After a journey fraught with many perils and close calls, the company of survivors from Mithlond was relieved to finally see the elegant walls of Rivendell through the scarlet boughs of the forest. Halbarad ordered his men to remain wary as they approached, however, unsure of what they might find within. Though he doubted Rivendell would have already fallen, much had taken place in recent days and it would do no harm to be overly cautious.

"Daro!" A voice cried from the top of the wall. Two helmeted figures soon appeared there, peering down at the motley company. "What business have you in the Hidden Valley?"

Halbarad craned his neck, shielding his eyes as he looked up at the guards. "We seek shelter from the darkness that follows us! I am Halbarad, captain of the Dunedain, and many of these are survivors of Mithlond, which has fallen into shadow."

The two guards exchanged a worried expression before the leader of the two spoke once more. "These are cruel tidings! But why, pray tell, do naugrim travel in your company?" The elf spoke the last words with distaste, and several dwarves bristled at the use of their Sindarin name.

"They hail from the Blue Mountains, and have come to aid our cause in what ways they may," Halbarad replied diplomatically. He knew that the elves harbored no love for the dwarves, but those in Rivendell were seldom as openly hostile as the Silvan of Mirkwood.

The two guards consulted with each other for a moment, then turned back to the older ranger. "Very well! All may enter but the naugrim! We must seek the counsel of our lord before granting them shelter."

Gloin snorted, coming to Halbarad's side. The sturdy self-proclaimed leader of the Blue Mountain dwarves had been silent for most of the journey, but now that his people had been slighted he was forced into action. "I'm surprised they're even entertainin' the notion!"

The ranger gave his companion a reassuring smile. "Worry not! None shall enter until we all can, my dear Gloin." He gazed upward once more. "Go then! Speak with Lord Elrond and gain his council. We shall await your word here."

One of the guards disappeared, leaving the other to watch the company in silence. This silence was soon broken however, for the guard soon deemed it safe to speak freely with the ranger, at least. "Tell me! How many survived? I have family in Mithlond and the lands surrounding it."

Before Halbarad could answer a young elleth, a small child by the standards of Men, broke from the crowd and ran to the foot of the wall.

"Sidrathel, is that you??" The guard asked, relief seeping into his voice.

"Adrathon!" The elleth exclaimed, leaping up and down for joy before turning back to the crowd. "Ada, Naneth, it's Adra!"

Two more elves joined her, tears in their eyes. The guard disappeared from his post, the main gate creaking open slightly a moment later. He slid through, running to meet the three elves.

"I missed you all so dearly!" He said, removing his helmet and throwing it to the ground as he brought them all into an embrace. "When he said that Mithlond had fallen..." After a moment he broke away from the tearful reunion, turning to Halbarad. "Thank you for bringing my parents and sister to safety, Dunedan. I can never repay this debt."

Halbarad gave a slight bow. "There were many who aided me, including the dwarves."

With a bright smile, the young elf looked Gloin in the eyes. "Perhaps my people and yours have not always been the best of allies, but you and your companions shall forever be friends of mine. Thank you, mighty warrior of the dwarves."

Even Gloin seemed taken aback by the unexpected praise. "Gloin, at your service," was all he could manage to say.

"Adrathon, at yours and your family's," the guard replied. "My captain should return soon with word from Lord Elrond. But until that time comes, perhaps I can bring you all water? I do not doubt that you are all weary from such a long journey, and refreshments would do you well."

"Aye, they would indeed!" Edhael exclaimed, coming to Gloin's side. "My throat is parched from lack of drink."

"And too much singing'," Gloin rumbled into his beard. The bard shot him an offended look.

"Well if you refuse to say anything nice, perhaps you should remain silent!" He huffed, crossing his arms indignantly. Halbarad let out a laugh as Adrathon disappeared back behind the gate. 

"It isn't that your songs aren't appreciated," the ranger said. "It's just that some of them seemed a little... Targeted. At the dwarves' expense, I might add." 

Edhael sniffed lightly. "It isn't my fault that my songs are too brazen for dwarven ears."

"Too brazen?" Gloin snorted. "I'm pretty sure anyone would be offended by being likened to blind rodents!"

"You miss the point, my dear Gloin! The comparison to moles was purely poetic, it meant nothing!" 

The three ceased their debate when Adrathon returned, a tall pitcher in one hand and a stack of cups balanced gracefully in the other. "I can return for more if need be, though I doubt Lord Elrond will make you wait much longer." 

Halbarad nodded, giving the elf a kind smile. "Thank you." Turning to two nearby rangers, he ordered that the water be spread among the elleths and children, and they carried out his command without hesitation. Meanwhile, Edhael leaned against the gate, strumming his lute casually as they waited. 

One day this humble bard
Chanced upon a fellow
Who took offense at his songs
And thus began to bellow

But the humble bard
Paid him no attention
Instead he took his lute and played
And drowned out his pretension!

A hail of fruit and dirt from Gloin forced him to pause, retreating behind a rock. 

