Part 1

In early Rhîw, when Middle-earth was cold, and morning mist was rising from the soil of Eryn Carantaur, two elven guards stood at the foot of the colony’s main staircase, which—spiralling up the trunk of one of the mighty carantaurs—led from the forest floor to the aerial city above.

Though still as statues, the elves were alert and, hearing a horseman approaching, they calmly readied their weapons, and waited for the unexpected visitor to appear.

Some minutes later, a man thundered into the clearing on the back of a heavy workhorse. “March Warden Haldir,” he cried, bringing his mount to a halt, and rolling from its saddle, “I need to speak to March Warden Haldir!”

One of the elves glanced at his comrade, who gave him the faintest of nods; neither doubted the gravity of the man’s business. “At this hour,” said the first, “the March Warden will be in conference with Lord Legolas. I shall take you to him.”

...

Sighard son of Sigbert followed the elven warrior up the staircase, marvelling—despite his mission—at the size of the trees, at the strangeness of the dwellings peeping through their dense red foliage, and—most of all—at the weird and wonderful creature leading him up into the unknown.

At the top of the stairs, he found himself on a broad walkway, which threaded—to the left and to the right—through a maze of massive boughs, past clusters of elegant buildings that seemed to him both a work of nature and masterpiece of skilled craftsmanship—and Sighard, who had never in his life travelled more than fifty miles from home, and who had never seen anything grander than the tavern at Doro Lanthron, began to feel very out of place.

But the Elf led him to a grand set of doors, and knocked, and—after a whispered conversation with another elf, and a short wait—the pair were ushered to an unexpectedly cosy chamber, where two elves and a beautiful young woman were leaning over a table, consulting a map.

One of the elves, looking disturbingly young and surprisingly friendly, glanced up from his work, asking, “What brings you here in such haste, Master Sighard?”

Sighard flopped forwards in a hasty bow. “I thank you, Lord Legolas,” he said, “for seeing me...” Still bending, he lifted his head and sought out the March Warden, whom he knew, very slightly. “’Tis Mistress Ayleth, sir,” he said, bluntly. “Mistress Ayleth’s been taken.”