The rising sun shed a rosy light across the slowly rolling river. The sparkling mists should have been breathtaking in the crisp dawn air. But for Eleanor, the birth of a new day held no joy. Legolas’ scouts had reported that several bands of Orcs scattered by the storm and the battle were regrouping, and it would soon be unsafe to continue their search for Lanwyn.
The elf-prince had left in the grey hours before dawn – a runner from his father’s hall had arrived in the dark of the night, bringing reports of increasing Orc raids under the trees. Although he was visibly pained to return without discovering Lanwyn’s fate, his duty to protect his people weighed even heavier on his mind.
With a rustle of leaves, Henamarth appeared at her side. “Lady Eleanor, I am afraid that I have only evil tidings to bring. At the last setting of the sun, I found the place where the Dale-girl sheltered from the storm. But it was greatly disturbed with Orc-tracks, and there was little sign to say where she had gone after. So I followed the Orc-trail through the night, and in the dark came upon a wounded Orc who had been left for dead. Before the creature expired, I wrung news from it that would cause the Sun to hide Her face in horror. The girl yet lives, but was taken by the Orc-band, and they are making great speed towards Dol Guldur.”
Eleanor felt her heart sink within her at the words. “Is there no hope, then? Together, if we push the horses, we could perhaps catch them before they reach that place?” She could hardly bring herself to speak the name of the fortress. It was a foul place, filled with darkness and madness, and even the rumors of it were dreadful.
“Maybe, lady, but the goblins of the mountains have regrouped, and their hunting Wargs are now but a few miles off. If we pushed our horses to the brink of death and ran ourselves ragged, we could perhaps overtake the band of Orcs that took our friend. But we cannot do so whilst we are harried by these rabble, and we cannot outpace their wolf-riders. And behind them are regrouping other warbands that we scattered. If we allow ourselves to be brought to open battle, we will be caught and overwhelmed. If we take thought for stealth, we will be too slow to catch the girl’s captors.”
“So what is there to do?” With an effort of will, she kept her voice from shaking.
A calm voice from behind her spoke. “I can see nothing, except to proceed on towards Lorien. We cannot free her by ourselves, but there is hope that the Lady Galadriel can offer aid to us. And if we cannot free her before she is brought unto that dread place, some few of us might still – with the Lady’s aid – enter in there and bring her back out again.” Rossiel stood there, her face drawn with worry, but her eyes were resolute. Behind her, the elves of her company boarded one of the rafts. With them were Lanwyn’s two brothers, who pointedly refused to meet her gaze. Rossiel saw her glance, and spoke softly in her ear. “Do not worry, I will speak to them. This is the only path by which we might bring their sister home and safe.”
Gratefully, Eleanor gave the Elf-woman a brief smile, before ordering her escort onto the raft. As they put off from the shore, she watched the banks recede with a heavy heart.
*****************
Eleanor paced along the bank of the burbling stream. The cheerful sound set her on edge, although that could well have been her impatience getting the better of her. Her escort had been barred from entering Lorien, and she had waited here for two days, while Rossiel and her party had gone on to speak with the Lord and Lady of the Wood.
The worst of it was not knowing. With every passing moment, Lanwyn was getting closer to Dol Guldur, if indeed she had not reached it already. And instead of doing anything about it, Eleanor was stuck in a camp on the edge of the wood, pacing along the bank of a stream, not even able to plead her own case before the Powers that would determine whether or not she would receive the aid she so desperately needed. With a little scream of frustration – and no small amount of anger – she bent down and picked up a smooth, round stone and, in one smooth motion, rose and sent it flying through the air. With a sharp crack, it rebounded off of a tree and disappeared into the undergrowth.
As she traced its path, she suddenly froze. Not two feet from the tree she had struck stood an Elf-woman, her mouth opened slightly in surprise. Her hair was raven black, and her countenance shone with a beauty beyond mortal kind. It seemed, in the stillness and shade of the trees, that a soft light radiated from her eyes.
Eleanor stood for a moment in stunned silence. As the moment stretched on awkwardly, the other woman spoke. “Has the poor tree done somewhat to offend you, that you abuse it so?” The tone was mildly reproachful, but the corners of her mouth quirked upward in a small smile.
“N-no, lady. I just…” She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. “Forgive me, milady. My burdens weigh heavily on me, and I lashed out. My apologies.”
The smile on the Elf’s face grew broad and genuine. “All is forgiven. I have come to no harm, and the tree hardly noticed your stone. Come, though. Sit and talk with me a while, and we shall see if your burdens might not seem less heavy. I am Arwen, Elrond’s daughter, of Imladris – though these past long years I have dwelt here in Lothlorien, among my grandmother’s kindred. What is thy name, lady?”
They sat down and talked, until the afternoon sun had darkened to golden evening and the sun began to fall in a fiery sunset. And Eleanor felt the burdens on her mind and heart lighten for a time, while the sound of the stream burbled happily beside them.
A sharp crunch of fallen branches heralded Rossiel’s return. As she emerged from the underbrush near the edge of the brook, Eleanor rose hastily to meet her. “What news from the Lady in the Wood, Rossiel?”
The grim look on Rossiel’s face told her all that she needed to know, even before the woman began to talk. “The Lord and Lady are sympathetic to our plight. They would not wish to leave any being in the dungeons of that evil place. But Celeborn will not order any of his folk to enter the fortress of the Enemy, where he deems that they would face certain death.”
A heavy, crushing weight fell upon Eleanor’s heart, and it must have shown on her face, for Rossiel hastened to speak again. “Although I value the wisdom of the Lord Celeborn, I have a duty and an obligation to the girl. She has saved my life. Even should my soul be sent home to the halls of Mandos in the attempt to rescue her, I would not begrudge the cost. If you still desire to effect a rescue from the dungeons of the Dark Lord, I will follow you.”
Arwen stood as well. “Your courage does you credit, Eleanor. My grandfather will not command his folk to accompany you, but he said nothing of those who would go willingly with you. And even if I should face his disapproval, he does not command my actions. I will not leave a soul trapped in those prisons if there is a chance that they may brought out whole again. If you will permit it, I will aid you.”
And then, the growing twilight was filled with a light as bright as the noon-day sun. When it faded, a form stood on the bank of the river, glowing with radiant light. Rossiel gasped and knelt, Arwen following shortly behind. Only dimly comprehending the situation, Eleanor followed them to her knees. “A worthy choice, my student. And granddaughter. The road ahead will be perilous beyond your knowing. Are you certain you wish to take it? The horrors of that place surpass the scope of imagination.”
They both replied, reaffirming their choice, and the Lady turned to Eleanor. “Few mortals have beheld the Lady of the Golden Wood. But if these members of my house will risk their lives with thee, mortal, then I will offer thee what aid I can. I cannot offer strength of arms, for like my husband, I will not send my folk into that place by command. Nor dare I openly contest the will of the Dark Lord in a test of strength. But what power I possess, I will use on your behalf.” She paused, regarding Eleanor for a moment. “A word of warning I give to you. Do not be afraid. Fear is the most potent weapon wielded by the Enemy. It has overcome many strong men and their fortresses over the long ages of the world. Do not allow it to overcome you.” She turned and walked away, and was gone.
For the first time since they had come to the edge of the Wood, hope filled Eleanor’s heart. “Come, friends. We have much to do.”
