High in the mountains of the North, a battle raged. Man vs. Orc, good against evil. The air was thick with the whizzing of arrows; like bees in the summer lowlands. But none of the combatants were thinking of the lowlands, or summer, or even insects. They were all wondering if the arrow or bit of steel meant to cut their life thread was in the battle today.
The battle had ended. Horses moved slowly amongst the fallen combatants and nudged their fallen masters. None stirred for the battle weary beasts. The stench of death was heavy in the thin mountain air and hung like a pall over the heavy black rocks. Patches of snow that had been the purest of white before the battle had begun were now died a deep crimson with the blood that ran in rivulets over the boulders and into the crevasses. One black mare, a tiny horse compared to the great war stallions around her, picked her way through the carnage and nudged and snuffled the body of one of the warriors. She prodded impatiently and managed to roll her master over. A groan escaped the warrior's lips as sunlight penetrated their vision.
"Good girl…" the horse knelt down amongst the rocks close to her master and allowed them to pull their battered body into the saddle. The rider was slight of build, made to look larger by the slight build of the horse. Horse and rider plodded along slowly, the horse knowing it had to get to the low country to get aid for its wounded master.
The rider could not even grasp the reins, nor could they even think of directing the beast beneath them. The long, dark gray wool cloak hung across their left shoulder and covered the wound in their left leg. The right arm was twisted and hung limp at their side. The hood hid a full head of long dark hair, streaked with the ruddy gold and copper highlights of someone who spent long hours in the sun. The black leather of their jerkin was slashed and punctured and blood seeped slowly from the dozen or more wounds.
No one would guess from looking at the figure on horseback that it was a woman. The cut of her clothes and the size of her horse made her look larger. She was used to riding in the back of her patrol and remaining silent. She was a quiet leader and a fierce fighter. She was often the one to lead a charge into battle; she would have done so this day, had they not been ambushed.
She had owned the horse for a majority of her life. It had been a gift from her father. The horse had seen her through many a battle and had always brought her out safely. But the mare, as smart and loyal as she was, was a horse first and foremost and forgot the weight on her back and started to make it's way to water. It was a laborious trip for the old mare, made more so when her charge slumped heavily forward across her neck.
Sweet Water
It had been some time since horse and rider left the field of battle. It had been a longer time since the mare had been near water that smelled so clean and sweet. A fleeting though of the dead weight across her neck was chased away by the soothing water rushing past her strong forelegs.
Sweet Water
The mare bent her head to the river and drank deeply of the cold water. It was mountain runoff….icy cold and sweet with the essence of highland flowers and grasses. With every sip the mare felt her burden lighten and it seemed as if it slipped away. Refreshed, the mare plodded across the river, never once taking notice of the black mass floating with the current downstream---her charge born away on the sweet water to who knew where.
The children of Imladris stood on the banks of the RIVER; their own horses drinking of the cool water. Young Arwen picked up smooth rounded pebbles washed purple, blue, and jade green by the fast moving water. Her brothers, twins, and mischievous at best, stood talking about the latest prank they wished to inflict upon the valley of the elves and their father's hall. Guards stood back staring stonily into the dense forest on the opposite bank, listening for any sign of trouble.
"The river cries…" Arwen said, her toes touching the edge of the icy water. "It sings a death song."
"What is that?" One of the twins pointed towards a dark mass floating down the river. The guards descended upon the banks and whisked the children back to the city of the elves as the mass came to a stop against the rocks.
"My Lord Elrond, something is in the river…"
"And?" The elf lord said looking up from a scroll impatiently.
"What shall we do?"
"Well, what is it?" Elrond placed the scroll back on the shelf and turned to the lieutenant who stood uneasily in his study.
"We don't know, sir. We got the children away and came to you directly."
"Very well then, let us investigate." The tall dark haired elf strolled leisurely form the room. Ever since the elfin city had been beset upon by trolls and a particularly nasty band of orcs, the defense forces of the city had been on high alert. As they approached the river's edge they saw a number of other elves standing in a tight ring on the shore.
"What's the meaning of this?" Elrond asked as he approached.
"Sir, it is a woman." One of the elves said. "I took it upon myself to investigate closer and found it was her that caused the alarm. I took the liberty of pulling her from the water." The other elves parted and allowed the elf lord to look at the woman sprawled on the rocks. The stately elf knelt beside her and held his hand above her mouth and felt the warm, shallow air against his palm.
"She lives---take her to the healing halls immediately." The elf that had pulled her from the river picked her up and moved with great speed to the city.
For three days the girl convalesced in the healing halls and for three days the healers did everything within their power to try to heal her.
"Her bond to life is very thin, but her spirit is strong." One of them said to Elrond. "I know not what else to do; I fear she is meant to die."
"I have an idea of what we can do." Elrond said quietly. "I want everyone to leave this room, do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord."
Elrond returned with a silver haired elf with silver eyes. The pale elf was a seer; one to be both respected and feared. It was a well known fact that this was the elf to turn to should one begin to fade. He could either guide you to Mandos' halls or lead you back to the living.
"This woman?" the elf asked as he approached the bedside. "She is mortal."
"Mortal life fades much the same as the life of an elf." Elrond said. "I ask you, Mellon---help her as you have helped so many of our people." The seer bowed to Elrond and moved to the bedside of the mortal woman. He perched precariously beside her and stared for some time.
"Re Ohtar—" the pale elf placed one hand on her chest and the other against her cool cheek. Slowly, the room around him faded from his sight and he found himself walking up a gently hill, the long grasses blowing about his robes in a breeze laced with the tangy scent of the sea. As he crested the rise he looked out over the silver sea, the salt spray bellowing up in mist over the cliff and hitting him in the face. It was a beautiful sight. He was so overwhelmed by the vision he faced that he did not notice the woman standing on the cliff's edge.
