Curious, Galadwen peeked out over the barricade. As their third night on the hillock drew near, it was obvious the situation for the remaining Galadhrim was dire. Bellamdir's assessment of this position had been sound with two sides protected by a sheer drops, one into the Celduis and the second into a small tributary. Here part of the hill was washed away making an approach from that direction impossible, should the way be defended. The other two sides were clear, but the grade was steep and defenders at the top were in a strong position. It's curve ran some 200 paces from the river to the wash and the small mount had many thick trees covering it's top.

These the elves chopped down during their first afternoon, fastening three logs together with rope into stout obstacles, between which they placed brush, smaller logs and even rocks to make a crude palisade. Near the middle of the enclosure they constructed a tall platform. From this vantage Leindir and Arawel could see to the base of their hillock in all directions. The two handmaidens were told to seek cover along the wash and to watch for enemies that might try to climb from the bottom unseen. Galadwen found herself positioned along this edge just ten paces from the palisade, a position she found uncomfortably exposed.

Along the curve of the palisade Leindir placed his troops in pairs, both armed with bows and surrounded by arrows stuck point first into the sod. For close fighting one carried a shield and a slightly curved long sword. The second had a slender spear and could strike through the obstacle at the enemy protected by his companion with the shield.

The orcs had not been certain of the strength of the quarry they had cornered, and were cautious the first night, firing arrows from the cover of distant brush and launching a pair of probing attacks. The arrows had been useless, and the attacks had been easily repulsed, but by morning the foul creatures had the measure of their enemy and every elf knew that the following evening would bring an attack.

As darkness fell the orcs began jeering and cursing from the shelter of the scrub. They yelled out in harsh, broken Westron, describing how they would defile the bodies of those they killed, and rape any females they took captive. It terrified Galadwen as she pictured herself ravaged repeatedly until a welcome death finally came. Around the perimeter she could see the soldiers too were uneasy, but Leindir walked the line giving each reassuring words and their courage was restored.

As midnight approached a score or more of the orcs rushed from cover near the tributary and stormed towards the wall behind which Galadwen hid. The guards in that area waited until half the distance had been covered, and then let loose arrows. They fired steadily, but not without taking aim first. Arrows were in limited supply, and could probably never be recovered as long as they were besieged.

She looked towards Leindir and saw him clearly in the moonlight standing atop the platform watching the attack intently. He had half a dozen of his best warriors standing below him, to be rushed to aid where needed, but for now he held them back and simply watched. Then came a huge roar from the far side of the hill. As inexperienced as she was with warfare, even Galadwen knew now the attack near her had been a feint, and indeed she was right. Leindir spun to watch this new threat and through the night air the young elf heard the whine of arrows. Soon this was replaced by the clash of arms and the cries of the combatants. Leindir pointed, and the reserves ran off towards the sound of the fighting. After what seemed an eternity the sounds began to die away, replaced by moaning and then a dreadful silence.

The wounded were brought from the front and laid out near where Galadwen held watch, and two soldiers with medical skills began tending to them. Then came others, this time born solemnly by their comrades. They did not move or cry out, and were laid gently on the grass just paces from her.

She thought not to look, but dark curiosity won over and she stood to get a better view. Some of the dead looked as if they were simply asleep, but others had grievous wounds. A skull cloven open, or a belly sliced across and emptied, entrails spilling out onto a light green carpet of spring grass. This was not how the stories she had listened to as a child spoke of death. It was always clean and noble. This was grisly, barbaric and violent. She turned away, falling to her knees to wretch.

The second assault came in the early morning. Again they attacked the perimeter farthest from Galadwen, but this time there was no attempt at a feint. She watched as Leindir committed his meager reserves, and then pulled every second pair of soldiers from the line nearest her hiding spot, sending them out of sight towards the terrifying sounds of battle. Finally Leindir turned to his wife, and kissing her once gently on the forehead, drew his sword and leapt from the platform, rushing out of sight over the low rise.

