Chapter 6

Holding tight to the reins of the horse she rode upon, Adrianna kept her eyes on the unseen path before her. There were no markers to help her along her journey, but she knew the direction in which she now headed was the correct one. The map that she had tucked away into her cloak assured that she was traveling in the right direction and she trusted it, as it came from the study of Lord Elrond. The map had been drawn by a scribe under the careful direction of the lord and Adrianna knew of the knowledge he held concerning the areas surrounding Rivendell.

She slowed her horse to a small trot, realizing the air around her getting a bit thinner. The ground was also beginning to slope at a sharper angle and Adrianna knew she was reaching the mountain's higher altitudes. The air was unrestrained here, forcefully whipping about her cloak and dress, as well as her hair. She knew she must look a fright, had she the privilege of a mirror, but pushed that thought immediately out of her head.

I have more pressing matters to think upon this day, she thought, Such as what Lord Elrond will do when he has discovered a map, a horse and several wraps of lembas missing from his house. And I, foolish Elf that I am, conveniently absent from the situation!

She had not done all these things to spite the Lord of Imladris nor to throw his kindness to her back into his face. Adrianna was doing this for him and hoped he would understand in the long run, for this was her opportunity to return such compassion that she felt could never be repaid.

She had been traveling for nearly five days now, but was disheartened to know that her progress was not what it should be. She had never ridden upon a horse before her stay in Rivendell, and although the lessons she had been given were helpful, she still found herself clutching the reigns of her horse with the prayer that she might not fall off. Her inexperience was her hindrance, which frustrated her beyond words!

I must reach Mirkwood before those Men do! She thought, grimly, as she silently urged her steed forward, I must reach…Legolas!


Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, silently stared at the empty desk before him, his dark eyes contemplating the situation. His mouth was set in a thin, grim line and he did not look pleased at the moment. Many thoughts swirled through his wizened mind, giving him no peace as he dwelled upon each one.

Adrianna Roseleaf had disappeared, along with one of the horses from the stables. One of the servants had said she had gone for a ride to clear her head, but that had been five days ago. She had not returned and neither had the horse. He knew that it was because of the audience with the Men of Yelren that Adrianna had left. It was no secret that she had been once again listening on matters that were not of her concern, but had not given it much thought. He never imagined she would take the actions she did.

The Men of Yelren had been pleasant enough upon their arrival to his hall. They had bowed and greeted him with reverence and respect, then proceeded to hail him and the Elves with praise concerning the past events of Middle-Earth. When the pleasantries had been exchanged, the Men had gotten straight to the point….

FLASHBACK

"We have mentioned that we are Men from the land of Yelren," the one named Tiruc said. "It is a small kingdom near the borders of Mordor, south of the great city of Minas Tirith. We come to you to plead for your help." His dark eyes gazed upon the Elven lord, sitting upon his throne.

Elrond had heard of this kingdom of old, heard of its splendor and prosperousness. "You are a long way from home, milord," he told them. "To come here to Rivendell to ask such a request is needless when so many others surround your land and would no doubt grant you that which you ask of."

"It is not the help of Men that we desire, milord," Tiruc answered. "I am told only the magic of the Elves will suffice in our situation."

This intrigued Elrond. "Oh?" he questioned, one brow arched. "We Elves posses powers that mainly extend to the purpose of healing. Tell me then, Tiruc, son of Moran, what 'magic' does the race of Elves posses that would benefit that of your people?"

Tiruc drew back his shoulders and straightened his back to stand proudly before him. "We have evidence that your people posses a power even greater than that of the Dark Lord who has been diminished," he answered. "Our people have long suffered from famine and poverty, going unnoticed by those who neighbor our lands. We are a dying people, Lord Elrond, a dying people who only wish to be counted once more among the Men of Middle-Earth."

"What may I offer you that it might help?" Elrond asked. Though his faith in Men had waned as of late, he was not ignorant to the plight of some. These Men had traveled far with the hope that Elves would assist them when their brethren had not.

