The trees creaked ominously, and the stifling air seemed to catch every sound. Edhael had attempted to play his lute when they first entered the forest, but soon stopped when the sound echoed hollowly among the dead trees.

They had found a gate at the entrance to the forest road made of elk horns crudely lashed together, and Taliel had deduced that this is what the orcs had meant when they referred to an "elkhorn gate." Indeed, signs of a hastily hidden camp and orc footprints served to support this theory, though there was no sign of trouble. The orcs had likely abandoned the area long ago with the intent of returning, but their ill-conceived attack on Lothlorien had prevented this from happening.

Unfortunately, they had long since lost sight of that landmark, and were now in what seemed to be an endless forest with no sign of light or anything even vaguely resembling a living creature. Both companions were silent, for every sound seemed to echo for an uncomfortable amount of time.

Time also seemed to be slowed there. The only difference between day and night seemed to be varying degrees of darkness. If it was day, they could see several feet in front of them. If it was night, they often couldn't even see their own hands if they lifted them in front of their faces. Taliel was smart enough to have brought a lantern, but even it seemed to have difficulty piercing the dark of night and often only served to attract large black moths that swarmed around it, drowning out the light once more.

They traveled for several days, and eventually made it to a swiftly running river. Taliel knelt down beside it and frowned as she looked into it.

"This water doesn't seem right... It almost appears black, even though my eyes are adjusted to the dark by now," She said. Edhael snorted and knelt down beside her.

"Water is water," he said as he cupped a handful of it up to his lips. Taliel held up a hand to stop him but it was too late. He took a gulp of the dark liquid, only to immediately spit it out.

"What in Morgoth's larder is that?!?" He exclaimed as he tried to clean his mouth out. It only served to cover his lips in more black liquid however, and he grew more and more frustrated and disgusted in equal measure.

Taliel knelt closer and sniffed it, her nose scrunching up in revulsion.

"Orc blood," she said. "How so much of it ended up in the river is beyond me..."

Suddenly the sound of a dozen bowstrings caused her to leap to her feet, only to see that they were surrounded by elven archers. They were clad in forest green hoods, and they wore blue sleeveless tabards that were made of a supple, leatherlike material. Their bows were long, and designed more for functionality than elegance. Their leader, a tall dark haired elf who seemed to be rather high-ranking, drew his sword and dropped down from a nearby tree.

"What brings two elves, strangely dressed and so lightly armed, into the Woodland Realm? Speak, ere I order my archers to fire!"

Edhael extended a hand outward and stepped forward, his natural eloquence taking over the situation. "We merely seek the hospitality of your king, Thranduil son of Oropher. You would not begrudge us of a meeting with our ally to the north, would you?"

The elf sheathed his blade and let out a sigh, though whether it was from annoyance or exhaustion Taliel could not tell. "I take it you are from Lothlorien, then. It is likely that you have not yet heard of the war that has befallen our land."

Edhael nodded knowingly. "Aye, we know that the enemy is on the move. That is why we are here."

"Nay, you do not know. The enemy has already made His move. The hall of the Elvenking burns as we speak."

At this Edhael's eyes widened in shock, and Taliel took a step back in surprise. "How? When?" She asked.

"This dawn. Our forces pushed them back, but not without heavy losses," the elf said, pacing back and forth. "My warriors and I were hunting down the last retreating orcs when we came upon you. I'm surprised you didn't encounter them."

Edhael recovered from the surprise and continued speaking smoothly. "Yes, well my companion and I are quite efficient at evading trouble. But war or not, we must speak to your king."

The elf sighed again and signaled for two other archers. "Estelon, Liarwen, take them to the king. He will wish to have an audience with them."

=========================

Their arrival at Thranduil's Halls was met by line upon line of soldiers, who were seemingly guarding it from further attack. The two elves who accompanied Taliel and Edhael were silent, and did not speak aside from what was necessary.

The fortress itself was badly damaged, and it was readily apparent that a battle had just taken place. The oak gates were split asunder, and dark blood lay in puddles where bodies had previously been. The trees in the surrounding area were charred black, and many had fallen to the ground.

