Four days the company rode, sleeping only a few short hours each night. At least, they thought it was night. When they woke on the first morning it was to a troubling vision. A deep shadow was upon the earth, blocking out the light of the sun. The unnatural darkness proved to make both horses and men skittery, and tempers grew short.

Nimoë listened intently to the snatches of conversation that reached her ears. When they had first ridden out, the men had regaled each other with tales of their prowess in battle, with tallies of the slain bloated out of all reason. The banter had been harmless, even helpful, buoying up their spirits, and making them eager for war. As the shadow had descended, however, there was more often a taciturn silence among them, with only the clatter of hooves for company.

Those who rode accepted the fact that the ever-present night could only signal one thing. The battle had been joined in Gondor, and the Dark Lord's forces had crossed the Anduin. As she rode through the long, lonely days, Nimoë found her thoughts most often upon Legolas. What had happened to him? Did they survive the passage through the Paths of the Dead? Deep in her heart, she felt certain that they had survived. Legolas had said that the shades of men held no fear for him, and she trusted his instincts.

Still, the not knowing was a slow torture. With each hour that passed she drew closer to the perilous war, and she knew that Legolas would be moving there just as relentlessly, if he had not indeed already arrived, and her heart was heavy with worry.

They rode quickly past a tall hill, which would have been visible for a long distance, had there been light to see by. It was one of the watchtower hills between Rohan and Gondor. In times of trouble, fires were lit on each hill in order, which could be seen burning from far and wide. The very absence of flame sent a shiver down Nimoë's spine. The only reason that the watch-fire was not lit had to be that none could escape to light them. It boded ill for the people of Gondor.

#

At the last encampment, Halanna had set herself along the edge of the army's circle of sleeping rolls. Determinedly, she sat awake, watching those about her, hoping against hope to find some sign of Nimoë. Three days she had searched and still found nothing. Earlier, she had asked in a husky voice of one of the other riders how many traveled in the company. Over six thousand men and horses, he had said.

Six thousand! No surprise then that she had been unable to hunt down her quarry. Since that time, she had striven to ride with a different group of men for each leg of the journey, hoping to maximize her chances of finding Nimoë before they reached the broad alluvial plains of Gondor.

Just as she was about to give up her watch, a slight figure crept silently away from the encampment, its head shrouded by its hood. Curious, Halanna got to her feet and followed with cat-like tread. The mysterious figure did not go far from the main encampment, only far enough that several rows of trees stood between themselves and the others. Halanna hid herself behind a large oak, and peered out. The figure had looked round to see if any others were about in the night. Seeing no one, its hands raised and pulled back the heavy hood.

Even in the deep and abiding darkness, Halanna was able to clearly see the nimbus of moon-pale hair that fell from the cloak. If she had had any doubt that she had found her quarry, it was dispelled when next the Elf lady placed her hands upon a tall cedar and began to speak softly, with a melancholy wistfulness to her voice, although Halanna could not understand the words.

Feeling like an interloper, Halanna turned her back, but did not leave her place. If Nimoë were to return to the encampment, she would have to come past her. Then she would speak.

#

Nimoë paused, many yards from the sleeping company. The darkness did not hinder her sight tremendously, and she looked up at the trees growing, tall and strong, around her. She inhaled deeply and sighed as the scent of cedar filled her senses. That smell seemed to bring Legolas closer to her wishful mind, and she walked towards the ancient tree which had so affected her.

Laying her hands upon its rough bark, she spoke softly, wishing the words could be spoken to her love, rather than this beautiful, but unfeeling, tree. "Legolas, my heart, my thoughts are with you always. I pray that you are well, that we will meet again some day soon. Blackness haunts the sky and with it comes an evil that cannot be borne by this earth. Either it will pass, or we must pass away forever." A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, like a sparkling gem, and it hung for a moment from her chin before falling down to water the roots of the steadfast cedar. "If I had but one wish left in this world, it would be this, my heart; that I could but see you smile at me for one last time. For in your smile I feel a thousand caresses, I hear a thousand words of love. There is no greater joy for me, and I have found in being parted from you that there is no greater loss."

Reluctantly, she pulled away from the tree, knowing that she must return to the company of riders. She had not gone three steps before a dark figure stepped out of the trees and into her path. A small yelp was caught in her throat, so startled was she, but she pulled it back, unwilling to call attention to herself. "Who are you?" she asked.

The figure reached up and pulled back its hood. Nimoë's jaw dropped in shock, "Halanna?! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question. The Lord Eomer told you not to come. And he set me to keep you from it. Now here you are, and so here am I as well. Was this what you wanted?" asked Halanna.

