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[Lyon]

Although the grey light of dawn was only just breaking, Ciradhel's knights were already traveling south along the Greenway, toward where it crossed the Gwathlo. Their patrol route had taken them far to the west, past the ruins of Fornost Erain and almost to the borders of the Shire, and they had followed the Baranduin south, rejoining the road at the Sarn Ford. For four days, they had continued along the road at a goodly pace, and on the morning of the fifth day they could hear the roaring of the Gwathlo in the distance.

"Within a week or so, we'll be warm and cozy back in the House of Elrond," said Thoronhen, speaking around his pipe. Uruvion, riding behind him, waved the smoke out of his face with a grimace.

"I don't see why you must continue that disgusting habit, mellon," said the swordsman sarcastically. Thoronhen gifted his knight brother with an equally sarcastic smile.

"Would you tell the Grey Pilgrim to cease his disgusting habit? Or the Dunadan? Nay, brother, you would not, so do not attempt to reform me."

"Were I he, I would have given up hope that that could ever happen," said Glennodad. "Eyes front, brothers. I have a feeling that we're going to run into trouble today. Crebain are in the skies to the south, as you would know if you lifted your eyes from the road."

Ciradhel ignored his comrades' banter, instead looking forwards towards the ruins of Tharbad. Although fog still hung thick about the river, he could see movement between the knights and the ruins: a single man, moving north along the road on foot. He signaled for the pace to increase.

Drawing rein in front of the man, Ciradhel frowned down at him. "Who are you, and why do you thus walk the edge of the Wilds?" he demanded. "Speak, or chance my brothers' arms!"

The Man drew himself up to speak, and Ciradhel could see that he was tall and proud, with dark hair and a fierce light in his grey eyes. A horn, bound in silver, hung on a baldric by his side. "Boromir, son of Denethor am I, Captain-General of Gondor. On the urging of a vision sent to both my brother and I, I seek the Sword That Was Broken in Imladris."

"From Gondor, you say?" said Ciradhel incredulously. "And on foot?"

"I had a horse, but it was left at the crossing of the river, some two hours past," said Boromir tiredly. "Now I seek Imladris afoot, for the news that I bring is urgent."

"We will bring you there, where you make seek the counsel of Lord Elrond," said Ciradhel. "The Dunedain of the North still sojourn at the House of Elrond for some time, and it is their leader who bears the Sword you speak of."

Thoronhen abruptly crushed out the ashes in his pipe, tucking it into his pocket and drawing out his bow. "Ciradhel, enemies approach. Orcs, twelve of them at least. Four are mounted on Wargs."

Ciradhel drew his sword, the elven steel singing as if in joy as it leapt free of the scabbard. "Close ranks! Protect Lord Boromir!"

[Lyon]

The orcs, twelve on foot and four mounted, came forward in a ragged line, holding crude shields in front of them to protect them. Thoronhen and Daugion both strung their bows, but though each loosed four arrows, only one orc fell. The rest jeered as they drew closer, and the warg riders spurred their mounts into a run.

Ciradhel lifted his sword and spurred Nartal forward, hearing battle-cries from Glennodad and Rincavornon as they did the same. Elven horse and fell wolf collided in a welter of barks and the ringing of swords. Rincavornon wrenched his lance clear of the body of a warg, sending the dying beast toppling to crush its former rider. Glennodad struck at the neck of the warg he was facing, but the beast dodged back, carrying its rider out of his range.

Ciradhel found himself engaged with the remaining two orcs. Deflecting one blade with his shield and pushing the other aside with his own sword, he made a counter-strike, the elven-made weapon easily cutting through the crude helmet into the warg rider's skull. As the other orc attempted to take advantage of his distraction, an arrow hissed through the air and took him in the back of the head. Several more shots felled both of the wargs.

As the orc infantry drew closer, Ciradhel signaled for his men to fall back. The elven war-horses reared and wheeled, forcing the orcs back as they bore their riders back to the safety of the road. Boromir had drawn his sword and unslung his shield from his back, and stood ready to enage the orcs should they advance.

Ciradhel calmly watched the enemy's advance. When he judged the distance was right, he nodded to his knights. Raising their swords, they loosed their battle cry with one voice. "Utúlie'n Aurë!"