Disclaimer: The people and places in this story are the property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate and are used without the owner's knowledge. Lanael is my own creation.
The Fellowship met Lanael on the way to the Mines of Moria. As the party traveled along they heard the sounds of shouting and a clashing of arms coming from ahead. Legolas listened. "Orcs," he said. They hurried on until they topped a ridge and saw the battle below.
A horde of orcs surrounded a white charger. Astride the horse was a young woman dressed in travelling clothes, armorless but wielding a white glowing sword. Even as they watched she decapitated one orc, stabbed another through the throat, and nearly cleaved a third in half. Her white-blonde hair was tied back from her face, which wore a look of detached concentration.
"Someone help her!" Frodo cried. As if a spell had been broken Gimli, Aragorn, and Boromir ran down the slope to the battle-maiden's aid. Legolas remained frozen in place, awestruck, while the hobbits watched anxiously. Fortunately, the four adventurers made short work of the remaining orcs. After the last had fallen the girl sheathed her sword and wheeled to face them.
"Well met, Friends!" she called.
Aragorn stepped forwards. "Greetings. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
She looked at him with a smile. "I know you, heir of Isuldur. I have heard of your journey and came to see if I could aid you." She grew somber. "Long centuries it has been since Sauron's shadow lay over Middle-earth, and I would do all in my power that it might not return."
Frodo looked aghast. "Please, Lady, speak not so openly of this!"
She smiled and dismounted, and the others saw she used no riding tack. "Fear not, the power of his eye does not extend this far yet, and I sense none of his spies are near, though perhaps other enemies are." She shot a glance at Gandalf, who until this time had not spoken.
"You ride Shadowfax," he said curtly, "Who are you?"
She drew herself up. "I am Lanael, daughter of Radagast the Brown and Galadriel. Theoden King of Rohan gave me Shadowfax that I might find you with all speed."
"Then I must give you honor!" Legolas cried, and ran down the slope to throw himself on his knees before her.
"Rise, Legolas son of Thranduil. I have renounced such conceits and am honored to be your comrade."
Legolas rose slowly. "How do you know my name?"
She laughed mischievously. "I have made it my business to know many things. I know you are going to the Mines of Moria, where you will face dire danger."
Frodo asked with consternation, "Isn't there another way?"
She walked to him and answered, "No, we must face what lies in the depths of Moria."
Suddenly, impulsively, he slipped the ring off its chain and shoved it into her hand. He felt a wrenching urge to pull back his hand, but as soon as the ring left his fingers he felt as if a load had fallen from his shoulders. "You take it! I am too weak, but I know you could bear it!"
Lanael tossed the ring up into the air, caught it, and slipped it on her finger. Shockingly, she remained visible. She looked at the ring on her hand and laughed a silvery peal of laughter. Then she slipped the ring off and handed it back to Frodo.
"No, that is not my role in this. The ring is a heavy burden for you, but you will have sufficient strength for the bearing. And you will have friends to aid you."
"How did you do that?" he asked in astonishment. "Why weren't you invisible?"
"The only person who can truly master the ring is one who has no desire for the power it offers. I could use it to make myself invisible, but only if I wished. But I have no desire for it. I could bear the ring all the way to the Cracks of Doom, but that quest is for you and your friends. When you were a young hobbit learning to walk, it would have been a disservice for your parents to carry you everywhere, and likewise I would do a disservice to you all if I took the ring. It is your fate—but do not fear," she answered, smiling. "Now we must be on our way, for wargs are close behind." She went to Shadowfax and whispered in his ear, and he snuffled her hair and then turned and cantered back towards Rohan.
They started at the reminder of their danger and continued on their way to Moria.
That night Lanael went out to help Pippin and Merry gather firewood. Gimli sat honing his axe while Legolas rested his chin on his knee and stared into the trees where Lanael had gone. "I would have fought you to the death if you should gaze on Lady Galadriel and say she was not the most beautiful lady in the world, but now I'm afraid I must cede that to Lady Lanael."
Gimli looked up and sighed. "Aye, I'll not argue you on that," he agreed.
Legolas was so love-struck he hardly noticed. "She has eyes like stars!" he said raptly.
Gandalf snorted. "They're deep blue," he said cuttingly.
Gimli said wistfully, "Eyes like sapphires. . ."
At this Gandalf stood impatiently and strode away, heading opposite the direction Lanael and the hobbits had gone.
While Legolas and Gimli sat by the fire, Boromir took his chance. He slipped away from the others and made his way into the trees after the girl. She heard him approach through the dry leaves and turned to him. "Greetings! Have you come to help with the firewood?" She held out an armful of dry branches. He ignored it and grasped her shoulder. She seemed taken aback, but merely looked him calmly in the eye.
"Hear me, my lady! I may not be of royal blood, but my fathers have held the scepter of Gondor for many a year. Your coming is like the moon emerging from behind the clouds. I will ever love you, and if you leave I will wander in darkness. Could you stoop to love me?"
Lanael's eyes shone with great sadness, and she touched his cheek with her hand. "Now is not the time for such things. Even though our effort may succeed, many of us will die in the trying. There will be time for such things only after the Shadow departs, if we live."
