Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 20: War in Eregion Part II: Moria to Lorinand

The dwarf king looked upon the two female elves standing before him impassively. Galadriel watched in exasperation as the dwarf king's eyes strayed repeatedly from her to her daughter. Galadriel would hold his eyes for a few moments, but then his attention would again stray to Celebrían.  Celebrían, however, had eyes not for the dwarf-king, but for the majesty and grandeur of his halls. They stood before his carved stone throne, on a floor of what appeared to be polished silver, and one could easily forget one was in a cave, for the crystal lamps that lit the hall shone as if the sun were contained within them.

“You will not learn more from staring at my daughter than you will from my tongue,” Galadriel finally said acerbically.  She smiled at Durin’s surprised expression, softening her words, and then stepped forward. “Sauron’s army approaches from the south even as we speak.  I bear you this news in hopes that you will come to the aid of your allies, the elves of Eregion, but also so that you may protect yourselves, for though Sauron may start with the elves, he will not forget the dwarves.”

“Narvi says you seek passage through Khazad-dûm,” said Durin, acknowledging her words with a slight nod.

Galadriel bowed in return. “Safe passage through the mighty halls of the dwarves would be a gracious gift, for we seek also to bring word to King Amdir of the elves of Lorinand.”

“And your people? They do not seek shelter in Khazad-dûm, which will withstand any assault of orcs and men?”

“Nay, good king,” replied Galadriel. “Our army rides south to engage our enemy, and those who must flee travel west to the Havens of Mithlond.”

“Yet you travel east, my lady?” asked Durin, his voice courteous yet curious.

“We do not flee in fear for our lives, but to seek aid from our allies. Do we not all wish to live in Eregion peacefully?” replied Galadriel. She studied his eyes, probing ever deeper into the dwarf’s mind to discern his intent and his loyalties.  The dwarf was difficult to read, more so than any other dwarf with whom she had previously conversed.

“I will take counsel with my own advisors, but you may pass through Khazad-dûm,” said Durin finally. “Though you may have need of haste, I hope you will tarry to see the beauty of our great halls and caverns, and the crown of stars in Kheled-zâram.” He paused. “When you reach Lorinand, you will greet the elvenking for me.”

Galadriel bowed again.  “A true friend you are to the elves, and you have our gratitude,” she said graciously.   Though she did not speak of it, she was also grateful for his greeting to King Amdir.  He had in essence opened the door for the two kings to speak, and in this Galadriel could only hope they would coordinate their efforts, if not work together. 

Durin lifted his hand in farewell, and it was then that Galadriel saw upon his hand the band of polished mithril.  Her breath caught as she looked upon the tiny gems that were wrought so carefully within the band that they appeared to be a part of it, and she looked upon Durin with a sudden trepidation.

Celebrimbor had said he had asked for the ring to be returned. That Durin wore it openly meant he had either refused to part with the jewel, or that he had not been asked.  Yet, if Durin wore it openly, what control did Sauron have over him? Seemingly none, for she had read no deceit in him.  Perhaps the lesser rings did not exert the hold on their bearers as Celebrimbor had feared?  Were only the Three of great enough power to do so?

“My lord,” she began in a low voice, “may I have a private word with you?”

Durin’s eyes narrowed as he looked upon her, but he nodded for his advisors to leave, and Narvi stepped forward to escort Celebrían away from the throne.  Galadriel waited until she could hear Narvi describing in detail the glory of the golden ceiling of Khazad-dûm, calling the caverns by their elvish name, Hadhodrond, for he appeared delighted to speak to Celebrían in her own language.

“Sauron seeks the rings he created with Celebrimbor. That which I see on your finger is like those that they made. Was your jewel a gift from Celebrimbor?”

Durin frowned, stroking at his long beard as his face grew hard. He fingered the ring, his eyes darkening. “What kind of person gives a gift and then asks for its return?” he asked darkly.

“Such a thing does seem ungracious; however the gift’s giver wished only to keep you from harm,” she answered calmly.  “The ring was touched by Sauron and is imbued with evil.  Why would you want to keep it?”

“Mithril and gems are of value whether or not touched by Sauron,” answered Durin curtly. “Take your daughter and pass through Khazad-dûm; your errand awaits you.”

Narvi stepped forward at a wave of Durin’s hand, Celebrían’s hand resting on his as he escorted her with obvious pleasure, and he led them from the great hall.

* * *

Narvi led them from the king’s hall down a long corridor that shone brightly with crystal lamps.  Elaborate carvings graced the passage, and they passed from hall to hall and down stairs from level to level as Narvi narrated the history of each and who worked and lived in them. They passed a room where laughter sounded merrily, only to end abruptly as those within realized that strangers were near.

Celebrían looked over her shoulder as Narvi led them past, and stopped suddenly with a small cry. “Children!” she cried in a low voice.

