Vaneldur woke upon his bed of soft pine needles confused momentarily, then angry, and finally terrified. He understood at once what had happened. The drink he took from the Wizard contained water from a certain river in Mirkwood. He was well acquainted with it from the days when he and his uncle traded with the Elves dwelling there. The water was well diluted though, and Vaneldur had only slept through the day. The sun was setting in the west when he rose, looking around and seeing that he laid just on the edge of the battlefield of Dagorlad. His heart fell as he realized that his King was right, he had only hindered them and possibly caused precious time to be lost in finding his belovéd. With a sigh, he decided to start the walk back to Minas Tirith, praying that Legolas and Gandalf would bring Lómëmir back all right.
The unmistakable sound of galloping hooves drew him from his burdensome thoughts. Warily, he spun round, sword drawn. He peered about, but saw only one lone white horse without a rider. The animal was coming toward him, almost as if with a purpose, but not in a dangerous way. The horse stopped but inches away from Vaneldur and nuzzled his shoulder as if to invite him to ride. The young man accepted this as his one bit of good luck in the last several days, and climbed atop the animal, ready to steer it back south to follow the Anduin home. The horse, however, had other ideas and as soon as his rider was settled, it charged off eastward with such speed that Vaneldur had to lean parallel with the horse's gleaming white mane to avoid the wind resistance.
As night enclosed the world, Vaneldur realized that the great beast took on an almost silver-like glow. He began to worry when the speeding animal slowed not in the least all through that night, the day following, nor the next night. Why he was being carried off toward Rhûn, he had no knowledge - though he did knew it to be a stronghold of Easterlings - but he began to understand that there is often more at work than merely the fruitless struggles of mortal Man. The horse only slowed when the hills of Rhûn came within walking distance and it stopped entirely when Vaneldur saw Legolas and Gandalf up ahead of him, bound and angry.
For a second Vaneldur warred internally, trying to decide if he should not just leave them as they left him, but he realized that this was no time for bitterness and revenge. All three free and armed (Morion had done nothing about their weapons) they went quickly to a hidden gate. Gandalf had not said so, but he knew Morion was rash in choosing the entrance he took. The Elves would almost certainly be caught. Gandalf was still muttering angrily in a language neither Vaneldur nor Legolas understood as they approached the gate.
Walking into the cave that lead further on in dark tunnels, Vaneldur felt darkness and dread weighing upon him. Legolas could not help but recall the mines of Moria and he remembered how much he hated being underground. If only Gandalf could have shed the dark cloak he wore to reveal the blinding white gleam of Secret Fire, but it would have attracted too much attention and needed to be reserved for a well-timed moment of escape.
It seemed hours they had traversed various corridors, occasionally going still and silent as some foe, mostly Easterlings, passed through another way all too close for comfort. This sort of thing perturbed Gandalf very little in these days, but it drew much strength from Vaneldur. Still he would not falter, he willed his strength to hold true until he could be with Lómëmir again. Whereas some passages were darker than Cirith Ungol, others were too well lit to risk taking, and even Legolas wondered if Gandalf was not just leading them aimlessly, hoping to stumble upon the elleth sooner or later. And yet there seemed to be a steady pattern of downward sloping and turns to the right.
Suddenly Gandalf held out a hand, stopping the other two sort. Without words he indicated that they should stay while he moved cautiously around the next turn. Staying close to the wall, he then beckoned them to come slowly on. What they saw chilled them. Gandalf was forced to put forth strength to keep Vaneldur and Legolas from rushing forward to the beaten fair Elf who was chained to a column in the center of a high, open chamber. They were looking down from an upper entrance which sloped down on either side of them, encircling the chamber until it reached the ground level. This seemed to be a meeting place for foes of the West. All too clearly they could see Lómëmir's gown torn here and there, her lustrous hair that once shone like flame hanging limply about her shoulders, her head hanging weakly down and her deep grey eyes hidden, closed. She looked to be alone in this place, but only Gandalf noticed that Morion, too, was chained there across the expansive room, though he looked in much better condition.
