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."
When the first trees were starting to tower over them and strange noises Daëra had never heard before emerged, she asked: "Is Dol Guldur quite close to Thranduil's Halls?" – The Lady shook her head. "Not at all. The King's residence is a lot farther to the North and to the East. Dol Guldur is at the Southern tip of the Great Wood." – Daëra nodded slowly. It had been stupid of her to hope they might pass where Haldir grew up – it was probably better that way: she wasn't quite sure she wanted to see it at all. It must be a dreary place; it would probably hurt her to see in which surroundings he'd had to live as a child. The Lady and she entered the Wood on their horses and Daëra believed it to be the bravest thing she'd ever done – at least there'd been few occasions she'd ever been that scared. The trunks of the trees were smaller than the ones in Lórien and their skin was brown or black and rough; the branches were growing in crooked angles and the bulky roots sticking out of the ground were covered by pale-green moss. The plants looked more like diseases that had befallen a once beautiful, healthy field of green grass than parts of nature. It was obvious: they were approaching Dol Guldur.
Saying good-bye had been hard, but Haldir had expected it to be that way. He had known it would be like that. He knew the Mirkwood and all its dangers, but he also knew Galadriel and Daëra did have to go, for the sake of Middle-Earth. He had wanted to come along as well, as their guide, but the Lady had promised him she knew her way and it seemed she thought he would be more useful in Lórien as a commander. Since there was no back-talking to Lady Galadriel, Haldir had stayed quiet and accepted his fate, as much as it pained him. She was not trying to hurt him – she was merely acting for the... greater good, probably. It didn't make it easier to accept, though. At least Daëra had Náre to protect her. All of Mirkwood would be blowing up in flames before a single orc would get close enough to even scratch her. And yet, forests hated fire – Mirkwood wouldn't take her presence kindly. The Gods knew which sorts of creatures it might let at her. All the while he would be sitting at Lórien, useless, when he could be doing...
"Haldir!" – He looked down to find Orophin standing at the bottom of the flet Haldir was sitting on top of and watching. – "Celeborn wants you to come and see him. He thinks there will be another attack." – Haldir frowned. "Have they not had enough yet?" – "I think Sauron is determined to have us trampled into the ground, dear brother. They will not stop until either the fate of whole Middle-Earth is decided or the last orc has died." – "I fear you are right. Let us join Celeborn. We cannot have them win."
Without the rings, though, this was easier said than done. Probably many of the orcs were still scared from the fire and pure power from last time, but there were also reinforcements who didn't even know the elves possessed rings of power at all. And the few who had indeed survived the last battle would find new energy as soon as they realised that this time there was no magic. Many elves who hadn't been with the wardens before, but who could swordfight or draw a bow had decided to join the battle: too few of the wardens were left after Helm's Deep and the last attack. The orcs only needed to keep attacking for a bit and they would succeed: it was a mere question whose numbers lasted longer: with the strong disadvantage that the orcs seemed to crawl out of every crack in the floor in hundreds and hundreds, joining their ugly brothers, while elves weren't given to have many children. For the first time in quite a while Haldir remembered that halfling who was supposed to throw Sauron's ring into the fires of Mount Doom. If he succeeded, he would have to do so soon or everything would be lost – at least to Lórien. Haldir couldn't save Middle-Earth, but perhaps he could save the Golden Forest for a little while longer. The rest of the country wasn't even in his focus – his eyes were fixed on his home: Lothlórien. And Daëra and Orophin, the Lady... Briefly he wondered whether she had known all of this would happen when she'd made him and his brothers stay those many decades ago. Or how much of it she had known. She had interfered with the future and he couldn't help asking why. The question didn't stay long in his mind, though, he had to concentrate on a battle.
