Title: Found
Author: Khylaren
Contact: Khylaren@yahoo.com
Fandom: LOTR 
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters; they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I am not making money off this story; it was written for the pure pleasure of it (mainly mine!)
Warnings: Violence, graphic het and slash sex, mild profanity
Beta:  Larien Elengasse
Cast: OFC, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Gandalf, Haldir, Rúmil, Orophin, Éomer, Éowyn, Faramir, heck, just about everyone eventually.
Spoilers: None
 
Summary: Erin Smith goes camping in the wilderness of the Olympic National park, and wakes up on the plains of Rohan, meeting Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas as they track the Uruk-Hai.  Is she there for a reason, or did the Valar play a cruel prank?
 
Note: I decided to see if I could write a “modern woman lands in middle earth” story without making it a total Mary Sue. Yeah, okay, so there’s romance (or at least some gratuitous sex) but I tried, I really did. Hopefully I managed to succeed in some parts.
 
If it sounds just like Tolkien, it most likely is. I used the books frequently to work some of the scenes, and I also borrowed from the movies. However, I took liberties here and there with several of the chain of events and dialog, just to keep things running smoothly. This most definitely isn’t canon as both Rúmil and Orophin speak Westron.
One last thing: this is the original, NC17 version in all its smutty, slashy/het glory. If you’re not into that kind of thing, the R version will suit you much better
Book II: FOUND
Chapter 1
 
One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree.
“Which road do I take?” she asked.
“Where do you want to go?” was his response.
“I don’t know,” Alice answered.
“Then,” said the cat, “it doesn’t matter.”	
-Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll
 
~ * ~

She took the left fork, because that was where her heart told her to go.

Erin followed the well-marked path, fallen leaves crunching under the soles of her boots as she passed among the tall cedar and fir trees. Intermixed among them she saw maple, oak, and alder trees as well, their autumn colors contrasting sharply against deep evergreen.  Birds chirped and sang overhead, and she heard the familiar scolding of chipmunks whenever she passed too closely to one of their trees; it made her smile.
 
The path curved and twisted, the trees grudgingly giving way to more open grassland, and Erin found herself climbing a small incline that gradually grew steeper as she walked. By the time she reached the top, her calves were aching from the climb, and she paused a moment, resting at the crest of the hill and taking stock of her surroundings.

Several yards ahead she could see the glitter of sunlight reflecting off the surface of water; a modest sized river cut through the grass as it made its way across the landscape, and she moved towards it, following the gentle slope down to the shallow banks. The water looked cold and refreshing as it ran swiftly over rocks, and she saw a fish leap from the clear depths to snap at a small insect, it’s silver scales glinting briefly in the sun, before it returned to the river with a small splash. 

Erin dropped to her knees beside the water and brought a cupped handful to her lips, her fingers numb from the coldness of it. It was sweet and good, and she repeated her gesture several times until she could drink no more, her head growing dizzy with the familiar sensation of brain-freeze.  With a laugh, she fell back on the soft grass, staring up at the blue sky above her, folding her hands across her belly. 

A sense of contentment filled her as the sun warmed her face, the grass cushioning her like a soft bed.  She closed her eyes, stretching slightly, basking in the warmth of the sun like a cat. I will just rest here a moment, she thought drowsily. It’s so nice.

Moments later, she was asleep.

~ * ~

“Mommy, will you tell me a bedtime story?” a tousle-haired, six-year-old Erin asked sleepily, blinking up at the young woman who was tucking her into bed.

Her mother laughed. “Of course, poppet. What story should I tell you tonight?” her mother asked, her slim white hand brushing the strands of dark hair from her daughter’s forehead.

“Oh, I want to hear the story about the baby. Will you tell it, mommy, please?” Erin wiggled like an enthusiastic puppy, dark eyes pleading.  “The fairy baby in the woods.”

The young woman’s blue eyes closed for a moment, before she smiled gently at her small daughter. “That one again, my love?” 

“Please?”

“Very well,” her mother sighed, tucking the covers over her daughter’s body once more. “Once upon a time there was a poor couple who loved each other very much. They lived together in a small cottage just beyond the borders of the woods, and every day the man would go into the forest to gather firewood and to hunt for food, and the woman would stay at home, waiting for him to return. They were poor, but they were happy in their love for each other, and there was very little that the woods could not provide for them.”

“Except for a baby. They wanted a baby more than anything,” Erin interjected, knowing the story by heart.

Her mother nodded with a small smile. “Yes. They wanted a baby more than anything. Many years passed for them, and still they had no child, and they began to despair that they would ever be blessed, when one day…”

“A woman dressed in blue appeared on their doorstep, carrying a bundle of blankets.”

Her mother shook her head. “Do you want me to tell you the story, or do you wish to tell me the story?” she scolded gently.

Erin smiled. “I’m sorry, mommy. You tell it.”  

Her mother pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before continuing. “A woman dressed in blue appeared on their doorstep, carrying a small bundle in her arms. She was the most beautiful woman that either of them had ever seen; tall and fair, with long hair that flowed like a golden waterfall down her back, and eyes bluer than the sky. Though they were awed by her presence, they invited her in and gave her the warmest place by their fire, offering her tea and food. The woman in blue was pleased by their kindness towards her.  ‘The trees speak well of your goodness and your love for each other’, the woman said in a voice that was like the sighing of the wind. ‘They say you long for a child to share your love, yet none have blessed your hearth.’  The couple knew then that the woman was one of the fair folk that dwelled in the forest, and they were frightened. ‘Do not be afraid’, the woman said, when she saw their fear. ‘I have brought you what you have longed for with all your hearts.’ She opened the bundle of blankets and revealed what she held; a beautiful baby with dark brown eyes.”

“That’s me!” Erin said excitedly, wiggling once more. “Right, mommy? That’s me!”

Her mother gave a light laugh. “Silly poppet. Do not interrupt, or I won’t get to the end of your story.”

Erin managed to look contrite, though she could not keep from wiggling just a bit more.

“The woman opened the bundle of blankets and revealed what she held. ‘This baby is not one of our own, yet she was not born to this world. Love her as your daughter and give her joy, but know that someday she will leave you for the place where she belongs.’ The woman gave the baby to the couple and rose from her seat by the fire. She left them, knowing that the baby would be well loved and cared for by the kind couple. The man and woman were happy; they did not care that their new daughter had not been born to them. They were happy to have a child to share their love,” her mother finished with a smile. “And now it is time for you to go to sleep.”

“Yes, mommy.”  She reached up with her skinny arms. “Hugs!” Her mother enfolded her in her embrace, hugging her warmly. 

“I love you, Erin,” her mother said, placing a kiss on her cheek. 

“Love you too,” she replied sleepily, blinking as she watched her mother rise from the edge of the bed and move away. “I wouldn’t leave you and daddy,” she said stoutly, trying to stifle a yawn. “Not ever.”

“Go to sleep, poppet,” her mother replied with a small smile, turning off the light. “Sweet dreams.”

~ * ~

A sudden and unexpected noise made her pause in mid-flight, and Éowyn turned, her blue eyes widening as she saw movement from the previously still form lying pale on the straw of Mearagar’s stall. 
 
“Erin!” 
 
Brown eyes fluttered open and stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. Relief and something else crossed the woman’s face, and she struggled to sit up.  Éowyn’s hands supported her back until Erin was upright, and she was alarmed to see the same conflicting mixture of expressions on her friend’s face.
 
“What happened?”  Her voice sounded funny to her ears, as if they were stuffed with cotton.
 
Éowyn shook her head, settling on the straw next to Erin. “I do not know,” she said, her face betraying her worry. “You were strange - not yourself, I think, and then you simply collapsed. I could not rouse you.”
 
Erin bit her lip, trying to remember what had happened before the most interesting and weird conversation of her life. She remembered leaving the wall and following the rider into the stable. She remembered her surprise at seeing Éowyn all dressed up like she was going to battle, complete with helmet and sword. After that, it was pretty much a blur. She closed her eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, and rubbed her fingertips across the bridge of her nose. Something the man said to her about being their voice; it lingered and teased just beyond the edge of her memory.
 
“What did I say to you, Éowyn?” Erin asked finally, opening her eyes once more.
 
The lady glanced away a moment and frowned unhappily. “You told me not to follow the riders. Not to follow him. That it was not my path.”  She turned her face back to her friend, and to Erin’s surprise, she saw her eyes held tears. “I do not want to be left behind.”
 
"I know," Erin replied softly. "And I understand, more than you realize."  She dropped her head into her hands and took a deep breath. "I can't make you stay here if you don't want to. I could try to stop you by alerting the others, but I won't."  She lifted her head and met her friend's gaze. "But I can tell you that you're not supposed to go - that much I know for sure."
 
Éowyn regarded the woman before her with uncertainty. "How do you know this?"
 
"Oh God, Éowyn," Erin sighed. "I don't even think I could begin to explain it without you thinking I was crazy and locking me up. I hardly believe it myself."  A bubble of hysteria welled up within her and she bit back the inane giggle, feeling a little more than crazy at the situation.
 
Her friend's dark eyes were wild, reminding her of a skittish horse, and Éowyn found herself responding in a manner similar to what she would use to calm a frightened animal. "Hush, my friend," she said softly, stroking Erin's arm with slow and light touches. "If you cannot speak of it now, it will wait. Your warning was given, and I will accept it, though I do not want to."
 
"You won't follow them?" Erin asked hopefully, feeling her sense of dread lift.
 
Éowyn nodded reluctantly, dropping her hand back to her lap. "I will not," she agreed finally. "But you must tell me, when you are ready. I will not think you mad."
 
Erin grimaced but did not reply. That would remain to be seen.
 
~ * ~
 
I've made my bed, apparently, and now I get to lie in it.  Erin sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress give beneath her weight, and swallowed the hard knot that had formed in her throat. No sense feeling sorry for myself. I knew what I was doing when I chose the path I did.
 
Still, it hurt, knowing she would never see her mother or father again, nor her friends. The modern conveniences she could survive without, as much as she missed them. But knowing that she would never see her family again hurt more than anything. Did I choose right? Did I?  The man had said that there would be sorrow no matter which path she chose, and now she knew why. She had considered all these things when she had made her choice, but it still didn't ease the pain, now that it was done. Now that she knew there was no going back.
 
She rose from the bed and moved to the window, leaning against the casement as she watched the riders below. They were leaving in a matter of moments. If she wanted to say her farewells, she'd better do it now. Her self-pity would have to wait.
 
Grabbing Aragorn's borrowed cloak, she twirled it over her shoulders and fastened it, rubbing her arms against the chill that had settled on her as she made her way to the door. The hallway was busy with the usual activities of the hall, the comings and goings of its people, who paid little notice to the short woman who made her way through them and down the stairs. She passed through the large main doors and crossed the landing, taking the steps quickly. 
 
The main host was already mounted, and she could see Théoden and Éomer talking with Aragorn and Halbarad, their expressions grave. Théoden was shaking his head at whatever Aragorn was telling him, and she could see the determined set to the Ranger’s jaw.  As she drew closer, she could hear their words, but could not understand them, for they spoke in the language of Théoden’s people. 
 
Sighing, she walked past them, not wanting to interrupt what was obviously an important discussion. She spotted Elladan and Elrohir and managed a cheerful grin, making her way to them.
 
“You two were just going to leave, and not even say goodbye,” she accused, coming to a stop at Elladan’s boot, looking up at the elf. “I see how you are.”
 
Thalion shifted slightly, his hooves dancing with eagerness as Elladan grinned down at her. “My apologies, lady. We have been rather busy.”
 
“You had time to say farewell to Lady Éowyn, gwannig,” Elrohir commented with a smirk.
 
“Aye, you did,” Melaphríl agreed, moving his horse next to Elrohir’s, his own smile teasing.
 
Erin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she looked back at Elladan. “Éowyn? Really?”  She was surprised to see the faintest of flushes on the elf’s face. “When did that happen?”
 
“Sometime in the night,” a familiar voice answered from behind her, startling her.
 
Legolas’ dark eyes were bright as she spun on him, giving him a glower. 
 
“You truly get a kick out of scaring me, don’t you?” she groused. 
 
The fair elf nodded. “It amuses me,” he answered easily, turning his smile from her to Elladan. “How is it that you seem to be so lucky in the matters of the heart, cousin?”  He shook his head and sighed. “Not even here one full day, and you have made a conquest of the lady Éowyn.”
 
Elladan glowered down at them, although his gray eyes twinkled with humor. “And how, cousin, did you hear of this?”
 
Legolas laughed. “I did not hear of it, cousin. For it was plain to see as I passed her on my way here. Her eyes beheld only you.”
 
Erin’s eyes widened slightly as she made the connection with several of Éowyn’s comments that had puzzled her earlier. Her friend had wanted to follow Elladan, not Aragorn.  
 
Elladan’s head lifted and his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked ahead of them. “Aragorn is anxious,” he said. “The king would hold him here with his arguments if he could.”
 
Legolas shook his head, his cheerful smile fading. “Nothing that Théoden can say will dissuade him. He has seen what he must do, and the path he must take to achieve it.”  He turned to look at Erin, his smile returning. “Have you come to wish us well?”
 
Erin nodded. “I have.” She turned her head and looked up at the twins and at Melaphríl. “I also wanted to thank the three of you again, for all your help. I would be dead if it wasn’t for you.”  She lifted her chin slightly. “Please be safe and be careful.” She fixed her gaze on Elladan. “Come back alive.”
 
Elladan nodded, his hand touching his heart. “Navaer,” he said. “Until we meet again.” 
 
“You are welcome, Erin,” Melaphríl said quietly. "Do not worry, I will watch over them both." The last was said with a playful grin at his lover.
 
Elrohir rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Navaer, Erin. Be well."
 
Swallowing past the knot in her throat, Erin turned away from them and did not look back. Goodbyes suck, she thought. Especially if I don't know if I'll ever see any of them alive again.  She saw Legolas fall in step beside her and glanced at the elf, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Where's Gimli?"
 
The tall elf pointed ahead of them and gave her a brief grin. "He is standing next to Arod and complaining. He does not wish to ride."
 
They reached the grumbling dwarf and Erin bent to give him a hug, ignoring his sputtering protests that it was undignified for a warrior of his stature.
 
"Hush, Gimli," Legolas told him mildly, a bemused smile curving his lips. "That is the way of women, and you must yield gracefully to it."
 
"Hah," Gimli replied, inwardly pleased. "Then I suppose I should be grateful that only few are witness to it."  He gave the woman an approving look, before turning to Legolas with an aggravated sigh. "Well, are you going to help me up onto this confounded beast or not?"
 
"Aye, Gimli," Legolas replied with at twinkle in his dark eyes. "Should I get you a box, or would you prefer to have me pick you up?"
 
The dwarf stared at him a moment in consternation, before he chuckled. "Hah. Give me your hands, you foolish elf. Pick me up, indeed.”  He placed his foot into the step Legolas formed with his hands and, with the aid of his friend’s strength, was boosted rather ungracefully onto Arod’s back. Gimli perched there nervously, obviously uncomfortable, and Legolas patted his friend’s boot with a grin, before turning back to Erin.
 
“Navaer, mellonen,” he said softly, touching his heart. “Be safe. Be well.”  She hugged him fiercely for a moment, kissing him lightly on the cheek before stepping away. He smiled and shook his head. “Two kisses in one day. Gerin galu,” he chuckled, swinging easily into the saddle in front of Gimli. 
 
Erin raised her hand in farewell and watched him turn Arod and join the others, stifling the sigh that rose within her. She turned and saw Aragorn was mounted as well, guiding his horse behind Halbarad.  He saw her wave and smiled briefly, touching his forehead with his fingers, before turning his horse once more. She watched them ride away without a backwards glance, the thunder of their horses’ hooves fading gradually until there was only the quiet noise of the courtyard filling her ears. 
 
She turned back towards the hall, her steps feeling heavy as she crossed the courtyard. Her eyes fell upon a small figure at the bottom of the steps and she started in surprise.
 
“Merry, what are you still doing here?” she asked, coming to a stop beside him. “I thought you would go with Aragorn and the rest.” 
 
“Aye,” the hobbit replied, his expression somewhat forlorn as he looked up at her. “But I have given my pledge to the king to serve him,” he said. “I gave him my oath on my sword, and now I am in his service.”
 
Erin sat beside him on the step, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, that was awfully brave of you, I suppose. What made you think to do that?”
 
The hobbit shrugged. “I was tired of feeling useless, I suppose. Pippin has gone with Gandalf, and though Aragorn never spoke otherwise, I felt I was a burden to him.”  He managed a small smile as he glanced up at her. “The king has been kind to me, and I was overcome with joy.”  He gave a soft chuckle and shook his curly head. “Treebeard would have said I was hasty, and indeed, perhaps I was.” He gave a soft sigh and leaned against Erin. “But the words have been spoken and I am honor bound by them.”
 
“Do you regret your choice?” Erin asked, playing with his soft blonde curls with her fingertips, not minding his small warmth pressing against her. 
 
“No,” Merry replied with another sigh. “I think I will be of more use here. And there is no sense in regretting what I cannot change.”
 
Erin felt a brief pain in her heart at his words; they mirrored her own thoughts regarding her choice of paths. “I know what you mean, Merry,” she said softly.
 
< > < > <  >
 
Éowyn’s fingers tightly gripped the edge of the stone wall as she watched the rider’s depart, her eyes fixed on the fluttering blue cloak a dark-haired rider as he rode farther and further away. It was difficult to stand and watch him go, but Erin’s words, and Elladan’s parting, had convinced her that her choice to remain behind had been the right one. 
 
The handsome elf had found her shortly after she had brought Erin to her room, letting her obviously troubled friend have some time alone with her thoughts. She had questions – so many that needed answering, but for now, she would let her friend rest. Turning away from the closed door, she had made her way down the long hall and stopped at the top of the stairs. Elladan had been at the bottom, waiting for her.
 
“What is this you wear?” he had asked, his keen eyes noticing the chain mail beneath her tunic immediately, and he gave her a troubled look. He tipped his head slightly and regarded her, his expression carefully neutral. “Is this the fashion among the women of Rohan?”
 
She had pushed past him, giving him a brief smile. “One never knows,” she said with false lightness. “These times are troubled.”
 
He had fallen in step beside her, his hand lightly resting on her arm as they walked. “True enough,” he agreed, before pulling her aside, his hands holding her arms as he looked down at her. “If I did not know better, I would guess that you were planning something foolish.”  His pewter eyes had narrowed for a moment. “You did not strike me as an overly foolish woman.”
 
Éowyn had pulled back slightly. “I know not what you mean,” she said with a light laugh, her heart fluttering at his nearness. “Speak clearly, my Lord, not in riddles.”
 
He had studied her a moment. “Very well, hûn nín. You would not be thinking of following the Grey Company, I hope? For that would be foolish indeed. I would most dislike to take my bow to your pretty backside before I sent you home – the ride would be most uncomfortable.”
 
Éowyn had sputtered in surprise, pulling her arms free of his grasp. “You would not dare!”
 
A dark eyebrow rose as graceful as a raven’s wing. “Would I not?” he had replied. “For I dare much, it seems, these days.”  He reached for her indignant form and pulled her easily into his embrace. Before she could utter protest, he silenced her with a kiss.
 
Against her better judgment, she had found herself melting against him, her hands pressed against the unyielding hardness of his chest as his mouth plundered hers. When he finally released her, she had found it difficult to remember why she had been angry with him.
 
“Promise me you will not follow, melethen,” he had said softly, his thumbs lightly brushing her cheeks as he cradled her face with his hands. “I could not bear the thought of you taking such a dangerous path.”
 
She nodded slowly, and he had kissed her again, his hands gripping her shoulders lightly. “I promise,” she said, when he released her and she could speak. 
 
She had given him and Erin her word that she would not follow, but it was difficult beyond words to watch him leave. 
 
The riders had cleared the city gates and were well beyond them when Éomer found her, standing alone on the terrace overlooking the city.
 
“How fare you, my sister?” he asked quietly, approaching to stand by her side.
 
She glanced up at him and gave him a faint smile. “Well enough, my brother. How is it with you?”
 
He gave her a brief smile in return, before settling his weight on his arms as he leaned against the stone wall. “I am well, though troubled by our friend’s departure.” He shook his head, his expression tightening. “Lord Aragorn is brave beyond reckoning, or foolish beyond measure.”
 
Éowyn’s chin lifted slightly. “He is brave. Nothing he undertakes is done lightly or without consideration.”
 
Éomer gave a soft chuckle. “If I did not know better, I would say you are smitten by him, dear one. Yet I was not the only witness to your encounter with the elf lord in the hall. Many eyes saw him kiss you, and you kiss him in return.”
 
Her eyes widened slightly, but she detected no disapproval in his tone. “It does not trouble you?” she asked softly, turning to face him.
 
Her brother shook his head again. “Nay, dear one. It does not. For I have seen this one in battle, and have had the pleasure of knowing him these past days. He seems an honorable elf; indeed, he is the foster-brother of Lord Aragorn, who speaks highly of him.  And he was gentle with the lady Erin, he and his brother both.” He saw her glance away and frowned. “What is it?”
 
“Erin is not well. I spoke with her in the stables earlier this morning, and she was in a mood more than passing strange.” Éowyn shook her head slightly. “She is troubled.”
 
“She is a stranger in a strange land,” Éomer replied easily. “These times are dark. It is no wonder, then, that she would be troubled.”
 
Éowyn nodded. “Your words are true enough, yet I do not believe that is what is ailing her. She will not speak of it to me.” She glanced up at her brother, frowning. “She believes I will think her mad.” 
 
Éomer did not bother to hide his surprise. “Mad? How so? She seems frightened, no more,” he said, remembering how she trembled against him, clinging to him in terror when the winged shadow passed over their heads, and again, when he had killed the orc. 
 
His sister did not answer for a moment; instead she fiddled with the sleeves of her gown, glad she had changed before coming to watch the riders depart. Éomer would no more have been fooled than Elladan by her explanation of her garb; he knew her too well. Finally she lifted her head and met his gaze. “If she will not speak to me, then perhaps she will to you? She regards you most kindly.” Éowyn managed a faint teasing smile at her older and handsome brother. 
 
He shifted slightly under her gaze, wondering if Erin had told his sister about the stolen kiss at Helm’s Deep. “No more than you, dear sister,” he said.
 
Éowyn shook her fair head. “You saved her life on the plains. She trusts you, I think, more so than myself at the moment. Will you speak to her?”
 
Éomer shrugged. “She was sitting on the steps, speaking with Meriadoc when I passed her. She did not look too troubled.” He saw the stubborn glint in Éowyn’s eye and hastily retreated. “Aye, I will speak to her, if it will ease your mind.”  He was startled when his sister embraced him, placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. 
 
“Thank you, brother,” Éowyn said softly, smiling up at him.
 
~ * ~
 
Merry had wandered off to find something to eat and Erin found herself climbing the steps once more, wondering what she was going to do with herself. Others in the hall obviously had tasks they were appointed to fulfill. She didn’t have anything. 
 
Maybe that’s something I’d better ask Éowyn about, Erin thought, stepping through the hall doors. Maybe she’ll let me be her maid or something. The thought depressed her. She was just three months shy of earning her Master’s degree in English literature, with a possible career in teaching or writing. Now, it appeared, she was good for nothing more than menial labor. Maybe I should have considered that when I made my choice, she thought. 
 
Tears formed in her eyes and she ducked her head, not wanting anyone to see them as she made her way quickly up the steps that led to her room. She held them back, managing to reach her room without bawling, and closed the door behind her.
 
What was I thinking?
 
She buried her head in her hands and let the tears come.
 
Chapter 2
 
“My Lord, my Lord, runner from the plains!” 
 
Éomer paused in mid-stride and turned to meet the young boy who served as a runner between the main gate of the city and the great hall.
 
“Catch your breath, Éothain,” he said kindly, looking down at the small blonde boy who was struggling to speak even as his lungs heaved for air. 
 
Éothain nodded, pleased that the Third Marshall had remembered his name. It took him several moments before his breathing had slowed enough that he could finally speak his message.
 
“My Lord, a runner has just arrived at the gate. There is a great party of elves riding towards Edoras. They are about  a day’s ride away,” the young boy said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his bare and dirty arm. 
 
Éomer nodded. This was not unexpected news, though he was surprised that Lord Celeborn had arrived so quickly.
 
“Are we to muster the riders?” Éothain asked eagerly, his eyes bright and hopeful.
 
He shook his head with a short laugh. “Nay, Éothain. They are welcome. Thank you for delivering your message.” Éomer eyed the skinny boy for a moment. “Are you expected to return to the gates?” he asked.
 
Éothain shook his head, blonde hair flying. “Nay, my Lord. I am done for the day.”
 
“Then go to the kitchen and see if the cooks can find you something to eat before you go home. But do not linger. I do not wish to have your mother worry if you are late returning from your duties,” Éomer said with a kind smile. 
 
“Yes, my Lord,” Éothain replied with a grin that lit up his whole face. “Thank you.”
 
Éomer watched the small boy scamper away and shook his head, chuckling softly. Ever since Éothain had arrived at Edoras with his younger sister bearing the message that their village was being attacked, he had felt an obligation to the boy and his fatherless family. He had made sure that his mother, Morwen, had a place to stay in the city, and had given Éothain the responsibility of carrying messages to and from the great gates. Though he was still quite skinny, he had filled out a little over the past few weeks – Éomer made sure he got a hot meal in the kitchen at least once whenever he was on duty. 
 
He took the stone steps that led to the great doors two at a time, knowing he needed to deliver the news of Lord Celeborn’s impending arrival with his army to the King. 
 
~ * ~
 
Erin dried her face on the rough towel and hung it carefully beside the small basin of water she had used to wash her face. Her eyes felt sore from crying, and she knew if she looked in the mirror they would be red and her face would be pink and splotchy looking. 
 
Despite knowing she probably looked a mess, she felt better. Crying had helped – the overwhelming gamut of emotions that she had been inundated with since the whole weird man/woman incident had been released with her tears, and she found herself thinking more clearly about her situation. 
 
She was supposed to be here. The whole bit about her soul being born in the wrong world was a bit hard to take, but she accepted it, just as she had accepted that the man and woman had spoke through her to Éowyn. Once she accepted that, she realized the truth of their words to her – and why it was that she had always felt this sense of longing so deep within her, as if she was searching for something to complete her. School and friends had helped to fill the empty ache inside her, as had her relationship with her fiancé, though part of her realized that she had simply buried her longing, trying to keep herself occupied so she would not dwell on it. When her fiancé had betrayed her with another, the longing had returned with a vengeance, and with it, a steadily growing sense of helpless depression that she was unable to pull herself out of. 
 
How Professor Taggit played into all of this was a mystery to her. If it had not been for his suggestion to go camping, Erin wondered if she would have ever come here, or if the Valar would have found another way. 
 
Her parents were another issue entirely. 
 
She missed them. God, how she missed them, and knowing that she would never see either of them made her throat close up in an aching, painful knot.  There was no getting around it, and the sorrow she felt at losing them warred with her sense of completeness.
 
It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t have both.
 
Erin sat down on the bed and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and hugging them to her.  She had her hearts truest desire: a place where she no longer felt the painful emptiness and longing for some unnamed need. She understood what that need was now – had a word for it that described it perfectly.
 
Home.
 
The price had been high, but if she was given the chance to make the choice again, Erin knew she would choose no differently.  She could not go back to the way she had been before, especially not after knowing what it was she had been missing all her life. 
 
The funny thing about it was that she had initially assumed that her decision to stay in this world had something to do with being in love – and while it had been on her mind at the time, it was not the deciding factor at all. She had definite feelings for certain individuals – she couldn’t deny that any longer, but in the end, her feelings for them had played little part in her decision. And if she was going to be honest with herself, her feelings for them went little beyond basic physical attraction – she knew little of their strength of character, or even if they had any common ground to work with. 
 
With a sigh, she stretched out on her bed and closed her eyes. I wouldn’t mind finding out, though. She managed a faint smile at the thought, before sleep claimed her. 

~ * ~
 
Éomer’s golden eyebrows rose in surprise at his sister’s suggestion.
 
“Take her with me?” he repeated, buckling the sword at his hip. “To meet Lord Celeborn’s army?”  He shook his head. “Why would she want to go?”
 
Éowyn folded her arms and looked up at her brother with impatience. “Because she spent time with the elves and perhaps seeing them again will bring her out of this strange mood that has taken her. And it would give you an opportunity to talk to her without her running away. She has locked herself in her room and has not come out. She tells me to come back later – she will not talk to me.”  She handed him his cloak and watched him fasten it with the golden horse shaped clip. “It is not a dangerous journey you are undertaking; surely it can be no hardship for you to take her.”
 
“Aye, that is true,” Éomer agreed with a brief smile. It would certainly be no hardship to spend some time with Erin, and perhaps have the opportunity to learn more about her. He carried the memory of their brief encounter at Helm’s Deep with a sense of pleasure that surprised him, but he found it at odds with what Éowyn was telling him. The woman he had held in the alcove had not been the troubled creature his sister described. Finally he nodded his agreement. 
 
“We are leaving soon. Send her to the stables as soon as she is ready,” he said. “I will have Silhafel saddled for her.”  He watched his sister leave and shook his head. If he did not truly believe that his sister was worried about her friend, he would suspect her of matchmaking.
 
~ * ~
 
Erin heard the knock on her door and lifted her head. 
 
“Who is it?” she called, rubbing her face with her hand, trying to wipe the sleep from her eyes.
 
“It is Éowyn. May I come in?” 
 
With a sigh she felt to her toes, Erin rolled out of the bed and onto her feet. “Yes, come in.”
 
The door opened and the lady of Rohan entered, closing the door behind her. A quick glance at Erin had her frowning.
 
“You cannot wear that,” Éowyn said with a shake of her head. “You need to change quickly if you are to go with them.”
 
“Go with who?” Erin followed her friend’s progress as she rifled through the small bit of clothing in the chest at the foot of the bed. “What are you talking about?”
 
Éowyn held up a pair of russet colored breeches and a cream colored shirt. “This will do.” She smiled up at her friend. “You are going with Éomer and the others to greet Lord Celeborn. They are a day’s ride from the city, and I thought you would like to see your friends again.  I asked Éomer to take you.”
 
Erin took a deep breath, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that, Éowyn,” she said softly. “I could wait until they get here, though I am looking forward to seeing them again.”  She couldn’t help but wonder if Rúmil and Orophin would be with Lord Celeborn, and she felt a brief surge of hopeful excitement at the thought of seeing them again.
 
The lady shook her head. “No, you should meet them,” Éowyn said with a brief smile, seeing the look in her friend’s eyes. “And I think it will do you good to get out of this room for a bit,” she added softly, her smile fading.
 
Erin sighed. “I’m sorry, Éowyn. I went off the deep end there for a bit. I’m better now. I was going to come and find you when I woke from my nap.”  She took the clothing from her friend and set it carefully on the bed. “I’m ready to face the world again – and tell you what’s going on.”
 
Éowyn nodded, and her smile returned. “I am most glad to hear that, Erin. However, you can tell me everything when you get back.” She picked up the clothing and thrust it into Erin’s arms. “Hurry, my brother is waiting for you.”
 
She dressed quickly, tossing her rumpled jeans and sweatshirt aside for the leggings and tunic Éowyn had picked out. She sat down on the bed and laced her boots, glancing up at her friend.
 
“Thank you for being patient with me,” Erin said honestly. “I – I needed the time alone to think a bit.”
 
“I know,” Éowyn said with a nod. “I was not offended by your need for privacy. I have been worried.”  She watched Erin wrap her cloak around her shoulders and shook her head at the ragged condition of it, making a mental note that her friend desperately needed more clothing. “That was why I asked Éomer to take you with him.”
 
Erin smiled faintly. “I don’t understand.”
 
Her friend gave her a measuring look. “Éomer is a good listener. Talk to him, Erin. Though you say you are ready to face the world again, I see the shadow of grief that lingers in your eyes.”  Éowyn reached out and took her hand with her own. “Let him help you.”

~ * ~
 
The wind caught the edge of her cloak and whipped it behind her as she took the steps that led to the courtyard. Éomer met her halfway, nodding approvingly at her choice of clothing, and Erin silently thanked Éowyn for making her change. 
 
“Thank you for taking me along,” she said, feeling somewhat shy as she walked beside him. 
 
“You are welcome,” Éomer replied, glancing down at his small companion, struck again at how slight she was compared to his greater height. “I had Silhafel saddled for you.”
 
Erin followed him down the gently sloping path to the stables. “I’m not much of a rider,” she said when they reached the others. Seven other riders were already mounted, and a young groom held Éomer’s horse and hers. “I’m more of a passenger.”
 
Éomer took the reins of her horse from the groom and handed them to her. “Then that is something we shall have to remedy, is it not?” he said with a brief smile.
 
Strong hands covered her fingers, guiding them as he showed her how to bring the reins up around the horse’s neck. He held her left hand at Silhafel’s withers for a moment, and instructed her to put her left foot in the stirrup, facing the horse’s hindquarters. At his direction, she gave a couple of experimental ‘bounces’ before trying to swing her right leg over the saddle and almost made it.  His hands caught her before she lost her balance and boosted her the rest of the way up. She settled into the saddle, her cheeks flushed with her efforts and embarrassment.
 
Éomer patted Silhafel’s neck, and gave Erin an encouraging smile. “You did not do badly, for a novice.”  He noted the positioning of her legs with approval. “Your placement is good, but keep your heels down.”  He placed his hand on the curve of her lower back, straightening her posture.
 
Erin felt her stomach flutter at his nearness; his casual touch sending her pulse racing, and she could feel the warmth of his hand linger even after he had removed it from her back. 
 
He mounted his horse with fluid ease, settling into the saddle and turning his mount. “You ride beside me, lady,” he said. “Squeeze your legs against Silhafel to get her to move forward. Let her know you are in control.”
 
Nodding, she did as he instructed, and was delighted when the mare began to walk forward. “How do I steer?” she asked with a laugh.
 
The ride to meet the elves was filled with Éomer’s patient instructions on how to guide her horse, how to keep her seat properly, and how to get the placid mare to follow her commands. When the sun had finally begun its descent into the distant horizon, Erin felt as if she had a much better grasp of riding, though she was still little more than a passenger. 
 
Éomer called a halt for the night, and the others busied themselves with making camp, while he showed Erin how to remove Silhafel’s tack. Thanks to Melaphríl’s previous instructions, she had a pretty good grasp on grooming, and delighted in showing him that she knew how to brush and check the mare’s feet for stones or other obstructions. Through it all, Silhafel remained patient, and Erin thanked the mare with an apple that Éomer had handed her. 
 
Silhafel’s mouth was soft, like living velvet as it moved over her palm, taking the proffered apple gently and crunching it between her large teeth, and Erin couldn’t help but smile. She had always liked horses, but she’d never had any experience with them before her arrival in Middle Earth. The mare was content to stand quietly, letting her scratch and pet her soft nose, and as Erin talked to her, she noticed that the mare’s black tipped ears would swivel forward, as if focusing on her. 
 
Éomer watched Erin out of the corner of his eye as he sat next to the fire, listening to the men of his chosen group talk quietly amongst themselves as they ate their simple meal of dried meat and bread. He had set aside a portion for her, but did not wish to interrupt her time with the mare; the quiet time she spent simply talking and touching the mare helped to form the important bond a horse and rider needed. Silhafel needed to become accustomed to the sound of Erin’s voice and her touch, and Erin needed to learn to pick up the non-verbal cues the mare gave her. It was something that every child in Rohan learned practically from infancy, but  it was apparent that she had no such experience to fall back on. 
 
He took a sip of his water, setting the canteen beside him, glancing across the fire once more. The scene made him smile; Erin was leaning against Silhafel’s warm hide and talking to the mare as she cropped the grass nearby. He had done that himself countless times; there was something comforting about the warmth of their bodies, and in knowing that they were listening without judgment. 
 
Darkness had begun to settle when he finally rose from his seat, making his way across the campsite.
 
“You should eat something,” he said as he reached her side, reaching out to scratch Silhafel’s withers. “Are you hungry?” He cast her a glance, silently admiring the way the light from the fire cast red highlights in her dark hair. 
 
Erin looked up at him, still leaning against Silhafel’s warm side, enjoying her dusky smell. “Yes,” she admitted, stifling a sigh. The mare chose that moment to move away, seeking a lush patch of grass, and Erin was forced to step away. “She won’t run off, will she?”
 
Éomer shook his head. “No. Our horses are trained not to wander. Come, I saved some food for you.”
 
