A/N: This story is set in the TA: 1046. I kept forgetting to add that. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Goldir knew he was not likely to catch the Orcs by a strait northward ride, but he didn't have the time to back track to the Southern Gap. The Orcs would have reached Dol Guldûr by the time he found their trail, and then it would be too late. He had to cut them off. That meant he had to cross the Anduin.

There were very few crossings along the southern Anduin, and even fewer shallow enough for horses. Goldir's thoughts turned from the humiliating east-going chase to what he would do with Gwaedh. The only possible horse crossing he knew of was in a sharp turn of the North Undeep, and that was during late summer, just before the fall rainy season began. It was still early summer, so he had no way of knowing how deep the curve was.

Ahead, Goldir could see the Onodlé (Entwash). Ithil had come above the horizon and the two had been riding for hours. It was a good place for the two to rest and for him to collect his thoughts. He was still disappointed that he was so easily tricked by a couple Orcs, creatures that, despite their origins, were not touted as intelligent or smart.

Gwaedh had gone to the river for a drink and Goldir checked out the depth and clarity. It was shallow but wide, slow and clear. Smiling, the Elf stripped to nothing and waded into the river, intent on bathing. The water was cool and refreshing; its temperature reminded Goldir of the ocean near his home.

"Ah, home," he sighed, "You will enjoy galloping along the beach, my friend. The cool salt spray in your face, the crisp wind to your side, and the warmth of Anor all around."

The thought of the ocean and the sight of a billion stars above brought a sudden ache in his heart and tears to his eyes. The sea-longing of the Teleri was never quiet, even when living on land next to it. It was especially strong when his thoughts centered on home and the sea. He floated in the water for a long while before he felt any urge to move or clean himself.

Despite having no shampoo or soap, Goldir was happy he could at least bathe and rinse the grime from his hair and wash the dirt from his body. He was an Elf after all, and Elves were clean by nature.

After washing and redressing, he combed his hair and then lay back to watch the stars.

"Elves are children of the stars, Gwaedh," Goldir said, "Always we find comfort in them. Stars were the first things the Elves saw when they awoke. Elbereth Gilthoniel lit each one and gone was the darkness of Middle-earth like a thousand candles in the deepest cavern."

Goldir softly sang a song of Elbereth Gilthoniel,
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos le linnathon
nef aear, sí nef aearon."

Crickets halted their chirping, bullfrogs stopped their groaning calls, and owls dimmed their voices to better hear a song unheard in those parts in almost an age. Goldir rested in reverie, and in the morning when he awoke, it seemed that the grass around him had grown greener.

Gwaedh was gone, it seemed at first, but Goldir found him standing on the opposite shore of the Onodlé. The Elf whistled several times but the stallion shook his head each time and seemed eager to ride. He pulled off his soft leather shoes and rolled up his leggings as far as they would go.

"Nostad lín sui Edain," he shouted the insult as he waded across the river. (You smell like Men.)

The horse nickered and snorted as if he found the whole situation humorous. The Elf wasn't as amused as the horse, but he wasn't truly peeved either. Goldir didn't bother putting on his shoes before he leapt upon Gwaedh's back. The two set a steady pace for the next two days, moving by day and resting by night. One thought that hadn't occurred to the Elf was that six Orcs could cover their tracks much more easily than twelve Orcs could. He was forced to dismount and search by foot for any kind of trail, and he had yet to locate the right one.

They traveled across the grassy plains of the Wold in three days time. Woodlands lined both sides of the Anduin and Goldir had little hope of catching sight of the Orcs with all the trees around. He found a half-worn path he had used before to locate the seasonal crossing and followed it to the bank edge.

The Anduin was swift and a murky green color, and cold, as Goldir found out when he tested the depth. The shallowest point came to his chest, which was nearly to Gwaedh's back. He would have to wear the bridal for guidance, and Goldir was glad he had kept it.

He left the water and pulled the bridal out from his pack and struggled to put it on. Goldir hadn't ever used one before, and had nearly cut the leather straps when he removed it from Gwaedh. When he finally got it on right and attached a rope to one of the metal loops, he slowly began crossing the river.

Gwaedh was nervous, he could tell, but the horse made the crossing without incident and the two rested on the rocky berm of the turn.

"That was not so bad," Goldir said as he pulled out a small fishing kit.

Anor was setting in the west when the Elf finally caught a fish. He cooked the trout over a small fire and enjoyed a fresh meal instead of jerky or dried fruit. After he finished, he found a good-sized tree limb near the riverbank and settled down for the night.

"We leave early, Gwaedh," he said, "Before Ithil sets. The eastern side has a thin wooded area, and then it is grass again until the borders of Greenwood. We will catch them there."

When Goldir realized how much he had been talking to his horse lately, he felt silly.

Shrugging, he looked at the stallion, "Good night, Gwaedh."

(OoO)

The horse and rider were riding again before Ithil began its westward descent. The dark thoughts of never finding the group crept back into Goldir's mind. He realized regretfully that he should have backtracked to the Angren and followed the other band north. Now he was too pressed for time; the Orcs were too far ahead.

