For Maeglin for her birthday.
“Do you believe that he will send his forces our way? For word is that the orcs and trolls of the northern Misty Mountains mass about the Ford of the Bruinen, ready to fall upon Elrond’s borders should he regain his Ring and so the wards about Imladris fail; and it has ever been thus about the boundaries of the Golden Wood and Thranduil’s realm!”
“It is not just Elves he threatens, as you well know, Galdor. Nay—Sauron wishes sway over all—all or nothing.”
“So you believe we, too, will be besieged.”
Círdan gave his famous smile, the smile of one who had lived through too many assaults and sieges in his long life, from the shadowed Hunter of the days before Days to Melkor’s vast armies of twisted Maiar, Eldar, and Edain; from assaults by the Kinslayers to Sauron’s goblins and wolfriders. “We have ever known little but siege, my friend. There is nothing new in that. But we will continue preparing our ships even as we sharpen our blades, and we shall twist as many bowstrings as lines. I fear we shall need to set both arrows and sails free to be borne by the winds of Manwë Súlimo ere the current conflict is decided.”