The night air was full of promise for Alarielle as she rode beside Mithdraug. A golden smile was upon her lips, and her grey eyes glistened with happiness and excitement.
She had not been beyond the borders of her homeland since many a year ago, but still, the golden leaves, and silver trees, shone in her mind. She could still hear the ring of silver-stringed harps, and golden flutes, echo through the fair land of Lorien. As she rode on, dreaming of her home, a voice disturbed her thought.
”Me lady? What thoughts are in your mind? You have been riding as if in a waking dream.”
The voice was that of Elbrethil, and as Alarielle turned to her, the elf laughed.
”Why do you laugh?” even as Alarielle said this, a laugh attempted to escape her lips.
”I laugh because your face is so bright and gay! It is that of a mischievous faery!”
Alarielle frowned, she disliked faeries. As a young elf-maid, one had destroyed her mothers silver circlet, decorated with rich green leaves. Alarielle had drove the creature off, hoping it would leave the haven of Lothlorien, and return to it’s own home. She had wept all night. But she would not allow this to ruin her happiness.
”I suppose I do a little!”
Beside her, Mithdraug halted suddenly, his grey ears rising in alert. Elbrethil and Alarielle were unaware of him, until he called to Alarielle.
Turning, the elves saw a look of shock and awe upon the wolf’s face. He was now still as stone, every now and then raising his nose to the air. His eyes widened even more.
”What is it?” cried Alarielle alarmed, and with one swift call he cried:
”ORCS!! And many of them! I’d say at least two-hundred!”
The horses, hearing Mithdraug, screamed, and reared up, Elbrethil’s horse sending her toppling to the ground with a thud. Swiftly climbing back upon the horse, the elves whispered soothing words into the horse’s ears.
But then, Alarielle felt far from soothed.
Upon the brink of the hill they had been ascending, a thick black line appeared, like a dark ribbon draped over a cloth of green. Alarielle could hear their harsh cries as they stopped on the crown of the hill.
She heard a faint sound beside her, and turned to see Elbrethil drawing her bow.
She strung an arrow, and in the blink of an eye, she had let it fly. Thwack! Hitting it’s target square in the forehead, killing the creature instantly.
But before Alarielle could reply, the dead orc was being stared at by many foul eyes.
Then the eyes turned in the direction of the elves.
With a sharp, jagged wail, the Chieftain raised his scimitar, and advanced toward them, his soldiers following.
Realizing her mistake, Elbrethil moaned in expiration and woe.
The orcs were upon them as swift as foxes, swinging their weapons at the elven steeds.
One orcs brought his scimitar in a wide arc down on the shoulder of Alarielle’s horse. He cried, and fell with Alarielle.
She pulled him away as far as she could, saving him from the cruel blades of the orcs.
Elbrethil had leapt of her horse, and he had sped of to a safe distance. Alarielle watched in awe, as Mithdraug leapt suddenly into the air, easily 7 feet up. Baring his teeth, he landed upon four orcs, crushing them with his great weight.
A group of the creatures attempted to hack Mithdraug, but he was to fast, and with great ease he brought them down as fast as they came.
Alarielle drew her blade and sped into the fray crying: ‘A Elbereth Gilthoniel!”
Her keen blade Tilmenel felled many orcs, and the number decreased rapidly. Though then, she saw, over the hill, another group of orcs appear.
She hurriedly looked around for the maiden. With no prevail.
Mithdraug joined her.
“More! Where have they come from! And why are they traveling east?”
A thought dawned in Alarielle’s mind.
“The black land. They are gathering for the war.”
Mithdraug’s face fell, as more black creatures surrounded them.
Once again they separated and felled the orcs.
As Alarielle was in combat, a sharp, stinging pain ran down her back.
She turned and an orc brought his blade down again, but she stopped it, her shoulder burning.
It was then that a cry rose up.
She hacked through, and caught sight of Elbrethil, the Orc Chieftain standing over her.
Running with great pain but urgency, she stood behind him.
Elbrethil raised her hand to her face as the orc brought his blade down.
Alarielle plunged her sword into the creature’s back.
He howled, falling to the left of Elbrethil, who jumped to her feet.
A horn call rang thought the air as they continued fighting.
At first, Alarielle thought it to be an Orc horn, but it was too fair and soft.
She recognized the call from her younger years, when the protectors of Lothlorien’s borders, would march out to the aid of others.
The orcs started to retreat, as they too recognized the horn call.
