Eloné: Forgotten Daughter of Rivendell – Chapter Sixteen
“No, Legolas. I am me, and I am no one. My path goes into darkness. She spoke it so. My fate is such as I dreamed it long ago. There is no hope for Eloné Elengwath. Star of Shadow.”
Legolas peered into her downcast face, full of years of trouble and doubt. Pain and suffering, resentment, and sorrow. In her green eyes was only the smallest glimmer of hope and joy.
He lifted her chin and met her eyes. “I think you have lived too long in the darkness, little star. Come out where others can see you. Stand and fight for who you were and what you are now.”
She smiled weakly, and allowed him to help her to her feet. They stood in silence, and the darkness grew. A sound like thunder rumbled through the air and shook the Deeping Wall.
“Will it rain on us as we stand so bravely?”
Legolas shook his head. “I think that is not thunder from the sky, but from the feet of them who march against us.”
She tightened her jaw and gazed into the darkening sky. “Let them come.”
“Arg…you could’ve picked a better spot!” a growling voice sounded from towards the ground. She looked down. Gimli the dwarf stood beside Legolas, straining to see over the wall.
Eloné smiled and turned. The Elves of Rivendell and Lórien stood all around them, behind them, beside them. A strong stand on the walls of the Deep.
Aragorn appeared suddenly at her side. He nodded to her.
“Bring us victory, Lady of Imladris.”
“Well, lad, the luck you live by,” Gimli glanced up at the
Man. “Let’s hope it lasts the night.”
The sky cracked. Eloné saw Legolas’s face glow with the first flash of lightning. Thunder from the sky mixed with the sound of marching feet.
“Your friends are with you, Aragorn.” Legolas breathed, leaning on his bow.
“Let’s hope they last the night.” Gimli answered.
The sky opened up above them and unleashed a downpour. The Deep was filled with the roar of the rain and the tink tink as it fell on amour. The pounding feet were louder. The Uruks were in sight, marching to the Wall.
An army of Uruks that stretched to the horizon were approaching. Eloné blinked the rain away from her face, studying the foul creatures. There was no end to them.
Aragorn paced the walls, giving advice and encouragement to Men and Elves alike. Gimli was still straining to see on the other side of Legolas.
“What’s happenin’ out there?”
Legolas smiled at Eloné and answered him, “Shall I describe it for you, or would you like me to find you a box?”
Eloné and Gimli both laughed.
The Uruks now stood before them, lines and lines of dark blue and black under the pouring rain. They began to raise their spears and pound them against the ground, creating a deafening and menacing sound as they prepared to attack. Eloné drew out an arrow and notched it into her bow. She stood death-still, waiting. The Uruks down below were working themselves into a frenzy, and then…
An old man up on the wall was unable to hold his bowstring. His arrow flew through the air and slammed into an Uruk’s neck.
Aragorn cried out, “Dartho! Hold!”
The Uruk creaked and groaned, then toppled over, dead. The Uruks all began to growl. They roared, and charged at the wall.
Eloné drew back her bow and released her arrow.
In her mind she heard Théoden’s deep voice.
“And so it begins.”
The orcs below roared as one and swarmed forward. The legions of Elves upon the wall all drew arrows and prepared to fire.
Legolas beside Eloné spoke calmly.
“Faeg i-varv dîn na lanc a nu ranc. The amour is weak at the neck and under the arms.”
Eloné stood firmly, sighting down her arrow at a particularly large Uruk, who wielded a large flat sword larger than Eloné herself.
“Leithio i philinn. Fire!” Aragorn’s strong voice echoed behind her.
She drew a breath and released her arrow. It buried itself in the Uruk, who fell without a sound. Volleys of arrows flew through the air to pierce the unending ranks of Uruks below them. Arrows and arrows in both directions, for the Uruks were now retaliating. The Elf on Eloné’s right fell to the ground. Legolas caught her eye briefly before turning back to face the Uruks below. The confusion of battle blocked out all logic in Eloné’s mind as she merely shot arrow after arrow into the thick mass of creatures on the ground.
Ladders began to rise up from the swarm of Uruks. They rose laboriously into the air and approached the walls, loaded with heavy forms. The first of these clanked heavily onto the wall near where Eloné stood. Gimli was immediately on the scene, his axe happily waving as he brought the Uruks down.
Miles from Rohan, under the soft Western sky, the princess of Rivendell walked among the gardens of Imladris. Her soft crimson gown brushed the grass as she passed, her bare feet making no noise. Evening was near, but she was not tired. Her face was creased, her mouth in a tight line.
Higher, in the House, Elrond her father stood in a window, watching her. His face was sad with many worries. He merely stood and watched as she disappeared into the gathering dusk, her dark hair blending with the darkness. He did not understand why she would leave him. Love he understood, but forsaking her people, he did not. The gift of foresight, he could see her, lying dead. Her beautiful face pale as the morning, the deep eyes closed, and her skirts falling about her unmoving feet forever, for the last time. As Arwen vanished into the gardens, he stood for one long moment, and then turned away, shaking his head. As he turned back to face the interior of his own chambers, he sighed. The loneliness hit him in the face like a wave. The halls around his room no longer echoed with the shouts of children, or the
laughter of his wife.
Glumly, Elrond sat upon his large bed, his face in his hands. The silver circlet upon his head slipped forward. He lifted a hand and removed it, tossing it across the room carelessly.
The tinkle of metal on stone sounded in his ears as the
circlet landed on the floor.
He lifted his head to see where it had fallen, and his eyes fell upon a slip of paper upon a table. A roll of parchment in a sleek wooden frame, it lay facedown on the table, untouched since he had placed it there years before. He knew what was inked onto the parchment on the other side. What was centered in the lovely frame. What he had been given by Celebrian centuries ago. His hand trembled as he moved it towards the frame and its contents. He curled in his fingers above it, unsure. He did not want to see. Elrond closed his eyes and lifted the wooden frame up, and turned it over. He slowly opened his eyes and gazed at it. Six smiling faces looked up at him. Skillful quill and ink formed the beautiful faces. A younger man, his dark hair sleeker and his face unlined. His arm was around a woman, her face lovely like a summer night, laughing. Four young faces surrounded them. A young Elladan and Elrohir, a toddler Arwen, and the small form in Celebrian’s arms, her red hair shining.
Elrond buried his face in his arms and wept.