Finally the ring of weapons and the screams of the warriors fell away, once again replaced by eerie silence. The commander reappeared walking slowly. He cradled his left arm against his stomach and appeared to be wounded. Arawel moved to descend from the platform, but Galadwen's keen eyes caught the quick shake of Leindir's head.

"He's telling her she is the leader and can't be his wife just now", Galadwen thought to herself. A wave of sorrow swept through the elf maid, both for her mistress and her husband. She knew they wanted to console each other, but because of their positions, couldn't.

The rest of the night passed and no further attacks materialized. With the morning came a fuller grasp of what had transpired the previous night. As Galadwen walked the mound she could see as many as forty dead forms lying on the slopes beyond the crude wall. A good number lay in grass before the barricade, struck down by arrows as they rushed across the open ground. Disturbingly she noted almost all had tried to drag themselves back to the safety of the woods, their bodies stretched out reaching back towards the cover of the low trees, dark blood staining the grass in a trail behind them. Again she thought back to the noble deaths in the stories her elders had told her. Not once had someone died bleeding in a dark field trying with their last, terrified breaths to claw their way back to safety.

More terrifying still were the orc dead within the perimeter. A score of the enemy had breached the makeshift wall and pressed towards the top of the hill. These had been hacked with swords and punctured by spears, and their wounds were grotesque. Galadwen had never seen any form of goblin before, and their dark features, broad flat noses, and wide mouths full of pointed teeth disturbed her. Oddly though, it was their ears that troubled her the most. So much like hers.

Returning to stand next to her mistress, Galadwen was there when Leindir, his left arm now bandaged and in a sling, made his report on the previous night. They counted sixty-seven dead orcs, which Galadwen thought a very great number, and in comparison to the losses for the elves, seemed at first to indicate a victory. Twelve of Lothlorien were dead, with a further twenty three wounded. Of those, many could be put back on the line, but eleven were too seriously injured and would have to recuperate. Some might not survive.

They had slain more than five for every one they had lost, and yet as Galadwen's mind calculated the new odds, a grim reality set in. At the beginning of the night they were outnumbered perhaps four to one. Now, with only half of the soldiers fit to man the walls, the odds had lengthened. The enemy now outnumbered them five, perhaps even six to one. Worse still, nearly every arrow had been spent, and leaving the protection of their low wall to retrieve those they had fired would invite a hail of orcish arrows.

The day passed with the troops reinforcing the barricade as best they could, and the other handmaiden attending to the wounded. Galadwen, being small and lithe, was lowered by rope down the face of the cliff along the Celduin. Here she found a small purchase just inches above the rushing water, and filled pots lowered to her from above. She was grateful for the relative peace, out of sight of the bodies above, with the rushing water drowning out the moans of the wounded. The only break in her routine came just after noon when she heard a cry from someone above. Looking upstream she saw a wide, low boat with raised bow and stern, floating down the current. There were oars, but she could only see their paddles protruding from inside the craft. It was spinning slowly, turned by the eddies in the river, and appeared unguided.

Galadwen looked up to see if they would draw her back to the top, but by now the boat was spinning past her some fifteen paces into the river. Above she could see many soldiers watching, some holding bows, though without arrows these were useless. She felt completely exposed, and for a moment panic began to set in, but almost immediately it subsided. The boat was empty, save for a pair of large, brown leather bags just visible over its low sides.

Galadwen thought of the maps she had seen of their route and recalled the nearest settlement being more than a day upstream. It was odd that a boat would have drifted this far unguided, without running aground somewhere. Shading her eyes from the sun overhead she focused intently upstream, but saw nothing. A disturbance in the water perhaps, five hundred paces along the near bank? It was hard to tell, but her instincts told her something had been standing in the shallow water there just a moment before. But now, nothing.