She dropped the brush and hoof pick beside the tack, and followed him towards the fire. The other men looked up and nodded politely as she passed them, and she gave them a brief smile in return, recognizing Halig and Gamling among them. She accepted the hard roll and piece of dried meat from Éomer, settling herself on the grass close to the fire. Wordlessly he handed her his canteen, and she thanked him, eyeing the meat with curiosity, wondering if she dared to ask what animal it had come from.
 
“Its deer meat,” Éomer told her, catching her look. “It is quite good.”
 
Erin took a tentative bite and chewed it, smiling at the flavor. It tasted a lot like beef jerky, though it was a bit stronger tasting. She didn’t mind, though, and took another bite with more enthusiasm, watching Éomer as he rose and made the rounds with his men. His handsome face was serious and intent as he discussed one point or another with Halig and Gamling, their voices low, and she took the opportunity to observe him without his noticing. 
 
He had been nothing but kind and courteous to her since the Grey Company had met with the men of Rohan, giving no indication that anything had passed between them previously. It was understandable, she thought with a small sigh. He probably kissed women on a regular basis, and it had obviously just been a spur of the moment type of thing with him. He had enjoyed it; that she had no doubt of, but it was becoming apparent to her that it hadn’t lingered in his mind the way it had in hers. Even with the more than pleasant distraction that Rúmil and Orophin had given her during her stay in Lothlórien, she still found herself thinking of the way his lips felt against hers, the gentle strength in his large hands, and the feel of his body.
 
The way he had held her so protectively when the winged shadow had threatened them, and the way he had comforted her when the orc had nearly killed her, had given her hope that perhaps he might possibly be interested in her – even just a little. Since then, however, he had given no outward sign of any interest, and she was beginning to think it was nothing more than a passing fantasy  of hers – much like her early infatuation with Legolas; something that would eventually pass given time. 
 
Still it was hard to forget the way he had made her feel, the way he had awakened her desire, and watching him now as he talked quietly with his men made her wish that she knew more about him. 
 
Éowyn had told her he was a good listener, but Erin wasn’t used to talking about her feelings, and she wasn’t sure she would be comfortable sharing them with someone she hardly knew. She would never have shared her feelings with Legolas if the elf hadn’t pestered it out of her using his otherworldly wiles. She took another bite of meat and hid her smile; perhaps if Éomer used his handsome wiles on her…Erin snorted and nearly choked on her food.
 
She finished her meal, washing it down with the slightly warm water from the canteen, setting it beside her feet. She saw that all but Éomer and Hedrig were settling into their bedrolls for the evening, and decided that they had the right idea. The day felt like it had lasted about twice as long as a normal day, and she was more than tired, despite her brief nap in her room. 
 
Was it only this morning that she had confronted Éowyn in the stables? It seemed like days ago. As she settled into her bedroll, trying without success to find a comfortable position on the hard ground, she found herself wondering how her friend was faring.
 
The news about Éowyn and Elladan had been a surprise, and she found herself envying her friend more than just a little. Of course, Éowyn didn’t seem to have the hang-ups about relationships that she did, Erin thought ruefully. She supposed if she was ever going to find happiness in the love department, she was going to have to let herself take chances. Galadriel’s words in the glade of the mirror came to her. Do not judge all men by the actions of one. Sound advice, she thought sleepily. I should heed it.
 
~ * ~
 
Silhafel followed Éomer’s horse obediently, although Erin held the reins and occasionally nudged the mare in one particular direction or the other, just because she now knew she could. For the mare’s part, she seemed very patient with Erin’s sometimes confusing commands, the flickering of her ears the only indication of her annoyance when her rider’s commands did not make sense. 
 
The morning was warm, though the sky was overcast and silvery gray clouds hung heavy above the riders, and Erin found herself wishing she could shed her cloak at least.  She wasn’t comfortable enough with riding, however, to attempt to take it off while the horse was moving. She was afraid such a maneuver would end with her face down in the dirt while Silhafel looked at her with equine amusement. 
 
Once again, Éomer had been kind enough to have the mare saddled for her, though he did have her watch the process, naming the bits of tack and demonstrating how it was properly fitted and adjusted so as not to cause rubbing or sores. He had held Silhafel’s head while she mounted, and she had to admit she did it better this time. There’s hope for me yet, she thought with a smile.
 
“It is good to see you smile, lady,” Éomer remarked and she glanced up in surprise, not realizing he had dropped back to ride beside her. “You seem to be feeling better.”  He rode easily, his tall body swaying slightly with his horse’s rocking gait. He held his helmet in front of him, his fingers curled around its edge, the white hairs of the tassel fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze. 
 
Erin shrugged. “I guess I am. Yesterday wasn’t such a good day.” She gave him a brighter smile. “Today is better.”
 
“Why was yesterday so terrible for you?” he asked quietly, moving his horse sideways in a clever move that she couldn’t help but admire so that their horses were closer together. “Was it due to the departure of your friends?” he asked gently.
 
“Yes and no,” she answered with another shrug, unsure how to explain things to him. “I hated to see them leave, but it wasn’t that, really.” She glanced forward for a moment, watching the rolling grass ahead of them wave in the breeze. “I think it’s because I finally realized that I’m here to stay. I can’t go back to my own land now, and it made me sad.”
 
“Did you leave loved ones behind?” he asked, his brown eyes full of sympathy.
 
She nodded, looking back at him. “My parents. I’ll miss the friends I made in school, but I miss my parents the most.”
 
They rode in companionable silence for a moment, before he spoke again, his voice soft. “It is difficult to lose one’s parents at any age.”
 
Erin’s eyes widened slightly. “You lost your parents?”  
 
“When Éowyn and I were but children, our father was slain fighting orcs on the borders of Emyn Muil. Mother took ill shortly after his death and never recovered. When she passed, our uncle took us in and raised us as his own.”  Éomer gave her a sad smile. “He grieves still, I think, for his sister was as dear to him as my Éowyn is to me.”
 
“Oh, Éomer, I’m sorry,” Erin said. “How terrible that must have been for you both.”
 
He nodded. “It was very hard,” he admitted softly. “I still miss them.”  
 
Erin swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “At least I had both my parents growing up. I guess I should count myself lucky,” she said, shaking her head.
 
Éomer gave her a real smile this time. “Lucky, indeed. But do not belittle your grief. You will always miss them, but the pain will ease as time passes.” 
 
His smile warmed her and she found herself looking away, studying the countryside they passed to hide the flush on her cheeks. Silence fell between them once more, but Erin was extremely aware of him as he rode beside her, the way his body moved as if it were merely an extension of the horse, the sound of his armor as it shifted with the subtle swaying of his body. She wanted to break the silence between them, but was at a loss for words. 
 
Éomer stole glances at his companion, noticing the stiff way she rode and the way the wind played with the fine brown strands of her hair.  Her quiet strength in the face of her loss moved him; he knew too well what it was like to suffer such a loss. Though her parents were not dead, apparently, they were just as lost to her. Too well could he understand how she felt. It was no puzzle to him, then, that Erin had not spoken to anyone for nearly a day. He only wish he understood more about her – where she came from, how it was that she could no longer return home.
 
“Will you tell me about your land?” he asked finally, shifting his grip on his helmet as he glanced at her.
 
Erin swatted at a bug that was flying around her head, giving him a wry grin in the process. “I will, though it’s going to sound really strange to you.” The bug that had been flying circles around her head apparently got tired of being swatted at and flew away, much to her relief. It didn’t look like a bee, exactly, but it definitely had a mean and biting look about it that Erin didn’t like. She adjusted her grip on Silhafel’s reins and took a deep breath. “I’m not from Middle Earth at all,” she began, when the mare let out a sudden squeal. Erin had time to think oh crap, before she was hanging on for dear life as her horse bolted.
 
Scenery flashed by her in a tan and green blur as Silhafel galloped across the plains, trying to escape whatever it was that had made her squeal. Erin felt her seat shift precariously and she clung to the saddle, loosing both reins in the process. She barely had time to register that the mare might step on them when Silhafel stumbled forward, and unceremoniously pitched Erin from her back and onto the hard ground.
 
The impact knocked the wind out of her, and for a moment, all Erin could do was struggle to catch her breath, her shoulder and recently bruised ribs throbbing from the fall. A shadow fell over her face, and she looked up.
 
“Hello, gwilwileth,” an amused voice said. “That was a most interesting dismount. Did you mean to do that?”
 
Her breath had finally returned and she let out a soft groan. “Hello, Orophin.”
 
~ * ~
 
She was in pain, but it was nothing compared to the embarrassment of knowing that the entire contingent of elves had seen her ungraceful and sudden dismount. Her embarrassment only intensified as she realized that the seven Rohirrim, Éomer included, had seen it as well.
 
Orophin was helping her to rise when Éomer returned with Silhafel, leading the mare behind him.  Lord Celeborn and the rest of the elves had stopped their horses and were looking down at the scene with barely contained amusement.  Her irritation only increased when Orophin made a show of brushing the grass from her tunic, his gray eyes twinkling with mischief when his hands strayed to delicate areas. She smacked his hands away and turned to Éomer, her hands resting on her hips.
 
“What happened?” she demanded, giving her errant mount a glare.
 
Éomer’s face was concerned, though she caught a brief flash of humor in his eyes. “I believe Silhafel was stung by the grass wasp you were swatting at. I did not have time to warn you before she took off. I am sorry I did not catch up to you before you fell.”  He dismounted fluidly, handing both sets of reins to Halig. “Are you all right? You are not hurt?”
 
“I’m fine,” Erin said, glancing at Orophin, who had moved closer to her as Éomer approached. “Just bruised – both my body and my ego. I’ll survive.”
 
Éomer glanced curiously at the tall elf standing next to Erin, wondering at the almost protective posture the warrior held, before looking back at her. “You are certain you are uninjured?”
 
“I’m alright,” she answered, turning to look at Celeborn. “Hello, Lord Celeborn. It’s wonderful to see you again.”
 
The Lord of Lothlórien gave her a small smile. “Mae Govannen, Erin Smith. I did not expect to see you here.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I certainly did not expect to see you racing across the plains to greet us.”  He turned his attention to Éomer and inclined his head slightly, his hand touching his heart. “I give you greetings.”
 
Éomer bowed politely in return. “Welcome and well met, Lord Celeborn. I am Éomer, son of Éomund. We are here to escort you to Edoras. I trust your journey was untroubled?”
 
Celeborn nodded. “It was indeed.  We came across the burnt corpses of orcs yesterday, and I was sorrowful to see that there were men and elves among the fallen. Do you know aught of it?”
 
“Aye,” Éomer replied, tucking his helmet under his arm. “We came across them as we returned from Isengard, and my men and the Grey Company slaughtered them to the last. Though we had losses, they were thankfully few.”
 
“Ah,” Celeborn inclined his head slightly. “How fare the men and elves of the Grey Company? What news can you give me of them?”
 
Éomer dropped his head, his expression one of regret. “Lord Aragorn has led the Grey Company to the Paths of the Dead. I fear we will never hear of them again, for no living man has passed that way and returned.”  He looked up and was surprised to see the elf lord smile. 
 
“Do not be worried for them,” Celeborn said gently. “It will be well.”
 
~ * ~
 
“You must get back on the horse,” Éomer said patiently. “Only then will you conquer your fear.”
 
Erin eyed him and snorted. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t just get dumped in the dirt.” 
 
He smiled, shaking his head. “I have fallen from a horse more than once, lady. Every rider among you has taken a tumble at one time or another. If you are going to learn how to ride, you must not let your fear overcome you. You must overcome it instead.”
 
She sighed, shifting her weight from one foot to another, well aware that the others were waiting for her to get back on the horse so they could leave. “Can’t I just ride behind someone else for now?” she asked hopefully.
 
Éomer frowned. “You expressed an interest in learning how to ride, lady. Do you mean to tell me you no longer wish to be more than a passenger?”
 
“No. I guess not.” She sighed again.
 
“Then you must get back on the horse.”  He handed the reins to her. “Come, you can do this. Show me the strength I know you possess. You fought an orc with only a small knife to protect you. Surely this is easier.”
 
“Nearly got killed by an orc, you mean,” she retorted, but gave him a brief smile. Making sure she had the reins properly in place, Erin placed her foot in the stirrup and took a deep breath. I can do this. I won’t be afraid. With a little boost from Éomer, she managed to swing her leg over and settle herself on Silhafel’s back. The mare’s ears flicked back at her, acknowledging her presence. 
 
“Pat her neck, let her know you are there. She is unsettled as you are by what has happened,” he told her encouragingly. “Trust me in this, lady. Silhafel does not make a habit of losing riders.”
 
Erin watched him mount his horse and patted the mare on her neck, speaking softly. “You didn’t mean to toss me like unwanted luggage, did you Silhafel,” she said. “You won’t do it again, I hope.”  The mare’s ears flicked forward and back, listening to Erin’s words. “Good girl.”  The more she talked, the more at ease she felt, and when the party of Rohirrim and elves moved forward at last, Erin was at least a little more comfortable in the saddle. 
 
Éomer rode beside her again, keeping a watchful eye on the young woman, seeing her stiff posture begin to relax slightly as they rode. Though it had literally been years since he had been thrown from a horse as she had been, he understood her fear. He was glad to see she had not given into it.  He glanced at the elves riding behind them, and spotted the tall elf that had been standing next to Erin earlier. Though it was difficult to tell from a distance, he could almost feel the elf’s gaze upon them.
 
“Who was the elf with you?” he asked finally, turning back to look at Erin. “You seemed to know him.”
 
Erin laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Oh, you could say that. His name is Orophin. He and his brother, Rúmil, were my escorts when I went to Lothlórien.”
 
Éomer wondered at the color on her cheeks and the way she was avoiding his gaze, his brow furrowing slightly as he recalled the elf’s almost protective stance over the small woman. He wondered if there was something more to their relationship than that of a simple escort. He could not ask her, of course. Truthfully, it was none of his business, though he had to admit to the brief flare of jealousy he had felt when he had reached her, and found the elf helping her to her feet. He had no right to feel jealous, but he had felt it nonetheless. 
 
Erin couldn’t help but glance back at the elves riding behind them, and she spotted Orophin easily, riding three riders back from Lord Celeborn. She searched the faces of the elves in front of him and grinned, finally finding Haldir riding directly behind his Lord. She continued to scan faces but did not see Rúmil’s among them, and wondered where he was. Perhaps, if she got the chance, she could ask Orophin or Haldir later.
 
Seeing Orophin again had been a bit of a shock at first. It wasn’t that she was surprised to see him with Lord Celeborn’s army; it was more of a physical reaction to seeing him again. Her body remembered his touch only too well. When Legolas had asked her about her feelings for Orophin and Rúmil, it had been easy to say that she would not go to them again; after all, they were in Lothlórien and she was in Edoras. Now, faced with the reality of it, she wasn’t so sure. 
 
With a heavy sigh, she pushed the thought away and turned forward once more, looking between Silhafel’s ears the way Éomer had taught her. 
 
“You were going to tell me about your land before,” Éomer said, sidling his horse closer. “I would like to hear your tale, if you will share it with me.”
 
Erin smiled briefly, glancing at him. “What do you want to know?”
 
He adjusted his grip on his helmet and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Tell me about your family, if it does not trouble you to speak of them.”
 
She nodded. “All right.”  
 
As they rode, she found herself telling Éomer about growing up, moving from city to city, even to different countries every few years, whenever her father was relocated to a new military base. She told him about her trouble with making friends because of it, and how difficult it was for her as she grew older to enjoy the simple things that girls her age took for granted. It wasn’t until her father finally retired to Washington State that Erin had begun to finally make long lasting relationships with her school mates, yet even then, she didn’t have many that she could call close friends. She glossed over her difficulties with boyfriends, not feeling very comfortable sharing that bit of information with him, but she did tell him that she had been engaged to be married, and had only recently broken off that engagement due to her fiancé’s affair with another woman. She also shared with him the feeling of growing despair that had finally engulfed her shortly after ending her engagement. It surprised her how easy it was to tell him these things. He made no judgmental comments while she poured out her uncertainty and unhappiness, and she realized that Éowyn was right: he was a good listener. 
 
“So, your mentor sent you on a camping trip? Alone?” He did not bother to hide his surprise. “Do women of your land do that often?”
 
Erin shrugged. “My world is not as dangerous in some ways as this one; we don’t have orcs running about ready to slaughter anything that gets in their way. And the place I went to was still pretty close to civilization, so I really wasn’t worried about it.”  She gave him a grin. “I was mostly worried about bears.”
 
He shook his head. “Strange your land must be. Then what happened?” 
 
Erin hesitated. This was where things started to get weird, and she wasn’t sure how well he would accept it. She took a deep breath and decided she might as well spill it. Hopefully he wouldn’t think she was nuts. “I had a really rotten time camping; I couldn’t get my fire started, and it was raining and cold. I finally gave up and went to bed, and then I couldn’t sleep at first, because it was too quiet.”  She took another deep breath. “I heard this noise and it woke me up. I thought it was a bear. I didn’t get really scared until it pushed on my tent.”  
 
Éomer’s eyebrows rose and he nodded for her to continue.
 
“Well, it wasn’t a bear, though I didn’t know it at the time. I got my flashlight and I turned it on and shined through the tent and yelled as loud as I could – hoping that it would scare the animal away. I guess it worked, or something, because it left.  The next thing I hear is a tap on my tent, and voices outside of it.”  She shook her head. “I was actually more scared at that point than I was when I thought the bear was outside.”
 
“You were alone and unarmed,” Éomer said. “It is understandable.”
 
“Right,” Erin said, giving him a smile. “I was hoping that it was maybe a park ranger, and not some crazies out to do me bodily harm. Anyway, I finally opened my tent flap and there is this scruffy looking guy who looks like he hasn’t bathed in at least a week, staring down at me. I don’t know who was more surprised, him or me.”  She laughed shortly. “That’s how I met Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli.”
 
Several things about Erin’s explanation bothered him. He did not recognize the names of any of the places she said she had lived in, though he was not completely familiar with the lands that lay outside of the Riddermark. But her description of going camping in one place, and waking in an entirely different one, made him uneasy. It sounded like magic to him, and like most Rohirrim, he did not entirely trust things of magic. 
 
He shifted in the saddle. “Do you know how you came to be here?” he asked finally.
 
Erin sighed and looked away. “It’s a really long story involving things I’m still not sure I really believe. Suffice it to say that the powers that be decided I belonged here, and after being here over a month, I had to agree with them.”  It was an oversimplified version of events, but she didn’t think he would believe the whole story. 
 
They rode on in silence, Éomer casting occasional glances at her as they passed through the tall grass of the plains. He felt that there was more to her story than what she had told him, but he did not believe it was right for him to press her if she did not wish to tell him. Despite their shared experiences, he realized with some regret that they were little more than strangers.  He had to admit that part of him hoped that one day, it would no longer be that way.

Chapter 3
 
Thus spoke Malbeth the Seer:
Over the land there lies a long shadow,
westward reaching wings of darkness.
The Tower trembles; to the tombs of kings
doom approaches.  The Dead awaken;
for the hour is come for the oathbreakers:
at the Stone of Erech they shall stand again
and hear there a horn in the hills ringing.
Whose shall the horn be?  Who shall call them
from the grey twilight, the forgotten people?
The heir of him to whom the oath they swore.
From the North shall he come, need shall drive him:
he shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead.
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
 
A cold wind had begun to blow, and Melaphríl pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he guided his horse behind Elrohir’s. He could see their destination ahead of them, and he shivered from a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the wind. He was not afraid, but he could not deny the sense of foreboding that filled him as he gazed at the great door that opened like a black and hungry mouth into the side of the mountain.
 
This was a place of great evil and despair.
 
Even their horses could sense it, and would not pass the great standing stone that pointed like a finger of doom to the door that lead to the Paths of the Dead. 
 
Melaphríl dismounted with the others of the Grey Company, and calmed his horse with quiet words and touches. The elves moved among the men of the company and quieted those few horses that would not be calmed by their riders. With much coaxing, they led their horses past the long shadow cast by the stone. 
 
The men of the company were pale and silent as they walked. The elves seemed untouched by the chill, though Melaphríl saw several of them pull their cloaks around them as he had done. Only Aragorn seemed to be unaffected as he led them towards the doorway. 
 
“I do not like this place,” Elrohir said quietly, glancing at him. “There is a great darkness here that penetrates every living thing, and taints it with its evil.”
 
“Aye,” Melaphríl replied. “I feel it as well.”
 
The Grey Company came to a halt in front of the great door. Signs and figures were carved into the arch, but they were too dim with age to read. The sense of dread deepened within Melaphríl, as if it flowed from the black mouth of the doorway itself.  He glanced at Elrohir and saw his own unease mirrored in the half-elf’s expression. 
 
Aragorn led them, and they followed, though it took some skill to calm their horses once more, coaxing them to be led through the doorway. Darkness threatened to swallow them, and torches were lit. Elladan carried one, as did Aragorn, and others were scattered throughout the rest of the men and elves, though the feeble light they elicited did little to dispel the blackness. Elrohir walked beside him, and without a word, he accepted the hand that his lover held out for him and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
 
There was a sound that could barely be heard above the echoing of their horses’ hooves against the stone; a low, murmuring whisper that left him cold. He held no fear of the dead, but the whispering voices in the darkness made him uneasy.
 
Aragorn gave a shout ahead of them, and Melaphríl followed Elrohir towards where the Ranger and Elladan had stopped. Aragorn was crouched, holding his torch high above him, examining what he had found.
 
“What is it?” Elrohir asked, moving forward to join his brothers. 
 
Aragorn looked up at them and shook his head. “It is a man, or rather, it was.”  
 
Melaphríl looked and saw the bones of what had once been a mighty man. He had been clad in mail, and his harness still lay there whole, for the cavern’s air was as dry as dust. In one skeletal hand he held a hauberk, still gilded, and Melaphríl saw that even his belt and helm still gleamed with rich gold. The man had fallen near the far wall of the cave, as could now be seen by the flickering light of Aragorn and Elladan’s torches, and before his remains stood a stone door that was closed fast. Even as he looked, he could see that the skeleton’s finger bones were curled at its base, as though still clawing at the door. A notched and broken sword lay beside him, as if he had hewn at the rock in his last moments of despair.
 
Aragorn made no move to touch him or disturb him in any way. After gazing silently for a moment, the Ranger sighed, and Melaphríl heard him murmur softly, “Through all the long years he has lain at the door that he could not unlock. Whither does it lead? Why would he not pass? None shall ever know.”  
 
He rose to his feet and paused, looking back at the closed door and the skeleton at its base. “That is not my errand,” he said, and Melaphríl saw him shake his head again. “Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden. We ask only for speed. Let us pass, and then come! I summon you to the Stone of Erech!” 
 
Melaphríl led his horse, walking beside Elrohir as they followed Aragorn once more, and the ghostly whispers in the darkness seemed to grow in strength as they passed beneath the mountain. 
 
~ * ~
 
Erin covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a yawn that threatened to crack her jaws. The sun was already settling just at the edge of the horizon, and the sky had taken on a violet cast that was actually rather pretty, had she been feeling up to admiring it. She was sore and aching, and quite honestly, very tired of riding, if her numb butt was any indication. 
 
Éomer showed no signs of wanting to stop for the night, however. She knew they couldn’t be too far from Edoras, but she didn’t think that they would ride all night to get there. Apparently, the Third Marshall had other plans.  He rode a short distance in front of her, Halig beside him. 
 
He had not asked her any more questions about her land, or how she came to be in Middle Earth. Instead he had pointed out landmarks and the names of the mountain peaks she could see in the distance. He told her a little of their people’s history, how Eorl had led his men to the aid of Gondor, and how the steward of Gondor had given the land now known as Rohan to the horse lords as a reward for their help in defeating the invaders. 
 
“We name ourselves Éorlingas, after our great lord, though others call us Rohirrim, which means, ‘horse lords’,” Éomer explained. 
 
“Is any of this written anywhere?” Erin had asked, the scholar in her curious to know more about the noble people of Rohan. “I would love to read the history.”
 
Éomer had shrugged. “If it is written somewhere, we do not possess it.  Perhaps in the great library of Gondor does it lie, for there are those among the people of the white city that are learned and relish such things as histories.  As for my people, we have little skill in writing.  We carry the knowledge within us and pass it to our children. That has always been our way.”
 
Erin had been surprised. It had never occurred to her that their culture would not include the written word. She hadn’t gotten to ask him about it further, though, for Hedrig had chosen that moment to ride to Éomer’s side and ask to speak with him privately. Éomer had politely excused himself from her presence and ridden ahead with Hedrig, leaving Erin alone with her thoughts.
 
The sky had turned a velvety shade of black when they finally reached Edoras, and Erin was fighting to stay awake in the saddle as she rode behind Éomer through the gates and into the city. She heard a horse beside her and turned her head, blinking sleepily at Lord Celeborn as he passed her.  She glanced behind him and saw that of the rest of the elves, only Haldir rode with him. The others had already begun setting up a camp outside of the city gates.
 
She saw runners dart past Éomer and Halig, obviously on their way to the great hall to inform the King that they had returned. Most of the city was dark, though torches burned at varying intervals along the cobblestone street. More torches were lit in the courtyard, and Erin was more than glad to finally see the stone walls of the hall looming before her. A groom caught Silhafel’s head and held the mare as Erin slid ungracefully from her back, swaying slightly as her weary legs tried to support her. 

“You should get yourself to bed before you fall asleep on your feet, lady,” Éomer said, handing his horse’s reins to the groom.  “Do you require a maid to assist you?” 

“No, thank you,” Erin replied, giving him a tired smile as she made her way towards the steps. “I’ll be fine. Have a good night.”  

“Thank you, lady. Sleep well,” he replied kindly.
 
~ * ~
 
Melaphríl had no notion of how much time had passed since they had left the fallen figure at the closed door. Shortly after Aragorn’s words, a chill blast had whipped past them and extinguished their torches, and no amount of trying on their part could get them to light again. Darkness so complete that he could not even see the hand in front of his face surrounded them, and they were forced to continue their journey along the path with only their sense of hearing and touch to guide them. A hand groped for his in the darkness and he grasped it gratefully, knowing by Elrohir’s touch and scent that his lover was as unnerved by the blackness that surrounded them as he was. 
 
They followed Aragorn’s lead, the Ranger finding the path in the darkness unerringly, and it seemed that an endless amount of time had passed before he heard the sound of running water.  
 
“Do you hear that?” Elrohir’s whisper was joyful, and Melaphríl felt him squeeze his hand tighter. 
 
“Aye,” he replied, blinking in surprise as his eyes registered the faintest of light ahead of them.  “It is not as dark, either. Do you see?”  It was indeed growing lighter and as they walked, he began to see details of their surroundings once more. The sound of water falling against stone grew louder with each step, and it was not long before the party passed beneath a highly arched gate. Melaphríl saw the source of the sound and smiled; a small stream of water ran alongside their path. 
 
There was a collective sigh of relief from the men and elves of the Grey Company when the nighttime sky appeared above them, Ithil casting its silvery light down upon them as they passed between the high cliffs that marked the end of the passage. They paused long enough to mount their horses before continuing onward, the ground sloping steeply before them. The coldness that he had felt during their journey on the Paths of the Dead had not left him, and he was puzzled by it until he saw Elrohir glance behind them. Following his lover’s gaze, Melaphríl turned, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.
 
The riders of the Grey Company were not alone on the steep path.
 
“The Dead are following,” Elrohir whispered, his eyes glittering strangely in the pale light of the moon. “Armed with their spears and carrying their banners aloft. Do you see?  The Dead are following. Aragorn has called to them, and they have come.”
 
~ * ~
 
A knock at her door brought Erin rudely awake, and the last vestiges of the rather pleasant dream she’d been having slipped away from her as she rose from the bed.
 
“Who is it?” she called, looking desperately around the floor for something to cover herself with, grimacing at the pile of hastily discarded clothing she had left the night before. She’d been so tired last night. It had been all she could do to simply strip and crawl beneath the covers.
 
“It is Éowyn, may I come in?”
 
Erin grabbed the quilt off the bed and wrapped it around her, plopping down on the edge of the mattress.
 
“Come in,” she said. The door opened and Éowyn entered, looking lovely as always, and Erin was very conscious of her sleep-mussed hair and unkempt look. “You’re a morning person, aren’t you?” she groused.
 
“You are not?” Éowyn asked with a smile as she looked down at her friend. 
 
“Since I was forced to give up coffee, in a word, no,” Erin answered, rising from the bed to poke through the wooden chest that contained her clothing. “We got in late last night.”
 
“I know.” Éowyn chuckled softly as she sat on the edge of the bed, watching Erin sort through clothes as her friend tried to decide what to wear. “I have already met Lord Celeborn and his servant, Haldir, this morning at breakfast. Lord Celeborn is very gracious and quite charming.”
 
Something in Éowyn’s voice made Erin look up from her clothes sorting and she grinned. “Elves are like that, I think. At least most of them are. I think Haldir is the only exception to that – though he’s very kind.” She held up her jeans and sweater and looked at them critically a moment, before deciding that they were clean enough to wear. She glanced up at Éowyn as she dressed. “They certainly live long enough to perfect the art of being charming, anyway.”
 
Éowyn’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Oh?” she asked, settling herself more comfortably on the bed. “What do you know about elves?”
 
Erin pulled the sweater over her head, sliding her arms through the sleeves. “Only a little, actually. They’re the most beautiful beings I have ever met,” she said honestly, searching for her comb and finding it. “They’re brave, loyal, honest, and charming as hell when they want to be.” She flushed slightly; remembering just how ‘charming’ a certain pair of elves could be when they wanted to. Pulling the comb through her tangled hair, she glanced up at Éowyn, realizing that the lady knew even less about elves than she did, and had strong feelings for one in particular. “They’re also immortal,” she added softly, dropping her comb on the table beside the pitcher of water. 
 
Éowyn’s eyes widened. “Immortal?” she repeated. “I did not know that.”
 
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Erin sat next to Éowyn on the bed. “Elladan didn’t tell you?”
 
“No,” Éowyn said. “He did not.”
 
The look on her friend’s face made Erin wish she could smack Elladan for not telling her. “He’s only half-elven,” she said. “Maybe they don’t live forever the way elves do.”
 
Éowyn gave her a brief smile. “Perhaps. It does not matter.”  She dropped her gaze for a moment to her hands, before looking back at Erin. “I am in love with him.  Whether he lives forever or only half again as long as myself, that will not change.”
 
Erin shook her head. “I don’t know how you know that, after only having known him for such a short amount of time, but I believe you. I can see it in your eyes, and I saw the look on his face when Legolas said your name.”  She sighed, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees. “I envy you.”
 
“Envy me?” Éowyn asked in surprise. “Why?”
 
She looked away for a moment before replying. “Because love is a wonderful thing, and you have found it.” She glanced back at Éowyn.  “And because you are stronger than I am.”
 
Éowyn laughed. “You are strong enough, Erin. I have seen it. You have been taken from all you know, and still you manage to smile.”  Her laughter quieted. “The shadow in your eyes has faded since I saw you last. Did you talk to Éomer?”
 
Erin nodded. “A bit. I don’t think he knew quite what to make of it, and I didn’t tell him everything…I couldn’t.”
 
“Will you tell me?” Éowyn asked gently.
 
She sighed, unfolding her legs and leaning back on her arms. “I will, though I doubt you will believe it.”
 
Éowyn’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I believed you when you told me you did not come from this world. I think I know you better now than I did when you told me that.”  She smiled faintly. “I am not as superstitious as my brother.”
 
Erin took a deep breath and nodded. “All right.” She told her everything, right from the beginning, ending with the choice of paths and the words of the man and woman echoing in her ears.
 
Éowyn was silent for a moment, thoughtfully regarding her as her fingers played with the end of her long braid. “Your heart’s desire?” she asked finally, dropping her braid. “What is your heart’s desire?”
 
Erin let out the breath she had been holding, relieved that Éowyn seemed to have accepted her story. “Home. More than anything, I wanted a place where I felt I truly belonged. I thought, at the time, that it meant my world. But when I made my choice, I realized I was wrong.”
 
The lady’s eyes filled with sympathy. “How hard that must have been, knowing your choice meant you would never see your family again.”
 
“It was. It is. I miss them terribly, Éowyn,” Erin replied, her vision blurring as tears filled her eyes. She covered her face with her hands, hiding her tears, and felt her friend touch her arm gently. 
 
“If they love you, they would not begrudge you your happiness,” Éowyn said quietly. “They would want you to be happy, even if it meant they would never see you again.”
 
Erin sniffed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “You think so?”
 
Éowyn nodded. “I think so.”  She rose from the bed, straightening the folds of her dress. “Come, let us find you some breakfast, and then we will see about having some clothing made for you.”
 
Erin followed her, wiping the last of her tears away with the sleeve of her sweater. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Éowyn, since it looks like I’m staying here.”
 
The lady glanced back at her as she descended the stairs. “What is it?”
 
“I need something to do here, I guess, to earn my keep. I’d like to do something useful,” Erin said quietly. “Do you have any ideas?”
 
“What types of skills do you have?” Éowyn asked, waiting for Erin to catch up before continuing down the hall towards the kitchen.
 
“Well, I can cook some, and I know how to sew a button on a shirt. I’m not afraid of cleaning,” she said. 
 
Éowyn laughed. “You are not thinking of becoming a maid, are you?” she said. 
 
Erin didn’t smile. “Well, it’s a thought. I mean, I’m not much good for anything else in this world.”
 
The lady came to a stop and turned towards Erin, folding her arms. “You told me you were a student in your world, and that you wished to become a teacher. You have been educated, well beyond, I imagine, what most women in this world have been.”
 
“Well, in things of my world,” Erin agreed. “But not in yours. I know how to read and write in my language; I know the history of my world, and basic science and mathematics. But I don’t see how it is of any use in your world.”
 
Éowyn nodded slowly. “Perhaps not in Rohan, Erin. But there are places of great learning and study in Middle Earth. You could choose to study and work in one of those places. You do not have to stay here.”  
 
“I didn’t think women were allowed to do such things,” Erin said doubtfully. “I don’t have any money to travel or live on until I can find a job, and I hadn’t really considered leaving Rohan.”
 
“It is difficult for women to do such things,” Éowyn admitted softly. “Our roles are usually defined by our husbands or fathers. You have neither here to prevent you from going where you will,” she said meaningfully. “If money is your concern, I am certain something can be done. You have been my friend and I wish to see you happy, not wasting your life away as a maid or scullery in someone’s house, whether this one or another.”
 
Erin blinked, surprised by the vehemence in her friend’s voice. “I don’t know what to say,” she said finally. “You have been so very good to me.  I just feel like I should do something to repay you for all your kindness.”
 
Éowyn smiled and reached for Erin’s hand, squeezing it gently. “You already have, my friend. You kept me from making a very foolish decision.”  She dropped her hand away and turned, moving towards the kitchen once more. 
 
 ~ * ~
 
The Grey Company passed through Mothrond Vale, and Melaphríl saw the lights of the houses below them, shining like beacons of welcome in the dark. They rode through the lush fields until they came to a bridge that crossed a swift-flowing river. As they drew closer to the hamlet, the lights of the houses went out and doors were heard slamming shut. Folk that were abroad took one look at the Company and fled in terror, screaming and crying out, “The King of the Dead! The King of the Dead has come upon us!”
 
The Ranger did not pause as he led them in haste beyond the fields of the hamlet. The moon had reached its zenith when they came at last to the Hill of Erech.  
 
Melaphríl looked to the hill and saw a great stone, round as a globe and easily the height of a man, though half of it was buried in the ground. It was to this stone that Aragorn led them, finally drawing his horse to a halt.
 
Elrohir dismounted and Melaphríl saw him reach for something in his pack. He withdrew a silver horn and carried it to Aragorn, handing it to his foster-brother without speaking.
 
Aragorn raised the horn to his lips and blew a long note. The fine hairs on Melaphríl’s arms prickled with magic as he heard the faint sound of answering horns, as if it was an echo in deep caves far away. No other sound could be heard, yet he was aware of the great ghostly gathering of men all about the hill on which they stood. A chill wind like the breath of the dead came down from the mountains, and Melaphríl pulled his cloak around him tighter, shivering.
 
“Oathbreakers, why have you come?”  Aragorn cried.
 
Melaphríl heard their ghostly voices answer, “To fulfill our oath and have peace.”
 
