Nearly eight years had passed since that fateful night of the Shadowen invasion, and it found Ellenroh Elessedil sitting in the Gardens of Life, thinking.  She thought about the elements, the Ellcrys, her home, and her life in the whole scheme of things, but mostly she thought about Dilia Noh, even after so many years.  The Elf had almost been like a daughter to her, orphaned at a young age because of Shadowen and raised by Ellenroh herself.  Tomae had trained Dilia personally, although Triss had never known about it.  She had shown great promise and probably, if she had wanted it, become part of the Home Guard.  Oh, Dilia…  Her name echoed in the queen’s mind eerily, a haunting whisper of things that would never pass.  She cried silently, for her people, that should be attacked by monsters of their own making; for her city, that should suffer all this with the Elves; for her family, that was being wiped out one by one; for the girl, that would never make it to Arborlon without help; but mostly for herself.  Ellenroh had failed them all.  She had let the Shadowen invade Arborlon and had not lifted a finger to prevent it.
    A rustle came from behind her, and Ellenroh turned, on guard instantly.  But it was only Cort.
    “My Lady,” he said quietly.
    “Cort,” she acknowledged.  “Come sit by me.”
    The Elven Hunter did so, balancing on the edge of the bench, keeping his distance from the queen.  There they sat silently, thinking of times that had gone past.
    Dawn approached, and with it the sun, chasing away the shadows of night.  The moon disappeared behind the vog, the stars following.  Ellenroh and Cort rose, going towards the palace, the Elven Hunter positioning himself solidly at the entrance.  The queen nodded to him before entering her room, to reflect more about everything that had happened since the Elves had moved to Morrowindl.  The tears came anew, only to be brushed away.  Ellenroh Elessedil sat at her desk, waiting for the arrival of the Owl, hoping that on this day, there would be something good to happen to the Elves.
 
 

Clawed fingers scuttled on the dirt floor beneath Arborlon, bringing Aurin Striate’s eyes up with a snap.  Something was coming.  He couldn’t tell what it was yet, but he knew that it would be something out of the ordinary.  The Owl headed deeper into the tunnel, dagger in hand, watching out for anything.  A small dark form—a Shadowen—appeared on the wall directly in front of him, and he flung his dagger at it, his mind curiously blank as to what he was doing.  Aurin had seen so many deaths in the past few years that he no longer felt anything when he killed something himself.  It was a horrible thing, he knew, but he couldn’t prevent it.
    The Shadowen fell off of the wall with an agonized shriek, curling up tight into a ball.  The Owl retrieved his dagger, and continued on.
    Suddenly, he heard voices.  Not the garbled hiss that usually sounded within the tunnels, but human voices.  One of the voices tended to make spitting noises, while the other voice—the voice that had first caught his attention—belonged to a woman.  A woman!  Elation surged up within him, as he realized what that could possibly mean.  Ellenroh’s granddaughter!  Sheathing his dagger while telling himself not to get his hopes up too high, Aurin Striate quickened his pace and continued to follow the voices.
 
 