The boat had slipped past now, and since leaving the protection of their hilltop to chase it was impossible, another jar bounced down the cliff and Galadwen returned to her task. When she was done and pulled back up the escarpment, she returned to the pedestal to see what other uses could be made of her.

Arawel and Leindir were talking together in low tones when she arrived, and realizing no-one else was within earshot, she thought about dropping back to allow them to speak in private.

"… and we can not reliably begin to hope for aid for two more nights," Leindir was saying.

"Can we last through this night?"

"Possibly, although if the enemy grasps our weakness and lack of arrows, a fully committed attack stands a chance of overwhelming us."

Arawel looked exhausted. "Mount and cross the river then. They would not be able to pursue."

Galadwen could see Leindir calculating in his mind. "We have eleven mounts. Doubling up, we could send twenty two across the river. I have twenty seven manning the wall, five pack stewards still alive, two handmaidens and you under my protection. The horses can not take them all, and of course the wounded will have to be abandoned."

Arawel's shoulders dropped slightly. "We will survive this night. If help hasn't arrived by late tomorrow afternoon we will attempt the crossing. By that time, I fear the mounts will be able to carry off those few of us left able to ride."

Leindir nodded. "Agreed." He took a long breath, and Galadwen knew he was steeling himself to say something. "If we are forced to flee tomorrow, I will not be going."

Arawel's eyes shot up to meet those of her husband. "You will lead us across the river and ensure the safety of the survivors," she snapped in a commanding tone that defied the fear Galadwen saw in her eyes.

Leindir shook his head briefly. "The horses can find there own way across, and I will not abandon the wounded as if they do not matter."

Arawel drew her shoulders back and met her husbands eyes with a steely glare. "I am in command here. Your orders are to continue with your duties until I relieve you."

Leindir's eyes softened, and reaching forward with his good arm, he gently brushed her cheek. "You are in charge of the diplomatic mission. I am the military commander. My dearest, I am not asking your permission."

Arawel continued to hold herself rigidly in front of her husband, but in the afternoon light Galadwen could see tears beginning to run down the strong woman's cheeks. Feeling tiny and unimportant, Galadwen slipped back to her spot along the wash, and covering her head with her traveling cloak, sobbed deeply for her mistress.

Night fell and Galadwen rose. She walked the few steps to where the dead had been laid and began looking over the covered bodies. The wounds were hidden under cloaks and shields, but a sweet stench had begun to fill the air. Something had changed though, and she was harder now. She put the smell aside.

Pulling back one of the riding blankets she looked into the still face of what had once been an attractive elven woman. She had been struck in the eye by an arrow, and Galadwen could recall her screams from the night before as she died at the aid station. Now, she was simply a source of equipment. Soldiers nearby moving towards the palisade gave her a strange look as she pulled the pointed helm and mail coif from the fallen warrior, but quickly they realized what she was intending, and moved on to take their positions. Next she removed the mail suit. This required effort, rolling the corpse one way and then another until it pulled free over the dead woman's head.

The soldier had been somewhat taller than Galadwen, so she left the greaves and vambraces, but spent several minutes unlacing and removing the padded silk gambison. With this done, she covered the body again with the blanket.

Removing her flowing, light blue blouse left her exposed with just a thin, linen under garment covering her torso. This too garnered more than a few looks from the troops along the palisade. Her mother had urged her daughter to wear loose fitting under clothes so as to make her figure more modest, but Galadwen found the boys her age rather admired her full chest, and she had been known to use it to her advantage wearing snug clothing. Today she didn't give two damns what anyone thought, and threw the gambison over her shoulders, lacing it into place.

It was a bit long in the body and tight in the chest, but sufficient for the purpose at hand, and she quickly pulled the mail shirt over her head, shrugging it into position over the gambison. This too was somewhat large, with the sleeves hanging several inches below the elbows and the shirt trailing to her knees. Next went the coif, and over that the helmet which, when buckled, was the one piece that fit well.

