My rooms were untouched, left exactly as they had been the day we departed. I wandered around the room, straightening objects disordered by my hasty departure; I gathered up discarded garments and piled them by the door for washing and emptied the saddlebags that had been left hanging on the back of a chair. I carried a pile of books and parchments to the tiny study and shelved them, dusting the spines as I went. I looked around the small, cozy space furnished with shabbily comfortable furniture and a few keepsakes from my childhood. The rooms were quickly tidied, and I was still restless.
I roamed out of my rooms toward the Haven Hall, a large dormitory-style space set aside for those seeking shelter in our Keep. I levered open the heavy door and stood, aghast at the numbers of people crowded into the huge room. I counted a hundred, perhaps more, adults and quite a few children. That would be nearly the full population of the Deep Forest, including the Clans of the farthest depths of the woods, those people who lived whole lifetimes never seeing any Avari other than their own kin. The situation was more grave than I thought, if even the wildest parts of the Forest had emptied.
I backed out of the room and headed toward the Warrior's wing. The Warriors were at dinner, the feast room also crowded to the rafters, it seemed. Sára saw me standing at the door and left her meal to speak with me.
"You have seen the Haven, sister?"
I nodded. "I had not thought that so many would come. Why are there not more Warriors, Sára? With so many folk, there should be many more fighters."
Her face turned to stone. "We will have to ask for volunteers from among the Forest peoples. I fear we will see children and Elders in combat before this war is ended."
I clasped her arm in mine. "Let us hope it does not come to that, my sister. I will not keep you from your meal any longer." She clapped me on the back and went back to her table as I strode from the room.
~***~
Back in my own rooms, I leaned towards the fire, rubbing my still-painful arm as I tried to push down my concerns. Varyar had been too calm, given that brief flash of displeasure. From long experience I knew that he would not express his anger before guests, but I knew I could not hope to avoid a confrontation for long. Nervously, I dug around in my pocket, found a small whetstone in its leather pouch. I slid Rage out of the scabbard and slowly drew the stone along the length of the shining steel. She was already razor-sharp, so I slipped the stone back into the pouch. I studied the Blade, turning it over and over in the firelight. I spoke out loud to myself, a habit of many years, useful when I needed to work out some particularly difficult problem.
"A hundred plus half again of women, children, and untrained men. Less than a hundred Warriors, Chosen and not...say another forty from among the refugees. Thirty Mages, ten Healers, a few others with minor abilities. Perhaps two hundred combatants total. We do not have enough to hold the Keep unless we destroy the causeway." I gestured as if talking to another person. "That is a terrible idea. How would reinforcements come? If any come, that is..."
I heard a soft step behind me. A cool hand rested on my shoulder, gently kneading the muscles of
my aching arm. A shimmering curtain of golden hair fell over my shoulder. I smiled, leaning into the pressure on my arm like Hellebore often did to me. He chuckled softly, pausing to stroke my cheek. He lowered himself into the other chair, stretching his long legs out and sighing deeply.
"I am so very tired," he murmured faintly. I poured a cup of hot tea and handed it to him, letting my fingers rest on his for a moment as he took the mug from me.
"Tired? I thought Western Elves never fatigued." The dark circles under his eyes concerned me. His face crinkled, exhaustion dropping onto his features. He waited long minutes before he answered.
"Everyone is tired. Worse, they are all frightened. This battle will not go well, particularly if your calculations just now were correct." He narrowed his eyes at me, considering. "Will you stand with us?"
I pressed my lips together. "Of course. My Talent might be of some use. The Mages always stand at Twilight. Perhaps thirty will make an effective Mage line." Even as I spoke the words, I knew that they were false; we could not hope to hold the Keep with so few. At best, we could postpone an invasion long enough to send the children away...
"Will you be able to last the battle?" His face was concerned; I knew it was not entirely for me.
"I believe I will. My arm improves daily, and I do not need that arm to fight. I can always remove myself from the battle if I need to, or if I tire too much to be of use."
"But Rage. Will she not force you to continue, even if you wish to cease?"
I smiled then. "Not if I cast a sleep spell on myself."
He nodded, his eyes still troubled. He stared into the fire for a long time. I watched him sit.
