Lord of the Rings Fanfiction: Idrial’s Quest

Written by: Lady Annalease
You can read the original here:
All Credit goes to the original author

Prologue:

I first time I saw him, he was standing in the road, blade raised to guard, the Úlairë standing before him, their own blades raised. I watched in horror as he challenged them and struck. ‘Fool!’ my mind cried. ‘Run! You cannot fight them.’ Not that my plan would have worked any better than his own, his mount had fled, theirs had not, and even if the poor beast had not run, it had taken the legendary swiftness of Glorfindel’s Asfaloth to outrun the Black Riders before; no beast of Men was any match, let alone a single, tired warrior on foot. This was exactly what I had feared when I had questioned my Lady’s orders as to whether it was a good idea to let the Man leave our company so soon.

Galadriel had simply smiled enigmatically at me.

“We cannot keep him here any longer; if he wakes and finds himself in the Golden Wood it would likely push him further away. His destiny is in the hands of the Valar now. However, he does bear watching. Idrial, my dear, as you are worried for him, there is something you may do. Fetch your sword, a fleet-footed mount not your own and change into a scout’s garb. There is a caravan heading to Mithlond, I wish you to meet up with it and guard it, it will be in Eregion, close to Imladris, by the time you arrive. Do what you must to prepare for an extended leave of absence, but leave the city by sunset and do not rest for but three hours a night, otherwise you shall arrive too late.” She took my hand and led me aside. “Worry not, I know scouting is not something that you thought you should have to do again, you shall not be staying with the caravan long - give them your mount and go on foot. The scouting is needed only as a cover, though I do expect the caravan to survive while it is within your power to make sure of such. You shall find him. Do not reveal too much too soon, or you shall push him away. As far as he should know, you are a caravan guard who appeared very fortuitously.” I bowed to her. “Be fleet now, child, and do not let anything delay you. He must survive! May the Valar be with you, Idrial.”

By this time, the Úlairë had knocked the Man to the ground and, as if moving through treacle, I saw their fell blades fall toward his body - he would not survive this time, I knew it. Before I truly realised what I was about, I lunged forward and blocked the strikes of the Nazgûls’ blades with my own. They looked at me and hissed in anger, their blades coming up again.

“This is not your affair, she-Elf,” one hissed at me. Fear swum in my belly and I questioned my sanity - who was I to oppose an Úlairë? I was not Elrond Half-Elven, nor Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer, and I was most certainly not my Lady of Light. Fear paralysed me. I may have been more than the mere Elven scout I was dressed as, but that did not mean I was anyone who could stand up to the Black Riders. The prone form of the Man wheezed in pain. I had stopped the Úlairë from delivering the killing blow, but they had severely wounded him - without treatment, and soon, nothing I had done this day would matter for him. He must survive! Anger welled in my breast and overcame my fear. I glared icily at the Nazgûl, daring them to hurt him further and raised my sword.

“Return to the shadows, Slaves of Sauron!” I cried. Power rose up in me and, though I knew it was usually beyond my grasp, I called to the great Water Stallion. He leapt forth and crashed into the Riders, they screamed and fled. I had no more time to worry about them, nor about how I was able to handle magics usually so far beyond my grasp. I fell to my knees beside the Man and realised he had stoped breathing. Tears flowed from me as I clutched at him - I did not know if I had it in me to save him. Had I failed so soon in my venture? I summoned what magic I could and prayed: “What grace has been given to me, let it pass to him, let him be spared.” Once more, magic beyond me came to my grasp. “To you I give this gift of my people,” I whispered as magic flowed from my hands into his body. His eyes flickered open and he breathed deeply. I dashed the tears from my cheeks before he could see them.

“I live because of your bravery, my lady,” he spoke softly, gazing at me with open respect and gratitude. “What favour might I grant you?” I could not bare that gaze for long, especially knowing I must now lie to him. I tried to speak, but my words caught in my throat and I had the sudden compulsion to touch his cheek, his hair, his chest to make sure he was truly alive - utter foolishness! I surged to my feet and grabbed my blade; he followed me to his feet.

“There is no time, hurry, we must find you equipment and heal your other wounds,” I spoke.

Translations (in Sindarin, unless otherwise specified):

Ellon - male Elf

Úlairë - nazgûl, Black Rider

Mithlond - the Grey Havens

Imladris - Rivendell

Chapter One - Eregion:

I knew there was an Elven outpost near at hand; it would have what we needed in the way of equipment and healing supplies. I also knew that there was danger between here and there, roving bands of Orcs, mostly.

“Stay close to me,” I ordered my companion, “you are not yet fully healed and would not last long in a skirmish.” We found his shield, lying in the grass where it had been thrown when his mount fled. He secured it easily to his arm, obviously a veteran of its handling. It seemed he was already recovering some strength. It was not long before we ran into our first battle. A lone orc, pathetic pray really, but with my companion still recovering from his wounds and myself weary from magic, the beast almost seemed formidable. The Man proved himself hale enough to help though, and between us we defeated the creature. I was the only one to take a wound, as I took a strike for him, fearing another wound would overcome him in his already weakened state. We kept walking and met more Orcs. I instantly gave up my foolish idea of not allowing a single blow to touch him - I was taking enough hits actually aimed at me to be taking his hits as well, and he proved sound enough to take minor blows. We came through the battles weary, but alive. He suddenly began talking to me.

“I heard a voice…on the road,” he said. Fear griped me again. My Lady had caught up with me moments before I had left the city and warned me of a few of the things I was likely to encounter, other than enemies. This was one of them. It had been the voice of the Witch King calling to him, but he had not followed, and that was a good sign at least. I could not let him see how much his news worried me.

“I know,” I replied aloofly, hopefully ending the conversation. It seemed, rather, to annoy him.

“But-.” He began

“Patience,” I interrupted, cutting him off - I had sensed danger…and the topic of conversation was not much to my liking either. He surprised me by planting himself in front of me, hindering my passage.

“I am looking for Boromir of Gondor, have you seen him?” he demanded.

“No,” I answered true. “But I do see Orcs ahead.” There were three Orcs in this group, even an archer - the beasts were almost becoming a challenge. Feeling somewhat recovered, I called minor water spirits to help in the battle, dousing the fumbling Orcs with torrents of water. My companion was impressed and his annoyance turned to some sort of awe; I was not entirely sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He smiled at me. I grinned back before I realised what I was doing and schooled myself once more.

We could soon see the outpost in the distance and we ran toward it gratefully. We were certainly somewhat recovered, but only the outpost’s provisions and some rest could see us back to full strength. The Man was impressed with the way-station. He was even in such a good mood as to tease:

“The Elves are very resourceful,” he commented. I turned away, hoping to hide my flush; it had been a long time since I had been flirted with. I retreated into my Elven aloofness and spewed some drivel about how long Elves had kept the way stations and such. “I am Berethor, Captain of the Citadel Guard,” he finally introduced himself, though I already knew his name, of course, and a great deal more. Luckily, I remembered in time that I was not supposed to have met him before.

“I am Idrial,” I replied, “I serve the Lady of Light.” There was no harm in telling him that, at least. We found a good deal of what we needed and even some equipment that fit Berethor, to replace what had been damaged of his. What was most welcome, of course, was the rest. I sealed up the outpost, using the magics that had been designed so lone or small parties of Elves could rest in safety without setting a sentry. I set out pallets for both of us. Berethor was asleep as soon as he lay down, though he still clutched his sword tightly to his breast. I lay down myself and was surprised to find how weary I was myself. I slipped easily into Elven reverie. I was the first to wake, of course, and checking the sun I found we had slept less than two hours. We could not rest any longer though. I woke him. “We must continue,” I murmured, “the caravan that I was guarding camped not far from here. If we hurry, we may catch them and they can lend us aid and more security for a better rest.” He nodded. The moment we stepped outside, I knew something was amiss. Crebain spies suddenly swooped overhead, screeching, and the sound of Elven screams met my ears. “The caravan is in danger!” I cried. “Come, we must help them!”

“The crows seem guided by some fell purpose,” Berethor commented. He obviously knew not what Crebain were.

“The White Wizard guides them,” I explained. “He has betrayed us.” It was safe enough to tell him that, it would be common knowledge soon enough. We ran toward the sound of cries and clashing steel.

The caravan guards were in serious trouble, though there were few orcs, they had obviously ambushed the caravan and gained the upper-hand in surprise. The guards looked at Berethor and myself like we were gifts from the Valar as we charged in and helped them slay the menace.

“They will bother you no longer,” Berethor spoke to the female guard as we felled the last Orc. I do not know why it should have bothered me so when she nodded her thanks and smiled prettily. She turned to me.

“You have found him,” she murmured. Of course I had told them of my quest, or the beginning of it anyway, so they knew that I would not be staying with them.

“What do you mean by that?” Berethor asked. I flashed a glare at the guard.

“It is nothing,” I replied, a touch too glibly.

“I thank you for you assistance,” the guard continued smoothly, “but I must beg you now to return to the passes. We saw a great number of enemies there; they cannot be allowed to remain to impede further caravans.” I nodded. Berethor looked like he might protest, for I knew he would rather head for Imladris and Boromir, but he did not.

“The way is cleared to Imladris,” I spoke to the guard once more. “Go there, they will provide you with protection for the rest of your journey.” The guard nodded. The caravan spared us what was left of their supplies, as they could restock at Rivendell, and one of the ladies also spared me a fauld, which I had not worn as a simple caravan guard, and a better sword for Berethor, as his had been near destroyed. I protested, but she smiled and reminded them that she would not have been using them for very much longer anyway. It would have been nice to get some more rest, however the caravan was anxious to move on and we would lose time staying with them. “Come Gondorian,” I finally spoke, heading off toward the Pass, “we have work to do.”

Before we even reached the Pass, we ran into Dunland warrior bands, three or four men in each. It made me wonder what Dunland warriors had done to merit being sent through the Pass to rout scared groups of escaping Elves. They could not possibly believe the pickings were better, as the pilgrims carried little in the way of material possessions. The wind began to roar and snow began to fall as we climbed the steep incline up into the Pass. The cold did not bother me, being an Elf, but I occasionally caught Berethor chafing his arms to ward off the weather. The tattered cloak he wore would do little enough. I wished I had thought to bring a cloak of my own, if only so I could give it to him. However, I had known I needed to travel light and a cloak had been the least of things I had thought to bring. I made it a point to walk closer to him and directly in front of him, hoping my body-heat would at least help to ward off the chill a little and my form block some of the biting wind. We made another camp in the shadow of a hastily built bridge - probably wrought by the Orcs. It afforded a little protection at least. We could have used a fire, or Berethor could have at least, but there was little enough to burn. The Man wrapped himself in his threadbare cloak, lay down and tried to sleep while I kept watch, but I could see he was still shivering, despite our being out of the direct wind and snow. I doubted anything would attack us this night, and I knew I would hear it before it became a danger, even if I slept. I lowered myself next to him, close enough that my knee touched his back through the blanket. He sat up and looked at me warily.

“Do you trust me?” I asked. “I can help keep you warm.” He flushed and looked down, I flushed too when I realised what he thought I meant. “Not like that,” I muttered. “My body-temperature is higher than yours. If you would allow me to share your cloak….” He gave a curt nod, still not meeting my eyes. Before he could change his mind, I lifted the edge of the cloak and slid down next to him, pressing my back against his. He lay rigid for a moment, but the instant my higher body temperature reached him though his armour, he gave up propriety and relaxed. It made me smile to myself.

“Thankyou,” he murmured grudgingly. He fell asleep with his head pillowed on his arm, his breathing soft and regular in my ears. It has been said that my curiosity is likely to send me to an early grave, and such as that is, I could not help myself when I turned over and regarded him over his shoulder. I had seen him before, of course, in the Golden Wood, when he was unconscious, but this was different. He was handsome enough for a Man, though he held nothing to the beauty of most ellon. His copper hair, cut short around his neck, was alien, most Elves did not cut there hair so ruthlessly, though I realised there must be some benefit to not having to tie it back for combat, and it brought out his face prettily. What intrigued me most, though, was the stubble that lined his cheeks and chin. Elves have no body hair, except what grows on top of our heads, and though I had seen Men before, I had not been this close to one, not close enough to…. Without thinking about it, and if I had I would have stopped myself, I pulled off my glove and lightly ran my fingers across his chin. I smothered a giggle behind my palm - it tickled! Berethor stirred and, for a moment, I thought that I had been caught, but he settled quickly again into sleep. This time I ran my entire palm over his cheek, the stubble rasped pleasantly against my hand. I had a fleeting and wicked wonder about what it would feel like against the tip of my ear, or my belly or my own cheek…how it would feel if we kissed. I could not believe my thoughts! I chased them from my mind and turned back over, settling down with my back to his again. I slipped into dreams of copper-haired men with soft lips and rounded ears. That was the first night we shared a bed….

We stared out early in the morning, though I could tell the Man was not eager to leave the warmth of our campsite. When we reached the top of the incline, we came upon another Man lying in the snow and I could hear the snarls of the advancing Wargs. I pulled us to cover behind a bolder. I knew something was afoot when I realised the Man was alive…and a Ranger. I warned Berethor to wait, but the hot-blooded fool charged forward. The Ranger leapt up and slashed at the Wargs, downing them easily.

“You live!” Berethor exclaimed. The Ranger looked him over.

“No thanks to you,” he growled. “Can you not see I was hunting them?” I stepped out from behind our cover.

“Dúneadan,” I addressed him. His eyes widened. He realised he had dismissed Berethor as a fool far too quickly; a Man travelling with an Elf was a different game entirely.

“My lady,” he greeted me, looking me over. “I did not see you.” His lips quirked up as an idea came to him. “As you obviously meant to help me, so perhaps you may. I-.” I suddenly heard the sounds of more approaching Wargs. I swung my blade up.

“Perhaps we should finish off the rest of the pack first,” I suggested.

The Ranger was an impressive archer. He reminded me of my brother, Aronel, and I gave a moment to self-pity - I had always wished I was able to handle a bow as well as he was. My own talents had always tended toward the magics, however, and I was also a fairly sharp hand with my sword. Our new companion, who revealed his name was Elegost, and little more, decided to join us, if only to hunt down the rest of the Warg pack for the moment. Berethor asked what he was about and he agreed to tell us, but he first wanted to reach a healing altar. I had to agree with him there, we could all use a rest and the healing of our wounds. The snow stopped as we descended from the Pass; I had not minded it, for I had seen snow little enough even in my long years, though its cease made footing easier. I was glad for my companions, however, most for Berethor, since he had finally ceased shivering. I was slightly disappointed that the stoppage of the snow had also stopped the need for our heightened proximity - I would not admit it anyone, but I had enjoyed that aspect. We soon came across a recently used campsite. My companions and I looked over the dregs and our Ranger read the footprints - three men, an Elf, a Dwarf and four Hobbits. I knew that combination off by heart.

“The Fellowship,” I murmured. The Ranger nodded, knowing what I spoke of, for all the Dúnedain had been briefed on the current happenings in the wider-world, but Berethor looked at me for clarification. “Boromir passed this way,” I elaborated, “in the company of friends. They camped here.”

“They left in a hurry,” Elegost supplied. “Something may have been amiss.”

“Perhaps,” I murmured.

We soon came upon a ruined Elven outpost, guarded by Orcs. I knew what this place had been - it had once housed a sacred elemental altar, abandoned because we were no longer able to protect it. I wondered if any of the Elfstones still lay within, it would surely be a boon to us if they did. We easily slew the Orcs guarding the altar. The Ranger went about kicking them and shoving his sword through them as if he had something to prove.

“What provokes you so?” I asked.

“You want to make sure they are good and dead, some of them are mighty hard to kill,” he murmured. Berethor and I looked at him askance.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“How do I know I can trust him?” the Dúneadan suddenly asked me, indicating toward Berethor with his sword. My anger rose.

“I vouch for him in the name of the Lady of the Galadhrim,” I spoke haughtily. I quickly realised that had been a mistake as Berethor glanced sharply at me. The Ranger nodded thoughtfully.

“Very well then,” he murmured. “An Orc attacked us in the pass near Caradhras, and stole something very important.”

“Us?” I questioned.

“I was travelling with a Dwarf…a friend, actually. They came upon us so hard and fast, and the Dwarf fought like one possessed, but there were too many.” I wrinkled my nose in distaste at the thought of a Dwarf. “I have to find him,” the Ranger finished. We had been ignoring Berethor, and it seemed as if he had reached his limit.

“You Rangers are all the same, all secrets and cloaks and daggers,” he cried. “Why can you not give a straight answer?” He quickly turned on me. “And who are you to speak on behalf of a ruler of Elves?” I, once again, retreated to my aloofness.

“You must come with me to Lórien so I can tell my Lady Galadriel about the dangers here. There you shall get your explanations.” I realised I was digging myself into a bigger and bigger hole.

“We should find one of their healing altars first,” Elegost suggested. “After the beating the Dwarf and I gave him, the Orc who stole my map will need some healing himself.” I nodded. I quickly searched the altar and found a few cracked fragments of stones, though they were better than nothing. The magics laid on them would help us in our quest. We dealt them out according to our talents. “Come friends,” I said, once we were done, “we shall go find this Orc. We will attend to my own matters in due course.”

We made camp soon after, in the lee of an outcropping of rocks, and Elegost told us his tale. He told us of the bewitched fight him and his Dwarf ally had fought and the loss of the map that they had carried. He knew the map revealed the location of the entrance of Moria and he told us what very little he knew of that lost realm. He asked us to help him find his Dwarf friend, who would be nearby, for the Ranger was sure he had not been killed in the landslide that had carried him away. Berethor did not look pleased by yet another delay, and I was not pleased with the thought of helping a Dwarf, but we both agreed to help. Elegost lit a fire with the flint he carried in his belt and the dead wood lying all about. I knew Berethor would not need my warmth again tonight. I, again, took the watch and allowed my human companions to sleep. Naught attacked us, once again, and I spent my time considering what I was to do now. I knew Berethor knew I was holding things back, but I could tell him no more under the orders of my Lady Galadriel. Elegost seemed to trust me either way - it was bred into the Rangers to trust Elves…I just hoped our leaders would not betray that trust. I had said I wished to take Berethor back to Lórien, though I do not know why I said it, for there would be little point in it - the Lady herself had said there was no more she could do to aid him. I decided I would worry about that when the time came. I knew our delays chafed Berethor, for he wanted to find Boromir; I knew also we were close on the tails of the Fellowship, and Boromir, but I could not tell him so, for that would be compromising the entire Ring situation, and I could not do that as of yet. The morning arrived, cold and grey, and we continued on.

We found a helmet that had been laid aside by the road; it was not rusted, though it was beaten fairly well. Still, Berethor argued, it was better than nothing. I agreed in principle, anything that protected him further was a boon to me, but I sort of wished it did not hide his pretty copper hair - watching the light dance in it had quickly become a favourite pastime of mine. I would just have to find something else to stare at. After more hours of mindless walking, we found another abandoned spirit altar, and more shards of Elfstones. They were not very powerful, but we again divided them up. It felt good to me to be cleansing these sacred places of Orcish taint. Continuing, we crossed an old Elven bridge, covered so it could also be used as an outpost - it creaked beneath our feet, but it was still sound and I thanked Valar for it. The next altar we found was in a grove of sorts, water from a nearby waterfall covered the ground. It was beautiful. The Orcs guarding it were stouter than the ones we had encountered before, but they still fell before us. One of them dropped an Elvish breastplate, much like the one I usually wore, though this one was ancient, but in remarkable condition. It fit well too. I thought the stupid Orc must have found it among the treasures here, or back at the outpost. More Elfstone shards awaited us on the altar. We had still seen no sign of Elegost’s Orc, so we tarried little, though I would have been happy to stay endlessly, before we continued. We passed through a frightful area next; the trees were bare limbs. I sensed the evil about this place the instant we set foot in it. When we discovered the last altar, I knew the reason. Unlike the others, which had just been being guarded, some foul magic had been worked upon the final altar and it served the Orcs. Once we cleared them, and retrieved Elegost’s map, I used my own magic to cleanse the taint from it and the Elfstone shards. We lingered not in that place, I would not have it, and instead we kept on until we reached where the trees were again lush. From the map, we were getting close to Moria. As we considered stopping for a break, I heard the sounds of battle in the distance…accompanied by a litany of Dwarven curses. I looked to Elegost.

“We may have found your companion,” I commented. The Ranger soon found his companion’s footprints and we came upon the Dwarf - battling a cave-troll.

I must admit that the Dwarf, Hadhod, was an excellent fighter. We would have had a difficult battle with the troll had he not been there. I do not like Dwarves, I am an Elf after all, but they do have their uses, I suppose. Elegost trusted him and I trusted Elegost well enough, so I would allow him along. We would also need him to help track the Fellowship to, and possibly through, Moria. We climbed from the troll’s pit and continued along the steep path toward the old Dwarven realm. In the distance we could see what used to be the Elven bridge, now rent in the middle. We found Moria’s west gate flooded and blocked by rubble, the water was deep, cold and black. Nothing in all Arda or Valinor could induce me to set foot in that. I warned the others that it was certainly not aright. A patrol of Rivendell Elves was on the further shore, engaged in a battle with some Orcs, their leader called out to me, telling me to keep away from the water. Suddenly, a long sinuous tentacle darted out and seized one of the Orcs. It was dragged screaming into the massive creature’s gaping maw. The Elves and Orcs cried out in horror and fled, their battle forgotten. The beast then turned its gaze on us. It was a fearsome enemy and there were moments I thought we might all fall to its wrath. However, Elegost’s bow proved to finally overcome it and, in the throws of pain, the creature tore the sealed doors of Moria asunder.

“I knew it was good for something,” Hadhod proclaimed. We walked slowly into the darkness of Moria. I would have been just as happy not to enter it, however I had nowhere else to go and I would not let fear and superstition rule me. Hadhod shoved me back as we entered, proclaiming a Dwarf would be the first to enter. I thought about taking my sword to his neck, but when he fell to his knees and cried out, I saw that this place had become a tomb, the ruins of a decades-old battle were strewn across the floor. Hadhod talked of the abomination witnessed by the great statues of the Dwarven kings. I actually agreed. Touched by the Dwarf’s tough mien being broken and the godly and goodly power I felt from the statues, I impulsively placed my hand on his shoulder.

“Let me help you reclaim it for your people,” I spoke. It was the right thing to say. No Dwarf has insulted my honour as of yet and I do try not to prejudge people, so I shall give this Hadhod a chance - his grief runs deep and I think we shall all need to be friends for our quest to continue.

Translations:

Imladris - Rivendell

Ellon - male Elf

Dúneadan - Ranger, literally Man of the West

Chapter Two - Western Moria:

The Mines of Moria more resembled a charnel house than a great Dwarven realm. Though it did not seem to bother my companions, the smell was almost unbearable to me, though I had the mental discipline enough not to show it…. The darkness in Moria could have been all consuming, but luckily Elegost and Hadhod had thought to bring torches. If I were an admirer of stonework, that place would have keep me entertained for centuries; however, much of the original work had been destroyed by Valar-knew-what, leaving us with but few paths. We soon came upon a flooded area. It had once had a stone bridge over it, but that was smashed and we had to wade through the inky, stagnant water. We suddenly heard a roar and, with dread, I realised that we had not seen the last of the Watcher in the Water. That battle was far more difficult than the last, as the Watcher now knew our tactics. Hadhod was knocked unconscious and I had my hands full with keeping the rest of the party on their feet. We finally prevailed, but not without numerous hurts. Elegost and I were able to awaken our new companion, though I doubted he would be up to further fighting before we had rested.

Elegost and Hadhod found a ruined map upon the body of a single goblin that had almost proved our undoing; the creature possessed some kind of foul magic that allowed it to heal itself, as I did for our party. Hadhod said the map would lead us to the Great Mithril Pit and hopefully a way out of that curséd place. We came soon upon three passages, all leading in different directions. Hadhod immediately set about examining them and trying to remember which would take us further on our quest. The smell of pipe-weed lingered strongly, reminding me of Mithrandir. Elegost confirmed my suspicions when he said a group of people had rested here.

“We are close on their trail,” he commented. I agreed. Berethor, once again, demanded answers. I knew he was becoming frustrated, as I would have been too, if I knew information was deliberately being held back from me. I thought it was time to let him in on some of the quest.

“We are following a company of nine that includes, among others, Mithrandir, or Gandalf the Grey, as you would better know him; Aragorn of the Dúnedain and your lord Boromir,” I spoke. “We are not so far behind them, though too far to catch up very soon.” Berethor looked astonished.

“Why did you not tell me this before?” he asked. “Perhaps I would have been more agreeable.” Elegost and I met gazes.

“Their task is one of great import and revealing it is something that cannot be done lightly,” I replied, at length. “Do you know what quest it was that Boromir departed your lands upon?”

“He went to Imladris to seek the meaning of a reoccurring dream,” he answered. I nodded slowly.

“If you knew the outcome of that consultation, then you would understand. If you do not…then I ask you to be patient - I can promise is that you shall understand all in time.” Berethor looked at me.

“That is a politician’s answer, Idrial,” he replied. I sighed; any pleasure I may have had at the fact he had finally started using my name instead of ‘my lady’ evaporated at that statement.

“I know, Berethor, but I simply cannot tell you more until I know more myself.” Elegost and I turned to find out if Hadhod had figured out which of the passages we needed to take. Berethor startled me by placing a hand on my shoulder and turning me forcefully back to him.

“Have I not proved myself trustworthy to you yet?” he demanded. I looked despairingly into his eyes.

