Disclaimer: Obviously I still do not own Lord of the Rings. Numëstel/Èolas is my character, however. Don't go searching for her anywhere in the books because you won't find her. Reminder: Numëstel means hope of the west.

Warning: Violence in this chapter.

Chapter Twelve

A Light Born of Shadow

"Eru!" Numëstel Èolas cried at the heavens when her father had forever disappeared from her sight. "Why? Why have you forsaken us?"

Elrond placed his arm around the child. Though weeping tears had not yet left his own face, he spoke to her, who was now the heir of Isildur and to the throne of Gondor. "The time to grieve the loss of your father without interruption will come, Numëstel, but now you have a duty to Middle Earth. These eagles have come to bear us to Lòthlòrien and it is there that you must go, for the sake of this world. The sword in your hand is Anduril, and rightly was it named, for it is the flame of the West; It will deal Sauron a mighty blow in Lòthlòrien. Come, there is no more time for delay." The Elf lifted Numëstel onto the back of one of the eagles and the others followed suit, Èowyn accompanying Numëstel. Théoden warily mounted, but voiced no objections to his niece's intention to accompany them. So thus the company, borne by the eagles, consisted of Numëstel Èolas, heir of Gondor, Gandalf the White, Elrond half-Elven, his daughter Arwen Undomiel, King Théoden of Rohan, and Èowyn, the White Lady. The eagles ascended into the heavens and Théoden clung noticeably tighter to the neck of his bearer. Soon the Anduin stretched below them.

"Lòthlòrien!" Numëstel, the first to lay eyes upon the fair land, exclaimed. As they landed, she saw sparks of golden leaves, the symbol of spring, amidst the destruction. Only a short distance away, the child could see the Orcs and the Elven warriors. The servants of Mordor had made their way within the boundaries of Lorien and the Elves were not faring well. Just as the eagles set foot on the soil, a piercing screech sliced through the air. As if in answer, Numëstel leapt off her messenger and walked calmly, but quickly, to the battle front. Èowyn stared after the child in disbelief for a moment and then the eagles were riderless.

A face as empty and dark as a void did turn his focus to them and Numëstel knew him immediately. He was the Lord of the Nazgûl, the most powerful servant of the Eye, the Witch King of Angmar. A few meters behind her, Gandalf gestured to Numëstel to fall back to his side, but she either did not notice or paid him no heed. She continued to glide between the combatants to where the minion stood. A hissing noise filled the air, like a final, labored breath. Neither opponent said a word, but stood as still as the trees for a moment, each deeply pondering the other. Arwen later said she saw a glint in Numëstel's eyes that was pure pity and, perhaps, some strange form of compassion. Then her resolve seemed to harden and she grasped the hilt of Anduril.

At this, the Witch King breathed a whisper of death, cold, black mist rising from beneath his hood. The fog engulfed Numëstel from view for moments that dragged on for eternity. Her friends stood still, the battle raging slowly about them, fearing the worst. Suddenly, a band of pure light formed a crack in the darkness and it began to crumble, being overwhelmed by the brilliance of the light. The Nazgûl was taken aback by the overwhelming brilliance that was spreading from his opponent. The darkness of the Mordorian minion had been dispelled and Numëstel now stood before the combatants wreathed in a fog of golden light which began to flow forth from her and sprinkled down on the land of Lorien, growing in intensity. All those who fought with the free folk later attested that they felt hope and strength renewed within them. Whatever the enemy felt, it was stronger than the resolve of all but their strongest leader, for the Orcs and all save the Nazgûl fell into disarray. Even the Witch King seemed tofalter for an instant, though he remained for a to the last, standing his ground, watching his followers flee, unable to inspire them to stand and fight, though he tried. At last, he spurred his beast into the sky and disappeared. Numëstel watched him leave, still as stone, knowing well he would return soon enough.

---

Legolas lay on the ground of Lòthlòrien, badly injured. His eyes were closed, but through them he could still see the glory that had enveloped Lòrien. It seemed to be coming closer. Had it all been true, or was he dying, slipping away to the Halls of Mandos? He forced his eyes open, wondering what sight would meet them. From the light a figure approached him. "Elessar."

