The Emissary

The emissary approached the gatehouse only to have her entry blocked by two glowering Wood-Elves. She swung down from her horse and surveyed the guards with clinical interest. She had forgotten how short Wood-Elves were. Of more concern than height was the state of their armor and the spears they aimed in her direction. If she succeeded in her errand then the flimsy leather armor they wore meant most of these Elves would be nothing more than a lost heap.

She kept that thought to herself. She was here to gain their alliance, not frighten them into further isolation. Many people would sacrifice their lives if Middle-Earth was to remain free. Insufficient armor or weapons shouldn’t prevent anyone from joining in the rebellion. They would make do.

“What business have you in our forest, High Elf?”

“I am here to deliver a message to your King.” She answered coolly, spreading both hands wide at her waist to display her peaceful intentions. Or, as peaceful as the intentions to request a martial alliance could be.

The guards exchanged mute glances, then one turned on his heels and led the emissary through the gatehouse into the castle.

Torches flickered in brackets along the walls, casting long shadows down narrow corridors. She followed through twisting tunnels and down spiral staircases, past the unfriendly stares of palace servants. The faint glow from her skin, diminished from long ages away from Aman, mingled with the low light of the torches.

The throne room itself was brighter than the dimly lit corridors the guards had taken. Light cast from high chandeliers bathed the court in brilliant orange. A harpist occupied one corner, long fingers playing along silver strings, the only member of the court who didn’t fall silent in wary anticipation with the entrance of the emissary and her escort.

A Sinda lord sat on a carven throne, wearing a crown of holly like some common Avarin Lord untouched by the journey from Cuivienen. He had a wild look about him, fierce and proud as one of Manwe’s Eagles and just as dangerous to unwary foes. He watched her approach with mingled curiosity and distrust.

The emissary did not lower her eyes from the King’s as she strode forward, arms still outstretched. She was keenly aware that all eyes were fastened upon her in hostile scrutiny. Her armor was of superior quality to that of his guard’s and she towered over the Woodland Elves, but she was only one and they were many.

“It has been long since one of your kind was seen under the Green Wood.” His voice was soft but no less dangerous for that. “What errand have you in our Kingdom, High Elf?”

“I come with a message from the High King Gil-Galad for King Oropher of the Woodland Realm.” Her voice rang out across the throne room, steady and clear. The doubts she held about the viability of her mission were masked with haughty confidence.

“The High King,” Oropher repeated, his eyes narrowing. “The High King knows that he is unwelcome here. For what reason would he send one of his people?”

“War.”

Urgent murmurs broke out all around the court at this proclamation and were only silenced when Oropher held up one hand. “War. There have been many wars in Middle-Earth. The Wood-Elves do not concern ourselves with the wars of other Kingdoms.”

The emissary’s expression was grim as she answered. “You would do well to concern yourself with this one. Sauron has returned to Middle-Earth. He set the White Tree of Gondor ablaze and has taken Minas Ithil. The High King seeks to dislodge him permanently lest all of Middle-Earth fall.”

Although she had finished speaking, the murmurs did not resume. The entire court stared at the emissary in astonished silence, faces pale as they processed this most unwelcome news.

“Sauron has returned, you say?” Oropher at last broke the silence with a whisper that carried throughout the hall. “But how is that possible? He drowned with Numenor nigh a hundred years ago.”

“He was un-bodied,” The emissary answered gravely. She, too, had believed Sauron to have perished; they all had, the High Elves and the Numenoreans alike. If they had known he could return they surely would have been more alert to the signs. But this surprise was a failure she would not admit to in the Wood-Elf court. “To truly destroy one of the Maia is a…difficult feat. Particularly a Maia as powerful as Sauron, who has learned many tricks from his Master.”

Oropher’s face darkened. He had no love for the High King or his people, but he also did not believe they would lie about a catastrophe of this scale. No, if they believed Sauron had returned then he would listen, though it cost him dear in pride. He would not endanger his realm by ignoring so serious a threat.

“Very well.” He answered heavily, inclining his head towards the emissary. “Tell your High King that the elves of Eryn Galen shall come. We shall march under our own banner, but march we shall.”

The emissary bowed. “I will inform the High King of your decision.”

But as she strode forth out of the fortress at Amon Lanc she couldn’t help but snort to herself in derision at the thought of what forces Oropher would be able to muster. Vintners and carpenters! But vintners and carpenters would have to do.