As the cloaked figure stepped closer, Gerithor felt an inexplicable chill go down his spine. Something about the manner of the figure was very, very wrong. Then Gerithor noticed. It was the walk. Every other step, the figure seemed to almost limp. But rather than from an injury, it seemed to be that the stranger was purposely trying to walk humanlike when it was clearly unnatural for him to do so.

"Who are you?" Gerithor asked, his hand straying back to the hilt of his sword. The stranger laughed a harsh, deep laugh, almost demonic in tone.

"If I told you, it wouldn't make any difference," He said. Suddenly he stopped walking, and drew himself up to his full height. It seemed now that he had grown nearly a foot taller, and his shoulders, previously hunched, were unnaturally broad.

"Why are you here?" Gerithor insisted. Though he was afraid he didn't let it show, and years of practice served him well in this aspect. He projected confidence that he didn't felt, and stood taller to match the stranger's menacing stance.

"My master sent me," The stranger replied. The words dripped with a combination of menace and... hate. Almost as if the stranger was disgusted to say the words.

"Who is your master?? And why did he send you?" At this point, Gerithor had decided that he needed to buy time. Perhaps if he lingered long enough, another one of the rangers would come upon him and be able to help.

"You do not know my master... But my master's master... You know him well." The figure reached toward his hood with a gauntleted hand, and pulled it back with one slow motion. Gerithor's heart stopped for a moment in fear when he saw what lie beneath.

Dirty brown rags covered most of the stranger's face. The lower jaw wasn't covered, however, and it revealed dark skin and a mouth filled with jagged, sharp teeth. There were also holes where the eyes were, and sickly, glowing white spheres stared emptily at the ranger. But what was worst was the symbol that was drawn onto the rags... A dead charred tree, its branches splayed like grasping hands. Though the ranger did not know its meaning, above the tree was a red Eye, and Gerithor knew what it stood for.

"Your master must think that his reach has extended far indeed if he sent you here, to a haven of Men," Gerithor growled. Whether this beast was an orc or not, it was clear what its intentions were. Gerithor drew his sword, the blade ringing as it exited its sheath.

"He did not send me," the beast said, pointing at the Eye on his head covering. His finger traveled down to the dead tree, and his mouth turned up in a combination of a snarl and a grin. "She did."

As Gerithor looked on the orc drew a long, curved sword from his belt, and with a growl took a step forward.

"She knows of your quest. And you will never live to see it completed."

The orc raised his hand, and two more menacing orcs similar in appearance to the first emerged from a nearby alley. Gerithor tensed and raised his sword, knowing that a fight was imminent.

The three orcs surrounded him and began to circle around him, like wolves looking for a weakness in the defense of a buck.

Suddenly one of them lunged forward, and Gerithor moved quickly to counter. The speed of the orc's attack had taken the ranger by surprise however, and he stumbled backward. The orc took advantage of the momentary loss of balance and advanced, jabbing and slicing with his sword with the skill of a master bladesman.

Gerithor had never seen an orc fight with much skill at all, let alone with measured, calculated attacks like this one. The orc saw the surprise on the ranger's face, that much was clear. But where an ordinary orc would sneer and grow overconfident, this orc maintained a stoic expression and continued to attack with measured force.

Gerithor recovered from his momentary surprise, realizing that this would not be an easy fight. He retreated backward, his longsword in front of him in a protective stance. The orc kept his distance, attacking more cautiously now that Gerithor was on the defense. The other two orcs remained motionless, silently watching the duel without making any move to help their companion.

Gerithor watched for an opening, hoping that there would be a weakness in the orc's technique that he could exploit. But as the fight continued, his heart sunk. The orc's attacks were flawless, and his defense was perfect. It would only be a matter of time before the ranger tired, and then the fight would be over.

But just as the orc's blows were beginning to overpower him, Gerithor saw movement on one of the nearby roofs. The sound of an arrow whizzing through the air momentarily distracted the orc, giving Gerithor time to dive for cover in a nearby alley. One of the orc's companions fell to the ground as the arrow made contact with his skull, and the other two orcs looked around momentarily before fleeing. But unlike most orcs, who would howl and jeer as they fled, these two silently disappeared into the shadows on the streets, leaving Gerithor breathless and tired.

A figure leapt from the roof, and Gerithor immediately recognized Halbarad.

"You came just in time!" Gerithor exclaimed as Halbarad helped him up.

"We heard blades clashing and we were certain it was one of our number," Halbarad replied, his expression turning grim. "But when I saw orcs... Even I was surprised."

"I do not know how they made it this far west," Gerithor said, brushing himself off. "But we had better discuss it indoors."

