Defender of Lorien
Free of the Mines
The whole time Anya had been in the mines, she thought that she would be over joyed to finally set foot outside of the mines, but her heart ached, and her thoughts confused. Crouching, Anya closed her eyes and said a short prayer to the Valar, hoping they’d hear her pray and grant Gandalf a beautiful home. When she opened her eyes, she found Legolas standing next to her, his eyes sad, but no tears escaped them. As Anya stood back up, Legolas grabbed her right hand in concern.
“You are bleeding,” he said, “Where are you wounded?”
“My side,” Anya choked out, the pain of her heart at the moment numbing the pain of her side, “It’s just a cut. I will wrap it and be fine.” And with that, Anya ripped apart one of her cloaks and tied it snuggly around her waist, causing a few tears to escape from the pain of it. Looking around, the hobbits sat crying, Gimli struggling against Boromir, wanting to go running back into Moria. Anya’s vision blurred as more tear formed in her eyes, and she felt Legolas wrap his arms around her, and she cried into his shoulder.
Gandalf had been there when Anyanesta had been born, he had been the one to take her to Mirkwood when she was but fifteen years of age. He had been like a grandfather to her. And now he was gone, Anya just couldn’t except that fact as she continued to silently cry into Legolas’s shoulder.
“Legolas,” Aragorn called, “Get them up.” Anya pulled away from her cousin, his face contorted in grief and disbelief. Even so, Legolas and Anya turned and went to get the hobbits back to their feet.
“Give them a moment for pity’s sake,” Boromir beseeched Aragorn.
“By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs,” Aragorn stated, “We must reach the woods of Lothlorien.” At the name of her home, Anya’s spirit lifted, ever so very slightly, disheartened though she was. Whipping her eyes, Anya when and helped Merry and Pippin back to their feet, giving them weak smiles as she turned from them.
After getting everyone to their feet, Aragorn took the lead, Anya right beside him, and started the journey to Lothlorien. Running down the stony mountain side, her side once again seared with pain, but she ignored it best she could, only allowing a slight hiss to escape her lips. Pushing forward, Anya ran side to side with Aragorn, slightly taking the lead as she knew the swiftest way back to her home.
They traveled well into the night, stopping once only to have a quick meal and then pushed on. When the sun finally began to rise, Anya glimpsed woods only a quarter of a mile off.
As they neared the woods, Anya saw the crystal clear water of a stream materializing before her. As she reached it, she fell to her knees in the cool water, her brow covered in sweat and her limbs shaking as if she were cold. Cupping her hands, Anya drank from the water, as the others followed her example, for they were all parched from the long journey through Moria. Rising to her feet, Anya’s vision blurred and she staggered. Legolas ran up behind her and grabbed her arms, and she leaned against him, waiting for her vision to clear once more.
“Are you well?” Legolas asked in worry.
“I’m….. I’m not sure,” Anya stammered. As her vision cleared, Anya moved away from her cousin, thanking him for the support, “I may have stood too fast.”
“Or it could have been from blood loss,” Legolas suggest, still holding her arm, and she appreciated the support.
“Blood lose?” Aragorn stated, “Anya are you injured?”
“Just a slight wound,” Anya said indicating her side, blood now soaking through her make shift wrapping.
“Why didn’t you say?” Aragorn asked walking up to her and looking over her wrappings, “I would have given you time to properly tend to your wound had I known.”
“I will be fine,” Anya said, “As I said, it is but a slight wound. There was no need for a fuss as I know when a wound is deathly or slight. Besides, I can get proper healing once we are in the safe arms of my people.” Aragorn nodded his head, then turned to the others and instructed them to fill their skins. Anya stood there and watched as the hobbits, Boromir, and Gimli refilled their skins, and then she lead them into the forest, the outskirts of her home.
“You are bleeding,” he said, “Where are you wounded?”
“My side,” Anya choked out, the pain of her heart at the moment numbing the pain of her side, “It’s just a cut. I will wrap it and be fine.” And with that, Anya ripped apart one of her cloaks and tied it snuggly around her waist, causing a few tears to escape from the pain of it. Looking around, the hobbits sat crying, Gimli struggling against Boromir, wanting to go running back into Moria. Anya’s vision blurred as more tear formed in her eyes, and she felt Legolas wrap his arms around her, and she cried into his shoulder.
Gandalf had been there when Anyanesta had been born, he had been the one to take her to Mirkwood when she was but fifteen years of age. He had been like a grandfather to her. And now he was gone, Anya just couldn’t except that fact as she continued to silently cry into Legolas’s shoulder.
“Legolas,” Aragorn called, “Get them up.” Anya pulled away from her cousin, his face contorted in grief and disbelief. Even so, Legolas and Anya turned and went to get the hobbits back to their feet.
“Give them a moment for pity’s sake,” Boromir beseeched Aragorn.
“By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs,” Aragorn stated, “We must reach the woods of Lothlorien.” At the name of her home, Anya’s spirit lifted, ever so very slightly, disheartened though she was. Whipping her eyes, Anya when and helped Merry and Pippin back to their feet, giving them weak smiles as she turned from them.
After getting everyone to their feet, Aragorn took the lead, Anya right beside him, and started the journey to Lothlorien. Running down the stony mountain side, her side once again seared with pain, but she ignored it best she could, only allowing a slight hiss to escape her lips. Pushing forward, Anya ran side to side with Aragorn, slightly taking the lead as she knew the swiftest way back to her home.
They traveled well into the night, stopping once only to have a quick meal and then pushed on. When the sun finally began to rise, Anya glimpsed woods only a quarter of a mile off.
As they neared the woods, Anya saw the crystal clear water of a stream materializing before her. As she reached it, she fell to her knees in the cool water, her brow covered in sweat and her limbs shaking as if she were cold. Cupping her hands, Anya drank from the water, as the others followed her example, for they were all parched from the long journey through Moria. Rising to her feet, Anya’s vision blurred and she staggered. Legolas ran up behind her and grabbed her arms, and she leaned against him, waiting for her vision to clear once more.
“Are you well?” Legolas asked in worry.
“I’m….. I’m not sure,” Anya stammered. As her vision cleared, Anya moved away from her cousin, thanking him for the support, “I may have stood too fast.”
“Or it could have been from blood loss,” Legolas suggest, still holding her arm, and she appreciated the support.
“Blood lose?” Aragorn stated, “Anya are you injured?”
“Just a slight wound,” Anya said indicating her side, blood now soaking through her make shift wrapping.
“Why didn’t you say?” Aragorn asked walking up to her and looking over her wrappings, “I would have given you time to properly tend to your wound had I known.”
“I will be fine,” Anya said, “As I said, it is but a slight wound. There was no need for a fuss as I know when a wound is deathly or slight. Besides, I can get proper healing once we are in the safe arms of my people.” Aragorn nodded his head, then turned to the others and instructed them to fill their skins. Anya stood there and watched as the hobbits, Boromir, and Gimli refilled their skins, and then she lead them into the forest, the outskirts of her home.