The sensation of plummeting from a great height is what Isha first experienced as she was woken up from the harsh wind - that and her hair whipping violently against her face. Alarms chimed loudly in her ears, an emergency visor had formed in front of her eyes, warnings of bright red flashes, informing her that all but one of her generators had failed. Her combat armor was gone and confirmed the worst. All she was wearing were her medic-facility clothing. How was that possible? Memories came rushing back to her, of black clouds, of an old man opening a rip through time, and the feeling of being both shrunk and pulled to unnatural lengths as she had crossed the space-time barrier.
Her generators hadn't been built to withstand such a strain and had promptly fried; her brain pointed out to her. Isha felt her stomach churn at the view underneath her; expansive planes of unending green and trees that looked tiny to her were framed by tall mountains in the distance. The woman was hundreds of feet above ground and it was inching rapidly towards her.
Isha was light-headed and groggy. Her lungs had difficulty inhaling oxygen at this height and velocity. Her arms, heavy as lead, she very slowly adjusted her personal generator to create a clear breathing mask that covered her mouth and nose. The air entered her lungs easily now, and she felt relief wash over her. At least she wouldn't lose consciousness while she fell to her death. She had to find a way out of this.
What about Galadriel? The unconscious woman had crossed through the rip with her. She would be in free-fall like her.
Isha struggled to see, her eyes were watering from the wind. She finally spotted the fully armored body; being flung about like a rag doll further down from her. With the bulky armor on, the body was heavier and fell at a much greater velocity than hers. Isha attempted to make herself aerodynamic by pulling her arms to her side, straightening her body and pointing herself downwards. The minutes where as hours. She began drawing closer. Extending her arms to their full length her fingers grazed the unconscious form but lost their hold. Galadriel was slipping away, if she didn't get it right this time, she would fall to her death.
Biting her lower lip from the strain, she extended herself fully again and this time her fingers caught hold of the woman's arm; which - by a streak of pure luck - had flung towards her. Isha hauled herself onto the woman and quickly went to her own personal generator. If she could issue a command to remove the armor, then she would have access to Galadriel's second generator. The green planes that she had seen moments earlier were now clearly defined trees. She didn't have very long left.
The small holographic screen hiccuped a string of partially legible code. Isha swore. Galadriel's generator had been badly damaged. It was a wonder it was still operational. She prayed to the gods and tapped frantically, entering her command. A red logo flashed. She tapped again and again with the same outcome. Frustrated and losing hope, the red logo finally turned to blue and the armor around Galadriel fell apart, piece by piece revealing the unconscious woman underneath; her long golden hair, no longer confined, was thrown around her wildly.
They were now just a few dozen feet above the tops of the trees. Tapping another command, Galadriel's generator issued a small platform underneath her that fit the woman's body. Isha collided against the body underneath her and was thrown off. Her fingers barely caught onto the edge of the platform before she slipped and went falling downwards through the trees. Her hands frantically tried to grab at anything that would slow her fall, but everything became a frantic blur. The trees seemed willing to help her, for, their branches helped soften her fall. She finally reached the hard ground, a sharp pain registering through her body as she lost consciousness.
Angrendir had found a comfortable perch; a thick branch in the upper part of a tall Mallorn tree on the outskirts of the woods. He rested his back against its trunk, relishing the tranquility. The green-elf enjoyed it here, especially the birdsong. Ever since he had moved his home to these woods, he had noticed different breeds of birds that greatly fascinated him. Some worn colorful patterns his eyes had never seen before. This was the reason he had traveled to this area of the woods, two days travel from the city.
Sifting carefully through his shoulder bag, he retrieved a small leather-bound notebook where half of its pages were already brimming with intricate, detailed drawings of birds. His long fingers found a small bottle of ink and a beautiful red quill. He strapped the small bottle, upwards careful not to lose its black content and secured it tightly with a small piece of leather.
Spotting a breath-taking bird with bright blue feathers, he dipped his quill and quickly began to sketch onto the blank page. A strange sound startled both he and the bird, which flew away with an offended cry. Sighing his disappointment, Angrendir, rapidly placed everything back inside the bag. He looked about, towards where the sound had originated, but from this height his vision was obstructed by the thick foliage of surrounding trees. He leaped easily from branch to branch, an ability that came naturally to him.
A handful of indignant birds were squawking loudly above his head, in the sky. Looking up, he witnessed the strangest sight. The thin form of an elleth with long gold hair lay face down onto a shimmering surface. She was motionless and floated feet above his head. Angrendir was rendered speechless.
