Instead of following Aragorn to the River Celebrant, Arwen chose to take a shortcut through the woods, intending to intercept him faster. But the way through the woods was not so clear as a fog rolled in from the east.
As she grounded to a halt, she looked backward and saw it coming from the city of her grandparents and wondered if her grandmother had something to do with the dense fog. If she was, why was she conjuring the fog westward?
Arwen knew this was no ordinary fog. It was meant to confuse those who brought evil to the Golden Wood. Did this mean that the Enemy was on the western borders as well? She felt her heart pound against her chest as the probability of war crossed her mind. She worried for Aragorn.
"No!" she mumbled. Aragorn would be fine. He could take care of himself. He was after all a ranger, one of the Dunedain, taught by and raised among the elves.
She raced into the woods, ignoring the fog. Despite the lack of clear vision, she was aware of the direction she wished to go and sprinted through the forests with so focused a determination that it would make other rangers embarrassed of themselves.
She had not gone a long way when her ears pricked up at the soft footfalls close behind her. She turned to see an elven army, headed by Rumil, heading off towards the west.
"Hail, Rumil, son of Haldad," she called out to the elven army, leaning against a tree. "What news from the north?"
Rumil stopped in his tracks, and so did the army that followed him. He turned to her and stared at her in surprise. "Lady Arwen?" he said. "Whatever're you doing here?"
"Going west, the same way as you," she answered, "but you're far from your posts to the east."
"Summons, my lady," Rumil said, "summons to the west. Word came out of Caras Galadhon that we were needed on the western borders. A fresh army out of Dol Guldur, it said, had come out of the north and the west. The eastern contingent from Mordor is being taken care of, and the northern armies that sailed the River have been driven back. The fog seemed to have played a great role there, but now, we seek the west. There's already an elvish army fighting there, I heard, past sweet Nimrodel, though last the news came, there were no armies of ours there except for a few of our patrols."
Arwen frowned. He was right. The armies of the Golden Wood rarely had much force so far west, being concentrated towards the north and the east. The western borders were not as well protected except for the strange enchantments her grandmother had laid all over the land. There were of course swift patrols who would send word to the city upon sight of an enemy or a stranger wandering into the woods. The flets on the trees above would still house the patrols.
If not for the army of Lorien, which elvish contingent was fighting on the other side of the Nimrodel?
"Why do you go westward, my lady?" Rumil asked. "If you seek the valleys of Imladris, the westward route is not safe. Perhaps you ought to reconsider your journey, my lady."
"I don't seek my father's home, Rumil," she said. "I seek someone who fled the city without giving me an explanation. I seek someone who ran away from judgment thinking he would be treated unfairly by the powers that rule the kingdom. I seek someone who needs to answer for his actions but also who needs to hear mine words that are in response to his. I seek that person who has sneaked past the elven patrols and headed westward, my mission coming from my grandmother herself."
Rumil nodded. "If you go because of the White Lady's wishes herself, I wouldn't stop you, but I warn you to be careful, my lady. The arm of the Enemy has grown long indeed if he has managed to reach our western borders."
She sighed. "Oh, his arm is still short, I assure you, son of Haldad! He just wishes us to think his arm is long."
Rumil stared at her, confusion evident on his face.
She smiled. "Don't be so confused, I know a bit of how the Enemy thinks. This attack is but a test, I think, although I'm unsure that it is his wish."
Rumil simply bobbed his head.
"Lead on, Rumil, we must be quick if we must aid these elven fighters repel the Enemy."
And so, they hurried towards the west; she was already sprinting forward with her sword held aloft in her hand.
Soon, they crossed the Nimrodel and had a look of the battlefield.
Elves fought orcs at many places. Elves bearing the insignia of her father's house.
Happiness graced her face.
How come her father had sent a battalion of Imladris' own in so short a time? She didn't think her grandparents had ever sent a call for help over the mountains. They didn't even send for help from their northern kindred.
It was then that she saw Elladan and Elrohir talking with another familiar figure.
"Aragorn!" she muttered, her heart leaping with joy.
"Rumil, head right and flank the enemy from the north," she commanded. "That should help drive the enemy away. I'm heading to meet my brothers. Clearly, it is they who brought the elves from Imladris here."
And just as she was about to step forward, a cold feeling touched her heart. It was as though death had come to the place itself.
A green smoke arose in the east, the white fog from her homeland fighting it off.
Far off in the distance, she saw outlines of men.
Nine in number.
She took a deep breath and searched the ground with a wooden stave. And she found one close by, a part of a tree the orcs had uprooted, perhaps before the battle. Lighting the wood on fire with the help of some tinder she had in her pockets, she jumped into the busy battle even as she heard Aragorn shouting at the top of his voice, "Nazgul!"