When Evelyn finally arrived at her room she was exhausted. She and Nightshade practically collapsed into the bed and slept, waking with the first rays of dawn as they oft were inclined to. She stood and readied herself for the journey ahead, inspecting her newly forged weapons and carefully testing the sharpness of every blade. Beside her, Nightshade sat and watched in silent companionship as Evelyn re-checked the packs of supplies that she had pilfered from the kitchens the night before. Evelyn took her old blades and left them on the pillow, reminding herself that there was every chance that this would be the last she ever saw of the little circular room.
She was ready to go.
Evelyn stood and walked to the door when Nightshade hummed softly.
The Golden-one left something outside. I can hear him coming.
Evelyn too, knew that Glorfindel was approaching. She could feel that strange flutter deep beneath her breastbone as she always did whenever Glorfindel was near. She wasn't sure when it started to occur, but it made it impossible for her to not notice when Glorfindel approached. Evelyn swung her packs over her shoulder and braced herself.
She opened the door.
There, fussing slightly over a large, cloth-covered object was Glorfindel who straightened when they appeared.
"Elenya, Nightshade," he tipped his head in acknowledgment and Nightshade hummed in approval.
It didn't escape Evelyn's mind that Glorfindel was the only one save herself who ever acknowledged Nightshade. Perhaps that's why Nightshade seems to like him, a small voice in the back of Evelyn's mind thought.
"I-" Glorfindel looked suddenly nervous. "I have a gift for you... to help you on your way."
Without further ado, he pulled on the cloth and revealed two sets of beautiful armor. They were smokey black, and tailored perfectly; one to fit Evelyn, one to fit Nightshade. Evelyn reached out a hand, brushing lightly over the metal. It was polished until gleaming, and yet it didn't reflect light as normal armor would. Instead, it was like looking in smoke rising from a campfire at night, it was a blackness that was deep and encompassing with the barest hint of a light. She ran her fingers gently along the smooth curves, feeling the strength of the metal and the fine, gleaming points of the sharpened edges.
"...took a little longer than I expected so it wasn't ready yesterday..." Evelyn belatedly noticed that Glorfindel was still speaking, his words coming out in a jumble as he seemed to be half rambling. There was a high chance that her silence was unnerving him... she had learned that many found it off-putting as she likely would have a good several years ago. "But anyway... it's elvish steel and mithril so it's incredibly light. It shouldn't affect your flying."
Evelyn decided to test that last statement as she lifted the armor from the wooden mannequin. To her surprise, it couldn't have been more than a few pounds. If it weren't for the fact that she had felt it herself and that she was in Middle Earth, she would've assumed it to be made of plastic.
"May I?" Glorfindel asked, holding out his hands as he asked for permission.
Evelyn nodded and he assisted her in buckling the armor on. First were the greaves, then the breastplate and pauldron. Finally, he secured the wing pieces. They contoured perfectly with the curves of her wings and each joint along the ridge collapsed nicely to allow her to fold her wings on her back as she usually did. The mithril mail felt as light and flexible as silk but she knew that it would protect her better than any steel. She then turned to Nightshade, and once again Glorfindel silently assisted her in fastening the armor onto the wolf.
When Evelyn stood, she found that she could still move easily as she stretched and flexed. She then set abut strapping all her weapons back onto herself and the dwarves blade and packs onto Nightshade. When she finished, she looked to Glorfindel.
"Thank you..." she was at a loss, but the blinding smile that Glorfindel gave her made that little flutter deep in her chest palpitate.
"I- I understand why you feel you have to do this alone..." he hesitated a moment, obviously pained by his words. "But... please... be careful."
Evelyn paused a moment. Part of her didn't believe that Glorfindel would listen and stay away. If he was anything, he was persistent, and Evelyn really wasn't sure exactly what she thought she could do to take down Saruman without the help of the ents. If she failed and if Isengard still stood, then Glorfindel might just walk straight into a trap.
"I'll make a deal with you," it was the only thing she could think of that might successfully keep him away from the evil wizard. "If you swear to stay away from Isengard... both before and after Helm's Deep, then I swear that I will do all that I can to meet you in Minas Tirith."
There was a long paused, then Glorfindel agreed.
Evelyn released an exhale and hesitated for a slight moment. She didn't know how to say goodbye, so she didn't. One moment she was staring into the sad and hopeful eyes of the elf, and the next, she had turned on her heels and was walking away. She could hear the slight clicking of Nightshade's nails on the stone behind her and she could sense Glorfindel's presence as he silently followed.
They reached the courtyard and, without looking back, Evelyn spread her wings and took to the skies. Below her, Nightshade was sprinting with long strides, covering the ground at a rate that would put any stallion to shame. The wind whipped through Evelyn's hair as the rising sun warmed her back. Her newly acquired armor was light and flexible, moving with her as she rode updrafts and sweeping currents of air. As she flew, Evelyn clenched her eyes tightly, refusing to look down at the lone figure standing at the marble arches below. She ignored the little flutter in her chest as it grew dimmer the further she went.
We'll see him again, she told Nightshade.
The wolf released a long howl in response.
Saruman surveyed the depths of his fortresss. Around the ring of his tower were crates dug deep into the earth, the home of his underground breeding grounds and weapons smithies. The land gaped open like the maw of a great best ready to consume any who stood in his way.
The forges of Isengard were alight with burning orange as the flames were fed by ancient trees felled each day by his growing army. Every hour was filled with new creatures being born, new helms and weapons forged to strengthen his ranks. He was proud of his creations, his Fighting Uruk-hai, beings bred of men and Uruks. They were stronger, smarter, and faster than their predecessors whilst holding the ability to move unhindered under the sun. He, Saruman the Great, managed to do what Sauron and Melkor failed time and time again.
