A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Recap: goo .gl / G0Ek3j (remove spaces).
The Shadow of Angmar
Chapter 20: A Shadow Again Rode Abroad
That winter had not been a snowy one. Instead it had been a season of cold, misty mornings, overcast days and damp, dreary evenings. It was well for them too, for though the days were short and unlovely, they were kind to travellers. Harry and his companion made good time on their road towards the mountains.
"Snow has fallen heavy atop the Mountains of Mist," said Helm, three days after their departure from Rivendell. "The High Pass was too treacherous for any Man when I crossed them Westwards."
"That much is clear," said Harry, for indeed it was. They were camped in the shadow of the mountains and for the first time since they had begun their journey the fog and winter damp had lifted just enough to allow them a glimpse of the path that Harry had hoped would be open to them. The mountains were piled heavy with snow, which glittered only occasionally as errant sunbeams crept between the heavy clouds which skimmed their peaks. "The Gladden Pass is the next pass south of here, but it is always impassable in Winter, for it runs too high, and too narrow."
Helm agreed and nodded his head. "When I attempted the Pass west, the Ford at Goldwater has been swept up in stormwater, and the melting of the recent high snows can only have made it worse. There will be no pass that way until the waters ebb in spring."
That meant that their next best option was the one that Harry was most loath to take. He grimaced. "Then it is the Redhorn Pass."
"That is the route I took," said Helm. "Only the heaviest of snows can close that road, and this winter has been a mild one."
"As I feared" Harry sighed, for he had little desire to return to the triple peaks that sat atop the ruins of Moria. There was little choice though, for the northern passes would be closed until winter released its grip upon the Misty Mountains, and the journey south to the Gap of Calenardhon was a long one indeed. It had been near twenty years since Harry had walked in sight of the peaks of Khazad-dûm. Surely the creature that made its lair in the darkness below would have slipped in its vigilance by now. "Very well, but when we come to the Redhorn Gate, we must make all haste over the Pass. I have no desire to be caught upon the high way when night draws in on us."
"The tales of your travels there have reached us, even in Framsburg and the lands that my people settle there," said Helm. "You will have no argument from me."
"Good," said Harry, then he glanced at Helm. "Where did the tales come from, if I might ask? The Elves of Imladris seldom travel East. Even now, those brave few who are making the pilgrimage to Cuiviénen do not travel so far North as to enter the lands of your people. The Dunédain have heard the story, too, but they also do not travel far beyond the borders of their fallen realm."
"I was but a child at the time," said Helm, "and I remember not his name, but it was a Dwarf who bore your story with him. A companion of yours, once, I think? He was journeying back to the holds of his people in the Grey Mountains."
"Frór," said Harry, and he was glad to hear news of his old friend. He had departed Lothlórien before that first Winter had released Imladris from its frosty clutch, and Harry had not heard of him since. It was good indeed to know that he had reached the lands of the Éothéod, for the journey to his homeland was not a long one from there.
"Giese!" said Helm, momentarily falling back into his own tongue. "That was his name, so his tale was true?"
"I do not know what tale it was he told you," Harry admitted, "but if he was the same Frór that I knew, he was not much given to embellish his tales."
"There was a gap in his tale, though," said Helm after a short while. "He never said how it was that you escaped. He said that you stood alone against the creature, the deofol of fire. That he was sure that you would be forever lost, as were your other companions, and yet you were not."
Harry shook his head. "Do not mistake my escape from that place for strength, or skill at arms. I knew nothing of what I was fighting there, and that I yet live is much more thanks to luck than any ability of mine.
"Now, come, we have many leagues to cover in our journey, if the High Pass is closed to us."
o-o
The three peaks of Khazad-dûm sat heavy on the horizon. Their stone was grey, and so alike to the clouds that concealed their peaks that they were like great towers, holding aloft the sky itself.
