Chapter 13: The Battle of Elves and of Wolves
The Sun rose high and bright. Frodo was first to wake. He opened his eyes and noticed Anarie sleeping peacefully in the big, comfortable chair. He got up, walked over to the sleeping fairy, and brushing away a loose lock of hair, kissed her lightly on her warm cheek; he smiled as Elrond and Celebrian came in.
“They are dangerous! We cannot fight them right now! Who knows how many are there.” Said Elrond. Frodo’s smile turned into a frown at those words.
“I know, but if we do not do something quick, the Dark Elf might mar Aman and we cannot risk another grief like that. Enough was done by Melkor, accursed be his name!” Argued Celebrian, as she came in carrying a tray of food. She set it on a bedside table and looked at the fear stricken Frodo.
“It’s a miracle to see you awake!” she said. “But I see that you are still not
Before she could finish, Frodo interrupted:
“Do not tell me that, that the Dark Elf is near!”
“Not yet, but before you start worrying, you need to eat, for you have not eaten for many days. After you have refreshed yourself, I will come and see your hurts.” Said Celebrian.
“You do not have to! I have watched you many times, and you need rest, Lady.” Said Anarie, as she woke up startling Frodo. The Elves smiled and left hand in hand. Frodo and Anarie ate in silence; each remembering the words said last night. Finally, when they had finished Frodo sat up.
“Gandalf told me there will be no trouble here,” he said sorrowfully. Anarie looked at him with pity.
“There is nothing that you can do right now; you are hurt and in need of rest. Here, let me see any progress.” Said Anarie as Frodo put his empty plate back onto the tray and lay down with a sigh of relief. Anarie took off the wrappings on Frodo’s chest and clenched her jaw when she saw the wound. She bathed it in warm water, but Frodo winced and whimpered in pain even more. Then Anarie took the athelas leaves that were fresh brought this morning, placed them over the scars and bandaged them.
“Frodo, do you remember what I said last night?” asked Anarie.
“Of course!” he answered. “Yet, it seemed more like a dream.” Anarie was about to kiss him on the lips, when Gandalf came in.
“Ah, you are finally awake!” he said, as Frodo’s face beamed with joy to see the Wizard. Gandalf came and embraced the Hobbit.
“Gandalf, I thought you and all the others were dead! What happened? Where’s Bilbo?” asked Frodo, but Gandalf frowned.
“We thought you were dead.” He said. Then he sighed, but Frodo could feel the tremble in his voice. “Frodo, this might be a heavy blow to your heart, as it was to ours, but—” then he stopped.
“Where’s Bilbo?” Frodo demanded, shaking a bit.
“He’s gone, Frodo. He died the morning after the Swan Ship foundered.” Answered Gandalf quietly and quickly. Frodo sat motionless, as is face turned pale as rivers of tears streamed down his dry cheeks, his complexion became wrought with pain and horror and he shook.
“I couldn’t even say goodbye,” he sobbed. “He didn’t even see the wonders that I saw. I feel so guilty that I was so happy, while he was not.” Then Frodo burst into tears. Elrond, Galadriel, Glorfindel and Haldir came in quietly.
“Mithrandir, you did not have to say that right now; he was in no condition to face this.” Hissed Elrond sharply though clenched teeth. Gandalf sat by Frodo and embraced him. The Hobbit buried his face in the shimmering cloak and everyone could see his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. Then, he sobbed even louder and began choking on his own tears. Elrond and the others watched in grief.
“He should know this.” Said Gandalf quietly.
“Nothing could be done for him, Frodo. He sat on a rock the whole time, facing the Sea, awaiting you. We all thought you drowned, since the Elves who searched on land found naught. In the morning he was gone.” Said Elrond, finally admitting the truth.
“I feel that somehow, this is my fault,” said Frodo and then, being both weary and stricken with grief, he lay down and closed his eyes. “I shall not find peace here. Ever since I set sail from the Havens, I knew my life would change, but I did not intend this.” He said again bitterly, furrowing his brows.
“Don’t say that, Frodo!” cried Anarie in distress.
“Elrond, I think we had best leave. We did all we could. He needs to be let alone.” Said Gandalf and with the others departed. Haldir was the last to leave and he looked at Frodo and shook his head. Anarie came and sat on the bed.
“Frodo, you cannot be sorrowful through your entire life. I will help you in any way if you just let me. We must continue our lives, together.” Whispered Anarie. Frodo sat up and Anarie pulled him close to her. Frodo’s head lay on her shoulder and she felt his falling tears; the seemed cold and she shivered at their icy touch. Then suddenly, he embraced her tightly and she did the same. Frodo spoke in his own small voice:
“You’re right; Bilbo always used to say `the road goes ever on and on’ and now it’s more true than ever before. How I miss him! But now, I must leave him and continue with you, while this world lasts.” He smiled. Anarie smile back and kissed him warmly on the lips as she intended to do, before Gandalf came in. “What do you say to a walk through the Gardens of Healing?” asked Frodo. But the fairy puckered her brows.
“Are you certain that you are up to that? This is, after all, only the second day of your awakening, and your wounds still bring you great discomfort.” She said.
“Well, if you shan’t join me, then they shall.” Frodo replied with a soft smile. Anarie helped him out of bed and the two walked out the glass doors that led to the Gardens.
There was only one paved path running through the entire enclosed oasis of lush flowerbeds, teeming with bright colours. Young and fair trees that threw green shadows over the lane and white petals circled in the light breezes. Amid the luscious greenery, a white wall could be seen, overhung with age-old mosses, vines and overhung with old birches and willows. Many birds were singing with cheerful and charming voices that followed one after another. And sometimes, a stunningly beautiful bird would descend from the trees and swoop up again with an array of dazzling colours.
There were many fountains standing among tiled plateaus, reached by green stairs, or under white arches and gazebos that were infested with velvet mosses and tiny, star-like flowers. The sound of the water was sweet and soothing; rippling down into basins, or through small trenches as a clear stream. The whole orchard was filled with a fragrant and intoxicating scent, melting even the hardest and most grieved heart. And as soon as Frodo stepped onto the path, he felt light, refreshed and free of pain.
Coming up a few steps, the fairy and hobbit found a whitewood gazebo that stood upon a stony platform, in a clearing surrounded by exotic flowers and young, flowering trees. The summerhouse wasn’t very large, but it was perfect in every way and beautiful. Carved by the crafty skill of the Teleri and Noldor that lived in Tirion, it glowed with a warm light that seemed unnaturally reminiscent, and the roof was twined with slender green vines with yellow, star-shaped flowers peeking amidst the greenery.
Inside the gazebo was a stand, carved in the likeness of a majestic sea animal, leaping forth from the waves, and upon its head was a silver dish, with cool and clear water. There was one wooden bench and flowerpots all around the perimeter of the gazebo. It looked very heavenly and peaceful and the aromatic smell filled the hobbit’s lungs until he felt lighter than a feather. Frodo took Anarie’s hand and sat down, pulling her closer to him. She sat with her head resting against his shoulder.
