I had far too much time to think as I rode to Lórien.
Thranduil was the center of my thoughts. A mixture of emotions broiled in me – guilt at paining him, disgust at my allowing such intimacy between us without reciprocity of his feelings, and a strange curiosity at what I had felt when we kissed. I did not know what to think, only that the thought of seeing him again made me uncomfortable for a myriad of reasons.
Most of the elves had departed Lórien as well – only those of us that were to be riding messengers were there to be trained. Haldir of Lórien was to front the army of messengers, and he spent several hours giving us maps, helpful instructions, and finally our first missions.
"Ah, Caradel," Haldir had left my assignment for last. All the other elves had parted. "The youngest of our troop."
"Aye," I said. "But I have trained for this. I am not ignorant."
"Perhaps inexperienced," I was handed a leather jerkin that had the messages inside. "The elven armies, Elendil from Minas Tirith and dwarfs from Kazad-dûm are converging at Eryn Galen before marching on the Black Gate. By the time you reach them, they will be on the border of Mordor."
"Very well – who is to accept these messages?"
"Gil-galad is head of the elven forces. He should receive all correspondence," Haldir began picking up his own packs, and we walked from the room. "I will be riding south; we have allies led by Anárion that I am to meet."
"Shall I stay with the armies?" I asked.
"Do what Gil-galad commands you to," Haldir replied. "He may or may not need your services. The siege is coming to a head too fast for you to be useful elsewhere."
We parted quickly and I ran to fetch my mare by the Anduin. It would be a long night.
The sky darkened continually as I rode south, but not from weather. I felt as if creeping hands were crawling all over me, and a chill settled on my heart. I wished for nothing more to return to sunny Greenwood rather than continue on to Mordor.
I was crossing the Anduin once more, with the mountains of Mordor in sight, when the scent of bile and rotten flesh reached my nose. My mare began to snort and toss her head. I glanced around quickly, but the whir of rocky countryside yielded none of its secrets. I urged my mare to gallop faster.
Suddenly an unearthly, ear piercing shriek rent the air, and my horse screamed and bolted in panic. I looked behind me – and dark shapes began to materialize behind me, giving chase. Orcs! The flowing black form that led them, travelling much faster and admitting the horrible sound, had to be one of the Úlairi – a wraith of Sauron.
I pulled my bow from my back and strung it – not an easy feat on a running horse. I brought an arrow to the string and twisted my back to shoot. An orc fell. I let loose another arrow – and another body crumpled.
I felled twenty-five of the beasts, the number of how many arrows I carried, but still the host that pursued me was numerous. The wraith had long outstripped its following and was approaching me. I saw that it had drawn a long, black blade.
I pushed my mare harder, but although she had been trained by great horse masters, she was losing strength. I had been truthful in telling Thranduil that I was not afraid of death, but I had not mentioned that I was still fearful of dying. I knew that I would almost always be in danger of a violent death on this mission, but I nonetheless wished for a more peaceful passing.
I knew that I was passing into the valley I knew the alliance of men and elves would be stationed before the attack on Barad-dûr. The yellow grass was trampled, and I knew that a great host had passed through. But I was sure that I would not be able to make it to the camp before the wraith caught me.
A horn – an elven horn! – sounded, and I heard the thundering of hooves long before the sight of the silver-clad warriors burst through the muted rays of the setting sun behind the evil clouds, directly in front of me. Thranduil lead them.
The wraith screeched, probably because his easy prey would no longer be easy to catch. I heard the screams fading and I knew that it was retreated – a wise opinion in the face of so much opposition. The warriors bolted past me, shouting cries against the guttural challenge of the orcs, who had not ceased their attack. I was nearly unseated by the rush of power that had passed. Thranduil had reined in his horse next to me as I slowed, looking me up and down.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No," I assured him. "Thank you – thank you a thousand times for your arrival!"
He shrugged. "A scout had caught wind of your situation. The information you carry is valuable to our cause."
I turned my mare around to watch the unfolding battle – the elves had made short work of the orcs, and were even now almost finished with the butchery.
"You did well on your own," Thranduil said. "I suddenly wish I had practiced so hard as you with my archery."
"Is it very far to the camps?" I asked. "I have an urgent letter for Gil-galad."
"I will escort you."
A commander, presumably the first officer under Thranduil, had returned to us and reported victory. Thranduil gave him swift instructions, and he and I set off to the south, quickening our pace.
"How fares the war?" I asked, over the rushing wind between us.
"Well enough," Thranduil replied, not looking my direction. "Though I still do not look forward with hope." Indeed, his mouth was set in a grim line, and his back was rigid. "Where will you be travelling next?" he asked.
"I will stay here," I said. "I have been assigned to relay messages for Gil-galad, and since most of the armies that are to arrive have done so, I will be running between camps."
Thranduil did not hide a smile. "I hope that he will send you to our camp often."
"As do I," I felt suddenly shy, and we did not speak for the remainder of the journey.
Once my message was delivered, Gil-galad relieved me of duties for the time being to recover from the grimy travel and my near-attack. I immediately took my horse to boys that were performing grooming duties, and took off in the direction of the cluster of tents that Thranduil had pointed out to me as his and Oropher's. Excitement and tension hung in the air over the camp, and the men and elves were all armed, most jittery, and some quiet. I did get quite a few stares, as not many women had joined the ranks of fighters, but I ignored the steamy invitations that floated at me from the eyes of the watching men. I supposed that they had also never seen a woman in breeches.
I entered the mess tent, starving for something other than lembas. I was in luck – fresh rabbit strew was being served. I received a bowl and sat by Thranduil, who was already eating.
"Hunting orc is hard work," he commented.
"Have your men returned?" I asked. "I would like news of the Nazgul. Is it likely to return?"
"Not alone," Thranduil replied. "They would not attack a group single-handedly. You saw its swift flight when we approached."
"That at least brings comfort," I commented. We ate in silence. Thranduil's demeanor had become much more sober. His eyes no longer wandered around his surroundings with impatience and distraction, as he had been wont to do for our childhood and adolescence.
"Has it been too terrible?" I asked. "The war?"
Thranduil paused his eating. "It has been very terrible, Caradel. My dreams are filled the images of the dead, and the screams of the dying."
"I am sorry," I placed a hand on his shoulder, and he covered it with his own and squeezed. He did not look me in the eyes.
A small boy bolted into the tent, looking around. "Lady Caradel!" He saw me and rushed to my side. "The king requires your presence immediately. It's an emergency!"
"Thank you for your message – I will be there shortly." I stood, placing my bowl on the bench. I bent over and placed a chaste kiss on Thranduil's forehead. "Do not forget the things of beauty in this world," I whispered, and left.
Once I arrived to the tent of the king, a flurry of busy elves and men met by eyes. I navigated to Gil-galad's carved throne, where he was holding out several papers to me.
"These are to go to all commanders at once," he said. "Elendil, Oropher, Elrond, Círdan. On the morrow we march on Barad-dûr."
Roads are winding, paths of wrath, elves chanted on all sides of me as I ran through the camps.
Clouds are gathering, storms of war,
Crows are circling, feast of flesh
We march, march, march towards our certain doom
The Dark Tower to cast down and slaves to free.