Chapter 3

Elharma sat gently cleansing the elf's wounded arm in comfortably lucid water with a soft cloth. She washed away the dirt and crusted blood; her gentle hands working loose the filth that had encrusted in the gash. The healers had given her this task of cleansing and bandaging the elf's lesions from the battle that he had come from. She was grateful for the task, no matter how menial, for she desperately needed something to take her mind off of the worry that had crept into her consciousness. The healers bustled about, preparing for the influx of wounded elves to arrive from the battlefield.

The elf winced, and Élharma realized that she had been letting her mind wander.

"My apologies." She said with a blush

He bit his lip slightly and nodded in acceptance.

There was a moment of silence as she spread a clear save over the wound, taking care not to contaminate the now- clean flesh.

"You look just like your mother, wearing that." The elf suddenly said.

Élharma's eyes snapped to his, curious as to how he knew her mother.

He smiled, "I used to reside in Lindon. I remember when you and your mother would come to visit." He explained simply. But then he paused, studying her thoughtfully, "But… I may be mistaken, it was so long ago, but I would swear that the crown that your mother wore was different…somehow…" His eyes lost focus for a moment.

She proceeded to wrap the elf's arm in bandages.

"Well, it will come to me sooner or later," he smiled.

She finished, wiping her hands on a towel and turning to leave.

"Thank you." He called after her.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

Thoughtfully, he rubbed his fingers over the snug cloth bandages

            Why did that crest seem so familiar….?

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She hurried out of the healing house, a blush creeping upon her features. She had completely forgotten about the circlet that Haldir had placed upon her head, and for some reason it embarrassed her to be seen in public with it. For what rationale, she did not know.

On the contrary: She did know. Somewhere, in the depths of her mind, in the recesses of her thoughts, she still deemed herself unworthy to bear to the public eye a testament to her heritage. She still deemed herself unworthy to wear as a testament to herself a lineage she considered herself thoroughly undeserving of.

She shook herself mentally. It was just a simple Mirithril circlet, nothing more. And Maeglin had been a small, insignificant realm that, in its very short existence, had been ruled in tyranny and evilness. She deftly slipped the offending coronet off of her head and slipped it into a fold of the dress she wore.

She sat, visibly shaken, upon a bench just outside of the house of healing. A tear found its way down her cheek. Anwakala, one of the first genre of healers, happened to come out at that precise moment. The healer, concern written across her lovely features, promptly settled herself by the elf maiden.

"What is wrong, young one?" She asked softly.

Élahrma, her voice catching in her throat, responded hoarsely, "He is out there. Haldir. My Haldir. Out there. Fighting. Putting his life on the line…" She gasped, and turned to face the gently features of the healer more fully, "Anwakala- I cannot bear to loose him! I just can't!"

The healer, a knowing smile playing upon her lips, replied softly, "Oh, Élharma. Sweet, gentle Élharma. Do you have such little faith in his abilities to defend our borders?"

Élharma shook her head, "No, that is what I am afraid of! I have such faith in his abilities that I know he would willingly die in battle than to retreat and allow a single foul creature further into Lorien than outside the borders."

Their meeting was broken when one of the servants of the house rushed up, breathless.

" I.. I … Ineed ….I need…Élharma. I need Élharma. Th..The lady request…requests her presence..im..im..immediately.!" The elf gasped

Élharma rose from her seat and asked, "Take me to her."

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Haldir, followed by two hundred of his best foot soldiers, one hundred and fifty archers, and a hundred mounted soldiers, descended quickly upon the battlefront. With a trained eye, Haldir scanned his opponents.  There were a good four hundred men, southrons and some of the Rohiiran. There were surprisingly few archers on the opposing side, but they were renown for their fierceness with the broadsword. It was said, in legend, that one southron broadsword could slice a full- grown wild boar in half in a single swing.

            'Of course', Haldir thought, as he drew his own elfin sword, 'that is only a myth'

He turned to his troops, "Archers! Three waves of fifty! Foot soldiers to the left where they are the weakest, and you mounted soldiers, split into two groups: one take the left side and one half circle the back and block their escape," The warriors let out a cry, and Haldir continued, "GO! Teach these men exactly how unwise it is to attack the realm of our lady!"

