With A Broken Wing

III: For Rivendell!

I rode on my white horse, Mîr*, beside Amara. Amara's chestnut brown horse, Rhÿn*'s hooves pounded in time with my horse's as we led the army of elves out of the forest and towards our destination: Rivendell.

I didn't know what I was riding into. I didn't know what I was bringing my followers into. I most likely will be bringing them to their deaths....but they followed me nonetheless.

Amara seemed to see my worried expression and smiled at me.

"We will see another day, Lura," she comforted me.

"But what if we don't! I will lose ten years of my life for every elf who gives his or her life for this land...." said I.

"Do not tie your life to those of your army!" Amara told me. "You will return. We will not shed tears after this victorious battle."

"How can you be so optimistic about the future that looks so dark?" I asked her as we rode.

"I'm an optimist, and also your friend. It's what I do." Amara smiled at me, and I smiled back, my spirits lifting considerably.

As darkness fell over my army of elves, I decided to stop and make camp. Amara and I found a forest with soft leaves to lay on.

I tethered my horse to a tree with Amara's and let her graze on the soft grass. Then I walked away to check on all of my soldiers, making sure none were injured in the ride here.

One of the soldiers watched me from afar as I checked on the rest of them. As I swung by him and his horse on my rounds, I met his gaze.

"Hello, Lura," he said. "I've been wanting to speak with you,"

"You have?" I was confused. He looked serious. I couldn't read his expression. It looked quite emotionless. "You have,"

"Yes, I have," he nodded, his long brown hair moving in the light breeze. "Why would you bring all of us here to die?"

His question was hushed but very blunt, his words hitting me like a tree. "What do you mean?"

"Lura, we cannot be troubled by the troubles of our kin! We have troubles as well, and they are in the forest of the Woodland Realm, our home. Your home, my home. Why do you let it lie in ruin as we go riding off to fight the enemies of our snobby brothers?" He snapped.

"Why do we not? Why do we not ride to the aid of our brothers?" I asked him. "If your own brother was battling a great foe ten leagues away and you knew you could aid him, would you?"

"My brother is dead, thanks to you and the rest of your royal kind," said the elf before me.

"I am dreadfully sorry," said I.

"No, you are not. Your kind is never sorry, nor regretful. All you think of is the next shipment of wine, and not the welfare of your own people. My brother's life was taken during an ambush by Orcs by the River Anduin. Your father posted the guards there and left them there, neglecting to check on them or send reinforcements when aid was called for, as they could not keep up watch for long. They were tired. They had been watching the quiet river for three days with minimal rest. That was when the Orcs struck, swift and quiet as a mouse. All were silenced without more than a scream. My brother was the first to die. He covered for his friend, who managed to get away to ride for help. But the Orcs caught him in the end and tortured him in a brutal chamber. I had no knowledge of the slaughter until a scout saw the dead bodies, rotting on the ground many days later. My brother died, and all for what? For nothing. There were no songs written in his honor as there was for many elves less brave than he was. Your father did not care, and neither did your brother. You probably do not even know his name,"