This is a story that I got the idea for when I was reading The Hobbit again. I wanted to find out what happened to the Mirkwood elves (besides Legolas) and the Men of Dale during the Lord of the Rings books. So I went and looked it up, and this is the first part of the story I wrote. It is written using the facts and time-line that Tolkien gave in his LOTR histories.

I used the Celtic singer, Enya's song, Evening Falls, in the story.

I will post the story chapter by chapter as I write it. Please comment and criticize on it!!!

Chapter One



Nabiel's fingers ran lightly over the little silver and wooden harp. She loved the way the instrument sounded – pure and sweet. It seemed to blend into the sound of the stream running next to her side, and the birds seemed to join into the music.

She looked up into the trees and a smile lighted her face at the sight of the little birds that chirped and twittered above her head. A lock of hair as dark as a moonless night fell into her eyes, and setting the harp aside she brushed it back and stood up – her every movement graceful as a fawn's.

Nabiel whistled – not an ordinary whistle, but a beautiful sound that seemed to be an instrument of itself. The sound of hooves trotting lightly over the thick moss covered ground came from behind a grove of trees.

As it cleared the corner, the white horse seemed to float over the ground, its legs lifting in a smooth and gentle movement. Tossing its silver mane out of its eyes, it slowed to a walk and came to her side. Nabiel allowed one hand to gently caress the stallion's face and neck. Then she buried her face in the soft mane, her black hair a shape contrast to the silver of the horse's.

Murmuring soft words into his alert ear, she grasped a bunch of mane in one hand, while with the other, she used to guide herself onto the white stallion's back. Leaning low over his neck, Nabiel spoke softly to him, her words a music of themselves.

“Ah, Erulissë, o grace full one,” His neck turned, his dark eye looking up at her blue ones. “O beautiful one, let us run! Let us become one with the wind and fly like birds of the air!”

As if he heard and understood her word, he responded swiftly. Gathering himself, he threw out his forelegs and stretched himself out. The black haired elf-girl on his back laughed and he seemed to have captured her mood, for with a snort he leapt over a log that lay in their path.

For a long while, they ran like this – the girl and horse blending to become one, although there was no bridle or reins. Then a sort of castle came to view, but like no castle any ordinary man had laid eyes on.

Carved out of living rock, the forest seemed to have become on with it, and an uncaring eye might have missed it altogether. Vines with flowers and berries covered the walls, and trees grew alongside it. A stronger river than the one the girl had sat by, ran past it, and on its banks grew great trees and green ferns grew on the floor.

As Nabiel and Erulissë slowed at the other side of the river, suddenly a green moss-covered part of the castle wall broke away from and slowly a drawbridge of stone and strong vines lowered itself, 'til it lay at their feet. Gracefully Erulissë stepped on it and crossed, lifting his white legs high.

As she entered the castle walls, it did not seem that she had come out of a forest. Nabiel saw it as though for the first time, her eyes seeing the stone terrace with trees creating living arches and flower-covered vines climbing the stone steps to an open doorway and fanned out around it.

She slipped off the magnificent horse's back and looked around. The gate-master stood there looking at her, his brown eyes meeting hers evenly.

“Is my uncle, Thrandruil Elvenking, still speaking to my cousin?” Nabiel asked him, one white hand still lying on Erulissë's silvery mane.

The gate-master answered slowly in the beautiful elven language, his voice sounding rich and flowing as a river.

“Yes, Nabiel, Elvendaughter. He is still at council with his son and the Ranger from the North.”

Nabiel held back a sigh and turned to Erulissë. “Leave, o grace full one, but listen close for my next call as it may come soon.”

Erulissë gently laid his head on the shoulder of her green dress, his great brown eye looking at her face. It seemed almost as if he was reassuring her. Then he turned and once more trotted over the bridge and back into the forest.

Nabiel gazed after him, even as the gate-master started to pull the gate back into its place in the wall. He finished and turned, looking at her with calm brown eyes, similar to the eyes of the white horse.

“O Nabiel, what is it, that even you're laughter is stilled?” He asked, stepping closer to her.

Nabiel turned her eyes to him. “There is nothing to do but wait, Lathando. It is a feeling I have; a foreboding sense of something to come. There is nothing to do but wait.”

She walked slowly up the steps to the terrace, her heart pounding. Something wrong; terribly wrong.




Nabiel restlessly stood up and walked out of her stone room, decorated with living plants and flowers. She walked onto the balcony that jutted out over the courtyard. Down below she heard the laughter of a elf-child, like a steam. The frown on her forehead smoothed out and a smile graced her face.

She stood there, not moving. Finally she turned and ran back into the room. For a moment she stopped, uncertain of what to do. Then she clenched her hands at her side and walked swiftly out the room.

Nabiel's bare feet made no sound on the stone floors, and her flowing emerald green dress was silent. She kept walking, then paused outside of a shut door. Beyond it, she could hear the low sound of voices. She hesitated before it – hesitating to enter a shut room.

Suddenly the door seemed to pull open of its own accord. A tall man with wavy brown hair stepped out his head lowered in thought. He looked up – and his eyes widened and then he bowed low.
“At your service.” The words were spoken softly, but Nabiel sensed a certain power in his voice.

Behind the man, Nabiel saw her cousin and uncle, the elvenking, Thrandruil. Her cousin wasn't smiling, but his eyes held silent laughter. On her uncle's face, however, was a annoyed and slightly angry expression.

Nabiel bowed to Thrandruil. “I must speak to you, Thrandruil.”

Thrandruil waved his hand in an impatient gesture. “Not now, Nabiel. I was in council with Aragorn, Ranger of the North and I will be riding out with him shortly.”

The Ranger bowed low again and started to walk away, followed by Thrandruil and Legolas, her cousin. Reaching out one hand desperately she touched the elf-kings arm.

“Uncle, that is all the more reason I must speak to you!” At her uncle's stern look, she allowed her hand to slide off of him arm and dropped her eyes.

Nabiel looked up and saw that her cousin had waited until her uncle and the Ranger had left. His eyes still held a hint of mirth in their blue depths, but he laid his hand kindly on her shoulder.

“O Legolas! I need to talk to your father – or you! I have a terrible feeling horrible is going to happen!” Nabiel said appealingly. “Please, cousin. Talk to uncle for me!”

“I will,” he smiled down at her. “You should not worry so.” Then the smile left his face and he spoke again, slowly. “You are more right then you know, Nabiel. If you wish to speak to me, I will be in the cellar tomorrow night. I must go now.” He bowed, then turned and walked away.





Nabiel watched as Legolas walked down the corridor. For a moment her eyes had lighted at the mention of their old meeting place, the cellar, from which was a trap door that opened to the river. Now her heart was heavy again, filled with even more fear. Nabiel knew, deep inside that something was about to happen which would involve her.

On an impulse, she gathered her full skirts in one hand and ran lightly down the dimly lit hall. She ran out on the terrace, in time to see Legolas mount and ride out through the again opened drawbridge.

As she had said, there was nothing to do but wait.





The next day was spent restlessly as Nabiel roamed from room to room, until she escaped to the garden. She wandered for a long time, gathering flowers, and she felt a song forming inside of her. Going back into the house, she grasped a quill pen and red berry ink and for a while she's concentrated on writing. The she held the birch paper up and read the song aloud to herself.


When evening falls,
And the daylight is fading,
From within me calls,
Could it be I am sleeping?
For a moment I stray,
Then it holds me completely,
Close to home -- I cannot say,
Close to home feeling so far away.

As I walk the room there before me a shadow
From another world, where no other can follow
Carry me to my own, to where I can cross over
Close to home – I cannot say
Close to home feeling so far away.

Forever searching; never right
I am lost in oceans of night
Forever hoping I can find memories
Those memories I left behind

Even though I leave I will go on believing
That this time is real – am I lost in this feeling?
Like a child passing through
Never knowing the reason
I am home – I know the way
I am home – feeling oh, so far away.


She read it first softly, then sang it to the melody she written down. It was a wistful, distant sound, rising and falling like water over rocks. From behind she heard the sound of a harp, gently strummed in time to her song.

Lathando sat on a stone bench, partly hidden behind the hanging vines and plants. In his hands, he held a large oak-wood harp, which he had been playing.

“'Tis a beautiful song, Nabiel.” he spoke softly, and something in Nabiel was drawn to his quiet calm. “Sing it again, and I will play for you.”