“The hour has come at last,” Aragorn said. “Now I go to Pelargir upon Anduin, and you shall come after me. And when all this land is clean of the servants of Sauron, I will hold the oath fulfilled. You shall have peace and depart forever. For I am Elessar, Isildur’s heir of Gondor.”
 
Melaphríl saw him gesture to Halbarad, and the Dúnedain unfurled the standard he had brought, holding it high. It was black, and in the darkness and shadows of the night, he could not see if there was any device worked upon the fabric.  Silence filled the air around them, and Melaphríl realized that the voices of the dead had fallen quiet.
 
The Grey Company made camp that night beside the stone, but sleep eluded them all, despite their weariness.  Sometime in the early morning hours, Elrohir joined him beneath his blanket, wrapping his arms and his body around Melaphríl’s and sharing his warmth.
 
“Glad I am that we had our time together in Rohan,” Elrohir murmured, placing a soft kiss beneath Melaphríl’s ear. “Though I wish we had one more night alone before we face our enemy.”
 
Melaphríl turned his head and pressed his lips against Elrohir’s briefly. “Aye,” he whispered. “I wish it as well.”
 
Elrohir pulled him tighter against him, burying his face in the Melaphríl’s hair. “When this is done, I want to take you back with me to Imladris. Will you come?”
 
A deep sigh welled up within him and he closed his eyes. “I go where you go, melethen,” he whispered. “Only death can part us.”
 
~ * ~
 
Éowyn convinced her to dress for dinner, and Erin had to admit the results were worth the effort. She actually felt pretty for a change, dressed in a simple blue gown. Her usually tangled hair was braided neatly, complete with matching blue ribbon. 
 
“It is good that we are having clothing made for you,” Éowyn said, eyeing the bodice with a shake of her head. “That is almost too tight.”
 
Erin glanced down at her cleavage and grinned. The bodice was, indeed, more than a bit snug, and although Éowyn had assured her that bodices were meant to be form fitting, she didn’t think they were meant to exhibit her breasts in such a manner. She took a deep breath experimentally and let it out with a giggle as the tops of her breasts threatened to pop out of the neckline of the gown.
 
“I’m not sure I should go to dinner this way,” she said, glancing up at her friend. “I feel like I’m on display.”
 
Éowyn frowned. “It is not immodest, though I would refrain from doing that again, unless you wish to embarrass yourself in front of our guests.”  She saw Erin’s smile fade. “What is wrong?”
 
“I’m nervous,” Erin admitted. “I’ve never eaten with royalty before.”
 
“Do not be,” Éowyn said. “I am certain that you will be fine. You do not strike me as a barbarian who eats with her fingers.”
 
Erin chuckled and followed Éowyn down the stairs towards the main hall. “Don’t be so sure.”
 
Éomer was waiting for them as they reached the dining hall, and he offered each of them his arm. Erin looked up at him and smiled as she placed her hand on the crook of his elbow. He sure cleans up nice, she thought, and she was struck again by how very handsome he was. 
 
“Hello, Erin,” a cheerful voice said at her elbow, and Erin turned, her smile growing wider as she saw who had greeted her.
 
“Hello, Merry. How are you?”
 
The hobbit grinned up at her. “Quite well. You are looking lovely this evening.” He glanced at Éomer. “Might I have the honor of escorting the lady to dinner, my Lord?” he inquired politely, but with a twinkle in his eye.
 
Éomer chuckled. “If the lady does not object,” he replied.
 
Erin shook her head and placed her hand on Merry’s offered arm. “I do not,” she replied. “Thank you, Merry.”
 
He gave a gallant bow, his grin broadening. “My pleasure,” he said, straightening and covering her hand with his. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked at her, and Erin realized that the top of his head came just about even with the swell of her breasts. 
 
“Behave yourself,” she admonished.  He gave her an utterly guileless smile, which didn’t fool her for an instant, but made her chuckle.
 
Merry was the perfect gentlemen as he escorted her to her seat at the long table. Éomer and Éowyn waited on her right, and Erin began to wonder what they were waiting for, when the King entered the hall, followed by Lord Celeborn and Haldir.  Éowyn dropped into a curtsy, and Erin did her best to copy her as gracefully as she could. She saw Merry and Éomer bow respectfully as Théoden took his place at the head of the table. 
 
They took their seats after the king, Merry holding Erin’s chair for her before taking his own seat beside her. Éowyn sat to Erin’s right, with Éomer beside her, next to the King.  Lord Celeborn settled with grace at the place of honor to the King’s left, and Haldir sat beside him. Other members of the King’s household took their customary places along the long table, and once everyone was settled, dinner began to be served.
 
Erin watched with interest as servants brought in platter after platter of food, offering the dishes to Théoden first, Lord Celeborn next, the Éomer, Éowyn, Haldir, herself and Merry, before moving down the table. She realized that she had been given quite an honor to be seated so close to the King, and she felt more than a bit nervous. She was an outsider, and technically a commoner at that. She wasn’t sure if the people of Rohan actually had such class distinctions, but she felt self-conscious nonetheless.
 
I have so much to learn, she thought ruefully, stifling a sigh. This world is so different from what I’m used to.
 
She did know enough to wait until the King had actually begun to eat before taking the first bite of her own food. She watched Éowyn from the corner of her eye, and copied the lady’s actions, taking small bites of food and placing her eating utensils down between each bite, wiping her mouth carefully with the cloth napkin that had been provided. 
 
Erin had expected the conversation at dinner to be polite and restrained; she was surprised when Théoden wiped his mouth with his napkin and gave her a smile, before directing his attention to Éowyn.
 
“So, my niece, how did you and our guest spend your day?” he asked, taking a deep drink from his goblet and setting it next to his plate. 
 
Éowyn glanced at Erin and smiled. “We spent the day discussing what Erin should do, my uncle.  She is a scholar in her land, and her talents here are wasted.”
 
Théoden’s graying eyebrows rose sharply. “Truly? A scholar?” He turned his shrewd gaze to Erin, and she shifted nervously, twisting her napkin in her lap.
 
“Yes, sir.” She flailed vainly for a moment, uncertain how to address him properly. “I mean, my lord. I am a student.”
 
Lord Celeborn looked on with interest, and Erin blushed at being the focus of the attention. 
 
“What did you study?” the elf Lord asked.
 
“Language and writing,” Erin answered, fairly certain that ‘English Major’ wouldn’t mean anything to them. “I also studied mathematics and science.”
 
“She also tells stories,” Haldir added quietly from his place beside Lord Celeborn, giving Erin a faint smile. “They are quite entertaining.”
 
“Really?” Lord Celeborn smiled. “I should very much like to hear one of your stories, if you would be willing.”
 
“As would I,” Théoden said. “Perhaps after we have finished our meal, you would share one of your stories with us?”
 
Erin nodded, trying to quell the sense of panic that had risen within her at the request. What on earth would she tell them?  
 
The focus of the conversation, thankfully, turned to other things as Éomer reported on the latest foaling of one of their prized mares, and Erin listened politely to talk of horses and bloodlines. She cast occasional glances at the rider, seeing the gleam in his eye as he described the qualities of one stallion over another; it was obviously a subject he loved.
 
Dessert was being served when a commotion at the entrance caught everyone’s attention. Erin glanced up from her plate and saw a rider enter, making his way towards the king. He stopped the appropriate distance away and bowed respectfully.
 
“A man is here, my lord,” the rider said, rising from his bow. “An errant-rider from Gondor. He wishes to come before you at once.”
 
“Let him come, Captain,” Théoden replied, and motioned a servant to take his plate away. 
 
A tall man entered and Erin heard Merry give a queer choking sound, drawing her attention away as she looked at the hobbit with concern.  
 
Merry shook his head at her, indicating that he was well enough, though his face was very pale beneath his curls as he watched the man approach the king.
 
Troubled, Erin turned her attention back to the newcomer. He was dressed similar to the riders of Rohan, though he wore a cloak of dark green over a coat of chain mail. He carried his helmet beneath his arm, and Erin could see that on the front of it was a small silver star.  In his other hand, he carried a single arrow with black feathers. The point of it was painted red.
 
She didn’t know what it meant, but as she looked at the king and saw his expression, she realized that it couldn’t be anything good.

Chapter 4
 
The messenger sank to one knee before the king’s chair and presented the arrow to Théoden.
 
“Hail, Lord of the Rohirrim, and friend of Gondor,” he said. “Hirgon am I, errant-rider of Denethor, and I bring you this token of war.  Gondor is in great need. Often the Rohirrim have aided us, but now the Lord Denethor asks for all of your strength and your speed, lest Gondor fall at last.”
 
Théoden took the arrow and held it, his expression grim. “The Red Arrow,” he said softly, shaking his head. “The Red Arrow has not been seen in the Mark in all my years. Has it indeed come to that?”  He glanced at Lord Celeborn. “You spoke of it, yet I did not wish to believe you. Though, I fear in my heart I knew your words were true.” He sighed, dropping his head a moment. Finally he looked up, fixing his gaze upon Hirgon. “What does the Lord Denethor reckon that all my strength and all my speed may be?”
 
“That is best known to yourself, my Lord,” Hirgon replied. “But it may well come to pass that Minas Tirith will be surrounded. Unless you have the strength to break up the siege of many powers, the Lord Denethor bids me to say that he judges that the strong arms of the Rohirrim would be better within his walls than without.”  He looked briefly at Lord Celeborn and Haldir and did not bother to hide his surprise. “He did not know that the elves had joined their strength with yours, though he will be glad to hear of it.”
 
“Indeed,” Théoden replied. “But is it not true, Hirgon, that the Lord of Minas Tirith knows more than he has said in his message?  We are already at war, and as you have seen, you do not find us all unprepared.”
 
“What the Lord Denethor may know or guess, I cannot say,” Hirgon said respectfully. “But indeed, our case is most desperate. My lord does not issue any command to you. He begs you only to remember old friendship and oaths long spoken, and for your own good to do all that you may.”  He took a deep breath, his expression taking a grimmer cast. “It is reported to us that many kings have ridden in from the East to the service of Mordor.  From the North to the plain of Dagorlad there is skirmish and rumor of war.  In the South, the Haradrim are moving, and fear has fallen on all our coast-lands, so little help can be expected from that quarter.”  He shook his head, dark hair flying with the force of his movement. “Make haste, my Lord. For it is before the walls of Minas Tirith that the doom of our time will be decided, and if the tide is not stemmed there, then it will flow over all the fair fields of Rohan. There will be no refuge from it.”  He glanced at Lord Celeborn. “Even the fair trees of your land will tremble and fall before the black tide of Mordor’s armies.”
 
Celeborn nodded. “It has been foreseen, Hirgon. It is why we have come.”
 
Théoden’s fingers curled tightly around the shaft of the arrow. “Dark tidings you have brought, yet they are not wholly unexpected. Tell your lord that even if Rohan itself felt no peril, we would still come to his aid. But we have suffered much loss in our own battles with Saruman the traitor, and we must think of our frontier to the north and east, as his own tidings make clear.  I will not leave my city and people wholly unguarded, but we will come. Six thousand spears I will send to his aid. I will come down to the land of Gondor, though maybe I will not ride back.”
 
“To those six thousand spears, add twelve score elven bows and swords,” Celeborn said. “The alliances forged long ago between men and elves will be honored, for I will ride with the King to the aid of Gondor.”
 
Hirgon bowed with respect to Lord Celeborn. “Then I shall bear this great news to my Lord Denethor.”  He rose to his feet and made to leave, when the king stopped him with a gesture.
 
“Rest this night,” Théoden said. “On the morrow you shall see the great muster of Rohan and of the elves and ride away gladder for the sight and swifter for the rest.”
 
“My thanks, gracious lord,” Hirgon said. “For I am indeed weary of travel and could use the rest. Tomorrow I must return to my Lord Denethor.”  He bowed a final time and left the hall, the captain of the guard following him.
 
The King turned to Merry. “I am going to war, Master Meriadoc,” he said. “Tomorrow I shall take the road to Gondor. I release you from my service, but not from my friendship. You shall abide here. If you are willing, you shall serve the Lady Éowyn, who will govern the folk in my stead.”
 
“But, my Lord,” Merry stammered, “I offered you my sword. I do not wish to be parted from you like this. All my friends have already gone to the battle, and I would be ashamed to stay behind.”
 
“We ride on horses both tall and swift,” Théoden replied not unkindly. “And great though your heart may be, you cannot ride on such beasts.”
 
“But I do not wish to be left behind and do nothing while others fight against the darkness. Why, my Lord, did you receive me as swordthain, if not to stay by your side?” Merry asked plaintively.
 
“I received you for your safe-keeping,” Théoden reminded him. “And also to do as I might bid. It is one hundred leagues and more to Mundburg where Denethor is Lord, and none of my riders can bear you as burden.” He sighed wearily. “Nay, Master Meriadoc. You must stay as I bid you. I will say no more of it.”
 
The king rose from his seat and waited until the others had finished with their courtesies before speaking once more.   “I bid you all good evening,” he said. “I go now to rest, for counsels are best taken in the morning.”
 
~ * ~
 
Erin watched the King leave, her pleasure in the dessert before her lost. She pushed the plate away and sighed.  All her troubles seemed so very trivial compared to what was happening.  Nothing like a war to put things in perspective, I suppose.
 
She saw Éomer excuse himself to follow the king to his chambers, and her eyes followed him for a moment. Lord Celeborn and Haldir politely excused themselves as well, making their way out of the hall. After they left, she sat down again, and glanced at Merry. She could see by his expression that he was still troubled and unhappy.
 
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.
 
Merry looked up and gave her a faint smile. “The King commands me to stay, and I do not wish to. Yet he is right. I cannot ride one of their great horses by myself, and they cannot be burdened with carrying me.” He gave a bitter sigh and pushed his dessert plate away, unfinished. 
 
“I’m sorry, Merry,” Erin said quietly. “I wish there was something I could do.”  
 
She saw Éowyn rise from the table, her fair face pensive and closed as she made her way out of the dining hall.  Saying goodnight to Merry, Erin rose to her feet and followed the lady, catching up to her at the foot of the long stairs.
 
Éowyn glanced at her before taking the steps, lifting the edge of her dress in one hand to keep from tripping on it.  Erin climbed beside her, stealing quick glances at her friend’s face as they ascended the stairs. They reached the door to Erin’s room and stopped.
 
“You’re thinking about something, Éowyn,” Erin said. “What is it?”
 
Éowyn lifted her head and met Erin’s gaze evenly. “That I will not be left behind this time.”
 
Erin’s eyes widened. “You want to go with them?”
 
“My uncle and my brother go to war against the greatest evil this land has ever known,” she said, stiffening her shoulders. “I will not remain here and be useless, not when I can fight with them. I am a Shield Maiden of the House of Eorl.  I can ride and wield a blade. I do not fear pain or death.”
 
“I do,” Erin said. “I fear them very much, thank you.”  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But if you go, I’m going with you.”  She crossed her arms and leaned against her door.
 
Éowyn looked at her in surprise. “But you cannot fight, Erin. You can barely sit a horse.”
 
“Then I’ll just have to learn, won’t I?” Erin replied. “I’m not letting you go and do this by yourself.”
 
“Why not?” Éowyn asked, honestly puzzled. 
 
Erin’s mouth curled into a grim smile. “Like you, I also want to be of some use, and not while away the days doing nothing while the good guys fight against the bad guys. I’m part of your world now, and I care very much what happens to it.”  
 
Éowyn shook her head. “I should not allow it.  You could be killed.”
 
"Possibly," Erin agreed with a wry chuckle. "But the good news is that I won't have to be the one to explain to Elladan how I let you jaunt off into danger, despite his wishes to the contrary."
 
Her friend stared at her a moment in consternation. "You are mad," she said finally, managing a small smile.
 
Erin nodded. “I’ll follow you anyway, so you might as well take me along.”
 
“I cannot talk you out of this, can I?” Éowyn said, sighing.
 
Erin grinned in triumph. “Not unless you stay behind with me. That’s the only way you’re going to keep me in Edoras.”
 
“The same goes for me as well, Lady,” a small voice interrupted the women and they drew apart in surprise, turning to look as Merry came to a stop beside them. “Though my Lord has commanded otherwise, I will not be left behind!” He crossed his arms and looked at them, his chin lifted stubbornly.
 
Éowyn frowned deeply. “It seems you are both determined,” she said finally. “Very well. If I cannot convince you to remain here, in safety, then you shall both ride with me. Erin, you shall ride as one of the youths who are responsible for the horses. Merry shall ride with me on Windfola. He is small enough I doubt he will gain much attention until it is too late.”
 
It was Erin’s turn to frown. “I don’t know if I’ll be very convincing as a boy,” she said, gesturing to her hair and chest.
 
The lady smiled briefly. “There are ways to fool those who do not look too closely.  Come to my room this night, at the twelfth hour. The rest of the house should be abed by then and what we do will be unobserved.”
 
“What about me, Lady?” the hobbit asked eagerly. “I will need armor and weapons if I am to fight alongside you.”
 
Éowyn nodded. “Aragorn asked that you be outfitted as befits your status in the House of Eorl. I shall see to it now.”  She looked back at Erin and gave her a small smile. “I am glad that you are coming, though I fear for your safety. It will be good not to be alone in this. You should go and rest. I will see you at the twelfth hour.”
 
Erin watched Éowyn and Merry take the stairs, before turning to her door. She opened it and hesitated just inside, looking at her bed. Though she knew she should do as Éowyn said and get some sleep, she wasn’t the least bit tired. Instead, her body fairly hummed with excitement and dread for the days to come. She knew that there was no way she was going to get any sleep.
 
She closed the door behind her and swiftly made her way across the room, tugging at her dress. After several moments of struggling and cursing, she managed to get it off of her and laid it carefully on the bed. She dressed quickly, pulling on her jeans and one of the tunics Éowyn had given her. She slid her feet into her hiking boots and laced them. 
 
Her feet found their way down the stairs to the main door of the hall and she stepped outside, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. She had no particular destination in mind, though she realized, as she crossed the courtyard, that she was already headed for the stables. 
 
“It is a bit late for a walk, is it not?” 
 
“Éomer, what are you doing here?” Erin nearly stumbled in her surprise at seeing the rider step out of the shadows and into the torchlight that flickered along the perimeter of the courtyard. 
 
Éomer raised an eyebrow as he came to a stop and looked down at her. “I could ask you the same, Lady. As for myself, I have just finished speaking with the King regarding tomorrow and thought I would enjoy the evening air. What brings you here?”
 
Erin shrugged to hide how flustered he made her. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought I might go visit the horses.”
 
“Would you object to my company, Lady?” he asked, smiling at her.
 
“No, not at all,” Erin replied, her knees feeling a bit wobbly as she took the arm he offered. Stop that, she told her body firmly. He’s done nothing since Helm’s Deep that should cause me to react this way. She couldn’t help it, though. She could feel the warmth of his body against her arm, and it did nothing to dispel the fluttering butterflies that danced madly in her stomach. 
 
They walked down the path together, and Erin could see that torches were still lit by the barn, illuminating the doorway. Éomer pushed the door open for her and held it as she stepped through. He grabbed one of the torches from outside of the barn and used it to light several of the torches that hung on the walls inside. By the flickering light, Erin saw several horses poking their heads out of their stalls and look at them in curiosity. Probably wondering what we’re doing here this late, she thought. She turned and saw that Éomer had returned the torch to its rightful place and closed the door.  He leaned against it, looking at her, and she flushed under his regard.
 
Desperate to have something to do besides stare back at him like a love-starved puppy, Erin walked down the aisle, pausing in front of Mearagar’s stall to scratch the soft nose the horse nudged at her. The sweet smell of hay and horse wafted up at her and she smiled.  She glanced back and saw that Éomer had not moved from his position at the door, though he was smiling at her again.
 
“What?” she asked, more than a bit self-consciously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
 
He shook his head with a soft laugh, moving away from the door to walk towards her. “I am alone in a stable with a lovely young woman, and suddenly I find myself at a loss for what to do next.”
 
“Oh,” she said, looking back at Mearagar so he wouldn’t see the foolish smile on her face. He thinks I’m lovely. She heard him stop behind her and struggled to act normal, like her heart wasn’t beating like a scared rabbit’s.
 
“Erin.”
 
It was the first time he’d called her by her name, and she couldn’t suppress the thrill that went through her.  Gentle hands grasped her shoulders and turned her until she was facing him.  She couldn’t keep pretending that his presence didn’t affect her as his arms slowly encircled her and she froze, neither willing nor able to resist, as he slowly bent his head and kissed her.
 
Shock and desire flooded her body as his mouth covered hers. There was nothing gentle or tentative about his kiss. Rather, he took what she eagerly gave; plundering her mouth with his own until she was lightheaded and struggling to breathe.  His strong arms held her, pressing her small form against his body as he explored her mouth, and a soft sound of helpless pleasure escaped her.
 
He drew back, releasing her just as slowly as before, and it took her several moments before she could think coherently.  She took a deep and trembling breath. “Why did you do that?”
 
Éomer regarded her for a moment before speaking. “I have held the memory of a kiss within me for weeks now, and try as I might, I cannot forget it.” He spoke slowly, as if measuring his words with great care. “You have cast some spell on me, Lady. I know you but little.  I hold no duty or right over your life and what you do with it, yet I find myself jealous at the thought of you with another.”
 
She stared at him, startled by his words. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” she said finally. “You didn’t act like you even remembered it.”
 
“Remembered?” he repeated. “It was burned upon my mind like a brand.” He paused, his expression suddenly uncertain. “Have you held no thought of it, Erin?  Is it forgotten?”
 
 “I haven’t forgotten it, Éomer,” she whispered, lifting her chin slightly. “How could I?” 
 
He gave her a faint smile and reached for her hand. “Your words give me hope, Erin.”  He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the tips of them softly. “Hope that when the war has ended, we may find the reason why we are drawn to each other this way.”
 
Erin drew a breath, the tips of her fingers tingling where his lips had touched them. “I don’t know if that’s going to work, Éomer,” she said softly, and with no small amount of regret. “I’m not like the ladies of your world. I’m not of noble birth, gently bred and raised.” She pulled her hand reluctantly away from his. 
 
Éomer laughed quietly. “You are indeed different, I will agree.” He reached for her hand again. “But I do not find your differences displeasing.  I would very much like to have the opportunity to discover each and every one of them, if you would permit me.”
 
His hand engulfed her much smaller one, and she found herself smiling shyly up at him. “I will,” she answered hesitantly, “If that’s what you want.” 
 
“What I want,” Éomer’s mouth curved into a broad smile, “Is to kiss you again.”
 
Oh my, Erin thought, letting him pull her into his arms once more. He looked down at her a moment before bending his head and brushing his lips softly against hers. Erin’s knees went weak at their touch and she was grateful for his strength holding her as his mouth moved gently over hers. His kiss was slower this time, though every bit as thorough, and when he finally lifted his head, Erin felt as if all the bones had left her body. 
 
He looked pleased at her reaction. “Come, Erin,” he said softly. “I should escort you back to your room while I still am able.”
 
She smiled what she was sure was a fairly foolish and giddy smile, but didn’t care. His kisses had a way of stealing all her reason and rationality from her.  She accepted his arm and helped him to extinguish the torches, before they left the barn.   By the time they reached her room, Erin felt like she was floating on air. They paused in front of her door, and Éomer lifted her chin with his fingers.
 
“I am leaving tomorrow, you know this,” he said softly. “You will not forget me while I am away?”
 
Erin blinked, reality crashing rudely down upon her with his words. God, how could I have forgotten?  She nodded slowly. “I know. I won’t.”
 
Éomer leaned forward and kissed her and she leaned into the touch, brief though it was. 
 
“Will you think of me?” he asked, giving her a faint smile.
 
“Every day,” she promised. Of course, she thought with an inward grin, he doesn’t know I’ll be coming along with him and the rest.
 
He nodded, pleased by her answer. “Sleep well, Erin,” he said. “If I do not see you before we leave, fare well, also. Until I see you again.”
 
She touched his arm, stopping him as he turned to leave. “Be safe, Éomer. Be careful.”
 
He brought her hand to his lips briefly and then turned on his heel, leaving her to smile happily after him. 
 
~ * ~
 
Théoden met with Hirgon in the courtyard, and though dawn was past, there was no sunlight to warm the day. The sky was cloudless, yet a shadow hung over the land, making it seem as if all color had washed out from it, leaving behind only shades of black and gray. 
 
“It comes from Mordor, my Lord,” Hirgon said uneasily, glancing at the sky. “It began last night at sunset. Now the great shadow hangs over all the land between here and Mordor, and it is deepening. War had already begun.”
 
“So we come to it,” Théoden said heavily. “The great battle of our time, in which many things shall pass away. At least there will be no need for hiding. We shall ride the straight and open road with all our speed.”  He lifted his gaze and sought his sister’s son, standing at the base of the steps. “Call the heralds, Éomer. Let the riders be marshalled.”
 
Éomer bowed and left to do his King’s bidding and Théoden turned to Hirgon once more.
 
“Take the arrow, Hirgon of Gondor, and return it to Lord Denethor. Ride swiftly, and tell your lord that Rohan and Lothlórien come,” he said, offering the red arrow to Hirgon. 
 
Hirgon bowed before taking the arrow from the king’s hand. “I will tell him, Lord.”  He took the reins of his horse from the groom and mounted, turning his mount towards the gates of the city. “Farewell, King of Rohan. May your horses be strong and swift.”
 
~ * ~
 
Erin shivered in the cool morning air as she dressed. A fire had not yet been lit in the fireplace of her room, for she was awake before the maids normally came to tend to it. Though she knew it was morning, the sky outside the window was dim and gray, and did nothing to dispel the chill. 
 
Clad in rough spun breeches and tunic, Erin glanced at her reflection in the small mirror and grimaced, before pulling on the leather cap Éowyn had given her to wear over her recently shorn hair. It disguised her features fairly well, and, along with the cloth that bound her breasts tightly against her chest, completed the guise of a young boy. Her shortness was of definite advantage as it added to the illusion of her youth - and Éowyn had been satisfied that the deception would work, so long as no one examined her too closely.
 
She ran her fingers over the chopped ends of her hair with a sigh. She hadn’t really wanted to cut it, and neither had Éowyn, but Erin had finally insisted. It wouldn’t fit with her disguise if she had long hair like a woman. Men and boys did wear their hair long, but Erin was afraid that her hair, which had grown past her shoulders, would give her away. So, with great reluctance, Éowyn had cut it for her, using her mending scissors to crop the length of her hair to just past Erin’s ears. 
 
It doesn’t matter, she thought, dropping her hand away. It’ll grow again. Quickly, I hope.  A soft knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts.
 
“Who is it?” she called nervously, hoping it wasn’t one of the maids. 
 
“It is time.” Éowyn’s voice came muffled through the door.
 
Checking that her knife was strapped to its place at her hip, Erin grabbed the cloak that Aragorn had lent her and swung it over her shoulders. Its ragged appearance went well with the rest of her outfit, and helped to hide the shape of her body. She had no doubts that sooner or later, she would be discovered. She just hoped that when the time came, it would be too late to do anything about it.
 
Opening the door, she stepped out into the hallway, and closed it firmly behind her. She turned and looked at Éowyn, and was impressed by the change in her friend.
 
Éowyn was dressed in the same armor that Erin had seen her in before, though she wore her helmet this time. Her disguise as the rider, Dernhelm, was very convincing, and Erin had to admit that if she didn’t know it was Éowyn beneath the armor, she would never have suspected she was anything but the young rider she was supposed to be.
 
The sound of a horn blowing outside the great hall caught their attention. 
 
“Come,” Éowyn said softly. “It is time to go.”
 
~ * ~
 
Théoden sat upon Snowmane, taking his helm from the young groom and tucking it beneath his arm. Turning his horse, he surveyed the riders assembled before him, feeling a brief surge of pride in the strength of his people.  A silver horn sounded and he turned his head, watching as Lord Celeborn led his elves to join the ranks of the Rohirrim. By agreement they would ride behind his men, and watch his rear flank.  
 
He turned his horse once more and looked to Éomer. His nephew gave him a nod, the signal that all was in readiness for his command. He lifted his helmet and placed it on his head, and drew his sword.
 
A single horn sounded, brass and harsh in the growing gloom of the day, and Théoden saw the lead riders move forward; twelve riders of his household, men of great renown, took their places in front of him. It was their duty to protect him.
 
He took his position behind them, with Éomer on his right, and lifted his sword.
 
“Forth, Éorlingas!” he cried, touching his heels to Snowmane’s flanks. At his cry, the Riders of the Mark surged forward as one, and the elves of Lothlórien followed.
 
~ * ~
 
Erin clung to the saddle, grateful that the horse that Éowyn had chosen for her seemed more than willing to follow the rest as they galloped across the plains. The other riders of their group, or éored, surrounded her on all sides, so she didn’t worry too much about steering the animal. She had nearly lost a stirrup when Ared had leapt forward with the rest of the riders, and it was all she could do to hang on.
 
Calling up everything Haldir and Éomer had told her about riding, she struggled to find her balance, keeping the pressure in the stirrups on the balls of her feet rather than the arches. To her surprise, and great relief, once the initial surge had passed, the riders settled into a steady gallop, and she managed to regain her equilibrium. 
 
Éowyn rode on her left, carrying Merry in front of her like a small sack of apples. There had been a tense moment when Elfhelm, the leader of their éored, had looked at Éowyn and had seen Merry. To their relief, however, the tall rider had merely raised his eyebrows and rode ahead without saying a word.
 
“He is a good man,” Merry had confided to them in a hushed voice. “He will not say anything unless he is questioned.”  
 
It appeared the other riders of their éored were not inclined to reveal Merry’s presence either, and Erin wondered at the reason for it. Perhaps, she thought, she would have the chance to ask Merry or Éowyn about it later.
 
For now, there was nothing to do but concentrate on staying on her horse. 
 
They did not stop until night fell; though there was little difference between day and night the closer they drew to their destination. They made camp in the open, and set watches against any enemy that might come upon them as they took their rest. 
 
Éowyn had helped her unsaddle their horses and groom them, before turning them loose with the others so that they could graze under the watchful eyes of the young men who, like Erin, were there to take care of them while their rider’s rested. Erin knew from Elfhelm that she would have her turn watching sometime in the night, and hoped to get some sleep before then. The events of the previous night were catching up with her, and as she followed Éowyn to where their bedrolls had been laid, she stifled a yawn.
 
Merry was waiting for them, already eating his ration of bread and fruit, taking sips of water between bites. He nodded a greeting to Erin as she plopped down beside him.
 
“How are you faring?” Éowyn asked, passing the waterskin to her. She had removed her helmet, but left the hood to cover her hair. In the darkness, it was difficult to see her face beneath it.
 
Erin took a deep drink before handing it back to her. “I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”  She resisted the urge to smile at the memory her words brought up, and took an apple from Merry. “I’m going to bed now,” she said, after she had finished eating.  “Elfhelm said I have second watch.”  
 
Her worry about her ability to keep watch on the herd must have shown on her face, for Éowyn managed a faint smile, barely visible beneath the shadow of her hood. “You will be fine. There are others who will be watching with you. Just remember what I told you, if anyone should speak to you,” Éowyn said. “You are a refugee from Gondor, a distant cousin to Dernhelm on his mother’s side. That is why you do not speak or understand anything but Westron.”
 
Erin nodded, crawling to her bedroll and sliding beneath the blankets. She rolled onto her side and rested her head against her hands, squirming as she tried to find a comfortable spot on the hard ground. She closed her eyes, listening to the low murmuring voices of her companions, and tried to sleep. 
 
~ * ~
 
Her watch had been, thankfully, uneventful so far. Erin could the other guards that shared her duty, their presence little more than human shaped shadows spaced some distance away from her, and the quiet had given her plenty of time to think about things.
 
She wondered how Haldir and Orophin were faring, and where Rúmil was. She hadn’t seen hide or hair of him on the ride back to Edoras, and she hadn’t had the opportunity to go and talk with her friends before they left. Now, of course, it was impossible to approach them, so long as she was still in disguise. 
 
Her nocturnal musings turned, naturally, to Éomer, and she spent several moments just thinking about his kisses and how he made her feel. She tried to push past her physical reactions to him and think simply about how she felt about him. What did she know of him, really? She knew that he was honorable and brave, loyal, strong, and held a strong passion for horses. He also had this uncanny ability to turn her knees to goo whenever he kissed her, which was wonderful, but distracting her from the point of her thoughts. 
 
Did she love him? Truthfully, not yet, but she had to admit she could easily see herself falling in love with him, if she had the chance. The question was would he love her, once he really knew her? Would he be able to accept her the way she was, or would he expect her to fall into the behaviors of the women of this world? Because, she thought, that would be asking the impossible. 
 
How would he feel about the fact that she wasn't a maiden in the traditional sense of the word? She wasn't sure about how such things were viewed in his world, but she knew in the not so distant past of her own world, women were expected to be chaste until marriage. And that brought up yet another concern; what was he looking for, really? Was he just after a tumble with a willing woman, or was he looking for something more permanent, like a wife?  Try as she might, Erin couldn't envision herself as Éomer's wife. 
 
It was probably a good thing, she thought ruefully, rubbing her arms to try to keep herself warm, that they had this time apart from one another.  She found it almost impossible to think rationally when he kissed her. And she most definitely needed the time to think about things. 
 
She was relieved from her watch after a few hours, and she returned to her bedroll, stepping lightly around the sleeping forms of her companions. Snuggling down into the blankets, she closed her eyes tiredly, and let sleep claim her.
 
~ * ~
 
The next few days passed in a blur of sleep deprived repetition – wake, eat, ride, eat, sleep, wake, freeze your butt off for a few hours, sleep a bit more, and then start the whole process all over again in the morning. Erin was beginning to understand the meaning of the phrase ‘burning the candle at both ends’ by the fourth night as she stumbled across the camp, making her way to where Éowyn and Merry were.
 
The hobbit looked tired as well, but managed to give her a cheerful smile as he huddled close to their campfire.  Erin smiled in return as she took her place beside him, accepting the waterskin he offered her wordlessly. 
 
“How are you?” Merry asked her, looking at her critically. “You look awful,” he added.
 
“Thanks,” she snorted, reaching for a piece of dried meat. “I feel awful.”
 
Sleep beckoned but she couldn’t seem to find it, no matter how she tossed and turned in her bedroll, trying to find a comfortable position on the ground. Finally she lay on her back, staring up at the night sky.  Something about the view bothered her, and it took her several moments of looking at the blackness above her before she realized what it was: there were no stars.  It was if a black curtain had been drawn over the sky, blocking out the moon and the stars completely, leaving only darkness behind. 
 
Uneasy, Erin rolled onto her side, and watched Éowyn check her weapons and gear, trying to blot out the vision of the emptiness above her.  Gradually her eyes grew heavy and she closed them, feeling sleep finally begin to take hold of her.
 
A distant pounding sound woke her moments later and she sat up, all traces of sleepiness gone with the rush of fear that surged through her. She saw Éowyn rise from her seat and look anxiously around, and Merry rose to his feet as well, his small face pinched with worry. 
 
“What is it?” he asked, looking up at the woman beside him. “Is it the enemy? Are we under attack?”
 
“Nay, Master Meriadoc,” Elfhelm’s deep voice startled them and the three of them turned to watch him approach. He stopped beside the hobbit, glancing at Éowyn, though he showed no sign that he recognized the lady of Rohan beneath her disguise. Turning his attention back to Merry, he continued. “The enemy is on the road, not in the hills. You hear the Woses, the Wild Men of the Woods, for that is how they talk to each other from afar.”
 
Drum signals, Erin thought, pulling her blankets around her as she listened to the captain speak. Clever. I wonder what they are saying.
 
“They are troubled by the darkness and the coming of the orcs,” Elfhelm said. “They fear the Dark Years are returning, and have come to offer their services to the King. Even now, one of their headmen has come to meet with Théoden, to offer what aid, I cannot say.”  He drew his cloak closer around his tall frame. “Be ready, young Dernhelm, Master Holbytla. Orders may come for a sudden move.” He turned on his heel and left them, making his way to the next campfire to give his news. 
 
“Holbytla?” Erin asked, looking first at Merry, then at Éowyn.
 
Éowyn managed a faint smile. “It is what we call hobbits. I am grateful that Elfhelm has chosen not to reveal Merry’s presence here.”
 
Erin cleared her throat, rising from her bedroll. “How come? I mean, why go against the King’s orders?”  She dropped to her knees and began rolling the bedding up into a small bundle, tying it closed with a length of rawhide. When Éowyn didn’t answer, she looked at her friend.
 
