The sun dipped lower in the sky as Gerithor and his companions continued their journey towards Fornost. The rhythmic clip-clop of their horses' hooves echoed through the landscape. They had ridden for hours, pushing their mounts to cover as much ground as possible. As they finally halted for a brief respite, Gerithor dismounted, feeling the weariness in his legs.

"This is why I don't ride horses more often," Gerithor remarked, pulling his knee up to his chest to stretch, a grimace crossing his face.

"I like it personally," Eldahir chimed in, grinning at his friend. "It makes trips faster and saves you the work of running."

"Aye, that it does. But it also gives you a world of pain in your backside," Gerithor responded with a smirk. His eyes then shifted toward his father, Gerimond, who stood a short distance away, gazing down the hillside towards Fornost. Gerithor understood his father's silence. If not for the encouragement from Eldahir and Sarina, Gerithor knew he'd be grappling with grief for his mother, succumbing to despair. Gerimond dealt with the pain by keeping to himself, speaking only when necessary.

Gerithor turned his attention to Sarina, who was tending to her horse with gentle whispers and the offering of an apple. Despite the hardships they faced, she seemed to adapt to her new life well. Gerithor smiled, appreciating her resilience, and then turned back to Eldahir.

"How are you holding up?" Gerithor inquired, diverting the conversation.

"I'm alright. I'm more concerned about you; you've lost so much," Eldahir expressed with genuine concern. A pang of grief coursed through Gerithor, but he suppressed it and mustered a reassuring smile.

"I'll be okay. Don't worry about me; focus on the path ahead. We'll all need our wits about us at journey's end." With a brief nod, Gerithor shifted his attention to his horse's saddlebag, rummaging through the small pack attached to it.

Their contemplative moment was interrupted when Gerimond addressed the entire group. "From here, we'll have to leave the horses behind. They'll be too loud." His eyes met each companion's gaze, finally settling on Gerithor.

"He's right. They'll give us away," Gerithor affirmed, turning to face the group.

"What will we do with them?" Sarina asked, her expression tinged with concern.

"Let them go. They know their way back to Rivendell; they'll return there eventually," Gerithor explained, offering her a comforting smile. She reluctantly released her horse, and Eldahir gave his a gentle slap, sending it galloping into the forest. Gerithor and Gerimond's horses followed suit. Fortunately, Gerithor had managed to free his pack first, and the others had already removed theirs.

Gerimond gestured towards the forest. "Son, let's go fetch some water." Gerithor followed, mildly perplexed, as his water bottle was nearly full. As they distanced themselves from the camp, Gerimond turned to face his son.

"I feel that I need to explain something to you," Gerimond began, catching Gerithor off guard.

"Go ahead," Gerithor replied, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

"I've known Sarina for several years now, Gerithor. She's the daughter of one of my best friends, a man from Bree. After he and his wife were killed, I vowed to protect their daughter. I taught her how to fight and use a bow and kept watch over her home for years. I admit, it's a strange coincidence that you came upon her," Gerimond said, a glint of recognition in his eyes. "But perhaps it wasn't a mere coincidence. Fate weaves people's lives together in strange ways."

Gerithor's surprise was evident as he stared at his father. "Why keep this from me until now?"

"I informed your mother. I didn't think it would be significant to you, so I didn't bring it up. When you arrived in Rivendell with her, I intended to tell you, but the opportunity never presented itself." Gerimond fixed his gaze on Gerithor, his expression intense.

"Why are you telling me now?" Gerithor asked, a hint of confusion in his narrowed eyes.

"Because we are going somewhere very dangerous, and I need you to promise me something," Gerimond urgently stated. "Should I not survive, promise me you'll guard Sarina and look after her."

Gerithor looked at his father in shock. "You'll make it out of this, father! You have to!"

Gerimond gazed sadly upon his son. "Sometimes in battle, things take a turn for the worst. But I will do my best."

"Promise?" Gerithor's voice carried a touch of sadness.

His father hesitated for a moment. "I promise that I will try." Gerimond placed a hand on his son's shoulder, pulling him closer. "I'm proud of you, Gerithor. You've become a great man."

"I'll never be as great as you, father." Gerithor smiled at Gerimond, and they embraced.

"We'd better head back now; our companions will wonder what became of us," Gerimond said, putting an arm around his son's shoulder. They both made their way back to Sarina and Eldahir. When they returned, Gerimond signaled the small group forward, and they ran into the forest.

Gerithor contemplated his father's words. He felt a newfound responsibility to protect Sarina, no matter what happened at Fornost. Recollections of Eldahir's words in Rivendell resurfaced, the ones where he shared his feelings toward her. It was a complex situation; Gerithor wanted to shield Sarina, yet he didn't want her to develop feelings for him, especially after Eldahir had confided in him. He sighed, gazing at Sarina running a bit behind him, smiling warmly. A conflicted expression crossed Gerithor's face as he tried to clear his mind of such thoughts.

===============================
 Their journey led them to the Weather Hills as night descended upon the land. Pausing for a brief respite, they continued their march, persistent even through the darkness that shrouded them. The air was filled with hushed murmurs, words exchanged only when absolutely necessary, a precaution to avoid the ears of Arnakhor's scouts that could be lurking in the shadows. So far, their efforts at remaining unseen had spared them from detection.

Approaching Fornost, the terrain flattened, and the sparse scattering of trees dwindled. Stealth became their ally as they glided from one patch of shadow to another. 

