Chapter 55

Lost and Found

Mithrellas was reluctant to release her grip on her companion's robes. Here they were in the White Mountains still, cloaked in the mist and darkness. Earlier, they had found a small cave to settle in for the night. They had no any means of getting warm, and Mithrellas's dress was torn, letting it hang scandalously about her thighs. Erynlith's blue robes were the same, muddy and torn from the earlier assault of the orcs. Their insufficient stock of food and weapons were almost driving Mithrellas to the edge.

"Erfaron," she whispered in the uncomfortable darkness, grip tightening on the sleeve of the robe. "Are you there?"

Erynlith rolled her eyes and forced herself not to sigh exasperatedly. She had been asked the same question every five minutes, and Mithrellas's paranoia was not helping at all. She almost sounded like Nimrodel, only that she did not speak rapidly in the Silvan dialect. Like Mithrellas, Erynlith was tired, hungry, cold, and frightened. She tried to pry the hand away from her sleeve, feeling rather irritated now. The darkness was unnerving and she felt vulnerable. Wearing nothing but the oversized robe and had less arrows, it would only be a matter of time until she and Mithrellas faced the real problem.

"We'll be fine," she answered for the umpteenth time. "We'll stay here for the night and continue heading south in the morning. Just wish it is not cold and misty, and no orcs and wolves."

Mithrellas nodded dutifully, not exactly convinced. She began to curl on the ground; countless days and night made her unable to sleep. She still reached out to touch the robes that pooled on the ground; the black horse they shared neighing softly at the back of the cave. Soon after, the Silvan maiden finally fell to sleep.

Erynlith watched over the peaceful face of her companion. She knew that after this, Mithrellas would surely leave Middle-earth. There was nothing but despair and problems for the elves here.

Leave Middle-earth, hm? She closed her eyes and briefly considered on leaving as well. Like Orgilion, she was tired of warfare and would like to settle in a peaceful place. But if she left now, it would mean leaving Erestor behind in Rivendell. Her eyes snapped open at that. No, I will never leave Erestor behind.

Something stirred in the darkness. Erynlith cautiously exited the cave, looking around the oblivion. She clutched her white bow and strapped the almost empty quiver about her waist. Nothing moved next. She returned to the cave and roused Mithrellas, shaking violently on the Silvan's shoulders and waist.

"Wake up!" Erynlith sharply whispered. As the Silvan moaned and sleepily sat up, Erynlith grabbed the reins of her horse and pulled it outside. She grabbed Mithrellas next and pushed her to mount on the horse.

"Erfaron!" Mithrellas was startled, her eyes looking fearful now. "What is going on? What is it?!"

"Listen carefully. Hear the river? Follow it. It will lead to the Sea, hopefully near the Havens. You have to leave and ride as fast as you can. Do not look back, keep on riding." Erynlith gave her friend a small smile and slapped on the rear of the horse, watching as Mithrellas looked back to her and disappeared into the mists. Now alone, Erynlith gulped and turned behind.

Drawing her bow and arrow, she fired another warning shot and heard sharp hissings behind the cluster of boulders. In her attempt to run, she tore off the long robes and left the hem hanging about her thighs. She began to run on the opposite position from where Mithrellas had gone.

Stupid, utterly stupid! Erynlith reprimanded herself as she ran barefoot on the rocky pathway. She took several turns and jumped from boulder to boulder, gashing her feet in the process, but she kept on running as unfamiliar growls followed after her. Looking back, she caught glimpse of short, dark men, running in groups. Her breath hitched up in her throat and her pace quickened. Never did she see anything like these creatures.

An arrow suddenly grazed her shoulder, no doubt an attempt to stall her. She grasped her bleeding wound and continued running until she no longer knew where she was. Whatever those creatures were, they had given up on the chase and left. It was night already when Erynlith stopped and collapsed like an undignified elf on the ground, moaning and drifting off into reverie.

She was cold and alone, but in her dreams, the silver-haired Marchwarden returned.

The wandering elves finally sighed in relief for the first time in weeks. Following their encounter from the wicked horse-riders, they followed the river Morthond and beheld the Elven-Havens. The towers gleamed silver under the sunlight, banners of blue and grey billowing on the large domed roofs. The caravan from Lórinand almost broke into a run to get there faster. A small group of Sindarin elves emerged from the ports and welcomed their kin. Greetings in their native tongue were shared; Amroth knew these elves personally; he and his father Amdír had housed them in their forest for a long time before they retired to the South.

