March - more detailed dates at bottom

When the ancient, timeless woods of Lothlórien finally came into view, Marcaunon immediately felt a rise in his spirits. The journey, short in time though it may have been, had been thoroughly nerve-racking as the group covered the great distance between Imladris and Lothlórien. There were worries about avalanche while crossing the high pass, then a, luckily, minor injury to one of the mounts while descending, the loss of a horse and almost a rider as well while crossing a flooded ford, and the entire time, they had had to ensure that they drew no attention from the evil that was making its home in Dol Guldur and sending out attacks and patrols into the area. From where he was pressed up against Glorfindel as the two of them shared a mount, Marcaunon could feel that his love had also been pleased to finally arrive at the lands governed by Galadriel and Celeborn as too tight muscles minutely unclenched themselves. The entire group must have felt similar as, without a word being said, the over-all pace gradually sped up until it was a slow canter instead of a fast walk. It still took a little more than an hour from the first sighting of the forest until the entire group was safely within the outer-most trees, where the horses were immediately pulled back into a walk.

While everyone in the group knew that they still weren't entirely safe as Khamûl, the Nazgûl that was ruling over Dol Guldur, had thrice attacked Lothlórien and the remnants of Oropher's people that once called Dol Guldur their home when it was known by the name Amon Lanc, the capital of the Silven realm, and who were now led by his son, Thranduil, Lothlórien had the advantages of providing cover and, in case an attack was launched, could provide the company with an advantage in the number department. It was a company of lighter spirits and growing weariness that made their slow way in towards the heart of the realm. As they rode, everyone in the group could feel eyes passing over them and assessing the company, but no guardian of the forest came out of hiding to meet them until several hours later when the company stopped to water the mounts at a small, spring-fed pond.

It was during this small break that a tall shadow peeled away from the forest and revealed itself to be a being wearing a grey cloak that worked to fool the eyes into over-looking the wearer; the movement garnering everyone's attention. This person, seeing itself to be the focus of over thirty pairs of eyes, slowly raised his or her hands and pushed back the hood that was obscuring the person's face, revealing features that were familiar to several in the party.

"Rúmil!" was heard from several throats and the elves in the group all took at least one step forward to greet the marchwarden before halting themselves and turning to look at Halbarad, who had been given the task of leading the group. Halbarad let out a light laugh at the expectant looks that he was bestowed with and threw his hands up into the air.

"Do as you wish! Just keep the gossiping to relevent topics, be sure to give me the highlights, and do your gossiping on the move. We are still too close to the outer edge of the forest for my comfort, regardless of all of the eyes on lookout all around us. We do need to get to a place where we can have a bit of rest and recovery before the majority of our group needs to leave again."

The four elves in the party and Rúmil, who understood the gist of the speech though he did not speak common enough to be even remotely fluent, all nodded. Rúmil, once the other four elves were near him, quietly spoke to them while gesturing, getting several nods in return from the other four; those who had already finished watering their mounts watching the five with interest.

"He lets us know that their scouts have been tracking us for the last two days, having kept their eyes open for any sign of our troop or that we had been found on the journey by the enemy," Glorfindel turned suddenly and relayed Rúmil's words to Halbarad and the rest. "He also informed us that a place has been prepared for the group to camp for the next day or two and has been fully equipped, including being well stocked with extra supplies, so that our empty bags may be refilled once again while we tend to our needs and those of our well-used mounts. If you will be so good as to walk the horses at a slow pace, he will happily lead us."

Halbarad gravely bowed his head towards the marchwarden, deeply pleased at the offered hospitality. He knew that it was only the fact of the elven blood that he and the rest of the Dúnedain shared, combined with them also being descendants of the lines of man that held faithful to their sworn allegiance that permitted them any form of entrance to these ancient woods; the fact that they would be offered such hospitality was an unlooked for, but greatly appreciated, bonus. The elves rightfully held no love for the second born, who had turned on them time and time again; falling repeatedly for the pretty lies offered by the dark.

It was a quiet, weary group that left the small pond, following happily after the five elves chattering away in their tongue as they walked through the twilight woods alongside of one another, three of the five leading their mounts. Several of the company were also taking this chance to walk along, leading their horses so that they could stretch out muscles that had seen far too much riding and not enough of any thing else; Halbarad completely unashamed to be one of them as he attempted to work out the stiffness in his joints and the tightness of his muscles.

Halbarad lost all track of time in the twilight under the leafy canopy that they walked through, content to merely take in the dreamlike wilderness that showed no sign of anyone's hand laying upon it, as well as savoring the peace that came with the knowledge that the company was being well-guarded and was currently safe; therefore, it came as a bit of a surprise when they rounded the base of a small hillock and were met by the first signs, other than meeting Rúmil, of the habitation of the ancient woods.