The lady lifted her head slightly, and Erin could see her face clearly. It was pale, the shadows beneath her eyes looked like bruises against the whiteness of her skin. 
 
“I believe it is because he knows that every arm that can wield a blade is needed for the battle to come,” Éowyn answered finally, dropping her head once more, hiding her face in the shadows of her hood. “He was at Helm’s Deep. The forces we faced there are but a taste of things to come.”
 
Erin paled, remembering the fields after the battle. They had been littered with endless numbers of black corpses of the orcs and Uruk-hai. There had been thousands of them, possibly ten thousand or more; far too many for her to ever count. “A taste?” she whispered.
 
Éowyn nodded slowly. “Those were Saruman’s alone. We have yet to face the forces of the armies of Mordor.”
 
“Oh my God,” Erin rasped weakly. She dropped her bedroll and sat on it, burying her face in her hands a moment. Taking a deep breath, she looked back at Éowyn and Merry. “We’re in deep shit, aren’t we?”
 
Éowyn nodded once more. “Yes, Erin. We are.”
 
~ * ~
 
The tent flap opened and Théoden watched as Éomer led the two representatives from the Woses inside. Hedrig and Gamling followed behind them and took positions on either side of the opening, standing guard against any interruptions. 
 
The Wild Men, led by Éomer, came to a halt before him, and without a word, both creatures sat on the floor, the oldest-looking of the two sitting slightly in front of the other. Théoden observed his strange visitors with hooded eyes. Their squat, brown bodies were strange to him, as was their raiment. They were dressed only in grass, which had been woven and tied around their waists like a skirt. Of the two, only the oldest wore something that resembled a beard, though it was sparse and scraggly, like dry moss.
 
He lifted his eyes slightly and met the frank and canny gaze of the elder, and realized that he had been scrutinized just as keenly.  
 
“Why have you sought a council with me?” he asked abruptly. “Have you come to aid us in our fight?”
 
The eldest of the Wild Men shook his head. “No, father of Horse-men,” he said, his words in the common tongue surprisingly understandable. “We fight not. Hunt only. Kill gorgûn in woods, hate orc-folk. You hate gorgûn too. We help as we can. Wild Men have long ears and eyes; know all paths. Wild Men live here before Stone houses; before Tall Men come up out of Water.”
 
Éomer shifted slightly in his place beside them. “But our need is for aid in battle. How will you and your folk help us?”
 
“Bring news,” the Wild Man said. “We look out from hills. We climb big mountain and look down. Stone-city is shut. Fire burns there outside, now inside too. You wish to come there?” He gazed at Théoden shrewdly. “You must be quick. Gorgûn and men sit on horse-road. Very many, more than Horse-men.”
 
“How do you know that?” Éomer asked.
 
The Wild Man frowned at him. “Wild Men are wild, free, but not children. I am great headman, Ghân-buri-Ghân. I count many things: stars in sky, leaves on trees, men in the dark. You have a score of scores, counted ten times and five. They have more.”
 
“You speak truly,” Théoden said. “For our scouts say that the enemy has cast trenches and stakes across the road. We cannot sweep them away in a sudden onset.”
 
“Father of Horse-men is wise,” Ghân-buri-Ghân said, nodding his grizzled head. “That way only death for Horse-men. No help to Stone-city. Must go different way.”
 
“What other way?” Éomer asked with a frown. 
 
“Road where no pits are, no gorgûn walk, only Wild Men and beasts. Road that is forgotten by all but Wild Men.” He turned his bright gaze to Théoden. “We will show you that road. Then you will kill gorgûn and drive away bad dark with bright iron. Then Wild Men can go back to sleep in the wild woods.”
 
Théoden was silent a moment as he contemplated the headman’s words. Little choice did he have, it seemed; to push onward and meet the forces waiting for them on the road, knowing that they were outnumbered, or to trust in the word of a Wild Man and take a road that none had heard of before. Finally he lifted his head and spoke.
 
“We will receive your offer. Though we leave a host of foes behind, what does it matter?  If the Stone-city falls, then we shall have no return. If it is saved, then the orc-host itself will be cut off.”  He fixed his gaze upon Ghân-buri-Ghân. “If you are faithful, we will give you rich reward, and you shall have the friendship of the Mark forever.”
 
The headman nodded once and rose to his feet, his bulky form oddly graceful. 
 
“How long will it take to pass by the enemy and come back to the road?” asked Éomer. “We must go at foot-pace, if you guide us; and I doubt not the way is narrow.”
 
Ghân-buri-Ghân shook his head. “The way is narrow at beginning and end, but way is wide for four horses in Stonewain Valley to south. Wild Men go on quick feet. Walk from here to Dîn between sunrise and noon.”
 
Éomer thought for a moment, and looked at his king. “Count then some ten hours for the journey, for things unforeseen may hinder us, and if our host is strung out, it will be long before it can be set in order when we reach the end of the road.  What is the hour now?”
 
“Who knows?” Théoden replied, passing a hand tiredly over his face. “All is night now.”
 
“It is all dark, but it is not all night,” said the headman, shaking his head. “The sun has risen already and is climbing over the east-mountains. She is hidden, but we can feel her. The day has begun.”

Chapter 5
 
The men and elves of the Grey Company took their rest in the empty fields of Ciril.  The township itself was deserted, its inhabitants having long since gone away to war. Those that had been left behind had fled in fear with the rumor of the coming of the King of the Dead. 
 
Since the night at the Stone of Erech, Melaphríl had shared his bedroll with Elrohir each evening after both their watches had passed. It pleased him to have the comforting touch of Elrohir’s body against his as they rested, but it had surprised him as well. While on the march, they had always maintained a distance between them, stealing touches and caresses only when they would not be observed. Now, it seemed, Elrohir was openly proclaiming their relationship, and did not pay heed to any that might see them. 
 
He felt Elrohir shift behind him, his lover’s arms drawing him tighter against his body, and he smiled sleepily. The half-elf had wormed his leg between Melaphríl’s sometime during their rest, and the gentle pressure of his lover’s thigh had awoken him to a state of half-arousal.
 
“Elrohir,” he whispered, turning his head slightly, trying to see his face. “What are you doing?”  A warm, wet touch flicked against his ear, before Elrohir answered.
 
“Indulging myself, melethron. Hush.”
 
Surrounded as they were on all sides by their slumbering companions, Melaphríl could do little, except accede to his lover’s request. Soft lips found his ear and explored it, while the steady pressure became a gentle rocking, the movements unhurried. He could feel Elrohir’s arousal pressed firmly against his backside, rubbing with his movements, and its presence was torture. He pressed a hand against his mouth to stifle a moan as Elrohir’s hand slid downward and brushed teasingly over the rise of his leggings. 
 
“Elrohir,” he whimpered, his breath catching when his lover’s fingers crept beneath the waist of his leggings. “You should not…” 
 
“Hush, melethen,” Elrohir said again. “You do not wish to wake our companions, do you?” he whispered teasingly, his long fingers finding Melaphríl’s length and stroking it slowly. 
 
Melaphríl’s breath came faster, and he pressed his face into the blankets to muffle the sound of his ragged breathing. Elrohir’s tongue resumed its exploration of his ear, and he was lost under his skillful touch. His hips bucked under his lover’s hand, and it was all he could do to not moan Elrohir’s name as his release claimed him.  He trembled with the aftershocks of pleasure, closing his eyes at the touch of Elrohir’s lips against his neck.  
 
“Melaphríl,” Elrohir murmured softly against his skin. “Melon chen.”
 
His lover’s hand slowly withdrew from his leggings, and Melaphríl felt him draw away for a moment. He lifted his head slightly and saw Elrohir pull a small bit of cloth out of their nearby pack, before returning to his side. He reached for it, only to have his hands lightly pushed away.
 
“Let me,” Elrohir whispered, sliding the cloth beneath Melaphríl’s clothing to clean the evidence of his spent passion. The half-elf gave him a wry smile. “You are sadly lacking in spare changes of clothing, melethron.  It is the least I could do, since I am the cause.”
 
Melaphríl blushed faintly, wondering if any of the company were observing them while his lover cleaned him as thoroughly as he was able with the small cloth. There would be little question in their mind as to what had just occurred, if any were watching. When Elrohir finished, and bent to kiss him, Melaphríl decided he did not care.
 
Elrohir tossed the cloth at their packs, and crawled beneath their bedding once more. Melaphríl rolled to his side so he could see him.  The half-elf’s head was resting on his arms as he regarded Melaphríl with unconcealed delight, his pewter eyes luminous in the dim light of pre-dawn. 
 
Leaning forward, Melaphríl pressed his lips softly against his lover’s, his hands moving to cup Elrohir’s face as he gave expression to what he could not say.  
 
Elrohir returned the kiss, cradling Melaphríl’s face with his hands, giving his reply.  
 
Finally, the need for air and the sounds of their companions gradually rousing made them draw apart.
 
“Hannon chen,” Melaphríl murmured quietly, not caring if the entire Grey Company had observed their affection. “I only wish there had been time for me to do the same for you.”
 
Elrohir chuckled softly, stroking Melaphríl’s hair away from his face. “I did not expect it of you, melethen. It was something I wanted to do.”
 
Melaphríl blinked, and his throat was tight with sudden emotion. “How did I get so lucky?” he whispered, shaking his head in wonder.
 
His lover’s lips curved into a breathtaking smile. “I am the fortunate one, seron-vell. You captured my heart the day you refused to let my brother and myself pass the border of Lórien.  How brave and certain of your duty you were, until Haldir came to see why Elladan was shouting.”
 
Melaphríl flushed with the memory. “I cannot believe I was so foolish,” he murmured. “Elladan was quite offended that I had questioned your identities.”  He looked up and smiled shyly. “You were much more forgiving.”
 
Elrohir sat up and stretched his lithe limbs, grinning at Melaphríl. “I had ulterior motives. What Elladan did not see was how beautiful you were, how your green eyes flashed with the light of your spirit. Your beauty captivated me the moment I saw you.  I knew I had to have you.”
 
“And I refused to be yet another conquest for you,” Melaphríl replied, shaking his head with a smile. “Though I think my heart was already lost the moment I saw your eyes.”
 
Chuckling, Elrohir rose from their bedroll. “You certainly did not act that way, melethen. You were quite the challenge.” He waited until Melaphríl had risen as well, and began to roll up their bedding. He glanced up from his work, giving his lover a pleased grin. “It was not until I cornered you in the baths and stole a kiss that you relented.”
 
Melaphríl matched his grin. “Aye, what else could I do with an armful of persistent, and very naked, elf?” He flushed with pleasure at the memory. 
 
Elrohir handed him their bedding, and grasped his shoulders lightly. “I discovered that there was more to you than just your beauty, melethen,” he said seriously. “You stole my heart with your passion, and your strength. Until then, I had never truly loved.”
 
“Nor I,” Melaphríl said softly. “Though I was slow to believe you when you finally spoke of your feelings for me. Even now, at times, it amazes me that I have your love.”  He shook his head slightly. “I feel unworthy of it.”
 
Frowning, Elrohir leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss against his mouth. “Never feel unworthy, seron-vell. If anyone is worthy of being loved, it is you.”  
 
~ * ~
 
The road the Wild Men led them on was not an easy one. Many parts of it were overgrown with trees, their massive roots buckling the stone and making it impossible to pass except by foot. Low hanging branches made it difficult to make any speed, and the Rohirrim and elves were spread out, each leading his horse, as they navigated the obstacles before them. It was dark as well, and though they had been assured that the sun had risen, they could see no sign of it as they made their way down the forgotten road. 
 
Erin had lost sight of Éowyn during the trek, though she knew her friend walked somewhere ahead, with Merry still perched precariously on Windfola’s back. His small stature made it easy for him to duck the low branches, an option the rest of the riders did not have. Erin wished she were so fortunate, for her legs were tired from walking, and her feet hurt as well. 
 
They stopped long enough to give the horses water and to eat, before pressing onward once more, and Erin caught quick flashes of brown forms amidst the greenery that surrounded them. The Wild Men flanked them on all sides, making sure their progress was not discovered by the enemy as they drew closer to their destination. She had caught up with Éowyn as well, and made a determined effort not to lose sight of her friend again, come what may.
 
The wind brought occasional whiffs of smoke that grew stronger as they drew closer to the city, and Erin’s thoughts turned to the battle ahead. Struggling alongside Éowyn and Merry, she couldn’t help but think that she was more than a little over her head, and that perhaps wanting to go along wasn’t such a great idea.
 
What can I do, she thought miserably, biting back a curse when her boot caught the edge of a root and nearly sent her sprawling. I can’t fight, can’t ride, hell, I can hardly walk.  She had been so filled with the need to do something – anything to help. She still wanted to help; she just didn’t know what she – a lone woman from another age and time – could honestly do against the forces that faced them. 
 
Éowyn had little time to work with her on her weapons skills; their need for swiftness had made it difficult to find any time for it. When they weren’t moving, they were sleeping or keeping watch. There was little time for anything else. Now Erin found herself with the prospect of facing an entire army, larger than the one at Helm’s Deep, with only the knife skills Elladan and Elrohir had taught her. 
 
Taking a deep breath, she pushed her worries aside. They weren’t helping. In fact, they were only making her feel worse. Instead, she tried to think more positively about her situation. 
 
Well, if I die, at least it’s for a good cause. How many people in my world can say that? The thought wasn’t as reassuring as she’d hoped, but it was something to work with. Éowyn said that every arm that could wield a blade counted.  Even if I only manage to kill one orc, that is one less orc for Sauron.  She straightened her shoulders, lifting her head slightly. I’m not going to go out whining.
 
They drew to a halt, and Erin saw several of the Wild Men emerge from the trees, converging on where Théoden and Éomer waited.
 
“Where are we?” she asked quietly, glancing at Éowyn.
 
“I am not wholly certain,” her friend replied in a low voice. “Though we cannot be far from Minas Tirith.”
 
“Look,” Merry said excitedly. “Lord Celeborn and Haldir are going to the front, to meet with the King.”
 
“Hush, Merry,” Éowyn said. “You do not wish them to make note of your presence here and mention it to the King.”
 
Erin turned her head and saw that Merry spoke truly, for Lord Celeborn was indeed making his way gracefully past the riders, with Haldir following close behind. She saw that the elves had closed in as well, their lithe forms mingling with the Rohirrim, while they waited for their Lord’s command.  A familiar face caught her eye and she quickly looked away, busying herself with adjusting Ared’s stirrup, hoping that she had not been seen.
 
Strong fingers clamped down on her shoulders and spun her around, bringing her face to face with handsome, but rather angry looking elf. 
 
“What are you doing here?” Rúmil demanded, his fingers tightening on her shoulders. “Does Orophin know you are here? Was this his idea?”
 
Erin tried to shake his hands off her, but failed. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin so she could look him in the eye. “No, Rúmil. I have not spoken to Orophin since we met Lord Celeborn on the fields of Rohan. As for what I’m doing here, it should be fairly obvious. I’m here to fight.”
 
Gray-blue eyes stared at her unbelievingly, and he shook his head. “You should not be here! This is no game, Erin. Many of us will not live to see another day.”  He took a deep breath, his anger returning. “I should take my bow to your backside, woman,” he growled, giving her a shake.
 
“You wouldn’t dare,” Erin said. “And stop shaking me. I’m not some naughty child. I’m free to do as I will, and I want to help. I can’t just stand back and not do anything.”
 
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You can, Erin. And you will. Once Lord Celeborn knows you are here, he will send you somewhere safe, where your foolishness cannot get you into trouble.”
 
She poked him in the chest with her finger. “And where would he send me that would be safe?  And who would he send me with, for I’m sure he wouldn’t send me alone. Who will this army lose – when every sword is needed?”
 
Rúmil’s anger faded, and he shook his head again. “Hêneb ûn,” he growled softly. “You will be killed.”
 
Erin nodded, her chin lifting slightly. “I may very well be. But I can’t just stand aside and do nothing, Rúmil.”  She looked at him pleadingly. “I just can’t.”
 
He held her gaze for a moment, and finally nodded. “Though this is folly beyond any reckoning, I can understand your need.”  He dropped his gaze for a moment, before looking up once more. “But you will stay with Orophin and myself.  I will not let you out of my sight, and you will explain to both my brothers and Lord Celeborn why it is you are here.”
 
“I cannot leave…Dernhelm and Merry,” Erin said, nearly biting her tongue – she had almost said Éowyn’s name instead.  
 
“Go with him, Erin,” Éowyn’s voice was carefully pitched. “I would feel safer knowing your elf-friends protect you. They can look after you better than I could in the midst of battle.”
 
Erin wavered, stubbornly clinging to the thought of staying by Éowyn.  
 
“This is not a choice, Erin,” Rúmil said quietly. “You either come with me willingly, or I pack you over my shoulder.”
 
She glared at him a moment. “I thought Haldir was the bossy one,” she groused.
 
The corner of Rúmil’s mouth lifted a fraction. “He is my brother. It runs in our family.”
 
Heaving a sigh, she nodded in defeat. He was right, she supposed, though she hated to admit it. She did stand a better chance of coming out alive with them to protect her.
 
Rúmil’s hands dropped from her shoulders and he gestured for her to follow him.  
 
“Just a minute,” she said, and turned to Éowyn and Merry. “You be careful, both of you. I wish I was staying with you, but,” she cast a glare over her shoulder at Rúmil, “apparently that isn’t an option.”
 
Merry nodded earnestly. “We will, Erin. You watch yourself.” He gave Rúmil a fierce look. “Keep her safe.”
 
Rúmil touched his hand to his heart and gave a brief bow. “I will,” he replied seriously. 
 
Erin bit her lip, looking at Éowyn, wishing she could see her friend’s face beneath the helmet. 
 
“Do not worry, my friend,” Éowyn said softly. “I will take care.”  Erin could almost see her smile. “I have much to live for.”
 
Nodding, Erin turned and followed Rúmil. She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye as she walked beside him. “Where have you been?” she asked finally. “I didn’t see you with the others when we met Lord Celeborn.”
 
“Missed me, did you?” he asked, giving her a ghost of his usual smile. “I was late in arriving. We passed orc sign on our way, and Lord Celeborn sent Galen and myself to investigate.” His expression turned serious. “A force is headed for Lothlórien, even as we speak, though they are several days away.  Someone had to warn the Lady, though perhaps she knows already. Galen left for Lórien, and I went onward to Edoras.”
 
Erin’s eyes widened. “An attack on Lothlórien?” she said with dismay. “But all the elves who can fight are here? Aren’t they?”
 
Rúmil shook his head. “No, Erin. We would not leave our homeland unguarded, any more than King Théoden would leave Rohan undefended. Only those who could be spared left with Lord Celeborn.”  He lifted his head, his eyes narrowing, and Erin turned, following his gaze.
 
Lord Celeborn and Haldir were returning, and by their expressions, they bore news of great importance.
 
Erin tried not to hide behind Rúmil as Haldir’s keen gaze fell briefly on her and she saw him look at her curiously. His eyes widened in recognition, clearly startled at seeing her there beside his brother, before his face resumed its normally serious expression, though even from the distance she could see his jaw was set.
 
“What news do the Wild Men bring, my Lord?” Rúmil asked.
 
Lord Celeborn acknowledged Erin’s presence with a brief glance, before he turned his attention to Rúmil. “Minas Tirith burns in many places, yet holds still. The outer wall has been breached. Yet this news is not as dire as it seems, for it was thought that it would be held against us. King Théoden believes we can sweep through, if we succeed in winning the field before it.”
 
Rúmil nodded. “Good news, indeed.”
 
Lord Celeborn glanced at Erin, and she felt suddenly quite small under the sternness of his gaze.
 
“I am not surprised to see you here, Erin Smith,” he said with a small frown. “I do not agree with your being here, but there is little I can do about it at the moment.” 
 
Erin found her voice. “Why aren’t you surprised to see me?” she asked.
 
Celeborn’s eyebrows lifted for a moment. “My Lady gave a message to me for you, but I was only to give it if I saw you with Rúmil.”
 
Goosebumps prickled her arms at his words. The thought of someone knowing that she was going to do something before she even knew it was spooky beyond words. “What is the message?” she asked, rubbing her arms.
 
He looked at her. “The Lady will fall. Bring Elessar to the Houses of Healing. He will know what to do for her.”
 
“Elessar is Aragorn, right?” she asked, paling.
 
Celeborn nodded. “Do you understand her message?”
 
Erin bit her lip and nodded. “I do. Mostly.”  She turned to Rúmil and looked at him pleadingly. “I need to go back and stay with Dernhelm.”
 
Rúmil arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms, glancing at Haldir. “I do not think so, meldis. But what does my brother think?”
 
“I think she should be tied up and left behind in the trees until the battle is over,” Haldir said, scowling at Erin. “I cannot believe you would be so foolish.”
 
Erin frowned, opening her mouth to retort, but Lord Celeborn silenced her protests with a calming gesture.
 
“Foolhardy though your actions may seem to us, your heart is brave and your motives pure, pen neth.  My Lady’s words to you give me some comfort,” Celeborn said quietly. “However I agree with Rúmil. You should not return to young Dernhelm’s side. He will not be able to keep you in safety.”
 
“But how will I…” she began, trailing off when she saw his look.  “Oh, all right. Fine.”  She leveled her gaze at Haldir. “But no leaving me tied up in a tree.”
 
Haldir’s lips twitched briefly, but he nodded. “Tempting though the thought may be, I will not. However, we must find you something that will give you more protection than what you wear.” He eyed her leather cap critically. “This will not suffice.”  He shook his head, glancing at Lord Celeborn. “She is much too small for any of our armor to fit her.”
 
“That is something I can help with,” Celeborn said with a faint smile. “Having been forewarned of your possible presence here, I have carried with me several items given to me by my Lady. I believe you will find all that you need has been provided for.”  He glanced at Rúmil. “King Théoden wishes for us to wait until the cover of full darkness before mounting our attack,” he said. “We have a few hours yet before then. Take Erin and help her prepare for what awaits.” He looked at Erin, his stern expression softening somewhat. “She will most certainly be in need of it.”
 
~ * ~
 
The sound of the water lapping against the sides of the boat was soothing, and would have lulled Melaphríl to rest, had it not been for the state of his unsettled mind. Above him, fluttering with the wind, was the banner Halbarad had carried with him. In the dim light of the hidden sun, he could now see the design worked upon the fabric: a great white tree on a field of black. 
 
He lifted his head, his hair streaming behind him as he stood beside Elrohir, watching the fires of Pelargir fade to distant specks of light behind their boats. The cold chill of memory caressed his neck, making him shiver slightly, and he pulled his cloak tighter around him. 
 
The Grey Company had reached Pelargir and found it in the possession of the Umbar.  Their mighty ships were anchored in the harbor, prepared to set sail and carry the foes of Gondor and of all free men to the shores of that city.  
 
The Umbar were not alone. The Haradrim, who had been driven forth from Lamedon by the arrival of the Grey Company and the Shadow Host, had joined them. Their combined forces were more than a match for the men and elves of the Grey Company, though their numbers had been slightly increased by Lord Angbor of Lamedon and his men, who had joined with their company when the Haradrim had fled in terror before the sight of the Shadow Host.
 
Aragorn had called to the Dead, and they had answered his command.  Ghostly horns blew a challenge to their enemy as the Shadow Host swept past the Grey Company and into the harbor below. Screams of fright and terror came from the Umbar and Haradrim as they tried to flee from the dread Host that crashed down upon them in a cold wave. None could withstand the Dead, and those that were able, abandoned their ships for the icy water below. Many were drowned, and those that did make it to the shore quickly met their fate at the hands of the Grey Company. Only a few made good their escape, fleeing as fast as their legs could carry them to the south, towards their homelands. 
 
When all the enemy had been driven from the ships and shores of Pelargir, Aragorn had called the Dead to him once more. 
 
Melaphríl shivered again, remembering the icy chill that had descended upon them when the Dead had assembled before them, their forms silent and pale, save for the red gleam of their eyes.
 
Aragorn had stood bravely before them, with regal grace and bearing so different from his usual mien of a humble ranger. 
 
“Hear now the words of Isildur’s Heir,” he had said in his great, strong voice. “Your oath is fulfilled. Go back and trouble not the valleys ever again!  Depart, and be at rest!”
 
The King of the Dead had broken his spear before Aragorn and cast it aside, before bowing low before him. As swiftly as they had come, the Shadow Host departed, vanishing in the darkened night like the last vestiges of an evil dream.
 
Now, on the ships of their enemy, they raced against the wind and tide in hopes of reaching the shores of Gondor before it was too late. 
 
~ * ~
 
Leaving Ared with the other horses, Erin followed Rúmil, or rather, was pulled along behind him as he made his way through the temporary camp that had been established while the company waited for nightfall. His long fingers gripped her wrist tightly, as if he was worried she would bolt if he didn’t hang onto her. He needn’t have worried, she thought morosely. Where would she run?
 
“Rúmil, slow down,” she huffed, after nearly tripping over an exposed tree root. “Please. My legs can’t keep up with yours.” 
 
Glancing down at her, Rúmil slowed his pace slightly, until she walked beside him instead of behind him. They reached the end of the line – where the supplies were kept, and only then did he release his grip on her. Searching through the packs and packages, he quickly found the bundle Lord Celeborn had described to him, and lifted it in his arms. Carrying it over to where she waited, he set it down on the ground, crouching down to open the tightly wrapped bundle.
 
“What is in it?” Erin asked, dropping to her knees beside him, her mouth dropping open in surprise when he unrolled the bundle and revealed its contents.
 
A chain mail shirt, finely wrought and small in size, caught her attention first. Its metal rings gleamed, even in the fading light of the day. Beside it was a pair of thick, leather breeches, much thicker than the cloth pair she currently wore. Next to the breeches, though, was something that made her gasp in delight.  
 
A small helmet, crafted in the same fashion as the helms the elves wore into battle, lay gleaming against the dark cloth that had held the items bundled together. Her fingers touched the metal reverently as she glanced up at Rúmil.
 
He shook his head. “Utter foolishness,” he muttered, his fingers tracing the delicate links of mail. “You are fortunate in the Lady’s foresight.  This gift is more than I could have hoped for.”
 
Erin nodded, feeling lost for words.
 
“Come, then. This will do you little good if you do not put it on,” Rúmil said, reaching up to snatch the leather cap off her head. His expression of surprise would have made her laugh, if it hadn’t so quickly changed to dismay.
 
“You cut your hair,” he accused, running his fingers over the ragged ends. “Why?”  His eyes met hers, and she looked away from his gaze.
 
“To help my disguise,” she said finally. “Since I wasn’t wearing a helmet that would hide it, I thought it would be better if I cut it short.”  
 
“What is this?” a new voice asked, and Erin recognized it as Orophin’s. “Haldir sent me here with some story that…” he trailed off, coming to a stop and looking down at Erin’s bowed head. “I see it is no story, then,” he finished flatly.
 
Erin dared to look up, and flinched at the disapproval on Orophin’s face. 
 
“Did you know of this?” he asked Rúmil.
 
Rúmil shook his head. “I only just discovered her presence less than an hour ago.” He picked up the chain mail shirt and held it up in front of him. “Apparently, the Lady knew Erin would be here.”
 
Orophin frowned. “I do not like this, muindor. This is no place for someone like Erin to be.”
 
Erin took the chain mail from Rúmil and stood up, tilting her head so she could look Orophin in the eye. “I already got the lecture from both your brothers, and Lord Celeborn. There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already heard.”
 
Orophin scowled, leaning over her. “If you survive the night, I will have more to say than what my brothers and my Lord have said.”
 
She nodded, holding the chain mail shirt to her chest protectively. “If I survive the night, you can yell at me all you want. I’ll even listen.”
 
He glowered a moment longer, before shaking his head, looking pointedly at the chain mail she held in her trembling fingers. “That serves no purpose unless you put it on.”
 
Rúmil rose gracefully to his feet, taking the shirt from her. With his help, she managed to get it over her head and push her arms through the sleeves. It fit her perfectly, as if it had been made for her.
 
Which, considering Lady Galadriel’s message, it probably was, she thought, smoothing it over her tunic.  
 
The leather breeches were a bit trickier, as she had to take her leggings and boots off first, and had no desire to do it with an audience. Orophin solved the problem of the lack of privacy by holding up the large cloth that her gift had been bundled in like a curtain. Making sure there was no one behind her, she changed as quickly as she could, her fingers fumbling over the unfamiliar ties at the waist.  After a few moments of struggling, she managed to get them tied.  
 
They felt weirdly heavy against her skin; the leather did not move like cloth, and she moved about experimentally, trying to get used to the feel of them. Like the mail, they fit her like they were made for her.
 
Silently, Orophin handed her the helmet, his eyes resting briefly on her shorn hair. Like Rúmil, he seemed to disapprove of her new haircut, if his frown was any indication.
 
Erin put the helmet on, surprised at how light it was. It covered her head completely, the sides sweeping forward to partially protect her face. She reached up and ran her fingers over the crest, feeling the delicate scrolling pattern beneath her fingertips.
 
“Do you have a weapon?” Rúmil asked, watching her fasten her cloak around her shoulders.
 
“I have the knife that Haldir gave me when we left Lothlórien,” she answered, pulling her cloak back to show him. 
 
Orophin held his hand out and she drew it from its sheath, handing it to him carefully.  He held it up and looked at it, nodding in approval. “’Tis a good blade,” he said with a faint smile. “As should be expected, for one of Elvish make.”  He handed it back to her, hilt first. “Can you wield it with any skill?”
 
“A little,” she admitted. “You know that Elladan and Elrohir worked with me while we traveled to Edoras. They taught me a few things. Basically how to avoid getting hit until help came.”
 
Orophin glanced at Rúmil, who gave him a slight nod. “Show us.”
 
Erin’s eyes widened. “Now?”
 
“We have time. It will be at least another hour before full dark,” Rúmil answered her, moving away from the baggage area. 
 
Erin followed him, Orophin walking beside her, until they reached an area that was more open, although she could see there were several tree roots and low growing bushes that might pose a problem.  Still, it was more realistic than a perfectly clear and level spot would be; she doubted that the enemy would be picky about the landscape. 
 
Rúmil faced her, sweeping his cloak back away from his armor in a fluid gesture. “Orc armor is very thick and will be impossible to penetrate with your knife,” he began. “Aim for the eyes and neck, if you can. Or, the upper thigh.” He gestured to the area where the leg joined the hip. “Their armor is minimal there.  The same is also true with men.”
 
“M-men?” she repeated, swallowing uneasily. “I didn’t think there would be men.” The brothers regarded her steadily, and she flushed, feeling more than stupid. “Of course. Not every human is going to fight for the good guys.”
 
Orophin nodded.  “The Wild Men have also told us that a black rider leads the enemy against the forces of Gondor. If it is one of the Nazgûl, as Lord Celeborn fears, it may make its presence known on the battlefield. If you see it, run, and do not look back. It cannot be killed by any man or elf.”
 
Erin nodded numbly, and took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her knife. “I will.”
 
“Now,” Rúmil said, adopting a defensive posture. “Show us what you know.”
 
~ * ~
 
Her body was aching by the time the call went out for them to resume their journey towards the city. Rúmil and Orophin had both worked with her with seemingly endless patience, correcting her strikes, improving her defensive skills, until she felt at least confident enough that she could defend herself to some extent. The thought of actually killing a human bothered her a lot more than the thought of killing orcs, though she realized that it was a stupid distinction. The enemy was the enemy, regardless of race. Any of them would kill her if given the chance.
 
She led Ared as she walked beside Orophin, keeping her eyes fixed ahead of her. Rúmil walked just ahead, leading his horse, and she caught his glance as he looked back over his shoulder.  She knew both of them were unhappy to find her here, and honestly, she couldn’t really blame them. Of all the decisions she’d made in her short life, this, perhaps, wasn’t the brightest. Yet there was no way she was going to stay behind in Edoras, and let Éowyn and Merry ride off without her. 
 
Lord Celeborn’s message from Galadriel was upsetting, to say the least. If she interpreted it correctly, Éowyn was going to get hurt, possibly quite badly, and it was going to be her responsibility to track down Aragorn and bring him to the houses of healing. How she was supposed to manage that, without knowing where Aragorn was, and in the midst of a battle, was something she was going to have to figure out. Rather quickly, too, if the rising smell of smoke and the distant pounding of drums was any indication. 
 
The road they had been traveling on finally widened, and it had cleared enough for the riders to mount their horses once more. When the call came to mount up, Erin realized her knees were shaking quite badly, and it took her two tries to climb on Ared’s back. 
 
Orophin’s horse nudged hers, and she glanced over at him, hoping she didn’t look as terrified as she felt. 
 
“Stay with Rúmil and myself,” Orophin said quietly. “You will do fine.”
 
If I can keep from throwing up, that is, she thought, her fingers tightening on the reins.  She took a deep breath, and nodded gamely.  
 
She saw the standards rise, and heard King Théoden’s shout. Horses whinnied as their riders wheeled them about, forming into éoreds, and she saw the familiar flash of Éomer’s cloak as he led the third éored forward. Elfhelm led the second éored behind him, and she saw, to her surprise, that Éowyn had moved her horse forward so that she was closer to the King. 
 
The elves formed their own group behind the éoreds, and Erin quickly lost sight of Éowyn in the shuffle. Clutching the reins tightly, she tensed, waiting for the signal to charge, and prayed to whatever deity above that she would come out of the battle ahead alive and intact.
 
King Théoden wheeled his horse as he raised his sword above him. “Forth Éorlingas!” he shouted.
 
Lord Celeborn’s clear voice echoed him as he raised his fist high in the air. “Gurth a chyth vín!” 
 
The horns of battle blew loudly, and the Rohirrim and elves rode forth to face the enemy.

Chapter 6
 
Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!
spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!
-Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien
 
The armies of Mordor and the Rohirrim came together with a sound that, for as long as she lived, Erin knew she would never forget. The sound of horses screaming, men shouting, swords crashing and arrows flying. The sound of chaos unleashed.
 
They surged forward into the blackness, and it was all she could do to stay by Rúmil and Orophin's side. Elven bows sang out around her, striking their foes, and clearing the path for Théoden as he led their charge.
 
Terror gripped her. She clung to Ared's back as the battle-wise horse wheeled, striking out with his hooves at anything that dared to get too close. A sword swung at her and she ducked automatically, feeling the wind from its passing on her cheek. She struck out with her knife, aiming for the throat as Rúmil had shown her, and was rewarded by a spray of hot blood across her face. 
 
Gagging, she pulled back, feeling as if her actions were in slow motion as she watched the man fall lifeless at Ared's feet. Something swift flew by her face and she jerked back reflexively, her eyes widening as another man fell next to the first, arrows imbedded in his body.  She quelled the nausea that rose and pulled Ared’s reins, guiding the horse behind Orophin and Rúmil’s as they charged into the fray.
 
"Stay alert,” Rúmil shouted, swiftly knocking another arrow to his bow. Two more of the enemy fell before Ared’s feet. Erin could do little more than hang on, ducking the blows that came her way as her horse eagerly followed its fellows. From what little she could see, the Rohirrim were laying waste to their foes; only a few slipped by them to be dealt with by Celeborn’s elves, and Erin was beyond grateful for their skill. 
 
Smoke from the burning city filled the air, stinging her eyes as they drew closer to the great wall. She tried vainly to see where Éowyn and Merry were in all the confusion that surrounded them, but could make out very little in the darkness. Besides, the need to stay alive made it difficult to spend much time looking for her friends. She managed to duck another blow aimed for her as Ared spun on his hindquarters, nearly unbalancing her seat in the process. The horse kicked out with deadly accuracy, and the man screamed in pain. His screams ended abruptly, but off by an arrow through his throat. 
 
Erin leaned against Ared’s neck for a brief moment. If we get through this, I’m going to rub you down myself and give you the best horse-treats I can find. If we get through this…
 
Ahead of her, where she knew that somewhere, the King and Éomer rode, she heard the sound of a horn. The sound of it carried across the field brazenly and she heard the voices of men roar in response to it.
 
“Ai! Tiro! Look!” Orophin shouted, raising his hand to the sky.
 
For the first time in days, the sky was growing lighter, and she could see the golden glow of the sun just below the horizon. The sun was rising, bringing daylight into the world once more.
 
~ * ~
 
The sky was brightening, and Théoden took that as a good sign.  Around him the bodies of the Haradrim, Easterlings and Southrons lay in death beside Orcs and other fell creatures that had been summoned to the Dark Lord’s cause. He glanced to the walls and saw that Elfhelm led his éored through the siege-engines, laying waste to the men and orcs there, driving them wailing into their own fire pits. Éomer’s éored claimed the east, slaying all that stood in their path. Behind his own men, Lord Celeborn’s elves rode, their arrows seeking and finding their enemy with deadly and beautiful accuracy. 
 
