Thousands of Orcs surronded Frodo, snarling and wielding thier weapons. He drew Sting, and the orcs charged. He began to fight furiosly wih them, as they chanted onimous songs that rang in ears, filling him with fear. He heard people screaming… he noticed he stood on sand. Suddenly a thought struck him. Was this… the Undying Lands!? The orcs kept coming. He kept fighting. Suddenly, a mass of flame engulfed him, and he screamed as he feel into a bottemless darkness. He saw wraiths… wraiths, wraiths all around him. One, that resembled a great man clad in armour, came to him and grabbed him. Suddenly he awoke. The cool air of forest that blew into the room calmed him. He noticed his hand was on Sting, which lay beside him. He closed his eyes and fell into peaceful sleep.
The orcs stood rigid with fear in the dark mountain of Gundabad. A whip cracked. The orcs shrieked. The Balrog had come.
Elrohir and Frodo set out from the south of Greenwood the following morning. They had traveled from Thranduil’s halls
and now they were heading for Gondor, for the King had not yet been warned.
To be continued…