A/N: Yes, this is a parody. No offense is intended to anyone; I just like playing with the clichés. The name Elamanelessa is again a parody, just a whole bunch of Elvish elements jammed together without rhyme or reason.
Elamanelessa had been riding for fifty hours without a rest. She was beginning to become tired. Thus, it was with relief that she now came upon a forest path guarded by an elf with a bow. With a noble mien, she drew up the reins, forcing her golden stallion to a halt. She challenged the strange Elf. "Who are you?"
"Who am I?" the elf replied with scorn. "I should be asking you that question. What is a wild Elf doing in Lothlorien?"
"I am Elamanelessa, among many other names. And I am no wild elf. My mother was Amarie of the Vanyar, the Light-elves; my father was Tulkas the Strong, greatest warrior among the Valar. Now, little wood-elf, tell me your name."
The elf stiffened in anger, but subsided when he looked into Elamanelessa's flaming emerald eyes, twinkling with the promise of disaster to anyone who crossed her. Seeing that terrible, scimitar-like gaze, he could well believe that this strange woman came of divine roots. "I am Bargil. I must take you to Lord Celeborn."
The azure-haired maiden allowed herself to be led, maintaining a noble mien, towards the elven palace, commenting sarcastically on the quality of the landscaping in Lothlorien the whole way.
"Lord Celeborn!" Bargil cried. The mighty palace doors swung open. An older Elf emerged from the mighty stone fortress. His eyes passed over Bargil, but when he saw Elamanelessa, he bowed before her.
Bargil looked thoroughly puzzled; Elamanelessa smirked.
"You are the prophesied child of Tulkas who will save us from the coming fading of the Elves!"
"So I am," Elamanelessa replied, "but how did you know?"
"Your appearance is not mortal; even the high and noble races of the Elves do not tend toward blue hair, as your father Tulkas has. Your mighty yet supple muscles provide another clue. Also, you are taller even than my wife Galadriel. But one more test must be passed."
"Yes?" she said, in a dry, bored tone.
"Do you have the holy blade Ringil, wielded by Fingolfin? It is said that the true Savior of the Elves will bear that sword."
Drawing her scintillating sword from the scabbard at the hip with a flourish full of panache and style, Elamanelessa answered without words.
"You are the Most Chosen One indeed!" Celeborn exclaimed in a voice full of reverent worship and veneration, falling to one knee.
At that moment, they were interrupted by a horrid roar and the stamping of mighty feet. A huge monster of darkness and fire raced upon them, flaming claws extended.
Celeborn shouted "A Balrog! Elamanelessa, get under cover!" He could not afford to risk the Savior of the Elves in battle.
Ignoring Celeborn, Elamanelessa charged into battle, drawing Ringil. The sword flashed blue in the Balrog's face, and the monster roared. It well remembered the terrible wounds this blade had inflicted on Morgoth himself. But Fingolfin had borne it then, and now only a mere girl carried it. Seeing this, the Balrog recovered and lashed out with a flaming claw, forming trails of fire that licked out towards Elamanelessa.
Swiftly parrying the flames with Ringil's blade, Elamanelessa reflected them into the Balrog's face. They did not burn the fiery monster, but it roared in frustration.
Celeborn drew his own sword and slashed the Balrog's leg. Blood like lava poured from the wound; then it closed, as the creature healed itself. In pain, the Balrog turned and raised its clawed fist, preparing to crush Celeborn's skull.
Seeing Celeborn's impending death, Elamanelessa leaped at the Balrog. Ringil cleaved off one arm as she struck from the creature's flank. She slashed again, and the shining blade sank deeply into the Balrog's evil form.
The creature shuddered, then exploded in a flash of red light. Elamanelessa wiped her sword on the grass, removing the Balrog's burning blood.
Celeborn turned to face Elamanelessa, unsteady on his feet. He bowed clumsily. "Many thanks. You are a great warrior indeed."
Elamanelessa scoffed. "It is nothing. I thought Balrogs were supposed to be powerful."
Celeborn gaped, then recovered. "There should not be Balrogs here in Lothlorien! This place is sacrosanct. I fear this bodes only ill for Middle-earth. It might be wise for me to depart. Perhaps my time is come to leave for Aman itself. I do not understand this thing. Even in the Third Age, Lothlorien was safe from the minions of the Enemy. Now that it lies on Tol Eressea, it should be doubly protected. "
Elamanelessa realized the truth in a flash. "It has been four Ages since Galadriel put the spells on Lothlorien that moved it here. Perhaps those spells need to be renewed, and Lothlorien is beginning to reconnect to Middle-Earth."
"That would be terrible! If this forest returned to Middle-Earth entirely, the mallorns would wither, and we would fade into ghosts. And I cannot renew the spells. My power is not as great as that of Galadriel, and she is lost to us." Tears trickled down his face.
At the very beginning of the Seventh Age, Galadriel had ill-advisedly returned to Middle-Earth to learn about the civilizations humans had built without the aid of Elves. Unfortunately, she found herself on the receiving end of an atom bomb test, near ground zero. Generally, when an Elf's body is killed, its spirit returns to Namo in the halls of Mandos, and it may after a time gain a new body. However, it is an odd trait of Elvish spirits that they are destroyed by ionizing radiation at intensities more than ten or twenty times greater than the background level. Thus, Galadriel's spirit was dispersed on the fallout-laden wind, spreading throughout the world, lost forever to the Elves as Luthien was. Elven custom did not provide for the complete annihilation of an Elf; thus, it was uncertain if Celeborn could properly remarry.
Celeborn spoke through his tears, troubled. "But even in Middle-Earth there are no more Balrogs, it is said. Middle-Earth is all Men now, Men and their cities and machines."
Elamanelessa replied softly, "I had thought so too. But it seems the Balrogs are returning – perhaps from the Void where their master Morgoth was cast; perhaps from the depths of Udun."
Reinvigorated by this thought, Celeborn straightened. "Then we must call the Elves together to prepare. If the brood of Morgoth will bring war to us even beyond the Sea to the Undying Lands, then they will find us ready for them."