Chapter Nine:
2463 Third Age, late Girithron (December). Lasgalen: Greenwood the Great.
Yule came and went with the usual flurry of festive activity, but for four Elves, the celebration passed with barely a notice for the first time in their immortal lives.
The King buried himself in the business of assembling a delegate to work with the Woodman villages on Lasgalen's eastern borders. The Prince, was being sent as chief ambassador, had also been closeted with the King and his advisors going over every minute detail; all must be ready for the delegation left on the morrow with the Queen's party journeying to Lórien. The two would travel together the first day then the Queen and her escort would take the old road south. Because of the alarming reports coming in of late, the Queen's retinue was armed to the teeth and resembled a war party more than an escort.
The Queen and Anaríel spent all Yule packing. Líawen had decided on a prolonged visit with her kin in order to ensure that Anaríel was well settled. No one knew how long Nimrodel's daughter would be staying in Lórien so she packed all her possessions—an activity, which turned out to take a full two weeks; eclipsing Yule but effectively distracting her from the journey to come.
Now all was at last ready for the morrow's departure. Anaríel wandered through the wood passing silently beneath the snow-laden trees. It seemed as if she were bidding them farewell. Indeed for the last two weeks it seemed all she had done was say farewell to everyone and everything she had ever known and held dear.
"Arí,"
The elleth froze, hearing her name like a whisper on the chill breeze.
"Have you been following me Le'las?"
"Aye,"
Turning she saw the Prince striding towards her through the trees. The late afternoon sun slanted through the branches setting the pale gold of his hair ablaze. Her breath caught as she strove to memorize every detail of his beloved face—her shining Prince.
"Why are you following me?" she asked, her teeth chattering.
"You are cold." Legolas replied, pointedly ignoring her question.
"No, I am not."
Legolas ignored her protests and wrapped his cloak about her drawing her against him for warmth. He felt her shudder.
"You are shaking galad nen."
"Very well, I am cold, are you happy now? So, why have you been following me?"
"Tomorrow we both leave and I wanted to give you this."
Anaríel stepped back looking curiously at the Prince as he drew forth a velvet pouch from within his tunic.
"I do not understand."
"You do not need to understand, all you need to do is open it."
"But, Yule is past."
"This has nothing to do with Yule. This is simply for you; something to remember Lasgalen by—something to remember me by."
Anaríel paused but Legolas urged her again to open the pouch. With trembling fingers that had nothing to do with cold, she tugged on the strings spilling the pouch's contents into her hand. A large emerald cut in exquisite likeness of a beech leaf chased with mithril attached to a mithril chain lay glittering in her hand.
"Oh Le'las," she breathed, her eyes blurring with tears, "a legolas—a green leaf." Her eyes flew to the Prince, tears lay on his cheeks. Reaching up she caught one as it fell glittering in the sunlight. "It is beautiful."
"Nay, you are beautiful; wear it and think of me."
"But I have nothing to give you."
"Ah, but you do; and you have already given it," Legolas cupped her beloved face in his hands, "something far more precious than all the jewels and mithril in Arda."
With that, the Prince of Lasgalen lowered his lips to hers in a kiss as searing and bittersweet as loss itself. For an eternity, they stood ankle deep in snow; long after the kiss had ended, so long they gazed into each other's eyes that the sun westered and twilight descended. Still they stood, holding onto one another as to a lifeline while the stars kindled overhead. To any who may have happened upon them, they would have seemed as two from out of legend. Two doomed lovers standing transfixed in the starlight—as Thingol and Melian, Beren and Lúthien of old. An Eldarin Prince of the Twilight Years; when the World was yet new; crowned by stars and shining with a light all his own. In his arms a Lady beloved of Elbereth, the moon in her hair, and a glittering leaf upon her breast.
The courtyard was a riot of horses and Elves milling about as the Queen's retinue and the delegate heading for the eastern border made ready to ride. Anaríel felt numb, hardly believing the moment had come at last.
She looked about her in consternation. How dare the sun even consider rising on this day of all days, let alone shine so bright. How dare the horses champ their bits and stamp their hooves as if eager to take her far from all she loved.
