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Legolas felt the eyes watching them. Not only Gollum, as he later told Aragorn, but the girl's too. Part of him felt he should tell the future king, but something in him overthrew that idea. Maybe it was the memory of how unhappy she had been… Every now and again he peered around, and once or twice he saw a flash of deeper brown moving between the trees, a horse and rider. He heard hooves on the wind, too faint for the others to hear, but clear to his strong elven ears. He prayed silently for Elbereth to keep this wilful maiden safe – for he also heard the foul cries of orcs, approaching on the Eastern side. The maiden and the foul creatures may have been on opposite sides for now, but he was uneasy at the thought that more may come from the West side. He had terrible visions of traversing the river with archers on either side, raining death down on the vulnerable party.

The boats, slim and elven in design, moved so fast Mithmír had to keep up a steady canter and, at times, a gallop. She praised Brialvastor for his speed and endurance. It was lucky elven horses were the strongest in all of Middle Earth, and even luckier she rode one. Despite her long years of riding, however, her thighs and buttocks still ached. She would have succumbed to the pain and stopped, turned back, were it not for the glimpses of the Fellowship that she caught through the trees on her right. The thought of what she could do to aid their purpose spurred her on.

They travelled with relative ease for a while: she halted when they halted, sleeping little, keeping an eye on them while they were vulnerable. She rested only when it was Aragorn or Legolas' turn to watch; as those two she trusted enough for the job. The hobbits she cared for greatly, and admired, their tales of valour being well known by the elves, but they were not adventurers yet. The dwarf she viewed with great distrust and suspicion.

It was some days later that she saw the orcs on the other side. The company were aware of those ones, she knew, as she heard Legolas discussing it with Boromir in hushed tones when they camped. Her hearing was nearly sharp as an elf's – nearly, but not quite, which was why Legolas was completely aware of her presence. It was all he could do to keep his eyes on Boromir while they spoke, and not let them stray to the other shore where he could make out a dark shape moving. When Boromir was gone to sleep, he made his way to the shore, with the pretence of checking the boats to make sure they did not float away that night. There was no moon, it was dark. The girl – for he was now sure it was, in deed, Mithmír – was gone. He wondered what had happened to her, and a fear filled his stomach. He sensed that orcs were abroad.

'Elbereth, Gilthoniel,' he murmured. 'Protect all souls who wander before the Emyn Muil, Valar.' With that he looked at the foreboding hills, and shivered. The timeless stars, as immortal as the Elves, were far fairer to look upon. Raising his pretty voice in quiet song, he moved away from the silently flowing waters of the Anduin.

She had heard the orcs far before they reached her. She had left Brialvastor on the shore, far behind her, where he could escape on hooves as fleet as the wind if needed. Meanwhile she scaled a tall tree and lay in wait: it was time to go hunting.

The first two orcs didn't know what terrible messenger of death was there, cloaked in darkness. They stumbled through the trees and were felled instantly by a hail of arrows. Mithmír smiled happily: that was good shooting for her. Despite being trained with elves she was no match for them at archery; but she was passable. Two arrows each for two orcs - a respectable total.

The other orcs, hearing the dying cries of their comrades, came more carefully in a group, with primitive shields raised high. She picked of three of the maybe a dozen with her silent arrows, and then sighed. There was no choice for her but to get up close and personal. She loved sword fighting, her two-handed sword was her favourite weapon, but she was not as much of a fool or so proud as to believe the fight would be easy with nine orcs left. She dropped from the tree almost silently on the opposite side from the orcs, who still had no idea where she was. She drew her large sword, which was named Celebdîn, silent silver. She had been told the two-handed style of sword was too large, too heavy for a maiden to wield, but it had always been her favourite, and she had persisted in her training with it until she bore it exceptionally well, and as easily as a normal warrior bore a longsword. Her father's people had given her the sword upon her coming of age at eighteen, but it had been the elves who had crafted it. It was blessed indeed.

When she suddenly spun from behind the cover of the trees, the deadly blade of Celebdîn cleaved two orc bodies in half before she disappeared behind the cover of the next tree. The foul creatures howled in rage, and followed her in their merciless, shambling gait. When they caught her, the fighting came on thick and fast, swirling around the furious maiden and the flash of darting, biting silver that was her lethal sword. She killed them all, but not without price: on her left arm was a long gash, from her shoulder to midway between her elbow and wrist. She had various smaller cuts on her right leg and back. She returned to Brialvastor on the shore, and from the saddlebags took a long strip of cloth which she tied tightly around the arm to stench the flow of blood. She considered herself lucky that the cut had not been even half an inch deeper: had that been the case, she would have been unable to use the arm well enough to wield the massive weapon, rendering herself defenceless before a troop of orcs. She shivered – it was no good to think on such things.

That night she slept deep beneath the stars, but she was losing more blood than she had thought, and quickly she became icy cold, and tossed and turned violently. She often called out in fear, or pain, as evil dreams wreaked chaos in her mind while it was vulnerable.

The dream… she hadn't had it for years and years now, ever since she had been ill with Fireblaze fever in Rivendell so many years ago… She was sick with fear already, knowing what would happen, but unable to run away… It was as if she made no decisions in this dream, but was subjected to the consequences.

She was in a dark room, a cave she knew, and she had come there of her own free will, but she was so terribly afraid… Before her, illuminated by some dim glow from a source she could not make out, was a stone table, quite high, and not so long. It was covered with a cloth of black velvet or something similar, and the material fell in folds to the floor which she could not make out in the gloom. She had a terrifying feeling that that table was reality, she was floating in some infernal abyss, she had to hold onto reality at all costs or be forgotten…

She walked forward, each step hindered by some unseen force, each harder than the last, until she was crying out with the effort. When she finally grasped the cloth it was cold and unforgiving under her fingers, but a "natural" sensation at last. Suddenly she noticed, though she had looked all over the table before, that on its centre stood a tall cup, fashioned of gold and a single green jewel. She knew this was what she wanted more than anything, but what scared her most too. With dread grasping her heart in a cold embrace, she reached out and took it…

It was cold, heavy, unbelievably so… She couldn't drop it, however, her hand held it firmly. The lights went out instantly, she could not see in the utter darkness, she tried to run but she was hindered by unseen obstacles… Voices called from the dark, screams and taunts, indistinguishable cries… Terrible hands gripped her as she tried to pass. She screamed with fear and stumbled on, but suddenly arms enclosed around her, she had run straight into the embrace of some horrifying foe… The tall figure held her close and then they were falling, falling, falling…

Legolas could hear her cries, sense her fear. He wondered again at the deafness of humans, how they slept calmly through the turmoil which took place on but the other side of the shore. Part of him wanted to go to her, help her, but the rest of him denied it. There was a more important duty here, namely his watch. He settled back down to keep silent vigil, but his eyes showed the anguish he felt at the heart-rending cries of terror that he could not help but hear.