[Garen LiLorian]

Almost immediately after their split Angóre lost sight of Elrohir as the path he had chosen sloped away to the southwest, climbing upward into the mountains. He sat astride his horse, keeping the beast to an easy stroll, and even as his keen Elvish senses scanned the path ahead, his mind wandered, recounting the desperate journey thus far.

He had traveled these mountains many times in his life, but never had there been such peril. Twice already the group had been assaulted, and only by the grace of Varda were they yet unharmed. There was something more than the random movements of wild creatures at work here; for the mountains to present such deadly peril to even the tall sons of Elrond hinted at a greater scheme, something subtle and hidden even to the long sighted Elves. Shadows were returning, where once light had been. The High Pass, Caradhras, even the forests and plains where only beasts live, all held against them. And yet before them their greatest challenge still loomed. Moria. Who could know what dangers awaited them in that underground vastness? Angóre had no more love for the deeps than had his kindred, yet a thrill ran through his body at the thought. Ahead of him lay his doom, his destiny, and eager he was to meet what fate might send him.

The trail ahead of him widened, then vanished onto a rock plateau. Angóre dismounted, leading his horse over the rock. The Sun cast her rays through the peaks of the mountains now; it would be dark soon. Angóre had no wish to find the gates after dark, for the patrols that issue forth from the Eastgate after dusk would prove a match for any lone scout. But the gate was near now; perhaps no more than a hundred yards, though he could not have said how he knew. Just over that next rise, perhaps.

Angóre bid his horse stay, and crept forword, his soft boots leaving no trace on the rock. Then he froze as he heard voices from over the ridge, the common tongue mixed with the Black Speech as only a goblin knows. An expression of disgust at the their profanity flitted across his face momentarily, and he crouched out of sight behind a boulder as the speakers came into view.

There were two of them; short and swarthy, squinting in the light of the evening and bickering in the manner of such folk.
"Gar, it's lucky you are you didn't get your 'ead sawed off just for askin'. You oughta know better than that after what 'appened to old Shûndug."
"Oh, an' I suppose you've led a blameless life then, 'ave you? After all, daylight patrol being such an honored post and such."
"Shut your mouth, Snaga, or I'll do something you won't like much. We've got business to attend to out 'ere, and shift's over soon anyways. Be a bit of a shame if you, eh, didn't report in this evenin' eh?"

When the second voice continued, it was with rather less venom.
"What're we looking for that's so important, anyways? There some sort of invasion coming?"
The first goblin, who was considerably larger than the other, shrugged elaborately.
"Dunno. I look like I'm on the need to know list to you? I'll tell you one thing though; Bosses've been distracted lately, 'ardly ever coming up to check see everything's still working. I think," he leaned in conspiratorally, "They've got something big in the works. Something to do with the snow pass. Big commotion up there a while back. Whole place in an uproar."

The sound faded as the two sentries moved back towards the mountain face. Angóre was tempted to follow, but there was no reason to risk capture, he knew now what he came here for. He allowed a feeling of triumph to infuse him as he started to move back to where he had left his horse.

As he crested the ridge, he saw something that brought a smile to his lips; Elrohir was leading his horse along the trail. Angóre threw up his hand in greeting, the last of the dying light illuminating him as he stood on the ridge.