Faervel has seen many bloody battles in his lifetime. He was there when the Silvan elves left Lindor, following their king to the forest of Greenwood. He was there when Oropher decided the wood elves should join the Last Alliance against Sauron and most importantly, when his king was murdered in cold blood. He was in the front lines, alongside warriors such as Lord Elrond and Glorfindel, and he saw the Dark Lord up close when he walked out. He saw his Nazgul, his first commanders and he did catch a glimpse of the Shadow of Angmar. They even fought at some point in the battle but she had a thick helmet and the only part of her face he could see was her pair of eyes: full of anger, black as if she had risen from Hell particularly for the war. She was fast, her stamina was incredible, she could fight for days and wouldn't need to patch her wounds. Just as quickly as she came, she left. She disappeared for thousands of years and then she surfaced in Greenwood.
He stood in the middle of a clearing, if it could still be called that. Thick webs were glued against every tree trunk and he had killed three spiders that came from nowhere towards him. He knew the deeper he went into the forest, the more dangerous it would get. He knew they were gathering in the southern and eastern side of the forest, towards the fortress. That place should have been destroyed after the war but since it was considered empty, they decided to let it as it is. Nobody dared enter, nobody except Mistril. She felt drawn to it which in Faervel's opinion meant one thing: the fortress was no longer empty. Darkness attracts darkness and no matter who or what lies inside Dol Guldur, he was sure Mistril was going to return.
The rustling of leaves drew his attention immediately but he did not touch his sword. Brown hair approached him from behind a bush, his attire slightly torn and his youthful face dirtied.
"Spiders are not the only creatures rising in number. Orcs from all over Middle earth are coming here."
Tudor saw Mistril up close when she entered and left the fortress. Back then it did not feel as tense as it did now. Back then, Faervel did not have to decide by himself what actions to take against peril.
"It won't be easy to go inside. As soon as I step on that stone bridge, I can't move forward or backwards. It's so..." Tudor shivered at the ominous feeling. It happened only once but it was enough to give him nightmares for life. "I met your son on the way and he didn't look right. We should leave before we get influenced by this Necromancer."
"Is it really a Necromancer behind this sorcery? A human magician cannot have so much power over orcs." Faervel muttered to himself. Tudor sighed and grabbed a hand through his messy hair. He swore he felt some dirt in it from the time he got pushed on the ground by a spider.
"We've been doing this for three days already. I don't know what type of information we can gather. Orcs come in packs, it's impossible for us to capture one when we are so few. Our time is limited during the night and we still have to patrol during the day. We won't be able to keep this a secret from the king, Faervel. You should tell him."
"It's only been three days and you are complaining?" Faervel used his commander tone, making Tudor bow his head in shame. "We need to do this. It is our duty to protect Mirkwood."
"Mirkwood..." Tudor sighed at the change of name. "It really became a cursed place."
It was not unusual for warriors to break under immense stress but Faervel was worried. If Tudor, who had fought for days in the war felt so drained from just running around Dol Guldur, then what could he expect from his son or other younger wood elves?
Thranduil could sense something was wrong, or at least odd with his commander. He spent the last days in meetings with the rest of his ministers. Ever since Erebor fell under the power of the greedy Smaug, the Lake City has become less of what it used to be. Their products were of common quality and they had to turn towards other parts such as the land of Rohan for better. Of course that did not mean they would terminate their businesses, not when the people of Lake City depended on the gold from the wood elves.
"My King, are you alright? You have been distressed lately, and for good reasons but-" The elegant and fragile looking ellon stopped when he saw the frosty look of his lord.
"Golwenor, do you feel safe?" Thranduil asked his book keeper. Golwenor was a wise elf, not very old but with an incredible mind for finances. He was also very thin and easy to pick on if he was outside the Halls.
"I feel safe, of course." Was the first part of his answer. "But I also feel like I'm suffocating. It's not that our borders have limited us from wandering around other corners of the forest, it's this...it's the forest itself. The connection is breaking between the trees, the animals and us. I feel weary." Golwenor added, being as honest as ever.
Thranduil acknowledged his reply with a nod, which also meant he was done with this discussion. Golwenor left swiftly and went into the kitchens where he needed to sit and take a long deep breath.
Faervel was busy and Gweluven was in Lothlorien. The two Silvan elves that Thranduil trusted with personal problems were not around so he had to keep his troubles to himself. It was rather stupid but among the usual kingdom stuff, Thranduil couldn't get over the dreams he had been having with Mistril. Ever since he saw her memories, he started to remember the days he spent fighting in the war. She was there, his brain was trying his best to find a memory in which he caught a glimpse of her. Another issue was this obsession he had with Mistril and her past. No matter how much he turned in bed, her face would come up and he hated it.
"I brought you the documents you wanted, my lord." Maerdor's voice made him look up and stop day dreaming. "You also got a message from Lord Elrond and another from Lord Glorfindel."
If a message from Elrond was to be expected, the one from Glorfindel was a surprise. He made a sign for Maerdor to bring him the papers. As he approached, Thranduil noticed that his swordsman looked a lot more tired than he should, and a lot more ragged.
"Is patrolling so dangerous lately?" He asked, visibly judging the state Maerdor was in.
"No. I'm fine. Everything is fine." He answered and got out as fast as he could without looking suspicious.
Thranduil glared at the space he was in before he looked down at his desk. Maerdor placed them there, Glorfindel's message aside. He started with what bothered him first. He couldn't quite believe it when unwrapping the manuscript. It was a drawing of him on the balcony during the sunset. It was beautiful and confusing. On the very bottom was only one sentence: You are not forgotten, not will ever be. On the other side was a signature which he could barely make up since it was so messy. But he knew what name was written since it was in Quenya.
"Just how old is she?" He asked himself. Very few of the remaining elves knew to speak it, most of them preferring the use of Sindarin. He too preferred the later but he had no indication of how educated was Mistril. He didn't know much about her in the first place. She showed him her past starting from the moment she got caught by the orcs but he was curious how she was like before that. After reading Elrond's message about the upcoming voyage of a certain dwarf that he disliked, he turned his attention back on the drawing.
He had to send for Glorfindel.402Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqX3VNcy6ef
