Galadriel Part 1
"Thranduil is dead." The words were like a slap across her face. Galadriel closed her eyes for a moment, only opening them again when she felt Brydda's hand resting on her shoulder. "The orcs were seen off the side of Mirkwood."
Brydda lowered his head. "They come forth to kill us."
"Should we prepare forces?" The councilor asked.
"No." Galadriel replied. "I won't condemn my people to die for me. Thranduil had the forces and the cause, whilst we have neither."
"What would you have us do, my lady? Run from a fray?" The head of guards asked, pushing himself from his seat.
"That's exactly what we'd have you do." Brydda replied. They'd planned this all out when they'd heard the orcs were coming.
"Arwen the Evenstar is dead." The same councilor had told them in the early morning, whilst they still broke their fast. Brydda and Galadriel had shared a look, nodded, and thanked him for telling them.
The rest of that day and for many days afterward, they argued about what they should do.
"We should stay and fight!" Brydda had suggested.
"And how should we accomplish this. How many forces do we have? 20 thousand personal guard, a few thousand refugees who don't know how to fight? Thranduil had the Silven Elves, his own guard, most of the fighting men from the south, the Riders of Rohan, more than half of the men from Laketown, and a huge dwarvish host from Erebor.
"He had the forces. Elrond has the forces. We don't. Lothlorien does not have walls, the ability to make walls, no soldiers, and none who will come at our call. Our people will be butchered before these southron orcs get to us. Will you condone that?"
Brydda had sat in silence at Galadriel's bold defiance, her harsh words. "Hard, but true." Her king had finally replied. "How will we ever convince Miniver to stand down without a fight?"
The captain of guards was always head strong and bold to the last. Haldir had been the same way, just in a more discreet fashion. Galadriel had the sneaking suspicion that, in the end, his boldness and willingness to die for friends had been his death. Like father like son.
"I see no way to pull him out of the fighting. He will oppose us openly." Galadriel responded. She wasn't surprised Brydda didn't think twice about backing down. From heart to skin, he was soft and gentle and loving, almost so much that he didn't have the ability to command. "Perhaps we should send him to fight for Rivendell."
"You know he will never take the color of silver to adorn the color of darkened blue. He is deadly loyal to Lothlorien. You couldn't get Haldir to leave, and blood is thick."
"Yes, it is. How much longer before we will be swimming in it?"
"I won't stand down." Miniver jerked Galadriel back to her present, banishing the memories for the time being.
"So, you believe you can fight?" Brydda stood up, to best match the height of the elf across from him. That was a hard task to do. Miniver was huge, well-muscled and long-legged. Galadriel, Thranduil, a handful of his Silven Elves, a few men of Gondor, and a select handful of rangers could match his bulk and build.
"Yeah, I do."
"With what forces?" Brydda countered. "You have 20 thousand guard. That number can't hold against 20 billion orcs."
"The battles of Mirkwood are over. Men, if not dwarves, and the Silven Elves will surely come west."
"West, definitely. It isn't hard to pass Lorien by. And pass is by, they will. We are no army, Miniver."
"I can't just stand down. I must fight for those I swore my life to."
"Haldir swore his life. You were only his son, you don't have to fulfill his blood-words. Go to Rivendell, fight for the armies there."
Miniver lowered his head, his jaw clenched. "You don't have a choice. We're not giving one to you." Brydda replied.
"If you refuse me to die fighting for you, I shall die fighting for no one." Miniver growled, a sneer plastered onto his lips, his eyes alight with sadness and rage.
"Very well." Brydda dismissed Miniver for the moment, and the elf sat down with a huff of deep regret and sadness.
Galadriel turned to Calebrilindë, the elder medicine woman. "We have decided all injured shall leave Lothlorien first, Calebrilindë. Legolas Elvenking has invited injured to come to Mirkwood with all healers staff. Thranduil died on the eve of the growing season, and the best medicine leaf in Middle Earth will soon blossom. He is not willing to let merchants walk the ways west, for until the elven leaders win or die, the way will not be safe. What injured do you have, and what are your stores?"
"We have twenty children sick with the Gale."
Galadriel fought a shiver of fear. The gale ripped through younger elves more commonly, and there was no cure. Luck would win the sick their lives, or fail. Luck had been on Galadriel's side when she had been younger.
"Two elders are afflicted with Festering."
Elves were timeless and couldn't get sick in the same ways the mortals did. Festering was the term for a wound that had become infected. Immortality was like a wound, and not all gave it up such as Arwen. Younger elves suffered the Gale, elders the Festering. Not all did. But all elders whose immortality faded hardly ever lived. Galadriel was lucky she wouldn't die of Festering. Children who survived the Gale couldn't get sick with the Festering when they were older.
Most other species felt like immortality was set in stone. Far from that. A strike of a blade or arrow could kill, and immortality was not strong inside every elf.
You couldn't restore immortality once it began to fade. All you could do is stay to comfort the afflicted and try to minimize their pains.
Some elves chose a mortal life, Arwen had. Most children that didn't die from Gale would live as a mortal. Very few had been as lucky as Galadriel to survive. Elders who began to lose that strength wouldn't survive its fleeting. Arwen had been but a child, had not lived pass the possibility of the span of years of the mortals.
All of the elves in this clearing right now would die, should the warmth of the Eldar ever decide to leave.
"There are a few younger boys with training yard injuries, and should recover in a few days. One boy is still fast asleep."
A few weeks ago, a boy had fallen from the trees and been swept down into the rapids of the river. His heart still beat, the Eldar still held him, but his eyes would not open.
"Our stores should be well enough to make the trip." Calebrilindë finished. Brydda nodded.