Narvi laughed in his booming voice. “Yes, children.  They are about their lessons and crafts today.”

“I have never seen a dwarf child before, though!” exclaimed Celebrían.  “My whole life I have lived in Ost-in-Edhil and the dwarves would come to our celebrations, but I never saw your females or your children.  I thought you did not have any!”

Narvi clapped her on the back as he threw back his head and laughed. “We have few females and even fewer children, but females did attend!” He winked at her. “Look closely next time.”

Taking her gently but firmly by the arm, he led them forward and soon giggles and laughter sounded again behind them.  Celebrían looked over her shoulder a moment later, while her mother spoke to Narvi, and saw a small figure dart behind a pillar. A moment later she heard a soft giggle.

“To the left and down are the great lodes from which we mine the mithril,” said Narvi, stopping at a platform before a bridge over a deep chasm.

As he went on describing the terrain of the mine and how the dwarves worked, Celebrían stepped back a few paces into the shadows and then turned and looked down the corridor.  A flash of red caught her attention as the small figure darted forward again. Staying still and silent, she watched patiently as their follower caught up to them, seemingly unaware that she was crouched behind the last pillar.

The sounds of Galadriel and Narvi speaking continued, but she was no longer paying attention to their words.  Instead, she watched as the dwarf child came closer.  Darting forward over the last segment, the child dashed behind the pillar and bumped into her.

Celebrían caught the child in her arms, and big brown eyes looked at her with a mixture of fear and curiosity.  She smiled and laughed silently, pointing to where Narvi still spoke to Galadriel and covering her lips with her finger.  The dwarf child, a female, Celebrían finally decided, looked to Narvi and then back to Celebrían, and smiled and nodded her agreement to their quiet conspiracy.

“Hello,” whispered Celebrían, greeting the child in the language of the dwarves. “I am glad to meet you.”

The child’s eyes widened and she did not answer at first, but instead reached out with pudgy fingers to touch Celebrían’s hair.  She stroked it gently and when Celebrían smiled the child picked up a handful of the silver tresses and let them fall through her fingers like a shimmering waterfall. She smiled then, and if it were possible, her eyes opened even wider as Celebrían felt a tentative touch against the slight point of her ear. She shivered slightly, for her ear tips were very sensitive.

The child giggled softly at Celebrían’s reaction and again ran her finger over the outline of her ear. Celebrían laughed and tossed her head slightly, making the dwarf child giggle and then the child reached out with both hands and ran them through the silver locks.

“She will perhaps have a fine eye for locating Mithril one day,” came Narvi’s dry voice.

Both Celebrían and the child jumped, but when the child would have darted away, Celebrían hugged her close. The child buried her face in Celebrían’s hair, peeking up at Narvi and finally grinning at him.  When he held out his arms to her, she disentangled herself from Celebrían and ran to him.

“This is Kali, daughter of my brother’s son,” said Narvi as he scooped the errant dwarfling into his arms.  He spoke to her in her own language for a moment, and the child took on a slightly chastised look.  When she bowed her head though, he tipped her chin back up and smiled at her. She answered him in fast dwarvish, and Celebrían did not understand her. “She likes your silver hair, Lady Celebrían, and followed you to see the shimmering silver that flowed from your head.”

Celebrían laughed and stood. “I am glad to meet you, Kali.”

The child looked at Narvi, then slid down from his arms and bowed slightly. “Ke-le-bree-an,” she said slowly.

A soft clap caught Kali’s attention, and she darted away as quickly as she had come.  Celebrían heard a soft murmur as the child was greeted by someone hidden in the shadows, and then she was gone.

“A full day’s journey you will have tomorrow before you reach the Great Gates,” said Narvi as he ushered them across the long bridge.  He spoke a command and a door opened out of the rock, revealing a room where they might eat and rest. “Tonight you will stay here and enjoy the hospitality of the dwarves.”

A dwarf appeared with refreshments and warm, wet towels with which they could wash. Narvi bowed before them.

“An escort will join you in the morning to lead you the rest of the way. I wish you safe passage to Lorinand. Rumor is growing of a threat to the south – beware the journey down the Celebrant!  Perhaps one day we will meet again,” he finished, and turning abruptly, he left the room.

Celebrían set her pack on the floor and sank into a broad, low chair.  The hike through Khazad-dûm to reach Durin and ask for passage had taken much of the morning, and now already it was late evening and still they had far to go.  She missed the sounds of the wind and the trees, yet the caverns were so immense it was easy to convince herself she was in the meeting hall in the city.  She closed her eyes as she recalled the look of the city, and of her father standing on the road watching them leave. Grief welled up in her as she considered that that might have been the last time she would ever see him. War was coming and he would lead the fight against it, and if he fell she would not see him again this side of the sea. A tear slipped down her cheek.

