"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Our destination was the bridge of Ethring, in the Ringló Vale, a fiefdom and a crossing of the Ringló river. After a few days on the road, I found myself talking to hale and hearty soldiers I had never seen before, and who were knowledgeable and talkative about our destination. From there, we were to cross the river to Calembel, a Gondorian city, and then on to a hill-top called Erech where we were to meet our allies. It was going to take us weeks to get there. I had not known the world was so big! While it had been a long time since I had looked at a map, I knew that we were going further away from Mordor, a name that no one had uttered, and I had never even heard aloud. The word was powerful, and fearful. But I also knew this was a longer distance that we had travelled so far.

"You'll get used to it," said Thavron, wearily.

"But do we have enough water, enough supplies, enough food?" I asked, anxiously.

"No," he said. "But we are well used to making do when we need to, and scavenge and whatnot. Do not fret, Minnow."

But I did fret on the road. It was all the worse for I had not had a proper wash for months now. I felt itchy with dirt. Water was not scarce, but exhaustion and a lack of privacy meant that while I scrubbed my face and hands clean twice a day at least, nothing else was getting much of a clean. Thalion, bless him, played watch guard as I disrobed with a small piece of soap into an icy cold river.

There were not any severely injured soldiers to heal, but it became clear that our main goal was to make sure the men arrived at the camp healthy and intact. No one felt inclined to fight their friends through boredom anymore, but half-healed wounds are prone to festering, and muscle cramps and joints were sore. Thalion and I kept lists in our heads of soldiers who had old injuries to check up on, and ones who were a little too quiet and needed a reassuring word. Three weeks into our march, we were passing through a small valley when I was standing beside such a man, who was quietly telling me about his nightmares in a shaky voice when a cry came out.

"Wargs!"

We all paused in fright, and I looked around, not knowing what to do. "Behind me, Minnow!" cried Thavron, grabbing me roughly, pushing me up into a wagon and throwing a burlap sack over me. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear an animal roar, and the sound of metal clashing. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around myself, praying to the Valar to protect us. Suddenly, Thavron pulled the sack off me and told me to check on Berendine. I hopped off the wagon and ran up the procession, past the creatures I had only seen drawn in books about war, to where Berendine was kneeling behind a bush.

"Berendine! Are you well? Are you uninjured?" I said, grabbing her by the shoulders. She shook her head, and tilted the child in her arms up so I could see her.

Amazingly, baby Joy was still asleep. She gurgled a little happily in her sleep. We wondered at this miracle.

Turning back to Thavron, I could see that only one wagon was destroyed beyond repair. The men gathered what was left that could be salvaged, including all the wood, and buried the dead wargs and orc. No one had died, but several men had cuts and gashes that Thalion and I quickly bandaged. It was only a quick skirmish, and one of the captains said that it was only a lookout. So we picked up the procession at pace, while a large group of men raced over the gentle slope of the hills to find the orcs - and other wargs.

It took the group of scouts two days to return to us, and not all of them did. I was on edge the entire time, my eyes watching the skyline for their horses, or more wargs. I'm not sure any of us slept, and Thalion and I kept looking at each other worriedly.

"This is mostly what it was like last time," he told me in a low voice as we made camp for the night. Not much had changed to our proceedings at night. I had been worried we would have to march through the night, but there were whispers that twice as many men were on guard duty. "Waiting, anticipating, then quick moments of violence, then it's over and you return to waiting," he said.

"Being on the edge of a battle seems more draining than being in one," I muttered, almost to myself as I fell asleep that first night.

Over the next few weeks, the dread and tension was palpable. Our long procession was vulnerable and slow, but made up almost entirely of seasoned soldiers. This made me feel slightly safer, as I redressed another sword wound on a soldier's back. Orc wounds were often laced with poison, and even if they were not, the dirty iron swords were blunt instruments. They were often jagged, ripping into the skin, and tearing at it. We had to keep an eye on the wounds, more so than if a human or elf weapon had made the cut. I idly wondered what an elf sword would look like - would it be so beautiful that it couldn't hurt someone? Or so beautiful it hurts even to look at it? But these thoughts did not entertain me long. The procession was full of activity. Scouts were constantly looking for orc parties, and for two weeks it felt as if we could not relax for a second.

