of Doriath, and the eminent Sindar of Beleriand. I would not have those proud sons of Feanaro look askance at their foes, thinking they should face a paupers army. Nay! They think too much of themselves already."

"That is poor counsel," replied Haradion. "For what pride of Doriath you now seek to project through this grand design of fortification will be void if it means this work is not completed in time, and our enemy should pass through the unfinished breach, and come to Menegroth in secret, with our main force still at the borders, toiling for naught."

"We have eyes from here to Aelin Uial," replied Tuornen. "No army could elude our hidden scouts that watch from the tree-tops."

Haradion looked at Tuornen and sighed. He was not an easy lord to get on with, being as proud as their Golodhrim enemies. But his pride blinded him to the subtleties of strategic counsel. His heart was not wary enough of grim consequences and eventualities. Tuornen would probably laugh if Haradion spoke of the forboding in his heart; the mistrust he had of the sons of Feanaro. Tuornen was cozened by his pride; Haradion and the king were all the more wary by their lack of it. Tuornen however, looked at Haradion with a discerning eye, seeing that the elflord was far from convinced and he sought for an excuse that might ease their situation.

"Besides," he said. "We have fewer men than we should have to aid us."

Haradion's brow darkened in surprise. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"There are elves aplenty in Arthorien," Tuornen replied.

"Then why have you not commissioned them to aid in this task?"

"There are complications," said Tuornen grimly. "Complications of an historical nature."

Haradion leaned forward, setting down his flagon in his eagerness to understand. "What is this you would tell me?" he plied.

There was a knock at the door and in came a tall elf who gave a salute to the two lords.
"Ah, Captain Idhrenor," said Tuornen. "You come late for I sent for you some time ago."

"I received your summons, lord," he replied, "But I was detained by a pressing matter."

"Should I be concerned?" asked Tuornen.

At that, the captain's face seemed troubled. "I am not sure my lord," he said. "What I have heard is strange to me, but it might be nothing."

There was a silence of expectancy on the lords part, and uncertainty upon the captain's.
"Well speak," said Tuornen impatiently.

Idhrenor sighed. "One of our hunters returned with a strange tale. He claims to have seen one of the Onodrim in the woods of Iaur-Ladrenn."

"The Onodrim!" said Tuornen in surprise. "A rare sighting indeed."

"So I thought too. Yet he claimed that it spoke to him, giving a warning."

At that, Haradion felt doubt and foreboding rise in him like a dark cloud of coiling fear. He rose to his feet. "What did it say?" he asked intently.

Idhrenor turned to him. "It said that peril approaches Doriath even now, and that we should ready ourselves as best as we may, for war was coming."

The shadow fell heavy upon the cabin and even Tuornen seemed troubled by the news. Idhrenor looked at both the lords, seeing that they felt as he. As soon as Halon had told his tale, Idhrenor had believed it, or at least wanted to believe it. It had only confirmed what he had personally feared and he made up his mind to tell lord Tuornen and Haradion immediately, though he was unsure how the news would seem to his lords. However, seeing their reaction gave him hope, for instead of ridicule they too seemed genuinely concerned.

Haradion turned to Tuornen with a grim face. "If this is true then things grow ill by the hour. For if indeed the Feanorrim now march upon Doriath even as we speak, then there is all the more need of haste in our labour. No longer can the work tarry for pride. The outer wall only should be our task, and all eyes should look south to the coming of the enemy."

Tuornen seemed deep in stern thought for a moment before he replied. "All the more do we need the aid of Arthorien in this."

"Why do they not aid us here and now?" asked Haradion in his confusion.