Zirakzigil, Barazinbar and Bundushathûr, they were called by the Dwarves, and it was by those names that Harry thought of them still. Even from a great distance, when they were barely visible in the morning mist, Harry fancied that he could feel the malevolent mind that dwelled beneath them.
As they approached, Harry felt eyes on him, and his tightened his grip on his staff, while his other hand strayed a little closer to the sword at his hip. He closed his eyes for a moment, and listened to all that was about him; wind in the heather, foraging birds in the scrub, insects on the wing. He smiled.
"You shall have to do better than that, Elladan, my friend," Harry called out.
A moment later the laughing form of Elladan rose from a bush not twenty feet from where Harry and Helm were stood. "Your senses are near as sharp as an Elf's, now" he said cheerfully, and he quickly leaped from his hiding place."
Then the hair upon the nape of Harry's neck prickled, and he felt the the cold metal of a blade laid upon it. "Yet there is still more for you to learn," said Elrohir from his position behind Harry, who then joined the two brothers in their laughter.
"Isn't there always?" Harry asked Elrohir after allowing a few seconds to simply enjoy their reunion. Without warning, he spun on the spot, and his staff swung out with whiplash speed at Elrohir's feet. The Elf was forced to jump back gracefully to avoid being felled, his merry laughter only increased.
Helm looked on, confusion written in every feature, and his own sword half drawn from its rough-and-ready scabbard. Harry spread his arms to embrace the two Elves in an enthusiastic hug.
"How goes the watch?" Harry asked, after he had sobered.
"Still, there has been no sign. Not so much as a single wisp of smoke has been seen to rise from the mountain," said Elladan. "Even Lady Galadriel has not been able to feel the mind of the creature that dwells within, though she is sure that it slumbers there still."
"It is well for us that it shows no desire to venture forth," said Elrohir, and Harry had to agree.
"Perhaps the Doors of Durin keep it contained," Harry suggested. "There was power in those doors, and I am not sure even that fell being could easily break them."
"We can but hope," said Elrohir. It was then that he and his brother seemed to notice Helm at last. "But that is for those more Wise than we. Where do you and your companion travel, Harry?"
Harry waved Helm over, and introduced him to the two sons of Elrond. "This is Helm of the Éothéod. He came to Imladris seeking aid for his people, and I decided that it was time that I left the valley, lest I remain there until I grow old and grey. Helm, these are Elladan and Elrohir, they are the sons of Elrond who is Lord of Imladris."
"Harry has spoken often of your people," said Elladan, as he clasped Helm's arm in greeting. "I hope that the aid your people need is not too dire."
"It is dire," said Helm, breaking his silence for the first time since the two brothers had appeared. Like many Men unfamiliar with the ways of the Elves, he was clearly uneasy around them, much as Harry had been when first he had met them. "A dragon menaces our lands in the north; many Men and horses have died to its flame and claw."
The two brothers looked to Harry, doubt dancing in their eyes. Elladan spoke, "That is no mean quest, the beasts of Morgoth are no simple beasts to be put down."
"I know that well," said Harry. "But even the greatest of those beasts may die if caught in a landslide."
The brothers understood immediately. "Then you mean to use your magic to bring the mountain down upon it?" asked Elladan.
"Or perhaps you will weaken the stone with one of your concoctions, and leave the beast to see to its own doom?" said Elrohir.
"That was my hope."
"That may just work," said Elladan thoughtfully, "but you must be sure that your first strike is a fatal one, for the wyrms of Morgoth are cunning, and your foe will not be fooled a second time."
Harry couldn't help but smile. "Your father impressed much the same sentiment upon me, even then, he was loath to allow me to travel to this battle alone."
"It will not go well for him, even if you should be successful," said Elrohir a little playfully. "I cannot believe that naneth will be pleased with his decision to allow you to go into such danger without an escort."
"If that is your path, then you would do well to avoid Lothlórien when you come to the Celebrant," Elladan suggested. "Even if naneth can be persuaded of the need of your journey, nothing would sway Arwen from her wroth."
