We fled along the mountains, still pursued by the riders. We lost half our company before night fell. As the shadows lengthened and the sky dimmed, we pulled away from the hunting Orcs, using the darkness to hide our trail. We did not stop to sleep that night, or the next.
On the third day of the pursuit, we descended the mountains into North Ithilien. The Orcs harried us past the Harad Road, then fell away, perhaps fearing to meet with the armies of the Western countries again. We still did not stop until we reached the banks of the wide Anduin River.
I slipped off Hellebore's back, grateful to put my feet on the ground once again. My knees gave out, tumbling me to the ground in a graceless heap. I counted heads as the others dismounted. Ten of us left, six Shadowwalkers and four unChosen. Yalië and Tuilë, the Healers, bustled amongst us, tending to minor wounds. I levered myself onto my feet and stripped Hellebore's tack, combed her down and released her to graze.
Niquë and her mate, the Warrior Serko, joined me in caring for the horses. I found my gaze traveling again and again to Maranwë; both her Magepartner and her mate had fallen, ensuring our escape. I ached for her but could find no words to comfort her loss. I had not yet chosen a mate and, as a scholar, I had no Magepartner-- what could I say to her that could ease her pain? I turned away, clenching my fists in frustration.
I tossed my saddle onto the ground and wrapped myself in my cloak. Using the saddle as a pillow, I curled up and tried to sleep. I watched the familiar stars pass across the night sky, but no sleep came that night.
~***~
We drove the horses hard the next day, fearful of more Orcs. My back ached from a long night on the hard ground, but I dared not complain, not while our Warriors had held the watches throughout the night, sleeping little, and that sitting up against trees.
Late in the afternoon we reached the great bridge at Osgiliath. Beyond it, in the distance, we could see the shining spires of Minas Tirith; Niquë gripped my hand tightly.
"We made it, sister. We have arrived."
We paused by the road on the far side of the river to shake the dirt from our robes and clean ourselves as best we could. Niquë refused to allow us to enter the great city like a pack of beggars, she said, so we took the time to replace the ornaments we had removed from our hair at the beginning of the journey and trace our eyes with the dark pencils our people had used for centuries.
I fiddled with one of my braids, absently fingering the slick obsidian feather dangling from the end. My mother had given me the ornament the day I became Twilight Chosen, when I first put on the indigo robes of the Shadowwalkers. I raised a silent prayer that our settlement, hidden as it was inside the Deep Forest, would not draw the eyes of those bent on conquest.
We remounted, pairing off in a column with myself and Niquë at the head. I glanced at Maranwë where she rode next to one of the unChosen Warriors. She was pale and drawn, grief written stark on her thin face; she had not spoken, to any of us, since her mate fell. I jerked Hellebore around, settling into a steady fast pace. As we crossed the river into Gondor, I drew a deep breath, the first in many days. The smooth walls of Osgiliath loomed and fell away as we urged the horses toward the great city of Minas Tirith.
The walls of Minas Tirith rose before us in the warm evening air, a mass of stone that gleamed in the fading light like snow. Sentries ranked along the battlements, archers clad in golden armor glowing red in the sunset. They drew and sighted on us as we approached; I could hear the shouts of "Easterlings" and "Rhûn warriors" echoing along the line of archers. We rode on, slow and silent, to the very gates.
"Halt." A single archer, high on the tower above the great ironbound gates, called to us. "Identify yourselves, Easterlings, or we will cut you down where you stand."
I raised my eyes to him, lowered the hood of my cloak. "We are not Easterlings. We come on behalf of the Allied Clans of Rhûn. We must speak with the High King." The archer stared at me, considering. He turned to a young boy standing beside him and muttered to him. The boy nodded and dashed away. The archer turned back to me.
"I have sent word of your coming to the King. If he permits, you may enter the city." I nodded. We sat our horses, waiting as evening faded into night.
Some hour later, the great gates swung open. Several dozen armored men poured through the gates, surrounding our company. I saw Rauko and Sára reach for their swords; I snapped at them to leave them be. I spoke quickly to the others in our own tongue.
"Do not give them reason to strike at us. Leave your weapons where they are, do not speak, do not act against them. Remember, we must gain the confidence of the King." I waited until we were entirely surrounded, then allowed the soldiers to set the pace for our entry into Minas Tirith.
