I stared straight ahead, my eyes unseeing as Naneth, Randir, and I traveled to the palace. We were all dressed in black, though my gown had red accents and a white chemise. I had refused to talk to anyone after reading that fated letter, and now maintained that silence by riding ahead of the others. Soon enough, the palace came into view. I left Marin with a groomsman at the gate and ran up the stairs. Dashing through the halls, I soon came to the healing wing, where I hastily inquired about my father. The healer, a grim-faced elleth, led me to his side. I knelt next to his sleeping form.

He appeared so pale; it was painful to look at him for even a moment. Silent tears ran down my cheeks as I reached out and grasped his wintry hand. I don't know how long I knelt there, gazing upon my father's broken form; my mother came, and went, as did Randir, but I stayed still as a statue. I only came to my senses when a firm hand grasped my shoulder. I looked behind me to find the prince of Mirkwood looking down at me with sorrowful understanding behind his eyes. I nodded acknowledgement and returned to my vigil by my father's side. The prince murmured condolences. I expressed my thanks and he departed. He visited now and again for the next few days and offered silent comfort from one who had endured the loss of a parent. It was strangely comforting. One day, he spoke.

"Milady, you should rest." I rose to talk to him.

"I could not bear leaving my father's side, your highness." I replied respectfully.

"Very well. If you wish to be relieved of your watch, I am sure that the healers would keep a steady eye on him, though."

"Thank you for your concern, but I will not leave until the light of the Eldar has left my father." I said brusquely. He bowed and left the wing. Well that was a bit odd, I thought as I curtsied to his retreating form.

I kept watch over my father for eight days, never resting and only eating or drinking when absolutely necessary. I must have looked a sorry sight, pale and broken, watching my father's diminishing form. Finally, on the morning of the ninth day, he took his last breath.

Randir was asleep in a chair nearby when my sobs jolted him awake. He rushed to the stables immediately and rode out to fetch our mother. The interment was held the next day, and Ada was lifted into a boat to travel down the river and into the Sea of Rhûn one last time.

After the ceremony, there was a great feast in my father's honor. Although Randir and Naneth stayed, I took Marin home instead. When Naneth came in, she found me reading a history of the siege of Gondolin in the sitting room. She demanded my attention, so I gently set the book to the side and looked at her expectantly. She sighed and began to speak.

"The prince is leaving Mirkwood for Imladris this week. It is no longer safe in Mirkwood, and I want you to go with the prince and reside in Rivendell for safety." I rose to object, but she motioned for me to sit again. "It is too dangerous for you here, Caladhiel! Your father's family is in Imladris; you will be safe there. Perhaps the danger will lessen, but I will feel better with you out of harm's way. I must remain to represent the family in court, and your brother must stay because he is part of the guard, but you have the chance to be safe, and I need you to take it. I will rest better if I know you are out of harm's way. I will take no objection. The prince and his guard leave in four days, at dawn. I advise you to pack." I nodded and went to my room, sighing dejectedly.

I packed little, only clothing and provisions; the journey wouldn't take more than two weeks. I had nothing but my dagger in the way of weapons; I prayed to the Valar that there would be few orc attacks. I was just about to leave my room when a knock came at my door. I opened it to find Randir staring back at me.

"I went by the healing wing to fetch Ada's belongings and one of the healers gave me this to give to you. She said Ada wrote it when he first came in." I opened the letter he handed me to reveal Ada's scratchy handwriting, a little messier than usual from his lack of energy.

Dear Cala,

I write to you from my sick bed. You have fallen asleep by my side, and I take this moment to write my last to you, for I will surely fade soon.

I am proud of you, my daughter, for your brother Randir has told me of your part in the escape of the dwarves so many years ago. It is good that at least one elf decided to help the greater good, even in the presence of such an old feud as the one in-between the Eldar and the Naugrim. For such bravery, I believe you have earned my sword. I have often caught you admiring it. Use it well.

Your mother told me of her wish that you go to Imladris before I went on patrol. I agree with her and ask that you go. I do not want to lose a child to orcs, for that is a horrid fate. No one, be they elf, man, hobbit, or dwarf, should have to say their last farewells to their own child.

I wish you safe travels. I hope you will not have to use my sword in the near future, but if you do, always remember to be aware of everything, even if only you have the power to perceive it. It may save your life.

When you reach Imladris, get some lessons in how to handle a blade; but don't tell your mother. She'd have a fit.

Lovingly,

Ada

I looked up from the letter to find Rand handing me an object wrapped carefully in cloth. I unwrapped it to expose Ada's sheathed sword. I smiled sadly, rubbing a smudge from the hilt. Randir startled me by speaking.

"Well, we have three days until you leave. Would you like to learn a little of how to use that?" he inquired with a nod to the sword I held. I looked up and saw him smiling, something I had not seen in nearly seventy years. I quickly agreed.