This was how Frodo always imagined his stay in the Undying Realm would be: peaceful, gardens; beauty and serenity everywhere he turned, Elves here, Elves there, constant sunlight, and an overall life of relaxation and comfort from his weary journeys. But apparently, the road he trod upon to get to this place, twisted around a sharp turn right from the start.
He looked down at the dreaming Fairy, who had, so unexpectedly, changed his life. He ran a gentle hand through her golden hair, and looked beyond her. Immediately, he saw what Haldir had always wished for: a mallorn tree—in fact, many mallorn trees! A whole grove! And the thought of recommending this wonderful place to the Lorien Elf, came to his mind; a gentle wind brushed past his face.
Of course, his comfort was short-lived when he felt watchfulness about him. The tense feeling that not everything was blissful came upon him, as a shiver ran down his spine, and every hair on his neck stood out. His head shot to look behind him, but as he focused his senses, he could see nothing. Nor any feeling of immediate danger; but he grew wary and that destroyed all the homely feelings he had before. It was terrible pain, waking the fairy from her quiet slumber.
“I think it is time we headed back,” he whispered. The Fairy looked at him with surprise.
“Why ever should we? I like it here.” She lay back against his shoulder. Again the Hobbit cast a searching look behind him once more, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“Though this garden is unarguably one of the best in Tirion, I feel rather dizzy from all summer haze.” The Hobbit had to think of a lie that would attract the Fairy’s attention. Anarie sat up and looked at Frodo’s face; he looked ill.
As they started to walk back down the road, Frodo looked behind him for the last time. His heart nearly stopped at what he saw—or thought he saw: a dark form was perched upon the overshadowed, white wall that encircled the garden, but as soon as Frodo looked at it, it melted back into the dense greenery.
Frodo lay down and Anarie kissed him on the forehead.
“You need plenty of rest, and I wouldn’t want either of us to get into trouble for not keeping you in bed. I shall go out some more.” she smiled.
“I would that you do not,” said Frodo. Anarie straightened up and looked at him questioningly. “Leastways, do not walk alone.”
“Oh, Frodo, you’re such a worry-hobbit!” laughed the Fairy. “After what you’ve been through, of course you’d think that danger awaits you around every corner.” Frodo cast her a worried look. “Oh, all right,” sighed Anarie rolling her eyes. I’ll be back for supper.” She left the room and was heading towards the main entrance, when she heard Celebrian’s raised voice in the great, open-walled hall. There were several others in the room also. She stopped short and listened.
“We have to prepare for battle, before he can send anyone to assail us.” She said.
“We do not know how many are there of his kind. It’s too dangerous.” Said Elrond again.
“But there is great evil in the sacred Mountains of the Pelori!” protested Celebrian.
“Well, we have to agree on something!” said a voice deeper than the others. Anarie supposed it was Gandalf’s.
“Celebrian is right,” said a second voice that sounded like silver bells. “This land already faced many troubles. This has to stop if it can be stopped. He is Eol, the dark Elf, who shunned the Noldor and blamed them for the return of Melkor; most of all he hated the sons of Feanor. I know this, because he once dwelt in Doriath. We have to stop him before he does anymore damage!”
“I have to agree with Galadriel,” said Gandalf.
“But while Frodo is sick we cannot assail him. If we do, this Eol will send his servants here and his first thought will be to eliminate him, for he will think him a traitor!” said Celebrian.
“Celebrian, does Tirion have any good scouts? We could send them to study the movements of Eol.” Asked Elrond.
“We do, and a fair amount, but we must still leave a great portion to defend the city.” She answered turning away from his gaze.
“Good, lets get started, but, Mithrandir, no word to Frodo must be spoken about this.” Said Elrond. Anarie had just enough time to run outdoors before Celebrian came out.
Frodo was about to sink into sleep, when he saw the Lady Celebrian walk astride with Haldir past his door. He called out and they came inside.
“What is it, little one?” asked the lady. She was totally unprepared for the reply.
“When you were coming back to Tirion nigh on three weeks ago, was there any chance that you were pursued?” asked Frodo. Celebrian looked at him and furrowed her brows.
“To tell the truth, I never thought of that.” She admitted. “Why does this concern you?”
“Anarie and I went to the Garden of Healing this morning, and we came back fairly quickly, because of the watchfulness that I felt and a shadow that I saw on its white wall. But then again, it could have been a trick of my mind and nothing more.” Said Frodo.
“But what if it wasn’t? What would you make of it?” Haldir voiced his concerns.
“One of two things: and intruder (one of Eol’s), or Eol himself.” Said Frodo.
This was not good. The Elves exchanged glances.
“But how could he have gotten into the city?” Celebrian didn’t realize her voice was steadily rising. “I know the White Guard of Tirion and they are Elves that live up to their word. They would not let a stranger pass the Gates unless they present themselves and tell what business brings them here. And surly, one such stranger as disheveled and dark as Eol would certainly be questioned or brought to Lord Finarfin.”
“What is he never came by the Gate?” questioned Haldir.
“Every entrance into the city—back, side and front—is guarded.” Replied Celebrian. “I would trust them with my life.”
“It doesn’t matter how he got into the City anymore,” said Frodo hanging his head. “What matters is that he is inside and Anarie is in danger if her curiosity has led her into the lonely and unprotected parts of the City.” Celebrian realized how right Frodo was.
“Then I would send after her,” she said.
“That won’t be necessary. Send rather an escort to see how she fares.” Recommended the Hobbit.
“Haldir, go and inform Mithrandir and the others of the menace that has come upon us. Tell every patrol and guard to keep their eyes open for anything unnatural.” Ordered the Elf Lady. They both then left and Frodo sunk into a deep and troubled dream.
The streets of Tirion were blissful and lush with trees. The road was wide and paved with many coloured stones. Fountains were everywhere she looked and the water sparkled in the late Sun, but if she gazed into one of the pools, she would not only see the brilliant Sun, but as well the stars. Then, Anarie saw a tree of magnificent size. Its petals were as flushing as the sunset and its bark was silver grey. She flittered into it and listened to the wind rustle its leaves.
There came a sound of soft footsteps from behind her, but turning around, she only saw two guards walking towards her, laughing and talking.
“‘Tis a wonderful day, is it not, Lady Anarie?” hailed the tallest one. Anarie nodded in satisfaction. “There have been whispers within the city of a menace that has come unbidden and unwelcome.” Their voices lowered, and Anarie sat up straight. Frodo was serious when he told her to not wander off alone. The Fairy felt foolish when she remembered how lightly she took Frodo’s warning.
“Is that so?” she turned to the Elves, trying to hide the bit of worry that crawled over her. “Well, I am quite content; nothing has come upon me, nor did I see anything that would alarm me.” She replied calmly. The Elves shrugged their shoulders and went on their way.
