On a normal winter day it might seem unusual for a young woman to be out riding in the rain, but Nyara refused to call herself conventional. Today she rode her mare Marabeth, a steady and reliable horse that Nyara's mother trusted to bear her rebellious daughter safely. She refused her pleas that riding on such a day was unsafe and imprudent, stating that if she stayed inside for every day in Rohan that was unsafe or imprudent she would waste away to nothingness.

        Freed for awhile from the constraints placed upon her by her overprotective mother, Nyara rode with reckless abandon; not fast, to be sure, for though she was rebellious and high-spirited, she was not stupid. Marabeth picked her way carefully along the grassy ravine at a slow trot, careful not to step in any holes along the way. Such an injury would mean certain death for the aging mare, and Nyara would risk no hurt to her precious companion.

        Hoping against hope that she may yet see an Elf this day, as she had hoped all the other long days of her nineteen years, Nyara rode a long way outside the city's borders; far past the banks of the Snowbourn River toward Fangorn forest, a dark and deserted place where legend told of treefolk dwelling. She had read that they could talk and, if roused, even walk about. People found this laughable, but Nyara had suspicions that the legends of old were not simple fables made up by bored housewives. She believed in them, so strongly that her own mother questioned her stability.

        For Nyara this was no great thing. At nineteen years old and as yet unmarried, she was considered something of a spinster, perhaps a bit loony. Tall, cool, and aloof she seemed to passersby, playing a part that she had grown accustomed to over the years. She did not care for fancy dresses or domestic chores, though she wore the dresses and cooked the meals as she was expected to. She cleaned, mended, and attended to all the affairs expected of a lady. Too, she tended the livestock, aided with births of foals in their stables, and worked a substantial garden harvest without complaint.

        In her spare time, she read. Her own room was littered with ancient scrolls she'd saved from being thrown out of a library in the great Golden Hall atop the hill, at Edoras. It had once been a seat of royalty, a place where the great kings of Rohan dwelt. Now, it was little more than a pretty building for people to look at. The last of the great Kings had gone nearly a thousand years before. Now, the people had an elected official tend to matters of the kingdom. The system seemed to work out alright, though Nyara sometimes wished they had a good and wise king to rule over them. She longed for things as they had once been.

        Some of the parchments she had saved spoke of the Dark Lord Sauron and the War Of The Ring. Those she found the most fascinating, having read the thick pile of papers over and over again, so much that she was nearly positive she could recite the story by rote. She never tired of reading how the Nine Companions, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin, Legolas, Aragorn (the great High King of Gondor, come and gone, as legend told, nearly two thousand years before her time), Boromir, Legolas, Gimli Elf-friend, and Gandalf the White had saved Middle-earth from the dominion of Sauron, by way of a magic ring forged thousands of years before. Their trials and triumphs awed her with their tragedy, and inspired her with their victory.

        She learned of other great leaders from history. Her own personal heroine, Eowyn Shieldmaiden of Rohan, she never tired of learning about. How she'd gone to battle dressed in men's gear to protect her father and brother, and partly because she was stubborn enough to go despite strict orders for her to stay behind and mind the affairs of her home. Nyara couldn't help but admire her for that.

        Then there was Faramir, and Eomer. Prince Imrahil had caught her attention as well, being lordly and of distant Elven blood. There were ruins of a castle by the sea, in Belfalas, that seemed coincidentally in exactly the same location as his was said to be. There with his people, all fair and gray-eyed and of noble bearing, he had aided Aragorn and Gandalf, and all of Middle-earth, in the battle with Sauron.

        But what captured her attention above all things were the Elves. She had read every bit of lore on them that she could find, her mind soaking up the knowledge like a sponge. People of her time didn't believe in Elves, or Dwarves, or even the famed Halflings like Frodo and Sam. Objectively, she could see the blood of all three races in the Modern Men that inhabited Middle-earth today. Short, childlike men and women; tall, elegant people that bore an air of regality so noble that one was awestruck by the mere sight of them; and short, bearish, burly men and women with gruff attitudes and short tempers.

        Of course, no one would admit such codswallup. It was not only unlikely as far as they were concerned; it was insane. Long ago, Nyara had learned not to spout off about her beliefs and hopes. People still whispered about her as she would pass, wondering if she was of stable mind or if she was crazy. And, just the same, long ago she had learned not to care. She had few friends, but as she had had few friends since her early childhood, she did not miss having more.

Her life was very much routine for the most part. She helped her mother with the daily chores, cooked, read, rode her horse. That was her life. Occasionally she would ride into Edoras for something her mother needed from the markets there, but mostly she spent her time in her room, reading. It was a quiet existence, one she yearned for escape from.

She didn't want to get married and bear children, as most young ladies were expected to do, and most certainly at an earlier age than nineteen. Of course, when your sanity is questioned you don't get many offers of marriage or calls for courting.

Nyara snorted and tossed back her long black hair. Her gray eyes flashed like lightning for a moment before she regained her composure. She wasn't crazy! She knew those old stories to be true, knew it in the deepest parts of her heart. But it didn't matter. There was no proof. Coincidence there was, to be sure, but who would buy coincidence for faith? No one that she had met so far, certainly.

Perhaps one day she would do as she had always dreamed, and set out on a quest to find Elves, and Dwarves, and Halflings. There were old maps of the kingdoms of old, maps that she could surely use to find these ancient races. It didn't sound difficult, but she wasn't thick enough to think that there would be no danger in it. Orcs still abounded in the outer regions of their kingdom. At least a few times a year someone would travel too far and get themselves killed. No one did anything about it either, because most people were content to lead their quiet lives without worrying about the rest of the world. Which, she always wanted to point out, were quite Halfling-like qualities indeed.

