Chapter 29: Turning

There was movement beneath the trees. A flash of gold, more reflective than the falling leaves drew Caladhel's eye to a break in the ground cover, where, a second later, an elleth emerged. More rightly she crawled, dragging her body along as slowly and silently as possible for one so gravely wounded. She moved a mere few inches more before she stilled and cast a wary glance over her shoulder.

Roewen had already warned Caladhel not to call out to anyone, but it was no simple task to bite her tongue. Instinct bid her do otherwise. She was about to question Roewen on what they should do, but before she could speak a ferocious snarl shattered the peace of the wood. The elleth's cautious study of the forest behind her had not been an idle act. She knew she was being tracked. Her hunter followed the scent of blood to the hollow of the tree where she stopped to rest. The orc raised his axe in a killing blow, but Caladhel was faster. She loosed an arrow and it pierced the orc through his left eye. A second arrow struck his chest a moment later. The weight of the axe held above his head caused the orc to fall backwards, whereby he vanished from Caladhel's sight.

"Damn. You are a good shot." Even in a whisper, Roewen's awe was palpable.

Both ellith drew new arrows in case there were more orcs following the elleth's trail. The elleth did not call out to her saviors in the trees, nor did she move from her hiding spot among the brush. Caladhel watched her close her eyes and set her head upon the ground. She knew she was safe at her current position and that was enough cause to rest.

Even at so great a distance Caladhel could see the dark stains of blood soaking the fabric of her formerly golden tunic. There was no telling how bad the injury was, but Caladhel knew it was serious enough that the elleth did not have the strength to do more for herself now than lay still.

"She has lost a lot of blood," said Caladhel. "We cannot leave her down there." They would have to bind the wound and stow her somewhere safe in the canopy. That was Caladhel's opinion, but Roewen was of a different mind.

"Yes, we can," Roewen replied. "The King ordered us to stay in the trees."

"He did not mean for us to let one of your people die beneath our feet."

"That is precisely what he meant."

Caladhel was appalled by Roewen's casual dismissal of her injured kinswoman. Unlike the warden, Caladhel could not stand by, hidden in the trees, while an injured elleth bled out before her eyes. She took one step away from the trunk of the great oak that sheltered her, but did not make it any farther. Roewen took hold of her by the laces of her leather tunic and slammed her, unceremoniously, against the trunk of the tree. Caladhel found herself pinned by a well placed forearm laid across her chest. Roewen might have been a hand shorter, but there was no doubt in Caladhel's mind now that the warden was stronger. She could barely draw breath against the force of Roewen's arm.

"You will stay put," Roewen growled, "or so help me, I will knock you out and tuck you in a tree-hole until the battle is done."

The anger behind Roewen's words was palpable, so, too, was her fear. "Why would you do that?"

"Because he trusted me to keep you safe," said Roewen, "and I will not fail him."

"Then will you not descend, and check on her yourself?"

Roewen shook her head. "He commanded me not to leave your side."

Caladhel cursed aloud – both Roewen and Thranduil as well. She had come along on this journey to offer aid, not to be the cause of another's death. "How can you do this? She is one of your own."

"So is he," Roewen replied, "and he could not bear another loss. Not so soon after the others. It would destroy him."

Caladhel wanted to argue, but something stopped her. What that something was, she could not be entirely sure. Perhaps it was the pleading look in Roewen's eyes, or, more likely, the thought of Thranduil fading from despair. Defeated, Caladhel released her frustration in a long, slow breath.

Roewen, sensing her resignation, stepped away. She dropped the arm that had held Caladhel in place. "We will watch over her from the trees," she said. "And when the horn sounds our victory, will we descend."


Others wounded in the battle made their way to shelter under the trees. They moved as quickly and silently as their injuries allowed, but they, too, were wise enough not call out to the trees. When spied, Roewen would whistle a little tune, to let them know they were on the right path and the wardens would echo the melody. As time passed, the injured elves no longer needed songs to assure them they were well-guarded, for they stumbled past the bodies of orcs pierced through the eye or throat by an elven arrow. Some of those injured chose to rest near an orc corpse in hopes that silent guardians remained in the trees nearby. And so it was, those wounded by blade and bow gathered. Some found each other as they went and carried those wounded more gravely further from the field or otherwise cared in place for those whose injuries were too severe to move any farther.