"Now isn't that a truly fearful thought!" Harry chuckled at the thought of Arwen, whom they said recalled the legendary beauty of Lúthien herself, in the throes of anger. It was a hard thing to imagine, for he did not think he could ever recall her taken up in anger. She truly was her father's daughter in that respect. Whatever 'wroth' she might visit upon him, he was sure that it would be well couched in grace and fairly spoken words.
Perhaps that made it all the worse.
"The Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood have extended many an invite to me, during my time in Imladris," Harry said eventually. "Yet my journey is an urgent one, I fear. Should you see them before I, then let them know that I will journey there when my business in the north is complete."
Elladan's laughter brightened the winter gloom. "It is said among the Dúnedain that we Elves oft talk in circles, it seems you have learned that skill well during your time in Imladris."
"We two will not be returning to Lothlórien once our turn at the watch is complete," said Elrohir more seriously, though Harry could see his well hidden amusement. "There is another watch laid at the southern end of the Nen Cenedril, if you were to tell them of your plans, I am sure they would bear them back to the Golden Wood."
"Then I shall do that," said Harry with a nod of understanding. He looked to Helm and spoke again, "It is time, I think, that we continue on, there are a few hours yet until night falls, and I would much like to be within sight of the Redhorn Gate before we make our camp."
"Fair winds, Harry," said Elladan, and the two brothers took it in turns to clasp Harry's arm in farewell. "We will look for your return come spring."
o-o
"We must make haste," Harry urged Helm two days later as they made the gruelling climb up the western slopes of the Pass.
Helm was feeling the ascent far more clearly than Harry, as was clear from the Man's slow pace and heavy breathing. Harry remembered the first time he had crossed the mountains, and how it had been he who had seemed weak and ungraceful next to Daewen, how times had changed.
"How can you sustain this?" asked Helm between drawing in huge lungfuls of the cold mountain air. He reached a patch of the path that was not quite so steep, and stopped gratefully, placing his hands on his knees and bending near double in an effort to catch his wind.
Harry did not answer, for in truth he did not know. Perhaps it was some part of the magic that had sustained him in Angmar that was now aiding his stamina, or maybe it was the long time spent among the Elves in Imladris. It was not important at that moment, instead, he shrugged off his travelling pack and started to look through the equipment he'd brought with him.
Elvish food and waybread, enough to feed a Man for more than a year. Healing poultices made by Elrond, the half-finished parts of his most recent attempt at wandcraft, and other things less significant. He pulled out his small potion-kit, and set the tiny cauldron down upon the mountainside.
He could not carry an endless supply of ingredients with him on his journey, and so what he did have had to be used sparingly, but he felt that in this situation something was called-for. If he could not find a way to invigorate Helm, and to pick up their pace, they would have to overnight on the mountainside, altogether too close too close to the city that lay beneath the mountain. Even as the climbed the lower slopes, Harry fancied he could feel the slumbering evil that dwelt below the mountain. It was small comfort that it did not seem to have noticed Harry's own presence so close to its domain.
With a practiced hand, Harry mixed up the ingredients for a potion very much like the one he'd concocted for himself during his first mountain crossing. It took not half an hour for the potion to be completed and administered to the still exhausted Helm, but it was half an hour that they could ill afford. Already, Harry could feel the winter sun weakening as it began to fall away again, towards the horizon.
"I feel like I have been granted the strength of ten men!" cried Helm as the potion swapt newfound vigor to his every muscle. "So this is the power of which Audofleda spoke."
"That, and a few other things," said Harry. His time in Imladris had been peaceful, yes, but just as he had been learning how to wield a sword, so too had he been bettering his own skills. Elrond had proved a font of knowledge in the healing arts, and had given Harry a list of near every plant and animal in Middle-earth known to have some medicinal property. It was strange, then, that Elrond had been sorely taxed by the act of potioncraft. His concoctions worked, and his precision and knowledge meant they worked very well indeed, but the action seemed to sap his strength much more than Harry had ever thought possible.