However, having no self-defensive skills of any kind, save the ability to kick shins like no one's business, Nyara didn't fancy running into any roving Orc parties. It likely wouldn't turn out well for her in the end, even if she should manage to kill one before it killed her. And dying, despite the neverending doldrums of her life, was not on the top of her list of fun things to do in her spare time.

So, in the meantime, she was content to read and dream about a life on her own. Dreams were a wonderful substitute for reality, she had always believed.

Finding herself quite far indeed from the Snowbourn, she turned Marabeth back toward home. It would be a good hour before she made it back home. A quick look at the sun told her she would be nearly on time for dinner if she hurried.

        ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Haldir, your time has come," said a deep voice around him. Haldir looked up, seeing nothing but trees as far as his keen eyes could see. But the voice remained. A sudden knowing came upon him, and he knew that Lord Mandos was giving him his chance to return home, to Middle-earth, or to pass on and live forever in Elvenhome.

"Have you made your decision?" the voice asked of him.

Haldir stood and brushed off his long robes. Scarlet they were, the same robes he had died in so many centuries before. Surely Middle-earth must have changed greatly in so long a time.

"The Elves are mostly gone from Middle-earth," Haldir spoke aloud, his velvet voice, most characteristic of Elves, cutting across the crisp air before him. The voice made no reply, but he sensed it waiting. "There is something that you wish for me to do."

"Yes, Haldir, the Eldar have appointed a task for you. Have you made your decision?" it asked of him once more.

Haldir nodded. "Send me back," he said, and the world faded away.

The Fallen
Chapter Two
        "Betrayl, Danger, and Death"

"Where have you been?" her mother, Norenne, demanded as she finally stepped inside the cool interior of her home.

"Riding," she replied coolly, helping herself to an apple as her mother huffed and clucked disapprovingl around the kitchen. "You're dressed very nicely tonight, mother," she said, a question in her tone which her mother huffed a thank-you at and continued on about her business.

Nyara ignored this, as usual, and instead busied herself setting the table for their meal, pouring water into tall glasses, and folding fine cloth napkins. Nyara didn't know where her mother got the money to live the way they did. Her father had died before Nyara was old enough to remember him, and she never asked her mother questions of him, since it seemed to cause her such distress. As such, her mother had told her only that he had been a brave man and that he had loved her very much. Nice sentiments, but it didn't tell Nyara very much about him. She didn't even know what he looked like.

Of course, she assumed that he looked much like she did. Her mother was a rather petite woman with golden wheat hair, whereas Nyara was tall and regal of bearing, with thick black hair and gray eyes. Perhaps her father had been a warrior of some kind, or even a criminal. She shrugged inwardly. It was unlikely that she would ever know, so guessing was a feeble thing that would only frustrate her in the end. Such was life at times, she knew.

"Sit down," her mother said shortly. It seemed she was in quite a huff today, moreso than usual. Nyara raised an eyebrow, but did as she was bade. Her mother brought a steaming platter to the table, followed by a loaf of freshly baked bread, and a heavy cauldron of steaming soup. It smelled of sweet onions, carrots, and other savory vegetables. On the steaming platter were cuts of meat, likely venison.

        "Mother, this looks wonderful!" she exclaimed. Norenn ignored this comment and instead hurried about setting two more place settings at the table.

"Are we having guests?" Nyara inquired politely, now truly perplexed at her mother's behavior. "You see, I've already set the table mother."

"I can see that, Nyara. We have guests. Now go upstairs and change for dinner. I want to see you in something feminine in less than five minutes, or you'll wish you'd never been born."

Nyara snorted as she got up from the table and set her napkin down. "Try threatening me with something I don't already do next time," she grumbled under her breath as she ascended a small flight of steps to her own bedroom.

Who the guests they were having could be were anyone's guess. Nyara's mother didn't have any close friends that she was aware of, nor did Nyara. Then a cold dread took her. Marriage. Someone was coming to claim her for marriage. She shivered involuntarily, and fought to push the feeling back down. Nonsense. Her mother wouldn't just marry her off. Would she?

Mechanically, Nyara pulled a dress from her wardrobe. She didn't look at it. Vaguely she registered a flash of deep violet as she pulled the garment over her head. Her fingers slipped on the leather lacings as she tightened the bodice in the back and knotted the set of ties in the front.

Outside, she heard the clatter of hoofbeats and rushed to the window. Two horses had been reigned in and stomped now, impatient. Two men dismounted and came to the front door. One looked handsome from what she could see of him, but there was a cool blandness in his face that unsettled her.

She could see long black hair, much like her own. It was not shorn as most men wore it, but long and almost beautiful. But again, a coldness invaded that thought even as she formed it. His skin was pale, ghostly almost. And there was a glint in his eye of steel. Suddenly he looked straight at her, and she gasped, jumping back into the shadows of her bedchamber. Her heart felt touched with frost, and it fluttered like a hummingbird's. She pressed a hand to her chest, forcing herself to calm.

Quickly she pulled on a high pair of leather boots, lacing them tightly even as a plan formed in her mind. She would not be wed against her will, and certainly not to a man who made her very soul chill by the look of him. She would sit dinner if she had to, but then she would be to the stable and gone at the first opportunity. Her time had finally come. If her mother wished her gone, so be it. She wouldn't disappoint her.

Automatically, she tied a knife sheath to her left boot, and slipped her short knife inside. Then, with lightning speed, she stuffed a leather bag with a change of clothes, an apple and an orange that sat upon her bedstand, a leather water bag, and a hunk of bread and cheese leftover from her lunch. Then she tossed it out the opposite window, near the stables, and started down the stairs. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair and smoothed it over, just to present an image of obedience.

"There you are," her mother called as she stepped into the room, an airy note of forced cheer in her voice. "Sit down, dear."