Glad that he had asked, Nabiel sand the song over again, this time clearer and stronger. For those moments her heart found a peace that it had not known for several days. When she finished the last note, she walked over to him and handed him the piece of birch-bark, which she had written the words on.

“Keep it, if you like it. I know the words now.” she said softly.

Lathando took it and looked at it. “Thank you,” his brown eyes met her blue ones. “I would like to speak with you sometime.”

Nabiel smiled. “I would like to, too. Now I must go, for I promised to meet my cousin around this time.” With a graceful wave of her hand she turned and walked away, hurrying. As much as she felt drawn to Lathando, she knew she did not have time to linger if she wished to speak to Legolas.

She ran up the steps, and through the hall, 'til she reached another flight of steps that went down, past the cells, used to hold Thrandruil's prisoners, and on to the cellar. As Nabiel ran down the steps, barely making any sound in her bare feet, she reached the last step. These cells had long been empty. The last time they had held anything was several years ago, when treasure seeking dwarves had passed through Mirkwood.

Suddenly Nabiel stopped at the sound that reached her ears. It was a loud shriek that may have once been words, but had fallen to a terrifying mixture of snarling, whimpering and cursing.

At the end of the hall stood the Ranger, Aragorn, half in and half out of one of the open cells. Suddenly he slammed the stone door and looked at his hand.

“He bit you?” asked Legolas, who Nabiel had not seen standing in the shadows. “He has a violent temper.” He spoke in a dry tone, that was on the verge of laughter.

Aragorn looked up from his hand. “I would be the last to doubt your words,” he said, inclining his head toward Legolas, the same wry note in his voice. “This would be the third time he has bitten me since I caught him this afternoon.”

Nabiel walked away from the bottom of the steps and toward them. Aragorn heard her almost silent approach and turned and bowed to her.

“Legolas! What is that – creature? Why is he in the dungeon?” she asked, her eyes still wide from her fright.

“You should ask the Ranger that question and not I.”

Aragorn raised his head and looked at her. “He knows of something – something important to both Men and Elves – but I am not the one to ask him. Gandalf will know.”

Nabiel looked at him as he said these words, and felt she knew the name he spoke. “Gandalf?” she looked at Legolas. “Do I know him?”

The Ranger responded before Legolas could. “You have seen him before. To the Elves he is known as Mithrandir.”

Mithrandir... the Gray Pilgrim... the name brought back all the memories. A grey haired man, with a staff and the power of fire and lightning.

She smiled, shyly. “This gets deeper and deeper. Mithrandir – or Gandalf, comes when there is trouble.”

Legolas stepped forward. “You're heart knew the truth. The great Evil is stirring again in the West. There is talk that...” He paused, as if he could not stand to say the word. “...That Sauron has gone back to Mordor and he is searching for something – that something that the vile creature in that cell knows.”

Inside of Nabiel, a great dread filled her heart. Instead of terror, she felt a deep sorrow. She knew that Men and Elves would die alike and homes and land, forests and rivers, all living creatures would be turned to grey dust... if Sauron had truly come back into power.





There was not much to say after that, and Nabiel left them. She felt a weight on her heart, and tears raised to her eyes. The thought that something could be so evil that it would kill without reason, filled her with grief.

The weeks past by in a blur of time. Nabiel did not notice the passing of day or the darkness of night. She wandered about in the garden, trying to read, but she could not concentrate.

Thrandruil ordered that no one was to leave the castle walls without direct permission from him. It didn't matter to Nabiel – where she was made no difference. Inside or outside...she was trapped.





Three, then four weeks past and Nabiel still would talk but little, and she ate barely anything. She felt misery and horror and fear.

Now sitting in the garden and listening to the bird sing did not help; nor did reading or listening to other elves sing.

She felt caught – tangled in a web of fears and questions. She had to escape it. The order Thrandruil had given did not even pass through her mind. Running, Nabiel went to the gate. She wished to avoid company, but Nabiel had to escape the walls of the castle and be with Erulissë.

Sirewin, a young elf-boy, who took over for Lathando in the evening hours, stood near the gate and he looked up as she approached.

He did not speak as he lowered the gate for her, though he looked at her face, and Nabiel knew that he must have seen the desperation on her face. Walking as fast as she could, she kept herself from running until she was out of sight of the castle, then she started running as fast as she could. She ran until she had no more breath in her lungs and her heart pounded against her chest.

She slowed, and half-dropped, half-fell to to the ground. Eyes closed tightly to hold back the tears, she covered her face with her hands. So deeply was she in thought, that she did not even hear the sound of steps behind her, until a hand touched her shoulder.

A gasp escaped her clenched mouth, as she turned her tear-stained face up – to see a grey cloaked familiar shape behind her. A ridiculously tall hat on his head, a kind look on his weathered face, one hand holding a staff out of twisted wood.

“Do you know me?”

At that moment Nabiel felt a strange and sudden peace. And when she whispered her response, a smile had lit her face.

“Mithrandir!”




Btw, I haven't figures out a name for it, so I'll give it later, when I do.

_________________

Note to whoever read the above during the last 24 hours. I changed one of the scenes in the story above, so you may want to re-read it.

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Chapter Two


Shortly after Nabiel walked through the castle gate, Sirewin turned and ran for Lathando. He ran to the garden where Lathando sat playing his harp.

“Lathando!” He gasped. “She left the castle!”

Lathando stood up, setting his harp against the bench, concern written over his face and filling his eyes. Something had to be seriously wrong to make her disobey a direct order from the elf-king.

“When? Why?” He asked, a frown on his face. “King Thrandruil said that she was not to go out without him knowing!”

Sirewin caught his breath, then responded quickly. “I came to you as soon as she left. She looked...” he trailed off as Lathando started walking quickly to the gate.





Lathando lowered the gate as quickly as he could. Something was terribly wrong. Nabiel was usually so happy and fun-loving... and now she was so serious.

As he crossed the drawbridge, he broke into a run. If anything really was wrong, and anything happened to Nabiel, Thrandruil would never forgive him – he would never forgive himself. Ducking his head under a low branch, he paused for a moment, thinking were she would go. It would do no good to try and track her. Elves run lightly and leave no footprints, except on very soft ground.

The stream! She would go to the stream. Lathando straightened – and he saw Nabiel coming towards him with a man with a long grey beard and wooden staff. Her face didn't look frightened, she looked peaceful and calm.

The man looked at him and instantly, Lathando recognized him. Mithrandir! He had fought next to him in a battle – long ago, where Men, Elves and Dwarves fought side by side.

“Ah, Lathando, isn't it?” the old man said with a chuckle as he leaned on his staff. “It's been a while since I last saw you! A good man with a bow – although I rather prefer a sword. I hope you are in as good health as I left you in?”

Lathando's eyes widened and a surprised smile appeared on his face. There are few things that surprise an elf, but a wizard with a sense of humor is one of those rare things.

“Mithrandir,” he said with a bow. “It may be a long time, yet it seems as if no time has past from the time of our last meeting.”

Gandalf's bushy grey eyebrows soared high. “As you undoubted guessed, I have come to speak to Thrandruil and the Ranger, Aragorn. These Men! Constantly keeping me running around on various missions for them. I much prefer hobbits and elves.” He glanced around and breathed the air in deeply. “It has been a long time since I walked these forests in the company of elves. Now, however, there is serious business to attend to.”





When Gandalf had been safely seen to King Thrandruil and Aragorn, Nabiel to her room. She felt a great peace in her heart. Mithrandir had told her something that was not to be revealed for some time yet, and it had lifted the great weight off her heart, and she felt calmed and strong. She could wait now. She could face what was coming – and defeat it.





During the days that followed Gandalf's visit, the elves had their last autumn celebration and feast before winter came. The halls and courtyard of Thrandruil's castle were covered with red, yellow, purple and fading green leaves. This was the only time of the year that the elves wore bright colors, and now ever shade of an autumn forest was worn.

The night of the feast grew near, and Gandalf prepared to leave. He would stay until after the feast but no longer, and he seemed prepared to leave at any moment. The great halls were filled with elven people, who covered the table with an abundant autumn feast. The day of the celebration dawned, and the elves dresses in beautiful clothes.

