The war was far from over. The Easterling forces fled back across the scrub deserts of central Rhûn, burning forests and grasslands as they went. We received news of an Avari settlement burned to the ground, all the people slaughtered. As the reports rolled in, parchments filled with tales of death and destruction, so did the refugees. I had thought there were no Avari left at large in the world during the siege of Twilight Keep, but the survivors of dead villages poured in constantly. Varyar sent them to me with orders to scribe down any detail that could be wrung from their memories; the armies needed every scrap of information that could be gathered.
A week after the siege of Twilight Keep, Aragorn mustered a force of fighters , including Legolas and Gimli, and rode out to pursue the fleeing Easterlings. They chased the ragged band for miles, finally catching them halfway to the Sea of Halcar. They left no survivors, Legolas told me, only a pile of corpses clearly marked with Elvish arrows. A message, he said. I wondered if it was an invitation instead.
The attacks died after the marauders were destroyed, but I was profoundly uneasy. I did not, in truth, think that the danger had ended. Gratifyingly, Aragorn agreed with me. He sent several men back to the Free Kingdoms to request as many forces as could be spared; his plan was to march across Rhûn to the Sea of Halcar and besiege the Easterling city.
Due to the great skill of the Plains Healers, I left the Healing Hall on my own feet less than three weeks later. My back ached from the fall onto the stone courtyard, and I had to sit often to rest, but I was able to walk and to think clearly again. I threw myself back into my work far sooner than I should have, struggling through piles of treaties and alliance agreements and a constant flow of letters from other lands. Varyar ordered me to the libraries, chasing after obscure information on the Easterlings and the city by the Sea of Helcar. I spent hours in the libraries and in his study, poring over the information I found and trying to make sense of legend and rumor. I worked deep into the nights, stopping only when my eyes failed or Legolas dragged me away from my desk.
Several weeks I left my bed, Varyar called me into his study. My old Teacher helped me into a chair by the fire, pouring a mug of something hot and spicy for me to drink. He seated himself across from me, studying my face intently. His gaze was intense enough to drive a blush into my cheeks; I instinctively reached for a hood that was not there, to cover my features.
"You are still self-conscious about your face?" His voice was kindly, but his eyes were sharp and cold. "Vanity does not become a Chosen one, Mornië. You know this. You must learn to rejoice in hardships, for only by suffering can we earn the Mother's grace."
I lowered my eyes. "Yes, I know. I have tried, Master." I reverted to the title of respect I had used as one of his students. I studied my fingernails, picking at a chip in my thumbnail. I did not think he would be amused by a retelling of my encounter with the Mother Herself, so I bit my tongue.
He raised his voice slightly to regain my attention. "It has come to my attention that you have formed an...attachment with one of the Western Elves. This concerns me greatly, child. He is not of our people, he does not know our ways, and he will come between you and your duty to this Order." He sat back in his chair, waiting for my reaction.
I thought carefully before I answered. "Master, I am grateful for your concern. I am not worthy of such care." I kept my face carefully blank, refusing to disclose how angry his words made me.
He sighed in irritation. "It is not your thanks I want, Mornië. It is your obedience. You will have nothing further to do with him-or any other Outlander-unless it is required of you in combat." He patted my hand. I controlled the sudden urge to strike him.
"I do not understand, Master. Forgive me, for I am not as learned as you, but I do not understand why I am forbidden to associate with him. He has never tried to interfere with my duties, and I do not believe that he would do so."
Varyar rose, his face thunderous. "Do not cross me in this matter, child. I am still the Protector of this Keep, and you are still under my command. I will not have this Order poisoned by Outlanders and their barbaric ways." He fixed me with a hard stare. "You have grown altogether too willful during your time amongst these barbarians. Do not goad me into reminding you of your place."
I lowered my eyes again, realizing how perilously close I was to correction. He glared at me for several moments. When he spoke, his voice was silky and dangerous.
"You will not see him again. And to see that you do not, I have decided to send you to Storm Keep. They are small and isolated, and they need a teacher to work with their children."