What met the eyes of everyone in the troop was a large pavilion, open on one side, and made from swathes of heavy silk fabric fastened to light weight ropes that were, in turn, attached to the nearby trees; the "floor" was made up of thick rugs, piled high, that were beautifully woven and dyed, with a large brazier already burning merrily away in the center of the "floor". Many large, over-stuffed pillows were also scattered carelessly about the area defined as the "floor", and along the entire back "wall" of the pavilion were the promised bags of supplies. Several bottles, platters, and bowls were set about the pavilion, all looking to be filled with well cooked, hot food or cool drink, judging by the steam rising from one and the beads of condensation dripping down the sides of the other. A much simpler affair was situated off to the side and was obviously meant for the comfort of the horses as it was merely a "roof" with one "wall" in an area that was fenced off with more of the light weight rope. Several ceramic basins, some laden with water and others filled with a rich looking grain mash, lay about the fenced in area as well as large mounds of hay, giving more weight to the notion that it was intended to be a corral.

Each Dúnedain paused for only a moment as they took in the sight and, once the image had been fully comprehended, then went about seeing to the horses needs before allowing themselves to partake of the offered hospitality. While this was occurring, Glorfindel, Marcaunon, Elrohir, and Elladan were all standing off to one side, holding tightly to the reigns of the three mounts that bore the four of them and conversing still with Rúmil. Halbarad joined them after quickly tending to the needs of his horse and making a tiny detour into the offered shelter to grab several thick slices of what looked to be venison and wrapping it well in a piece of flatbread. Eating quickly, but as neatly as he could, Halbarad patiently waited for a natural lull in the conversation before clearing his throat to indicate that he would like to be given a chance to speak with someone.

"Do we have a definite plan then?" he queried when all five pairs of eyes were gazing at him, most alight with curiosity.

Glorfindel translated the question, then nodded along several times to the answer Rúmil was giving.

"While the Lady has been hard pressed to keep Khamûl and his various forces out from these ancient woods, she has made the time to check on our company as well as following along with what has occurred with the Fellowship of the Ring. Rúmil has been instructed to pass along that you shall be allowed to rest for the rest of this day and all of the next. On the following morn however, the Grey Company will need to set out at the first light of morning if it is to have the chance to meet up with it's Captain with enough time to speak of pressing matters and needed reminders and warnings.

"Also, this is where Marcaunon and myself will be needing to part ways with the Company. The Lord and Lady are expecting us and wish to speak with the two of us yet this very evening."

Halbarad smiled faintly as he stretched out his hand and tightly clasped Glorfindel's proffered arm. The two of them had been invaluable: Glorfindel for his millenia of experience and Marcaunon for his wonderful healing abilities. But Halbarad had known that this time was coming and so made not even a token protest at losing the two elves.

"Elin hal-i mên," Halbarad solemnly spoke, offering the two a traditional parting. Though he was not the best speaker of the elvish language, he had at least some familiarity with the proper forms.

"Elin hal-i mên," Glorfindel murmured in return.

"Amdir ah gell pada- hûn," Marcaunon responded with, before switching back over to common. "Please see to the care and handing of my beloved Gwilwileth for today and on the morrow, someone will come to collect her and bring her to where I will be staying. But for now, she has already been put up and I am loathe to see her disturbed for so minor a thing as carrying me the last bit of distance needed."

Halbarad gave a sharp nod of his head, one that was almost a bow, to the small, kind, soft-spoken healer. While many who didn't know better would dismiss the tiny elf as unimportant and not worth spending any time with, such as almost every dwarf that came to the history making meeting back in Rivendell had done when the little one tried to hold speech with them, Halbarad had never done so, and never would. Not only was the little one trained under the greatest living healer, Lord Elrond, but now Halbarad had a more personal connection to the extremely petite elf: it was his cousin that Marcaunon had treated a bare handful of days past when Ondoher's mount lost its footing and was swept downstream, only the combination of luck and skill keeping Ondoher from doing the same.

Rúmil, seeing the Dúnedain had slipped into a bit of a mental daze and attributing such to the exhaustion of the journey, as well as the stress it must have imparted to those that undertook such a trip, held back his own farewell to the man and merely took a moment to quietly bid each of Elrond's sons a pleasant evening and a good hunt, Glorfindel doing the same. Marcaunon's parting from the two took a touch longer, but that was because the troublesome duo each insisted on swooping the tiny male into a tight hug.

"Good hunting, sweet water, and light laughter until next we meet," Marcaunon quietly whispered once he was set back down, before turning about and gliding out of the clearing on silent feet after Rúmil, with Glorfindel close behind and leading Asfolath. The next few hours were spent quietly talking as they shared information between the three of them, dissecting it into little pieces as they worked to extract every iota of knowledge that they could from their shared pool of news. The entire time, Rúmil led the way deeper into the forest as the unseen sun gradually set, leaving the forest in a deep, dark state until, at last, they arrived in the heart of the Mallorn trees.