Caladhel shot several more orc from the trees following the first. Whether the orcs took shelter in the woods out of cowardice or were set to slaughtering the wounded, none would ever know, for they were dead before their bodies hit the ground.

Caladhel had lost all sense of time while hidden in the trees. All her thoughts were focused on the slightest sound and movement below. Days might have passed her by, or maybe minutes. There was no way to tell. Only two things attested to time's passing, the numbers of fallen orcs and wounded elves. Eventually, the sighting of orc scouts ceased. Only elves appeared now, but not nearly as numerous as before. A long forever followed this revelation, before at last Caladhel heard a horn.

"The battle is won," said Roewen.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I am sure."

Caladhel breathed a sigh of relief. By the time she was done Roewen had reached the forest floor. Caladhel followed. They moved cautiously, for though there were now many of their own kind nearby, there was always the possibility of danger. They moved swiftly to the fallen elleth, who remained sheltered beside a tree. None of her wounded kinsmen had passed close enough to spy her, for she lay hidden, asleep or unconscious amid the brush.

Roewen dropped to her knees and rolled the elleth gently on her back. Her breathing was labored and her face pale. Roewen slapped the elleth's cheek. "Nensell, wake up, this is no time for a nap."

Caladhel was startled when Roewen called the injured elleth by name. She had given no indication before now that they were acquainted. Caladhel dropped to her knees opposite Roewen, and took the elleth's hand in a firm embrace. Nensell responded with a squeeze. Her head rolled and her eyes opened, unfocused though they were.

"Roewen? What are you doing here?"

Roewen drew a knife to cut away the fabric obscuring the view of Nensell's stomach. "Playing nursemaid to two ellith, it would appear. What happened?"

A smile crept slowly across the elleth's pale face. "I ran into something sharp."

"Well that was stupid of you." And at the sight of the wound beneath her friend's tunic, Roewen went pale, too.

"You know I like to beat our brothers to the front line," said Nensell.

"Indeed, I do."

Caladhel could see in Roewen's face that there was nothing she could do for the injury. And even if she had managed to maintain a stoic expression, Caladhel had never seen so much blood. Nensell's clothes were soaked, and a large circle of the forest floor beneath them was grown soft and wet and red. She could feel the liquid soaking into her leggings and her hands were already stained. Caladhel's own fear caused her to grip Nensell's hand tighter. The action drew the elleth's cloudy gaze to her face. She blinked a few times, trying to focus.

"Is that her?" Nensell asked.

Roewen followed the direction of the elleth's gaze to Caladhel and smiled. "It is," she replied.

Nensell studied Caladhel's face as if it were a painting. Caladhel did her best to smile, but it was no easy task.

"I always pictured him with a silver-haired maid."

Roewen laughed. "It would not be the first time you were wrong."

Nensell chuckled as well, but her laughter turned violent, wet. She coughed blood. A rivulet ran down along the side of her face. Her hand became a vice. It crushed Caladhel's painfully before relaxing a measure as the spasms passed.

"Is she like Naerwen?" Nensell asked once her breathing calmed.

Roewen cringed at the question. She glanced briefly at Caladhel before she said, "She is like us."

Nensell's eyes fluttered. She tried to focus on Caladhel's face, but the light was blinding overhead. "Do you… do you think he loves her?"

The elleth's question made Roewen uncomfortable again, but she would not deny her an honest answer. "Yes," she replied. "I think he does."

A smile spread across Nensell's face. "I will tell the King," she said. "He will be so happy." She closed her eyes then, and breathed her last.

Roewen leaned over her friend and slapped her cheek once again. "Nensell, Nensell, open your eyes. Stay with us."

The command was no use, for even as it was spoken Caladhel felt the elleth's life slip from her hand. Nensell's grip, once painful, relaxed to nothing as her spirit fled.

The creatures of the wood fell silent in honor of the departed elleth. Even the wind grew still. Roewen began reciting a solemn prayer. But the unfamiliar horror of death struck Caladhel deep, and while her body, too, fell silent, her soul began screaming.