He let out a fierce battle cry, and with a feral light shining in his eye rushed headlong into the midst of the battle.

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Élharma hurriedly followed the servant to where Galadriel was waiting in one of her inner chambers. Kneeling, she kissed the top of the Lady's hand, asking, "What do you wish of me, milady?"

Galadriel, pulling the maiden to a stand, replied, "I need the strength of your mind. Our warriors are greatly outnumbered, though they do not know it yet, by the armies of men. I will be aiding them."

The maiden, confused, asked, "I will do whatever you ask of me, although I do not know to use any Elvin magic."

The lady shook her head, "I don't need you to know anything. I just need you here, your mind will act as a magnifier of sorts, and with the three of us," Celeborn stepped through a doorway to stand solemnly beside his wife, finishing, "We eliminate the risk of exhausting my Queen. You see, the effort of using the power of the elves takes such a great effort that Galadriel alone, though she has the strength to do it, would be utterly exhausted of all her life force if she did this alone."

Élharma, still slightly confused, said, "I am at your disposal."

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They were everywhere.

He slashed his sword through the neck of the one on his right, killing it instantly. A movement. He whirled and parried, deflecting the bone-crushing blow by a hairsbreadth from it cleaving his skull into two pieces. He took little time in disemboweling the opponent, his elfin abilities making his movements faster than the human was able to respond to. To his right, one of his soldiers, a brave warrior by the name of Gontholin fell head-first to the ground, having been overwhelmed by the simultaneous attack of three formidable men. It angered Haldir, witnessing such a loss, and it fueled the ardor with witch he thrust his sword into the black heart of the next southron he battled. The vile creature fell to the ground lifeless.

Having been backed to a tree, he deftly ran the almost perpendicular length of it, showing his unmistakable attachment to Arda through his lineage as a Sylvan elf. He stood brazenly in the branches, swiftly firing arrow after arrow into the masses, always careful not to harm one of his brethren.

With dismay, he watched as wave after wave of men fell upon the dwindling numbers of elves. There were close to a thousand men now, and those were only the ones he could see. Everywhere he looked, men were battling elves, and though the elves were fighting fiercely, they were greatly outnumbered.

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The three elves stood in a small circle, their hands held vertically at shoulder level, each palm lightly touching the palm of the elf on either side. Each had their eyes closed, and each was completely unaware of the world around them.

In unison, they began to chant the age- old words. To Élharma they were familiar, yet extraordinarily completely foreign. Incredibly, though, she somehow knew the words, the intonations, and her own voice, uttering the unfamiliar sounds, echoed in her mind.

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Haldir felt it, the Elvin power so coveted by men. Galadriel. She was strengthening him, and he drew on that strength as he leapt out of the tree into the midst of the scrimmage. So empowered, in fact, were they, that in little or no time had he, and the small band of the hundred remaining surviving elves, reduced the grand army of men down to little more than a small band of thirty or so warriors.

As his sword flashed before his eyes, he felt not only the power of the Lady of Light, but also that of another. He listened, opening his mind to that energy, that force. He smiled faintly, despite the fact that he had just slaughtered another of the attackers, as he recognized his beloved, his love, Élharma.

            I love you         She kythed into his mind

            I love you         he keethed in return

He brought his blade to bury deep into the back of another man, causing the offending vile creature to drop to the ground. There were only a few left. He could taste, almost tangibly the soon- to- come victory.

An impact

The world paused

He looked down in amazement as the green feathers of a Numeranorian arrow protruded, shuddering, from his chest.

He lifted his eyes, confusion beginning to cloud his mind. This was not how it was supposed to end. This was not how it was supposed to go. This was all wrong…!

Before him stood Vidalan, holding a still- quivering bow, a sneer etched on her face.

Just before the darkness overtook him, he heard her laugh, "You really didn't think it would be so easy now did you?"

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Elharma dropped her hands, screaming, breaking the link with Galadriel and Celeborn. Before either could protest, she was out the doors and through the courtyard, running on winged feet, a sword already drawn in her hands.

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