She felt her mother sit beside her and then comforting arms slid around her and pulled her close.   She leaned into her mother, felt Galadriel’s strong, slow heart beat against her ear and felt herself strengthened as her mother’s mind touched her own.

“There may be grief at parting, but let there not be despair,” said Galadriel softly.  “Our part is to serve as messengers, but those messages may bear the fruit of aid that will help your adar.  He is strong and has fought many battles. We will see him again.”

“How do you know, Naneth?” asked Celebrían, looking up to search her mother’s face.

“I do not know anything for certain, but my heart tells me this will not be his end,” replied Galadriel. “Hold on to your hope, Celebrían.”

The dwarf returned then with a meal for them, and they ate lightly of the filling food before resting upon the couches provided.

* * *

They reached the First Hall after sundown of the next day.  They had eaten in the splendor of the Second Hall, the largest they had passed through and perhaps the most ornate. Crossing Durin’s bridge had required cautious feet and a lack of fear at the great drop into the deep chasm below. The Great Gates were open, and Galadriel felt her heart lighten as she saw the twinkling of the stars in the night sky.  She felt Celebrían’s hand slip into her own and squeezed softly, for she knew that despite the beauty and grandeur of this great cavern, her daughter had never lived below ground before, and she knew the burden such a first experience could bring.  At times great shafts of light where the mountains opened to the sky above had shone down upon them, and the places where that light had reflected upon the carved stone walls had been breathtaking to behold.  The dwarves had used those light beams to their greatest advantage, showing off their skill and workmanship to its greatest degree.  But the elves loved the light best, not that which it reflected, and once Celebrían had stopped in a beam of light and rejoiced in it. The dwarves had been amused by her, but, reflected Galadriel, probably no more so at us than we were at them.

“The air is chill and night has fallen,” said their guide gruffly. “Will you stay this night and leave when morning comes?”

Galadriel looked at Celebrían and saw the dismay in her eyes, then turned to the dwarf. “Your hospitality is generous,” she replied. “Yet we have missed the stars and open skies.  We will camp just beyond these great doors.”

“My lady,” said the dwarf, bowing slightly. “As you will, but on this night we have received instruction to shut the gates. The protection of the dwarves will not be with you beyond them.”

Galadriel smiled at him, and bowed in return. “Thank you for you hospitality and your concern. The elves will not forget your kindness.”

They walked down the stairs and into the night air, both inhaling deeply and looking up into the skies as Eärendil blinked at them.

“Must we stop, Naneth?” asked Celebrían. “I do not mind walking beneath the stars.”

Galadriel looked up the dark pass of the falls of the Dimrill Stair that rose above them to the north, and then to the wide lands to the south, the Dimrill Dale.  Before them, moonlight shimmered off the water of the Mirrormere.

“The road will lead us past the Mirrormere and Durin’s stone. We will rest there, and you will see the crown of stars that reflects in her deep waters,” decided Galadriel.

They began walking the brick paved road, evidence again of the dwarves’ handiwork all about them. Galadriel had often wondered at these Children of Aulë, for they truly delighted in creating beauty out of stone, such that it appeared to be a living thing, as beautiful as any garden of flowers.

“Durin placed this stone to mark where he first looked in the Mirrormere,” said Galadriel as they came upon the great stone near the end of the lake. She looked up at the mountain face where the entrance arch stood, but all light was now gone, the lanterns extinguished and the Great Gates closed.  As they looked in the waters, a crown became visible, a reflection of the stars. “In daylight the mountains are reflected, and their snowy peaks form a crown as well. At night, the stars shimmer above those peaks, creating a like effect. Durin took this as a sign of his own kingdom and the good fortune of the dwarves.  And so it has been, for though the caverns are laden with silver and gold and gems of many kinds, mithril is more valuable than all and none but the dwarves mine here.”

Galadriel pulled a thin grey blanket from her pack and spread it across the cold ground. A fine weave, it would repel water and warm them in the cool fall air.  She sat upon it and Celebrían sank down next to her, both looking south and east to Lorinand.

“We have many miles yet to go, following the Silvelode from its spring to where it joins the Anduin.  There lie the woods of Lorinand and the home of King Amdir.”

Celebrían lay back upon the blanket, her eyes half closing in sleep as she looked up at the stars above her.  Galadriel pulled open her pack, rearranging its contents for the journey before them.  She tucked a dagger into her boot, a twin to the one tucked in the belt at her waist.  A sword and bow had been fastened to the pack; tomorrow she would carry the sword on her hip as well, and the bow and quiver on her shoulders.  Celebrían carried the same gear, but her pack could be arranged in the morning.

“Naneth, can you not sleep?” asked Celebrían, when she woke several hours later.

Galadriel smiled. “I will keep watch this night, and after tonight we will share the responsibility,” she replied.

Celebrían sat up straight, a flush staining her cheeks. “No, I will keep watch tonight too!” she cried. “Adar taught me, though I have never stood watch for real before.”

