Chapter 1
The Elf lay on his back studying the starry night sky. The black velvet expanse was strewn bright with diamonds and every so often a pinprick streak of light would travel across the firmament.
He sighed. It was time he headed back to the palace before he was missed. He never wanted to be King. Never. He thought he’d spend his years after the War of the Ring in Gondor. The thought of the White City cast a gloomy shadow over his mind. He sat up, abruptly, and rising fluidly to his feet, he slapped the dirt from his hands. Duty. He had his duty, and so did the King of Gondor.
With another loud slap of his hands against his leggings, he turned his face to the stain of red that signaled the approaching dawn. Mirkwood was awakening. Duty called and he leapt into the trees to make his way back to his place on the throne.
Across the lightening sky, the stars faded from sight as a bright flare of green sailed across the heavens and somewhere on the distant remote borders of the great Elven realm a plume of green cloud erupted over the trees as something impacted with the earth.
Mithrandir stood on the parapets of the Palace in Minas Tirith. His shaggy white brows drew together in a frown as he watched the ominous streak of green blaze across the sky. “Hmmm. Probably nothing,” he said to himself. Still…He sent his mind questing outward, through the lands of middle earth. Into the Elven realm…. Into the dark forests of Mirkwood. A great heaviness pulsed but no thought stirred. Alive? He could not penetrate the odd puzzle. It did not bode well.
Mithrandir turned and walked down a long winding stair, his staff clanking on the stones, as his hastened footsteps took him to the chambers of the King. He knocked on the heavy door, after gaining entrance to the inner chamber past the guards. No answer. He frowned.
“Aragorn, stop playing at sleep and open this door. It’s me!”
After a moment, the door opened a crack and the sheepish grin of the King greeted him. “I was not playing at sleep,” he said plaintively, as he opened the door for the Wizard to enter. His eyes cast a furtive glance down the hall before ushering the old man in hurriedly.
The Wizard favored him with a sad knowing smile. “Arwen is not in the castle,” he said, quietly. “She left her chambers early this morning for a horse ride.”
“What do you mean by this, my friend. I am not her keeper.” The King looked chagrined. Aragorn moved to the large ornate bed, which dominated the room. He opened his robe and began to sort through the clothes that had been laid out for him.
“No, you are not her keeper,” said the old Wizard. The King shot him an annoyed look.
“And she is not mine!” said the Man. Aragorn took off the robe, exposing his muscular chest and picked up a black silk undershirt.
“Oh no? Is that why you hide at every opportunity? Come now, Aragorn, I am not blind.”
“No, you are not. But you played at it well enough when it came time for me to wed the Evenstar and forever be lost to my true…” Aragorn cut the hot retort off in mid sentence, abashed at what almost came out of his mouth.
He turned, irritably from the old man, and stalked across the room to change his clothes. “What do you want of me so early, Gandalf?” He was annoyed with himself. His unhappiness was making him short tempered. He had to stop taking it out on the people he cared about.
“Something has come up. I must go to Lothlórien to consult with Galadriel,” said the old Wizard, mysteriously.
The King now turned to him. “There is a problem?”
“I do not know. Perhaps. If so, she will be able to tell us.”
“Do not speak in riddles. What is it? Where is it?”
The Wizard shook his white head and averted his eyes. “It is probably nothing but an old man’s fancy. No need to worry over fantasies, old friend.”
Aragorn fastened his belt over his heavy velvet raiment as he finished dressing and walked to the Wizard who had moved to the window casement. “Gandalf, there is something you are holding back. Now. Tell me.”
With a heavy sigh, the wizened old man turned to the King. “As I said, it is probably nothing…a strange light in the sky. It came down and I thought I sensed something, …something that should not be. Galadriel will tell us.”
The Man stared at him. “Where?”
The mage turned his blue eyes out the window, and a shadow fell over his face. “Mirkwood.”
He sighed. It was time he headed back to the palace before he was missed. He never wanted to be King. Never. He thought he’d spend his years after the War of the Ring in Gondor. The thought of the White City cast a gloomy shadow over his mind. He sat up, abruptly, and rising fluidly to his feet, he slapped the dirt from his hands. Duty. He had his duty, and so did the King of Gondor.
With another loud slap of his hands against his leggings, he turned his face to the stain of red that signaled the approaching dawn. Mirkwood was awakening. Duty called and he leapt into the trees to make his way back to his place on the throne.
Across the lightening sky, the stars faded from sight as a bright flare of green sailed across the heavens and somewhere on the distant remote borders of the great Elven realm a plume of green cloud erupted over the trees as something impacted with the earth.
Mithrandir stood on the parapets of the Palace in Minas Tirith. His shaggy white brows drew together in a frown as he watched the ominous streak of green blaze across the sky. “Hmmm. Probably nothing,” he said to himself. Still…He sent his mind questing outward, through the lands of middle earth. Into the Elven realm…. Into the dark forests of Mirkwood. A great heaviness pulsed but no thought stirred. Alive? He could not penetrate the odd puzzle. It did not bode well.
Mithrandir turned and walked down a long winding stair, his staff clanking on the stones, as his hastened footsteps took him to the chambers of the King. He knocked on the heavy door, after gaining entrance to the inner chamber past the guards. No answer. He frowned.
“Aragorn, stop playing at sleep and open this door. It’s me!”
After a moment, the door opened a crack and the sheepish grin of the King greeted him. “I was not playing at sleep,” he said plaintively, as he opened the door for the Wizard to enter. His eyes cast a furtive glance down the hall before ushering the old man in hurriedly.
The Wizard favored him with a sad knowing smile. “Arwen is not in the castle,” he said, quietly. “She left her chambers early this morning for a horse ride.”
“What do you mean by this, my friend. I am not her keeper.” The King looked chagrined. Aragorn moved to the large ornate bed, which dominated the room. He opened his robe and began to sort through the clothes that had been laid out for him.
“No, you are not her keeper,” said the old Wizard. The King shot him an annoyed look.
“And she is not mine!” said the Man. Aragorn took off the robe, exposing his muscular chest and picked up a black silk undershirt.
“Oh no? Is that why you hide at every opportunity? Come now, Aragorn, I am not blind.”
“No, you are not. But you played at it well enough when it came time for me to wed the Evenstar and forever be lost to my true…” Aragorn cut the hot retort off in mid sentence, abashed at what almost came out of his mouth.
He turned, irritably from the old man, and stalked across the room to change his clothes. “What do you want of me so early, Gandalf?” He was annoyed with himself. His unhappiness was making him short tempered. He had to stop taking it out on the people he cared about.
“Something has come up. I must go to Lothlórien to consult with Galadriel,” said the old Wizard, mysteriously.
The King now turned to him. “There is a problem?”
“I do not know. Perhaps. If so, she will be able to tell us.”
“Do not speak in riddles. What is it? Where is it?”
The Wizard shook his white head and averted his eyes. “It is probably nothing but an old man’s fancy. No need to worry over fantasies, old friend.”
Aragorn fastened his belt over his heavy velvet raiment as he finished dressing and walked to the Wizard who had moved to the window casement. “Gandalf, there is something you are holding back. Now. Tell me.”
With a heavy sigh, the wizened old man turned to the King. “As I said, it is probably nothing…a strange light in the sky. It came down and I thought I sensed something, …something that should not be. Galadriel will tell us.”
The Man stared at him. “Where?”
The mage turned his blue eyes out the window, and a shadow fell over his face. “Mirkwood.”
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