"Legolas. What troubles you? Surely you are not so concerned for my well-being."
He smiled briefly. He shook his head, his fists tensing on the arms of the chair. "Other than the Shadowwalkers, these people are not warriors. They cannot hope to defend this place against an army of any significant size. They will die, and there is nothing we can do to prevent that. Aren't there others on whom we might call for aid? Perhaps they can arrive in time, if we send for them now."
I shook my head. "That is what I meant, at the Argonaths, when I told you that you did not understand. This is all there is, Legolas. All our people, save a very few, are here."
His face was incredulous, shocked by the realization that there were fewer than five hundred Avari in all of Rhûn. He raked his slender fingers through his hair in frustration. When he spoke, his voice was bleak with despair.
"It is hopeless, Mornië. We cannot win this."
"We must try, Legolas. Perhaps your people will send reinforcements."
He pounded the arm of the chair. "We should not have come to this place! It is Helm's Deep all over again, with no hope of either Rohirrim riders or Gandalf to aid us."
I knelt before his chair, gripping his knees. His teeth were gritted, his face stony. "Legolas. You cannot change that now. You are here, whether your coming was wise or not, and you cannot leave us. We need you." I touched his face. "I need you."
He captured my fingers in his, pressing my hand against his face. His eyes were weary and so very sad. "Why do you stay? Why not return to my land, my people, with me, and leave the affairs of this world behind?"
I stared at him, aghast. "Legolas, these are my people. Even if they were not, I could not leave. Your people do not live in a different world. This danger is not only to my country. If the Easterlings conquer Rhûn, they will not stop until they conquer the whole world. This new king will lead his armies across the desert and there will be no one in my land that can stand against him. If he raises another Necromancer, he will be unstoppable. Their numbers are already immense; they wait only for his command to march. We must stand now, while there is still the possibility that he can be stopped."
He closed his eyes, shutting out my words. I allowed him to sit, suddenly concerned about him. I knew so little of Western Elves. How much did they take others' worries upon themselves? Were they like our mindhealers, who absorbed all of a patient's pain into their own minds and were often irreparably damaged in the process? I stroked his cheek with my thumb. He opened his eyes slowly, gazing at me through his lashes.
"Tell me about your home. It would comfort me to hear of forests."
I tugged his hand gently. "If I'm going to entertain you, come down here with me so that I am comfortable." He slid off the chair onto the floor, boneless as a cat. I settled my legs around him and draped my arms around his shoulders. He leaned into me, tucking his head under my chin. I had a sudden memory of holding my young cousin Rain the same way. He aimlessly played with a strand of my hair.
"The Deep Forest is like Mirkwood, as you saw. There are things that wander the wilds of the forest that are like nothing on this earth. The trees there are ancient and so huge that you cannot see the tops from the ground. It is always silent and still, until the winds or rains come; then, the forest seems to breathe and talk."
He nodded against my chest. "Very much like Mirkwood."
I smiled into his hair. "Yes, it is. Our people live among the trees, though, not in the caves. We build shelters in the trees, out of branches and logs and whatever pretty things we find or make. Our settlement is pleasant and quiet, hot springs always plentiful, and the murmuring and swaying of the trees to rock you to sleep. You grew up in buildings, like Rivendell? The settlement is utterly different. I did not live in solid walls until I had fifty summers." I smiled as he did, sleepily. He reminded me again of a small boy settling in for a story.
"You would do well in our forests, Legolas. We would go skywalking, up in the top branches. You can see all the way to the Iron Hills from those trees. The sun falls on the leaves like liquid gold, and in the autumn, all the forest is afire, for miles and miles. My kinspeople are wonderful archers; you would have your fill of hunting and tracking."
"I would like to see your home, when this war is over."
I hugged him, nestling my chin into the curve of his neck. "I will take you there. You will meet my family, our people. They would greet you like a lost friend."
He laughed, tightening his fingers in my hair. "I will hold you to that, lady."
The wooden door crashed open. Legolas leaped to his feet, drawing his twin white blades. I crouched on the floor, out of his path. A sodden figure half-strode, half-stumbled into my rooms. Legolas was the first to recognize him.
"Aragorn!"
~***~