Marcaunon looked up the trunks of the great trees when they had finally halted, taking in the sight of the lights of Caras Galadhon soaring far, far overhead; amazed and left speechless just like the first time, and every time since then, that he had seen something so wondrous. While Imladris was peaceful beyond words and sang of home to his senses and his self, and his visits to both Mithlond and the Mountains of Mirkword were filled with joy and knowledge, there was truly something magical about Lothlórien and coming to this forest always left him with a feeling that he was visiting a place out of time and space: that it did not belong to the same world that Marcaunon dwelt in on a daily basis. And if he, an elf, felt that way, it was really no wonder to him that mortals were kept far from the heart of the kingdom with only a choice few ever being granted permission to enter.

Marcaunon was jarred from his thoughts by a hand gently grabbing ahold of his elbow. Turning his head and looking up, Marcaunon met the amused gaze of his love looking down at him. Smiling up at the tall, blond elf, Marcaunon twisted his arm about until his hand was lightly resting on top of Glorfindel's fore-arm, right near his wrist, allowing Marcaunon's fingers to come to rest on the back of Glorfindel's hand.

"Seron, will you do me the honor of escorting me?"

"Nín bain mîr, it would be my joy and privilege," Glorfindel responded in the same light tone that Marcaunon had queried him with.

As they ascended, it became more and more dreamlike; the descending darkness of night having much to do with this fact as the lanterns were lit to throw back the encroaching darkness, lighting up the nearby areas with a surreal glow and, if one looked off into the distance, giving the impression of walking into a bank of stars, something that Marcaunon particularly enjoyed. Normally, or at least normal for the two times that Marcaunon had journeyed to Lothlórien before, the air would be resonating with the sounds of many songs, some with accompanying instruments and some sung a cappella; the medley of voices and instruments, instead of sounding discordant, somehow making a harmonious symphony of music. But it seemed that such was not the case this evening, for the air was silent except for a solo voice, singing a song of great sorrow and loss in a haunting soprano.

Marcaunon could feel tears gathering in his eyes as he listened to the lone singer, her voice echoing amongst the trees, and tightened his hold on Glorfindel, seeking comfort and easily finding it when Glorfindel flipped his hand over and entwined his long fingers with Marcaunon's much daintier ones. The lone singer finished her song long before the trio reached the top of the ramp, leaving their ears almost ringing in the silence as they continued to climb higher. It wasn't until they were almost near the top that the heavy silence was finally broken by the more familiar, to Marcaunon at least, sounds of many voices, at which point, Glorfindel spoke up just loudly enough to be heard by the two nearest him, especially Rúmil, their guide.

"How many spirits have been sent to the Halls of Waiting, under the eyes of the Lord Mandos, since that foul wraith has dared to lay claim to Amon Lanc?"

"Far too many, my friend," Rúmil quietly answered as they continued to wind their way higher still. "Less harm was done, if you may believe it, in the duration that the Necromancer dwelt there-in, after the loss of Amon Lanc, then has been done within the last year. Though I am sure that that is due more to a desire to seem less in our collective eyes so as to not draw our attention there before time, than any true desire on His part."

"Indeed," chimed in an ageless voice that thrummed with power and that had all three elves snapping their heads forward and up. "If He had been stronger, we would have seen much greater grief far sooner than what has been brought to our doorstep before now."

"My Lady. My Lord."

"Lady Galadriel."

"Lord Celeborn."

The three elves bowed their heads to the rulers of Caras Galadhon as they murmured a greeting, not letting surprise delay them from showing the proper deference to the powerful duo immediately upon the realization that it was the Lady that had addressed them the moment that they arrived at the top of the spiraling ramp.

"Please rise. There is no need to stand on such formality," Galadriel spoke up, her voice thrumming with power to the knowledgable ear. "Especially amongst family, such as we are, no matter how distant or convoluted the relationship."

"And I am overwhelmingly positive that Elrond will be thrilled and delighted when I pass along the news that you think that he is "distant" and "convoluted"," Marcaunon said, mischievousness lightening up the timber of his voice and shining brightly in his jewel-tone eyes as he raised his head up and met the eyes of a startled Lady Galadriel, just before she and her husband, Lord Celeborn, burst out into surprised laughter.

"By the hands of the Valar," Celeborn finally spoke, getting his reaction to Marcaunon's comment under control. "You and your fellow blessed foundling are joys to be around. Always able to light up the gloomiest of times; if not with your quick wits, then just with the joy to be found in the the knowledge of your existence.

"Now then," Celeborn continued. "What brings the two of you here. And with such a group as we have been informed that you traveled as a part of? Please, walk with us as you share the answers."

"I shall leave you here in the very capable hands of my Lord and Lady then," Rúmil quietly stated before they moved out. "When you have finished relaying the information requested, please make your way along to the dwelling that you normally stay in Lord Glorfindel. I will go ahead of the both of you and ensure that it is properly aired out, with a good meal waiting for you as well."

