Chapter Seven – A Time to Weep

Below, the sounds of merry-making had long since diminished and Laurè felt no real regret at not having been a part of it. She had other things on her mind, including the return of Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond and beloved Celebrían's sons. They had not been looked for, and the news they carried was grave, though not wholly unexpected. War was returning to Middle-earth and in a manner not unlike the rumblings that had begun before the War of Sauron and the Free Peoples of Middle-earth.

Laurè had been right about one thing, at least; it had taken several hundred years for Sauron to finally make his move. During that time, the One Ring had been forged, and the Three hidden from view. The nine Nazgûl had risen, Ringwraiths who revelled in their newfound dark powers. Between them, they had gathered four of the Seven Rings given to the Dwarves, the others lost and unobtainable to anyone, swallowed by the great dragons in their lust for gold. The Lonely Mountain of Erebor had been taken by Smaug, the Dwarves cast out, and the world of Men teetered on the brink of self-destruction but for the hard work of a few good Men. However, not everything in that time was bad, Laurè recalled with a smile. Celebrían had given birth to twin sons, and that in itself was a time of great joy among the Elves. But Laurè's part in that joy was short-lived, for she was called away to witness the birth of another child, a prince of Men, who would sire a line that would finally culminate in a boy named Elendil. From the moment of his birth, this prince was called Elf-friend, and Laurè spent many years among his kin, teaching him to respect her people, to call them friend. And when he had married, and the rumblings and rumours from Mordor grew more plentiful, Laurè returned to her own kind in Eregion, to prepare them for war.

But she had been too late. She was not heeded, nor were her friends, and the consequences were disastrous. The first attack had been swift and unannounced, the Elves of Eregion taken completely by surprise in the dead of night. Laurè remembered being jolted from a fitful sleep, rolling from her bed with Angùrei in hand, ready to fight by instinct alone if need be. She could remember the sounds of fighting close by, the screams of those cut down by blade and arrow, and had hastened to pull her armour on before running to assist her kin in the defence of their home. She could remember hearing Galadriel shout for the children to be made safe, for them to be taken away to safety as the men and women of the city crashed into battle with a horde of snarling, screaming Orcs. They had fought hard, well into daylight, but there had been no hope. There were too many Orcs, and too few Elves, by the time the battle ended, and the Elves had disappeared into the shadows of the Misty Mountains, to regroup and prepare for the next attack. They had had no time in which to do so, hunted by Orcs every waking moment, until barely more than a hundred of the Galadhrim and Eregion smiths remained. If Elrond had not managed to muster a force of Elves from Lindon, they would have been completely destroyed, slaughtered to a man. As it was, less than four hundred Elves survived the first attack on the great kingdom, and they had lost Celebrimbor and most of the leading figures in their society.

They had fought the Orcs and Nazgûl for centuries, striking hard from their hiding places deep within the mountains above what had once been Eregion. With each attack, Sauron grew stronger and the Elves lost more of their number by the day. And then came the wonderful day when they learned of others who were fighting alongside them, that they hadn't been forgotten …

Laurè leapt for cover, stifling her shriek of pain as an arrow slammed into her ankle. Friendly hands grabbed her, pulling her further into their hiding place as Orcs stormed past, many feet thudding on soft dirt and hard rock. As the dust settled around them, Laurè let out the hiss of pain that had been bubbling up inside her, startling the Elves huddled around her. Galadriel crawled over to them, stifling a gasp at the sight of the cruel arrow sticking askance out of her friend's angle.

'Bloody hell, that looks painful,' she exclaimed softly, barely tracing the black shaft with a trembling finger.

Laurè gave her a pale, teeth-clenched smile.

'Surprisingly enough, it is,' she managed, pulling her leg up to inspect the wound. 'Oh gods … where's Orophin?'

Galadriel frowned.

'Why?'

'Because he's the only one who's strong enough to pull that thing out,' she said tightly. 'And someone's going to have to hold me down.'