"Healers. We need more healers!" Orophin held on to Haldir's shoulder. "Can Galadriel and Daëra heal from afar?" – Haldir skimmed all the wounded who were lying on the ground. "I do not know." Fighting off the orcs had been harder than with the rings of power but it had worked out – now, though, it turned out they were dearly needed concerning the healing of wounds, especially the graver ones. Most Lórien elves could do a little bit of healing, yet it was nothing compared to the healing powers of fire. Yet it would have to do. Haldir eyed his brother up. "Are you wounded?" – Orophin straightened his back and motioned to his left side that was slightly bloody. "Just a scratch, nothing to worry about. And you?" – Haldir's every muscle was aching, but he didn't bleed. "I am fine." He had to blink several times to ban the colourful spots from his sight; he felt he was swaying slightly. Helm's Deep had indeed left marks on him – this wouldn't have happened to him before, and after only two battles in close succession. He would have to find a way to cope with it. Orophin had his eyes narrowed at his older brother, his hand pressed to his side. "Are you quite sure you are well?" – "Quite sure indeed. I just hope Daëra will... Daëra and the Lady, I mean, will be back soon." – Orophin smiled for some reason. "Yes, I think we all do. Celeborn thinks they will not take much longer." – "So they have succeeded?" – Orophin raised his shoulders. "He did not say anything about that. Yet then I would not suppose they should return with their task unfinished."
The stench of burning bodies had been filling Daëra's nose for such a long time she didn't notice it anymore. She wasn't a big help to Galadriel concerning the cleaning up of the cursed place, it seemed Náre was rather focussed on destruction than retaining– excepting of course its healing powers. Daëra just stood by and watched as the Lady rushed from here to there, muttering words older than time, older than anything in this world. She still wasn't herself again, her body was glowing coldly from the inside as it seemed and her eyes were empty and determined at the same time. She had been doing this for a while now and Daëra felt the exhaustion chill her to the bone. It seemed to her, though, as if the trees were friendlier now that the dark power had been cleared away.
Horse hooves on the soft forest floor made her stand up tall. Had the fleeing orcs called for back-up? – But then, orcs never rode horses, the animals didn't trust them. Seconds later, a group of ten elves on horseback rode onto the clearing that surrounded what was left of Dol Guldur. The first was a male wearing a crown, his long, pale hair framing a face that stood out because of its sharp cheek-bones. Another rider was familiar to Daëra: it was Rumil – which now left no doubt as to who the crowned one must be. Daëra bowed slightly. "King Thranduil, I suppose." – The elf's hard eyes watched her in a scrutinising way. "What... what happened here, if I may ask?" he asked, only barely repeating the greeting. – "As you know, an orc army from Dol Guldur attacked Lórien. Its hideout had to be destroyed." – Thranduil looked taken aback. "It is not possible to destroy this place." His eyes flickered towards the figure moving through the smoking ruins. "Galadriel?" – "Indeed. We have come to do what we should have done much sooner." – Thranduil seemed to be at a loss of words. "I should have been told." – "The messenger would have arrived at the same time as we. It would not have changed anything." – Thranduil trotted a few paces over the blackened ground and back again. "How could the two of you achieve what I failed to do over thousands of years?" – Daëra slowly raised her shoulders. "You were never given the right kind of weapon." – Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "I see," he breathed. "I see. I should like to ask why the Lady of the Golden Wood never thought to do this earlier..." he hesitated, "...yet I feel I do not want to argue about it. Perhaps... perhaps finally things will be able to change... after all those years of darkness." As Thranduil looked about him with wide eyes, he seemed to be a different person. "Tell Galadriel I would have liked very much to thank her in person – but I fear I have urgent work to do that cannot wait. Fare you well." He turned his horse and galloped off into the Woods, followed by Rumil and his other guards.
Daëra was still looking at where they disappeared when a cold hand grasped her arm: it was Galadriel, herself again for the first time in hours. We've got to go, she said with that deep voice of hers in Daëra's head. Frodo and the ring have arrived in Mordor; I can feel it. Our rings will not keep their power for long now, no matter how this war ends. We have to return to Lothlórien immediately. Now!