Roewen finished her prayer mere moments before a small company of wardens rode into the clearing accompanied by a dozen more deer. She rose to greet them.

"Captain." The foremost warden greeted Roewen with a nod. "We were sent to gather those who took shelter here and return with them to the farm."

"There were at least twenty injured within sight of these trees," Roewen informed him. "Some will not be capable of riding. They will require biers."

The ellon's gaze shifted to the body at her feet and Roewen shook her head. "She is gone. We must tend to the others first."

"We will see to the injured," the ellon said. "The King wishes for you and the Lady to rejoin him at the farm."

"Very well, then. Carry on." With her dismissal, the wardens set off to gather those wounded nearby. Roewen hailed a deer, beckoning it forward, before turning back to Caladhel.

The Lady was still kneeling at Nensell's side, cradling her hand. Her eyes were fixed on the elleth's face, but it was clear to Roewen that Caladhel no longer saw her. A haunted expression graced her face, one Roewen had seen a thousand times before, but she had not thought to see it today.

Roewen set a hand upon Caladhel's shoulder. "My lady, come." When no response was forthcoming, Roewen dropped to one knee and drew Nensell's hand from hers. "We must go now to the farm. Thranduil awaits you."

These words caused Caladhel to stir. "Thranduil?"

"I will take you to him."

Caladhel nodded, but when she failed to rise on her own, Roewen took her by the arm and drew her to her feet. Roewen mounted the deer and held out her hand to Caladhel. The Lady reached out, slowly, as if in a trance, and took hold of her arm, but Roewen provided the bulk of the force needed to draw Caladhel onto the hind's back. She waited until Caladhel's arms were wrapped firmly around her waist, but still she held onto the Lady's arm. Once secure, Roewen urged the deer forward gently with her heels. They were less than two miles from the farm's edge, but Roewen had the deer walk slowly for fear Caladhel might fall. She tried to get the elleth to speak to her, but was no more successful than before.

Roewen smelled smoke as they neared the farm and she could hear the crackling of fire. Its light reached them as they drew closer. When at last they emerged from the wood, Roewen's gaze was drawn directly to the blaze. Part of the field was burning. A team of hundreds was at work attempting to halt its progress with a fire line. She spotted Thranduil among them.

Roewen directed the deer towards the corner of the field where the wounded were being tended. She urged Caladhel to dismount first, helping her down, then followed after. Those trained as healers were busy bandaging cuts and resetting bones while others stood guard. She called two of the palace guards to her side. She knew the younger was familiar to Caladhel and Roewen would not leave the Lady alone with a stranger.

"Cendil," she called, "I need you two to stay with the Lady while I fetch our king."

Cendil's gaze turned to Caladhel. She had settled herself beneath a great oak tree, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes rested on a warrior laid out on the ground. The healers had given him herbs to ease his pain, but there was nothing more they could do for him. An elleth sat beside him, stroking his hand.

"We will watch over her in your stead," Cendil replied.

"Do not leave her side," said Roewen. Both ellyn nodded at her command and off she went.

Roewen was well aware that she was disobeying that very same command by leaving Caladhel with Cendil, but she had already determined that the circumstances justified her decision. Caladhel was not well, and given the urgency of the fire, it was unlikely Thranduil would come looking for them for some time.

She sprinted across the field, reaching the King's side a few minutes later. Roewen's sudden appearance surprised Thranduil, and angered him as well.

"Where is Caladhel?" he snapped.

Roewen lifted her hands. "I left two sets of eyes watching over her."

"I commanded you not to leave her side!"

"I know. And I disobeyed you, but not without cause. She needs you now. I came to fetch you."

Fear lit Thranduil's eyes at Roewen's words. "Is she injured?"

"No," said Roewen, "but nor is she well. Go to her now. I will take command here."

"Where is she?"

"With the healers."

Thranduil was off without another word, though Roewen was certain he would have a choice few for her later.


Thranduil spotted her upon his approach. She sat at the edge of the woods near their makeshift infirmary. Two of the palace guards stood watch, including Cendil, her former jailer. Thranduil dismissed them with a wave and the pair returned to their former duties aiding the wounded. Caladhel failed to note his presence even now when he knelt by her side. Her eyes stared blankly, almost as if in sleep, but the expression on her face was anything but peaceful. Her hands hugged her knees. Both were caked with blood, a swirl of browns and reds, but he could detect no injuries. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand in an attempt to wake her.

