The Wildfire
As the weeks passed quietly by and a new routine set in, Lady Narya's wrath was quelled. Her new duties as the Queen's confidant and companion kept her busy during the day. But every afternoon, just before sunset, she set out on horseback to enjoy a private moment. During these rides she dealt with the thoughts that still weighed heavily on her mind: the gross infringement of her privacy, her father's guise, Aragorn's indiscretion, and Legolas'- well, his entire irksome existence.
But for some time now, between the beauty of the golden fields of Gondor and the feeling of freedom provided by her swift mount, her anger subsided, reason took over, and her thoughts were made new. Surely, her father had done what he thought was best. She could now even feel pity for his worrisome state. But why had he not spoken with her? She had a right to know! On the other hand, perhaps knowing would have been worse. As Legolas said, it would have filled her with a dreadful expectation, like having a noose around her neck. And she could even start to feel pity for Legolas –but, no! She would not, because pity would lead to forgiveness.
As for Aragorn, she could finally understand his motives. Nothing in his words or manner could be used to prove that he harbored ill will towards her. On the contrary, Aragorn had been nothing but kind to her. Therefore, she must conclude that he had been moved by kindness and by the desire to do good.
And that brought her right back to Legolas. Her initial reaction to the letter was that Legolas had sought her humiliation to avenge himself, that he could not stand her rejection, spoiled and haughty as he was. But she quickly dismissed these ideas. If that were the case, why would he reveal such a secret? It gave her a heady sensation to know such an intimate detail, indeed to be the only soul on Middle Earth to know it.
She sighed. Yes, his apology was accepted. But as for his offer of friendship, one evil still stood in the way. How could he have been so unfeeling towards her mother's plight? Unless there was an explanation… But surely there was no possible explanation for such ungentlemanly behavior!
Such were the thoughts of the Lady when her keen eyes focused on an anomaly in the distant landscape. Were those smoke stacks rising into the sky? She galloped towards it.
She soon came upon a hill above the village square and was immediately hit by the smell of poisonous gases. A wildfire was roaring in the marketplace. Her steed tore into the cobblestone plaza and Narya pulled him into a neighing halt. "What has happened here?" she called out.
Old men, women, and children were frantically trying to put out the fire, but it only grew angrier. Narya dismounted and ran to the assembly line of water buckets. Heaving and weary, she continued working until her muscles twitched from the exertion. She was beginning to despair, and cried, "Elbereth! Help us!"
And by the grace of the Valar, it started to rain. With renewed spirits, bucket after bucket of water was thrown on the fire. It roared like a lame beast, until it dwindled, and eventually died.
"Well done! Well done!" she said breathlessly before collapsing covered in soot. She caught her breath and asked the villagers, "How was this fire started?"
"It was the bad men, my Lady," answered a ruddy youth.
"What bad men?" she asked in alarm.
This time the boy's mother answered, "There were about a dozen. They asked us where our men were. They laughed when we did not answer. Then they took our trade goods by force. They started the fire and promised to return. Oh, my Lady! What are we to do? We are defenseless without our men!"
The villagers despaired and Narya cried out, "We are not defenseless! The mighty Valar are with us! And are we not able-bodied? Our men are serving, and we must tend to ourselves!" They lifted their heads as she spoke. "Do not despair! I shall tell the Queen immediately and we shall devise a plan. Be courageous and strong! And do not let your hearts grow dark with fear." She mounted and rode to the palace with all haste.
Well past midnight, the scouts from the Queen's Guard returned. They had been successful and were eager to make their report. Their booted footsteps on the marble-floored hall stirred the three ladies to wakefulness.
"My Queen," they bowed low and began, "We found the vagrants' camp. They are on Jorah's Field."
"Jorah's Field? Not ten miles from town," worried Arwen.
"Yes, too close for comfort. There are 300 by our count."
"Three hundred!" gasped Eowyn. "With only 50 of the Queen's Guard, we are outnumbered."
"We are not," said Narya, bathed, changed, and her wounds tended. "The villagers can fight."
"If it comes down to it, then they must," said Meryn, Captain of the Guard.
"Who are these people, Lord Meryn?" asked Arwen.
"We are unsure, my Lady. But their skin is olive-colored and their hair black as night."
"Easterlings," said Eowyn. "Without a doubt."
"That is our guess as well. Wanderers and nomads. No doubt, they heard of the men's departure and have come to sack the villages."
Arwen became agitated, so she rose to her feet and paced. "What would you advise, Lord Meryn?"
"We cannot meet them in open battle. We should move the villagers to the citadel. They cannot scale our walls."
"But what about their homes?" cried Arwen. "Their animals and livelihood. All will be sacked."
"Better that they lose their possessions and not their lives, my Lady," said Lord Meryn. "Homes and villages can be rebuilt. Fields can be replanted. All can be made new as long as we are alive."
"Of course, you're right," said Arwen. "Let us not waste another minute. When do you think they will attack?"
"At sunset. They are now quite drunk. They'll sleep in, have a good meal, then strike without worry or care."
"Then we must evacuate the people now," decided Arwen. "Please see to it, Lord Meryn."
"As you wish." He bowed and retreated, his men close behind.
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