Indeed, Harry had never felt any kind of fatigue after creating a potion. That Elrond did spoke of something that neither Man nor Elf fully understood.
"Such concoctions would be a great boon, if you could but teach them to our people," said Helm.
"I have tried to teach others my ways," said Harry. As he spoke he finished packing his equipment away again, and started again to walk with as much haste as he could manage up the slope, slicked as it was by mud and water. "Very few have shown any ability with it, and then only among the eldest and wisest of the Elves. I do not know why I would be the only Man with the skill to perform the craft, but it seems to be so. All other Men seem overly prone to blowing up my cauldrons."
"That is unfortunate," said Helm, now easily able to keep pace with Harry in their climb.
Their ascent continued as the sunset and all the mountains were painted blood red by the dying sun, and still they did not reach the highest point of the Pass. Soon, darkness fell, and the way became more treacherous still.
"We must make camp, Harry," said Helm, only a shadow of his outline visible in the darkness as they walked carefully along a narrow portion of the pass, flanked on one side by the sheer mountainside, and on the other by a drop into unknown darkness. They had not brought lamps with them, for they were bulky and rarely useful on such a journey, and there had been no trees growing upon the mountain side since the morning. "We cannot make good time in this darkness, for even the moon and stars are hidden from view and cannot light our way. If we rest now, and leave before dawn come morning we will surely be off the mountain come nightfall tomorrow."
Harry released a frustrated sigh. "You are right. Though I fear what might become of us if the darkness beneath awakes before the darkness above lifts, there is little chance of us avoiding injury if we try to continue like this. The way has become too narrow and perilous. As soon as we find a safe place we will make a hasty camp. We must be ready to leave at a moment's notice, though."
They travelled on a short way, their progress painfully slow in the darkness that seemed to get deeper with every passing minute. Eventually, the cliff retreated just enough, with a narrow overhang above to offer them a little shielding from any weather than may descend upon them during the night.
Harry set about trying to produce a fire while Helm laid out their bedrolls and helped himself to a little of the Elvish lembas bread that had been given to them on their departure from Imladris. A fire was no easy task. After the long damp winter, there was very little dry wood suitable for the task, and even if there was, it was down on the lower reaches of the mountainside. Around their campsite there was nothing but cold stone and water.
That his earlier potioncraft had not awoken Durin's Bane in its stolen Halls, Harry regarded as a great boon, for only magic would be able to create a sustainable fire upon that dreary mountainside.
There was a potion that he'd experimented with during his years in Imladris, mostly due to the times he'd met some of the surviving Dunédain who now patrolled the lands of their fallen kingdoms. They were skilled woodsmen and well-travelled, but even they could not light a fire on the wettest and wildest winter nights, and those nights were when a fire was most keenly needed.
So Harry had, after much trial and error, produced a potion to aid them when the need was dire. An everburning potion that no wind or rain could extinguish. All it needed was a spark to be set to it, and it would roar to life, bringing warmth and light into even the darkest of places.
The fire lasted for 7 hours, and 7 minutes, without fail. Using more of the potion did not extend that time, it merely made the fire larger, and nothing Harry had done to his recipe had been able to improve the lifespan beyond that limit. It was enough, though, to see a man through a cold northern night, and it would see them well on this evening too.
Harry spread a single vial of the potion, ready prepared, over the bare rock, then picked up his staff, and struck it smartly against the stone. A shower of sparks exploded from the end, and an instant later the cold started to withdraw. The two travellers became the source of a rising cloud of steam, as their damp clothes quickly dried in the newfound warmth.
"I will take the first watch," Harry said, as Helm laid out his bedroll. Within minutes he was slumbering, and the sound of his grateful snoring echoed along the valley.
