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The Siege of Lothlórien

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Walküre:
GUARD: ''Lord and assembly gathered as a whole, before the council ends and we all return to our honourable duties, there is something you ought to know.

Beyond the river, we have long kept track of the enemy hordes assembling and wandering across the shores of the broad Anduin, and we have seen and witnessed a tragic event taking place there, where darkness reigns now and where all paths are grim and with no safety left to be trodden by living foot, if not by foul minions and beasts of dangerous type. An expedition of Gondor had been sent by the Steward of Men, and it was meant to enter Mirkwood and head to the secretive palace of Thranduil which lie far from here, at the end of the common ways of Middle-earth, facing the wide North ahead and the mysterious East of which not so much we are told. The envoys of Gondor didn't know that the Woodland King had moved his domain from the erstwhile seat, centuries ago; they have thus come too close to the southern ends of the eerie forest and we may with precision report that all of them fell in the hands of the Enemy across the river.

We have no record of what has been of them. And their deed was also an unfortunate one from the beginning, I would say, given that the Sindarin King does not welcome strangers within his hidden borders at all. Secrecy is fundamental and the monarch among the trees would never jeopardise the fate of his people, for words might spread without control, reaching ears that naught good would do, should they be aware of such precious information. And the Woodland Realm does not treat with outer realms either, as now we do as well. They have closed their borders and sealed them in the most resistant defence. Those messengers could carry with them important news of what befalls in the territories of the broad human kingdom; the Orcs, their captors, have not handed the prisoners to Dol Guldur yet, as I doubt they would recognise the robes and fashion of noble heralds. But the malicious intelligence in the ruined fortress will certainly unveil the truth of their status. We therefore must act now. The possibilities at disposal are not much. I envisage the sending of a rescuing force, to surprise the pack of Orcs and quickly recover the lives of those pitiful men.''

Walküre:
GALADRIEL: ''Nay, brave sentinels and shield of this golden woods. You should not divert your efforts in such a late moment. We have already put forward the strategy that is to be our strength and hope in the midst of the oncoming storm. The pawns have been already placed. No improvised and sudden change will benefit the cause of our task. And as for what concerns the expedition which is now sad captive of the Enemy, I may perceive that not all is lost and the forlorn gleam of hope might still be alive. I sense that conscious life is still beyond the river; yonder, where a veil of darkness disguises and covers the real portrait.

Do not mind the issue, soldiers. Leave it to me.''

Walküre:
CELEBORN: ''Then, the council may find now its end. Be the message adamant and imperative as naught else. It is for our kingdom that we are to battle. It is for our homes among the leaves and branches of this old forest. It is for the bliss of our shire, that none could have outside these walls and borders. For ours is the last shrine of splendid kind in the East of the clouded peaks. And nowhere else, along the eastern lands, do the Elves gather and store felicity and joy within their domain, due to much grief and doubts; and fear that secrecy might be lost, one day. We shall thus fight for what we deem just and right. We shall, and we are to succeed in the quest!

At your posts now! To each his own. Seal the borders. Garrison the trees. Creeping nightmares are soon to get close. Wield your shiny blades, Galadhrim, and the swift arrows of your fine bows. Pray, let us fend off what menaces us and the peace of the woods offends.''

Walküre:
The Lady walked swift and soft as the tender breeze of spring, past branches, roots and the famous leaves which noble and golden the realm make. Fast and quick. A mortal eye would have certainly be bewitched by such spectacle for the sight. In the guise of a bright spirit, she wandered and gently meandered across the path leading to the Tree-capital. Her radiance was not an impactful one, though, for light remained nonetheless contained in her vicinity only. A beacon, strong and vivid, yet surrounded by the obscurity of the quiet night of Lórien. None knew about her foray outside the very domain of light; rare event and eventuality that solely indicates much necessity and stringent reasons. It is not common day, when the Lady opts to leave the residence which is for her sound shelter and core of her prowess on this earth. And necessity was indeed the cause, being her heart not close and shut to whom suffers and painfully agonises, near the sunny ways of the Golden Wood. Piety is still in Middle-earth, and profound sympathy for the woes of free people. Never had the Princess of Kôr flinched in front of challenges and utmost requests of aid. Her resolute, albeit silent, advancing took her to the end of the miraculous woods, along the river which divides the two sides.