I caught my breath at the splendor of the city. Never had I seen buildings so fair, nor had I seen so much stone in one place. Although the Shadowwalker Keep was also of stone, my home settlement was a crouch of wooden enclaves nestled into a stand of trees; this sprawling lake of pale stone and sparkling glass was as a dream to my eyes. People moved freely through the twisting streets, unafraid and unmolested, Men and Dwarves and Elves mingling together. Many stopped to stare and point at us. We must have been an odd sight, our column of olive-skinned, almond-eyed foreigners clad in deep blues and blacks and greys. I felt like a reverse image, washed as clean of color as the image in a scrying glass. I raised my hood, unnerved by the frankness with which these people stared, and satisfied myself with quick glances around me.
Our horses halted at the foot of a curving staircase. My eyes traveled along the height of it to the figures standing before the doors of the castle. A dark man, flanked by a tall Elf and a powerful Dwarf. His eyes were steely grey, piercing into me, the gaze of a king. I motioned to my company; we dismounted as one and knelt on the lowest step, our heads bowed.
"Rise, and state your business, for We greatly desire to know what has brought the people of Rhûn to Our doors." I rose to my feet, still averting my eyes. An archer extended his hand to me; when I hesitated in confusion, he placed my hand on the back of his and led me up the steps to the feet of the High King. I knelt again, unsure of the behavior expected in this country.
The dark man motioned me to stand. I slipped back my hood to see him better. His eyes studied me as frankly as those of the people on the street; from the corner of my eye I noticed the Elf watching me carefully. I spread my hands in a gesture of respect and spoke slowly, so that I would not stumble over the unfamiliar Westron tongue.
"My King, we come to beg your aid. Word reached our people of the great victory your armies wrought against the forces of Sauron. We need your assistance in our own lands."
"And what would the children of the East need with the free people of Middle Earth?" The Dwarf snarled at me, his voice harsh and deep. "You allied with Sauron in this war. Apply to him for aid."
The King laid a hand on the Dwarf's shoulder. "Be still, Gimli, son of Glóin. I am still King here, my friend." I expected the Dwarf to protest this statement; instead, he burst into a gravelly chuckle and subsided. What sort of people were these, that such an rebuke did not merit retaliation? The King turned his eyes to me.
"His question is an honorable one, Lady. Why have you come here?"
I drew a deep breath. "My Lord, not all the peoples of Rhûn were supporters of the Necromancer. There were those who feared his power and that of his followers. Now the armies have returned from war, and they are crushing our people beneath their heel as retribution for their loss. They have ever laid the blame for their failures at the feet of my people. We cannot stand against them, Lord. Not alone."
I stood, trembling, waiting for his answer. He gazed at me a long time, his eyes narrow and thoughtful. He sighed then, and raised his voice so the others could hear.
"Come inside. It is late, you are tired. Please, accept the hospitality of Minas Tirith." He turned to the tall Elf beside him.
"Legolas. I must go and find the Queen. Will you be so good as to escort our guests into the hall and see that they are comfortably seated? We will join you shortly."
The Elf nodded and extended his hand to me. This time, I laid my hand over his, as the guard had shown me, allowing him to lead me into the keep itself. I watched him from the corner of my eyes. He was slender and graceful, with fair hair and striking blue eyes. I mentally compared him to the men of my own country; the height was similar, though our men were more muscular, and I had never seen any person of my race with hair so fair that was not bleached near-white by the sun. I blushed when he caught me looking; a faint smile whispered across his lips.
He led us into a great room, brightly lit and comfortably warm. Long tables were arranged around the room in neat columns with a single higher table running the width of the room at the very front. The Elf escorted us to one of the long tables and helped me remove my cloak. I was surprised that he did the same for all the others; no man of our country would have helped the other men in such a way. He invited us to sit and sat with us, to my left. The Dwarf also sat, glowering at us suspiciously and fingering a small axe that hung at his belt. The Elf cast a stern glance in his direction, then spoke, deliberately lightening his voice.
"You are lucky you did not arrive earlier. Three hours ago this hall was packed with people raising a din such as I hope to never hear again. We will find you something to eat as soon as the King returns." His voice was soft and musical, a pleasant sound on the ear. He pushed away from the table and rose.
"I will try to find something to drink. Would you prefer wine, or ale?" The others murmured amongst themselves, shocked. I shook my head at them before turning to him.
"My lord, if water is available, we will drink that. We can drink neither wine nor ale so close to Midsummer-it is forbidden to us during this holy season." He nodded, but his brows knit together at my word. He slipped out of the hall, leaving us to ourselves.