Tiruc cast his gaze upon the Elven-lord, his eyes filled with determination. "Give us the power of Aìnu, once great sorceress of the Elves," he answered.

Elrond felt his body jolt in his seat as his eyes flew to the face of the man before him. "What is this that you request?" he demanded, the frown already forming on his face.

"Give us the power of the sorceress Aìnu," Tiruc repeated. "We know of its existence and know of the possibilities it can give to our people. We ask for it not to corrupt ourselves with greed or lust of power, but to simply restore our people and our lands to their once existence."

Elrond stared at him, the disbelief on his face. These Men knew not what they asked, what responsibility, what consequences would surely come upon them if given this power. He shook his head. "It cannot be done," he told them. "While I do not deny that the power once walked among the Elves, it has been lost many, many centuries ago."

Tiruc's eyes flashed momentarily and his body stiffened. "We have it on good authority that it has not," he returned, his voice now hard and grating. "The power, as it has been recorded, was taken and given to the Elves in the form of a babe of your kind."

Elrond once again shook his head. "As I have stated before, Tiruc, son of Moran," he said, firmly, "your request cannot be granted. This power is beyond the race of Men."

"You would do this while my people slowly fade into the memory of Middle-Earth?" Tiruc demanded, not bothering to conceal his anger. "While you sit upon your throne in splendor, my people sit upon the dirt and filth that covers our land!" He pointed an accusing finger at the Elf, his body shaking with anger. "It is a power that should have been given to Men!" he continued, his face now contorted with rage. "Men are the true lords of this world; it is Men who will rule over it, not Elves! Too long have you and your kind hindered and interfered with the rulings of Men!"

END FLASHBACK

Elrond shook his head at the memory of his audience with the Men of Yelren, not surprised at the outcome of such a meeting. He had seen it happen many times before, which explained his slowly fading faith in Men. While he agreed that they had done much to overcome the evil of the Dark Lord Sauron, it had not restored much of his faith in them. While that dark power might be gone, it did not mean that there were no more evils and temptations that the Men could fall under.

Tiruc and his men had left Rivendell at once, leaving the air between them and Elrond unclear. Before their departure, however, Tiruc had looked upon the lord of the realm one last time and ushered the warning, "We will not be denied the power that was once within our grasp. Mark my words, Elf! The power of the sorceress Aìnu will be possessed by the Men of Yelren!"

It had not concerned him, this threat that had been issued for there was only a select few who knew the truth concerning this power. Most Elves had all but forgotten about the sorceress and only a handful knew of the power she had possessed. Whatever Tiruc and his men were planning would only be met by disaster from lack of knowledge of what they sought.

Once again, Elrond shook his head. He was not worried about the situation, but he was troubled over Adrianna's sudden departure. While he knew the maiden was cured and harmless, those who wished to impose justice upon her would not take her leave of Rivendell very well. In almost a week's time, Ziendriel would be arriving as Adrianna had requested; perhaps the two would pass in travel?

He did not know to where she had run off to, nor the reason why. Surely she had heard the Men's threat, as he knew of her secret listening spot just beyond the windows of his hall; the Men obviously did not know where to search or what exactly to seek. A new thought suddenly entered his mind: What if she had heard something from the low conversation Tiruc had had as he left the hall? He had bent his head close to that of his companion as they had walked out and had murmured low. Perhaps his words had alarmed Adrianna to something he had missed?

Elrond frowned deeply, his worry increased. If his suspicions were correct, then Adrianna had just put herself in a dangerous situation…which in any case justified his command for his guard to follow her.


Legolas checked the reins on Vanesse, tapping her lightly on her nose when she moved to playfully nip his hand. "Careful, runt!" he warned, though a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He had yet to forgive the animal for the last bite she had given him and was not sure he wished to. When he heard the horse neigh, he turned away from her. "You will not change your mind?" he asked his wife, who now stood beside him.