Unstoppable and firm, she entered the woods of Mirkwood, now somber and wicked, and not loyal mirror of how the grand forest of the East used to be. The traces of the Evil were clear to behold and chase; easier for the Mistress of Magic, who sensed a great void getting closer to those eerie ways, as she trod thither, knowing the objective that had to be reached. Inexorable, no beast nor fell sentinel her presence could have noticed; the pace of a mighty Elda from times afar in memory, apart from those who the past have lived and seen in equal manner. The lurking shadows had to concede the passage for whom before the Sun and the Moon breathed the air of the ancient world. And then the crude scenery she finally came to, and she had thus plain evidence of slaughter and much misery. As the corpses of the convoy from Gondor lay motionless on the dry grass of the wood. Massacred and obliged to suffer the tragedy of torture. Yet, proving the divination of the Lady right, a survivor was the lone desperate remnant of such a murder; chained with horrid iron and about to expect the inevitable arrival of a definitive death. The hideous Orcs were not given the chance to react, for the figure of the Elven Queen started bursting with light, now disruptive and almost blinding. Brightness inundated the place as a bolt would do in a dark night without stars. A moment it lasted, and then those strong gleams of magic left space for normality to return. The captors had all fallen in a long and profound oblivion, which sleeping could have been its pale resemblance, when the incantation struck the servants of malice in sudden surprise and terror. And the lone survivor had also been liberated in the meantime, because the wave of might that had spread all over had even corroded the iron and strangled it. The weary man was at a loss of words to describe what had befallen, and to thank the mysterious saviour clothed in starlight. Before any word was spoken by him, Galadriel pronounced her consolation and advice for a vexed soul of that kind.

GALADRIEL: ''Thou hast outlived a very somber of a demise. In the hands of those monsters and last of the company to perish. Hearken, courageous man, thou art now free to live and fight another day. Thy realm needeth the aid of any of its subjects, if ye yearn to close the chapter of this war with final triumph. The Eye is watching the lands of Men with implacable obsession; he longeth to crush the hope of a new era of peace after the storm of the conflict. Go now, get far from these woods. Thou hast naught to do hither, no business for the good, where another contest is soon to have beginning. Cherish life and wield the sword in staunch pride, for thou shalt face other misery in thy path. Remember, when the will is adamant and sure, thou wilt move mountains and the Evil to kneel thou art to force.''

Walküre:
Atop the mightiest tree of Lórien, on the grand balcony of the palace in which the rulers of the Golden Wood dwell and together govern.

CELEBORN: ''Hither we have thus come, and we are now waiting with trepidation the battle to commence. The battle under our trees and leaves of blessed kind. Within our domain which naught has feared for more than ten centuries of this grey age. As the sun wanes and moves to the West, the last moments of joy we are enjoying in suspended mood. At the sunset, light shall leave space for the obscure night to come and veil these lands with darkness. Despite shadows growing larger in fashion and long, there is a fountain of brightness at the heart of the forest that never could be extinguished or made go out. The Lady of Lothlórien dwells in there. As long as her ladyship guides the fate of us all, we may be sure of victory and triumph. Her nobility shall never bow or surrender. In no way would Nenya relinquish its defence of these ways, enchanted and blissful as the sole Rivendell in Middle-earth. Wide and vast territories the Lady has trodden in her eventful life, and in truth she is not of the continent which is said by the Eldar to stand hither. She has seen the Light that was and never shall be. She dwelt during the Day which never would end, amidst the paths of the Angels who prior to Arda things remember; in the domain of the Powers beyond the seas and the roundness of the World which only Elven vessels may defy.

Lothlórien is ready to fight the last war of this age. Green may burn and shields be undone; we shall never permit the Evil to trespass. The hallowed ground of our woods will retain light and the filth of Mordor is to reject. Foolish has been the plan of whom the destruction of our kingdom had in his designs. Naught but his very demise this fell intelligence is going to behold and suffer.''

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