The night before had been long and filled with tears as she bid farewell to her friends and family. The King and Queen had held a feast in her honour but all had been dust upon her tongue. Her only consolation had been Legolas, he had stood by her side every moment. Every time she had glanced his way, the memory of what passed between them in the grove lanced through her.
While she grieved her leaving bitterly, she could not but rejoice in Legolas. He loved her! Although he had not said so in words, his actions had spoken more clearly than any sentiment. Drawing up proudly as befitting one beloved of a prince she vowed to shed no tears.
Thranduil finally released Líawen from an embrace that threatened to snap the willowy elleth in two.
"Why Thran—one would think perhaps you will miss me!" laughed the Queen.
"Never doubt it for a moment meleth nín. Hurry back; you know I can never sleep when you are away."
"I will beloved, as soon as I have seen Anaríel well settled." With that, she kissed her husband fondly and turned to mount her waiting horse.
Thranduil sighed, already feeling the hated emptiness that always invaded his soul whenever his wife traveled without him. Turning, he sought his ward. It was not long before he found her in the throng. She stood straight and proud, gazing at the departing figures of Beleth and Orofíriel, her face a study of grief and determination. Dressed in a fur trimmed riding habit with her bow and quiver strapped to her back, she reminded him ironically of Galadriel from years long past. Swiftly he crossed the court. Her eyes lit upon him and she offered a brave smile.
"So Ada, it is time for you to give me your last minute instructions."
"No last instructions, no orders my beloved Lalaith; save one. Master this gift of yours with all speed and hurry home to us where you belong."
"I shall Ada, I promise." Anaríel blinked hard against her tears as Thranduil enveloped her in a hug as bone cracking as the one he had given his wife.
"I simply cannot imagine life around here without you Lalaith, so you best keep that promise."
At last, the King released his foster daughter and held her with his eyes. A glint of green drew his gaze. "What is this?" he gasped, lifting the emerald beech leaf hanging around her neck. "A rare and wonderful necklace is this, but I fear its bearer outshines it. I am curious though, I do not recall this being amongst your Yule gifts. How came you by this?"
Anaríel smiled proudly, "By your son."
Thranduil's eyes widened with pleasure, "Legolas?"
"Yes Adar?" replied a voice behind the King's shoulder.
"I was not addressing you—yet." Thranduil said sternly with a wink to Anaríel. Taking her cue, she mounted her restive mare and gave the King a moment with his son.
Thranduil shook his head and rounded on the Prince. He stood waiting patiently to the eye, but Thranduil knew his son better. The ellon was all but twitching to be off.
"That is quite the gift ion nín."
"But mine to give." Legolas replied meeting his father's sardonic gaze head on.
"Oh aye, I do not doubt. But did you have to pawn your crown to the Naugrim for it?"
"I have another." The Prince shrugged stoically.
"HA!" The Elvenking clapped his son on the back. "Walk with me I have some final instructions for you. As you know first hand, the reports from the south are disturbing. It bothers me greatly that your Naneth and Anaríel must journey that way—so," Thranduil paused, drawing Legolas to a halt and leveled an assessing eye on the ellon. "I have dispatched runners to scout the way before the Queen's party. They have instructions to send word to both you and myself should there be anything other than the normal flora and fauna in the Queen's path. If even one twig or one squirrel is out of place you are to abort your mission, take ten of your fiercest fighters and ride like the very wind after you naneth—am I clear?"
Legolas looked about startled. "Aye, of course, are you expecting trouble?"
"No, but I learned long ago not to wait for trouble to find me. Now go; the sooner you leave, the sooner you return."
Legolas bowed to his King before receiving his father's embrace.
"May the Valar protect you ion nín."
"May they protect Naneth and Anaríel as well." Legolas replied meeting the King's eye before turning and heading for his horse.
The day wore slowly by as the combined parties wended their way east. Although cold, the sun shown bright and the forest sang with life. If Anaríel closed her eyes, she could hear the subtle song of sap running through the trees. The path, while starting wide, had narrowed the further east they traveled until by late afternoon they came to a fork. The path the horses trod continued east, but a wider way branched off south, plunging into the thickening forest.