Nyara settled into her seat, directly opposite the man with the chilling aura. He didn't look so young now. She figured him at about thirty years old. Her spine tingled but she ignored it with a strong will. It was all she could do not to shudder under his intense stare. It was bold and unabashedly greedy. His eyes roamed her face, her neck, her shoulders and lower, and right back up again. This man was uncouth to be certain, she thought. Nonetheless she met his gaze straight on and straight-backed. This seemed to anger him a bit, but he kept any comments to himself.

"Nyara, meet Prince Umbrul. He comes from the East, across the border from Minas Tirith."

Nyara's eyes flew to her mother. Across from Minas Tirith? In Mordor? But that was a place of evil! All the scrolls and parchment she had ever read stated as such. Even now people didn't travel that way. "But--" she started, but was cut off by Umbrul's companion. "Imlath!"

Imlath it was indeed, Rohan's elected official of matters of the Kingdom. She could barely believe her eyes.

"The arrangements are complete," he stated, ignoring her and handing a piece of parchment to Norenn. "All that is needed is your signature to bind the transaction."

"Transaction?" Nyara repeated, her breath coming faster and faster.

Norenn gazed at her daughter with a slight shred of compassion. "The time has come, Nyara. You would have no suitor before. Now you don't have the choice. Prince Umbrul has agreed to pay me a fair sum for your hand in marriage. And, it's time you started a life and family of your own." Then, without any further discussion, Norenn took the proffered quill from Imlath, dipped it into a bit of ink, and scratched her signature into the paper.

"She is yours now, Prince Umbrul," she said, and seated herself at the table. It gave Nyara slight satisfaction that her mother would not look her in the eye.

"Now we will eat and drink to this arrangement."

"Like blazes we will," Nyara snarled. She shoved her chair back and stood, and bolted from the house. There was a shout from Imlath but she paid it no heed. Her heart raced like it had never raced before.

The only time she slowed down on her way to the stables was to snatch up the leather bag and sling it over her shoulder. Then she threw a saddle on the youngest and most feisty stallion in the barn, a black named Nightshade, and laid her heels to his flanks.

As she came round the side of the house, Umbrul stepped out before her. The cold fury and evil in his eyes nearly made her head swim, and her vision blurred before she managed to bring herself under control. Unthinking, she ducked her left hand into her boot sheath, and as she flew past him, lashed out with it. The flash of blood brought her satisfaction, until she recognized the color.

"Black," she whispered, and her eyes widened. Umbrul seemed to grow larger, his rage emanating in waves until she feared she wouldn't escape him. The area all around him dimmed to a thick blackness the seared her mind with pain to look at it. Then she tore her eyes away, desperate to escape this fate laid before her. She made for the Gap of Rohan, and squeezed her eyes shut against the wind, trusting the stallion's common sense not to break his own leg.

And the world swept past her in surges of blue sky and green fields.

The Fallen
Chapter Three
        "Her Saving Grace"

Haldir gazed around him. It had been three days now since he'd arrived back in Middle-earth, at the white Towers, where Cirdan the Shipwright had given him a grave nod before returning to his work. His mount, a stallion of the Mearas and a gift from the Eldar, one that would rival Shadowfax with speed and agility, had carried him further and faster than he imagined, and already he found himself crossing the Greyflood. He remembered Gandalf, riding Shadowfax, having made it to Sarn Ford only five days after setting off from Rohan. Beneath him now, Steelsheen felt like he was flying, and the world went by in a blur at his speed.

        His mind raced with all the knowledge he had been given since being incarnated in Middle-earth. The chief concern he had was finding Celeborn. It had been a surprise to know that Celeborn and Thranduil were still in Middle-earth, in Mirkwood. Thranduil had given Celeborn the southern part of Mirkwood, which Celeborn named East Lorien, and Thranduil kept the top. The middle part they gave to the Beornings and the Woodmen. (Appendix B, pg. 1069 ROTK)

        He wondered why Celeborn and Thranduil had not gone on to the Havens. It had been nearly two thousand years since the War of the Ring. Surely Celeborn would wish to see his wife, and Thranduil must long to see his only son. But, these things were not for him to know as yet. So he continued on, further and further on toward the Gap of Rohan that would allow him access to Mirkwood. He wondered what had become of Lorien, of his old home. He had no home now, save returning to the Havens. But that would not be until after his task was accomplished. The Lord of the West had told him of a great evil once again stirring in the East, an evil that had grown intelligent and cunning. Even Men did not recognize him for what he was.

        They had sent Haldir to kill him.

        It was no great task for Haldir. Killing, he was used to. Though he had wondered, in all his long years in the Halls of Mandos, if he would be reborn the same as he had been before death. His outward appearance remained unchanged as far as he could tell, and he felt no different on the inside. Haldir shrugged. The ways of the Valar were not his to question. He had a task to complete before his life was really his own, and he meant to waste no time.

        ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

        Nyara didn't know how long she rode. Minutes stretched into long hours, and then even longer. Perhaps it had been days, perhaps a week. She didn't know. Her mind had been clouded with her thoughts and worries. The little food she had brought was long gone, along with the water that she'd shared with her horse. She had given him her apple as well. She kept thinking about Umbrul, the man her mother had arranged her marriage to.

Umbrul was not a regular man, but someone she was certain was not altogether human. His face had been fair, almost otherworldly so. But he had emanated something so cold and dark that she was certain it was pure evil. And that black blood...Blood that color only came from servants of the Dark Lord, or so she had read. He terrified her, and now she was set to be wedded to him. "Over my dead body," she growled to herself. It surprised her to hear her own voice, gone rusty and hoarse from lack of water.

Her mother had given her away; sold her. Her own mother!

She clung to the stallion's neck, fatigue tearing at her limbs, but she refused to stop. Lack of food, water, and sleep were beginning to tear her down, slowly. There were scratches in her arms and across her face from tearing through a grove of trees earlier in the day, and her fine gown was ripped. No doubt, if she were being tracked, the missing pieces would give her trail away.