"Let me sing, you horrid little beast!" He exclaimed, fleeing once more as the old dwarf took chase. Halbarad and the other rangers began to laugh at their antics, happy to be free of the troubles of the world for a moment. They were quickly brought back, however, when Lord Elrond himself emerged from the tall gates. 

Upon his brow was a crown of silver, with white-blue gems that glowed like stars adorning it. His elegant robes were an equally stunning color, and of a cut that fit his pastime as a scholar, though the sword at his hip spoke of a different calling. 

"Halbarad-en-Dunedain, you return," he said, his keen eyes surveying all in the party. Edhael and Gloin remained frozen mid-stride, the dwarf's hand still filled with dirt. 

Halbarad gave a sweeping bow. "My Lord Elrond, it is good to see you well."

"And you," Elrond replied, ushering them all inside with a gesture. "All are welcome here, even the children on Durin. Especially in these dark times. I already know of what took place at Mithlond, and these tidings are far worse than even you might think." He gave orders for his attendants to care for the survivors, then guided Halbarad to his personal study. It was elegant yet simple, full of books that were likely many years older than the ranger. In the center of the room sat a round table, hewn from mallorn and as white as fresh-fallen snow. Upon it sat a single book. It was worn and its pages were frayed, but it was opened to an image that was familiar to Halbarad: A dead tree, with branches stretching in every direction. 

Elrond picked the book up, seating himself in one of several chairs that sat around the table. "There are many dangerous foes who have joined The Enemy. Do you know who this symbol belongs to?"

"Nay," Halbarad replied, studying it intently. "But we encountered orcs bearing that mark in Bree. They answered to a 'she'."

Elrond nodded knowingly, turning the worn page. On the next page was a sketch of a woman, clad in spiked armor and holding a scroll in one hand and a thin iron staff in the other. She was beautiful, with dark flowing hair that framed a picture-perfect face. 

"This is Lady Zaskia, formerly Queen Zaskia the Second, wife of Araphant, King of Arthedain. She ruled alongside her husband in the last years of the realm and mothered Arvedui, last King of Arthedain." 

"One of our ancestors," Halbarad said with respect. He knew the story of how Arthedain had fallen to the Witch-king of Angmar, and how Arvedui had drowned in the far northern lands of Forochel. 

"Indeed she is," Elrond replied. "But what many do not know is that she caused the doom of her own son. She was a student of Galadriel, learning much of history and the healing magic of the elves. When Araphant struggled most to hold his realm against Angmar, Zaskia sought to save Arthedain however she could. She searched for dusty tomes bearing spells long lost, delving into the deep places of the earth that had been shunned by her people. There, in an old tome, she found an incantation which summoned a sorcerer from the far East... There he was known as the Black Augur of Zakrahar. You might know him better by another name, though... For he is known in the west as Khamul the Nazgul. He concealed his true identity from Zaskia for a time,  claiming to know how to save the kingdom she loved. 

"As the days passed she grew in power, unknowingly delving into dark sorcery. Her husband, now old and frail, confronted her on it one day, and in a fit of dark rage she killed him. Reviled and frightened of herself, Zaskia claimed that he had died suddenly in the night. Though Arvedui was nearly of age to rule, he opted to lead the armies of Arthedain while his mother ruled from home. At first the war went well, Zaskia's newfound powers aiding her son's efforts against Angmar. But these powers came at a cost. Always she sought more, never satisfied with what the Black Augur was teaching her. 

"Eventually Lady Galadriel took notice of her frightening powers and rebuked her, knowing that she was studying knowledge best left alone. Zaskia would not listen, severing her ties with the Lady of the Wood and dedicating herself fully to the Black Augur's teachings. It was then that he revealed himself, telling Zaskia that he was her only hope of gaining the power she so hungrily craved. Already beyond helping, she gladly accepted his tutelage, losing what little was left of herself in the process. When her son returned from war, he barely recognized his own mother. She no longer claimed to be fighting for the salvation of Arthedain, and had amassed a small army of men under a new banner bearing a tree; This tree, however, was a mockery of the White Tree, dark and twisted instead of bright and fair.

"Arvedui drove her out, exiling her from Arthedain and its holdings at the counsel of Galadriel herself. Zaskia fled over the Misty Mountains and came to find shelter in Dol Guldur, then under the leadership of the Necromancer. Khamul went with her and continued to teach her the dark arts, until eventually she was able to cheat death itself. Little was known of her for nearly a century, until she led an assault on the realm of Thranduil. In the battle that followed, Thranduil dealt her a mortal blow, causing her army to flee in disarray. Since that day it was assumed that she was dead... But now we know that somehow she survived."

Halbarad nodded slowly, taking in all he had just learned. "What would she want of Gerithor?"

Elrond stood, returning the book to its place on the shelf. "I do not know... But she is a treacherous and powerful foe. We must be wary when dealing with her."

"I doubt she'll want to do much 'dealing' aside from slitting our throats," Halbarad replied. 

Seating himself once more, Elrond looked Halbarad in the eyes. "Do not be so sure. Her servants are on the way to treat with us as we speak."