Anariel of Erudin: Valmoria's Wrath | Lord of the Rings

1. Playing Pretend

"The enemy forces have attacked the west wall!"

"We can't let them get through!"

"We must defend the castle!"

War cries filled the quiet forest as I charged the enemy with my comrades. Reaching behind my back, I grabbed an invisible arrow from my quiver and, without missing a step, took aim and fired into the forest. "Direct hit!"

Turin raced ahead, slashing through the bushes with the great sword he'd forged himself from the sturdy branches of a mighty oak tree. It was as strong as steel and light as a feather. No enemy stood a chance against it.

"Die orc scum!" he cried while he continued to hack at the vegetation. I quickly came to his aid, firing arrows left and right and never missing a shot because I was the best markswoman in the land.

"We're surrounded!" I yelled as and Turin and I stood back-to-back, our narrow eyes scanning the hideous faces of our enemies. My heart was racing, hungrily feeding off the adrenaline pumping through my veins. There was no greater feeling than the thrill of battle.

"If today should be our last stand, Anariel," Turin said to me, "it has been a pleasure fighting alongside you."

"The pleasure was mine."

At last, we drew our weapons and prepared for what might've been our final battle. We'd fought many wars together during our eight years of life, and if it were to end now, at least we were going to die as heroes. Live by the sword, and die by the sword!

"Turin, Anariel," a meek voice called out, interrupting the intense, dramatic atmosphere. My little sister, Winnie, shuffled along in her baggy dress, dragging her twig of an axe behind her. Then, scrunching up her freckled nose, she whined, "Why do I always have to be the dwarf?"

Groaning, Turin and I dropped our fighting stances. Just when the fight was getting interesting, she had to go and ruin it with her complaining.

"Because you're the shortest," Turin answered, "and you're the only one who complains."

"But I don't like being a dwarf. Why can't I be an elf?"

"Because I'm already an elf," I said, crossing my arms over my chest, "and there can't be two elves."

"But you're always the elf ..."

"Would you rather be an orc?" Turin asked. A smirk grew across his face as he raised his sword and pointed it at her nose. "Then we'd get to hunt you."

"That's not funny, Turin!"

"Who said I was joking?"

"Stop it!" she cried.

Amidst their arguing, a soft melody filled my ears, catching my attention instantly. Hushing everyone around me, I strained my ears to better hear it. The song was beautiful, yet so sorrowful that it made me want to cry.

"What is that?" Turin asked.

Finally, I got a sense of the direction it was coming from. Motioning for everyone to follow, I took off through the woods. It was straight north, deep in the forest, further than we'd ever traveled, further than we were allowed to travel. The splotches of green blurred together as I ran faster and faster, hoping to catch it before it stopped. Gradually, the song started getting louder, clearer, and I could soon make out the voices singing this beautifully sad song just as the green was broken by a dazzling white light, the most incredible sight I'd ever seen.

They'd always fascinated me, the elves. I grew up hearing stories about them, so many stories, but seeing them in person held no comparison. Dressed in white, a long procession of elves walked down the dirt path that cut through the forest, some on horse and others on foot. It was so graceful, like a perfectly choreographed dance.