His back to the fire so that he could see just a little into the night beyond, Harry sat a little away from the camp, though just close enough that he could feel some small measure of the warmth the fire granted. His eyes scanned the blackness, but it was not by sight that he was keeping watch. Instead, his senses reached out into the stone beneath him, and ran through the cracks and crevices down into the bones of the earth. His mind's eye watched from a distance as the Balrog continued its slumber, unheeding of Harry's presence so near to its domain.
o-o
Harry was shaken awake, and to the unwelcome sensation of being watched. His eyes snapped open, to be greeted by the face of Helm, a look of puzzlement on his weathered face.
After releasing a grateful breath, Harry shook off the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, and spoke, "For what reason have you awoken me? There still is not enough light for us to travel safely along these roads."
"It was not I that awoke you, but some tremor that ran through the mountain itself. There is a light atop the peak of the Silvertine," said Helm, his voice nothing more than a whisper as he pointed to where the distant mountaintop would have stood had it not been shrouded by darkness. There was a new star in the sky there, red and baleful, which cast a flickering light over the very summit of the mountain. The clouds shied away from the figure, as if burned by the terrible heat that Harry could still remember. "I know not what it is, but my heart tells me that it is an ill omen."
In a moment, Harry knew what it was, and the feeling of being watched washed over him again and this time he felt the foul mind of that which regarded him. "We need to move," said Harry as he jumped to his feet and immediately started packing up his bedroll, making a mess of the action in his haste. "We need to get off the mountain, now."
Much to his credit, Helm asked no questions and did not delay in collecting what few of his belongings he had unpacked during their brief stay.
As he did so, Harry stepped out of the lee of the mountain, into the wind and blown rain. It was not heavy, but the wrong winds drove the otherwise gentle rain at speeds that stung upon his face and hands.
Even across the gulf of darkness that lay between them, Harry could feel those eyes upon him, filled with burning hatred for all things that lived and loved. There was small comfort in the realisation that whatever the creature was doing, it was not immediately making to pursue them.
Harry decided to throw caution to the wind, and with a whisper and another tap of his staff the silvery inlays that wove back and forth along its length grew slowly into brilliant light. The dark shadows that pressed in at the mountain were driven back then. Not far, but enough that their way would lie clear before them, and it would need to, for Harry intended to make his descent faster than even Elves would consider, save in the direst of need.
"Stay close to me," Harry said to Helm before throwing his pack over his shoulders, and setting off along the path at a fast jog, driving the shadows, and wind, and rain before him.
Perhaps some day that descent would become another tale to be told around the fire-pit on some distant winter's day. Harry and Helm both, flew down the mountainside with a haste that even the swiftest of birds would have marvelled at. They slipped and tripped more times than Harry could count, and Helm fell a dozen times or more. Each time he did, Harry stopped to pick him back up. Though he did not yet know him well, and though the thought of Durin's Bane made his blood run like ice, he knew he could never abandon someone who had so sought his aid.
The Balrog did not follow. Instead it watched their passage from its high vantage, and did nothing.
Eventually, they slowed in their descent, when it became clear that no pursuit was coming, and soon after that the clouds broke, and the sun at last touched its light upon the peaks of the mountains of Moria. With that new light, the fire of the Balrog was no longer visible, for the light of the sun, even in winter, was much the greater than its own.
Harry could still feel it though. Lost though it was amid the morning sun that had by some miracle burned through the dark and stormy clouds, Harry could yet feel its eyes upon him from its high vantage. It was not like the pathetic Goblins that lived elsewhere in the Misty Mountains, it held no fear of the Sun, for the Balrog was from a time before the sun first rose into the sky, and it remembered the fear-filled dark that had preceded it.
At last they rounded a bend in the road, and a familiar Valley opened up before them. The Dimrill stair descended, in steps beyond count, down to the Dimrill Dale, where Harry had once camped with his Dwarven companions.