"There are old grievances that lie between their people and we of Menegroth," said Tuornen. Haradion sat down again, ready for an explanation. Tuornen turned to Idhrenor. "We thank you for your report," he said. "You may leave us now to discuss this new portent." Idhrenor bowed and made his exit.
Tuornen then rose and took his and Haradion's flagons. "Years ago, before Morgoth and the Golodhrim came, all the lands of Beleriand were free for the Sindar to roam and dwell." He went to the wine barrel and filled their cups. "Many dwelt in those days in the northern reaches of Hithlum. There they remained even after Morgoth returned, and they too lived side by side with the Golodhrim in days after." Here he gave Haradion his refill and sat down. "But in those days Morgoth would send raiding parties that captured many of the northern Sindar, and he enslaved them in the black pits of Angband. But some he released after a while as tortured souls who were helplessly under his dominion. These were tasked to sow evil and dissent among the free folk. Others also were become spies who learned the counsels of the Eldar, and reported back to their dark master all that they could tell." He took a long swig of his wine. "Now Thingol came to know of this and he had small love for the northern Sindar. But when came the Dagor Bragollach, the Sindar who were still free fled the north and begged to enter Doriath and the safety of the Girdle. Now Thingol would not wholly abandon his people, and yet he did not trust them. Therefore he gave way and assented to their plea, but none would he allow to dwell in Menegroth or the lands about. Rather he gave to them Arthorien, far from his halls yet still protected by the Girdle. Yet his mistrust never waned and on their part rose anger and bitterness at their treatment by their brethren and by the king. For they held that because of a few were they all now condemned, and most of the Doriathrim of Menegroth followed the hard attitudes of the king. And that bitterness and anger festers still between our peoples, though Thingol is no more."

Haradion sighed. "I see," he said with a sorrowful shake of his head. "And so the dissent that Morgoth willed proved victorious even here."

Tuornen smiled grimly. "So it would seem. And that black will still runs deep, for since Thingol's death we have attempted at times to reconcile with them, but they hold the grudge close and deem themselves apart from Doriath and its woes. That was shown to us when the dwarves invaded our land. For the road passes by their bounds, yet they hardly lifted a finger to thwart the dwarven force that marched upon it, and that has not been forgotten in Menegroth."

"So, they will not aid us even now in our quarrel with the Feanorrim," observed Haradion.

"I think not," Tuornen replied. "But we have not asked them. For many, including myself, the asking sticks in our throats for we also have pride. And after the betrayal of the Dagor Dornoth, our inclination to ask for aid from them in any endeavour is far less than it was before."

"Yet our need is dire enough to forgo sentiments of bitterness and pride," replied Haradion. "We must go to them and ask for their aid, for if we are not united in this, Doriath may surely fall."

Tuornen was silent for a moment, then he sighed and stood. "It is much that you ask, and had I not heard Idhrenor's report, I would have gone against your counsel. Yet in my heart arises a new doubt that I cannot ignore."

"Be that as it may, I shall go to Arthorien to speak with them," said Haradion as he rose. "That same doubt arose in me many days ago, for ever have I mistrusted the Feanorrim." He made his way to the door.

"We will need horses," said Tuornen behind him.

"We?" said Haradion, turning to him.

"Yes, we," said Tuornen. "I shall be coming with you."

~oOo~ Soon an embassy of nine elves left the elven camp, Haradion with the four knights of his house who had come with him, along with Tuornen with three of his own. They rode upon the newly made road that joined the towers and their enclosures along the walled border of Region, heading back eastward. They passed these towers that were built at roughly two mile intervals, and at each were garrisoned many soldiers with a captain in command. At twenty miles up they came upon lord Faelir whose garrison housed many Noldorin warriors, and he too joined the embassy as a show of support. They rode on through the day, stopping little to rest or at some tower outpost to observe or converse with the captains they met, telling all to double their watches, and send scouts far afield to the south to look for any signs of an approaching army. And so dusk fell, the grey skies began to darken, and the shadows of the forest lengthened. Fifty miles they had ridden when they finally came to the inflow of the Celon into Aros. Here they halted and set up camp by the banks of Aros that bordered the giant oaks. There was no wall here as it began two miles southward, for the Aros was broad, being fed by the Celon, and was thought to be determent enough for any intruder. Between the arms of the two rivers stood the beginnings of the oaken forest of Arthorien, and the only way to reach it from where the elves now camped was by a bridge of plank and ropes, fit for walking only, that swayed a few feet above the dark waters of the Aros.