“Please try to understand,” I begged. “If it was simply a matter of trust and my own judgement I would tell you all I know, but it is not and, as so, I cannot. All I can do is sware it shall all be clear soon.” I impulsively touched his cheek. “Have you considered exactly why you are compelled to seek Boromir?” I turned toward Hadhod again; he did not stop me this time. Even with the Dwarf’s knowledge, we knew not which tunnel would take us out of this place, so we began to explore them methodically, beginning with the left-most.

At the end of the tunnel we found a door, but it would not open. Hadhod said we would have to find more of Moria’s secrets before we could pass that way. In the middle of the large room sat a crypt. Elegost and Berethor tried to open it, but the lid did not move an inch. Hadhod gave an empty laugh.

“Do not bother,” he said. “It would take fifty such as you to move it. No, there is runic magic on it. If we can find the rest of the Lords’ runes we may have an easier time of it.” We knew we would need to return here in any case, so that did not seem so much of a hardship. We continued on to the next tunnel. At the end of this one, we came upon what once must have been the Dwarven throne room. A heavy stone-carved throne sat in prime place. Upon it was a leader of the goblin hoards; he fell easily beneath our blades. I had a feeling this room had more to offer us, but it would not yet reveal its secrets. We rested in the shadow of the Dwarven throne. Berethor sat away from the rest of us, his back to me. I sighed. Elegost frowned at me.

“You need to mend this rift, Idrial. We cannot continue to fight together consistently if we are not united,” he spoke. I nodded.

“I know. Perhaps it would be alright if I told him just a little more.” I stood and moved to kneel next to the Man.

“Berethor…” I began. He would not meet my eyes. Anger surged in me. “What are you? A child! Do not play these foolish games with me! It is not my fault that I cannot tell you what you wish to know!” This time he did meet me, his eyes showed shock and possibly…admiration. I realised what I had done and I sat down heavily…for an Elf. “Oh, I am sorry,” I spoke. “This place and…lying to you is beginning to ware on me. I did not mean to shout. I wanted to apologise for my answers earlier, they really were not good enough. I truly do wish I could tell you everything, but I am under orders and you would not like it if you knew and it would jeopardise…. Oh, that is not a good enough answer either, is it?” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “…A different tack then; how much do you know of my Lady Galadriel?” He frowned.

“She lives in the Golden Wood and commands much power,” he replied. “We are told stories of her as children - the great Elf witch - and told never to go near the place, for it is evil.” I shook my head.

“My Lady is not evil, but she is powerful. She has the gift of seeing and can channel the powers of earth, air, fire and water. She and Mithrandir saw you upon your road and knew your destiny was a powerful and needful one. She guards and guides you. She sent me to help you, but with specific orders; one of which was not to reveal more than I must. Elegost, and the rest of the Rangers, are under similar instructions from the Leader of the Dúnedain himself. So, as you hopefully can see, it is not that we do not wish to tell you…. When we get through this wretched tomb, despite the evil you carry, I shall take you to my Lady and tell her of your valour and bravery. Perhaps then she will decide that we can reveal all to you.” I realised that I had inadvertently said something which I definitely should not have, but Berethor seemed not to notice my mention of evil. He sighed heavily.

“I do not like this,” he finally replied. “I am a warrior and all this talk of destinies and magics sits not well with me. I am…grateful you explained your reticence to me, though it still pains me that you do not think I can be trusted. However, you have given me an ultimatum I can live with, I suppose, and I apologise for being rude and childish.” I smiled tentatively at him; he gave me a weak smile in return.

“Will you join the rest of us?” I asked. He nodded once. I climbed to my feet and offered him a hand to his. I began to walk toward Elegost and Hadhod, but I was stopped by the fact that he had not released me and was not walking with me. I turned to look at him questioningly. He stepped close and skimmed my cheek with the backs of two fingers. It took all of my centuries-won control not to tremble at that gesture.

“I am sorry, Idrial,” he murmured. “You do not deserve my ire. Well do I understand the weight of orders, and I should not blame you for the ones you are under. I…I do not particularly enjoy this state of affairs, but it should not tear friendships apart and I will not let it any longer. So, am sorry and...I am glad you are here.” He did smile at me then, radiant and warm, before gallantly offering me his arm to escort me back to the others. I did not blush…I did not!

Upon a pedestal in the next room, Elegost found a Dwarven walking axe. Hadhod identified it as the last axe ever forged in Moria.

“You should carry it proudly as a representative of your people,” Berethor suggested.

“Indeed,” Elegost agreed, presenting the blade to the Dwarf. It was a good blade and Berethor’s words seemed to make Hadhod quite pleased. I was glad he had returned from his brooding state; our group needed a leader and, although I could do a passable job, it was Berethor who was the master. That was the last chamber in the middle tunnel, so we retreated once again to go down the final tunnel and find its secrets.

The room at the end of the final tunnel was bathed in an eerie light. If I had not known better, I would have said that it was on fire. It was certainly warmer than any of the other places we had been in. Running down to an outcropping we heard the sound of debris falling. If it had not been for my Elven reflexes, I would have been rendered unconscious by the skeleton that suddenly appeared above me. A voice echoed down the chute from which it had fallen:

“Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!” I glanced up - I knew that voice. I was about to speak to so much, but a twinkle on the skeleton caught my eye. I retrieved a key from the bones.

“What do you say to this, Dwarf?” I asked. Hadhod almost snatched it from my grasp.

“That would be a key, Elf, to a very important item; maybe in the throne room, a Book of Secrets, perhaps.” The ground suddenly began to tremble and a dreadful roar filled the air.

“I think we may have found more than we bargained for!” Elegost cried. I could scarcely believe my own eyes when a Balrog climbed up the opposite wall.

“It…it is a Balrog of Morgoth,” I whispered, equal parts awe and fear colouring my voice. Berethor stepped up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“We must master our fear and go after the creature,” he announced. “It might be our only way out of here.” We ran toward the thin ledge at the edge of the room. The Balrog suddenly roared once more and smashed the path. Hadhod seized Berethor before he fell head-first into the lava.

“It is no use,” he supplied. “We shall have to find another way.” However, we first had to deal with the goblins who had thought that a terribly good time to surround us.

We left the Balrog Pit and returned to the Throne Room and the Book of Secrets. It was too heavy to bring with us, but Hadhod opened it and I read it, as it was in Elvish script. I could speak the words on the page, but they meant little to me. Hadhod grinned.

“Yes, Witch,” he said, “you are able to read the words and your people served to seal our doors, but you were never the power behind our thrones.” He pushed the massive throne aside to reveal a map. I laughed.

“That is true enough, Tunnel Rat,” I replied. The Map led us back to the first room, with the massive door we were unable to open before. Now that we had collected all the runes, Hadhod was sure we would be able to open both the door and the tomb. Inside the tomb we found a most splendid set of Dwarven armour.

“It is yours now,” Berethor spoke, “in memory of your people.” Hadhod smiled and nodded.

“Aye, in memory,” he agreed, “in memory of them all.” We walked to the massive concealed doors and Hadhod and I looked them over.

“I believe we are here, Dwarf,” I spoke, “no more secrets.” He laughed at that.

“Plenty more,” he argued, “but you are right. The door is here.” I knelt before the great stone wall and spoke the words. The door creaked open in front of us.

“This is the way to the Chamber of Records,” Hadhod supplied, “where we shall find yet more secrets.”

We came quickly upon the great halls of Dwarrowdelf; they rose many meters above our heads. They had an otherworldly sort of splendour about them.

“Impressive,” I murmured.

“Aye,” Hadhod agreed, “it is indeed, Elf.” After running through the great columned hall, we finally came upon the entrance to the Chamber of Records. Berethor called a halt. We did not know what we would find upon entering the chamber and he wanted us well-rested for the experience. We shared what rations we had left. Hadhod fell asleep almost immediately, but Berethor, Elegost and I stayed awake longer.

“I think it is time we pushed harder and caught up with the Fellowship,” I spoke. “I heard Mithrandir’s voice when that skeleton almost fell on me and he will, perhaps, be able to tell you more of what is going on, Berethor.” The Man nodded eagerly.

“Yes,” he agreed. Elegost also nodded his agreement; I guessed he probably wished to speak to Aragorn about as much as Berethor and I wished to speak to Mithrandir. The three of us agreed to split the night into three watches. I volunteered to go first, of course; I would wake Elegost in a few hours. Both Men fell asleep reasonably quickly and as I lay back against the stone wall, I realised that I was exhausted myself. It took quite a lot of effort not to slip into reverie during those hours, but I knew we were not safe in this place and refused to let myself find sleep. Half of an hour or so before I was to wake the Ranger, Berethor began to stir in his sleep. I raised myself and knelt beside him. He was murmuring fervently, tossing and turning and groping for his sword. I took gentle hold of his shoulders.

“Berethor!” I called softly. “Berethor, awake! You are dreaming.” He kept moaning and tossing. I shook him gently, hoping to waken him before he woke Hadhod and Elegost. He shot awake with a cry, his sword pressed against my throat. I froze. He was panting harshly and he looked at me with wild terror in his eyes. “Berethor,” I whispered softly. He blinked and the fear receded some.

“Idrial?” he asked, almost seeming confused. “I…I dreamed…you…you were not there,” he murmured.

“Do you mind?” I asked, gently taking his sword from his hand. He immediately relinquished it to my grasp.

“Oh Gods, did I hurt you?” he asked. I shook my head.

“Just startled me.” I glanced over my shoulder to find Hadhod still sleeping soundly, but Elegost was awake. His own hand rested upon his blade. I shook my head very slightly at him and he nodded once.

“I shall take the watch from here,” he said and proceeded, grabbing his bow, to the post where I had been sitting before. I handed Berethor back his blade and sat next to him.

“Would you like to talk about your dream?” I asked. He hesitated. “Mayhap I can help you decipher it.” He finally nodded.

“I…I was...there was a…a figure dressed in a black robe and he held a sword. Then there was a flaming…flaming eye. It spoke to me: ‘You cannot hide. I see you,’ it said. Then there were nine ghost-like figures, all wearing crowns, standing about me and one of them raised his sword and skewered me.” He touched over his heart. “Here.” He jerked his hand away. “It burns!” he exclaimed. “It was just a dream. Why should it hurt?” He pulled his armour away to check his chest. Fortunately, there was no physical evidence of the wound left for him to find. I was also glad he was very preoccupied with his own matters at that moment, for I was sure I could not have schooled my face from the horror it showed. I took a breath and composed myself before he looked back to me. “Do you know what it means?” he asked. I pinched the bridge of my nose once more.

“The Eye was Sauron; you have heard of him, yes? The wraiths you saw were Ring-wraiths…Nazgûl, we Elves name them Úlairë. They were those Kings enslaved by the Nine Rings of Men, now Sauron’s servants. As for your being stabbed…you almost were when I first came upon you.” I knew I was dissembling there, but I hoped it would be good enough for the moment.

“Why would they chase me?” he asked. This one I could answer truthfully.

“I do not truly know; because you escaped them once, mayhap? However, I believe there is more to it than that. I am not privy to all of what my Lady Galadriel and Mithrandir have seen in your future, but I do know that it will affect us all - I believe that is why the Úlairë search for you.”

“More mysteries,” Berethor sighed. I smiled sadly.

“I am sorry.” He shook his head.

“I know. I see they withhold things even from you, so I cannot blame you for not being able to tell them to me.” At that moment, I almost wished that he had seen the scar where he had been stabbed, or that he had remembered it at all, even if it would possibly drive him to madness; at least then I could stop withholding and tell him all I knew. I impulsively brushed my lips gently across his forehead.

“Go back to sleep, Berethor. Nightmares cannot hurt you. You do not have the watch for a few more hours.” I made to get up and leave, but he gripped my wrist.

“Stay,” he murmured, “please. Sleep beside me again. There will not be any more nightmares if you are here.” I hesitated for a moment, fearing it a dangerous idea, but I then nodded and resettled myself next to him, my back to his back as we had been before. We lay that way for a while, but I could tell he had still not fallen into sleep. The fear from the flashback still lingered in the tense lines of his body. I warned myself that I was walking on very, very thin ice as I turned over and gently took him into my arms, his back pressed against my front.

“Be at peace, Berethor,” I spoke again. “I will not let any harm come to you.” He startled, but settled quickly, laying his head against my shoulder.

“Thankyou,” he murmured sleepily before his eyes closed and his breathing levelled out. I looked down at him in my arms and knew I was in trouble. This foolish attraction I harboured for him had to stop - it was dangerous and it was unhealthy. I was many times his age and I was immortal. I should have leapt up that very moment, but I could not bring myself to disturb him, as peaceful and vulnerable as he looked in my embrace. Elegost woke me in a few hours with a smirk on his face. I gave him a dirty look.

“It is none of my business,” he murmured. “Do you want me to wake Hadhod for the watch instead?” I thought for a few moments, Berethor would be livid if he thought that I was coddling him, but he could certainly do with a few more hours of uninterrupted rest. In the end, it was the selfish and guilty pleasure of having him in my arms that made me nod to the Ranger. He smirked again and mockingly bowed his compliance. I groaned softly to myself, I was just digging myself in deeper and deeper. This had to stop; this would stop…first thing in the morning. That was the second night we spent together….

Translations:

Mithrandir - Gandalf, literally Grey Pilgrim

Dúnedain - Rangers, literally Men of the West

Imladris - Rivendell

Úlairë - Nazgûl, Black Riders

Chapter Three - Eastern Moria:

We awoke in the morning and entered the Chamber of Records, which had also become Balin’s Tomb. Another fight awaited us there, along with a dead cave-troll and the bodies of many other dead goblins. The Fellowship had passed there. We defeated the living goblins, but the room began to tremble and the air turned like fire. I feared I knew what was about to happen. The wall was suddenly torn open.

“The Balrog has found us!” Elegost cried.

“Seek shelter!” I commanded, but I could not make my own feet move. Berethor snatched me at the last moment and dragged me behind a pillar to avoid the searing flames. He held me as the heat abated and the Balrog retreated. I had to take a deep breath before I could make myself stop trembling.

“Are you well?” he murmured in my ear. I shivered then for an entirely different reason. I pulled out of his arms and straightened myself, forcefully reminding myself of the vow I had made to end my foolishness.

“Yes, thankyou,” I replied, hopefully sounding properly Elven and aloof. The Man frowned at me but stepped past.

“We must follow,” he said, “it is the only way out of here.”

The ground spasmodically trembled beneath us as we continued. It was easy to see where the beast had passed, for the stone was melted and all else was aflame. Hadhod moved at point, while the rest of us scattered out behind him. I played rearguard, I was beyond happy to let someone else have the honour of encountering the Balrog first. Goblins climbed from the cracks in the ground to confront us as we continued along. I have never known them to be so bold. Soon they climbed down even from the columns and quickly surrounded us. Obviously, their fear of the Balrog was swiftly passing. It took all we had to defeat them this time. However, victorious but winded and wounded we continued on. We were attacked again and again as we tried to find somewhere to rest, but we finally emerged from the burning hall onto a ruined stairway that extended above a large chasm. We happily rested at the top for a time while we ate and I tended the party’s wounds. I kept well away from Berethor, unless I had dire need to go near him. I took my eyes off him for one moment as we were readying to leave and he seized my wrist. He looked at me, plainly confused.

“Have I done aught to anger you, Idrial?” he asked.

“No,” I replied, trying to be properly distant, “no, of course not.”

“Then why do you act as if I have some horrible contagion?” I put an appropriately blank stare on my face.

“I do not know what you are speaking of.” He made an indignant sound.

“Fine. I do not have time to indulge you in your games, my lady.” He strode off at the head of the group once more. It hurt to hear him say that, but I guess it was what I had wanted. Elegost stopped me before I could follow.

“When I said we all needed to work together, that included you,” he spoke. I glared at him.

“I cannot possibly stress how much of your affair this is not,” I snapped. He made a resigned sound.

“Very well, my lady, I shall stay out of it, but think on what I have said.”

We rid another hall of Orcish scum and came upon a statue of one of the Dwarven lords. Hadhod begged for forgiveness for the desecration of this place and vowed that we would cleanse it. I made a silent promise to help him in that task. We kept on, running thoughtlessly over kilometres of stone. One moment my feet were firmly on the ground, the next I was teetering over the edge of a chasm - the bridge in front of me had collapsed beneath my feet.

“Watch out!” Berethor cried. It was too late. I could not jump back fast enough. I lost my footing and fell. “Idrial!” he cried. Thank the Valar I managed to grab onto the ledge at the last moment. Berethor, eyes wide with terror, reached down to me.

“Do not worry, I am well,” I spoke as I grabbed onto his arm and he helped me climb up. We stood close, breathing each other’s air. Before I could contemplate it, I pulled him forward and kissed him. “Gerich veleth nín,” I murmured. I pulled away from him just as suddenly, realising what I had done and cursing myself as a fool. Berethor just stood there staring, on the edge of the crumbling abyss. I grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “Come! It is not safe here.”

I made certain Berethor and I did not have the opportunity to talk as we ran from the crumbling bridge. I was still cursing myself as several kinds of idiot for what I had done. I was happy enough for the distraction when we ran into another band of goblins, which fell easily beneath our might. We reached another of the massive halls, though this one was worse for wear and had a mighty rift in the centre, which was where we would need to go next. Elegost, not Berethor or I, called a halt. We did not truly need one, we had not be running for so very long yet.

“Why are we stopping?” I asked. He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Your hands need to be tended.” I looked down at my palms; they had been torn bloody even through my gloves. They had not begun to pain until that moment. I tried to concentrate and summon the magics to heal them, but the stinging and feel of blood dripping from my skin distracted me too much. Elegost knew. “Berethor, help me get her gloves off.” One Man went for each glove and carefully pulled them off over my bleeding palms. The Ranger went through my healing gear and found distilled water, fresh bandages, linen pads and antiseptic salve. He used the water to clean the wounds, and then instructed Berethor to cover my hands with the salve while he cut the bandages to size. I wondered if Elegost got some sort of sadistic pleasure out of making Berethor touch me, forcing me to be so close to him, or whether this was some demented attempt at match-making on the Ranger’s part. He knew only too well that I did not need more than the wounds cleaned - they would heal swiftly, for I was indeed an Elf and they were only scrapes. The bandages and the salve were a waste and probably would have been better saved for later. I could not bring myself to complain, however, as Berethor gently spread the salve across my skin and accepted the bandages and linen pads from Elegost to bind my hands. I gave a heavy mental sigh. I was so very, very, deeply in trouble. I knew the answer to my suspicions about the Ranger when he discreetly, or at least he thought it was discreetly, went to examine something with Hadhod as far away as they could possibly get from us without it being likely we would be separated. I was not sure whether I wanted to hug him or hit him.

“Done,” Berethor murmured as he pulled the second bandage tight. I looked down at my hands, they had been bound well, I still had a fairly free range of movement and I thought I could even possibly wield my sword with them on.

“You have done this before,” I commented. He gave a terse nod. His brevity hurt, but it was really more than I deserved. He took a deep breath.

“My lady...Idrial…” he began. I met his eyes; I knew the hard questions came now, and I was not sure I could give him answers to his questions when I could not even answer my own. “Why did you kiss me?” he asked. I was stunned. Whatever I had expected him to ask, and was not entirely sure what I had expected, it was not that. I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times, trying to answer, probably looking like a gasping fish.

“I…I do not know,” I finally replied softly. I knew that answer was not good enough. He frowned at me.

“Right,” he murmured evenly and made to get to his feet. I could see that I had hurt him but, still, I should have let him leave in a huff, I should have let him think anything we might have had was done, I certainly should not have called him back….

“Berethor, wait,” I spoke. He turned back to me.

“What is it now, my lady?” he demanded, his voice cold. Until that moment even I was not entirely sure what I was going to do. In a split second decision, the words ‘to the Void with it’ echoed in my mind, and I grabbed him, a hand on the back of his neck, and crushed my lips against his. He held rigid for a moment, before melting and sliding his arms easily about me as mine found their place about him. Now I knew I was doomed, but I could not bring myself to care even slightly. We only broke apart when it became necessary to breath. He was panting lightly. “Idrial,” he murmured huskily, “…why did you do that?” I smiled at him, having finally worked out the answer.

“Because I wanted to,” I replied. “And because I am tired of being good and hiding my attraction toward you,” I leaned up and whispered in his ear, “and because I want you to do it to me.” He was happy to oblige. His kiss was gentle and sweet and stole my breath…until Elegost cleared his throat from across the room, knowing very well that I would be able to hear him. I pulled away with a soft giggle. “Because of all of that…and because I wanted to know what this felt like.” I ghosted the tips of my fingers across the stubble on his cheek. He laughed. “Come, we have to go, Elegost wants to move on.”

“I thought I was the leader,” he murmured.

“You are,” I replied, “but a good leader knows to acquiesce to his party’s requests now and again. Besides, it is not safe to stay here.”

As we descended into the rift, we came upon a goblin chieftain, standing upon an altar that looked be a mock-up of the Balrog’s head and the sound of drums began to echo all about us. The spirit wielder and his companions proved a challenge, but they soon fell prey to us. We came upon the drummer at the end of a long run, swarming with small bands of goblins. He was perched some ways above us on a pedestal - the only way to reach him was magics or ranged attacks. He proved difficult only in that he kept summoning more defenders. In the end, Elegost’s arrows proved his undoing. The next area was full of deep rifts in the stone and if the goblins had not constructed catwalks out of skins and shields we would not have been able to proceed. The structures creaked and groaned alarmingly, but held until we were all safely across. We reached the great mausoleum of the Lords of Moria, great statues watched over us and I knew ancient magics were imbedded in the stone visages. We came upon the tombs of the last of Hadhod’s kin while passing through the mausoleum. I fear I may have offended him some when I did not recognise his emblem immediately upon the tombs and asked over casually what might be in them. I apologised, of course, and he acknowledged it but I think seeing the tomb rattled him more than he is willing to let on. I whispered prayers for the Dwarf’s kin and also for Hadhod himself, hoping that the Valar might help him find some small measure of peace.

We decided to camp near Hadhod’s tombs, I knew it was not an evil place with malignant spirits and I hoped his kin would help keep watch over us this night. I did not think Hadhod able to carry on, in any case; he seemed to be lost in his own memories. Elegost took charge of him and, more discreetly than he had managed before, retreated to the opposite side of the chamber to where Berethor and I obviously intended to be. He muttered something about keeping watch because he had to keep an eye on Hadhod anyway. I knew what he was trying to do. I stopped him as he was about to turn away.

“Le hannon, mellon nín,” I murmured. He gave a nod and turned away.

“How are your hands?” Berethor asked as he came to sit next to me, removing his helmet as he watched me unwind my bandages.

“Almost healed,” I replied, showing them to him. It was true; my hands looked only slightly red and raw now. I bundled the used bandage up and put it in my pack, it would either need to be burnt or thoroughly washed. He pulled off his gloves and traced his fingers over my palms.

“How is it possible?” he asked.

“I an Elf, we heal fast and do not scar,” I replied. “Call it a gift from the Valar, if you wish, like our tolerance for the elements and our immortality.”

“The Valar,” he questioned, “Elven deities?” I shrugged.

“Well enough.”

“Will you tell me what you just said to Elegost?” he asked. “I know nothing of your language and I would like to learn.” I nodded.

“Le hannon is ‘I thank you’ and mellon nín is ‘my friend’,” I supplied.

“What about what you said to me when I pulled you up from the ledge? Ger…geri-.” I flushed; I was almost hoping he had not remembered that.

“Gerich veleth nín,” I murmured softly. He nodded. Even up until that point I was not entirely sure why I had said it, the only explanation I could come up with at that time was a mix of adrenaline and attraction…it was not possible I was falling in love with him.

“It…it means…means,” I took a deep breath, “it translates to ‘you have my love’.”

“Gerich veleth nín,” he parroted; his pronunciation and accent were abominable, but it was the sentiment that counted. “Gerich veleth nín, Idrial.” I smiled softly.

“Gerich veleth nín, Berethor.”

“How would you say ‘kiss me’?” he asked. I chuckled softly. I still knew that we should not be doing this; he was so human and so young, the childish word-game we were playing proved it beyond doubt, and yet, I could not bring myself to stop.

“Mîbo nín.” It was an easy continuation of our kiss from earlier, soft and oh so very sweet. His stubble scraped against my skin, probably causing a burn, but I did not care about that either. My hands found his soft coppery hair, sinking happily into it. He pulled the tie from my plait, loosing my own hair to his hands. For an elleth, I did not keep my hair very long, nor did I keep it in elaborate braids and ornaments. I usually could not stand such fripperies, but at that moment, I would not have minded looking a touch more pretty. He laughed breathlessly as he broke the kiss and shook his head slowly, as if to clear it.

“That was…” he murmured, “mîbo nín, I need to remember that.” He spread my hair over my shoulders as he freed it from his hands; I flinched when his hand came close to my ear. He looked at me quizzically.

“Do not like them being touched?” he asked. He could not possibly know how wrong he was.

“How…how far are you intending on taking this?” I asked.

“I do not understand.” It was time to be blatant.

“Did you just want to kiss, or would you take it further than that?” I asked. “Elves’ do not allow others to touch their ears lightly; it is a deeply and blatantly intimate act. To be blunt - do not start something here that you do not intend to finish.”

“And if I do?” he asked quickly, his eyes flashing hotly. I grabbed his head in my hands and made him meet my eyes.

“Be sure,” I replied firmly. “I want you, Berethor. I am very, very much attracted to you, but I will not have it said that I forced you into anything or enchanted you. And you must understand that I am an Elf and you are not. I am many times your age and have seen and know things you cannot even dream of; I have been in more relationships than you can count years, some more serious than others, and, if the Valar will it, I shall live forever. Whatever we start here can never be anything more than a tryst, for pleasure, it cannot and will not last. Though you may love me as a friend…and more, as I love you, you cannot ever fall in love with me. I would only have to break your heart. So, if you have any doubts, speak them now so they may be allayed, or be away.” His answer was to kiss me. This kiss was nothing like the ones we had shared previously, but passionate beyond anything I had encountered before. Sounds of pleasure escaped me. Now I knew why Elves trysted with mortals, why they enjoyed it so much. It was not that Elves were devoid of passion, for certainly we were not, but we had all eternity to express our ardour, mortals did not. This was the only way they could communicate such deep and profound emotions when words seemed lacking at best. I understood that now. I did not stop him when he went to touch my ears this time; it was he himself who hesitated.