“Be on your guard, Fairy Maiden! You are a jewel like none other and surly one that would be desired by a lonely Elf.” They cried and laughed as they left. Blood rushed up the Fairy’s cheeks as she blushed at the comment. She finally lay back, and sighed deeply; the soft rustle of the leaves lulled her to sleep.
She woke up later than she thought: the sky was a dark blue and stars, were like eyes watching her. She gently dropped out of the tree and headed to Frodo, but she was stopped by a voice:
“You must be the one my servants told me about… I thought I would never see one with my own eyes, but it seems that the world is indeed full of wonders.” Then it stopped and chuckled, but it was a harsh sound. “And caught off her guard too. Most unfortunate and you least of all should be out alone, if you love that wretched imp. Tell me love, how is he? I would dearly love to know whether he is dead.”
“Whose there?” said Anarie, a bit frightened. She couldn’t see a thing in the deep gloom that surrounded her.
“Don’t you know who I am yet?” it asked, “I supposed that he would have told you. It was rude of him not to introduce me.”
“You’re that Dark Elf! You will not hurt Frodo or come near him!” cried Anarie, realizing the horrible danger that she was in now.
“So, he did tell you who I am! Pleasant to meet you too. But…” then he stopped and Anarie thought she heard a devilish laugh. “Why settle for silver, when I can have gold.” Anarie watched in horror as a tall figure appeared before her. Then, she saw a wild glint in what she thought were the eyes.
It came towards her with such speed and agility, that she had no time to run. It caught her by the waist and she lurched back. Then she was lifted mercilessly off the ground, by Elf’s iron-like hands. Anarie tried to squirm out, but to no avail: the monstrous Elf was nearly twice her size and many times that in strength. He laughed in his deep, cruel voice at the Fairy’s failing attempts to escape, but Anarie grew bold and slapped his right cheek hard with her slender fingers. He felt her raking nails draw blood and he gave a small cry letting go of Anarie. The Fairy did not hesitate when chance of escape was given to her, so she bolted away from the Elf as fast as she could, but not fast enough it seemed: the Elf was right behind her.
Before she could make it to the first turn on the road, his arms caught her again and wrenched her wrist cruelly. She fell to the ground in utter exhaustion; the pain was unbearable. He was slowly trying to wring her arm. Amid her sobs, Anarie gathered her last strength; she called out in a voice choked with tears:
“Frodo! Somebody! Help me! Frodo!” and that was all she remembered, before a savage blow knocked her out.
Meanwhile, Frodo was lying in bed, but his dreams were filled with pain and horror. He was sweating and calling out. Finally, he woke up; he sat up with a start, breathing hard, as beads of sweat dripped from his hair. Gandalf and Glorfindel rushed in.
“Frodo, are you all right? We heard you cry out.” They asked.
“Another nightmare,” he said wearily. “How long was it since I slept?” he asked, shaking a bit.
“You slept from late morning. Right now its two hours past sundown. What is it?” asked Gandalf.
“Anarie has not come back from her walk, did she?”
“No. Or should I say: I haven’t seen her. Why do you ask?” asked Gandalf again.
“I had a horrible dream; Gandalf, something terrible has happened to her. Can you send someone to search for her? I’m getting worried.”
“Alright, but how can you be sure?” Asked Glorfindel.
“I have a strong feeling that I am right,” said Frodo quietly. The Elf and the Wizard nodded slowly and left the room. As the two left, Frodo got up and stared out the window.
“What has happened to you, my dearest love?” he asked the shining Moon outside.
After many hours, the scouts came back and Gandalf went to Frodo, with a pained look.
“Frodo,” he said as he entered, “The scouts searched far and wide, but no trace could be found of her.” Frodo sat on the bed dismayed.
“Gandalf, she was caught,” Frodo stopped, looking down at the floor. “Eol or his foul servants took her away. Why didn’t I agree with Celebrian to send for her! And now she’s gone! I must go and look for her.” and with that he made a rush for the door, but Gandalf stepped in front of him and blocked the door.
“Let me through! I must find her!” cried Frodo. Elrond and many others came in when they heard the raised voice of Frodo.
“You are in no condition for such a perilous venture!” said Elrond.
“Elrond is right,” said Galadriel softly. “We lost Bilbo and we don’t want to lose you. You are not yet fully healed.” Frodo stopped. And clenched his fists. He could not go through by force, for these were his dear friends and he knew that they were staying him for his own good. He stood still and his face flushed with anger; he was breathing hard. He knew he was being very foolish and stubborn; his wounds began to throb again and he grimaced. Indeed, what sort of chance could he have, if the scouts of Tirion, who know more about this place than he, could not find her? It would be very unlikely that he would find her, before some other misfortune found him.
At length, a wild fire arose in Frodo’s heart and with a cry he made for the door. Gandalf, being reluctant to stop Frodo by force in the beginning, whispered to himself:
“May you forgive me for this, Frodo!” as he raised his staff and Frodo stopped dead in his tracks.
“Let me through!” he cried.
“No, Frodo, I cannot let you do that.” Said Gandalf as he commanded Glorfindel to take Frodo to his bed. He lay him down and at once, Frodo felt a great weakness. He made an effort to get up, but he was too weary. The others stood around him, watching in pity. Frodo clenched his jaws and tears welled in his eyes. Then, he spoke though his clenched teeth.
“Let me go!” he sobbed. “I must attempt to save her!” Galadriel left the room and soon came back with a cool, wet cloth and a hot, steaming drink. She placed the cloth on Frodo’s head to calm him down and pressed him to drink. In a matter of seconds, Frodo fell in a deep, troubled sleep.
“I did not expect that from a Hobbit!” said Elrond.
“Well, he is a Baggins and they are known for stubbournness,” said Gandalf, breathing a sigh of relief. “We will start a search first thing in the morning.” And they departed.
Frodo woke up early in the morning and rushed for the window. Thick mists enveloped the Gardens of Healing the City below. A cool morning breeze, fragrant from the flower gardens below the sill flittered into the room, filling it with the scent of everlasting spring, but the Hobbit didn’t feel refreshed by it. He looked up at the serenity of the garden: the velvet petals of roses, forget-me-nots, lilies, snapdragons and many other flowers Frodo was and wasn’t familiar with.
He watched as the silver dews glimmered upon the frail petals and buds of the, as the Sun desired to shine through the blankets of mist. He shook his head and came back to bed. The Hobbit lay down and stared at the ceiling. Anarie was gone and there was nothing anyone can do to save her. It was quite a long trek from Tirion on the caves of Eol, but Celebrian sealed the entrance, and the Dark Elf probably relocated elsewhere.
After about an hour, he heard the sound of many hooves galloping in different directions: the scouts were sent to look for the Fairy, but Frodo doubted they would find any heartening news. He felt lonely in the coolness of the morning; and lonelier at the thought that Anarie had committed her heart to the Hobbit, but now she was gone.