I leaped to my feet, shocked. "You cannot send me away, not now. There is much to be done, or have you forgotten we are at war?" I regretted the words instantly. Such resistance would only goad him into sending me away more quickly. I was not mistaken in that; before I could react, his palm cracked across my cheek. The force of the blow staggered me. He gripped my upper arm, tightening his fingers until I winced and whimpered softly. He slapped me again, hard enough to rock my head back; I felt my lip split and a thin trickle of blood seep into my mouth. Tears sprang into my eyes and streaked down my face. He shook me, a single, violent motion that clicked my teeth together, then shoved me against the heavy wooden door. He smiled, a thin, hard pressing-together of the lips.
"You will learn obedience if I must beat it into you myself. You are a secretary, girl. Nothing more. You do not have the privilege of defying me, nor will you ever. You will be leaving at first light. I suggest that you pack quickly and try to rest." He waved, dismissing me from his presence. I bowed, not quite deeply enough to be properly respectful, and stalked out of the room, dabbing at my lip to control the bleeding. I stormed along the narrow hallway, clenching my jaw until my face ached. He would send someone to follow me, I knew, to prevent me from seeing Legolas before I left. How could I get word to him? I continued to walk, my pace increasing as my anger mounted. I glanced behind me; as I thought, a slight figure in dark robes shadowed my footsteps along the corridor.
A sudden idea stopped me short before the doors to the Warrior's halls. Impulsively, I pushed the heavy door open and slipped inside, scanning the faces for Sára. She waved at me from a crowded table in the corner. I raised my hood-reasonable enough, given the chill in the room-to hide my face from them. I wedged between two massive Plains Bowbrothers as they gestured and argued. Sára's tablemates made room for me and pushed a plate and a platter of hot meat towards me. I ate, savoring the heavy food, and listened to them banter amongst themselves. They were discussing the recent siege and comparing the performance of the Western fighters to their own. I concentrated on my food until I heard Legolas's name.
Sára nudged me, grinning good-naturedly. "Aye, that one's a crack shot, he is, and I'd wager he's just as good a huntsman off the field as on. Isn't he, sister?" She winked outrageously. I flushed as the other Warriors burst into laughter. The Warrior next to her leaned around to tease me, grinning at my discomfort. Sára pushed him out of her way and laughed at my mortified face. I let them laugh a while longer, then leaned close to Sára as the conversational spotlight turned on someone else.
"Sára, do you think Legolas is a good person?" She stared at me, puzzled.
"Yes. I think he is a fine warrior and an exceptional person. And he treats you well, which is more important. Why?
I put her off for another moment. "I mean, do you think he would try to come between me and the Order? Do you think he would ask me to...change?" I frowned into my plate as she considered this.
"I do not know him as well as you, but somehow I cannot see him asking you to leave the Order, if that is what you are asking. Who have you been talking to?" She caught me as I rolled my eyes. "Oh, I see. Varyar called you out for chumming around with the Outlanders, I bet. What did he say to you?"
I gripped the edges of my sleeves, clenching my fists in remembered anger. "He is sending me away. Tomorrow. To Storm Keep."
She gasped, her eyes round with disbelief. "So far? You can't be serious! That's ridiculous and just cruel. Have you told Legolas? What did he say?"
I shook my head. "No. I am afraid to see him. Varyar is having me watched, and I cannot risk angering him further. Remember Ambar." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Will you do something for me?"
"What do you need?" Her eyes gleamed. Sára had always loved a good intrigue, particularly if it meant breaking rules.
"I need you to tell Aragorn what has happened. Varyar has said I may only see Legolas if my presence is required for combat-perhaps he can think of a way to accomplish that without alerting Varyar."
She nodded, a frown creasing her brows. "What if it doesn't work?"
"Then I need you to get word to Legolas. Tell him where I've gone and how to get there. Tell him to come as soon as he can without raising suspicions."
She smiled, a single twist of her mouth, and rose from the table.
~***~