In the valley he could see a small group of figures making their way towards the stairs around the Mirrormere, and for the first moment Harry felt he could breath freely again. He stopped, and dropped onto one of the steps, heedless of the wet, as his Elven raiment did not absorb water like other fabrics. The light that had been issuing from his staff faded slowly to nothing, until it was once again made of metal and stone. Weariness that had until that moment been ignored slowly made itself known.
Helm couldn't speak, so exhausted was he, and so he simply collapsed into a seated position, then fell back against the ground, his chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to catch his breath.
"You did well," said Harry eventually, after he felt he would be able to talk without slurring his words. "There was many a time when I was sure that you would be unable to follow."
No response came from Helm, save the sound of his gasping breaths. It was a few minutes before he was able to gather enough air in his lungs to voice a reply, "How?"
Unsure what Helm was trying to ask, Harry cocked his head to the side and waited patiently for the Man to speak again.
"It was as if I was lent some measure of your strength," said Helm after another few minutes to get his breathing under control again. "Like that concoction from yesterday, yet this time there was no potion. I do not have the strength or stamina to sustain such a run as we just performed."
"Fear can do amazing things," said Harry with a shrug. "I know well enough that Men can do impossible things when their life is threatened. It was not your time today, and so you ensured that death did not find you, even if you do not think you had such strength."
Helm did not look convinced by Harry's words, but they were unable to continue the discussion, for at that moment the Elves who had been climbing the steps with all their accustomed grace called out to the two travellers.
"Ai, come quickly!" The lead elf had long golden hair and was followed by two others who had the dark hair found more commonly among the Elves. He had the accent of one who was not over familiar with speaking Westron. "There is a fell figure upon the mountain, and it has laid its eyes upon you, you must come away with all your haste."
"I know of it," said Harry, and he didn't bother to stand. "It is not pursuing us. It seems content to merely watch as we leave its domain."
"Then it has some fell purpose that we cannot divine," said the Elf. "That is perhaps even more troubling."
With a groan, Harry pushed himself reluctantly to his feet again. "You are right, whatever its purpose, it will not go well for us. We should leave." He turned to where Helm was still sitting. "Can you stand again?"
Helm donned a look of determination, and, after waving off aid from one of the Elves who moved to help him, he staggered to his feet. He swayed a little, but he nodded to Harry.
"Then we shall continue the descent, though I do not think such haste is required this time," said Harry. As he began walking, with the Elves joining them, Harry introduced himself and his companion. "I am Harry, and this is Helm, we are travelling from Imladris to Éothéod lands in the northern reaches of Rhovanion. You are Marchwardens of Lothlórien, are you not?"
"We are," said the leader. He then pointed to himself, and his two companions. "I am Haldir, and these are Tordir and Denweg. We have been tasked with maintaining the watch on the Eastern Gate of Moria."
"And this is the first time that Durin's Bane has been sighted?"
"It is. In the short years that our watch has been maintained, none have seen so much as a shadow of its influence. Only the Lady Galadriel was able to feel its presence when she travelled here."
"It was slumbering," said Harry. "Far beneath the mountain, in the lowest and darkest Delvings of the Dwarves. How long it was sleeping, I do not know, and I hope now that it returns to that slumber and your guard is once again unremarkable."
"The Lord and Lady of Lórinand will wish to hear of this," said the Elf that had been introduced as Tordir. His voice was even more heavily accented than Haldir's.
"If what I have been told of the Lady Galadriel is true, then she will already know," said Harry. "I have been told that she sees farther than anyone, even Lord Elrond."
"You speak the truth," said Haldir, "yet we cannot rely on her farsight alone, or the watch would never have been set here." He turned to his other companion. "Denweg, nanmen ô Caras Galadhon, peta ita sí larnë."
"Lá, Haldir," said Denweg, who then sprang ahead of them with Elvish speed without so much as a farewell.
"Denweg speaks only Nandorin," said Haldir by way of explanation. "I told him only to bear word of what happened here to Caras Galadhon, where sit the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood."