"It is not so," replied a voice he knew, but could not place.

How could this person not be Aragorn? He could only see the outline, but it was the man's exact image, the hair the poise of the body; every detail was Aragorn's likeness . . . except the figure's height. It was lacking a bit of Aragorn's stature.

"Who are you?" Legolas asked.

"I am Èolas Numëstel," she hesitated. " Aragorn's daughter. That will be explained later. Come, rise, Legolas." The blinding light diminished and before him stood Èolas, the same child he had met at Helm's Deep. Yet, she was changed in some ineffable manner.

Then a sudden feeling of dread came over him and his blue eyes met her younger ones. "Aragorn?" he questioned, his voice quivering as if he already knew the answer she would give.

"He has passed to the Halls of Mandos," the child whispered. "Come, we must get you to shelter." She placed Legolas's arm around her shoulder. His weakness was obvious, but it was not only physical exhaustion that plagued him. He leaned heavily on the child, though he tried not to. She did not utter one complaint, for his body was surprisingly light. As they passed through the desolation and masses of bodies, both Elven and Orc, Gandalf came up beside them, Èomer at his side.

"Èolas!" Èomer exclaimed. "Why have you come here?" He was not angry, merely concerned for her safety; this was apparent.

"I was told I was needed," she said simply, smiling briefly at him. For an instant, Èomer thought he saw a pure light radiating from her blue eyes. Legolas must have noticed it too, for he dropped to his knees. The captain of Rohan followed suit, his eyes never leaving the child.

"Who are you, Èolas?" he asked in wonder.

"She is one of the Valar," Legolas breathed. "But how?"

"All shall be made clear in time," Gandalf said, placing a hand on Numëstel's shoulder. "Come, Legolas. You are injured and must be tended to."

"Come, mellon nin," Numëstel whispered, extending her hand to him. Reluctantly, the Elf accepted it and she pulled him up. They had gone only a short way when they heard a cry from behind them. "Lad! Lad!"

"Gimli, there are many wounded who must be tended to. I cannot see to them all myself. Gimli! Gimli!" Elrond frantically hollered after the Dwarf, desperately trying to stop him before he reached the group and struck a wound. His pleas were useless, though, for the Dwarf was determined. Barely an instant later, his arms were wrapped around Numëstel. The impact was so great that Legolas had to cling to Gandalf to avoid being thrown to the ground.

"Lad, you made it! You are by far the luckiest man I know. The Valar shine upon you!" Then Gimli opened his eyes and saw that the figure he was embracing was not as tall as the man he had expected. Slowly, he released his hold and Numëstel turned around, tears in her eyes. "Èolas?" the Dwarf questioned, but the child turned and dashed away before anyone could say another word.

"Èolas!" Elrond called after her, but she did not heed his voice and her young legs brought her far away. Tears streaming down her face like a waterfall she ran until she could go no further then collapsed in a clearing. Almost immediately, her eyes closed from exhaustion and a deep sleep fell upon her.

"Numëstel," a voice called. Her eyes opened automatically. The sky above her was a beautiful shade of blue and it seemed to call her to rise. She sat up and glanced around. "Numëstel," someone called again, ever so gently. At the far entrance of the clearing, Èolas Numëstel saw a woman dressed in flowing white garments. She came toward the child like a summer breeze over the ocean waters. This was, of course, the lady Galadriel of Lòthlòrien, but Èolas Numëstel did not know her. Standing alert, as if she feared this was a servant of the enemy, she asked who this was and the Lady answered her in truth.

"How do you know my name?" she asked, choosing what seemed to be the most pressing question among the many that conflicted in her mind.

"Elrond, Gandalf, and I know much about you. We knew of the Valar's plan to bring about the birth of the heir of Elessar. I knew the moment I saw you that you were the heir, Numëstel, daughter of Aragorn. You look so like him, though I'm certain you know that." Numëstel nodded slightly, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Numëstel," another gentle voice, which she knew to be Elrond's, called. The Elf entered the clearing in a sprint, but slowed when he saw Galadriel and the child. "Are you all right?" he asked, extending his arms to embrace Aragorn's daughter. The child accepted the familiar, loving embrace and allowed her tears to fall. "Not all tears are evil, my child," he whispered as she clung to him. After a while, he untangled her arms from around his neck and held her at arm's length. "Legolas has been asking for you."

