I didn't understand. No comprehension. Rivendell was gone. My uncle Sam had always spoken about it with such adoration. I felt a tear slide down my cheek. Isilindil glanced at me, but didn't say anything, which I was glad for. The path that we took to Lothlorien was cold and lonely, distant and dead. The trees by the side of the path had either been killed or had died from a spreading disease. the leaves on plants were mottled and graying. Some strange sickness had seized nature and left her bereft of comfort and health.
The further we traveled, the more apparent the devastation wrought by the strange evil that had twisted the land became to us. We came across villages that were deserted or destroyed, and footprints scattering off in directions unknown.
Eventually we came to Lothlorien. Luckily, although the tress on the outskirts of the forest seemed to be affected a little but, the elves inside were healthy, and thankfully alive.
Once they saw that there was an elf with me, we were escorted straight away to Gontorion, the 'head-elf' of Lothlorien. I had hoped to meet Galadriel, but Isilindil explained to me that she had long since left to journey to the West.
We told Gontorion of the fate that had fallen to Rivendell, and once the elves heard, they
began wailing and weeping, mourning the loss of their kind. Since elves live so long, the death of so many hit them hard as their experiences and lives can never be lived. We are all unique, but to have such a long life filled with a unique combination of situations, and then to have you torn away from the world is like the loss of a species of flower. Think of all the stories they could've told! Seemed to me like that anyways.
Right now, I am standing in Gontorions meeting room. High up in the trees, where the elves 'roost' I guess. The leafs are fluttering and filling the air with a melancholy song, as if they were mourning the loss of the elves. I suppose they were, actually.
"Pray tell me more about this 'sickness' that you have seen in nature?" Gontorion asked calmly. The other elves muttered worriedly. Living in a tree is swell until there is something to fell it, I guess.
I dozed in and out of consciousness as Isilindil explained the situation to the other elves. They looked at her strangely, and for the first time I realized that Isilindil must be quite young for an elf. It struck me as odd, somehow.
In my minds eye, I still glimpsed the desolation of Rivendell. I could almost hear the screams of the elves. Horrified, I quickly distracted myself with the thought of Lembas bread, which the elves had so kindly given us. Delicious stuff!
"Do you think that there are a chance of survivors?" One of the elves in the congregation around us piped up eagerly.
"Unknown." Gontorion said "It must have taken great skill to kill all our kin in Rivendell. If there are survivors, we must pray that they have the strength to return here, Vandor."
"I volunteer to take a rescue team." Vandor, the elf, said seriously.
"Granted. Take our best sword-elves, but leave the archers. We shall have need of them, I fear. And hurry back soon. Remember, beware of dark places unless that is where your path takes you. And beware of whispers, for they will whisper lies." Gontorion said wisely. Vandor nodded and set off, squaring his shoulders.
This was when Ranewan, who I had met before, rushed into the room after Vandor.
"Let me come with you. I had family among those in Rivendell! I must come!"
Oh..." Vandor glanced at Gontorion. Ranewan was an esteemed archer, I remembered.
"We can spare you, I'm sure." Gontorian addressed Ranewan. Ranewan nodded stiffly in the direction of Isilindil and I before heading out of the room after Vandor.
"Now" said Gontorion "It is time to prepare for the coming storm. And of what, I know not."
~Ruby Burrows
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