It was such a relief to finally come upon our first destination. At Ethring, there was a small town and we swept through it like locusts. After an hour, all the pies, clean linen, and ale was gone. Finally, we were setting up camp in Ethring and to stay for a whole week!

After we had purchased all the linen to make new bandages, Thalion and I spent a gruelling and cold hour in the river Ringló cleaning dirty ones. It had been weeks since we had the chance to do so. The river was deep and freezing, so I wasn't tempted to bathe in it, but Thalion stripped off and swam around for a bit. There was something soothing about seeing the red stains wash out of the bandages, I thought, as my hands became numb with the cold.

The men were partying as we walked back with our baskets of wet bandages, and we felt quite miserable as we pinned them up to dry, before retiring. Thavron had saved us a whole pie to share, and I broke it in half. I ate it lying down, savouring the nutty mushroom and leek filling.

"I do not understand. We are further away from the evil volcano," grumbled Thalion, taking off his shoes before unravelling his sleeping mat, chewing furiously.

"Me neither. That's why we are healers and not captains of war," I muttered, before my face hit the pillow and I succumbed to sleep.

In the morning Thalion and I were checking our bandages to see if they had dried, when I saw a truly novel sight.

"What… what is… is that a person?" I asked clumsily, truly shocked.

"Of course it's a person, it's a dwarf," said Thavron, coming up behind us and crossing his arms to survey the vista. "Surely you know a dwarf when you see one."

I was utterly enchanted. Four dwarves were bartering with an innkeeper for yeast of all things. They were shorter than a full grown man usually was, but far stockier, and hairier than anyone I had ever seen. Their beards were braided and full of metal, and they had axes hanging from their waists.

"Why do they make their own? I heard there is plenty of ale left at the taverns here," said Thalion, confused.

"Did you now?" said Thavron, amused but slightly accusatory. Thalion started to make his excuses, but his cousin waved his hand at him to be at ease.

I started wrapping up the dry bandages. "Are there many dwarves here?" I asked, still staring at the dwarves.

"Not many dwarves fight with us," said Thalion, softly. "I've never seen any before."

"These are Durin's Folk and they fight against Sauron. The last time we shared barracks with the dwarves ended with a lot of alcohol poisoning," complained Thavron. I thought of Denvy and Tolbot.

"They can hold their alcohol, can they?" I asked, with a smile.

"They love drinking contests! Do not go drinking with the dwarves!" he warned me. I burst out laughing.

"I am no drinker. Do they speak Westron? Is it polite to introduce myself? Can you introduce me?" I asked, quickly.

Thavron promised to introduce me to some dwarves if I helped him with an amputation. I despised amputations. The healers who enjoyed them were closer to butchers as far as I could see, and keen to jump over any measures that could prevent a person from losing a limb and go straight to sawing it off. Thavron hated the surgeons, and insisted on doing any amputations himself. Usually, he decided that an amputation wasn't necessary, and instead there was a long road to recovery - if infection could be avoided. But sometimes it was necessary. This time it was not a soldier we would be treating - it was the town blacksmith. He was a large, strong man, who was not prone to talking and was devastated at losing his right arm. I sighed. Luckily, he was left-handed, but it would still impact his trade. He had been wary of healers, left his wound for too long and now paid the price.

I stayed with him and his wife for a few hours afterwards, talking to them idly of my island, and the sea - which they had never seen - until I was sure that his fever was going down. His wife, who was younger than him, and stricken with grief, tried to offer me some pennies for our care, but I refused. How could we think of taking money from someone who had lost their source of income? We were healers, not rogues! But it did remind me that we were owed a few months wages, and I would not mind, now that we were in a town, being given them. I resolved to ask Thavron.

As I left the blacksmith's, in my haste I almost tripped over.