A hill obstructed their direct line of sight, yet a telltale sign emerged – tendrils of black smoke, whispering of unforeseen events. Gerithor's gaze shifted to his father, a silent exchange of concern passing between them. Eldahir, too, turned his attention to Gerithor, seeking insight into the unfolding mystery.

"Is the city already on fire?" Eldahir asked, his words hanging heavy in the air.

"I don't know..." Gerithor responded, uncertainty etched across his face as he stared into the distance, where the smoke ascended in thin tendrils. The city's fate remained obscured by the curtain of darkness. Breaking the silence, Gerimond, with an air of authority, intervened.

"Gerithor, you and Sarina go ahead and see what has transpired there. Eldahir and I will await your return."

Gerithor's eyes met Sarina's, and a mutual understanding passed between them. She nodded, her smile a flicker of assurance. As Gerithor unslung his bow, a symbol of the task at hand, they began their journey ahead, disappearing into the shadows, drawn towards the enigma veiled by the rising smoke that clung to the secrets of Fornost.

===============================
 In the concealed embrace of a small forest, Gerithor and Sarina crouched, their eyes fixed upon the distant city that lay before them. The air was tinged with uncertainty as the tendrils of smoke spiraled into the sky, revealing the ominous presence of two colossal siege engines stationed outside the main gate. An improvised maze of barricades filled the gaps in the city's crumbling walls, and a makeshift gate stood as a feeble guardian at the entrance.

Gerithor, keen-eyed and attuned to the subtleties of the scene, whispered to Sarina, "My brethren have manned the defenses." She leaned in, her eyes narrowing as she tried to discern the details of the cityscape.

"You have better vision than me; I can't see them," Sarina confessed with a mischievous grin. "You aren't an elf, are you?"

Gerithor couldn't help but chuckle, responding with a playful push. "No, I'm not an elf! Does it look like I have pointy ears and a holier-than-thou attitude?"

Sarina smirked, her playful banter undeterred. "It's difficult to say, with that shaggy hair of yours covering them up."

Amidst their light-hearted exchange, Gerithor turned his attention back to the city, his eyes scanning the landscape. The outer ruins concealed the majority of the enemy forces, but glimpses of their ominous presence peeked through. Trolls, grotesque in their varied forms, lurked ominously, accompanied by men adorned in iron skull-shaped helmets, wielding longswords with an air of menacing determination. Gerithor quickly tallied their numbers, a moment of silent calculation in the face of impending conflict.

As Gerithor and Sarina stealthily observed the enemy army from their concealed position, he estimated aloud, "There's around three hundred of them that I can see. But most of the army isn't visible from here." His eyes shifted to Sarina, who, determined and resolute, attempted to tally the opposing forces on her own.

"We should try to get to a better vantage point," she proposed after a thoughtful pause. Gerithor nodded in agreement, leading them both back into the dense cover of the trees. They circumnavigated the city until they positioned themselves directly behind the formidable enemy army. Choosing a vantage point atop a boulder, Gerithor laid flat, creating a makeshift lookout post. Sarina joined him, their eyes fixated on the unfolding spectacle. "That army is massive," she gasped at the sheer size of the opposing army, her eyes reflecting a mix of awe and trepidation.

From this elevated position, the enormity of the enemy forces became starkly apparent.  Gerithor, ever the reassuring presence, offered a smile, "It is... But we will prevail, you'll see." His words sought to infuse hope into the air, and Sarina, finding solace in his encouragement, visibly relaxed.

"I believe you," she whispered, her words carrying a hint of newfound assurance. Gerithor turned his gaze away, masking the turmoil within him. Facing the vast enemy force, a wave of hopelessness threatened to engulf him. There seemed little chance for success against such overwhelming odds. The realization of their predicament haunted him.

In an attempt to shield Sarina from the brunt of his own fears, Gerithor gently placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It will be alright, Sarina. Don't lose hope." Her eyes, laden with a multitude of emotions, met his gaze. Fear, worry, and something more elusive flickered within them.

"I've never been in a battle before. I've been told they're terrible things," Sarina confided, her voice tinged with vulnerability. Gerithor, recognizing the delicate balance between truth and reassurance, carefully chose his words to offer comfort without escalating her fears.

   "I've.... I've never been in a battle either. We can stay together, though; it'll be alright," Gerithor murmured, casting a solemn glance toward Sarina. The weight of the impending conflict pressed heavily on his conscience. She shouldn't have to endure the horrors of war, he thought to himself, contemplating the unfortunate reality that lay ahead.

However, Sarina, turning toward him, tearful eyes reflecting her vulnerability, posed a heartfelt question, "Will you stay with me?" Gerithor, grappling with the emotional turmoil within, found himself at a loss for words. The weight of his father's plea to protect her echoed in his mind, and a sense of responsibility enveloped him.

"I promise I'll keep you safe. And Eldahir will too, he's a far better warrior than me. He won't let any harm come to you," Gerithor assured with a gentle smile. Sarina, seeking solace, reached over, taking his hand in a gesture of gratitude.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice carrying a mixture of fear and appreciation. Gerithor squeezed her hand encouragingly before gently releasing it. "We had better return; we don't have much time," he added, his gaze shifting to the siege engines near the gates of the distant city.

Just as they began to rise, the ground beneath them trembled violently, sending them sprawling back to the forest floor. A deafening roar reverberated through the air, and a colossal shadow swept overhead. Gerithor's eyes widened with fear as a massive grey dragon soared above them. The creature surveyed the landscape, its keen gaze scanning the surroundings.

Then, with a deliberate motion, it directed its attention downward, fixing its glowing orange eyes directly on Gerithor and Sarina.