She had been planning to go rejoin her old patrol for this, their final night in the forest. She knew they were still near enough to reach, to the North of their planned stop - Erion's failed attempt at a signal had told her as much, and she'd appreciated their careful eyes keeping watch over her progress, as she led the healers back to Echad Sirion. The paths they'd told her about made the journey entirely quiet – only a single warg scout had interrupted their travel, and Caethel had dispatched that easily enough. By the time Tancamir rejoined them, she had only good news to pass on, and the relief of sharing the responsibility for the final part of their route had made her almost cheerful.
Until the wargs howled. For a moment she was back there, almost a year ago now, listening to the howling outside the camp, waiting for news that never came. Waiting for him to return, pacing the perimeter with Merilindis, always waiting, believing that any moment he would suddenly appear, complaining about the noise, showing her some broken arrow or minor tear in his uniform that she would uncomplainingly repair, teasing him for his lack of care, secretly overjoyed to perform some small service that showed her gratitude for his safe return.
Perhaps it was that old fear that had her turning to Tancamir, suggesting that they investigate the sound. Make sure that nothing was creeping too close to their position. They should not have left the camp at all, perhaps – but who could have expected that anyone would do what Eleanias did? In the swamp, it had seemed as though the healers had finally grasped what she'd been trying to tell them since Lorien – that the Greenwood was dangerous, now. That they had to remain guarded, protected, within camps with their own guards, and particularly with their own 'guards' – Tancamir, Fingolrin, and Caethel herself. Certainly Norliriel had not ceased to show her distaste for Caethel's unhappy homeland – Caethel had believed that all of the group finally accepted the danger, as she clearly did.
Until Eliriael came to her, the fear showing clearly in her eyes, and with the howls of wargs still ringing in her ears, Caethel heard her speak: “I cannot find Eleanias.”
Any hope Caethel might have had of returning to her friends for one final night died then, as she listened to Eliriael explain Eleanias' desperate state of mind. They had talked about this flower, Elenduin, back at the Drownholt, but she had thought that Eleanias had accepted her explanation that its location was far too dangerous. The orcs had fortified a position there; her own patrol had been called to that area precisely in order to help reinforce some attempts to shake them loose, because they had become to entrenched to be safely challenged. With two scouts, one Hammer warrior, and far too many non-combatants to protect, how could they possibly hope to approach such an area safely? But now Eleanias had gone anyway, and Caethel knew immediately that she'd have to go after her. She knew the area, at least, she knew how to avoid the wargs that patrolled unceasingly, and how to fade in among the trees until she could move entirely unseen.
Tancamir was reluctant to let her go alone, but he finally agreed that the other healers needed to be protected – they were too unbalanced a group to move together. All three of them had known that protecting themselves would have to come second to protecting the healers, but that was no reason to let them run headlong into danger and risk all of their lives. Caethel still hoped to catch up to Eleanias before she reached the orc encampment – but if she did not, at least the others would be safe. She would have to be quick, and quiet, and there was no way to accomplish that as a group. Eliriael was the only problem – she refused to stay behind, or to take a weapon with which to defend herself, and, pressed for time, Caethel finally had to extract a promise that she would go only so far as was safe, and no further. Even if it might be a little slower, it seemed safer than risking yet another healer running into peril as soon as Caethel had left the camp, in this case entirely unprotected.
Eliriael was as good as her word, agreeing to wait in a sheltered spot, surrounded by trees, close to the Anduin. Caethel was alarmed to see how far Eleanias had travelled, and even more concerned by the elf's complete disregard for hiding her trail. The fugitive elf's desperation was clear. As Caethel left Eliriael, careful to pause for a moment to disguise any traces the pair had left, ensuring the healer would remain undetected, she broke into a run herself, darting as quickly as she could among the tree-trunks. For a moment it felt comfortingly familiar – the leaves giving way, soft, beneath her feet, the shadow among the trees concealing her even at a run, the feel of her hair whipped back by the breeze. Even the fear was somewhat familiar, and Caethel readied herself mentally for combat, realising that her hope of reaching Eleanias before she could be detected by the orcs was in vain. Eleanias had gone too far for that.
She came into view of the orc camp, still following Eleanias' trail, just in time to see the healer awkwardly pushing a dead orc away from her. For a second she was relieved, until she realised that the other elf was injured. Still racing towards her, Caethel could only watch in horror as Eleanias took an arrow in the shoulder, and slumped to the ground.
