Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

The sun was beginning to set as we crossed the fields that signaled the forthcoming border of Lothlórien. Frodo was still at my side, and we all approached the woods with heavy hearts. We would rest here tonight, within the realm of Lady Galadriel. We prayed she would allow us to seek refuge within her borders.

“Lothlórien!” Legolas’ voice broke the silence that had stretched across the void Khazad-dûm left us with. “This is the fairest of all the dwellings of my people. There are no trees like the trees of this land. For in autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold. Not till spring comes and the new green opens do they fall, and then the boughs are laden with yellow flowers; and the floor of the wood is golden. My heart would be glad if I were beneath the caves of that wood, and it were springtime!”

“My heart will be glad, even in the winter.” Said Aragorn. “But it lies many miles away. Let us hasten!”

Never before had I graced the woods of Lothlórien. I had only heard of its beauty in the many songs and stories made out of corners of its beauty. It was not a place I ever imagined visiting, and my heart felt lighter with each step we took towards Caras Galadhon. The trees grew taller all around us than I ever imagined possible, and the air was pure. It was not filled with the anguish and death of Moria; it was not laden with the unfamiliarity and battle cries of the rest of the world. The air here felt magical, refreshing. Like a drink after a very tiresome walk.

We came upon the ancient stream Nimrodel, glimmering with the golden leaves upon the trees and the disappearing sun in the sky. It was a glowing beacon in the forest that meant we were getting closer. Aragorn said that Caras Galadhon was gated, and we would have to reach the gates by this time tomorrow in order to escape the orcs that would no doubt follow us from Moria.

The Fellowship trudged through the water, and I remembered that I still had to clean and stitch my wound from Moria. However, there were more pressing matters. The most important being where we would sleep tonight. The trees were not thick enough to provide any real shelter, and there were no caves or crevices to lie in.

“I will climb up,” Legolas announced, approaching a grand tree’s grey trunk. “I am at home among trees, by root or bough.”

“They will be marvelous trees indeed if they can offer any rest at night, except to birds.” Pippin said wearily. “I cannot sleep on a perch!”

“Then dig a hole in the ground, if that is more after the fashion of your kind. But you must dig swift and deep, if you wish to hide from orcs.” Legolas replied, getting a grip on the trunk and hoisting himself up. He disappeared into the shadows of the trees as night swept upon us, and the Fellowship sat down for a rest.

A voice sounded from above, startling us all. Legolas returned swiftly to the ground in surprise and fear, shrinking closely to the tree and whispering for us to all stand still. From high in the trees I heard what sounded like laughter, and then different voice spoke in Elvish. It was spoken so quickly I could not hear it clearly enough to decipher the words.

“Who are they? What do they say?” Merry’s voice was a harsh whisper, laced with fear.

“They’re Elves, can’t you hear their voices?” Sam replied.

A roped ladder descended from the trees, followed by three elves. Their garments were clearly that of Lothlórien, for they seemed to glow in the darkness. Their hair was even fairer than that of Legolas, and they walked with such certitude it was intimidating. Orcs I could fight, for they were predictable and mindless. Never would I wish to be on the opposing side of an Elf.

“You breathe so loud we could have shot you in the dark.” One elf said, stepping forward and brandishing a longbow. The hobbits shrunk away, but I knew these elves meant no harm. “You need not be frightened. We have been aware of you since you entered these lands. We seldom use any tongue but our own; for we dwell now in the heart of the forest and do not willingly have dealings with any other folk. Haldir is my name, and my brothers Rúmil and Orophin speak little of your tongue.”

“Mae govannen.” Legolas bowed slightly.

“Legolas, son of Thranduil, Aragorn of the Dúnedain, Brennil ned Bellas, Boromir of Gondor. You are known to us. We have heard rumours of your coming, from messengers of Elrond. They spoke of Halflings, but there was no mention of a dwarf to be in the favour of the Lady.” Haldir said, looking scornfully upon Gimli. The dwarf stood up taller, frowning, and I placed a hand on his shoulder.

“They are not permitted on our land.” Haldir continued. “I cannot allow him to pass.”

“But Elrond himself chose him to be one of our companions; he has been very brave and faithful.” I protested as politely as possible, causing the elves to hesitate before muttering amongst themselves.

“Very well…We will do this, though it is not to our liking. Come, we climb the trees.” Haldir said at last. Then we were divided into groups, each brother taking us to the base of a separate tree. Rúmil took the four hobbits, instructing them to wait while he sent down a ladder. Orophin did the same with Gimli and Boromir, and Haldir brought Aragorn, Legolas and I to the final tree.

Haldir spoke to Legolas in Elvish, asking him to come with Rúmil and Orophin to survey the surrounding area for any disturbances. I fare-welled my friend and began up the thin rope ladder, Aragorn following behind me as we ascended. There were platforms that ran around the trunk of the tree, called lets, which had a small opening where the ladder came down that allowed one to get onto the structures. Like most things crafted by the elves, the lets were deceivingly stable. They seemed to be no more than paper tied to the tree, but provided enough stability to hold at least five dwarves.