Well done by far, but still the gates of Gondor had yet to be won from the enemy, and already he could see the growing forces waiting there to meet them.
 
He took his standard bearer’s horn once more and raised it to his lips, blowing a long and brash note just as the sun drew above the horizon. 
 
“Forth, Éorlingas!” Théoden shouted, setting his spurs to Snowmane’s flanks. “To me!”
 
The thunder of hooves filled the air as they rode south to meet the enemy. Théoden’s blood sang with the fury of battle, and his sword was swift. Ahead he saw the great Northmen, horsemen like themselves, and he raised his sword high in challenge. The chief of the Northmen met him with a savage howl, but Théoden felt no fear. His sword rang loudly against the chieftain’s shield, the force of his blow knocking his enemy from his saddle. No quarter was given, and the screams of the dying Northmen filled the air as he took up their hideous standard and broke it into pieces.
 
He raised the horn to his lips once more, when a shadow fell across the sky, darkening the new day.
 
~ * ~
 
She saw it all.
 
The black creature hovered in the sky above where King Théoden rode, and she saw the horses react to its presence, screaming and squealing their terror of the beast above them. Most of their riders could not control them and were either thrown from their backs or hapless passengers as their horses fled. She could see Théoden fighting to control Snowmane, and the great, white horse reared back, twisting, falling…
 
Erin was too far away to do anything but watch helplessly as Snowmane fell, crushing his rider beneath his weight. 
 
Ared and the other horses of her group reacted as well, and Erin found herself on the ground quicker than she could think. Back and shoulders aching from the sudden impact, she could only watch as her horse galloped madly away, squealing in terror. Only the elves had managed to stay mounted, and a hand reached down, hauling her across the back of Orophin’s horse. 
 
She clung to his strong back, pressing her nose against his armor as she fought to keep her head clear. It was most definitely not the time to indulge in hysterics. Those could wait. 
 
“Are you all right?” Orophin called back, adjusting her grip around his waist lower so that it did not interfere with his aim. 
 
“Did you see?” she cried, unable to keep from shuddering. “Oh my god, Orophin. Did you see?”
 
“Aye, Erin,” Orophin replied, his voice low. “I saw.”
 
Erin lifted her head, swallowing her terror, and dared a look around his shoulder. They had fallen behind the others, though Orophin was already nudging his horse to catch up to them. A horrible thought occurred to her and she looked back at the great monster, its claws digging into Snowmane’s flesh as it settled on the ground. Where was Éowyn!
 
She had last seen her friend riding in the same company as the King. When the black creature had approached, the company’s horses had fled or thrown their riders. Where were Éowyn and Merry?
 
There!
 
Erin gasped in fear.
 
Standing alone before the great beast was a rider, her sword lifted in defiance. As they drew closer, she could see that the beast held a rider as well; a black rider, with a weapon that gleamed with an evil light.  It slowly dismounted, stepping forward with an eerily smooth motion, as if it lacked legs. Éowyn stepped forward as well, her head lifted in challenge.
 
“Oh my god,” Erin whispered, Galadriel’s words coming back to her. “She’s going to…”
 
The black rider drew back its weapon and struck at Éowyn, shattering her shield in one blow and knocking the Shield Maiden to the ground. 
 
“Hurry, Orophin!” Erin cried, drumming her legs against his horse. “It’s going to kill her!”
 
But Orophin’s horse balked at going any closer to the winged creature, shying away despite his gently worded pleas. Frustrated and filled with fear that made her knees quake, Erin slipped off the back of Orophin’s horse, ignoring his shout for her to stop.
 
The black rider had raised his weapon, leaning over Éowyn with the obvious intent to finish her, when something caused it to rear back, hissing and screeching in pain and anger. It turned, and Erin saw what had made it pause.
 
Merry!
 
The little hobbit had stabbed the black rider with his sword as high as he could reach, hitting it in the leg. The thing howled its fury and swung at Merry, knocking the hobbit several yards away. Merry fell brokenly and did not move. The rider turned its cowl once more towards Éowyn.
 
And met her sword.
 
Erin saw the sword shatter like glass as the black rider gave an inhuman shriek. Its robes collapsed as if they had only held smoke. The winged monster it had ridden gave a hoarse cry, and rose into the air. It didn’t get the chance to flee however.  The sound of elven bows filled the air and it howled in agony. It fell from the sky and hit the ground with a resounding thud, struck down by more arrows than she could count. She saw Éowyn stand for a moment, looking down at her foe, before swaying and falling next to Snowmane and Théoden.
 
Sobbing, Erin ran, stumbling across the bodies of the fallen in her effort to reach her friends.  She reached Merry first and crouched by his side. He was breathing, and when she touched his face, he opened his eyes.
 
“Éowyn, Théoden,” he said weakly. 
 
“Where are you hurt?” she asked, trying to see where his injuries were.
 
The hobbit shook his head, his eyes clouded in pain. “Never mind, just take me to them, please.”
 
He was heavier than he looked, and Erin staggered under his weight as she tried to lift him.
 
“Let me,” Orophin said from her elbow, and before she could protest, he took the hobbit from her, holding his small body easily. Erin stumbled after him and another hand caught her arm.
 
“Come on,” Rúmil said, his hand firmly grasping her arm. Leaning on him, they made their way to where the King and Éowyn lay. Orophin carefully set Merry down beside Théoden and stepped back, his face a mask of confusion and grief. 
 
Éowyn did not stir, and barely appeared to be breathing when Erin touched her, but she still lived. Breathing a sigh of relief, Erin turned her attention to the King.
 
Merry was clutching at Théoden’s hand, weeping openly. He raised it to his lips and kissed it reverently, gasping in surprise when the King’s eyes opened.
 
Tears blurred her eyes, but she saw the King of Rohan give Merry the gentlest of smiles.
 
“Farewell, Master Holbytla,” he said softly. “My body is broken. I go now to the halls of my fathers. And even in their fine company, I shall not now be ashamed. I felled the black serpent. A grim morn, and a glad day.”
 
Merry wept, struggling to speak past his grief. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said, choking, “if I broke your last command. Yet I have done no more in your service than to weep at our parting.”
 
Théoden smiled again. “Grieve not! It is forgiven. For a great heart will not be denied.”  With the last of his strength, he patted Merry’s hand gently. “Live in blessedness; and when you sit in peace with your pipe, think of me. For never now shall I sit with you in Meduseld, as I promised you. Or listen to your herb-lore.”  
 
Erin saw his eyes close and sobbed beside Rúmil, burying her face in his cloak. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, comforting her. She heard Merry’s sobs as well and turned back, swallowing her grief. She was being selfish – for Merry was hurting much more than she was. 
 
The King surprised them both when he spoke again. “Where is Éomer? For my eyes darken, and I would see him ere I go. He must be king after me. And I would send word to Éowyn. She, she would not have me leave her, and now I shall not see her again. She, who is dearer than daughter to me.”
 
“Lord, my Lord,” Merry said brokenly. “She is…” 
 
But he never got to finish, for his words were drowned out by the trumpeting of horns as the riders of the Mark approached their fallen King. Though the winged beast was dead, their horses were still reluctant to approach too closely, and Erin saw Éomer dismount, leaving his horse behind with the others.
 
He came to a stop beside them and pulled his helmet off his head. His handsome face was contorted in grief and pain as he looked down at his uncle, his King. Others joined him, their heads bowed in sorrow. It seemed as if even nature grieved for the loss of the brave King of Rohan, for the wind that had been blowing the great banner of Théoden’s house suddenly stilled, and the banner fell limply against its pole.
 
Slowly Théoden opened his eyes and looked up at Éomer. “Give the banner to Éomer,” he said softly. “It is his to carry now.”  He struggled for a moment to continue, his eyes closing in pain. When they opened again, they were bright, and his voice, which had been faint before, now came clear and strong. “Hail, King of the Mark! Ride now to victory!”  The brightness in his eyes faded and he smiled one last time. “Bid Éowyn farewell.”
 
Erin saw his eyes close as a long and shuddering sigh escaped him. She waited with the others, but he did not draw another breath.
 
“Théoden King! Théoden King!” the knights that surrounded them shouted, and Erin saw that all of them were crying every bit as hard as she and Merry were. 
 
Éomer took the standard and held it, and the wind chose that moment to pick up again. The green banner with the white horse unfurled and snapped in the breeze, and the newly named King of Rohan raised it high.
 
“Let his knights bear his body in honor from the field, lest the battle ride over it,” he declared, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “And all those other of the king’s men that lie here, and those of elvenkind who have fallen in this battle.”  His eyes roamed over the fallen around him, and he gasped, spotting Éowyn lying cold and motionless beside Snowmane.
 
“Éowyn!” he cried, sinking to his knees beside her fallen body, taking her gloved hand in his own. He stripped the glove from it and held it between his hands, calling her name. “Éowyn, Éowyn, how come you here?” He shook his head; tears previously held in check now coursed freely down his face. His broad shoulders shook as he bowed his head over her still form. “What madness or devilry is this?”  He rose to his feet, thrusting his helmet onto his head angrily. He turned away from his sister and Uncle, moving towards his horse with great strides. Mounting, he turned his horse, taking the standard from the knight who had carried it for him.
 
“Death, death, and death!” he cried bitterly. “Death take us all!”
 
Without looking back, he spurred his horse back to the front of the great host, and his men followed him. Over the field, Erin heard the horn of Rohan and heard Éomer’s cry.
 
“Death! Ride! Ride to ruin and world’s ending!”
 
Erin watched him go and cried, feeling as if the world was ending indeed.
 
“He does not know she lives,” Rúmil said softly. “Nor did he give us the chance to speak of it.”
 
Erin sniffled, wiping her tears away with the backs of her hands. “We need to get her to the houses of healing,” she said. “And then I’ve got to find Aragorn.” 
 
“Éowyn lives?” Merry said in a wondering voice, his small face pale beneath its mop of curls. “Then all is not lost.  At least I managed to save her.” He gave them a weak smile, and collapsed. 
 
Orophin watched one of the knights gather Merry tenderly in his arms, and Erin heard him speak softly.
 
“Aye, Master Perian. You did.”
 
~ * ~
 
The battle continued on around them, but Erin paid it little heed. She could only watch as the King’s men raised Théoden on a bier, carrying him in silence towards the city. Éowyn was laid carefully on a stretcher, the hilt of her shattered sword placed beside her, and borne by four knights behind the body of the King. 
 
Orophin and Rúmil had left her in their care, and while she hated to be separated from them, there was still a battle going on. Every man and elf was needed. She knew that as soon as the men had taken the King and Éowyn into the city, they would be returning as well. 
 
“Be careful, you two,” Erin had told them, and was rewarded by a swift kiss from each. 
 
“We will,” they promised. “When the battle is over, we will come and find you.”
 
Erin had been surprised at their gesture and their words, and watched them go with her heart in her throat. Her lips still tingled from their brief kisses. As if my love-life wasn’t confusing enough, she thought ruefully, falling in step behind the Rohirrim as they carried their precious cargo to the city. I didn’t need that reminder.
 
She pushed those thoughts away, and concentrated on keeping a close eye on Éowyn as they made their way towards the city. The lady was pale, almost ghostly white, and had not moved or given any sign that she was still living. Frustrated and worried, Erin lifted her gaze and searched vainly for some sign of Aragorn among the men that battled in the distance.
 
There were so many of the enemy. So many more than what she had seen at Helm’s Deep. Huge, tusked creatures that could have been elephants except for their enormous size and bluish color, moved with ponderous steps that seemed to shake the earth beneath her feet. They were gigantic – easily as tall as trees, and carried armed soldiers on their backs. Around their massive feet swarmed thousands upon thousands of the enemy. She could not see any trace of the green and white banner of Rohan in the chaos that unfolded before her. The screams of the wounded and dying were carried to them on the wind.
 
Despair filled her. How am I going to find Aragorn? I can’t go out there in the middle of that. I’d be killed before I made two yards.
 
The sky opened up on them, drenching them thoroughly in a deluge of cold water, and Erin shivered, drawing her cloak tighter. A heavy mist had rolled in with the rain, and their view of the battle and the city walls was gradually obscured behind it. It didn’t seem to bother the Rohirrim, however, and they pressed grimly onward in the same direction.
 
It seemed to Erin that they were never going to get there when the mists that surrounded them seemed to open, and out of them rode a group of soldiers in unfamiliar armor.  She gulped, her hand automatically going to the hilt of her knife, and she hoped that they were the good guys.
 
“What burden do you bear, Men of Rohan?” the leader called out, drawing his horse to a halt in front of them.
 
“Théoden King,” answered Halig, lifting his helmet from his head. His face was wet with the rain and his tears. “He is dead. Éomer is King now, and rides in the battle. He is the white crest in the wind.”
 
The man dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to another and knelt beside the King, pulling his helmet from his head. “Here is a good, brave man,” he said, bowing his head. “Alas the day has come of his passing.”
 
Erin was surprised to see him weeping, and wondered who he was. Something about him reminded her of the elves, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on exactly what it was. He was fair, blonde and tall, like Orophin and Rúmil, but broad shouldered and muscular like Éomer. Perhaps it was simply the way he moved, the gracefulness in his actions as he bowed over Théoden’s body. Or perhaps it was the ageless look in his eyes when he finally lifted his head. He rose, and looked at Éowyn’s still form. He stared at her a moment, and shook his head.
 
“This is no knight,” he exclaimed. “Surely this is a woman.” He glanced up at them, shaking his head again. “Have even the women of Rohan come to war in our need?”
 
“Nay,” Halig replied. “Save one. She is Éowyn, a Shield Maiden of the House of Éorl, and sister to our King Éomer. We knew naught of her riding until this hour, and greatly rue it.”  
 
The man drew his glove from his hand and placed it gently at her throat. “She lives still,” he exclaimed. “Are there no healers among you?”
 
“No, my Lord,” Erin spoke up bravely. “We are taking her to the houses of healing.”  She faltered as he turned his fathomless gaze to her. He looked at her with sharp eyes, and she knew he saw right through her disguise. 
 
The man regarded her for a moment longer, before turning his head to one of his riders. “Ride quickly to the city and have them send aid. Great haste is needed, for the lady is on the cusp of death.”  
 
The rider nodded and set his heels to his horse, speeding away at a gallop towards the city. The man shook his head, turning his gaze from Erin and glancing at Halig. “Bitter times have fallen upon us, my friends,” he said grimly, lifting his helmet and placing it firmly on his head. “Bitter times indeed.”  He mounted his horse once more and led his men away, towards the sounds of battle that carried through the mists. 
 
~ * ~
 
Merry did not so much as stir when the healers had him laid tenderly upon a bed, and Erin perched at his side anxiously. She was torn between his beside and Éowyn’s and drifted between them as the healers worked their skill on her friends.
 
“Will they be all right?” Erin asked, watching them strip Éowyn of her armor and lay a blanket over her chilled body. 
 
The healer shook her head. “It is too soon to tell, soldier.”  The healer, a woman of middle years, glanced sharply up at Erin as if finally noticing her presence. “What are you here for? Are you wounded? Should you not be out fighting with the others?”
 
Erin pulled her helmet from her head, running her hand over her shorn hair. “I’m not a fighter,” she said softly. “I’m only here because I couldn’t let my friends go off without me.”
 
The healer blinked, and grunted in surprise. “Do you have any skill in leechcraft, lass?”
 
She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”  
 
“Then best you get out from here, lass. We do not need useless hands here,” the healer replied, though her tone was less sharp. “Your friends will be well cared for.”
 
Erin hesitated, looking at Éowyn’s pale face. “What’s wrong with them?” she asked softly.
 
The healer looked at Merry and Éowyn before turning back to Erin. “They call it the Black Shadow, for it is a malady caused by the Nazgûl. All who are stricken by it fall into a state such as you see here, and never awaken.” She sighed, rubbing her face wearily with hands reddened from too much washing. “We cannot heal them, but we can at least care for them until they pass into the halls of their ancestors.”
 
Erin gulped, her fingers tightening on her helmet. She had to find Aragorn. Galadriel had said Aragorn would know how to heal them. She had to believe that. 
 
Without speaking she turned and fled the houses of healing, ducking past soldiers and healers as she made her way out the door. Cold air hit her abruptly and she took deep breaths, struggling to keep from giving into the need to cry, to scream, and to panic. It still wasn’t the right time to indulge in hysterics. 
 
She leaned against the stone wall, trembling, and gradually pulled herself back together.  She put her helmet back on, and checked to make sure she still had her knife. 
 
She had to find Aragorn. She had to find him one way or another, even if she had to go back out there and find him herself.
 
Erin took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall, making her way down the long winding steps that led to the main street. She paused, watching the people below, searching until she finally saw what she needed: a group of soldiers getting ready to return to the battle. She walked through the crowds of people, stepping around food stalls and water barrels, making her way as surreptitiously as she could to where they were. She fell in line behind them, breathing a silent sigh of relief that no one seemed to have noticed the addition of a short soldier wearing an elven-made helm. Considering that her fellow soldiers were garbed in what looked like leftovers from the armory, their gear mismatched but still functional, she wasn’t too surprised that they spared her only a brief and cursory glance.
 
They moved swiftly through the street, the crowds of people parting to make way for them as they traveled towards the main gate. They were almost there when something caught her eye and she nearly stumbled in surprise.
 
Of all the people in the world who could help her find Aragorn – this was one who had a chance of actually succeeding.
 
She turned away from the soldiers, sending a silent prayer of thanks to the powers that be, and made her way to where he stood, leaning in a familiar fashion on his staff.  He turned, noting her approach with mild surprise.  She pulled the helmet from her head, nearly weeping with relief. 
 
“Gandalf!”
~ * ~
 
Sunlight gleamed off the bright jewels woven in the banner that flew from the mast of the ship as it drew toward the shore. The cries of despair and terror turned to joy as they recognized the great device worked upon the black fabric in gold and mithril and jewels: the White Tree of Gondor, crowned with stars for the House of Elendil. 

Hope, which had all too recently been lost, was reborn.

Great fear gripped the forces of Mordor when they saw their own ships had been turned against them. A great host of warriors – elves and men alike, poured forth from the ships to lay waste to those that stood against them.

The arrival of Aragorn and the Grey Company had turned the tide.

Elladan stood shoulder to shoulder with Elrohir, their bows singing in harmony as they launched arrow after arrow into the fray. Melaphríl kept pace beside his love, and Legolas joined them, adding his arrows to their own. The elves of Mirkwood lined the shore, cutting a path through their enemy with their arrows while the rest of the Grey Company charged forward, their swords gleaming. 

Slowly they drove the army of Mordor, unwilling, towards the armies that closed in on them. The knights of Dol Amroth came from the east, the Rohirrim from the south, and the forces of Gondor from the west. 

Aragorn led them, Andúril, the reforged blade of Isildur, raised high in challenge. They pressed forward, exchanging their bows for swords, axes, pikes, and knives to meet the enemy full on. 

“Five,” Elrohir heard Gimli the dwarf shout gleefully, his axe cleaving yet another Easterling in half.

“Twelve for me, Gimli,” Legolas shouted back. He spun, his knives glittering in the sunlight as he stabbed out at his enemy. “Thirteen!”

Gimli roared, not to be outdone, and took two more down with one mighty blow.

Elrohir fought beside his twin, as they had done many countless times before, working in tandem against their foes. He spared a glance at Melaphríl and saw the elf fighting with the others from Mirkwood. 

Two Haradrim pressed him at once, and Elrohir was pushed back as he blocked their attacks. Spinning, he took one of them down at the knees just as the other moved in for the kill. He blocked the sword aimed for his neck and shoved with his body, knocking the Haradrim to the ground. His sword finished the job, and he turned away to help Elladan. His twin wore a ferocious grin, his sword locked with the curved blade of an Easterling.

Elrohir raised his own sword when something struck his side, causing him to stumble. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as he turned, his hand clutching the crossbow bolt that had pierced his armor. Before he could react, another bolt struck him, higher in the chest. He stared at the black arrow disbelievingly for a moment, before sinking to knees.  He felt no pain, but his body shuddered as another bolt struck him in the back. 

The ground seemed to reach up for him, though it did not soften his fall. Distantly he could hear the sounds of battle still going on around him, and he thought he heard Melaphríl’s voice, calling his name.

He wanted to wait for Elladan or Melaphríl to reach him, but it was difficult to keep his eyes open. He was so tired.  With a trembling sigh, he pressed his face against the cool earth, and closed his eyes.

~ * ~

The White Wizard looked at Erin with surprise.

“Erin Smith? What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice weary.

Erin reached for his hand, clutching at it tightly. “Never mind. I’ll tell you everything later, Gandalf, I promise. Right now, I need your help.”

His white brows furrowed as he caught her fear. “What is it?”

“Éowyn and Merry – they fought the black rider, the Nazgûl, and defeated him. But now they’re both unconscious, almost dead, in the houses of healing. The healers say they can’t do anything for them.”  Erin drew a deep, trembling breath. “Galadriel said I was to find Aragorn and bring him to the houses of healing. That he would know what to do.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows rose in surprise at her words and he considered them for a moment. “Yes, it is true, in times of old, that the hands of the King were the hands of a healer.” He looked down at her and nodded. “Yes, I can see Galadriel’s wisdom in this.”  He took her hand and placed it gently on his arm. “Come, then. We will find Aragorn.”

Relief so profound filled her and made her weak, and she leaned against his strength for a moment. They did not get very far, however, when a voice called Gandalf’s name.

Erin turned, and for a moment, thought it was Merry who approached them. She immediately dismissed her first impression, however, the closer the hobbit drew. He was clad differently, for a start. Instead of the reddish brown armor with the crest of the house of Éorl, he wore black armor, with a silvery white tree emblazoned on his chest. His small face, similar to Merry’s, was drawn with fear and anguish.

“What are you doing here?” asked Gandalf when the hobbit came to a halt. “Is it not a law in the City that those who wear the black and silver must stay in the Citadel, unless their lord gives them leave?”

The hobbit nodded, his face wreathed in misery. “He has sent me away,” he answered brokenly. “But I am frightened. Something terrible may happen up there. The Lord is out of his mind, I think. I am afraid he will kill himself, and kill Faramir too.”

Gandalf’s face tightened and he looked at the gate. “I must go and find Aragorn,” he answered finally. “For the Lady Éowyn and Merry are in dire need of his help.”

“But Faramir is not dead!” the hobbit cried, wringing his hands in distress. “They will burn him alive if someone does not stop them.”

“Burn him alive?” Gandalf exclaimed. “What is this tale? Be quick!”

“Lord Denethor has gone to the tombs and he has taken Faramir. He says we are all to burn, and he will not wait. He has had pyre made to burn him on and Faramir as well. He has sent men to fetch wood and oil.”  The hobbit clutched at Gandalf’s robes. “He means to do this, Gandalf. Can you not stop him?”

Gandalf looked down at Erin and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry, Erin, but I must go and put a stop to this madness. Faramir is in mortal danger and each moment I linger here brings him closer to his death.”

Erin nodded, not liking it, but understanding it completely. “Go and save him, Gandalf. I will find someone to help me.”

The wizard looked at her a moment longer, then nodded. He whistled sharply, and was answered by a clatter of hooves against stone. Shadowfax pranced eagerly as Gandalf mounted him, and the wizard looked down at them both.

“Stay with Erin, Pippin. Perhaps you can help her. I will deal with Lord Denethor.”

The hobbit nodded, wiping tears from his face with his small hands and watched as the wizard urged Shadowfax towards the Citadel.  With a sigh that seemed far too big for him, he turned and looked at Erin.

She looked back at him a moment, and gave him a weak smile. “Hello, Pippin. I was hoping I’d get to meet you sooner or later.”

Pippin nodded, and looked up at her appraisingly. “Who are you?”

“I’m a traveler,” Erin replied shortly. “I met Aragorn when they were searching for you and Merry…”

“Merry!” Pippin exclaimed, interrupting her. “Where is he?”

“In the houses of healing, with Éowyn. That was why I had asked Gandalf for help,” Erin explained. “I need to find Aragorn. Merry has been hurt, badly, and I think Aragorn can help him.”

Pippin glanced back the way Gandalf had gone, then looked at her. “Gandalf cannot help us right now.” His face took on a determined look. “It is up to us to find Aragorn. Can you ride a horse?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” Erin answered slowly, following his train of thought. “Can you fight?”

The hobbit patted the hilt of his sword. “Well enough,” he echoed.

She looked at him and smiled briefly. “I’ve gotta be nuts. Orophin and Rúmil will no doubt have something to say about this if they ever find out.” And Haldir, and Lord Celeborn, and Éomer she mentally added. Erin took a deep breath and took his hand. 

“Let’s do it.”

Chapter 7
 
All in all, they were lucky.
 
The worst of the battle was over, and there was no one to greet Erin and Pippin as they rode out onto the fields below the city. Pippin had his sword out and was ready to fight if the need arose, but from the looks of things, it would not come to that.  
 
The enemy was either dead, or fleeing for their lives.
 
We won this round, Erin thought, her throat tightening as her eyes took in the field. But just barely.  There were so many dead. Their blood had stained the grass red and it ran like miniature rivers across the field, pooling in places where the ground dipped low. She could not bear to look at their faces, so still and unnatural. She was afraid she would see someone she knew.
 
Pippin’s grasp around her middle tightened suddenly. “Look,” he said, pointing. “I can see the banner of Gondor.”
 
Erin looked to see where he had pointed, and felt a momentary surge of relief. Beside the banner that Pippin had pointed out was another, equally familiar banner of splendid green and white. 
 
She urged their horse faster, gripping with her calves the way she had been taught. She could see men standing by the banners, and the familiar glint of gold as the setting sun reflected off of a crested helmet. The ground passed by them in a blur as she focused her attention ahead of her.
 
A hand reached up and caught their horse’s bridle when they reached the edge of the temporary camp, and she looked down in surprise.
 
Legolas looked up at her and gave her a faint smile. “Hello, mellonen,” he said. “I saw you and Pippin come across the field and thought I should greet you.”
 
Erin slid from the horse, reaching up to help Pippin down. Legolas beat her to it, however, easily lifting the hobbit from the horse’s back and setting him on the ground. 
 
Pippin beamed up at the elf. “Hello, Legolas. I am happy to see you alive.”
 
Legolas inclined his head briefly. “As I am to see you, Peregrine Took.” He turned his attention to Erin once more. “What has brought you to the battlefield, Erin? And why are you dressed in such a fashion?”
 
Erin pulled her helmet off and gave him a brief grin. “Long story, my friend. Can I save it for later? I need to find Aragorn right away.”
 
He eyed her shorn hair with surprise, but nodded. “Very well. I will hold you to that. Come, Aragorn is speaking with Prince Imrahil and King Éomer.”
 
“Éomer lives?” Erin asked, breathing a sigh of relief. “Good, because what I have to say will interest him too.”
 
Legolas cocked his head slightly in question, but continued to lead her to where Aragorn and the others stood. Their faces were serious, and it was obvious that some type of debate was going on, if Aragorn’s heated gestures were any indication.
 
“Already you have raised the banner of the Kings and displayed the tokens of Elendil’s House. Will you suffer these to be challenged?” Éomer was asking.
 
Aragorn shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “But I deem the time is unripe, and I have no mind for strife except with our enemy and his servants.”
 
The tall, blonde man next to Éomer could only be Prince Imrahil, and Erin was startled to realize it was the same man who had sent for help when they had arrived with Éowyn. 
 
“Your words, lord, are wise,” Imrahil said, nodding his head. “If one who is kinsman of the Lord Denethor may counsel you in this matter. He is strong-willed and proud, but old. His mood has been strange since his oldest son was stricken down. Yet I would not have you remain like a beggar at the door.”
 
“Not a beggar,” Aragorn answered, noting the arrival of Legolas, Erin and Pippin with a brief nod. “Say a captain of the Rangers, who are unused to cities and houses of stone.” He gestured, and Elladan stepped forward, his hand touching his heart briefly. “Have the banner furled for now and keep it safe in your possession, until the time calls for it again.”
 
Elladan nodded, and turned away, but not before Erin saw his face. Something in his expression made her clutch his arm as he passed her.
 
“What is it?” she asked softly, looking up at him worriedly.
 
The dark haired elf paused and looked down at her, his face a mask of grief and worry. He opened his mouth and closed it, shaking his head. Finally he managed to speak. “Elrohir fell.”

Erin felt her stomach drop at those two words. “Is he…?” She didn’t want to say it.

Elladan shook his head. “No, he lives, by the grace of the Valar. But he is gravely wounded.” He took a deep breath. “Melaphríl is with him.”

Her grip on his arm tightened briefly as she shared his pain and worry. “If I can, I will come and see him,” she promised. “But wait a moment, for what I have to tell Aragorn will interest you too.”

Elladan nodded gravely, and waited.

Erin sighed, and turned back to Aragorn, who was regarding her expectantly. She heard Éomer’s startled exclamation at seeing her there, but did not look at him. 

“I would say I am surprised at seeing you here, Erin Smith, but somehow, I am not.” Aragorn looked faintly bemused. “You seem to have a habit of turning up where I least expect to see you.”

She stepped forward and took a deep breath. “I need your help, Aragorn. That’s why I’m here.”  Gandalf’s words came to her then. “It is said that in times of old, the hands of the King were the hands of a healer.”

“I am not King,” Aragorn said, his eyes glinting briefly.

“Not yet,” she heard Prince Imrahil mutter under his breath.

Erin took another breath. “Éowyn and Merry have fallen, struck by the Black Shadow. Lady Galadriel gave me a message – she said to bring Elessar to the Houses of Healing. He will know what to do.” She looked expectantly up at him and saw him nod.

“I know a bit of healing,” he said cautiously. “Not the skill of my foster-father, to be certain, nor that of my foster-brother.”  His expression tightened and he nodded again. “If the Lady of Lórien has said it, then there must be some good that I can do.”

“Éowyn lives?” Éomer asked softly, reaching out to grasp Erin’s arm and turning her towards him. “Do you speak truly?”

Erin nodded. “We didn’t get the chance to tell you before you rode off. She’s unconscious, but alive.”  

Éomer pulled her against him, nearly crushing her in his embrace. “I did not know,” he said, his voice breaking. “Oh, that I did not know my sister lived still. Thank you, lady.”  He released her from his bone-crushing embrace and Erin staggered back from him. 

“You are welcome,” she said somewhat shakily. “I only wish we could have told you sooner.”

“Éowyn is here?” Elladan did not bother to conceal his shock. “What brought her here?”

“The same thing that made me go with her,” Erin answered quietly, looking at each of them in turn. “The need to do something. We could not stay behind while those we loved fought the battle for our freedom.”  

He nodded, and turned to Aragorn. He looked torn for a moment, before he finally spoke. “I will go with you, muindor.”

“As will I,” Éomer added. 

“It is well,” Aragorn replied, already mounted on his horse. “For if she has fallen to the Black Shadow, perhaps your voices can reach her. You, Pippin, you will come as well. For it may well be your voice that will reach Merry’s ears if all else should fail.”  

Legolas lifted Pippin and placed him in front of Aragorn. “I will stay, mellonen,” the elf said softly, looking up at Aragorn. “For Elrohir’s sake, and for the sake of the others who have fallen.”  His face was briefly contorted in grief. “Many songs will be sung this night.”

Aragorn nodded and turned his horse, riding swiftly towards the city. Éomer and Elladan riding close behind him. 

Erin watched them go and felt as if a huge burden had been suddenly lifted from her shoulders. “I did it,” she murmured, watching their forms grow small in the distance. “I actually did it.”  She turned and looked at Legolas and managed a half-smile. “I guess if I felt like indulging in hysterics, this would be a good time.”

He regarded her seriously. “Do you feel like,” he paused for a moment, struggling with the unfamiliar words. “Indulging in hysterics?”

She thought for a moment, and slowly shook her head. “No, actually. I don’t. I don’t know if I’m just in denial, or if I’m getting better at dealing with things.”  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What I really feel like is a nice long hot bath and something to eat, but it’ll have to wait.”

“Who are you, lady?” Prince Imrahil interrupted them, his voice soft. “I saw you on the fields earlier and thought you were of Rohan, but I can see now that you are not.”

Erin ran a hand through her shorn locks and sighed. “It is a long story, my Lord. It would probably be simplest to say I’m a traveler from afar, and I’m a friend to the lady Éowyn.” 

“It was she that slew the Nazgûl, the Witch King of Angmar,” Imrahil said wonderingly. “It was said that no man could kill such a creature.”

“Then perhaps it was fate that guided her to the fields of Pelennor,” Legolas said. “For the Shield Maiden’s sword to end his existence.”

“She didn’t do it by herself,” Erin added quietly. “Merry helped. His sword struck the blow that distracted the Nazgûl long enough for Éowyn to finish him. She would have been killed, otherwise.”

“You saw this?” Imrahil asked, surprised.

Erin nodded, shivering with the memory of it. “Oh yeah,” she said softly. “I saw the whole thing.”

Prince Imrahil looked at her appraisingly. “Then perhaps, one day, when the war has ended, you should write it down as you saw it, so that the memory of the Lady and the Hobbit’s brave deeds will be preserved.”

“I’m no historian,” Erin protested.

“But you are a scholar in your land, are you not?” Legolas asked, looking at her keenly. “Surely this would be a task well suited to your hand.”  He smiled briefly. “Much better than knife wielding, I would expect.”

Erin put her hands on her hips and looked up at him. “Hey, I’ll have you know I personally dealt with two bad guys on my very own.”  She looked down at her chest and grimaced at the stains. “I’ve got the gore to prove it.”

Legolas chuckled. “Well done then, Erin. You are alive, and that is truly all that counts.”

~ * ~
 
She followed Legolas through the camp as they headed to where the healers had set up tents. He stopped in front of a large tent and opened the flap for her. She stepped inside and he followed, closing the flap.

Elrohir lay on a pallet on the floor of the tent, his eyes closed tightly in pain. Melaphríl knelt beside him, and Erin saw his eyes were closed as well, though he opened them when he heard them enter.

“Do you need anything, Melaphríl?” Legolas asked softly. “Is there anything I can bring you?”

The Lórien elf shook his head and looked up with a weary smile. “No, meldir. Hannon chen.”  

“How is Elrohir?” Erin asked hesitantly. 

Melaphríl smiled more genuinely this time. “He is better, Erin. I thank you for asking. Would you like to keep him company for a moment? There are others I must tend to.”

Erin nodded, and made her way to Elrohir’s pallet, sinking to her knees beside him. Without thinking about it, she reached for his hand and clasped it gently with hers. Melaphríl nodded with approval.

“If he wakes, tell him where I have gone. Do not let him speak much. There is water beside you, if he should ask for it.”  A sly breeze crept in, cooling the tent when he opened the flap and stepped through it. 

Legolas took a seat on the ground beside Erin, and they both watched Elrohir as he rested.

“So, mellonen,” Legolas said softly, turning his eyes from the unconscious elf to Erin’s face. “Tell me what has happened since I saw you last at Edoras.”

“It won’t disturb him?” she asked, raising her face to look up at him. 

Legolas shook his head. “No, it will do him good to hear familiar voices. He can hear us, though he is not awake. He knows we are here, worried for him.”

She nodded. “Supposedly that is true of people who are in comas. They can hear what is going on around them.” She patted the hand she held gently. “I’m glad to see you, Elrohir. I hope you will get better soon.”  Erin glanced at Legolas and smiled sheepishly; she was relieved to see he wasn’t looking at her like she was a nut.

“You cut your hair,” Legolas remarked, looking critically at her. “It looks terrible.”

“Thanks,” Erin replied, snorting. “I imagine it does. Éowyn used her embroidery scissors to do it, and we weren’t really worried about making it look pretty.”

“What made you decide to come?” he asked, frowning. “I thought you wanted to go home.”

Erin sighed, looking down at Elrohir for a moment. “I am home, Legolas. I was given a choice to return to my world, or stay here, and I chose to stay.”  She snuck a peek at him and saw no disapproval on his face, only curiosity. 

“Tell me,” he said, folding his arms across his knees and giving her his undivided attention.

So she did. She began with seeing Éowyn dressed up in her soldier disguise and following her to the barn. She told him about confronting Éowyn about not following Elladan, and the weird sensation that the words she was speaking were not her own. 