"A King!" One of the Sindar exclaimed, disbelieving that the simple-robed elf was a King of Lórinand. The elf patted Amroth's shoulder and smiled widely. "You are most welcome, Amroth! Tell me, is this all you have gathered? A small group of Silvan and a—" He stopped short upon seeing Orgilion's hulking stature, broad shoulder and thick arms.

Amroth drew the attention back to him. "My Chief Marchwarden, Orgilion," he said cordially. His grey eyes looked around the havens. "Did someone arrive here some few days ago?"

The elf shook his head. "Not one. Why?"

"They are not here?" Amroth's voice sounded disheartened. He gave Orgilion a sad look. "Not even one of them? What about a golden-haired lady? Pale and mounted on a white horse?"

"Nothing, really," the elf confirmed.

The shipbuilders welcomed the newly-arrived elves and led them to the small cottage that was settled near the shores. The roof was made of dried leaves while the walls and pillars were of thin woods. Everything was wooden within the cottage and there were not a single candle that was lit. Some Sindarin minstrels, no doubt wives of the mariners, smiled and offered Amroth and Orgilion seats within the cottage. A warm tea and healthy food were offered to the wandering elves; all profusely ate and drank, not one morsel was spared. In the afternoon, the mariners offered the newcomers some fresh clothes in place of their tattered ones.

Orgilion emerged from the cottage with a new and clean white tunic and trousers. His brown hair was braided back neatly, and he looked completely refreshed. The dark circles under his eyes were gone now. He approached the King Amroth, a sword he strapped about his waist. The King gave the warden a thoughtful look, noticing the sword and the two long knives strapped behind the waist. The warden had also equipped himself of gauntlets, but no other armoury.

"I need a horse," Orgilion whispered to Amroth. He could hear the cries of the gulls and the waves of the Sea nearby. White sails loomed behind the small cottage of the elves where the port was. It was still summer and the winds were howling strongly.

Amroth sighed and nodded. Both elves approached one of the Sindarin mariners, a dark-haired and blue-eyed fellow; his robes were of worn out green and gold, a silver brooch clasped about his throat. He was probably the friendliest elf from the bunch, and Orgilion felt guilty for not even knowing his name. He watched Amroth spoke to the elf in native Sindarin; and the elf laughed good-naturedly and eagerly led them in the stables. There were few horses as expected; the elves here were neither travellers nor hunters. The elf pulled out a bay horse from the stables and held the reins out for Orgilion.

"Sirdal," the elf said, patting the muzzle of the horse. Orgilion reached out and caressed the horse. It neighed and trotted, rubbing its long muzzle on the warden's shoulder. "She likes you," the elf continued.

"She?" Orgilion sounded ecstatic at the information. All his previous horses, including the white which he had lent Nimrodel, were all stallions. He paused and then asked: "I'm sorry, but you're name is…?"

The Sindarin elf chuckled. "Aerchon," he said, shaking on the warden's broad hand. "The name is Aerchon."

"Orgilion," he answered, shaking on the hand that was offered to him. He began to mount the bay horse and muster it outside. King Amroth was waiting outside and looked up at the warden, his eyes pleading him.

"Please, bring back Nimrodel."

Orgilion wanted to argue. Not only did Amroth sound so demanding, but also sounded like he cared not for the well-being of both Erynlith and Mithrellas. The King asked to return his beloved, but not his cousin and his friend. How selfish could that be? Instead of arguing, Orgilion only glared down at the Sinda. Amroth flinched at the cold look that he received; silently pondering what could have provoked the warden. At length, he himself could not think of an answer.

"Be safe now," Amroth whispered, still wondering what he could have missed.

Orgilion openly rolled his eyes and began to leave, whispering, "I wish you would take time to remember a family member, my King."

The horse she mounted finally halted. As a tree-dweller, Mithrellas had little to none experience in handling horses, especially those special ones that simply did not stop until it broke a bone. The horse neighed in pain and dropped itself on the floor, its head hanging low. Mithrellas knelt and tried soothing her steed, but it was to no avail. Without food and water for days, the poor horse finally succumbed to death. Her hand brushed the dark mane, feeling sorry for the steed that saved her life. But she had to move on.

"Where am I?" Mithrellas looked around. She could tell no difference between the pathways she took, the caves she passed. There were no rivers like Erfaron had instructed her. It was dark already, and she needed a place to stay for the night. Reluctantly, she left the lifeless horse and boldly ventured forward. Her pale golden hair was dishevelled and tangled; the green dress she wore tattered, making her feel more uncomfortable. Her light shoes were almost worn out from the sharpness of the rocks and the endless walking.

