The sound of steel on steel rang through the Golden Wood. Thranduil and
Legolas danced around each other, their daggers held at the ready. Their
companions watched, forming a wide circle around the two. This had come
about because Gimli had accused his father of not being able to hold his
own in a fight. Gloin had retaliated by challenging his son to a duel, and
had proceeded to beat him, hands down. Seeing Legolas laughing at his
friend's misfortune, Gimli had declared that he would like to see the elf
do better, prompting Thranduil to challenge his own son.
Aniarel gasped quietly as Thranduil rushed Legolas, throwing him to the ground, before springing away, taunting him good-naturedly. Legolas grimaced, and hauled himself to his feet, leaping back, out of the way of a well timed thrust. An appreciative gasp went up from the crowd, as Thranduil leapt over his son, his daggers flashing out towards his unprotected back. Legolas rolled away, springing onto his feet in time to counter another attack from his father.
He felt rather than saw the blade singing through the air towards him, dodging. He hissed in pain as he side-stepped another attack. The blade had cut his arm, deep, along the curve of his shoulder. His father saw the wound, and pounced. Both Legolas' daggers flew from his grasp and he found himself flat on his back, with his father sat on his stomach. His arms were pinned under Thranduil's knees, two daggers pointed at his throat.
'Well?' said his father, grinning down at him. 'Death or surrender?'
'Oh, get off,' Legolas grumbled, a grin on his own face. He had known his father would beat him, he always did. Thranduil laughed and pulled his son to his feet, brushing the bracken away from the wound. Their friends gathered around them, congratulating Thranduil, and exclaiming over Legolas' injury.
He shrugged it off, ignoring the burning pain that told him there was still some bracken in the gash. Aniarel smiled up at him, her shyness gone since they had spent the past two nights talking about anything and everything. They had told each other of their childhoods, sharing embarrassing stories, and tales of old friends. Her eyes went immediately to the blood soaked tunic, widening in shock when she saw the extent of the wound. He tried to stop her from examining it, then wondered why. She knew he'd been hurt, why was he trying to hide it?
With a quick word to Galadriel, Aniarel drew him off to his chamber, determined to clean and dress the wound. She pushed him down onto the bed, and hurried off again, in search of clean water and bandages. When she returned, Legolas was trying to remove his tunic, and failing miserably.
'Stop that,' she scolded gently. 'Let me.'
He yielded to her gentle touch, as she peeled the fabric from the gash. Wincing, he allowed her to pull the tunic over his shoulders, followed by his shirt. Aniarel averted her eyes from his naked skin, blushing crimson, and reached for a cloth. Legolas watched her, as she gently cleaned his shoulder, carefully pulling pieces of blood stained bracken from the open wound.
Her face was serene, green eyes lighting up as she looked at his face, finding his eyes on her. She placed a pad on the now clean cut, and wound a strip of linen about his shoulder, fixing it in place. As she finished, Legolas caught her hands, and pulled her around to face him, his nose almost touching hers as he stood.
'Thank you,' he said softly, as Aniarel gazed up at him. Her cheeks flushed again, and smiling a little self-consciously, she slipped past him to replace the dressings in a drawer, feeling his eyes on her back.
When she turned back, she found him standing close behind her, looking down into her eyes with a expression of such affection, she found she couldn't look away. Legolas bent his head, and brushed his lips against hers, feeling her sigh and lean into him. He wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. Aniarel's hands ventured up to rest against his bare chest, as she lost herself in her first kiss. Legolas drew back a little, looking deep into her eyes, as she gazed at him in wonder.
'Aniarel,' he whispered, kissing her brow. 'Melamin [my love].'
Aniarel sighed with pleasure, feeling all her doubts disappear. He loved her! Galadriel had been right. The girl reached up and stroked his cheek, laughing quietly, as he turned his head to kiss her palm, refusing to let go of her tiny frame. As he bent to kiss her again, they heard a shout from outside the door.
'Legolas! Are you in there?'
Legolas cursed under his breath, as Aniarel slipped from his grasp to stand beside the door, so it would conceal her when it was opened.