Glorfindel and Marcaunon both nodded their heads in assent, before gracefully falling into place along side of Galadriel and Celeborn as the two proceeded to make their way wherever they were originally headed when they stopped to greet the trio, leaving Rúmil to do as he had stated. As the foursome glided forward, Glorfindel took it upon himself to deliver the briefing, with Marcaunon only chiming in now and again when he had something relevent to say that would help flesh out the report. Before the tale had gone too far, however, Glorfindel handed over the scroll that he had been entrusted with by Lord Elrond; Lady Galadriel quietly taking it and reading it as they strolled, keeping half an ear on the conversation occurring even as she took in the information that Elrond sent over.

By the time that the four of them had arrived at their destination, which turned out to be the private dwelling of the Lord and Lady, both rulers had been fully appraised of just who the group that Glorfindel and Marcaunon had traveled with were and exactly what they were planning on accomplishing; although, in truth, it had come as no great surprise to Galadriel as she had foreseen this event already. Lightly tapping the re-rolled scroll against the palm of her hand, Galadriel paused just before the doorway and stared intensely at the travel worn pair before her; causing Marcaunon to shift and fidget under the scrutiny as he was not used to such looks, having only met the Lady four times in just over a hundred years. Once when she visited Imladris shortly after he and Gîltass had first arrived in this world, while they were still messing up responding to their new names and were just as likely to call each other "Harry" and "Sirius" as not. Another time, was when he and Gîltass had made the journey to meet King Thranduil, and she and Lord Celeborn had made the short trip to the King's court as well. The last two times were when he and Glorfindel had made the journey to Lothlórien together, in the company of Arwen, who wished to spend time with her mother's people, and especially with her grandmother, the Lady Galadriel.

"I think," Galadriel pensively said, "that I shall be taking my dear friend up on his offer and that the two of you shall be invaluable in the very near future. And by very near, I do mean before the month dies."

Glorfindel and Marcaunon said nothing to her statement, merely bowing once again as the Lord and Lady bid the two a good evening and went inside. Once the other two had gone, Marcaunon shot Glorfindel a look, complete with a raised eyebrow and a light pout, that was practically screaming for information. Glorfindel merely shrugged his shoulders elegantly before wrapping an arm about his little one and steering him towards the small, one bedroom building that was waiting for the two of them.

"I cannot say that I have less of an idea about it than you do, Seron, for I feel that we are both equally blind on whatever that was, but I will state that the Lady has probably seen something that only made sense to her once she was given a bit more information. And that it will, most probably, involve us at some point."

Marcaunon scowled, but only very, very lightly as he cuddled into Glorfindel's side as they walked along. There was, after all, nothing that his beloved could do so the two of them would just have to wait it out until the Lady decided to break their ignorance or the events played out without any knowledge beforehand. As they walked along, Marcaunon could feel the exhaustion creeping steadily up on him until the arm wrapped about him for comfort was almost the entire reason that he was still upright and moving forward. It had truly been a grueling trip and Marcaunon couldn't help but feel true relief at the knowledge that he was done with the journey; even as he felt guilt over the fact that the rest of the group still had miles and miles yet to go through enemy infested wilds.

Determined to think of anything else, Marcaunon's tired thoughts took a darker turn as they strayed to those patients he had been overseeing back at Imladris, causing him to scowl fiercely as he remembered the wounds that had crippled several of his charges, though they could be considered fortunate. Marcaunon suddenly blinked back a torrent of tears that ached to escape as he flashed to those that failed to make it back. Now was not the time to think of those left behind, living or dead.

Glorfindel, sensing the turn towards dark thoughts, though not what such thoughts entailed, ceased walking and, instead, pulled Marcaunon's slight, trembling form flush against his larger frame, running his hands soothingly up and down Marcaunon's slim back. Glorfindel was rewarded when tense muscles relaxed under his hands and the slight shuddering of Marcaunon's frame halted under his care.

"Better now, my love?" Glorfindel quietly asked, slowly releasing Marcaunon as the two of them resumed their pace.

"Somewhat," Marcaunon just as quietly replied. "As I have been told, on numerous occasions at that, I need to forgo dwelling on thing that I cannot change. I am sure that a good night's slumber, in safety and comfort, as well as a filling meal that does not consist of trail rations, will do wonders for me, and my thoughts and spirit."

"Indeed, I think that you will find that not one person who has ever lived through such times as we are facing would dare to disagree with that statement. A place of safety to lay our heads and a filling meal is truly a blessing of untold richness, one that I am am greatly looking forward too as well."