        That made up her mind. Gingerly, she sat up, the muscles in her back and shoulders protesting none too gently. She was a proficient rider, but such long hours in the saddle she was most unused to. The stallion she had chosen, Nightshade, had long since slowed his pace to a walk, not only to accommodate the terrain, but because he was becoming exhausted as well. They both needed a rest. And she needed to change.

        She was not far off from the Gap of Rohan now, which seemed as good a place as any to take some rest, though she wished there were a stream or a river nearby to quench her thirst, as well as Nightshade's. At least she knew enough to stop out of sight of the main road, behind a large cluster of rocks. There she staked Nightshade out to graze a bit, and pulled her change of clothes from the large pack. The leather breeches, linen shirt, and leather tunic would keep her warm and protect her skin from any more scratches.

        Finally, she allowed herself to sit down. Her eyelids were just beginning to droop when she heard a noise. It sounded like a scuffle, but the voices she heard were harsh and vulgar in tone. A sudden fright gripped her, though she couldn't say why.

        Silently, she crept up the rocks and looked over them. Her breath left her body and her head went light. Orcs! Surely not! They didn't exist; they were only legends, bedtime stories that she'd read about late at night by candlelight. But yet, there they were, no more than hall's length away, a foul and terrible sight to behold. Nyara counted seven of them, some big and swarthy, with sharp pointed teeth and long snarled hair. Some looked a bit different than that, smaller, but they were all equally terrifying. And they were in the sunlight as well...which meant they must be the Uruk-hai, if these were indeed the evil things she'd read about.

        There were three of them arguing, but she couldn't understand their language. It was foul and seemed to pummel her ears. Then two of them drew wicked blades and began to lash at each other. The third soon joined the fight, and no more than five minutes later the first two lay dead. Black blood stained the earth around them. The one left alive was much bigger and more menacing than the rest; she assumed he was the leader. His skin was black and his face was hideously warped. He licked the blade of the knife that had slain the other two, and then the rest of the pack jumped upon the bodies, tearing them with their teeth and eating them like a savory meal.

        Nyara pressed a hand to her mouth, fighting back the bile that had gathered in the back of her throat.

        And the leader looked right directly at her. She jumped, and began to shake. Terror as she had never known gripped her limbs, terror akin to that she'd felt when she'd gazed into Umbrul's cold, evil eyes. The leader barked what sounded strangely like orders to the rest of the Orcs, then kicked the one nearest him. They reluctantly stood, and looked in her direction. She would have sworn their disgusting faces split with disfigured grins.

        Then, as one, they began running in her direction.

        A terrified scream left her mouth before she could stop it, inciting the Orcs even more. They quickened their pace, and were halfway to her before she could unstake Nightshade, his eyes rolling with fear, and leap onto his back. She set her heels to his flanks and he shot off with amazing speed. Still, he was tired, and so was she. They could not hope to outrun the mighty Uruk-hai.

        Nyara didn't dare look back. If she did she knew she would never make it. So she clung to Nightshade's mane, buried her face in his warm neck, and whispered fervent pleas to let her survive.

        There was a whizzing sound, a dull thud, and Nightshade screamed in pain. His head tossed back, striking the side of her face. Stars danced before her eyes as pain blossomed like fire in her right cheek. The stallion stumbled and went down, her head struck the earth, and she heard a feminine voice screaming, which she dimly recognized as her own. Then the world went black, and she knew no more.

The Fallen
Chapter Four
        "Bonds Forged"

Haldir heard the scream as loud as if someone had shouted in his ear, only moments before he caught sight of the small band of Orcs, barely a league away. Haldir's keen eyes caught sight of a black horse just ahead of them, and as he watched it stumbled and rolled, its rider caught beneath it and likely crushed. He spoke to Steelsheen, asking him to run the fastest he had ever run, desperate to reach the fallen rider before the Orcs did, and the mighty stallion put on more speed than he had, as yet, ever shown Haldir.

Meanwhile, the Orcs closed in on the fallen rider.

Pulling his bow from behind him, Haldir nocked an arrow as he drew closer. Then he let them fly. One, two, three shots, and three Orcs fell. Confused, they looked around, brandishing their foul blades and growling loudly. Another shot struck an Uruk-hai directly in the face, cleaving the disfigured flesh. He fell with a loud thud. The last Uruk was lifting the body of the fallen rider, none too gently, and Haldir snarled with rage when he saw the long black hair tumble down. A woman! Two more arrows he loosed, then another and another, riddling the body of the Uruk-hai that held her, and at last he fell, dropping the woman's body to the ground. She cried out as she struck the hard earth, and made no more sound.

Steelsheen slowed, but Haldir had already leaped off his back. He slung his bow over his back as he ran. The woman lay half atop the dead Uruk, her long black hair hiding her face from view. Gently, he lifted her off the disgusting creature, carried her a good twenty paces away, and laid her down. She whimpered a bit, though she was unconscious, a sign that she must be in a good deal of pain. He left her only long enough to check on her horse. The poor beast was already dead, its lifeless eyes glazed over and unseeing. Haldir closed his own blue eyes against the sight of the arrow that protruded from its belly. The Uruk-hai's shot was true and lethal, as they always were.

Haldir moved back to the woman's side, her stirring a warning that she was about to wake up. He brushed back the hair that covered her face and gasped. An angry purple and bluish bruise spread upward from her right cheekbone and upwards, underneath her eye and out to her temple. He hadn't seen the Uruk-hai strike her, so he didn't know whence it came..

He took a moment to observe her before she awoke. For a mortal, she was quite fair, he supposed. Quite tall by men's standards she was, but there was grace in her limbs that was evident even in her sleep. Her hair was long and raven black, her skin alabaster pale, much like his own. He wondered what color her eyes would be.

        ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nyara stirred again, and slowly her eyes opened. When she caught sight of Haldir, they went wide. Scrambling to sit up, she clutched her head and groaned. "Who are you?" she whispered, her voice soft with sudden wonder. Her eyes drank in his features: Long pale hair, crystal blue eyes, elongated slightly pointed ears, that light that shone around him that nearly blinded her.....