Two they now sent across the river, and Haradion bid them to find if they could, the elf named Haldir. He would be tasked to speak with the chief of Arthorien, and bid him come to a parley. And so they rested and night came cold and dark, for the fire they lit gave little warmth. The chill dampened their spirits as they thought of Doriath's situation. For a few of them in their hearts had not thought that the Feanorrim would come with war, though almost all had supported the keeping of the Silmaril. But that dreadful outcome now seemed very real to them, and a desperation grew with their fears. They needed all the peoples of Doriath to aid in the coming defense of the realm, yet they felt little hope would come from Arthorien, and that they had embarked upon a fool's errand. And they felt very lonesome, camped there at night in the cold wilds of their land, with the great shadow of the north bearing down upon them, as well as a creeping shadow coming up to them from the south. All seemed against them, and no aid would come, not even from their own folk who dwelt in their land. Such were the dismal thoughts and feelings of that small group of elves who sat huddled in silence about the weak flames. And the dark wore on and it grew colder still as they listened to the swirling waters go by, but when the night grew old and the first vestiges of a grey dawn tinted the sky, three figures approached them, coming silently over the rope-bridge.

"Hail son of Falathar," cried Haradion as he came forward to clasp Haldir's hand. "It is good to see you well."

"Greetings," said Haldir in return. "I am honoured once again to be in the presence of the great lords of Doriath." He then proceeded to greet all the others.

"I take it you know our purpose and have done as we bid," said Tuornen.

"I have," said Haldir. "Orthoron our chief was not pleased by the summons, but I think curiosity got the better of him. He will come."

And so they sat and waited, and the daylight grew to an icy dawn, and the frost clung hard to the ground and barbed icicles bordered the river bank like dripping spear-tips. And as the elves looked up to the heavy sky, they felt the soft caress of floating ice that was loosed at last from the heavens; the first snows of winter. So the day drew on and they now spoke much amongst themselves, and asked Haldir about his people; about their numbers and their inclinations, but little was to their liking, for Haldir's words gave them less hope of a reconcilliation. Orthoron it seemed still held his grudge with Doriath and had heavily rebuked Haldir for his involvement in the doings of the realm. Indeed, Orthoron now saw Arthorien as an independent realm, beholden to no one but himself and his people. His attitude towards the Doriathrim was that though they may not be his enemies, they certainly were not his friends.
Soon it were noon and the group had fallen silent again as they sat in a circle about the fire, all wrapped in thick grey and brown cloaks that were lined in fur and hooded. The snow continued to fall and soon the forest about them was coated in a white silken blanket, and the trees stood stark and empty about them. After a while, Haldir looked up with a questioning glance.

"He saw one of the Onodrim you say," he uttered in his wonder. "Such an encounter is special indeed, for the sight of them is so rare that I and many others have only half believed that they live at all."

"But they do live," said Haradion. "Many of my people have claimed to have seen them in Ossiriand. At dawn and dusk are when they wander most, but they seldom have anything to say to us. Their business is their own and they have little to no interest in the affairs of elves and men."

"Yet here is one that has done otherwise," said Faelir grimly. "But I needed not his counsel to know the wiles of the enemy. Did I not follow them and live with them? A dark power of lust drives the Feanorrim, and they would lay waste to all the elven kingdoms to regain those jewels."

"And perhaps I was at fault," said Tuornen, "for I did not fully understand that." He sighed. "Even now they march, gaining on us with every step. The foreboding in my heart tells me this is so. And yet here we sit, awaiting aid that shall not be forthcoming I deem." He rose in his frustration. "This is a fool's errand!" he cried. "We should leave and go back to our fortifications where we may do what we can with what we have to reinforce them."

"Nay," said Haradion. "We must wait a little longer, until dusk at least. Orthoron said he will come, and I believe he will, if not to gloat at our misfortune at the very least."