I sighed as I sat down, pulling off my pack and immediately rummaging for supplies. I took out my canteen, a needle and thread, as well as some cloth to wrap around my shoulder once I was finished. Aragorn stood at the edge of the let fearlessly, looking at the land around us in either wonder or planning.

“I should not think the hobbits, nor any others save perhaps Legolas, you and I, will very much appreciate sleeping so high up.” I pulled off my jacket, unlacing the top of my dress so I could pull my arm out. My shoulder was perfectly exposed, my skin glowing under the light of the trees, save the bloody spot on my shoulder.

“They will do well to be grateful for Haldir’s generosity.” Aragorn replied in a quiet voice, finally leaving the edge to rest.

“I only hope they find some rest, after Moria...” I resisted the urge to cry, instead pouring some water onto the cloth and washing away the dried blood. I winced slightly at the stinging sensation, being forced to break the thin layer of healed skin in order to properly stitch the injury. This forced new blood from my skin, and I quickly mopped it with the cloth. Aragorn rid himself of his heavy jacket and pack, and only after was aware of the medical procedure I was performing myself.

“Here,” He knelt before me, motioning to take the needle from beside my canteen.

“I can manage.” I replied, shooing his hand away. He gave me a skeptical look as I struggled to keep the cloth pressed hard on my shoulder while trying to thread the needle. He laughed, a fleeting gesture that was both quiet and rare.

“I have stitched many a wound on myself to know it is much easier for another to do.” He placed my free hand on my shoulder, taking up the needle and thread and preparing it himself. When he was ready I removed the cloth and pulled all of my hair away and onto the opposite shoulder. I tried to remain as still as possible as he got closer, leaning in and cooling my skin with his.

My eyes flew to him, watching as he prepared for the first stab; always the worst one. I took a breath to signal I was ready and he punctured my skin. I winced, grinding my teeth together but trying not to show the pain. He continued as gently as possible, puncture, pull, puncture, pull. It was surprising, his different mannerisms. In Moria he was fighting with a vicious passion, one that would intimidate any foe. Yet here he was, treating me with the utmost care as if I were fragile.

His calm moments were rare, and I basked in his peace. This was Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This was the King of Gondor. It was such a queer notion, to believe that I was being tended to by my king. If anything, it made sense for the situation to be reversed. Every now and again he dabbed the cloth at my skin, before continuing with my repair. There was a strange sensation that came over me as our skin touched, a sensation I could not exactly describe. It was tingly, like fireflies brushing against me. Our eyes met as he completed the final stitch, and a shiver ran down my spine.

And then I was gone.

Thrown sporadically, as per usual, into the merciless realm of my visions. But this time was different, this time…I heard things. A voice. Aragorn’s voice. He was saying my name, but it did not match the scene unfolding before my eyes.

Ships sail in the distance, they float along the dark river toward some unknown destination. There is a grassy field between me and the river.

“Vanya?”

“I…I hear you…”

Behind me there is a presence, I know this. I do not wish to turn from the ships, but the ships sadden me for an unknown reason, so I turn.

“Your eyes, though, they are—“

“I am seeing a vision…” I breathed. My neck is cradled by a hand and one is on my back. I can feel this much.

I turn and there is a terrifying figure before me. He is not human, and is glowing a faint green. He is decayed, like a corpse, yet still covered in armor. He speaks two words. We fight.

I returned to reality, and Aragorn was studying me with confusion painted onto his features. Always, I was causing him confusion. These visions were not at all helpful. Firstly, I did not believe them to be truthful, and secondly they seldom made any sense, to me at least. Aragorn’s eyes were a pool of blue and green, more honest and sincere than I had ever noticed before.

“You could hear what I spoke, and see as well?” He questioned. I nodded, hoping he did not ask me to explain; I had no more answers than he did. There was rustling that shook the ladder, and just as I pushed myself up Legolas appeared through the opening. He quickly took a seat and was followed by a distracted looking Haldir.

“Is everything al—“

“Shh!” Haldir hissed at me, climbing noiselessly to the edge of the let to peer over the edge. I exchanged a weary glance with Legolas, who mouthed the word “Orcs” to me in response. My eyes grew wide—I certainly had not expected them to travel so fast. It frightened me to think that we would have been on the very ground the enemy was treading if it weren’t for Haldir and his brothers. And then a panic took over me, and I whispered so quiet Legolas strained to hear me.

“The hobbits?” He mouthed the word safe and my heart was at rest once more. Legolas looked wearily at my exposed shoulder, and I realized I still had to bandage the wound. I quickly wrapped it up and slid my clothing back on, returning to being silent just as Haldir relaxed.

“You were being followed, as I thought. The orcs will not reach Caras Galadhon. We have many patrolling the gates.”

“Hannon le, Haldir.” I said quietly. He offered a faint smile and bowed before taking watch on the edge of the let.

“You need rest; it is still a journey to the home of the Lady.”