The newly formed company continued to travel in silence for the rest of the day. Fëawen and Irani found the scenery breath-taking, for leagues around the only thing to be seen was flat land and occasionally a hill or ridge. The sun shone brightly above their heads, making the still air stuffy.

They didn't stop for lunch, they felt a need to get to Lothlorien as quickly as possible. Fëawen refused to let her fellow travellers know about the message she was taking, for she did not fully know or understand herself. She was just a mere messenger in a large world of knowledge. And somehow that knowledge was being held from her. As well as the fact that both Galadriel and Elrond had sworn her to secrecy, and she wasn't going to throw away their faith in her.

When the night began to draw in on the company, the outline of the Misty Mountains could be seen in the distance. Though this image soon disappeared to the night. The company stopped by a clump of tress, where they set a fire and sat down for what to make of a meal.

'How are we supposed to get to Lothlorien? Over the mountains?' Irani asked as they finished eating.

'Over Caradhras I should think. Which way did you come to Rivendell, Fëawen?' Celebtathar looked to the female sitting beside him.

'I went via the Gap of Rohan. I first took a message to King Eomer of the Golden Hall.' Fëawen replied, remembering her long tiresome journey.

'That's a long way to come. Especially on foot.' Malmîr said, poking the fire to keep it burning.

'Well, I was given a horse by King Eomer, but she became lame on the journey up, so I let her go. I was told she would be able to find her own way home. That quickened the journey a bit.'

'But which way do we go?' Irani asked.

'I think we should try Caradhras.' Celebtathar suggested.

'You're the boss.' Fëawen whispered, shrugging her shoulders. 'If that fails I suggest we ride down to the river Isen and enter Lothlorien from the south.'

'Ok, so our destination for tomorrow is the roots of Caradhras.' Celebtathar informed them. After a while their conversation died down and they settled down to sleep. Irani and Malmîr slept in each others arms, keeping themselves warm to the chilly night air. Fëawen slept by the dying fire, wrapped in her blankets, and Celebtathar sat, not too far away, as it was agreed that he would keep watch for the night.

* * * * *

When the first light of dawn appeared on the eastern horizon, the company arose for another long day of travelling. After a quick breakfast of fruit and bread, they mounted their horses and kicked into a fast walk.

Once the horse's had been warmed up, they spurred into a fast gallop. The outline of the Mountains grew ever closer as the sun again shone down brightly. It was a day of silence between the company for a second time, the beat of the horse's hooves rang out over the land and echoed in an eerie way.

By mid afternoon, they had already reached their destination of the roots of Caradhras. So they set up a camp in a small forest clearing and conversed to get to know each other better.

'I was born into a half-elven family.' Irani told Fëawen as they brushed down their horses. 'My mother was Half-elven and my father was a man. I took over from my mother so I'm immortal. But father wasn't, when I was still quite young, he died of old age. Mother and I went on as best we could, but I couldn't handle it, so I moved to Rivendell, where I met Malmîr.'

'Oh, Irani, I'm so sorry.' Fëawen sensed Irani's hurt and sadness, she just wished there was something she could do to relieve the pain.

'Why should you be? Nobody could stop it.' Fëawen glanced down at her hands and wished she hadn't opened her mouth. From beside her, Irani sighed. 'Sorry, I've been good with taking sympathy from people. I know you meant well.' Irani placed a hand on Fëawen's shoulder and smiled.

'That's never happened to me, so I can't say I know how you feel, because I don't.' The boys had been listening to Fëawen and Irani's conversation.

'So are your parents both Elve's?' Celebtathar asked.

'I don't know. I never knew them.' Fëawen looked round at Celebtathar no trace of regret on her face. 'When I was born, I was left at the healing houses, my parents didn't want me. The nurse's looked after me until Lady Galadriel found out. She took me in as a messenger and brought me up. I'm her most valued messenger, she treats me as if I'm her daughter, the daughter she never had. I don't mind, it's easier when someone leaves you when you don't know them. But when some one goes that you've known your whole life,' Fëawen looked over to Irani, who was watching her with wide eyes, and an expressionless face. 'I can't image how hard it would be.'

There silence for a good few minutes, where everyone stood looking at Fëawen. Celebtathar had an aching in his heart, he wanted to gather Fëawen in his arms and promise her he would return her parents to her. Then again, she said she didn't mind being an orphan. The silence lasted until they sat down together for some dinner, when the sounds of chomping could be heard. Afterwards, they told each other stories of their homeland.

'I remember when King Thranduil wanted to give up his throne to his son.' Irani told the others. 'Prince Legolas refused and a few weeks later he left. Never to be seen again. Many say he is now dead, of over at the Valinor. Do you know he was part of the fellowship to destroy the reign of Sauron the Deceiver?' It had been a thousand years since the reign of the dark Lord Sauron had been shattered, and peace had been kept through Middle Earth for the whole of that time. Apart from the odd gangs of orc's that continued to kill innocent people.

'What do you think, Irani? Do you think the Prince is dead?' Malmîr asked.