Nabiel rose early and slipped into a amethyst gown with rose sleeves, that hung to the ground. As she started down the steps from her room, she was surprised by Thrandruil, who placed a small piece of jewelry in her hand.

“It was your mother's.” He said softly, in a manner unlike his usual stern expression. “She would want you to have it.”

Nabiel stared into his eyes for a moment, then looked down at the jewel in her hand. A delicate amethyst flower with emerald leaves, it hung on a silver chain. It was tiny as it was beautiful.

Thrandruil cleared his throat and handed her a silver belt, cut in the shapes of stars and moons. “This was made by the dwarvish kings under the mountain. It is little but I want you to have it.”

She stood there for a moment, sensing the love under the gift...then she flung herself into his arms with a laugh edged with tears.





Thrandruil left her alone, and she clasped the belt around her waist. For another moment she looked at the amethyst flower in her hand. Her mother had left so long ago. She smiled softly and put the silver chain about her throat and fastened it.

Nabiel stood at the top of the stairs, where she could see the hall without being seen. Gay flowers and deep green branches adorned the tables, and elves, Lathando among them, came with their harps to play and sing for the dancing before the banquet.

The night swept by in a colorful blur – every elf danced, sang, ate and laughed. Although Nabiel looked, Aragorn did not come, and several times, she saw Gandalf mysteriously vanish, then reappear among the revelers.

At last the night seemed to quiet slightly, and Nabiel, having enough, silently slipped away. She when the the arched, open stable under which some of the elves horses stood. Erulissë looked up from the corner where he stood, waiting for her.

“I came as soon as I could, Erulissë.” She smiled as she played lightly with his mane. “The Wood-Elves were merry tonight.” Nabiel's fingers gently worked the tangles from the silver forelock as she spoke. “I am certain that the Ranger and Mithrandir are planning something.”

“And indeed they are. However, I am involved with the 'planning'.”

Nabiel whirled to face her smiling cousin.

“Legolas!”

His teasing smile widened at her surprise. With one hand, he reached and removed his arrow scabbard from his shoulders.

Nabiel arched her eyebrows. “What were you doing with that?”

Legolas' brown eyes sobered, as he laid a hand on her shoulder and looked down at her. “I want to be ready for whatever these times bring.”

“Legolas, I've been meaning to ask you. I want you to teach me how to shoot a bow.” Nabiel said, serious in her turn.

His teasing look returned as he examined an arrow. “When did this fancy strike you?”

Nabiel responded defensively. “I wouldn't be the first elf-woman who could shoot a bow, or wield a sword, or handle a knife skillfully. There have been many before me – my mother...” Her voice trailed off and her eyes lowered.

Legolas tilted his head as he looked at her, a frown on his forehead. “Nabiel, I did not mean... I did not mean to hurt you.”

“You haven't,” Nabiel said, without looking up. “It is not your fault. The grief is still so near.”

He tried again. “I would gladly to teach you to shoot. You already can handle a knife, but you may have to go to the Ranger, Aragorn, to learn to wield a sword.” His hand strayed to touch Erulissë's neck as he spoke. “That is not my skill, and I have never seen anyone handle a sword as he handles his.”

Nabiel look at Legolas again. “I wish to learn in the elvish way, but I want to learn to shoot first. Would you start teaching me tomorrow?”

“Whenever you like, cousin. I shall get permission from the king to leave the castle tomorrow.” He replaced the scabbard with care. “I shall come for you. Will you be ready?”

“I will.”





The next day Nabiel was waiting impatiently long before Legolas appeared. When he did, he held in his hands his treasured bow, which he had made with his own hands. Covered with intricate carvings and elvish runes, the pale golden-brown wood gleamed.

Together they walked out of the castle walls and toward an open glade, where the elves danced in spring twilights. Clear and surrounded by trees, it was a well-chosen place for archery.

Legolas pulled the bow off his shoulder and then looked down at Nabiel. “Shall I show you first?”

When Nabiel nodded him forward, and Legolas reached over his shoulder to pull an arrow from the carved scabbard. For the first time, Nabiel saw that it had carving on it, and words written in High Elvish.

Legolas raised the bow and fitted the arrow into the slot made for it, slowly, so Nabiel could follow the movements. Then he pointed at a stump about a hundred yards from were he stood. Then he released the arrow and it flew home, hitting the stump square in the center.

Nabiel's eyes lighted and her lips curved in a smile. “Can you teach me that?”

Legolas look at her. “A better way to put it – can you learn that?” He walked away and retrieved the arrow.

By the time he had returned, Nabiel's eyes were half-closed and her mouth was pursed. She didn't say a word as she took the bow and strung an arrow. Closing one eye, she looked straight down the arrow. Finally she drew back the bowstring and send the arrow to the stump.

Running side by side, Nabiel reached the stump a step ahead of Legolas, the stopped and stared at the stump. Slowly, Legolas walked up – and pulled the arrow out of the hole he had just made in the old wood.

When Legolas looked back at her, the only thing he said was, “You'll learn.”




For the next weeks, as the autumn slipped to winter, Nabiel went with Legolas to the clearing in the forest and Nabiel learned to shoot the bow, 'til she could hit almost any target.

Then one day when she went to meet Legolas at the gate, they did not go to the glade. He took her to a thicket of young saplings and turned to her.

“I've taught you all I can with my bow. Now you must make your own bow and practice with it until it becomes a third arm to you. You must know your bow like a close friend – knowing it's curve, the strength of the string, the levelness of the arrow-guide. Then you will truly be a archer Mirkwood can be proud of.”

So with Legolas' help, she selected a slender, green sapling, stripped the brown bark from it, and scraped the white wood, until it was smooth and clean, without knots or splinters or twists, as Legolas demanded. Then she gathered the long, tough grass that grew on the shore of the stream, and together with strands of hair from Erulissë's tail, she braided it into a tight, long string. Carefully, she fitted the string over either end of the bow.

With Legolas' guidance, she traced the images of flying birds – eagles, hawks and falcons – into the bows wood.

Finally, Nabiel chose a thick young tree, which she roughly shaped and hollowed out. Then she smoothed it with her knife, and attached a shoulder harness to it. This was her arrow quiver.

When Nabiel looked at the bow, arrows and quiver, that she had made, Nabiel knew it was perfect – except for one thing. With her sharp knife, she carefully carved these words in elven runes into the white-wood quiver.

May strong hands guide this bow,
May good intent always be the aim,
May a kind deed send the arrow home,
May this bow prove true to me.




Nabiel woke one morning, she knew winter had come. The air was cold and there was no sun peering through the trees tops. The last of the leaves had fallen, but thick ever green trees still grew and lent color to the forest. A light rain fell slowly to the grey, leaf covered ground.

It is the winter when the elves busy themselves with writing songs and poems; sewing delicately embroidered clothing and ropes; carving tools and weapons; and practicing with bows and swords. There is no elf that does not know how to handle a knife, sword or bow. Even the elf-children learn young.

Nabiel went to seek out Legolas in the archery glade, where he was more and more now, practicing with his bow, 'til he could draw an arrow and fit it as quickly as a Nabiel could blink an eye. Now he was standing there as usual. Nabiel walked quietly up, unobserved.

“Legolas?”

Although Legolas did not turn to face her, but continued aiming his arrow, Nabiel could see that she had surprised him.

She started again. “Legolas,” she said to the back of his cloak. “You have taught me how to shoot a bow, and now I want to learn sword-fighting.”

He did not answer, but annoyingly adjusted his arrow.

“Legolas!” she said quickly. “I want an answer!”

Her cousin did not look at her as he muttered an answer. “Your next lesson should be in patience.”

He drew back the string, and released the arrow. Before it got twenty feet, it fell to the ground, as Nabiel's arrow struck it in the side. Now Legolas turned to face her.

“I said, I want to learn sword-fighting.” she said, slinging her bow back over her shoulder, and pulling her green cloak tighter.

Legolas sighed. “I said, I am not skilled with a sword.” He started walking to retrieve his arrow and Nabiel fell in step with him. “Lathando. Lathando can teach you.”

“Lathando?” Nabiel repeated, surprised. Some how she had never pictured the quiet, calm gate-master wielding a sword – or fighting at all. “He can fight – with a sword?”

Legolas reached down to pick up his arrow and examine it. “Yes. If you had listened to Mithrandir, you would know that they fought side by side in a battle, on the edges of Misty Mountains. He is very good.”