"Get ready. We shall see you off down the road east on the first light of the morrow." Galadriel told Calebrilindë. The medicine woman nodded and bustled off.
Next, Brydda turned to the board of four villagers, who spoke for elder and younger of both genders.
Belarathien was a wizened old elf, so old she remembered thousands of years from across the seas, before the elves even came to Middle Earth. Thranduil had been born in the first age, along with Galadriel. Elrond had been born in the second age. Belarathien was one of the very few elves who had age lines on her face.
Despite those lines, she still looked beautiful and enchanting.
"We won't like leaving. It will be hard to convince our people, the elders in particular, to leave this place. It has been our only true home." Belarathien said.
"We have already seen the world." The male elder, Rill, replied. His husked voice was becoming hard to hear, and everyone gravitated closer to him to hear his words. "The world has becoming boring, fickle and full of sadness. Only in Lothlorien do I wish to endure."
"Agreed." The male young elf, Nilla, spoke out.
Galadriel was surprised. She'd expected the elders to prefer to stay, but the younger ones, she'd figured, would be enthusiastic.
"What are you, a Hobbit?" The female young elf, Lómiodien, scorned. "Have you no heart to see what you have not seen as yet?"
"I would call you a dwarf, so quick to anger." Nilla replied.
"Perhaps you should stay here to die, if you fear change so much." Lómiodien shot back.
"Please, my children, do stop your arguing." Belarathien sighed. The youngsters obliged, though grudgingly.
"Perhaps we should hear Lómiodien speak about this accusation." Rill said. Everyone looked towards the young girl.
Lómiodien was certainly handsome, silver hair streaming to just below her shoulders, bright blue eyes clear and bright. She was tall and lanky but strong and graceful as well. She was also smart, and despite her young age, gave wise council. Every one of the other elves had discovered this already, and listened to all she said. When she talked, she never broke a stride.
"The orcs of the south are coming. Thranduil thought he could hold them back with his strong forces, and on the first battle, he won. But not without a price. Over 3 thousand lives were lost, and only a tenth of the orcs strength had been used. The creatures withdrew. If they had stayed strong, Mirkwood would have been crushed right then and there.
"Thranduil made the orcs keep coming. They tried to establish a foothold in Dol Guldor, and failed. Only at the expense of a few hundred warriors. Other border battles were fought. Erebor was attacked. Near millions of elves and men and dwarves had died before Thranduil gave up his life.
"Near millions. We hardly have 20 thousand. Lothlorien has no walls or greater defenses, only a few soldiers. A few are easily overwhelmed by many. The orcs are nasty creatures. When their northern friends were bent on the destruction of men, they murdered villages and towns. Mothers. Children. Fathers. Crippled. Sick. Injured. Even the unborn. Lothlorien is just a village with a little more arms. Imagine what these angry orcs from the south, bent on revenge, can do.
"Sure, they just want Galadriel and Brydda. And they'll take them. But if you give them cause, they will slaughter Lothlorien until our blood flows instead of our river. They're hungry and angry, and orders can't fly fast enough. The slaughter will happen after they take the queen and king, even if it should be against the will of the Leader.
"Mirkwood has pardon, they're ready to take us in until Lothlorien becomes safe again. We won't be leaving Lothlorien for good. Only for a few years, a hundred at the worst. Near all of us will see Lothlorien again.
"Would you rather die in Lothlorien, or leave so you can see it safe again?"
The hall was silent after Lómiodien finished speaking. Everyone felt the power of the words. Sure, Urik-Hai were built to follow orders, but orcs were just hungry, trolls dim witted, goblins greedy. Mirkwood had barely survived. Burning and blood were everywhere, all because Thranduil though he was bold enough to avert a prophecy.
"Her words ring true." Galadriel said. "We won't make you leave if you are unwilling. We will, however, insist that you do, and find a means for your escape."
Nilla looked down at the ground, studying his wringing hands that sat in his lap. Rill was nodding his head, slowly, rhythmaticly. Galadriel knew the words going through his head without him saying them.
"Sometimes, home is hard to leave,
Sometimes to leave is the easiest thing,
Sometimes leaving is hard but safe,
Or easy but dangerous.
Stepping out your door is a dangerous business,
For you see the road
And you think of all you can see and feel,
And your foot takes that first step
Upon that earthen road,
And soon home is of no consequence,
And it dwindles behind you.
You have all those things in the front,
Shadow and light,
Mist and clarity,
Joy and grief,
Day and night.
All these things become you,
Leaving home changes you,
Makes you into all these things.
You become tempered like hard steel,
Clean and capable of killing.
Home is behind,
The world is ahead,
There is so much to do,
Many paths to tread,
And tread them all,
You shall"
The Hobbits were very fond if these words, and said many different versions of them many times. The most common time one would hear some variation would be before a tale should be told.
Galadriel had learned much and more about the Hobbits when the Company of the Ring had passed through many years ago.
Belarathien broke the silence. "The Elders will move, when they are swayed." Rill nodded. The elders stood and left.
"I can say the same to the younger elves, and they should come eagerly, if I tell them they might once return." Lómiodien said. Nilla sighed and agreed, though reluctantly.
"Good." Galadriel and Brydda stood at the same time. Just like with Celeborn, it all came naturally. They hardly planned anything at all, unless it was a matter that would affect Lothlorien.
Galadriel hadn't expected the elders to agree to an evacuation so fast, and was glad for Lómiodien. The elf was wise beyond her years, Galadriel knew, and the queen would be hesitant to choose anyone else to take her place. She believed Lómiodien was the reason anyone had agreed at all.
Wise words sway even the most stubborn of minds.