In the days of old, when the sun still shone brightly upon the realms of Middle-earth, there existed a place of great beauty known as the Grey Havens. Nestled upon the shores of the Great Sea, it was a haven for the Elves, a sanctuary where they bid farewell to this world and sailed into the west. But time, relentless as it is, had its way with the once glorious city, and now it lay in ruins.

Amidst the crumbling walls and broken arches, a pack of Worgs had made their lair. Fierce and cunning creatures, they had long terrorized the surrounding lands, preying upon unsuspecting travelers and instilling fear in the hearts of all. It was said that these Worgs were born of shadow, their fur as black as night, and their eyes gleaming with malice.

News of their presence reached the ears of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, who could not bear to see such darkness befoul the lands that were once touched by the grace of the Elves. Gathering a company of brave warriors, he set out for the Grey Havens, determined to rid the world of this vile menace.

As they approached the ruins, a sense of foreboding washed over the company. The air grew heavy with an unnatural silence, broken only by the distant howls of the Worgs. They stood upon a hill overlooking the Grey Havens, where once the Elves had bid farewell to their kin. Now, it was a desolate place, haunted by shadows.

With swords drawn and bows at the ready, Elrond and his warriors descended into the ruins. The broken streets echoed with their footsteps, as they advanced cautiously, their eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. Suddenly, a pack of Worgs emerged from the shadows, their eyes burning with a hunger for blood.

A fierce battle ensued, as swords clashed against fangs, and arrows pierced through the thick hides of the Worgs. Elrond fought with the grace of a true Elf-lord, his blade flashing like lightning, while his warriors, their hearts filled with courage, fought valiantly beside him.

But the Worgs were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless. For every Worg that fell, two more took its place. Elrond’s company was pushed back, their defenses crumbling under the ferocity of the Worgs’ assault.

Just when all seemed lost, a horn echoed through the ruins, its sound piercing through the chaos. From the shadows emerged a group of Elves, clad in shimmering armor, led by the Lady Galadriel herself. With her arrival, hope was rekindled in the hearts of Elrond’s warriors.

Galadriel’s voice rang out, commanding the Worgs to retreat, and retreat they did, vanishing into the darkness from whence they came. The ruins of the Grey Havens were once again silent, save for the heavy breathing of the weary warriors.

Elrond and Galadriel stood together, gazing upon the ruins. Though the Worgs had been driven away, the scars they had left behind would not easily fade. But they knew that with time, the Grey Havens would rise once more, a testament to the enduring spirit of the Elves.

And so, Elrond and Galadriel, with their warriors, left the Grey Havens, their hearts filled with a renewed sense of purpose. For they knew that as long as darkness threatened to engulf the world, there would always be those who would rise to meet it, with courage and unwavering determination, just as they had done that day at the ruins of the Grey Havens.