Involuntarily, tears came to the corners of his blue eyes. He tried sniffling them back, but couldn’t.
And so the Hobbit was for a weary week: he stayed in bed most of the time, and either gazed out the window with longing, or stared blankly at nothing. Scouts came back and reported nothing. They traveled all the way to the Mound of the Two Trees and saw naught that would relieve the Hobbit. And with each passing day, his condition worsened and worsened. The wounds on his chest ached and throbbed painfully; he was sick of the sorrows and worries that pursued him, and to think that he was so happy a week ago brought pain. His friends watched in distress.
Eventually, Frodo stopped eating, and tuned into a withered, pale, wraith-like little creature; the light in his eyes was extinguished.
Upon one Friday noon, Gildor Inglorion came into the Hobbit’s room. He looked with great pity upon the helplessness he saw before him: Frodo barely looked up to greet the tall Elf.
“Frodo I know why you seek solitude,” he began quietly. `But I think it is time to come out of the shadows.”
“Why?” asked Frodo wearily, looking into the wise eyes of the Elf. “The two that I had most deeply cared for are gone. Trouble and sorrow seemed to find a way into my heart even in this blessed land.”
“It was a grievous misfortune that this happened, and you know that if we had the power to reverse it, we would.” Said Gildor, laying a hand on the Hobbit’s shoulder, but Frodo cast his eyes down. “And I swear to you, the one who took away Anarie will pay dearly.” The Elf said it with such a surety and such bitterness, that he even clenched his fist. Frodo managed a small smile; the first one in a long time. “You cannot be mourning all your life,” said the elf-lord, crouching down. “We all know how much you loved the old fellow.
“It’s just that I came here too seek peace and rest, but as soon as I set foot here, things just went wrong. Am I doomed to an ill fate here also?” asked Frodo.
“Indeed no! But things happen and some are not always to our liking. Such is life,” replied the Elf and straightened up. “Now, I am afraid I am going to have to force you to eat something. You look thinner than a willow-whip!” Frodo accepted the offer gratefully, being in no mood to become stubbourn. He looked more hopefully across the sloping hill and towering mountains; but also a strong desire awoke in him to not wait any longer, and go in search of the Fairy himself.
Near midnight, Frodo wakened from his sleep. The room seemed cold and empty. Frodo made up his mind. He got up, shaking a bit, and walked over to a nearby chair. There he found his mithril shirt and Sting. He put the shirt on and fastened Sting at his side. Over that, he threw his Elven-grey cloak. He found the Phial of Galadriel on the table and, holding it aloft for guidance, quietly crawled out the window.
Frodo made his way stealthily into the stables and was greeted warmly by Aindule, who sprang to him and licked his cheek. The wolf sat down and Frodo went on his knees.
“Aindule,” he said glancing over his shoulder. “I need your help and speed now, more than I ever did before.” Aindule tilted her head in question. “I must disobey Celerian’s orders.” At that, Aindule turned her head away in discontent. “Aindule listen!” Frodo pleaded and still the wolf kept her head turned. “Please, I need to save Anarie from certain danger. If Luinil were lost, would you not go look for him? I know how much you love him and you know how much I love Anarie. Help me!” said Frodo, shedding a single tear. At length, Aindule looked Frodo straight in the eyes and curled up her lip in a smile of agreement. Frodo could not retain his joy. He embraced his friend as she went to Luinil. Aindule spoke to him though the eyes and soon, the blue wolf raised himself and walked to Frodo, who mounted Aindule; for Anarie was his tamer and she needed his help. Then they sped off into the night.
Frodo was glad for his grey raiment and for the soundless footfall of the wolves. After and quarter of an hour, they stopped for a short rest. The lights of Tirion were lost in the dark night and it was safe to dismount. The Hobbit stood and looked about. It was too dark to see anything and he shook his head in loss.
“This is hopeless and suicide, but Anarie needs my rescue and that’s what I am going to grant her, but without help, this is just hopeless.” He said, as he sat on the ground and cupped his chin is his palms. No sooner than he sat down, did Luinil and Aindule raise their melodious voices. Frodo sat in amazement: for he never heard wolf voices as fair and proud as this. Their music was like the sound of the Horn of Orome the Vala, but soon Frodo’s heart sank: for he though he heard other voices of like kind answer.
Frodo sat and stared into the night. The voices of Luinil and Aindule were endless and were raised many a time. Soon, Frodo could see small specks of light in the shrubs. He grew afraid and gave a little cry. Aindule heard him and came nearer. She nuzzled and looked at him with a reassuring glance, which plainly said `Do not worry, for help has come at your command.’ The eyes drew near and in a matter of minutes; Frodo could decipher the stealthy shadows of the other wolves. Very soon, they were all seated around the small, strange company. Frodo counted them with his eyes and was amazed at their number: one and twenty great beasts! Luinil spoke to them in wolf tongue, which was a mix of barks, yips and snapping jaws. At length, Frodo mounted again, for Luinil gave him a glance that all was ready and that all he had to do was lead them.
They were almost prepared to go, when a wolf barked and alarm. Frodo had to dismount and see what was the matter. As he came closer, he saw a small object in the ground. He leaned to pick it up and gasped; it was a shred of Anarie’s dress. He held it close and his tears fell on it. He slowly walked back to his wolf pack. Then he got an idea; he let Aindule sniff the piece of cloth and asked her:
“Can you track Anarie, by this scent?” Aindule sniffed the cloth and then the air. Then, she nodded and Frodo set out once again.
Arien, the maiden fated to guide the Sun, soon raised it above the Pelori Mountains and the Mansions of Varda and Manwe glowed upon Taniqeutil. In the early hours of morning, under the command of Gandalf, Haldir of Lothlorien and Glorfindel of the House of Elrond organized a search to find Anarie, but after long hours, came back grey and sad; for naught did they achieve. Celebrian, on the other hand was making breakfast for Frodo. She walked cheerfully into the room, but stopped as soon as she entered, for Frodo was not there. She called for Elrond and Gandalf.
“My Lords, Frodo is gone!” she said.
“How could this be? If he went through the door, we would have heard him.” Asked Gandalf. Then they saw the open window flapping, but no wind could be felt. Their hearts sank in grief and dismay.
“We have to follow him,” said Gandalf quietly. “Whatever happens, I shall hold myself in blame. Elrond, come with me; Lady Galadriel, will you inform the Lord Finarfin?” the Wizard was already on his way to the stables to call upon Shadowfax’s speed once more. Galadriel and Celebrian ran from the house and headed up the Kor’s crystalline stair to the House of Finwe at the feet of the Mindon Eldalieva.
The Elf Lord sat on his high throne, while speaking to Firgon. He saw the Ladies approach and held up his right hand to silence the other.
“You seem distressed, daughter,” he said quietly. “Has anything gone amiss?” Galadriel came nearer and bowed before she spoke.