Tuornen gave way, for all the others were of like mind, and they endured the snow and the cold for many hours longer until the grey of day began to deepen again, and the hour of dusk was at hand. Then one gave a shout, and they saw a group of elves attired like Haldir, make their way across the rope bridge. They all stood, unsure of what to expect as the newcomers came before them, grim and silent, with glinting eyes and stern faces. Haldir then stood between the two embassys, and introduced each to the other. Then Orthoron stepped forward, and he was a tall elf whose eyes gleamed the most with intent, though for good or ill they did not yet know.

"So finally we are granted an audience with the Doriathrim," he said as an aside to his followers. "But not to talk of a reconcilliation between our peoples, I deem."

"That is indeed why we are here," said Haradion. "For too long have our peoples estrangement come between us. But the time has come to set aside old differences and renew old friendships and bonds of kinship."

"So says the Silvan lord," said Orthoron with a laugh that was joined by his fellows. He turned his eyes to Tuornen and his face became stern. "But what of the lord of the Doriathrim here. Can he not speak for himself or his people, or do words stick in his throat as does his good will?"

Tuornen returned his gaze with a dark look. "I stand with Haradion," he said, "or else I should not have lingered here for hours in the deepening snow and chill winds. Is that not enough?"

"Pah!" exclaimed Orthoron with a dismissive wave of the hand. "There is no welcome in your tone and bearing, but gentle rebuke of the proud to the lowly for having been kept waiting in discomfort. But such has been the way of the Doriathrim to my people from the very beginning. Thingol hated us, and would not have granted us sanctuary were it not for Melian's wise counsel." He turned to his comrades who were nodding at his words. "The king accused us of being thralls and spies of Morgoth, because we lived nigh to the mountains of the north. But those were ever our lands in the long years before the Dark Lord returned to harass us. And we did not flee when he returned, for our homes were as dear to us as Doriath was to Thingol and his people. We defended our livelihood as we could, until the dark tide overwhelmed us during the defeat that was the Dagor Bragollach. Only then were we forced to leave, being faced by a sea of foes that swept away all valour and defiance."

"Yet is it not true that there were those of your people who were captured during the years of the Siege, whom became spies of Morgoth, being daunted by his power and dark will?" said Tuornen.

Orthoron set his glinting eyes upon him though Tuornen returned his glance with a steely stare. "Whom of the Sindar, the Noldor or the Silvan elves was truly safe in those days of watchful peace?" Orthoron replied. "And if you were doomed to capture and the enslavement that followed, could you long hold back from the evil power of a Vala? Indeed, a few of our people fell victim to the guile of Morgoth that forced them against their will to ill deeds against their brethren. Yet thralls and spies of all the kindreds of the elves of Beleriand reside now in Angband, or roam the lands as his eyes and ears, unwilling at heart yet commited to his will through the force of his power. But to condemn an entire people to an atitude of mistrust and hate because of the deeds of a few? Nay, that was never fair nor wise, and was a failing in Thingol and you as a people, who followed him unquestioningly, being haughty and pitiless to my people."

Tuornen opened his mouth but had no words in answer. His shoulders fell and he bowed his head. Orthoron nodded as he watched him. "Yea, the truth comes home to you at last," he said grimly. "But it comes over-late to soothe the anger in my heart. Grudgingly you accepted us into your land, so grudgingly do I hold you now. Yet you all came here for a purpose... say what you will and be done!" He spoke harshly now, as one whose long anger and bitterness is vindicated by the offending party, and would now lash out to sate his wounded pride. Tuornen did not stir or look up, but Faelir came a step forward.

"We hear you lord," he said with palms raised in supplication. "There is cause for your bitterness, but also a greater cause for your forgiveness."

"Ah! Lord Faelir of the Golodhrim," said Orthoron with a dark glance. "A lord of the proudest people of all! How low you have become to plead to such as I."

"I plead for naught save the wisdom that you say has been lacking in Doriath."