“I wish there was no need for you to do so now,” answered Galadriel. “But it is a skill that will serve you well.  Sit beside me and tell me what you see and hear around us.”

Celebrían remembered her lessons well, and attuned her mind to the land about them – its sights and sounds, the song of the trees and of the waters, for a change in any could signal an approaching danger.  Galadriel rested in the early morning hours as Celebrían completed her first watch.

They set out after dawn broke, following the road past the icy spring of the Silverlode. Their daytime journey was uneventful, the path beside the waters of the Celebrant easy to follow and the terrain tolerable.  The eastward slopes of the Misty Mountains grew dark in the early afternoon hours as the sun passed beyond the peaks, and it was in those shadows that they first became aware of the presence of others.

Galadriel motioned for Celebrían to move off the road and down the bank towards the Celebrant. The tall reeds and trees sheltered them, and as the afternoon sun set they watched with keen elven eyesight as figures moved northward, hugging the low cliffs of the mountains.

“Orcs,” said Galadriel finally. “They will not get past the Gates into Khazad-dûm, but they could take the pass over the mountain.”

“To Eregion?” breathed Celebrían, her eyes not moving off the shadowy figures.

“More than likely they are scouts, determining if the pass is suitable to send an army over,” said Galadriel slowly. “They are not about to find out.”

To the north, from where they had just come, there was a copse of trees on the west side of the road. They were still north of the orcs, but would need to move quickly to stay ahead of them and prepare an ambush. “Come,” she whispered to Celebrían.  “Tie up your hair and cover it with your hooded cloak.  We will move north along the riverbed, and then cross to that copse of trees.”

Celebrían nodded her agreement, her eyes wide. Galadriel could not help but smile as she recognized a combination of excitement and trepidation in her daughter. She quickly bound up her own hair and slipped on her light grey cloak, covering her head.  She had long loved this fabric, for the gray seemed to fade into the landscape, making the elves nearly invisible to spying eyes.

When both were ready, they began running lightly along the river, staying in the reeds and brush.   By the time they reached the spot where they would need to cross the road to reach the copse of trees, they were a considerable distance ahead of the orcs. They crossed swiftly.

Galadriel chose a tree large enough for them both to climb.  Celeborn had taught them both to shoot from the relative safety of the trees, where they would be both harder to spot and harder to hit.  She chose their positions and they settled in to watch for their prey.

In that time of waiting, Galadriel found herself remembering watching Celeborn teaching Celebrían.  They started off in the tree in their garden, with her small bow.  She shot stationary targets first, learning to keep her balance while aiming and shooting.  Eventually they moved to targets he would throw in the air, and later, he took her hunting.  She recalled Celebrían shooting her first rabbit and her first deer. Today, Celebrían would shoot her first orc. Galadriel thought of her own childhood and even that of the children of Eregion, and killing an orc was certainly not a rite of passage she would have wished for any of them.

She swept the area again, then turned her eyes back to her daughter, who faithfully watched the cliffs to the southwest. Assuming they all lived through this, she decided they would not mention to Celeborn that they had taken the initiative in intercepting these scouts.

Celebrían touched her arm lightly, and Galadriel followed to where her daughter was pointing at the two orcs, which were approaching as she had expected.  They would pass almost right below them, easy targets. Celebrían had already nocked an arrow. As Galadriel looked again at her daughter, she could see Celebrían’s lips moving, as if she were reciting something to herself.  She watched for a moment, then nearly laughed aloud as she realized that Celebrían was saying over and over to herself to wait until they were within range, repeating her father’s lessons.

She nocked her own arrow and raised her bow at the right time, releasing the arrow. She hit the orc in the throat, and he dropped immediately. Her fingers moved instinctively to grab a second arrow and nock it even as she watched Celebrían’s arrow strike the second orc in the chest.  He shrieked as he yanked the arrow loose with one hand, while his other reached for his knife.  Galadriel launched her second arrow towards his belt line, where the knife was sheathed.  He cried out again as he stumbled and fell to his knees, and then Celebrían’s second arrow struck him near his heart. He managed to pull it free, but it released a torrent of blood that was his death knell.  He collapsed, and movement ceased a moment later.

Once she was sure neither orc was moving, Galadriel turned to Celebrían.  Dusk had come, but even in the dim light Celebrían was as pale as death herself. She still held her bow tightly in one hand; the other was over her mouth. Galadriel pulled the bow from her daughter’s hand.

“Down,” she commanded softly.

Celebrían dropped to the ground a moment before she vomited. Galadriel landed next to her soundlessly and rested one hand on Celebrían’s shoulder, smoothing her hair back while she kept watch on the bodies in the distance.  Once Celebrían had ceased to shudder, she calmly handed her a waterskin.

Celebrían drank, then breathed in deeply a few times before turning to face her.

