[Nilpaurion Felagund]

“Halt! Stand and declare!” A challenge rang from the door.

“I am Belectir of the King’s Guard. With me is Bethiril, emissary of Rivendell.”

The door grudgingly opened, and Bethiril marched in, oblivious to his guard’s farewell gesture. She caught sight of Mellonar, the king’s counsellor, hurriedly leaving the sanctum. The others in the room were looking at her, almost urging her to hurry. She maintained her slow, stately pace.

“What has happened?” she asked.

“We were about to move to the North Gate,” Erenor answered in a voice tipped with frost. “The king has ordered the evacuation of Fornost.”

And where could they hide from these foul folk? Bethiril almost said aloud. “And where are we to go?”

“We are to head for Ered Luin.” Bethiril saw a flash in the eyes of the emissary from Lindon. It was only a slight glint, and it faded soon, but even so she caught it. And she understood the cause: The mountains in Winter? What fools these Men be. It’s as if that at the king’s whim, the blanket of cold will be lifted from whithersoever he declares.

“I beg your pardon,” Angóre said, “but we must leave soon. The enemies come nearer as we tarry.”

The emissaries nodded assent. With the guards leading the way, the Elves headed for the stairs that would lead them to North Gate—and hopefully, Bethiril thought, a place safer than this fallen city.