When an Easterling entered from one of the main level entrances and strode over to the Elf-maid, lifting her chin and trapping her in a rough kiss from which she did not fight, Legolas's rage could be contained no longer. Quicker than Gandalf could stop him an arrow expertly found it's mark in the soldier's throat. With a sigh the Wizard observed another soldier come in when he heard his comrade collapse, then another, and another. Vaneldur drew his sword and hurried down the long ramp as Legolas jumped from the second level ledge to land, fighting, in the middle of the foray. Gandalf followed Vaneldur, fighting sword and staff, cloak now shed. It had been the Wizard's hope to get in and get out unnoticed, but the fight had been joined.
The three fought seemingly impossible odds as Easterlings and orcs alike flooded into the chamber. Vaneldur had taken a couple of severe wounds and was beginning to have a harder time lifting his sword to parry and strike, but he refused to back down and kept willing his strength to hold just a little longer. Legolas had long since emptied his quiver and called upon his fighting knives which served him as well as ever.
Suddenly orc and Easterling alike stopped fighting, staring at two entrances which emitted a bluish light. Dread fell over Legolas as he recalled the last time something like that had happened. Vaneldur was just confused, but very relieved that he had a moment to regain what strength he could. Gandalf, however, was grinning. Two elderly men robed in blue entered the chamber, sending bolts of blue flame from their staffs. Orcs and Easterlings were literally tripping over each other to get away, some unable to dodge the blasts.
With the place secured, at least long enough for their mission to be accomplished, Gandalf strode over to and embraced the two fellow Wizards. They wasted no time, however, in exchanging pleasantries, but hurried to free the prisoners and get out of the underground as quickly as possible.
A reasonably safe and concealed distance away from the hills they stopped to assess themselves and their best course. Vaneldur lay back against the bole of a tree as one of the blue Wizards wrapped the wounds he received in the skirmish. Legolas sat by expressions alternating between helplessness and rage as he looked between the freed prisoners. Morion lay near Vaneldur, not truly harmed, but sleeping with his eyes shut of exhaustion. Lómëmir had not faired so well, and Gandalf and Alatar, as the Wizard had introduced himself, tended to her as best they could. She did not seem to be asleep, but merely refusing to acknowledge anything of the world around her. Gandalf laid a hand aside of her face and muttered something that even Legolas could not understand before rising and shaking his head.
"She is alive, but only in principle," he said, mostly to whoever wanted to know.
Legolas was the only one who could collect the voice to ask what Vaneldur was too choked to ask. "Will she recover, Gandalf?" he said quietly, not really wanting to hear the answer.
There was not a hopeful gleam in the White Wizard's eyes as he said, "None can foretell the future, young Legolas."
Vaneldur rose with some difficulty, trying not to aggravate his wounds further, but he had to be near Lómëmir at all costs to himself. Pallando helped him as he sat beside her, taking her far-too-pale hand in his own. The young man knew his belovéd would never again be the same lively Elf he had given his heart to. Looking at the suffering beneath the surface that his Lómëmir had been put through, Vaneldur's tears claimed him. "I blame myself," he whispered tearfully to the one he knew did not hear him.
"Blame not yourself, Vaneldur," Legolas said rigidly. "Rather blame that excuse for an Elf," he said glaring at the sleeping Morion.
"Legolas, sidh," Gandalf said evenly. "Such anger is not what we need now. We can not stay here. Will we have the welcome of your father's hall if we go to Mirkwood?"
Legolas nodded distractedly as he again fell to looking at the injured lady. It was up to the three Wizards to get the three Elves and the Mortal to move to safer ground, the unconscious former prisoners were born by the horse that bore Vaneldur. Vaneldur had at first insisted that he bear his Lady as far as necessary, but when he found that he could not lift even her slight weight without sharp pains he gave in to Gandalf's insistence.