Anaríel's fingers knotted in her reins as the company drew to a halt. Legolas and his party of fifteen separated from the throng. As the Prince approached Anaríel and the Queen, a lump formed in her throat.
"I fear the time has come for the parting of our ways." Legolas announced gravely. "Your road lies yonder, straight and true. Be sure to stay on the path. No one must wander into the wood. In about a day's ride you will come to a slow moving river—do not drink from it! The water is enchanted, any who do so will fall into sleep and forgetfulness. You will need all your wits about you." Legolas paused, sweeping the Queen's retinue with a sharp eye.
"It was a short ride beyond the river that we discovered the spiders. Stay out of the trees. Stay out of the dark patches. Travel by day and be on guard at all times. The wood grows continually darker the further south you go. Lastly, when you reach the southern Wood do not go anywhere near Amon Lanc."
"Why not," asked the Queen. "The tower has long been abandoned according to Mithrandir--,"
"According to our reports," Legolas broke in, "we have reason to believe the tower may yet again be occupied." Legolas caught the nervous glance Anaríel shot his mother. "I say this not to worry you, but to ensure that you take all possible care."
Legolas turned holding the eyes of each warrior accompanying the Queen in their stead. "We have enjoyed a watchful peace these last four centuries. It is quite possible that peace is now come to an end. Ware Dol Guldur. Make for Anduin with all speed once you leave the concealment of the Forest."
The Prince turned to his mother and bowed, accepting her parting kiss.
"Your path is dangerous as will ion nín." She said. "Go with my love."
Legolas hugged his mother tightly and drew back to look in her eyes. "May the Valar protect you Naneth."
Líawen smiled and stepped away, giving her son and foster daughter a moment alone.
"Now I am even less inclined to continue on." Anaríel laughed nervously."
"Do you think I put the fear of Thranduil into them?" Legolas asked quietly for her ears alone, nodding towards the warriors.
"Oh yes, you were in prime Thranduil form indeed."
"Good, they are on no picnic. I want them on their toes at all times."
"Well, I am certainly on my toes; that is for sure."
"Nay, you have nothing to fear. Your way is easy—truly. You should be in Lórien in no time.
"And you? You will be far away." Anaríel sighed.
"I will be knee deep in talk of armaments and defense. You should pity me tithen pen. You are embarking upon a grand adventure, while I have a much grimmer task." Reaching out, Legolas cupped Anaríel's face in his hands.
"If all goes well I will come to Lórien ere Nórui. Adar says I may stay the summer if the Lord and Lady will have me. Mayhap by then you will have your gift harnessed and we may travel home together."
Anaríel beamed with joy. "You will come to Lórien so soon?"
"Aye, if it be in my power."
"Oh Le'las!" the elleth cried throwing her arms about the Prince. Legolas swiftly captured her lips in a sweet lingering kiss.
"Forgive me pen nethyn," the Queen said gently, "we must tarry no longer. The afternoon grows old and the sun wanes."
Legolas and Anaríel reluctantly parted. The Queen stood by, her eyes glowing with pleasure to see the love shining between her son and ward.
"Keep safe ion nín, I understand you are to be my escort home; hopefully, Anaríel will be ready to return by then as well. We will look for you ere the leaves grow old."
With a much lighter, heart Anaríel vaulted into the saddle as the Queen allowed Legolas to help her mount.
"Namarië Naneth. Namarië Arí. Nai elen síla lumenn' omentielvo."
"Take care and hurry to Lórien!" Anaríel called over her shoulder as the Queen's party took to the road.
"Was the Wood always so dreary this far south Naneth?" Anaríel wrinkled her nose as she took in the dark, untidy foliage hemming in the path. The day before they had crossed the river Legolas had warned them about. As they continued south, the Wood darkened and grew denser; the air becoming claustrophobic. The natural sounds of the forest seemed hushed, subdued.
"No child. It has been several centuries since I last came this way. Much has changed and none for the good. This used to be as free and fair as the Wood we know surrounding the palace. I cannot account for this. We are nowhere near as far south as Amon Lanc. Yet, I like not the feel of this place one bit."
Taur-nu-Fuin," Anaríel breathed.