“The Halfling Celebrian and Firgon brought in for healing a week ago, has disappeared!” Firgon twirled around and stared at Galadriel at the news, and Finarfin rose from his seat.
“How could this be?” the Elves cried almost simultaneously. Galadriel shrugged her shoulders.
“We know not, Lords, but my daughter says she knows where he headed.” The Elven Lady’s gaze turned to Celebrian, who stepped forward.
“On the knees of the Pelori Mountains, northeast of the Woods of Orome, there is the dwelling of the Dark Elves, and their lord is, as I presume Eol. That is the cavern where we rescued Frodo from their vile hands, for they showed no mercy. I think that Frodo might have thought that Eol had taken Anarie captive and went after him, though I know not how he could have gotten past the gate-ward.” Finished Celebrian.
“We come to you, father, to seek aid in battle,” pleaded Galadriel. “We need at least two hundred valiant warriors, for we know not if we shall be assailed, or what number of the Moriquendi is there.” The Lord of Kor sat back down and pondered; then:
“Firgon, help assemble the Elves, but allow a portion the remain in the city, but you, daughter, must stay here; I would allow not risk your life.” Galadriel nodded, but headed with Firgon to help him gather the Elves. The three briskly went from the House and once they were in the court below the Tower, Firgon sounded a gong to summon the city’s dwellers. Within a quarter of an hour, most of the city was gathered in the streets.
“Dear kinsmen and comrades!” cried Firgon. “We look upon thee aid, for a dear Elf-friend went forth this night to locate the one he cares most about, and we know he is in grave danger; we will need your speed and valiance in battle, for we know not, if we shall be assailed! Wilt thou hearken to our pleas?” the Elf looked upon all the inhabitants of this, Sea-facing city. There was a tense silence, and some of the Teleri and Noldor looked at each other, but then a great cheer went up; aid they would bring! Firgon himself, of course, would not go, for he needed to make preparations for the return, which would most likely, have some victims of battle.
In an hour, there were some two hundred fully armoured and horsed Elven- swordsmen and Elven-archers ready for live-action in combat. Gandalf rode up with Elrond, who jumped off his horse to bid farewell to Celebrian.
“Must you go too?” the Elven lady said tearfully, as she embraced her Lord.
“I must, but do not worry! I have seen open battle before and returned alive; I will do so again! Do not weep, for it shall only worry me.” Elrond planted a warm kiss on the Lady’s lips and mounted again. “Keep me close to your heart until the day I return!” he cried to her and charged ahead, with the army coming swiftly behind him. Celebrian stood a while looking after Elrond and prayed.
* * *
Anarie woke up to a headache.
“Ooh! What on earth happened?” she said aloud. Then, as she looked around her surroundings, another question formed in her mind:
“Where in the name of the Valar am I?” she cried out miserably, finding herself in a dark room of stone with only a beam of light streaming out of a high set window. She could not see the room clearly from all the horrid darkness, and strained her eyes. She was in a prison, she realized to her terror! She fluttered nervously up to the window, but it was barred. Even if it wasn’t, it was too small for her to squeeze through; the bright light of the Sun seemed to be mocking her in the dark, cold room. Suddenly, a voice from the door made her lose concentration and she fell with a grunt of pain to the ground. There was a dark shadow silhouetted against the torch light outside; it was all robed in black-ragged mantles, with a rusted silver girdle. Over top, it wore a weather stained cloak.
The skin on the face used to be once white and fair, but now it was dark and burnt and four long gashes were crossing its right cheek; the blood was never cleaned off. The eyes were dark like coals and when they shot a glance at Anarie, she shuddered in disgust. The black hair was unkempt and tangled, but it used to be silky.
“Stay away!” cried Anarie. “What do you want with me?” the figure chuckled and came nearer. Anarie stood her ground.
“Many call me the Dark Elf, like you guessed before, but my real name to you only will I reveal: Eol is my rightful name.” At those words, Anarie’s heart went stone cold. I’m done for…she thought; Eol was a great smith in young Middle-earth. She had heard what he had done and what was his sentence, but now he here—alive. She could not understand how, nor did she want to. Eol continued in his hissing cold voice: “My wife parted with me against my leave millenniums ago and with her took my only son. I pursued them to the Hidden Land of Gondolin and there I was thrown to my doom…or so the Gondolindrim thought; yes, I was bruised and had many broken bones, but my wounds healed in time and then I set sail with many others into the West, though forever I lived with a broken heart and a hatred for Gondolin and the Noldor. Now I am back and my lust for revenge is far greater and you look so much like Aredhel.” At this, he looked straight at Anarie, but she held her gaze and glared at him, although she was mortally frightened.
“I will never be your queen!” she cried. “Even if you threatened to kill me!” Eol smiled, shrugged his shoulders and, to the surprise of Anarie, left. Anarie pondered at this and figured there was more to this than she thought. She crawled to a corner in the room and wept, wondering if any help will come.
Eventually, Anarie dozed off on the cold floor. When she opened her glistening blue eyes, she was surprised to find herself on the cold bed that was at the other end of the room. Her small window showed that the Sun was gone, but left the stars to glitter in the sky with the Moon. How did I get here? She asked herself again. Then, she noticed a sliver tray with a glass of red wine and a platter of fresh fruits. Who brought this? She wondered again, but under the circumstances, she knew better than to eat any food while she was captured by who know what.
She jumped off the bed, came up to the door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. The fairy peeked outside. Nothing. It was pitch dark, except for small torches that illuminated nothing. Anarie stepped out the door, and was about explore the darkness on the left, when she heard a voice to her right:
“And where do you think you’re going?” it was cold and hiss-like and Anarie heard it before. She whirled around; it was Eol. He was standing tall before her and the firelight played on his marred skin. The fairy turned away in denial. “Why do you reject me, maiden?” his voice grew soft, but Anarie didn’t care how kind it sounded.
“It isn’t any business of yours, and how could I not reject you after you hurt the Hobbit so cruelly, and kidnapped me!” she yelled bitterly; there was a silence between them.
“Be it as you wish,” the Elf finally sighed. “You may walk freely about my halls, but only under guard, and only under the dark veil of night. Here,” Anarie turned around and was surprised to see a black cloak and hood in the Dark Elf’s hands “This will keep you warm when you will wander outdoors.” And before the fairy could make any reply, Eol was gone; dissolved into the shadows like the darkness he was.
Ando so were spent the next three days: Eol had left Anarie alone and she hadn’t heard of, or from him—except for the gifts that were mysteriously left in the fairy’s room: crafty sculptures of shining black-jet jade or marble, beautiful necklaces, and jeweled blades of a black metal. And yet even these, Anarie denied. For the time being, Anarie had only eaten plain bread and drank ordinary water (even though she was offered much more luxury), for she would not take anything else, thinking that as crafty as this elf was (and as dark), he would surly have done something to the food that was brought and offered to her.