"How is he?" Galadriel probed.

"He lives," Elrond said hesitantly, but both his companions knew he was withholding something from them. Numëstel cleared her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Take me to him," she said, taking Elrond's hand. The Elf lord led her out of the clearing beneath the tall mallorn trees. "He refuses to let me treat him," Elrond whispered. "Legolas loved your father dearly. Now I fear he wants to join him in death."

Èolas' eyes grew wide in horror. "No!" she whispered in shock. Then, louder, "No!" she hollered. With that, she broke into a sprint, forgetting all about exhaustion. "Legolas!" she screamed as she entered the place where the warriors had made camp. She saw Gimli near one of the tents. "Where is he?" she demanded, grasping his shoulders to stop the momentum that propelled her. Gimli took her arm and led her into one of the nearby tents.

Legolas lay pale on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, as if he was waiting for death to take him. "Legolas," Numëstel called his name. "Look at me." He blinked, but refused to turn his head. "Look at me," she said again. This time, her voice possessed the power that was due to it. Legolas had no choice but to obey her command. "Legolas Greenleaf, there is a reason, ordained by the Valar, that you survived this battle. You are needed on this earth yet." Numëstel choked back tears as she thought of her father, yet she continued. "I don't know why my father had to die, but you have the chance to live, to carry on. In a way, he can live on in you." Though he didn't speak, the tears in Legolas's eyes told the child that her words had been heard. His face, though, still seemed set on death. "Aragorn would want you to carry on. This world needs people like you, who do not give up and seek death in the face of the seemingly unbeatable darkness. Don't give up, please." She was begging now, tears falling unabashed from her eyes. "We need you to carry on, mellon nin," she whispered, taking his hand in hers, stroking his sweat-covered hair back with her other hand. "We both have to be strong and carry on." At last, the look of death melted away from his face. His body racked with sobs, he gently squeezed Numëstel's hand, conveying to her that he would do as she asked.

Elrond drew back the tent flap and approached the couple. Legolas said nothing, but nodded at the healer. The elder Elf gently peeled away the blood stained sheets and began to remove Legolas's upper clothing. Numëstel turned to go, but Legolas squeezed her hand again and she returned to his side. "Hannon le," he whispered. For the first time since she had seen him this day, a smile passed over his immortal face. Then his gaze fell upon Anduril, which was still strung to Èolas's side and the smile extended to his eyes, but held a sadder tone. "Did he pass peacefully?"

"Yes," Elrond replied. "He was surrounded by many of his friends and I know you were in his thoughts."

"His death will be avenged," Legolas growled, his eyes burning with a live fury, "On this I swear." Before Elrond could stop him, Legolas released his hold on Numëstel's hand, grasped his sword and drew it deep into his right hand. He then collapsed onto the bed, exhausted even from the small effort.

Elrond sighed as he bandaged the hand. 'You are already lacking enough blood, Legolas,' he thought. 'Must you further endanger your life?' Just as he finished, Gandalf entered.

"How are you faring, Master Elf?" he inquired as he made room for Gimli and Èomer to move in.

"I'm fine," Legolas said, rising to meet his friends with a great effort to conceal the difficulty of the feat. Gimli breathed an obvious sigh of relief beneath his armor.

"Our casualties were surprisingly low," Èomer reported. "This is indeed a blessed realm. I must apologize for my disbelief when you tried to tell me so," he bowed to both Legolas and Gimli, a slight smile on his face. Then his face became serious again. "Now we must deal with Saruman."

Author's Note: Èomer's last reference comes from the Two Towers. Lòthlòrien is not mentioned in the movie when he encounters Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, but that is where it is from. I do not intend to insult the intelligence of anyone who has read the books, merely provide an explanation for anyone who may have only seen the movies. Thank you for reading and reviews are always appreciated as long as they're not complete flames. Thank you very much. And remember, next chapter, they deal with Saruman. (He's in trouble isn't he (mwahaha)).

MorniëGalad