The Turn of the Tide
Jenna Manchulenko
Staring through the darkest depths of the forest, its dark corners able to threaten even the most staunch and gruesome beings. But not Gandalf the wandering wizard, he travelled down these paths that he knew all too well. The branches cracked and the wind sang eerily. Not even the screech of the odd crebain could make him jump. The silence could be deafening to those who were uncertain of Mirkwood. Gandalf was an old wizard, one of the five Istari (and one of the wisest), he was cloaked in grey, he bore a blue pointed had which sat upon his long grey hair and beard which was thick with silver; it didn't help given his current stature. Sometimes if it was caught in the right sun light you would be blinded.
Although he was wise and had a great knowledge for many a thing, he often forgot which way he needed to go. This meant he would stop for short periods of time during his journeys just to remember a certain smell or sound he had heard the last time he was there in order to tell him which way he needed to go. As he came closer to Dol Guldur it became dark and dead. Nothing grew in the southern corners or Mirkwood anymore, no life, no light, and no love has been found there since before the dark ages. There were no leaves to be found on the trees, only bare bark that was dry and cracking. The ground was hard as dragon scales. It creaked and crunched with every step he took. Gandalf came upon a tall black iron gate which was full of cobwebs and dust. He made his way past and headed towards the dark tower until he felt a chill run down his spine.
He made quickly through the halls of the tower with his wooden staff in one hand and his sword upright in the other. He arrived at what he presumed was the dungeon. The wizard had heard faint coughs from one of the cells. To his surprise it was Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain. Gandalf had heard rumors of his capture by the Necromancer of Dol Guldur, yet believed none until he saw with his own eyes.
"Here," Thrain reached out his pale, pasty hands to Gandalf. He hesitantly walked towards the dwarf not knowing what to expect. "Tharkûn?" he inquired (Tharkûn was what the dwarves termed Gandalf).
"Yes, it is me" Gandalf announced.
"You must leave," he shouted, "evil forces are at work, ones of Lord Sauron". He looked frightened and spoke with a hesitant but quick tone. He was afraid.
"Sauron is gone".
"No Gandalf, he is not" he wept.
Gandalf's heart started to beat even faster. He too was now scared. The worried look that was once on his face was now turned to anger. The squawk of crebain now made Gandalf feel quite uneasy.
"We haven't much time before he returns Tharkûn, take these," he whispered. He reached into his shirt and pulled out two things; one was a folded piece of cloth with dwarvish runes, the other looked to be a black key, it too had markings on it. It was no ordinary key for any old door. No, this was a key crafted by the skill of the dwarves and for the lost city of Erebor. "The Necromancer took my ring" he said finally.
Gandalf looked puzzled. He was able to reach through the thick iron bars of Thrain's cell and grasp the key and map before the eyes of Thrain went dark. The light quickly vanished along with his last breaths. The crebain screeched loudly and started to scatter. No sooner did Gandalf leave the dungeons did he see the faint shadow of a man in the distance. It was black and getting closer and closer. Although Gandalf was no coward, he fled not knowing what to expect next.
Once Gandalf had reached the Southern border of Mirkwood on foot, he couldn't breathe. He used whatever breath he had in him to whistle a small tune of short high and low pitches. Before long a white stallion came galloping towards him from the distant plains.
"Ah Shadowfax, my old friend," Gandalf then muttered something to the horse in an exquisite language of the elves. He embarked on his journey east towards Orthanc to seek council from the head of his order, Saruman.
Gandalf travelled long and hard over the vast plains of Rohan. Its fields covered in yellow and brown. It was home of the horse lords, and of Théoden King. The light surrounded the plains for miles as he rode.