A/N: This is my first LOTR fic, be kind please. Constructive criticism appreciated. Slightly AU. I own nothing but my original characters, everything else is Tolkien's. Enjoy and please read and review!

Iminselyë sighed wearily as she trudged across the grassy plain. She looked back, watching the last remnants of her tired, bedraggled and dusty people straggle behind her. "Come, it is not much further, we should make the edge of the forest by nightfall." What few warriors they had left were scattered about, helping their people along as best they could while maintaining a vigilant rearguard.

One of the warriors rode up to Iminselyë, "Ataroselle, we need to make haste to Laurelindórenan, Arinyavende is starting to fade, her wound has become infected."

Iminselyë jumped onto the horse behind her nephew, "Take me to the cart, stay with the group and lead them with your sister, I will take the injured ahead."

Iminion gave her a worried glance as she hopped onto the cart, "Do you want me to send guards with you?"

She shook her head as she steered the cart out of the column of refugees, "Nay, the orcs persue us still, you will need all of the warriors if they attack again, get our people to the woods as fast as possible."

She looked back to the healer as she spurred the horses on faster, "Lórelira, how long do we have before we lose her?"

"My queen, she will not make it til sundown now that she has given birth to the babe, it was the only reason why she was fighting the infection."

Iminselyë sighed as she thought to herself, 'I will not lose another friend, I have lost too many these short few months.' She tried to push out of her mind, the horrors that her people had been subjected to these past few years.

Driven out of their homeland east of the Orocarni mountains, they were forced to flee to the west, climbing through the mountains and treacherous terrain, constantly being pursued by orcs and other dark creatures. Many had been lost in their perilous flight. Their warriors had taken the heaviest hit, naught but 50 remain out of the original 1,000 warriors. Her people were beginning to lose hope, and the flight to Laurelindórenan was their last ditch effort to survive.

As the cart crested a large hill, the majestic forest loomed into view, Iminselyë's heart filled with hope as she urged the horses on as fast as they could safely go, "Arinyavende do not leave me, we are almost there! You will live to see your babe grow!" she shouted.

A couple of the other injured elves moaned in agony as the cart ran roughshod over the grassy plains, jarring their broken bones. Iminselyë grimaced, "I am sorry my friends, we must make haste."

Finally, after an hour she slowed down to enter the serene wood, even in the east they had heard tales of a powerful elf witch guarded by the deadliest elves in all of Middle Earth.

As she slowed the cart to a stop she raised her hands in surrender, sensing that they were being watched. "Please, kind elves of Laurelindórenan, my friend is fading and she has a newborn babe. My people are weary and injured, they number 200 and we are being pursued by orcs, we are all that are left of the Kindi from the east. Please save my people." As Iminselyë finished her impassioned plea several elves appeared as if they had been there the whole time, surrounding the cart.

The Marchwarden stepped forward and had his wardens lower their bows, "Lady, we have been expecting you and time is short, follow my wardens to the patrol telain. A healer awaits your injured there. Your people will be brought into the safety of our woods and we will deal with the orcs when they arrive. How many pursue your people? "

She let out the breath she was holding, "One hundred at least my lord, we have naught but 50 warriors remaining."

He nodded and signaled for a warden to take the reins of the cart. "We will do our best to protect your people my Lady", the Marchwarden then disappeared into the trees with his patrol.

Iminselyë lightly jumped into the back of the cart as the warden took control, steering them deeper into the forest. She grasped Arinyavende's hand tightly and stared into her pain filled, pale green eyes, "Meldenya, please, you must stay with us, your beautiful daughter needs you, I need you. You did not abandon me in my times of need and I will not abandon you. We are almost to the healer."

Arinyavende moaned and whispered, "I do not know if I have the strength to go on. With my husband gone, the light has gone out of my world."

The queen sighed and caressed her best friend's hair, "You are strong and you have to be strong for your daughter. Do not let her grow up without a mother. She needs you."

Struggling to stay conscious Arinyavende gasped, "The pain is so great; I do not know how much longer I have."

Iminselyë tried to ease her pain with her exhausted healing ability, "I will help you all I can, you will make it, I know you will." She focused on dulling her friends' pain until she heard shouts from other elves and the cart came to a slow stop.

Elves scrambled around them, removing the injured from the cart to make room for the healers to jump in and place Arinyavende in a woven basket to lift her up to the Healer's flet. After she was lifted up the rest of the injured elves were taken up to awaiting healers.

Iminselyë and Lórelira climbed up the hithlain ladder, reaching the top just as Arinyavende was removed from the basket and moved to an awaiting healer. Lórelira told the healer of her injuries and helped him work on cleaning the infected wound, giving her the antidote to the orc poison and something to stop the pain.

Iminselyë stayed close holding Arinyavende's daughter and watching in relief as healers tended to her people. Musing at the scene before her she wondered how many more of her people would die or be injured before this was all over, the losses weighed heavily on her feä.

A healer broke her out of her maundering thoughts. "Milady, please let me have a look at you and the babe. I will tend to any injuries you may have."

The queen shook her head, "I do not have any injuries and the babe is fine, she just needs her mother to be well."

"You still need to rest; we will not make for the city until morning. Follow me and I will bring you food and show you where you may lay down. I can tend to the babe" said the healer.

Iminselyë gave her a hard look and stood straighter, "I will not rest until all of my people are safe. I will stay right here with the babe. Bring me food if you wish, though I doubt I will eat much."

The healer sighed and nodded, "As you wish milady."

Several hours later, as Arinyavende lay in a healing sleep Iminselyë crept to the edge of the flet as she sensed movement below her. In the dim twilight she could see her people walking deeper into the forest escorted by a few wardens. She turned to find a warden and asked where they were taking her people.

The warden gave her a confused look and spoke in broken Quenya, "I do not speak Quenya well, let me find a guard that does." With that the guard disappeared into the darkness, shortly returning with a warden that looked similar to the Marchwarden.

He bowed and addressed her, "Milady your people are being taken to the third guard post deeper in the woods where such a large number will be better protected. We will join them in the morning before continuing on to the city. You should try to rest."

She nodded and relaxed, knowing that her people were safe. She settled the babe gently in her sleeping basket and leaned against the comforting tree quickly slipping into a deep reverie.

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Iminselyë (first daughter)

Minyanóna (first born)

Iminion (son of Imin)

Arinyavende (dawn maiden)

Lórelira (dreamsong)

Ataroselle - (Father Sister - Aunt) a word I made up since it isn't in my Quenya dictionary.

Meldenya - (dear friend)

Laurelindórenan - An older name for Lothlorien, translates to 'Land of the Valley of Singing Gold'