“You never answered my question,” he whispered breathily. “Do you like having your ears touched?” I gave gasping laugh.

“See what happens,” I replied. I fulfilled every mortal man’s secret fantasy that night, so it was only right that Berethor indulge in one of my own - I got to find out what that stubble felt like against my ears. I dearly hoped we did not cause Elegost and Hadhod too much embarrassment or loss of rest, though it was the least of things on my mind at the time and I still cannot bring myself to feel over-much regret if we did. That night was the night I stopped counting the times that he had shared my bed, and started counting, instead, the nights on which he was absent from it.

More narrow stairways awaited us in the morning and Berethor hung close to my side, remembering my earlier experience. I should have found his mothering annoying, but instead I found it endearing. The heat, even in this expansive carven, was extreme. I knew we would soon face the Balrog. Upon reaching the next landing, we saw the beast in all its fury, battling against Mithrandir. Even from this distance it terrified me; however I was more scared for the lone and, apparently, so fragile figure of Gandalf standing before the shadow and flame on the bridge.

“We must help him,” I cried. “We have to find a way down these stairs.” I have never faced a creature such as the Balrog before and I hope never to again. Hadhod, Elegost and Berethor were quickly overwhelmed by its fury and the heat. It was on by the grace of the Valar that Mithrandir and I were able to keep our feet and survive. We fought for what seemed like decades. The heat was overwhelming, but I could think about nothing more than getting to my lover and making sure he was well. The Grey Pilgrim reigned supreme and we managed to wound the creature far enough for it to be momentarily overcome. Mithrandir seized his chance and rushed forth just as my companions began to regain their senses; he strode to the centre of the bridge and raised his staff high.

“YOU CANNOT PASS!” he proclaimed and slammed the staff down. There was a flash of light so bright that it momentarily blinded me. It seemed, for an instant, as if nothing had happened and then, as the beast tried to renew its attack, the bridge began to give way beneath it, sending it plunging into the gorge below. My companions and I cheered. Mithrandir turned to us with a smile upon his face, seemingly coming to greet us. However, the Balrog was not quite finished. With its last ounce of strength it threw its whip up one final time, seized the Grey Wizard about his feet and hauled him back into the ravine. I screamed and ran after him. The only thing that stopped me plunging into the ravine myself was that Berethor caught me and wrapped his arms around me, holding me back. I screeched and thrashed and scratched and kicked like a madwoman, trying to get free, but Berethor’s calm voice finally got through to me.

“Come, Idrial, there is nothing we can do. We must leave this place,” his voice quavered as he spoke. Exhausted, I finally fell sobbing against his chest, the battle finally catching up with me. He scooped me up in strong arms. I remembered nothing else after than until I awoke in the daylight with sparse clouds floating by overhead….

Translations:

Gerich veleth nín - you have my love

Le hannon - I thank you

Mellon nín - my friend

Mîbo nín - kiss me

Elleth - female Elf

Ellon - male Elf

Mithrandir - Gandalf, literally Grey Pilgrim

An Interlude in Lórien:

I woke to Elegost and Berethor’s faces hovering over me. My head pounded like the goblins’ drums.

“What happened?” I murmured, pushing myself up into a sitting position. Berethor offered me his water-skin, and I drunk thirstily, while Elegost explained.

“You fainted,” he supplied. I rubbed my face and re-ran his statement, sure that he must be joking.

“I what?” I parroted. There was a musical chuckle from out of my line-of-sight.

“You fainted, Rial…passed out, swooned, lost consciousness, had an intimate encounter with the ground…. For a healer like you, that should not be such a difficult concept to grasp,” a very familiar voice spoke with amusement. I turned quickly and saw a single Lórien Elf leaning against a tree, massive longbow slung casually over his shoulder, grinning at me. I knew this Elf very, very well.

“Aron!” I cried as I leapt to my feet in an attempt to go to him. Luckily, he guessed what I was about and lunged forward to catch me before I fell on my arse again.

“Easy, tithen-muinthel,” he cautioned as he held me upright in his arms, “you are not quite recovered as yet.” He set me gracefully back down in a sitting position and crouched easily beside me.

“How long have you been here? How did you find us?” I asked. He put his hands up as if to ward off my persistent questions.

“Cáno Aronel has been here less than an hour,” Elegost supplied. “He scared the life out of us when he appeared.” My elder brother smiled and I joined him, well did I know his talent for stealth and the practical jokes it caused.

“To answer your second question,” Aronel continued, “our Lady sent me. She told me more or less where to find you.” He glanced up at the sun and frowned slightly. “We should leave soon. We ought to be within the boarders of Lórien by nightfall.” He unbuckled a flask from his belt and handed it to me. I raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “If you want to get up off your arse and not have to have one of us carry you…” he explained. I immediately knew what was in the bottle. I had no real disposition toward liquors or cordials, though I had naught against them either. I took a deep draw from the flask…and regretted it almost immediately. Strength flowed through me as the liquid lit a fiery trail through my lungs. I coughed harshly as Aronel took the flask back and thumped me heavily on the back - this liquor was stronger than most. “Come on, Rial, get up. I do not remember you being such a light-weight, tithen-muinthel.” I scowled at him as I let him help me to my feet once again, which I managed to keep without stumbling this time.

“Bado mîbo orch, gwanur,” I muttered. He laughed.

“Now that sounds like the Rial I remember…and I hate you too, you know.” However, I could not stay angry at my misbegotten brother for long, for slightly away from where we had been, waited five archers and five swordsmen, obviously under Aronel’s command, and five spare mounts, including my own mare, ready to escort us back to Lórien.

“Oh gwanur, amin mela lle!” I cried in delight and hugged him. He laughed again and pressed kisses to my cheeks.

“See, I knew it. You show well know that I will have only the best for my tithen- muinthel.”

“Five horses?” I asked. Aron’s mood fell.

“Lady Galadriel informed us as to the…fall of Mithrandir,” he murmured, “however my Lord Celeborn hoped that, somehow, he may have managed to be with you.” My own humour fell. My brother wrapped a comforting arm about me and placed a kiss to the crown of my head. My mare was certainly happy to see me and I had missed her exceedingly. I was also grateful to see that either Aronel or Lord Celeborn had thought enough to provide tack for my companions, although Hadhod complained bitterly about having to ride until Elegost offered to ride with him. Rúmil, who had come as an archer under my brother’s command, boosted me up onto my own mare’s back and stole an embrace in the process.

“Mae govannen, Rial,” he murmured tenderly in my ear. That gave me pause. Rúmil and I had had a few trysts over the centuries, but I thought I had made it clear that it was not serious, however, he was obviously looking renew the relationship again, and now with Berethor….

“Mae govannen, Rue,” I replied. Rúmil’s elder brother Orophin, who had also accompanied Aron, chased him away so he could claim a hug and greeting of his own. Phin was Aron’s closest friend, and much like another elder brother to me; I had known him for almost as long as I had lived. “Mas Haldir?” I asked him. It was seldom the three brothers, of which Haldir was the eldest, were seen parted in battle. Aron rode up next to me.

“In Lórien, where we soon need to be,” he answered the question, his eyes flickering nervously to the sun once more. “We need to leave now. The Moria goblins will not be happy that you have slain their master and the moment the light fades they will burst from that foul place in hoards.” I looked back at the direction we had come from and nodded. We turned our mounts and set an easy canter toward the Golden Wood.

Riding with Aronel and the soldiers made me regret the fact that I would soon have to leave again; I had dearly missed my brother and my friends. However, I could see that my companions, particularly Berethor and Hadhod, were uneasy riding with so many of my kinsmen who were all speaking fast and fluent Elvish quite over their heads. On my signal, my mare held back a few paces so I rode next to them.

“They do not mean to be impolite,” I spoke, “most of them do not even speak Common, or very little of it anyway.” Then I glanced at Elegost speaking fluently in Elvish with Phin. “And some are simply ill-mannered,” I directed at them. The Ranger laughed and coloured slightly.

“I did not start the conversation,” he defended, “Orophin asked me about the health of my brethren and it would have been rude to refuse to answer.” He finished his conversation quickly and the Elf nodded and braced the Ranger’s shoulder and gave me a one-armed hug and peck on the cheek before riding off back to the head of the column. “The two of you seem overly friendly,” Elegost commented.

“Phin is a good friend of Aronel’s and like a brother to me. You seem to be well acquainted with him too,” I replied. Elegost ducked his head.

“I have met him more than a few times,” he admitted, “though usually in the company of Haldir. They helped me learn my Elvish when I was younger. I know their brother Rúmil not so very well though, he was always…standoffish. You, on the other hand, seem to be…very friendly with him.” I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose, wishing he had not brought it up.

“Rue is…neth,” I replied. Elegost winced; the sentiment was not exactly a compliment and certainly not something you would wish a potential lover to say.

“Young,” the Ranger supplied the translation to a confused-looking Berethor. The Man looked at me questioningly.

“I would be willing to wager that he is older than Elegost, Hadhod and I combined,” he spoke.

“In years, yes,” I agreed, “but maturity is a different thing altogether. My nephew has more tact and he is only a few years old.”

“Nephew?” Berethor questioned. “You have siblings?” I could not believe it - Aron had not told them? Actually, now I thought about it, I could believe it quite readily. “No, of course he did not, this would be just the kind of thing he would find amusing,” I muttered under my breath. Then I spoke to them: “Aronel is my elder brother, my only sibling. His mate is an elleth named Niphredil; they have a son, my nephew, Laeral.” A smile flashed over my face. “He is a darling.” Aron’s marriage to Niphredil still amused me greatly; the elleth was a small, shy and fragile-looking thing, much like the snowdrop she was named for, and it sometimes made me wonder how my bear of a brother ever secured her ardour and let alone how he managed not to break her.

Elegost and I passed the time by trying to teach Berethor…and Hadhod, because although the Dwarf feigned disinterest, I knew he was listening, more Elvish. Orophin dropped back to ride with us again and joined in the lesson, eager to improve his Common. I knew he must be able to smell the man’s scent all over me but, thankfully, all I got was a disbelieving shake of the head, a grin and a teasing wrinkle of his nose. I could feel Rúmil’s eyes on us as we talked, though he did not join us, and I wondered if he was going to be more of a problem. The guarded expression on his face did nothing to quiet my fears. Berethor casually brushed my hand with his own as he mimicked Phin’s words. Rúmil’s expression turned thunderous as he focused on our linked hands. I shuddered and turned away from him.

“Are you well?” Phin asked, noticing my unease. He followed my gaze and saw his scowling brother. In a very rude Elven gesture, he flicked the point of his ear forward with his thumb, at the ellon. Rúmil, with an affronted toss of his head, jerked his attention back to the road ahead.

“I have seen Elves make that gesture before,” Elegost commented, “I gather it is insulting…?” Orophin laughed.

“It is meant to be,” he replied, “though most times it is just teasing. However, do not repeat it unless you either know the person well and are sure they know you are funning, or if they have gravely insulted you. It implies that the recipient spends their time rubbing their own ears for…personal gratification, which is not something to be either discussed or insinuated in formal company. I was only teasing Rúmil though, we brothers do it all the time; there was no need for him to stand so much on his dignity. He needs to learn to take a joke better.” My own attention was suddenly caught by the road ahead as well - a sole rider, moving fast, approached us. Aronel rode out to meet him. By the way the scout was gesturing toward the road behind us, and then to the forest in the distance, his message seemed fairly clear. Aron turned and urged his hose into a gallop to the end of the column and fluidly rose to a standing position on the mount’s back. He shook his head at the scout after a few moments and resumed his seat.

“We are being followed,” he spoke, raising his voice so that it carried to all of us. “We need to pick up our speed.” He leaned forward, his horse taking the cue and leading off in a gallop; the scout singled to him and continued back the way we had come, it was obviously his job to get a better report of the enemy. Orophin, being second-in-rank to Aron, left us to join his commander at the front of the column. I leaned forward and my own mare broke into a ground-eating gallop, Elegost and Berethor’s mounts matched pace. I reached down and loosened my sword in its scabbard, and realised most of my fellows were doing likewise.

The cool shade of the forest embraced us, but I knew better than to think we were safe just yet. Another thirty Elves, including Haldir, dropped from the trees, running easily beside our mounts. Aron’s voice washed over us, ordering archer-lookouts into the trees every few hundred meters. Hooves and feet splashed through the Nimrodel’s waters and Aronel finally halted us all with a raised hand.

“In the branches,” he ordered. The soldiers that had been accompanying us leapt up easily and caught the branches above them, disappearing into the foliage, leaving only my party and me on the ground, surrounded by unmounted horses. A few words from me dispersed the mounts into the trees so the Orcs would not find them. I gave a sharp whistle. A single silver-grey ladder was let down.

“Up,” I ordered my party. They looked to Berethor, he nodded, and they quickly took to the ladder. I followed easily by leaping into the branches. The other Elves had all gained bows and dispersed themselves into the surrounding trees. Haldir and Aronel waited on the suspended wooden platform, but their bows were held ready in their hands, and the scout was with them, I was not sure when he had rejoined us but the fact he was alone had obviously allowed him to move faster.

“There are over a hundred of them,” the scout reported, “I do not know that there are enough of us to defeat them.” Haldir turned to me and spoke:

“Anything you can do to help would be appreciated, hiril-bor.” I nodded slowly.

“I shall do what I can. Stand back,” I ordered. I sunk to my knees and, crossing my arms, placed my palms flat against my shoulders. “Spirit of Lothlórien the Fair, Lothlórien the Golden, hear me!” I cried. “A handmaiden of the Lady calls to you!” I felt the spirit of the forest respond to my call, the wind whispered against my skin and the leaves stirred all about me.

‘Idrial, hiril-bor, the forest hears you,’ a voice spoke, a voice I knew.

“My Lady,” I murmured.

‘Yes, my dear,’ the voice sounded in my mind, ‘I am here. Let us see what we can do to help.’ The wind intensified, howling about the trees and pulling my hair free of its braid so it danced about me and slapped my face. I could hear the noise of the approaching Orcs and the warning alarm-calls of the sentries.

“They come, muinthel,” Aron spoke evenly. His voice was but a whisper in the back of my mind.

‘Let them come,’ the Lady spoke in my mind. ‘None will live to see another dawn. Order them to shoot.’

“Let them come,” I echoed. I rose slowly to my feet and let my arms fall. “Shoot them down.”

"Tangado a chadad!" Aron called. The sound of bows singing sounded, Aronel, Haldir and Elegost fired from the platform in front of me, though I did not see them. Then came the screams of wounded and dying Orcs and the sharp stench of their foul blood.

“There are too many,” Haldir cried, having emptied his quiver.

‘It is time for us to intervene.’ The voices of my Lady and me sounded together as we called the deep magics of Lothlórien:

“Waters of Lórien, swell and ebb, we call you now, we call you now, listen to our word! Rise and cleanse this place of beauty from evil! Rise now, Waters of Lórien! RISE!” A vision of my Lady came to me; she was standing upon her balcony, the hand that wore the Elven-Ring Nenya, the Ring of Water, raised above her. The white jewel set in the ornament glowed as she spoke, and her golden mane was whipped about by the wind. I had no way of knowing it at that moment, but my pose mirrored her own. I felt the water rise in my bones; I felt it sweep away the Orcish taint and I felt it drag me under, stealing my breath. I knew was drowning, I could not fight it. In the vision, my Lady dropped her hand and held it out to me.

‘Take my hand, Idrial, my dear, let me shield you,’ she spoke. It took all my strength to fight against the raging torrent and link my hand with hers. She pulled me into her arms and though it was still difficult to breathe, I knew I should not be swept away. ‘You must not tarry here, my dear,’ she spoke in my ear, ‘you and your party have brought a great darkness to this place and it would be dangerous for both you and us if you were to stay. I shall give you the shelter of our trees for but one night. Send your brother to me and I shall tell him all I wish to tell you, then he shall rejoin you and guide you to the Land of the Horse Lords tomorrow. Forgive me for depriving you of the comforts of the city but it cannot be helped. You have my love, my dear Idrial, be true and do not falter, for you still have yet a ways to go.’

“My Lady,” I replied softly.

My Lady Galadriel released me and I was suddenly back on the flet and I could breathe. I might have thought to be tired, but I felt fine. I looked about me and saw that all the Elves, other than Haldir and Aronel, who had seen both myself and others use such powers before, had fallen to their knees, their fists placed over their hearts in salute.

“Get up! Get up!” I cried. “Do not be so foolish! I was but a conduit for our Lady’s power, nothing more. You owe your praises to her, not to me. I am but a hand-maiden. Please, get up!” The Elves rose slowly and somewhat uneasily to their feet. “Praise our Lady, not me, it was her power that killed the Orcs.”

“Are you alright, muinthel?” Aron asked, coming toward me. “That was some power you used.” I nodded.

“I am well,” I assured him. Haldir stepped forward and bowed.

“My men and I thank you for our lives, my Lady; whether conduit or caster, you saved us.” I returned his bow.

“I accept your thanks, unworthy as I may be of it,” I replied. I looked to Aron. “The five of us must go.” He gave a nod and dropped from the flet to call our mounts. Haldir nodded also.

“We shall stay and continue our duties here; we have a few weeks until our rotation is up,” he said, sweeping his hand out to include the other soldiers. “Namáraie, my Lady.”

“Namáraie, Haldir,” I replied and we braced forearms in a warrior’s gesture. “Come friends,” I called, “we must be leaving.” I leapt down from the flet as the others climbed down. My mare, Aron’s stallion and the horses of the others waited patiently by my brother. We were soon heading through the forest at a steady canter; I rode alongside Aron and hastily explained what the Lady wished from us. He replied with a nod.

“Forgive me, my friends, but a pressing matter has come to my attention,” he called back to the others, “I must leave you now.” He and his stallion broke from us and headed off toward the city. I pondered my Lady’s words and reasoning, the steady fall of the horses’ hooves provided an easy background for me to lose myself in thought. I did not even notice when Elegost drew alongside me; he startled me when he spoke:

“I knew you had some rank, my Lady,” he said, “but I had no idea you were one of Lady Galadriel’s hiril-bor.” I frowned at him, especially when I realised my other companions were also waiting to hear what I had to say as well.

“It is not meant to be common knowledge outside of Lórien,” I replied. “Having a high rank is not always a good thing, especially in the case of our wanting anonymity. However, I possess no more power than any other spirit-summoner, only the power to allow my Lady to work through me. I do not wish my status to alter our, any of our, relationships.”

I called a halt to our riding somewhere around midnight; I knew not the exact time for the moon could not be seen clearly through the canopy. The adrenaline rush from earlier was leaving me and it was beginning to take a toll. I yawned as a dismounted and almost stumbled, only my obliging mare kept me upright. We lit a fire from the dead-wood on the ground, I made sure nothing live was used, and settled about it. Berethor and Hadhod slept immediately as I assured them there was no need to set a guard. Elegost, though I could tell he was also weary, did not sleep, but asked me to accompany him a short way away.

“Why do we not go into the city?” he finally asked. I sighed softly.

“My Lady forbids it, I know not fully why,” I replied. “She gave us the shelter of Lórien for one night only and says we must not tarry. I long to see my friends and my nephew and to sleep in my own bed, but it is not to be. Now, I beg you, please leave me rest, for I am weary.” Elegost inclined his head politely, realising I had no further wish to talk, and left me be. I lay down beside Berethor and, despite my raging thoughts, fell quickly into reverie.

I dreamed of my Lady; we were walking through the forest, side by side, as we spoke. We spoke of trivial things, things that I did not necessarily wish to speak of at that time, but every time I tried to bring us to more serious things, she would change the topic. It began to frustrate me. I finally insisted on answers. She laughed softly.

“Awaken now, Idrial, my dear,” she murmured. I awoke. The sky was still dark and the embers of the fire still glowed slightly. The sound of a near-silent foot-falls sent me leaping to my feet, my sword in hand, but I immediately dropped back to one knee and placed a hand upon my heart in salute as I saw who had invaded our camp.

“My Lady,” I murmured. She smiled conspiratorially and winked at me. Elegost had also been woken by the light foot-falls and he knelt, bow still ready and frozen in his hands, as he stared at my Lady who walked lightly and bare-footed through our camp. She held out a hand to him and, seemingly in a trance, he dropped his bow and took hold of it, allowing her to draw him to his feet. They stared into each other’s eyes for long before, with a slight flush on his cheeks, Elegost looked away. Well I knew what it felt like to have your mind scrutinised by my Lady, everything you had ever done seemingly laid bare for all to see and judge.

“It is well, Elegost of the Dúnedain,” she murmured, “sleep now.” The Ranger, still in some sort of trance, lay back down and returned soundly to his sleep. Next, she knelt by Hadhod and touched a hand gently to his shoulder. He shot awake and grabbed for his axe. She reached out and gently laid a hand upon his, urging him to replace the weapon. They shared eye-contact as well for many moments until the Dwarf looked away with a peaceful smile. “May your heart be lighter, Hadhod of Fundin’s Clan,” she whispered to him, “return to your slumber.” Hadhod lay back down again and slipped easily back into sleep. My Lady now approached me, still smiling. She looked down at Berethor, who was sleeping at my side. “Wake him,” she bid me softly. I turned to my lover and gently brushed his cheek.

“Berethor,” I called, “Berethor, wake now. Someone wishes to speak with you.” He slipped from sleep slowly, his eyes flickering lazily open. I pressed my finger to my lips, urging him to silence so he did not reawaken the others, and turned my attention to my Lady. He jerked awake when he saw her, coming quickly to his feet. She held her hands up placating gesture.

“Peace,” she spoke, “I mean you no harm. I am the Lady Galadriel.” She paused, seeming to consider her next words. “It is well to see you in the flesh, Berethor. You seem hale.” His expression became guarded.

“You speak as if you know me, lady,” he said. She inclined her head.

“I have seen you often in my Mirror,” she replied.

“Your Mirror, my Lady?” he echoed

“It allows me to see things that have been, things that are and some things that have not yet come to be.” She walked slowly about him, graceful as a hunting cat, and then came to stand in front of him once more. She reached out and pressed a palm against his cheek, then looked up and met his eyes. They stayed frozen, gazed locked, for what seemed like an eternity. Suddenly, her hands shot out as Berethor’s knees buckled and she lowered him gently down. She knelt in front of him. “Forgive me for tiring you so, my child,” she murmured, “but it was necessary. Do not ever lose your conviction, Berethor of Gondor - hold true always. Finish your rest now, for you must leave as soon as Aronel returns to you.” She rose easily to her feet, but I had to help Berethor get to his. She smiled softly at me and met my own eyes then. “I know I have been unfair to you Idrial, my dear,” she said, “but I must beg you to continue to watch over him. His destiny is inextricably entwined in events to come.” I nodded.

“Of course, my Lady,” I replied. I never found out exactly what my Lady and Boromir spoke of in the time while their minds were linked, but he held me tightly as we slept that night, and did not let go.

Translations:

Tithen-muinthel - little sister

Cáno - commander

Bado mîbo orch - go kiss an Orc

Gwanur - brother

Amin mela lle - I love you

Mithrandir - Gandalf, literally Grey Pilgrim

Muinthel - sister

Mae govannen - well met

Mas Haldir - where (is) Haldir

Neth - young

Elleth - female Elf

Ellon - male Elf

Hiril-bor - attendant to the Lady, handmaiden, literally Lady’s-hand

Tangado a chadad - release the arrows

Namáraie - farewell

Dúnedain - rangers, literally Men of the West

Chapter Four - East Emnet Gullies:

Aronel returned to us in the early hours of the morning with a detachment of a few warriors, including some of those who had fought with us before, with provisions and with orders to see us safely to Rohan and then take our mounts back to the sanctuary of Lórien. Berethor spoke little during the long ride, I wondered if he still mulled over whatever he and my Lady had shared. Elegost, on the other hand, seemed full of new purpose and Hadhod seemed far easier now than ever I had seen him. When we came to East Emnet, out of the safety of Elven-patrolled lands, Aronel and his men spread out to scout further ahead, leaving us quite alone for the moment on the edge of the Anduin. We could hear the Falls of Rauros in the distance.

“This is the place,” Berethor murmured to himself, then he raised his voice so the rest of us might here: “the Fellowship landed here, I think,” he said, “is there any sign of them?” Elegost scoured the ground for signs.

“A company of Uruk-hai passed this way,” he murmured.

“What of the party from Rivendell?” Berethor reiterated.

“It is difficult to tell,” Elegost murmured, “…wait - here!” They bent to examine a mark upon the ground but, unbeknownst to them, they were being watched. An Uruk-hai solider stood upon a higher outcropping, about to shoot; one of them, perhaps both, would have died in that moment had it not been for the Elven arrow that suddenly pieced the beast’s chest. Rúmil stood behind it, bow raised. He tossed his head back haughtily.

“You should not scout so far ahead,” he spoke, “these lands are filled with danger.” His superior tone immediately had our ire up.

“You have been watching us?” Berethor demanded. The double meaning of those words was not lost on me; I had felt Rúmil’s eyes upon our small company, particularly Berethor and I, throughout the journey from Lórien.

“Yes,” he replied, almost a growl, then he spoke again after a pause, “Cáno Aronel asked one of us to stay and guard you.” …And you volunteered; I finished his statement in my mind. My foolish brother had obviously not noticed the tension between Rúmil and Berethor; I could forgive him, though, for there were obviously far greater and graver matters on his mind.

