-Three-

Fourth Day

I still have not completely waken yet. It has been four sunsets since my master, Lord Sauron, first made me conscious of my surroundings, and this dreadful weight of sleep hangs around me heavier than my vibrant cloak.

I shall arrive at Helm's Deep by tomorrow afternoon. It will be no difficulty weakening their pathetic forces I have been sent to destroy. Those wretched humans will never anticipate an attack from so stunning and lovely a being. I am, of course, referring to myself.

Fifth Day

I have now the Elves from Lothlorien deceived and they are at the moment following my delicately slippered footsteps. Traveling great lengths has proved easy, since Lord Sauron settled magic around me. I will never grow tired, and mud shall never disrupt the beauty of all I wear.

I simply cannot wait to see the feeble humans I have been taught to loath so very much. I can mock their blunt, rounded ears, their mortality, and legendary insufferable pride.

Oh, Morgoth, this is bad. Perhaps making the Lothlorien Elves follow me wasn't such a grand idea. If I wasn't in the lead, someone else could have trampled down this blasted undergrowth. My gorgeous black silk dress with red lace cuffs and hemming is now ripped. Life is sooooo unfair. I'll just make that pale Elf, Haldir -I think his name is-walk in front of me, but first, I need to change.

Later

Ok, so making a quick change of clothes slowly turned into a three hour process, but honestly, it's not my fault. First I had to find an Elf who had a sewing kit, which is a lot harder than it sounds. Honestly, males, even Elves, have such a stubborn machismo about everything. Finally a reserved yet terribly good looking Elf named Galawe admitted to having some thread and a needle, and agreed to patch up my dress.

It will never be as good, though.

So anyway, as he was fixing the tear (twenty yards away from the other Elven soldiers, hidden behind a cluster of bushes, I might add), I got out my other, almost as pretty dress. However, as I was pulling it out of my pack, I realized I couldn't just put on a new, clean dress without first taking a bath.

Haldir was less than thrilled when I presented my dilemma, but with a bit of coaxing, and shameless flirting, he consented. I wandered a ways off until I found a charming little pool of cool water surrounded by pristine white flowers that laced the air with a lovely scent.

So maybe I could have trimmed down the time it took to clean myself, but there is this long thick hair of mine. Plus I was half hoping some unexpecting Elven soldier would find me so I could act all virtuous and maidenly; blushing my cheeks and stammering protestations as I would gracefully hide myself.

I spent a full hour entertaining such thoughts until finally my fingertips began to pucker and the cold water sunk into my very bones. I hurriedly dried myself off and slipped into the bright red, orange, and black dress. I put my jewelry back on, including the miniature palantir that commands me. I spent another hour fixing my hair, which may sound ridiculous, but it really was a mess to brush and then style. Of course then there's the perfumes and makeup to reapply, and when I finally declared myself finished, it was almost sunset.

Haldir glared at me as I returned, but with one smile I managed to make his expression soften. Morgoth, but I love being strikingly gorgeous. Galawe timidly handed back my repaired dress, and we continued on our way.

I made Haldir walk in front of me until Helm's Deep was actually in sight. Then I demanded front position, and fixed my cloak around me so the oblivious observer wouldn't be able to tell I was a woman.

Now we have arrived at the gates. Everything is falling into place.

Sixth Day

Well, maybe not. There is this incredible (and I mean incredible) Elf who is aiding the people of Rohan. His name is Legolas. I spent the morning convincing Aragorn and Boromir that I can be trusted, which was rather tiresome and time consuming. Every time I looked at either of the men talking sweet words to me and touching my hand or my hair, I found myself wishing it was Legolas instead. What is this peculiar feeling that sets my heart pounding like a drum? Why will my thoughts never leave the fair Elf's face and his firm, sweet voice? This is indeed an emotion I have never been prepared for.

This could be a problem.

Tonight will be the Great Battle, but I fear for Legolas's life. This was never supposed to happen. Why must I bear such difficulties? Why must I face such a prospect alone? How I wish things were different. If Legolas dies I don't know what I shall do.