The day was just beginning and they were numbered among the small crowd that stood in the front courtyard of the palace. Erundil, who had pleaded and begged his father to allow him to accompany his mother to Rivendell (for he had yet to see the beautiful refuge that had tickled his imagination through tale), already sat upon his own steed, a stunning brown mare by the name of Zara. Next to him, grooming his own horse, was Jhad. He had volunteered to escort the princess and her son, insisting that the honor be given to him. Four other lords of the king's guard, as well as Tiri, were also accompanying her, waiting patiently for their departure.

Ziendriel laughed and warmly placed a hand on his smooth cheek. "No, husband," she answered, smiling. "I will not." When she saw him sigh, her smile turned soft. "I know you do not approve of this journey," she told him, "but you understand why I must go?"

Legolas sighed, then nodded. "I do," he answered. "But it does not mean I must agree with it." In truth, this would be the first time Ziendriel would be away from the kingdom as well as him since their marriage and it was not sitting well with his instincts or his heart. Since the night before, a feeling of dread had settled in his stomach and had not left. The feeling was still present as he now said farewell to his wife.

He suddenly motioned a servant forward, taking from her the carefully folded bundle that she held. Ziendriel watched as it fairly shimmered in the sun as he gently shook the material free, revealing a long, dark gray cloak. Legolas gently threw it around her shoulders, then fastened it at her throat with the beautiful leaf clasp that was pinned there. His eyes went momentarily to that clasp before telling her, "This is the cloak from my travels with the Fellowship; it was another gift from the Lady of Light. It protected me from harm and I wish for you to benefit from that protection also."

Ziendriel did not know what to say. She felt a sense of great honor run through her as she gently fingered the clasp, watching as it caught the sunlight with its gold and green colors. She had often wondered what had become of this cloak after his return home for he never spoke of it after they had married. It smelled of the woods surrounding her, immediately bringing an image of her husband to mind; she smiled.

Legolas kissed her lightly on her forehead, then allowed his lips to linger on hers, inhaling the sweet scent of being so near to her. "Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta (May your ways be green and golden)," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

She nodded, pressing another kiss to his lips. She smiled softly, then allowed him to help her mount her horse. When she had settled comfortably upon Vanesse's back, she leaned down and cupped his cheek in her hand. Legolas returned the gesture, a slight frown marring his handsome face. "Return to me safely, meleth," he whispered.

The sound of her laughter made his ears twitch. "I dare not defy your wishes, milord," she teased. She sent him one last smile, then straightened up. To Jhad, she said, "I believe we are ready."

Jhad nodded. "Namaarie," he told the assembled crowd. He placed his hand to his chest, then gently swept his arm in front of him. Those who were to remain returned the gesture, then watched as the small company turned and galloped away.

Legolas stood there for the longest time, his eyes watching as his wife and son disappeared among the dense gathering of trees, his keen eyes committing their movements to memory. Even after the others had ventured back into the palace, Legolas stood there, willing his wife's safety by the mere intensity of his eyes.


As the journey wore on, Ziendriel was also becoming unsettled at her decision to go. It was in her best interest, as well as that of Adrianna, that she made this journey but that conviction gave her little or no comfort from the uneasiness she felt. Her apprehension stemmed from nightmares the night before her departure, but whose images she could not recall. What she could remember was the emotion of fright it had left her with and the anxiety that she forcefully pushed away.

It returned full force once they had left the safety of Mirkwood's borders and were now openly traveling on the road. Without the dense covering of the great trees of her home, the sun shone brighter on the little party, prompting Ziendriel to draw the hood of her cloak over her head, giving some relief to her eyes. There was hardly any cover out on the path, save a few bushes; this only heightened her insecurity.

She had just turned to her son to assure herself of his well-being when it happened. She did not know from whence they come nor where they had sought concealment in the sparse surroundings, but Ziendriel found her company being attacked.