The Queen nodded, "a veritable murk-wood indeed." Glancing upward, she spied the telltale wisp of what looked suspiciously like spider web. She clucked to her horse urging it into a trot.
"Let us make haste. This region has grown unwholesome. I would not have us camp here. Let us continue, even if it means traveling on into the night. I remember a glade about three leagues south of here that should do nicely."
Quietly the Queen's party journeyed on. Soon the twilight fell bringing with it an unnaturally early nightfall. The gloom deepened and the guards instinctively tightened ranks about their charges, keeping them in the center of the party.
Gradually the air grew warmer and tendrils of fog streamed amongst the dark trunks like spectral fingers. Clouds rolled in overhead hiding the moon and stars from view. All about a suffocating silence fell and while Elves may travel silently at will, horses may not. The creak of tack and clump of hoof on hard packed earth echoed loudly in the still night air.
Anaríel soon found she could barely see the Queen's horse before her. If it were not for keen Elven hearing, the party would have easily separated and foundered from the path. For hours, it seemed they journeyed through the fog. To Anaríel's dismay she felt herself slipping into sleep. With a jolt, she drew herself back only to find herself slipping down the irresistible path of memory, characteristic of the Elven dream-state.
Something whizzed through the air passing so close, she threw herself forward over her horse's neck. Suddenly the air filled with the whizzing sound as if strange insects hurled themselves at them through the fog. In the next instant sharp cries filled the night as Anaríel realized with sickening certainty that it was arrows not insects flying thick through the fog. Within moments, pandemonium broke out as the warriors seized bows and fired back into the murk.
"Bereth nín, Híril nín," the captain cried surging his horses forward. "You must stay down!"
"What is happening?" Anaríel cried.
"We are attacked!" the Queen spat, hauling the elleth from her mare. "How many yrch?"
"With the fog we cannot say. Stay down! Seek cover in the trees if you can—orcs are ill climbers." With that, the captain unsheathed his sword while issuing a stream of orders.
"Come child!" Líawen grabbed Anaríel by the arm, dragging her off the path and into the trees. All around them arose the sound of slaughter; even Elven eyes could barely pierce the murk and the warriors were being picked off with frightening ease.
Anaríel froze, staring wildly about her in shock at the horror. Orcs boiled out of the trees falling upon the dwindling company. Never had the elleth seen such barbarity and violence. The warriors rallied but there was blood and gore everywhere. Anaríel stood rooted in place as the nightmare of her vision from a few weeks before unfolded before her very eyes.
"Anaríel!" the Queen cried, grasping the elleth's arm she propelled her towards the nearest oak, "up with you, now!"
Without knowing what she was doing, Anaríel scrambled up the trunk, branches stinging has they slapped across her face. When she got to a reasonable height, she unslung her bow and let arrow after arrow fly into the orcs below holding them at bay while the Queen climbed.
Líawen was halfway to Anaríel's limb when an orc arrow found its home between her shoulder blades, another lodged between her ribs. Anaríel screamed as the Queen raised shocked eyes to hers.
Desperately the elleth strained stretching her arm as far as she could but she could not seize the Queen's hand, she was too far out of reach. In mute horror, she watched helplessly as the Queen fell with a cry to the forest floor.
Without hesitation, Anaríel dropped from the tree, landing beside her foster mother. Standing over her protectively, she fired arrows with deadly accuracy. Soon a pile of fallen orcs ringed her.
In her frenzy, she failed to notice the cries of battle had ceased. A huge orc covered head to toe in gore advanced upon her, his clawed hands reaching, his tongue slathering.
"Come she-Elf. Put yer little stinger away. I've got better sport in mind."
Anaríel's eyes narrowed as she let her last arrow fly. The orc screamed with rage as it struck home in its thigh. With a blood-curdling cry, she launched herself, clawing desperately at the orc's eyes. The beast laughed, easily capturing her arms.
"See boys—here's fine sport indeed! Maybe I'll even share." Seizing the cloth at Anaríel's shoulder, he gave it a wrench.
"'Ere, that'll be enough o' that Gulash." The captain, a huge orc with iron rings piercing ears, forehead and nose called, stamping his way over.