“We are quite able to defend ourselves!” Berethor almost snarled. Rúmil leapt down so he was on level ground with us and stood toe-to-toe with the Man.

“I have buried others who were so arrogant as to speak those words!” the ellon hissed dangerously. I could see this was not going to end well if someone did not step in. I pushed between the two of them and, with hands on Berethor’s chest, urged the Man to step back.

“We thank you, Rúmil, for you aid. Is there aught we can do to help my brother’s men?” I asked. The ellon looked fit to spit, as obvious as I had made my preference, but he could not very well do anything rash where he was so outnumbered and under the sole command of one of my relatives.

“These gullies are swarming with Uruk-hai,” he spoke coldly. “We must cleanse them. Help the patrol so we may break through the Uruk-hai blockade.” He turned and strode off. I gave a sigh of relief; I have never been gladder to be spared from the company of an Elf.

“Unfortunately, I think we have earned his ire,” Elegost spoke. I laughed bitterly.

“Do not be so generous, mellon nín. It is better said I have earned his ire and I do not think that is the last we shall see of it either.” The Ranger grimaced at me.

“I am sorry, Idrial,” Berethor suddenly spoke, “I did not mean to be so provoking. Had it…had it been even a few minutes later, I would have behaved better. It is just…now I have seen this place I know my Lord Boromir is dead. Your Lady showed me what happened to him…among other things, but I could not truly believe her until just now, until I saw this place myself.” He rubbed his face. “Come, we need not tarry here.” I drew level with him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as we began to move on.

“I am sorry, melethron nín,” I murmured, “but I know something of this as well. Boromir redeemed himself with his fall. The task you set out from Gondor upon is over, but we must now aid the Fellowship in their quest.” He nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “that is what we must do. Come!” he cried, in greater spirits, and took off at a run.

We caught up to Rúmil, finding him trapped by a band of Uruk-hai. I knew he was still furious with us, but he could not very well turn our help away when he was about to be skewered.

“Find the rest of the patrol,” he spoke after the battle, “then we will be able to fight our way out of this curséd maze of rock.” He turned and strode on once more. Impolite as he had been, I could not be aggrieved to see him go. As we continued on, I had to wonder whether or not any of Rohan’s famous riders were hereabouts, if there was an Uruk-hai blockade, one assumed they must have been blockading for some reason other than a small Elven patrol. As if to confirm my suspicions, we found what looked to be an outpost of just such a company, but it was unreachable because of a wicked rift in the ground. We knew we must head deeper into the maze-like gullies if we were to find a way in. We came suddenly upon two Elves running from a band of Uruk-hai, they were not wounded and they called out praises as they beheld us and we turned to face the enemy. They thanked us profusely once we were victorious and told us that we should seek for the others in the patrol toward the blockade and in the Warg Cave…whatever that was. The scouts promised to make their way toward the blockade so they could help us break it when we found all the patrol. We continued on. We were suddenly startled by a loud crash and an explosion of light. When we recovered we looked upon the figure of Gandalf the White. We stood, frozen in shock for a moment.

“So, we meet again,” he spoke. We bowed to him.

“You are transformed!” I cried in delight. “We never thought to see you again.” He smiled.

“Yes, I did not think to see you so soon either, my dear, but here I am.”

“What are you doing here?” Berethor asked. At that moment, the Wizard turned suddenly.

“Right now, I am warning you of Orcs!” he cried and disappeared as the beasts leap upon us. We could scarcely believe what we had seen.

We soon found the entrance to the outpost we had seen over the ravine. There were many graves of dead Rohirric warriors and I spoke a soft prayer for their peace in the Halls of Mandos. The outpost was abandoned and crawling with Uruk-hai, but the supplies within were still serviceable and we needed all that we could get. We found out soon after that what the Elven scouts had meant by the Warg-Cave. Inside a cave we found a great matriarchal warg, she must have been ancient; she showed evidence of many wounds and many battles, and bones of men and beasts alike littered her den. She almost took Hadhod’s head from his shoulders in her first pass, and though she was a fearsome foe, we finally succeeded in putting her out of misery. Her lair was massive and we frequently ran into what must have been either her mates or her get. At the back of her den we found a single Elven warrior, he was badly wounded. I healed him. He thanked us profusely and promised we would see him again at the blockade. In another offshoot of the cave we found another Elf we had been seeking. He was dead. I knew him instantly as one of my brother’s scouts, though I had known him little personally. All I knew was that he would not be missed; his parents and any siblings had sailed West long ago and he had never bound himself. I leaned down and brushed a kiss across his forehead, murmuring prayers and swearing vengeance. Berethor placed his hand on my shoulder comfortingly as I knelt there. We left him there; we had no choice, for there was little time to do anything else.

Mithrandir appeared to us once more and begged us to help him reassemble Éomer’s scattered forces east of Helm’s Deep. We agreed, of course.

“I wish I could stay,” he spoke, “but there are others that I must see. Fare well!” He stalked off into the craggy rocks.

“He has not changed overmuch,” Elegost murmured.

“No,” I agreed, “he has not, really, has he?” We continued through the rock-maze until we came upon a plateau where another group from my brother’s band stood ready to ambush the approaching Uruk-hai. They were quite happy for us to join them. We had all the advantages, most obviously the high-ground; the Uruk-hai barely got off a shot. The Elves congratulated us on a good victory and then went off to join the others at the blockade. We came upon the final group of Elves, cornered by a pack of Wargs. They were exceedingly happy to see us. One of them told us he had seen a Rohirric rider overpowered and captured by Uruk-hai, but the man was still alive, and begged us to save him as the man had proved a vital distraction which had saved their lives. The group then ran off to the gathering near the blockade. Next, we found a captured Rohirric stockade towering above all else in the Emnet Gullies, the supplies it afforded us were well worth the trouble it cost to liberate it. At the summit of the outpost we were afforded a magnificent view of the Argonath, bathed in the gleaming colours of the sunset. It was truly breath-taking. Much to the chagrin of the others, Berethor swept me up in an embrace and kissed me. I had to laugh at his high spirits, misplaced as they may have been, but perhaps a little gaiety would do us all well. We all sat there on the ridge until the sunset had faded and twilight was upon us.

We found the Rohirric soldier that the scout had earlier spoken of in the company of a large group of Uruk-hai. We had reached the blockade! Aron and his Elves were there, set up on the cliffs above us, and they lent their aid as we battled against the almost overwhelming number of Uruk-hai. We eventually defeated them. The foul creatures had devoured the Rider’s mount - damn those heinous beasts! - but the Rider himself was alive, albeit a little worse for wear. I healed him easily.

“You have strange powers, lady,” he murmured, a quaver in his voice, though he was properly grateful. I invited him to accompany us until we found more of his people that we could leave him in the care of. He agreed readily, knowing it would be suicide for him to remain alone, especially without a mount. Aronel then came down from the high-ground, his patrol flanking him. He bowed to all of us.

“Here, we part company,” he said. He braced arms, warrior-style, with Elegost, Hadhod and Berethor. “Namáraie,” he said. “Take care of my sister.” Then he stood before me. I knew the time had come. We had spoken of this both before I had left to seek Berethor and in the hours we had spent travelling to Rohan. He dragged me into his embrace, wrapping his arms so tightly about me that it was difficult to breathe and my ribs ached, but I cared not. I felt his tears wet my hair as my own tears trailed down my cheeks.

“Namáraie, tithen-muinthel,” he breathed into my hair. “Amin mela lle, always; I know I shall not see you again upon this Middle-Earth, so know that above all. Sílo Anor bo men lín á no i Melain na le.” He then glanced up at the others, before looking back down at me and meeting my gaze. “I know you shall never be alone,” he murmured, “but aphado nín, I beg of you.” I bit my lip.

“Le annon veleth nín, gwanur,” I replied, stroking his cheek, “pân natha maeed.” That was the only answer I could give him, for I was not at all sure I would be able to honour his request. He stepped away from me, tears still falling down his cheeks as they were down mine. He looked behind him to his patrol, Orophin and Rúmil stood there, slightly ahead of the rest of the group. Aron looked back to me then and, suddenly, raised his sword high in the air, the other Elves did likewise.

“Gurth a chyth-in-edhil!” they cried. “Gurth a chyth-in-edhil!” With that, they wheeled their mounts about and galloped away. I raised my own blade over my head.

“Gurth a chyth-in-edhil!” I called, my voice quavering with tears. “Namáraie, gwanur! …Namáraie.” Berethor finally approached me and I had to pull myself together. I had known this was coming, after all. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and turned to face him. “We need to leave here,” I said, “it is not safe for us to remain.” He looked like he wanted to say something, protest maybe, but he finally just gave a nod.

“If that is what you wish,” he replied.

Translations:

Cáno - commander

Ellon - male Elf

Mellon nín - my friend

Melethron nín - my (male) lover

Mithrandir - Gandalf, literally Grey Pilgrim

Namáraie - farewell

Tithen-muinthel - little sister

Amin mela lle - I love you

Muinthel nín - my sister

Sílo Anor bo men lín á no i Melain na le - may the sun shine on your road and may the Valar be with you

Aphado nín - follow me

Le annon veleth nín - I give my love to you

Gwanur - brother

Pân natha maeed - all will be well

Gurth a chyth-in-edhil - death to the foes of the Elves

Chapter Five - Rohan, Home of the Horse Lords:

The moment we came upon the open plains of Rohan we were challenged by Rohirric riders. Our new companion identified them as being from Éomer's band, rather than from Edoras. We told them of what Mithrandir wanted.

“Gandalf has long been our trusted advisor,” their leader said, “we will do as he asks. What of you?”

“He has asked us to help gather your forces,” Berethor replied, “and we seek friends, another company much like ours.” The warrior nodded.

“Look for your friends,” he said, “butdo not trust to hope, it has forsaken these lands.” With that, they rode off, taking our rescued warrior with them.

By this time, night was upon us fully and we rested on the boarders of Fangorn Forest. I knew the proximity of the trees made my companions uneasy, and we lit a blazing fire and set a watch, but I also knew there was no danger from the forest unless you were an Orc or Uruk-hai. Had I been in better spirits I might have wandered in the edges of the forest and tried to speak with the trees, though they seemed unusually reticent, but at the time I had other things on my mind and simply sat away from the others, my knees drawn up to my chest. Berethor had put himself on watch first, but Elegost was still awake also and it was he who approached me first.

“I did not know your brother was sailing,” he commented. I nodded. He sighed and sat next to me. “Why did you not sware to follow him…or even go with him then?” I laughed bitterly.

“You do not dance around a matter, do you?” I snapped. He shrugged.

“I will admit that my capacity for dissembling is nowhere near that of the Elves,” he replied. It might have been funny, if not for my mood.

“Spare me your humour, adan,” I spoke coldly, “and spare me any other of your words likewise. I truly do not wish to speak about this.” The Ranger nodded thoughtfully.

“All right,” he said. I might have expected him to get up and leave at that point…or persist in speaking to me. He did neither. He simply sat there, next to me, unmoving and unspeaking. I do not know how long we sat like that until I finally spoke:

“The age of the Elves is drawing to a close and Aronel has a young family, I do not begrudge him wanting to leave.” The Ranger nodded, but made no reply. I sighed and continued, “We spoke of this before I was sent out to find Berethor. Aron was furious when I accepted the mission, right in the middle of our discussions. He had almost convinced me to accompany them.” Elegost nodded once more and still said naught. “I…I just, I thought…no, I knew there was something else I had to do and, yes, I would miss my family and, yes, I wanted dearly to see our parents again…and the sea, but…. He was so angry when I told him that, he just could not understand. The only thing he could see that would possibly stand in my way was the oath I had taken to my Lady; Lord Celeborn had released Aron from his own oath when he had asked and my Lady would have released me from mine, had I truly wished it…. He promised to wait for me, wait until I returned to Lórien to make a final decision, and so he did. I think he might have waited even longer, perhaps, except Niphredil begged him to leave. It was not that she does not love me, for I know she does, as I love her, but she also knows that if things go ill in this war we all now fight, Middle-Earth will be engulfed by evil and we Elves could not bare that, it would be the death of us and she wants that not for her son, or her mate or, ultimately, for herself. Only the bravest and wisest of the Elves or those who have some debt or destiny choose to stay…or the very foolish, like me….” Elegost nodded, once more. “Say something!” I finally cried tearfully, for unknowingly had I began to weep once more. “Say anything, Dúneadan!” He smiled sadly.

“You are not foolish, Idrial,” he finally said, “or no more so than the rest of us, anyway. It is plain to see that you love your brother and his family, your nephew, your law-sister, and, yes, they are leaving because the risk is too great for them. And yet, I do not think this is what troubles you most, mellon nín, you admit that it is wise for them to leave and, yes, I agree but you have not yet answered the question I asked. Why did you not leave with him? Or, if you consider this quest so important, or even if you simply would not disobey your Lady’s orders, which I would find a glib excuse by the way, why did you not sware to follow them if you were able, like your brother asked?” The Ranger sighed softly. “I do not really expect an answer, and certainly not right this moment if you choose to give me one at all.” He wrapped an arm about my waist and hugged me tight to him for a moment. “I must go now, we have sat and spoken long this night and I believe it is time for my watch. Know that you have my ear if you wish to speak further, though.” He released me and climbed to his feet.

“Le hannon,” I murmured. He bowed his head to me.

“Ú-caro leithiach estel-lín, Idrial,” he replied. I watched him walk over to Berethor and gesture toward the moon. The Gondorian nodded. Elegost caught his arm as he walked away and I saw him say something, then flick his eyes to me. Berethor nodded once more, and then he came over and sat beside me, silent as Elegost had been.

“You could go back, you know,” he finally said, “well I know how fast you can move on your own and they would not have left yet, you could make it to Lórien and fetch your mount and chase them to the Grey Havens…if that is what you wish.”

“You heard what we were saying,” I commented.

“I did,” the Man replied. We sat, silent once more, as the moon passed its zenith and began to descend in the night sky.

“I do not wish to go,” I finally said. He let out a lusty sigh of relief.

“Though I would not have stood in the way of your leaving, if it was truly what you wanted, I might have begged you to stay,” he replied, and then paused for a few moments, “I…do not wish you to go,” he finally finished. I ought not to have rejoiced at those words, I ought to have got up and left then…or, at least, I ought to have dashed him down by saying I was just following orders. I ought not to have done what I did….

“Are you giving me a reason to stay?” I asked softly.

“I need you,” he replied simply. Perhaps that was enough….

We crested the brow of the hill in the morning and were startled by a sudden scream. A peasant woman ran toward us, screaming for her life; she was being chased by a band of Orcs and obviously had no way of defending herself. The Orcs were difficult foes; they even managed to render Hadhod unconscious before we spilt their foul blood over the land. The woman wept her thanks to us but begged us to save her village, which was being raised by Orcs and Wildmen, and to help the one warrior that survived there to fight. The village was aflame when we first saw it; Orcs and Wildmen ran whooping through it, cutting down those who could not flee. In the midst of it all stood a single warrior, a woman, a shield-maiden, battling against an overwhelming host of Orcs. Elegost cried out that we must save her and we charged in. The woman was a fair fighter, armed with her double axes, she was also an accomplished thief…I knew not what to think of that. However, she was also unused to fighting with grave wounds and she was soon downed. The rest of us, however, prevailed. Once I revived her, and I had no notion of exactly why I hesitated for a moment before using my magic on her, we learned that her name was Morwen as she went about putting her axe through the necks of the already dead Orcs. She said that she had lived in this village, but that her brothers had ridden to war and were most likely dead and her parents had fled and she had no notion of where they were now. I could not believe her presumption when, after learning that we were all headed eventually to Edoras, she said:

“Then you may join me.” I think it was at that moment that I first decided I did not like her, despite the compassion I felt for her at her fate…or, perhaps, it was the moment when I noticed Berethor looking her over appraisingly and saw admiration and covetousness in his eyes. My sympathy vanished like smoke on the wind.

“What do you carry that makes you worthy to join us?” I demanded, breaking the mood succinctly. Morwen looked at me and scowled, then turned back to Berethor to answer:

“Wrath, ruin, a few trinkets, that is all that remains of my life here,” she replied.

On the edge of her town we found a band of Éomer’s riders, they had obviously come to help but they were far too late; Morwen’s village was in flames, the wooden houses burning like tinder, even I could not summon enough water to save it. We sent the riders to the gathering near Helm’s Deep, promising Éomer would join them there. They saluted us and rode off. We headed west through Morwen’s village, trying to find the next group of scattered riders to join Éomer’s band and following the trail of the refugees who had left the village. We found another group camped at the entrance to a cave. They warned us that it was a hive of Wargs before running for their mounts and riding for Helm’s Deep. We entered the hive, blades ready. The place was a warren, paths leading every which way, and it was swarming with Wargs. Skulls and bones littered the floor and one could hardly step without hearing a sickening cracking sound. As we came out of the cave, tired but hale enough, we found another group of Éomer’s riders. They thanked us for clearing the cave and honoured our request they continue to Helm’s Deep. I was truly beginning to detest Morwen and her ways by this time, hanging how she was all the time at Berethor’s shoulder. She had also struck up a quick friendship with Hadhod, who seemed more or less oblivious to our growing contention. Elegost, on the other hand, seemed happy enough to have nothing to do with her. When we halted for a moment to survey our options, he approached me.

“She is a bold wench,” he murmured.

“Yes,” I growled. He laughed.

“You are jealous, mellon nín,” he spoke softly. I wanted to deny it, but I could not.

“What of you?” I demanded. The Ranger laughed.

“I am too old for trysts and intrigues,” he said, “but, perhaps, it would do you well to be a little more assertive, after all if one does not trouble to strive for what they wish, well…” he shrugged and left his statement hanging.

We turned away from the bridge that would bring us to Edoras for the moment, knowing we still had a few bands of Éomer’s riders to find in the area. We passed through Morwen’s village once again, the houses that had once stood there were now little more than burnt-out husks. We found another group of Éomer’s riders at the edge of Fangorn where we had camped the night before, this was the largest group yet and the final lot we needed to find before continuing over the bridge toward Edoras. The group thanked us for the message and ran for their horses, mounting and riding away. We were soon were met by a herald who said he had also warned all the riders he could - which was why had had to find less than we had originally thought - and that it was now time for us to push on over the Snowborne bridge.

We came once again upon the massive bridge and, this time, we mounted the steps. It was unsurprising that we found the bridge held against us, though we had not quite been prepared for the sheer number of Orcs. The Orcs kept crawling up over the sides of the bridge, for every one that fell, another would come up to take its place. We had to fight for every inch of stone we crossed. In the middle of the bridge Morwen seemed to find some sign.

“My family fled this way,” she said. Berethor stood close to her - too close.

“How do we find them in the midst of…this?” he asked, looking directly into her eyes. Jealousy stabbed through me, hot and fast.

“I suggest you locate one of their maps,” I cut in, my voice cold as I approached them, “since you now prize the cause of these people over that of the Elves…because of one pretty face.” I shoved Morwen back so I could step between them and take point. I stalked ahead.

“Idrial!” Berethor called. I did not look back. I did not see Elegost indicate silently to Hadhod to leave it be. For my pride and trouble, I also did not see the Orc that had crawled over the bridge until it leapt upon me. I went down with a cry as the foul creature tried to put its blade through me. A well-placed and quick-thought arrow from Elegost ended the creature’s life while Berethor ran forth and hauled the fetid carcass from atop me. My breast-plate was smeared with its foul black blood. The Man helped me to my feet and we stood close, breathing each other’s air, once again. I know not what would have happened next had we not been disturbed, but the distraction had given more Orcs the time to climb onto the bridge and we had to turn and face them.

“Are you alright?” Berethor asked me after the Orcs had been felled.

“Fine,” I muttered tersely, not sure if I was angrier at myself, for being so childish, or at him.

“I am glad,” he replied. Elegost caught up to me as we continued to walk.

“When I said to be more assertive, I did not mean to toss her off the bridge, mellon nín,” he murmured.

“I could have, you know,” I replied.

“I know,” he replied with a smile. We found the other end of the bridge held against us too, with Orcish archers concealed in the gatehouse. It was a difficult battle, especially because it would have been suicide to mount the stairs to the gate-house to engage the archers in close-combat. I had to keep my healing ready for my party, while the rest of them covered Elegost as he shot down the pesky archers. Tired and wounded, but victorious, we dismounted the bridge on the other side and rested in the lea of its gates. Berethor came to kneel beside me as I sat at the edge of the river and endeavoured to clean my chest-plate.

“What ails you, melethril nín?” he spoke. “You almost threw Morwen off the bridge.” I could not help noticing they were already on a first-name basis.

“Would it have bothered you if I had?” I asked. He looked at me like I was insane. “I mean more than it would have had I thrown, say…Hadhod in instead,” I clarified.

“A strange question,” he replied with an odd chuckle.

“Not really,” I muttered under my breath. Berethor searched my face, a look of puzzlement on his own. “It is not important,” I finally relented. He might have said something else but she called to him, asking him to look at something she had spied. I said down hard on the rocky bank with a sigh.

“You should have pushed harder, I think,” Elegost said, coming to my side.

“You mean her or the issue?” I asked. He laughed.

“Possibly both.”

Morwen, abhorrent as I found her, had indeed spied something. We ran forward to meet the rider who approached us.

“You must make for Snowborne, it guards the approach to Edoras,” he said, “I expect Grima Wormtounge to already have betrayed it by now, but some refugees headed there and it must be liberated.” Berethor nodded in agreement.

“Good luck,” the rider wished us, before kicking his mount and galloping off. We came soon upon the gates of Snowborne, they stood rent open and some of the houses were already aflame. An old man staggered from the village and grabbed onto Berethor’s arm, begging for his aid.

“This…this was the doing of a man they call Grima,” he rasped. Berethor supported the wretch as I came over to tend him.

“I know that dog!” Morwen cried. “Word of him has spread to Gondor!”

“Gondor?” Berethor questioned sharply. “I thought you were of Rohan.” She shook her head.

“Only now,” she replied. “My family once served the Steward, but his mind was poisoned against us. I suspect Grima. We must kill the worm now, or he will intercept the refugee column and slaughter it!” Berethor gave a definite nod and we entered the burning village of Snowborne.

Villagers, being chased by Wildmen, were the first thing we came upon. We allowed them to run behind us to safety while we faced the rabble. After the battle, one of them informed us that we needed to get past the Great Hall if we wished to get to Edoras, but he said we would have to use the winches, one upon each hill-top, to open the city gates to get to the hall. He said, because of Grima’s treachery, the village was swarming with enemies. Opening the gates was difficult because, as the man had said, there were Uruk-hai and Wildmen everywhere and most of the houses were now aflame. After many fierce and tiring battles, and searching for the winches that were hid in the oddest of places, we finally reached Snowborne’s Great Hall. The moment we stepped inside we were sealed in, with Grima Wormtounge. The foul creature stank and he leered at Morwen and I like we were some kind of tasty meal. It made my skin crawl. Suddenly, Saruman spoke to Berethor through Grima.

“He obeys me, Gondorian,” the foul voice boomed, “you do not.” Berethor staggered. Morwen cried out some inane thing. I ran to help the Man, but he pulled himself back to his feet.

“Perhaps, if I slay your servant, I shall be free of your will!” he cried, and slashed at Grima. I gave a moment to wonder at Berethor’s strength, not many could have thrown off the dominion of the White Wizard as he had just done. Wormtounge was a truly pathetic enemy, but his two Uruk-hai guards posed a problem. They rendered members of our party unconscious many times and I had my hands full healing them, plus the poison on their lances sapped strength, making our attacks almost as useless as if we had used sticks instead of blades, so my skill at drawing poisons was also thoroughly tested. We finally felled the Uruk-hai, but not without being gravely wounded. As we tended to ourselves, there was a sound behind us. The Worm lived! Before we could capture him, he fled out the door. Morwen wanted to go after him, but Berethor stopped her.

“His will here is broken,” he said. She sighed.

“So is most of Snowborne,” she replied, but then she turned to him and took his hands tenderly in hers, “but what survives is because of you,” she murmured. He did not pull away and, for a moment, I thought she might kiss him, but she finally turned away.

“We cannot tarry here, we must take the high road and follow after the refugees,” she said.

Despite Morwen’s fervour to continue, we had to rest in the great hall, for not one of us was fit to continue without respite. We lit a fire in the great pit in the centre of the hall and cooked what we could find that had not been looted or spoilt. We ate far better than we had for many days. We bared the doors to the Great Hall, and knowing the amount noise it would take to breech them would awaken us, we set no guard. Morwen found pallets and blankets stashed in a cupboard, which was defiantly a nice change from sleeping on the cold ground. The massive hall would have provided highly-sought-after privacy for Berethor and I, however I was much disinclined to let him share my pallet and I laid it close enough to Elegost’s to make that clear. I was not sure that was such a brilliant idea when Berethor simply laid his pallet next to Morwen’s, instead. Everyone, except myself, quickly fell to sleep soon after they had lain down. Berethor’s hand rested near Morwen’s. I was exhausted, aching and heart sore and I could not keep from weeping; I tried to keep my tears silent and, for the most part, I succeeded, but Elegost’s near-Elven hearing alerted him. He took me in his arms and held me as I sobbed into his shoulder, stroking my hair soothingly until I quieted.

“Here now,” he murmured, “is it really worth all this?” He kissed my hair. “What is wrong?”

“I miss my brother so much,” I murmured tearfully, “and…Berethor and Morwen, I cannot….” Tears overwhelmed me once more.

“Mellon nín, this has to be more than jealousy and pining for Aronel,” he replied. I nodded against his shoulder and tried to bring myself to stop weeping. He gently pushed me back and wiped my eyes.

