On the high ground by the northern gate of the forest, the Caladhîn elves had dug in, turning ridges and slopes into a layered defense line.
Tauriel and Legolas stood together at the summit, overlooking the endless canopy of Minhiriath.
A white bird came gliding up from the south, wings whispering as it descended. It landed lightly on Tauriel's shoulder, its beak tapping once against the small silver plate on her pauldron before closing its eyes.
"Kaen has already led our forces in and rescued Prince Eluréd ," Tauriel said softly, though her voice carried clear in the mountain wind. "The pirates of Lond Daer Port have been dealt a heavy blow."
She paused, listening to the last residue of the message in the bird's mind, then continued:
"Right now, Prince Eluréd 's column is escorting Elven civilians and is withdrawing north through the forests of Minhiriath.
"Among them are the two thousand Elven Shadow-wardens Kaen sent to protect them, and around ten thousand Telerin warriors."
The words had barely left her lips when Legolas' eyes flashed, sharp as drawn steel.
He stared at the map spread on the stone table beside them, thinking quickly, then said:
"We have to find a way to link up with that column.
"This is our chance to break the enemy."
"You mean…" Tauriel prompted.
"Exactly."
Legolas tapped the map with one gloved finger.
"Right now, we're here in the north of the forest. King Elurin's main host is holding out in the west.
"Prince Eluréd 's column is pushing up from the south, trying to break through to us.
"If the three forces strike together—north, west, and south—" his gaze burned, "the Haradrim will be caught between hammer and anvil. They'll have only two choices: withdraw from the forest… or be wiped out."
Tauriel nodded once, approval flickering in her eyes. Then she frowned slightly.
"I can contact Eluréd 's force through our messenger birds and the Shadow-wardens," she said. "But as for King Elurin… for now, the enemy still cuts us off."
"I'll take three thousand and go to him," Legolas replied at once.
He knelt and dragged the tip of his sword through the dirt, sketching a simple map.
"We go through the strip on the west of the Whispering Vale," he said. "The Haradrim were just ambushed there by us and the Caladhîn, right now it's their weakest line.
"We can slip through it without drawing their notice."
"Good." Tauriel nodded, decision crisp. "I'll hold the high ground here with the rest of the army.
"If you reach King Elurin, then before dawn on the second day from now, we attack together.
"Fire arrows will be the signal."
That night, Legolas led more than three thousand Doriathrim warriors into the thorn-thickets on the forest's western edge.
They cut their way through bristling vines with curved Elven blades, each stroke as silent as a breath.
Silver boots stepped on thick, rotting leaves without so much as a twig snapping.
Whenever they heard Haradrim patrols nearby, they froze, bodies pressed into the shadows beneath roots and branches, holding their breath until the danger passed.
Then they moved again, like ghosts flowing from tree to tree, vanishing deeper into the dark.
At the same time, the Haradrim, having recovered from the shock of the previous night's raid, began to gather their forces and push slowly toward the Caladhîn position.
"Your Majesty the Queen!"
A Caladhîn captain dragged a corpse and dropped it in front of Tauriel. The dark skin of the dead man's throat was split open, blackened blood crusted around the wound.
"Our patrol dealt with a Haradrim scouting party," the captain reported. "Those dark men have realized where we are.
"They're massing toward this high ground."
Tauriel looked down at the corpse, gaze lingering for a heartbeat on the black blood at its neck. Her brows knitted.
After a brief silence, she said:
"Prepare water and food. We hold this hill, no matter what.
"Send small detachments to harass them. Never let them fully regroup."
"Yes, my queen!"
The Caladhîn elves moved at once.
That night, they clashed with the Haradrim in a series of sharp, brutal skirmishes.
The enemy probed again and again, feeling out the strength of these "elves from the north" they knew so little about.
Each time, the answer was the same: steel-hard resistance.
Tauriel dispatched squad after squad to slice through the flanks and rear of the gathering Haradrim, shattering their half-formed offensives before they could roll forward in earnest.
By dawn, the slopes beneath the high ground were littered with bodies, most of them wearing Harad's red-and-brown colors.
…..
At noon the next day, a scout sprinted up the hill to report:
"Your Majesty! Our forward watchers spotted a new Elven force moving through the northern woods.
"Numbers around three thousand."
Tauriel's eyes narrowed.
"Mount up," she said immediately. "We go see for ourselves."
The Caladhîn soldiers drew steel with a hiss, expecting a hard fight.
But when they broke out into a glade and saw who it was—
The tension drained from their shoulders like water.
Grey robes. A tall man with a staff. A ranger with a familiar sword. A dwarf with an iron axe.
Gandalf. Aragorn. The remnants of the expedition, and with them, the Nargothrond's Noldor.
Not enemies.
Reinforcements.