"Who says? Spoils she is. Mine, right an' true. Nearly shot me bollocks off, she did!"
"I'll feed ye yer bloody bollocks if ye don't leave it alone. We have our orders. If any stinking she-Elfs are found during patrol, they are to be brought straight to the Master. Unless you want to make Him angry, I suggest ye listen, an' listen hard."
Gulash shot a baleful glare, licking his lips nervously. The captain nodded.
"Right, the Master will be well pleased. Quite a haul I'd say, ay lads?"
Anaríel tried to block the orc as he crossed the blood soaked ground to where the Queen lay. Effortlessly he hurled her out of the way, slamming her into a tree trunk.
Stunned Anaríel could only watch helplessly as the orc kicked Líawen in the stomach, wrenching a groan from her. The orcs laughed, gathering around, hoping for a bit of sport.
"Good, this one's still alive." The captain laughed, shooting the others a look. "See that she stays that way. These two are marked fer the Master's "pleasure". Fine breeding material once ye dirty 'em up an' break their spirit a bit. Oh aye," he spat in Líawen's face, "the Master'll have fine orcs from ye and that chit."
Crouching he wrenched both arrows from the Queen, not before giving each a vicious twist. Anaríel lunged against her captors, crying out while the orcs laughed.
"Patch 'em up." The captain ordered. "Keep 'em alive until we get home. Then the Master will do wi' em as he pleases. As fer the rest o' this scum," he gestured at the bodies of the Queen's retinue. "Do what ye will but leave none alive."
"NO!" Anaríel howled as the orcs hacked the warriors' bodies apart. She screamed until her voice spent itself and her throat burned with fire. Breaking the grip on the orc that held her, she staggered to the Queen's side. Sinking to her knees on the blood soaked ground, she gathered up Líawen's body, her hands desperately trying to staunch the blood seeping from the wounds.
"So much blood," she keened in a voice low and unearthly, "so much."
"'Ere, enough o' that noise!" the captain barked, coming over, blood from the corpses he had been butchering streaming from the sword he held. Anaríel continued clutching the Queen to her as she rocked back and forth keening in a most disconcerting way.
"Enough I say. What're ye trying to do—wake the dead?" Barking a laugh, he lifted his sword, bringing the pommel down on the back of Anaríel's head. The elleth crumpled instantly, "Right. Let's leg it boys—the blasted sun will be upon us fer we know it."
Binding Anaríel's wrists and feet, he roughly threw her over his shoulder. Gesturing another orc to pick up Líawen, the raiding party lumbered off into the Wood at a swift pace.
Legolas spurred his horse faster than was wise through the gloom, his small party of warriors following suit. Two days before a scout had caught up to them. Exhausted, he reported spotting orc patrols south of the enchanted river. The Queen's retinue headed straight into them.
Legolas immediately dispatched a runner to the Palace then saddled up, taking ten warriors with him. He had little hope word would reach his father in time but if he rode swift, he and his small party just might reach the Queen before they ran into the orcs. It was a long shot but there was no other option.
Sometime during the night, they forded the river and continued through the thickening foliage. By mid-day Legolas called a halt, listening intently to the song of the trees. Something did not feel right. The trees whispered sorrowfully and there were none of the normal sounds of deer, squirrel or rabbit. The air itself was unnaturally still as if holding its breath.
"Noro lim!" he called, spurring his mount, his warriors in swift pursuit. Soon they came upon a scene of such carnage it brought bile to the stoutest warrior's throat.
"Ai!" Legolas cried, slipping from his horse's back. All about the clearing were strewn Elven bodies hacked and mutilated almost beyond recognition. "Search the glade." The Prince choked through numb lips. "Leave no blade of grass unchecked. If the Queen and Anaríel are among the bodies--," Unable to say the words, Legolas sank to his knees, staring mutely about him. Gathering their wits the warriors turned to their grisly task.
After a few minutes, an Elf approached leading two horses still laden with saddlebags and trunks belonging to Anaríel. "Ernil nín," he called, "these were found grazing not far from here. There are a few others as well, Lolindír is bringing them.
A spark of hope ignited in Legolas' eyes.
"There is no sign of the Queen or Híril Anaríel, Ernil nín. We believe we have accounted for all the warriors that were in the party."