Humbled by her gentleness, Boromir was silent. Then he stepped back and bowed. "Then we will speak of this no more for now. And Sauron's orcs will fear my blade!" He put his hand on his sword hilt and turned back towards the camp. As Lanael watched her leave, her task forgotten, a single glittering tear rolled down her cheek.
After a meager dinner the party made camp and settled down to sleep. Merry had the first watch. The night was silent and peaceful, although he knew the wargs were not far off. After several hours Merry went off watch and woke Aragorn and settled down in his pallet.
Aragorn sat by the fire for near to an hour staring at the sleeping Lanael. Finally he strode to her side, knelt, and kissed her on the lips. She awoke and shoved him away with a flash of anger, her blue eyes deepening to violet. "How dare you!"
"Forgive me, lady, I am overcome by love." He grasped her hand and showered it with kisses.
She snatched her hand away. "For shame! Aragorn, you are betrothed to Arwen!"
"What does it matter?" he asked desperately, and seized her hand again.
"She is my kin, I will not see you disgrace her," she cried angrily. "Aragorn, remember yourself." She said gently, "I am here but for a short time, but I foresee many years of happiness for you and Arwen." She touched his forehead with two fingers and said, "I will take watch. Sleep, now, and forget this misplaced love. Think of Arwen." Aragorn seemed as if mesmerized for a second, then he shook his head and went to his bedroll without a word. Lanael sat up and stared into the fire, waiting for the watch to end.
Legolas meanwhile cried soundless tears at Lanael's goodness and his hopeless love. He had been unable to sleep for heartache, and had been frozen in horror when he heard Aragorn declare his love. Yet she had turned down the heir of Isuldur in loyalty to her cousin? He could never hope to gain her love, unless by gaining great honor in the fight against Sauron. He strengthened his determination to do the utmost to aid Frodo's quest to destroy the ring and to hinder Sauron however he might.
Boromir too lay awake. When he heard Aragorn declaring his love, his hand strayed to the sword that lay ready beside his pallet, determined to slay him if he must. At her reply he withdrew his hand. Even Aragorn's regal descent could not win her love, so he knew that he as the son of the Steward of Gondor had no chance in spite of her failure to deny him outright. Unless, perhaps, it were by the defeat of Sauron. He knew that a small hobbit who was by no means a warrior would not survive the attempt to destroy the ring. If he could take it to Minas Tirith and turn the weapon against he who made it. . . He determined to reason with Frodo and thus gain possession of the Ring—or, if he must, to take it by force.
As the moon rose, Gandalf lay insensible to his comrades in a great inner struggle. Only the hobbits rested easily that night in the knowledge of their safety under their new protector.
The story of the comrades' arrival at Moria, the struggle with the monster in the water, and opening of the door is already told. Inside the great city of Moria lay in silence, filled with the dead. However, there were living ears to hear their presence. The orcs were awakened and marched out of the depths to the beat of the war drums. They fought them, and fled to the rocky bridge over a chasm deep beyond imagination. As the party crossed the bridge, they looked back to see the arrival of one of Melkor's fallen Maiar, twisted by his evil power from his original purpose into a dreadful Balrog. Even the orcs fled before him. Foul smoke wreathed his naked body in darkness through which a hellish light glowed, and the air was laden with the smell of brimstone. His clawed feet scorched the stone floor and his bat wings spread out behind him like a meteor's tail. In his hand he held a many-tailed fiery whip, which lashed like a greedy flame.
The party stood rooted in helpless fear until Lanael turned to them and smiled gently. "Now has my hour come," she said simply. The spell of terror was broken, and Gandalf shoved Boromir forward. "Go!" he cried. The others hurried across the bridge while Gandalf and Lanael remained.
"Mithrandir, this is my battle. They will need a protector, go with them."
Gandalf looked at her grimly. "No, I will stand with you."
She smiled and turned back to the Balrog, which now paced steadily towards them down the narrow bridge. Lanael then drew her sword, which shone white with the light of the lost Silmaril, and the Balrog shielded his eyes with his wing and drew back a step. Then he roared, sending a gout of flame into the air, and headed for them again.
Lanael steeled her slender frame and challenged the monster. "You shall not pass!" The Balrog hesitated and then stepped forward once more.
"You shall not pass!" she shouted, and stabbed the sword down into the stone. The granite shattered like sandstone under the stonemason's chisel. The bridge cracked under the weight of the Balrog and gave way. The foul creature of darkness and flame beat his wings and gave a shattering scream as he fell into the depths.
And at that moment, Gandalf swung his staff and struck Lanael's feet from under her. She fell off the path, but in her falling her foot struck his ankle, and he too fell and rolled off the edge. His fall was halted abruptly a mere six feet down as hit foot found a ledge, and he clung desperately to an outcropping rock while he gripped his staff in the other. He looked down and saw Lanael hanging by her fingers from the ledge that he stood on. In a sudden rage, he raised his foot to step on her fingers and then froze as she said, "I forgive you. We will meet in the Halls of Mandos." She smiled kindly, and Gandalf repented of his murderous urge and bent to take her hand. When his fingers had nearly met hers, the rock crumbled and her grip gave way. She fell soundlessly into the darkness.
While the party entered into the sunlight and mourned their lost friends, Gandalf clung to the rock and wept that he should fall from virtue out of envy—and the fellowship was broken.