Pleading
The Lady Galadriel stood at the borders of Lothlorien, her husband Celeborn at her side, her clear eyes, blue as the brightest of sapphires, roaming over the vast landscape leading to her home. Lord Celeborn murmured something about leaving and waiting for their granddaughter at their chamber, but Galadriel pushed his arm away. Princess Anorlach of Mirkwood, their flesh-and-blood granddaughter, was coming. The Lady had seen her arrival in the Mirror when she had been uncertain as to what the future held for her second daughter and her grandchild.
The distant pounding of hoofbeats caught the Lady's attention, and she stared unblinking at the horizon until a speck of chestnut rounded a hill beyond, vibrant against the cloudy sky. A small cry of joy escaped Galadriel's lips, but it soon turned into a moan of despair. As horse and rider drew nearer, she could see the chestnut mare, rightly call-named Free, was in a lather, panting with the effort of keeping her swift pace, and Anorlach, mounted unsteadily on her exquisite steed, eyes wide, was struggling to keep her balance in the saddle as she clutched at her belly, reeling with sickness.
As they pulled the princess from the saddle, checking for any wounds or abnormalities that might have made her thus, they heard a rasping pant: "Save me."
Galadriel glanced up at the horizon, and saw nothing, but her quick ears caught the shrill neighing of many horses, and panic was instilled within her. Half dragging, half carrying her granddaughter in one arm, she took Free's reins with the other and set off at a swift jog, sparing her husband an encouraging glance as he stepped forth to deal with the opposing riders, although it was unneeded. The duo had just disappeared into the shadow of the mallorn trees when the riders crested the nearest hill, unaware that the one that they sought had been taken by her kin.
The leader of the riders was King Thranduil of Mirkwood, Anorlach's father, and he looked absolutely furious, brutally driving on his bay stallion with pounding heels clapping to heaving sides, ignoring pinned ears and purposeful stumbling. He reined in his steed from a full-out gallop, the horse's flaring nostrils hardly two inches from Celeborn, but the Lord didn't even flinch, only reached up his hand to pat the stallion's sweaty neck.
"Where is my daughter?" demanded Thranduil, fixing his cold blue-gray gaze on Celeborn's face. The Lord of Lorien thought quickly.
"She has perished," he answered, keeping his voice steady and calm. "We found her hanging on an unfamiliar chestnut stallion, dead. We have the horse and the body is being properly buried at the moment."
"What?" exclaimed a young male Elf with white blonde hair, urging his palomino filly forward the same way Thranduil had his mount. "She is my pleasure slave; it is plainly shown by the leather binding her left wrist with a crescent moon engraved upon it. How can she be dead?" Celeborn winced at the word "slave", even though he knew well how women were treated in Mirkwood, save his second daughter, wife of Thranduil.
"We found there was an arrow buried in her side, straight through her heart," replied Celeborn, hiding half the truth while gazing accusingly at the bows and quivers hanging from the Elves' naked backs. With that, he turned and went back to his chamber, leaving the Mirkwood riders speechless and left only to turn and spur their steeds back home.
The Lady Galadriel stood at the borders of Lothlorien, her husband Celeborn at her side, her clear eyes, blue as the brightest of sapphires, roaming over the vast landscape leading to her home. Lord Celeborn murmured something about leaving and waiting for their granddaughter at their chamber, but Galadriel pushed his arm away. Princess Anorlach of Mirkwood, their flesh-and-blood granddaughter, was coming. The Lady had seen her arrival in the Mirror when she had been uncertain as to what the future held for her second daughter and her grandchild.
The distant pounding of hoofbeats caught the Lady's attention, and she stared unblinking at the horizon until a speck of chestnut rounded a hill beyond, vibrant against the cloudy sky. A small cry of joy escaped Galadriel's lips, but it soon turned into a moan of despair. As horse and rider drew nearer, she could see the chestnut mare, rightly call-named Free, was in a lather, panting with the effort of keeping her swift pace, and Anorlach, mounted unsteadily on her exquisite steed, eyes wide, was struggling to keep her balance in the saddle as she clutched at her belly, reeling with sickness.
As they pulled the princess from the saddle, checking for any wounds or abnormalities that might have made her thus, they heard a rasping pant: "Save me."
Galadriel glanced up at the horizon, and saw nothing, but her quick ears caught the shrill neighing of many horses, and panic was instilled within her. Half dragging, half carrying her granddaughter in one arm, she took Free's reins with the other and set off at a swift jog, sparing her husband an encouraging glance as he stepped forth to deal with the opposing riders, although it was unneeded. The duo had just disappeared into the shadow of the mallorn trees when the riders crested the nearest hill, unaware that the one that they sought had been taken by her kin.
The leader of the riders was King Thranduil of Mirkwood, Anorlach's father, and he looked absolutely furious, brutally driving on his bay stallion with pounding heels clapping to heaving sides, ignoring pinned ears and purposeful stumbling. He reined in his steed from a full-out gallop, the horse's flaring nostrils hardly two inches from Celeborn, but the Lord didn't even flinch, only reached up his hand to pat the stallion's sweaty neck.
"Where is my daughter?" demanded Thranduil, fixing his cold blue-gray gaze on Celeborn's face. The Lord of Lorien thought quickly.
"She has perished," he answered, keeping his voice steady and calm. "We found her hanging on an unfamiliar chestnut stallion, dead. We have the horse and the body is being properly buried at the moment."
"What?" exclaimed a young male Elf with white blonde hair, urging his palomino filly forward the same way Thranduil had his mount. "She is my pleasure slave; it is plainly shown by the leather binding her left wrist with a crescent moon engraved upon it. How can she be dead?" Celeborn winced at the word "slave", even though he knew well how women were treated in Mirkwood, save his second daughter, wife of Thranduil.
"We found there was an arrow buried in her side, straight through her heart," replied Celeborn, hiding half the truth while gazing accusingly at the bows and quivers hanging from the Elves' naked backs. With that, he turned and went back to his chamber, leaving the Mirkwood riders speechless and left only to turn and spur their steeds back home.