'No, I don't. The rumour that ran around our part of the city, said that he had rode away into the night, seeking a lover that would make up his mind for him. So he didn't have to choose whether to take the throne or not. Of course, he never returned. But Thranduil lives in the land of hope. So do many others.'

'Do you have any stories to tell us?' Celebtathar asked Fëawen after a short pause of silence.

'The story of the Queen Varda is a favourite in the land of Lórien.' Fëawen said, remembering the first story ever taught to her by the Lady Galadriel. Then she began…

'Ai! Laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
Yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
Yéni ve Lintë yuldar avánier
Mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva
Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar
Nu luini yassen tintilar I eleni
Ómaryo airetári-lírinen

Sí man I yulma enquantuva?

An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëe
Ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë
Ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë,
Ar sindanóriello caita mornië
I falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië
Untúpa calaciryo míri oialë.
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar

Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar
Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië'

"Ah! Like gold fall the leaves in the wind,
long years numberless as the wings of trees!
The years have passed like swift draughts
Of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the west.
Beneath blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars
Tremble in the song of her voice,
Holy and queenly

Who now shall refill the cup for me?

For now the Kindler, Varda, the queen of the stars
From mount Everwhite had uplifted her hands like clouds.
And all paths are drowned deep in shadow
And out of a grey country darkness lies
On the foaming waves between us
And mist covers the jewels of Calacirya for ever
Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar!
Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar.
Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!"

As her last note faded into silence, a sudden snarl was heard, not for away. At this sound, the companions glanced round at each other. Then, the tress around them rustled. A fear spread through Fëawen that she had never experienced before. Yes, she had been taught to fight, it's a skill needed when you're a messenger, but she had never actually been in a fight. This would be her first one, and it wasn't a particularly nice one.

Malmîr, Irani, Celebtathar and Fëawen all shot up and drew their weapons. They stood, back to back, awaiting an attack. The light from the fire mingled with the moonlight, revealing the dark ugly lumps of Mordor Orc's. Servants of the dark-side. There were countless numbers of the creatures, all snarling like hungry wolves and bearing their horrible rotten teeth.

Celebtathar heard Fëawen gasp from beside him. Slowly he moved his hand to hers, and squeezed it gently. 'Be positive, Fëawen, and we can win.' He felt, rather then saw Fëawen nod her head.

The orc's edged closer, only to have five of their fellows shot down by Celebtathar and Malmîr arrows. Then suddenly, they were surrounded. The horses reared and lashed about, willing to be freed. The victims lurched forward into battle. They ducked, thrust, parried, stabbed, jumping, slashed, sidestepped and weaved their way through the orc's, killing as they went. Many of the enemy lay dead on the ground, but their numbers still did not recede. More and more of the dratted things appeared, making the companions worried that they could not win.

Their spirits were not lifted, when three of them heard a shout. Automatically, they looked round for the source of the sound. What they saw, was Celebtathar flying through the air, before smashing against a tree, and falling unconscious to the ground. Fëawen watched in dismay, feeling her stomach perform an unexpected cartwheel inside her. For a moment, she thought she had been stabbed herself, but she was merely standing, in the middle of a battle, staring at the fallen elf.

Before long, she was back fighting, with more force and anger then before. But still, the orc's numbers didn't seem to be reduced, and nearly all hope was lost. When, suddenly, a loud neigh of a horse was heard away from the clearing. Then, feminine laughter.

Only seconds later, a mysterious, figure dressed in black burst into the clearing on a tall, angry black stallion. Immediately, the rider joined the fight, laughing and demonstrating that she was having a wonderful time.

Malmîr, Irani and Fëawen didn't stop to marvel at the new arrival, they knew she was on their side, so they didn't care who or what she was. Though she was obviously a good fighter, once her arrows were spent, she pulled out two long knifes, and managed to control her horse, and fight at the same time. Even the horse joined in by kicking and bucking at the orcs.

After a few minutes with the stranger, the orcs numbers began to slim. When only a few were left, they all made a last desperate attempt to rid them of their lives. There was only one creature left. He made to run, but tripped on one of the countless bodies on the ground.

Struggling to get up, the black stallion reared above him and came down, pinning the orc to the ground with it's front hooves. The black hooded figure laughed and leaned down, so her face was only a foot away from the orc's.

'Where is he?' The rider snarled, placing the point of her knife to the orc's neck. The company, breathless from the battle, all ran over, and crouched by Celebtathar worried expressions on all of their faces. Once they had confirmed he was still alive, they stared up at the stranger, still leaned dangerously off her horse.

'Where's who?' The orc sneered, a hint of amusement in his gruff voice. The stallion automatically released more pressure onto the enemy's chest.

'You know damn well who I'm talking about. Where is he?' This time she spoke with more force, but the orc merely laughed. 'You pissheads have been getting on my nerves for so long.' The fighter raised her hand with the knife, and dropped it with force into the orc's neck. Immediately after, there was silence.

The rider sat back up on her mount and laughed again. Then turned to the companions she had just saved. They stared at her in awe and shock. But their attention soon turned back to their fellow traveller, who lay still.