They made the rest of the short trip in silence, merely listening to the sounds filling the air around them, until they arrived at the small cabin that had been given over to Glorfindel when it was just himself that accompanied Arwen, and now played host to the two of them as neither saw the need to asked for a larger space. Entering the main, thought still quite tiny, room, both were pleased and grateful to see that the small eating table was laden with several plates full of hot food, as well as a few bowls that sported a wide variety of cold fruits and vegetables. As they drew closer to the meal, Marcaunon was thrilled to discover a plate laden down with fresh baked pastries and immediately snatched one up, devouring it in only a few quick bites and making Glorfindel laugh out loud at his actions.

The two of them spent the rest of the evening making short work of the meal, taking a very quick trip to the nearest bathhouse where they both scrubbed harshly at the filth that marred their hides from the frantic journey they had made, before finally changing into night wear and falling into the large, soft bed that took up the majority of their sleeping chambers.

In the morning, the two had a chance to enjoy a leisurely breakfast that consisted of the leftovers of the fruit, vegetables, and pastries from the night previous, before their quiet morning was broken by the sounds of knocking. Marcaunon excused himself back to the bed room to get dressed in something more than just a sleep shirt that only came down to the tops of his thighs, while Glorfindel, who had pulled on a pair of pants just after rising from the bed that morning, calmly opened the door, revealing Rúmil and his brothers, Orophin and Haldir.

"Please, enter and make yourselves at home," Glorfindel calmly stated, warmth in his voice as he beheld the three at his door.

"We thank you," Haldir stated for the three of them as they crossed the threshold and found seats in the small room: Haldir taking the other chair at the table, while Rúmil and Orophin shared the lounge that held pride of place before a tiny fireplace that was just big enough to allow for a bit of careful cooking over the flame when it was in use. Haldir took the opportunity as they all settled into their respective seats, and Glorfindel re-took his at the table, to look about the place.

"I was reliably informed, from a source that I would trust with my life, that Marcaunon was here as well," Haldir ventured, a faint rise on the end of the statement turning it into a bit of a question.

"And you were told correctly," Marcaunon cheekily grinned at the marchwarden, who had startled somewhat at the unexpected response to his statement/question. "I was merely somewhat underdressed for meeting guests and so excused myself to remedy it."

Glorfindel's eyes lit up as he beheld what his beloved had chosen to wear today, grateful for the somewhat full wardrobe that was kept here waiting for them: a pair of tight, black, leather trousers that laced up the sides while leaving a strip of flesh bare under the criss-crossing laces, a pair of black leather boots that only came up to the ankle and had a small heel to them, a long-sleeved, green shirt that had been dyed in such a way that it seemed to ripple through every shade of green, from lightest to darkest, and a black leather vest that mirrored the pants in that it was held tightly to Marcaunon's form with laces that cinched it tight. Hanging off of a wide, emerald-green leather belt that was worn in a low slung manner that had it tightly hugging the slim hips of his beloved, were a plethora of pouches that Glorfindel knew held a wide array of medicines and medical aides. There were even a few tiny, metal and glass, corked vials hanging from the belt. A beautifully tooled and worked baldric worn over his vest and shirt held Marcaunon's sword on his back as well as several tiny throwing daggers all lined up over his chest. He had also taken the time to see to it that his wild mane of ebony hair was tightly braided and tied off with a pretty, leaf-green, silk ribbon.

All in all, Glorfindel thought that his little love looked breathtaking; both a warrior and a healer, in one very attractive package.

"Well," Haldir began. "You do look ready for the day."

Marcaunon shrugged his shoulders and dismissively waved his hand, a sheepish smile gracing his petite, fine-boned features.

"I had no idea what might be on the agenda for today, and so I decided to dress accordingly."

"Truly, a good thought," Orophin finally spoke up. "One that will stand you in good stead as there is much to be done, for our Lord and Lady, as well as King Thranduil, have decided that it will soon be our time to deliver the finishing blow onto the foul usurper that dares lay claim to Amon Lanc. We have held off on taking the fight to him as we wished to attempt to both keep him pinned in a known location as well as attempt to keep the Dark Lord guessing as to where his beloved ring might be and under whose power it might be found. Now though, thanks in no small part to the news that the two of you brought, combined with the knowledge of our Lady, it has been revealed, just this morning, that the time has come at last to tear down Dol Guldur. Plans are being made even now and the two of you have been requested to attend the meetings."

Glorfindel and Marcaunon looked startled at the news, then thoughtful, before the two of them shared a look and nodded their heads sharply in assent.

"If you will give me but a moment," Glorfindel politely excused himself as he rose from the table. As he slid past Marcaunon, he took the opportunity to gently press a brief kiss to the petal soft lips of his beloved, before entering the bedroom to find appropriate wear for himself. While he was dressing, Marcaunon took control of both Glorfindel's former seat at the table and the conversation, the four of them passing the time sharing what news had failed to be passed along the night before while speaking to Rúmil, which was, truthfully, not that much. Once a fully dressed Glorfindel rejoined them, the group quickly swept out of the small dwelling.