"A sad business, that," said a dwarf in front of me. I had barged into a dwarf! He had dark red hair, and was wearing a yellow tunic, dark leggings and boots. His face was so heavy and hairy, that his eyes seemed as if they had burrowed into his head, but they were warm.

"I apologise, Master Dwarf, for my clumsiness!" I cried, panicked. I wasn't sure what constituted a polite introduction to a dwarf. "And you are right, it is a bad thing for someone to lose their craft. I heard the dwarves are master craftsmen."

"There is no one better. But he still has use of one hand?" he inquired.

"His left. And he is left-handed," I replied, wondering why this dwarf took so eager an interest in a small town blacksmith.

"Ah, much like a dwarf then! We are all left-handed. I will call upon him in a few days and see if I can help him. He can learn to work a forge the dwarf way."

"That's kind of you," I said, surprised.

"Oh, you're surprised, lassie! That a dwarf could be kind to a man? You think us savages, eh?" It was hard to tell because I had never conversed with a dwarf before, but I instinctively felt that he wasn't as annoyed as he was acting, and smiled down at him.

"Perhaps Master Dwarf is a little bored and wants to play with the blacksmith's forge? You must have no other amusements indeed if a human forge has any interest for you. I imagine dwarvish equivalents to be very grand in comparison!" I said, grinning.

The dwarf looked at me for a few seconds and I began to wonder if I had made a big mistake. Then he threw back his head, roared with laughter, told me I was canny for a human, and dragged me off to the dwarf camp, and that's how I became friends with Yaleg, son of Yalen.

Dwarves are fond of singing - but only their own songs, drinking - but only their own alcohol, and laughing - loudly. Some of the soldiers were not overly pleased to be sharing a camp with them, as none other than Durin's Folk joined the fight against Sauron and the Numeanoreans were similar to the Elves in disliking dwarves. But I found them jolly, straightforward and generous. Over the next week, Yaleg did teach the blacksmith some techniques to continue at his forge, under my watchful eye, and he taught me some drinking songs. I didn't touch any ale but Thalion declared it delicious.

Even Thavron had a tankard. One tankard, it seemed, was enough to get him to borrow an axe from our new friends and join the dance they did every night as they drank the newly brewed ale. Watching as Thavron waved the axe over his head, trying to copy the other dwarves, hopping about one one leg then the other, towering over the dwarves, was the strangest and funniest thing I've ever seen. Thalion and I clutched each other, laughing until we cried.

"Stop laughing, I'm just getting the hang of it!" Thavron shouted at us.

"C'mon laddie, put your back into it!" shouted Yaleg, jabbing our head healer in the stomach with the butt of his axe. Thalion and I started howling with laughter again, and I went to sleep that night in a better mood than I'd been in weeks. We were all strangers, unknown and unfamiliar to each other, but somehow, I'd never felt like I'd belonged anywhere else half as much.

It was our last full day in Ethring. Berendine and I had tried, unsuccessfully, to buy soap at the town market. There was no soap to be had, not even for ready money. I had never heard the like, and was bouncing Joy off my knees as we sat by the bank of the river, complaining.

"I wish we could stay here," sighed Berendine.

"I do, too," I said. The river was beautiful to behold. I'd never seen one so large! And the bridge was a phenomenal work of engineering. It was wide enough that twenty men standing abreast could cross it.

"But we must go on," she said. I looked at her. A few days in a room above a tavern had done her much good. Whoever was looking after her, and I still hadn't deduced who it could be, had even managed to procure her a bath (but no soap). I was envious. Her hair was shiny and clean, and the bags under her eyes were shrinking. She was doing phenomenally well for a woman who had given birth only weeks before.

We sunbathed for a little longer, talking idly about what we would do if we had soap, and a substantial wardrobe, until Thalion fetched me to do some packing.

"And Thavron says you must go and check on the blacksmith for the last time," he said, as we carried a box of bandages onto the wagon. We were almost ready to go. I slowly made my way through the town slowly, gazing at the taverns, shops and houses, all higgledy-piggledy, the people of the town running in and out of them. They had probably never seen so many people in their lives and may never see a crowd as big again, I thought. The blacksmith's was at the far end, on the riverbank, and I found Yaleg inside already.