He started to walk back to where he had been standing, but Nabiel ran in front of him.

“What's wrong, Legolas? Is it something I have done?” she asked, laying a hand on his arm. “Have I annoyed you with my questions?”

Legolas sighed and avoided her eyes. “I did not want to tell you,” he looked down into her eyes, and Nabiel could see they were sorrowful and distant. “There is trouble stirring. Deep in my heart, I knew, but now I know.” He looked away and watched a falcon's flight above the clearing.


“There are clouds about a fallen sun,
The Evil that opens its burning Eye,
The weak lay hand on what the strong has done,
'Til that be tumbled that was lifted high.”


He spoke the words so quietly, they almost couldn't be heard. Nabiel recognized the old rune from the Second Age when Sauron had walked Middle-earth. The words brought back the old dread, like a tightening about her throat. Unconsciously her hand touched her neck and she felt the little amethyst flower. The though of her mother made her clench her jaw and tighten her fists and push away the fearful thoughts.

Her cousin spoke again. “The evil in Misty Mountain is stirring again, and the lands of Men are already over-run with a rising force. The Men of Dale have made their walls strong and their swords sharp. The thought of war is ever on their minds.”

He stopped again and looked back down at her. “Yes, Lathando can teach you. I will ask him tonight.” As Nabiel started to turn and walk away, Legolas called after her to wait. “He can teach you within the castle walls. It would be best if you did not leave again without others.”

The silent warning in his eyes was enough to keep Nabiel from protesting. Simply nodding her dark head, she turned and walked on, Legolas by her side.





Later that afternoon, Lathando came to her inside the open stables. It was empty as usual, as the horses were outside of the castle eating what remained of the tough green grasses. He wore a sword belt, with a sword in it, and in his hands, he carried a second.

“Lathando!” she greeted him. “Legolas told me that you would teach me to handle an elven sword. I would not like to bother you...”

He smiled. “It is no bother. I would be glad of something to do to while away the winter days. I have little enough to do with so few going in or out of the castle.”

She smiled in return and held out her hands as he extended the sword to her. It was surprisingly light and easy to maneuver. Smaller than a Man's sword, in was only about two and a half feet, straight and narrow. It gleamed with a soft silver light and the hilt and blade were made all of one piece of metal.

“You will have to make your own when you learn, but for now you will learn with my second sword.” Lathando said, as he removed the sword belt from his waist. “You will have to use my sheath and belt as well.”

Nabiel took the belt and fumbled, trying to put it around her waist without catching her cloak or bow. Lathando leaned forward and silently helped her attach both ends. His brown, wavy hair fell forwards and he shoved it back with one hand.

Then he showed Nabiel how to position her feet and then he stood off a way, telling her just to swing at the air. Nabiel felt foolish as she slashed at the empty air, and all her long black hair flew in her face. Lathando walked back to her side and picked up his sword, which he had laid aside.

“Do not hold the sword so far from your body; bring it in and hold your arm cocked – like this,” he held his sword hand a half foot from the direct center of his chest. “You must be ready to swing it, not hold it out already swung.”

Nabiel handed him the other sword. “Show me for a moment – with both swords.” She knew that he fought double sworded, like all Mirkwood elves.

Lathando took the sword and held one just off from his body, and the other he set at an angle down his legs. Then in one swift move, he threw one arm out and forwards, while at the same time, the second sword followed his first and flew where his opponents legs would be. A second later, his swords had returned to the first position, as if they hadn't moved at all.

Nabiel watched with appreciation. She knew she was watching a truly expert swordsman. When Lathando handed her the sword again, she shook her head.

“This time, you show me how to fight.” She smiled shyly. “You showed me I can not fight by myself, so you must teach me in return.”

Lathando's smile matched hers, and he stepped away and slowly raised his sword arm to the half-cocked position and then he swung slowly at her, telling her what he was doing and what she should do.

When two hours later, they finally stepped back for the last time, Nabiel was hot and tired. Her arm ached and her hair stuck to her wet face.

Lathando shook his head when she offered him the sword. “No, you must keep practicing. Work on drawing and guarding,” he said handing her the second sword as well. “Practice holding and guarding with both swords all the time. Will you be here tomorrow?” He asked.

Nabiel nodded wearily and sheathing both swords, started to turn away.

“And Nabiel?”

When she turned back to face him, she saw a teasing smile, much like her cousin's.

“Next time, tie back your hair.”


_________________

Chapter Three


Every moment Nabiel could spare, she worked with the swords, sometimes with Lathando's help and sometime alone. Nabiel was constantly amazed when she worked with Lathando. She had thought that she had known him, but she had really not even known a fourth of his past and personality. She came to enjoy his company, and looked forward to their conversations.

One afternoon as the sun was streaming its last golden rays into the courtyard, and the colder air of night was coming, Nabiel hurried to meet Lathando inside the stable. She had managed the art of walking without tripping over the double swords, which always seemed to be in front of her feet when she took a forward step.

Lathando was standing there as usual, waiting for her. In his arms he carried a small shield in a diamond shape.

“You have learned much with the swords now, but double swords are good only in open battle.” As he spoke, he strapped the shield unto his arm. “In a tight space, or forest, you will need to know how to use a shield. This one was made for narrow passages and its shape adds to the its strength.”

Nabiel drew one of the swords and handed it to Lathando, drawing her own sword at the same time. Lathando held the shield-arm in front of his body, while his sword came out to side of it.

“Now, when I say so, strike for my chest – and do not fear of hitting me. I do not think you are that good yet.” He grinned at her, as the familiar tightening of her jaw. Before she could retort, he suddenly yelled, “Now!”

Nabiel swung, but easily, so when Lathando covered his chest, she did not strike either sword or shield. Rather, she feinted and in one smooth motion she drew back the sword and when Lathando's sword fell, Nabiel jabbed forwards.

But Lathando was too good of a swordsman to be caught off guard. His shield was there to meet the sword, and his sword hit hers before she could withdraw it. She stepped back quickly, and was grateful that her long hair was tied out of her way. Recovering, Nabiel met his sword, and then with the flat of her sword, she struck the side of his arm. Lathando stepped aside with the dexterity of a dancer and before she could reach the opening in his chest, her sword struck the shield.

“Good!” He said. “You're learning quickly!” His sword slashed forward again, and hit hers.

Grim faced, Nabiel twisted his sword over. “I've been using these swords!” she flung back at his grin. “And –” she met his sword again. “I'm going to give you a fight worth singing of!”

Lathando didn't loose his teasing look as she matched his blade, blow for blow. The sound of steel against steel rang out in the usually quiet courtyard.

“You should braid your hair tighter!” Lathando said as Nabiel started backing him out of the stable.

Nabiel's face flushed and this time she stepped close and struck for the hilt of his sword as hard as she could.

For a moment, Lathando's grip loosened on the sword and almost dropped it. Stepped backwards quickly he recovered his hold and guarded with his shield. Nabiel took advantage of his retreat to drive him farther out of the stable.

Lathando held off her blows with the shield, and then feinted at her and as she stepped back, he moved forward. He moved to quickly, and Nabiel hit his sword on the hilt and before he could recover his grip, she hit the other side of the sword and twisted.

Her face mirrored Lathando's surprise as the sword fell from his grasp and clattered on the ground. He laughed at her astounded expression, and Nabiel waved her sword threateningly.

“You'd bettered stop while you can, Lathando. I can see that the fair elvenmaid has the upper hand.”

Legolas' voice carried amusement as he crossed the courtyard and picked up Lathando's fallen sword. He returned the sword to Lathando with a wry smile. “Seems to me, you've been teaching her very well.”

“Too well, I fear,” responded Lathando, as he handed the sword to Nabiel, who in turn, sheathed it. “I did not teach her that last trick. If I do not have care, she will soon be teaching me!”

Legolas laughed. “I have no doubt that she will be able to fight – no, to win any battle soon,” he said with good humor.

Nabiel, watching the two elves, noticed for the first time how much they looked alike. Not in hair or clothing, but something in their faces was the same. She broke out of her reverie with a start.

“Are you going to finish your lesson in shield-handling, or should I assume that you are finished?” she asked, with mock impatience.

Lathando looked at the sky through the thick trees. The sun was gone and the sky was covered with thick clouds. He looked back at Nabiel.