He had made far too many mistakes for comfort.

The two had cleared the wooded area next to the Anduin and were tracking northward at a steady pace. Gwaedh kept steadily to the higher ground of the gentle rolling hills while Goldir searched the horizon for any movement. They traveled a good distance on the first two days, but the Elf saw no sign of his quarry.

Along the journey, Goldir saw the darkness growing deeper in the outskirts of Greenwood. By the third day, he could see the crumbling tower of Dol Guldûr. The sight chilled him to the bone, a very uncanny feeling for a being unaffected by heat or cold.

As dawn came, Goldir had seen no sign of the Orcs and knew he would not see them during day. He dismounted and slowly approached the eaves of Greenwood. It was dangerously dark and impenetrably quiet. An overgrown path lead into the woods, shadowed by the branches twining overhead. The Elf had gone some distance in before he realized Gwaedh had not followed.

"Gwaedh, come," he called, but the horse did not follow.

As skittering sounds came from his left, and Goldir whipped around to find no sign of movement, the Elf could understand the wavering will of the horse. He removed his bow from its tether on his quiver and held it close. Whether by arrow or sword, Goldir swore to himself that nothing would take him down without a fierce fight.

The hour long hike seemed to last much longer in the stifling shadows of the thick and gnarled trees. Towering ahead was Dol Guldûr, a tall tower surrounded by a circular courtyard and a tall stone wall. The path lead to a rusted but solid iron gate. The Elf didn't need to try the door to know it wouldn't budge.

Instead, he hurried toward the lighter eaves of the surrounding clearing, quickly climbing the stone wall. Even as he crossed the threshold of the wall, the top covered with dirt and grime, he could feel the evil emanating from the dark tower.

It too, like the woods surrounding it, was eerily quiet but tensed, as a faithful servant awaiting the return of his masters. Goldir felt suddenly out of place as he stood on the wall; he knelt, as if trying to avoid being noticed. He felt mildly silly, but did not wish to stay longer. Something was amiss, something out of place.

A branch cracked behind him, followed by a whoosh of air. Spinning fast, Goldir was faced with an giant spider flying directly at him, enormous stinger ready to pierce his body. He had only one place to go.

Goldir flipped backwards into the courtyard of Dol Guldûr.

(OoO)

The six Orcs steadily approached the rushing water sound of the Anduin. Búbhosh yet knew not if they would be able to cross there, since it was always best to cross the Anduin when frozen over or after a rainless summer. The nearest crossing was a four-day journey south that he did not wish to make unless he had no other choice.

They had not seen the Elf tracker for days.

This both worried and relieved Búbhosh. He was more inclined to believe that they had lost the Elf, but they were not in the clear even if they had no tracker. Crossing the river was the first problem, and then passing the borders of Greenwood was their next issue.

Búbhosh knelt behind a bush overlooking the waters of the Anduin. The crossing was not heavily traveled and there was no path leading to the bank. To his left he could see the merging river Limlight. The area just downstream was wide but shallow, and seemed shallow enough for six Orcs to cross safely.

Clouds had been covering both Anor and Ithil for the past few days, and they were again under cover of near darkness. Búbhosh was satisfied that no obvious threat was about and sent the first three across the river. They made it safely, with only one slipping on a rock halfway through the waist deep middle. After a few minutes to secure the area, they waved over the next three.

Búbhosh went in between the other two and soon they were on the other side of the river. Búbhosh smiled wickedly. He was almost there. So close to accomplishing his greatest mission.

What place would the Nazgúl have for the loyal Orc Búbhosh? Nay, what place would Lord Sauron have? The possibilities were endless, and Búbhosh was nearly giddy with the thought of it all.

Life was good.

(OoO)

Had Goldir not leaned his head as far back as he could, it would have been impaled by the stinger of the biggest spider he had ever seen. The Elf pulled a back flip off the wall to avoid the spider, which was as large as a medium-sized boulder, but in the process his arrows spilled all over the ground.

He tried to grab for one before the black spider lunged again, but he had to jump to the left to avoid a deadly stab. Instead of his bow, Goldir grabbed his sword and squared off with the evil creature.

"Darkness will not avail you, Hell spawn of Ungoliant," he cried, "You will pay for the crimes of your mother by this blade wrought by Teleri hands!"

The spider seemed hesitant, if only for a moment, at the oath and fierce eyes of the Elf. He circled around until the Elf was pinned against the wall and then lunged. Goldir backed against the wall, rolled right, and brought his sword down upon the spider's first two left legs.

The legs fell on the dirt, twitching. The creature screeched in pain before limping after Goldir, who had picked up an arrow and fitted it to his bow so fast that the spider had little time to react. He had barely stopped before the arrow caught him in the top middle eye, killing him instantly.

The spider was finished, but Goldir was not. Taking his blade, he halved the carcass and cut each leg from the body, hacking away as if it would relieve the pain from the past. He buried the sword to the hilt in the thickest part of the spider and stopped, hands trembling.

