The leaves above her swayed eerily, whispering age old secrets. Her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword Morcrist, her knuckles whitening. ‘There is no need to worry Alarielle, you are perfectly safe in my company.’ Thoronthol said, turning and giving a smile of reassurance.
They had been tracking for some time, the northern guards had reported seeing a large beast tearing down trees. It was too fast to distinguish what it was, but it was quite large.
Thoronthol and the maiden guard of Thranduil, were renowned for their courage and skill. Thoronthol had seen it fit, to take the maiden guard down to were the beast was reported to be seen, ‘a fine chance for you to tighten your sword skill.’ he had said, as many of the maids used bow and arrow.
So far, they had heard, nor seen anything of this beast, until a sharp rustling was heard to the left. Thoronthol put arrow to string nearly in unison with the sound, and the guard clenched their swords in charging position. Many did this clumsily, for they had little experience with a blade.
Alarielle held hers perfectly, all fear and doubt now drained from her. A pair of large yellow eyes peered at the elves, bright as a brass pin against the dark undergrowth. A low growl emitted, shaking the shrubs around.
It was then that it leapt, straight for Thoronthol, he dodged, the claws raking his shoulder. He gritted his teeth in pain as he fell to the ground, the healer, Elbrethil running to his side.
It now stood, easily 3 feet tall on all four legs, growling. It was a large grey wolf. The maiden guard charged, blades positioned towards it’s chest. Alarielle dropped Morcrist, ‘No! Stop! This creature will do no harm!’ She ran toward the front line, spreading her arms to protect the wolf.
A single blade tip nicked her shoulder, and welled up quickly.
‘Alarielle, move! This creature must be slain!’ Narelda yelled.
‘No. I will not be moved. I know this wolf, my mother called him in times of need, in many battles did he save me and my kin. You will not slay him.’ Puzzled faces looked at her, as she knelt down, and in a strange tongue, spoke to him:
‘Mithdraug. Tis I, Alarielle, daughter of Mornentari.’
‘Alarielle? Why, I have not seen you for many a year, you are still as fair as I remember.’ Mithdraug said, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
Long they spoke, until Alarielle turned to the elves and told them of how she and her mother were wolf-callers, they had the ability to speak in the wolf tongue, and in battle, the mighty beasts would aid her kin. They sat, intrigued by this tale. They traveled back to Thranduil’s halls, Alarielle riding Mithdraug, her golden hair flowing behind like a carpet of sun rays upon the fields of corn.
‘So, maiden of Lothlorien, a wolf caller you are, and highly skilled in the use of a sword, as well as bow. I have a mind to send you back to your homeland, not for rest, but for aid to travelers who have been seen, heading toward the fair land. Will you go?’
‘Why of course! To see the land of which I was born again, I would truly love. I will go me lord.’
And so, taking up arms, and mounting a fine elven steed, with Mithdraug running beside, Alarielle and Elbrethil, rode to the fair kingdom of the lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn the wise, their hearts warmed and their spirit lightened.