"Terrible news as any I have heard, yet still, glad am I to hear it Angrod." Legolas clasped the Elf by the arm. "By the grace of the Valar, the Queen and Anaríel got away, if so, then, we shall find them."
"Ernil nín," called the lookout, "something approaches, I cannot yet say what or how many."
"Not orcs, surely," Legolas replied, "not while the sun rides high." Dropping to the ground the Elf pressed his ear to the earth, "Horses—a great many! Pray it be friend for orcs do not ride!"
They did not have long to wait. Soon a host of fifty Elves rode into the clearing, the Elvenking at their head.
Leaping from the saddle, Thranduil took in the carnage at a glance. In horror, he turned to his son. Legolas shook his head, "No Adar, Naneth and Anaríel are not among the fallen. Their horses were found still fully laden. By the will of Eru may they may yet be alive."
"Your Naneth is alive! I would know it if she were not." Thranduil retorted sharply, gripping his son's shoulder. "Search your heart ion nín! What do you feel? Can you still hear Anaríel's song?"
Legolas looked at his father in confusion.
Thranduil shook his head urgently. "Concentrate! The two of you are linked—fëa to fëa—you always have been. Turn your ears inward. Can you still hear the song of Anaríel's spirit within you?"
Legolas closed his eyes. For a long moment he stood perfectly still, all senses turned inwards. "Aye," he breathed, "I can feel her!"
Thranduil bowed his head in relief. "It is how I know your Naneth lives. I still hear Líawen's song—though it is very faint. Nonetheless, while I still hear it I know she lives."
"If they live then we shall find them Adar."
"Aye, find them we shall ion nín. We must make all haste, from the signs I read, it looks as if orcs took them. The tracks lead south."
"Dol Guldur?" Legolas breathed.
"Aye and it looks as though they are a good two days ahead of us. We must ride! I fear we can only spare a few to remain behind to burn the fallen, would that we had more time to honour the dead as befitting them. They died bravely in defense of their Queen."
Legolas nodded solemnly and dispatched five Elves to handle the grim task.
"Mount up!" Thranduil ordered, striding towards his horse. "We ride south. While orcs travel swift, they must stop and take shelter while the sun shines. We stand and excellent chance of catching them if we ride hard."
With that, the war party thundered off through the trees heading south for Dol Guldur.
The night passed in an oblivion of pain. It was some time before Anaríel realized she lay face down on the ground, not slung over the shoulder of a stinking orc. As if from outside of herself, she realized the sun rode the sky. Cracking her eyes open, she took in her surroundings.
She lay in a clearing. The orcs, about twenty in total, lay in snoring hulks as buried in undergrowth as possible to avoid the punishing rays of the sun. Rising cautiously to her knees, she spotted the Queen lying a few feet away. Silently she crawled to Líawen's side.
The orcs slept on, dead to the world while the sun shone. If it were not for the chain around her ankle, securing her to an oak, Anaríel would have grabbed the nearest scimitar and wreaked as much damage as possible before the orcs brought her down. As it was, it was all she could manage to drag herself to the Queen's side.
Anaríel studied the elleth. She slept with her eyes closed, something Anaríel had never seen before. With each deep intake of air, Líawen's breath hitched painfully. Gnawing her lip, Anaríel put her ear to Líawen's chest and heard fluid rattling, as she feared, one of the arrows had pierced a lung, as was also evident by the blue tinge to the Queen's lips.
Painfully Líawen stirred, opening her eyes. She gazed long and sadly at Anaríel, parting her lips to speak.
"Nay Naneth," Anaríel whispered, "you must not tax yourself. We must focus all our strength on escape."
"Do not gainsay your Queen." Líawen smiled, then sobered. "Listen to me child, save yourself, I will only hamper you; besides, I am too wounded and cannot move if I tried. Thranduil and Legolas are coming, believe it! Do not worry, they will come for me, flee now and lead them to me."
Tears streamed from Anaríel's eyes as she raised the heavy chain binding her to the tree so that Líawen could see.
"Forgive me for not obeying, Bereth nín."
Líawen nodded sadly, her eyes drifting shut.