Fifteen Men on horseback came charging at them from all sides, their yells echoing in the free air. The hooves of their horses sounded like thunder as they pounded upon the ground, closing in on the eight Elves. The Men were dressed in head-to-toe black, giving their appearance to that of savages. Each one had long, dark hair that flew wildly about them, and their equally dark eyes burned with a dangerous light.

"Erundil!" Ziendriel called to her son, moving Vanesse closer to him. She grasped him firmly by his armpits and plucked the young prince easily from the back of his horse. She sat him in front of her as she tightly clasped her horse's reins in her white-knuckled hands. The child was trembling as the Men drew closer and instinctively buried himself within the safety of his mother's arms.

Jhad was firing off commands to his men. "Noro (Run!)!" he yelled to Ziendriel and Tiri. "Make for the safety of the borders of Mirkwood!" No sooner had the words left his mouth than did he turn back to face their attackers.

Ziendriel motioned for Tiri to follow her, then kicked Vanesse into a mad dash.

They backtracked upon the path, heading east towards the west border of Mirkwood that could be seen in the horizon ahead. There were two Men that gave them chase, a steady stream of cursing now spewing from their mouths. Ziendriel chose to ignore them and focused on getting her son to safety.

The clash of metal could be heard from behind her, as well as the battle cries of both Men and Elves. Over the pace of Vanesse, she could hear Tiri whimpering pitifully and turned her eyes to her servant. A look of pure fright was upon the poor maiden's face as she was jostled on the back of her horse, her hands buried in its mane. She kept her eyes ahead, her lips moving silently in prayer as she begged the Valar to allow her to escape the Men. The trees of Mirkwood were now growing closer and Ziendriel felt her heart leap for joy. She urged Vanesse forward with a whisper into the animal's ear and prayed that the western patrol of the kingdom would spot them soon.

The thought was taken from her as she suddenly found herself suddenly crashing to the ground. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her and she vaguely heard Erundil's cry of pain. Rolling over onto her stomach, Ziendriel saw her son a few feet away from her, curled up into a ball. Vanesse was also on the ground, thrashing wildly on her side, three arrows embedded deep within one of her hind legs.

"Mistress!" Tiri screamed, once she realized the princess was no longer riding beside her. She quickly turned her horse around and commanded the animal back. Ziendriel was up and at her son's side as the Men suddenly flanked her. She cradled Erundil in her arms, quietly soothing him with her whispers. She kept her eyes to the leering Men stationed high above her on horses, but said nothing.

"Give us the child," one of the Men commanded, pointing his sword at them.

Ziendriel looked defiantly at him. "No," she answered, her motherly instincts now awakened. She drew her arms protectively around her now whimpering son and glared at the Men who dared threatened them.

The other man sneered at her. "What did you say?" he demanded, spittle flying from his mouth. He, too, drew his sword and pointed it at the she-Elf. His mind acknowledged her beauty for long had he desired to see such a creature, but he also knew that he had his orders and would not be deterred by his boyhood fantasy.

Ziendriel carefully stood, holding Erundil to her bosom. "I said no," she repeated, calmly, though her heart now beat angrily against her chest. "You have attacked us with no provocation and have frightened my child. And now you demand I give him to you? Why would I willingly agree?" She continued to gaze at them, her eyes never wavering from theirs. She could hear Tiri making her way back to them and hoped her distraction would prove worthily.

The Men were livid! "You dare defy us?!" one of them yelled, dismounting from his horse. He took one step forward, his sword clutched in his hand, but that was all he was afforded before Tiri came crashing through on her horse. The man on his horse easily avoided her and gave chase, while the man on the ground was momentarily distracted.

Ziendriel used the opportunity to drive the heel of her hand into her attacker's cheekbone, then kick his feet out from under him when he became dazed. She smiled a little when he howled with pain and anger, turning his blazing eyes towards her. She set Erundil upon his feet and moved him behind her.

