In Elarothiel, within the King's palace, the lords of war and governance were gathered.
"My King!" said Tifa, the Minister of Finance, stepping forward. "At present our armies stationed upon the western Heights and at Rimwinter in the north have their supplies fully arranged. All logistics are in order."
Lairon, supreme commander of Elarothiel's forces, came out of the line and bowed. "All royal troops, save for the necessary local garrisons, have been moved toward the western and northern fronts. They can answer to any sudden change at a moment's notice."
"Lord King!" Cathril raised her voice. "The great eagles of the Misty Mountains have borne tidings. The Orc-kingdoms south of the Hollin Ridge are mustering. It seems they mean to strike at Nargothrond."
Kaen sat upon the high throne and listened in silence until all had spoken. Then he thought for a while and said slowly:
"By my count, Sauron's forces upon the sea should be nearing the harbour of Lond Daer as well."
"The stirrings in the Misty Mountains are the mustering of the Orcs. They mean to march upon the Noldor of Nargothrond."
"War has already begun without a herald's cry," he said. "It is time for us to move our hand upon the board."
He turned his gaze to Yenistriel. "How stand the hosts of Caerilassil?"
Yenistriel inclined her head. "Ten thousand Elves are ready, my lord. Under Tauriel's command they await only your word to march."
"Good," Kaen said with a brief nod. He looked then to Reger, commander of the King's Guard. "Muster five thousand Elven Shadow-wardens and five thousand of the King's Guard. I shall lead you south, to the aid of the Light-elves."
"At once!"
Three days later, a mighty host set forth from Elarothiel: ten thousand Caladhîn warriors, five thousand Elven Shadows, and five thousand of the King's Guard, all under Kaen's banner, marching hard toward the South.
…
At the same time, within Nargothrond, a breathless Elf ran into Anrod's hall and fell to one knee, pale with haste.
"My king! Urgent news! The Orcs of the Misty Mountains have gathered eighty thousand strong and march upon us. They are less than a day from Nargothrond!"
The air within the hall turned instantly to stone. The smiles were wiped from Elven faces, replaced by a grave, watchful tension.
Anrod's features hardened. "Eighty thousand? Are we certain?"
"The tidings come from the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm," the guard replied. "They have sent messengers and a hundred warriors ahead of the host, riding night and day to outpace the enemy and reach us first.
"And besides…" His voice dropped. "Our watch-posts in the east fell silent this morning…"
"Map," said Princess Anariel at once.
An Elven noble stepped forward with a crystal stone. Pouring elemental power into it, he cast an image onto the floor: the whole of the hollin appeared in shining lines of light.
From the scant clues they possessed, they traced out the likely path of the enemy on the projection.
"They have long prepared this blow," another Elven lord said darkly. "Eighty thousand soldiers moving like a creeping storm, and we sensed nothing until they were upon us. Our watchtowers never had a chance to stand against them. Now they are already near our walls."
"How many can we gather?" asked Finrod.
"Ten thousand," Anariel answered, her voice heavy. "We have another twenty thousand scattered through hollin, but time is too short to recall them all to the capital."
Silence fell like a shroud. All knew what it meant: ten thousand against eighty.
Even for the Light-elves, the price would be terrible. For a realm only newly reborn, it was a blow almost beyond bearing.
"We must call for aid," Anariel said, her gaze steady. "To the Elarothiel garrison at Swanfleet. To the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm. We must send for them both."
Anrod gave a sharp nod. "Very well. In the name of Anrod, King of Nargothrond, send riders with all speed to General Zakri of Elarothiel at Swanfleet, and to King Thorin and King Dáin in Khazad-dûm. Ask their aid!"
The guardsman bowed and sprinted from the hall.
But he had scarcely gone when, as the Elves still debated how to meet the coming storm, several familiar figures entered from the outer passage.
Aragorn's voice rang out: "King Anrod, our company will fight as well. We are only nine, but we will not stand idle while you bleed."
Gandalf inclined his head. "The Sacred Tree of Nargothrond has only just taken root. We cannot allow it to fall beneath the enemy's hand."
Corthalion stepped forward. "We will not permit our kin to be slaughtered while we draw breath."
Anrod looked at them, and for a moment something warm flickered in his eyes. "I thank you, my friends. With your aid, we shall hold until the reinforcements come."
That same afternoon, the gates of Nargothrond were shut. The Elves threw themselves into their work, preparing for war as if the hammer were already falling.
Along the black stone walls, lines of Elven archers strung arrows etched with runes of power. The fire-runes carved into the face of the ramparts were awakened, glowing with a low, ominous red.
In the streets below, the craftsmen of Nargothrond assembled vast stone-throwers. Their ammunition—boulders covered in carved sigils of explosion—could shatter the strongest of Orcish siege-towers.
Anrod donned heavy mithril armour and took up a long blade wreathed in golden flame. He stood upon the gatehouse, eyes fixed upon the far horizon.
Anariel paced the wall-walks, directing the Elven sorcerers as they raised their wards. One by one, translucent barriers sprang up beyond the walls, shimmering veils of power ready to blunt the shock of the first assault.
The members of the far-travelled company all found their place.
Aragorn and Denethor led a band of Elven warriors at the gate itself. They heaved massive beams into place behind the doors, braced them with rune-chains of forged iron, and turned the entrance into a wooden mountain.
Gimli laboured alongside the advance guard of Khazad-dûm: a hundred Dwarven heavy infantry. Together they piled stone upon stone behind weaker sections of the wall, ready to mend breaches as soon as they opened.
Corthalion and the Sindar archers took positions upon the highest towers, ready to strike wherever the line faltered.
All Nargothrond, high and low, bent itself to the coming storm.
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