“I think we'd bettered stop. It's going to snow, and I will be busy all tomorrow if it does.”

Nabiel reached out her hands for the shield, which Lathando handed her.

“I'll practice with the shield alone then,” she said, as she grasped it firmly in her arms as she turned to Legolas. “Why are you here?”

“I'm going to let the horses in,” he answered falling in step with her and Lathando as they walked over to the gate. “I thought you might like to help.”

Nabiel smiled appreciatively at her cousin. He knew how much she loved the horses and she wouldn't want to miss a chance to see them – especially Erulissë. When she answered, it was only two words. “Thanks, cousin.”





And so the days past, and turned to weeks, then months. A definite friendship grew between Nabiel, Legolas and Lathando. Nabiel soon was a master with any sword, bow or knife, and with Lathando's help, she had made her own two swords.

The spring came in full glory – crisp, pale green leaves opened all over the Mirkwood forest, and the wildflowers blossomed in a whirl of brilliant colors. The young creatures of the forest were born and the sun came back with a true warmth.

One clear day in the mid June, Nabiel got her bow and arrows and left the castle walls with a band of elves, who were taking the horses out and turning them loose in the forest to graze. This was a rare chance to escape the castle walls, as Thrandruil had re-enforced the rule that no elf was to leave without his permission – which he rarely gave.

As they rode, some of the elves and Nabiel joined them in their merry songs and the great Forest echoed with their music.


The Forest turns green – spring has come!
The elven folk ride forth from the castle wall,
The animals run in the green grass and trees,
And all will be merry 'til summer turns to fall!

O be happy with me as the horses run!
O be happy as the grass turns green,
O be happy as the leaves burst in spring,
O be happy for all the joys I've seen!

The Sun gives warmth and the Moon, its light,
The streams break forth from their icy cells,
And plunge joyfully through Mirkwood Forest,
And birds sing spring-songs in all the dells!

O be happy with me as the horses run!
O be happy as the grass turns green,
O be happy as the leaves burst in spring,
O be happy for all the joys I've seen!


The only instrument to accent their song was the clear laughter they broke out in – out of the pure joy of living.

As the horses started to wander off, and the elves sang more songs, Nabiel saw her chance for a moment alone Erulissë, before he left. Slipping off to one side, she edged silently through the trees, Erulissë a white shadow behind her.

When Nabiel had wandered far enough away that she could barely hear the elves anymore, she stopped and dropped to the ground. Erulissë stood over her, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder.

Nabiel smiled and closed her eyes. She had hardly left the castle all winter, and when she did, it was always with someone.

“You understand, don't you, Erulissë? You are as tired as I am of grey walls.”

Erulissë nodded his head up and down at her words, and snorted softly through his nostrils. How long it was that they stood there together – enjoying each others company – Nabiel did not know. When she finally stood up with a reluctant sigh, Nabiel suddenly realized that it had been a long time since she had heard the elf-song.

As she walked back to where she had left the company, an increasing dread filled her. When she reached the place, there were neither elves, nor horses. Nabiel looked at the sun – it had lowered in the sky, and already a dark light was starting to fill the forest, filling her with foreboding.

Hurriedly she started walking in the direction of the castle, her heart pounded against her chest. Although she walked silently, it seemed to her that every step thundered the ground.

When she heard the sound behind her, it was almost to late to turn around – and when Nabiel did, there was nothing behind her. Suddenly, she sighed in relief. Erulissë had been more interested in following her than eating grass. Grateful to see him, Nabiel stroked his neck.

The sun had sunken even lower and Nabiel knew that if she was to reach the castle before dark, she must ride. Placing her hand on his neck, she threw herself forward and onto his back. The instant she settled on his back, Erulissë seemed to know that she wanted him to run.

As they rode, Nabiel tried to tell herself that her fears were unnecessary. She would have more trouble explaining to the king why she had wandered away from the other elves. But try as she would, the dread filled her 'til it lay like a cold blanket on her heart.

They neared the castle, and Nabiel leaned back, and whispered for Erulissë to stop. The second the hoofbeats stopped, they stood like a great statue of a dark haired girl on the back of a mighty white stallion. In those short seconds, all of Nabiel's fears centered.

The thunder she had heard was not the sound of Erulissë's hooves on the soft forest floor – no it was the sound of hundreds of heavy feet walking. For another second as they stood their, a sound that stopped Nabiel's heart filled her ears.

The sound of drums being beaten was no elven music. And the sound of animal shrieks and shouts, was not made by any elf – but the sounds came from the direction of Thrandruil's castle.

Nabiel had heard these sounds before – in a battle where Elves, Men, Dwarves and woodland creatures had fought side by side against the – the Evil in Misty Mountains.

Leaning low over Erulissë's neck, Nabiel touched her heels to his sides, and like a silver arrow, they flew through the evening darkness. As they galloped, Nabiel suddenly knew that she must be ready. Whipping the bow from her back, she set an arrow to the string.





When the elves returned from the turning the horses loose, as Lathando let them in through the gate, he noticed that Nabiel was not among them. When he was indeed certain that she had not returned, Lathando went to find Legolas, who was making new arrows.

"Legolas!” he said, as he ran to the empty stable, were Legolas sat. The second the tall elf saw Lathando run to him, Legolas had known that something was wrong.

Gasping to regain his breath, Lathando spoke as quickly as he could.

"It's Nabiel. She did not return with the other elves,” he said breathlessly. “I fear some evil has befallen her.”

Legolas placed the finished arrow in his scabbard and picked up his bow, slinging it onto his back.

"Are you certain that she is not somewhere in the castle?”

When Lathando's look had answered him, Legolas walked swiftly to the gate. With obvious intent, he reached for the rope to let down the gate.

"I'm going to look for her. She probably stayed behind to bid Erulissë farewell.”

Lathando nodded and reached to help Legolas lower the gate, but the moment the bridge touched the opposite side of Forest River, a elf stumbled across. Wearing the green and brown tunic and leggings of a scout, he almost fell as he reached the two elves.

Legolas caught him and together with Lathando, carried him over the the grass in the courtyard. The elf-scout had a cut across his forehead, and his clothes were torn and dirty. For a moment, it seemed he couldn't talk, then he swallowed, and opened his eyes.

"They are coming.”

Legolas cradled the elf's head in his arms and looked into the green eyes, the only sign of life left. The scout tried again.

"You have to prepare – they are coming.”

He slumped back in Legolas' arms and his eyes slowly closed. Lathando looked at Legolas, and not a flicker of doubt passed between the two elves.

"The orcs from Misty Mountains. They were sent.”

The words were spoken calmly, and Legolas nodded slowly. He moved the elf's head gently to Lathando's arms, and stood up.

"Care for him,” he said, a strange power in his voice. “I must tell the King.”

What happened after that, Lathando was never certain of. There were no shouts of fear or anger. The elves just suddenly filled the courtyard, bows in their hands, and arrows in their quivers. Some had swords and some had the white knifes. They came silently and swiftly.

Lathando picked up the elf and carried him to the room were he stayed, and left him in the care of a young elf-maiden. He paused only to pick up his sword belt and strap it about his waist, before going down to the courtyard.

The gate was drawn up and strengthened with strong timbers. Before long, the sound of marching feet could be heard – tearing through the fresh spring plants and killing anything that lay in their path.

The sun was now setting and it send brilliant rays down over the castle. The sky above the castle had turned red and orange and the forest creatures made no sound.

As the marching feet neared, a hideous drumming started – an unearthly sound, signaling their approach. They were not trying to hide their coming. They must be coming in great numbers – prepared for battle.

When they came into view, the horrible creatures – clothed in black armor and carrying all manner of weapon. Orcs and stone trolls made up the most – and there were many – at least five hundred, which stayed just out of range of the Mirkwood archers.

Lathando had climbed to the wall, where Legolas and the other archers stood. The army of orcs and other evils stood still for a moment – no one uttering a sound. Then with a grunting shout, the apparent leader of them, waved his great deformed arm and the entire horde started their war cry. With one movement, they all flung themselves forward to the castle walls.

The archer released their arrows, and for each arrow, an orc fell. But it was hardly noticed among the charging mass. Moving quickly, they forded the river and stood before the walls, hitting the gate with their war weapons. The gate held, but while they stood under the stone arch, the enemy could not be reached by the arrows of the elves.