“I am sorry, Celebrían. I wish you had never seen an orc, much less had to kill one,” she said softly. She saw the distress in Celebrían’s eyes, and reaching out with one hand, she cupped her daughter’s face and wiped the tear from the pale cheek with her thumb. “They were not innocent and they would have killed you, had they found you. Ambush may feel cowardly, but we are not skilled enough in battle to fight them.” Galadriel hardened her voice when Celebrían remained stiff before her.  “These are two orcs that cannot kill an elf or fight against your father; two orcs that cannot report back about a way over the mountain from where they could launch an attack. Your father will fight on only one front, hopefully, and not two.”

At those words, Celebrían crumbled.  She collapsed into Galadriel’s arms, and Galadriel lowered them both to the leaf strewn ground. Not a sound came from her, but the slender body trembled and shook as Celebrían worked out her grief.  When she was finally still, Galadriel spoke.

“Stay here and keep watch. I will be back in a few moments.”

She could feel Celebrían’s eyes on her back as she strode forward, her dagger in hand.  She nudged each orc in turn, ensuring they were indeed dead, and then dragged them one at a time to a low spot along the cliff and covered them with leaves and debris.

“Do you wish to camp here or walk south to that small clearing where we rested earlier?”

“Go to the small clearing,” replied Celebrían steadily. “I do not think I could rest here now.”

* * *

Galadriel took first watch again that night, allowing Celebrían to sleep off the shock of having killed.  They had lit no fire, having no need of warmth and no desire to announce their presence to any who might be near.  As the midpoint of the night drew close, Galadriel considered not waking Celebrían for her watch, for she was easily capable of going for long periods without sleep and her daughter needed rest.  Celebrían was an adult, in age past her majority, but still young and on this night, her mind was also burdened. But Celebrían would not wish to be coddled and Galadriel would not clip the wings of her fledgling. She gently shook her.

Celebrían’s eyes focused immediately and she sat up, her senses instantly aware as she scanned the area and listened to the night sounds. When her gaze settled on her mother, a new determination and strength were present in her eyes. “Sleep for a while, mother.  I will have breakfast prepared when you wake.”

They resumed their journey as dawn broke, retracing steps taken the day before, finally passing the embankment where they had spotted the orcs.  The cliffs were brightly lit by the morning sun and no figures lurked in shadows.  They continued on the path that ran next to the ever widening and deepening Celebrant, fording small streams that ran from the mountains and joined the silver waters in their southward journey.

“There was a bridge here at one time,” mused Galadriel as she looked at the narrow gorge before them. “See the stone pillar in the middle of the stream?”

“There are pieces of wood here in the tall grass,” answered Celebrían a moment later. She knelt down, shifting the planks slightly. “They are undamaged, Naneth, and neatly stacked.  Someone took down this bridge.”

Galadriel felt the sudden sensation of being watched, the hair on her neck bristling, and she swept the other side of the stream with her eyes, seeking any sign of the presence of others.  A feeling of indecision swept over her.  They had to cross to continue to Lorinand, yet she sensed danger in front of them.

“Orcs would not be about this early in the day,” said Celebrían softly. “Could there be elves watching us, elves from Lorinand?”

“They would make their presence known, once they knew us to be elves,” replied Galadriel.  As she turned her head, a glint of light caught her eye as something hurtled toward them.  She dove at Celebrían, knocking her to the ground and covering her protectively. “Stay down!” she hissed.

Galadriel carefully turned herself around in the grass, looking to where they had just been standing, and saw the curved handle of a dagger sticking up from the ground.  Even from a distance she could see the runes carved in the handle and the unusual curved shape.  It was a shape she had seen before, drawn by a scout many years earlier when he had returned from spying on Sauron’s minions to the south.  Their enemy was a Man.

“He must be on the other side of the gorge, lying in wait for us,” whispered Galadriel. Willing herself to stay calm, she looked back north.  They could flee back to Khazad-dum, but that would not help anyone. They needed to reach Lorinand and seek the aid of the elves.  “We need to cross the Celebrant and continue south on the other side,” she decided. “The land is too open here; we will have to crawl in the grass to the banks of the Celebrant and return North, so he cannot see us cross. Go!”

“Naneth, my bow is back there,” argued Celebrían.  “I can crawl through the grass to get it. It is near the stacked wood.”

Galadriel hesitated.  They might both need their bows.  She slipped the dagger from her boot. “Quickly, and make no noise.”

Celebrían began shimmying through the grass on her belly, moving so carefully that nary a blade of grass was disturbed.  Galadriel’s gaze darted back and forth between her daughter and the bank across from them.  She still had not seen the Man.  The slightest of noises to her right caught her attention, but when she looked, she saw only a slight rustling of the wind through the reeds. Fixing her gaze in that direction, she was rewarded when moments later she saw a well camouflaged figure moving toward them on their side of the stream.  He began to run, drawing a short sword as he did so, the curved blade flashing dangerously in the sunlight, and she knew he had seen Celebrían.