Sauron, the puppet of Melkor, was so bent on loyalty to his old master that he never sought to change, to improve the work of his predecessor. He was still bent on his little ring that he had once allowed through arrogance to fall into the hands of a mere man. It was pitiful.
Now, Sauron's arrogance threatened to hold Saruman back. The wizard had had the perfect plan. If breeding Uruk-hai with men created the astounding beasts that it did, then breeding them with elves would surly create the greatest army imaginable. And Saruman tried, he tried many times. It was not easy to acquire test subjects, but he did manage to obtain a few elves who had strayed too far from the boarders of Lorien. Sadly though, the only ones he ever acquired where pitiful Silvans. They were elves of the trees and Middle Earth, they were lesser than their kin whose ancestors had made the Great Journey, never touched Aman. Their bodies couldn't handle the strain and thus they died beneath his blades.
He knew one that would be able to, he knew one that would survive and give him the army he wanted.
Glorfindel.
The legendary re-born Balrog Slayer.
Saruman was well acquainted the the curious elven lord. Glorfindel, or Laurefindele as he had been known in Aman, was among the party greeting Saruman and the other Istari when they first arrived on their ship. Saruman had watched the warrior through the years, always present whenever the White Council met. He knew that the Valar had not sent him back entirely as his original form, they had invested in him some form of extra power.
He would be perfect.
But no, Sauron saw the claim that the little Valar-born girl had placed and decided to bargain with her- as if she could ever prove a threat. Sauron ignored the advice of him, Saruman the Wise, and foolishly pursued this girl's favor.
No matter though.
His experiments of elves and Uruk-hai may have failed, but he still commanded an army bearing his White Hand. He still had his forges turning out weapons and armor faster than any smiths of men could possibly compete with. He alone, unlike Sauron who had failed twice before, could truly control a Ring of Power. He would first claim the One, then take Narya, which should have been his, from Olorin. With that power he could march on Lorien and claim Nenya and invade Imladris for Vilya.
I will do what no others have done before... I will rule over all.
The forest of Fangorn had long stood silent. Its trees were ancient, planted in the days before they spread through seeds and instead were each granted life by their creator, the Vala Yavanna. Those trees had come into being in the time when the Great Plains of Rohan were a forest so thick that the tree canopy served as a highway from the Sea of Ruhn to Belegaer.
For many years, as forest were razed and trees were cleared across Middle Earth, Fangorn remained untouched. Even when Saruman, the arrogant Istari who turned from his order in search of power, only dared to clear the trees along the edges. They said that dark beasts roamed Fangorn, that the water was strange and the creatures who drank it grew beyond what was deemed natural.
No one knew if such was true, for no one dared to enter Fangorn's depths. Well... no one willingly that is.
The two small figures, wrists still red from rope burns, were running for their lives. They had been held captive by foul orcs and had been under the impression that they were very close to ending up on the menu for dinner. Then, there was an attack. Men on horseback came from nowhere, swords gleaming in the pale moonlight as they set upon the host of orcs. The two figures ran in the only direction that seemed likely to save their lives- Fangorn forest.
And that was how they ended up in the eerie place. Merry and Pippin, two Hobbits of the Shire who by all rights had no illusions of grandeur or ambition for conquest and power, ended up in the place that men thought of as cursed and elves as forbidden. The ancient trees grew thick around them, twisted and gnarled branches leaned over and threatened to knock foreheads whilst thick roots attempted to trip them as they stumbled to safety.
"Are we being followed?! Did we loose them?" Pippin was panicked. He had never felt so scared in his life as he and Merry collapsed against a thick tree trunk.
He tried to listen over the sound of his rabbiting heart for any sign of their pursuers. He heard an owl screeching and insects chirping all around.
"I- I think-" Merry began but was cut off by the distinct sound of footsteps. "Run!" Merry screamed, all chances of stealth gone as they picked a direction at random and sprinted as fast as their legs could carry them.
They ran: leaping over roots and stone, ducking beneath branches, stumbling and helping each other up in turn. But, nothing seemed to work. They could hear the steps of their pursuers close behind, they could smell his rancid stench. The orcs screeched in fury over loosing their targets. They were out for blood and no longer cared about the orders of their Master.
"The trees!" Merry yelled. "Climb a tree!"
And with that, Pippin was scrambling up the nearest trunk. Despite his panic and the trembling in his limbs, his climb was surprisingly steady. He knew how to do this, he had climbed trees many times when he was a faunt and he channeled every hour spent in the idyllic Shire as he pulled himself up the branches. He finally reached a height where he felt safe and he smiled in triumph, turning to the search for his cousin.
Merry wasn't as fast as him and had cleared about half the distance up the trunk. It was at that moment that Merry made the mistake of looking down and Pippin was stuck in place, watching in horror as an orc lept upwards, grasping Merry by his ankle and yanking him to the ground.
"Merry!" He cried in horror as the Hobbit bravely attempted to strike the orc with his feet.
The blow only had the effect of making the creature angrier as the rest of the group, some twenty orcs caught up. The foul creature standing above Merry licked the edge of his filthy blade, grinning with a smile that was all hunger as it loomed over Pippins closest friend.
He was helpless, there was nothing he could do. He was about to watch Merry slaughtered and eaten by orcs after surviving so long of their journey. He felt like a coward, but he was too afraid.
Pippin clenched his eyes shut, gripping the tree so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was waiting for the scream, for the dying shriek of his friend as he was sliced by an orc.
It never came.
Whoosh. Thud.
Pippin opened his eyes and watched as the orc that had been ready to gut Merry went cross eyed, looking at the long, black arrow that protruded from his forehead. Everyone, the Hobbits and orcs alike, froze as the orc in question swayed slightly before collapsing in a heap.
Then it was chaos.