Grey Company

Before the Grey Company began their ride from Blackroot to Pelargir, Halbarad Dúnadan approached the sisters Eregiel and Calentauriel. He walked solemnly yet with purpose. 

'Hail, ladies of the Golden Wood! The purpose of your long journey has been accomplished. The Grey Company shares your joy in the success of this mission. Now has come the time that we part ways for the Grey Company rides to war.'

Halbarad continued his speech.

January 26th, 3019 T.A.

‘The Grim, Homely House’

January 28th, 3019 T.A.

'Alagnir in Imladris'

          The Grey Company rides on, passing through the largely deserted Eregion and entering Enedwaith, the lands between the ancient kingdoms of the Dunedain, now long gone to grass and rubble. Though the kingdoms are no more, the lands are not without those who call these home.

            As Seregrían toils in her torment, a message arrives for her at Torech Besruth from someone she did not expect to hear from – for Arwen Undomiel bids her to return in haste to Rivendell and find her there. Swiftly the Elf-scholar departs and makes her way to the Hidden Valley once more.

Ornessar and Katrandil were talking during the whole trip to Aragorn's Camp near Pelargir. The atmosphere there, though, was awe-inspiring. Anyway, it was time for open war. Ornessar followed Elladan and Elrohir, his leaders, while Katrandil followed Aragorn. It was time to retake Pelargir from the hands of the Corsairs.

Calonimir stood before the hearth in the Hall of Fire, staring into the flames. Though a hot bath, a warm meal, and soft sheets had eased the aches of his body, his spirit was still in turmoil, and not even the clear voices of the Elves singing in the Hall could calm him. As he watched the fire dance upon the hearth, he thought yet again upon his meeting with Elrond and his sons and the charge that had been placed upon him.

The Sun was just beginning her climb above the mountains in the East when the Ranger began his trek down the winding way into the Vale of Imladris. He shivered in the cold wind which swept down from off the moors, his breath making small clouds which were quickly scattered. He pulled his cloak closer about him and patted the neck of his horse.