The fairy could walk though Eol’s dark, cold caverns and not fell any of the frigidness due to the warm elven cloak that was the only gift she accepted of the Elf. And although she could only walk abroad with a guard of three Dark Elves (who were equally silent and full of mystery as their master), she didn’t notice of feel their presence; and she was treated like a queen and a lady everywhere she went; Anarie was politely spoken to and always in reverence. She was told of the many secret vaults and chambers of these dark caves and showed her great smithies and armouries that glittered with silver, gold, jade, and black metals. Some of the caves, Anarie had to admit, were very beautiful: icy grottos, which were lit up with torches, so it seemed like these small rooms were filled with a cold fire. The floors were solid ice and whenever Anarie walked upon its glassy surface, it would reflect her like a mirror. The walls were beautifully carved into images and landscapes with such detail and artistry, that Anarie gloated on them as one that is mystified and enchanted by them. And there was, at the very end of such a room (which was also Anarie’s favorite) a statuette of a very tall, and fair, but sad maiden. Her elvishly beautiful face had a mournful expression, but still, it was indeed magnificent. Its blind, ice eyes stared blankly down at the fairy. Her long wavy hair lay upon her shoulders like a rippling river and her gown traced the floor and was lost in the ice.
Anarie intently looked at the sculpture, but her attention was drawn away by the sound of dripping water. She whipped around, and was surprised to find an alcove completely engulfed in shadow; it was from there that the crystalline sound came from. The fairy came closer and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes adjusted to the intense darkness and she saw a very faint beam of light and through it fell drips of cool water. They fell into a basin carved of a dark ice—almost like black crystal, and the water rippled and echoed in the emptiness, but it was a sad sound. The basin was tilted and the water that fell into it went cascading down little waterfalls until it reached a rivulet and ran down the ice hall; a blue mist was over the waterway.
The coolness of the water was very alluring, and Anarie longed for a cool drink. But as soon as she cupped her hands to dip into the basin, she was aware of a warm presence beside her. Startled as well as frightened, Anarie stared at the looming form of the dark Elf.
“It would be wise for you not to touch the water, fairy,” he said in a slow and grave tone. “It wouldn’t please me to see you hurt.” Anarie shot his a sharp look.
“Well, really I don’t think you’d care: you already hurt me once, so what’s stopping you a second time?” she hissed.
“Nothing really, but I would rather you be safe from now on.” He replied with a soft smile.
“If you want me to be safe, you should let me go back home. That would be best for me—and you: it wouldn’t be to your benefit if my friends came looking for me; so, what’s wrong with the water? Why can’t I drink it?”
“First of, it is a shrine for the ice maiden, Aredhel; it collects her falling tears which would never stop.” He said sadly.
“Why is she so sad?” asked Anarie.
“I shall tell you, but not now.” said Eol and turned to leave. “But as for your rescuers—they don’t bother me at all. It wont be so easy for them to find you, and if they do—well, we’ll see what happens then.” He left her alone in the chamber and disappeared.
Eol had also permitted Anarie to walk outside his dark fortress, and as she would tread the cold, soft snow, not leaving even a footprint; or would glide in freedom above the powdery fields, where the wind picked up the frosty, white snow-wraiths and would make them dance in spirals before blowing them back down, the Dark Elf watched her from his uppermost tower that none knew about save him. And he was amazed; fair and boisterous she was; graceful and elf-like—a perfect queen: the light of his dark halls. He also marveled at the fact that the fairy didn’t even bother flying away, though she’s and plenty of chances.
Anarie actually did think of running away and once again relieve her love of worry, but how could she under such guard and watchfulness?
She was surprised though, that on the eve of the fourth day, Eol requested that she dine with him. At first Anarie scoffed and didn’t lay a foot out her door—in case she was snatched and forced to attend. The fairy hovered by her small window for half the day, staring at the never-moving stars above with her heart full of longing to be free once more. She was needed elsewhere, but she couldn’t leave. The lovable Mr. Baggins needed her support and presence more than ever, what with the dreadful news of his Uncle Bilbo’s death and his un-mending wounds, but she wasn’t able to offer it. Instead, she was far, far away.
Anarie’s stomach growled hungrily; she had not eaten anything filling, but water and bread. She clutched her abdomen and sat on the bed wincing. She felt very sick and lightheaded; maybe a good meal wouldn’t be that bad.
Anarie sat on a cold, stone chair, in a flame-illuminated room. Her face was stern and her icy stare was menacingly fixed on the Elf that sat at the other end of the table.
“How very kind of you to join!” cried Eol in reverence to Anarie. There was no mockery or sarcasm in his tone of voice and Anarie almost thought he meant it.
“The pleasure’s all yours,” Anarie snapped and turned her head away from his dark glare.
“Believe me, it is…” she heard him hiss grinningly under an in taken breath. The fairy shot him an unfriendly glance to watch what he says. But Eol could not help, but admire the radiance of Anarie; how fair she looked! Even with a bad temper, she seemed desirable. But Anarie wasn’t interested.
She stared hungrily at her dinner: fruits, red wine and elven cakes. Maintaining her manners, even at the presence of her captor, Anarie began dining—the first big meal, she has had in days! And she must admit, that the food was delicious! She has hardly ever eaten apples so crisp, drank wine so sweet and tasted cakes of such wonderful make. She even went so far as to compliment Eol on `such a splendid dinner!’, after which, she politely said `thank-you’ and `goodnight’, although she was sure, there would be nothing good about it.
Anarie, like she prophesized, couldn’t sleep; she couldn’t get the image of Eol dreamily gazing at her with his cryptic gaze, under which she felt shivers running down her spine; she felt very uncomfortable under it, for it seemed to stare right through her very soul, though she tried to hide it. She spent the entire night observing the lonely sickle moon, gazing back down at her, and the fairy did not know that Frodo was doing the very same thing, lost in the wilderness of Aman, in hopes of finding her. Anarie felt a tear trickling down her cheek and sink into her pillow. Eol was getting close to her…too close for her comfort.
For the rest of the week, Anarie’s days were spent in an ironic bliss; she never thought that she would actually enjoy Eol’s company! He would sometimes accompany the fairy on her frequent trips outdoors and would tell her of the secrets and wonders of night. Anarie somehow became less fearful of that enigmatical dark with what he told her. Eol also spoke of his woods of long ago: Nan Elmoth. And Anarie, in her heart of hearts began to feel pity for the Elf; his story was so sad: full of deceit and heartbreak. She could imagine how lonely he would be at times. And then the fairy looked at herself: she was a bird in a stony cage and she could only go so far from it. And that is why Eol kept that bird—to keep him company.
On the ninth night of her imprisonment, Anarie was about to fall asleep when she heard a cry of anguish come from the icy chamber that she loved so much. She got up and plodded outside into the cold hall. The halls were empty and the torches were all but spent; the Moriquendi have gone to enjoy what bliss the night has to offer. Anarie shivered, thinking where she should be right now but no; she was in a long, cold hallway, trying to figure out who was so filled with woe tonight.