When night came, her chance arrived. Lurking in the darkness, she saw a light not from afar. Shadows moved gracefully on the mountain wall, sounds of talking and laughing could be heard. Her face brightened at that thought: she was not alone. She knew these strangers were not orcs for those foul creatures did not have fair voices. These strangers sounded more like Men. Mithrellas ducked behind a boulder and poked her head out. Great was her relief to see a group of Men. There were few of them, some seven or eight; she could not tell. They were sharing bread and wine around the fire; their horses sleeping on the other corner. And what was she to do? A lost Silvan elf with no means to defend and escape; these strangers were her only hope.

Mustering all her courage, she moved to stand up but someone had grabbed her from her nape. She was manhandled effortlessly, the heavy hand on her nape pulling her away from her hiding place. She screamed and struggled, trying to get the hand off from her. Not long after, more men gathered around her. Looks of wonder and surprise were present.

"Let me go!" Mithrellas further struggled from the man that caught her. She kicked her legs about and dug her nails onto the flesh. The man behind her let out a cry and released her. She fell on the ground in a loud thud, her cheek hitting the ground hard. A wince escaped her dry lips as she propelled herself backwards and away from the men. Her back was pressed against the mountain wall, some of the men closing in on her. Her heart raced at the sight. Acting on her instinct, she helplessly threw a rock at them.

And the Men laughed just as she feared.

One walked up to her, him who grabbed her from behind. Mithrellas glared at him but spoke no word. The whispers and snickering ceased when a powerful voice halted his companions. The elf looked up hopefully to her saviour; and a man with dark hair and eyes knelt in front of her. He was tall and muscular, equipped with silver armour and blue cape. On his breastplate was a stamped sigil of a White Tree and seven stars.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" The newcomer asked her, his voice gently inquiring. He held out his calloused hand to her, a friendly attempt to get her up from her sitting position on the ground. Her shaky hand clasped the man's hand and she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Thus, the man smiled and continued: "Are you lost? Do you have companions somewhere?"

Mithrellas bit her lip. She still could not trust these strangers. If she told them about her companions, they could scout the area hunting for them. She still worried about Erfaron, on how they were separated since that morning. Her hand slipped from the hand of the man. "I am well," was all her answer.

"Good," the man answered and smiled again. He placed his hand above his heart in greeting and said, "I am Prince Imrazôr of Belfalas."

"Prince," Mithrellas murmured, disbelieving what she had heard. If he was Prince somewhere, then these Men should be harmless. She looked around at the small camp; the men who previously laughed at her were now passive and went back to their talking around the fire. Returning her gaze back on the young Prince, she remembered her grace and manners as a Silvan elf.

Quickly, she bowed and replied, "I am Mithrellas, my Lord. I am in your debt for saving me tonight."

Somehow, she regretted saying those words.

There crept a sly smile on the Prince's fair face. He took Mithrellas's hand and kissed it, his eyes still locked on hers. Then, he unclasped his blue robe and draped it around the shivering elf, aware of her situation and the length of her dress. As a gentleman, he was against about the idea that ladies should show much of their skin. Imrazôr led his prize back to his tent and asked his stewards to bring them food. Mithrellas sat in amidst of pillows and blankets, of armours and maps. A young steward opened the flap of the tent and handed her a hot bowl of soup. She whispered her thanks and began spending herself on the food.

"Do you have companions, Lady Mithrellas?" Prince Imrazôr asked as he watched her eat the soup, a soft smile curling up in his lips.

She shook her head. "I do, my Lord. I travelled with a small group of Silvan elves from Lórinand. We are bound towards the Southern Havens where our ship waits to take us across the Sea. I was separated from the main group, along with my companion who, I am afraid, might still be lost in these dreadful mountains."

"That's terrible," Imrazôr remarked. "It must have been so hard for you to wander alone. Worry not about your companion; I could send a few men in search for her."

"Really?" Mithrellas beamed happily.

The Prince chuckled at her smiling face. "I promise, my Lady. What is the name of your companion?"

"Erfaron," came her answer. "She is slender and umber-haired, wearing a long blue robe. You should be careful in approaching her; she strikes anyone who comes near."

