"Olórin, my friend, what brings you to the Woodland Realm?"
In the grand hall of the Woodland Palace, King Thranduil descended the steps with his usual stately grace so that Gandalf would not have to crane his head back to address him.
"It is nothing urgent, Your Majesty," Gandalf replied, bowing lightly. "I am merely passing through and thought to inquire after certain matters."
Thranduil raised a brow. "And what matters would those be?"
"First, I wished to hear of any disturbances near Dol Guldur." Gandalf lowered his voice as he stepped closer. "And secondly, I must ask about Saruman. Has he visited Dol Guldur recently?"
The Elvenking studied him carefully before answering.
"No. Since our assault upon Dol Guldur, he has not returned there. Still, it is difficult to say what may come. The shadow was only recently driven out. Should Saruman, or anything else, return, you shall be the first to know."
Gandalf nodded gravely and offered sincere thanks.
Compared to the White Wizard, who always seemed to demand knowledge yet gave so little in return, the Grey Wizard carried an air of humility. Most folk would place their trust far more readily in him.
Thranduil, changing the subject, continued.
"As for Dol Guldur itself, there is nothing of note. My scouts watch it closely. Since Sauron's departure, the orcs scattered like leaves in the wind. For now, no dark creatures linger there."
"That is reassuring," Gandalf said, satisfied.
Yet he lingered where he stood, making no move to leave.
Thranduil gave him a curious glance. After a moment he said, "Since you are here, why not remain a few days as my guest?"
"Gladly," Gandalf replied without hesitation, his acceptance so immediate that it seemed he had been waiting for the invitation all along.
Thranduil's curiosity deepened. "This is unlike you. Normally you gather your news and vanish before the wine can be poured. What has caught your interest in my halls?"
A faint smile tugged at Gandalf's mouth. "There is indeed something I await. But it has not yet arrived."
"Not yet?"
"No, but soon," Gandalf murmured, his gaze drifting eastward as if piercing stone walls and forest canopy alike. "I have a feeling that something significant will happen here. Too significant to miss."
The Elvenking sighed softly. "A wizard's words are like thunder on the horizon. One cannot ignore them, for they always herald some change. I only hope this is no ill omen."
"Not at all. I would wager my pipe on it," Gandalf said with a twinkle in his eye.
Thranduil waved his hand, and an attendant appeared to escort Gandalf to a fine guest chamber.
But even as their conversation ended, far to the east in the shadowed depths of Mirkwood, firelight flickered through gloom. Severed limbs and burnt husks littered the ground. Sticky strands of spider-silk gleamed like glue across the soil, clinging unpleasantly to boots.
Eric's sword gleamed faintly in the darkness, its edge catching some distant, cold glimmer. To the spiders, even that sliver of light felt like a spear thrust at their eyes. Terror rooted them where they skittered, their courage shriveled at the sight of blade and wielder alike. From that day on, either one would be enough to send them into trembling retreat.
"Well, that made the road a great deal clearer," Eric remarked with satisfaction.
Since that brief but violent negotiation, the spiders had ceased complaining whenever he cleared their webs. By the time he crossed the Enchanted River and vanished from sight, the survivors only dared to creep back out, timidly weaving new webs as if afraid the steel would come flashing back.
"Your Majesty, Eric has arrived," a guard reported breathlessly at the palace gates, skipping all the lengthy titles and accolades in the interest of speed.
Thranduil chuckled. "So many visitors of late. A busy season indeed." Then a thought struck him, and he frowned. Gandalf's mysterious words… could they have been about Eric?
Rising from his throne, Thranduil moved swiftly toward the gates. He was not the only one. Gandalf had, in fact, been loitering at the entrance for quite some time.
The Grey Wizard sat comfortably on a tree-stump just outside, puffing his pipe. The moment the great doors swung open, his eyes lit up.
"Ah, Eric," he greeted warmly.
Eric blinked, caught off guard. "Well, this is a surprise. Fancy meeting you here. How went your search in the Anduin Valley?"
"Not well," Gandalf admitted as he stood, tucking away his pipe to walk beside him. "I fear the thing we sought is neither in the valley nor beneath the waves."
"I had the same suspicion," Eric replied quietly.
"There is also the matter of Saruman," Gandalf continued. "You remember the White Wizard from Rivendell? I visited his tower not long ago. What I found there… unsettles me. You are the first I have spoken to of it."
"Eric, my ally, it is good to see you."
The familiar voice of Thranduil cut in, carrying across the courtyard as he strode forward with uncharacteristic haste.
Eric was momentarily startled that the Elvenking had come all the way to the gates to greet him. He smiled in return. "Your Majesty looks in fine health. Something fortunate must have happened."
"Indeed it has," Thranduil answered with a knowing smile, as though hinting at some private triumph.
Gandalf peered at him, baffled. "I must confess, I see little different. Though perhaps your color is better than last I recall."
Eric, however, noticed what Gandalf did not. A small crimson bloom adorned the king's crown, unmistakable in its symbolism. He smirked to himself.
"May good fortune remain with you, Your Majesty," Eric said, his words carrying a weight that made Thranduil pause.
After brief courtesies, the three sat together at a table, each man glancing at the other in silence. All clearly had much to say, yet no one wished to be the first.
At last Eric drew out a map, breaking the stalemate.
"I have a proposal," he said, spreading the parchment open for them to see. Gandalf leaned over eagerly, eyes bright with curiosity.
"I intend to build a road. One that will run from Dale through to the Roadside Keep. These are both my holdings, and I want them connected."
He tapped a spot along the western slopes of the Misty Mountains. "Here lies the Roadside Keep."
Thranduil studied the map, tracing the likely route in his mind. It was no small task. He remembered an old, half-forgotten road running through northern Mirkwood and began to suspect why Eric had come.
"This is no simple project," Thranduil remarked at last.
"True," Eric admitted. "The road would pass through the northern reaches of Mirkwood, which happen to lie within your realm. That is why I am here."