Set in Stone - Haldir's Story -

Chapter 26 - Up North

More than once during their ride Daëra wondered where the one ring might be, day and night she was expecting to feel Sauron's wrath mixed with evil glee when he got it back and went to destroy all the other rings. It would be the last thing she would ever feel: fire and pain and fury. The ring had been in Lórien: the little brave Hobbit had even offered it to Galadriel, but from somewhere she had taken the strength to reject it. Daëra knew that because the Lady had shared many of her memories with her during the long ride up North. They never met a single soul and Daëra was wondering whether this was Galadriel's doing, her ring's doing, for they didn't want to be seen. Two female elves on beautiful horses riding towards the darkest spot of middle earth – right after Mordor itself of course. It felt strange that she should enter Mirkwood after all, but now Daëra knew how to use Náre properly and she wasn't scared. Not much at least. Against her recent resolution, she did wear Náre all the time: Middle-Earth was filled with too many dangers nowadays to risk taking it off during the journey. Furthermore, her travelling companion was a ring-bearer herself, so even if Daëra should suffer another fire-fit, she was unlikely to hurt Galadriel. When she had seen Mirkwood last she had been scared both of the Wood and its elves. She had planned on visiting them to heed her father's advice and get to know as many elves as possible... yet in the end she'd backed out, using the dangers of the Great Wood as an excuse.

"Does Thranduil know we are coming?" – The Lady's eyes were fixed onto the road. "It would have been foolish to send a messenger first and to delay our departure until he would have arrived." – Daëra nodded. "I do not suppose he will mind help," she stated with a slight smile. The corners of Galadriel's mouth twitched. "No, I would not have thought so, either. Perhaps the saving of his forest will keep him longer in Middle-Earth a little while longer." – "He is preparing to leave?" Daëra exclaimed, her voice full of surprise. – "Indeed he is – I was expecting it, the last 500 years have not brought him many reasons for joy and laughter. Now his son is gone as well, likely to be killed in the course of events, and there is nothing left for him in Middle-Earth. He has always been loyal to the Great Wood and has always been determined to save it – although at no point he had ever stood the slightest chance. Unfortunately, it was not until quite late we realised it was Sauron himself who had settled down in Dol Guldur and was poisoning Mirkwood. Elrond, Mithrandir and I drove him away after the battle of the five armies, yet his dark powers have stuck to the place. Thranduil has never been given the means to fight such dark magic." – Daëra had never really known what to think of Thranduil – Haldir had never talked about him much – but now she almost pitied him.

Daëra's thoughts wandered to the task ahead of them. She wondered whether there were many orcs left in Dol Guldur or whether they'd just be able to concentrate on tearing the castle down. Not long after the war of the five armies – where Frodo's uncle had found the ring of power as Daëra'd been told – ring-bearers and wizards had chased Sauron away. They hadn't destroyed his castle, though – they couldn't have known how much of him was already irrevocably melted into its walls. Círdan, though, hadn't participated. He'd been at Mithlond as always, building his boats, concentrating on elves who wanted to leave and not what was going on in Middle-Earth. He would never really care for the country: if it broke down he would save as many elves as he could and embark on the last boat, never to return or look back. That was probably the reason why he'd given the ring to Daëra when she'd been at the Grey Havens between two journeys: she was a proper part of this world, she would be involved somehow, and he had hoped the ring would be able to help her. Her father had never used it much, so Daëra doubted he knew the full strength of Náre's powers. Náre had probably been half asleep during all those years.

When the dark green line that represented Mirkwood appeared on the horizon, Daëra reined her horse. Galadriel was staring at it as well. – "It is strange how Lórien serves as a home without one ever wanting to leave," Daëra remarked. "Now that I am seeing this other forest in front of us I wish the time we could turn around and head for home would come much sooner." – The Lady smiled. "For the moment the good spirits will keep Lórien that way. But it is my ring that does it – Lórien will go down with it." – Daëra tried to read Galadriel's face – and failed. "Have you ever wished Sauron had never given you the rings at all?" – Galadriel seemed to look into a long gone past: her eyes were light as the sky. "I should, should I not? – I should wish the past had happened differently: that Elrond, Círdan and I had been wise enough then to reject the gifts that were forged by an elf who had used methods Sauron had taught him. We were young and foolish, though; and we did want the rings. I should curse us for our stupidity, should I not?" – It was a rhetorical question, so Daëra stayed quiet. – "However, I do not, for some strange reason. Too much good have they done to regret their ever being made. Even though it ties our fates to Sauron's and the power of the rings will die not matter how this war ends. They are part of us now, our history and our legacy when we will leave Middle-Earth."