Several elves fell wounded as the arrows from the orcs flew up and hit the archers standing on the wall. Soon, there were only a few standing there – Legolas and Lathando among them. Legolas looked at Lathando, his face glowing red from the sun's last rays.

"We need to get them out from under the arch!”

Lathando's brown eyes grew hard. “I'll get them out!”

Running down stairs from the top of the wall, Lathando grouped as many of the elves, who fought with swords as he could. Within seconds they all stood on top of the wall.

Under them, two cave-trolls labored on the gate. With each re-enforced shove, they weakened the old gate's mighty hinges.

Suddenly it seemed as if time stood still as a rider of a white horse appeared at the back of the orc-army. The horse reared high against the setting sun, the light streaming around its white body, turning it to red.

The black army turned to face it – the troops snarling and growling at this new menace. Before they could realized that this was only one rider, armed with nothing but a bow, the horse plunged into their midst.

It was in that moment that Lathando realized that the rider was Nabiel. With a roar of pure fury, he drew both of his swords and with the twenty elves, he jumped down amongst the orcs – a hopeless move against so many.






Shooting arrows as fast as she could string them, Nabiel clung to the raging silver stallion with her legs. One of the orcs swords reached up and slashed through her dress sleeve and deep into her arm.

Nabiel barely felt the pain, through the fury that raced through her. Suddenly, the orcs parted, and she saw―with a sharp intake of breath―Erulissë was heading straight into a huge orc with a pike ready to spear her as she passed.

Slowly, taking careful aim, she drew back her last arrow – and released it straight into the monster's great chest. In its last death throws, the hideous creature swung its lance wildly. The cruel metal point crashed into her head―pain exploded with white flashes of agony...then everything became nothing...




_________________

Chapter Four



When Lathando leapt from the high stone wall down on the backs of the orcs, with his handful of swords elves, they knew it was a hopeless effort. It would move the trolls away from the gate long enough for Legolas' men to shoot them, and then they would be almost certainly killed – unless they could reach the tiny secret back entrance into the castle walls.

Lathando landed on his feet and instantly began fighting for his very life. One of the trolls turned on them, while the other continued slamming against the gate. In minutes, the troll fell to the ground, mortally wounded. With a mighty roar, the other troll turned away from the gate, and Lathando found himself facing the biggest living creature he had ever faced with only two elves by his side.
The blows exchanged were short and fast and when the opponents drew apart, Lathando was standing alone. For a moment raw fear washed away the anger and he turned and looked across the hundreds of orcs.

The sound of the troll's footsteps thundered in his ears. His eyes searched for something familiar – past all the horrors of battle. His hunting eyes filled with anguished fear and unbelief as he saw the green-clad rider flung from the back of her white horse. The fear left him as he saw her limp body fall to the ground and roll off to the side. A cold fury filled him as he turned to face the monstrous troll – his sword drawn and flashing in his hands.

Lathando was strengthened by the anger that flooded through him. Lifes would be lost, land would be ravaged, homes would be taken – and he would die defending it – rather than give up.

He struck again and again, but the troll scarcely seemed to notice the mighty blows. It's anger grew and it turned and with one huge deformed hand he caught up Lathando – and in that agonizing second Lathando saw the creature face to face. With one last move, he plunged his sword into the monster's great red eye.

Raging in pain, the troll threw the elf – threw his as hard as he could – into the mass of fighting orcs.

All the fear and anger left Lathando and only cold sorrow was left in its place. Time seemed to slow as he felt himself flung threw the air and over the heads of the fighting, shouting orcs – and then it all crashed to a stop as he hit the ground.

And he lay there, wondering when death would find him, when he would no longer feel the pain that rushed through his body. The sounds of battle seemed to have died away and the only thing left was the light of a thousand red torches – burning on and on – and spreading their light on him.

He opened his eyes for his last look on the tortured forest – and his tired eyes saw a crumpled green-clad body laying only a few feet from him.






Legolas stood aghast as he saw the last fight between Lathando and the troll. The sight of the hopeless bravery in the elf's eyes as he stuck the troll in the face with his sword – the lifeless body, that had once been so strong, flung through the air – the knowledge that this was only the beginning – he could only stand there. He could not stand to see this waste of life over and over.

He stared at the place were Lathando had fallen and he was unashamed of the tear that slid down the side of his face – a tear for a life wasted. But now was not the time for sorrow – it was the time to fight for all who lived.





Pain – white hot pain filled Nabiel's head. It was all she could do to keep from crying out past her clenched jaw. She did not open her eyes as she lay there, trying to still the pain in her head. Her fingers opened and closed – clenching tightly into fists. Slowly, every move adding to her agony, she opened her eyes and stared out off them. Her back was to the sounds of battle behind and her eyes stared into the forest – which only hours before had been filled with happy elven songs. Carefully she moved her legs and sat up, a moan escaping her, at the pain pounding in her skull.

Slowly, as if drawn to it, she turned to face the battle. Her eyes widened at the body laying a few feet from her. It was an elf – his eyes shut, his mouth clenched, his sword still loosely in his grip. She stared at the body – not wanting to see it – but she couldn't draw her eyes away.

Suddenly the eyes flickered and opened and her blue eyes looked back at brown. A muffled gasp burst from her.

“Lathando, Lathando, what have they done to you?”

The brown eyes slowly shut as if opening them was a effort too hard.

“You need to find the secret gate... it is the only way in,” he said, slowly, with much effort. “You must get help.”

Nabiel moved closer to him, the pain in her head forgotten. “Secret gate?”

“It's only used... in times of... war,” he forced his eyes open. “In the back... through the rock... you have to do it.”

“I will.” Nabiel said. “I can not leave you here. You will be killed!”

Lathando opened his eyes again.

“You must. It is the only way.”

Nabiel nodded and stood up and ducked under the low tree branches, to walk into the forest. Her steps were quickened by the fear that roared through her body.





Tears had filled Nabiel's eyes at Lathando's pain, but she angrily brushed them away, as she hurried through the forest, around to the back of the castle. The castle had been build in the side of a mountain, and Nabiel had always thought that it was solid. She had no idea how to get into a secret opening – but she would find a way.

She reached the steep side of the mountain, and started walking slowly around the base. As she passed a small bunch of rocks, it seemed to her that a shadow moved. When Nabiel started to walk on a hand gripped her arms – pinning them – and another hand covered her mouth in a suffocating grip.

Fear added strength to Nabiel's legs and arms as she kicked wildly at her attacker's legs. But the grip did not loosen, and Nabiel felt herself being drawn into the shadows. Hopelessly she opened her mouth and bit down hard on the hand that held her.

With a muffled grunt of surprise, the hand loosened, and was placed firmly on her shoulder and turned her around. Their gasps echoed each other and the hand released her shoulder.

Nabiel found herself looking in the face of one the elven sword warriors, who had escaped and made for the secret back door.

“Cildron!” Nabiel exclaimed, recognizing the elf. “Lathando! He's been hurt – badly – and he needs help.”

A frown appeared on the elf's face. “Where is he?”

“Down on the edge of the forest.”

Cildron's eyes widened in disbelief. “That is right on the side of the battle! He could not possibly be brought back the castle secretly!”

Nabiel's eyes hardened like cold steel. “If you won't, then I will – if I have to carry him myself!”

The look on her face must have convinced the elf, for he turned to the other elf standing in the shadows and told him. Then he turned back to Nabiel.

“Go into the castle now. We will be back with Lathando in a short time, so be ready to let us in.”




Nabiel ran in through the small door, hidden by large and small rocks. Through the narrow passage she ran, soundlessly, her heart in her mouth. At the end of the tunnel she saw a small door, which she shoved against. Slowly, eerily, it grated open. For a moment she stared about the dimly light room, then recognized it as the cellar, beyond the dungeons.

In the dimly lit corner of the room, by the trapdoor that opened into the Forest River, Nabiel saw something move, slyly and cautiously. She reached into her belt and drew out the white knife that she always kept there. With a shrill muffled cursing, the figure yanked open the trapdoor and dropped into the water.

Nabiel stood there – her head aching again. She knew the creature was Gollum, but she had not the strength to try to capture him.

For the first time, she realized that her arm was badly cut. The lance – she remembered it now. The cut was long, but not too deep and the blood had been stopped by her thick sleeves.

