Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes: A thousand apologies for the long wait. Back from SC (NOOO!), still settling in, and 'Return of the King' is a hard book to convert into wolf-speak!

JastaElf- Your review just made my day! I'm just… well, utterly flattered and honored to be receiving such compliments. I hope the rest of the story keeps you duly impressed.

Amarth- At first the type on the trap was to read 'SHELOB 175', but then I saw how much spookier it would be if the name Shelob was not actually spelled, but seen.

TK and frodolover- Yipes! *clutches Frodo and Sam wolves* I need them! They're not available for adoption! Back! Back, I say!

All my reviewers- Thanks a million for your support!

~

            Westward, action was being taken.

            The Great Pack, over a dozen wolves in total, was rested up after the Battle of the Deep. Although the agony of loss was still fresh and painful, their physical strength had been recovered and they were ready for action.

            Gandalf and Treebeard had spoken at length, and the Ent volunteered to lead his herd into Mordor from the South, should their help be needed once more. The giant moose lumbered off on their course, Merry and Pippin barking excitedly after them.

            Again, the alphas held council. Only Glorfindel was still shaken by the fact that he was taking orders from Elrond the Loner, but looking closely at the black wolf, the Imladris alpha saw that leadership had always been within, merely hidden from the view of others.

            It was decided that they should split up. Aragorn, Legolas, Eomer, and Eowyn would take a more Northern route to Mordor, while the others cut straight through Gondor territory and allied with the local pack.

            A tender farewell occurred between Arwen and Aragorn, while Eowyn watched silently. Yet hope sprung in her youthful heart, for she saw the opportunity laid by Arwen's imminent separation from her love, in which the Rohan female would be at his side.

            Heads tilted to the wind, Elrond and Galadriel stood side-by-side and listened to the rhythm of the tundra. In ordinary wolf custom, had he not been an outcast, once he had mated her daughter he would have been considered like her own pup. This relationship had not had a chance to form between them, and yet the bond lingered there by blood.

            She could sense him deep within, and he felt her as well, a link founded not only by their blood relation by their gift of the elder mind. Both possessed the faint ability of foresight, and each was touched in a kindred feeling that no other wolf could understand.    

            The trance was broken as Elrond turned his head slowly from the horizon, meeting her cool blue eyes with his clear green ones. Electricity passed between them…

            And then the two exploded into motion. Leaping from his place, Elrond raced to the East, singing a song of hope and strength. The others sang with him, Pippin, Glorfindel, and Arwen bursting from the ranks to run at his side. The rest of the pack would follow at a slower pace, while Elrond raced ahead to tell of their coming.

            Galadriel watched her 'pup' run, head high like royalty and black ruff dancing in the breeze, and for the first time in years she realized Celebrian had been right.

            Shaking herself, she led her group off onto the trail towards Mordor at a brisk trot, sending a call of good luck towards Aragorn and his small pack. They barked a response, and then glanced to the North.

            It was time for the muster of Rohan. Their small forces would never prevail. And Gandalf, who flew with them, knew one place where hidden allies still lay.

            The Paths of the Dead.

            ~

            Swift as moonbeams dancing across the sky, Elrond led his followers across the land of Gondor. At first, it had surprised him to see Pippin running along. But the Hobbit wolf ran confidently, and Elrond could not turn him away.

            The landscape flew by, hardly distinguishable from the sky that merged with its' horizon. And still the wolves ran, until they encountered at last the pack of Gondor.

            Out of nowhere, a muddy brown form shot into their path, making Glorfindel stop so fast he fell onto his side. Arwen and Pippin were more fortunate, only stumbling in their sudden halt. Elrond, out of all them, drew to a stop gracefully, hardly batting an eye as he sized up their shocking visitor.

            It was Denethor, and yet not. In his wanderings, Elrond had known the Gondor alpha to be a stern leader, wise and powerful, lever-headed and cool. This wolf, however, was a bit jumpy, and his head wasn't at the proud angle the Half-breed had known. But it was Denethor; his scent-flag hadn't changed, although a dose of anxiety was added to it. And another scent… something disturbing that Elrond couldn't quite place…

            He lost his train of thought when the young Faramir came trotting up alongside his father, who stood with staring eyes leveled at the wolves that stood on his territory. Immediately, the young male of the Gondor pack scanned this gathering to see if his brother Boromir had yet returned. Nothing. He sighed audibly, and Elrond quirked an eyebrow at him.