"I disagree," Halbarad replied. "Bree isn't safe for us. I doubt that that was even a fraction of their full strength, there are most likely more camped in the forest outside of town."

"The men need rest," Gerithor countered. "And besides, it's safer here in the town."

"For us, maybe," Halbarad replied. The rest of the rangers emerged from the shadows and gathered around their captains, silently awaiting orders. "But our staying here will only put the Bree-folk in danger. The orcs will not attack the town unless we're here."

"You're right," Gerithor said. "Their leader said that his master sent them to kill us."

"Sauron?" Halbarad asked.

"No... A 'she'. Her symbol is a dead tree, if that means anything to you." Gerithor pulled his hood back over his head, looking around furtively as if new dangers lurked behind every house.

"It doesn't... Though I have no doubt we shall learn more of it eventually." Halbarad turned to face the rest of the rangers. "We're moving out again. There's a small door on the opposite side of town that we can sneak through mostly unobserved. Eru willing, the orcs are not aware of it and will not be watching it."

"I suppose we should keep moving through the night then," Gerithor murmured. "We should be miles away from here by daybreak."

"I agree," Halbarad replied. "You and I will fetch some food from the inn, fresh meat and cheese will help remedy the low morale of traveling through the night."

Gerithor turned and smiled slightly at the older ranger. "You're a good leader, you know that?"

Halbarad placed a firm hand on Gerithor's shoulder, returning the smile. "You have potential to be an even better one."

"Thank you sir, but you know me... I'm better suited to leading myself, and only myself." Gerithor looked away, not wanting to make eye contact. He knew what Halbarad was going to say next already, and he didn't know if he wanted to hear it.

"That's what you tell yourself," Halbarad said. "But you and I both know that it's not true."

Gerithor knew that now wasn't the time to argue... So he merely nodded and turned away. "So... Supplies."

"Aye, let's go," Halbarad said. He and Gerithor split up from the rest of the rangers and made their way back into town. Gerithor knew that eventually, he'd have to heed Halbarad's words. But he wasn't ready to... Not yet.

Night passed into day, and still the rangers continued on without rest. They did not stop to eat, nor even to refill their canteens when they crossed the Baranduin that morning. None of them requested to stop either, for all of them now knew that they were being hunted. Occasionally Gerithor would catch the sound of a twig snapping somewhere behind them in the forest, or the frightened call of a bird that fled the passing of their hunters. It seemed that the orcs had almost immediately picked up their trail, though for some reason they had not attacked yet. Perhaps there weren't enough of them to attack the rangers openly yet, or perhaps they were under different orders. Either way, Gerithor knew that they were being followed.

It seemed that as the sun rose higher into the sky, their pursuers fell further behind. As the pine forests opened up into hilly plains, all trace of them vanished. They could not be seen in the distance, and there were no longer any birds around to announce their presence, save a few crows that circled slowly overhead. Gerithor thought that the crows seemed odd... somehow unfriendly even.

The Blue Mountains could finally be seen in the distance, and Gerithor was once more reminded of how they got their name. A blue haze surrounded them, causing the mountains to appear sapphire blue. The sun's light fell upon them in such a way that they also appeared to shimmer, and they reminded Gerithor of great ocean waves crashing upon the shore. For a moment the beauty of them made him forget about their pursuers, and he even forgot about their quest as he gazed upon the tall mountains.

"There they are," Halbarad said as he too took in the sight. "Hopefully the elves and the rest of our men arrived before us. I doubt their journey was anywhere near as difficult as ours."

"It seems unlikely that they'd have encountered any trouble," Gerithor agreed. "Though I suppose we shall soon find out regardless!"

"Indeed! Just a little distance to go, we should be at the foot of the mountain path by nightfall," Halbarad announced. At this the rangers let out a collective sigh of relief. They were all tired, and the thought of resting anywhere sounded highly desirable at that point.

"We should scout the path," Gerithor said. He knew that most of the rangers would be slightly annoyed at the suggestion, but it was better to be safe and be a little later than sorry and dead in his mind.

"I agree," Halbarad replied, much to Gerithor's relief. "Even if there aren't orcs, I have no doubt that the dragon will be keeping a wary eye on the road. He'll be loathe to give up his treasure so soon. Gerithor, take a man and scout up to the beginning of the mountain trail. Return once you've thoroughly scouted the path."

"Yes sir," Gerithor replied. "Belon, I'm sorry to say this, but you're with me again."