“Are you in love with Berethor?” he asked softly. I laid my head back against the Ranger’s shoulder.

“I do not know,” I admitted, “but what I feel is…far more than jealousy.” He sighed heavily.

“Betrayal, maybe?” he suggested. “Loss?” I nodded.

“Oh, muin nín,” he murmured, “I do not know how to counsel you. This is not something I have ever faced. My heart says to tell you simply to tell him, straight up, but then I suppose that is far easier said than done.”

“I told him not to fall in love with me,” I whispered. Elegost gave a soft chuckle.

“Oh what a tangled web we weave, hmm?” he murmured. “So here is my cliché advice - follow your heart, Idrial, do as it tells you.”

“Le hannon, mellon nín,” I spoke softly. He shook his head.

“Do not thank me,” he replied. “I have said nothing of real consequence. Perhaps you truly should have pushed her off the bridge.” I gave a soft, teary laugh.

I had composed myself, and even managed a little sleep, before Berethor and Morwen awoke, so my dignity was preserved. In the cold light of dawn, we unbolted the doors to the Great Hall and took the gate west out of Snowborne, following the trail the refugees had left behind. We came upon a cave-way, carved into the rock, which the refugees must have passed through. Inside we found signs that the refugees had indeed camped there…and some had died there. Morwen found her mother’s broach, the one her father had said kept the Lord of the Nazgûl away. I knew as well as she that we probably now entered their tomb and though I hated Morwen dearly, she had my compassion for the fate of her family, at least. The cave-way was filled with Wargs, their claws and teeth tore at our armour and flesh, but we defeated them all them same. We found the possessions and skeletons of many of what must have been the refugees, all we could do was hope that at least some of them had escaped and fled toward Helm’s Deep. On the other side of the cave we saw a single Rohirric rider. I also saw the Wargs on the ledge above him, about to pounce. I yelled a warning just in time, then the beasts were upon us. They posed no real challenge, and when we had defeated them, we spoke with the rider. I did not know if I hated Morwen more or less when she smiled becomingly at him and purred:

“You are more than a warrior, my friend.” He puffed his chest out and smiled back at her.

“You know me, lady,” he said, “I am of the royal guard. I thank you for your assistance and, now I find myself quite alone, I wonder if you would have me in your party.” Berethor agreed, but although I might have been imagining it, I thought I heard a decidedly chilly tone in his voice. The rider’s name was Eaoden, and he was an outrider for Theoden’s Royal Guard.

It was not long after we met Eaoden that we came upon the place that Morwen’s parents fell. She knelt by the sight of their deaths, marked only by bloody grass, their bodies had been removed…I did not want to think too closely upon how that had come to happen. Berethor reached out to comfort her, something that I could not begrudge her this time, at least, but she threw him off and stalked away. Eaoden might have followed her, except for at that moment we heard a cry:

“After them, my lovelies, we may feast again!” It was the commander of the hated Warg riders, Sharku. I was almost happy he attacked us; I dearly wished to pay him back for all the deaths he had caused. Fortunately, the disgusting Orc was all but helpless upon the back of his Warg and although he could order her to attack us, he could do little himself. We felled him first, knowing he would simply call more reinforcements until he was dead and, so, we broke the courage of his band. He fled before we felled him and though Elegost shot after him; his mount was too agile to allow him to get hit. We all hissed curses after the fashions of our people - each of us had wanted to see the loathsome creature slain. By breaking Sharku’s band, we had cleared our way to Helm’s Deep.

Translations:

Mithrandir - Gandalf, literally Grey Pilgrim

Adan - human

Dúneadan - Ranger, literally Man of the West

Mellon nín - my friend

Le hannon - I thank you

Ú-caro leithiach estel-lín - do not let go of your hope

Melethril nín - my (female) lover

Muin nín - my dear

Chapter Six - Helm’s Deep:

Though it took us most of the rest of the day, it was a surprisingly uneventful trek to the gates of Helm’s Deep. As we came upon the causeway, I looked over the battlements.

“Long have my people thought this the fortress of the people of Rohan,” I spoke, “now I am not so sure.” Morwen was doing similar to me.

“I shall welcome death here,” she spoke, “and repay it, many-fold.” The woman seemed filled with a cold new purpose since she had seen the death of her parents. Of course, the gates of the citadel were closed and we were challenged by the guard.

“What business do you have?” he cried. Fortunately, we had Eaoden with us and he knew the watch-words.

“This is the business of the king!” he called. That seemed to satisfy the guard, for he allowed us in. Morwen seemed impressed, though I knew not for what reason.

“You spoke true, you are of Theoden’s court,” she commented appreciatively. Eaoden gave a superior smile and inclined his head.

Helm’s Deep was a maze of intersecting walk-ways that led to dead-ends and stairs that seemed to go nowhere. Eaoden suggested our first task be to find King Théoden and speak to him of what was planned and how we could help. So we went in search of the king, though the convoluted design of the fortress made finding our way difficult. When we found him, he was speaking to his men, speaking of strategies and of defence. He seemed confident that we would win the day, despite the numbers coming against us. He had little time to speak to us and one of his aides suggested we speak to Gamling, in the armoury, who was co-ordinating the details of the defence. While trying to find the armoury, we came upon an old chest and, as Elegost pried it open, we saw it contained a magnificent war-hammer. Hadhod cried out in delight:

“The hammer of Helm Hammerhand!” The Ranger admired it.

“Carry it now, to the ruin of our enemies,” he spoke, handing it over.

“Aye, it shall ring out once more in the deep!” Hadhod proclaimed.

We finally found the armoury, hidden as it was under the great columned hall, and spoke with Gamling. He told us we could take what we would from the armoury and then that we needed to speak with Aragorn and his friends, for they knew more of what was happening than us. He asked us to return afterward, so he could find us a place on the walls. The armoury provided some interesting new equipment, not least of all, new axes for Morwen and a new bow for Elegost. We then set out to find Aragorn and his companions. We found Gimli, the Dwarf, in the great hall, happily chewing away on a leg of mutton and downing goblets of dark, thick ale. Apparently, Morwen and he knew each other, though I knew not from where. Gimli was much depressing when we asked him of our chances. Morwen was furious. She slammed her dagger into the table. Gimli just laughed.

“Remind me never to invite you into my home,” he said, and then he belched and shrugged. “Let them come, I am more ready than ever!” he proclaimed. Morwen kissed his cheek in apology before we excused ourselves to go and seek out Aragorn himself.

We found Aragorn in the stables, tending to his horse, Brego. He certainly looked worse for wear. But he smiled, and greeted us properly, myself in Elvish, and gave Elegost a comradely clap on the shoulder. He was not optimistic about our chances either, though, for he knew the warriors we had with us were naught more than farmers, farriers and stable boys. He told us that the host would be there by nightfall. He also told us that Legolas was on the Deeping Wall, and that we ought to speak with him. He did not seem wishful of us staying or speaking to him further, so we left him alone.

I confess I was a touch nervous to speak to the Prince of Mirkwood; it had been a long time since last we had met. I had got to know him well when he spent a century or so in Lórien, training, when he was an adolescent. I had thought him the most beautiful creature I had ever seen…me, and every other elleth. I had been a shy thing then, and had not pushed him and, so, he had taken a liking to me for just that reason. We had been good friends until he had had to leave and go back to his kingdom. A few decades later, I was assigned as a special envoy to Mirkwood, and spent over fifty years carrying important missives between our realms. Legolas and I had renewed our friendship then, and I had shared his bed on more than a few occasions. We both knew nothing could ever come of our relationship, he was a royal after all, but we had cared deeply for one another.

We did indeed find Legolas on the Deeping Wall; he stood upon on of the crenulations, looking out over what was to be our battleground, his feet about the height of my shoulder. It would have been a precarious position, for anyone other than an Elf, but Legolas looked quite at home there. I approached him soundlessly.

“Hîr nín?” I called. He did not look back to me.

“I do not like the looks of this,” he said softly. “They come. This is fight we cannot win. It will be become a massacre.” I was not sure he even knew anyone was there.

“Legolas,” I tried again. His given-name got a reaction; he startled and, as only an Elf can do, spun around and landed in a crouch atop the rock, making our eyes almost even. Shock first registered on his face, but it quickly gave way to a disbelieving smile.

“Rial?” he breathed. He leapt down easily from the wall so he stood toe to toe with me. Then, before I had guessed what he was about, he swept me up in his arms, as if I weighed no more than a leaf, with a cry of: “Rial!” We two laughed in delight as he spun me about, my feet never touching the ground. I had been a fool to think he would not remember me. He finally set me back down and cupped my face in his hands.

“This is the last place I expected to see you, lissë pen,” he breathed. He leaned forward and touched his lips to mine and it was as if the last century of my life had not happened, like I had just returned to Mirkwood with an important missive and he was happily greeting me. “But I am glad of it,” he continued, and we were once again back at Helm’s Deep, facing almost-certain death. Elegost cleared his throat then. I chuckled musically as he released me. “Forgive me for being so rude, mellyn ó Idrial,” he spoke easily to the rest of the group, not bashful in the least. “I am Legolas of Mirkwood. Rial and I are old friends and I was,” he searched for a word, “…distracted by her presence.” I introduced each of the party to him; he spoke of stonework and axes to Hadhod, obviously a sign of his growing friendship with Gimli, and he braced shoulders with Elegost, along with a quick exchange of Elvish greetings as was warranted to one of the Dúnedain. To Morwen and Eaoden he seemed quite indifferent, though he greeted them politely enough; he might have been the same to Berethor, however, after shaking his hand he blinked twice and glanced between us. I realised our scents must still linger on each other, I did not notice it anymore but to any other Elf it would have been obvious, as it had been to Rúmil and Orophin. He gave a quick laugh and a shrug, then turned and jumped back up onto the wall to retrieve his quiver, which he had left there. I came to stand next to him, leaning out between one of the gaps in the wall and squinting into the distance. Even with Elven eyes, it was difficult to make out anything.

“What do you see?” I asked. “An archer’s eyes are better than a bureaucrat’s.” He gave a thin laugh.

“Bureaucrats us both,” he replied. “Do you wish to look?” he asked, offering me a hand. I took it and he swung me up, as easily as he had picked me up before, to stand in front of him atop the rocky perch, an arm looped about my middle so we could both stand securely. I looked out into the distance, but I could see nothing other than darkness covering the land. I shook my head.

“I see nothing,” I said.

“As did I at first,” he replied, “but keep watching.” I looked once more at the black landscape and, as I stared, I realised the ground moved as if there were thousands of ants crawling over it…or thousands of soldiers!

“By the Valar!” I gasped. “How many?” Legolas put his hands around my waist and lifted me back down and then jumped down after me.

“Over ten thousand,” he replied grimly. “Saruman has emptied Isenguard and is determined to end the race of Men forever. You understand now the words I spoke before and the grimness of everyone herewithin.” The others had moved to the battlements and were staring over them, trying to see what Legolas and I had seen. “You cannot see them,” he said, “they are still too far off for any but Elves to see but, mark me, they shall be here by nightfall.”

“We need to go back and speak with Gamling,” I said, “he shall tell us where we are most needed.”

“Yes,” Berethor agreed, “every sword shall be needed here tonight.”

“I will come with you,” Legolas spoke, “I have need to speak to Gamling myself about where he shall put me and my fellows, and then to find Aragorn and Gimli and tell them such.”

We walked back along the Deeping Wall, Legolas and I at the rear of the party.

“Forgive me for earlier,” he spoke softly to me. “Are you with him?” he asked, nodding toward Berethor. I sighed.

“It is…complicated.” Legolas smiled sardonically.

“Is it not always?” he replied. Elegost dropped back level with us.

“Are you two…together?” he spoke. I laughed softly and shook my head.

“Once,” I explained, “but that was many decades ago. I do not think….” The Elf at my side nodded.

“Yes, I would not wish to make your life more…complex, Rial,” he replied. I realised he had quite skilfully left me an open offer - he would not be offended if I wished nothing, but he would happily accept what I did offer. I slipped my hand into his and squeezed gently as we made our way back to the armoury. Gamling wanted to put us, both our group and Legolas’ group, on the Deeping Wall, for that is where the defence was weakest. Berethor and Legolas agreed. The Rohirric warrior then informed us that there were pallets set up for the warriors in one of the big barracks and that we should get some rest while we could, for it would be scarce enough this night. We thanked him and went to fetch Aragorn and Gimli to tell them the news.

The barracks was nowhere near private, it was just rows and rows of pallets laid out on the ground, but it was warm and reasonably comfortable. Rohirric warriors sat about, some slept, some prayed, some wept softly and some tended to their armour. Our two groups claimed a corner that was not being used and sat down upon the pallets. Eaoden, Hadhod, Gimli, Morwen and Berethor decided they would take the opportunity to get as much rest as they could and, despite the situation, they were quickly asleep.

“I envy them,” Aragorn murmured, “I am exhausted, but there is no way I could bring myself to sleep.”

“I also,” Elegost replied. “This is luxury, compared to some of the places I have had to sleep, yet I cannot enjoy it.” I thought for a few moments.

“I can give you something to help you sleep, if you wish it,” I offered. Aragorn raised an eyebrow toward me.

“I did not know you were a healer,” he said. I nodded. “Hmmm,” he hummed, “I, too, know of healing and have herbs that would do similar, but I think drugged is worse than simply exhausted.”

“Yes,” I replied, blushing, “of course.” He touched my knee.

“I did not mean to sound so harsh,” he apologised, “I am…not in the best of spirits. I think I shall try to sleep, even if it eludes me.” He moved away a little and stretched out on a pallet.

“Will you be well if I do so also?” Elegost asked me. I laughed bemusedly.

“You sound like my brother; of course I shall be fine!” The Ranger smiled.

“Then I am in high company indeed,” he replied and left us to stretch out a little way away. That left only Legolas and I awake, sitting in the corner. The ellon glanced over at Berethor, lying next to Morwen. He frowned in confusion.

“I do not understand,” he finally said. “Unless all three of y-.”

“No!” I protested, stopping his line of thinking right there, “Valar no, not that. I…it is…oh, Las, I do not understand either,” I finally sighed. “Can we change the topic? I do not truly wish to talk about this, not right now.” We talked for most of the afternoon, of trivial things really, things that had happened in our lives since last we had met. Legolas expressed his sympathy for me when I told him that Aron and Niphredil had sailed. To his credit, he did not ask me why I had not joined them nor did he ask if I was intended to or not. At some point the two of us must have fallen asleep, my head resting again his chest, my hand entwined with his, for that is how we awoke several hours later.

Gamling woke everyone in the barracks up and I was not surprised to see that, while we had been sleeping, the barracks had been almost filled. I wished Gamling himself had managed to get some rest, for he looked completely worn out. He warned us to be up on the walls within half of an hour. Our group quickly busied ourselves in checking armour and weapons, making sure we were ready. We were offered canteens of water and ration packs by the quarter-master who was standing near the door. It was a good idea, for dehydration was almost as deadly an enemy in a long battle as a foe’s blade. Very few words passed between us and though we knew our lives may all end that night, there seemed little enough to say. We were startled out of our introspection by the sound of a horn. Legolas, Aragorn, Elegost and I frowned.

“That is no Orc-horn,” the ellon spoke, voicing all our thoughts, and suddenly we were all running toward the gate. I could not believe it when first I saw it - a column of at least a hundred Lórien archers, led by none other than Haldir! I could have wept with delight. Aragorn actually went up and embraced Haldir. Legolas and I just grinned stupidly at each other. Théoden ordered the archers placed along the Deeping Wall, but left the exact details to Aragorn and Legolas. I found myself standing behind Legolas and Haldir, who were armed with their bows, of course. Night slowly crept up on us, and with it came the pounding of drums and feet as the army of ten thousand Uruk-hai approached. The picture was completed when it began to pour rain, soaking us through to the skin in a matter of moments; whichever person said it could not have gotten any worse, ought to have been put out their misery that moment. The tension on the wall was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. I remember those moments clearly, as we stood looking out over the vast tide, and then it all becomes a blur in my mind, the first shot, the orders for the archers to fire, the ladders being put up and thrust down, all of us drawing our blades. The next thing I knew we stood before Uruk-hai, trying to fight them off so we could put their ladders down before more of them swarmed up onto the wall and overwhelmed us. The battles seemed never-ending, as soon as we had felled one group of Uruk-hai and their ladders, we were needed to help with another. My skills were in constant use, both my sword and my healing prowess, and I lost count of how many times people were downed and how many enemies we vanquished.

At some point, I remember Aragorn shouting at Legolas to kill something. At the time I could not see why killing any one Uruk-hai would be of better purpose than killing another. Then the wall exploded. Miraculously, none of us were badly hurt when we fell into the stinking water amongst the rubble. We had left Legolas and Aragorn on the wall above though, only Gimli remained with us in the breech. The Uruk-hai poured in through the breech twenty or thirty at a time, some of them even carried the explosive powder upon their backs. Those, in particular, I made sure did not live to light themselves for, although black powder was foreign to the Rohirrim, the Elves had known of its existence and the danger it posed to masonry. The call for retreat came some time during the night and well fell back to the Keep. Orophin and Rúmil waited for us, a badly wounded Haldir in their arms. It took almost all my strength to give him back the will to live, but I did. Legolas caught me as I staggered and offered me his canteen; I was pleasantly surprised to find Elven spiced fruit-juice inside it, rather than water or Elven liquor.

“Hannad,” I murmured. He nodded, not wanting to waste energy on speech, for we were all, even those of us who had managed some sleep, exhausted.

“The gate!” someone suddenly screamed. “They are breaking through the gates!” We did not even stop to think, we simply ran. The gate was torn open the moment we arrived and we found ourselves facing yet another seemingly endless battle. I seemed to remember being attacked by armoured trolls in the end, but that was quiet impossible…we never would have survived such a battle.

We were ordered once again to fall back, but Berethor refused and he fought against us as we tried to pull him back. I feared this was the doing of Saruman. He was adamant that we must keep fighting and he kicked and hit at me to get free. I was crying at this point, sure if I gave even a little that he would run off and get himself skewered. On impulse I pressed my lips against his.

“Saes, daro,” I begged him, “I could bare it if you were killed. Amin mela lle.” I doubted he knew what I had said, or even understood it if he had, but his body lost all its tension and he allowed me to finally pull him away. However, as we had tarried too long, we were met with Uruk-hai baring our way. When we had killed them, I pulled Berethor toward the keep, but he began to pull against me again and spoke in a voice I knew to be Saruman’s about how he was strong and how he must fight. I was so very weary and though I tried my hardest to hold him, I could not, for the strength of the White Wizard flowed through him. All I could do was run after him and into certain danger. I am not at all sure how we survived the battle he dragged us into; for I know we were certainly not supposed to. My companions spent more of the fight on the ground than with their blades in their hands, and I used more magic in that one battle than I had in the previous month, I think. During our battle, the sun crested the horizon.

Upon the fifth day, we saw the dawn light; I knew that was the day the Ents were to attack Isenguard and also the day Mithrandir had said to look for him. I turned to Berethor who was suddenly on his knees, gripping his head in pain.

“Do you remember now?” I asked, almost begged, as I knelt by him. “Do you remember Saruman’s power laid upon you? This is the thing I could not tell you for so many weeks, this is the thing we could not force you to remember because it may have driven you mad. This is what Mithrandir and my Lady saw, this is why they sent me to watch over you.” I gathered him against me and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Saruman’s power over you is now broken, you are free.” I slid my hands under his arms and helped him to his feet. He blinked slowly, as if awakening from a deep sleep.

“I remember,” he breathed. I could not help myself; I pulled him to me and pressed my lips against his. He caught me up in his arms and returned my kiss wholeheartedly. He panted as he released me. “What of us,” he finally asked, “are we finished now?” I suddenly realised the foolishness of what I had done and I paused - in my mind, we were through some time ago.

“We must now descend into the war beyond. If we survive it, the threads of our lives might yet continue to entwine,” I replied, retreating into my Elven elusiveness, though I do not know why I could not bring myself to refuse altogether. Suddenly, we heard people yelling, cheering, and we staggered toward them and the wall. Théoden, Aragorn and Legolas had ridden out on the causeway in command of a small band of elite riders. I knew not what they thought they were doing, for although they devastated the force on the causeway, they could not hope to match the hundreds of Uruk-hai still below.

“They will die,” Elegost came up next to me and spoke. I nodded once, there was naught else to say. Rúmil and Orophin and a somewhat-recovered Haldir joined us on the balcony.

“It is dawn upon the fifth day,” Haldir murmured. For a few minutes, as the sun cleared the horizon, I knew not what he spoke of, but then I heard another of the Elves give a cry.

“Tiro! Tiro!” he cried, pointing to the horizon.

“At light upon the fifth day, look to the east!” Haldir proclaimed. Surely enough, upon the eastern skyline, could be seen a white horse with a white rider.

“Mithrandir!” Orophin exclaimed. Other riders filed out along the horizon, flanking the white apparition.

“Éomer!” one of the Rohirrim called. “It’s Lord Éomer!” Gandalf and Éomer’s forces surged down the hill with a cry and decimated the remaining Uruk-hai. We had won the day.

Translations:

Elleth - female Elf

Hîr nín - my lord

Lissë pen - sweet one

Mellyn ó Idrial - friends of Idrial

Dúnedain - Rangers, lit. Men of the West

Ellon - male Elf

Hannad - thanks

Saes - please

Daro - stop

Amin mela lle - I love you

Mithrandir - Gandalf, lit. Grey Pilgrim

Tiro - look/watch

An Interlude at Helm’s Deep:

Despite the exhaustion of the warriors, the celebrations continued long into the night. For my own part, I was content to simply sit out of the way and observe. I had thought I had a good understanding of Men, travelling with Elegost and Berethor for so many weeks, but now I realised that they truly were strange creatures. I became so absorbed in my study of the Men and their rituals; I was startled by Orophin suddenly appearing next to me. He laughed and smiled, but then his expression quickly sobered.

“Your brother managed to impart his superior skills in stealth to me well, did he not?” the Elf said, his expression sombre. I nodded slowly.

“He always won at hiding and bluffing games,” I replied wistfully.

“…I…I was given his command, you know,” Phin continued, “I try to do his position honour.” I smiled sadly.

“You are well suited, mellon; I do not doubt your ability to do the task, nor your competence. Being under Aron’s command indefinitely would not have suited you,” I replied.

“As it does Rúmil under Haldir?” he commented, a somewhat disappointed expression gracing his features.

“Rue would not make a good commander,” I said, “though fair and well enough he is a talented warrior, he is too caught by his emotions and desires. I was foolish ever to involve myself with him, now that I look back on it, I see that, but he was so very charming and I was lonely.”

“And somewhat drunk that first time,” Phin added with a smile. I nodded resignedly.

“Yes,” I agreed, not terribly proud of that particular incident, even though it was over a millennium distant, “that too.” The ellon sighed.

“As fascinating as gossiping about my brother’s relationship to you is, I must speak with you about your brother. I have no wish to pour salt on an open wound, but Aron and I had a long conversation when he returned to Lothlórien, and there were some things he wished me to convey to you. We are leaving with the light of the dawn…no matter how over-indulged our warriors are, so this has to be done now. I swore to Aron that I would do it upon our next meeting, for he knew we were to travel to Helm’s Deep and the chances were that we should see you here.” He glanced around the room, seemingly only now noticing the loud and bawdy revellers and their antics. “Perhaps…perhaps this would be best done somewhere else; would you care to accompany me on a tour of the ramparts?” I had thought that I was done grieving for my family, but I know now that that was short-sighted of me. I will always pine for them, in some way, and right then the wound was still raw and open, however much I might have wished it closed over. I accompanied Phin to the walls with a sinking feeling of dread.

Orophin was silent until we were out of ear-shot from the great hall. He leaned back against one of the crenulations in the wall. He took a deep breath.

“Aronel wished me to act, as I always have tried to do, as an elder brother and advisor to you, now that he is gone. I tried to tell him that you were no longer a child, and had not been for some time, but he would not listen. He…he wanted me to advise you this, in the very, very least - return to Lórien with us, then follow him as soon as you are able.” Phin heaved another sigh. “Aron was my dearest friend, my sworn brother; he had even been more in earlier times, if you follow well my meaning; but for all his prowess in stealth and leadership, he could be very obtuse on occasion. I am not even sure he noted your attachment to Berethor, let alone questioned its nature.” He paused again. “I am not your brother and, despite his wishes, I will not try to talk you into any direction, Rial, and I certainly will not force you. I do not know if his wishes would have changed if he had known you were involved with Berethor; possibly not. I do know, however, that above everything, he would want to you be happy. As do I. That is all I am going to say on this matter. However, should you wish to talk more, I am happy to listen and I would…appreciate it if you kept me informed as to your choices, if only as a friend, rather than an elder brother. Also, when…all this is over, I plan to go into the West too, barring any unforseen circumstances, of course. Upon that occasion, if there is anything you wish me to say or anything you wish me to give him…” Orophin trailed off. “He left everything to you, except a few items that he bequeathed, which have already been handed out, and the few others he and his family took with them. His home is now yours, as is all that remains in it, also is a substantial portion of funds. I assume you know most of what was left behind; Aron’s home was not closed to you. All of it will be held, as is, until your return when you decide what you wish done. However, unless you are returning with us tomorrow, I would be happy to make any arrangements you so wish. Also, he wished me to give you these.” Orophin removed a purse from its place on his belt, a smaller bag from a concealed pocket on the inside of his tunic, and a wrapped bundle from his quiver. The purse contained a large amount of gold pieces, though it was not substantial in terms of the amount Aron had left me. The package contained Aron’s bow, unstrung, but as near-perfect as I remembered it, and his daggers. It almost brought me to tears. I kissed each dagger, then replaced the ones I already had on me in my pack and armed myself with my brother’s instead. Now he would fight with me. “I…I want you to have the bow, Orophin. I am aware yours was lost in this battle and I have little talent for archery myself. It was made to be used, not admired from a mounting on my wall.” The ellon was speechless.

