Welcome back dragonfly! I was starting to wonder where you were! And Jebb, gwil, and Konzen, than you for the encouragement. Now does anyone know where MoroWolfGod has gotten to? Tables turned and eaten by a warg, maybe?
Over the next few weeks, Elrond kept his promise to talk with his sons about their mother Celébrian. Still, as the day drew near for the army to ride forth, he expressed his uneasiness to Mithrandir.
"Elrohir freely acknowledges that he must remain dispassionate whilst battling against the enemy. Yet, although he understands the need to control himself, I am not persuaded that he will be able to do so when the time comes."
"That question can only be answered in the midst of a struggle with his foes and with himself."
"Would that it could be answered under other circumstances—safer circumstances!" cried Elrond in frustration.
Mithrandir calmly replied, "The nature of the question does not permit it to be answered under safer circumstances."
Elrond sighed and nodded. "I am glad you ride with our forces, Mithrandir. You will contribute much to our strength—and to my peace of mind!"
Mithrandir inclined his head slightly. "I thank you for your confidence. It is a pity, though, that Saruman did not agree to represent the Istar in this matter."
"Would it not be difficult for him to do so? Erestor must remain here because I have Imladris to protect, and Celeborn must have Galadriel stay in Lothlórien for the same reason. Saruman has Isengard to think of, and, by all accounts, he has no one to whom he is willing to delegate its protection. You, on the other hand, are encumbered by the need to defend no particular realm. Not for nothing are you known as the 'Grey Wanderer'!"
"Yet I defend many lands," said Mithrandir gravely.
"Yes," agreed Elrond, "but you are only able to do so by never remaining for long in any one of them. It is a hard life that you lead, my friend."
"True, and I weary of it from time to time. Indeed, I must confess that one reason I am drawn to the study of the Periannath is that they live such settled lives—and they make me laugh. Although, lately I have a foreboding that my comfortable, light-hearted Hobbits will be drawn into the events that will be set in motion by the battle for Dol Guldur. I cannot explain why I feel this to be so."
Elrond replied with mock gravity. "I fear that you have spent too much time in the company of Galadriel. Are we to have nothing but presentiments all the live-long day here in Rivendell as well as in Caras Galadhon?"
Mithrandir laughed, but his mirth was brief and was replaced by thoughtfulness.
While this conversation took place, Glorfindel was supervising the mustering of the patrols that were to ride forth. Anomen and his friends had never seen so many Elves gathered together in one place, and more and more patrols were arriving hourly. At length, they spotted Berenmaethor's patrol riding into the clearing and setting up camp.
"Look," said Elladan, "Berenmaethor's patrol has also added some young members."
The others looked over toward that captain's warriors.
Thoron exclaimed, "Why, there is my cousin, Baramagor. Anomen, pity he is not in our patrol, for he is younger even than you. None of us would ever have to wash another dish!"
The four friends laughed.
"That is a good name for a warrior," observed Anomen. "Baramagor—'Eager Swordsman'."
"Oh," smiled Thoron. "His mother chose that name for him—but she wasn't thinking of his future as a wielder of weapons. Baramagor came early, and his mother swore that sword thrusts could never match the pain he caused her. Ever since then, he has always rushed to be the first at everything, so I am not surprised to see him amongst the warriors. Come, let us greet him."
"We'd better ask Taurmeldir first," Elladan pointed out. "We can't just go strolling about from patrol to patrol."
"Elladan is right," agreed Anomen. "We are on a war footing now; discipline is going to be strict even by Glorfindel's standards!"
The four friends sought and received leave to briefly visit Thoron's cousin but to be quick about it. They hurried over toward Berenmaethor's campfire and quickly explained their errand to the guard—for even encamped within Imladris a watch was being set.
"Thoron," exclaimed Baramagor as soon as he saw his cousin. "As you see, I am a warrior now."
"Oh, indeed," replied Thoron. "Have you ever been in battle?"
Abashed, Baramagor had to admit that he had not.
"Then you are a warrior-in-waiting, is that not so?"
"Yes, but," Baramagor shot back, "I shall not have to wait long."
Thoron had to admit it was likely that Baramagor was correct on this score. Just then they spotted Taurmeldir's lieutenant beckoning to them and they hastened to return to their camp, where Taurmeldir wished to give his scouts some final instructions before ordering them to turn in for the night. Departure the next day would take place before dawn.
They encountered no foes as they moved through Dunland, although all sensed that they were being watched by the wary Dunlendings. They reached the Gap of Rohan without incident, and there they were met by a goodly company of Rohirrim. Those horsemasters would not join in the battle for Dol Guldur itself—their strength lay in cavalry maneuvers on the open plain—but they would escort the Imladris Elves to their rendezvous with the Lothloríen and Mirkwood forces. They would then remain encamped on the plain to the west of Dol Guldur, protecting the Elves from any attack from the west that might be mounted by Orcs and wargs crossing east from strongholds in the Misty Mountains.
With the Rohirrim was a smaller band of Men who held themselves apart from the others. They were tall, grim-faced men, grey-eyed and grey-haired. Even the youngest of them looked agéd in face, but all were hale and muscular. Anomen suspected that some of them were youths even in the accounting of Men, but that they had led hard, wandering lives. Certainly their garments, although well made and of first-rate fabric, were worn and weather-stained. Their boots were sturdy but scuffed and muddy. These were Men who had spent few, if any, days comfortably ensconced before a fireplace.
"Who are they?" Anomen asked Taurmeldir.
"Those Men? They are Rangers."
"Rangers?"
"The last remnant of a proud race. They came out of Gondor long ago."
"Gondor!? So far to the South?"
"Yes, they have wandered far from their homeland. They journey, I am told, even as far North as that strange land that Mithrandir has taken an interest in—almost to the Grey Havens, in fact."
"What drove them forth from their land in the South?"
"I do not know the whole story. You must ask the Lord Elrond. He has memory of those events."
"Are they to fight alongside us or to remain with the Rohirrim?"
"Glorfindel has told the captains that the Rangers will fight alongside us. I for one am glad of that fact. They are few in number, but they have a reputation as fearless and doughty fighters. They are brave by nature, and I am told they have an ancient grievance against the evil in Dol Guldur. What it is, I do not know, but it is said to date back to the time of the Last Alliance. Their leader is a Man named Arathorn, son of Arador. The others are his kinsman. I have met a few of the youngest of their company. That one over there is called Halbarad. He has actually been known to smile upon occasion, although I am told that the older the Rangers grow, the dourer they become."
Anomen's curiosity was piqued rather than satisfied by Taurmeldir's explanation. "So the Rangers are exiles," he thought. "We have something in common then! I would like to meet and talk with one of them. And I think I would like to fight alongside one of them, too, if they are as brave as Taurmeldir claims."
For now, though, he would have to content himself with watching the strangers from afar. They were leagues from Imladris, and there was to be no more strolling about. Even Thoron and Baramagor were reduced to waving at one another from time to time from their respective campfires.
The next day the combined forces moved out, making for Lothlórien. From there, with their strength augmented the Galadhrim archers, they would make the westward crossing of the plains, meeting up with Thranduil's army at the eastern fringe of Mirkwood. And then—then they would fight.
Next: The battle for Dol Guldur.