The Well-Spring - Chapter 4

Chapter 3 - Scorching Sands

Chapter 4 - The Great Battle

Galadriel ran down the hall her footfalls echoing on the stone floor. When she arrived at the doorway of Arwen's room she met the worried gaze of the physician. Galadriel gasped when she noticed her daughter's blazing red cheeks and parched crimson lips. Arwen no longer lay peacefully as she had the night before. Writhing in obvious pain, Arwen appeared to be struggling for breath.

"Galadriel, we need to bring her body temperature down," the physician stated calmly with a slight sense of urgency. "We need water and cold compresses."

"I will send my housekeeper to help and will return shortly," Galadriel's voice cracked weakly. Galadriel retreated from Arwen's room; turning out into the dimly lit hallway. Tears streaming down her face; overwhelmed with concern and despair. Her body began to quake and she could feel her knees growing weak; about to collapse.

Elrond's muscular arms wrapped around his wife's shaking body. He did not speak. He just held her close. Galadriel turned slowly to face him and buried her face in his chest; now sobbing. Elrond raised his hands up her back to her head and cradled her gently. The tender touch soother her and her convulsive breathing slowed to long; slow; labored exhales and shallow inhales.

"Elrond," Galadriel whispered. "I am so afraid we will lose her. I feel helpless. I don't know what to do."

"Galadriel, my love, Arwen is strong and she will pass through this storm."

"I'm afraid."

"I know."

Elrond and Galadriel stood silently in the hall wrapped in each other's arms. Both hoping and praying for the life of their daughter.

Arwen collapsed to her knees; sobbing uncontrollably. Her skin itchy and burning - an added torment to her despair born the night before.

She could feel the darkness closing in; even though the sun shone brightly above.

Pain. Anguish. Loss. Emptiness - words to describe her existence. No hope. No future. No life. Arwen's emotions and state of mind continued to spiral deeper and deeper into the deepest darkest pits of despair.

Tormented she began to give in to the darkness. No desire to fight and free herself.

"Arwen, get up." A voice echoed in her mind. Arwen completely drained both physically and mentally ignored the plea.

"Arwen, get up!" more urgency in these words. Arwen annoyed only stirred - mentally shrugging off the voice - hoping that it would go away.

"Arwen!"

Arwen, face down; raised herself up on her hands. Eyes clenched shut.

"Arwen, you must get up," the voice rang through her mind.

Even though she had no desire to obey, Arwen found strength in the depths of her soul. She stood, trembling with her eyes closed tight.

"Arwen, you must continue," the voice softer than before "This is not the end."

Arwen opened her tear-brimmed eyes; the sun reflecting off the white sands. She slowly stepped forward - eyes fixed on the goal - the mountain just ahead, beyond the fiery desert.

The first step; the hardest to take seemed to thunder below her. The heavy weight of her legs iron balls pressing deep into the freely moving grains of sand. Eyes fixed ahead she forged one more step, and with this footfall, she exhaled deeply. The next step: a hesitation. The pain and despair not worth the effort to move forward. Arwen could feel her knees begin to buckle and her ankles relax. She fell to her hands and knees again.

"Not worth it..." her voice weakly trailed off.

A different voice began in a low soft whisper. The words are not clear. Each syllable rang in time to an unheard melody. Arwen felt something stir within her. Something that she had not ever experienced before. Like the sun rising on a new day; Arwen felt that she was waking up. The truth flashed across her face. Realization: a liberator. A warm peace settled upon her. She had another chance…

She stood more resolute; eyes turned to her goal. The top of the mountain reflected back to her a brilliant light. Her gaze lowered to the base of the mountain and then closer to her where she could see the end of the desert scape. Between her and the base of the mountain, Arwen could see a dark shadow that seemed to rise up from the ground with its edges changing like water flowing through a river bed. She began to walk toward this dark mass. She was not afraid. She only knew that she had to continue forward.

Although the emotional burden and the physical exhaustion had not lifted, Arwen felt at ease. Soft harmonic tones still playing in her mind as she moved towards the darkened horizon. From time to time thunderous booms interrupted the melody. Clash of metal against metal soon joined. As Arwen drew closer to the blackness she realized it was not a shadow, but rather dust and smoke rising up from the earth. A great battle lay before her. She heard the cries of men at war and the clashing and thundering continued to grow louder.

Fear pierced her heart; still driven from within she pressed forward.

This was madness. She was sure of it.

Explosive thunder shook the ground as she continued. Her ears began to ring with metal against metal. Enraged battle cries echoed through the desert valley and the sky grew darker.

In a short time, she was within paces of the edge of the battlefield. She inhaled deeply and held her breath - waiting - wondering - what was next.

Arwen closed her eyes tightly and then let out a long slow breath emptying her lungs. She could hear her own breath as it smoothly passed through her lips. She opened her eyes and there before her lay an open path between the two groups of warriors. Not a sound was heard but her breath and her heart beating hard and fast. Every man gazed upon her as she began to move between.

She met each gaze with wonderment and awe until she came upon a face that she did not know but recognized. His golden-brown skin was framed by long black tresses that reflected back glints of red. His brow slightly furrowed and shadowed his deep-set chestnut-colored eyes. Although this man was built for war she sensed kindness behind his eyes. She memorized the chiseled jaw and high cheekbones and the straight narrow nose that pointed like an arrow to the deep divot in his chin. She could not deflect her gaze upon him as she continued to move forward and his gaze didn't leave hers.

Once she had completely passed him she again looked forward and saw her goal just before her. The mountain and its paved road to the top.

The silence continued almost to the second she stepped beyond the fringes of the battlefield. Clashing and banging rang through the valley along with the angry battle cries. She did not look back: for war was not in her nature.