“I…I…” it took him a few moments to find his voice, “I am not worthy….” I shook my head.

“Of course you are, mellon. Aron would approve too, I think, and, as you said, it is mine to do with as I wish.” Orophin reluctantly reached out and took the weapon.

“Hannon le,” he spoke, bowing, “I shall treasure it and treat it with honour.” He held it close to his chest a moment, before placing it over his shoulders. The last thing I had to examine was the small bag that Orophin had handed me. I had no notion of what could be in it.

“Do you know what is in this?” I asked. The ellon shook his head. I took a deep breath and upended the bag onto my palm. The both of us gasped.

“Oh,” I breathed tearfully, “he knew…” and dissolved into tears.

It took me some time to compose myself enough to return to the celebrations. Orophin offered to stay with me, but I told him he ought to get some rest before he had to depart, and after I assured him I would be well, numerous times, he finally left me alone. I could feel the weight of that small bag in the pocket against my heart but, before I could dwell on the message Aron had meant to give me with it, Legolas found me and swept me into his arms once more.

“We did it, Rial,” he whispered hotly in my ear, “we won!” I could scent the alcohol on his breath, though he was no where near drunk. His soft lips trailed lightly across my cheek. There was little doubt of what he wanted from me, especially when his lips grazed the tip of my ear. I trembled in his arms. It was so very, very tempting to just let him make me forget. A chance glance over his shoulder made my eyes meet Berethor’s; to this day I maintain that that had to be some sort of divine interference. The Man’s face was like a thunderhead. I must have stiffened, or gasped, for Legolas loosened his arms and laughed softly in my ear. “You would rather be with him, yes?” he asked. I tried to turn back to explain to him, but his arms tightened once more and he kept me where I was. “No, Rial, keep looking at him for a moment. He stands over there alone, with naught but an untouched tankard of ale for company, and glares daggers at me. He is wickedly jealous. He cannot decide whether or not to come over here and remove me physically from your presence - remove the man who dares to touch his mate. He is in love with you, Rial. No doubt. Go to him. Make it simple.” He released his grip. My eyes had not left their lock with Berethor’s and the packet over my heart seemed all the heavier.

“Orophin convinced you to do this, did he not?” I whispered to the sweet Prince. He laughed harshly.

“There was very little convincing needed,” he replied. “I admit I find myself over-jealous. I somewhat hoped you would cave and join me instead, but that is too selfish to dwell on. Go; before I try to convince you to stay with me.” He pressed his lips against my forehead in a quick kiss and then gave me a gentle shove toward the other side of the room. I moved intently through the crowd toward the copper-haired vision. His eyes had come back to lock with mine. Fire blazed in both our gazes, and we both panted. I saw no one else, I doubt he did either. That was, until Morwen came to him and touched his arm, drawing his attention and smiling prettily at him, posing almost outrageously. Now I truly knew what Legolas had meant. I was beyond jealous of the young woman. How dare she touch my mate! My mate! I might have growled then, but I am eternally glad I did not, for otherwise I would not have heard a man, somewhat away from me, sigh heavily. For some reason, it attracted my attention. It was Eaoden.

“You are in love with her,” I commented to the Man, coming up next to him. He did not seem over-surprised to find me there and speaking to him.

“Perhaps,” he replied, “it is certainly more than attraction, on my part.” He glanced sharply down at me.

“What of your relationship with Berethor? I might not have been your comrade for very long, but even I can read the jealousy on your face…the loathing, almost.” I could not deny it.

“I loathe what they are doing, not her, herself…and not him,” I replied. He nodded.

“I know. I hold naught against you; except, perhaps, that you lack the gall to break them up physically but, then, so do I ….” I made a motion of agreement; there was not much I could say to that. Both of us jumped when Morwen delivered a resounding slap to Berethor’s cheek. She turned to storm off.

“Morwen!” Berethor called pleadingly. She spun back to him, her face a mask of fury.

“Was I a game to you?” she hissed dangerously, “just a tumble? Or were you trying to make your Elven whore jealous?” She gestured rudely toward me, before stalking off toward our sleeping area. Eaoden and I looked between the two in shock, speechless. I cared little enough about her insult, I just could not believe what had happened.

“Go after her,” I finally urged the Rohirric warrior, finding my voice and giving him a light shove in the right direction. He ran off.

I turned back to Berethor; he had set his now-empty goblet of spilt ale down and was rubbing his face with his palms, as if trying to erase something foul.

“I did not mean for it to go as that,” he murmured, almost to himself. I closed the distance between us in a few quick strides.

“And I thought you two were getting along so well,” I hissed acidly. I had not meant to attack him, verbally or otherwise, but the spiteful words spilt from my lips before I could halt them. I should have been quite old enough to suppress such malice, but he had hurt me and I was lashing out like any wounded animal. He sighed heavily and met my eyes, a pained expression decorating his features. I suddenly realised the room had fallen somewhat silent and that we had gathered quite an audience. I glared at them. “Do you not have something better to be doing?” I snapped. I grabbed Berethor’s arm, “come on, we need to talk,” I spoke and led him outside to where Orophin and I had spoken earlier. Torches on the walls created pools of light in the inky blackness and sentries patrolled the walls, though none dared venture near us.

“I never meant to hurt you, Idrial,” he finally broke the silence and spoke softly. “And I never meant to wound Morwen, I did not think she would react so….” I could not believe it!

“How can you say that? I am not so sure you did not deserve her strike!” I cried. “Valar know there is no love lost between me and the girl, but what you did was cold. And now you are hiding! Take some responsibility, adan! We women do not like to be treated as play-things, and we do not like to be humiliated! I do not know what you said to Morwen, but it must have been good for her to create such a scene, especially in front of Eaoden and myself.” A flash of guilt and pain tripped through his eyes.

“I told her I felt naught for her,” he whispered. I hissed in air through my teeth - of all the things he could have said…! “I did not mean it quite like that,” he continued, “I feel for her as a comrade, and respect her as a warrior, but naught as a lover. I wish I could have explained.” His mood and countenance suddenly changed - he went very pale and looked almost ill - and he lurched toward me with an almost pained groan, falling to his knees and catching up my hands. “Forget Morwen. My Gods, sweet Idrial, what I have done to you!” he groaned in a pained whisper. “I beg you, I know you are furious with me, you have every reason to be, but please hear my explanation.” He looked so wretched. Oh Valar, how I wished to forgive him all his wrongs, to comfort him, to soothe away his obvious pain; but how could I trust him again?

“Get up,” I urged him. “I will hear what you have to say, but I cannot promise you more than that. You betrayed me, Berethor, and stripped my pride from me - that I cannot easily forgive.” He touched my hands to his forehead, in a sign of deference, and then rose from his knees. He seated himself in one of the gaps in between crenulations on the wall.

“Please, sit with me,” he murmured softly. I leapt up onto the crenulation next to him and settled myself at the height of his shoulder, much like we had found Legolas the day before. “You may have noted I was absent from the festivities earlier,” he began. “Mithrandir summoned me to him, saying he wished to speak with me. I had no notion it would be anything like this.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Gods! Morwen and I meant to celebrate.” I must have offered some offended gesture, because he winced. “Forgive me, that was not tactful, I just find the entire situation darkly ironic. No wonder she was furious. Please, hear me out.” I reigned in my anger and hurt and bowed my head, keeping silent. “Mithrandir wished to explain what he thought Saruman had been doing to me. He explained that the White Wizard had been influencing my thoughts, my actions and my desires sometimes subtly, sometimes…less so. He explained that I had been captured by Saruman and that the Wizard had exerted his will over me, before I escaped or was rescued, and was found wandering and feverish on the boarders of Lórien. Lady Galadriel and her attendants found me, which you already know, of course, and did what they could for me, but they finally had to release me or risk my madness if I awakened. They released me and sent you after me, to protect me and to derail Saruman’s purpose. Mithrandir believes the White Wizard urged me to attack the Nazgûl, planning they should slay or recapture me. Fortunately, you interrupted them. He then sent his Crebain to find me, which they did, after our rest in the outpost, and learned that you accompanied me. Next, he sent the snows to us upon the High Pass; if you had not shared your warmth with me, Mithrandir believes I may have lost appendages to hypothermia, or perhaps even my life. When that did not work, Saruman awoke the Balrog of Moria to attack both us and the Fellowship, which failed only because of Gandalf’s interference. Then the goblins were urged to swarm from Moria and attack Lórien, but Saruman seriously underestimated the might of the Elves. He became bolder then, and sent his Uruk-hai to blockade the Emnet Gullies, but we broke them. As we neared Rohan, he tried to capture me in his Uruk-hai net again and again, and failed again and again. By this time, he was very much aware of the growing relationship between us and that your influence and watchfulness of me would make it far more difficult for him to implement his plans. When we liberated Morwen from her village, an idea came upon him. He could feel my admiration toward the Shield-maiden’s form - I will admit freely that I am a male, and that she is not unsightly - and though, usually, it would not have swayed me from your side, he decided to nudge me in her direction. Mithrandir believes that Saruman thought our union was a threat to his plans and that if I spurned you, you would draw away from me, perhaps even abandon us, and allow him to proceed mostly unhindered. I am so very glad you did not. He then set Wormtongue upon us in Snowborne and, for the first time, he spoke directly in my mind. ‘He obeys me, Gondorian, you do not.’ I could never forget those words. He tried to suppress me, tried to allow Grima to kill me but he did not count on how enraged I would be at being possessed. I managed to overcome his dominance. Mithrandir was amazed that I had that much strength.” Berethor gave another dark laugh. “Saruman was furious and he urged me all the more toward Morwen. How I fought within my mind, fought against my feelings for you. I think he might have thought to break me. I almost kissed Morwen that night, almost took her to my bed. I never did, you know. He tried once more by ordering Sharku, the leader of his warg bands, to attack us and we almost defeated him before he fled in cowardice. The White Wizard then decided to bide his time, knowing we would head toward Helm’s Deep and come up against his Ten Thousand. He must have been livid when it seemed we should survive even that. In his fury he tried a drastic solution - he possessed me and tried to separate me from you and fling me into the path of certain death. It is difficult to describe the sensation of being possessed; it was as if someone else was controlling my body, but I could still see and feel everything that was happening. It was terrifying;” he shivered, “being so out of control. I remember you saved me. You used all your strength to try to pull me back to the keep. I have bruises from your grip on my arms and wrists, you know. I remember you were crying. I wanted so much to stop the pain I was causing you, but I could not, I could not make myself move even a finger against Saruman’s will. I was terrified he would harm you. I remember you freed me from him, long enough that I managed to survive the battle he threw us into, with a kiss and some soft words in Elvish. I remember the words - amin mela lle - I asked Mithrandir what they meant, but he just smiled and corrected my pronunciation.” He sighed heavily. “I know not the ways of your spell-casters, but I thank you for what you did. So, that is my tale in full, a faithful narrative, as well as I remember it and can piece it together from Mithrandir’s suppositions.” I sat silent, lost in thought; not much of his speech after his perfectly pronounced Elvish had registered in my mind. I wanted so desperately to believe he was saying those words to me…though, somewhere in the more rational part of my mind, I realised he believed them to be a spell of some sort - ironic, really, for, as the poets say, love is the greatest enchantment of all. Evidentially, I had been silent for too long, for he spoke again, and this time he was on his feet, pacing agitatedly. “You said once that I was not to fall in love with you, for you would have to break my heart. So I say now that I have fallen in love with you, unlooked for as it was, and I ask you only, fair lady…to make it a clean break.” Valar, to finally hear those words from his lips! I spoke the first words that came to me in the tumult of thoughts reeling through my mind:

“Would it please my lord to know what those words meant?” I asked softly; the words came out far more coquettish than I had intended, I fear. He looked perplexed for a moment, then furious.

“Is that your answer?” he demanded. “You would toy with me! Very well then, I shall leave you be and bother you not again.” He stood up straight and stiff, and walked off, head held high, pain evident in his very bearing.

“Berethor!” I cried, running after him, realising my mistake almost as soon as I had made it. “Meleth nín!” I knew he could not understand the endearment, but it mattered not; I caught him and turned him to me. “Forgive me,” I begged, “you mistook my meaning. Perhaps…perhaps this will be better.” I pulled his lips down to mine. “Amin mela lle,” I whispered against his lips, “it means I love you.” He made some sound, of relief or pleasure, perhaps both, and swept me up tightly in his arms, returning my kiss wholeheartedly. We were both too caught up in the other to see the figure that watched us from the shadows.

“Tell me you love me again,” I begged Berethor, “say it in my tongue.”

“Amin mela lle,” he repeated dutifully. I would have to thank Mithrandir for instructing him in the correct pronunciation. “I love you, Idrial; gerich veleth nín.”

“As you own mine,” I replied, dragging his lips down for another kiss. The shadowed figure snarled and leapt forward, seizing Berethor’s shoulder and tearing him violently from my grasp.

“Perversion!” he snarled. “Filth! Depravity!” Rúmil had Berethor pinned easily against the citadel wall, a hand closed firmly about the man’s neck. Berethor gasped for breath. Rúmil’s eyes were wild and his expression was feral.

“What in the name of the Valar?” I gasped. “Rúmil, what are you doing? Let him go!” He laughed manically, released Berethor - the man dropped to the walkway like a sack of vegetables - and stalked toward me.

“Perverted filth!” he snarled at me, and now I could smell the scent of alcohol strong on his breath, strong enough even to get an ellon drunk. “Harlot! Whore! Bitch! Slut!” He spat at my feet. “To think I ever loved you!” I found myself surrendering ground to him, stalking at me as he was, so furious; I knew his strength, especially as he was obviously drunk and enraged and I was unarmed, was no match for mine and certainly no match for Berethor’s. “To think you could bring yourself to touch him! To lie on your back for him! Mayhap I should partake in what you offer the filthy adan so freely. Maybe I should just take what I want from you!” To my horror, I found that he had backed me up against a wall. I realised suddenly that there was little hope for me, neither the guards nor Berethor possessed enough strength to overcome an enraged Elf and shouting for my kinsmen would do me no good, as the noise of the celebrations was so loud that it would obstruct even Elven hearing.

“Think about what you do!” I begged him, admittedly terrified, but my voice did not waver. “You would have me unwilling? Against all law set down by Elf or Valar? I would Fade and what would you do then? Your name would be stripped from you; your brothers would not know you, would not speak of you; no Elven realm would have you; you would never Sail; you would be alone for all time; until you die…alone.” I was shouting now: “Your name would be used as a curse! Your feä would be damned to the Void! Valar curse you! Valar FORSAKE you for what you would do to me! Rúmil Kinslayer!” He slapped me - hard - breaking my nose and splitting my lip.

“Never forget that it was you who brought this upon me!” he snarled. I saw the next blow come at my temple, but I could not move away fast enough; whether it was the blow, or the fact that I cracked my head against one of the crenulations, I will never know, but blackness rushed up to me and took me into its embrace.

Berethor has told me at great length what happened after I was struck unconscious, how terrified he was when he saw Rúmil’s purpose, and all the other things that went through his mind. Orophin, Haldir, Legolas, Aragorn, Elegost and Mithrandir have given me similar accounts when I asked, though all were slightly differing. I will try to continue the story as best I can from piecing together what I remember of others’ memories. After striking me out, Rúmil had a sudden attack of conscience and, fearing that he had indeed killed me, fled. Berethor, though his throat was severely bruised, had not sustained any lasting damage, and he ran quickly to me, crying out for help. Fortunately, the sentries that heard him had the presence of mind to fetch Mithrandir, and with him came Orophin, Haldir, Aragorn, Elegost and Legolas. I maintain that the obstinate Wizard probably knew what was going to happen before it had and either forgot, or considered it unnecessary, for whatever reason, to warn us beforehand. Orophin was a healer in his own right, much like myself, though lacking in magics. He immediately stanched the bleeding of my head-wound and my nose and began to look me over.

“How did she fall?” he demanded. Berethor was overcome and did not answer. “Adan! Berethor! How did she fall? Did she strike her neck…or her back? Answer me!” The Man, again, did not answer. Orophin checked, as best he could, my neck and spine for injuries; finding no indications of such, he deemed it safe to move me. Meanwhile, Aragorn, Elegost and Legolas had been trying to get answers out of both Berethor and the guard that had arrived on the scene first. The guard had admitted, grudgingly and stuttering with embarrassment, that he had witnessed what he thought to be a lover’s spat, the three of us bickering on the wall. He had not wished to interfere and had not moved until I had crumpled to the ground and Berethor had begun yelling. He said he thought the attacker was an Elf, but that he had not gotten a clear enough view to be sure. Mithrandir swept the others out of the way and came to question Berethor himself. He turned the Man’s head until their eyes locked.

“Did you see who did this, Gondorian?” he asked, slowly and clearly. Berethor nodded slowly. “Did you know them?” the Wizard continued. Berethor nodded once more. “An Elf?” the questions continued.

“Yes,” Berethor answered hoarsely, seeming to finally snap out of his stupor. “It was Rúmil.” Orophin swore loudly, making the other Elves wince.

“He is delirious,” Haldir proclaimed, “he does not know what he is saying. Rúmil may be impulsive, but he would never attack another Elf, certainly not an elleth.”

“I am not so sure,” Orophin replied grimly, “he was wickedly jealous of Berethor’s relationship with Idrial and if he was drunk…I do not know well that he could have controlled himself. I wish not to speak ill of my brother, but if he has attacked Idrial….”

“Orophin is correct, Haldir,” Mithrandir sighed, “Berethor speaks truth. Legolas, Haldir, find Rúmil and bind him; he must face judgement. Orophin, bring Idrial and follow me, Elegost, help Berethor and accompany us. Aragorn, you must go to Théoden and explain what has happened, take the guard with you, and ask if there is somewhere we may hold Rúmil. Also ask if we can have access to their healers’ supplies.” The group split quickly and went to their duties. As Orophin lifted me into his arms, a small packet slipped from the front of my tunic, unnoticed by all but Berethor. The Man leaned down and picked up the item, stowing it in his belt-purse until he would be able to return it.

Berethor sat by my side in Mithrandir’s chambers for days, sometimes he spoke to me, sometimes he slept and sometimes he simply let his thoughts wander. Visitors frequently came by, Mithrandir, Haldir, Legolas, Orophin, Aragorn and Elegost mostly, although both Eaoden and Morwen had paid more than one visit. Although I am not privy to the exact details, it seemed that Eaoden, more than likely with a little help from Mithrandir, had managed to calm Morwen and convince her that he held her in far higher regard than Berethor ever would. They were very seldom seen parted after that. Haldir had sent his archers back to Lórien, with a report for our Lady, under the command of his second; only himself and Orophin remained, and Rúmil, of course. Legolas and Haldir had found Rúmil hiding in the caverns beneath Helm’s Deep two days after he had first gone missing. He was still raving about the perversion Berethor and I had committed. Aragorn and Mithrandir saw him held in a storeroom, under guard. A week later, all those with talent in Elven healing were becoming worried that I had not yet awakened, and frustrated at Mithrandir for not showing more concern. Every time Orophin, Aragorn or Elegost approached him. He simply waved them off and said:

“She will rise when she is ready.” Orophin spent much time by Berethor’s side, simply watching over me. I must admit to feeling a great deal of gratitude toward them both for guarding me while I was vulnerable. I know they spoke long about Elves, and Orophin continued to tutor the Man in our tongue. It was on the eighth day that Berethor awoke after a strange dream where he was examining the packet that had fallen out of my tunic, but the second he tried to open it, he awoke.

“Mára aur, mellon,” Orophin greeted him and handed over their usual morning fare of juice and gruel.

“Mára aur, Phin. Hannad,” he replied. Orophin smiled tiredly.

“Your Elvish is coming along,” he commented. “Is there any change?” Berethor shook his head as Orophin checked me over with a healer’s eye, just to be sure. He sighed heavily and sat back down. “We ought to see if we can coax some honey tea into her today, or she will not be able to rise if she does awaken,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. “Berethor, mellon, we need to think about moving her back to Lórien. There are better trained healers than I there, not to mention our Lady. Also, you and yours cannot stay here much longer, you have tasks that need to be accomplished, nor can Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli stay, and the people of Rohan should return soon to their homes, especially Théoden and his court. I sware Hal and I would take the best care of her, she is as a sister to us and our Lady holds her in the highest regard. She would want for naught.”

“Just a few more days, Phin,” Berethor begged. Orophin sighed once more, but then nodded.

“A few more days,” he agreed. “I am loathe to take her from your side; I think it could worsen her condition. No one knows what the mind can perceive while in a coma, but there is evidence that not everything is completely blacked out. I must ask Mithrandir his opinion in any case; I would not move her against his wishes and I must send word to Lórien, for Hal and I will require help moving both her and…the Prisoner.” Rúmil had been stripped of his name and his family, under Mithrandir’s judgement, but both Haldir and Orophin were still having trouble coming to terms with the fact they no longer had a brother. Berethor was suddenly reminded of the packet in his belt-purse.

“Phin, do you know what this is?” he asked, removing the packet and holding it up. Orophin scowled.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

“It fell from Idrial’s tunic when you lifted her off the wall, I picked it up.” Phin relaxed and nodded.

“Then you had best keep it, at least for the moment. As for what it is, it is either a coincidence or a sign, depending upon whether you believe such things, and whether or not you recognise the significance of them. I brought it from Lórien and Aron, to give to Rial upon his wishes. It used to belong to their parents, now it belongs to her. Open it, if you wish, but their may be consequences that you are not ready for if you do. Consider carefully.” Berethor stared at the non-descript pouch for a few moments; for some inexplicable reason he felt drawn to it. He was not entirely sure he could put it back in his belt-purse and forget about it, even if he wished to. He finally gave in and up-ended the pouch onto his palm. Two rings fell out. They were exquisitely crafted from some sort of pale wood but they had been fire-treated until they were hard as stone; however, they were still almost the colour of silver, and had details that Berethor was not sure even the master woodworkers of Gondor could match. One ring was finer, set with a polished emerald, and had carvings of flowers worked in minute detail into the wood. The other ring was broader and slightly darker in colour, set with a ruby; it had carvings of numerous animals worked around it. “Do you know what they are?” Orophin asked.

“Rings,” Berethor replied, “…Elven betrothal rings. I saw Aronel was wearing something similar, and I asked Idrial about it, but these are far beyond the workmanship of Aron’s. Whose are they?”

“They were made by an ellon named Elrayon for himself and his mate. He was Idrial and Aron’s sire. He was a master woodworker, and apart from making jewellery, he also was renowned for his bow-carving, but most of his weapons have been destroyed. The bow I now carry used to be his; he passed it to Aron, who passed it to Idrial, who gave it to me. It is a privilege indeed to own it. The only other one I know of that still survives belongs to my Lord Celeborn. Technically, the rings should now be worn by Aron and Niphredil, but Aron was taught the trade of wood-carving by his sire and wished to carve his own rings.”

“What was their mother’s name?” Berethor asked absently.

“Illiri,” Orophin replied, “one of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met. She was a spirit-caller, just as Idrial is.” The Man held up the wider ring, the one that obviously used to belong to Elrayon, examining it in the light.

“A ruby,” he murmured. “Idrial said the jewel reflects the month of birth. I know not what jewels stand for Elven months, but a ruby is my birth-stone as well - I was born in July.”

“For it to be a ruby, Elrayon was born in Cerveth, the seventh month,” Phin replied. Berethor frowned, Orophin’s earlier words sounding a cord in his mind.

“The same,” he commented. “And the emerald?”

“Illiri was born in the fifth month, Lothron.”

“May is also an emerald for my people,” Berethor repeated, “do you know if all the stones are the same?”

“No, I do not,” Orophin replied, “but it is possible. Likely it is something your ancestors adopted from mine; of course it is also not unlikely that some of them may have been changed over time. I was born in the first month, Narwain, and my stone is the garnet.”

“January, I believe the stone I know for that is rose quartz…but I may have heard something about garnet being applicable as well. I cannot remember, I do not know anyone personally who was born then. Phin, what month was Idrial born in?” Orophin paused a moment.

“Lothron, the fifth month, the same as her dam,” he finally answered. “Idrial was born on the first day of it, actually. It is a rather common birth-date. Elleths carry their babes for a full year, and May first is the beginning of our spring celebrations. I lot of children are conceived then and born the next year.” Berethor had not heard much beyond Orophin’s pronunciation of the month.

“This is what you meant, was it not?” he demanded. “Coincidence or sign?” Orophin nodded.

“Indeed. I do not know if you wish to hear this, but you and Idrial seem to be of far more interest to the Valar than is usual for any given Elf or adan, so I will speak it anyway. Upon our birth, Elves are usually given a prophecy, sometimes it is something dire - the worst is when the day and manner of death are revealed - however, sometimes it seems trivial, but usually, it turns out as an important piece of information. Whichever it be, it always comes true. I was told that I would not mate with the one I loved truest of all; I will say that that is true. Idrial was told that she and her life-mate would wear her parents’ betrothal rings, and that they would be fitting. Make of that what you will. However, it might interest you to learn that Prince Legolas, …the Prisoner and, I believe, Elegost, were also born in the seventh month, just as you were, making their stones rubies as well. I believe you now have a choice to make.” He sighed softly. “I must speak to Mithrandir now, and to my brother. I will return when I am through. Perhaps it would do Rial well if you were to pull back the drapes and allow the sun in for a few hours.” He bowed and left the room without further speech.