“I got so cold, suddenly. It was like having a bucket of icy water dumped over my head. Suddenly, the next thing I know, I’m back in the woods of England, and I’m lost again.”  She realized he did not know about what had happened to her when she was seven, and quickly explained. 

“It was the same man and woman you saw as a child?” he asked, when she finished.

Erin nodded. “Yes. It was them. They explained things as cryptically as they could and then led me to a path that split into two forks. I’d seen the path before, in Galadriel’s mirror. Of course I didn’t understand what it meant at the time.” She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Why is it you elves can’t ever come out and say exactly what it is you mean?”

He laughed lightly. “Where would the fun in that be? We live so long, pen-neth. We do what we can to amuse ourselves.”

“Bah,” she snorted. “Elves.”

Legolas smiled. “Then what happened?”

“The path split into opposite directions. The man and woman told me that one would lead to my heart’s truest desire, the other would not. Neither would leave me completely miserable, but that there would be sorrow no matter which I chose.” She sighed again. “Some choice. Then they did the bright shiny light thing and disappeared before I could ask them anything else.”

“They did not tell you who they were?” Legolas asked gently.

Erin shook her head. “The man said something about the blessings of Ilúvatar. Is that one of the Valar?”

Legolas shook his head. “Ilúvatar is the creator of all. The Valar serve him.”

“Your mythos confuses me greatly, I’ll have you know. Some day, I’m going to pin someone down and have them explain it to me so I can understand it.” Erin said, shaking her head. 

The elf grinned. “If we all survive the war to come, mellonen, I would be happy to answer any questions you might have. Though you might ask Gandalf. He knows a great deal about the Valar. Much more than I.”

~ * ~

Elrohir had not so much as stirred by the time Melaphríl returned, but the healer looked greatly relieved after he examined him.

“He is truly resting, now,” he said softly, stroking Elrohir’s hair back from his brow. “A true healing sleep. He will not awaken for a day or more, but he will recover.”

“You look as if you could use some rest yourself, mellonen,” Legolas said, rising to his feet. “You will do no good to others if you are weakened yourself.”

Erin watched Legolas gather a pile of blankets and spread them next to Elrohir’s pallet. “Lay down beside him so that he knows you are near. Take some rest, for you have most certainly earned it this night.”

“Is there anything I can do or get for you?” Erin asked, watching the elf slide into the blankets and curl his body protectively around Elrohir’s. 

“No, thank you, Erin,” Melaphríl replied quietly. “Legolas is right. I am far more weary than I realized.”

Erin felt a pang of envy as she saw Melaphríl place a soft kiss on Elrohir’s forehead, before settling his body beside him once more. To have such love for another – and to have that love returned just as strongly. She wondered if she would ever be lucky enough to experience it.

They blew out the candle as they left, leaving the two elves together in the comfort of each other’s presence.

~ * ~

They walked in companionable silence through the camp, which had over the hours become more orderly than when she had first arrived. More tents had been pitched, and several campfires burned. The smell of cooking food wafted on the evening breeze, and she could hear the low murmurings of conversation as the men took the opportunity to relax. 

They found Gimli sitting on a rock, cleaning the largest of his axes with slow, methodical precision. He glanced up at Legolas and Erin as they approached, before turning back to his work.

“How is the elf?” he asked gruffly.

“Elrohir will heal,” answered Legolas with a brief smile at the dwarf. “Melaphríl is with him now.”

“Good,” Gimli replied with a nod. 

“Do not tell me you were worried about him,” Legolas teased lightly, watching the dwarf carefully oil the blade.

“Hmmph,” Gimli snorted, looking up at his friend with a scowl. “Not a word about it, Legolas.” He turned his glance to Erin and looked her up and down, frowning. “What are you doing here, lass? You should be back at Edoras.”

“I should,” Erin agreed with a sigh. “But I’m not. I came with Éowyn and Merry. In fact, I’m heading back to the city now to check on them.”

“What has the hobbit done now?” Gimli asked, sliding his axe into its customary resting place on his back. 

“He was hurt protecting Éowyn,” Erin said. “Will you come with us? I’m sure he’d like to see you.”

Gimli rose from the rock and nodded. “Aye,” he replied. “I think I will. It will be good to see the lad.”

The dwarf grumbled about having to ride again, but Erin could tell there was no strength to his complaints. Legolas teased him for it, and had Erin giggling by the time they reached the gates of the city. It felt good to laugh. There had been so little to laugh about lately.

They reached the houses of healing and met Aragorn on the steps just outside.

“How are they?” Erin asked anxiously, looking up at the Ranger’s weary face. 

Aragorn managed a smile. “They are recovering, Erin. Pippin is with Merry and will not leave his side. Already the hobbit has asked for food, so I think he will be all right.”

“And Éowyn?” Erin’s throat tightened with worry.

“Elladan and Éomer are with her. She also has awakened, as if from a bad dream. She was relieved to see her brother and her love still lived, for in the nightmare she was trapped in, she believed them both lost to her.”  Aragorn passed his hand over his face, blinking tiredly. 

“You look weary, mellonen,” Legolas said softly, putting his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “Even the strength of the Dúnedain is not endless.” He smiled faintly.

“Soon I will go and rest, Legolas,” Aragorn replied. “For tomorrow morning I must speak with Prince Imrahil and King Éomer. A great decision lies ahead of us, and I must have a clear mind.”

Legolas nodded, dropping his hand away. “Go, then, and rest.”

“Sleep well, laddie,” Gimli said. “We will be with you tomorrow.”

Aragorn nodded and turned, walking as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“He is not yet ready to accept what will be,” Legolas murmured softly, watching Aragorn leave. “But already he feels the responsibility of it.”

“Aye,” Gimli agreed quietly. “That he does.”

They spoke no more of Aragorn, but entered the room where Merry and Éowyn were resting, eager to see their friends. 

Éowyn smiled when she saw Erin, her fair face even paler than usual against the pillow. Elladan held one of her hands, and Éomer held the other. 

“They told me you survived the battle, and I am relieved to see it is true. How fare you, my friend?” Éowyn asked softly.

Erin settled on a chair beside Elladan, blinking back tears of relief at seeing her friend awake. “Not even a scratch on me,” she replied, her throat tight. “I’m so glad to see you awake.  I was worried about you.”

“What about me?” a voice piped up from behind her, and Erin turned. She couldn’t help but smile as Merry looked indignantly at her. 

“Yes, Merry. I’m glad to see you awake too,” she replied, rising from the chair to see him. “How are you?”

“Hungry,” he replied. “And I want a pipe. But they will not let me smoke it just yet. They are afraid it will bother him.” He gestured to the bed beside him, where a man Erin did not know lay. She glanced at him curiously, wondering who he was. 

He was sleeping at the moment; golden lashes lay in stark contrast to the paleness of his cheeks. Dark shadows, almost like bruises, lay beneath his eyes, and even in slumber, he looked utterly exhausted. His hair was long and wavy, lying like a dark gold cloud on his pillow. Several days’ worth of stubble, the same fair color as his hair, covered his chin.  He was bare-chested, covered by blankets to preserve his modesty, and she could tell nothing more about him other than his chest and arms were well muscled.

“His name is Faramir,” Pippin answered her unspoken question quietly. He ladled more soup into Merry’s waiting mouth before continuing. “He is the son of the former steward of Gondor, Lord Denethor.”

Erin’s eyes widened. “The one who tried to burn his son alive?” she whispered, glancing at Faramir’s sleeping form once more. “Then Gandalf was able to stop him.”

Pippin’s small face clouded in misery. “But not before Lord Denethor doused himself in oil and set his own body on fire. Him, he could not save.”

“We will not speak of such things now,” a familiar voice spoke gruffly, and Erin turned her head, smiling as Gandalf entered the room. “He has no memory of it, and we will not remind him until he is well again.  The shadow nearly had him.”

Erin swallowed at his words, turning her gaze to Faramir. Despite the obvious strength in his body, he looked deceptively fragile, and she found herself wishing she could comfort him in some way. “How awful that must have been,” she whispered.

Gandalf looked shrewdly at her a moment, then nodded. “His life has not ever been an easy one. Constantly overshadowed by his older brother, he could never find favor with his father, but was told only what a disappointment he was. He has spent his whole life seeking his own worth, and was told he had none.”

She frowned, angered at the thought that anyone could do that to their own child. “That’s terrible. What a bastard.”

The wizard nodded again. “The only good thing Denethor ever did for his youngest son was to make sure he was well educated. In that, he did not stint.” His blue eyes glinted briefly. “I had the privilege of tutoring young Faramir for several years. I found him a most apt pupil.”

The head healer chose at that time to make her disapproval of so many visitors at such a late hour known, and Erin made her farewells to Éowyn, promising to visit later. Éomer and Elladan pressed kisses against Éowyn’s fair cheeks, and added their promises as well. Only Pippin refused to leave, and Gandalf cajoled the woman into letting the hobbit stay. 

The night was considerably cooler, and Erin wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders in an effort to stay warm. She bid Legolas and Gimli goodnight, and watched them leave with Elladan. Éomer hesitated at the top of the steps, looking back at Erin.

“I shall go and see about procuring you a place to stay while you are in the city, Erin,” Gandalf said, looking down at her. “I think that King Éomer would like to speak with you privately. Shall I meet you here in an hour?”

Erin nodded gratefully. Her mind was reeling with the sudden realization that Éomer was King. She’d heard it all day, but it hadn’t really registered until just now. She murmured her agreement, unaware that Gandalf had already left. 

“Erin,” Éomer began.

“We need to talk,” she finished, feeling a knot form in the pit of her stomach. He nodded, and offered his hand to her.

~ * ~

The place he chose would have been perfect for a lover’s tryst, if that was their reason for being there. Somehow, Erin doubted that was what was on Éomer’s mind as he gently pushed her into the empty stall and closed the door behind them.  She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, grateful that it was at least a few degrees warmer in the stables than it was outside.

He stood for a moment, looking at her, before dropping his gaze.

“You already know what it is I am going to say,” he said quietly, looking back up at her. “I can read it in your face.”

“You’re a King, now, Éomer,” she replied. “I’m just a wanderer who happened to stumble into your arms one day.”

He smiled faintly and nodded, obviously remembering that morning at Helm’s Deep. “I am sorry,” he began, when she stopped his words by holding up her hand.

“Please, don’t be. I’d make a lousy Queen, anyway. I think somehow I knew it wouldn’t work,” Erin said slowly. “I think I always knew.” It was true, she realized. Even now, though her stomach was knotted from anxiety, she was far from heartbroken. It was more disappointing than anything else, but certainly not nearly as devastating as it could have been. 

Éomer nodded sadly. “I could have loved you as a soldier. But I cannot as a King. Do you forgive me?”

Erin looked up at him and managed a smile. “There is nothing to forgive, Éomer. We had a few kisses together, not much more than that. It’s not as if you proposed to me and now you are reneging on your word. Though I will admit I wish things had been different.”

He let out the breath he had been holding and smiled weakly. “You are taking this far better than I could ever have expected.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. Actually, she was surprised that she didn’t feel worse than she did, but it was relieving, in a way. “Would you have preferred I got hysterical and cried my eyes out?”

This time he gave her a real smile. “No,” he said. “Most definitely not.”

“Good,” Erin replied. “Because quite honestly, I’m too tired for hysterics.”

He chuckled softly and shook his head. “I am relieved that you are not angry with me. Though I wonder if I should be hurt.”

Erin sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. “I will admit that your kisses made my knees go to jelly. Nobody kisses like you do. Does that make you feel any better?”

Éomer’s smile widened slightly. “Yes. I think it does.” He stepped closer, his arms reaching out and resting on her shoulders as he looked down at her. “May I?” he asked softly. “One last time?”

She nodded and rose on tiptoe to meet him halfway. His lips met hers almost chastely at first, before he pressed her against him and deepened the kiss. Her stomach fluttered at the velvety touch of his tongue against hers, and she found herself clutching at his arms to keep from losing her balance. He really is good at this, she thought deliriously, feeling his arm sweep behind her back to press her even closer. She was beginning to get dizzy from the lack of air when he finally released her, though his arm steadied her and kept her from falling. When her head finally cleared, she opened her eyes and saw the regret painfully etched on his handsome face.

He opened his mouth to speak and she shook her head. 

“Don’t,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”

Éomer looked at her a moment longer, then nodded. He released his hold on her and stepped away. He cleared his throat, and asked softly, “What will you do now?”

She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold now that she no longer had his body warming her. “Stay in Gondor, for now. I’ve seen enough battle and death to last me the rest of my life. Éowyn won’t be fighting any more battles for a while, and Elladan will probably leave her to fight with his brother and Aragorn. She’ll need some company while you guys are off fighting. After that?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll find something useful to do in Gondor. Or maybe I’ll go back to Lothlórien, or even visit Imladris or the Shire. I honestly don’t know.”

He looked at her steadily. “You know you would be welcome in Edoras, Erin. I would make sure you had a place there. Éowyn would be glad of your company, I think.”

Erin smiled faintly and shook her head. “No, I don’t think that Edoras is the place for me, Éomer,” she said quietly. “And not just because of what almost happened between us. I just don’t feel like it’s the place I belong.”

Éomer nodded, as if her answer did not surprise him. “I understand. But remember my offer, should you change your mind. You will always be welcome in Rohan.”

She looked up at him and managed a faint grin. “I’ll remember that. Now, if you’d be so kind to escort me back to the houses of healing? Gandalf will be waiting for me, and I’m afraid I’ll get lost. The streets look all the same to me.”

He chuckled and offered her his arm. “You are a strange woman, Erin Smith,” he said, smiling down at her. “I have enjoyed knowing you.”

He left her standing at the bottom of the stairs that led to the houses of healing. She watched him leave and saw him turn back once, giving her a brief wave, before disappearing into the dark streets. 

Erin sighed, climbing the first few steps before sitting down on them. Doubt worried at her, like a dog with a bone, and she leaned her head on her hands, waiting for Gandalf to return.

Did I give up too easily? Should I have convinced him to at least try? Or were my instincts right all along? That it wouldn’t have worked, even if he does kiss like nobody I’ve ever met.  Her lips still burned, slightly swollen from his kisses, and she ran her fingers idly over them. No, she decided abruptly. It was the right choice to simply agree with him. Because despite the way he made her feel physically, she realized she had never truly given him her heart.

“I found someone who has been looking for you,” Gandalf’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Or, rather I should say, two someones. They were most persistent that they see you.”

Erin lifted her head from her hands and looked up in surprise. Rúmil and Orophin stood beside the wizard, looking down at her with utterly neutral expressions. 

“I have found a room for you at the Three Hens. Your friends have generously offered to escort you there, as I have rather pressing business elsewhere,” Gandalf explained with a twinkle in his eye. “I hope you do not mind?”

“No,” Erin answered faintly. “Thank you, Gandalf. It was more than I expected, really. I didn’t exactly plan this part of my trip.”

His soft chuckle surprised her. “No, I do not imagine that you did. Farewell, then, until our next meeting.”  He turned and paused, looking at the elves with a faint smile. “Do not be to hard on her, my friends. She has been through quite a bit this day.”

Uh-oh, Erin thought, rising to her feet. Her legs and butt tingled from sitting on the steps too long, but she resisted the urge to rub the circulation back into them. Orophin held something up in front of her, and dropped it unceremoniously at her feet.

“My pack!” she exclaimed, picking it up with no small amount of wonder. “How did you ever find it? I thought I lost it when Ared took off.”

Rúmil eyed her and shook his head. “Orophin caught your horse after the battle ended. He had not gone far.”

“Thank you, Orophin,” she said, turning to smile at her friend. Her smile faltered a moment as he glowered down at her. “What?”

“Do you remember what I said to you when I found out you were here?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

Erin nodded. “Yes,” she answered in a small voice. “You’re going to yell at me, aren’t you?”

Orophin nodded. “And you are going to listen. Just as you promised.”

“Oh,” she said faintly. She looked up at him, sticking her chin out bravely. “Well, can I at least change out of these clothes and get a bath before you start yelling?”

Orophin smiled briefly. “Of course. You may even have something to eat first, if you wish. Because when the time comes, I want your undivided attention.”

Erin uttered a small eeping noise when Rúmil took her arm. “We promised Haldir that we would give you a good scolding from him as well. It was the only way we could keep him from coming here and thrashing you the way you deserve.”

“Lucky me, I guess,” Erin grumbled.

Orophin nodded, and this time he grinned. “Having been on the other side of one of Haldir’s scoldings, I can honestly say you are lucky indeed to have only myself and Rúmil to listen to.”  He took Erin’s other arm, and they began to lead her towards the inn.

Rúmil chuckled as they walked. “Do remember the last time, muindor? I thought my legs were going to go numb on me, and I was worried that I would fall down.” He glanced down at Erin and smirked. “Our brother can be long winded when he feels properly motivated.”

Erin couldn’t help but smile as she allowed her two friends to escort her to her new temporary home. 

Chapter 8
 
A short bath and a hot meal later, Erin was feeling much more human. After dressing in clean clothing obtained from her wayward pack, she finished toweling dry her hair. She glanced in the mirror, grimacing at her reflection.

Legolas was right. Her hair did look awful. She picked at a few strands critically, wondering if there was any way she could salvage it. Perhaps if she could get someone to trim the uneven ends, it would look halfway decent. She dropped her hand away, tossing the towel on the bed, and sighed.

Rúmil and Orophin were waiting in the other room for her to emerge, and she realized she was dragging her feet, putting off the inevitable. She heaved another, bigger sigh, and turned to her door, steeling herself to face the music.

The two elves looked up from their card game when she entered the room, and she smiled. They looked less than their usual perfect selves, sitting on the floor like children, with a deck of strangely marked cards between them. 

Orophin looked her over critically and nodded. “You look better, Erin,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “As opposed to?”

Rúmil grinned. “The way you looked before.”

Erin shook her head, and took a seat on the floor beside Rúmil. “Gee, thanks, I think.” She looked at the cards curiously. “What are you playing?”

Orophin set his cards aside and folded his arms, though it was difficult for him to appear as stern as he probably wanted to since he was sitting on the floor cross-legged. “You are not going to distract us that way.”  

“I wasn’t trying to distract you,” she protested.

He merely raised his eyebrows at her, obviously not believing her.

“Fine. Yell. I’m all ears.” She rested her chin on her hands and looked at him expectantly.

Orophin opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. “Would it do any good?” he asked. “You gave me your word you would listen, but would you truly hear what it is I would say?”

Erin sighed, dropping her gaze away and staring at her boots. “I know you both think what I did was wrong. It was dangerous, I know. It was foolish. On the other hand, I was supposed to be there.”

“Do you know how much danger you put both myself and Rúmil in?” Orophin asked sharply. “We had to concentrate on protecting you as well as ourselves. Your actions were foolish – and selfish. You did not think before you made this decision to come. If we had not been there to protect you, you would have been killed.”

Erin lifted her head and frowned at him. “I thought I did pretty well, considering,” she replied tartly. “I don’t hear you yelling at Éowyn for coming.”

Orophin folded his arms and looked down at her, and she couldn’t help but flinch at the anger in his eyes. “And where is Éowyn?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft. He lifted his head and pointed at the door. “In the houses of healing, alive thanks only to the grace of the Valar and Lord Aragorn’s healing. Unlike you, she has the training to fight. She truly knew what she was facing when she decided to go. You, pen-neth, do not.” He shook his head slowly. “And you are fortunate the Lady knew of your foolish choice before hand. Why my Lord did not allow our brother to leave you tied in a tree is a mystery, but he did not.”

“What do you want me to say, Orophin?” Erin finally looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry I made you worry. I didn’t mean to. You weren’t even supposed to know I was there.”

Orophin rose to his feet swiftly and turned his back to her. Erin glanced at Rúmil and saw him shake his head at her. 

“That does not make it any better,” Rúmil said quietly.

Erin sighed. “What do you want me to say?” she repeated softly. 

“We want your word, Erin,” Orophin said finally, looking over his shoulder at her.

“My word on what?”

“That you will never do anything like this again.” Orophin said. 

“I don’t plan on ever doing anything like that again.”

Orophin shook his head. “That is not good enough. I want your promise that you will think before you act, and consider what your actions may do to others.  If you give us your word, I will not thrash you like you so richly deserve for putting yourself in such a foolish and dangerous position.”

“You wouldn’t beat me,” Erin gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Orophin grinned wolfishly at her. “Do not tempt me, hêneb ûn. I think I would enjoy it far too much.”

She stared at him a moment, and shook her head. “You would too, I bet.”  She threw her hands up in the air and sighed. “Fine. I promise. I won’t put myself in the middle of danger unless I can’t avoid it. I’ll stay where I’m nice and safe. Happy?”

He glanced thoughtfully at Rúmil. “Almost. I will be happy when you let Rúmil trim your hair. It looks terrible.”

Erin scowled. “Fine,” she groused. “He can’t make it look any worse than it already is.”

~ * ~

Melaphríl heard the quiet tap at the tent flap and stirred, quietly disengaging himself from the blankets he shared with Elrohir. A quick but thorough look at his partner assured him that he was still in a deep, healing sleep. His color was much improved, as were the wounds he had sustained. They were already beginning to heal.

He rose gracefully to his feet and opened the flap, blinking as his eyes quickly adjusted to the light.

“How is he?” Elladan asked, stepping inside, his face a mask of concern.

“Much improved, mellonen. I think he will wake sometime this afternoon or evening.”

Elladan gave him a relieved smile. “That is good news indeed.”  He dropped to his knees beside his brother’s body, reaching out to stroke the dark hair away from Elrohir’s face.

“How fares Éowyn?” Melaphríl asked softly.

“She is recovering, but slowly.  Aragorn says she should not rise from her bed for at least ten days.”  Elladan replied, smiling briefly. “It is probably well that I will not be here to suffer through it. I do not think my lady will be happy to learn she is bedridden for so long.”  His expression sobered quickly. “Aragorn has called a council this morning. I thought you would want to be present.”

“Aye,” Melaphríl answered. “Lead on, mellonen. Your brother will not stir for many hours yet.”

Elladan bent down, placing a gentle kiss on his twin’s forehead, before rising to his feet.

The two elves made their way to where their foster brother had set up his council, taking their places beside Legolas and Gimli. Elladan saw his grandfather and gave him a brief smile.  Beside the Lord of Lothlórien was Prince Imrahil, and next to him Éomer, now-King of Rohan. Mithrandir stood on the other side of Aragorn, leaning on his white staff.

“We have driven the forces of Mordor from the gates of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath,” Prince Imrahil said. “The enemy has pulled back into Mordor to lick its wounds.”

Aragorn nodded grimly. “And to gather its strength anew. Do not think this victory wins the war. The forces of Sauron are well beyond ours, my friends.”

“Word has reached me that Lórien has been attacked once more,” Lord Celeborn said quietly. “The Galadhrim have driven them back, but the Mellyrn burn in their wake. I do not need my Lady’s vision to tell me they will attack again.”

“What of Frodo? Gandalf, what have you seen?” Aragorn turned to the white wizard.

Gandalf closed his eyes and bent his head for a moment, before opening them wearily. “Frodo has passed beyond my sight. He has entered Mordor itself. But unless something is done to draw the eye of Sauron away from his own land, he will never reach the Mountain of Doom to complete his quest.”

“Then nothing can stop the black tide from overwhelming us all,” Éomer said bitterly. “We are too few, even with the aide of the elves, to stop it.”

“What would you have us do?” Imrahil said. “Retreat to Minas Tirith, or Dol Amroth, or to Dunharrow, and there sit like children on sandcastles when the tide is flowing?”

Éomer frowned. “What else can be done?”

Aragorn stepped forward, gripping Éomer’s shoulder. “We are few,” he agreed. “And there are not enough of us left to stop what will come if Frodo should fail. Therefore we should do all that is in our power to make certain that Frodo has a chance.”

Éomer looked up at Aragorn for a moment, and nodded, his jaw set tightly.

“Sauron is filled with doubt since he learned that Isildur’s heir walked among men,” Gandalf said, his eyes gleaming in the morning light. “Since Aragorn wrest the Palantir from his grasp, his doubt has grown. He watches as the winds of fortune turn in our favor, and the defeat unlooked for of his first assault; the fall of his great captain will do nothing to ease his worry. We must use this against him. Turn his eye towards us and hold it there, at all costs. We must give the Ring-bearer his only chance, frail though it may be.”

Aragorn stepped back from Éomer and lifted his voice. “We ride to the black gates of Mordor with all the strength we can muster. We must call out all of Sauron’s hidden strength, so that he shall empty his land. We must make ourselves the bait, though his jaws should close on us. He will take the bait, in hope and in greed, for he will think that in such rashness he sees the pride of men in their King. We must walk open-eyed into that trap, with courage, but with small hope for ourselves. For my lords, it may well prove that we ourselves shall perish utterly in the black battle far from the living lands.” He took a deep breath, holding each of their eyes in turn, and no one looked away from the strength they saw in him. “This, I deem, is our duty. Better so than to perish nonetheless, as we surely shall if we sit here, and know as we die that no new age shall be.”

Elladan saw them all glance from one to another, heeding the unspoken call of their King. Though he was elf-kind, and not a man, he felt it as well. 

“We have come now to the very brink, where hope and despair are kin,” Celeborn said quietly. “Though I will heed the councils of both Lord Aragorn and Gandalf, I say to each of you to listen to your own council as well. None here are under oath or burden to follow, yet consider carefully what this man has said, and know the truth of what he speaks.” He turned and gave a bow to Aragorn, his hand resting against his heart. “Lórien will give what aide it can.”

Elladan stepped forward to face his foster brother, bowing as Lord Celeborn had done. “From the North our father sent Elrohir and I to lend what aide we could. Though he must remain behind, I would not leave you, muindor, in your hour of need,” Elladan said.

Aragorn returned his bow with a faint nod, his eyes bright. “Glad I am to have you ride with me,” he replied softly. 

Éomer stepped forward, his handsome face pensive. “I have little knowledge of these deep matters you spoke of. I know naught of the Ring-bearer or his journey, but I need not. This I know, and it is enough.” He dropped to one knee in front of Aragorn and offered him the hilt of his sword. “Aragorn is my friend. He succored me and my people, so I will aid him when he calls. I will go.”

Battle scarred hands gently touched Éomer’s hair as Aragorn smiled down at him. “Arise, my friend and King of Rohan. Take no knee before me. I am but a man, and your friend. I am proud to have you fight beside me.”

Éomer rose to his feet and met Aragorn’s bright gaze. A shout of laughter escaped him and he clapped Aragorn briefly on the shoulder, before returning to his place beside Imrahil. 

The Prince of Dol Amroth smiled and stepped forward. “Whether you claim it or no, I hold you as my liege-lord,” he said firmly. “Your wish is to me a command. I will go also, with what men of Gondor we can spare, for I do not wish to leave the city undefended. There is yet an army unfought upon our northern flank.”

Aragorn nodded. “The force we lead east need not be great enough for any assault in earnest upon Mordor, so long as it be great enough to challenge battle.”

“And it must move soon,” Gandalf added, dropping his hand lightly upon Aragorn’s shoulder. “We have little time now.” He turned his eyes towards the fiery mountain in the distance. “Too little time indeed.”

~ * ~

Elladan left his brother’s tent and rode swiftly towards the city. The fires had long since been put out, but the smell of burning still hung heavy in the air as he rode across the fields. Men and women searched among the fallen, some crying out in joy and relief when a loved one was found, others giving voice to grief for the same reason. Few paid heed to a single elf riding with speed towards the gates of Minas Tirith. 

He reached the houses of healing and took the long steps two at a time, sidestepping those who were coming and going into the building. The sounds of pain and misery assaulted his sensitive ears the moment he stepped inside, as did the smell of blood and unwashed bodies. It was difficult not to notice the stares directed his way as he passed through the hallways and rooms where the wounded and dying lay. He knew how he must appear to some of them: a great, shining being passing without a sound through the rooms. He was only half-elven, but the blood of Galadriel flowed through his veins. It was not difficult to sense the thoughts of those lying there as he passed them. Many thought he was the angel of death, come to take them to the halls of their ancestors. Only those recovering from their wounds saw him as he truly was: a weary elf, still wearing the blood of his enemy. 

Elladan paused in front of the room where Éowyn was kept, glancing down at himself with a frown. He wished he had the foresight to bathe before seeing her, but his eagerness to see her face, to watch her blue eyes light up with love, had made him forget all else. 

He pushed the curtain aside and entered the room quietly.

“Elladan!” Her soft exclamation was filled with joy. He took the hands she offered him and held them tightly, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. “I thought you were but a dream I had last night.”

“I am real enough,” he replied, bringing her hands up to his lips and kissing them. “I came to see how you were faring.”  He did not release her hands.

Éowyn smiled up at him, pulling one hand free to stroke his cheek gently. “I am feeling better,” she said quietly. “Much better now that I know you were not the imaginings of a fevered mind.”

He bent forward and brushed her lips softly with his own. “I am joyous to hear it, melethen,” he said. “Though Aragorn says you must stay abed yet another nine days.”

“Nine days!”  She pulled her hands away from him and frowned. “I will go mad with restlessness if I am forced to stay in bed for so long.”

Elladan stroked her hair, loving the soft feel of it between his fingers. “Yet stay abed you shall,” he told her with a smile. “For you must heal, Lady. I would not have you fainting at my feet when I return.”

She looked at him sharply. “You are leaving again?”

“Aye,” he said, nodding. “Tomorrow morning we ride to the Black Gates of Mordor to challenge Sauron.” He brushed her hair away from her face tenderly. “To give the Ring-bearer time to do what he must.”

Éowyn blinked at him, and looked away. Gentle fingers touched her chin and brought her gaze back to his.

“I do not wish to leave you, melethen,” he said softly. “I would stay here by your side until you were well, and carry you back with me to Imladris to the home of my father. He would take one look at you and know why it is I have lost my heart to you, my brave shield maiden. He would see your strength, your honor, and your beauty, and he would love you for them.”

She brushed away the tear that had fallen on her cheek. “But you will not,” she said huskily, her voice shaking. 

Elladan shook his head slowly. “I cannot. No matter how much I would wish otherwise, the war is not yet ended. Unless Frodo succeeds in his quest, there will be no tomorrows for us, melethen. There will be nothing left but ashes.”

Éowyn reached up to cradle his face with her hands, bringing his lips to hers. She kissed him gently, brushing her fingertips over his cheeks. His hands covered hers and he turned his head, kissing their palms.

“You will return,” Éowyn said shakily. “Swear it.”

He placed one of her hands over his heart and held it there. “On my honor, my lady. I swear only death will keep me from it.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “Then you had better stay alive, my love,” she whispered. “You still owe me a beating for disobeying you.”

Elladan blinked at her in surprise, then chuckled weakly. “Aye,” he whispered. “That I do. And I promise you will not sit a saddle comfortably for a week.”

Éowyn drew him close and laid her head against his chest. “So long as you return, I do not care if I sit a saddle comfortably for a month.”

He placed a kiss on the top of her golden hair. “I will tell you a secret, melethen,” he whispered. “But you must not tell a soul.”  His arms cradled her gently as he laid his cheek against her hair. 

“What is it?” Éowyn felt him tremble.

“I am afraid.”

She lifted her head from his chest, cupping his face between her hands once more. She met his eyes searchingly, and offered him a faint smile. “I was afraid when I rode with my Uncle against our enemy. I was afraid when I challenged the dark rider. I was afraid when the dreams took me and told me that my brother was dead, and that you were dead. One thing kept me from giving into my fear, my love. One small and simple thing.”

Elladan smiled faintly. “What was that small and simple thing?” he asked.

Éowyn smiled back at him. “Hope,” she whispered. “Though it seemed that all was lost, I clung to it with all my strength.”  She took a deep and trembling breath, holding his eyes with her own. “It was what brought me back to you. I heard your voice and my brother’s voice, calling me from the void in which I had fallen. Even then, my hope was not buried beneath the black dreams. I heard your voice and followed it, and hope gave me the strength to leave behind the emptiness that had filled my heart.”  She shook her head at him. “If I can return from such a place, my love, then you will return from Mordor.” Éowyn smiled again, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. “I have hope enough for both of us.”

He drew her close and kissed her again, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Melon lle, Éowyn,” he whispered against her lips. “Estel gerin.”

She laughed weakly, leaning her forehead against his. “You will have to teach me your language, my love. I do not know what it is you say to me.”

Elladan held her, wishing with every fiber of his being he did not have to let her go. “I promise to teach you, melethen.”

“When you return?” she asked softly.

He nodded, closing his eyes. “When I return.”

~ * ~

Something was tickling her nose, dragging her unwilling from her sleep, and she batted at it without opening her eyes. A soft, masculine chuckle greeted her efforts, waking her fully.

“Out of bed, lazy one,” Rúmil said, tickling her nose once more with the end of a feather. “Morning dawned hours ago. Orophin has already left to report to our Lord and has left me here to watch over you and keep you out of trouble.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked down his nose at her. “A daunting task indeed.”

“Hah,” she grumbled, feeling as if her head were trying to fall off. She struggled to sit up and groaned, clutching at her throbbing skull. “Why does my head hurt?”

Rúmil snorted, moving away from the bed. “I would say too much good Gondorian vintage, meldis, but I could be wrong.”

“Wine?” she asked, opening her eyes enough to cast a glare at his smirking face.

He nodded. “Several cupfuls, if I remember rightly. You did not get any better at cards, but you were certainly entertaining.”

“Oh, God,” she muttered, closing her eyes once more. “Please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid.”

Rúmil’s grin widened. “That depends entirely upon what you mean by ‘stupid’,” he said, laughing at her expression. “Get dressed. Orophin brought breakfast before he left and it is getting cold.”  He left her sputtering, and she could hear his laughter through the door.

Erin got dressed, trying to ignore the way her brain seemed to throb with each movement. Just when I could really, really use some Tylenol, she thought morosely. No more wine for me. Ever.  She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and it made her pause, her mouth opening in surprise. 

She no longer resembled a fretful porcupine with quills sticking up at all angles. Rúmil had trimmed the uneven lengths, shortening it further in the back and over her ears. While it was still far from beautiful, it was a far sight better than it had been. With a little help from some mousse and hair spray, it would look rather cool, she thought, briefly mourning the loss of hair care products. She ruffled her fingers though the top of it and was pleased by the way it fell. 

Erin opened the door that separated the sleeping room from the rest of her room, and the smell of bacon hit her with a vengeance. Her stomach growled audibly.

Rúmil glanced up, an apple halfway to his mouth and gave her an approving glance, before taking a bite. 

“If you ever get tired of being a guardian on the borders of Lothlórien, you could always open a hair salon,” Erin said, managing a grin.

His eyebrows rose, and he appeared to actually consider the possibility. “Would I get to shoot Orcs?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with humor.

“No,” Erin replied, taking a seat across from him. “Not unless they came in for a trim. And killing customers would be bad for business.”

Rúmil shook his head, taking another bite of apple. “Then I do not think I would enjoy it.”

Erin poured a cup of tea from the small pot and brought the cup to her lips, inhaling the steam. It smelled faintly of mint, and when she took a cautious sip, she found her head had cleared a little. She looked over the rim of the cup at Rúmil. “Hannon chen,” she said quietly, touching her hair. “This is much better.”

He nodded, and reached for a piece of bread, covering it with preserves. “You are welcome, meldis.”

She took another sip of the tea, and the fog that covered her brain lifted further. “So,” she said cautiously. “Did I do anything really foolish last night?” Like engage in carnal acts of pleasure with both of you? Not that it wouldn’t have been wonderful, but the last thing she needed was to confuse lust with love. 

Rúmil shook his head, and she saw no trace of his usual teasing. “No, you did not. You were quite talkative, however, once you started drinking.”

“I didn’t say anything I’ll regret, I hope?” she asked, taking a deep swallow of her tea.

He shrugged. “Nothing we will repeat to anyone else, Erin. Your secrets are safe with us.” He winked solemnly. 

She sighed with relief and snagged a piece of bacon. Thankfully the crunching noise did not make her head pound any more. “How long do you have to baby sit me?” she asked, reaching for the bread.

He lifted his eyebrow. “Weary of my company already?”

She shook her head and smiled. “No, Rúmil. I was just hoping I’d get to visit Éowyn today. I didn’t get to talk to her much last night.”

Rúmil grinned. “I will keep you company until I am satisfied that you will stay out of trouble. Fair enough?”

Erin nodded, finishing her breakfast with another drink of the tea. “Fair, I suppose. Though what kind of trouble you think I’ll get into is beyond me.”