Looking about she saw several spears stacked nearby. Taking one, she planted her feet shoulder width apart and practiced a few thrusts. Like all the Galadhrim, she had taken the required weapons training, but with her mother's loss of a son to battle, she had been dissuaded from making a serious effort at learning the forms, instead focusing on poetry, languages, mathematics and music. The beauty of those arts had captivated the young girl and she grew to love them all. This evening however, was not a night for poetry.

Satisfied she had done what she could, Galadwen walked to the wall, taking up a position next to a pair of grim warriors at the far right of the defenses where the barricade met the wash. There were no words spoken. The half dozen that saw her standing steadily with the butt of her spear grounded by her right foot simply looked her over, and then with silent nods of approval, turned and joined her staring downhill into the night. All of them were waiting to see if they would be there to greet another sunrise.

The ground over which they would fight and die was well lit with a nearly full moon beginning to rise above the low hills at their backs. Within an hour she spotted movement in the brush three hundred paces distant, crouched black forms moving from her left and taking up positions sheltered in the darkness of the scrub. Straining her eyes she thought she could see even more forms two hundred paces further back in the trees, although how many there might be was beyond her power to discern. That more than one wave was lining up to meet them was enough.

"So the hammer will fall here tonight", she said quietly. "This is good. I will not wait to find out my fate, but face it directly". They were brave words, but she was unsure if she believed them.

The forms crouched in the brush rose and walked with a measured pace into the open, beginning the climb towards the top of the hill. A guard near her called out, "enemy to the front", a cry that was echoed elsewhere along the wall as the first row of orcs drew up at the base of the rise. A second, more numerous row stood behind, just a few steps from the low brush they had used for cover, and which stretched backwards to the trees. Receiving no volleys, they advanced another twenty paces, Galadwen watched as the front row raised short-bows and fired a volley of black shafted arrows towards the waiting elves.

The cry went out, "Cover," but she stood fast, her spear tip lowered, waiting and watching. Arrows landed about her, quivering in the grass, thudding into the wood of the palisade. One glanced from the side of her helm. Another must have struck her armor below the left breast, the blow knocking some wind from her, but she stood. It was mostly for show, she realized, they were testing to see if the elves would return the volley. Testing to see if they had arrows to fire back. Leindir's worry that the enemy would realize the weakness of their foe was coming to pass, and she knew a full assault would soon follow.

And it came with a roar, the second row of orcs bursting from behind their bowmen and rushing up the hill. For the first time she took note of her enemy. Their black armor was all of the same make and the assaulting troops each carried rectangular black shields with a red eye emblazoned across the center, a tear of blood falling from one corner. This was no simple troop of marauding murderers, but instead a warband, trained and equipped for fighting. This foe would test everyone on the hill.

A quick flash of light drew her eye upwards slightly. The figures she had seen earlier in the trees were moving forward now, couching as had the earlier wave, moving cautiously through the brush. She could mark no details of the forms approaching, other than one, who walked slightly behind the main line. As it moved forward, she saw another flash of light. Moonlight glinting off the helm perhaps? Whatever had drawn her attention, the size of the figure made an impression. Even stooping slightly as he advanced, he was clearly much taller than anyone around him, yet somehow, he gave the elf girl the impression that he was simply following along.

The crash of bodies impacting the palisade snapped her attention back to where she was. Along her section of the wall fifteen or more orcs now stormed the defenses. Some hacked at the elves, blows landing on wood or shield that did nothing, but others leapt at the palisade trying to climb over or force their way through. To her left a spearman lunged at an orc struggling over the obstacle, his speartip driving into its target just below the chin. The orc fell between the logs with a blood choked gurgle, his thrashing dying away quickly. Other warriors in her area engaged targets with blows being traded in a deadly dance. Then, just to her right she saw a black mailed figure attempting to climb around the last of the logs in the wall. She turned slightly to meet him as he clambered towards her, trying to keep a clear mind and pick a spot to strike.

