Disclaimer: I own nothing that is recognizable to the Lord of the Rings franchise. The languages used in this story are Quenya, Primitive Elvish, and Sindarin. These are all owned by J.R.R. Tolkien.

What ARE mine are the original characters and the Darkmen tongue

A Long-Awaited Meeting

He lightly dropped to the forest floor, signaling his wardens to remain with a single whistle. Pulling his bowstring taut, he cautiously made his way toward the beast and rider. Stepping around the foliage, the black horse came into view, chest heaving, its breath coming harshly through the teeth. Its legs splayed askew, he saw that its entire body was slick with sweat and its strange eyes were rolling around in its head. He also noticed it was most definitely a stallion as he knelt by the horse's injured flank, releasing his grip on his bow to lay a hand on the wound.

"Dartho, garo hi dîn; dartho, garo hi dîn. Palan-athrannel a tellil an ngelaidh o Lórien. No voe, pen-veleg."

Surprisingly, the horse did not respond as normal horses did, neither quieting its struggles at his voice nor relaxing its muscles. Perturbed, he nevertheless laid his bow aside and reached for the blood-running arrow laming the horse's flank. His voice soft and gentle, healing words passed through his lips as he slowly pulled the shaft from the wound. The stallion began to move its legs, soft whinnies and neighs marking his awareness of the pain.

As soon as the barbed tip of the arrow was pulled from the animal's flesh, he felt its eyes on him and as he looked up, prepared to give more words of healing, he was caught in them. Transfixed, they were eerie and strange, filled with pain and fear; there was so much life in them, as if two spirits were looking out from each eye.

Just as suddenly ensnared he was released, and looked upon a normal horse's eyes. A low groan sounded from the heretofore unconscious rider; immediately, Haldir heard the slight sound of bowstrings growing taut. Making his way around the horse, he knelt beside the black figure, pulling aside the midnight cloak from the rider's head. Gasping aloud, the normally stoic Marchwarden stumbled to his feet, reaching for his bow and aiming at the head of silver hair spilling beneath the hood, ears pointed at the tips.

All at once, he was surrounded by his wardens, bows drawn and silent as they looked on at the figure. Another groan filled the wood as the rider stirred, hissing with pain at their left leg, still pinned by the horse's body; as the silver head was thrown back in pain, Haldir noted the rider was female.

"Man tôl a thaur o Lothlórien?" his voice, commanding and aloof, rang throughout the trees.

The eyes of the elleth sprang open, shocking the wardens even more: her eyes, startled and pain-filled, were as silver as the mithril strands of her hair. Maintaining his indifferent exterior, Haldir repeated his question, receiving silence and a baleful glare in response. Furrowing his brow, he suddenly realized she might not be inclined to be forthcoming with answers while trapped beneath her horse. As he moved toward her, however, her mount seemed to read his thoughts, and struggled to stand. After a few failed attempts, the silver-haired elleth placed a shaking hand upon the uninjured flank; at her touch, the beast seem to gain strength and finally stood, towering over her seated form. /What a magnificent animal!/ was his first thought. The second was /How does she control him?/

Indeed, it seemed as if the horse had obeyed a silent command: unspoken yet understood. As soon as the animal had regained its footing, he knelt down beside the elleth, waiting patiently as she grasped his long neck and rising, pulling her upright with him.

/She is tall/ Haldir noted, realizing she was a scarce finger's width shorter than his own height. Yet another surprise was in store for the wardens as she swept back her midnight cloak, revealing a body clothed in black, skin the color of honey. Seemingly ignoring the Elves around her, she unfastened the cloak and laid it atop her saddle. As she took a step forward, she clutched at her leg in pain, her breath whistling through clenched teeth.

Looking up at the Sun-haired Elf, she grew angry at the others around her. /These are the Western Ones held in such esteem by Tárion?/ she fumed, clutching her leg and leaning against the stallion. As though sensing her ire, the black horse nudged her shoulder, shaking her eyes from those of the cold-eyed one before her. Turning her attention, she stroked his thick, sweaty neck, humming a soft song under her breath.

Giving him a slight push while using his strong neck as a crutch, she hobbled her way to one of the giant trees, awed by its size and pulsating life, yet stifling her feelings and lowering herself with a thud! to the base of the tree. Flicking his tail, Hravan knelt beside her once more, allowing her fingers to probe his wound, whinnying when she touched too raw a nerve.

