The fires burned low in the great hall of Minas-Elion Fortress, when the doors suddenly burst open with a gust of snow and wind.
A cloaked figure stumbled inside, white flakes clinging to his grey robes like frost on old stone.
"Ryan!" came a familiar, urgent voice.
"By Eru's name, you must take this seriously. What I have to tell you concerns the very survival of your kingdom through this winter!"
Ryan Eowenríel looked up from the documents spread before him.
Then, smiling faintly, he rose from his chair.
"By the Valar… Gandalf, you look like a snow-draped ghost. Twenty days gone, and you return looking ready to duel a blizzard itself."
He poured a cup of steaming tea, handed it over, and tossed several logs into the hearth. The flames leapt higher, chasing away the chill.
"Sit, old friend," Ryan said calmly. "Tell me everything. You have my ear—and my respect."
….
Gandalf removed his hat and robe, both dripping with half-melted snow, and settled into the chair by the fire.
"I went into the Troll-woods," he said without preamble.
Ryan's expression changed instantly, the humor vanishing from his face.
His tone turned grave.
"And what did you find?"
"Enemies," said Gandalf quietly. "And far too many."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting in the firelight.
"The orcs are gathering, Ryan. Not in scattered packs as before—but in ranks. The trolls are restless, and the wargs are howling by the hundreds.
I have seen their trails, their tracks—the earth trembles with their coming.
They are preparing for war."
The room seemed to tighten with the weight of his words.
Ryan said nothing for a long moment. His fingers drummed softly against the oak table, slow and rhythmic—his habit when he thought deeply.
At last, he spoke.
"So they're still gathering, yes? The armies haven't united yet?"
Gandalf blinked, momentarily puzzled. "That's correct. They are in motion but not yet complete. Why?"
Ryan's lips curved in a grim smile.
"Then we shall not let them unite."
Gandalf's brows lifted.
"What do you propose?"
"Simple," said Ryan, rising to his feet. "We take the war to them.
Before they form their legions, we send our forces into the forest—not to conquer it, but to disrupt them.
We strike their warbands before they rally. Scatter them.
Hold through the winter—and when their bellies are empty and their leaders divided…"
His eyes flashed like steel.
"We cleanse the forest once and for all."
For a heartbeat, Gandalf only stared—then slowly, his grim expression gave way to something almost like pride.
"A bold plan," he said softly. "And, I daresay, the right one. But you still lack one thing."
Ryan turned back toward him.
"Name it."
Gandalf lifted a finger. "A map."
He stood, pacing before the fire.
"You know nothing of that forest, Ryan. The Troll-woods are older than many kingdoms—filled with valleys, ruins, and hidden paths that even I tread cautiously.
Without a map, your armies will be walking into the jaws of the dark."
Ryan frowned. That was true—and it was a flaw he could not ignore.
"Do you have one?" he asked.
Gandalf shook his head, then smiled slyly.
"No. But I know who does."
….
At that moment, a voice called from outside the hall:
"My lord! The sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell—Elladan and Elrohir—seek an audience!"
Ryan's brows lifted in surprise.
He turned toward Gandalf, who only chuckled under his breath.
"You planned this," Ryan said accusingly.
"Of course," the wizard replied with a wink. "One learns to be prepared."
Moments later, two tall figures entered the hall, snow glittering in their dark hair.
They were near identical—save for their attire. One wore deep green trimmed with silver, the other a lighter hue of green and grey.
Graceful, solemn, and keen-eyed, they moved like the forest shadows themselves.
The elder bowed first.
"I am Elladan."
The second followed.
"And I am Elrohir."
Their voices were calm, melodic, unmistakably Elven—but beneath that calm was the tempered edge of warriors.
Ryan returned the bow.
"Welcome, sons of Elrond. I know Gandalf summoned you—but tell me, how exactly can you help me?
I face a forest crawling with monsters. Unless you've brought a thousand archers in your wake…"
Elladan smiled faintly.
"We did not bring an army, Lord Ryan. But we bring something far more valuable."
"Information," added Elrohir, his tone low and measured.
Ryan leaned forward.
"Explain."
Gandalf took over, gesturing between the brothers.
"These two are not merely Elrond's sons. They are warriors of the Dúnedain's hidden order, hunters of orcs for over a thousand years.
Every mountain, every pass, every lair north of Rivendell—they know them all.
The Troll-woods, the ruins, the dark valleys… even the dens of the wargs."
Ryan's eyes widened. Now he understood.
He rose and bowed solemnly.
"Then I entrust this task to you both. Lead us through the darkness. Help me break this storm before it begins."
The twins exchanged a brief glance, then nodded in unison.
"For freedom and for justice," they said together.
….
Ryan summoned every high-ranking commander of his realm to the great council chamber of Minas-Elion.
Reginor, Idhrion, Elger,Erken, Alaina, Bathrun, Sarrath, and even Torvin Dulod of the old house—all gathered around the long stone table, the banners of Eowenríel hanging behind them.
Only Arion, away recruiting the Dúnedain of the western hills, was absent.
When Ryan entered, silence fell instantly.
He looked around at them—his generals, his companions, the founders of a dream—and spoke in a tone that carried through the hall like the toll of iron.
"You are not here to discuss, my friends. You are here to receive orders."
Every soldier straightened, their faces reflecting the firelight's crimson glow.
"The enemy moves," Ryan continued. "The Troll-woods swarm with beasts of shadow—trolls, orcs, and wargs gathering under one banner.
But they are not yet ready. They are unorganized. Divided."
He let that hang in the air for a moment, then slammed his fist lightly upon the table.
"We will strike first."
The flames flickered, shadows dancing like banners in battle.
The council leaned forward, every eye fixed on their king.
And as the storm howled outside the fortress walls, Ryan Eowenríel began to unveil the plan that would decide whether his newborn kingdom survived its first true winter—
or was devoured by the dark that stirred beyond the forest's edge.