A/N: Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! That is what truly keeps an author going. I would especially like to extend my gratitude to Navaer Lalaith, who gave me some much needed pointers in Elvish. So check out Chapter Two, cause a bunch of stuff has been changed concerning Elven names. Now, there is one detail I would like to go into, as there seemed to be a misunderstanding about it.

Concerning Elven Age: In my story arc, the age that Elves truly come of age is 500, when they are fully trained and prepared to journey down the path of life that they have chosen. It's basically going from novice to master. The first coming of age is when they are 50, around the equivalence of 10 in human years. This is when they choose what they are going to train to become.

I would also like to state that since the Elves in this book are so young, there will be no romance. None! If you would like to see summaries for my future stories in this arc, check out my bio page. And yes, I will get them all finished. I am a dedicated writer.

Disclaimer: I only own Liranar.


Chapter Three- Lothlorien

"Still she slumbers." The remark issued from his wife was a statement. Never did the Lady Galadriel question anything. Steadfast, all knowing; an anchor when all else fell into turmoil. Her aura of power and mystery, of vast wisdom found only within the depths of time, and her radiance compared to that of the Morning Star set her apart from the world, inspiring awe and fear in whoever should cross her. Yet it did nothing to alienate the love of her husband and their subsequent brood. Indeed, she returned that love fiercely, with a passion found in no other aspect of her life, which, if threatened, held devastating consequences.

"Yes, meleth nìn. But that is no cause for concern. Or have you forgotten that it was she who kept the camp awake for more than half the night with her antics?" He gently brushed the moon-pale silver hair from the delicate elfling seated before him. Looking up from his ministrations, the Lord of the Golden Wood met the anxious blue eyes of his wife, the only sign of her true emotions in a face that could have been carved from the purest white marble. So possessive was she of this youngest daughter, who had come when they had forsaken all hope of ever having another. Celebrìan had left long before to wed Elrond of Imladris, raising her own family and beginning life anew. Though she frequently visited the land of her birth, it was not the same. The twins lit the lives of their daernaneth, yet their visits were spaced between great lengths. Thus, Galadriel had thrown herself against the growing shadow, ruthlessly uprooting any small seed that managed to worm its way near her beloved wood. Celeborn had feared for his wife, of losing her to the chill embrace of despair.

But hope had arrived. Barely a half of a century before they had been blessed once more with child. All of Lorien, and indeed Imladris, rejoiced at the coming of a young she-Elf, one of the few born in these dark times. Galadriel's joy in life had been rekindled by her little flame, a fiery whirlwind of elation and stubborn determination unmatched by any other. Terror could not begin to describe the result of placing the silver-haired elfling with the dark Noldor twins of Imladris. He shuddered inwardly at the thought.

His golden wife's demeanor changed instantly from anxious to amused. I believe you do have a reason to fear, beloved. They are quite troublesome.

He snorted, so unlike the elegant Elf-lord his subjects thought him to be that several turned around in their saddles to give him incredulous looks. Any forthcoming remarks were immediately silenced by their lord's flashing silver-blue eyes and his lady's soft laughter.

Their daughter stirred slightly within his strong embrace. Her eyes, a vibrant blue so deep they seemed almost violet in hue, focused as her dark lashes fluttered, signaling her awakening. Lìranar peered up at her father accusingly, flames smoldering in their indigo depths.

"Ada, you told me that it is unladylike to do that." She cocked her head, reminiscent of a predator eying prey. It was times like these that his angelic-faced daughter reminded him of the more dangerous aspects of her mother.

He winced as he felt his wife's reprimanding ire descend upon him. These two females were far too alike for his comfort. One was well enough, but two? Where was the male race when back up was needed? His wardens were all but useless, bound by fear of the lady's great power. Celebrìan had once stood with him, smiling that sweet smile of hers, melting past her mother's exterior with her innocence. But she was gone, with children of her own to manage. Which leaves me to face these two alone.

