First Warnings

Author's Note: This is my first Silmarillion story, although I haven't yet finished reading it. As such, if this is not consistent with the canon, please leave a review and I will see if I can change it. Also, this means that I am not sure if this story will stay, since I like to be in line with the canon (please do tell me if it is not! And if this story is better fit in the Lord of the Rings). It is in the Silmarillion because it takes place in the second age, a while before the Last Alliance. For now.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or anything except my own ideas.

Here's the story:

Chapter 1

As a junior councillor, you will be assigned to different stations every three months, familiarising yourself with the workings of the Rivendell. This term, you have been assigned to a mission under Captain Glorfindel to scout the surroundings nearby and clear off any potential threats to the city, if possible…

Erestor stopped reading and folded the letter neatly before keeping it in a small pack. It had been two months now and he knew the contents of the letter by heart, yet he still read it every night as if the letter gave him some comfort. No, it was not that he did not get along well with the warriors, but more that he felt he did not belong to such an elite group of warriors, captained by Lord Glorfindel no less! He had not much experience in scouting missions and despite much assurance from the other recruits, he sometimes felt that his fighting skills were still not up to their match. He could handle a weapon well, but the other warriors just seemed to be near invincible.

Erestor sat watching the snow fall lightly, cloaking the forest in a layer of white as he took the first watch. Most of his companions were asleep now and only two others were awake, keeping a look out in all directions which their enemy might chance them upon. For the past two months, nothing had disturbed their peace, apart from an occasional warg or two, which they felled. Yet it was still better to be safe than sorry.

He stared at the moon hanging in the sky partially covered by clouds, illuminating the forest with its light, before his eyes wandered to the forest that lay beyond. How deceptively calm the forest looked! The branches shook silently as light winds blew on them. Occasionally, a nocturnal bird flew past them and small animals scuttled across the forest floor before disappearing into the earth.

Suddenly, his ears detected a shuffling of feet that clearly did not belong to the forest. Immediately, he signalled to his counterparts, one of whom went towards him. Together, they treaded silently and quickly towards the source of the unnatural sound, and it was only a few miles away when they finally traced the origin of the sound. Both peered cautiously past the bushes and into a small clearing.

Orcs and wargs—many of them! The two stared at the group, horrified. There were enough of them to outnumber the whole group. Their only chance of escaping was in fleeing and seeking reinforcements back in Rivendell. Yet even that might be too late. The orcs were preciously near them and could easily overtake them should they know of their existence. They must make a smooth and swift escape.

Quickly, the pair ran back towards the camp and woke the rest of the group. Erestor was glad that the small fire they had made earlier had been doused at nightfall—he could not imagine the tragedy that would have happened had the orcs traced them through the smoke. Yet he, as were the rest of the elves, was confused: how was it possible that the orcs had come so near them, yet they had not known of their existence? Was it coincidental that the orcs were here? Or were they here to trick them to retreat into a trap?

However, the most important thing now was escape, and he quickly threw these questions to the back of his head. Concentrating on his surroundings, he prayed that the night would remain still and that the dim light of the moon would not give them away. Full armours were worn, weapons were wielded and everyone was in their battle formation, tense, waiting, retreating.

-To be continued-