Gerithor slipped out of the inn at first light, careful to make sure he was seen by the two men that attempted in vain to stay concealed behind the inn. He went to the stables where he found his chestnut steed, Esse. He had named his horse Esse much to the elves' disdain, for they had named her Earfaroth, which meant "sea hunter." Gerithor's name for her merely meant "name", and in the elves' minds it meant that the ranger didn't care about the horse enough to give her a proper name. In truth, he cared about the horse but named her Esse because it was easier to pronounce. He was a simple man, and preferred the name of his horse to reflect that.

"Easy, Esse," He whispered as she whinnied nervously. She too had noticed the two dark clad men that were lurking nearby, though they were trying to be stealthy. The ranger whispered to Esse soothingly, until she finally calmed down.

After saddling Esse, Gerithor led her out of the stables and out onto the street. The path was still muddy from the storm the night before, and Gerithor struggled to lead Esse through the deep sludge. It was still early, and few people were in the streets. Those few that were stared distrustfully as he passed, some of them muttering to themselves in distaste. Finally he reached the Greenway, which was paved with wide cobblestones for a short distance until it wound back into the country.

Still noticing the two men following at a distance, Gerithor mounted his steed and traveled forward along the road, waiting until he was out of sight of Archet. Once he was, he looked up and down the road, pretending to make sure nobody was watching him. After he had done that, he plunged into the underbrush, following alongside the road for a distance before dismounting. He tied his horse to a tree then doubled back, going back to the area where he had left the trail.

Surely enough, the two strangers were poking about in the bushes nearby, whispering quietly to themselves. Gerithor stealthily crept forward until he was within earshot.

"Why'd he go off the road?" One asked.

"Must've suspected he was being watched." The other replied.

"I wonder if he's the Ranger that we're supposed to be looking out for."

"Perhaps. If so, we'd better report back to the master. He'll wanna know that he left town."

"But he'll get away! And what if he's meeting the couriers?"

"If he's meeting them, that means the Nazgul will be following, believe me."

"Then why go back to them with news of the Ranger in the first place? And what if it's the other Ranger that is still in town?"

"Enough questions! We're going back! Hopefully they'll reward us." Gerithor heard muffled footsteps as the two men returned back to the road.

  Interesting... The diversion may have worked better than I thought it would, Gerithor thought to himself as he turned away and plunged ahead into the undergrowth.

==========================================

Rhudaur, the same day

Two riders traveled north along the lonely road. Aside from an occasional bird's call, the only sounds breaking the silence of the desolate landscape was the mournful strumming of a stringed instrument that one of the riders carried, and the aggravated sighs of the second rider.

"You've played the same song at least ten times now, Edhael," The second rider said. She was an elf, and wore armor that looked as if it belonged to an older Age. A deep scar ran down the left side of her face, from her forehead down to her jawbone. For an elf, she looked quite tough. Silver hair flowed from under her crested helm, and it blew gently in the wind.

"And each of those times, it was even more beautiful than the last," Her companion replied. He too was an elf, and long, flowing blonde hair framed his youthful face. He wore an elegant white tunic adorned with golden buttons and a brown leather vest, and his demeanor was calm and smooth.

"Sure... That is what you always say," The warrior elleth rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Can you not play something else?"

"Taliel, Taliel... I know this journey has been long, but you must keep your charming positive persona up for just a little bit longer. You ruin my mood when you get like this." Edhael strummed a chord on his lute, giving Taliel a toothy grin.

"Fine. But only because I'd rather not kill you in a bout of anger," Taliel replied. "But please... Play something else for Eru's sake. That tune is going to drive me to drink."

"Very well... How about this?" Edhael changed the tune slightly, adding a few chords.

"...It sounds exactly the same," Taliel said after a moment.

"You're just deaf. When that orc cut off the top of your ear he must've taken your hearing with it. Or... You're just uncultured." He gave the scarred elleth a teasing grin.

"Me?? Uncultured?? I'll show you uncultured, you lopsided smiled dandy!" She drew her sword, growling at Edhael. The elf immediately put his hands in front of him, as if staving off an invisible attack.

"See?? You just proved my point! If you were truly cultured, you'd battle me with words and not crude tools of... of... death," He said, unable to find a more eloquent word at the moment as he motioned toward her sword.

"Words won't save you from an orc, Edhael," Taliel said seriously, sheathing her curved blade. "Once we reach Rivendell, I am going to teach you how to fight. You need to learn."

Edhael sighed, playing a despondent chord on his lute. "Very well, if I must... When will we arrive?"

Taliel looked around, taking in her surroundings. "At this pace? A little more than a day perhaps."

"I can't wait. To finally be in cultured company," Edhael said, causing Taliel to groan. It was going to be a long day...

