Eleanor of Dol Amroth sat uneasily on her saddle, watching as the forest canopy passed above her. The little light that filtered through the thick screen of leaves and branches above her was green-tinted, bathing the forest floor in an otherworldly glow. The shadows between the trees could hide anything, and she felt the back of her neck prickle, as if myriad eyes watched, unseen, from the densely woven trees. Her honor guard of mounted soldiers guided their horses closer around her, unconsciously shying away from the darkness off of the path.
It had been three days since the Orc attack that had slaughtered more than a score of the men of Dale and Elves of the Wood, coming upon them unawares in the midst of their revelry. Silently, she cursed herself for letting herself get caught up in all of this. A moment later, she chided herself for the thought. After all, was she not in the service of Mithrandir? In the past four years, she had struck blows against the Shadow in ways she had never dreamed possible. She had come to Dale on his errand, and there was only one path before her. And she would follow it through to its end – whatever that end might be.
She turned to her guide, the Dalewoman Lanwyn, who rode nearby. “How long is the road to the Elven-king’s halls?”
The young woman peered at the road, her falcon perched patiently on her shoulder. “Not long now. If we make such haste as we can in these woods, we might make it before nightfall.” She shivered. “I should not like to spend another night in these cursed woods. Not after…” She trailed off, into silence. Beside her, the Dwarf – Thalin, he had called himself – muttered something to himself in his own tongue.
Reaching out, she touched Lanwyn’s shoulder. The girl started, apparently lost in some dark reverie. “Sorry, milady. What do you require?” Her two brothers, riding behind her, cast sullen looks in Eleanor’s direction. They had argued strenuously to take their sister back to Dale after witnessing the aftermath of the attack. That their sister chose to guide a noblewoman from a strange, far-off realm into the heart of the forest had sparked a heated argument that had lasted until Lanwyn had mounted her horse and begun riding up the river.
“Your friend, the Dwarf. What does he say?”
The Dalewoman looked at her stocky companion, still muttering to himself, as if nobody could hear him. After a moment, she turned back, a grim expression on her face. “He prays, Lady. Prayers that all of us will leave this wood alive.” Silence settled in again around the little group, as oppressive in its own way as the forest itself.
With a crackle of leaves, an arrow darted through the air to embed itself in a tree whose roots had grown over the path. Jolted from their silent musings, the party stood still for a moment, in shock. From the shadows of the wood, a voice called out.
“Who is this that dares trespass in the realm of the Elven-king?”
Stunned silence fell, her honour guard pausing in the act of closing in around her, shields raised against another dart. Guiding her horse carefully forward, Eleanor cleared the protective knot of soldiers. One of her armsmen tried to follow, but she cut him off with a cool wave of her hand.
“I am Eleanor of the House of Dol Amroth, and a woman of no small repute in the realm of Gondor. These here are my armsmen, for no road is safe in these evil times. With us is a woman of Dale and her brothers, and two Dwarves of the Mountain, who we have employed to guide us safely to the realm of Thranduil, lord of Mirkwood.”
A tall Elf dropped to the leaf-carpeted ground, his face shadowed in the half-light under the trees. He held a bow with an arrow put to the string, but had not drawn it. “And what purpose brings you to these woods? The lord of this realm does not gladly suffer strangers to trespass in it even in happy times, and as you say, the times have grown dark indeed. You are fortunate indeed that I am loathe to shed blood without need.”
“Then I shall be glad of that happy chance, master Elf. As to our purpose in traveling here, we have not come idly to trespass upon your lord’s lands nor to do ill to any of his people. But three days ago, my escort and I came upon a ruined camp, where the Men of Dale and the Lake were wont to meet the trademasters of your people, and take the empty barrels down the stream to Laketown. But all the buildings were burning, and many of the folk were slain by Orcs. We drove off the creatures, but we dared not remain there. We made a search of the camp, and discovered a few Elves who yet lived, though their hurts were beyond the power of my leechcraft to heal them. We hoped that in the art of the Woodland Realm, there might yet be hope of healing.” She motioned her hand towards the party behind her, and they parted, revealing three biers, made from spears hastily slung with canvas and linen. Upon them lay Elves, tossing feverishly as if they passed through some nightmare.