'You guy's ok?' She asked, as she dismounted, pulled her knife from the enemy's neck, an wiping it against her cloak.

'Celebtathar isn't.' Fëawen said, gripping Celebtathar's hand tightly. 'Who are you?'

'Me? I'm a warrior. That's all you need to know for now.'

'Can we not at least know the name of our savour?' Irani asked.

'Anólindë.' She bent down next to the fallen warrior and felt for a pulse. After a few seconds, she sighed and shook her head.

'What?' The friends asked in unison at Anólindë's exasperated sigh.

'Where are you heading?'

'To the city of Caras Galadhon in Lothlorien.' Malmîr answered.

Anólindë tutted under her breath. 'He'll never make it.' She slid her arms under Celebtathar's limp body, and lifted him with ease. Glancing around the clearing for the black stallion, she cursed loudly. For the horse was no longer there. 'Where the hell has he gone?' A high piercing whistle issued from Anólindë's mouth. 'Rheoc!' From far off, they heard an answering neigh, then the thud of hooves.

Seconds later, the black stallion, named Rheoc, entered the clearing, tossing his head. When he saw his owner holding a limp body, he knelt forward on his fore legs. Anólindë gently placed Celebtathar in the saddle on the stallions back.

'What are you doing?' Fëawen asked, horrified by the strangers behaviour.

'Saving your friend, do you object?' Anólindë replied in a dry voice. Neither Malmîr, Irani or Fëawen answered, so the hooded figure took that as a no. 'Noro lim, Rheoc, Noro lim.' With that, the black beast cantered away from the clearing, into the forest.

'What if he falls? Or is attacked?' Malmîr asked in a loud angry voice.

'He wont fall. Rheoc will take care of him. And that was the only band of foul being in this forest.' Anólindë still had her hood up, so the company had no idea what she looked like. Slowly, she walked around, collecting any arrows that could be reused.

'What are we supposed to do?' Irani moved over to Lorelei and attempted to calm her down.

'Well, you can stay here and find your own way over Red-Horn gate (?) or you can come with me, rest while I recover your friend, and then be lead the easy way to Lórien.' The friends chose the second option, it suited them most. As they packed their scattered belongings, Anólindë walked among the dead orc's, checking they were actually dead.

When everything was packed, they all mounted their horses. Anólindë on Celebtathar's palomino mare. She urged Elosa into a gentle trot, and lead the three away from the clearing, into the dense forest. At the end of which, they came to a cliff wall, and followed it round for a few minutes.

'Anólindë?' Fëawen called from the back. 'Will Celebtathar be ok?'

'He should be, yeah. Those orcs have been hanging around for the past three months, thanks for helping to destroy them.'

'It should be us thanking you, my lady.' Malmîr replied. 'You saved our lives.'

'I'm a warrior. It's what I do best. Damned orcs.' Anólindë spat at the ground in disgust, and fell silent.

At the back of the line, Fëawen was dying to ask a question that had been in her mind ever since Anólindë first spoke. But this didn't seem the right time, or the place. They rounded a corner and came face to face with an opening in the rock. Big enough for a horse to walk through, this they entered. The dark tunnel lead to a fairly large cave, where Anólindë's horse, Rheoc was obviously kept. The opening was lighted by glowing torches, placed at equal intervals around the walls.

Here, they dismounted in silence, and unloaded their packs. On the far end of the cave, there was another tunnel, also big enough for a horse. This, the four of them walked through, into an even larger cave. Where there were cupboards, a mirror, chairs, a table, a bed, and a fire in the middle.

On the bed, lay a still, sleeping Celebtathar, but no sign of anyone else, or the black stallion.

Fëawen looked around in confusion. 'Where's your horse?'

Anólindë opened one of the cupboard doors, took out a pot of water, a cloth rag, and a tiny phial. 'He has probably gone back out. He never stays for long.' She placed the pot down beside the bed and dipped the rag into it, soaking it. After draining the rag, she gently placed it over Celebtathar's forehead.

The others watched in silence. Their savour still hadn't lowered her hood, they only trusted her, simply because she had saved their lives, and was now trying to revive their own warrior. Irani stood close to Malmîr, that way she felt safer.

'Do you live alone?' Fëawen asked, moving over to kneel beside Anólindë and Celebtathar.

'No, my husband is out searching the forest.' Anólindë replied, with un screwing the lid on the phial. Slowly, she waved it underneath the casualty's nose, allowing him to breath in the foul smell that erupted from the bottle. Fëawen gripped Celebtathar's hand as he began to stir. His eyes opened for a matter of seconds, then closed them again, falling back into a deep sleep. 'He'll sleep for a while now.'

'But he just opened his eyes.' Fëawen said, slightly raising her voice.

'Yeah, he did. He's not unconscious from the bump on his head now, he's just sleeping.' Anólindë stood and returned the phial to its place in the cupboard. Then, she turned and lowered her hood.

All three of the friends gasped. She had the fairest face any of them had ever seen, long copper-coloured hair and shocking ocean blue eyes.

But just then, the sound of hooves against stone was heard on the other side of the wall. Anólindë looked round and smiled.