=================================================

High Pass, the same day

"Quicken your pace, prince. We must reach the other side of the pass by nightfall." Caledorn looked out over the mountains, mentally calculating how much daylight they had left. It wouldn't be much longer. And his companion was getting on his nerves, he was slow and was too inquisitive about absolutely everything. The sooner they reached their destination, the better.

His companion, a blonde-haired elf, trailed behind a short distance, eyes fixated on something in the distance.

"Why did we take the High Pass if it's so dangerous?" He asked. "We could have taken the Redhorn Pass instead."

Caledorn sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Redhorn Pass is worse. At least there's a road here, the Redhorn Pass is little more than a ledge along the side of the Caradhras. Hurry up Legolas, we have little time for idle chatter."

The young prince laughed, but quickened his pace. Caledorn was beginning to regret that he had agreed to escort Legolas to Rivendell. He preferred to be alone, and though the prince wasn't the worst company he had ever traveled with, he certainly wasn't the best.

They soon came upon a large cave that was to their right side. Outside it were the skeletons of several goblins, arranged in a strange way that almost seemed decorative. Legolas paused to inspect them.

"Did a troll do this?" He asked.

Caledorn glanced around the entrance, before slowly shaking his head. "No, I don't think so... Trolls don't often keep goblin trophies. And this is a large cave, far too large for a troll. Must be a mountain giant's lair."

"We should hurry ahead then, it may be nearby," Legolas replied with a shudder. Caledorn nodded in agreement, tugging on his dark leather gloves to tighten them.

"That's the only thing that could make today worse," he mumbled.

"I heard that," Legolas exclaimed as he walked lightly ahead. "You know, I think you are the most grim elf I've met so far... And that is saying much."

"I take it you have yet to meet Lord Elrond then," Caledorn replied with a snort.

"Indeed I do. Is he even worse- I mean, is he even more serious than you?" Legolas said, catching himself too late. Caledorn frowned and closed his eyes in exasperation.

"Yes, he is. Now please, do us both a favor and be silent for a time."

Legolas laughed. "I do not remember you being so irritable the last time I saw you."

"The last time you saw me Sauron had not returned. Things were simpler then," Caledorn said ruefully. As he mentioned Sauron a cold wind blew through, and the sun was temporarily covered by a dark cloud. The two elves huddled together as snow began to blow about, stinging their unprotected faces. Caledorn pulled his black scarf over his face, attempting to block out the driving snow.

"We must keep moving! If we stop, we'll die!" He shouted over the wind. Legolas merely nodded and they continued forward, attempting to shield each other from the cold. The wind progressively picked up speed, and soon the snow was piling up in deep drifts. Just as they thought it couldn't get any worse, they saw a dark shape scuttle across a snow drift in front of them.

"Did you see that?" Legolas exclaimed.

"A goblin!" Caledorn replied. "Hopefully the blizzard will keep them from venturing out in force!"

But it seemed as though the blizzard, having blocked out the light of the sun, had instead caused the goblins to exit their caves to hunt. Out of the driving snow emerged at least ten large goblins, each armed with a scimitar and a scarablike shield.

"We can take them!" Caledorn cried. Legolas swiftly drew his bow, and Caledorn followed suit. The goblins hissed and charged, raising their weapons into the air. But both elves were expert bowmen, and their arrows flew swiftly from their bows. The two foremost goblins immediately fell dead, and a split second later two more joined them on the snowy ground. Arrow after arrow flew, felling nearly all of them. Only one goblin was able to get close enough to attack with his sword, but even his life was ended quickly. Two daggers imbedded into his skull, one white and the other black. Caledorn nodded in acknowledgement to Legolas, and the two elves pulled their weapons from the goblin's lifeless body in unison. It fell to the ground with a thud, joining the rest of the foul creatures.

"That's all of them!" Legolas said breathlessly as he glanced nervously around. Caledorn hadn't taken time to rest, instead going immediately to the goblin's bodies and retrieving his white feathered arrows.

"For now," He replied as he kicked one of the bodies. "They're not scouts, they're warriors. Which means there are more close by."

"We should make haste then. Once night falls they shall gain the advantage," Legolas said, cleaning the dark blood from his white knife.

"Against you, perhaps. But unlike most elves I prefer the shadows." Caledorn drove his dark dagger into the ground and all of the blood came off of it, staining the pure white snow with the dark liquid.

"You aren't the only one who prefers the shadows," Legolas said grimly. "But that should be saved for the Council. For that is why we are journeying to Rivendell in the first place, is it not?"

Caledorn raised a dark eyebrow. "Indeed it is. But your words intrigue me, for it sounds as if there is some amount of news from Mirkwood that I still know naught of."

"All will be revealed in time, my friend. Come, let us continue on. We should travel quickly if we want to reach the other side by nightfall." Legolas strode forward and Caledorn followed, hoping now more than ever that they would reach their destination soon.