Placing one hand on the wound and the other to her leg, she was surprised to feel that Hravan's injury been already healed, at least partially; she wondered if one of the Sun-hairs had healed him. Closing her eyes and opening her mind, she stretched out to the land around her, cautious of its life-force and channeling its strength into Hravan and herself to heal them both.

When she had turned her back to him, his bow had followed her form, the bows of his wardens doing the same. He had never seen such an Elf as she before, and though he had his suspicions, he refrained from shooting her now lest he was wrong. All at once, he felt a strange pull, directed from the elleth; as if she was drawing the very life from her surroundings.

"What is it you take from this wood?" he asked, his voice demanding an answer.

At first it seemed she had not heard him, then her eyes opened and her hands moved from her leg and the horse's flank to his neck, pulling her body upright as he rose. When she offered no response, he grew irritated at her silence; in his frustration, he lowered his bow, his wardens doing the same, intent on discovering her identity. He took a measured step toward her, using the strength in his body to intimidate her.

"Man le?" he asked again, his voice low, yet still heard by those around him, "Who are you?"

No answer.

"What do you suggest, Haldir?"

The Marchwarden looked at the elleth, his gaze direct and long; he took in the way her chin was lifted in pride, the way her horse protected her from the wardens and himself, and the way she seemed to walk, the stride of a warrior yet seeming resigned to some fate bound to her life. Holding her eyes for a few seconds, he answered:

"She will go to the Lady; perhaps she may shed some light on this mystery."

She was a warrior; Haldir had no doubts about that. She wore swords similar to those used in ancient times strapped to her back, along with a bow and quiver not quite full of arrows. He pulled a length of rope from beneath his tunic, and proceeded to bind her hands in front of her; with a look, one of his wardens produced a blindfold. Taking it without a glance, he tied it around her eyes, even as they burned into his own.

Though he felt she was a warrior, she had made no resistance to being bound, except for that fierce glare she had given him before he blindfolded her eyes. Stepping back from her, he saw that some of his wardens were looking at her with wonder and some with distrust. /If they suspect what I do, they will wish her damage./ he thought, steeling his mind against his heart, /I cannot allow her to be harmed before she is brought before the Lady./

They marched for hours, time passing slowly in silence as the Sun-hairs walked in single file, Sálindë in the middle, her hands and eyes bound with Hravan at her side. She had not understood the tongue of the Sun-haired Elves, though some of it resembled a few words of her own. Refusing to appear weak and discredit her people, she marched along with them, though she was exhausted beyond measure. At times, resting her head on Hravan's shoulder, she melded her mind with that of her horse and used his eyes to watch her footing.

Through his eyes she could see the path before her, memorizing the trees and plants around her; she could also see the way the Western Elves looked at her, fear and suspicion in their looks. In the eyes of one, however, there was more than doubt and fear: revulsion seemed to lash out at her supposedly oblivious form. Using Hravan's eyes, she took a closer look and realized he greatly resembled the one who had startled her into consciousness.

"Haldir," called the courier, resting his bow and bowing to the Marchwarden, a smile in his eyes, "How fare you, friend?"

"Well met, Cassemir; do you bring tidings from my Lady?"

"Indeed, I d-"

Haldir looked at him, then realized he was staring at his strange ward.

"What is your message, Cassemir?" asked the Marchwarden quietly, his voice low and commanding attention. At once, the courier snapped his attention back to his friend and closed his open mouth.

"She requests you leave your guest with one of your brothers before you report to her."

Annoyed, yet unsure as to why he was annoyed, Haldir answered curtly:

"My thanks, my friend," then, turning to his closest brother, he said, "I leave her with you Orophin; take her to the practice yard: there should be no one to disturb you there. I will return."

He clasped his brother's hand and dismissed the other wardens, turning from the strange elleth, still blindfolded and bound, to the stairs, preparing to ascend them and report to the Lady Galadriel.

A.N.:

Translation:

Dartho, garo hi dîn; dartho, garo hi dîn. Palan-athrannel a tellil an ngelaidh o Lórien. No voe, pen veleg Stay, be quiet now; stay, be quiet now. You have journeyed far and have reached the trees of Lórien. Be gentle, mighty one

Man tôl a thaur o Lothlórien? Who are you that would trespass within the Golden Wood? (Lit. Who comes to the forest of Lothlórien?)

Elleth Elven maiden

Man le? Who are you?