"T'was in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair."
Led Zeppelin
The following is an excerpt from the tale of the ending of the Third Age of Middle-earth, in the days just before the destruction of the Ring of Doom and the end of the Realm of Sauron. This tale was omitted from the commonly known story, but it is hereby added to bring the tale to completion, this chapter taken from a scroll written by the Elven scribe Alina, as told to her by her cousin Eladria, daughter of Eladar, chief huntsman of the Greenwood Elves during the reign of King Thranduil.
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Eladria ran at a brisk, steady pace, nimble feet leaping over black and jagged rocks. The Halflings were ahead of her, close by -she was sure of it. She would do everything she could to catch up to them and help them fulfill their quest: casting the One Ring into the fires of the mountain in which it had been forged and destroying it forever. She had pledged herself to that goal months earlier, over the protests of everyone she knew, even her distant cousin, Lord Elrond.
The sulfurous stench of Mordor rose all around her. Its fumes were suffocating. The barren, lifeless plain of Gorgoroth spread out in every direction. Overhead, an oppressive darkness blocked out nearly all trace of the setting sun. Before her, rising from the gloom, loomed Eladria's destination - the dark, massive cone of Mount Doom, capped in fire and smoke.
Her mouth clenched as she ran toward her goal and recalled the events of the day she had made her decision, two months earlier. She had arrived at Rivendell too late, after the fellowship already had left, headed south on its quest to destroy the One Ring. Eladria rode into Rivendell, weary from many leagues of travel, bidding leave to speak with its master, Lord Elrond.
Elrond agreed to speak with her. It was early January when they met. The chill of winter pierced the air as they talked.
"Lord Elrond," she said. "I must join the fellowship. I can help them on their way to Mordor and Mount Doom."
Elrond looked long at her before responding.
"It is too late, Eladria," he said. "The company of the ring has gone south. We do not know where they are. We do not know what path they have taken. Were you to follow them, it would be unlikely you would find them. Your pursuit would be more likely to alert the enemy's spies than to help the fellowship."
Eladria shook her head.
"Lord Elrond, you know my father, Eladar. He is the greatest tracker and huntsman among all the Elves. He has taught me all that he knows. I know that I can help the fellowship in its quest. I know it."
"I am sorry, Eladria," Elrond said. "But it is too late. The fellowship has gone on its way. But we have need of you. The war ahead will come here, to Imladris, and we will need every stout wielder of a sword available to us to fight our foe when he comes. Stay here and join us."
Eladria nodded but said nothing. The next day, before dawn, against Elrond's wishes, she left Rivendell in pursuit of the fellowship of the ring. She ran, day after day, south from Rivendell, through the fields of Hollin, alongside the forbidding westward wall of the Misty Mountains, watching every sign of tracks of the company ahead of her. Surmising that they would have to cross the mountains, she climbed and surmounted the Redhorn gap. She scrambled down the eastern side of the mountains and soon reached the woods of Lorien. There she learned from her Elven kin that the fellowship had left the woods only days before her arrival. After receiving the Lady Galadriel's blessing, she pursued the company in a small boat down the Anduin River.
With skills that would have made her father proud, and with a bit of luck as well, Eladria tracked the Hobbits all the way to Minas Morgul, the fell gateway to Mordor on the western edge of the Mountains of Shadow. She followed in their footsteps up the steep rock-hewn stairs in the mountainside, but she was able to bypass the fortress of Cirith Ungol by taking a secret passage shown on a map her father had given her. After cresting the jagged spine of the mountains, she descended quickly to the plain of Gorgoroth. She had the good fortune to encounter few Orcs. She slew those she met with swift strokes from her sword.
Twilight turned to evening, and darkness enfolded her, but the dim glow of fire from Mount Doom, now in the near distance, lit her way. She knew the Hobbits were close. Every instinct told her they were.
She was grateful for the oncoming darkness, because the flat, featureless land around her afforded little opportunity to hide. Her gray Elven cloak provided some cover at a distance, but up close a female Elf with long blond hair and sky-colored eyes would stand out in Mordor whether cloaked or not. She hoped to avoid being seen by staying off the major roads and by finding the Hobbits before the next day dawned. She reckoned that if she found them, she could help them reach the slopes of Mount Doom before the end of the following day.
As night fell everything grew dark, except the glow coming from the distant eminence of Mount Doom. Eladria's keen Elven sight enabled her to see the way ahead despite the darkness, and she ran across the lifeless plain at a speed no man or Orc or hobbit could match.
Her head suddenly exploded with pain, and she fell to the side. She almost passed out. Something had hit her. She struggled to get to her feet, but not fast enough. Orcs, moving swiftly and working together, surrounded her, grabbed her, and secured her with thick, greasy ropes.
"Good shot with that rock, Iglitz!" said one.
"Gash!" said another. "What's this? An elf maiden in Mordor? That's a pretty picture! What will we do with this one, Grishnak?"