"I will tell my men." With that, Imrazôr exited the tent and gave a few words to his companions. They had travelled in the White Mountains back and forth already; there was nothing that could surprise them except a cautious elf. "You have to find her," the Prince reprimanded his men, now mounted on their horses. "Remember, be gentle with her. She could be hurt. Bring her back as soon as you can."

The warriors nodded and left.

Behind Imrazôr, Mithrellas was eavesdropping. She sank back into the blankets and wrapped the cloak closer to her. Her body ached all over but her hunger and thirst were gone. She felt the lightness of her head, her eyelids becoming heavy with sleep. Finally, she gave in and went into another sleep, with a Númenórean Prince watching over her.

Erynlith stirred from her slumber. The Marchwarden from her dreams was gone again. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, her mind trying to register what had become to her. She lay on her stomach, cheeks bruised from whatever hardship she had recently overcome. She moaned at the pain on her shoulder and the growing pain in her right wrist. She tried to move, but her legs felt numb. Her hands tried to grasp her white bow and the collect the scattered arrows on the ground. At her slightest movement, she inhaled sharply and winced again.

For the next few hours she lay there helplessly, until something roused her.

A shadow was moving towards her. The soft neighs of a horse were unmistakable. She strained herself to look up and wait for what was to come. Her grip on the bow tightened despite not having any arrows. The figure moved slowly, like an apparition in the middle of a misty twilight. Erynlith could make out something golden from the figure, a golden elf approaching her. The robes were white and almost glittering, one slender hand pulling on black reins.

As it continued towards her, her vision faltered: instead, Erynlith could see a golden-haired lady sitting on the riverbanks, her legs dipped in the cool waters; a white horse stood faithfully beside her, and the elf-maiden was speaking in her native tongue.

She was lulling back to sleep when a gentle hand was pressed against her back. Her unsteady eyes caught glimpse of a brown hair and white tunic. She was carried gently onto a bay horse, and the rider balanced her in front. Her back was pressed against a broad and warm chest.

"…Nim-Nimrodel?"

The rider shook his head gently. "No, Erfaron. It's Orgilion."

*Aerchon - Sea Commander

Next Chapter: What becomes of Amroth and Nimrodel.

Author's Notes: Hmm, I am not sure how to put this, but I am having some technical difficulties for the past few days in . I cannot see reviews unless I check them by email, and the number of views remain at zero. Am I the only one experiencing this? I'm fidgeting here at home like a kid. LOL. Anyways, we get back in the White Mountains with some of the lost elves. Amroth has reached the Havens, Mithrellas is found by a Prince, and now Orgilion rescues Erynlith. It would only be a matter of time, fellas...

Before I forget, advanced happy holidays to everyone!

*Rosiethehobbit17 - Nah, Nimrodel could be the damsel in distress all the time!

Seriously?! Twins?! OMG I am so happy for you! Well, I don't know you in real life, but if I did, I'd give you a massive hug right now! Are they girls or boys? My friend and I used to joke around that if one of us had boy twins, we'd call them "Elladan and Elrohir". LOL. And a wedding somewhere in those countries? Damn, I envy you so much now! I truly would want to see Italy or Spain or Greece! Too many places to go, but less time and money. Also, I like the idea of passing down wedding dresses; it sounds so familial, but of course you should tinker it here and there ;) Sorry for the rambling, I just got very excited. Once again, congratulations and I hope you have a very good holidays!

P.S. You asked me about the names? Sure! I can help you with Sindarin and Quenya names if you like. ;)

*Janssen - Now, now, my dear. We know that Celairis gets nervous whenever Thrandy shows the slightest interest about Eryn, so we cannot blame her. And Thrandy being dedicated? I think he is. He remains quite familiar with her over the years.

*Drasna - Thank you! Well, Galadriel did say once, "Even the smallest person can change the course of the future". In this case, it's the little things Eryn does for everyone. :)

*Lord Illyren - Nimrodel lost is probably the next greatest thing ever since Sauron was defeated two thousand years ago. LOL. Thrandy's going to be back in the show, and he'll do it fabulously!

*Omorfi Enas - I think I should have made Nimrodel lost sooner. But it's better when she's all alone in an unknown place. It adds to her being afraid. Thanks for the review! We'll keep Nimrodel lost, you'll see.

*Saura9- Ooh, do you mean the succession to the throne? Yes, Eryn remains in the dark about it. Amroth's not really good with decision-making.

*Gremalor- Amidst all the chaos and being lost, there is still hope in Thranduil. Hooray for the fabulous King!