She rose and cried out, distracting him. He turned to face her as she threw her dagger, but he sidestepped it easily.  He was now too close for her to use her bow, so she pulled her sword from its sheath, raising it block his first blow as he swung his sword in a wide sweeping arc at her.

The jolt nearly knocked her off her feet, but she blocked him, forcing his sword back and down to his feet.  He was clearly surprised she had stood her ground, and a wide grin split his face, revealing white teeth that stood out in stark contrast to his dark olive skin. He was beardless, with dark hair covered by a scarf. He was not young, but he was strong and sturdy in his fighting stance. She knew she could not outlast him.

She saw Celebrían out of the corner of her eye, fear and indecision on her face.  She had her bow in hand, but clearly feared to use it, for she could easily hit her mother.  As Galadriel blocked another blow, she saw Celebrían make up her mind.  She flipped her bow back over her shoulder and pulled forth her own sword.

The Man seemed to have forgotten about her, for he seemed not to sense Celebrían’s approach.  Galadriel yelled at him, inarticulate words in a language he was unlikely to understand, keeping his attention focused on her. As he thrust at Galadriel again, Celebrían leaped forward, using both hands to drive her blade down across his sword arm. The man screamed as his forearm was severed, falling to his knees.  At that same moment, Celebrían cried out and fell forward, landing next to the man she had just maimed, with an arrow protruding from her back.

There was still another man across the gorge.

Galadriel pulled her bow and nocked an arrow, launching it wildly in the direction the arrow had come from.  She had not seen her quarry and hoped only to distract him.  She looked down to see the man with the severed arm pulling a dagger from his boot with his good hand, even as blood sprayed from the stump of his arm.  Celebrían was lying only feet from him.

“Celebrían!” she cried.

Celebrían was not dead, despite the arrow protruding from her, and she rose up to her knees, her own knife already in hand.  She thrust forward as the man came at her, driving it deep in to his belly.  Missing his fighting hand and his other hand occupied holding his own knife, he was unable to prevent her from pulling her knife from his gut and thrusting it into his chest. He fell to the ground with a grunt as blood began trickling from his mouth.

Galadriel had continued to fire arrows at the gorge, but no arrows were returned. As Celebrían began crawling to her, she dropped into the tall grass next to her. Her hands swept frantically over her daughter’s form, but she did not feel any blood.

“Naneth, I am not injured,” insisted Celebrían, slapping her hands away.  “Come, we must get away from here!”

Galadriel was stunned. The arrow was still protruding from her daughter’s back, but at Celebrían’s words she looked closer and realized the arrow was lodged in her pack and quiver.  She grabbed it and yanked it free, and saw then the black coating on the arrow. Bile rose in her throat as she realized how close her daughter had come to being killed or poisoned.

Celebrían was pulling her grey cloak about her and Galadriel quickly did the same, and then they ran swiftly north, fading into the trees along the banks of the Celebrant some hundred yards to their north and east. Once in some cover, they ceased running in a hunched position, but stood tall and straight as sure feet led them further north.

When they had gone nearly a league, Galadriel slowed to a stop. They had not spoken in that time, but their hands were firmly entwined.  Galadriel pulled Celebrían into her arms. Both of their hearts were beating wildly, their breaths short, more from fear than the exertion of the run. But they appeared safe, at least for the moment.

When both were calm, Galadriel pulled away. She brushed Celebrían’s hood back, tucking stray strands of silver hair behind her ears.  She searched her eyes, probing deep into her daughter’s soul, and was pleased to find strength and courage.  She pulled Celebrían’s head forward, kissing her brow. 

“You are very brave, Celebrían.  Your father would be as pleased with you as I am,” she praised her, and Celebrían flushed with pleasure. “You have kept your head well in danger, but I fear there is more before us.  I do not know how many Men there might be south of us, or if those Men were traveling with those Orcs.  I think we must find a place to cross the Celebrant and continue on the east side.”

Celebrían turned to look east beyond the river. “Is there a path on that side, Naneth?”

“If there is, it will not be so well kept as this one,” answered Galadriel.  “But we will manage. Keeping the river between us and our enemy, whoever they are, seems the wisest course.”

Celebrían pulled away and walked down to the river’s edge.  She began moving north again, searching for a likely place to cross, while Galadriel kept watch to their south.  When Celebrían returned later, she seemed resigned.

“There is not going to be a good place to cross, Naneth.  I found one area where the water seems shallow, but it is icy cold and the bank on the far side is steep.  In another area where the bank rises gradually, the water is swift and deep.”

“We cannot leave a trail or evidence of our crossing, so climbing a muddy bank should be avoided,” said Galadriel quietly.  She looked one more time to the south, but saw no movement.  Her sense that they were being pursued had grown, however. “Come, show me the choices.”