Galadriel stared at her for a long moment.

'I can't believe you're talking about this so calmly,' she said, in a horrified tone.

Laurè looked sick.

'If I don't talk I'll pass out,' she told her friend, watching as Galadriel nodded in concern and crawled off, presumably to find Orophin and his brothers.

They were never without each other; though Haldir could have had a command of his own by now, his brothers were never given a place in his troop, and he always refused. She smiled, ignoring the pain for a moment, thinking of Galadriel's plans to build a city for the Galadhrim, and the positions of power she had in mind for her friends. There had been quite a long argument when she had declared Laurè would be her Marchwarden, since Laurè was fairly certain she wouldn't be in Lothlórien for very long at a time. Haldir would make a much better choice, she knew, and Galadriel had agreed finally, stating that she wouldn't accept him if his brothers didn't come as a part of the deal. So she had several pieces of the future all sorted for when the real trouble came along in a few thousand years.

There was a rustling nearby, and the three brothers came crawling through the brush, each averting their eyes from the arrow sticking out of her ankle. She sent them a brave smile, and gasped as they got to it straight away. Laurè found herself lying flat on her back, with Rùmiel kneeling on her shoulders and holding her arms, and Haldir sat on her legs, conveniently blocking her view of what Orophin was doing. Galadriel forced a bit of wood between her teeth as she felt the agonising pain of a hand gripping the shaft and ripping it out. She bit down hard on the wood, feeling it splinter in her mouth as she dug her nails into Rùmiel's hands, trying not to pass out from the pain.

She must have passed out, though, because she woke up back in their camp, her foot bandaged up and throbbing, and her head feeling like many Oliphants were dancing the mamba around the inside. From vague memories of heat and discomfort, she pieced together her recent history, rediscovering the fact that she had lain in a fever for a good few days since the last time she was fully conscious. She experimentally wiggled her toes, and gasped at the pain that washed through her, making her head swim.

A familiar voice greeted her as Galadriel came into view.

'You're awake then,' she said cheerfully, but there was an edge to her tone that Laurè didn't like much. 'We thought you were never going to wake up.'

She sat on the edge of the bedroll, very obviously looking anywhere but Laurè's eyes as she sat up.

'What's wrong?' Laurè asked flatly.

Galadriel glanced down at her foot, idly playing with the loose end of the bandage.

'You know, we got a message from Gondor while you were sleeping,' she said softly. They want an alliance –'

'I know,' Laurè interrupted, her voice tight. 'Tell me what's wrong.'

'Nothing, there's nothing wrong,' Galadriel protested unconvincingly, her expression turning to one of quiet panic.

'Ri, we've known each other for years,' Laurè said. 'I know when you're lying to me.'

Her friend had the decency to colour, clearly ashamed of herself, but still unable to meet her eyes. She leant forward, suddenly afraid of whatever it was that was being hidden from her but more determined to discover it.

'It's about my ankle, isn't it,' she said, and it wasn't a question. 'Tell me, please … I need to know.'

Finally Galadriel's eyes lifted to hers, albeit reluctantly.

'The healers …' she began, then stopped, obviously deciding to try a different tack. 'They said there was a high risk of infection, and if it did get infected, they'd have to cut your leg off to save your life. Trouble is, they think it's already infected.'

She looked relieved to have said it. Laurè stared at her for a long moment, and her expression changed to one of stubborn impatience.

'Oh, sod that,' she declared. 'I know more about healing than they do.'

She looked suspiciously at the bandages on her foot, which on closer inspection looked filthy.

'How long has it been since these were changed?' she asked.

Galadriel shrugged.

'I don't know,' she admitted. 'Not since you came down with that fever … about two weeks, I suppose.'

'Two weeks?' Laurè almost shrieked. 'Get them off now.'