He folded his arms and gave her a stern look. “We thought you safe enough in Edoras, Erin. Apparently we were wrong.”

She had the grace to look embarrassed. “I know.”

Rúmil relented, his expression softening. “We were worried for you,” he said quietly. “You put yourself in danger willingly, and we could not help but fear for you.”

“I know,” she said again. “All I can say is that I’m sorry I made you worry, that I put you and Orophin at risk to keep me safe. I’m also very, very glad you were both there.”

He smiled. “We told you when we said goodbye in Lórien that we would be your friends,” he said simply. “That is what friends do.”

~ * ~

They met Elladan at the bottom of the steps of the houses of healing. Erin took one look at his face and realized something was wrong.

“It’s not Elrohir, is it?” she asked, tugging lightly on his tunic. “Please tell me it’s not.”

Elladan gave her a faint smile. “No, meldis. My brother does well under Melaphríl’s care. He should awaken soon.”  He held up his hand when he saw her next question forming. “Éowyn is recovering also, though she is unhappy to learn that I am leaving again.”

Erin crossed her arms and looked up at the elf. “What do you mean?”  She felt Rúmil’s hand grip her shoulder and she gave it a brief pat. “Where are you going?”

“The war against Sauron has not yet ended, Erin,” Elladan said. “The ring still exists, and therefore Sauron is still a threat to all of Middle Earth. We go now to draw his eye away from Frodo, to give the Ring-bearer the chance he needs to succeed in his quest to destroy it.”

Her stomach knotted at his words. “You guys are going to Mordor?” she asked faintly.

Elladan nodded.

“You are not going,” Rúmil murmured in her ear. “Do not even think about it.”

Erin batted him away with a frown. “I wasn’t planning on it.”  He raised an eyebrow at her and she crossed her arms again. “I swear. I’m staying in the city.”

Elladan’s lips twitched briefly into a smile. “It is good that you are staying,” he said seriously, though his eyes glinted with hidden amusement. “Elrohir will be glad to know that someone will be here to look after him while we are gone.”

“Oh no,” Erin said, turning back to look at Elladan. “He can’t go with you?”

“No,” Elladan replied, shaking his head. “He will not be recovered fully enough to make the journey. He must remain behind and heal.”

An unpleasant suspicion reared its ugly head. “This is bad, isn’t it? You don’t think you’ll be coming back, do you?” she accused. 

Elladan shook his head again. “There are no certainties in this life, Erin. We go to face the forces of Sauron in his own lands. It is likely that we will not return.”

Erin stared at him a moment, and then took a deep breath. “But you have to go, don’t you,” she said quietly. She turned her gaze to Rúmil and saw him nod. She threw her hands up in the air, scowling. “Well, that just bites,” she muttered. “I know you have to go. I know. I know. But, damn…”  She rubbed her eyes fiercely, not wanting to give into the tears that threatened. “I was just hoping that things were over.”

“If we can draw Sauron’s attention away from his own lands long enough for Frodo to succeed, it will be over,” Elladan said. “If he fails?” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then it will matter little in the end whether we die upon the fields of Mordor or here in Minas Tirith. The fate of all the races of Middle Earth will be the same.” 

She didn’t have to ask him what that fate would be.

“You will look after Elrohir?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “I’d be happy to, though I doubt he’ll need much looking after.”

Elladan gave her a brief smile. “He will be glad enough to have familiar company, I think.”

Erin turned to look at Rúmil. “You’re going too?”

“Aye,” he replied. “Though I have not heard for certain, I would wager Lord Celeborn would join with Aragorn to face Mordor.”

“He has,” Elladan said. “As have King Éomer and Prince Imrahil.”

She scuffed hard packed dirt with the toe of her boot unhappily. “Well, I suppose this is goodbye until I see you again.”  She looked up at them both. “It feels totally inadequate to say ‘be careful’ considering what you’re facing. But I’ll say it anyway. Please, be careful. Come back in once piece.”

Elladan chuckled and gave her a cocky grin. “As always, lady,” he said, bowing slightly. He turned gracefully on his heel and crossed the road, making his way to where his horse was tethered. 

Erin turned to Rúmil and gasped when he drew her into his arms, hugging her tight. “I will be careful,” he promised. “I will watch out for Orophin and Haldir, and they will do the same.”  She felt him drop a kiss against her hair and smiled weakly against his chest, feeling wonderfully and protectively smothered. Her breath hitched briefly as she watched him walk away, but she managed to hold her tears back until he had disappeared from view. 

Then she sank ungracefully to the steps, hugging her knees, and let her tears finally come.

~ * ~

Melaphríl closed the tent flap behind him and made his way to where Elrohir rested, dropping to his knees beside him. He placed a hand on his chest and closed his eyes, stilling his thoughts. He could feel the steady beat of Elrohir’s heart beneath his hand, as well as the soft, rushing of blood as it coursed through his veins. The steady rise and fall of his patient’s breathing faltered for a moment, and Melaphríl opened his eyes to meet Elrohir’s gaze.

“Hello, melethen,” he whispered, smiling. “It is good at last to see you awake.”

Elrohir smiled weakly. “It is good to be awake, beside you, and not in the Halls of Mandos.” He made as if to sit up, but Melaphríl’s hands gently held him down. 

“Do not move just yet,” he admonished softly. “You are not healed enough to go walking about.” His hands were trembling as he stroked Elrohir’s hair back from his forehead.

“Melethen.” Elrohir caught one of his hands and held it loosely. 

“What is it? Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Melaphríl asked anxiously.

Elrohir smiled, squeezing the hand he held. “I need nothing except to hold you for a moment. Unless my healer says that I am not well enough for that.”

A soft chuckle escaped him and he lay down beside Elrohir. “I think you are well enough,” he replied, laying his head on his lover’s chest. He felt his arms enclose him, and heard Elrohir’s soft sigh.

“I take it that we won the battle?” 

“Aye,” Melaphríl answered. “But not the war.”  The sound of Elrohir’s heartbeat was comforting against his ear. “We leave tomorrow for Mordor.”

Elrohir’s arms tightened briefly around his waist. “Will I be well enough for travel by then?” he asked quietly.

“No, melethen,” he replied, burying his face against Elrohir’s chest. “You must stay in Minas Tirith.”

One hand left Melaphríl’s waist to stroke his hair. “I understand,” Elrohir said faintly.

He lifted his head to meet Elrohir’s gaze. “Melon lle. Uireb”

“Hush,” Elrohir whispered, gently pushing him down to lie against his chest once more. “Speak no more. I will hear no words of farewell from you.”

Melaphríl closed his eyes and surrendered to his lover’s wish. There would be no farewells spoken between them.

Chapter 9

Erin rose from the steps and wiped her face with her hands, her tears finally spent. She felt oddly empty inside, as if she had poured out more than tears when she had given into her grief. She hesitated outside of the door, not wanting Éowyn to see her this way. Her friend had enough to deal with at the moment, with Elladan leaving and all, without Erin adding her own emotional distress.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. No one paid her much attention as she passed through the house of healing and made her way to the room where Éowyn and Merry were kept.

She pushed the curtain aside and plastered a happy smile on her face.

“Erin,” Éowyn greeted her, giving her a weak smile. “I am glad to see you.”

“How are you?” Erin took a seat on the edge of the bed and glanced over in surprise at the empty bed next to Éowyn’s. “Where are Merry and Pippin?”

Éowyn managed a more convincing smile. “They left not too long before Elladan came to see me. Merry has healed enough that he was released – he has gone with Pippin to join the forces that will go to Mordor. He would not be left behind.”

Erin sighed, and reached for her friend’s uninjured hand. “You wish you could go too, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Éowyn answered bitterly. “To know that he goes while I remain behind…”  Unshed tears gleamed in her blue eyes. “Forgive me, I am more tired than I realized.”

Erin shook her head. “No, don’t say that. You’re worried, and you wish you could go. I don’t blame you. I kind of wish I could go too, but I know that I’d be more of a hindrance than a help.” She smiled briefly. “My days of riding as a warrior are definitely over.”

Éowyn managed a soft laugh. “I think you are not unhappy to see them pass.”

Erin grinned. “After the scolding I got from Rúmil and Orophin, what with the threatening of tying me up in a tree and leaving me there, what makes you think that?”

“They care about you, Erin,” Éowyn said quietly. “They worried for you, as did I.”

“Thank you,” Erin answered softly. “And yes, they care about me. I care about them as well – for a lot of reasons. They’ve been very good to me.”  

Éowyn lifted an eyebrow. “Are you in love with one of them?”

Erin shook her head. “No. Not in love – though I do love them. Not that all encompassing, head-over-heels, I’m going to die if we’re not together kind of love. They’re more like overprotective, bullying brothers.”  She sighed softly. “I don’t think I’m ever going to find that kind of love. I’ve pretty much given up on the whole idea anyway.” She managed a half-hearted smile. “I’ll just have to live vicariously through you and Elladan.”

Her friend squeezed her hand tightly for a moment. “It will come, Erin. You will see. When you least expect it, the right one will come and you will know.”

“If you say so,” Erin replied, shaking her head. “Right now, I’ll just be happy to see everyone come back from Mordor in one piece.”

Éowyn nodded, squeezing her hand again. “What will you do? Afterwards? Will you return to Edoras?”

Erin sighed. “No, I do not think so. I don’t know what I’m going to do, honestly. I haven’t thought things out that far. I’ll take each day as it comes.”

~ * ~

Éowyn had fallen asleep, wearier than she had wanted to admit to, and Erin rose quietly from her bedside after tucking the corner of the blanket around her friend’s shoulders. 

She was turning to go, when she heard a low moan from the occupant of the bed on the other side of the curtain. Moving as quietly as she could, she stepped around the curtain.

Faramir moved restlessly beneath the thin sheet that covered him, his reddish blonde hair plastered to his forehead in sweat. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed as he struggled with some inner demon. He cried out softly, his handsome face contorting in pain and grief, and Erin found herself moving to his side without realizing it.

She touched his forehead gently, stroking the wild strands of hair back from his face, and his eyes opened. They were dark blue, and filled with the remnants of whatever nightmare he had been having before he had woke. 

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “You were having a bad dream.”

His eyes gradually focused on her, and he looked up at her, puzzled. “Who are you, lady?”  His voice was soft, cultured, the voice of a nobleman. “I do not know you, do I?”

Erin shook her head. “My name is Erin Smith. We have not met before, though Gandalf told me who you were.”  She realized she was still stroking his forehead, and she pulled her hand away hastily. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, but you weren’t having a very good time sleeping. You sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

Faramir nodded, studying her closely. “You are not from Gondor,” he said with a slight frown. His eyes lingered on her clipped hair for a moment, before returning to her face. “Who are you?” he asked again. “Where are you from?”

“It is a long story,” she said, glancing away from his curious gaze. “I should probably go and let you rest.”  She started to rise, when he touched her arm, bringing her gaze back to his. 

“Please, lady,” he said quietly. “I do not wish to sleep, and I would appreciate the company. Unless there is someone waiting for you to return to them?” He raised a reddish brown eyebrow slightly.

Erin shook her head. She felt strangely shy, for some reason, and uncertain if it would be right for her to stay or not. “No, there isn’t anyone expecting me. I’m pretty much on my own, at the moment.”

“Then stay,” he requested softly. “And tell me your tale. Give me something to think about besides my own misery.”  He glanced away for a moment, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. 

She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, wishing there was something helpful she could do or say. Finally, she took a deep breath, and began to tell him everything.

Faramir did not interrupt or ask questions during her story. He merely listened, his expression wavering from polite interest to disbelief, then surprise and sympathy. She told him all of it, leaving out only the more private details of her relationship between Rúmil and Orophin. When she finished, he was shaking his head slowly.

“A more fantastic tale I have never heard,” he said finally. “I do not know whether to believe it or not.”

She shrugged. Honestly, she really hadn’t expected him to believe it, and she didn’t blame him for his doubt. He didn’t know her at all, and taken from a complete stranger, it was a bit big to swallow. 

Faramir smiled then. “Thank you, lady, for sharing your tale with me and keeping me company. I will rest now.” 

Erin rose from the bed, resisting the urge to tuck him in as she had Éowyn. “You’re welcome. I hope your dreams are better.”

He looked up at her for a moment without speaking, and Erin felt her cheeks warm under his regard. “What?”

Faramir smiled again. “Will you visit me again?” he asked softly.

She glanced at her feet, fighting not to smile like an idiot. “Sure,” she said, looking back up at him. “If you want.” She turned to go and paused, looking over her shoulder at him and giving him a smile. “Sweet dreams, Faramir.”

“Thank you, lady,” he replied, closing his eyes. 

~ * ~

Minas Tirith was city of movement. Repairs were being made to the walls and buildings that had been damaged during the attack. Everywhere Erin looked, people – older men, women and even young children, cleaned, lifted, sorted, and disposed of the rubble that cluttered the cobbled streets in the lower level of the city. 

It was no difficult thing to offer to help these people – after all, if she were going to stay in Minas Tirith, it would be her home too. The leader of the work crew she had approached had looked at her strangely for a moment – not that Erin blamed him, she supposed she was worth an odd look or two with her short hair and masculine clothes – but accepted her offer with a nod, sending her with another group that was busy clearing the smaller pieces of masonry that had crumbled from a shattered building. 

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and lifted yet another heavy chunk of stone, carrying it across to where a cart already half-filled with similar bits of rubble waited. She set it carefully on the edge of the cart and gave it a push, watching it tumble into the cart and break into smaller bits with satisfaction. It felt good to be doing something useful, something positive. 

Erin turned to make her way back to where she had been working when a hand fell on her shoulder, startling her. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Legolas asked, lifting an eyebrow at her sweaty, dirty, and disheveled state.

She couldn’t help but grin. “Actually, yeah. I am. What are you doing here?”  She wiped her face with the bottom of her tunic, grimacing at the grit that scratched her skin. 

“Gandalf sent me to find you,” he replied. “He is waiting for us at the Three Hens with Elladan.”

“Let me tell Eldenthor that I am leaving,” she said, heading to where the man supervising the cleanup crews was working. “And ask him if I can help tomorrow.”

Legolas lifted both eyebrows in surprise at this, but followed her without comment. 

Eldenthor finished laying a piece of rockwork on top of a half-finished wall and turned at her approach. 

“I finished with the courtyard,” Erin said. “It is all clear now for the repairmen to come in and do their work.”

“That is good,” the man said with a brief flash of a smile. “You are a hard worker, Erin. Thank you for your help today.”

“I was wondering if you would need me tomorrow. I have a few things to deal with in the morning, but I think my afternoon will be free.”

Eldenthor nodded, wiping his dusty hands on his tunic and glancing curiously at the tall elf beside her. “Your help is appreciated,” he said honestly. “I expect we will be over there, by the fountain after midday. Come and find me, and I will put you to work.”

Erin smiled. “See you tomorrow, then.” She turned and glanced at Legolas. “Shall we?”

They walked side by side through the busy street, following the gentle rise and curve towards the level where the Three Hens lay. 

“I am surprised to see you working,” Legolas commented, his normally long strides greatly shortened to keep pace with hers. 

Erin shrugged and gave him a brief grin. “I had to find something to do to keep me busy. I don’t embroider or paint or do any of those fluffy woman-type things. I was bored, and they needed all the help they could get. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

The elf chuckled. “I did not think you were. It is good that you are willing to help these people rebuild their city.”  

“If I stay here, it’ll be my city too, Legolas,” Erin replied seriously. “So I have a vested interest in keeping the streets rubble-free.”

“Is that what you have decided to do?” he asked curiously. 

She shrugged again. “I don’t know for sure,” she said. “But possibly. Éowyn said they have a library here, and that it is a city of learning. Maybe I can find something scholarly to do for a living.”

He nodded, taking the steps that led to the door of the Three Hens in two graceful bounds. He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. 

Erin crinkled her nose and laughed at his courtly gesture, stepping into the warmth of the Inn. 

Gandalf and Elladan looked up from their conversation to nod a greeting at the two as they made their way to the long table where the wizard and half-elf sat.

“How is Elrohir?” Erin asked, sliding onto the bench beside Gandalf. Legolas took the spot across from her next to Elladan.

“Sleeping, at the moment,” Elladan replied, smiling briefly. “He is doing much better, Erin, thank you. Tomorrow he should be able to get up and move about on his own, though he will still be too weak to do much beyond taking care of his basic needs.”

Erin nodded with relief. “Good. I’m so glad he’s getting better.”

“What have you been up to, young woman?” Gandalf asked, noticing the dust and grime on her face and clothing. 

“I found her working with those who are clearing the city of debris,” Legolas said, accepting the glass of water Elrohir offered him. “She seemed to be enjoying herself.”

Erin accepted the other glass and took a long drink, not realizing how thirsty she was until the water touched her lips. “I know I’m filthy,” she said ruefully, setting the glass down. “But it was good to do something helpful.”

Wise blue eyes studied her for a moment, and Gandalf smiled gently at her. “You do not enjoy being idle, do you?” he said quietly. “I can see that you do not.”

She shook her head, taking another long drink of water. “I’m not used to sitting around and not doing anything,” she replied. “This is the first time since I was in Edoras that I haven’t had something to do or somewhere to go.”

He nodded. “Then perhaps I have a solution to both our problems,” he said. He reached out and took one of her hands in his, turning it over and studying the scrapes and dirt imbedded beneath her nails. “These hands were not made to do physical labor, Erin.” He glanced up at her and smiled. “These are hands meant to hold a pen or book. Upon our return, I will have to speak with Aragorn about finding you suitable work, that is, if you truly mean to stay.”

Erin nodded, slightly confused. “What problem is it you’re having?” she asked, pulling her hand away from his and reaching for her water.

“Faramir,” he replied, watching her closely. “I spoke with him briefly today. He said he had met you this morning, when you came to visit Éowyn.” A single bushy eyebrow rose as he regarded her. “He said you told him some fantastic tale of sorcery and magic that he could not quite believe. He asked me if you were telling the truth.”

For some reason, her heart seemed to beat just a little faster than normal. “And?” Erin asked.

The wizard chuckled. “I told him he should decide that for himself.” His smile faded and he looked searchingly at Erin. “He is hurt, deep inside, where Aragorn’s healing cannot touch him,” Gandalf said quietly. “I worry that if left alone, his grief and pain will be too much for him, and he will not fully heal.” He sighed quietly, shaking his head. “I cannot stay behind to watch over him until this shadow passes from him, yet I would not leave him alone.”

“What is it you want me to do, Gandalf?” Erin asked quietly. “How can I help?”

Gandalf smiled at her question. “Be his friend,” he answered simply. “When you visit Éowyn, include him as well. Let him relearn his own worth.”

“Take Elrohir with you when he is able to go,” Elladan said. “I think he would enjoy that.”

Erin nodded and smiled faintly. “I can do that. Where did you put him, anyway?”

Elrohir grinned teasingly. “In your room.”

“What?” Erin nearly choked on the mouthful of water she had just taken.

“There is a shortage of rooms at the moment, with many of the other inns and houses haven taken damage during the war,” Gandalf explained. “We put him in your room – since you have a door that can separate the sleeping area from the main area, it seemed the best, rather than putting him in with someone he did not know.”

“Nobody is going to think I’m a woman of ill repute or anything, are they?” Erin said, frowning at them. “Having a male elf in the same room? I’m not worried about my virtue, such as it is, but I don’t want people looking at me weird. Not if I’m going to stay here.”

Legolas covered his mouth with his hand and looked at the painting above the fireplace as if it was immensely interesting. Elladan simply chuckled.

Gandalf cleared his throat gently. “We told the innkeeper that Elrohir is your husband. It was the simplest explanation that would protect you both from any unwanted attention.”

“Though he did ask about the two other elves who had been here earlier,” Elladan said, grinning. 

Erin groaned, covering her face with her hands. “What did you tell him?”

“That they were your brothers-in-law,” Elladan replied. “He seemed satisfied with that.”

“Oh.” Erin raised her head. “Well, that’s good then,” she said weakly. 

Legolas leaned forward and whispered in her ear, before leaning back once more. His eyes gleamed with humor at the expression on her face.

Elladan glanced from Erin to Legolas. “What did you say to her, cousin?” he whispered.

“I just informed her that if Orophin and Rúmil are her brothers, that makes Haldir her brother as well,” the Mirkwood Prince said with a grin.

“Ha ha,” Erin groused. “You’re quite the wit.” She turned, pointedly ignoring Legolas and fixed her attention on Elladan. “Is there anything special I need to do for Elrohir while he’s healing?”

Elladan thought for a moment. “Make sure he eats,” he said finally. “And that he gets plenty of rest for the next day or so.”

She nodded. “All right. Sounds easy enough.”

The half-elf gave her a faint smile. “I am glad he has someone familiar to keep him company while I am gone,” he said softly.

~ * ~

It was hard to watch them leave, not knowing if they were going to return, so she did not go with them to the gate. Legolas told her that it would probably be at least two or three weeks before they would return, possibly longer. It was hard to let go of him when she hugged him.

The innkeeper was more than happy to let her take her and Elrohir’s meal on a tray back to her room. She had no idea how any of this was being paid for, but figured Gandalf had worked something out with the man since he was the one who had originally arranged for her to stay here. 

Balancing the tray carefully against her body, she pushed her door open and stepped inside.  She placed the food on the table and poked her head into the bedroom to check on Elrohir.

The elf was awake, and managed a faint smile when he saw her.

“Hi,” Erin said, pushing the door all the way open and stepping inside. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded, and licked his lips. “Is there water?” he asked weakly.

“All you can drink,” she replied with forced cheerfulness. “Be right back.”

She left before he could see how much his condition had shocked her. She knew he had been badly hurt, but hadn’t really considered how he might look. His skin was nearly as white as the sheets he laid on. His eyes were dull and flat, and the shadows beneath them looked like bruises. Even his hair seemed limp and lifeless against the pillow. 

Erin poured a cup of water from the pitcher and carried them both back to the room.  She set the pitcher on the small table beside the bed and bit her lip. “Can you hold it, or do you need me to help you?” she asked.

“I believe I can manage,” he replied, taking the cup from her. When he finished, he handed it back. “Thank you.”  

“You’re welcome. Feel up to eating something?” Erin asked.

“They have left already, has they not?” Elrohir asked quietly.

Erin nodded slowly. “Yes. They’re gone.”

The elf sighed, picking listlessly at the stitching of the blanket that covered him. “I told him no goodbyes between us,” he said softly. “Yet now I wish…” He sighed quietly.

“It’ll be okay,” Erin said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and patting his leg awkwardly though the blankets. “I know it will.” Actually, if things continued to follow the course of the books, she knew there was a happy ending in sight.  Of course, she realized belatedly, it didn’t mean that Elladan or Melaphríl wouldn’t get hurt, or worse yet, killed. And since she was here, there was no guarantee that things would follow the book any more. 

Shaking her head, she pushed her gloomy thoughts aside. “It will be okay.”  As he lifted his head and gave her a hopeful smile, Erin hoped with all her heart that she was right.

~ * ~

She hated leaving Elrohir alone in the inn, but she needed to visit Éowyn and Faramir and he was not yet strong enough to walk the distance.

“Go,” the elf waved at her, frowning. “I do not need you hovering over me like a mother bird. You have been fussing over me for three days now without a break for yourself. I will rest while you are away and do nothing strenuous, I promise.”

“I don’t hover,” Erin frowned back at him, tucking the covers around his slender shoulders. “I don’t fuss.” His soft chuckle made her look at him. “What?”

“Yes, meldis, you do,” he replied, pulling his arms out from under the covers she had so painstakingly tucked to prove his point. 

She stared at him in consternation for a moment, before dropping a kiss on his forehead. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll go visit Éowyn and give you a few hover-free hours. Happy?”

He sighed softly and gave her a faint smile. “Yes.”

“Ungrateful elf,” she muttered, making sure the pitcher of water and cup were within easy reach, as well as the tray of fruit and bread in case he grew hungry. There was no strength to her grousing, however. She was simply glad he was feeling well enough to protest her fussing. 

She grabbed her cloak and twirled it over her shoulders, casting one last glance at the elf lying in the bed. He looked so much better than he had three days ago. His color had slowly returned to normal, and the light was back in his eyes. His strength was returning as well, for he was able to walk short distances without any signs of weakness, though he tired quickly. Erin wished Elladan or Gandalf were here to tell her if this was normal for elves or not. She couldn’t help but wonder if Elrohir’s slow recovery was due to his lover’s absence. 

Truthfully, she was grateful for the excuse to leave the inn. Three days of being cooped up with only Elrohir’s for company had begun to wear on her nerves. She liked the gray-eyed elf immensely, but she found herself longing for human and female companionship. 

Let’s be totally honest, shall we, her inner voice said slyly. You’re also wondering how the very handsome Faramir is doing, aren’t you?  She couldn’t help but check her appearance briefly before she left. Yes, she admitted silently, she was looking forward to seeing Faramir again too. 

Her steps were light as she climbed the stairs to the house of healing, her pulse quickening with eagerness as she made her way through the hall to where Éowyn and Faramir were roomed. She pushed open the door with a smile and greeted her friend cheerfully.

“Erin!” Éowyn smiled happily up at her from the bed. “Where have you been?”

The curtain between Faramir and Éowyn’s bed was drawn back, but the man himself was absent. Struggling to hide her disappointment from her friend, Erin sat on the edge of Éowyn’s bed and grinned. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited for a couple of days,” Erin said. “You remember Elrohir?” she asked impishly. “Looks just like Elladan?”

Éowyn nodded, and Erin was surprised to see her friend blush faintly. “Yes, I remember him.”

Wondering what it was about the elf that had embarrassed her friend, Erin shook her head and continued. “He was injured pretty badly during the battle and couldn’t go to Mordor with the army. Elladan asked me to look after him while he was gone. That’s where I’ve been these past days.”

“Oh,” Éowyn said, her color fading back to normal. “How is he?”

“Much better. He pretty much kicked me out of the room and told me to get lost for a few hours. He accused me of hovering and fussing over him like a mother hen.” Erin crossed her arms and scowled briefly. “There’s thanks for you.”

Éowyn laughed, reaching out and grasping Erin’s hand. “I missed you, my friend. I am glad he made you come.”

Erin smiled, relaxing her pose. “Me too. I think by tomorrow he’ll be well enough to walk here with me, if you’d like me to bring him. I think he’d enjoy talking to someone else besides me for a change.”

The lady nodded. “He would be welcome to visit. There is little to do, bedridden as I am, but stare at the wall and wish for time to pass more quickly.”

“What happened to Faramir?” Erin glanced at the empty bed. “I would’ve thought he’d have kept you company, at least. He seemed like a decent fellow.”

“He is kind and well spoken,” Éowyn agreed with an impish grin. “If I were not already spoken for, I think I would like him a great deal.”  She laughed softly. “As for where he has gone, I believe he is out in the gardens, for the healers have pronounced him well enough for such things.” This last was said with a rueful sigh. 

“Six more days, Éowyn,” Erin promised. “Then you can get up and move around. In the meantime,” Erin grinned, reaching into her tunic pocket and pulling out the deck of cards that Rúmil and Orophin had left behind. “Let me teach you how to play cards.”

Elvish cards were quite a bit different from the standard Bicycle deck she was familiar with, but with a few twists in the rules, she’d found a way to adapt them to games she knew: gin rummy, poker, and solitaire. There were a couple of cards that just didn’t quite fit in, so she set them aside and managed quite well without them. Over the course of a few hours, she managed to teach Éowyn the basics of solitaire and gin. While they played, Erin couldn’t help but ask her friend about Faramir. Her questions were completely innocent, polite, and impersonal, but it did not take Éowyn long to figure things out.

“You like him!” she exclaimed, ignoring the fact that it was her turn to draw a card. “You only spoke to him the once.”

Erin nodded, blushing. “I do, though I don’t know what it is. There’s something about him, Éowyn – maybe it’s because of all he’s been through. Or maybe it’s just because he’s handsome and was kind to me. All I know is that I’d like to get to know him. Gandalf asked me to kind of look out for him while he was away, and I said I would, but honestly, even if he hadn’t, I think I would have anyway.”

Éowyn grinned at her. “He is very well educated, you know. He is not simply a warrior, but a scholar. You have common ground there, and I think he would respect the fact that you are an educated woman.”

Erin sighed, glancing down at herself with a frown. “I just wish I was more feminine and delicate, you know? I wish my hair wasn’t all chopped off and that I had something to make me look pretty. I don’t feel pretty at all. How could he even be interested in someone like me anyway?”

“He will see you for who you are first,” Éowyn replied shrewdly, taking a card and placing it on the discard pile with a frown. “He will not be drawn by your looks alone, but rather who you are on the inside, which is more important.”  She glanced up at her friend and smiled. “That way when you are old and gray he will still love you.”

“Éowyn!” Erin laughed, shaking her head. “He does not even know me yet!”

Her friend nodded, looking wise and mirthful at the same time. “You will see,” she said solemnly, her blue eyes twinkling with humor. “He will fall madly in love with you and you will have many, many, many children.”

Erin covered her mouth, laughing and shaking her head. “No, no. Not that many children. Heaven forbid!”

“Oh yes,” Éowyn laughed. “Six or seven at least.”

Both women were still laughing when Faramir returned from his walk.  They managed to compose themselves somewhat by the time he greeted them, though Erin had to concentrate very hard on her cards not to giggle.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said politely as he passed them and made his way to his bed. 

“Good afternoon,” Erin managed to reply. She could not help but glance up at him as he passed. He looked tired, but his face had regained some of its color. “How are you?”

He sat on the edge of his bed and rested his hands on his knees. “I am feeling better, lady. I thank you for asking.”  His eyes rested a moment on hers and he gave her a smile that made her heart skip a beat. “How fare you ladies this good day?”

Though the question was for both of them, Éowyn noticed that he had not even glanced at her. She also noticed that Erin’s color was a little brighter than normal. Hiding her smile, she folded the cards she held in her hand and feigned a yawn. “I am better, my lord Faramir,” she replied. “Though Erin has tired me out with all this card playing. I must beg you to excuse my rudeness, but I believe it is time for me to rest.”

Éowyn’s comment brought Erin’s attention away from Faramir and she frowned. “I’m sorry, Éowyn,” she said quietly, gathering the cards into a pile and stacking them neatly. “I didn’t mean to wear you out.”

“Nonsense,” Éowyn replied, smiling at her flustered friend. “I have not enjoyed myself this much in a long while. You should teach the good Captain there how to play cards, for I think a man of his wit and caliber would be a better challenge to your skill than my own.”

Erin glanced suspiciously up at Éowyn, but her friend’s face was guileless. She gathered the cards into her hand and rose from her seat on the bed.

“Surely we would make too much noise for you to rest, lady,” Faramir said, though his eyes betrayed his interest in the idea.

Éowyn shook her head. “No. It will not bother me,” she assured him. “I am so weary I could sleep through a battle.”

Erin rolled her eyes and stifled the urge to laugh. She sincerely doubted her friend was anywhere near as tired as she claimed to be – especially the way she had been laughing earlier. Still, she couldn’t help but appreciate Éowyn’s efforts on her behalf. 

“Would you like me to teach you to play cards?” Erin asked, glancing at Faramir.

He nodded and rose from the bed. A small table and two chairs sat beneath the window across from his bed. “I think this would be more appropriate,” he said quietly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile.

“Yes,” Erin agreed. She hadn’t even considered that sitting on the same bed with him might be considered inappropriate. She glanced back at Éowyn, and her friend gave her an encouraging smile. “Should I draw the curtain?” she asked softly.  

Éowyn nodded and pulled the blankets up, laying her head against the pillow and closing her eyes. 

Erin bent down and gave her friend a swift kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, if you’re asleep when I leave,” she whispered.  She drew the curtain across the room, giving Éowyn the semblance of privacy so she could rest, and made her way to where Faramir sat at the table.

She took the other chair and glanced up at Faramir, feeling suddenly rather shy without Éowyn’s presence. She shuffled the cards to fill the silence, and she could feel his curious gaze on her.

“Mithrandir speaks well of you,” Faramir said quietly, startling her. She looked up at him briefly before dealing the cards. 

“Does he?” she asked, trying to sound casual. She dealt them each seven cards and placed the deck in the middle, taking the topmost card and turning it face up beside the deck. “Well, he’s been very kind to me.”

Faramir took the cards she had dealt him and gave her an amused smile. “Tell me, lady. When were you planning on explaining how to play this game?”

Erin blushed and managed faint grin. “Right now,” she answered. “I thought it would be easier if we played a few practice hands while I explain the rules.”

“Ah,” he replied, still smiling. 

Her heart did a series of flip-flops, making it difficult for her to concentrate on explaining the rules. Somehow, she managed, however, and they began to play. 

They were playing their fourth hand of cards when Erin realized it was getting dark outside. 

“Oh!” 

Faramir looked up from his cards. “What is it, lady?” he asked, puzzled by her expression of dismay.

“I didn’t know it was getting this late,” Erin said ruefully. “Elrohir probably thinks I’ve abandoned him.”  She rose from the table, sweeping the cards together into a messy pile. “I’m sorry, Faramir, but I’ve got to go.”

He frowned, handing his cards to her. “I apologize if I have kept you late. I did not know you had someone waiting for you.”  He rose stiffly from the table.

“Well he’s not waiting for me,” Erin hastened to explain, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “I mean, he is, but he isn’t. He’s not mine, I’m just taking care of him for someone.” Her face was hot as she realized she was babbling. “If he’s well enough, I’ll bring him tomorrow to visit.”

Faramir’s eyebrows rose slightly at her explanation, but he managed a faint nod. “I look forward to it.” He did not sound entirely convinced. 

Erin shook her head, inwardly sighing. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon,” she managed. “I enjoyed playing with you.”  Her cheeks flushed hotter as she realized that came out sounding entirely wrong. “Goodnight!”  She fled before she could put her foot in any further.

Elrohir was making his way across the main room when she entered, and he glanced up at her in surprise.

“I was beginning to get worried,” he grumbled, taking a seat at the table. He took a look at her face and frowned. “What is it?”

Erin took the seat across from him and dropped into it like a sack of potatoes. “I’m an idiot, Elrohir.”

A dark eyebrow swept upwards as he regarded her. “Why do you say that?”

She sighed, leaning her chin on her hand. “Never mind. I’m sorry I’m late. I lost track of the time.”

“I take it you had a pleasant afternoon?” he asked, smiling faintly.

Erin nodded and managed a grin. “Yeah. I did. Until the very end.” She sighed again.

He folded his arms and fixed her with a look that told her she had best tell him everything.

So she did, ending with, “And now he probably thinks I’m either a liar or a complete idiot.”

Elrohir shook his head, hiding his smile. “I am certain the good captain thinks neither of these things, meldis. When I meet him tomorrow, I will ensure that he knows that you are my friend, and nothing more.”

“Don’t do that,” Erin protested. “Then he’ll know that I like him.”

The elf frowned. “I do not understand. Why is it you do not wish for him to know that you like him?” He shook his head. “That does not make any sense.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me that way? If he thinks I like him like that, and he doesn’t like me like that, I’ll be humiliated.”

Elrohir shook his head again. “Why? He does not seem to be a man without honor. You do not think he would misuse you, do you? Even if he does not share your interest, he would be honored that you would consider him in such a way. Where is the shame in that?”

Erin looked at the elf in surprise. “You know,” she said slowly. “You’re right. I’m being silly and childish, aren’t I?”  She frowned at him. “You don’t have to answer that.”

His lips twitched briefly. “I was not going to, meldis. I think you worry what others may think more than you should. If there is something between you, it will happen on its own. If not, you will know soon enough. There is nothing more to it than that.”

She smiled. “You’re awfully smart, for an elf.”

Elrohir tried to look offended and failed, chuckling instead. “I am over three thousand years old, meldis. I would certainly hope I had learned something over that length of time.”

“Good to know all those years haven’t been wasted chasing orcs,” she teased, rising from the table. “Are you hungry?”

He tactfully ignored her jibe. “Yes, I am hungry.”

Erin chuckled and left to go find them some food.

Chapter 10

It was strange, how time could seem to both pass quickly and yet drag by slowly. It was, of course, impossible – time passed as time had a way of doing – at its own particular pace. Erin felt that the days had gone by swiftly, but not swiftly enough.

Spending time with Éowyn, Elrohir, and Faramir helped, of course.

The elf had regained his strength and accompanied her on her visits with Éowyn eagerly, grateful to at last be able to do so. He honestly seemed to enjoy spending time with her, and Erin spent several amused moments considering that if Elladan and Éowyn were to marry, then Elrohir would be Éowyn’s brother-in-law.