As they did so, Marcaunon took the opportunity to place a hand onto Haldir's arm, lightly holding him back from immediately following the others.

"How are you holding up?" Marcaunon gently queried the much older elf, who looked weary and grief-laden to his searching eyes in the light streaming in from the open doorway. "I know that you received the news about what occurred several months ago, and, while the two of you were not as close as say, myself and Glorfindel, I had been reliably informed that a, hmm...accommodation, had been reached between the two of you, as well as told that you held my informant in great affection."

Haldir took a moment to wave away the other three elves who were looking back at them with questions burning in their eyes, "We will catch you up. Just allow us a moment or so."

Once the others had turned and were on their way, Haldir slumped against the door jamb, letting it support a great deal of his weight. Rubbing a hand roughly over his face, the tall, stocky, blond elf met the concerned gaze of Marcaunon with a wry, self-deprecating smile.

"I will not lie to you and say that it was easy to accept the news about Gîltass when I finally received it, but thanks in no small part to my brothers, the grief such news raised within me has become a more manageable burden."

"I am glad to hear that," Marcaunon firmly stated. "Now then, we have places to go and a battle to plan, so more on this subject can wait for a better time."

Haldir nodded firmly, then swept the tiny elf up in his arms and placed a firm kiss to the other's crown, before setting the spluttering elf down and leading the way, content in the knowledge that Marcaunon would quickly regain control of himself and follow after.

The next few weeks passed in a frenzy of planning and activities as the entire forest came alive in the push to attack Dol Guldur on the 27 of March. Glorfindel joined in on the daily planning meetings, pouring over maps and querying the scouts for the most up-to-date knowledge of the area that they would be waging battle in, for he had not visited the area formerly known as Amon Lanc in several millennia since its fall near the year T.A. 1000 and was woefully lost on what changes had occurred within the accursed woods since the Necromancer took refuge within. Marcaunon had none of the skills needed to assist in war planning and so took himself off during the day to harvest what he could of the useful plants in the woods under the watchful eyes of Orophin and Rúmil. What early season plants he was able to harvest, Marcaunon would immediately set about using when he arrived back at Caras Galadhon early in the afternoon so that he had the time to see to them; either drying them, using them in a balm or paste, or steeping them and reducing the resulting liquid into a concentrated tisane.

On occasion, Haldir would join him and the day would be spent, after Haldir had chased off his brothers, sharing tales and memories of Gîltass as the two of them rolled finely woven, linen wraps and assembled small, emergency healer kits that were immediately sent out with the ever exhausted scouts.

Both Glorfindel and Marcaunon made sure to take the time in the evenings to spend with one another; seeking and receiving comfort, both emotional and physical, as the two ensured that their relationship was not neglected in the hustle and bustle as it so easily could have. From time to time, the two of them would seek each other out during the day as well and have a light spar; not that Marcaunon was any where near to Glorfindel's skills and usually ended up bruised and falling asleep over the evening meal afterwards, while Glorfindel would chuckle merrily at him and brightly inquire as to when the spar would get going. Marcaunon promised himself that when everything was finally over and finished, Glorfindel would feel his wrath!

Finally, the day came, and everyone was lined up just inside the border of the woods, waiting on the signal to march forth.

Marcaunon stood off to the side and back with the second wave of fighters, which consisted mainly of those going along in a support function of some sort: the healers, the cooks, the weaponsmiths, the odd but necessary craftsmen. All of those that were needed for the smooth running of such a large army, but had no business being on the front lines where they would be a liability. His stomach was in knots and he was light-headed. For all that he, back more than a hundred years ago before falling into this world, had been in several fights and had come out victorious, if battered, bloody, and ill-used, there were truly a great number of firsts either occurring, or about to occur in the very near future. He had never fought in a war before, which is really what this was all about: a large battle that was a part of the war against the Dark Lord in Mordor. He had never healed wounds in the quantity he was sure to receive; even with the few other healers in the ranks, it would be over whelming to all involved in the ancient calling. The wounds that he would soon be seeing, he had truly only read about or been given verbal instruction in treating minus a small handful of times that the scouts at Imladris had fallen afoul of something. He would also be forced to watch and wait, not participate, as his loved ones did battle without him; he knew his skills were nowhere near the level that would be needed on the front lines and that he would only get in the way of the more experienced fighters.

But he didn't have to like it, even one little bit, and all that he could think about was the horror of not knowing what would happen to them; dreading seeing them cut, bloodied, and severely injured and laying before him as they screamed in pain while he treated their wounds. In truth, he was torn about that; for if they were laying before him, seeking aid, he would at least have knowledge of where they were, rather than the absolute fear he felt crawling up his spine at the knowledge that once the army started moving, he would have no way of knowing where Glorfindel, Haldir, Orophin and Rúmil were, other than "near the front". It was small comfort to him that they were kept in good company by traveling with the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel who were also marching off to war and would be meeting King Thranduil and his forces who were also part of the assault. It was also of little comfort to Marcaunon that the Lady had thrice thrown back the forces Khamûl and his three lieutenants, a trio of unknown, unnamed Nazgûl, had brought to bare on the outer-most sections of the forest.

