Help Me !

The attack came early, swift and brutal. No one truly noticed where they had weaseled in from. Or who was not patrolling them. So sudden it had happened, taking all off guard during a particular warm, balmy night. It took all but three seconds for anyone to actually register what had happened, and by then, the dwelling of the Lord and his people were under severe, maniacal attack. 

One moment, the evening was warm, serene, with a light breeze blowing, wafting about. Light chirping, tweetering lingered through the sulfurous evening air, laying tranquil lanquidity on lords, ladies, the few elflings inhabiting their dwelling. The next, all hell broke loose. Allowing birds easy access to the sky, fleeing in rapid flight, screeching, taking to the air. Elves frozen in terror, stunned, running hither, nither for flight, some little niche to hide, shelter, to stay alive, to sequester away in, scared of being found out, or standing ground with no other alternative but to fight, to kill and survive with whatever methods they had at hand.

“Can you believe it? Look at her.,” the newly visiting ellith asked her companion, rebuking the only woman in attendance. “She is definitely not fit to be here.,” the ellith continued. Sneering, sticking her nose in the air, agreeing with her companion, “I hear, she tried to have Lord Lindir’s elfling.,” quietly the second young ellith whispered. “No!,” the first fathomed, shocked for a moment, then snickered, snorted a little too loud. “Look at her. She thinks she is so clever to be able to wear a gown of that color! Why, it does not even lay well on her. Just look at those hips. So wide, so undignified. Does not anyone assist her? How she thinks Lord Lindir would even dare look her way, is beyond me. Let alone, to choose her to produce an elfling!” The other ellith glanced at the lone woman kneeling beside a little wooden cradle, playing with the occupant within, and lingered her superior gaze down the path where the woman sat, “Well, her hips are not that wide, but, I still could wager the woman could fit a whole cow inside her womb.”

They had a ball with that remark. Secretly laughing away in merriment, the two young, uncouth ellyth giggled, jested over Beatrice, her obvious unelfish figure. Little did they know, certain other elves overheard their tete-e-tete.  And as Haldir watched on unawares, he kept these thoughts to himself. Some ellyth could be quite nasty, he thought, watching the two whisper back and forth. Rude, he even ventured to himself. Little do they know whom they jest at, or whom that woman is married to.

Haldir surveyed the grounds surrounding the beloved city of Imladris, the elves standing, walking about, quietly talking, murmuring, laughing with one another, enjoying their company. Haldir was not immune to conversation, but rather than feel the absolute need to take part in every waking moment of raptuous talk, he enjoyed his solitude, much like Imladris’ own Captain Athlidon did. 

Sitting back, taking in the surrounding parties, watching, eyeing male and female alike, his gaze, his eyes, and thoughts turned toward Beatrice. I am still quite positive she was one of the females who had spied on myself and fellow companion bathing not so long ago, Haldir agreed with himself. As Beatrice played silly human, childlike games with Gwingnis’s infant elfling, Haldir secretly glanced back and forth between her and Lindir, and enjoyed the evening’s strong refreshment. Taking in Lindir’s amused, animated countenance with friends, acquaintances he hadn’t seen or heard from in many years, Haldir could not but wonder, did Lord Lindir desire one of those? Those elflings? With Beatrice? Had that topic of discussion even been broached yet, or had it been stifled once and for all?  

Haldir continued to wonder these thoughts and continued to scrutinize Beatrice. She obviously brings joy here. And to him. She has made it this far, Haldir thought to himself. How far will Lindir take her? How far can she take herself? And Haldir watched. And as he watched, the young, immature ellyths continued making, poking fun at one they did not even know, nor seem to care about. If Lord Lindir could hear them, Haldir mused, he would not be pleased at all. Lucky for them they are too far from his ears to hear, or react from. I just might have to box their ears myself, he imagined. Leaning against the wall, Haldir noticed another elf slowly, purposefully striding toward his same, lone wall. “Haldir.,” Athlidon nodded, gesturing to the ellith beside himself. “My wife, Gwingnis.,” he introduced proudly. As Haldir gracefully bowed to Gwingnis, all he had to say was, “Athlidon.” And Haldir proceeded to lean once again against the wall, joined by Athlidon, as Gwingnis smiled down at her elfling and caretaker, Beatrice. 

Sitting, kneeling before the tiny elfling, Beatrice cooed, played patty cake and other similar nonsense with Gwingnis’s infant, while the little elfling’s parents, enjoyed a little time to themselves, a needed respite. The night was fresh, warm, inviting, most straying out and about late into the evening. Elves moved, sauntered, talked and enjoyed the happy, pleasant, contented calm before the approaching storm. 

As soon as it started, several things happened at once.

With a loud, forceful rumbling, orcs invaded, advanced throughout in a steady, thundorous downpour over the concrete bridge that separated the wasteland from the civilized world built in secrecy. Many shrieks were heard throughout, many slippers, boots suddenly paraded the paths and walkways, running, scattering, hiding, seeking weapons, or shorter blades for closer combat.