"You're an Elf," she gasped.

"I am," he said, and his voice flowed over her like music. Yes, most definitely an Elf. "My name is Haldir."

"You saved me."

Haldir nodded.

"Thank you. If not for you, I'd be dead now. Or worse. I have never seen Orcs before."

"Lucky you are that you have not. Orcs have not bothered with Men for an Age, though you do not seem distraught at their sight." There was a question in his voice that she did not miss. His blue eyes locked with her own, and she felt that he could see clear through to her very soul.

"I believe in the old stories. I've read nearly everything I can get my hands on about the Great Years, and before. The Orcs were always a part of them, as I remember."

Haldir stared at her. A mortal woman who believed! It was a surprise to him, for he knew that modern Men did not now believe in Elves, or Dwarves, or Hobbits. Orcs would certainly be far from their realities. Yet here was a young woman, fresh enough in the ways of the world as to not be tainted by cynicism and doubt. Hope still abounded within her spirit.

As he looked on her he felt her light, her internal sparkle shone through to his clouded soul. She gave him hope as he hadn't known before, and for the life of him he couldn't understand why. All the wisdom of his years hadn't prepared him to find hope within a mortal, and yet there it was. She fascinated him.

He realized that her eyes were gray; a deep gray, like the sea after a heavy storm, when Ulmo rose up to remind the world and its inhabitants of his might and wrath. Perhaps she was of Prince Imrahil's distant descendants.

"Haldir?" Nyara queried, jerking his attention back to the present. He looked at her. "Do you think you could help me stand up? I'm a little bruised but I don't think anything's broken."

Haldir nodded and gently grasped beneath her shoulders to lift her, surprised at how gracefully she moved, even in pain.

"You certainly don't say much, do you?" she commented, putting weight on her limbs little by little, testing the waters until she knew for herself that nothing was broken.

Haldir didn't answer her question, instead going to his own mount and retrieving a fair cloak from a pack on the stallion's back. "Wear this." He hesitated a moment before speaking again. When he did speak, his voice was solemn. "Your horse lays over there." He pointed to a dark figure lying upon the ground not far away, and Nyara's eyes flew over Nightshade's prone body, lingering on the arrow protruding from his side. Unbidden, tears came to her eyes.

"He was a noble stallion," she commented absently.

"I am sorry."

Nyara met eyes with Haldir. "I must tell you the truth about myself. I ran away from home. That is why I was alone."

"Running will not help you."

Nyara sniffed back the remaining tears and sighed. "I could think of no other solution. My mother sold me to--"

"Sold!" Haldir exploded, making Nyara jump. His body vibrated with rage so suddenly that it took her aback. "Sold! No being can claim ownership over another."

"And yet it is so," Nyara explained. "Things are different now. My mother sold me for marriage to an evil man. Even his name makes my blood run cold."

Haldir looked at her squarely. "What is the name of this man who is your betrothed?"

Nyara shuddered. "I will not call him my betrothed. Betrothed is a term for those in love, not for this.....this.....business arrangement. I cut him, you know." She was speaking absently now, not really caring if he was listening or not. "I came around the barn on Nightshade's back, and he stepped in front of me. There was so much evil in his eyes..... And I cut him. I drew my knife and I cut him and.... his blood. It was black. Blacker than midnight. There was so much rage and so much anger.... It made my vision darken, and I thought I wouldn't be able to escape him. But then I was free, and it passed." She took a deep calming breath, sighing softly.

Haldir's mind raced as she spoke. It could only be the one he was sent here to stop. "Please, Lady. His name. What did your mother say about him?"

"She called him Prince Umbrul, and all I learned of him is that he is from the East. I couldn't explain to her that that area is Mordor, for no one believes in the old tales anymore. So I did the only thing I knew of to do. I ran."

Haldir took a deep breath. He knew now that they were destined to meet. She was his link, the key to his quest. Umbrul would come for her, and there he would meet his doom. "Then we must not let him find you," he said, rather decisively.

        "You're overlooking one small problem," she said.

Haldir looked blankly at her, a very rare expression for an Elf.

"My horse. He's dead."

Recognition flickered instantly. "That is no matter. You may ride with me."

Steelsheen snorted.

"If my companion will agree, naturally," Haldir amended.

Nyara looked on Steelsheen with wonder as the great stallion approached. His large eyes were liquid and deeper than any well she could imagine. Fluid grace lived in his limbs, and there was fire in his step. Nobility and pride shone from his eyes and pronounced itself in the grand arch of his mighty neck.

"I have never seen such a beautiful animal," she breathed, daring to stroke his neck just once. It arched up beneath her gentle touch, and she laughed as he tossed his head and snuffled at her.

"He is of the Mearas. Great steeds they were, mostly gone now. A few still remain, horses of such intelligence and speed that they are almost incomparable to the horses used by Men. Steelsheen is the only steed able even to be compared to the great Shadowfax."

Beside him, Steelsheen snorted again and tossed his mane, bobbing his head up and down as if agreeing with Haldir's praise.

"Steelsheen will consent to bear you and I both, and he will show you the meaning of speed. Come," he said, mounting up and holding out his hand. Hesitantly she took it, to find herself nearly tossed, though with a gentle touch, up before him on the stallion's back.

"Where do you go?" Nyara asked, not certain that she wanted to venture once more into the woodlands with this man- Elf- though she immediately trusted him.

"I ride to Eryn Lasgalen, Land of the Green Leaves, to seek King Thranduil of that realm, and Celeborn also, Lord of East Lorien."

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Nyara allowed these words to sink in, searching her memory for those words. She had read them before, she was certain. "Eryn Lasgalen? King Thranduil......I have read that name before. It is familiar to me, but I don't know why. Thranduil...... Oh! Yes, I remember now. Thranduil was King of Mirkwood, and Legolas Greenleaf's father."