I was not aware of any of this myself. I knew there were people in the room with me, but I could not respond to them, nor move. Or, at least, I knew it in my brief periods of lucidness. The rest is all some surreal dream where I was a leaf drifting on the wind. I know that is not an unusual dream for an Elf, and it was very peaceful and pleasant, it was no wonder I wished not to leave, not to come back to the harsh, bright and often painful world. I have come to realise that my periods of lucidness coincided with when Berethor was holding my hand, or speaking directly to me; without knowing it, it seemed that he and I had developed some kind of bond and he was anchoring me to the world. So, when he took both of my hands in his, knelt by my bed, and proceeded to speak earnestly of his feelings, it was not so very surprising that I heard him.

“I saw the rings, meleth nín,” he said. “Phin said they were either a coincidence or a sign. As I have said many times, I am soldier and, so, I am not qualified to judge which. I wish you were here to tell me. Do they belong to us? It would please me greatly if they should. Were you awake and I had seen what I have, I would ask you to marry me. Would you? I know not.” He squeezed my hands more tightly. “You said you loved me, but I truly do not know what that means to you. Would you bind yourself to me, become my mate? Forsake sailing into the West for me? Ah, I cannot ask that of you! You would continue long after I am dead and gone, I would leave you alone in a land that will become wholly foreign to you.” He was crying now: “Perhaps…perhaps it would have been better we never met, and you had stayed with Rúmil. I...I will leave tomorrow, Lady, take my party with me and I shall not bother you again. I shall tell Orophin to take you back to Lothlórien and see you healed so you may pass into the West with the rest of your kin, where your family awaits you. I…I wish you a happy life, Lady Idrial, meleth nín.” He tried to stand and leave, but he found his hands trapped in mine.

“Idrial?” he gasped. It was a trial for me to open my eyes and look at him, so the fact that I was able to form words was only slightly short of a miracle.

“…‘Thor,” I rasped, “mell’ nín…was having…nice dream…leaf, but…nonsense…had to…wake.” I knew I was not making much sense. “Water?” I asked. He was so stunned by my wakening, that he asked no questions and simply moved to get me a tumbler of water from the jug on the nightstand. He was gentle as he helped me sit - my world spun wildly for a few moments, then finally stopped and righted itself - and drink. “Now,” I continued, feeling more recovered, “what is this nonsense you are speaking? Did I hear you say you were planning on leaving? You would abandon me again?”

“No...I do not wish that, but I…I cannot ask you to stay with me. I realise now what it would mean. You would forsake any chance of going into the West, seeing your family again. You would be alone here, after I had died. I could not bare it if I dammed you to such an existence.”

“Not alone,” I replied, “there will be others - Legolas, Lady Arwen, though do not tell Aragorn of that; and my lord Celeborn will not leave quite yet. Also, their children, and ours, perhaps, will be with me, they shall make this land great. And you will be with me, in spirit. I will never truly be alone. I would be more alone, more wretched, if I sailed West and spent all eternity there in Valinor alone, unfulfilled…without you. Would you damn me to that existence? I have had time to think long about this, while you were with Morwen, and while I was lying here, unable to move or speak. Let me tell you this: even before we met, long had I felt uneasiness about leaving Middle Earth. I felt that I had left something unfinished, some greater purpose, now I know why.”

“But…but…I cannot ask this of you! Such a sacrifice!” he gasped. I laughed softly, and cupped his face.

“You need not ask for something that has already been gifted, and you cannot return it…it would be impolite.” I brought my hands up, though the action cost me more than it ought, and cupped his face, brushing my thumbs over his lips. “I…love…you…Berethor, and I beg you, do not leave me again…please.” He wrapped his arms tightly about me and pulled me against him.

“No,” he breathed in my hair, “I fear my bout of altruism is ended and I find I am too selfish to insist any longer. I will never leave you, my Idrial, meleth nín.”

“Hervenn nín,” I replied, reaching for the rings he still held clasped tightly in his hand, “if you will wear my ring…be my mate.” I took the larger ring and slid it over the middle finger of his left hand and, as if made for him, it fit perfectly. “The Valar have a hand in this,” I commented, “I remember my sire’s hands well and they were more slender than yours. His ring should not fit you, yet…. I wonder if my dam’s ring should fit me, though her hands were daintier than mine; ought we to find out?” Carefully, his fingers shaking, he slid the other ring onto my hand; of course, it fit. “Hervenn nín,” I repeated, “my husband.”

“My wife,” he replied softly, “I never got up the nerve to ask Phin the words for that.”

“Hervess nín,” I replied, “but I much prefer Rial, all things considered, or meleth nín; hervess nín is exceedingly formal.”

“I never had a pet name,” he said, “no one ever called me anything other than Berethor…or things far less complimentary. You called me Thor before, I must profess that I liked that, though it is a touch pretentious - Thor was a god of my ancestors, if I remember correctly, he had something to do with weather, but then, I wonder how many would know that.”

“Thor, it suits you, oddly enough; it is very close to the word for eagle in Elven, a symbol of courage and leadership. Yes, I think it suits you verily.” Berethor smiled radiantly and played with the ring on his finger.

“I never thought to be a husband,” he commented, “but I could not be happier,” he leaned forward and kissed me gently, “with you as my wife.”

Suddenly, the door rattled, the doorknob turned and Orophin came in. He almost dropped the tray he was holding.

“Rial!” he cried. He glanced at Berethor. “When did you wake?” I leaned back against the head of the bed, my energy suddenly gone.

“Less than an hour ago,” I replied. “I was having a wonderful dream about being a leaf…but then someone interrupted me.” Orophin raised and eyebrow as he set his tray down on the table.

“Your new jewellery is rather becoming,” he commented over-blandly, “’tis official?”

“Official enough,” I replied, “Aronel sent me the rings, so I assume I have his blessing, and Galadriel has made it clear, in her own way, how she feels.”

“Indeed,” Orophin commented, a smile curling his lips, “felicitations then. How do you feel?”

“Tired, weak, and my head aches, but well enough, other than that.”

“To be expected, of course,” he replied. “I was planning to try to give you this to keep your strength up, but you should drink it anyway.” He handed over a mug of tea, laced with honey and herbs. “I should fetch Mithrandir; he shall want to know you are awake. I will bring you something else to eat. And Rial…it is good to see your eyes again.” He dipped his head and turned, walking back out the door.

It took me full day before I was able to get out of bed without assistance, and another four before I was able to wield my sword and call to the spirits once more. I learned that Berethor and Mithrandir had been speaking and they had decided that next, we ought to go to Osgiliath and do what we could there. It seemed a good enough course to me. Aragorn was leading Legolas and Gimli, along with Mithrandir and Théoden to Isenguard to see what had become of it and the White Wizard after the attack of the Ents. Haldir and Orophin were preparing to travel home as well, they would meet the warriors they had summoned on the way, and they would all turn back. Berethor and I had promised to return, one final time, to Lothlórien when our task was done, if we could…if we were dead, it would make little difference. Orophin and Haldir had agreed to wait to see us that final time, before they too, sort the Havens. Which left one final matter for me to deal with - the Prisoner, he who was once Rúmil, son of Conwaith, from a long line of respected March Wardens. Crimes were usually dealt with by stripping the criminal of all identity, all names and titles, which is what had happened to the Prisoner while I was unconscious. However, if the wronged party was not satisfied with this punishment, they were allowed to amend it, within reason. For attempted rape, or murder, whichever, I was entitled to demand the Prisoner’s death; I feared both Orophin and Haldir half expected me to do so…I feel somewhat disappointed that they do not know that I would never do that. So, on the third day I was able to walk, I went to the Prisoner’s cell. He was lying listlessly on a cot, staring out the small window that had been provided him. I ordered the guards to admit me into his makeshift cell.

“Prisoner,” I addressed him. He turned his head to acknowledge me and I could not stifle a gasp. Poor creature! He looked as a wraith, a shadow of his former self.

“Lady Idrial!” he gasped upon seeing me and struggled to his feet, before falling to his knees before me. “They would tell me naught of you, I thought you dead,” he sobbed. “Whatever judgement you have from me, it shall not be enough. I will never forgive myself for what I did to you.” I fell to my knees next to him and braced his shoulders. I had made a decision as to what I was going to do before I came to see him, and now I was sure I had made the right one.

“I forgive you,” I whispered. “I do not know why you did as you did, but I know you were not in your right mind and I would not deny you the chance to Sail. So, I restore your name and your linage, Rúmil Conwaithion, and I restore your status as an Elf - you will not be denied passage into any Elven realm - but not your rank. You will be a common foot soldier again, you will tend beasts and guard supplies until you, with your brothers, Sail. In Valinor you will be judged properly, and what they shall will you, I cannot influence. Come now, I will take you back to your brothers.” I helped him to his feet, though he could barely stand, and told one of the guards to fetch Haldir and Orophin. The three sons of Conwaith were overjoyed to be reunited and each thanked me profusely and with tears in their eyes. They left early the next morning, as did we….

Translations:

Mellon - friend

Ellon - male Elf

Hannon le - I thank you

Adan - Man, human

Mithrandir - Gandalf, lit. Grey Pilgrim

Amin mela lle - I love you

Meleth nín - my love

Gerich veleth nín - you have my heart

Feä - soul

Mára aur - good morning

Hannad - thanks

Cerveth - the seventh month (July)

Lothron - the fifth month (May)

Narwain - the first month (January)

Hervenn nín - my husband

Hervess nín - my wife

Conwaithion - son of Conwaith

Chapter Seven - Osgiliath:

We pushed our steeds hard to reach Osgiliath in good time, but the journey itself was uneventful. As we neared the ruins of the once-proud capital of Gondor, I wondered what my mate must feel upon returning to his homeland. He spoke little enough during the journey. When we arrived upon the landing at Osgiliath, it was dark and eerily silent, but I could hear the stirring of the waters deep out in the river - the Orcs and their rafts drew near. We sent our steeds back with instructions to head for Lothlórien and safety and then we, slowly and carefully, began to make our way toward the river, as Mithrandir had bid us do.

“I have fought in this city before,” Berethor suddenly spoke, “but the memory is dim…wraith-like.” I found his choice of words intriguing. We lined up behind the pillars along the landing, exchanging nods with the Men waiting in ambush as we did, letting them know that we should fight with them.

“I fought here too, as an Outrider, under the final battle Lord Boromir led,” Eaoden said softly. “The company that fought on the island was led by a man who became craven in the heat of battle and deserted, for which he was exiled. You know, my friend, you could perhaps be his brother, but…’tis of no consequence, I barely kept my own head in that battle.”

“Quiet!” Hadhod hissed. “They are nearly across.” Berethor grinned.

“They shall find us of superior quality,” he almost growled. Eaoden let out a startled hiss.

“I know those words!” he proclaimed. “You WERE here before. YOU were the craven one, the man who deserted.” I drew my blade, coming to stand beside Berethor - I would defend my mate. Berethor knocked my blade aside and approached Eaoden instead, clasping the Man’s shoulders.

“Not this time, my friend,” he said. The Rohirric warrior wavered for a moment, but then nodded, and clapped Berethor’s shoulders back. I smiled and returned to my place - my husband had learnt much in his journey. In the next moment, the rafts landed and the Orcs leapt from their boats. We fought valiantly against them, aided by the soldiers that were still quartered in the city, however, they were mighty foes and many, compared to our few and tired warriors. We had not known it before, but the Men that were fighting with us were Faramir, brother to Boromir’s, Rangers. When the leader of the Orcs, a foul one-eyed creature called Gothmog, attacked, it was Faramir himself who drew his blade and charged to meet him. Of course, we followed. It heartened the men to see their Lord in battle. Faramir was deadly with his bow, and his Rangers, hidden in the ruins, fired upon the enemy on his command. However, I shall boast and say that it was Thor’s sword-arm that was the foul creature’s bane. Gothmog had much strength, and almost did not succumb to our weapons, and, at the last moment, he ran from us. I had a feeling we would see him again, before the end, however that may have come. We and the Rangers yelled foul curses after him. After the battle, Faramir asked us to aid in putting down the Orcs that were still brawling with his men…’brush-fires’ he called them. Among our enemies were Orc archers and infantry, along with massive armoured trolls - nothing we had not faced before. I have not said much about fighting techniques, they are more my mate’s purview than mine, but I shall say this - while it is possible to stun most Man or Elf-sized enemies with a particularly powerful blow, you cannot stun a troll, nor can you slow one down with an attack that would cripple the speed of a usual enemy, and that is almost the greatest disadvantage to battling the creatures. Something else to tell you, these Orcs had some foul magic that almost proved our bane - it is a spell where any damage, whether physical or by spirit, inflicted on the user, is reflected back at the attacker. Also, the poison the Orcs use on their arrows was a similar woe to us - it paralyses the victim almost immediately, leaving them unable to use any sort of physical attack. Of course, when infected, my group then relied on me to rid them of this foul malady, which took up time I could have been on the offensive. We ran further into the city, putting out Faramir’s ‘brush-fires’ as we went, and we soon sighted Gothmog once again, atop the ruins, directing his forces as they still battled with Faramir’s men. We knew we would have to fight our way through the small battles to reach him. Faramir’s warriors fought bravely and soon we had freed every last one of them, leaving only the foul one-eyed creature waiting for us atop the ruins. We yelled battle-cries, each in the fashion of our own kind, as we charged toward him. Gothmog was not a foolish creature though, he had kept a substantial personal guard back, and it was these Orcs we had to face before the damned creature was even before us. Faramir joined us once more when we were finally face-to-face with the creature.

“The time of the Orc has come,” were Gothmog’s only words as he came to meet us. The battle was arduous and most of my time was spent on supportive spells rather than offensive attacks, keeping my party off the ground. It was soon apparent that we must focus all our attacks on Gothmog himself, rather than his guards, if we were ever to win the soon-tedious battle. It was Faramir’s arrows and hidden archers, and my Thor’s strong sword-arm and unerring leadership that saw us the day, though a difficult and bloody battle it was. However, Hadhod and his war-hammer was also something both great and terrible to behold. As well, Eaoden’s clever cantrip of being able to dispel any positive effects the enemy laid upon themselves came to be increasingly helpful. I had not thought Men often trained in the magics, but Eaoden’s knowledge of the spirit-realm was quite impressive…for an adan. He might even have made a fair healer, with proper training, of course.

After Gothmog ran from us once more, Faramir called a retreat; although we had prevailed in our battles, the rest of the city was all but lost. As the battle against the foul Gothmog had progressed, I had begun to become increasingly uneasy; as a hand-maiden to the Lady of the Lothlórien, I had been granted some small gift in foresight, which usually came in the form of true-dreaming. While at Helm’s Deep, I had had a dream of being lifted high over a city of men by a great unseen force, then dropped from that height. The dream had terrified me and, believing it to be true, I had spoken to Mithrandir of it. He revealed to me what he knew of events to come - I would be captured by a Fell Beast, but I would foil it and would be left to my own devices in the middle of the occupied Osgiliath - hardly a fair prospect. However, Mithrandir said that the event, far from being much to do with me, would be the final making or breaking of my mate. How I worried for Thor after that! Mithrandir said he could not see the outcome of the event, and all he could do was warn me to be on my guard when we neared what used to be the plaza of the once-great city. I fear I had all but forgotten his warning by the time we actually arrived there. Rest assured, it came back to me with alacrity; as the last of us ran through the great wooden doors a Fell Beast landed atop them. My heart beat triple-time as I beheld the awesome and wholly evil creature.

“Get her!” I heard the Nazgûl hiss. I brought my sword up automatically, and slashed at the beast’s legs as it flew at me, though I found myself else petrified with fear.

“I would not get so near if I were you!” I cried, putting on far, far more bravado than I actually felt. The next thing I knew, I felt the crushing pressure of the Fell Beast’s claws about my chest and the ground was swept out from under me. This I know - Elves were not made to fly. I was verily terrified and could barely breathe. I heard Berethor screaming for me on the ground, but I could not muster enough coherence to answer him. Ironically, it was the speech of the Nazgûl that brought me back to myself.

“We have you, witch!” it hissed. Its foul voice pained my ears and I suddenly realised I was still holding my sword.

“Not for long!” I yelled back, raised my blade, and struck at the Fell Beast’s underside. The creature screamed in pain, but its grip loosened and I found myself free-falling toward the very island we had spoken of earlier, from a great height.

Again, I know not first-hand what happened to my fellows while I was away from them, but I shall tell you what I have gathered from others’ accounts. Eaoden urged Berethor to fall back with Faramir’s men, saying I could take care of myself; I do not blame him for his sentiments, mine might have been the same had it been anyone other than Berethor captured - the safety of the many must come before the safety of the few. In any case, it was a pointless debate, as Berethor would not leave me. He remembered that Boromir had once spoken of sewers below the city of Osgiliath and thought that they may provide him with access to the island - he thought true. Eaoden was reluctant to accompany him on his fool’s errand, but the Rohirric warrior finally relented and they headed for the rooves so they could find the entrance into the sewers without encountering the Orcish hoards.

I landed in what appeared to be some sort of amphitheatre and, as I walked about it, I could sense that the Nazgûl was still near. Then I heard Mithrandir’s voice resound in my mind:

‘The moment has come, Idrial,’ he said, ‘let them find you. Have courage, Handmaiden.’

“I know you lurk here,” I spoke boldly. “Come and face me!” I saw the massive wings of the Fell Beast first, then its head and, finally, the helmed visage of the Black Rider. I had to lock my muscles to stop myself fleeing in terror.

“We come for you, she-Elf!” it hissed at me as it sent its Orc minions to face me. I sent a prayer for Thor and his companions’ safety to the Valar as I raised my blade and prepared to fight…very much alone.

The first beast my companions came upon as they ran was none others than a Black Rider itself. I do not know if the terrifying visage of these creatures inspires as much fear in them as it does in Elves, in myself, but I do know the battle must have seemed almost hopeless to them. However, what else could they do but fight? He did not know it then, but it was Berethor’s still possessed self that drew the terrible creatures to them. However, Mithrandir said it was also that which allowed them to defeat the beast, though I know not entirely how. Eaoden now admits that it was probably Thor’s sword, and his repeated cries to hold true, despite the crippling fear of the beast, that allowed them to overcome it. At the last moment, the beast flew off before it could be slain. As my companions continued on over the rooftops, they were attacked by another Rider, and another, and another. When my mate first told me of this, I thought him to be embellishing - no one could survive so many encounters with the Fell Beasts - but when I looked into his eyes all I saw was sincerity and a lingering terror of that event. They slew not one Rider, however, for they are cowardly creatures at heart, and flee when the end comes swift upon them.

My companions soon found what they sought - a way down into the sewers. I am thankful I was not with them, as the stench might have proved ill for me. Morwen complained of it much to me afterward and cursed the fact she was travelling with a company of males, who seem not to care about such things. The sewers beneath Osgiliath were nothing short of a maze when they were first constructed, and after years of the city being in disrepair, they had only become worse, cave-ins and flooding had blocked off some entrances, while the crumbling walls had allowed many creatures inside…mostly trolls, who seem to enjoy deep, dark holes.

While my companions traipsed through the sewers of Osgiliath, I was still trapped in the arena on the island. Still alone. The Nazgûl sent stronger and stronger foes against me each time, as I had so easily overcome the ones before. None of them were, however, a match for my magics. The worst enemy I faced was exhaustion - summoning spirits takes much energy. Though I missed my party, my mate most out of them, it certainly did occur to me that it was somewhat easier fighting only for myself.

Many interesting artefacts of yore had washed up in the sewers beneath Osgiliath, and my companions returned to me with a fair haul. Their trip through the sewers was only brief, and they soon found their way to the surface and the island upon which I had fallen. They came first upon what used to be a beach, and was now waste-land, like the rest of the city, and a single raft upon its shores.

“Get to Idrial,” Morwen ordered Berethor, brooking no argument; “we shall hold the beach.” Thor nodded gratefully to her.

“Capture that raft,” was his final order, “we shall need it to leave this place.” It was well Berethor came upon me at that particular moment, for the Nazgûl had called one of its kin and they had both descended on me. Even at my best, such foes would have been beyond me, and tired and wounded as I was, I was little more than play for them. Thor saved my life…once again. What it was that allowed him to overcome two Nazgûl, I know not, but that was what he accomplished, almost single-handedly. However, I knew that that would be the least of his struggles on the island and in the arena - the Witch-King of Angmar approached. Thor was oblivious to this threat for a few moments; he looked introspective:

“I feel I have been here before,” he murmured, then turned to me. “What vile sorcery has been done to me?” he demanded. I hated that I had had to lie to him one last time, lie to my mate…but it had been necessary.

“Soon you shall know all,” I promised, “the Witch-King comes!” The Witch-King of Angmar astride his mighty Fell Beast was indeed a terrible sight to behold. He reigned in his steed before us and stared at Thor; if he had had a face, it would have borne a grin filled with malice.

“I come to claim you Gondorian,” the Witch-King hissed. “You fought here with Boromir. He was driven away. You were chosen.” It seemed the foul creature had saved me from explanations. Berethor stared, entranced almost, at the morgul blade as it was waved dangerously before us.

“A morgul blade,” he commented absently. Then his countenance became troubled: “Wait - I have seen this before!” he exclaimed. “I was struck by it! Here, on this island!” The Witch-King emitted a frightful hissing-coughing sound - I realised that he was laughing.

“Your mind has journeyed in shadow,” he hissed once more at Berethor. “We awaited you here, Gondorian - full of power - to throw open the gates of Mithas Tirith and sow terror! Now, fulfil the will of Sauron; submit to the power of the Nazgûl! BOW TO ME!” Berethor struck at the Witch-King in fury - my mate does not like to do things other than under his own will - but the creature showed no notice of Thor’s attacks. I thought us both dead in that instant.

“I cannot harm him,” Berethor admitted, sounding hopeless, and dropping his sword, seemingly in defeat.

“He is immune to your power,” I answered, “for he created you. We Elves held back his power with our artefacts, so he could not make you one of his kind. But his fell power still exists within you, imbedded deep in your chest, within the tip of a morgul blade. We could not remove it from you without causing your death - you were not strong enough. This is what drove you forth in madness!” Thor looked at me in horror for a few moments, possibly remembering the cold feeling that permeated his chest on odd occasions, like the time in Moria he awoke from the dream. His face then became harsh and determined once more.

“Then I shall remove it!” he declared. He drew his dagger and, pulling away his breast-plate, thrust it shallowly into his breast until it hit the shard of the morgul blade still imbedded within his flesh. He dug it out and threw both it and the now tainted dagger to the floor. “I am free of you, creature!” he declared to the Witch-King, panting heavily. Rivulets of blood flowed from beneath his breast-plate, staining his armour and then puddling on the stones. “NOW FACE ME!” he commanded of the Witch-King. I knew not how he had survived such pain as to dig the shard from his chest, nor how he kept upright, sword in hand, with such a wound to his person. I was beyond astounded.

“You are strong enough now to survive that!” I spoke almost reverently. “I did not tell you of it, for I did not think we could dare.” I took a deep breath and pulled my courage. From what I had witnessed, I now had no doubt that his enemy could not stand against the two of us, united. I grinned ferally. “Now, let us dare together - my husband!” I cried. He matched my grin.

“I welcome it - my wife!” he growled dangerously.

The Witch-King of Angmar was a terrible foe, and I cannot and will not say I did not fear him. On the contrary, I feared for our lives on many occasions in that battle. Neither of us was at our best, I was exhausted from fighting the Witch-King’s minions earlier, and Berethor was still losing fairly copious amounts of blood from his chest-wound. In the end, however, as I had known we would be, we were victorious - we were Valar-touched, I believe.

“He falters!” I cried joyously. “Even The Witch-King of Angmar cannot withstand our power!” He laughed, though I could see his weariness in his bearing.

“Fools!” he declared. “I go to war! I leave you here to rot!” His words were brave, but his manner belied them - the Witch-King of Angmar fled from us.

The two of us walked, weary and wounded, arm in arm, down from the arena and onto the boat that our companions had held for us. Hadhod gave a mighty cheer. Elegost just grinned at us and gave a small bow. Morwen smiled at me - I knew then she had forgiven us. Eaoden managed a clap on the shoulder for Berethor - it seemed he had forgiven his leader. We went to the furthest corner of the raft and leaned against the makeshift rail, looking at the ruined and burning city as it passed us by. I sighed.

“Gondor has abandoned the city,” I spoke, “the Orcs have won this fight.” Thor nodded grimly, but covered my hand on the railing with his and squeezed reassuringly.

“But we shall win the war,” he said, with complete conviction. Then he paused for a few moments before continuing, softly, only for my ears: “You have given me so much, meleth nín, I do not have the words to express my gratitude...or my love, so deep it goes. So let me say only this, now, so it no longer hangs over us - I forgive you for all you led me false about, for all the things you would not tell me. I see now why it was necessary, why you were hesitant - if I had taken such information back to the enemy, it would have been disastrous.” I flushed faintly. It is not often I am humbled, and even less often by one who is less than a quarter of my years, though this was one occasion I was not ashamed of myself too.

“I…I am glad you understand,” I replied. “It was not my choice, though I saw readily enough why I must abide by it. For what it is worth, I am sorry.” I turned to him and pressed my lips against his, my arms about him; he caught me up once more and returned my kiss. I caught Morwen, with a grin upon her features, watching us from the corner of her eye - her hand was in the grip of Eaoden’s.

As Mithrandir had asked us to do, if we survived the battle with the Witch-King, we went north, into the hills above Pelennor for a day or three. We waited and recovered there, watching the plains about Minas Tirith become a camp for all manor of evil. The Wizard had said he would send for us when we were needed, when he had turned the will of the Steward toward our aid…or had taken over command of the city, which was far more likely. The summons came late in the night of the second day and we hurried down to the city, by back-paths, and in through a little-known side gate that Mithrandir had reminded Berethor of for just this occasion. We looked about at the buildings of the White City as we made our way to find Mithrandir. Thor looked melancholy; when he caught me staring at him, he put up a weak smile.