Yes, and we shall never let you forget that. Now set an appropriate example for your daughter.

He resisted the urge to snort again. You mean your daughter, meleth. Her golden laughter once more echoed within the depths of his mind.

Fortunately he was saved from further embarrassment by Lìranar, of all Elves. Or rather, elflings. Earnestly brushing her errant silver hair from her eyes, she began chattering to him excitedly, energized by the lengthy rest gained while in her father's arms. One would almost forget that she was approaching her coming of age, when she would choose which path she would start upon, what she would be for the rest of her life. A warrior was out of the question. After the Last Alliance, with the devastation wrought upon Elven-kind, there was no possibility that Galadriel would allow their beloved youngest daughter to tread upon such a destructive and ultimately sorrow-filled road. There would be only death if their little flame was allowed to follow that destiny. And neither would he let her.

The powerful Elven-lord remembered the day that his child was born. It had been spring, as it was now. The golden mallorns had been in bloom, their sweet scent permeating throughout the fair realm. Celebrìan and Elrond had come, with their young twins nearing their own coming of age, just as much of a handful then. He had been pacing nervously below the talan in which he and his wife resided, listening to her occasional screams as she struggled to bring forth their second child. The twins had run rampant through the glade until Haldir and his brothers took them out into the depths of Lothlorien for "exploration purposes", otherwise known as a successful tactic for keeping the royal menaces from causing too much destruction. Elrond, along with most of the denizens of the Golden Wood, had watched in something akin to amusement as his father-in-law paced frantically until his daughter took pity on her poor adar and had given him some miruvor to calm him down. It was then that the first wailing cries floated from the ethereal talan, heralding the entrance of new life. Silence had reigned, even with the inhabitants of Caras Galadhron out to witness the birth of the new child of their lord and lady; their hope for the future. At that he had raced up the stairs, as fleet as a deer, heedless of the impression he was making upon his subjects.

The healer had showed him into the room, bowing low and giving him a wide smile, so unusual for her reserved character. She had then exited, leaving the lord alone with his exhausted wife and the bundle that she had cradled gently within her arms.

Galadriel looked up at him then. Her golden hair, dampened from her labours, spread about her in a glimmering fan of spangled light. Her blue eyes, so full of wisdom and enigma, were open, allowing him to see past her normal façade to the deep love and passion she held for life. She had never been more beautiful than at that moment. She had beckoned him closer, nodding gently with her head at the tiny being wrapped protectively within her embrace. He had hesitated for a moment before slowly approaching the bed, his eyes never leaving mother and child.

"This is our daughter," she had whispered, her voice hoarse from crying out to bring this life into the world. All of a sudden his view narrowed, to the one tiny creature being passed into his arms. His daughter. Sweet, soft, innocent, still slightly battered from her entrance into the world. Everything was where it was supposed to be, perfect miniatures of an Elf.

Then she had opened her eyes, eyes of such a vivid blue they appeared violet. They had stared at him intently, as if she could see into the very depths of his soul though she had just been born, weighing and judging his worth. And he vowed from that moment on, that moment filled with such love and devotion, that he would never allow anything to happen to his beloved daughter.

"When will we arrive in Imladris? Will Elladan and Elrohir be there? When will Celebrìan's baby arrive? May I hold it? May Glorfindel take us out on patrol with him? Rùmil promised me that he would bring me back a warg cub if I behaved last night."

A fair-haired warrior in the front of the procession choked and stiffened upon his mount as the child's last remark in her torrent of questions reached his sensitive ears. He paled noticeably under the fiery intensity of his lord and lady's gazes, seeming to burn a whole through him. The wardens on either side of Rùmil gave him looks full of pity and mock-sorrow for his remarkably shortened immortal life. None encouraged hazardous behavior in the young daughter of the Golden Wood without themselves being fed to the wargs.

"Aì, gwador nìn, but I did warn you of the consequences for promising her that." His brother Orophin's whisper made an attempt at a hushed conversation. Their other companion remained passionless except for the slight twitch of the muscles about the corner of his mouth.