Triss, the Captain of the Home Guard, sat outside with both of the Elven Commanders, Barsimmon Oridio and Phaeton, arguing.
    “The north wall,” Triss was saying.  “Can’t you see?  It’s weakened!  The Shadowen always attack from there!  Always!  And because of that, the magic is weakened and it’s more vulnerable!”
    The Captain of the Home Guard felt, rather then saw, Barsimmon nod in agreement.  “He’s right, Phaeton.  As much as I hate to admit it, the Elven army is not invincible and one good rush can and will destroy it.”  Barsimmon paused.  “Eliminate it,” he added for emphasis.  “Double the guard, and Arborlon will feel safer.”
    “Double it?  We’ve been doubling it, and what has it done?  Nothing!  The Black Watch is expended, the Home Guard is wasted—”
    “Wasted?” Triss was aghast.  “Since when has it been wasted?”
    Phaeton shook his head.  “That’s not what I meant.”
    “Then what do you mean?”
    A wind passed, ruffling Phaeton’s white-blond hair slightly.  “I meant that our Elven Hunters have been dying uselessly.  Just keep the number of Hunters at the north wall small, let them act as messengers, and the demons will be none the wiser.  Less to kill.”
    “The soldiers are not superfluous, Phaeton,” Barsimmon growled roughly.  “But the Shadowen are.”
    “Exactly!”  The Elven Commander leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Barsimmon.  “All we have to do is execute this maneuver…” Phaeton began to trace the city and the Keel with his finger, talking all the while.
    This is a waste of time, Triss thought dully.  I don’t even know why I’m here.  I’m just a Captain of the Home Guard…  He glanced at the table they were seated at, totally ignored.  Barsimmon and Phaeton had their heads over the table, talking excitedly.  Then they seemed to realize that he was still there, and motioned for him to leave.  Triss grudgingly got up and left, feeling useless.
    He decided to go to Ellenroh, for a while at least, to tell her about the possible breaching of the northern part of the Keel.  Having accomplished that, Triss began to look for Gavilan, but the prince was nowhere to be seen.  He was about to rejoin Barsimmon and Phaeton outside when he saw Eowen Cerise dart by, red hair flying, rushing to the queen’s room.
    “Eowen, what—”
    Motioning for him to stay silent, Eowen breathed, “Just follow me!”
    Grumbling about the fact that no one seemed to want to talk to him anymore, Triss followed, a dog tracking its owner.
    “My Lady Ellenroh,” Eowen whispered upon entering the room, her voice filled with a strange sense of awe.  Triss closed the door silently behind him, feeling that this was something that should be kept secret.
    The seer paused to take a few deep breaths.  “My Lady Ellenroh,” she repeated.  “I—I have had a vision.”
    Ellenroh Elessedil was on her feet instantly.  “A vision?”
    Eowen smiled faintly.  “Yes.  A vision.”
    Well, what was it?  Triss wanted to ask, but thought it best if he didn’t push her.
    Sitting down slowly, green eyes blinking furiously, the seer whispered, “She—she comes… today.”
    Triss sat down as well, mulling over her words.  She?  Who’s she?  And then he realized. Did Eowen mean… the girl?
    Almost as if she had read the Captain’s mind, Eowen said, nodding to herself, “Yes… the girl has arrived.”
    A smile lit up Ellenroh’s features, and she headed for the door at once.  “What are we waiting for?  We must greet her!”
    Triss rushed to get in front of the queen, automatically taking the lead.  Looking back to make sure Ellenroh and Eowen were behind him, he started down the hallway, following his instincts, yet not sure as to where he was going.  Three figures materialized in front of him, and Triss recognized the taller one as Aurin Striate.  He felt the queen and the seer fall back suddenly, as if they were almost… frightened of meeting the person that they had waited for so long.  What if Eowen’s vision was wrong?  Triss thought suddenly, almost urgently.  But he knew she was seldom incorrect.  If Eowen said that the girl had arrived, then arrive she had.  But it didn’t hurt to make sure, and the Captain of the Home Guard quickly wiped the emotions off his face as the features of the other two mysterious people sharpened.
    He examined them slowly as he neared the spot where Aurin was standing.  One was a woman; younger than he was but not by much, her blond hair cut short and her skin deeply tanned.  Her angular eyebrows and pointed ears marked her as an Elf.  The other person, much larger, was a man with a dark, bearded face.  Both were bloody, their clothes ripped, claw marks showing everywhere.
    Triss reached the Owl and took his hand.  “Triss,” he heard him say.  The Captain of the Home Guard nodded, the movement barely perceptible.  Aurin turned to the two haggard figures, and said, “This is Wren Ohmsford and her companion Garth, come to us from out of the Westland.”
    The Westland!  He shook hands with the man he now knew to be Garth, then did the same with Wren.  In that moment his brown eyes locked with her hazel ones, and Triss knew that she was indeed their savior from Eowen Cerise’s vision.
    Wren Ohmsford had a strong grip, making Triss smile softly, elation welling up inside of him. So she has come.