"Well isn't this place a bundle of joy?" Edhael grumbled, pulling his sky blue hood over his head. He was miserable. He hadn't been able to play any music since they had entered the forest, and he longed for nothing more than to hear the subtle tunes of his lute. But alas, it seemed as if he would not be getting a chance to play anytime soon.

The two elves were led into a long hallway lined with twisting tree roots, where several heavily armored guards stood around the body of an orc. It seemed that they still had not cleared the hall of bodies, for Taliel could see several dead elves laying about as well. She turned her gaze away from them, for even she, a warrior since a young age, could not bear to see their faces twisted with pain and suffering. Their immortality quenched like water upon a fire.

The hallway soon opened up into a large room in the middle of which sat an oaken throne. Stone stairs spiraled up to it, making it stand several feet higher than the rest of the room. The stones were scarred with scorch marks however, marring its original beauty, and the throne itself had been hewn apart in several places.

But despite this, a lone occupant still sat in it. His stance was noble, and upon his brow was a crown of blood-red flowers. He was clad in scarlet armor, and instead of a scepter, a great war bow was in his hand. His eyes shone with silver fire as they landed upon the newcomers, and his jaw clenched with barely restrained impatience.

"My warriors have told me of you, ere you arrived," He said, his voice surprisingly weary. "You come from Lothlorien, the land of golden leaves. I have divined your purpose, whether you would wish to reveal it or not. Galadriel seeks aid from her brethren to the north." At this he stood and gracefully descended the staircase, his feet making no sound as they touched the stones. "I will not deign to give an apology, for one is not needed. We have no warriors to spare, as war has already fell upon us." He spun around to face them, his scarlet cloak billowing behind him.

Edhael took a step forward and bowed. "Greetings, Thranduil son of Oropher, lord of the Woodland Realm. I am Edhael, son of Lanadar. We have come not only with pleading, as you have assumed, but also with news from the surrounding lands."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed and he approached Edhael. "Tell me, Edhael Lanadarion. Why would I deem news from the outside world as important in such trying times? Our people have much to fear without knowing of the trials of others."

Edhael smiled slightly, his expression making it clear that he was trying his best to be diplomatic. "Surely, they do my liege. But your enemies do not merely fight you. They fight Dale, Erebor, and Lothlorien as well. If these lands that surround you fall, my lord, your lands shall too."

Thranduil returned to his throne, setting his bow against the side of it and resting a hand on his brow. "They have attacked Lothlorien? What sorcery allows them to do this?"

"Our enemy is strong, and has many weapons at their disposal. Not least of all a sorceress... You might be familiar with her. She resides in the southern reaches of your own kingdom, in the fortress of Dul Guldur."

At Edhael's words Thranduil's eyes widened, and his lips mouthed a single word. Zaskia. He stood and waved a hand, signaling for Edhael and Taliel to follow him.

"Come. I cannot guarantee any aid, but we shall see what may be done to stop this evil from spreading. I know of this Zaskia. She is an ancient evil, and has troubled our lands in times past."

Taliel gave the Elvenking a questioning look. "How? She is a mortal, is she not?"

Thranduil suddenly stopped and looked at her, his eyes piercing into her very soul. "She was, once. She was a Black Numenorean, descendants of the Numenorean crown who fell into evil. Her lust for knowledge and power far exceeded even that of her kinsmen, however, and she was quickly seduced by the Dark Lord. Through him, she gained terrible powers, powers that manipulated the very strings of life and death. She became one of his most powerful servants until she was defeated by my hand many years ago. She fled into the darkest corner of Mordor, where she regained her strength. Dul Guldur was once her fortress, and it seems that she returns now at the end of ages to wage war against me once more." The Elvenking pinched his temple with two fingers, as if the very memory of her was a painful one.

"So you shall fight?" Edhael asked hopefully.

Thranduil slowly turned to him, and his expression was one of determination. "We shall."

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