The Wanderer

Chapter Thirteen

 Bard took us to a yellow tent where I knew Thranduil resided in. It was a private council, so I stopped before reaching the tent. Bard noticed this and, to my surprise, frowned.

"Lady Farren, you are just as much a part of this as the rest of us. Your presence will be needed in the council," Bard said with an authority that I had not heard from him before. It appeared that he was growing into his role as the leader of his own people, and that was truly a good thing.

"Of course." I followed Bard and Gandalf into the tent, slightly surprised by Bard's words. I had never considered myself a leader of any sort, but I suppose both Thranduil and Bard considered me my own realm. The thought made me silently laugh; men were amusing when faced with a woman just as or more powerful than themselves.

"Mithrandir," a steely voice cut into the air. Thranduil, and he did not sound pleased. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"A vast army of orcs heading to the mountain," Gandalf said, his voice cool despite the words he said. "They seek to destroy all that is and claim the mountain as a fortress of great evil."

"The only ones that seek to claim that mountain are the atrocious dwarves," Thranduil snapped, irritated at Gandalf's interference.

"You must set aside your petty grievances with the Dwarves. War is coming. The cesspits of Dol Guldur have been emptied. You're all in mortal danger," Gandalf said, his voice deep and worrisome. I had no doubt he was telling the truth, and it terrified me to know that Sigurd and Tilda and Bain and all the other little children were in danger.

"Dol Guldur as well?" I whispered to myself. I realized that the orcs we fought were from Gundabad; another orc fortress. Are numbers were too small to fight both fortresses.

"What are you talking about?" Bard asked, his voice conveying his fear. Before I could answer the bowman, Thranduil spoke up.

"I can see you know nothing of wizards. They are like winter thunder on a wild wind, rolling in from a distance breaking hard in alarm. But sometimes a storm is just a storm." The way Thranduil calmly walked around, pouring something from a pitcher into glasses, displaying that he did not care and was not concerned. For once in his life, couldn't he just take the advice from another? Is that too much to ask?

Gandalf fixed a critical eye on the king, not appreciating his rough words. "Not this time. Armies of Orcs are on the move. These are fighters, they have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength."

"Why show his hand now?" Thranduil asked in an almost mocking tone.

"Because we forced them," I finally spoke up, tired of their bickering. "We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland. And do not seek to lay the blame on only the dwarves, Thranduil, we all have an equal share in this."

"Lady Farren is right," Gandalf said, strolling outside the tent to for a view of the mountain, "The Dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor, Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the Mountain, not just for the treasure within, but for where it lies, its strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the North. If that fell kingdom should rise again Rivendell, Lórien, the Shire even Gondor itself will fall."

My eyes widened at the mention of Angmar. We could not allow the recapture of those awful lands. I've heard tales of what had transpired to rid Middle Earth of the country, and nothing good could come of it if Sauron reclaimed those lands.

"We can't let that happen, Mithrandir," I said with a trembling voice. My voice always gave away what I was feeling, and I hated it.

Thranduil rolled his eyes and said, "Your concern is misplaced, Lady Farren. These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir, where are they?"