"Lúthien, my daughter," Thingol said softly at the edge of Doriath, his voice heavy with restraint. "If danger finds you beyond the Girdle, return at once. Do not hesitate."
Melian stood beside him, her hand resting on Lúthien's shoulder, eyes calm yet searching.
"Do not worry," Lúthien replied gently. "I may dislike battle, but I am not helpless. I promise I will return every few years."
To elves, a few years were little more than a passing season.
She embraced them both, then mounted her great-antlered stag and glanced toward Galadriel. Clad in elven armor, Galadriel drew her blade and turned to the assembled Grey Elf vanguard, more than two hundred strong.
"Forward," she commanded. "To the Elven City of Dorthonion."
The procession moved out, stags carrying riders and supplies toward the former Dead Valley. Elves favored great deer, humans rode horses, dwarves chose boars or goats. Only orcs rarely rode at all, save for a few elites mounted on savage wolf-beasts bred for war.
Rowan Mercer guided his horse alongside Lúthien, having buried a prepared portkey beneath an ancient tree beyond the Girdle. Inside its boundary, space itself resisted such magic.
"I could take everyone to Dorthonion instantly," he said quietly. "No need for days of travel."
Lúthien shook her head, smiling as she gestured toward the elves around them. "For most of them, this is their first time beyond Doriath. They want to see the world with their own eyes."
Rowan followed her gaze. The Grey Elves looked almost dazed as they crossed the invisible threshold. For many, the forest had been their entire world. Sky and trees. Nothing more.
"Fair enough," Rowan agreed. "Five days at our pace won't change much."
Galadriel glanced ahead at the now-purified valley and sighed theatrically. "A shame you cleansed this place. It would have been far more entertaining if it were still crawling with monsters."
"I prefer quiet roads," Lúthien said, brushing her fingers along low branches as they passed. Where she touched them, leaves brightened and flowers bloomed in her wake. "Peace lets us enjoy the journey."
Two days later, towering peaks rose on the horizon.
"That's the Gorgoroth Range, isn't it?" Lúthien asked, eyes wide with wonder.
"Yes," Rowan replied. "Once we cross it, we'll reach Dorthonion."
She frowned slightly. "Cross it? I thought everyone avoided those mountains."
Galadriel had told her the stories. Poisonous giant spiders. Web-choked valleys. Even Morgoth's armies detoured around it.
"Going around wastes time," Rowan said calmly. "And I want a clear route between Doriath and Dorthonion. Permanently."
He did not say more, but the meaning was clear.
Those spiders descended from Ungoliant's brood. Fire terrified them.
Galadriel's grin was immediate. "Finally. Some excitement."
The moment shattered.
Rowan's expression tightened. "Stop. All units halt. We have company."
The sensation was unmistakable. A familiar darkness, moving fast.
Galadriel and Lúthien felt it too.
"Defensive formation!" they called out together.
The Grey Elves reacted quickly, though clumsily. Long peace had dulled their instincts. Rowan winced at the gaps in their lines but held his tongue.
Then the sky darkened.
A red cloud swept in from the distance and descended before the column, resolving into figures wreathed in shadow.
Sauron had arrived.
Having failed to uncover answers in the Dead Valley, he had crossed the mountains in secret, leading his vampire guard straight into Rowan Mercer's path.