"Caladhel. Are you injured?"

At the sound of his voice her eyes fluttered and she turned her face to his. Her jaw slackened and her eyes grew wide. She gasped. "Thranduil." Her eyes roamed across his face and body, marking each detail – the soot, the orc blood, and lastly, his own. She lifted a trembling hand to his chest and traced the line where some blade had cut through leather and cotton and flesh. The line was stained red.

"You are hurt."

Thranduil shook his head. "It is only a scratch." His set his hand upon hers. Her perfect skin felt coarse beneath his fingers. Crusted blood and grime had that effect. He did not care for the sensation.

She was staring at his face again with uneasy eyes. Her lips trembled. "You look frightful."

Thranduil imagined so. He usually did after a battle and he felt particularly filthy given the soot. He could feel it now, not only on his skin, but coating the inside of his nose and lungs.

Thranduil was in the habit of caring for himself last. It was his way, always, on every field he had ever fought. But the blood on Caladhel's hands and the expression on her face when she looked at him spurred a change in course.

"Wait here," he said. He rose from the ground and approached the nearest medic. They spoke briefly, and the ellon directed the King to a basket. Thranduil threw a few of the items into a small bag. Upon returning to Caladhel's side he held out his hand.

"Come."

Caladhel took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. He led her away, a few hundred yards into the woods to a stream that meandered just beyond the northern edge of the farm. Thranduil found a spot where the water pooled. He dug though the little bag and removed a bar of soap. He handed it off to Caladhel.

"I will be right over there," he said, gesturing to a spot a little ways away with a rock ledge where the water was deeper.

Thranduil went to work quickly, removing his ruined leather coat and the tunic beneath. The cut across his chest was, as he had predicted, not very deep. It stung despite that fact. He drew a second bar of soap from the bag and washed quickly – face, hands, and lastly the cut on his chest. He used his tunic to pat the wound dry before applying a salve to speed the healing. He was about to seek out the little jar of stinging sludge when his eyes strayed to Caladhel.

She was kneeling still at the edge of the stream, right where he left her. She had not moved since, and sat staring at her hands. There was something wrong, he had sensed that when he first spoke with her, but despite the blood on her clothes and hands, he detected no injuries. Thranduil rose to his feet, leaving the salve where it lay. He knelt beside her, but her gaze strayed not from her hands. He reached out his own to hers.

"Your hands need washing," he said.

Caladhel startled at the sound of his voice. She stared at his clean hand as it enveloped hers, and then turned her gaze upon his face. He looked much better. There was still soot in his hair, but he looked more himself than before.

"You are finished?"

Thranduil heard surprise in the question, as if she had no notion that time had passed. "I have had more practice," he said. "Here." He rolled the hem of her sleeves halfway up her forearms and guided her hands into the cold water. He did the same with the soap and worked the bar into a lather. He washed her hands as he had his own, if perhaps a bit more gently. When he was done, there was no trace of blood or dirt left upon her hands or beneath the nails of her fingers. He patted them dry with the hem of her tunic, and after he held them fast. They were just as he remembered, small and soft, but Caladhel continued to stare at them with a look akin to horror.

"Talk to me, meleth. Tell me why you stare at your hands as if they were not your own."

Caladhel shook her head and as she did so her eyes spied the stains upon her knees. The leggings clung to her flesh uncomfortably, hard and crusted with the blood of the dead. Tears welled in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper.

"One moment she was gripping my hand so very tight, and the next… she let go. Her life slipped away, right between my fingers. I could not hold her back."

Thranduil realized what was wrong upon hearing these words. It came as a shock to him and he sat in a state of silent disbelief as Caladhel's tears came thick and fast. He drew her into his arms as she wept, and held her close in comfort. He rested his chin upon her head and made small circles upon her back. The salt of her tears stung the cut on his chest as they fell from her cheek, but he paid the sensation no mind. He cradled her tight and rocked her gently until the storm passed.