He was taking tea with the blacksmith's wife, and eating cake. It was a strange sight, but I joined them, enquiring over the man's health as if I were just a friend calling on another friend. It was a nice, and welcome respite from the war, even if it lasted a few minutes. And I was pleased that the blacksmith's wife was in good enough spirits to bake a cake.

His arm was healing nicely, and I gave him and his wife instructions on what to expect over the next month, and a bag of herbs and a few of my clean bandages. He smiled at me, and nodded, and his wife embraced me tightly. She tried to give me a ring from her finger and I laughed and told her that my new found friendship with Yaleg was all the payment I needed.

"So we are friends, Mistress Healer," said the dwarf, pensively, as we stepped outside again.

"Of course we are!" I said, looking at him. "I do not know if our paths will cross again, but I see that you are a valiant warrior, and I am glad we are allies."

"There are not many humans that would call a dwarf, friend," he said.

"Well, I wager there are not many dwarves who would take such care to give hope to an injured man."

"Maybe I just hate the thought of an unused forge, have you thought of that, lassie?" he said. "I hate waste!"

I threw back my head and laughed. I knelt down and embraced him. As I walked back through town to our camp, I wondered at making friends with dwarves. I had not seen battle yet, and was not keen to, but I was sure that seeing a company of dwarves fight would really be something else. It occurred to me that I could have asked the blacksmith's wife for some soap. Why hadn't I thought of that? She probably made soap. But what was the point, I asked myself, it would never get me properly clean, and I would be filthy again in three days. This was the life of an army healer.

"Where have you been?!" snapped Thavron, as I arrived back at the healer's tents in a daydream some time later. "You took your time! What were you doing, drinking tea and eating cake? There's a lot to do here, missy!"

I smiled to myself and was about to answer when he looked at something behind me with shock on his face. I swirled around in fright. Was it more wargs? Had they found us?

"Elves!" whispered Thalion.

For the first time, I felt truly self-conscious. Being one of the few females in the camp, I had become accustomed to a certain amount of attention, even with my headscarf covering my hair and my bulky Healer apron with bulging pockets. Many of the men asked for the female healer which annoyed Thavron no end ("It defies the whole point of being anonymous if they can identify you." he said. "Well perhaps you should employ more female healers then." "There are plenty of female healers, Minnow, but they are not inclined to go to war.").

The elves were riding through our camp in procession. They were four on horses, horses taller and cleaner than any steeds I'd ever seen, and their manes were braided. The elves were shockingly beautiful. They reminded me a little of the Numeanoreans, noble, proud, strong noses, but they were clean shaven and had much longer hair, as long as a woman usually wore it and it was loose down their backs. I'd never seen anything so unusual. Two were dark-haired, and two were golden haired, which I knew meant they were possibly from different places but I didn't know who to tell who was Noldor and who was Vanyar. I knew that elves had pointy ears, but they were too far away for me to see. It felt like they were hypnotising us. When the Gondorian king and their sons had walked through camp, they were greeted with cheers and shouts from the men. But these felt like unearthly creatures, and we were in awe of them. Everyone silently stared at them.

"Their camp is several leagues away. They must be going to talk with King Elendil," said Varin, appearing beside me. To my shame, I had forgotten about our tall king. Our company of soldiers was so large that I had not seen the royal family again since the first time. I had been so busy with healing, and looking after Berendine and Joy, and spending spare moments with my new dwarf friends I had barely even seen the Tolfalas soldiers!

"I have seen elves before, but none as important. I think that is Elrond, half-elven. I hear he is a great healer," said Thavron, nodding at the first elf.

An elf healer! I stared at him. What special powers could he have, I wondered.

"That might be the leader, Gil-galad," said Thavron, in a whisper, pointing to the elf behind him who was also dark-haired. "He is their high king."

We stared at him in appreciation. To see an elven king! This made up for the lack of soap, I thought. I turned to the next elf in their procession.

"That one is glowing!" I said, alarmed.