"Naneth!"
Líawen's eyes fluttered open. "I am still here Lalaith." Anaríel nearly cried aloud at the endearment. Desperate to keep the Queen alert she asked.
"How do you know Adar and Legolas are coming? All were slain, know one can possibly know where we are."
"He knows. He comes. Like the very wind he rides." Líawen breathed.
"Who?"
"Meleth nín, Thranduil—elu nín, fëa nín."
Anaríel wept openly now as the Queen drifted into delirium. "Oh Naneth, how can you know this—how?"
"Search your heart child. Can you not feel your own beloved? Can you not hear his song? Your fëa are bound—ever since you were children—that has always been the wonder of you two—your fëa sing to one another. Listen, can you not hear Legolas?"
Anaríel closed her eyes and tried to slow the pounding of her heart. Turning her senses inward, she listened for what seemed the impossible, but then she heard it, an answering call, stronger than anything she had ever heard before in her heart.
Líawen smiled knowing full well, the meaning of the look of wonder crossing the elleth's face. "Call to him iel nín. Lead him to us. I—I grow too weak. It is all I can do to let Thranduil know I am still alive. You must do this for us."
Anaríel clasped the Queen's cold hand. "We will do this together."
All through the night and through the following day the King's company rode hard on the orcs' trail, only stopping briefly for sake of the horses. Late afternoon found them far to the south within fifteen leagues of Amon Lanc. The trail they followed grew fresher by the hour.
Thranduil called a halt. "Our quarry is nigh. A small party will scout ahead; Amras, Mablung and Linhír, be swift and tell me what you find."
The three Elves bowed to their King and silently melted into the trees.
Thranduil eyed his son. Legolas stood a few feet off, his head cocked to one side, eyes boring through the trees in the direction the scouts had taken.
"What is it ion nín? What do you hear?"
"Arí, she is near, I can feel her. She is afraid—afraid for Naneth."
"Aye," Thranduil sighed, "your Naneth is wounded and would spare me the truth of how severely. Can you discover the extent of her wounds?"
"Shot," Legolas breathed, "two arrow wounds, one pierced a lung. Arí is afraid—we must hurry; the yrch awake!"
Thranduil laid a steadying hand on the ellon's shoulder. "Patience, I have dispatched scouts. We will not loose them, nor will we fly heedless into danger."
After a few endless minutes one of the scouts returned.
"Aran nín, the yrch are a couple miles distant. The Queen and Lady Anaríel are among them. The Queen appears to be wounded but alive. Lady Anaríel is worse for wear but seems otherwise unharmed; both are bound hand and foot and are chained to an oak close to the edge of the clearing. I have set Linhír and Mablung to guard them."
Thranduil quirked a fell smile, clapping a hand to the scout's shoulder, "Good work Amras."
Catching Leglolas' eye he strode for his horse. "Mount up, yrch await a taste of my blade—be it not for me to disappoint them!"
"Wake up she-Elf, bah!" spat the orc captain, "How can ye tell if they're asleep or dead the way they lie there with their bleedin' eyes open like that? If I didn't have me orders I'd shut them eyes fer good."
"Not before we all had us some fun, eh boss?" called a hulking brute.
"Oh aye," the captain nodded, "unfortunately lads, the only one going to have fun with this lot'll be the Master and his favourites. We won't even get extra rations fer our trouble."
"Who's to see if we don't break 'em in a little?" Gulash cackled, "Might appreciate us taken' a bit 'o the bite out 'o them first, eh?"
"Ye'll keep yer hands ter yerself." The captain shot back. "I won't find meself clapped in irons fer the sake of ye takin' a li'l sport. Get 'em on their feet an' if their feet won't bear 'em, then carry 'em. Move out boys, wi' any luck we'll be home by dawn."
As the captain lifted a hand to slap Anaríel, a sharp whine hissed through the air.
The orc howled with pain as a green fletched arrow pierced the palm through.
At that, pandemonium broke out. Anaríel rolled into a ball as arrows flew thick and orcs scrambled for their weapons. From out of the wood rode Thranduil and Legolas with a host at their heels. Cries rang out as the Elvenking and the Prince wreaked revenge.