When it began, the first thing crossing minds of both mother and caretaker, was a look of utter shock, turmoil, despair. Their eyes locked onto each other, Beatrice’s and Gwingnis’. Take her, hide her, run, run, find shelter, hide, I will find you both. Go Beatrice. Run, run, please, get away from here, this madness. Do not let yourselves be caught. Go!, urged Gwingnis, recognizing the futile attempt to cross the path herself, gather her elfling or help her friend. “Get away from here! Go!,” Athlidon urged his spouse, commanded her. “No!,” was Gwingni’s reply. “I will stand with you!,” as she found, grabbed hold, picked up, an already abandoned sword laying close by. “Beatrice will take her to safety. Our daughter will be safe with Beatrice!”

I will take her, I will hide her, I will keep her, keep her safe for you. I will do this!, thought Beatrice, trying with her face, her eyes, to convey these words of love, of loyalty to the elflings’ mother, for Beatrice could do no les than that. Gathering the bundle tightly to her bodice, Beatrice sought Lindir’s eyes for help. Knowing there was no chance of a rescue from him. Lindir caught her eyes for that instant, knowing what she carried on her person, and within. Mouthing the words, Io te amo. With such calm, one would think nothing was amiss that night. “Go.,” Lindir softly commanded from not more than six feet away, and suddenly, pointedly turned to clang his sword off an orc blade, cleanly, neatly slicing into the flesh of his opponent.

But for a moment Beatrice panicked. Pure chaos clamored round her. Not knowing where to turn, where to flee, looking round her, the fighting, the running, the screams, horrific screeching. Three seconds. Three seconds Beatrice knew, that was all it ever took, to take in an entire situation. Then Beatrice ran. She ran pall mall, dodging brutal, screaming, crying jammed up traffic. Spotting, spying two of her other little charges, “Faelor!,” Beatrice yelled, not knowing if her voice could carry over the clamorous fighting, the panic. “Faelor! Galearon! Galearon!,” she screamed, hoping they could hear and respond. They didn’t. Their Ada heard her. “Remove yourself from me, Faelor! Go to Beatrice! Take your brother! Go! Run!,” “No Ada! No!,” cried Faelor. Galearon looked on, cowering behind a pillar in panicked turmoil, and proceeded to weep.

Shoving little Faelor off his person, pushing him towards Beatrice, she grabbed at his tunic, “Faelor!,” Beatrice cried. “Come on! Where’s Galearon?!,” as she tugged, and tugged against his will to leave his Ada to fight alone. Spying Gaeleron hiding, she swiftly motioned for him to come to her side. Grabbing him, Beatrice ran with both the little elflings, while holding the littlest against her chest, inside the marbled halls of protection, only to find inside it was not much better. Dodging, forever dodging it seemed, till they found their way to some empty bedchamber high above the outside mess.

“Get in here!,” Beatrice hissed at them, shoving them forward, looking over her shoulder for any other nightly intrusion. The bedchambers’ great wardrobe was unusually filled with much of some unknown ellon’s robes, tunics, boots and other paraphelia. “What is all this crap?,” Beatrice demanded of no one. “That is a bad word Beatrice.,” Faelor insisted on informing her, as she assisted him up and in. “Shush.,” she replied. “Squeeze in there.,” shoving aside large, heavy garments. “What a mess.”  Galearon kept his mouth still, instead finding, reaching over, winding his fingers round her thigh, as she too climbed in. “Mama.,” he said only, in such a tiny voice, inching himself closer against her skirts. She forgot to close the chamber doors. Outside, emitting from the hallways, were sinister, foul sounds and smells. She forgot. She forgot to close the chamber doors. Crap, Beatrice thought, I cannot, I shouldn’t go out now. The four stayed that way for some moments. When at last some quiet came, the sound of small foot patterings could be heard. Beatrice spied through the crack in the doors of the wardrobe.

She saw the two ellyths that had insulted her earlier, running back and forth, up and down the hallway. In that dreadful moment, Beatrice made a decision. “Stay here. Be quiet.,” Beatrice told, instructed the two elflings, scrunched up behind clothing, handing the infant elf off to Galearon “Don’t go.,” said Galearon. “They are not nice to you. They are mean to you.,” Faelor mentioned, as Beatrice climbed out, was about to close them in. "To leave them out there, exposed, would be meaner.,” Beatrice reminded Faelor. “Mama.,” pleaded Galearon, and she had to swallow, not to reply. “Stay here. Stay still. Quiet now.,” Beatrice insisted.

Looking up and down the hallway, finding no one yet, the ellyth scattered by again. They looked shocked to see Beatrice standing in the hall. “Come here you two twats.,” Beatrice commanded in a hushed tone. They didn’t register her insult, nor understood. Shoving them roughly, the ellyths fell over each other into the room, as Beatrice tried quietly to close the door. “Help me.,” Beatrice demanded, starting to push a small desk in front of the doors. “That will not stop them.,” the one said, while the other looked around for some safety. “Get in there.,” Beatrice told them, nodding off her head to the wardrobe.