Still, the elves were swifter and more cunning, and no sooner had they started to retreat, they were brought down my keen elven bows, and sharp blades.
Alarielle’s vision blurred. Her hearing was muffled, and she could only faintly hear the kind words of Elbrethil, calming her and cleaning the wound to her back as best she could.
The she heard another sound beside her, a deeper voice than any elf-maid. It was that of Haldir’s.
“Lady Alarielle. Lady Alarielle.”
He said something else, but she couldn’t make it out, her senses were blurred out by the burning pain of her shoulder.
At last, with brilliant relief, she sank into unconsciousness.
* * * * * * * * * *
Alarielle opened her eyes, and the scene she saw brought her up with great speed.
She was now sitting on a soft bed of green moss, with a thin sheet of linden leaves, draped about her legs. The air was refreshing and sweet, and smelt like happiness had never forsaken this place. Yet still, sorrow had entered here, and to some, the pain of it still lingered.
In the distance she could hear the faint ring of silver bells, and water falling upon stone.
She instantly knew where she was; Lothlorien. The Heart of the Beauty and Wisdom, of courage and age old peoples. The ones who still remembered the fair days, before darkness had come.
She knew she would never forget this fair place, everyone who entered the fair realm, would have the imprint of beauty upon them forever.
She remembered running gaily along the paths, and singing by the stream. Of her mother and father, and of the first time she had seen that who is fairest.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Elbrethil running to her side and crying with glee.
“Alarielle! Your awake! I thought the worst after the battle”
Alarielle then recalled the ambush with the orcs. She felt the pain sear through her back as the cruel scimitar cut through her back. She raised her hand to the place it had struck. Now, it was covered by a soft cloth of white, she could barely feel it, and it’s very being there, soothed away the pain.
“What happened after I fell. Tell me everything”
Elbrethil told Alarielle this:
“While Haldir and his company were marching to northern Mirkwood, they heard the drums of the Orcs, they must have gathered from the Misty Mountains, and where traveling east to The Black Land.
They turned of course to see what was happening, just about the time, that I fired the arrow.
They saw the orcs advance on us, and at first did not see us.
While the orcs where bothering about us two, Mithdraug charged through to meet Haldir.
He told them that,”
“Wait a minute. Mithdraug told them. How?”
“Haldir had Tilfalas with him”
“Tilfalas! Why, my old friend from Lothlorien?!”
“Yes, he’s a messenger from Mirkwood now, he left a hundred years after you did.
He’s under the service of Lord Thranduil.”
Alarielle smiled with Elbrethil, “Carry on”
“Yes, well, hearing that you and I needed help, they took up arms and descended the hill. Apparently, more orcs were coming every minute. That’s why it took so long for them to reach us, they were slowed down by more orcs.
When they did find us, they asked me where you where. I told them how you had slain the Chieftain, and you must have been pulled away by the rabble, then you fell, and I found you.
I tried to clean your wound, but my supplies had run low during the battle. It was then that Haldir came to us. They fought of most of the orcs, the others retreated south.”
Alarielle sighed. “At last. I am once again under the leaves of Lothlorien, my homeland.”
For the rest of the day, Alarielle walked as if in a dream among the Mallorn and the Linden Trees.
She sat upon Cerin Amroth and gazed upon the stars, shining brightly among a shroud of deep black.
Their mother, the Moon, shone a creamy white, and lit the earth with an ethereal light.
A hand lay upon her shoulder.
“Alarielle. You are needed in the high flets.”
“So soon? I wished to remain her for awhile.”
“I am sorry. I too share your wishes, but the Lady and Lord need to speak with you.”
Alarielle gasped and stood up.
“Lady Galadriel, and Lord Celeborn? I will be there shortly. Long it has been since I laid eyes on the fairest rulers of Middle Earth.”
She walked off toward her chambers, and Haldir left in the direction of the High Flets.
Alarielle clad herself in a shimmering gown of pale green, as fair as the leaves of Lorien it was, and with every movement, it rustled as if made with leaves.
She braided her raven coloured hair, and turned to see Elbrethil standing in the door. She was garbed in a blue gown with a silver hem, and silver cuffs. Her hair, which was golden, was in one long braid down her back.
She curtsied, and laughed.
“Have you ever seen the Lady of light, Elbrethil?”
“No, though I have heard many tales of her.”
“The tales and song fall utterly short of her real beauty. Her image will never leave you.”
And with those words, they left the chambers, and headed to the High Flets.