As she walked upon the unbearably frigid floor that she has already gotten used to, the saddened voice grew louder and clearer. There was another lamentable holler and the fairy stopped in her tracks. The red glow from the ice-crystal chamber was steps away.
Anarie looked inside and was surprised to see a black form towering over the ice maiden.
Eol? Anarie thought to herself. She saw him straighten up, but not turn around. The fairy crept up behind him and rubbed her eyes.
“What are you doing here so late?” Eol asked wearily and kindly. Anarie looked up at his lean, dirty face.
“I heard you cry,” she said in a whisper. “Is something the matter?” Eol looked down at her with his dark eyes. His face was drained and whiter than usual. He then turned to the ice sculpture.
“Even though she ran from me, which cost me much humiliation and grief, she still torments me in my dreams with her dazzling gracefulness. And although because of her I was thrown off the Wall of Gondolin, I still love her, though she be dead.” Eol’s slim hand reached up to the maiden’s face and traced its elven features. “Aredhel.” He whispered gently. Anarie stood silently beside him and felt that she was on the verge of tears. But her sentimentality was driven away, when a chunk of ice from the rook broke away and made contact with Eol’s cheek. He cried out and cursed, as his hand shot to his hurt cheek.
Anarie gave a small gasp at the Elf’s sudden action. She hovered up to his face, removed the hand and grimaced at the small, but deep, bloody wound.
“That must have hurt,” she said, shaking her head. “And I must clean it off; let’s go to my chamber!” Eol looked at her in confusion and hesitated. “Well you can’t go around with such a ugly gash!” Anarie scolded, sounding motherly. She grabbed the Elf’s hand and pulled him after her.
Sitting on Anarie’s bed, Eol watched as the fairy moistened a cloth is a small metal basin and brought it to his face. The water was hot and every time it touched upon the wound, Eol would flinch. When it was finally cleaned, Anarie took the Dark Elf’s chin into her slender hand and turned it.
“Hmmm,” she mumbled, as she examined his rough, blemished face. “I didn’t realize that my small hand could do so much damage, but under the circumstances you deserved it.” She said, pointing to the scratches she made when she slapped him. Eventually Anarie ended up washing and cleaning all of Eol’s dirty face. She thoroughly washed the wounds and rubbed the dried blood, but she couldn’t wipe off the ages of toil and grief. The Elf’s fine face began to show though; he was quite handsome once that horrid mask was brushed away: a lean and noble face, with expressive, piercing-black eyes, blushed cheeks and an overall lordly complexion.
“There! All better!” Anarie chirped cheerfully. Eol’s face softened into a truly beautiful smile. The fairy looked at her window and saw the star-littered Heavens grow grey with the coming of dawn.
“I thank you, my dear,” said Eol, taking Anarie’s hand and kissing it. It was very hard for Anarie not to smile, and blushing, she turned away. Suddenly her happy expression changed and she became sorrowful. “Is anything the matter? You are not happy.” Inquired Eol.
“Why did you kidnap me?” that was an answer the Elf did not expect; he shrunk in his place and turned away from the fairy, so he would not see her hurt face. She repeated the question again, which was answered by a sigh.
“You are, a most exquisite being. You have a kind soul and a strong heart—one of a true queen. I desired you, when I first saw you.” The answer made Anarie grow pale and jerk.
“Oh,” she managed shakily. They sat in silence for a while, but eventually, Eol stood up and departed; the light that he shunned was rising. Anarie sat in the same place she was as if dazed after the answer; that was more than she counted on.
For the next week, Anarie was constantly in the company of Eol: extravagant feasts, watching him in his smithies, as he and his servants skillfully mastered the skills of the dwarves, and silent moonlit walks outside.
December the 20th dawned brightly, but Anarie only saw the bleak, bright sky through her small window, and the light burned her eyes.. It was also the day Anarie would have to make the hardest choice of her life. It all began when the fairy was noticing that the Elf was being exceptionally kind towards her; always trying to keep her in a cheery mood, making her laugh and praising he with more gifts. And the unnaturally dark eyes of the Elf, that concealed a plethora of knowledge, and that bedazzled her, worked their magic too. But that day, Anarie remembered the sunlight which she rarely saw—once or twice a week, and only through her small window, and she remembered Frodo; she had nearly forgotten about him, to her own dismay! That fateful day, Anarie realized that no gift or act would make her forget him—and how much he loved her.
In the evening, during an overly grandiose dinner, as the fairy sipped her wine, the Dark Elf politely interrupted her meal and led her into the ice chamber Anarie so adored. There, he stood in front of her and taking her small, slender hands into his strong, yet gentle grasp and pronounced.
“Anarie, would you be the queen of my dark halls, so that they, as well as my heart, be filled with your radiance and grace?” the fairy’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened until they were almost as round as the moon outside! Her cheeks flushed a bright red, as her mind blanked out on such an answer.
“He proposed to her!” she thought, if she accepted this, it would break Frodo’s heart and he would certainly die of a broken heart and woe, and she would not be able to stand that torment. Frodo, she thought; how could she forget about him, as well as the light he brought upon her life. And yet, on the other hand, if she rejected Eol’s request, the Elf would sink so deep into his own dark, that there would be no returning. She had barely gotten him out of that black pit with her presence and brightness, but if she left, he would go back to sulk in the cold of his caves and mourn over his lonely fate. What a choice she had to make! How did she get herself into these messes? A lump formed in Anarie’s throat, as she debated. Eol’s dark gaze was on her surprised face, waiting anxiously for the answer that never came. Frodo and Eol were both very kind to her; Frodo she knew for more than two months, and Eol—for two week, and not even all of them were spent in bliss and happiness. And suddenly she remembered: Eol had kidnapped her; stole her from the sunlit world and from everything and everyone she cared for. And with that, everything changed. Anarie gathered what courage was in her.
“You are very sweet-tongued, Dark Elf,” she began, trembling all over; she could feel his grasp about her hands tighten. “But I am afraid I must say no.” she watched in pity what it did to him: his face paled, his grasp abruptly softened and his face grew confused.
“No?” he said, almost too sharply and quietly for her comfort. Anarie’s heart began to beat faster and harder. “Even after all the good times we shared? Even after all the gifts I granted you? Even after I trusted you of wondering outside freely?” his voice was rising.
“I am afraid so, Eol. You are my captor after all; I have known you for a mere too weeks and although for the most part I enjoyed them, we still met under very bad circumstances. I am very sorry; my heart belongs to someone else.” Anarie tried to smile, but Eol’s stony expression made it quickly disappear.
“That would be the Hobbit, wouldn’t it?” he asked bitterly. Anarie nodded with tears. “I understand.” He sighed.
“You do?” Anarie happily asked.