"Aye, there it is," said Orthoron with a gentle sneer. "The plea of the assumed high with a tone of command to the perceived low." He shook his head. "The Golodhrim have much to answer for as to the sorrows of Beleriand and its true peoples. Ever stirring evil with not a thought to anyone but themselves in what they do. High and mighty you once were, and proud not the least. Yet what has come of all your lofty counsels, your epic wars, your great kingdoms that displaced the Sindar. Now all has been brought low and you wander the wilds unhoused and bereft of your old power, begging for sanctuary from those you once held in little regard. What will you say here lord Faelir, you whose brethren now seek to destroy us?"

"We seek aid my lord," Faelir replied, undaunted by Orthoron's dark words against him and his people.

"Aid?" said Orthoron. He turned to his followers and they began to laugh. The lords of Doriath watched in silence, their hearts sinking with the realisation that there was little to no hope of the outcome they were all hoping for in the negotiation. The thought irked Tuornen and riled him to shrug and turn away.

"This is pointless!" he cried. "I told you but you would not listen," he said to Haradion. "They will not help. Not even for honours sake."

"Honour!" cried Orthoron, whipping around to face him with a face like thunder. "What would you know of honour?"

"Peace!" said Haradion with a raised hand. "We came not to a confrontation of anger. That shall come soon enough with the army that now marches daily towards our borders."

"So, the sons of Feanaro are on the move," said Orthoron with dark amusement. "Surely you have more important things to do such as shoring up your defence, than to be conversing with the likes of me."

"And that is why we have come," said Haradion. "For you are part of Doriath whether you accept that or not, and therefore are bound by an allegiance to the realm. You must aid us in our defence."

"So the Silvan elf, the lowliest of us all, commands us!" Orthoron cried, to more laughter from his fellows.

But Haradion endured their scorn with calm silence, and only when their laughter had died down did he stir. "No, I do not command you," he said softly. Orthoron turned about slowly, his amusement fading from his face. "But the king of Doriath does," Haradion ended.

Orthoron looked slowly at each of the lords faces. They looked a desperate trio as a sense of helplessness lay about them. He looked at their knights, huddled around the meagre flames of the campfire that hissed and sputtered in the cold airs. He remembered when he and his people had been the same, a people brought low with hopelessness and sorrows, trekking through the wilderness in fear and desperation. Doriath had been a final solution yet its peoples cold welcome had grieved them and sown a long bitterness that would be hard to assuage. Thingol did not even allow any of Orthoron's people to come within the halls of Menegroth. Neither would he meet with any embassy from Arthorien and if it had not been for Melian the Wise, who knows what evil fate would have long engulfed them. For at that time Arthorien was not within the bounds of the Girdle, and rumour had it that Thingol would have had it remain so. But it were Melian who by her own counsel changed her veil of protection so that it encompassed the oaken borders that looked east, thus bringing his people within the misty folds of protection. Were she still here, Orthoron would have assented with ease to the needs of the realm. But she was long gone and all that remained were guilty of past transgressions against his people. Nay, his heart was still hot, and he had prayed for such a day of vengeance to come to him, that he might return the favour and spurn any official decree for reconcilliation. But the Doriathrim had not earned it, no matter the dire situation that now called for it.

Orthoron turned back to Haradion. "Tell the king that I refuse his command," he said bluntly. "Arthorien was always treated as a realm unto itself, with no formal ties to Doriath. That was king Thingol's haughty attitude and we learned to accept it. I see no reason to change things now. Thus as I am chief I say my responsibilities are to Arthorien alone, a land of which Dior has no power over. If he would disagree, let him come here himself and we should discuss it. Therefore I say to you go now and see to your war, and may the Vala aid you in your trial, for Arthorien certainly will not."

With that, he turned to leave and his followers fell in behind him, turning their backs to the incredulous faces of the lords of Doriath. One of his followers halted by the bridge and turned back. "Haldir!" he cried, but the elf shook his head...he had made his choice. The follower turned away in disgust and made his way with the others across the rope-bridge and were soon lost to sight within the wintry grey of the oaken wood. The lords of Doriath stared after them in despair, seeing a vital hope recede from them with every step. Hope they still had for themselves with the forces they had. For the Doriathrim under Dior were still a numerous people, but their men were fewer than their womenfolk, and more were children. Yet what warriors they had were skilled in warfare, being schooled by the grim dwarves, and desperacy was an apt hone to valour. They would have to suffice.