The loud squawking of the birds brought him out of his stupor. They were trying to peck the intruder.
"Apologies, friends," Angrendir, threw a few acorns at them, having them scatter and fly away.
The elf carefully climbed higher. Reaching more slender branches that would easily break under too much strain, he rested his footing upon the sturdiest of them. Removing his bow from its harness, he extended his arm and hesitantly poked at the shimmering surface. It produced a strange humming sound, but was sturdy. He would have to take a chance and attempt to get closer. If he made a mistake and fell, the ground wouldn't be very forgiving. The green-elf squatted low and then sprung up, pushing against the branches and snapping them in the process. He leaped high enough to grab hold of the surface. He pulled himself up and onto it. There was nearly no space for him to stand, he found a spot to rest his weight near the crook of the elleth's knees and one near her feet. To his amazement, the surface began slowly descending - as if the addition of his person was weighing it down.
Angrendir swept some branches out of the way with his arms as they continued descending at the pace of a fluttering snowflake.
His booted feet reached the softness of grass. Afraid that the surface would begin floating back up with his weight now removed, he quickly took hold of the thin feminine form and pulled her upon the grass; laying her gently onto her back, he propped her head up with the support of his bag. He brushed the silver-gold hair from her face and was taken by her beauty.
A sudden notion deeply disturbed him, he knew this face! He jumped back, as if struck by lightening. The Lady of Lorien! It was common knowledge among the elves, Lady Galadriel had left for Valinor many years ago at the end of the 3rd Age. Why was she floating above the trees upon a strange magical surface; unconscious and garbed in strange clothes that hugged the figure like a second skin?
Angrendir stood speechless once more. He brushed a hand through his hair in frustration. He had no explanation.
Maybe if she would awaken, he would find some answers.
The elf knelt beside her and gently shook her.
"My Lady, you must wake!" He waited. No response. He shook her with more force. "My Lady Galadriel, please awaken!"
Nothing. She stayed motionless and deaf to his words. Bending low and placing his ear against her chest, he took notice of the soft intake of air and the slow beating of her heart. She was alive.
He wondered if perhaps she had been poisoned, if she was, he would need to act swiftly. Shifting her weight over, he closely inspected her for any wounds, cuts or abrasions. To his awareness, there were none. She remained unconscious and that alarmed the elf greatly. Climbing to his feet, he set off to gather branches to put together a make-shift cot.
In his hurry, he nearly tripped over another body strewn upon the ground. He stealthily approached. There was no mistaking her gender, her feminine curves were evident from the thin form-fitting clothing the Lady of Lorien also wore. But, where Galadriel's clothes had been immaculate and her skin uninjured, this woman lay bruised and battered.
Angrendir crouched and carefully pulled the woman to his chest and carried over her to Galadriel. He lowered her down, with all the care he could muster. She whimpered softly in her sleep. Brushing the strands of light hair from her face, he noticed it was kept shorter than Galadriel's, about shoulder-length and a short thin layer had been trimmed to cover her forehead; which was currently brushed to one side. She had the fairness of his kin; he took notice of the pointed shape of her ears. That confused him even more.
His eyes went to the large lump on her forehead had filled with blood; she had hit her head hard. Many small scratches were upon her skin, he instinctively knew came from branches. Angrendir was now convinced she had fallen from high up, probably from that very floating surface. What was she doing up there to begin with? The elf frowned in deep worry, his planned day of leisure had been cut short and he had to act fast.
He brought the back of his hand to rest upon the crook her neck and took note of its warmth.
She has a fever!
The wood-elf burst into action. He quickly gathered sturdy branches and constructed a cot large enough to carry both ellith together. The trek back to camp was long and arduous, but went without any incident. On his way, he had retrieved leaves of the weed he recognized as Athelas; the healing herb.
He lit a fire and brewed the leaves.
The injured elleth stirred. Angrendir brought her the broth.
"Please drink this, it will ease your pain."
At his words, her eyelids slowly fluttered open. Through thick eyelashes, her green eyes were clouded and unseeing from the fever. He brought the liquid to her lips and carefully tipped the container. She coughed, but then drank a small amount. Her head lolled to the side and she lost awareness. Her skin was still dangerously hot to his touch. Dread mounted inside, what if it was too late for the Athelas to subdue the fever?
Angrendir couldn't just sit here, helpless. He kicked dirt upon the small fire, and hauling the upper side of the make-shift cot, he placed its weight upon his shoulders and he began his trek towards the settlement of his people.