Haldir nodded. "You are right. King Thranduil has been Lord of that realm since I was but a small Elfling, and that is no small number of years."

"How old are you, Haldir?"

"Did you know that Mirkwood used to be overrun with spiders? Giant, fanged beasts. Even now Elves hold no love for them, for King Thranduil's people fought valiantly, and lost many lives, in trying to keep the Shadow from the wood."

"Haldir."

He looked at her, finally, and she laughed. "How old are you?"

Haldir sighed, and shook his head. "We Elves do not age as mortal Men. I have been alive through several Ages of this world. I have seen things that I would never wish an innocent as yourself to see. I have waited nearly two Ages to return to Middle-earth from Mandos, and now the cycle of my life will continue."

Nyara fell silent, finally realizing who she was riding with. Haldir had helped the Fellowship in Lothlorien. She had read about him countless times in the old manuscripts, and of his death. Only now did she fully understand. He had been dead nearly two Ages, and was now sent back from Mandos. Surely there must be a reason for his return to Middle-earth, rather than going on to Elvenhome as all the other Elves would eventually do.

"Why are you here, Haldir?"

"I have been asked to perform a task. Once I do so, I will be free to live as I please."

"What is this task?" She didn't care that she was being nosy. Something inside told her that she would somehow be involved, and her mind would not rest until she knew exactly what would be demanded of her.

Haldir gazed straight ahead as he spoke. "To kill the man your mother sold you to."

Nyara gasped. "Truly? What could warrant such violence?"

"You said yourself that this man is wholly evil. You sensed it after being in his presence only a short while. Even as we speak, your intended is gathering an army; an army that he intends to use to complete the Dark One's work, started so long ago."

"But surely, from all I read of the Dark Lord, Umbrul is but a shadow of that evil."

Haldir nodded. "Even so, he claims kinship with the Dark Lord, and has already gathered such beasts to him as have never been imagined by your people. Demons of the ancient world that even my people have a hard task remembering."

"And your task is to stop him."

"Yes. Kill him if I must, and destroy the beasts under his command." Haldir did not tell her that even gathering the numbers to fight such monsters would be nearly an impossible task. That was why he rode now to Eryn Lasgalen, hoping to seek aid from Thranduil and Celeborn. They were the only two great Elf Lords left in all of Middle-earth. The Elves still remaining were past their autumn, and they too grew weary of this home. Soon they too would depart the Havens, until the last ship was built and Cirdan the Shipwright upon it, sailing for the Undying Lands with all that remained of the Elves in Middle-earth.

        "Then I will help you," Nyara said suddenly, drawing him away from his dreary thoughts. "I will help you kill Umbrul, Haldir."

        "A battle is no place for a Lady, Nyara."

        Nyara set her stubborn chin, her back rigid, and faced straight ahead. "You will need me, Haldir. I can get close to him, close enough to kill him if I must. And I will kill him, if it means saving my people."

        Closing his eyes, Haldir sought for reason, but found none. Perhaps Nyara was intended to help him complete this journey. Who was he to make that decision for her? "I cannot have your welfare on my mind should it come to battle."

        "I can take care of myself if I must," she retorted, inciting a derisive snort from Haldir.

        "Surely, as that party of Orcs must have thought when they had you in their bow sights. I'm certain such a delicacy would have gone unpraised."

        Nyara was silent for a long moment. Haldir's words cut deeply, for she knew the truth in them. She was not a fighter, not a valiant swordswoman like Eowyn Shieldmaiden of Rohan. She'd probably just end up getting herself killed in this, but no matter. She had no home, no family left to turn to. No friends. Even her horse was dead.

        "I am sorry, Lady," Haldir said after a moment. "I was wrong to speak to you thus. I am sorry."

        Nyara nodded and continued staring ahead. So much flew through her mind, it was easier to keep silent and sort it out than it was to attempt to tell Haldir her concerns. Perhaps it would be best if she waited until they reached King Thranduil and Lord Celeborn to give voice to her questions.

        They rode all day and all night, lights bending and colors blending as she slipped from consciousness to sleep and back to consciousness again. They passed through country so beautiful it took her breath away, back over the fields of Rohan, after which they followed the Anduin for untold hours. Steelsheen never tired, though he bore the weight of a young woman and a fully-grown Elf Lord. His hooves were silent as the night as he raced, and Nyara couldn't help but feel as though she were flying, so smooth was his gait.

        Behind Nyara, Haldir kept one arm securely around her waist to keep her from falling off Steelsheen's back when sleep would again claim her. He gave her food, lembas, as they rode, and water also, to keep rests to a minimum. He wanted to reach Thranduil and Celeborn as soon as was possible. Even the Eldar would not say when Umbrul would make his attack upon Middle- earth, and that gave Haldir the extra incentive to complete his task before it was too late, and more Men lost their lives.

        Already, he knew that there had been killings by Umbrul's beasts, especially nearer the borders of old Mordor. It would pain Aragorn to know that all his great works and efforts were now falling to naught. During the years of Aragorn's reign Men, Elves, and Dwarves had walked freely among each other; now Men no longer believed in them, and the Elves and Dwarves had estranged themselves from them.

        Gandalf had once said that faith must be placed in Men for the world to survive, but Haldir could not see how it had any hope if it were acceptable to sell one's own children for money. Perhaps Middle-earth truly was fated to fall to the Shadow, but Haldir would lose his life again, if necessary, to keep that from happening. If for no other reason but the hope of more people like Nyara living in the world, people who still believed in their legends, the actual history of their world.

        Such hopes were more fragile than the stuff of dreams.

The Fallen
Chapter Five
        "The King"

Nyara woke to the gentle prodding of Haldir shaking her shoulder. "What is it, Haldir?" she asked, sleep fogging her voice as she struggled to swim up from her sea of sleep. She had dreamt disturbing dreams this night, and they niggled at the back of her mind.