'Yes, father, I'm in,' he replied, ignoring her quiet giggle. Thranduil strode in, leaving the door wide open. He clasped his son's good shoulder.
'I didn't realise I'd hurt you all that badly, boy,' he said, seeing the neat bandage over the injury. 'Who bound it?'
'Aniarel,' Legolas replied, rummaging around in one of the draws for another shirt and tunic. His father helped him into the shirt, tying it up for him.
'Where is she now?' he asked. Legolas swallowed the laugh that threatened to burst out as she slipped out through the open door, blowing him a kiss as she went.
'About,' he managed, before his father turned to see what was so funny.
Thranduil closed the door, and turned back to his son, who had, by now, composed his features into something approaching innocence.
'What happened?' he asked warily, aware that Legolas had a new light in his eyes.
His son shrugged and pulled the tunic on, fastening his belt about his waist.
'She brought me here and bound the wound,' he said, matter-of-factly.
Thranduil's blue eyes narrowed, twinkling with amusement.
'And?'
Legolas grinned suddenly. Thranduil laughed, and embraced his son, pulling him back down to their friends. Looking around, Legolas saw Aniarel some distance away, speaking with the women. She looked up and sent him a sweet smile, before Galadriel drew her away from the others. Legolas was jolted back into reality by Gimli clapping him on the back, as they walked off with Haldir to join the day's hunting party.
*~*~*
That night, there was an attack on one of the patrols on the borders of Lothlorien. Their bodies were found at midnight by their relief, who raised the alarm. But by then, of course, the orcs were already within the Elves' Sanctuary, dark shapes among the shadows. They crept up the steps of the Great Tree, searching for Aniarel. Thranduil and his son had joined one of the parties who sought the orcs, their friends making up numbers in the others. They ran through the trees, their senses sharp. A shrill scream cut through the mist-shrouded darkness.
Before its echoes had begun to die away, Legolas was running, his father and their group trailing behind.
'Aniarel!'
They reached the base of the Tree, already firing arrows into the mass of orcs who stood there, preventing anyone from passing. Legolas' fingers flew, from his quiver to his bow, sending a stream of arrows into the orcs. He vaguely heard others join the fight, most notably Gimli and Gloin, who ran through the ranks of the orcs, hacking at the dark bodies around them.
Looking up, Legolas saw a small figure with long dark hair run swiftly from one of the doorways, up the steps towards the Lady's chamber. Just as he thought Aniarel might make it, a tall dark shape stepped out of the shadows, grasping her about the waist and lifting her off the ground. Straining his sharp eyes, he could just about see her plant a kick between the orc's legs, causing it to howl in pain. It threw the girl against the wall in anger, her body crumpling to the floor.
Legolas cried out in fury. Drawing his daggers, he entered the fight, others with him, as they fought their way to the Tree's defence. Seeing a gap, he ran through it, dodging the blows that rained in from either side. Reaching the steps, he raced up them, hoping that he wasn't too late.
*~*~*
Aniarel woke, with the sudden feeling that she had to get to Legolas. Something was wrong. Sitting up, she reached for her dressing gown, a pale blue sleeveless night-coat. She climbed out of bed, hearing the sounds of fighting, and shouts and curses in a language she feared she had heard before. Opening the door a crack, she swallowed the gasp that came to her throat. Four orcs were standing on the stairs outside, arguing. Her mind raced. How had orcs penetrated the Elves' Sanctuary? There was no question of what they wanted; her. She couldn't get to Legolas with those orcs standing guard. The only other person she could think of was Galadriel.
Remembering something Coeil had told her about secrets for times of danger, Aniarel closed the door quietly and stole over to her mirror. It was stood against the wall, the decorative moulding set in silver. Coeil had told her that a piece of the moulding slid out, and if she pushed the mirror, she could get into a hiding place. Feverishly, she ran her fingers along the edges of the mirror, the starlight casting a ghostly light over her reflection. She could hear the orcs getting closer. Any moment now, they would open the door. Her fingers hit the catch, and the mirror swung inwards a little. Aniarel slipped into the dark space, pushing the mirror back behind her, just as the orcs burst through the door.