She was quick but slight, and the orc's armor seemed solid. As he stepped over the last of the logs, she saw her chance, a leg raised pulling the lower edge of his mail upwards, exposing the inner thigh. She lunged, driving the point of her spear into the target with as much force as she could muster. The blow went home, diving under her enemy's armor into the inner thigh and groin. She pulled back her spear, and noted its point and several inches of shaft glistening black in the light of the full moon. The scream of pain was followed by a spray of blood, and the creature collapsed downward landing just inside the perimeter. Although her fallen enemy continued to howl and thrash, she forced herself to look for other targets. This one was dead, even if it had not yet come to that realization. All along her part of the wall elves and orcs struggled with each other across the barricade. And then, that flash of silver light again.

Once again her eye was drawn away from the fighting, this time to the base of the hill. The dark forms from the trees had reached the edge of the brush and in a line moved forward. They moved quickly now, but Galadwen could see the control in their step. Move with haste, but move quietly. There were bows strung across many of their backs, but they carried spears or broad bladed stabbing swords in their hands. The orcish bowmen who were moving slowly up the hill to support their brethren were impaled without mercy from behind on spears, or beheaded by a vicious sweep of a blade.

And there behind them stood a giant of a man, for she could see now that they were men. He didn't rush forward with the others, but walked with a modest pace some distance behind. His hair was long, dropping below his shoulders, and Galadwen saw now that the silver light was the moon reflecting from it.

Once again she brought her attention back to the battle in front of her. "There are humans at the foot of the hill," she cried.

The other elves kept their attention on the barricade, but she saw the sergeant risk a quick glance downhill. "You are certain of this?" he asked.

"I am."

He paused momentarily, and then. "Run child. Tell the commander what you have seen." Then, when Galadwen hesitated he barked, "Damn you soldier. Go now!"

She dropped her spear in shock and ran for the hilltop. It was less than a hundred paces, and she was surprised at her exhaustion as she approached the command platform. Perhaps the armor weighed more than she had thought?

Leindir stood next to his wife intent on the struggle on the side of the hill away from the approaching relief force. Exhausted, and needing to catch her breath, she paused for just a moment at the rear of the platform, and as she did, a cry was raised from the palisade to her front.

"Rider approaching!"

Curious, Galadwen peered through the legs of the platform towards the center of the perimeter. She had been wrong about the orcs attacking her flank, it was a general attack with a fierce struggle taking place all along the defenses. Then, from around the right side of a long row or orcish archers, a galloping horse appeared. At first she thought it was riderless, but looking again she saw a single foot hooked over the saddle, a hand clinging to the pommel. Now she saw the face of the rider peering from behind the heaving chest of his mount, looking from under its throat. He had slid down the side of his horse shielding himself from bow fire with it's body, and still the horse galloped at full stride, bowling through several orcs in front of the palisade. In one motion, with the rider righting himself in the saddle, the steed leapt gracefully through a low point in the wall, landing in stride and continuing on to where Leindir stood on his tower.

It was, of course, Bellamdir. Galadwen had known it would be from the moment she saw the riders face peering from behind the chest of his mount. He was smiling broadly, an out of place expression surrounded as he was by the cries and clamor of battle.

"My lord," he said, his horse dancing beneath him as he addressed the commander. "Infantry from Esgaroth will be here to aid you in but a few moments." He had lost his helm, replacing it with a broad flat cap with a large red feather along one side. He accentuated his proclamation by removing it and waving it vigorously in the air.

At this Galadwen found her voice again. "Commander, they are here already, on the right flank!" As if shouting these words were all she could bear to do, she was wracked with a fit of coughing, and stumbling slightly to one side, found she had to use the platform on which the commander stood to keep herself upright.

She saw Leindir look off to his right, an expression of relief crossing his face as Galadwen's vision darkened. Grasping the platform for support, she tried to remain upright, but slowly her eyes closed and consciousness slipped away.

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