“I am home,” he murmured softly, “though I am not sure how I truly feel about it.” Home - the word rang through me. Yes, home, for me too now…if we survived….

Translations:

Mithrandir - Gandalf lit. Grey Pilgrim

Adan - man, human

Meleth nín - my love

Chapter Eight - Minas Tirith:

Mithrandir asked us to take command of the Gondorian forces in the outer courtyard of Minas Tirith, just beyond the great gates. So there we stood, in front of hundreds of Gondorian soldiers, as the wicked ram called ‘Grond’ - a wolf-shaped creature with fire in its maw - bashed open the gates. When they swung wide, we saw that before the ram ran a line of armoured trolls. The Gondorian soldiers hesitated - I do not blame them, the trolls were a fearsome sight - and so we became the only ones facing them down. The trolls fell easily to us - what challenge is a troll to one who has fought Úlairë? - and then the Orcish foot-soldiers stormed in. These, the Gondorians had fewer compunctions about, and they rushed past us to engage them. Once more we were left with the task of ‘putting out brush-fires,’ as Faramir had once so elegantly dubbed it.

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The courtyard was soon aflame and the screams and cries of the battling and the dying echoed loud into the night. We aided all we could, and then began our trek further up into the city. However, we found our way blocked by a small armada…headed by trolls. These enemies slowed us down but, ultimately, hindered us little. After we had defeated them, we met up once more with Mithrandir. The Wizard greeted us warmly and said for us to continue up into the city where we should split up and help the defenders, then to find him again, higher up. Before we could even contemplate splitting up, however, we had to clear the way higher into the city. A rampaging Troll had broken through the defences - obviously one we had missed from earlier - and the defenders called to us to stop it before it took the entire level down - a simple enough task. I fear I must sound somewhat conceited, however, you must realise that with what we had faced before, these foes seemed as children’s games to us. Now great blocks of stone reigned down on the city, and one had to be wary of standing in one place too long. We knew not what transpired outside the wall, as busy were we with keeping the paths clear and rescuing soldiers from foes beyond them. Warriors told us two more trolls were wreaking havoc in the new area, and begged us to save their comrades. So, once again, we went troll hunting. After slaying the second troll, we found ourselves on an outer wall. We looked over the side, and possibly wished we had not; the land seemed blanketed by soldiers of the Enemy, interspersed with mountains - tall battle-towers which would be the undoing of the forces on the walls. We quickly realised it would be folly to stay on the outer walls, within reach of the trebuchets, and ran on. However, we suddenly heard the thunderous sound of towers hitting the walls and an Úlairë swooped down upon us. We had to split up. Elegost, Berethor and I went after the Nazgûl and to fire a catapult to down the tower, while Hadhod, Eaoden and Morwen held back the oncoming forces. Loathe I was to be fighting an Úlairë once more, but after Berethor and I had triumphed over the Witch-King, it did not seem so very terrifying to me as it had before. Of course, the creature fled before we could slay it. We got off the catapult and collapsed the tower, but then our comrades had to face a wave of enraged Orcs. As soon as they had been defeated, we knew we had to get off the outer wall. We ran. A Nazgûl swooped down behind us, carrying a large piece of debris - I assume it intended to crush us - however we proved the faster, though only slightly, and all it accomplished was to cut off the route behind us.

------------------

We found ourselves in a narrow street, facing a small troll amada at the end. This was an enemy I was happier to face than the Úlairë, surest. However, I fear we were becoming a touch too complacent about the trolls, for this time, one even managed to stun me with a particularly well-aimed blow. In any case, we defeated them easily enough and, after Berethor argued with the gate-guards, we were allowed through the gate and into the upper-city. Even banished swords were needed in this fight, it seemed. It seemed, also, that Mithrandir had spoken highly of Berethor, which I believe was possibly the deciding factor in our being allowed through. The guard spared a comradely punch in the shoulder for Thor as we hurried along to seek Mithrandir higher in the city.

-----------------

We found what Berethor named as the Third Gate held strongly against us. The foes, however, were of little match for us. Suddenly, another Úlairë swooped down from the sky above us and smashed the way behind us.

“We cannot go back!” Hadhod cried. The Nazgûl landed upon a high tower and shrieked its battle-cry.

“We must not let that thing feed upon these people!” Morwen growled. We knew it. We also knew that we must hurry, for we needed to find Mithrandir and lend him our aid before the Witch-King found him. That was not a battle I was looking forward to. We saw, beyond the gate, that that Úlairë awaited us. Not the Witch-King however, and so we went forth to take it on. Of course, it fled at the last moment. Higher into the city we climbed, hoping desperately to catch sight of Mithrandir. We approached yet another set of gates and finally came upon the Wizard…just in time.

“Be gone from this place, creature of shadow!” Mithrandir cried. The Witch-King laughed.

“Do you not know death when you face it, Old Man?” he demanded. So the battle begun. With Mithrandir by our sides, the battle was not so desperate as the one Thor and I had fought only days before. The Wizard had hoped to end the Witch-King once and for all, but the beast fled before any of us could strike a killing blow. It was the sound of a mighty bellow of horns from below that drew the Witch-King from our battle.

“The horns of the Rohirrim!” Mithrandir exclaimed. “The tide turns! But Faramir is in grave danger. We must reach the seventh level, I shall meet you there! We must defend the future of Gondor - together!”

-----------------

Higher we ran, seeking a clear path to the courtyard of the citadel. As we topped the final set of stairs, a flaming blur ran past us, screaming.

“It is Denethor!” Berethor exclaimed incredulously. The once-proud, now flaming, Steward of Gondor rushed past us and leapt off the cliff-face in front of the citadel. There was little doubt he was dead. Mithrandir came up to us.

“Your banishment has ended, Berethor, the rule of the Steward is done,” he said to Thor, “however, his hall is under siege. The Banner of Elendil resides within - you must claim it!” Berethor gave a nod and we ran toward the High Hall of Gondor. The Hall was a beautiful place, but it was marred by cries of pain and the clashing of weapons. We knew we must cleanse the place and claim the banner that resided behind the throne. The High Hall was plagued by Easterlings - heavily armoured warriors from Rhûn and Harad - they were challenging foes. Verily, it ‘twas a shame to stain the pristine white-marble tiles of the High Hall with blood, but it was a necessary evil. When all the foes were cleaned from the room, we faced one final challenge - upon the throne stood a single Orc.

“BEAST!” Berethor roared. “You shall not defile the Kings of Gondor! BE GONE!” He threw his sword and impaled the Orc through the chest - a rather stunning feat. Then mounted the throne and retrieved the Banner of Elendil from behind it. “This shall rally Gondor,” he spoke, holding it high, “in this great time of need.” I had heard a commotion outside the High Hall and ran to find out what we might face next. What I found astonished me, I ran back inside, calling the news breathlessly:

“Corsair ships are upon the horizon! But Aragorn stands at their prow! We shall carry the day yet!”

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Translations:

Mithrandir - Gandalf, lit. Grey Pilgrim

Úlairë - Nazgûl, Ringwraiths, Black Riders

Chapter Nine - Pelennor Fields:

We ran down from the High Hall, through the city, gathering the soldiers beneath the Banner of Elendil as we went. We burst through the gates and onto the fields of the Pelennor, where many, many enemies still remained. We had a chance to win the day and we would not surrender it!

---------------

The Fields of the Pelennor were a wasteland of dead, dying and battling. Smoke from fires unknown covered the field, making breathing difficult, and the sound of metal meeting metal rang from all directions. It was a dismal place to be…and yet, some small hope remained. We knew we must aid the Rohirrim, for they had emptied their lands to ride to Gondor’s aide and any we did not save would mean the ruin of a family. Dead bodies littered the field and we had to watch our footing, lest we step in something unspeakable. Enemies - Orcs, Haradhirm and the odd Nazgûl - roamed the fields freely, accosting anyone who was foolish enough to wander off alone. Surely we met our fair share of marauding bands, both friendly and not. It seemed our complacency in the city had cost us; the foes out on the field were hardier and better organised than their counterparts and stood tall against our attacks.

--------------

We found it easy to get turned about on the Plains, despite the fact we were heading toward a fixed point. Both the lay of the land, and the piles of dead, made only a few safe paths and, on those, it was easy to get hopelessly lost. Never had I seen death on such as scale as this; though I had caused many of our enemies to die, and seen friends and allies succumb to wounds of both person and soul, it is far different to be trudging through a battle-ground, blood seeping into your boots, with bodies lining your way as if in some sort of perverted honour-guard, and the stench of death heavy in your nose. I know now why Men speak of battle-terror and of soldiers running, mad with fear. I understood now why my mate had run at Osgiliath, faced by the Nazgûl and the terror of the Witch-King. This is why our Leaders forsook the world of Men - war, senseless, pointless killing. I was no Human maiden, faint at the sight of blood and gore, but at that moment I knew - Elves were not meant for this sort of death.

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There was soon enough to distract me on the field from my woes. We presently came upon the front line of Theoden’s heavy cavalry, and they were facing down Mûmakil! I remembered learning of the beasts in my youth.

Grey as a mouse,

Big as a house,

Nose like a snake,

I make the earth shake.

As I tramp through the grass,

Trees crack as I pass.

With horns in my mouth,

I walk in the South.

Flapping big ears,

Beyond count of years,

I stump round and round,

Never lie on the ground,

Not even to die -

Oliphant am I.

If you ever meet me,

You wouldn't forget me.

If you never do,

You won't think I'm true.

But ole' Oliphant am I,

And I never lie.

The children’s rhyme is true. Ah, what magnificent beasts are they! Like the Fell Beasts, they are creatures of fear and worship, inspiring awe and terror wherever they may go. Unlike the Fell Beasts, however, Mûmakil are not wholly evil, they are bred and trained for war, but they are not so if not taught to be so. They are subjected to fear and pain from the moment they were born, just so they will serve their wicked masters.

--------------

Fighting a Mûmakil on foot is not an ideal situation…to say the least. Their most dangerous weapons are their massive feet, which can crush an Elf or Man-sized body in one step, and their massive tusks; the higher set can sweep an entire regiment of cavalry away with one fell pass - the Haradhirm usually put spikes on these tusks for further damage - and the lower set - wickedly sharp - can skewer three men upon them each with ease. Of course, these natural defences are also coupled with the fact that the Haradhirm feed them something that makes their breath foul as death, enough so to weaken any opponent that catches it and, of course, the regiment of archers they usually carry in baskets on their back. Defeating a Mûmakil sounds far easier than it actually is, but it is the same principle if one is on foot or if one is on horse-back. First, at least one archer is useful - though not strictly necessary, I suppose - to shoot the trainer who steers the beast, and then systematically take out the other archers on its back; other soldiers need either heavy or very fine-bladed weapons to either crush or cut the beast at its knees, forcing it to fall - this part is easier if mounted, for one still has to avoid the beast’s tusks and, more importantly, its feet. All remaining men will usually abandon the beast at that point, where they can be cut down like normal soldiers. Then, somehow, either by magics, arrows, blades or simply throwing dirt, the Mûmakil needs to be blinded, before a heavy blow is carefully directed to the centre of the head - directly between the ears - to collapse the skull and pierce the brain. Elegost calmly explained this all to us as he shot down the archers and we took turns carefully getting between the Mûmakil’s feet and slashing at its knees; where he had learnt it, I knew not, but it was a sound strategy and one the surviving members of the Rohirrim were employing on the Mûmakil around us. To that end, it was Elegost and Hadhod who proved most useful to us in that battle.

---------

I was alright, fighting the Mûmakil, keeping my true feelings about the battle hidden, until the beast collapsed to its knees and Elegost carefully shot out its eyes; it bellowed in pain, thrashing and bleeding in the dirt. The poor creature was near helpless. I could not watch as Hadhod leapt onto its head to deliver the final blow; but it heard it in all its clarity. I will not regale you with how it sounds to hear a massive hammer splitting open bone and forcing it into flesh. My stomach rebelled, emptying any sustenance I had been lucky enough to gain during the day, onto the blood-stained earth before me. I stumbled away and fell to my knees, arms wrapped tight around my-blood-and-gore-smeared-self and head bent, and began to sob openly. I could not do this anymore! I felt Thor’s strong hand on my shoulder, then he bent his knees and squatted before me.

“Rial,” he murmured softly. I could not meet his eyes. “Rial, look at me - it is okay. I was ill the first time I saw an innocent creature killed too. My father made me watch as slashed the neck of one of our horses that had broken a leg down a rabbit hole; he said something about it being a good lesson for me,” I looked up as he scowled, “all he did was traumatise a ten-year-old boy. And I had nightmares for weeks after my first battle, I was ill after every one.” He sighed heavily. “When my commander learnt it from my comrades, he hauled me into the infirmary after and showed me the wounded and dying on our side - I could not stand to be in there for more than a few moments. He followed me out and told me that I would see that multiplied a thousand times if I did not defend myself and my realm. He also told me to remember that our enemies have families too, that will go through the same thing and have the same tents as we did where they tend to their wounded and where women weep over their lost men, and that, wherever possible, to kill cleanly and with honour and, wherever possible, to show mercy - but not to be foolish about it. Rial, if we showed mercy to the Mûmakil, they would mow us down - it is what they have been trained to do; it is not right and it is not fair, but it is the way of things. You know that. The best we can do to make it right is to kill as honourably and cleanly as possible, to prevent more needless deaths on either side. That is the best I can do. If you wish to leave here, I will not try to stop you, but we need you, Rial - we have no one who can do what you do; and I need you, you are my strength - I love you.” He pulled me into his arms and held me tightly. “Do not take this the wrong way, I know you are not like the other women I have known, who faint at the sigh of blood, but I wish I could spare you this,” he whispered into my ear, “I would do anything for that.” Valar, how I wanted to run - to run and never stop until the screams left my head. We had run our blades through Orc, Haradhirm and Nazgûl; we had caused more death on that field then I had seen in over two millennia and still we caused more death. I knew, in my heart, that the deaths of Orcs and evil Men should not bother me so; but the sound and feel of blade meeting bone and the sickening screams of the wounded and dying were almost too much for me. Valar, how I did wish to be anywhere but where I was…except, perhaps, at the Battle of the Last Alliance, watching so many of my kin fall, screaming and writhing in agony. It was that image which brought me back to myself, that purpose; if I should endure this, then no more would have to die and if my innocence - such a strange word for a being who has lived over 2000 years to use! - was spoilt for it, then such a small price it was.

“I know you would,” I replied softly to Thor, “but I will fight. I will fight now, for my people, I will fight, so that no more will have to go through this.” He nodded against my shoulder, then pulled me to my feet and offered me his canteen to wash my mouth. I slowly turned and fixed my eyes on the dead beast, then whispered a prayer to the Valar before I joined Berethor at the head of our group once more and we kept on. And if tears stained my cheeks as we ran across the Fields of the Pelennor, and prayers passed freely from my lips, then they were the least of a gift I could give to the dead and dying…indiscriminate of race.

-----------

We finally found ourselves in the midst of Theoden’s forces, just as a Black Rider swooped down upon them, knocking the Rohirric king to the ground. His horse fell upon him and he yelled in pain as the weight of the beast crushed him. The Fell Beast landed and its Rider hissed in satisfaction.

“Feast on his flesh!” it hissed to its Beast. I then realised we were dealing not only with a Nazgûl, but that the Witch-King himself had returned. Dread pooled in my belly and I knew suddenly and unequivocally this would be our last meeting with him - for good or ill. We ran toward Théoden and the Witch-King, but it was plain we would not arrive in time to stop the Beast from feeding. Suddenly, a soldier that was next to Théoden wheeled his horse and held high his sword.

“I will kill you if you touch him!” she declared - it was Lady Éowyn! The Fell Beast lunged forward at her, but she managed to dodge it - I do not know how - and raised her sword; in a few blows she had hacked off the beast’s head. The Witch-King screamed his fury and leapt from his dead beast to face the Lady Éowyn! Fortunately, by that point we were close enough to leap into the battle also. Éowyn was an incredible fighter - her wrath kept her on her feet where many others would have fallen. My powers were the only thing that kept my own party up. I did not know how the battle was going to end, for it is said that no man can kill the Witch-King and, so, there was no way to defeat him. Being female, I should have known better. The moment we saw him faltering, we cried out in elation and pressed our attack.

“You fools! No man can kill me!” the Witch-King hissed. The spirits of our party fell - for all we knew, that was true enough. It was Lady Éowyn who was furious enough to overcome this. She pulled her helm from her head and snarled:

“I AM NO MAN!” before driving her sword home into the Witch-King’s breast. There was a horrible shriek and we all fell to our knees, clamping our hands over our ears as the Witch-King seemed to flow away into the breeze like so much dust. Lady Éowyn fell, clutching her sword-arm, and lay unconscious on the field. I checked her - she was still alive! - but I could not waken her. Théoden was dead, crushed beneath his horse. At that moment, a horn sounded - a desperate call from Éomer, now King of the Rohirrim, for aide. We could not afford to stay with Éowyn, but without someone to tend her, she would die too. At that moment, a Hobbit of all creatures crawled out from under the body of the Nazgûl - I knew him as one of the original Fellowship.

“Go help King Éomer,” he wheezed, “I will look after Lady Éowyn.” I nodded and left him my healing gear.

“Éomer is now King of Rohan!” Berethor cried to those soldiers still around us, “we must aide him!” We charged off once again into the battle.

-----------------

More Orcs, more Haradhirm, more Mûmakil; they all eventually fell before us, as we fought our way to Éomer’s side. The screams and blood affected me less now; I did not truly know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Thor told me latter that Men call it battle-shock, and that I was lucky my hands had not started shaking, and I had not started raving. All of us were feeling it a little after Theoden’s death and Éowyn’s defeat of the Witch-King. Honestly, it all seems somewhat surreal to me; I do not really remember what happened between that point, and when King Aragorn leapt from the Corsair boats with the Dead behind him. I seem to remember something about a battle against two Mûmakil at the same time, but I do not think that true - it must have just been two battles close together - surest it is not possible for an unmounted party of six to defeat two Mûmakil at the same time.

---------

When we were joined by King Aragorn, the battles became easier; Aragorn would simply call to the Dead, and enemies would fall before us - nothing can stand before the Armies of the Dead. We were merciless, but at least their deaths were quick and relatively painless. We swept across the fields - a tide of death before us - and nothing stood in our way. This was the other side of killing, I guess, the power and glory that comes with sweeping aside your enemies like so much trash. As soon as I realised it, this feeling made me feel as ill as the others had. Yet what was I to do? Aragorn must have noticed, for he approached me and laid a hand upon my shoulder.

“War is never right,” he said, “and I feel as uneasy about this as you do. Yet would it be better to leave our peoples to their ‘tender mercies’?” He shook his head. “We fight for those who cannot and we fight so others do not have to. If they had an advantage as we now have, they would not hesitate to use it - you must remember that. And be glad you do not feel easy, killing should never feel easy.” I smiled weakly at him. Legolas came to me when Aragorn had left.

“Warriors us both, cowards us both,” he proclaimed, “they do not rightly understand - it is not the blood or the gore. I was ill after I saw the destruction at Isenguard and the faces of those I have killed parade before my eyes every time I close them. However, Aragorn is correct - they would show us no mercy if our position were reversed. We fight for a better tomorrow, Rial.” I was glad to finally speak to someone who understood.

“Hannon le, gwador,” I replied. Legolas gave a tired smile.

“While I much preferred being ‘melethron nín’ to you, I shall settle for that, gwathel nín.” He kissed my forehead before we ran on.

--------------

We found victory on that field, in company of the King. It came upon us slowly, really, and no one realised it until our swords were suddenly still and no more enemies faced us. Mithrandir was on the field, and he bowed his head to Aragorn when we saw them. The poor King just looked exasperated. Out of our group, it was Morwen who realised our situation first.

“We won,” she whispered softly, incredulously almost. “WE HAVE WON!” she suddenly cried out joyfully. “WE HAVE VICTORY! WE HAVE W-!” A Nazgûl had appeared behind her as she yelled ecstatically, and cut her down - it put a blade right through her stomach. She fell, gurgling, her speech interrupted. The rest of us cried out in horror.

“No!” Berethor and I both shrieked. The Úlairë laughed - that sickening, hissing, gurgling sound that I had come to revile.

“I have claimed her,” he said. “She is ours. Our King may be no more, but eight others remain on this field, you fools!” It turned to face Thor. “Now we end what we began along the road so many moths ago!” I saw Berethor’s fury rise and he lifted his blade and stepped forth. He stood before them, blade raised to guard, the Úlairë standing before him, their own blades raised. I watched in horror as he challenged them and struck. ‘Fool!’ my mind cried. ‘Run! You cannot fight them.’ Then I suddenly realised that, no, it was not again that day so long ago when we had first met. We had allies now and we were strong - we had killed their King, we could defeat them!

“You will not have her! You will not have my gwathel!” Aragorn followed us, lending his aide to the battle. If I had have thought about what I had named Morwen in that moment, I might have been horrified, but I realised afterward that it was true. All these people with men had become my gwethil and gwadir, except one, who was now my husband - they were my family and I would not let anything happen to them. With that cry, I urged the others forth to Berethor’s line. They shrank before our fury and we destroyed them, one by one, letting none of them escape this time. As soon as it was safe, Aragorn went to Morwen and placed his hands upon her.

“I shall not fail,” he murmured and then, drawing upon some innate power, he revived her. Eaoden ran to her, headless of where we were and who was around him.

“Eaoden?” she murmured softly. The Rohirric outrider clutched her close, sobbing softly. “Do not cry, my love, I am well.” She wiped the tears from his cheeks. Berethor and I helped them to their feet, and then we all turned to Aragorn and fell to one knee each before him.

“How may we thank you?” each of us asked, our words almost perfectly in synchronisation. Aragorn laughed and shook his head. He approached Berethor and pulled him to his feet, then motioned the rest of us to rise.

“You, my friends, bow to no one,” he said, then took a knee before us, before rising again moments later.

“How may this be answered, my lord?” Eaoden ventured. Aragorn gave us an almost feral smile.

“We gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate,” he answered simply, “perhaps it may buy Frodo the time he needs. Otherwise, all our efforts here were for naught.”

-----------------------------

Translations:

Gwador - sworn (rather than a biological) brother

Melethron nín - my (male) lover

Gwathel nín - my sworn sister

Úlairë - Nazgûl, Black Rider

Gwethil - sworn sisters

Gwadir - sworn brothers

Epilogue

So, this is a faithful narrative of our tale, just as you requested, dear sir, to add to The Book. Well do you and all other scions of the Fourth Age know the ending, so I will not bother recounting it. However, do not trust too closely to what the tale-spinners say, I know there is a persistent rumour that we climbed to the top of Black Tower and ‘struck at the Enemy with weapons of light and grace’ - I most faithfully tell you that that did not happen. We went nowhere near the top of the Tower. The only one who was even close was Frodo and, of course, Samwise, and they hardly carried ‘weapons of light and grace.’

--------

Though I have enjoyed our correspondence, my dear sir, I regret to tell you that you shall hear no more of me after this letter, nor shall you hear anymore from Lord Legolas or King Gimli. May I suggest, if you need more sources, you take whatever our descendants offer you with a grain of salt, as they tend to like embellishing their parents’ deeds. My law-son, King Eldarion might be the best source, for he is usually truthful; ignore what Queen Illiri says - she is my daughter and feels the need to embellish her mother and father’s deeds well beyond what Berethor and I actually did. Ours was no great love story of the ages, I fear. As for my son - the Chief Adviser to the King ought to have a reputation for truthfulness, but I fear also that everyone loves a good tale, and Elrayon is one of the best tale-spinners of them all.

-----------

Now that is over with, I will answer your other questions, though I could proclaim to find them mildly offensive. I am not Legolas’ consort, despite what the rumours say, and we are not secretly married. He was never married, though I know he took consorts to his bed on occasion - that is his business and not mine. Yes, after Berethor passed, I did take up residence in Ithilien with him and became joint ruler of his realm; it was more because I wanted for the companionship of one of my own race, rather than another body - I could have found those readily enough, had I wished - I wanted someone who would understand. But, and let me make this clear to you, Berethor is long dead and though I loved him with all my heart, it is none of your business what he and I do in private. In any case, it will matter little from now on. Let me tell you this, though, we are not running away together - please do not let history recount it that way. I believe I can trust you, my dear sir, so allow me to tell you this in strictest confidence - it is not to be repeated to anyone! Those else who ought to know already do. For many moths, Legolas, Gimli and I have been working to build a boat - yes, I decided to see if my sire’s wood-crafting skills were latent in me - and we are sailing to Valinor. We will be the last to leave Middle-Earth - no one will follow us. Let me now offer my final farewell, to you, my dear, for I have farewelled all others who I ought. So, farewell, and I hope that your family continues on well into the ages.

----------------------

Lady Idrial of Ithilien put down her quill and, taking up her signet ring, sealed the letter with wax and her imprint. She laid it in the middle of the desk so it would be noticed by her maids. She glanced out the window and saw night had now fallen fully - it was time. Predictably, there was soon a knock at the door and it opened.

“Are you ready to leave?” the person who had entered asked, coming up behind her and stroking one of her now-silver braids fondly through his fingers. “I trust you told him we were not lovers…much to my continuing discontentment.” She glanced up at him with a wry smile and a chuckle.

“Neither of us would betray Berethor like that,” she replied. Legolas smiled and nodded. “And I am almost done, give me a moment, there is one more thing I must do.”

“Of course,” he replied. Idrial picked up her quill again and, dipping it in the ink a final time, she wrote upon the outside of the letter - Master Gamgee, Bag End, The Shire.

Finis

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Lord of the Rings Fanfiction

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Idrial’s Quest

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