Waiting in the cramped space, Aniarel was shocked to find that she could now understand their language. They were tearing the room apart, as if she would be hidden under the bed again.
'Her scent is everywhere in this room,' one said, frighteningly close to her.
'So she should be here,' another growled, from over by the bed. There was a crash from the other side of the room.
'Get out of there,' a harsh guttural voice, that could only belong to their leader, demanded. 'I have not smelt her anywhere but here, but she is nowhere to be found. You!'
He shouted so loudly, Aniarel jumped, hitting her head off the top of the tiny hole with a thump. Thankfully the orcs didn't notice.
'Stay here, and wait for her,' the leader continued. 'She may be hiding somewhere we haven't looked. The others will keep the archers at bay. You two, with me!'
She heard three sets of footsteps leave the room, and a creak that suggested the fourth orc had sat down to wait for her.
Aniarel wished she knew how to fight. She wasn't about to risk her life to find out if that was in her memory as well. She wondered how she was ever going to get out of this. Suddenly she heard Galadriel's voice, as clear as if she was standing beside her.
'Get out, Aniarel, quickly.'
Aniarel gasped, forgetting for a moment there was an orc on the other side of the mirror.
Glass shattered suddenly and the wooden back of the mirror splintered. The orc punched through the mirror again, and grasped a handful of Aniarel's hair. Deja vu struck her, as memories of being dragged from under her bed by her hair swept into her mind. Aniarel screamed in pain, loud enough to wake the dead, as the orc pulled. She grasped the moulding on the mirror as she was pulled out, and an entire edge came off in her hand. It was surprisingly heavy.
The orc held her up to his eye level, and roared in her face. She hit him with the silver moulding, hard. The orc staggered a little, but kept his hold on her, so she hit him again. This time he let go, his eyes slightly unfocussed. She raised her weapon one last time, and he fell to the floor with a loud thud.
Aniarel dropped her weapon, rubbing her sore head. Briefly, she wondered whether Legolas was okay, before stealing over to the door, and peering out. Two orcs were coming up the stairwell. She picked up the key to the door, standing just beside it, as she waited for them. The door crashed open, almost hitting her, as the orcs ran in. Aniarel slipped out, and shut the door behind her, locking her unwelcome guests in. She could hear them arguing as she ran up the steps, ducking into a darkened doorway as heavy footsteps came thumping down towards her.
Two more orcs ran past, paying little attention to their surroundings. Aniarel could see Galadriel's door from where she was hidden, and yet was certain that there was another orc about, the leader, perhaps. Sounds from below her drew her attention to the base of the Tree, where elves and orcs were engaged in a furious battle. Peering down into the gloom, she could just make out the dwarves and hobbits, fighting side by side with the elves.
A crash from her own chamber made her jump, and press herself further back into the shadows. The orcs had broken themselves out of the room, and were carrying their stunned companion back downstairs. It was now or never, she thought, bracing herself for the run to the Lady's chamber.
Aniarel drew in a deep breath, and broke cover, racing up the steps to her haven. Just when she was only a few feet away, a strong gnarled arm grasped her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. The orc leader turned her around in his arms, grinning in triumph. She almost fainted away from the smell of him, he was so rank. Her feet dangled inches off the floor, giving her leverage to kick him as hard as she could in his vitals. The orc howled in pain, and threw her against the wall, her head slamming hard against the ancient wood. As she crumpled onto the steps, she was aware of Legolas' voice inside her head,
'I'm coming, melamin, hold on.'
If only she could. Shaking her head to clear the fog, Aniarel saw the orc advance on her, his face twisted in a hideous grin. His fingers flexed as he leant down, grasping her about her throat, and lifting her off her feet. She clutched at his arm, unable to breathe. Again her feet were inches from the floor, but this time she had no strength to kick him, concentrating instead on breathing. Galadriel's door burst open, and four orcs flew across the stairs, over the edge, and down into the darkness below. Celeborn and Galadriel stepped out, stopping as the orc leader swung his captive towards them.
