“Ada!”
Bouncing golden curls were swept back as her father’s arms reached out to her and threw her into the warm evening air.
He smelled of pine and left a smudge of resin on her blue dress that she would sniff at for weeks.
“Yaulë!” Silver laughter in her ear as he held her close before setting her down onto the dusty floor of his workshop. “What mischief have you done now?”
She giggled into her hands and pulled out a small silver hammer.
Her father froze, his eyes widening. “Valar… Have you gotten into Mahtan’s workshop again?”
Limiriel proudly threw her head back, baring her teeth in a grin of impish delight.
He laughed; his glorious silver head thrown back, and ruffled her hair. “You are nothing but trouble, my daughter.”
The little pine fox he gave her to play with distracted her from the missing hammer.
***
A soft touch on her shoulder startled her awake.
We need to leave.
Liscë’s expression spoke of his urgency.
“What is it?” Limiriel struggled to focus on the darkness around her, grabbing her weapons to ward off the oncoming danger and warm dream alike.
… Uruk-hai… party… scent…
It was difficult to make out his hands beyond that, but it was enough. The small elf huffed as he mounted his horse, glancing nervously towards the dim horizon. It was hours until sunrise, and in the light of the waning moon it was difficult to make out much in the gloam of the Fields of Celebrant. When he looked back, Limiriel was not mounting her horse as he had assumed she would be. If only he had a voice to call out with…
She had slunk just over the rise of the small hill in whose lee they had sheltered in for the night. They were not far out of Lothlorien; it was unfathomable that there was danger this close to the border. Much less that they were the targets of attention. And yet she could hear muted voices carrying through the fog, now and again a word of the Black Tongue clear enough to identify them as servants of the Enemy. She felt Liscë kneel next to her, the line of his shoulders conveying his annoyance with her.
“So kind of you to join me,” she whispered.
His silence spoke volumes.
“There are not more than a dozen of them. Feel free to start a fire for breakfast.” Sword soundlessly unsheathed, she stepped out and began to creep towards the source of the noise. The lack of visibility was on her side now.
Ten Uruk-hai marched, their boots squelching in the damp earth as they muttered loudly to one another. Limiriel grimaced at the small throwing spears she spotted a few of them carrying – no doubt poisoned – and two of them were bigger than she had anticipated. A sentiment almost resembling regret crossed her mind before sheer, voracious excitement took over. Stealing in the tall grass, she managed to slit a few straggling throats before the group realized what was happening.
One of the smaller ones flung a spear at her which she dodged and retrieved, throwing it straight into the head of its owner. Two more spears came her way as she was charged by three of the bigger Uruks. Her shield took a blow as a huge, crude hammer descended. Wincing she shoved back with a roar, her sword slashing as she lunged forward. Two dead at the price of an arrow to her side, whose protruding end she snapped off with a steady hand before stepping forward, dropping her shield and pulling her spear from her back.
*
Liscë had just set up a cozy fire and had begun on breakfast when Limiriel limped over the hill, dragging an unconscious Uruk by the leg behind her. She unceremoniously dumped him half in Liscë’s lap as she collapsed by her pack. Mud and blood were beginning to dry on her face and hair, her armour around her wound already blackened.
The dark elf raised an eyebrow but chose not to comment as he moved to tie up their temporary prisoner. She undid her clasps with shaking finger, gritting her teeth as she peeled away her armour.
“At least it was not poisoned.” Limiriel pulled out a small dagger and held it out to the flame for a few moments.
Liscë ignored the pained noises as she removed the arrowhead and burned her wound shut.
That was unnecessary. He sniffed when she collapsed, sweating in pain.
“For… once… you.. are,” she let out a small noise akin to crying, “wrong.”
My lady, we could simply have ridden away.
“They… they are too close to our borders to simply be a wandering party. Their proximity… and the rumours … perhaps we can gain some information.”
Strategic thinking? From you?
Liscë’s sarcasm was palpable. Limiriel threw him a look of disgust, wiping the tears from her eyes as she dragged herself upright.
“I am going to rid myself of this filth in the stream. If it wakes up… make sure he’ll talk when I get back.” She flashed him a feral grin that he returned with a nod.
As he watched her limp away, Liscë could not help feeling surprised at her tenacity. She never entered an encounter expecting help; she never looked to others for aid in their aftermath. He had learned long ago that sometimes she could not tell friend from foe, and when she demanded he stay behind it was for his own sake…
***
Her curls were now tied back into braids, her dresses of gossamer and silk long set aside for silver and steel.
“Ada.”
His smile was sad and his eyes would not meet hers.
“Ada…”
She dare not ask, not beg, not plead, that he find a way to save her from herself; she knew that save for the warm smell of pine in his embrace, there was naught her could do.