Niquë clutched my arm, murmuring to me in our own language. "What sort of place is this, that they do not hold the ancient ways?"
I patted her hand reassuringly. "Do not worry, sister. They are different from us, that is all."
"Perhaps they are not even human. Perhaps they are some kind of demons, sent to tempt us." Yalië's voice was timid and trembling. She was always afraid of things she could not see, convinced that demons dwelled in every rock pile and spirits haunted every house.
"Stop that. That's foolishness, children's stories, nothing more. These people are not demons, Yalië." I snapped at her, my irritation compounded by a dull ache that throbbed between my eyes. I was exhausted and tense with the effort of the strange language and the will to restrain the geas-blade. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a soft bed and sleep the night away.
I jumped when the Elf set three pitchers of water on the table; the Dwarf was behind him, bringing glasses and his own tankard of ale. The Elf poured for all of us and settled into the chair next to me. I noticed that he was also drinking water, despite his earlier offer of stronger drink.
"My lord, you do not need to restrict yourself to water for our sake. If you wish to drink other things, we will not take offense."
He smiled at me and shook his head. "I would not do so, lady. It is not courteous amongst my people to drink when others cannot." He eyed the Dwarf. "Master Gimli's people, however, have no such restrictions on their actions."
The Dwarf grunted at him and ignored him, a practice that seemed to arise from long acquaintance. They sat in companionable silence, leaving us to our glasses, until the tall doors at the end of the hall opened.
I thought later that Queen Arwen was the most beautiful creature I had laid eyes on, other than the Twilight Mother herself. She was tall, as tall as the King, with the same brilliant blue eyes as the Elf Legolas. The King and Queen joined us as the lower tables. Food was brought to us, strange yet delicious. My companions introduced themselves through me, since they still struggled with Westron; Arwen and Aragorn insisted we call them by name rather than by title. Before we ate, Aragorn turned to me, his face serious.
"We are unfamiliar with your people, lady. Will you tell us of yourself and your home?"
I paused to bite into a piece of bread; the taste of warm honeyed grain filled my mouth and I closed my eyes in pleasure. I swallowed and answered.
"My name is Mornië; my title is Shadowwalker. I am Twilight Chosen-a servant of the Twilight Goddess. Your people might call me a priest. Our people are not Easterlings, as I said. We are of an older race, one that has hidden in the shadows and night for many lifetimes of Men. I believe your people call us the Avari."
Legolas gasped, almost spilling his water. "The Avari? Those who refused the summons to Valinor? I thought that was only legend."
"No. Not legend, but forgotten, hidden. We must remain out of the sight of Men or risk enslavement or destruction. The Easterlings hunger after our magic, for they wield none themselves, and they hunger after our lands. They would take our people and lay waste to the Deep Forest as they have done to the other forests of our country."
Aragorn leaned forward again. "Your people refused the call? Does that mean you are mortal, then?"
I shook my head. "No. We are immortal, just as your Elves are, yet we are not quite like them. Some of us are very young- I myself have lived only four hundred lives of Men, and there are those in my settlement who are younger still, as are my companions. There are some who are many thousands of years old. Because our ancestors refused the call, we dwell forever in this world with no hope of another life alongside our cousins of the West."
The three men were silent, considering my words. Aragorn spoke again, his voice more kind.
"Why have you have come to us? How great is the peril of your people, that they would send such a young Elf to act as diplomat?"
I suddenly felt tears behind my eyes. I blinked rapidly, trying to dispel them. "The peril is very great, my lord. There are not many of us left. What you see before you are some of the last of the Shadowwalkers. Our people are dying, murdered by the armies, and every year fewer are born. When the Easterlings turn their full will against us, our people will fall. I do not doubt that another Dark Lord will rise, unopposed, and march against your lands."
Gimli snarled again, his voice seething with disgust. "You mean some Dark Elf, do you not? Since, as you have said, the Easterlings carry no magic, then your people will be responsible if another Dark Lord appears." He glared at me before addressing the King. "I say we let them fight their own battles, Aragorn. What care we if the Easterlings pillage their own country? Let them kill off the Avari-at least we will not always be watching our backs, waiting for the next threat."
My companions leaped up, hands at their weapons. I surged to my feet, Rage screaming anger through my head. I slammed my fists on the table, shouting at him in Avarin-studded Westron. "What care you, Master Dwarf? They will not stop with us. They will not stop with our lands. They will kill and maim and raise a new Necromancer, willing or unwilling, and then they will come for you."