"That one is special, even amongst the special," said Thavron. I must have given him a look of surprise because he elaborated. Thavron, it turned out, had been born into a high house of Gondor, and was the second son of an important lord, but he had always known that he wanted to be a healer. "But just because I preferred to study medicine does not mean I avoided the scholarly pursuits of a gentleman of Minas Tirith and all that entails. That is the Balrog Slayer."

One of the other healers and men around us gasped in recognition, but a few others were as ignorant as me.

Thavron rolled his eyes. "Must I teach you everything!" he said.

"Evidently," I said with a smile, for I knew that Thavron grumbled, but loved to show off his knowledge.

"He glows because he is one of the first born elves. He was born across the sea in Valinor and long enough ago to have seen the Two Trees. He was the lord of the House of Golden Flower in Gondolin."

"Gondolin?" cried Thalion. "But that fell thousands of years ago."

"He battled a Balrog and killed it. And it killed him."

"But he's not dead," I said, stupidly. Thavron gave me an annoyed look.

"Your powers of observation are as sharp as ever, Mistress Healer. Yes, it is said the Valar brought him back as powerful as a Maia!"

"But you haven't explained what a Balrog is!" exclaimed Thalion.

"A mighty demon. A devil of Morgoth," Thavron said grimly. A hush fell upon us all. No one liked to think of the monsters that the soldiers fought, but we all saw the consequence of their labours. "He is one of the mightiest of the elves."

"I am glad that we have our allies so close," said Varin. We all nodded.

We watched in silence as they rode out of our eyesight, and then we went back to work. Our dinner that night was a potato stew, which I barely chewed before I climbed into my bed. We would take our tents apart as the sun rose, and be gone as the dawn broke, Thavron had told us. I was too tired to think about what lay before us on our path. Usually before we set off again, my stomach was in knots, but I had seen four elves! This week had been exciting and eventful, and only in a good way.

"We saw elves!" I said, dreamily to Thalion. "I will miss this place."

"We saw Thavron dance with a dwarf," he reminded me. "The world is full of wonders. Anything is possible."

"Anything is possible," I repeated, drowsily.

My dreams were hazy, and it was only a few hours later that someone shook me awake. I jolted into waking, my eyes wide open and gazing at Thavron kneeling over me. He put his fingers to his lips just as I was about to snap at him.

"What is it?" I mumbled.

"This you will want to wake up for, Healer. You have been summoned by the half-elf," he said, softly.

"Who?" I said, sleepily and confused. This was a dream, I thought. I am worried about travelling tomorrow and have dreamt that Thavron is waking me up to get me marching.

"Just get ready!" he snapped and looked at me with a wide-eyed gaze. I blinked awake, realising that not only was this rude awakening really happening, but that Thavron was nervous.

Clumsily, I pulled on my apron, headscarf and shoes, and struggled out the tent as quietly as I could. It was perhaps midnight, and there was not much noise. The soldiers had retired earlier for once (or run out of ale). I could hear them snoring as I followed Thavron and one of the captains through the camp.

"Where are we going?" I hissed. Who was this captain and where was he taking us? I wondered if someone important was injured or sick. Thavron usually dealt with all the important people himself, and Varin assisted if need be, so why had he brought me? For a fateful second, it occurred to me that Berendine or Joy could be sick but then I realised we were going the wrong way to the tavern in which they slept.

We stopped outside a large and ornate tent. It must be the king's, I thought, horrified. The captain bid us wait for a moment, and went in. I heard low voices.

"Remember to be polite and do as you're told," said Thavron, in an undertone. I felt underdressed and dishevelled, but at least my hands were clean. I breathed in deeply. The captain reappeared and gestured to us to enter the tent.

I followed Thavron through the tent flap, and was greeted with the strangest of tableaux. The high king stood tall in the middle of the room, his arms behind him, his expression solemn and a silver circlet on his head. One his right, the one called Elrond was holding bandages and smiled at us. The Balrog Slayer was not wearing a tunic and his chest was bare where there was an angry looking wound.

In a slow, sonorous voice, Elrond the half-elf said: "Well met, Mistress Healer, we have a task for you."