The man was now cursing words she did not understand nor wished to. His free hand went to his face, while he struggled to get to his feet, his other hand still clutching his sword. He growled as he brought the sword up, ready to strike down the Elf-maiden before him…

The surprise on his face barely registered when his sword was met by one held in the Elf-maiden's hands. From where she had gotten it, he did not know. What he did know was that she was blocking his blow and was not apologetic.

Ziendriel widely swung her sword in a large arc, knocking the sword from his hand. She hid her smile as she reminded herself to thank Gragoc for his lessons, then pointed the tip of her blade at the man glaring at her. "I would that you leave now," she told him, her own eyes blazing the color of emeralds. She was thoroughly furious by this man's audacity and felt the desire to break his nose. However, the sniffling emitted by her son melted that desire; she needed to get Erundil to safety and soon.

The man sneered at her, his own anger apparent. In one last effort, he lunged for her, but Ziendriel easily side stepped him, moving Erundil with her. When the man flew past her, she brought the hilt of her sword down upon his head, wincing as she heard the sickening thud. He fell to the ground in a cloud of dust as she sheathed her sword in the belt concealed by Legolas' cloak.

"Are you alright, Erundil?" she asked the Elfling, clutching him once again into her arms. When he merely nodded, she whispered, "Let us run, then." She moved him onto her back and clutched the back of his knees as he wrapped his legs around her. She began to run towards the western border of her home, throwing an apologetic glance at her injured horse. Once they were safe, she would send someone back for the rest of the party, including her horse. Vanesse neighed loudly, watching her mistress go, then slowly lowered her head back to the ground.

Legolas will be furious! she thought, as she ran. An image of her husband flashed before her eyes, his face contorted with anger. His emotions would not be aimed at her, she knew that; it would instead be targeted for himself, added to the blame he would no doubt place on his shoulders. She knew the workings of his thoughts whenever it concerned her, but did not know of his reaction since their son was now included in this danger. She was not anxious to find out.

Ziendriel saw no sign of Tiri, nor of Jhad and his men. She dared not look over her shoulder and continued to run, keeping her eyes on the approaching trees ahead. She did not see any of the patrol, but chided herself for not remembering the clever concealment of Elves. They were there, but she could not take the time to properly seek them with her eyes.

Erundil suddenly screamed as he was torn from his mother's back, roughly grabbed around the neck. The sudden movement made Ziendriel fly backwards, causing her to crash to the ground. A pain shot up her spine as she landed on her back and she cried out in pain.

"Got you!" the man yelled triumphantly, holding the screaming child by the neck.

Ziendriel recognized him as the man who had chased Tiri off; she glanced around, looking for her servant, but could not see her anywhere; it only heightened her fear for Tiri. Her son's frightened cries brought her eyes back to him.

"Release him!" she yelled, getting to her feet. She moved towards them, but immediately stopped when the man's hand suddenly tightened around Erundil's neck. He gasped.

The man sneered at her. "I think not, milady," he told her. "Unless you would wish him dead." He purposely squeezed harder and laughed when the child's gasps became silent.

"Stop!" Ziendriel screamed, tears pricking her eyes. She looked at her son as he was once again allowed to breathe and apologizing with her eyes. "Please!" she said in barely a whisper. "Do not hurt him."

The man laughed at her, mockingly. "How little you Elves think of Men!" he told her, smugly. "And if I did wish to hurt him, what would stop me?" The expression on his face was now one of gloating, though it turned his appearance into that of a ghastly man.

"He is the Prince of Mirkwood, whose borders we are near," Ziendriel answered, proudly. "To hurt him would be the death of you and your men." She was satisfied when the smugness disappeared from his face; no doubt he had heard of the fierce warriors the race of Elves were trained to be.

After a moment of doubt, the sneer returned to the man's face. "Then we will work this to our advantage," he told her, tucking the child under his arm. He turned to walk away, but whirled back when Ziendriel lunged for her son. She felt his curled up fist connect with the back of her head and immediately fell to the ground. The last thing she heard before the darkness overcame her was the sound of Erundil screams as he was spirited away.