Belon visibly perked up and took his place by Gerithor's side. "Always happy to help!" He exclaimed excidedly. Gerithor smiled slightly. Though older than Gerithor by about ten years, Belon had always had a childlike enthusiasm about nearly everything. He was also rather naïve, and while Gerithor liked his optimism he felt that Belon had much to learn about the world. Which is why he had chosen him to accompany him.

"Remember, the goal is to see but remain unseen," Gerithor admonished as the two departed from the company. "And if we so much as see that dragon's tail, we're getting back here as soon as possible. I'd very much like to survive this journey."

"Me too, me too," Belon replied. "But still... Wouldn't it be utterly magnificent to see a dragon?"

Gerithor sighed. "I suppose it would be, if it weren't trying to kill you." As an afterthought he added: "And even then, they're more terrifying than magnificent."

"Oh, I forgot! You've seen one haven't you?" Belon said.

"Aye, I have," Gerithor replied. "I wish I hadn't though. They're evil beasts, and terribly smart."

"Well, what about this one?"

Gerithor raised an eyebrow. "What about this one?"

"Yes, what about this one? Maybe it's a kind dragon."

Gerithor snorted. "No such thing lad."

"How do you know? After all, you've only met one." Belon looked over at Gerithor, an inquisitive expression on his face.

Gerithor mused for a moment. "True... Though from the stories I've heard about the other ones I wouldn't want to meet them either."

"But this isn't one of them either! We don't know anything about this one, do we?"

"Well... We know it drove the dwarves out of their halls. That seems like enough to consider it a bad dragon," Gerithor replied. "Plus, to be honest I've never even heard of a good dragon. They might not exist."

"I'd like to think they do," Belon said, looking up at the sky as if imagining one. "Wouldn't it be nice if there weren't wars?" He asked, suddenly changing the topic.

"What?" Gerithor asked. He was surprised by the question, and he wasn't sure how Belon wanted him to answer.

"Well, as I see it, if there weren't wars it'd be a nicer world." Belon expounded.

"Oh! I agree. But then again, there wouldn't be a need for rough folk like us if there weren't wars," Gerithor replied.

"We're not all rough," Belon replied. "If I had a say in anything, I'd be a farmer."

Gerithor laughed aloud in merriment, looking the other ranger up and down. "You? A farmer? I think you look much more suited to a bow than a rake, and to fighting orcs instead of feeding slop to pigs."

"Maybe... But it'd be a simpler life," Belon said. "I'd like to have a nice little farm to the north of Bree... Maybe with a pasture, and a wife and some wee children running about the place."

Gerithor was silent for a moment. He hadn't thought about such things for years... He had given up the hope of having a family a long time ago. But as Belon mentioned it, Gerithor could see it in his mind. An easier life, without so much suffering... And with someone who loved him, cared about him.

But as soon as the thought entered his mind, he quickly pushed it away. There was no time for any thoughts like that... The chances of that happening were next to none.

"But it'd be so boring," Gerithor said finally. His voice betrayed his lack of conviction, but he pretended not to notice.

"I don't know about tha-" Belon stopped suddenly and raised his hand in the air. "Do you hear that?"

Gerithor listened, and as he did he faintly heard a fair voice in the air, accompanied by a lute:

There was a plucky maiden that

Lived on a farm down Gondor way

She was married to a farmer fat

Who drank both night and day

She worked the field, she fed the hogs

While her husband brave was sleeping

She milked the cows, she cut the logs

But all the while was weeping

One day came along a knight of Amroth

Who saw the maiden fair

And on the spot he pledged his troth

For her beauty was so rare

But at that time, the farmer woke

His manner was so foul

And in a drunken bout he spoke

His ugly voice a growl

The knight did laugh, and with a smile

He drew his sword so bright

And made a cut with guile

Not befitting of a knight

The farmer yelped, his face turned red

His anger it supplants

But not in pain, but dread

The cut had felled his pants!

As the song finished, the two rangers rounded a corner and to their wonderment, they saw none other than Edhael perched atop a boulder, strumming his lute and laughing at his own song.

"Ah, gentlemen! I've been waiting for you!" He said, leaping gracefully from the boulder and landing with a gallant bow. Gerithor raised an eyebrow.

"You've stooped to the level of entertaining crows with your song?" The ranger asked, looking around at the desolate landscape in mock disdain.

"No! Not at all! I saw the two of you blundering about on the path down there, so I wrote that song for you!" The blond elf strummed his lute once more, before strapping it onto his back.

"Where are the others?" Gerithor asked.

"Well you see..." The elf replied slowly. "That's the real reason I'm here. But signal for the rest of your company to come, that way I can explain it once without having to explain it to each and every one of you silly mortals."