Neither was good, but the swift flowing area with the low banks would leave the least trail.  As she knelt along the bank, she saw tracks of deer, meaning they had used this area to cross. The air was cool and the water like ice, but there was no other option.

“I found these branches, Naneth.  If we tie them together, they will make a raft sturdy enough to hold our packs,” said Celebrían as she began stripping off her cloak and outer clothing.  Soon she was barefoot, with her hair pinned up, and dressed only in her underclothing, and she was wrapping up her clothing in the pack and positioning her sword, knife, bow and quiver on the small raft she had lashed together.

They laughed as they waded into the freezing water, pushing the small raft before them. Galadriel stilled teeth that wished to chatter and willed her body to resist the icy fingers that had reached all about her. She looked at Celebrían to see how she fared, and was met by an impudent grin.

“It is no colder than the fountain in winter,” announced Celebrían, her voice low.

Galadriel studied her daughter intently, then rolled her eyes.  “And you know this because…?”

Celebrían laughed. “I lost a dare with Calith and Narusel and had to strip to my underclothing and swim across the fountain and back.”

“I did not hear of it,” admitted Galadriel.

Celebrían winked and grinned.  “It was at night. There were no witnesses about that winter’s eve.”

Galadriel shook her head.  “I do not want to know what the dare was.”

“No, you do not,” agreed Celebrían amiably.

They reached the other side, and Galadriel carried their packs and weapons up the bank as Celebrían carefully dismantled their raft, placing the branches about as if they had naturally fallen there and returning the rope to her pack.

Galadriel rubbed her briskly with the blanket, turning her skin from a light blue to a rosy pink, and then they dressed and wrapped their grey cloaks about them. “There is not much of a road here,” said Celebrían as they moved through the grass. “We will need to use more care here not to leave a trail.”

They resumed their journey south, moving silently through the empty land.  They passed the gorge, but saw no sign of the Man.  The body of the Man they had killed was also gone. They continued until darkness came and they could go no further, for the uneven terrain was treacherous.

They passed beneath the canopy of the forest of Lorinand near noon of that fourth day. Galadriel felt weariness and tension leave her, even though she knew that Amdir’s realm was still many miles deep into the woods.   The forest shaded the river, dappled sunlight sparkling on the water as it flowed swiftly past them.  They traveled for several miles, stopping to rest at a place where another larger river joined the Celebrant, their clear, cold waters mingling in a tumbling cascade of frothy waves.

“The sound is restful and peaceful, yet it may hide sounds that would warn us of danger,” said Galadriel after a few moments. They continued walking along the river’s edge, when suddenly they came across a path that led east. “This will take us into Amdir’s realm,” said Galadriel.

They heard a splash then, and both turned about abruptly. The trees began to whisper their discontent, their tone obvious, even though they were not familiar with these woods.  Celebrían pulled her bow from her shoulder and Galadriel pulled out her knife as they faded into the shadows of the tress near the banks of the river.

They saw a Man climbing up the bank, a dagger in his hand.  He had pulled a raft up on to the sandy bank, and on it were several small caskets and packs, and pole for directing the craft.  The man resembled the one they had fought and killed earlier, with a similar headdress and curved knife.  A long curved sword hung in its scabbard from his hip, and a bow and quiver were on his back. He looked as formidable as the first man.

Galadriel reached for Celebrían’s hand, drawing her deeper into the shadows.   She watched him explore the path; then he climbed into the lower branches of a tree to better survey the area.  He was a threat that they needed to contend with if they were to complete their errand.  They could not lead him to the elves.

Galadriel silently pulled her bow into position and nocked an arrow she pulled from Celebrían’s quiver. She had emptied her own quiver firing at the bank where this man was hidden earlier, and now they had just five arrows left between them.  

The man climbed down from the tree, surveying the area around the path once more. He looked right at them, his eyes narrowing, but then he turned as if to continue eastward along the path.

Galadriel drew back her arrow and loosed it, the slight twang of Celebrían’s bow sounding before her own arrow had hit its mark.  The man was hit twice, the first arrow glancing off his thigh and the second imbedding itself in his calf, for he had turned suddenly and begun walking away from them.

He did not cry out or react to the pain, merely yanked the arrow free of his calf with one hand as he nocked an arrow in his own bow.  He fired into the copse in which they were hidden as he ran forward, four arrows in quick succession. His tactic was smart, for they were kept busy evading his arrows as he ran toward them and were unable to flee or fight back under his onslaught. 

Galadriel pushed Celebrían behind the tree and then ran in the other direction, hoping the man would follow her.  He did, whipping his dagger at her, and it grazed her arm before imbedding in the trunk of a tree. She dove to the ground, rolled on to her belly, and was drawing her sword when she heard the Man cry out.  She looked up to see him fall, arrows protruding from his neck, chest, back and sides.