        Haldir nodded ahead of them. "We have reached Eryn Lasgalen. Thranduil is not far away. His people will likely find us and take us to him. Do not fear them, though they may be mistrustful of you because you are mortal. They have not had dealings with Men in many long years."

        "I am not afraid," Nyara said, straightening her back and tilting her chin. She did not see Haldir's smile at the stubborn gesture. In truth, she was scared and excited all at once. All her life she'd dreamt of seeing a real Elf, and suddenly all her thoughts were being made flesh. Haldir was an amazing specimen of Elf Lord in full splendor, and she knew she would remember him all her days. The way he'd saved her life, especially. She shuddered to think at what fate may have befallen her had he not come along.

"This is the same road Bilbo took on his first quest with the Dwarves. I'm afraid Thranduil's people held no love for them then, for the Dwarves and Bilbo created much turmoil during their stay. They locked the Dwarves in the dungeons of the palace, and Bilbo managed to free them. Then they stuffed themselves inside wine barrels and floated their way out of captivity, down the river."

Nyara laughed softly. "I have never read that tale before, but I know of Bilbo. Frodo was his nephew, wasn't he?"

Haldir nodded. "If not for Frodo, it's likely that Middle-earth would be a far different place than you know. It would be a place in darkness, ruled by all things evil. I do not often think on this, for it is too terrible a thought to dwell on."

"Do you think you can stop Umbrul, Haldir?"

He was silent for a long moment. Nyara wondered if she had overstepped a line that mustn't be crossed. But then Haldir spoke.

"I do not know if I have the strength to defeat Umbrul. He is something...different. I know not of him as Man or Elf. Perhaps I will kill him. Then, it is possible that he might kill me. To this, I have no answer."

Nyara was shaken as a sudden realization wove itself through her mind: she didn't want Haldir to die. It seemed unfair that such a noble Elf Lord should fall to such evil. Unintentionally, she leaned back against Haldir's chest, seeking the warmth and light that his very presence emanated. It was strange to her that she should feel such attachment after only a few days, but there it was. He was the closest thing to a true friend she had ever known. Perhaps that was why she felt such a need for him to be near.

Haldir's thoughts were similar. It was unlike him to allow someone so close, especially a mortal like Nyara. Where had his cold, hard façade gone that he could open up so easily to this young woman? Likely it was that he had saved her life, and now felt a certain responsibility toward her. Then again, perhaps it was simply that she was the only mortal who ever gave him real hope, save Aragorn.

She reminded him of his old friend, in many ways. There was that same stoic resolve to do what was right that radiated from her. Also, he found in her eyes knowledge beyond her years, which he couldn't guess to be more than twenty. So young to have experienced so much. He saw in her shadows of a past with many dark memories. To his Elf eyes she was more than some peasant girl whose mother had sold her for a profit; there was something else, something in her blood that gave him pause and told him to look closer. And each time he did, all he could see were faces. Faramir, Eowyn, Theoden, and Boromir, the man who given his life to save two Halflings from certain death. He couldn't explain these faces, nor why he should see them when he looked at Nyara.

Perhaps Thranduil and Celeborn would also have these answers for him. Often they sent Elves to the cities to scout and bring back news. Surely they would know more of this matter. Nyara was more than she seemed to know, though he wasn't sure how that was possible.

A sound caught his ear, and he turned his head to the left suddenly, making Nyara jump.

"What is it, Haldir?" she asked, and he held a finger to his lips.

"Thranduil's people have come to greet us. Let me speak to them, and speak only if you are addressed in the Common Tongue."

Relieved that she did not argue, he drew Steelsheen to a halt. Shapes materialized before them then, until six Elves surrounded the large stallion. Before him, Nyara drew a sharp breath. Seeing so many Elves when one had never before been witness to such beauty was a shock for her, but to her credit she remained silent.

One of the Elves stepped to the front, and Haldir smiled. King Thranduil himself had come, a great compliment. He was robed in autumn colors and greens, a wreath upon his head. Long blonde hair flowed down his back, a mark of many Ages gone by. His face was fair and young, and there was a light in his eye that spoke of his happiness in seeing Haldir once more.

"Oio na elealla alasse, Haldir," he said, placing his hand over his heart.

Haldir smiled and nodded, returning the gesture. "Aaye, Thranduil. Nae saian luume."

"Creoso a'baramin, mellonamin. Cila amin." With a curt nod and a curious glance in Nyara's direction, Thranduil turned from Haldir and walked aways ahead.

"What's going on, Haldir?" Nyara whispered, anxious now and little less relaxed than before. "What did he say?"

"He is King Thranduil, ruler of this realm, and he wishes to speak with me, Nyara. I must follow him, and you must stay here and wait for me." Haldir dismounted and, sensing her distress, placed a hand atop hers where they rested on Steelsheen's neck. "Do not fear. I will return soon."

Then he turned away and was soon gone. Nyara tried to remain unruffled by the distrustful stares of the Elves left to guard her, but it was no easy task. Still, she managed to study them without appearing rude, and was dazzled at what she saw.

They were all tall by the standards of Men, and strongly built. Most had long white blonde hair, a color she had never before seen save on Haldir. There were bows on their backs that she knew they were more than capable of using. In all, they were beautiful, and a light radiated from them that she could not explain. She decided she must ask Haldir about that later.

Ahead of her, Haldir and Thranduil spoke in their own language.

"What of the girl, then?" Thranduil asked. Haldir had already related the entire story of his quest, and the purpose for him being there. Thranduil had promised what aid he could, though he knew that he would not remain in Middle-earth much longer. Still, he found himself unable to ignore the fates of Men, as he had been unable to during the War of the Ring.