Only one thought was in her aching head – she had to find Legolas and tell him – now. Slowly Nabiel walked past the cells, then as the cold air cleared her head, she walked faster up the stairs and through the castle. As she stepped out on the stone terrace, she could see the wall, and the silhouettes of many elves standing there, bows in hand.

As she headed to the base of the wall, one of the elves jumped down, and landed a little ways from her. Relief flooded her as she recognized Legolas.

“Legolas! O Legolas!” she said falling towards him.

Reaching out his hands, he steadied her, and Nabiel could see he was greatly weary.

“Little cousin,” he said gently, trying to calm her.

Nabiel held back her tears of relief as she answered as steadily as she could.

“Lathando – he's hurt. He needs your help – and Legolas...” She trailed off miserably. “Gollum escaped from the dungeon, and I was too slow to stop him,” she said bitterly.

“Tis not your fault, Nabiel,” He looked at closer at her. “You're hurt!”

Nabiel pulled her arm out of his grasp firmly. “Lathando is hurt worse than me. Go to him, and I can care for myself.”

Reluctantly, he released her hand and turning, ran up the terrace. Nabiel stood there for a moment, to sick to move. Slowly, she slumped against the wall behind her.

There was no hope. There were too many and no one would ever know what happened to the Wood Elves until it was too late. It would be better to die fighting, than to die laying wounded and ill.

She straightened and walked up to her room, determination in her every step. She knew what she had to do. It had to be done and there was no one else to do it.





Nabiel did not go directly to her room. She turned down the corridor and went to Legolas'. Hurried, she looked 'til she found some brown leggings and a green tunic and one of his running shoes. Light and strong, they would protect her feet from rocks and briars.

Then Nabiel went to her own room and tore off her dirty green dress and wrapped her cut arm in a piece of clean cloth. Swiftly, she pulled on the leggings and the tunic. Grabbing a strip of green fabric, Nabiel tied her hair back in a tight braid, then, reaching for her own long green cloak, she fastened it around her neck.

Then Nabiel grasped her sword belt and strapped it about her waist, and stuck her dagger into the belt. For a second she looked around for her bow and quiver and then she remembered. She had dropped it when she had been flung from the back of her horse. It probably still lay where she had fallen.

Nabiel picked up Legolas' shoes and walked quietly down the hall to Lathando's room. Waiting outside of the open doorway, she stood silent, until she was certain that he was alone.

Softly she entered the room. Lathando lay silently on the bed, his eyes closed, and for a moment Nabiel thought he was sleeping. Then, without opening his eyes, he spoke softly.

“You should be resting, Nabiel.”

She crossed quickly across the room, and knelt next to the bed. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at her. His eyes widened as he saw her costume. Raising himself up on one arm, he stared at her.

“What are you doing?”

“That's what I came to tell you – I'm going to get help.” She held up a hand. “We can not win this battle alone. There are to many against us and we were not prepared for an attack.”

“Then let some one else go! You, a maid, should not go when men dare not leave!”

Nabiel smiled at him as she answered. “That is just why I must go. Don't you see, the elves must stay to fight, but I would not be allowed to fight. And I know all the land around here,” she said urgently. “I must go.”

Lathando looked deep into her eyes.

“You don't have to go unless you want to,” he responded, laying a hand gently on her arm.

Nabiel looked back at him, holding back tears again. “I don't want to. I didn't want any of this to happen. But it all has happened, and now I must help fight against it. And I will.”

Slowly, Lathando sank back into the bed and looked away from her. With one hand, he reached to the opposite side of the bed and picked something up and placed it in her hands.

“Tis your bow. I know you would want it, so I made them bring it back.” His eyes locked with hers. “Take it with you.”

Nabiel looked deep into his eyes, and saw beyond the pain that clouded his eyes. She reached out her hand and gently squeezed his hand.

“Now! You must go, before they come back! Legolas will not let you go.”

Nabiel stood and fastened the bow and quiver harness on her back and walked to the door. She turned back once more to look at him, but his eyes were closed and he lay still.

The sound of steps coming down the passage spurred Nabiel on. She ran down – past the cells and into the cellar. Stopping, she looked around wildly, hoping desperately that no one would come and find her.

Seeing a narrow boat lying in the corner of the room, she easily lifted it and carried it to the trapdoor. It was surprisingly light – being made out of the bark of trees and supporting branches. Carefully, she lowered it through the open trapdoor and dropped it into the water, still holding onto the rope attached to the stern of the boat.

She stepped lightly into the boat and sat down, reaching for the paddle lying in the bottom of the boat. Slowly, she drifted through the dark and down the river. The sounds of battle faded and Nabiel slept.





Nabiel's dream was too real. She was underwater – she couldn't breath! Her eyes opened and Nabiel knew it was no dream.

Green lake water was all around her – above, below, on all sides. Beneath her feet she felt the river bottom, and with all her might, she shoved against the slippery rocks. Slowly – oh, so slowly, she started to rise.

Her lungs were burning for air – just one breath of cool, clean air. Her hands flailed about her, trying to get to the surface. For one moment her head just barely cleared the raging water and she gasped in a breath – half air and half water.

She was thrust back to the bottom of the river, and Nabiel knew a sense of terrifying fear. She was drowning... the water appeared green about her straining eyes. She saw the sky – she saw the rocks – she felt the cold water with frightening clarity.

She felt herself slipping – slowly slipping into the cold dark clutches of death. Her vision blurred and she stopped uselessly flailing. Nabiel was brought out of the shadowy borders of unconsciousness as her shoulder slammed painfully into a hard rock shelf.

Life came back to her as her hand moved with agonizing slowness as she caught hold on a jutting rock. Choking, she pulled her head from the water. She could not pull herself from the water, just hang helpless as coughs racked her body.

Nabiel had not the strengthen to resist as rough hands grabbed her shoulders and yanked her from the cold water. She could not see – her eyes stung from the river water. Still choking, she barely felt herself lifted and carried away from the shore before she was dropped to the ground.

Slowly she forced her eyes open – and her heart stopped at what she saw.




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Chapter Five


The arrow thudding deeply into the wood next to Legolas, caused him to turn and look. It was almost midday, and the orcs outside of the castle walls showed no sign of stopping. The arrows were almost gone, and the elves were using anything they could.

There was no hope of fighting outside of the castle – they would be overwhelmed in a moment. Legolas reached for the arrow, an idea forming in his mind. He pulled the arrow from the tree, carefully, so not to harm it.

He ran over to were the other elves were firing over the wall.

“Wait!” he called, and gathered the archers around himself. “Stop firing. Let them fire as many arrows as the want into the courtyard. We need more arrows, and then I have an plan.”

The elves did as Legolas said, and leaning against the mighty rock wall, they watched from safety as the enemy shot harmless arrows into the ground around them.

It was not much of a plan, Legolas knew, but it would hold them off for a little longer.





Nabiel breath stopped in her throat as she raised her eyes to see a huge black form standing above her. Cruel and crafty red-rimmed eyes stared down at her – thick lips pulled back to show fierce, sharp teeth.

“No!” Nabiel barely whispered the word.

The creature reached one long, grotesquely muscled arm down, grasping her shoulder and yanking her to her feet.

“Where you from?” the creature growled out in a guttural voice, that barely sounded like words. “What you do in river?”

The dead weakness had started to leave Nabiel's limbs and she yanked back against the arm that held her, at the same time spitting out an angry reply.

“I was fishing, you great beast!” she said, sarcastically. “What do you think I was doing in the river?” The creature narrowed its eyes unbelievingly and grunted.

Nabiel reached out a hand and tried to shove his arm away from her. Angrily the orc raised the other arm to strike her. Before his hand got a foot in the air, Nabiel whipped one of her swords from her scabbard, grateful for all the practicing she had done with them.

The orc took a backwards step without releasing her shoulder.

“Let go of me!” Nabiel shouted, raising her sword.

As he slowly let go, Nabiel lowered the sword. In that second, his hand balled in a fist, and struck her against the side of her head. As Nabiel fell to the ground, the sword went flying from her hand, and fell into the sand and rocks a few feet away.

Before the elf girl could reach for the other one, or roll away, he yanked the sword belt away from her waist, breaking the metal buckle.

“You are wild one,” he said in his slow growly voice, as he held his own curved sword against her throat. He leaned so close to her, she could smell the thick musky scent from his clothes. “Don't try to escape again, or you'll learn what it's like to die.”