“It is no clear to me: you never really loved me. You pretended to do so, but in the end you shatter my heart into a thousand pieces and burn my soul.” He said glaring at her.
“No, you don’t understand!” Anarie cried despairingly.
“What is there not to understand? You are an enchantress—a witch. That is what all women are—Elves and fairies alike: they let you think you are loves and then they reject you. You are a deceitful, wicked witch! You fed me your lies of love! Put a spell on me so I would trust and believe you like a fool! How did I not see through your dark heart?” he paced impatiently across the icy floor, flinging his arms in the air, as he shouted. Anarie cringed at his anger, as tears spilled from her eyes.
“Eol, forgive me, but I did not mean to hurt you so! Love can do terrible things to the mind!” she cried.
“Yes it can! It hurts you so, that you wont be able to nurse your wounds after!” he turned to her, caught her by the hand and pulled her after him, as he charged through winding halls, and flew up innumerable flights of stairs, climbing ever higher, until they reached the small, uppermost chamber.
“Here you shall stay, until you lies have departed from my heart, with no food and water!” he screamed angrily, as he flung Anarie roughly into a corner of the extremely cold room with no windows at all.
“I though you had changed,” Anarie snapped tearfully. Eol stopped at the door and turned to glare at her; remorse was written all over his face. “But I guess I was wrong; you still are the same monster you always were!” Eol angrily rushed towards her, and as Anarie looked into those wide, hurt eyes, he raised his strong hand to strike, but his blow never fell; he was stopped by a voice outside.
* * *
Frodo’s chest ached as he rode on Aindule to the point when he fell off with a cry. Aindule and the other wolves stopped and she came over to Frodo. He seemed weary and sick, for he had ridden for nearly a week now with little rest, hardly any food and no sign of Anarie, or where she was taken. Aindule nuzzled him, once, but he did not get up. She nuzzled him again, but in vain. She nuzzled him a third time and finally he sat up.
“I cannot go on any longer, but I know it is my duty.” He said. Aindule looked at him with pity and then, she turned to Luinil and the others. She barked some orders and at once, a small group of wolves departed. Frodo sat with his eyes closed and his back propped against a tree trunk, hardly breathing, and with a headache. After an hour the wolves returned with large leaves as bags in their mouths. Aindule brought one of the leaves to Frodo and whined in his ear. He opened his eyes and looked at the wrapped leaf.
“What is this?” he asked as he opened the leaf. He smiled when he saw what was inside: golden apples and fresh mushrooms lay in there. “Aindule, how could I ever thank you? I could not have made it thus far without you!” he cried in joy. He took one of the apples and it was crisp and sweet. After a long deserved rest, he set out once more.
He was traveling south, and the green-golden haze of woods far away could be seen. Frodo thought he would take refuge in the woods and regain much of his former strength. He didn’t think it would be long before he would be under the eves of the forest. But he was wrong; the distance was far greater that he reckoned. Frodo took the course of trekking close to the mountains, but after the way got rougher and rockier, he led the wolves down, for they, as he, were getting weary of the insane amounts of hills and cliffs they had to cross. And with his former decision, Frodo lost three days to pointless climbing and achieving nothing.
He finally reached the Woods of Orome and dismounted. It had taken him a little more than week to come to his destination of the Woods, but he still had to find the cave. There, he took a day of rest; he slept, of course, for the most part, under the glare of the sun above and for the rest, he ate what food he could find, for he was as hungry as a wolf that hasn’t eaten for months!
For another three nights he traveled through the Woods and finally recognized the surroundings: there was a lake right before him. Painful memories flowed back into his head, but he was ready to face anything, for he was healed of his weariness, but not yet of his wound. Frodo dismounted and came up to the lake. It was evening and stars were reflected in it. He drank a mouthful of water and then mounted again. For he thought he knew where he was headed.
As he rode, the trees became scarcer and were soon completely gone, as Frodo and the wolves began to ascend the mountains. Soon enough, after another two-hours march upwards through the soft, powdery, snowy terrain, they came across a caved-in cave opening; behind it, very high on a spire of mountain rock, there was a small window cut in the rock wall and through that, a red lit streamed out.
He came within six meters of the cave and anger burned hot inside him. His heart beat faster than before, but he did not feel afraid. He dismounted and whispered to Aindule:
“Stay hidden, I’ve got a plan.” Said Frodo, as the wolves slunk back and hid. Then, Frodo came up to the opening of the cave and cried:
“Elf of the Darkness! Release Anarie or come down and confront me!” he knew those words meant nothing to the one who was master of the tower; Frodo’s words were an act of courage, but he felt somehow hopeless and helpless. How could he, a small hobbit, challenge someone (or something) that powerful and mighty? It was almost foolishness and all hope was washed away from him, when he saw the tall, sinister silhouette of the Elf, at the top-most window of the tower.
Eol looked out the window of the chamber and laughed to himself. Then he looked at Anarie and she caught a wild glint in his eyes.
“Do you remember how you said that you would not be my queen, even if I threatened you?” he said in a cooing voice, as he wickedly smiled. Anarie shook with fear for the first time. He came up to her and took her by the throat, holding her out of the window. She could fell his grip tightening. Frodo watched in dismay.
“Let me go, foul demon!” choked Anarie as she struggled in Eol’s grasp. “Frodo! Help me!”
“Yes, come help her if you care about her. Now you both will feel the pain that was caused to me in Gondolin. As you command!” With that, he roughly kissed her on the cheek, tore her wings, and flung her out the window. The window of the tower was high and she would not survive if she landed. Frodo watched with horror, dropped his small sword to the ground with a clang and cried a trailing `NO!’ for there was nothing he could do to save her.
She was like a star that was falling from the sky; her white dress flapped in the wind and her wings were like an old web of a spider that swayed in the winds of time. Eol cackled and it was harsh and terrible.
Frodo fell to his knees as tears rolled down his cheeks. He thought he could feel his heart being ripped in two and then go stone cold; he thought this was the end of Anarie the Fairy, but then, he whistled and out from behind the shadowy rocks leapt Aindule dashing towards Frodo. She stopped and let him climb on and than dashed towards the parapet of Eol’s tower. Frodo wasn’t really sure his plan would work, but it had to, if he wanted Anarie to live. His tears were blinding him and his anger was burning him, but he did not care any longer that he would have to confront Eol.
Aindule was leaping upon the snow-clothed stones like a mountain goat, indeed; jumping from rock to rock with supernatural agility, not tripping or slipping on the ice—only kicking up snow to be like a crystalline veil in the night. The way to the rock-tower formation was longer than Frodo suspected—and the dangers kept of getting more frequent. Aindule had no reins to be controlled by, (nor would Frodo ever put any on her), so he just held onto her glistening white mane as tightly as he could so he would not fall off and break something; it was quite a rugged distance downwards to where they started.
The great white wolf was like a snowstorm; gliding, leaping—suddenly ascending to some poi