-General-
"It's madness for you to go alone," protested Finduilas. "Surely whatever you're feeling is a trap. I can't let you go like this." A palpable reluctance gleamed in her eyes; a bad feeling was stirring within her.
Backing her words, Thalwen stepped forward. "I agree with Finduilas. Going alone is madness. Dol Guldur is no place to venture into alone."
Aldril lowered his head slightly, not out of disappointment or fear; on the contrary, he was trying to calm the impulses stirred by the dense mist of Dol Guldur. He could feel it brushing against his body, almost as if it were provoking him. And it had succeeded.
How could a lesser being, or whatever it was, dare to provoke him? The fire within him roared in response, the instinctive fury of an apex predator being challenged.
"I'll send five of my men to accompany you."
Thranduil's words dropped like a stone into the silence. He didn't raise his voice, he didn't need to. With that said, he turned and walked toward the camp.
Finduilas and Thalwen exchanged glances. Disbelief turned into consternation. The former furrowed her brow, the latter pressed her lips tightly. Was Thranduil sending him to his death?
"He can't go, not alone. And five men won't be enough…" Finduilas stepped forward, blocking Thranduil's path.
"My dear, this is madness," Thalwen said in a measured voice, though her tone made her displeasure clear.
Contrary to what the two Elves expected, Thranduil didn't reply. He didn't even pause. His silvery hair swayed like a silk robe; the decision had already been made.
He had seen those draconic eyes. The majesty behind them made him understand: who was he to stand in Aldril's way? The young man already surpassed him in swordsmanship, a monstrous talent that had defeated him, despite his thousands of years of experience.
Meanwhile, Aldril remained silent. He didn't turn to the Elves, nor did he show any sign of gratitude toward Thranduil. His mind was trapped in the sight of Dol Guldur and the blood that boiled in his veins.
The mist kept calling to him, insulting him, but still, he remained calm on the surface. There was no need for words. He would soon go to Dol Guldur and answer whatever was calling him.
---
Didn't wait long. Within minutes, a group of five well-armed Elves arrived. Each of them greeted him with a hand over their chest and a slight bow.
Aldril was not discourteous. Though the dragon blood within him urged him to set off immediately, his Elven heritage reminded him that, despite his desperation, he must return the gesture with equal respect.
"Before we depart, we need to make something clear," Aldril said after returning the salute. "Something is happening in Dol Guldur. If we don't find any survivors, leave as quickly as you can."
"Understood," they replied in unison.
With that, they departed. Finduilas and Thalwen could only sigh in defeat, wishing and praying to the Valar that Aldril would be safe once he reached Dol Guldur.
The path to Dol Guldur was shrouded in a thick, dark mist that slithered like a predator over the withered trees. The closer they came to the fortress, the more intense the lingering magic of Sauron became. Only the protection of Thalwen's bracelets prevented the Elves from being affected.
However, even then, it was unwise to linger too long, otherwise, the dark mist would begin to corrode the bracelets.
From time to time, shadowy figures could be seen moving through the mist, causing the Elves to draw their bows and swords.
"It's just an illusion," Aldril's voice, cold and commanding, snapped them back to their senses. "It's a crude attempt to separate us. Stay firm, we're almost there."
The tension sliding over the Elves' skin dissolved instantly. They obeyed Aldril, who led them forward, ignoring the phantoms shifting through the mist. And with their focus unwavering, those phantoms vanished.
It was a great surprise when, after pushing past the withered trees, they found themselves standing before the imposing fortress of Dol Guldur. The mist, which had seemed to stalk them like a living entity, suddenly vanished, as if it had never been there.
Upon reaching the bridge that led to the fortress, the atmosphere changed immediately. The air grew thick, almost suffocating, and an oppressive feeling descended upon them, limiting their movements. The wind, cold and biting, blew in their faces, tempting them to shiver.
"Let's go," Aldril commanded, being the first to take a step onto the bridge, but he stopped immediately. He furrowed his brow, sensing the strange feeling of being watched.
Raising his gaze, he glimpsed a dark shadow moving high above Dol Guldur, almost as if it were provoking him to climb. With blood boiling at the audacity of it, he crossed the bridge. The change in the atmosphere was immediate: the dark, stained ruins told the story of their former grandeur. Every mural seemed soaked in darkness, as if the magic of Sauron had corroded this once-noble fortress over centuries.
"Stay alert," one of the Elves said as he felt the sweat soaking his back from the sensation of something watching them.
The further they advanced, the heavier the atmosphere became. The cold air whispered at their necks, bringing with it promises of death if they dared to proceed. They had no time to admire the ancient Elven fortress; they had to stay alert to any movement.
It wasn't until a loud crash startled them, a sound that froze their blood. Something had been thrown from the heights. When they all focused on what had fallen, horror paralyzed them. The body of an Elven scout lay in a pool of blood. The fear reflected on his face, frozen at the moment before his death, was unmistakable.
"Get ready!" Aldril shouted as he unsheathed Anglachel. The glow of the sword grew stronger with every passing second. What was stalking them wasn't an orc; it was something darker.
His warning was the signal for everyone to unsheathe their swords. At that same moment, a piercing screech echoed through the shadows of Dol Guldur. It was so sharp and painful that the Elves were forced to cover their ears, trying in vain to dull the suffering it caused.
Taking advantage of the Elves' pain, dark shadows emerged from the darkness, lunging fiercely at them. But before they could reach their prey, a powerful telekinetic wave hurled them through the air, crashing them against the fortress's weathered walls.
Aldril, with his hand outstretched in an unknown gesture, managed to protect the Elves from the surprise attack. They quickly recovered and were on guard against the dark entities.
"Nazgûl..." one of the Elves murmured, his voice broken by terror.
Contrary to what they expected, the Ringwraiths did not attack immediately. They remained motionless, shrouded in a deathly silence. Their dark figures watched them with a sinister attention, as if waiting for something.
And that something did not take long to arrive.
A deep, cold voice, like the darkest depths of the sea, resonated among the ruins, echoing in their hearts like a sentence:
"Snaga, lat ob goth (Fools, you have come to die)."
***
Filthy orcs!!
Sorry for the delay. In my area it has been raining a lot and the internet signal goes out all the time. It is frustrating.
Advanche chapters in "p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"