Still, Marcaunon knew that this battle would be, must be, fought, and so he had taken especial care with his parting from Glorfindel; making love the night before till the candles had burned completely away, and sharing words of love with him before the two were forced apart by their duties this morning.

Suddenly, the large gathering before him began to move, drawing him from his gentle memories of the night previous that had begun to lightly relax him, and thrusting his worries back to the forefront of his mind once again. Taking a deep breath, Marcaunon held it for a count of twenty, released it slowly, then did it once again; forcing away all of his nervous tension as he did so. There was nothing more that he could do, other than his job, and so that was what he would do, to the best of his ability. Marcaunon spun about on his feet and briskly strode over to the wagon that he was assigned to.

While the woods supplied much, especially with a tiny garden plot here and a fruit tree there, and those within were able to trade with other settlements of elves for what little they were unable to grow, hunt, or forage for, pasture land was, sadly, in very short supply; so the horses that many other warriors would traditionally ride off to do battle on were strictly regulated according to the most good that they would do. In this case, it was for the betterment of all that the few horses kept within the woods were being used to pull: a double handful of supply wagons, a wagon for all of the Healers and their needed tools of their trade, which was where Marcaunon would be spending all of his time marching alongside of, and a truly clever, portable blacksmith forge that was pulled by two pair of the largest horses that Marcaunon had ever seen.

Once they began to move, however, the slow pace of the second line as they were forced to keep the pace set by horses drawing heavily laden wagons quickly became apparent and meant that the first line warriors, who were all obviously on foot as well minus a small number such as far-riding scouts and those who were leading the host, quickly outpaced them. Marcaunon found himself completely confused as he watched those who were to be the soldiers speed away. How could Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel even think about leaving behind their Healers, if nothing else, when going off to fight. When he voiced that very question to one of the older Healers walking near him in a very puzzled tone, Marcaunon was happily given the answer by the much more experienced elf.

"It has to do with pacing, and loads, and resting. There will be no plan to fight until we have closed in on the chosen battle field. Not saying that an ambush is not possible regardless of the scout's efforts, but just that no planned battle will take place. And the reason that they don't wait for the second line is that we, who are not fighting, can and will maintain a steady pace over the entire course of the day without needing the kinds of rest breaks that they, who are wearing heavy armor and multiple weapons, will need to take to ensure that they are at full strength before fighting. While the fighters could certainly march the entire day, there is no great need for them to do such at this time and tire themselves out before the major battle. As for us, we in the second line will just keep moving steadily forward without the need for the longer rest stops, and by tonight, we will all meet up at about the same time even with the different rates of march."

Marcaunon politely thanked the other Healer for the answer, then spent a good bit of time thinking over what he was told. It was a fascinating logistics puzzle and kept him well occupied until the very brief stop for lunch, where several casks of fresh water were broached and Lembas passed around. After the lunch stop, Marcaunon spent the rest of the day walking alongside of the Healer that had answered his earlier question, taking the opportunity to learn more about his craft from someone far more experienced in it than he, as he had only decades of practice versus the millenia of practical experience that the other, whom Marcaunon learned was named Ithilglaw, had.

Night had fallen and the light of Ithil was casting its clear light down upon the small army by the time the second line had caught up to the first line. And it had worked out pretty much as Ithilglaw had informed him it would, give or take a bit of time on either side. Once the two lines had rejoined, and camp was truly made for the night with the supply wagons being emptied of blankets, water casks, and Lembas, Marcaunon wearily made his own bed under the wagon he had traveled beside during the day alongside the other Healers. While he would have much preferred to bed down with Glorfindel, it simply wasn't a feasible idea in an army going off to battle. Glorfindel was needed near the front with the rest of those in charge and Marcaunon's place was with the Healers.

It took two more days to finally reach the southernmost tip of the great Mirkwood forest, all of which were repeats of the first day, minus a brief scuffle late at night on the second day out when the evening patrols ran into a small party of enemy scouts. There were, fortunately, no fatalities on the elvish side of things, but several elves had been injured in the fight and were brought back to be treated by the Healers. All those treated were back on their feet the next day with no lingering problems except for one unfortunate skirmisher who had taken a dagger deep to his gut and was now riding within the Healer's wagon until the wound had fully healed. Marcaunon had happily made himself useful by brewing and mixing up the needed medicines, even as he watched and listened to everything going on around him in an attempt to learn more.