"For the light of the two Trees, and all the pain their loss caused," he murmured.

Only the heavy breathing of the Elf was heard in the still air of Dol Guldûr. The silence pressed on the Elf like a heavy cloak, and he quickly gathered as many arrows as he could find before climbing the outer wall and running along the dark path.

He could not get away from the deadly silence fast enough.

Goldir found Gwaedh nervous and fretful as he emerged from the woods like a bat out of Hell. Peering back into the tree-tunnel, the Elf thought he saw red glowing eyes, thousands of them, but he did not confirm it. From a dead run, he leapt upon the stallion's back.

"Noro lim, Gwaedh," he whispered breathlessly.

Gwaedh ran as fast as his legs could carry them. Long they rode, Goldir glancing over his back occasionally. Nothing followed, and soon the Elf wondered if the whole thing had been in his imagination. The black blood encrusted on his sword shattered that thought.

The Elf forced himself to focus on his task. Warily, he pushed away all thoughts of Dol Guldûr and halted Gwaedh as he took in their surroundings.

How far they had ridden north in fear, Goldir did not know, but they would likely have to return if they wanted to catch those Orcs. Sighing, the Elf dismounted and looked closely at the ground. He found animal tracks mostly, all going to and from the nearby river. After a few minutes of halfhearted searching, Goldir found other tracks.

Fresh tracks. Orc tracks.

Self control kept him from whooping in delight as he found the trail he had long suffered to find. Leaping on Gwaedh, the two followed the trail north.

"They go north, Gwaedh, away from Dol...," he was unable to finish, but cleared his throat, "What possible destination could there be? This has turned out to be a most curious puzzle."

The tracks were quite plain to see in the knee-deep grasses. They tracked slightly east, coming closer to Greenwood. Goldir glanced into the woods and noted that they were not as dark and foreboding as they were around Dol Guldûr.

Goldir returned his watchful eye to the trail. They hadn't ridden much further when the Elf noticed the single track split into six different paths. The next sight caused him to halt Gwaedh and dismount.

Blood was splattered over the brown grass stems, and caked into the ground on the trampled area. It was black blood, Orc blood, and it increased as the Elf moved further along the trail. He had very few physical clues as to who had attacked the Orcs, and successfully killed them, but he could certainly assume it was the Sylvan Elves from Greenwood.

He remounted Gwaedh and followed the trail, now obviously six bodies being dragged toward the eaves of Greenwood. When the path entered the woods, Goldir stopped. He dismounted and lead Gwaedh on foot, carefully following the drag marks. While the trees did not coil and twine above, they did block out much of the sunlight. The forest floor was nearly bare, with bushes and tall plants dotting the sparse clearings.

A soft brush of fabric above was Goldir's only warning. An arrow was nocked and ready for flight by the time two Elves dropped from the tree branches and landed in front and back of Goldir and Gwaedh, both with bows and arrows facing the intruder.

Nothing was said as the three Elves lowered their respective weapons after a few tense moments.

"You have passed into the borders of Greenwood. These lands are protected by the Guard of King Thranduil," the Elf facing him spoke, "State your business."

"I am Goldir. I have been tracking six Orcs for many days now. They killed several of my kin and I followed for revenge," Goldir said. It was a half-truth, indeed, but he did not feel inclined to reveal his true reason for tracking the group.

Five more Elves dropped from the branches above as the Elf standing before him decided what to do with the visitor. Goldir took the opportunity to reflect the differences in the attire of the Sylvan Elves from what he had last seen. They were tall and well-built for Elves, wearing the colors of the natural habitat surrounding them, their hair either short or braided up. It was no small wonder Goldir had missed them in the trees.

"Six Orcs passed too close to the trees for our comfort. We killed them all one night before. The carcasses were burned and buried. They carried nothing of value," he said, then stood silent, waiting to judge Goldir's reaction.

Goldir was intrigued by the reply, 'I banter with no ordinary Elf.'

"I know their patterns. This was the group. Alas that I did not have the honor of revenge. By the hands of Elves they are dead, and that is better than alive. Though, I was sure they had stolen many things of value as prizes," the Elf finished.

There was no chance now of Goldir returning the ring by his own volition. He was annoyed now, after all the trouble he had gone through tracking the Orcs across Middle-earth, to come to Greenwood and be toyed with.

The Elf smiled slightly, "I am Celetur. Come, we have their packs. I searched them personally and saw nothing of value, but perhaps your value is different than mine," at this, a rope dropped from above and the six Elves climbed up one by one.

Goldir studied the Elf before him once more. The grey-eyed Celetur was not Sylvan, he noted, but looked more Sindar. His stature held a mystery that he had seen before.

It became obvious that Celetur was waiting for Goldir to climb.

"My horse," he said, rather than asked.

"Will be safe. There are no evil creatures in these parts, save rare cases that are taken care of quickly," Celetur finished.

Nodding, Goldir climbed the rope, and was followed shortly by the guard leader.