'If you want her to live, you'll stop right there, witchwoman,' he said. Celeborn took a step forward involuntarily, and the orc's grip tightened, just short of breaking Aniarel's neck. Her face was red, rapidly becoming purple, and she was gasping for air. Spots danced before her eyes, as she felt herself losing consciousness. Suddenly an arrow caught the orc in the shoulder, making him drop her in pain. He turned with a howl of fury. Another hit him in the forehead, as Legolas ran up the steps to cradle Aniarel in his arms.
She pushed him away, gasping in huge breaths, and threw up. Galadriel pushed a small phial into Legolas' hands, and ran, with her husband, to join the fight. Aniarel began to sob with relief, clutching his arms as he held her. He persuaded her to drink some of the potion in the phial, which calmed her and allowed her to regain her normal breathing rate. She gazed up at him with terrified eyes, and he enfolded her into a tight embrace, feeling her arms snake about his waist.
Gradually the noise from below quieted, and they made their way down the steps to see how many were wounded. When they came into sight, a weak cheer went up from the elves, glad to see the girl safe, but too exhausted to be very enthusiastic. There were bodies everywhere, though there were many more orc than elf among the dead. Aniarel caught sight of a familiar face under a wealth of golden blonde hair, and with a cry, ran to her friend, slipping from under Legolas' arm.
Coeil had an arrow protruding from her stomach, her tunic covered with blood. She smiled weakly up at Aniarel from a white face, her lips pressed together tightly. She was propped up against a tree, out of the way, no doubt where she'd crawled to when she'd been injured. Her breathing was laboured as she struggled to endure the pain. Legolas took one look, and called for help, pulling Aniarel gently away as Coeil was carried carefully to the elven infirmary.
When the death toll was counted, they discovered that only six elves had actually died in the attack, on top of the murdered patrol, and while a fair few were injured, the healers had high hopes. The border guard was doubled, and guards set around the Great Tree. Galadriel arranged for all her guests to be quartered in the Great Tree, not wishing for any of them to be murdered in their sleep. Aniarel was given a new chamber while the old one was sorted out, strangely enough opposite Legolas' chamber. She never gave it a second thought, all her energy bent on getting Coeil well again.
Aniarel gasped quietly as Thranduil rushed Legolas, throwing him to the ground, before springing away, taunting him good-naturedly. Legolas grimaced, and hauled himself to his feet, leaping back, out of the way of a well timed thrust. An appreciative gasp went up from the crowd, as Thranduil leapt over his son, his daggers flashing out towards his unprotected back. Legolas rolled away, springing onto his feet in time to counter another attack from his father.
He felt rather than saw the blade singing through the air towards him, dodging. He hissed in pain as he side-stepped another attack. The blade had cut his arm, deep, along the curve of his shoulder. His father saw the wound, and pounced. Both Legolas' daggers flew from his grasp and he found himself flat on his back, with his father sat on his stomach. His arms were pinned under Thranduil's knees, two daggers pointed at his throat.
'Well?' said his father, grinning down at him. 'Death or surrender?'
'Oh, get off,' Legolas grumbled, a grin on his own face. He had known his father would beat him, he always did. Thranduil laughed and pulled his son to his feet, brushing the bracken away from the wound. Their friends gathered around them, congratulating Thranduil, and exclaiming over Legolas' injury.
He shrugged it off, ignoring the burning pain that told him there was still some bracken in the gash. Aniarel smiled up at him, her shyness gone since they had spent the past two nights talking about anything and everything. They had told each other of their childhoods, sharing embarrassing stories, and tales of old friends. Her eyes went immediately to the blood soaked tunic, widening in shock when she saw the extent of the wound. He tried to stop her from examining it, then wondered why. She knew he'd been hurt, why was he trying to hide it?
With a quick word to Galadriel, Aniarel drew him off to his chamber, determined to clean and dress the wound. She pushed him down onto the bed, and hurried off again, in search of clean water and bandages. When she returned, Legolas was trying to remove his tunic, and failing miserably.
