Disclaimer: The lord of the Rings, and the characters associated with it are not mine, and are strictly property of J.R.R. Tolkien.

CH.6

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Galadriel could feel eyes upon her as she pressed a damp cloth over the Balrog slayer's fevered brow. She had sensed them for a while now, and had attempted to ignore them, yet it became increasingly difficult to do so when they continued to bore into her, and though she did not show it, she became increasingly uncomfortable with the unwanted attention.

It was not that she was unaccustomed to being gaped at, oh no, on the contrary. There had been many, mortals in particular, whom had been captivated by her beauty, much like an insect attracted to a ray of light.

But these were not just gazes of awe and curiosity she now received, no, she sensed something much more wicked from these men; a carnal lust which would not be dissuaded.

The power of Nenya had diminished long ago, as had the other Elven rings, shortly after the War of the Ring. And after losing such power that she had become so familiar with for most of her young life, it had been a difficult recovery to heal from, not knowing what people could feel or sense. But she was not completely without her instincts either, and though she no longer possessed the power of Nenya, there still were those times when she could sense a certain foreboding... and she could certainly sense some great animosity from these humans.

She gently soothed the fallen Warrior as he groaned in his sleep, lulling his head to the side. Elrond had managed to remove the silver dome-shaped arrow from his body, stitching the wound securely closed. At first, the Elf Lord had been worried that he would have to singe the wound closed by flame with a heated knife, the wound seemed so great, but that was not the case.

Though the seneschal had eventually lost consciousness through the procedure, perhaps that had been best. Blood no longer flowed from the wound, and though he was still feverish, the golden haired Elf was now regaining his strength in a fitful healing sleep.

There was a light shift to the side of her, and she calmly turned her head to catch the worrisome eyes of Erestor gazing at his injured companion. "How does he fare, my Lady?"

"You need not worrit your mind, Erestor," the She-Elf replied kindly. "He is no longer in danger of losing his life. He is hale."

"He was in the throes of agony ere he lost consciousness," the Councillor mumbled as he stared down at his friend, recalling how he and the others were forced to hold him down while Elrond and Galadriel had operated. "I daresay I have not seen him in such pain for the many years I've known him, and oft I have seen him wounded, either in battle, or by simple stupidity. What could have possibly caused him such grief?"

The Lady of the Golden Wood said nothing at first, but instead reached to the side of her and picked up a thin, transparent bag and handed it to the advisor. Erestor took it curiously, fingering the glossy material with interest, and peered at the small object enclosed within it.

It was indeed dome-shaped, or at least it had been. The tip now looked as if it had melted slightly on impact. The object was made from iron, he was certain of that as he squeezed it through the material.

"It is curious," he muttered more to himself, than to his company, as he continued to examine the tiny weapon. "That so small an object could inflict so much damage."

"Why create a thing so deadly?" Legolas contemplated aloud. "What could men possibly need to defend themselves against with such brutality?"

"Each other," Elrond said simply. "The race of men has always desired power. And they would stop at nothing to achieve their goal, even if it means felling their own."

"Not all men are thus," the woodland Prince argued. He had befriended many humans in his youth, and he could not possibly believe that they were naught but savage killers.

"No," The loremaster agreed. "But they are not incapable of doing so."

"No race is incapable of killing their own kin," Galadriel chimed with sorrow. "My own forebears have already proven this fact."

"That is irrelevant now," Celeborn stated firmly, resting a hand upon his wife's slim shoulder. "That happened long ago, and we have learned from our past mistakes. Do not dwell on them now."

"The Kin slaying was a tragic event," Gandalf retorted, who until now had been in silent reverie. "But without our past trials we cannot learn from them to avoid such mishaps in the future. No one here blames you for your kin's mistakes, Galadriel."

"Nay, this I know," she then directed her gaze to the youngest of their company, their blue eyes meeting in silent questioning. "And what of you, Thranduilion? 'Tis no secret that your sire harbored ill feelings towards me for this event."

Legolas was not at all surprised by the question. Over the centuries he had learnt of the Sindar's dislike for their Noldrin brothers. After the Kinslaying they had become bitter towards one another, though the Silven Prince was born far after the event. He had learnt never to judge a person on first impression, if his friendship with Elrond's sons' had proven anything, and all those years ago when the fellowship had traveled to Lothlorien, the Lady of the Wood had shown them naught but kindness.

"My father's opinions are his own, my Lady. I, in no way share them. You haven't-"

The Elf's sentence was cut short by a shout from the young man in charge of the party of humans. It was apparent that he was angry as he all but barked at the Elves with a sneer, and though they could not understand his words, it was obvious that he was demanding silence of them.

When the human had finished his rant, he threw one last glare in the Elves direction as he leaned his body back-first onto the ground, using one of his packs as a makeshift-pillow. He clutched a dagger firmly onto his chest, and several of his company followed his lead and did likewise, while the rest merely sat casually on the ground.

"They are going to sleep," the Maia murmured, ever so lightly that only Elven ears could hear his words.

"Aye," Celeborn replied just as quietly, his own eyes searching out the group of men. "But some of them remain awake. I do not believe it wise to essay an escape. Our chances of fleeing at this point are little."

"Have faith, my friend. We have faced far greater circumstances in the past, and have come out victorious. This shall be no different."

"Mayhap, but that does little to assuage me. Whither this journey shall lead us, I know not. Only fate can decide, now."

"I cannot foresee what is to happen to us," Gandalf eventually said after a moment of silence. The circumstances had taken its toll on the Elf Lord, as it had them all, and it was only natural that they would be grievant. They had lost their home and families, and now were encompassed by these people with little means of escape. But the Wizard knew, somehow in his heart, that they were meant to subsist, as difficult as it would be. "But I can tell you that we will survive. I know we shall. We did not pass through the destruction of Valinor, nor the tidal of the waters to die now."