"Who are you?" The voice drew his attention to the dark woman, her hair whipped about her face in the breeze but she did not move or turn her back to the elf.
"Lle quena I'lambe tel' Eldalie?"
"A little." The girl answered in the common tongue. "Amin merna quen…common tongue."
"How did you know I was here?" He asked. He'd been very quiet.
"I just did. Now answer my question." The seer saw her hand resting upon the hilt of her blade, a blade that looked too large on the hip of the woman.
"I am Armand. I am a seer—a spirit guide, if you will-- for the house of Elrond." For the first time the woman turned her eyes to his and he gasped. Her eyes were so dark a shade of brown that they looked nearly black, flecked through with shards of the greenest emerald.
"A spirit guide?"
"Aye, 'tis my duty to help guide fading elves either to the great beyond or back to the light."
"Then why are you here? I am not an elf." She stalked past him and moved through the tall grasses towards a line of trees farther inland.
"Lord Elrond believes you hang in the balance---that your spirit is strong, but your heart is not." The woman stopped, her back rigid. "I tend to agree with him."
"What would you know of my heart?"
"I feel it is broken. I am—in tune, with such things."
"Then get out of tune with it!" She snapped. "My heart is not your concern!"
"You may not think so, but I am vested in you." Armand followed behind the woman and was shocked when the girl wielded the large blade against him. She slid the blade menacingly close to his throat.
"I never asked you here."
"You didn't need to. Your life thread is thin…"
"Then let it break! I would welcome the peace!"
"Your spirit is still strong within you. This I can see. This is not your time to die." Armand turned his mind against the girl and changed her blade into a hissing snake which coiled back and made to bite the one who wielded it. She quickly dropped the serpent and stepped away. "Why is it someone so young would care to die?" He asked. The woman glared at him. "What in your life could make you hate living so?"
She was silent some time before answering him. Finally, a resigned and defeated look came over her features.
"I'm tired. I'm tired of the pain and the suffering of being alone." The woman led Armand farther down the hill and away from the sea, though the tang of salt still hung heavy in the air. A woman sat playing in a field with a small child, flowers and ribbons adorning her long dark hair. Suddenly a band of primitive orcs, wargs, and men dressed in black came over the hill. The woman picked the child up and ran screaming. She did not make it far before she was cut down by one of the orcs.
"My mother." The girl beside him explained. "She died trying to protect my sister." The girl turned to face Armand. "I was hiding up yonder tree. I was angry because she paid greater mind to my sister than she did to me."
"And you witnessed your mother's death?"
"I see it every night in my dreams." The girl sighed. "I ran to the village for help when I found the will to move. You can imagine what I found."
The scene shifted abruptly and the woman and elf now stood in what had once been a village. A small child, smeared with ash and soot, sat amongst the skeletal ruins of the houses. Men rode into the village slowly, blades drawn cautiously as they surveyed the damage.
"Child…is everyone dead?"
"All save I." The voice was flat, yet surprisingly strong for one so young. She stared defiantly at the men on horseback.
"Niece?" One of the men moved forward, his features indistinct. The seer was slightly disturbed by the lack of facial distinction in the woman's memories. "Where is my sister, your mother?"
"Dead…up yonder hill….I could not move her."
The horses and riders faded away.
"He was different when he came back." The woman said. "I rode with him once, but by then he had fallen to darker powers." The scene shifted again to show a road choked with dead soldiers. "I found my cousins among the Dunedain in the North. I've ridden with them for years."
"There is much pain in your life. But how did you come to be in your present condition?"
The scene shifted again and Armand found himself standing beside the woman in a highland battlefield. Arrows and war cries of orcs filled the air around him.
"This is the last thing I remember." The seer felt pain in his head, back, chest and legs. It nearly brought him to his knees. "I know I was wounded, my horse came for me." She turned and saw the pinched look on his once placid features. "But I remember nothing after I climbed onto her back."
"You are a mighty warrior. It is part of you---you will indeed survive."
"I want to find peace." The woman sat down and the vision changed back to that of the silver sea. "I don't want to go on."
"It is not your time. It is not your decision to make." Armand said, "I sense in you that your time is yet to come." The woman looked up at him and shook her head.
"I've done all I can. It IS my time! I deserve that much!"
"Take my hand…allow me to bring you back." He extended his hand and waited for the woman to take it.
"Why? Why should I return to the land of the living?" Her dark eyes traveled over the elf and his fine flowing robes. "I know how badly I was wounded. I know the pain I was in. I know you've felt a little bit of it, I saw it in your eyes." Armand didn't move his gaze from hers. "I rather like it here….there is no pain."
"You cannot stay here." The seer said extending his hand further still. "You must come with me."
"No!" The woman stood suddenly and started to back away from the elf, but a shooting pain in her leg stopped her and brought her to her knees. "Stop it! Don't come near me!"
Another wave of pain tore through her as Armand towered over her, his silver eyes seemed to pulse with light.
"TAMPA!"
The seer toppled from the bedside and would have landed on the floor had Elrond not been there to catch him. The woman's eyes opened and she looked up at Elrond as he supported Armand.
"Creoso a'baramin, creoso Rivendell." Elrond said with a bow as he helped the seer from the room.
Re ohtar--- She is a warrior
"Lle quena I'lambe tel' Eldalie?"---- Do you Speak Elvish?
"Amin merna Quen…" ------I wish to speak….
"Tampa"---- Stop!
"Creoso a'baramin, creoso Rivendell. "----- welcome to my home, welcome to Rivendell,