Even after thousands of years of knowing her friend's moods and tempers, Galadriel was clearly still afraid enough of her anger to do as she was told. As she uncovered the wound, the smell of rotting flesh filled the air. Laurè watched with interest as her friend's face turned sickly pale as the familiar stench invaded her nostrils. Ignoring the pain, she hauled herself forward to inspect the wound. It was red raw and bleeding, the edges where the skin had died blackened and necrotic.

'Gods, hasn't anyone even cleaned this?' Galadriel gasped, shocked. 'No wonder they wanted to chop it off.'

Laurè nodded absently, gently testing the flesh with a practised finger. She looked up at her friend.

'Can I ask you a big favour?' she asked, watching in bewilderment as Galadriel rose to her feet and made for the tent flap.

'I'm way ahead of you,' she said, her voice a little nasal from the effort of trying to block out the smell. 'What will I need?'

Laurè looked speculatively at the wound.

'Lots of hot water, clean pads and bandages, and a sharp knife,' she said thoughtfully, only slightly surprised when these orders were delivered with every sign of authority to whoever was standing watch outside.

The items were duly fetched, and somehow Celeborn appeared, bullying the three healers of the camp into watching as Galadriel was talked through cleaning Laurè's wound, cutting away the dead skin and dressing it to her satisfaction. Despite their protests, they were then summarily dismissed, denied even a moment to inspect the work.

Laurè lay back, far more relaxed now than she had been when she'd woken.

'Now then,' she said, grinning at the proud smile on Galadriel's face, 'what's all this about Gondor?'

Laurè grinned to herself, resting her chin on her knees as she looked up at the stars above her. That had been one of the best bits of news she'd heard in all her long life. Men had joined the fight against Sauron and his armies, and had offered the hand of friendship to them with a smile. But despite this, she and Galadriel had had to bully the leaders of their own people into accepting the offer, which in itself was a measure of how well respected they had both become over the years. Yet even with the Last Alliance in place, even with all the victories Men and Elves won, it was many years before they were able to look to a battle that could finally end it all.

Laurè could remember the horror of the battle on the slopes of Orodruin. It had been more terrifying than anything she had ever faced before. She had been in many other battles, both before and since, but nothing could ever compare with the total destruction meted out that day. She had been nowhere near Elendil and Gil-Galad when they were struck down, and had not heard of Isildur's bravery until later. All she remembered was a deafening roar of outrage and pain, and being knocked to the ground by a massive tidal wave of released power. In the confusion that followed, she remembered the orcs and goblins running in fright, heedless of the warriors cutting them down as they ran, and a blade that burned like poisoned ice driving deep into her thigh.

In fact, that was all she remembered, followed by days of drifting in and out of consciousness, haunted by a longing for something she could not recognise and a sudden hatred for everyone she knew and loved. But it was Galadriel's voice that drew her back to the light, and the news that their victory was not as complete as they had hoped …

Laurè woke with a start, her eyes snapping open to stare, uncomprehending, at a ceiling she vaguely recognised. After several minutes of mapping the knotholes and boards that made up the arched roof above her, she sighed softly and rolled over, aware that something wasn't quite right with herself. For one thing, her senses seemed sharper; she could hear not just voices beyond the door she spied across the room, but identify the people speaking and what they were talking about. A brief memory of pain flashed into her mind, and her hand slid down to touch the light bandage on her thigh. As her hand touched it, she had the awful feeling she was being watched, her mind filled with the vision of a great red eye, staring right through her. And she knew who it was … Sauron, the one they had defeated on the slopes of his own mountain, and who was just as clearly still in existence. At that moment, she knew they had not destroyed the Ring, lying back with a weary sigh. It had been the only chance to stop the cycle, and now they were committed to another few thousand years of waiting and suffering until it could be completed.

Carefully, she flexed her leg, pleased to find it was not painful, just stiff, and slid out of the bed, dressing herself in the only thing to hand – yet another dress. Her hair was ignored, pushed back behind her shoulders as she shuffled stiffly across the room to open the door, and join the conversation going on in the next room.