"Is it your intent to travel on to Lórinand?" Haldir asked as they descended the last of their stairs into the Dimrill Dale, called Nanduhirion by the Elves. "When I was assigned here, Lady Galadriel said that the day might come when you walked the Pass of Caradhras, and that when you did, you would be welcome in her realm."
Harry had not yet met Galadriel, though he had heard much of her from Elrond, Arwen and Celebrían, Galadriel's daughter. It was said among the Elves of Imladris that the Lady of the Golden Wood was the greatest of their kin that yet dwelled in Middle-earth. Even Elrond, so wise and powerful, held Galadriel in uttermost regard, and the kindness and wisdom of her husband, Celeborn, was well known to all.
It should perhaps not have been such a surprise, then, that Galadriel had known that Harry would undertake his journey. Perhaps word had come to her of the dragon that menaced the people of the Éothéod, or perhaps she really did have the ability to see into people's minds from afar, as some of the tales said.
He shook his head. "Not this time, for my journey is one of need," he said. "But it is my hope that my return might be less urgent and that I will perhaps be able to at last spend some time among the storied trees of the Galadhrim."
"You are a rare Man, to value the woods so," said Haldir. "But then, there is the story of your journey into the East. I hope one day to follow that trail, as do many of my kin. My brothers have not travelled beyond the borders of our realm in all the years of their lives, and yet the thought of seeing Cuiviénen, the place where our ancestors once awoke... Few Elves could pass up such a thing."
"It is no safe journey," Harry warned, "there are few truly safe journeys even in these days when the shadows have been banished into the deepest caves. But I think you will find that it is worth it. You must be wary of your kin who yet live there, though, for they will not welcome you with open arms."
When they reached the lower end of the Mirrormere, Haldir and his one remaining companion, Tordir, stopped. "No further can we go," said Haldir, "for our watch must be kept over the Black Pit, even more now that the creature of which you warned us has been seen in under the light of the sun."
"Then I wish you a quiet watch, and a swift spring," said Harry.
"Namarë, Harry," said Haldir. "I wish you both luck in your quest, and hope that you will return to us soon, for a great many of our people would much like to hear your stories from the East. Farewell Helm of the Éothéod, may the stars light your way."
A/N: Lórinand, Lórien and Lothlórien are all names for the same place. Lórien is Quenya and means, perhaps, dreamland, or something to do with dreams, that is actually the name of one of the gardens of the Valar in Valinor, said to be the most beautiful place in all of Arda. Lothlórien gets its name from that place, though Lothlórien is a mixture of Sindarin and Quenya. Lórinand is Nandorin.
So, just to explain, there are a number of Elvish tongues in play in Middle-earth at this time. Sindarin is the most common, and is spoken primarily by Sindar and Noldor Elves (Sindar Elves did not go to Valinor, Noldor Elves did, then came back while chasing after Morgoth, the Silmarillion explains their story). There are also the Nandor or Silvan Elves who had their own language, Nandorin, and mostly lived in Mirkwood and Lothlórien. Both of those woodland kingdoms were ruled by non-Nandor rulers (Thranduil being Sindar, Galadriel being Noldor and Celeborn being Sindar). Finally, there was Quenya which can be thought of as like the Elves version of Latin, and used only for songs, poetry or traditional functions.
There is a kind of 'nobility hierarchy' among the different Elves. The Noldor are the most noble of the Elves we see, for they once lived in Valinor and saw the light of the Two Trees, which they carry with them. The Sindar did not travel to Valinor, but were led by Elu Thingol (who had travelled there, then come back for his people) and Melian (who was a Maia), so they kinda inherited some of that nobility. The Silvan, or Nandor Elves have no real connection to Valinor.
Anyway, Nandorin isn't really explored by Tolkien, save that it 'sounds like Sindarin/Quenya, but isn't'. So I've modelled it by using slightly modified Quenya and Sindarin.
Merry Christmas again!