'Stop that,' she scolded gently. 'Let me.'
He yielded to her gentle touch, as she peeled the fabric from the gash. Wincing, he allowed her to pull the tunic over his shoulders, followed by his shirt. Aniarel averted her eyes from his naked skin, blushing crimson, and reached for a cloth. Legolas watched her, as she gently cleaned his shoulder, carefully pulling pieces of blood stained bracken from the open wound.
Her face was serene, green eyes lighting up as she looked at his face, finding his eyes on her. She placed a pad on the now clean cut, and wound a strip of linen about his shoulder, fixing it in place. As she finished, Legolas caught her hands, and pulled her around to face him, his nose almost touching hers as he stood.
'Thank you,' he said softly, as Aniarel gazed up at him. Her cheeks flushed again, and smiling a little self-consciously, she slipped past him to replace the dressings in a drawer, feeling his eyes on her back.
When she turned back, she found him standing close behind her, looking down into her eyes with a expression of such affection, she found she couldn't look away. Legolas bent his head, and brushed his lips against hers, feeling her sigh and lean into him. He wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. Aniarel's hands ventured up to rest against his bare chest, as she lost herself in her first kiss. Legolas drew back a little, looking deep into her eyes, as she gazed at him in wonder.
'Aniarel,' he whispered, kissing her brow. 'Melamin [my love].'
Aniarel sighed with pleasure, feeling all her doubts disappear. He loved her! Galadriel had been right. The girl reached up and stroked his cheek, laughing quietly, as he turned his head to kiss her palm, refusing to let go of her tiny frame. As he bent to kiss her again, they heard a shout from outside the door.
'Legolas! Are you in there?'
Legolas cursed under his breath, as Aniarel slipped from his grasp to stand beside the door, so it would conceal her when it was opened.
'Yes, father, I'm in,' he replied, ignoring her quiet giggle. Thranduil strode in, leaving the door wide open. He clasped his son's good shoulder.
'I didn't realise I'd hurt you all that badly, boy,' he said, seeing the neat bandage over the injury. 'Who bound it?'
'Aniarel,' Legolas replied, rummaging around in one of the draws for another shirt and tunic. His father helped him into the shirt, tying it up for him.
'Where is she now?' he asked. Legolas swallowed the laugh that threatened to burst out as she slipped out through the open door, blowing him a kiss as she went.
'About,' he managed, before his father turned to see what was so funny.
Thranduil closed the door, and turned back to his son, who had, by now, composed his features into something approaching innocence.
'What happened?' he asked warily, aware that Legolas had a new light in his eyes.
His son shrugged and pulled the tunic on, fastening his belt about his waist.
'She brought me here and bound the wound,' he said, matter-of-factly.
Thranduil's blue eyes narrowed, twinkling with amusement.
'And?'
Legolas grinned suddenly. Thranduil laughed, and embraced his son, pulling him back down to their friends. Looking around, Legolas saw Aniarel some distance away, speaking with the women. She looked up and sent him a sweet smile, before Galadriel drew her away from the others. Legolas was jolted back into reality by Gimli clapping him on the back, as they walked off with Haldir to join the day's hunting party.
*~*~*
That night, there was an attack on one of the patrols on the borders of Lothlorien. Their bodies were found at midnight by their relief, who raised the alarm. But by then, of course, the orcs were already within the Elves' Sanctuary, dark shapes among the shadows. They crept up the steps of the Great Tree, searching for Aniarel. Thranduil and his son had joined one of the parties who sought the orcs, their friends making up numbers in the others. They ran through the trees, their senses sharp. A shrill scream cut through the mist-shrouded darkness.
Before its echoes had begun to die away, Legolas was running, his father and their group trailing behind.
'Aniarel!'
They reached the base of the Tree, already firing arrows into the mass of orcs who stood there, preventing anyone from passing. Legolas' fingers flew, from his quiver to his bow, sending a stream of arrows into the orcs. He vaguely heard others join the fight, most notably Gimli and Gloin, who ran through the ranks of the orcs, hacking at the dark bodies around them.
