- Amdir dead, wraiths in Bree, four hobbits missing, their chieftain missing, lightning on Amon Sûl. And that's only the start of it. Radagast had mentioned Garth Agarwen to Gandalf, who then mentioned it to Saeradan before disappearing into the Blue, and he'd been alarmed enough to visit Candaith a month early. Seeing the lightning en route and finding his camp abandoned, the Ranger had trekked on to Ost Guruth, arriving the same morning Candaith had.

- You can breathe, you know. Candaith had interrupted him candidly part-way into this speech. Perhaps the deluge of fell tidings should have alarmed him more, but by now it's pretty much all he expects. (Saeradan had glared at him, took a pointedly deep breath, and continued.)

- The older Ranger truly has little time to spare, for a Ranger had finally made it through past the Trestlespan and had brought tidings to him of a council called in the North that he was to attend. He eats, almost inhaling the food set before him, and is off. Candaith gets back to work.

- Hurriedly consulting with Frideric (Radagast had already disappeared, declaring he had nothing to say on the matter) resulted in the Eglain deciding not to attend the council, and Candaith going east to Amon Sûl, to investigate the lightning.

- It's been but a week since the skirmish in Garth Agarwen, and already he's riding like the wind on a borrowed Eglain horse, as his own had long been a victim of warg-riders. Blinding, ice-cold rain pelts the Weather-hills, but even it cannot disguise the light of watch-fires on the heights of Amon-Sûl- the Uruk-hai have occupied it.

- It's been four years, and the Uruks have come close to conquering the whole of the Lone-lands: from the once-gleaming spires of Minas Eriol, from the hills and gullies of Nain Enidh, that had been green before cloying smoke killed it. To here, apparently, to his home, to the sole place that stands above the barren and bloodstained desert this land has become.

- Fury more blinding then the storm drives him on despite weariness, and he attacks with a vengeance, not bothering to wait for morning. It's surprise and adrenaline, more than anything, that gets him to the peak, to one last skirmish before the courtyard gate.

- Even the heat of battle cannot make one man an army, and a spear from a snarling goblin (hadn't they retreated?) skewers his thigh. An Uruk-archer takes the opportunity and fires point blank into his shoulder, the agony nearing taking him down alone.

- Somehow, there's a lone man standing tall in the sunshine on the East Tower come sunrise, a nearly unrecognizable Ranger's cloak hanging from his shoulders and adorned with dirt and blood.

- The sunlight glints off a symbol carved into rock- G3, and Candaith makes a note of it to report to Radagast, despite having a rather good idea of what it might mean himself.

- It's November, and that assault hasn't been the last. Wave upon wave of Uruks appear almost weekly to take the fortress, and Candaith only lasts for two of them before he runs out of arrows and is forced to ride for help. He returns with a small band of Eglain warriors and burdened with supplies. If they're going to hold the hill-fortress for any length of time, his ramshackle camp is going to have to become a permanent thing.

- It's December, and the camp has become an outpost, moved to the tumbled courtyard of the fortress itself instead of in the mountain's shadow. There's still been no word from Saeradan, and it's Candaith's turn to be worried now, in the few moments he can spare for it. The cold of the night is darkened further still by black smoke, and there are nights where no stars can be seen through it. The Eglain are unaffected, hardened and durable as they are, but there's still a part of Candaith that is unnerved by the utter darkness.

- It's February, and a raven arrives in the dim of twilight. It's morning before he manages to read it, and surprise overtakes the meaning in his head- it's from Esteldín. (Well, there goes the theory of them having forgotten my existence.)

- Then all humor, bitter or otherwise, flies out the long-crumbled windows at the message contained. Make for Imladris, the Grey Company is called.

- It's February, and Candaith calls to Hrotha, the Eglain's lieutenant. The man doesn't understand at first, what Candaith is trying to say; the Eglain have no understanding of the bond of loyalty- not because they do not hold it, but because they trust in a code of honor above all else, not one of fealty or blood. He switches to Westron to find better words, and fails all the same.

- There's a battle waging within him, though he doesn't know why. It isn't a choice, he is not held in bondage but there isn't another choice. There is a part of him that is Eglain, that clings to this lifeless land with a vengeance and refuses to let go. Days of skirmishes, of blood, of good men known and lost, of inches gained and miles lost, of worry and sporadic check-ins with the closest of his kin that knows him- and that's it.

- There are about four hundred men, women, and children living in Ost Guruth. There are easily another hundred in outposts, afield, or hunting what game there is left.

- Candaith has met every one of them.

- There is Branda, Trumswith, Stanric, Edfréa, little Gódrun. There are friends, there are shield-brothers, there are some who mother-hen him to death and a few who drive him to distraction. They are family.

- His people, he knows, is the Dúnedain, but it has been four years since he's seen any beside Saeradan, six since he's been to Esteldín, that where he'd once called home.

- He goes, there is no world where he doesn't. But it's not for a distant kingdom he's heard naught but tales of, or its would-be king. It's for the land- this Valar-forsaken land!- and its people. And for Saeradan, of course, he adds in his head, shan't forget him.

- Hrotha doesn't quite understand, in the end, and neither does Frideric, but they do get the point. It's another battle for their land and freedom, like countless others fought here, just a bit more toward the source.

- It's February, almost March, and he reaches Rivendell as one of the stragglers, having delayed to help set up more barricades. The valley is light and clean and safe in a way that feels unsafe and strange, but Saeradan caught up with him on the road, and they're both dirty and road-worn as they enter. He can't help but think how awkward it'll be when the rest of the Rangers see him, but he's got a goal, now he'll stick with it. Wherever it goes.

- (It's March and they're retracing the Forsaken Road in search of their kinsmen. They reach the one Saeradan's been dreading the most. You fool, Radanir whispers, and Saeradan bristles at the insult. Radanir doesn't know the half of it.)

- (He still agrees.)