Elves

Now that the company has settled within Ost Galadh, the elves are ready to meet Agorin of the Malledhrim in order to discuss their further actions.

For it is Agorin's letter that had urged them to cross the Anduin a few days ago.

She always had been silent and inconspicuous.

Some of the company had fought alongside her against the goblins upon the Misty Mountains.

The pressure within the air lessens, and the path turns into a road, getting broader and quite flat.

Soon, the elves catch sight of high walls and guarded gates.

She is clad in green and black, with silver hair, holding a long war-bow.

Upon seeing her, Ráolor sighs. "Oh no. Not her."

"We should move."

Turumor nocks an arrow.

Rustling noise.

Ráolor, walking at the rear, turns around.

"What was that?"

The air is thick. Tall are the trees, but frail and sickly. Their branches reach high, but a smothering darkness has almost wholly prevailed over the very life itself.

The company of elves is traveling in several small groups, trying to stay low-profile, moving by stealth through the forest.

The crossing has run smoothly.

The boats make a creaking sound upon touching the soil.

They have arrived at the other side, and the memory of Lórien's light mingles with the shadows of Mirkwood.

After speaking with his old commander and his brother at length Khalis spends some time to break bread and share a glass of wine before heading onward with the patrol.

He is reminded of the up and coming Ball held by Bar En Vanimar each year and how he has never been seen to dance there. The brothers take great pleasure is making Khalis feel very foolhardy after he demonstrates his feeble skill at dancing to them.