Chapter
Five
Waylaid
Celebrían, her heart heavy, departed Imladris. Her head downcast and hidden in the folds of her cloak, she let her tears fall freely. The cold of the evening blew a wind to her cheeks. Celebrían shivered, unused to the cold. And the gown she wore was ceremonial, a light feathery thing meant to impress. It was not for hard travelling. She wore a sword at her belt, one of long ago. Back when she was not a delicate maiden, a queen, but another elf lass who romped with her friends in the woods. Now it was merely ceremonial, a decoration just like herself. The tears on her cheeks began to freeze over. Taking the sleeve of her cloak, she wiped away the wetness and turned to the ones Elrond had sent to accompany her. A few of them were of her household. Recognizing one of them, an elf named Targil.
"Targil," Celebrían whispered softly, bringing her pony over to him.
"Yes milady?" Targil replied with a swift bow.
"The Moon is high in the sky. I am wearied with fatigue. Could we take a brief respite?" she asked.
"Of course, milady." Targil looked concern. "Is milady not feeling well?"
Celebrían paused for a moment as if shaking off something. "Nay, I'm fine. I'm just feeling exhausted. After an hour's rest I ought to be ready to go on."
Targil gazed upwards at the sky and said almost to himself, "I do not know. The woods are not as safe as they used to be, especially with Sauron's power growing by each year. Foul creatures roam these lands."
Celebrían shivered involuntarily. Her lord sent some of his best soldiers to escort her. She would be fine. Who would dare strike such an elven host? Deep inside of her, a small voice told her that they were not invulnerable. Elven host indeed. They were merely a group of wandering elves. Fifty at most. Nothing a band of Orcs would fear, especially if hunger or vengeance drove them.
Stop that. Celebrían scolded herself. This kind of thinking will only get you more upset. She looked at the stars, saying, "Tiro ven Elbereth." May Elbereth watch over us, she thought to herself. She found herself holding onto the locket, whispering, "Elrond, melethron. How I miss you already." Turning away, she leapt nimbly off her horse. The rest of the elves followed suit, and they managed to set up camp. Five of them went of to scout, and all but Targil formed a ring of protection around Celebrían.
"Sleep, milady," Targil said soothingly, spreading out a blanket for Celebrían to lay upon.
"Thank you, Targil," she said softly, lying down.
It was a moonless night. Clouds drifted in the sky, obscuring stars as well. A bad omen… Celebrían thought as she drifted off to sleep. It seemed as if she had barely closed her eyes when a shout pierced through the air. "Drego, drego!" she heard the soldiers bellow. Her eyes sprung open. Flee? From what? Jumping up, she saw. A pack of Orcs had come upon them. Her heart sank. They were outnumbered, at least three to one. Celebrían looked around wildly. Where would she go? Who would bring her to safety? The elven warriors were fighting valiantly, but it was a lost cause. They were lost.
A hand grabbed her arm and Celebrían shrieked, but the other hand reached out and covered her mouth, grabbing her into the brushes. "Dîn!" commanded Targil, and Celebrían was far to frightened to rebuke the soldier for ordering her to be silent. Besides, he was a seasoned warrior and a captain at that. He would know what's best in the situation. He took his hand away from her mouth, but his other hand clutched her arm tightly. He seemed to be listening for something. "Milady, this way!" he called suddenly, sprinting off towards the north.
Picking up her skirts, Celebrían tried to follow. She had gone naught but three steps when she tripped and fell. It was over…she thought to herself. Targil would have run far long ago. It would not be for a long while until he realized her absence. But to her surprise, strong arms grabbed her and heaved her up. Targil had returned! He lifted the slight elven women onto his back and continued to flee. Celebrían relaxed under the steady beat of the elf's footsteps. She could not hear any noises of plants dying crushed under the heavy footsteps of Orcs. They would be saved. She laid her head down. Just as she thought they were safe, a sharp twang of an arrow being released from a bow made her turn. Before she could react, Targil dropped her to the ground and sprang in front. He fell with five arrows in his chest.
"Targil! Targil!" Celebrían sobbed, grabbing the dead elf. She was alone now. There was no one to save her. No one but herself. The Orcs came one by one, jeering at her and laughing in their crude way.
Celebrían made no move to run. Why should she? In a flash her hand went to her belt, unsheathing a sword in one fluid movement. "Take me if you can."
Memories of training came flooding back to her. But it was too late. Though she had been one of the best at the sword in Lórien, long years of disuse had rusted her skills as well as the sword. Once a masterpiece created by the best swordsmiths, the intricate and detailed sword was dull without sheen. But Celebrían herself glowed with a fey light. For a moment the Moon peeked out from behind the clouds, and the Orcs cowered. And that was when Celebrían struck. Leaping forward, she swiftly decapitated the head of one of the nearest Orcs. At the same time her foot shot out and knocked down two of the other Orcs. With a cry she stabbed forward, piercing the heart of another Orc.
She had taken down most of them. There was only twenty left. But Celebrían was tired. The sword, which had once felt so natural in her hand, now weighed heavily. She turned to flee. But no matter how fast she ran, Celebrían felt the hot breath of the Orcs panting behind her. No matter how difficult of a path she tried to run, she could hear their feet stamping closely. Finally she collapsed onto the ground and everything went black.