"I found her near the Gap of Rohan. She was pursued by a small band of Orcs, led by Uruk-hai. They killed her mount, and would have done the same to her had I not interfered."

"There is something else, as well."

Haldir nodded. "She is Umbrul's betrothed."

Thranduil exploded with an Elvish curse, but Haldir continued. "Her mother sold her to him."

"Sold! Now Men claim ownership over one another!" Thranduil's eyes flashed fury, fury that Haldir remembered feeling when Nyara had explained her situation many days before.

"Yes, my Lord. But Nyara, that is her name, rather than wedding him, took a horse and ran away."

Thranduil was silent for a moment. "I do not know why Umbrul would wish to make such an arrangement. But Nyara, as you call her, is a part of this now, and she must remain so until the end."

"She has already sworn that she will do nothing else. But she has no knowledge of battle, no skills in fighting."

"That can be remedied easily enough, Haldir. You are a good teacher. I will supply weapons to fit a young woman of her stature, and armor, and you will aid her in learning the use of them."

Thranduil was right, of course. Nyara would have to be taught to fight if she were to be involved in this battle. Perhaps he could teach her enough that she could defend herself. "Thank you, my Lord. And now I must ask you, where is Celeborn?"

Thranduil's face grew a little sad as he spoke. "I am sorry, my friend. Celeborn grew weary of this realm, for without Galadriel here it held no joy for him. He has returned to Imladris, to dwell with the sons of Elrond. There he will remain until he takes ship to Valinor."

"Then we will journey next to find him. Will you go with us, Thranduil?" Haldir couldn't help but ask. Thranduil was not only a wise and benevolent King, he was also a formidable ally in battle. His help would be welcome in any aspect.

"I must think on this. My people must be informed of these events, and we will hold council to decide what we must do. But first you must rest. Your friend will be welcome in my Halls for as long as you remain here. I should like to learn from her what has become of the world of Men." He touched Haldir's shoulder. "So come. We will escort you to my home, and you will take some rest, and eat. Tomorrow we shall hold council on these matters. I shall send for weapons and armor for your friend. Nyara is her name?"

"Yes. Nyara Ravencrow, Thranduil. She will prove trustworthy in this, I assure you. Perhaps when you meet her, you will sense what I sense. There is something different in her blood that I cannot conceive. I know her, but I do not."

Thranduil studied Haldir closely. "This girl already shows her affect on you. Perhaps her part in this is more grand than I had anticipated." Then he turned and made his way back to where he had left Nyara and the other Elves, and Haldir was left speechless. There was naught to do but follow the King.

They found Nyara sitting stone-like upon Steelsheen's back. Her chin was upturned, and determination seeped from every pore. She was definitely nervous, perhaps even a little afraid. He hurried to her side, and she gave him a grateful smile.

"You came back," she breathed.

"Did I not give you my word that I would return?" he said, and offered her his hand so that she could dismount.

"You did."

Her feet now on solid ground, she gazed around at the Elves before her. From this level they seemed even more intimidating. They still wore no particular expression, save perhaps a curious distrust, as before. "What happens now?"

"Thranduil has invited us to stay as guests in his Halls. No, not in the dungeons," he said, finding himself fighting back a laugh at the horrified expression on her face. "Tonight there will be a feast, and then we will rest. Tomorrow he has said he will hold council on these matters, and you are to attend them as a guest and as an important part of this journey."

"Me? Why am I important?"

"Because you are Umbrul's intended, his bride-to-be, and there must be a reason why he would enter into such a situation. You, whether you know it or not, are part of his plan to take over Middle-earth, as the Dark Lord himself once tried to do."

Nyara had no time to reply, for the Elf that had spoken to Haldir before now approached them. He gazed straight into her eyes, and Nyara felt shaken to her soul. Still, she did not flinch from him, but gazed steadily back. His eyes were an icy blue, pale as a cold dawn, but in them she saw no malice nor mistrust.

For a moment, she feared he would see something within her that would doom her. But then he blinked, and smiled. It was a small smile, barely recognizable, but enough to reassure her that he did not think her evil.

"You are Nyara Ravencrow," he said, now speaking in the Common Tongue so that she could understand him.

"Yes, my Lord," she replied, bowing her head in deference to his title. This seemed to impress him, for he smiled again.

"I see in you much light, young one, and many other things. Yet I see that you are trustworthy and loyal, a servant of the Light perhaps. Many things you will be ere too long, and you are welcome in my house. I am King Thranduil, and this is my kingdom," he said, sweeping an arm out wide to indicate the forest beyond them. "As long as you remain here you may walk free, but I warn you not to go too far from the palace. There are things in this forest that you have never seen and would be unprepared to defend yourself against should you stumble upon them."

Nyara nodded and inclined her head again, and Thranduil turned to Haldir. "Come, my friend. Soon, we will feast, and then you must rest. Tomorrow we will make our plans known."

Haldir spoke his agreement, and helped Nyara mount up again.

"Where are we going, Haldir?" she asked as he leapt up behind her.

"To Thranduil's palace. I have not been there in many long years. I wonder if it will have changed in such a span of time."

His thoughts seemed to turn inward, and Nyara fell silent, watching the woods pass them by. She couldn't remember seeing such beauty in a place of such closeness. The trees seemed to make a false ceiling that allowed light through in shafts that sparkled down to the ground and illuminated the forest floor. It was surreal to be walking moving through it, almost like a dream she wished never to wake from.

She couldn't help thinking, as they made their way to Thranduil's palace, that even if it meant her own death she would never allow such a beautiful place to fall to darkness.....

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Elvish Translations: "Oio na elealla alasse, Haldir," translates to: "Ever is thy sight a joy, Haldir."

"Aaye, Thranduil. Nae saian luume," translates to: "Hail, Thranduil. It has been too long."

"Creoso a'baramin, mellonamin. Cila amin," translates to: "Welcome to my home, my friend. Follow me."