The Exile's Daughter

To The Last

Early the next morning, I would have traded all the victories in the world to stay with Legolas, in that moment, for all eternity.

Illuvatar's divine plan, however, did not allow moments of bliss to last. The light showers of the previous day had been replaced with a torrent, and our hair was plastered to our faces. Calanon had been chosen to accompany the women and children, since he was less flighty than any man-bred horse, so another had been given to me, a large stallion of bay colouring. He was slipping and sliding on the mud beneath me, almost making me wish I had chosen to ride man-fashion, not without saddle and bridle like my elven kin.

Aragorn rode beside me, hair plastered to his face, grey with exhaustion, and teeth gritted. Behind us the rangers marched, Elladan and Elrohir with the swordsmen and Legolas leading the archers. It had seemed sensible to split them up, even though our numbers were so small. I could hear Legolas quietly encouraging Mallor, who had flatly refused to leave his father.

Everything we could think to say to each other, we had said, though it scarce seemed enough. There could never be appropriate words, even in the elven tongues, to describe a love so deep it seemed to grow from nature itself, from the trees to the stars in the sky, but we had tried our best to draw a line under it, under us.

I knew Aragorn had my letter safe in his breast pocket. I prayed to Manwë himself he would never have to deliver it.

We had told the others that we had been walking all night in the woods, and none had challenged it. I wondered whether they pitied us for what was to come, or whether they were jealous of those treasured extra hours, in which they could only pine for their own beloveds.

I pulled myself out of my head. I kept thinking that the outcome of this battle was certain. I had tried, when Legolas had briefly fallen asleep in the middle of the night, to stretch my mind beyond this terrible day, but I could see nothing but darkness.

While we were riding, I felt a brief, stabbing pain. Unwilling to probe it too deeply, at that moment when my courage had to be maintained for my friends, I put it down to anxiety.

Aragorn was giving me a sideways glance. Whether he had noticed my lapse, or he was merely concerned, I could not tell. I turned to him. There was uncertainty, fear, in his eyes, and I knew it wasn't for me. I raised my head proudly and nodded to him. He reciprocated grimly. No words of comfort could we give each other. Only deeds mattered now.

I could feel them drawing closer to us. Another few hundred feet and I could hear their footsteps, their grunting voices. Their weapons being drawn from leathern sheaths. A perceptible shiver ran through the men behind us. A tiny ray of hope bloomed in my heart when I realised the plain on which we stood was a slight slope, and we were at the top. Even a small advantage was something to celebrate with so few men. 

Aragorn glanced uncertainly at me and I nodded again. "You can do this." I whispered. "You are their lord. They take courage from you, as do I."

Aragorn gave me a sad half smile. "Stay safe, sister." He said quietly, before turning his horse so he could speak to the men.

"Sons of the Dúnedain, and children of the elves", as always, his powerful voice filled the air like a western wind blowing from the distant sea. "We are few in number, but in valour, in passion, and in determination, we outnumber them ten-thousand to one! Let not their numbers intimidate you, for we fight for a cause greater than they can comprehend. Stand proud, my friends, for we already have the victory! Let those who will it follow me, and some day, far beyond this rain lashed plain, we may meet again. I bid you stand together!"

The men drew their weapons, their faces twisted into expressions of wrath and courage. Aragorn raised himself proudly in the saddle to see his people so determined. He made a movement to turn his horse from his men to the battlefield.