"Surely you did not…" Nimoë paused, realizing that the girl was in deadly earnest. "Lord Eomer has no right to control my actions. I am not his subject. I come and go as I will. If I chose to risk my life, that is my right. But you… You are a different question. How can you defend yourself if it comes to a fight? What about Henodred? You are all that is left of his family. You must go back to him!"

Halanna forestalled the outburst with an upraised hand. "I know the arguments. I have made them to myself. I am not a child, Nimoë. I am a woman grown, and I know my own mind. Do you tell me now that you will not turn back?"

Nimoë stood firm. "I will not."

Halanna nodded in acceptance. "Fine. Then we will ride together, for I gave my word to keep an eye on you, and I intend to see it done. I will not fail to follow an order from a Marshal of the Realm."

Nimoë gave a short laugh. "It seems that you are the only woman who feels that way."

"What do you mean?"

Nimoë shook her head, pitying poor Eomer when he found out that two women had ridden to battle in spite of his orders, and yet another because of them. It seemed that he could not win, no matter which way he played his hand. She replied. "Even his own sister has disobeyed him. Eowyn also rides in this company." Seeing that finally Halanna had nothing to say, Nimoë pulled her hood back over her head. "Let us get some rest. Tomorrow we will reach Gondor, and the battle will no doubt be fierce."

Without another word, Halanna also shrouded her head, and followed the Elf back to the encampment. Upon returning, Halanna went and gathered her gear, bringing it near to Nimoë's, then they both slept.

#

When Nimoë woke into the brighter darkness of morning, there was a buzz about the encampment. Rumors swirled that some of the Wild Men had come in the night, and they were in council with the King and his marshals. Nimoë wondered what that could mean to them, and she shook Halanna by the shoulder to waken her. "Wake up! Strange doings are afoot."

Halanna rolled out of bed and came to her feet in one fluid motion. "What is it?" she asked. Nimoë told her what she had heard as together they forged a way through the mass of humanity. They came to within twenty yards of the King's tent before they could advance no further. Along with the other Rohirrim, they waited impatiently for someone to come out and explain what was happening.

Soon enough, Theoden and his marshals stepped out, accompanied by an unkempt man, with long, tangled mats of hair, and appearing to have moss growing off of his very skin. Theoden raised his hand for silence, then addressed the assemblage. "This is Ghan-buri-Ghan. He is Chief of the Wild Men and he has brought us news. Gondor is well and truly beset. Orcs hold the roads ahead of us, and they have dug pits and placed pikes across its width. We will not be able to break through their lines that way. Ghan-buri-Ghan has offered to have his Wild Men guide us along trails long forgotten to all save his people. In this manner shall we approach the Pelennor Fields. It may be that this little bit of a surprise could turn the tide of the battle in our favor. Give him your trust and he will not lead you astray. We ride!"

#

Nimoë and Halanna worked their way back to their horses and mounted quickly, wishing to be near the front of the army as it made its final approach towards Minas Tirith. By forcing their way through, Goliant leading, for he had a bolder soul than Bluebell, they managed to place themselves into the first eored which, Nimoë learned, were the fighting units of the Rohirrim. The army was spread thin, for the paths they followed allowed only four horses to pass together through them. While it would take only seven hours for the first riders to arrive at the Pelennor Fields, the final stragglers would not arrive for another three hours after them.

They rode in silence, eyes taking in the scenery as they passed. Nimoë was painfully aware that by the time the day was over, she might never see another thing, so each tree was a precious jewel, each wildflower a sip of fine wine. She glanced over at Halanna beside her and, while she could not see her face, she could tell from the way she sat her horse that the young woman's thoughts were not nearly so morbid as her own. Nimoë gave a sad smile. Halanna had never seen battle, so she could have no conception of what she rode into.

#

Hours later they came out onto a ridge overlooking the Pelennor fields. Nimoë heard Halanna draw in a startled gasp. What lay before them was like no idealized battle that she had ever heard tales about. It was a killing field. The wall defending the outskirts of the city of Minas Tirith had been breached, and the entire field was crawling with orcs and other spawn of evil. Fires burned both outside the city and also within. Bodies of soldiers of Gondor littered the ground.

Even as they watched, more soldiers were beaten back behind the main city gates, and a mass of mountain trolls advanced upon them, bringing with them a battering ram of unprecedented size. It was as large as the trunk of a centuries old cedar and it crashed relentlessly against the walls of the city.

Theoden, with Eomer, Elfhelm and Grimbold, looked down in horrified wonder. Seeing that there was, in truth, no time to waste, Theoden gave his command. "Lead forth the eoreds! Fight with strength, for there will be no other battle. For Rohan! For Gondor! For all the free peoples of Middle-Earth! Forth Eorlingas!"