The Elf-prince’s face grew grave at the sight. Nearly as swift as sight, nearly a score of Elves dropped from the trees around them, moving to take up the biers themselves. “You have our thanks, lady of Dol Amroth,” he said. “But I fear that I cannot allow you to remain here. My companions will bear the injured to safety, but I must guide you out of the forest, for my father is not at ease with strangers passing in his realm, and news of this attack by Orcs will not make him more trusting of outsiders, even those who have done such a great service as you have today.”
“I understand, master Elf. Lead on, and we shall follow.” She hesitated, the second question burning on her tongue. After a moment, she spoke again. “Master Elf? We came to bring your injured kinsfolk home, as I have said. But in truth, I had another purpose, that weighs no less on my mind. Know you of Mithrandir, the wizard?”
With a startled look, the Elf stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “Yes, I know of him well, for my father has always esteemed his counsel highly.”
“Has your father had word from him? For I have been in his service, but have not heard from him yet this year, and it turns to its closing. I have much news to bring him, and stand in need of his advice.”
With a whistle, the Elf called his companions to him, then turned back towards Eleanor. “If you indeed serve Mithrandir, as you say, then my father will wish to speak to you without delay. It is not meet that outsiders should know the paths of the forest, so we must bind the eyes of you and your company. But you and your company will stay in peace in my father’s halls until he has heard all that you have to say. And perhaps you may have the news of him you seek.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It seemed a long time to Eleanor before the Elves which guarded her removed the cloth from her eyes. As she stood blinking in the light, she heard a powerful voice address her. “Eleanor of Dol Amroth. My son, Legolas, tells me that you have saved the lives of three of my folk. For that you have my gratitude.”
Eleanor turned towards the voice, and knelt in respect. Thranduil, lord of Mirkwood, stood even taller than his son, and the wisdom of his race was written in his eyes. Upon his brow was a crown of laurel leaves, and he wore a necklace of white stones, set in silver.
Beside him stood an Elf-maiden, with red hair, as bright as the leaves in autumn. Although she was as fair as the rest of the Elven-folk Eleanor had met before, she seemed different. More distant, perhaps, and sadder. With a wave of his hand, he gestured towards a high table that stood nearby, with cups of wine and some small morsels of food. Taking a cup in his hand, he drank deeply, then sat at the table, his guests following suit.
“I have indeed had news of Mithrandir, as you guess. Not a week ago he was guest in my halls, asking my aid in a task of his. He left three days ago, for Lorien. I deem he had matters of great import to discuss with the Lady of the Wood. And yet, I wish he had tarried a short while longer, for this morning, I have had another messenger bringing me ill tidings.” He gestured at the woman seated next to him. “This is Rossiel, of the land of Lorien, though she has lately been searching out the works of the Shadow here in the greenwood. This morning, I received news from her that the dark creatures of the forest grow bolder, and dare to lay their snares even across the paths of my people. Worse, she brings word that a fell presence now governs them from the fastness of Dol Guldur.”
The air grew chill at the words. Steeling herself, Eleanor replied. “If my master has gone to Lorien, then there I must follow him. For I have some news of the Enemy’s intrigue among the folk of Dale and the Mountain.”
The woodland king laughed. “In Lorien, I fear, you would receive a welcome less gracious than mine. Few that are not of the fair folk have ever received welcome in that land, and fewer still in the days we now see.”
“Nevertheless, I must essay the journey. For he must know the news I have to bring.” At this, Rossiel spoke for the first time, and her voice was grave. “Your courage does you credit, child. But you would not enter the Hidden Wood alive, nor would you be given chance to speak before you were slain, as Legolas offered. My people guard their land fiercely, and trust no outsider.”
Seeing her chagrin, the elf-maiden ceased speaking for a moment, before she went on. “Fortune seems to have smiled upon you, though. For I must return to my land and people, to bring the Lady Galadriel news of all that I have seen. If you will still go, then I will guide you, and vouch for your integrity before the defenders of the Naith.”
“I will go with you gladly, Rossiel.” Eleanor smiled, gratefully. The red-haired woman returned it, although it seemed to Eleanor that the smile did not seem to reach her eyes.
Thranduil nodded. “It is done, then. My son, Legolas, and some few of my scouts will see you safely to the borders of my realm. I would not have any harm come to you in my lands.”
Rossiel gestured to her. “Come. There is much to do, and little time.”