Tuornen grunted his disgust at their situation. "Did I not say this plan was a folly," he said to Haradion with a shake of his head. "Orthoron and his people lack all notions of elvish regard and respect. For even if their grievances to us are sound, yet still should they avail us of their aid to defend our land, for honours sake at the very least."

Haradion sighed. "The bitterness of the past runs deep and it has merit," he said after a thoughtful pause. "We should have been mindful to this quarrel when we chose to rebuild the realm. Alas, we gave little thought to it, and now we are punished for our lack of tact." He sighed again. "Well things will go as they will, for good and for ill. Such is the way of it." He turned to Haldir. "Yet here is some good that has come of our meeting, for I am glad indeed that you have remained with us."

Haldir bowed to him. "I thank you lord," he said. "Yet the ill far outweighs the good in my mind, for where many hands were expected to give aid in toil and warfare now only two have you aquired. I am grieved and ashamed that this is so, yet I am ready to serve and yours to command. The chieftain of Arthorien may refuse the call, yet still his realm shall be represented in this for I shall be my peoples banner."

Faelir came forward and bowed to Haldir. "We hear you son of Falathar," he said. "Yet your two willing hands shall be of far greater account to us than the many that may have assented, yet would have been unwilling. We shall serve together, you and I, representing our peoples who were admitted in our need and found solace in fair Doriath, and would now repay the grave debt in gratitude.

"Indeed that was bravely done," said Tuornen. "To go against your people as a lone voice of reason, risking wrath and more besides. But my heart is warmed and my disappointment lessened to know that you are with us." He stepped forward and bowed before Haldir. "You have my thanks, my gratitude and my respect." Haldir stammered a gracious reply to the lords show of honour to him and they smiled at his muttering. Tuornen then turned to Haradion. "Well I and Faelir shall return to the borders and redouble our efforts for our defenses, now that we all can agree that peril approaches. But what of you?"

"I shall return to the king with what is now before us," replied Haradion. "He shall be grieved and yet have much to think about. Perhaps we shall be forced to send more of the city's soldiery to the borders, and yet leave Menegroth ill defended. That is a grave matter that shall have to be addressed."

"Then perhaps the ill received notion of our womenfolk training to fight shall not seem so bad," said Faelir.

Tuornen grit his teeth. "Have we surely come to that," he grimaced. "I thought it a jest when I heard but now even I can see its merit, though I am ashamed to admit it."

"If indeed that counsel prevails," said Faelir, "then it shall be readily done, for the women of the Noldor will train them well."

Haradion nodded. "Such is our desperation, my lords. Nothing is off the table in this grave matter." He turned his eyes to the grey south. "When our enemy comes they shall find more than they bargained, for we shall not give up this realm lightly."

With that, the lords parted with sombre farewells, Tuornen and Faelir heading back to the borders and Haradion headed for the dwarf road that led to Menegroth. With him went Haldir who trudged alongside him in the snow swept forest with a heavy heart. All his fears since that fateful day he had met the sons of Feanaro were realised, and he found himself an outcast and a soldier in a war of terrible consequence. A part of him wished he had left his home earlier, or later than he had. Then he would not have been the one to meet with the princes. Then he would have made it to Estolad, heedless of the grim goings-on of the realm. But now he was a part of it, indeed he began it. He was afraid for himself as well as his realm. A realm that had thrived for so long secure in its peace. But all things change for better or for ill. That was to be expected even for elves and elvish kingdoms. But the black thought grew in his mind that this change was not for good, nor even was it for ill. His overwhelming feeling was that this change ultimately was for evil.

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Author's Commentary:Nothing to say except sorry for the 3 year delay. If anyone is still reading this thing, I give a heartfelt thanx and I shall strive to complete this tale.

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.

Thanx!