Caladhel cried out her soul's agony, but eventually her tears slowed to a trickle and her breathing calmed. Her eyes were closed still when her senses finally cleared. She felt Thranduil's arms around her and the beating of his heart beneath her cheek. She felt a fool now, but even so, she did not want Thranduil to let her go. The horror that first gripped her soul was beginning to pass, but some fear remained, along with a pain that threatened to consume her. Thranduil had once praised her strength. He doubtless found her less impressive now.

She opened her eyes but did not attempt to escape. Instead she set her left hand upon Thranduil's chest a hair's breath from the laceration and traced the line with her fingers. She breathed a deep, unsteady breath. The scent of the soap mixed with that of his skin calmed her spirit.

"You must think me an absurd child," she said at last.

Thranduil had been waiting for her to speak since her tears abated. He knew not where her thoughts might stray, but had not expected her first to be so harsh. "No," said Thranduil. He had not thought her absurd or childish. Truthfully, he had not been thinking of her at all. His mind had strayed as he rocked her to a time long past, a skirmish somewhere on the edge of Region, where, at less than a century old, he had witnessed his first death. "It has been so long," said Thranduil, "ages... I forgot what it was like the first time."

"It hurts," said Caladhel, "in my heart... the roots of my soul. As if some force was want to tear me apart." Her voice hitched and a stray tear fell away down her cheek. "When will it end?"

"When will what end?" he asked.

"The pain."

Thranduil shut his eyes briefly. He did not want to be the one to tell her this. Would that he could relive the day and order her back to the palace. "It never ends," said Thranduil. "It only fades to a dull ache."

Caladhel feared she would not be strong enough to carry such pain forever. And this was but one death, a stranger whom she did not know. How many warriors had Thranduil lost before this moment? How many friends? His cousin. His father. She could not imagine the weight of that much pain.

Caladhel pulled free of Thranduil's arms and righted herself. Into his eyes she stared, disbelieving. "How do you bear it?"

Thranduil understood her question, but had no answer to share, none but one. "I bear it because I must."

Caladhel had expected something more, some trick or art to the task. She should have known better. Thranduil's will was iron. An aching soul was not enough to bring him down. She believed it, but even so, she remembered Roewen's words, spoken no more than an hour or two ago.

'He could not bear another loss. It would destroy him.'

Caladhel wondered now if Roewen was right, or if out of concern for her king, she misjudged him. She was not eager to find out.

Thranduil's voice interrupted her study of him. "Forgive me," he said.

"For what?"

"I would have spared you this pain, had I known. I never imagined… It seems impossible to me that you have lived so long without witnessing death."

"I have seen orcs die," said Caladhel, "but never our own kind before today."

"I should have sent you away."

"It was not your decision, alone. I chose to stay."

Thranduil did not accept her argument. He was to blame for this, him and his selfishness. "I should not have asked you to join the harvest in the first place. I knew there might be danger here, but I invited you anyway. It was my own selfish desire at play. I did not want to be parted from you again so soon after your return."

Caladhel reached out and took hold of Thranduil's hand. She drew it close to cradle against her chest. "I wanted to be here with you and your people. I could not have borne to sit and wait for your return. After so many months parted, I…," she hesitated a moment, realizing as the words came to her how deeply they were felt. "I missed you."

She meant it. He could see it for the very first time – his own need reflected in her eyes. Without regard for propriety, Thranduil's fingers hooked the collar of her leather tunic and he drew her forward to claim her mouth with his. He kissed her as he had once before, as he had wanted to every day since she walked through the throne room doors. Her lips were as soft and warm as he remembered, but different somehow. Before he could question why, he felt her hands on his neck, her fingers weaving their way through his hair. She clung to him, drawing him closer and returned his kiss with greater force. Her hands and mouth both claimed him for her own and Thranduil claimed her in return, drawing her into his arms until he could feel the beating of her heart, despite the cotton and leather set between them.

If only he had power over time, Thranduil would have willed this moment to last forever. It was not possible. He drew back after a minute, far enough to catch his breath, close enough to rest his forehead against hers.

Caladhel released his neck and her hands slid down to rest on his shoulders. She looked at him sheepishly. The expression served only to highlight the blush of her cheeks. He kissed her again, a soft, gentle peck upon her lips before freeing her from his arms.