Several days passed without incident, and Gerithor realized that perhaps the diversion hadn't worked. He had been traveling on foot, purposely leaving a clear trail that the Enemy could follow. He hoped that the hoofprints in addition to his own footprints would lead his pursuers to believe that he was not alone, that Frodo was somehow with him.

This had caused the journey to take significantly longer though, and he was just now reaching the Weather Hills. Amon Sul was visible in the distance, a lonely sentinel keeping watch over the surrounding lands. Gerithor decided that it would be worth going there to get a view of the area, so he could better determine if he was still being followed. He often camped there, for it was the tallest structure for many miles around and offered a strategic view of the Road. Other rangers occasionally even left caches of supplies hidden there, so that other rangers could take them if the need arose.

And so it was that Gerithor hoped that perhaps there would be just such a cache there awaiting him. He reached the lonely watchtower at sunset, and he approached it slowly. Something felt strange about the place... As if magic lingered there. He had never felt such a feeling at Amon Sul before, though it often hung about the Barrow Downs that he frequented, as well as the southern reaches of Angmar. He, unlike most other rangers, was strangely attuned to magical auras, which perhaps came with his ability to see the future in visions. It had been quite useful to him in several occasions, for he had dealt with magic users before.

As he strode down the worn footpath that led up the tower, he noticed several pairs of boot prints that had traveled up to the top, and none of them had attempted to be subtle about it. Not rangers then, Gerithor thought with growing suspicion. Nobody else used the tower, or at least, not that he was aware of. But perhaps a vagabond or wanderer had stayed there...

He knelt down to inspect the tracks closer, and noticed immediately that they were fresh. One pair indeed looked like the boots of a vagabond, but the rest were heavily armored and the prints sunk deep into the ground. The armored men were running from something... And the vagabond arrived before them. There are armored tracks leading up and down... But the vagabond's trail just leads up, with no sign of descending again. He was still up there, Gerithor concluded.

He drew his sword and stealthily made his way up the path. As he crept forward, he observed what were clearly burn marks scorching the ground and the stone walls. He ran a finger along them, bringing his soot stained fingers to his nose and sniffing. Still warm... And smells of sulfur. Magic.

So the vagabond was a sorcerer of some sort... Or he had firebombs*. Either way, he was dangerous, not just some mere traveler. Gerithor would have to proceed with caution.

He soundlessly made his way to the top of the tower, and once he had climbed the final stair he hid behind a stone pillar. He immediately smelled fire, as well as roasting meat. He caught sight of a figure hunched over the fire, cloaked and holding a staff in one hand.

"Come out from behind there, Ranger. I'm too old to deal with your shenanigans," A familiar voice said.

"What are you doing in this forsaken land, Mithrandir? And who else was here?" Gerithor asked as he emerged from his hiding place. The wizard slowly stood up and looked Gerithor up and down, wearing a serious, slightly perturbed expression. Once he had made a show of doing this, he burst out in merry laughter.

"Gerithor! My, how you've changed! It has been some time since last we met." He smiled warmly. "I shall answer your first question first, and your second question, well... I shall answer it second. I am here on a matter of urgency. But it is also a matter that should not be discussed openly, even though under normal circumstances I'd trust you enough to tell you. All I can say right now is that I am seeking your cousin. As for your second question... Take a seat. It will take some explaining." He motioned to a spot by the fire, and the ranger sat down gratefully, warming his hands.

"I believe I already know..." Gerithor replied. Aragorn's close association with the wizard gave Gerithor reason to believe that Mithrandir was involved somehow in all of what was happening.

"I find that highly unlikely. Though I have been proven wrong before... Once or twice."

"Your quest revolves around a... messenger, carrying an important object. And there are hunters searching for him," Gerithor said, intentionally being vague. Gandalf's eyebrows rose up until they disappeared under his tall hat.

"Indeed..." He muttered, taking a puff from his pipe. "Then you know that these aren't just any hunters. They are wraiths, neither living nor dead. Not unlike the Barrow wights that you are well acquainted with, only these are much, much stronger. They say that no living man can defeat them. And they serve the Dark Lord. Even I cannot defeat them all."

"You seem to have driven them away for now at least," Gerithor replied, glancing out into the moor below, which was now being blanketed by a thin sheet of fog.

"They fear the light, and would not attack me openly while the sun shone overhead. But the sun is nearly set... They are merely waiting for the right moment to strike."

As if in answer a fell screech came from the moor below, one that chilled Gerithor's very blood. They were coming.

Firebombs: Firebombs were first invented by the Easterlings, but were more commonly used by the Corsairs of Umbar. They were created by using a mixture of chemicals that reacted in an explosion, and oftentimes were filled with flammable liquid that would spill onto whatever they threw the bomb at. Saruman made use of this technology on a massive scale when he engineered the bombs that would destroy the Deeping Wall of Helm's Deep. Illegal in Gondor, Rohan, and just about everywhere else, they were usually only acquired by cutthroats and assassins.