The unfortunate Elf's back was straight as an oak. "But I feared for our rest. And it was you who gave her the sip of miruvor in the first place." Ororphin's fair face flushed a brilliant crimson as he stuttered upon the words on his tongue as the others who made up the contingent watched in amusement as the antics of the two brothers delved them deeper into trouble.

Galadriel shook her golden head. "I believe that our wardens are broken. A pity. I thought them to be possessing of at least some sanity."

Celeborn laughed aloud at his wife's words, drawing the attention away from Rùmil and Orophin and onto himself. "Meleth nìn, you have spent one millennia too many married to me."


"My lord, my lady, if it pleases you we will rest here for the night." Laegast, the warden in command of the expedition to Imladris, bowed in deference to the noble Elves. He was quiet and thoughtful, deadly with a sword instead of his tongue. The only passion that he allowed himself to truly show was around his young bride, and Lìranar, who could literally charm the very birds out of the trees. That was if she managed to restrain her temper in the process.

She should have been born a child of the House of Oropher. He quickly banished this thought as he nodded his acquiescence to Laegast. He would not allow this joyous occasion to be ruined by thoughts of his Silvan kin.

Turning his thoughts outwards, he watched the comforting rhythm of setting up camp, performed with grace as were all of the actions of the Eldar. Some were laying out the bedrolls for those who would sleep upon the ground. Others were tending the horses, feeding them and turning them loose for the night. They would be back before the rising of the dawn. Rùmil was bent over the ground with Celeborn's argent-haired elfling, teaching her how to properly light a cooking fire in an attempt to distract her from her earlier thought-path.

His wife was nowhere to be seen. Even for an Elf it was difficult to disappear from twenty trained warriors, a knowing husband, and a keen sensed daughter. He closed his eyes and reached out to Galadriel, feeling a faint reply as if in reluctance or distraction. Yet it was enough to set him on the correct trail.

The woods were silent this night. Nothing stirred, not even the occasional nocturnal creature or the rustling of the wind through the eaves. Something was wrong. He quickened his pace in an attempt to reach his wife. They needed to leave.

He saw her on the ground, bent over a pool of water. The liquid stirred with unnatural images, a testament that Galadriel was using her abilities. He waited, a silent sentinel standing guard against the darkness that seemed to be bearing down upon the radiant Elf-woman.

All of a sudden she staggered, and would have fallen in if Celeborn had not been there to catch her. She trembled against him, gaining strength and support from his presence.

"Darkness," she whispered hoarsely, the brilliance of her vivid blue eyes opened wide in horror. "Shadows swiftly approaching. They shall take our hope, our light. If they do, we shall fall."

A distant scream shattered the once eerie quiet of the night. A palpable wave of dark obscurity rolled over them in a thunderous torrent, leaving them upon the ground.

"It is here!" The terror in his wife's voice was a tangible thing. She could sense something wrong, terribly wrong. It manifested itself with her cry of "Lìranar!" before she plunged back the way they had come. It was a desperate race, doomed to failure before it had even begun.

They reached the camp, the silence having once more descended upon the wood. Not a soul stirred. Kneeling down besides one of the warriors, Celeborn checked for a pulse and a breath. They were both there, if faint. Whatever had occurred had struck quickly, leaving no time for retaliation by the agile beings.

A groan alerted them that at least one of their contingency had returned to awareness. Galadriel quickly bent over the prone form of Rùmil, bringing a skin of water to his lips which he partook of before turning away.

"Hir nìn," he gasped, shivering violently. "I….I have f-failed you." A silver tear leaked down the side of his smooth cheek.

"No you have not," she whispered soothingly, brushing the fair hair from his eyes. "Just tell me what has occurred here."

"Shadows…darkness…don't remember much…Aì!" His cry rang through the woods much as Galadriel's had earlier. "They took her! They took Lìranar!" was his last exclamation before sinking into oblivion.