It took a moment to register in her mind that Celebrían could not have released all those arrows; indeed, the man was punctured by more arrows than they possessed.  A suffocating silence fell over the land, as even the birds and trees fell silent.  Then, the trees raised their voices in joy, the tone again obvious even if she could not understand their words. To her amazement, elves suddenly began appearing from the trees.  Several checked the man to ensure he was dead, while others approached her.

Galadriel stood, leaving her weapons on the ground in front of her as the elves approached. They were Silvan, wilder cousins to their Sindar king.  One elf stepped toward her, clearly the leader of their group, and she bowed to him.

“What brings a female elf to our forest, and who is the enemy that chased you here?” he asked, his Sindarin strangely accented.

“I am Galadriel of Eregion,” she replied, “and I come with a message for your King.  The enemy found us in your realm, but he is not the reason we came.”

She saw Celebrían walking toward her out of the corner of her eye, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as several of the male elves made overtures to escort her.

The young elf before her bowed deeply. “My lady,” he said, covering his heart with his hand. “Wife to Lord Celeborn, distant kin of my father.  I am Amroth, son of Amdir.  We heard rumor of strange men passing through our land, and I was sent to investigate.  I am glad that we were able to assist you, though he is only one and the tale is of two.”

“The other is dead,” replied Galadriel. She held out her arm to Celebrían, drawing her to her side.  “This is my daughter, Celebrían. We fought and killed the Man yesterday when he attacked us on the road west of the river.”

Amroth bowed to Celebrían. “It is good that one so beautiful is also skilled in arms.” He turned to the elves still standing near the dead man.  “Return him to his raft and return the raft to the sea.  Retrieve anything that might provide clues to his errand here.”

The body of the man was picked up and carried to the river, and several minutes later the elves returned bearing the packs and caskets that had been on the raft.

“Come, I will escort you to my father,” said Amroth.

By the time they reached King Amdir the next day, they had told Amroth of the Orcs they had killed, their fight with the Men, their passage through the Halls of the dwarves, and the army approaching Eregion.  The elves of Lorinand welcomed them as honored guests, and they slept that night on comfortable couches high in the trees.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Galadriel was about to tell more of the Silvan elves and King Amdir’s reaction to the news that war had again found them, but the restlessness of the audience forced her to stop.

“Naneth!” cried Elladan. “Why have we never heard this story?  You killed orcs and killed a man?  Swam the Celebrant River?  Did you ever tell Daeradar?”

“No, they did not,” replied Celeborn dryly.

“By the time we saw you again, it was no longer important,” said Galadriel. “You had faced far worse than anything we had.”

“Naneth, you were much younger then than Elrohir and I are now,” continued Elladan.

“Yes, I was,” answered Celebrían.  “I was scared, but I admit I was excited too. I am glad I was taught to fight, because I needed to then. But I would still protect my children if I could, as I am sure my parents would have preferred that I not face that danger.”

“Naneth, what dare did you lose to Narusel?” asked Arwen sleepily. She had crawled from her bed in the middle of the story to cuddle in Celebrían’s arms.

“It is time young elleth were in bed asleep,” replied Celebrían, gracefully standing with Arwen in her arms.  Her daughter was like a ragdoll in her arms, completely limp with exhaustion, and she snuggled against Celebrían without further argument.

Elrond went ahead of her, straightening Arwen’s bedroll and helping settle his daughter back into sleep. They were silent, watching her for a moment.

“I was nearly undone by your story, Celebrían. I am trying to imagine Arwen being in danger or being far from me where I could not protect her,” he said quietly.

“We left my adar and the other warriors in grave danger.  We did only our part, and our children will face what they must,” she answered resolutely.  She felt his arm slip around her waist and she turned to embrace him.

“Are there any other secrets about you I should know, my wife?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck.

“Maybe,” she breathed into his ear. She teased him then, flicking her tongue over his ear, then trailing kisses down his cheek and claiming his mouth. She kissed him deeply, all the while her hands roamed the strong, broad planes of his back and hips, then said, “I think the story continues.  Come.”

He groaned as she pulled him back out to the fire, and as they settled back to their seats, Celebrían nudged Elrohir slightly. “Are you awake, Elrohir?” she said, stroking his hair. 

Elrohir’s eyes focused on her and he leaned into her comforting hand.  “Yes, Naneth.  But I had the strangest dream.  You and Daernaneth were fighting Orcs and Men, and you played with a dwarf child,” he answered drowsily.

“Hmm…well, truth can be stranger than dreams,” she teased.  “Do you want to hear more or go to bed?”

“Hear more,” yawned Elrohir. “’Restor was scouting.”

All eyes turned expectantly to Erestor, who squeezed Elrohir’s hand and began.

* * * * *

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