"Hold her tight, Uzgart," said another one. "She may be a female, but she carries a sword and I'll wager she can use it.
Eladria's vision clouded from the pain of the blow she suffered, but she could see there were four Orcs around her. They were large for Orcs, and their breath stank. They took her sword from her and lay it to the side. One bound her legs while two others held down her arms. The one called Grishnak, the largest and ugliest, loomed over her.
"A she-elf in Mordor," he said with a nasty grin. "Don't think as I've ever seen that. And a pretty one, don't you think, Uzgart?"
Grishnak stretched a knobbed hand forward and pawed at Eladria's tunic. She writhed to get away from it, but the Orcs' combined strength holding down her limbs was too great.
"What do you say we have a little fun with this, one, eh?" Grishnak said. "We've got a bit of time."
Uzgart shook his head.
"Orders are to move north, Grishnak," he said. "There's a big battle brewing, or so they say. The Nazgul will be watching. They won't take kindly if they find us straggling."
"Who's to say they'll find us?" asked Grishnak, as his hand closed over the fabric over Eladria's chest. "It won't take us long to have some fun with this one. I haven't had me an elf, and I think I want one."
With two rough hands Grishnak ripped open Eladria's tunic. The pale, round fullness of her Elven breasts lay bared to them. Eladria struggled in vain.
"Oooh, look at this!" Grishnak chortled. "She is a pretty one. Let's see more of her."
Eladria tried to free herself of the Orcs' grip, but there were too many of them. They were too strong. She looked around at their faces. Doubt at the wisdom of Grishnak's idea had given way to lust. It sickened her to think of what they wanted to do, but against four of them she could do nothing.
She heard a loud thud, and the head of the Orc holding her right arm suddenly fell to the side. Eladria didn't know what happened, but she didn't wait to find out. Her right arm, suddenly free, shot out and grabbed her sword. She swung it round in a low arc until it met Grishnak's heel. She felt the blade slice through muscle and hit bone. Grishnak let out a piercing shriek.
Something flew across her field of vision and struck the face of the other Orc - the one holding her left hand. Instinctively, he pulled a hand away from Eladria to his face. Eladria moved fast. She pulled her sword out of Grishnak and with lightning quickness swung it at the Orc on her left. Its point entered his breast, inches from his neck. Dark, Orcish blood spurted forth. Meanwhile, Eladria saw rocks flying through the air from an unknown source, one after another, striking her captors with remarkable accuracy. The rocks distracted the Orcs enough to give Eladria her chance. With a mighty stroke she smote another Orc, the one at her feet, with a blow to the head. He fell over with a low groan.
Her feet and hands now free, Eladria leapt to her feet. Before the Orcs could make any sense of what was happening, she swung her sword a few more times. The Orcs fell around her, dead before they could draw their own swords.
Quickly collecting her wits, Eladria looked all around her. No more Orcs stood nearby. But a small figure did, only a few paces away, in ragged, dirty clothes and bare, hairy feet. She saw defiance and wonderment in his face. Eladria knew at once she had found the Halflings she sought.
"You must be Samwise Gamgee," she said.
He looked back at her, nonplussed, and he didn't answer her right away.
"That I am, my lady," he said at last. "And you're . . . you're an Elf. But I haven't met you and I'm sorry, I don't know your name, and I can't imagine what you're doing in this place."
"I am Eladria, daughter of Eladar, chief huntsman of the Greenwood. I've come to help you and Frodo reach Mount Doom and fulfill your quest. Where is Frodo? Is he nearby?"
"He is, lady," said Sam, eyes darting around and evidently embarrassed in the company of a beautiful Elf woman. Eladria caught his eyes straying to her chest. She'd forgotten her tunic was torn open, exposing her pale, lithe, Elven body. She closed a hand around the front.
"You saved me, Master Samwise," she said. "You're skilled at throwing rocks. I thank you for that."
"Oh, don't thank me, lady. It wasn't nothing. I was nearby and I saw them attack you. I snuck up on 'em while they were distracted. Two blows and you were able to take care of the rest with your sword."
"It was a courageous deed, even so," she said. "But I fear we have no time for thanks. Where is Frodo?"
Sam looked Eladria in the face, a trace of the defiance remaining, mixed with fear and uncertainty. But Eladria saw it soften, and it was clear to her Sam knew she understood the purpose of her quest.
"Come with me, my lady," he said. "We have to be quick. Master Frodo isn't well."
Eladria followed Sam over a slight rise and down into a shallow depression in the rock, where the second Hobbit lay. Sam was right: Frodo didn't look well. He sprawled upon the ground, pale and shivering, dark rings around his eyes. He groaned faintly.
"Frodo," she said, "My name is Eladria. I've come to help you reach Mount Doom. We have no time to tarry. Can you walk?"
Frodo's eyes locked on Eladria's and flickered with understanding, but he said nothing. She turned to Sam.
"How long has he been like this?" she asked.
"Just today, my lady," said Sam.
"What has he eaten?"
