AGARWAEN-BOR

CHAPTER 1 – THE DARKNESS PRESSES

Aranwë, an Elf of the Grey Havens fitted an arrow to his bow. The Orcs were pressing in on all sides, and they had no way of escape. He let go of the arrow and felled an Orc, which was about to do the same to him.

His company was in charge of clearing the remaining Orcs out of the Misty Mountains. The Grey Havens had the help of the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen, but those of Imladris and Lórien were too few in numbers, and none could be spared from those two realms.

Aranwë was a skilled warrior otherwise his company would have been obliterated long before they had been surrounded. But, no matter how skilled he was there seemed to be more and more Orcs. "Do not lose hope!" he cried, seeing a branch that was low enough for him to jump out of the circle and climb up onto. "I'll lure them away." He said in a barely audible whisper. Though his allies heard him, fortunately the Orcs did not. He put his bow to his back and put his arrow back in his half-empty quiver. He jumped from the circle and was barely able to swing himself up before an Orc arrow shot past the place his head had been a second earlier. Quickly gaining his balance, he took out his bow and fitted another arrow. He shot at what he had thought and hoped was the Orc captain. Apparently it was, for when his arrow struck the ugly creature in its neck the other Orcs were enraged and many began to fire arrows in his direction, apparently forgetting about the four remaining Elves of his group. The Elves took this opportunity to slay several more. Aranwë leapt onto another branch, and then another. He continued this for sometime until a great deal of Orcs had entered the premises of Imladris, where they were shot by the hidden Elves, gathered in the trees near the Ford of Bruinen.

After the Orcs had been destroyed, Aranwë called out the hidden archers. The group of six or so Elves approached Aranwë. "Master Aranwë! This indeed is a joyful meeting!" said one of the Elves, striding forth. He had long black hair that came down a short length past his shoulders.

"It is good to see you, also, Master Elpalan. I am sorry I had to lead the Orcs here, but my company was surrounded. I had hoped to lead them away from my friends, which worked, though I guess I must have misjudged which direction to go in. I meant to lead them to the sloped of the Misty Mountains, where Master Elcalen was waiting." Aranwë said, bowing to the Elf.

"Do not trouble yourself over this. This has happened before and had much greater consequences. No one was hurt and that is what matters. Speaking of that, I suggest you meet up with the rest of your group. We have already sent word to Elcalen and Celebithil to return to Rivendell."

"Very well. I shall do that. I have a few things I wish to report to Master Elrond when I return with my group. The Orcs originally had no intention to fight, which is very unlike their kind. It was as if some other force drove them. Eventually they stopped to fight after we slew a few of their group with our arrows."

"Indeed, that is strange. I will allow you to bear these tidings to Master Elrond, as I must return to my post."

"Farewell, Master Elpalan!" Aranwë said, turning away from the other Elves and running back into the small forest that lay south of Rivendell.

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"You say they did not at first fight?" Elrond asked Aranwë. He seemed worried and yet curious at the same time. Aranwë nodded.

"It wasn't until we reduced their numbers lightly that they turned to fight us. Then we were surrounded and the rest of the tale you have already heard in full." Aranwë said.

"Elcalen and Celebithil brought similar tidings of fleeing Orcs. What direction did they seem to be intent on traveling in."

"They were traveling north. I do not know why. We were barely a few miles south of Rivendell. Surely they fear the hidden archers of Elven-lands?"

"This makes me even more curious. The only thing I can think of that has anything to do with the flight of the Orcs northward, is that of old the Orc capitol was Mt. Gundabad, in the North, which borders the Northern Wastelands."

"I thought the Dwarves drove them out of Mt. Gundabad?"

"Indeed they did. But the Dwarves did not dare to settle there, so close to the Wastelands, the Spirit of Sauron haunts, which is said."

"Spirit of… Sauron? Wasn't he destroyed when the Ring was cast into Amon Amarth?"

"His power was broken, but his black spirit can never be wholly destroyed. If you need more beyond that, you should ask Gandalf, for he knows much about Sauron that I can only guess."

"If his power was broken, then he cannot take physical form."

"Yes. I doubt he'll ever be able to take a form again, unless Morgoth himself grant it to him."

"Could the Orcs be answering some sort of call from him."

"I am not sure."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

King Elessar sat down at the large table that was set in the dining room of the White Tower. At his right was Arwen Undomiel, his wife, who was given the choice of remaining with her people and her father, Elrond, or forsaking that and become a mortal to be with the man she loved, Aragorn.

At Elessar's left was his son Eldarion, who was his heir. Next to Eldarion was his wife, Éowan, who was a relative of Éomer of Rohan. Next to Arwen was Eldarion's son, Falathar. Falathar had finally, in the reckoning of Men, come of age, and he grew nigh to the age of fifty-five. Elessar himself was drawing close to the end of his long and laborious days.

Falathar's grey eyes dashed this way and that, eyeing the rest of the table. The thought of kingship had been growing in his mind, but Elessar had named Eldarion his heir. Despite Falathar's deep love for his father, he soon began to lust for the kingship. It was at this dinner, that his fate was sealed.

Falathar's hand slowly moved to his sword. None noticed his smooth movement. He quietly drew it out, however, Elessar, though old, still had unparalleled hearing among Men. He heard the sword but knew not who drew it. He leapt to his feat, drawing the ancient blade Andúril, he eyed the table. Arwen looked up at him, worry in her eyes. She too stood up and Eldarion drew his own sword. Elessar's eyes darted back and forth up and down the long table.

"Who dares unsheathe their sword in secret amongst their friends and allies?" Elessar asked. Slowly Falathar stood up, his sword glittered in the light coming from of the windows facing west.

"It is I, grandfather." Falathar said, in a cold and icy voice. Turning to his mother, Falathar put his blade to her neck. "I am a servant of the Power of Dúrfán."

"Dúrfán?" Eldarion blinked, staring at his son with curiosity and bitter fury. He looked to his father, who seemed to be thinking of something. Finally Elessar stared hard at his grandson."

"Dúrfán you say? A strange name indeed, for in Sindarin it means 'Black Cloud'"

"Yes, my Lord is coming. He is coming for the throne of Gondor, which he shall take by force." Falathar said, a mad gleam coming into his eye. Taking his sword reluctantly away from his mother's neck he turned and slew a servant of the King's. Faramir had silently come up behind Falathar and drew his sword also.

"I have heard him speak in his dreams, my Lord. He wishes for the downfall of Gondor and of Arnor." Faramir said, trying fruitlessly to quell the anger in his voice. Falathar turned to face the Steward of the City and there was great malice in his eyes.

"Fools! All who resist Dúrfán will fall at one time or another. You have only yourselves to thank when the time for your painful deaths arrives!" with that he dodged a sword stroke from Faramir and leapt up to one of the large windows that faced west. He leapt from the window to the ground, for it was not far. He ran from the city, slaying anyone that stood in his path until he reached the Gate. It was wrought of mithril by the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain and stood strong. He pushed the gates open, and it was not an easy task. Slaying the gate guards, he began to run from the city. He did not stop until he was several miles away.

-End Chapter 1