Thranduil rose to gather up his things. He had nearly forgotten the cut on his chest, but the jar of salve reminded him. He opened the lid.

"It will be easier if I do that," said Caladhel.

Before he could protest, Caladhel was at his side. She dipped a finger into the jar and began coating the cut with the salve. It stung worse than her tears, but the gentle touch of her hand was soothing, so it all balanced out in the end. She laid a piece of linen over the wound after the medicine and when she was done Thranduil dressed quickly.

"What will happen now?" she asked.

"I have called for more patrols to this area of the wood," Thranduil replied. "We may still be in danger here."

"Then should we not withdraw?"

Thranduil shook his head. "We must finish the harvest. Orcs have burned three of our farms in the last month. We cannot afford to lose this one, nor any others."

Caladhel was shocked by this news, for she had heard no mention of the matter. Orc attacks were not common in Lórien. In her wood, such news would travel swiftly. She would have thought such tidings would be shared among the people.

"The orcs… where do they come from?"

"Our scouts have tracked them to our old fortress at Amon Lanc. They are using it as a base from which to strike us."

"Amon Lanc?" Caladhel knew Oropher's fortress lay deep in the southern stretches of Greenwood. She had never been there, but recalled her uncle's bitter jests about Oropher fleeing his palace in order to escape Galadriel's influence. It occurred to Caladhel in that moment that such news would warrant an emergency meeting with Lórien's High Counselor. "Was this the subject of your meeting with my uncle the night of our arrival?"

"Did he not tell you?"

She shook her head, a wry grin forming on her face. "Despite what you might think, my uncle does not betray private counsels. And neither do I."

It had not been Thranduil's intent to imply that Caladhel or her uncle were untrustworthy. He had debated long about whether to include Caladhel in that meeting, and had made the decision only half-heartedly. "I would have invited you to council, but I thought… It was difficult enough to convince my uncle to share these tidings with Celeborn. Your presence would not have eased the matter."

"I understand."

He could see that she did and he was glad for it. He could sense a storm coming with Túven, but hoped it would wait awhile yet. There were other matters more pressing at the moment.

Thranduil glanced at the sky. The falling leaves made it easier to mark the sun's passing in the midst of the wood. It was time to go back. There was a lot of work to do.

"We must return," said Thranduil. "Are you ready?"

Caladhel took a deep breath. She felt much better after allowing herself to cry, though it was not her nature to give in to emotion. The pain was still there, as Thranduil said it would remain, an ache deep inside her, but it was not so sharp as before.

"I am."

Despite Caladhel's fears, Thranduil thought her spirit stronger than ever. Still, he wished to protect her from further harm. "You can return to Limrond with the wounded. They will depart soon."

"You wish for me to leave?"

"I wish to keep you safe," Thranduil countered. "I failed once already today."

Caladhel shook her head. "I will stay. You will need every hand."

Thranduil caressed the side of Caladhel's face and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Would you not rather return to the palace?"

In truth, Caladhel was ready to return, but not without him. "I would rather you return with me," she said, "but I would not ask that of you. You wish to complete the harvest first, so I will stay until the work is done. You may yet have need of an archer – or a tallier of onions – and I… I do not wish us to be parted."

A smile tugged at the corners of Thranduil's lips at Caladhel's declaration. He wanted to kiss her again. Instead, he took hold of her hand and led her back to the farm. Thranduil had been granted his moment of joy, but the king's work was not done yet.


A/N: Tolkien describes elves fading from trauma or despair in his writings. For that reason, I always imagined an elf's first experience of death would be particularly traumatic – one of those rare, horrible events that could possibly push them to the brink of their soul fleeing. Caladhel is a tough cookie, but she is a lady, despite her temperament, and has been sheltered most of her life. She is a lot more innocent than Thranduil in that respect and I felt I needed to remind us all of that in this chapter. Given the number of times Caladhel has traveled beyond her borders, Thranduil's assumption that she has witnessed death before is not unjustified, particularly given his own experience at what I imagine to be such a young age. I suspect Caladhel has merely been lucky up to this point and it was a perfect opportunity to bring her mental guard down and let the emotions fly. I hope you enjoyed the results.