Looking up, Legolas saw a small figure with long dark hair run swiftly from one of the doorways, up the steps towards the Lady's chamber. Just as he thought Aniarel might make it, a tall dark shape stepped out of the shadows, grasping her about the waist and lifting her off the ground. Straining his sharp eyes, he could just about see her plant a kick between the orc's legs, causing it to howl in pain. It threw the girl against the wall in anger, her body crumpling to the floor.
Legolas cried out in fury. Drawing his daggers, he entered the fight, others with him, as they fought their way to the Tree's defence. Seeing a gap, he ran through it, dodging the blows that rained in from either side. Reaching the steps, he raced up them, hoping that he wasn't too late.
*~*~*
Aniarel woke, with the sudden feeling that she had to get to Legolas. Something was wrong. Sitting up, she reached for her dressing gown, a pale blue sleeveless night-coat. She climbed out of bed, hearing the sounds of fighting, and shouts and curses in a language she feared she had heard before. Opening the door a crack, she swallowed the gasp that came to her throat. Four orcs were standing on the stairs outside, arguing. Her mind raced. How had orcs penetrated the Elves' Sanctuary? There was no question of what they wanted; her. She couldn't get to Legolas with those orcs standing guard. The only other person she could think of was Galadriel.
Remembering something Coeil had told her about secrets for times of danger, Aniarel closed the door quietly and stole over to her mirror. It was stood against the wall, the decorative moulding set in silver. Coeil had told her that a piece of the moulding slid out, and if she pushed the mirror, she could get into a hiding place. Feverishly, she ran her fingers along the edges of the mirror, the starlight casting a ghostly light over her reflection. She could hear the orcs getting closer. Any moment now, they would open the door. Her fingers hit the catch, and the mirror swung inwards a little. Aniarel slipped into the dark space, pushing the mirror back behind her, just as the orcs burst through the door.
Waiting in the cramped space, Aniarel was shocked to find that she could now understand their language. They were tearing the room apart, as if she would be hidden under the bed again.
'Her scent is everywhere in this room,' one said, frighteningly close to her.
'So she should be here,' another growled, from over by the bed. There was a crash from the other side of the room.
'Get out of there,' a harsh guttural voice, that could only belong to their leader, demanded. 'I have not smelt her anywhere but here, but she is nowhere to be found. You!'
He shouted so loudly, Aniarel jumped, hitting her head off the top of the tiny hole with a thump. Thankfully the orcs didn't notice.
'Stay here, and wait for her,' the leader continued. 'She may be hiding somewhere we haven't looked. The others will keep the archers at bay. You two, with me!'
She heard three sets of footsteps leave the room, and a creak that suggested the fourth orc had sat down to wait for her.
Aniarel wished she knew how to fight. She wasn't about to risk her life to find out if that was in her memory as well. She wondered how she was ever going to get out of this. Suddenly she heard Galadriel's voice, as clear as if she was standing beside her.
'Get out, Aniarel, quickly.'
Aniarel gasped, forgetting for a moment there was an orc on the other side of the mirror.
Glass shattered suddenly and the wooden back of the mirror splintered. The orc punched through the mirror again, and grasped a handful of Aniarel's hair. Deja vu struck her, as memories of being dragged from under her bed by her hair swept into her mind. Aniarel screamed in pain, loud enough to wake the dead, as the orc pulled. She grasped the moulding on the mirror as she was pulled out, and an entire edge came off in her hand. It was surprisingly heavy.
The orc held her up to his eye level, and roared in her face. She hit him with the silver moulding, hard. The orc staggered a little, but kept his hold on her, so she hit him again. This time he let go, his eyes slightly unfocussed. She raised her weapon one last time, and he fell to the floor with a loud thud.
Aniarel dropped her weapon, rubbing her sore head. Briefly, she wondered whether Legolas was okay, before stealing over to the door, and peering out. Two orcs were coming up the stairwell. She picked up the key to the door, standing just beside it, as she waited for them. The door crashed open, almost hitting her, as the orcs ran in. Aniarel slipped out, and shut the door behind her, locking her unwelcome guests in. She could hear them arguing as she ran up the steps, ducking into a darkened doorway as heavy footsteps came thumping down towards her.
