Disclaimer: Obviously I do not claim to be Tolkien, therefore, I do not own this. MornieGalad

Chapter I

Berethlond

Damp. Cool. The elf cared not where she was as she came again into consciousness. She dared not open here eyes, lest this be a dream, yet deep in her heart, she knew this was real. Somehow, she knew not how, she was no longer a captive of Barad-dur. Freed by a miracle, the bonds had been sundered. She struggled to move, but found that intense pain accompanied every movement. Squinting her closed eyes in a determined focus, she strained to her fullest capacity, but agony overwhelmed her. Defeated, but not dispirited, she concluded that the Vala would send her aid, for they would not have granted her the grace of freedom only to curse her with agony just before retrieving her to the halls of Mandos.

She wondered about her companion, Andune. She had not felt the warmth of his body nearby, nor had she heard his breath. Had the Vala been so unkind as to send him elsewhere without her? Much as she desired to keep her eyes comfortably closed, for her own curiosity, she had to open them, for there were few questions that she was able to answer without their aid. Stars, glorious stars, met her gaze, shimmering welcomingly in the dark blue sky. The moon was rising, a pale, full face as she'd not seen in ages. These were not the friends she had sought, but they were well met, nonetheless. Comfort and peace swept her spirit as they had in days of old. It had been the longest night of the year, but it was now over. Life had returned as warmth after the wintry-season of death.

Seeking her comrade, the warrior forced her eyes from her long forgotten friends. Down, past the treetops, they followed her command. Then, not three meters away, recognition came. Sprawled in the dew he was. So different was this sight from the blackness of captivity, she was surprised. His face was turned from her. She could not move toward him, yet she had to attain his attention. The parched lips moved and with that movement another miracle was procured. From the silence of her tortured body came his name.

"Andune." The blessed tongue floated on the still air, hovering about them like an echo. There came no reassuring response, no break from the night noises. Silence fell again and all who heard mourned. The wind whispered his name, louder, louder. Somewhere in a far off forest, a wolf began her mournful song. Another joined her, crying his name, then another, another, until their lament resonated into the sky. The stars and moon bowed their heads in shame, lower, lower, until they vanished from sight. The sky let its tears fall, gently, softly, not to disturb his body. Behind the clouds shone the moon, palely, mournfully, so all could still see the testimony to the cold circles of the world. The wind blew his hair gingerly, making him resemble the kings of old. His companion could see his image engraved in the sky, his eyes in every tear, sailing in te wind was his voice. Had the elven realm ever known such a loss, such devastation? Surely, never before had it been such. Tears slid down her face, or was it the rain? Tears and blood, there was little difference. Both had been shed in abundance this night. Both had stained ennorath, a stain that no amount of absolution could cleanse. The whole world had been stabbed through the heart with the loss of one life, one life unjustly deprived of redeeming spring.

Above the lament, the elf perceived that voices were rejoicing not far away. Immediately she suspected orcs, yet it could not be so. These sounds were beautiful, innocent, even as Andune had once been. Was such a thing possible? In the same world pierced through its blessed heart, could there still be a shred of innocence? Long ago, she would have readily answered in affirmation, but the presence of death in which she had so long lived made her doubtful, almost reputable. How she desired desperately to believe it to be true, that evil had not conquered and consumed the entirety of everything. Struggling to grasp that shred of hope, perhaps baseless hope, she listened. Songs collided, the lament and the carefree jig, the knowing and the naive worlds. Voices of despair and hope wrestled to find a balance, but the elf wondered if one could be found, even if they strove for all eternity. The shadow of despair was not yet overpowering, but it was biding its time. Mordor would come, and with it would follow the shadow of war and destruction, which seemed not to have yet embraced this place, this haven, this Berethlond. She knew not its proper name, so thus she now christened it in th e mourning rain: Berethlond, a safe haven . . . Berethlond.

The voices dispersed as the night drew on. Footsteps made for the comfort of home. Would any pass near to the elf? Too weak was she, else she would have cried out into the night to let her voice be heard. Now, she could do nothing, save lie, waiting, amidst the rain and songs of night. Footsteps. Nearer they came. Soft they were, barely audible, even for the elven ears, accustomed to the silence. Still they approached and with them came a pair of voices.

"Ah, this blasted rain. I'm going to be soaked before I get home."

"You'll dry." There was a pause, but the two of them were not yet near enough to have seen the elf. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Wolves and . . . and something else."

"I hear the wolves all right. Give me the creeps they do."

"Shhh!"

"What?"

"Elf song." Indeed, the elf lying on the sopped ground heart it too. No doubt the wind had carried the sound, but from where? Behold, it was not one song, but two: one a hymn of Elbereth, the other a lament, a duet.

"Ar sindan . . . Oriello . . . oriello caita . . . mornie . . . ar ilye tier undulave lumbule" (Lord of the Rings Fellowship of the Ring Book II 424 or The Two Towers Lament for Haldir)

"Amazing," breathed one. They said their farewells and parted ways. One kept going closer, closer. Suddenly, he stopped abruptly. Footsteps rushed closer and stopped just beside the closer elf, Andune. In the dark, of course, it would be impossible to tell he was dead.

"Sam, come here. Quick!" He rummaged in the dark and his hand came to rest on the elf maiden.

"Are there more of you?" He asked, his voice scared, but generous.

"No," she managed to whisper. She heard Sam's footsteps racing toward them. Not far away, the pair joined together and lifted Andune away. The elf presumed they were headed for shelter. After a short while, they returned for her.

"Gently," the one who had first seen her urged. He took her upper body, while Sam took her legs. Slowly, they made their way toward lights. Welcoming were they and the brightness grew closer. Then they were inside. It was a small dwelling as far as height was concerned, but quite spacious. In the hearth blazed a fire and beside it, in a chair sat Andune's figure. Sam, who was certainly drenched, pulled a chair opposite him and helped the other place her in it. A blanket was placed over her.

"They're Elves, Mr. Frodo," Sam said in wonder.

"Yes, Sam," the other agreed, "But I fear the worst for him." He gestured at Andune.

"He's dead," the elf maiden whispered, getting her first glimpse of her companion's mutilated body. The blanket that covered it was soaked with blood and his pale face had crusty gashes from the orcs plaguing it. Even his neck had holes, viciously carved by the orcs, the veins were visible. Tears flooded her eyes once more as she beheld him. Andune, her poor companion. Her friend, Andune.

Frodo had set to work healing her wounds as best he could

"If only Gandalf were here," he muttered under his breath. He was tending her broken leg, unskillfully, but he didn't seem to be worsening the situation. Sam stood back, uncomfortably, every now and again glancing nervously at the corpse.

"What do you want me to do with him, Mr. Frodo?" he finally asked. Frodo turned from the elf maiden as if he had forgotten Andune. Remorse filled his eyes at the reminder.

"Just leave him be for now, Sam." He returned his attention to the maiden's leg, trying not to let her see his tears, which, unbeknownst to him were mirrored in her immortal eyes.

"You must be exhausted. Sam, et this lady some water and prepare her a bed." Indeed, the elf maiden was beginning to nod off. Frodo continued to doctor her until, at last, he could do n more. He helped her up, intending to escort her to a bedroom. She leaned heavily upon him, due to her broken leg. Sometime during the journey, her hand rested on Frodo's chest and she immediately drew back as if she had been burned. Once in her bed, her eyes closed, but in her dreams she saw Andune still, young Andune. Oh, Andune. Andune.