The silver haired Elf said nothing after that, but instead released a barely audible sigh as his gaze lifted to the heavens, watching each individual star blink absently.

For a long time, they sat in silence, each occupied by their own thoughts, only occasionally broken by a light moan or whimper from the injured Balrog Slayer.

Those eyes again. Galadriel could feel them more intently now, boring into the side of her head. From where she sat over her patient keeping careful vigilance, she glanced out of the corner of her right eye towards one of the humans. This particular one wore a turban about his head, and his beard was not all that thick. He was young, no more than in his early twenties, and yet she could sense no youthful innocence from him whatsoever. No, it seemed that this young man had lost that long ago. There was no remorse or compassion in his dark eyes, only the will to harm... but also, she saw awe in them, which of course was not uncommon for a human whom had never beheld an Elf.

She boldly turned her head to meet the man's gaze, and he unflinchingly stared back. Indeed there was awe in his eyes, though he did well to hide it. And also there was that darkness she could almost feel within him. This boy had killed many times without remorse, and had never once showed mercy. But Galadriel was not intimidated by him in the least, on the contrary. She felt pity for him. She was not so certain she would have liked to learn how this young man had become the cold blooded killer that he now was.

The human apparently could see the pity in her eyes, and he did not like it. He stood then, never breaking eye contact with the fair lady, and stalked towards her.

The gathered Elves looked up in unison as he enclosed upon them, their shoulders unseeingly tensing in preparation to defend themselves. The surrounding men whom were not asleep had their weapons fixed warningly on their captives, and Gandalf's company had no choice but to remain where they sat as Galadriel was hauled up roughly by the arrogant youth.

She did not cry out, nor make any noise of protest, but instead stared challengingly into the boy's eyes. For a long moment, he stared back at her, his gaze transfixed on her unearthly blue eyes, before reaching up a bold hand and dared to caress her fair face. Only then did she react, shying away from the violating hand, but her jaw was then grabbed firmly as her attacker leaned forward.

A look that none had ever seen flared in Celeborn's ancient eyes as he witnessed the violation of his wife, and for a moment, Elrond was nearly certain that his normally calm and composed father-in-law would jump up and tear the man's throat out as he felt him tense up beside him, though the silver haired Elf maintained his stoic demeanor. That is, until the human forcefully pressed his lips over Galadriel's own.

The Man was sprawled upon the ground faster than his comrades could react, red rivulets oozing from his flaring nostrils and lower lip. And as he slowly propped himself up on one elbow with a groan, he glared up at the silver haired Eldar towering over him, though his attention was fixed on his wife.

"Are you all right, my dear?" The Elf lord crooned to his wife gently, holding her tenderly by the shoulders and looking her up and down for injury.

"Aye," the she-Elf replied, her eyes quickly flashing around her as the conscious guards closed up around them. They were clearly angered by the strike her husband had delivered to their companion, and Gandalf and the other Elves, minus Glorfindel, stood protectively, ready to defend themselves. "Celeborn... you should not have done that."

To say that she had been surprised by her husband's reaction would have been an understatement. Never before had he acted so rashly. Of course, never before had he witnessed someone force themselves upon her either.

By now, the youth that the Lothlorien lord had struck had regained his footing, and he glared hatefully at the immortal before him. With a menacing growl, he lunged at the regal Elf, and Celeborn was knocked off balance with a thump as he struck the earth.

The ancient Elf easily rolled the human off him, and it was then that a one on one brawl between Elf and Man began.

Galadriel could not recall seeing her mate participate in any serious form of hand to hand combat, other than the training of some inexperienced young soldier, and the sight of him now, rolling around in the dirt, throwing and receiving blows certainly did not become the noble, regal lord she was accustomed to.

The commotion easily awoke the dozing Al-Qaeda from their slumber, and with a series of shouts, the men were up with their weapons posed, though they did not shoot.

Gandalf nor the other Elves could interfere with the long weapons fixed upon them. It was unlikely that they would shoot, but taking the chance would be reckless and could easily cost one of them their lives.

Celeborn's body was thrown into some shrubs as the boy kicked him off his own person, and he quickly jumped to his feet and tackled the Elf Lord, their two bodies tumbling down a small hill, but in the end, it was the First-Born whom kneeled hovering over the human, and away from torch-light in the darkened night, a glowing aura seemed to surround his immortal body that could not be seen before.

Only then, seeing this unearthly being above him, a glowing blue light about this creature, did the youth panic. His eyes grew wide with fear, and at first his throat seemed to constrict, sound seeming incapable of escaping as he gazed up into the glowing Elven eyes. Several struggling gasps escaped him, before he managed to do the only thing he was momentarily capable of doing. He screamed.

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(A/N): Sorry if Celeborn seemed a little OOC. I just couldn't picture him doing nothing while witnessing some guy taking advantage of his wife.

Elvish Translations:

Thranduilion: Son of Thranduil

Reviews:

Ningwen: Oh most definitely! I will keep writing.

Regnet: Well, hopefully you haven't gone insane yet, but if you have, hopefully this chapter has calmed you down.

Xiad Rusco: Oooh, I've got a real twist in store for them, but you'll have to wait and see.

The-burglar: No problem, and I'm glad you like the story.

Kaye Thorn: Happy you like my writing, and don't worry, I've stopped using the 'sadden orbs' thing at the request of one of my readers. LOL, eventually this will get more interesting. It just has to lead up, first.

DreaminofLorien: Yes, poor Fin. Gotta love him. Thanks, I will.