            With a small whimper, Faramir asked politely for news of his wandering brother. He was answered when Pippin suddenly gave a guttural moan, and with a quavering howl announced that the Son of Gondor was no more.

            And it was then that chaos broke out.

            Shrieking, Denethor bucked in the air and snapped his teeth. With a mad lunge, he threw himself at Elrond and got a hold on the stunned wolf's neck. Elrond would have been killed then had Glorfindel not attacked and thrown the Gondor alpha to the side.

            Instantly, the brown wolf was on his feet, throwing back his head and howling a call… the call for Boromir. Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged confused looks.

            Meanwhile, Faramir was staring with curiosity at Pippin. The little wolf reminded him very much of… an image came into his mind at the same time a scent-memory did. He woofed the call for Frodo and Sam.

            Head snapping around, Elrond was in front of Faramir at once, his eyes burning with the intensity of battle, and something more.

            -Frodo and Sam are alive? You've seen them? In Moria?-

            Faramir whined an affirmative response.

            Sighing with a relief that emanated from the core of his being, Elrond hung his head as a wolf smile split his face. The Hobbit wolves lived. At the beginning he had known that their death would doom all of Arda. And yet they survived still, heading for the dark land as Elrond himself had seen.

            Quite a different reaction came from Pippin, and the little wolf leapt into the air and squeaked with joy. His pup-friend was alive, and good old Sam, too! The news was too great to imagine, and he danced in the snow, kicking up little flurries. Arwen nipped at the falling flakes, her spirits lifted by this innocent display of joy.

            Elrond too was heartened, and he repeated the dance, kicking up far more snow than a mere flurry, and in fact coating Glorfindel in a thin sheet of white. Retaliating, the Imladris alpha threw a pawful of snow up at the black wolf, but Elrond ducked and it instead hit Pippin.

            Merriment broke out as the wolves got into an all-out snow fight, scuffing up the cold white and throwing at each other like pups. In any other situation, this would have been shaming for Elrond or Glorfindel. But this was a time in which play was a must, or a wolf could go mad from stress, his body shifting into overload and the adrenaline killing him.

            Faramir watched, his mouth hanging open in a wolf grin, while Denethor paced and bristled his fur.

            Finally, the wolves tired of their game and shook the snow from their coats. Turning his sparkling green eyes to the Gondor pack, Elrond spoke.

            -So hope remains, and the chances of victory grow stronger.-

            Nodding, Faramir woofed the final name he remembered from his encounter.

            Gollum.

            Snarling, Denethor turned his gaze on his son. He remembered Gollum… it was he who had seen the little creature on his borders, and it was he who had chased the terrified grey wolf back into Moria where he would lay hidden till the arrival of Frodo and Sam. With a flash of his teeth, Denethor growled his displeasure, and Faramir cowered uncertainly.

            Sensing the tension, and being trained in the diplomatic ways by the time she had spent with her father, Arwen barked lightly and spoke of the beauty of the Gondor territory. Argument forgotten, Denethor's chest swelled with pride and he lifted his head, appearing again as the king he had once been.

            Following his daughter's lead and shooting her a wink, Elrond continued with a flattering whimper that spoke of the Gondor packs strength. Making the necessary eye contact with Denethor, the black wolf spoke in a smooth tone.

            -It is precisely that strength that we need in or assault of Mordor. Join us. Assist us in defeating the Great Hunter, and your lands will be safe forever more.-

            At the words 'defeat the Great Hunter', Faramir sprang at once to Elrond's side with a confident bark, fully prepared to face death in order to conquer the ultimate enemy.

            Denethor, however, was distrustful, and eyed Elrond suspiciously. The black wolf continued.

            -Our allies will be arriving soon, and we wish to form an allegiance with your might pack in order to be completely unified against our terrible foe.-

            After a moment, Denethor shrugged his furry shoulders and nodded, giving his tail a brief wave of friendship. Elrond followers exchanged hopeful glances.

            An ally had been found.

            But when Elrond turned his back, Denethor's eyes glinted, and again that sickly, disturbing scent was clear, but snatched away by the wind…

~ To Be Continued