I jerked myself away from the table, overturning my chair. I gestured at my companions, flinging my cloak over my shoulders. I whirled on the King and his friends, now standing. Legolas reached for my arm. I slapped his hand away and spat a curse at them.
"Look well upon us, my lords. We may be the last Avari you ever see. Let us go, cousins. The Council was mistaken. We should not have come here." We spun as one, dark robes flaring out in a storm of heavy fabric, and strode out of the hall.
Niquë caught my arm as the door thudded behind us. "What will we do, sister? We needed them. Who do we turn to now?" Her face was terrified, pale and creased with worry. I flung my arms around her, allowing the tears to flow at last.
"I do not know, Niquë. I do not know what we should do. There is no one else for us to beg." I pushed her away from me gently. "Go and fetch the horses. Take the others with you. I need to be alone, to think." I watched them go, a mass of shadow against the velvet darkness. I sat down on the cold stone step and buried my face in my hands. My face was hot and sticky, the throbbing in my head more intense, and Rage was pulling insistently at my mind. I sobbed drily, my breath hitching in my chest.
I startled badly as a cool hand touched my shaking fingers. Legolas dropped onto the stone step beside me, boneless as a cat. He studied my face, his eyes concerned.
"Aragorn sent me to fetch you back. He bids me tell you not to take Gimli's words as the opinion of the King." He paused, brushing his cool fingers over my forehead. "You are fevered. Are you ill?"
I shook my head. The motion set a wave of nausea washing over me. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my fingers to my forehead. When I could, I spoke, my voice harsh and broken.
"It is merely a pain in my head. It aches, when I am strained or tired."
He touched my shoulder, his voice warm with compassion. "And you are both, for this meeting went poorly and I wager you did not sleep well on your journey. Will you not return to the hall? I promise I will not let the Dwarf insult you again. He is a good companion and friend, but he often speaks what others would merely think."
He rose from the steps, extending his hand to me once again. I gazed up at him for long moments. I looked around for my companions. He chuckled then, a rich sound like the ringing of a distant bell.
"Do not worry. We will find your friends and tell them where you have gone. Come. It is late and cold and I would rather be apologizing in the comfort of the hall." I grinned at him and took his hand.
Legolas escorted me back into the keep. Instead of taking me to the hall, he led me through a smaller door at the back of the long open hall. The room behind the hall was cozy and masculine, full of dark wood furniture and massive cases of books. Aragorn sat in a deep chair next to the fireplace, thumbing through a large leather bound book. He laid the book aside and rose as we entered.
"My lady. You have my deepest apologies. Please. Sit." He gestured at a pair of chairs facing his own. Legolas handed me into the chair and lowered his lithe frame into the other chair. I slipped my hood back and sat rigidly upright in my seat. Aragorn settled back into his own chair.
He tented his fingers before his face, studying me. His gaze made me nervous, uneasy. He spoke finally.
"Mornië. I am sympathetic to your people's problems. I would not see any country under the rule of the Easterlings, especially if such rule causes the destruction of a race of people." He measured me with his eyes, then sighed. "But. I cannot raise an army to send into an unknown land based solely on the request of a people who are entirely unknown to us."
I started to protest, but he waved me to silence. "I am King, but I am not the sole authority in this land. War cannot be declared without a consensus of kings and rulers, which I will not have without proof that your claim are valid."
I slumped into my chair. "But, my lord. We have not the time to wait for proof to make itself known to the Western lands. Once the Easterlings gather enough strength to strike, they will move quickly, and it will be too late for armies or aid."
Aragorn nodded gravely. "I agree, lady. Time is pressing. While I cannot send armies, I can offer you another alternative."
I eyed him warily. He continued. "I once traveled with a Fellowship, a group of men dear to my heart, loyal and skilled warriors all. There are very few still available to me, but one has offered to accompany you to your country, assess the situation and return with the information I must have to make your case to my people."
"My lord? I am afraid that I do not take your meaning. What good can one man-even one man such as you describe-do for us?" My head ached and throbbed, blurring my vision until the room swam.
"One man can do much good, given that the one man is Legolas Greenleaf." The two men grinned at each other, amused by my confusion. Aragorn placed his hand on my arm. "Be at ease, Mornië. Legolas is worth an army in himself. There are few others I would trust."
I levered myself out of the chair, steadying myself by gripping the back. "I am sorry, Sire. This was not what we had expected. I must confer with my companions so that we may decide our course of action."
~***~