Varyar's messengers had not been mistaken; a host of warriors did march toward Twilight Keep from the Western reaches, but they were a battalion of Rohirrim riders and Gondorian swordsmen led by the King of Gondor himself. The warriors poured into the Keep, crowding the already packed halls, an inconvenience we welcomed whole-heartedly. Aragorn reported that a great army, perhaps three thousand men and Orcs, had been sighted traveling along the opposite shore of the Sea of Rhûn. He expected them to arrive the next morning, if they marched through the night. Aragorn and his friends gathered together with our Warriors and the leaders of the Westron men; they met Varyar in the Great Hall to plot and plan.
I sat in a corner for hours, scribing down their every word, sketching maps and battle plans until my eyes refused to focus. Gimli caught me rubbing my eyes; he angled around the gathered warriors and pushed me toward the door. I paused long enough to recruit a passing library scribe to replace me in the conference, then I slipped out of the hall. Legolas saw me leaving, started to follow. I waved him away, signaling that I would be cautious. I wound my way through crowds of men arming themselves for the coming battle and hurried up a staircase to the battlements. I scanned the layout of the keep walls, choosing an effective, yet out-of-the-way position from which I could help and not be either a distraction or a target. I also searched the skies, wondering if the rain would cease, if the Elves had considered our alliance yet, and if they would be moved to aid.
I returned to my rooms and rummaged through the wardrobe. I stripped off my dusty outer robe, shivering in my thin undergown. I dug through the wardrobe, pulling out extra robes. At the back of the closet, my fingertips brushed the object of my search. I tugged the fabric free and shook out the deep blue robes. I rubbed the soft, sturdy fabric between my fingers, tracing the silver embroidery around the neck and sleeve openings.
The robes were a gift from my Clan, sent when I had become Twilight Chosen. They were not my dress robes- those were the shade of warm seawater and were still carefully packed in a drawer. These were indigo, the color of mourning, the robes of a fighter aware that her actions would cause great suffering. I laid the robes across my bed and burrowed into my bags again. I pulled out a leather pouch the size of my hand and emptied the contents onto the dressing table. I stared down at the bright crystals and metals and trinkets, tiny silver bells and feathers.
I sat down at the vanity, studying my face in the mirror. I unpinned my hair, working out the single braid, combing through my hair until it fell in rippling waves past my shoulders. I swiftly braided it, this time in many small braids that caught the strands off my face. I fastened the trinkets to the braids, imitating the traditional fashion of my Clan. I stood briefly to slip the indigo robes over my head and sat back down to fasten the three dozen tiny silver buttons. The robes were also a traditional style, with close-fitting sleeves and skirts that would allow me to move comfortably. I stared into the mirror at my face transformed into a true Deep Forest Shadowwalker. My hair hung twisted with feathers and shining things all catching the light, wrapped with threads of deep blue and silver, braids intermingled with free-hanging red strands. I brushed a lock away from my face, hearing a tiny bell chime.
I slipped a pouch out of my travel bag and unrolled the small image of the Twilight Mother I carried with me always. She was the patron and protector of all warriors, even reluctant ones. I had seldom spoken to Her during my time the West, fearing the ridicule of foreigners who seemed to hold to no gods that I could determine. I hoped that my long neglect would not prejudice Her against our cause. I set the image on the dressing table and closed my eyes, murmuring to Her.
"Lady, I know that I have not been Your perfect servant. I have neglected You in action and in word these many months. I pray that You will be with me on this day, with these people, despite my foolishness."
"Do you think that I was not aware of your devotion to Me?" The voice chimed into the room as clear as an Elven song. I opened my eyes. She stood behind me, clad in the midnight garb of Her Chosen Warriors. Her silver eyes gleamed at me in the mirror. "Stand, My wayward child. I would not see My beloved ones submissive to any being."
I rose unsteadily. She smiled. "You have learned much in your travels, Child of the Forests, but you have also lost the faith of My children and your people. Where will you dwell, Mornië Shadowwalker, when this conflict has ended?"
I bowed my head. "I do not know, Lady. I have long wanted to return to my Clan and kin, but..."
She raised my chin with one hand, Her eyes shining like the moon. "But you have ties to another place and another people, and the promise of a different fate. And so you will ever be conflicted in all things but your duty to Me."
A sharp knock on the door interrupted. I heard Legolas call my name softly from the other side. I turned to the Mother, intending to ask him to leave. She shook Her dark head at me.
"Let him in, child. I would meet this man so dear to your heart."
I swung the wooden door open and drew him inside by his sleeve, slamming the door closed behind him. He was startled by my appearance so that he did not notice the Dark One at first. When his eyes fell on Her, he dropped to his knees instinctively. Her laughter rang out in the small room; I heard his breath coming fast and ragged. She strode to him and motioned him to rise.
"Do not bow before Me, Child of the Forest. Such conduct is not becoming a warrior."
He rose, his eyes seeking me out in shock. I smiled reassuringly and took his hand. The Maiden gazed at us for long moments; I could feel Her brushing through my mind. She laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. How like the Avari your people are, and yet how different." She raised his face to Her with gentle fingers. His eyes moved to Her face, utterly entranced. I smiled affectionately; I had had much the same reaction the first time I met Her, as a child.
"You have captured My child's heart, and thus have brought My gaze upon yourself. She is dedicated to Me and is beloved amongst My children though she has not bound herself by Oath and Blade and Blood. You are worthy of her, I believe. You have proven yourself worthy of My favor; perhaps there is yet an alliance to be had between Elves and Shadowwalkers. What say you, My wayward daughter? Should Western Elves join the ranks of the Bloodbonded?"
I laughed. "Please, Lady. Do not Bind this one. Your Shadow Warriors are formidable and legendary, but they lead a hard and lonely life."
She smiled affectionately at me. "No. This Elf has a different calling in life, I think, and one not suited to the black silks of the Shadow Warriors. You have chosen well, little sister. He is truly your equal and your complement."
He bowed his head, overwhelmed by Her approval. She turned Her face to me and smiled. "This cause that you join is a noble one. You go under My blessing; know that I have not deserted you. Look to the east, for the tide may yet turn."
She disappeared. Legolas stared at me, dumbfounded.
"Mornië?" His voice was hushed, awed. I had only seen him so moved by one other being- Galadriel.
I patted his shoulder. "You've been approved by a Goddess, Legolas. That's a rare thing indeed." My eyes fell on his clothing, and I burst out laughing. His garb, once the familiar hunter's greens, had been washed into deep indigo, the mark of the Twilight Chosen. He fingered the garments in wonderment.
"The battle uniform of the Mother's Warriors. At least they are not black, or She might have stricken you celibate to match those silks. Shadow Warriors have only one great passion in life, and that is their duty to Her."
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