Galadriel was glaring at Elrond, hands on hips as he stared at the floor, looking more like a child than she had ever seen him before. It was quite obvious that he had done something very wrong, and just as obvious that no one had noticed her entrance.

'What do you mean, he wouldn't do it?' Galadriel was demanding.

Elrond raised his head, and Laurè saw that his fabled temper was coming to the end of its fuse.

'Exactly what I said, my lady,' he said calmly. 'Isildur would not throw the Ring into the fires of Orodruin. There was nothing I could do to force him.'

Galadriel's eyes blazed, and as if on instinct, Celeborn took a step back.

'Nothing you could do?' she hissed. 'Nothing you could do? You had a sword, for Melian's sake, you could have cut his hand off!'

Elrond's face turned to stone.

'And what would that have accomplished exactly?' he snapped. 'Elves striking at Men when both races are weakened from fighting, war spreading through Middle-earth once more when we have no strength to fight anymore!'

'You could have lied to him!' Galadriel snapped back. 'Why wouldn't he throw it in?'

'I don't know!'

Despite the sight of her friends engaged in a potentially harmful argument, Laurè couldn't help smiling.

'I do,' she said softly.

Their heads snapped around, and the sense of relief rolling off them was palatable as they surged toward her. Galadriel wrapped her in a tight hug, followed swiftly by the two men as she was led to a seat, fussed over as if she were only a few moments from death. She waved them away, laughing at their concern.

'I'm fine, I swear,' she told them.

Elrond knelt before her, searching her eyes for some sign that she was not as she seemed.

'Lady, we thought we had lost you,' he said, and Laurè was touched by how concerned he seemed. 'Your wound was something we had not seen before. You have been drifting in and out of consciousness for days. I know no blade that would cause such a wound.'

Laure smiled ruefully.

'That's because for the moment there is only one creature that wields it,' she told him. 'It is what will be called a Morgul blade. The victim is not killed, but passes into the shadow realm, to become as the Nazgûl, a mere wraith, full of longing for the one Ring.'

Elrond frowned, not understanding.

'Then how is it that you are here with us?' he asked her. 'You are no wraith.'

Before Laurè could answer, Galadriel interrupted.

'Elvish magic,' she said softly, looking at her friend with suddenly comprehending eyes, and Laurè knew she had remembered something, finally, from the films so long ago. 'The Three are not touched by Sauron's evil, and they are the only things that can counter it.'

'Elves are not easily corrupted,' Celeborn added, obviously reaching the same conclusion as his wife, 'and you knew what was happening. You were able to fight it.'

Laurè shrugged.

'I don't know about that,' she said. 'All I remember is Galadriel telling me to come back to the light, and being so eager to follow her it hurt.'

Elrond was staring at them incredulously.

'But –'

Laurè cut him off.

'We've got enough to worry about without going over this again,' she said, not unkindly. 'Before anyone says it, I know what has – or hasn't – happened.'

Galadriel shot Elrond a dark look, and then looked guiltily at Laurè who gave her a stern frown.

'Arguing amongst ourselves isn't going to solve this problem,' she said firmly. 'There are other forces at work in this world than good and evil. Something tells me this was meant to happen. The Ring is bound to the Dark Lord; they are one. Until it is destroyed, he will never be, and it has a will of it's own. I do not think Isildur is himself any longer.'

She shared a meaningful look with Galadriel, who sighed disconsolately.

'So this is what we get for trying to change the course of the future,' she grumbled, cracking a grin as Laurè laughed softly. 'More waiting then.'

Laurè nodded.

'That's it,' she agreed. 'At least this time round, you should have more of an idea of what's going on.'

The two men looked confused as they shared a laugh, but Laurè's laughter was cut short by a twinge in her thigh, forcing her to sit down hurriedly. Galadriel's expression grew solemn.

'That will never fully heal, will it?' she asked softly, and Laurè shook her head.

'No,' she said, her voice quietly sad. 'I'm stuck with it for the rest of my life.'