On the dawn on the fourth day from setting out, the time had finally come to launch the planned for attack on the enemy's forest stronghold. The elves held no illusions that they had not been seen at this point, and just the fact that a patrol would have come up missing should have tipped Khamûl and his lieutenants off, and so everyone was extremely cautious when entering the gloomy and diseased looking woods.

As it was, only the warriors entered the forest, leaving the secondary line to make a secure camp just under the eaves of the seemingly diseased trees with the aid of half the scouts and a small assortment of actual warriors. Marcaunon spent the day mindlessly grinding out herbs and mixing up several of the tisanes and herbal brews that would most definitely be needed, but had no true shelf life: lasting for only 24 hours at a maximum before losing their effectiveness. Every once in a while, Ithilglaw would pull him aside and force food and drink on him. Although Marcaunon's nerves were leaving him feeling stretched and tense and really not at all hungry, Ithilglaw refused to take Marcaunon's politely worded, though extremely short, negative replies as the correct answer and merely pushed pieces of Lembas into Marcaunon's mouth every time it was opened, serenely ignoring the much younger elf's sputtering and scowls.

By late afternoon, when Marcaunon's nerves were completely stretched to the breaking point and nothing Ithilglaw was able to do could get him to relax any part of himself, the first bits of news finally drifted back from the front line of attack, along with the first wave of casualties. While earlier in the day, those kept waiting at the camp had far too little to do that would truly keep their minds occupied while their hands worked, it was now just the opposite as waves of wounded flooded into the camp, swamping the member of the second line and threatening to overwhelm the system in place that was set up to support the troops. Those in a support position were being rushed off their feet with very little time given over to rational thought: it was now a time for the ease of habit to take control of hands, leaving minds focused on tending to the needs of the broken bodies returning out from the dismal forest.

Evening crept up without much notice being given over to it, only the need to light the lanterns drawing any attention to the fact that darkness had finally fallen. The wounded kept making their way back from the battle either under their own power, the lucky ones, or by other means, meaning someone else carried them, until, suddenly, they weren't. Marcaunon lifted his head from the last warrior he had been treating, letting her compatriots lift her from his table and carry her away to her rest and looked about him with weary eyes, the blood from his latest patient dripping obscenely off of his dainty hands to fall onto a patch of ground that was no better than a churned mire at this point from the combination of bleeding patients and the treated water that he had been using generously to sterilize his hands, arms, patients, and work area. Seeing no more elves waiting for him by the light of the lanterns and the few fires that had been started, Marcaunon could no longer hold back the exhaustion he was battling. Staggering a bit on his feet, Marcaunon fell lightly against the side of his work table; the foldable, portable table not even swaying a fraction under his slight weight.

How long he stood there, dazed and lost as his mind replayed the screams and blood and smells of the day, Marcaunon would never be able to say, forever lost in the horrors and sorrows of the aftermath of his first major battle. He was so completely out of it in fact that the gentle touch to his elbow failed to register with him; neither did the much loved face gazing down at him with worry and distress burning in his eyes as he was led away by Glorfindel. It wasn't until the two of them were laying down in a puddle of shadows near the center of the camp that Marcaunon came back, somewhat, to himself. And even then all he did, upon looking up and finally registering that Glorfindel was laying beside him, was to roll himself up and over top of Glorfindel's long, lean body, burying his finely featured face into Glorfindel's chest as he began to sob harshly, never hearing the murmurs of love and support Glorfindel whispered to him, even as Glorfindel's hands began to gently and lightly rub up and down his slim, toned back while the much older, more experienced elf released his own tears.

Elin hal-i mên - stars light the path

Amdir ah gell pada- hûn - hope and joy walk into your heart

Seron - friend, lover

Nín bain mîr - my beautiful treasure/jewel

glaw [gloe] name radiance, brilliance

Ithil [ithil] name moon

Mithlond - Grey Havens

t.a.3019

march 3 - battle of the hornbrg (helm's deep) begins

march 6 - aragorn over taken by the dunedain, sets out later for harrowdale

march 8 - aragorn takes the path of the dead at daybreak, arrives at erech at midnight

March 25 - the one ring falls into the cracks of doom

march 27 - celeborn crosses anduin, destruction of dol guldur begun

april 6 - meeting of celeborn and thranduil.

april 8 - the ring bearers are honored on the fields of cormallen

may 1 - king elessar crowned; elrond and arwen set out from rivendell

may 8 - eomer and eowyn depart for rohan with the sons of elrond

may 20- elrond and arwen come to lorien

may 27 - the escort of arwen leaves lorien

june 14 - the sons of elrond meet up with the escort and bring arwen to edoras

june 16 - they set out for gondor

june 25 - king elessar finds the sapling of the white tree

1 lithe - arwen comes to the city

mid-year's day - wedding of arwen and elessar

july 19 - the funeral escort of king theoden sets out

august 27 - they come to isenguard; they take leave of the king of the west at sunset

all dates and information were taken from Appendix B of the book "The Return of the King"