Two more orcs ran past, paying little attention to their surroundings. Aniarel could see Galadriel's door from where she was hidden, and yet was certain that there was another orc about, the leader, perhaps. Sounds from below her drew her attention to the base of the Tree, where elves and orcs were engaged in a furious battle. Peering down into the gloom, she could just make out the dwarves and hobbits, fighting side by side with the elves.
A crash from her own chamber made her jump, and press herself further back into the shadows. The orcs had broken themselves out of the room, and were carrying their stunned companion back downstairs. It was now or never, she thought, bracing herself for the run to the Lady's chamber.
Aniarel drew in a deep breath, and broke cover, racing up the steps to her haven. Just when she was only a few feet away, a strong gnarled arm grasped her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. The orc leader turned her around in his arms, grinning in triumph. She almost fainted away from the smell of him, he was so rank. Her feet dangled inches off the floor, giving her leverage to kick him as hard as she could in his vitals. The orc howled in pain, and threw her against the wall, her head slamming hard against the ancient wood. As she crumpled onto the steps, she was aware of Legolas' voice inside her head,
'I'm coming, melamin, hold on.'
If only she could. Shaking her head to clear the fog, Aniarel saw the orc advance on her, his face twisted in a hideous grin. His fingers flexed as he leant down, grasping her about her throat, and lifting her off her feet. She clutched at his arm, unable to breathe. Again her feet were inches from the floor, but this time she had no strength to kick him, concentrating instead on breathing. Galadriel's door burst open, and four orcs flew across the stairs, over the edge, and down into the darkness below. Celeborn and Galadriel stepped out, stopping as the orc leader swung his captive towards them.
'If you want her to live, you'll stop right there, witchwoman,' he said. Celeborn took a step forward involuntarily, and the orc's grip tightened, just short of breaking Aniarel's neck. Her face was red, rapidly becoming purple, and she was gasping for air. Spots danced before her eyes, as she felt herself losing consciousness. Suddenly an arrow caught the orc in the shoulder, making him drop her in pain. He turned with a howl of fury. Another hit him in the forehead, as Legolas ran up the steps to cradle Aniarel in his arms.
She pushed him away, gasping in huge breaths, and threw up. Galadriel pushed a small phial into Legolas' hands, and ran, with her husband, to join the fight. Aniarel began to sob with relief, clutching his arms as he held her. He persuaded her to drink some of the potion in the phial, which calmed her and allowed her to regain her normal breathing rate. She gazed up at him with terrified eyes, and he enfolded her into a tight embrace, feeling her arms snake about his waist.
Gradually the noise from below quieted, and they made their way down the steps to see how many were wounded. When they came into sight, a weak cheer went up from the elves, glad to see the girl safe, but too exhausted to be very enthusiastic. There were bodies everywhere, though there were many more orc than elf among the dead. Aniarel caught sight of a familiar face under a wealth of golden blonde hair, and with a cry, ran to her friend, slipping from under Legolas' arm.
Coeil had an arrow protruding from her stomach, her tunic covered with blood. She smiled weakly up at Aniarel from a white face, her lips pressed together tightly. She was propped up against a tree, out of the way, no doubt where she'd crawled to when she'd been injured. Her breathing was laboured as she struggled to endure the pain. Legolas took one look, and called for help, pulling Aniarel gently away as Coeil was carried carefully to the elven infirmary.
When the death toll was counted, they discovered that only six elves had actually died in the attack, on top of the murdered patrol, and while a fair few were injured, the healers had high hopes. The border guard was doubled, and guards set around the Great Tree. Galadriel arranged for all her guests to be quartered in the Great Tree, not wishing for any of them to be murdered in their sleep. Aniarel was given a new chamber while the old one was sorted out, strangely enough opposite Legolas' chamber. She never gave it a second thought, all her energy bent on getting Coeil well again.