Nabiel knew he meant what he said.






When the elf-archers had collected as many arrows as possible, Legolas called together a group of elves he knew were the best in wood-lore. Gathering them about him, he told them his plan in a low voice.

“Do you all understand?” he asked, his face serious. “This may change the battle – and then we will be on the winning side.”

Legolas led the elves through the castle, to the secret door. As he passed Lathando's room, he paused, and nodded for the others to go on ahead. Quickly he ducked into the room, where Lathando lay on the bed, his eyes open and hands clenched at his sides. Legolas knew that he must be in great pain. The sword-elf had several broken bones and was severely bruised and shallow cuts covered his face, arms and chest.

Lathando looked over to the doorway where Legolas stood. The look in his eyes was not of physical pain, but mental agony.

“What is it, friend?” Legolas asked with heart-felt sympathy. “You saved us last night – I will help you in any way I can – and be glad to do it.”

Lathando shook his head, and Legolas could see he was on fire with fever.

“It is not the pain that hurts me,” he said restlessly. He turned his head to look away from Legolas. “I should not have let her go!”

Legolas crossed the room to the bed in three long steps, and laid a hand on the wounded elf's shoulder, concernedly. “What are you saying, Lathando? Who?”

Lathando turned his fever-glazed eyes back to Legolas. “You will be so angry... I let Nabiel go.”

“Let Nabiel go?” Legolas repeated. “What do you mean?”

“Nabiel is probably miles from here by now. She went to seek the help of the Men of Dale,” Lathando answered. “Know now that on this plan you have, Nabiel's life may lie – caused by my foolishness.”





Nabiel sat silent and still, leaning against the tree were the orc had tied her. Her eyes took in every movement he made. He was looking for a way to cross the river, but Nabiel knew he would not find one here. The water was deep and swift – and dangerous. With an angry grunt, the orc came back to her and looked down at her.

“The others, they set a trap in the water to flip any boat trying to escape.” He said in the Common Speech, so crudely Nabiel could barely understand what he said. “Too bad you not drown – it would be be better for you.”

He laughed coarsely, and Nabiel knew he intended to take her as captive to the other orcs. Agonizing remembrances flooded through her mind – her mother... No! It could not be happening over again, in the same way. It was too horrible – she had to fight it – she had to win!

With one move of his great arms, the orc drew his short, black knife, and slashed down at her. It hit the rope between her ankles and cut it in half with one blow. Nabiel gritted her teeth as it cut through the leggings she wore and cut her leg. The blood ran down into the sand, although Nabiel hardly noticed it.

“Stand!” he ordered, gesturing for her to rise to her feet. “I take you to the Masters.”

Nabiel staggered to her feet and looked around. The bow and arrows were attached to the back of the ugly orc, and she could feel that the knife was still in her belt, out of sight of the orc's evil eyes.

Nabiel saw her swords and belt lying were they had fallen off. She could not leave them – she couldn't.

“The swords! Are you leaving them?” she asked, trying to keep the desperation from her voice.

The orc spat on the ground. “Horrible killer knives! I not touch the stinging blades,” he said looking at them. They lay, gleaming a soft blue glow.

As he grabbed her arm, and started to pull her away, Nabiel looked back longingly over her shoulder. Her eyes blurred as she stared at the swords she had made herself. Out of the blurred sight, in the shining blades, for one moment Nabiel saw words. When her eyes cleared, the words were gone, but she knew they had been their and had carried the same message a wizard clad all in grey had once told her.

“Have hope.”





Legolas left Lathando's room, and walked down to the cellar almost in a daze. Nabiel... gone...

He shook himself and in that moment Legolas knew what he would do. Gaining speed, he ran down to the stone stairs and into the cellar, where the rest of the elves stood, waiting for him.

Slowing, Legolas swung the secret door open silently, and led the way out of the passage. Pausing outside, he turned at looked at the elves faces – memorizing them. He had known most of them for many, many uncountable years.

Nodding his head, he set an arrow to the bow-string and slowly, the elves faded into the forest around the orcs. Legolas smiled grimly – his plan was going perfectly. When the elven archers had surrounded the main body of fighting orcs, Legolas waited until they were all ready. Their only advantage would be surprise – and the fact that the orcs would not know what side the danger was coming from.

He raised his arm in the air – and dropped it back to his side – the signal to fire. The second his hand fell, fifty arrows were loosed from the elven bows, and released into the swarming mass of orcs and trolls.

The next few moment past too swiftly for the enemy to understand what was happening. After the first shafts had been sent home, the elves fired at will. The orcs were confused and frightened by this sudden and unexpected attack.

When the arrows stopped, a good many orcs and trolls lay on the ground, and most of the rest had broken rank and fled for their very lives into the forest around the castle. Slowly, the elves slipped back to the secret door and into the castle.

The instant they entered the cool cellar room, Legolas ran to the courtyard. His father stood there, but Legolas barely saw him as he searched the elves for Sirewin. 'Twas is his only hope – now that the orcs were gone for the moment, someone must go and bring Nabiel back.

“Sirewin!” he called to the young elf, who held a bow in his hands. “Come here, I must speak to you.”

Sirewin approached him and Legolas swiftly told him what he wanted him to do. Legolas knew he was a good choice. The lad knew the forest well, and he was an excellent tracker.

“Leave by the secret door and follow the river. She could not have gone very far yet. If you make speed you may catch her as she is portaging the rapids... few try to ride them out.”

Sirewin nodded his head, and fastened his bow on his back. “I will bring her back – if I can find her.” He looked up at Legolas. “How long should I look?”

“Until you find her – or see reason that there is no purpose in continuing.”

Sirewin wasted no time as he passed from the castle and into the forest, following the river. His eyes searched out the surrounding land, as he ran at a fast, steady pace – never slowing or stumbling. As the river turned, he cut away from it and ran into the forest. It would save several miles, and he would reach the rapids faster.

As the sun turned low in the sky, Sirewin reached the rapids. Running through the trees into the open space he barely saw the wreckage of a boat plunge past him. Reaching out a hand, Sirewin pulled the light river craft from the water. Running a hand over it, he instantly knew it was elven-made and in all likelihood the very boat Nabiel had taken.

When Sirewin stood back up, he was running – running back up the river. Somewhere back there was Nabiel... perhaps lying dead.






As Nabiel followed the orc slowly through the forest, she realized he was not leading her back to the castle, but to the West. After a while of watching him, she saw that he was lost. He thought he was taking her to the rest of the orc-army, but instead he was leading her away! Hope lept into Nabiel's heart and she remembered the words on the sword. For a moment a secret smile flitted on her lips, then she started pulling at the tight cords that bound her hands.

If only she could get loose! She still had her knife...

Now she was fighting for herself. There would be no kind friends to help. This battle would be alone – so alone.





As Sirewin went up stream, he kept his eyes on the water and the surrounding shores. He slowed his steps – he was nearing the short sandy beach, and he could drink from the rocks that surrounded the deep water. He dropped to his knees and drank the cold water slowly. As he raised he head, he looked around – and he knew he had found Nabiel.

A sword lay in the sand, and all around it was blood – not the dark blood of an orc, but red blood – not more than an hour old. He picked up the sword. It had not been touched with blood, elvish otherwise.

Sirewin knew this was Nabiel's sword – it had her mark. A crescent moon sheltering a small five point star on the hilt. Quickly he looked around, and saw the swordbelt with the other sword. It had never been drawn. Carefully he looked for tracks.

Large tracks – with think steel covered boots – they had to be made by a huge orc or a troll. Sirewin stood up and walked to the edge of the forest where the tracks led. He saw no tracks made by an elf, but elves walked lightly. As his eyes scanned the ground, he suddenly dropped to his knees and moved leaves and grass away from a fresh print in the ground.

It was made by no orc or elf. It was the foot-mark of a – a wild dog. Quickly backtracking the paw prints, Sirewin knew that it had been watching the orc and Nabiel.

With trembling hands, the elf-boy looked closely at the track. It could only have been made by Anfauglir... Jaws of thirst... the Great Wolf... or one of his descendants...

Sirewin stood up and backed away from the tracks – slowly fear in every step. He had to go – go and tell Legolas! The elf turned and ran into the forest, back towards the castle.




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