Anaríel tried to get her bearings in the melee; she must protect the Queen. Thranduil stood a few yards away, his sword running black with orc blood. The orc captain knelt, holding the Queen before him like a shield; Líawen's head lolled limply.
A fell light lit Thranduil's eyes as he advanced upon the orc. From where Anaríel crouched, she could see a small knife concealed in the massive hand the orc held to Líawen's side.
"NO!" Anaríel screamed in warning, surging to her feet. At that moment, an orc arrow slammed into her shoulder. As she fell, she saw Thranduil's sword swing a deadly arc towards the orc's throat. Unfortunately, he could not see the knife the captain plunged into the Queen's side the split moment before his head left his shoulders.
"NO!" Anaríel screamed and screamed as she crawled through grass slick with blood, not feeling her own wound in her desperation.
Thranduil knelt holding the crumpled form of his beloved Queen, his sword lying forgotten on the ground. All about him the fight raged on swiftly coming to an inevitable end as superior Elven strength decimated the orcs. It was all over in a matter of minutes.
Anaríel dragged herself inch, by painful inch, towards her King and Queen. The world swam before her and her left arm refused to bear her weight. A burning chill shot through her shoulder, suffusing her side. Putting a hand to her shoulder she stared bemused to see it come away covered in her own blood.
"Arí!" Legolas came upon the elleth lying a few yards from where Thranduil and Ancalimón the Healer knelt, bending urgently over the Queen.
Gently he lifted the elleth, turning her carefully in his arms. "Hang on tithen pen," he whispered as one of Ancalimón's aides reached his side.
"Hold her steady Ernil nín. I will pull the arrow from her. Let us pray it is not poisoned."
Legolas strengthened his hold, "Take a deep breath and hold it meleth nín."
Anaríel complied though barely comprehending the words. White-hot agony shot through her as the healer pulled the arrow from her shoulder.
"It is over, the worst is over galad nín." Legolas crooned as the healer swiftly bathed the wound, inspecting it closely.
Anaríel's eyes rolled up into her head.
"She is going into shock Ernil nín! Speak to her, keep her with us. The wound is not deep but I fear it is poisoned. She must stay with us and tell us what she feels."
Legolas nodded grimly. "Arí! Hang onto my voice." Gently he shook her. "Come back to me elu nín, come back!"
From far away Anaríel heard Legolas calling to her as if from under water. Fighting her way to the surface, she followed his voice back to the present.
Air rushed into her lungs as pain slammed through her. Eyes snapped open as she jolted back to consciousness. Legolas' pale face hovered above her, his eyes wide with fear. His lips moved but she could not hear him. She began to shudder as she felt herself sucked under again.
"Cold, so cold" she muttered, her teeth chattering.
The healer shot Legolas an urgent look. "Ask her if she can feel her fingers or anything in her arm."
"Arí, can you feel this?" Gently Legolas took Anaríel's hand in his own, giving it a light squeeze. "Can you feel this?"
"Feel what?" she whispered.
"How is she?"
Legolas glanced up to see Thranduil kneeling at his side. His father's face was set in lines grimmer than he had ever seen before. "She—she cannot feel anything in her arm Adar." He stammered.
"The wound is not deep but it is poisoned." The healer replied, tightly fastening the ends of the bandage. He looked the king levelly in the eye. "The poison spreads swiftly; there is nothing more I can do. We must get her quickly to safety, to someone who has greater skill in these matters than I."
"Or else?"
The healer hesitated a moment, "Or else she will die Aran nín."
Legolas stiffened as if run through by a blade.
"Fear not ion nín. We will not let Lalaith die. Come; lift her carefully, we ride with all speed for Lórien."
Legolas shook his head to clear it. From the corner of his eye he saw Ancalimón and two Elves bear the Queen away.
"Naneth—is she?"
Thranduil's lips thinned. "Not well, ion nín. Besides two arrow wounds, she took a knife in her side. Ancalimón has done all he can for her here. We must reach Lórien swiftly or she will be lost."
Swiftly he rose so his son would not see the tears in his eyes. Calling two Elves over to assist Legolas with Anaríel, he strode after Ancalimón.