With the slow but gradual return of Faramir’s health, he was absent from the room for longer periods of time, and Erin wondered where he went and what he thought about while he was gone. She had enjoyed discovering his dry wit and sharp mind, and learning that his warm and genuine laughter could warm her to her toes. 

He was ever polite and courteous to both herself and Éowyn, and nothing in his behavior gave her any idea what he might think about her. He had not mentioned her strange story again, but she caught him looking at her from time to time with a thoughtful expression, as if he were carefully figuring out a difficult puzzle. His smiles were always kind, and the only thing Erin knew for certain was that he smiled at her far more often than he did at Éowyn; and that alone gave her some hope. 

Elrohir sat in a chair next to Éowyn’s bed and showed her a variation of an Elvish card game, one that he and his twin frequently played. Erin was trying to follow the game, but kept getting confused by all the different twists to the rules. To her consternation, Éowyn seemed to have no difficulty, and was thoroughly beating the socks off both her and Elrohir.

Sighing, Erin placed her losing hand on the bed and stood up. “I think I’d like to get some air,” she said. “Anyone else want to come?” she asked hopefully. Éowyn had been delighted at finally being able to leave the bed, but she tired easily. Still, it didn’t hurt to ask.

Éowyn shook her head, sweeping the cards into the pile and glancing up at Elrohir. “No, I want to play another round. Elrohir has promised me that if I win the next hand, he will teach me some useful Elvish words.”

Erin chuckled and shook her head at her friends. “And if you win?” she asked the elf.

Elrohir shrugged. “Then the lady will owe me a boon.”  He smiled mysteriously.

 “A boon?” Erin repeated, snickering softly. “Sounds ominous.”  She retrieved her cloak and pulled it over her shoulders. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” she said. 

“Faramir is probably in the gardens again, overlooking the city.” Éowyn did not look up from her cards, but the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile.

Erin ignored her teasing and left, passing through the hall and greeting the familiar faces of the healers as she passed them. There were much fewer patients now in the healing house, and it showed on the faces of those that worked there. Their relief was apparent by the quick smiles they gave her, the lack of weariness and grief in their eyes. 

Slowly, the city was recovering from the attack, and Erin was more than glad to see it. She felt guilty that she had not done more to help with the cleanup, but her hands had been rather busy at the time dealing with Elrohir. Now that both her friends were well on their way to full recovery, she supposed she could seek out Eldenthor again and ask if there was anything else she could do to help. 

Sighing, she pushed open the door that led to the gardens and took a deep breath, unable to keep from smiling as the warm sun hit her face. It was one of the few places that had not been touched in any way by the war. It was also one of the last places in the city that was green and growing. Elrohir had commented on the lack of growing things in the city, and Erin had not thought on it until he had mentioned it. She realized he was right – Minas Tirith was in some ways, a lot like cities of her own world – all stone and buildings, with little or no greenery in sight. Perhaps, once the war was over and Aragorn became King, he would do something about that lack. He had been raised by the elves of Rivendell, she remembered, and seemed to have a deep respect for nature the same way the elves did. 

She followed the small path that wound through the lilac trees and low growing bushes, simply enjoying the breeze on her skin and the warmth of the sun. Someone had planted a climbing rose, probably years ago, and its vines had conformed to the shape of the trellis beneath it, forming a graceful arch across the path. She wished the roses were in bloom, but realized it was probably too early in the season for them, although she had no idea what season it was, actually. She still hadn’t quite figured out the weather here. 

“They are called Steward’s Bloom,” a soft voice came from beside her, causing her to jump. She had stopped beneath the trellis and had been staring at the vines, and had not heard anyone approach.  “Supposedly they were once called King’s Bloom. They only flower when the King or Steward are in residence.”

Erin glanced at Faramir, but his blue eyes were on the vines. 

“Is that true?” she asked.

He smiled faintly. “No,” he replied. “They bloom in the spring, as do all green things, regardless of the presence of Steward or King.”  He reached out, tracing the jagged edge of one dark green leaf. “Though this one never has.”

“Maybe it will,” Erin said, watching his fingers drift over the leaves. “It could happen.”

“Yes,” Faramir agreed, finally looking at her. 

Erin was not prepared for the pain and grief she read in his eyes and it nearly made her take a step back. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, before he looked away. 

“Forgive me, lady, I do not believe I am fit company at the moment,” he said quietly. “I did not mean to disturb your peace. If you will excuse me.” He turned to leave.

Without thinking, Erin reached out, grasping his arm lightly. “Don’t go, Faramir,” she said quietly. “Please. Let me help.”

He froze, looking down at her small hand where it gripped his arm. “I do not ask for your help, lady,” he replied. “There is nothing you can do.”

“I could listen,” she answered simply. She was shaking slightly, shocked at her boldness, but she couldn’t stand to let him walk away hurting like he was. “Please. I want to help.”

Faramir still had not moved. Several long moments passed before he finally spoke, his voice so soft she nearly missed it. “Why?”

Erin bit her lip. “Because I do,” she answered, not knowing what else to say. 

He finally turned his head and looked at her. His gaze was unreadable. “You do not know me, lady. I am not much more than an acquaintance to you, brought forth only by the coincidence that I share the room with your friend. So I ask you again. Why?”

“Gandalf asked me to look after you while he was away,” Erin said. She could feel him pulling away and knew that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. “But I would have anyway, even if he hadn’t asked.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “I do not believe I require looking after, lady,” he said quietly. “I am a grown man, after all.”

Erin blushed, and grew flustered under his steady gaze. “I know that,” she answered, flailing vainly for something to say. “I just want to help you. I just do. Can’t you accept that for what it is?”

His soft chuckle surprised her and she felt his hand cover hers where it gripped his arm. “I could, provided I knew what ‘it’ was, lady.”

“Friendship,” she retorted, struggling not to show him how much his simple touch affected her. “I want to be your friend, Faramir.”

“Ah,” he replied softly and she looked away. 

“Friends help each other,” she continued stubbornly, still avoiding his gaze. “You’re unhappy. A blind person could see that. Let me be your friend, let me help.”

Faramir’s fingers gently removed her hand from his arm, but did not release their hold. “Tell me, lady,” he said quietly. “Why I should believe this offer of friendship from you? Why should I trust that it is sincere, considering the outlandish story you told me of your origins?”

Erin finally looked at him, trying to pull her hand away from his grip and failing. “You still don’t believe me?”

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “No,” he replied. “Despite Mithrandir’s words, I am still uncertain what to make of you. You are not like any woman I have ever met.”

“Of course I’m not,” she said indignantly. “I’m not like the women of this world because I wasn’t born and raised here.”

“So you say,” he countered. “I will agree that there is something about you…” he trailed off, as if uncertain what he was going to say. He shook his head, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “I want to know more about where you come from.”

Erin nodded slowly. “I will tell you, if you will talk to me about what is bothering you.” She felt her lips curve into a heartfelt smile. “It’s what friends do,” she added gently.

She saw the gradual acceptance in his brown eyes and it warmed her. 

“Very well, lady,” he agreed, smiling faintly. “Shall we walk?”

He took her hand and placed it on his arm, and she couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. 

~ * ~

The days passed more quickly than before. Each day, Erin would visit Éowyn with Elrohir in tow, leave the two with their heads together as Éowyn struggled to learn the words and phrases the elf patiently taught her in his native tongue, and talk with Faramir in the gardens. 

At first, she did all the talking, and Faramir simply listened. She told him about her childhood, how hard it was for her moving every few years, never really having the chance to make lasting friendships with those around her. She also told him how much she missed her parents, how hard it was for her sometimes to accept that they were gone from her for good. She found herself telling him things she hadn’t shared with anyone else – things she had kept private even from her closest friends. She even told him about the disastrous end to her relationship with her fiancé. She didn’t understand why, but it was easy to talk to him, to spill her heart out to him while surrounded by the green and growing perfume of the garden. 

Faramir said very little, at first. Gradually, day-by-day, he gave a little more of himself to her. She bit back words of anger at his calm acceptance of his father’s callous treatment of him. It hurt her to see the bleakness in his eyes whenever he spoke of his father. She had never met Denethor, and it was probably a good thing. From the little Faramir had told her, she could have gleefully punched the Steward of Gondor in the privates. It was hard for her to understand how anyone could treat their own flesh and blood that way. Still, she was not here to pass judgment – merely to listen, and so listen she did, biting her tongue so hard at times she was sure she made it bleed. 

She learned about his brother, Boromir. Only when he spoke of his brother, did Faramir’s eyes warm; did he genuinely smile. Despite the fact that Denethor had favored Boromir over Faramir, the brothers had been very close. Boromir had loved Faramir – that much was obvious. Faramir had loved his brother every bit as fiercely, and had been devastated to learn of his death.

Erin worked hard to make him smile, to hear his laugh at something she said. She found herself waking early, looking forward to visiting him and learning more about him. There were moments where they simply sat together on one of the many stone benches in the garden and looked out across the fields below, or watched the smoke rising from Mount Doom. Every once in a while, Faramir would hold her hand while they sat. Those moments were the best of all. 

The days passed this way, and still there was no sign of Sauron’s defeat, nor the return of the men and elves who had gone to Mordor. The four of them never spoke of it, but as the days passed, the worry grew so tangible it was almost a fifth presence between them. 

Erin found Faramir sitting on a stone bench in the garden, staring out at the angry red mountain in the distance. Even from this distance, Erin could swear she could feel the heat from the volcanic activity. 

She took a seat beside him and watched the growing cloud of angry looking smoke billow from the top of the mountain.

“My father sent me to die in Osgiliath.” 

Faramir’s normally soft-spoken voice sounded harsh to her ears. Erin said nothing, but reached out without thinking, taking one of his hands between her own and holding it tightly. She kept her gaze fixed on the fiery mountain and simply listened. He had spoken of his relationship with Denethor before, but never of this.

“I asked him if he wished it were me, instead of Boromir, who had died.”  He made a queer, strangled noise in his throat, as if he were choking. “He said yes.” A long, bitter sigh escaped him. “I think at that moment, I would have willingly traded places with my brother. Just to please him.”

Erin’s vision blurred, and she wiped at the tears that had formed angrily. “Well, I am glad you didn’t,” she said, unable to keep silent any longer. “Because it would have kept me from loving you.” The words left her mouth without her realizing it as she stumbled blindly ahead, her anger finally getting the better of her. “Your father was an utter bastard, Faramir. And blind as well. How could he not see who you are? How could he not see the fine man you became? How could he be so utterly stupid?” Her breath came quick, furious, and she did not realize Faramir had turned to look at her. “Damn it all, Faramir. Don’t blame yourself. Place the blame squarely where it belongs. The only thing Denethor ever did that was good that I can tell is that he managed, god only knows how, to father two very strong, intelligent, brave and honorable sons.” A sob escaped her and she glared at the mountain, finding that its red angry glare suited her mood perfectly. 

“Excuse me, lady,” a healer called from the doorway of the gardens and startling her. “The Lady Éowyn is asking for you.”

Erin wiped her eyes, her hand shaking slightly from her outburst of emotion, and rose to her feet. “I’m sorry, Faramir,” she said. “Will you excuse me?”  She wondered briefly at the strange look he gave her as she turned and left, disappearing through the door into the house of healing. 

~ * ~

“How go the language lessons?” Erin asked Elrohir as she passed him the bowl of stew she had just filled. 

The elf laughed softly, before taking a careful bite. When he swallowed the mouthful, he answered. “Slowly. She is learning, but it is no easy thing to learn our language.”

Erin nodded. “I only know a few words myself – maybe someday I’ll try to learn more.”

Elrohir took a drink of water and wiped his mouth neatly. “I am beginning to see what it is my brother may see in her. She is like sunshine.”

“Elrohir,” Erin grinned. “That’s poetic!”

He shrugged, taking a bite of bread. “She may very well be my sister soon. I am relieved to know we can enjoy each other’s company.” 

They finished their meal and Erin took the tray back to the innkeeper with heartfelt thanks. As she returned to the room, she allowed her mind to drift a bit, indulging in a bit of a daydream replaying the afternoon with Faramir. 

His hand had been cold when she held it, and had warmed gradually in hers. She was rather embarrassed to remember her outburst, and hoped he wasn’t offended, but honestly, she just couldn’t keep silent any longer. She hoped he understood what she meant when she told him she was glad he hadn’t died – because it would have kept her from…

“Oh shit,” Erin said, recalling exactly what she had said this afternoon. She leaned weakly against the door. Elrohir looked up in puzzlement from his game of cards.

“What is it?” He asked, his expression quickly turning to alarm when he saw her face. He rose to his feet, reaching for his knife. “Trouble?”

Erin shook her head, burying her face in her hands. “I told him I loved him!”

“Who?” Elrohir dropped back into his seat, looking at her in confusion. “Faramir? When?”

“This afternoon,” Erin said miserably. “It slipped out. I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t even realize I had said it until just now.”

The elf frowned. “Do you?”

She slid against the door until she was sitting with her knees bent in front of her. “No, yes, I don’t know.” 

“Did he say anything?” Elrohir asked quietly. 

Erin shook her head. “No, he didn’t have time to say anything. I left right after I shot my mouth off about what a jerk his father was. Maybe he didn’t notice?” she asked hopefully. 

Elrohir folded his arms and gave her a level look. “Do you think he would have missed it?”

She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “Maybe?” She sighed unhappily. “No. I’m sure he heard me, now that I think about it. He gave me a rather odd look when I left.”  

A cough that sounded suspiciously like someone trying to hold back a laugh came from Elrohir, but his expression was carefully neutral. “Well, I do not see what the great tragedy is. If you love him, you should tell him.”

“I barely know him,” Erin protested. “He barely knows me. It’s only been three weeks.”

“Almost four weeks,” Elrohir said, lifting an eyebrow. “And you have spent many hours together of late. You seem to enjoy his company, and he does not seem to mind yours.”

“But love? I can’t believe I said that to him,” Erin said. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye after this.”

Elrohir’s mouth twitched briefly. “I do not think the situation is as dire as you are making it, meldis,” he said. “Perhaps you should talk to him.”

Erin shook her head almost violently. “Uh-uh. No way I’m going to bring that up. No, I think I’ll make myself scarce for a while. Maybe he’ll forget.”

The elf’s expression told her exactly what he thought the likelihood of that was. 

“I could stay here for a few days. Once Aragorn and the others return…maybe in all the excitement he’ll be too busy to think about it.”

Elrohir crossed his arms and shook his head. “You are not going to hide from your problems, meldis. That will not solve them. I do not understand why this has upset you so.”

Erin took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “What if he doesn’t even think about me that way?” She hated the way her voice trembled.

He shrugged gracefully and gave her a faint smile. “Then he does not. However, meldis, you must consider this: what if he does? Will you deny that possibility? Will you deny yourself even the smallest chance that he might return your feelings?”

“What should I do?” she asked finally.

“Continue to be his friend. Do not mention your lapse, and see if he brings it up himself. As you said yourself, your friendship is new. If you truly care for him, you will continue as you have done before. If he harbors any feelings for you beyond friendship, he will eventually let you know, one way or another,” Elrohir replied. “Give it time, meldis. See what comes of it.”  He gave her a warm smile. “But do not run from him.”

It was difficult to act as if nothing had happened when she saw him again. Éowyn had left her room to walk in the gardens, and that was where Erin found her the next day – sitting on a bench beside Faramir and talking.

“Where is Elrohir?’ Éowyn asked, smiling up at her friend.

Erin shrugged, trying not to look as if her stomach wasn’t fluttering with nerves at seeing Faramir again. “He mentioned something about wanting to write a letter to his father, though I don’t know how he’ll mail it.”  She sat down on the bench beside Éowyn and gave Faramir a shy smile.

“How are you today?” she asked.

“Well enough, lady, though, like the lady of Rohan, I am weary of idleness,” he answered, returning her smile. 

Erin turned and looked at the fiery mountain in the distance. “When will we know?” she asked softly.

“Soon, I should think,” he replied quietly. “One way, or another.”

Silence fell between the three of them, until Éowyn rose gracefully from the bench. “I think I will go and see if I can arrange to have lunch prepared. I think it would be nice to eat in the garden today.”

Erin rose as well. “Do you want me to help?” she asked anxiously.

Éowyn laughed, and gave her small smile. “No, I do not need help,” she answered, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief and humor. “Stay here and keep good Faramir company.”

Erin swallowed and sat down on the bench, watching her friend disappear though the door into the healing house. She fiddled nervously with the ends of her tunic, glancing surreptitiously at Faramir beneath her lashes. He was looking at the mountain again, thankfully, and not at her. She fidgeted at the awkwardness she felt, cursing her stupid lapse yesterday. She missed the easy way she could always talk to him before.

Say something! Anything!

“What will you do when they return?” Erin asked finally, desperate to break the silence.

Faramir shrugged and glanced at her. “I do not know,” he answered. “The rightful King has returned to Gondor. I will serve him, if he will have me. What of you?” he countered. “Will you stay in the city or will you return to Edoras with the lady Éowyn?”

“I’m not sure,” she began, when a distant rumble caught their attention. They rose from the bench, stepping closer to the wall as they stared at the mountain.

A loud, booming explosion shook the earth as the volcano erupted, spewing forth a column of fire into the sky. The ground rolled violently beneath them and Erin lost her balance. She would have fallen if it hadn’t been for Faramir’s quick reflexes. He caught her and used his other arm to steady them against the wall as the ground shuddered beneath them.

Cracks appeared in the stonework and masonry around them, shingles sliding from the buildings to shatter on the cobbled streets below. People screamed in fear, some stumbling, others huddling, as the earth heaved beneath their feet. 

“What is it?” Erin shouted above the noise, clinging to Faramir. Despite the clamor around her, she was very aware of his arm around her waist, and the clean, masculine smell of his neck. She couldn’t help but be aware of his closeness when he tilted his head down to answer her.

“I think it means that the One Ring has been destroyed!” he answered, raising his voice over the din. “Sauron has at last been defeated!”

She looked up at him and laughed; filled with joy so fierce she trembled with it. His answering smile and laughter warmed her to her toes. As the earth settled and the tremors subsided, Erin felt herself lifted into his arms and swung wildly around, Faramir’s laughter filling her ears. 

“They did it! They did it!” She was getting dizzy, but she blamed it on being spun around like a small child in his arms. She felt absolutely giddy with happiness. “They did it!”

“Aye,” Faramir replied, setting her carefully back on her feet and smiling down at her. “They did.”

The whirlwind of emotions passed, leaving her acutely aware that his arms were still around her. Her cheeks warmed under his steady regard, but she couldn’t look away from his face.  Slowly, his head lowered towards hers.

“Erin!”

She jerked back as if she’d been stung, and felt him release her. 

“Éowyn,” she managed, her body still tingling where it had been held against his. “Are you all right?”

The lady nodded, making her way carefully over broken flowerpots and the bits of tile that had fallen from the roof into the garden. “No one was hurt, thankfully, though we are all rather shaken. Are you both well?”

Erin nodded and couldn’t help but smile. “Look, Éowyn.” She pointed at the column of thick smoke rising from the east. “It exploded.”

Éowyn gasped, her eyes wide in shock. “Do you think that means that they succeeded?” she whispered.

“We shall know the answer to that soon enough,” Faramir answered her, though his eyes were on Erin’s face.

~ * ~

The following day after the eruption and earthquake, Éowyn, Elrohir, Erin and Faramir had left the house of healing to walk along the great wall of the city. The sky to the east no longer glowed an angry red, for it seemed that with the eruption of Mount Doom, its fires had finally been quenched. 

Much to Erin’s relief, and disappointment, Faramir did not act as if anything had almost happened between them. He walked beside her and Éowyn, and told them a little about the history of the city, when it was built, and the long history of the Stewards. 

They had reached the wall on the third level when Elrohir gasped, pointing out at the distant mountain. “Ai! Tiro!” he cried excitedly. “Look!”

The three of them turned to follow where he pointed, but could not see what had animated the elf. 

“What is it?” Erin asked, shading her eyes and squinting. 

Elrohir turned and grinned at them joyfully. “The eagles are coming! Look! Do you see them? The eagles have come!” 

~ * ~

They rode down to the fields below Minas Tirith with an escort of soldiers, carrying the banners bearing the white tree of Gondor before them. Once on the field, Erin could finally see the giant eagles as they flew towards the city, and she could not help but gasp in awe.

They were huge – and utterly breathtaking. She had always had a fondness for eagles, but never had she seen anything like them. Golden brown feathers gleamed in the sunlight as they flew lower, circling for a place to land, and she could see a splash of white among all that gold.

“Mithrandir has returned to us,” Faramir said quietly, nudging his horse closer to hers. “I hope he bears good news.”

“That is not all who has returned,” Elrohir said, his sharp eyes spotting what Faramir’s had missed. “The other eagles bear two hobbits with them. I would make my guess that they carry Frodo and Samwise.”

Erin felt a thrill of excitement race through her at the elf’s words. If Frodo and Sam were here, it could only mean one thing: the ring had been destroyed.

Small dust clouds rose from the wind created by the eagles’ great wings as they landed on the grassy field in front of them. Gandalf slid from the largest of the three, and patted its wickedly sharp looking beak fondly. 

“You have my thanks again, Lord Gwaihir, for carrying us so swiftly. All of Middle Earth is indebted to your people,” the wizard spoke, smiling up at the proud visage of the eagle.

Gwaihir tilted his head, aiming one bright eye at the wizard and bobbed his head once. “You are most welcome, Mithrandir.” The Lord of the Wind preened his feathers briefly and turned his sharp stare to the group of horsemen waiting.

Gandalf nodded and turned, motioning for Faramir to come closer. 

“My dear boy,” Gandalf said, sizing him up shrewdly. “You are looking well. Glad I am to see you, but I am afraid we must wait for later to talk. These two are in dire need of a healer’s skills.”  As he spoke, he reached up and grasped the small figure that clung to the feathers of one of the eagles and pulled him into his arms. 

“Frodo,” Faramir gasped, recognizing the hobbit. He leaned forward, taking Frodo’s limp body from Gandalf and placed him securely in front of him. Turning his horse, he set his spurs to its flanks and sped off towards the city at a gallop.

The other hobbit that Gandalf lifted from the back of the eagle moaned softly and clung to the wizard, his eyes opening briefly. “Frodo…”

“There now, Samwise,” Gandalf said kindly, handing the hobbit up to another rider. “You will see him soon.”

Erin watched as the rider turned his horse and followed Faramir, galloping towards the city.

Their precious burdens gone, the eagles flapped their wings once, twice, and were airborne quickly and with more grace than Erin would have ever expected to see on birds so large. 

“Farewell, Mithrandir,” Gwaihir called down to the wizard, circling above them. “Farewell, wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey’s end.”

Gandalf chuckled, raising his hand in a wave. “May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks,” the wizard cried. “Farewell, old friend. Farewell.”

The eagles circled one last time, then flew off to the north, their sharp cries carried away on the wind.

The white wizard leaned on his staff, looking up at Erin, Éowyn, and Elrohir and gave them a tired, but happy smile. 

“It is done.”

Chapter 11

The wizard pulled his cloak from around his shoulders and rested the end of his staff between his feet. He filled his pipe with quick, efficient movements, and lit it with the end of a long tapered stick that had lain in the fire. 

Erin sat on the floor of her room and leaned back against the leg of the chair Elrohir currently occupied. She watched the smoke swirl and wreathe around Gandalf’s white hair.

“How are Frodo and Samwise?” the elf asked.

Gandalf pulled the pipe from his mouth and smiled tiredly. “They will both recover from their ordeal,” he replied. “Though it was a close call indeed.” He shook his head with a soft chuckle. “The strength of hobbits never ceases to amaze me.”

“What about Aragorn and the others?” Erin asked anxiously. 

“They were well enough when I left them, young lady,” Gandalf answered. “I expect they will arrive within the next day or so. Lord Celeborn departed with his Galadhrim for Lothlórien to deal with the troubles there the day I left.”

Erin felt a stab of disappointment that she would not see her friends again any time soon.

“Elladan? Melaphríl?” Elrohir’s voice trembled slightly with his anxiety.

“Yes, my dear Peredhel. Both will be among those returning here,” the wizard said, smiling at the elf. “Now, my friends, I am truly weary. Even my strength is not endless.”

“Are you certain you would not prefer the bed?” Elrohir asked. “I am well enough to sleep on a pallet, and no stranger to it.”

Gandalf waved him off. “No, Master Elrohir. Do not trouble yourself on my account. I am rather comfortable in front of the fire and this chair will serve nicely.”  He glanced at Erin, and chuckled at her attempt to stifle a yawn. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, rising as well. “Let me grab a blanket for you, Gandalf.”

Elrohir followed her into the bedroom and watched her dig through the small chest at the foot of the bed for an extra blanket.

“You should stay in the bed, then,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Erin stood up, holding the blanket in her arms. “No. The couch is fine for me, Elrohir. Really.”

He shook his head and frowned. “I have recovered my strength. It does not seem right to take the bed from a lady.”

She snorted. “Chivalry is dead in my world, Elrohir. I don’t expect you to give the bed up because I’m a woman. And truthfully, the couch is very comfortable. I like watching the fire before I go to sleep.”  She cocked her head at him and grinned teasingly at him. “Besides, you snore something awful.”

Elrohir folded his arms across his chest. “Elves do not snore, lady.”  His attempt to look affronted was ruined by the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Erin paused as she walked past him and looked up at him. “Then what do the Elves call that funny noise you make when you’re sleeping?” she asked innocently, before pushing past him into the main room. 

His reply was to shut the door between the main room and the bedroom, making her chuckle softly. 

Gandalf had laid his staff aside, leaning it against the wall well within easy reach. His pipe rested loosely in one hand as he watched the flames leap and lick hungrily at the wood in the hearth. He glanced up as Erin laid the blanket across his legs.

“There,” she said unnecessarily. “In case you get cold.”

She turned and made her way to the couch, pulling the blankets around her and laying her head down on her folded cloak.  She felt Gandalf’s regard and turned her head to meet his gaze.

“Legolas told me that you found the answers you sought in Lothlórien.”  He smiled faintly. “Will you speak of what you learned there?”

Erin sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “You’re not too tired?” she asked.

Gandalf shook his head as he refilled his pipe. “No, child. I am not too tired to listen if you are willing.” He gestured to the other chair across from him. “Come, sit by the fire.”

She rose, trailing her blanket behind her and made her way across the room to the chair. She sat down, curling her legs under her and folding the blanket over her. She watched the first wisps of smoke from Gandalf’s pipe as they gently floated across the room.

“I looked into Galadriel’s mirror,” Erin began. “It showed me things that make sense now, and some that are still a mystery to me. Mostly it showed me visions of things that had either already happened, or were going to happen.” She lifted her head and smiled briefly at him. “Like for instance, I saw you carrying Pippin to Minas Tirith on Shadowfax.”

Gandalf nodded, taking a mouthful of smoke and blowing it gently. “Yes, what else did the mirror show you?”

“In the end, I saw myself standing on a long road, where two other roads converged. A crossroads. Both roads stretched off into the distance as far as I could see, but I couldn’t tell where either of them led. I didn’t know what it meant at the time.”

“And now, you do?”

Erin nodded. “The Lady sent me back to Edoras. I was there to stop Éowyn from following Elladan on the Paths of the Dead.” She shivered slightly, the memory of feeling like someone else was speaking through her leaving her chilled. “When the time came, I was the voice of…” She gestured blindly above her and shrugged. “I guess the Valar? I don’t know for certain. All I know is that the words I spoke weren’t mine.”

Gandalf’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he regarded her through the haze of smoke. “Go on, child. What happened after you spoke to Éowyn?”

“I – Éowyn said I fell unconscious and she couldn’t wake me. I remember falling, and then suddenly I was sitting in the woods of England, where I had once gotten lost as a little girl.”  Erin found herself recounting the tale she had told Legolas earlier, and like the elf, Gandalf seemed to accept the story without questioning it. When she reached the point where the man and woman explained to her about her soul, the wizard stiffened in his chair, frowning sharply.

“They told you your fëa was born in the wrong world?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. 

Erin nodded, watching his reaction with concern. “Why are you making that face?”

Gandalf drew on his pipe thoughtfully, his eyes shifting to the fire as he blew out a long stream of smoke. “Strange,” he muttered softly. “Most strange. I would not have thought the souls of man…”

“There’s something else,” Erin said slowly. “Something that I forgot.”  

The wizard’s eyes lifted to meet hers and he nodded encouragingly. “Yes?”

She picked at the loose threads at the edge of the blanket and frowned. “I forgot about the dream. I took the path my heart chose and walked along it. I left the forest behind me for grasslands, and there was a river there that ran through it. I stopped and got a drink, and then I lay down on the grass. It was really warm and peaceful there, and I was tired all of a sudden. I fell asleep and dreamed. When I woke up, I was back in Edoras with Éowyn.”

“A dream within a dream.” Gandalf smiled suddenly. “What was your dream, Erin? Do you recall it?”

Erin nodded again. “Yes. Though I forgot about it until just now. Just now as I was telling you – isn’t that weird?”  His soft chuckle surprised her. “Well, it is to me,” she said, frowning. “It was a dream about my mother. She was tucking me in – I must have been only five or six years old. And I asked her to tell me a bedtime story. Gandalf, she told me a story I’ve never heard before. I know I’d have remembered it if she’d told me before.”  Her hands were cold and she held them out towards the fire, rubbing them together slowly. “It was strange.”  

Gandalf nodded, drawing another mouthful of smoke. He blew three smoke rings, each smaller than the last, and sent them floating across the room. “I will have to consider this, Erin,” he said finally. “For I have never heard a tale quite like yours. The souls of mankind do not return to this world once they have passed from it, so it is unlikely then, that yours is a soul that is returning. However, I have not heard that there are other worlds besides this where the Valar hold power.”

“It’s too bad they didn’t stick around long enough for me to get some real answers from them,” Erin said with a sigh. “They seemed really big on being cryptic.”

“Too much information can be dangerous, Erin,” Gandalf replied quietly. “Especially in the hands of the innocent or untrained. And, I have found that even in my own experiences with the greater powers, they are reluctant to reveal everything.”

Erin nodded, blinking sleepily at the fire. “It’s just weird, but I can live with that. Because they were right in one thing – this world is home to me. I feel like I have finally found what I was missing all my life.”

The wizard’s eyes narrowed shrewdly at her as he puffed on his pipe. “Oh really?” he said. 

She thought about the friends she had made over the months and the closeness of some of them in particular, and nodded. “Yeah. I just wish there was some way I could tell my parents I’m okay.”  She gave him a weak smile. “I miss them terribly, Gandalf.”

“I should imagine that you do,” he replied gruffly. “Now, go and get some rest. There is much to be done in the following days to prepare for Aragorn’s return.”

~ * ~

Erin found herself following the tall wizard through the streets of Minas Tirith on their way to the citadel. She had never been to the upper levels, and could not help but look around curiously as they climbed the winding streets. 

The damage on the upper levels was less the higher they climbed. The orc invaders had not penetrated the defenses of the city past the third level, though there was some major damage done by the enemy’s catapults on many of the buildings. Still, it was heartening to see that the majority of the damage was already being repaired, and the rubble in the streets cleared away. People went about their daily lives and routine as before, though their conversations were hushed as Gandalf passed them with the strange looking woman in tow. 

“Where are we going?” Erin asked, jogging to catch up with the wizard. 

He glanced down at her and smiled briefly.

“Faramir has returned to the citadel to assume his duty as Steward until Aragorn returns. Prince Imrahil left good men to keep the city stable during the absence of the Steward, but there are things that only Faramir has the authority to do in the King’s absence. He will need our help,” Gandalf replied.

Erin’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Me? What can I do?”  She’d fallen behind again and scurried to catch up with him.

“You are an educated woman, are you not? You have skills that would be of use, I think,” the wizard answered, his eyes twinkling with humor. “I also think you would be glad to have something useful to do besides playing cards with Éowyn and wasting the day.”

She nodded. “Yeah. If you think I’ll be of some use, I’d love to help him.”

The corner of Gandalf’s mouth twitched as he looked down at her. “I am certain he will appreciate your help,” he said quietly.

~ * ~

Faramir looked up from his work as they entered the room, relief written plainly in his dark blue eyes.

“Mithrandir, glad I am to see you,” he said quietly. He noted Erin’s presence at the wizard’s side and his eyebrows rose slightly, though he gave her a brief and welcome smile.  

Gandalf leaned on his staff and looked down at Faramir. “How are you faring?” he asked gently. 

Faramir ran a hand through his hair, the result making him look frazzled and unkempt. “Everywhere I turn, I meet with opposition,” he said bitterly. “My father’s advisors are loyal to him even after death. They refuse to accept my word that Aragorn is Isildur’s heir. They give me no aid in what must be done.”

Gandalf nodded. “What can I do to help?”

“Prince Imrahil’s man took care of what he could, but there was too much for him to handle alone.” He shook his head, gesturing to a stack of parchment on his desk. “It is all disorganized chaos. I do not have time to sit and sort through it all – other things require my attention as well. Since my late father’s advisors will not help me, it falls upon my shoulders to tally the dead, make recompense to the families of the fallen, to make a count of our stores, to order repairs and new construction.” He put his hands on his hips and looked down at the desk, biting his lip. “It is a bit overwhelming,” he finished, managing a wry smile.

“Will you take an old wizard’s council?” Gandalf asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Faramir sighed and nodded. “Gladly.”

“I have brought Erin with me to help, but even with us to help you, it will not be enough. Are there any left in the city that you would trust, who are loyal to you?” Gandalf asked.

“Yes,” Faramir said. “Yes, I know several who were wounded in the battle, but who are well enough now to help.” He glanced at Erin. “My apologies, but what can you do?”

Erin looked at Gandalf, but the wizard simply smiled at her. She turned back to Faramir and shrugged. “I’m a scholar in my land. I’ve studied and learned a lot of things. I’m willing to do whatever I can to help. Even if it’s just filing and sorting.”

Faramir looked pleasantly surprised. “Well, I am certain you will be of use, then,” he agreed. “Tell me, do you think you can put these in some semblance of order?” He gestured to the stack of parchment once more.

She made her way across the room and looked down at the papers in question. The writing on them was tiny, but neatly done, and, to her surprise, understandable. The top paper was a report on the latest shipment of grain. At the bottom of it was a date.

“I think so,” she said finally, looking up at him. She was startled to realize he had moved closer, and took an involuntary step back. “I will certainly try,” she managed.

He smiled at her, and she felt the warmth of it down to her toes. 

Get a grip, girl, she admonished herself silently, trying not to blush under his regard. 

“I will leave you to it, then,” he said softly, before turning to leave with Gandalf. 

Erin watched him go and sighed, before sitting down behind the desk and beginning her work.

~ * ~

A shadow crossed the desk as she finished placing the order for more cotton in its appropriate pile and she looked up in surprise. 

Faramir looked down at her with a faint smile. “It is late, lady. You have worked enough for this day. Surely you must be hungry.”

Erin glanced at the window behind her and blinked. The sun was well on its way to setting, and the sky had gone a soft, purple. She had been so engrossed in her work; she hadn’t even noticed the passage of time. 

“I didn’t realize it was getting late,” she said ruefully. “I just finished. I think you’ll find things a little easier.”  She gathered the different stacks together into one large stack and handed them to him. “They are in order by date as well as by subject matter. I put all the orders for food and supplies in one pile, and the requests in another, and so forth.”

Faramir thumbed through the stack of parchment and then set them down on his desk. “You have my thanks, lady,” he said honestly. “I could have done it myself, but it would have taken time I did not truly have.”

She shrugged, a little embarrassed by his thanks. “It was no problem for me,” she said. “I actually enjoyed doing it.”  Her stomach chose that moment to growl noisily and she looked up at him in chagrin. “I need to eat, apparently. Breakfast was ages ago.”

“Come, then,” he said, smiling. “I will escort you safely back to your place or residence so that you may eat. I would not have you fainting at my feet from hunger.”

Erin chuckled. It wouldn’t be hunger I’d faint from, she thought wistfully, and sighed. 

~ * ~

The days passed as they waited for Aragorn and the others to return. Erin would rise and dress, visit briefly with Éowyn, and then make the trip to the citadel to help Faramir. Elrohir occasionally accompanied her, and lent his help as well. She was surprised to learn that the elf warrior had clerical skills.

“I spent many years under the tutelage of Lord Erestor, my father’s chief councilor. He taught me much,” he replied simply. 

“Good,” Erin grinned, handing him a stack of parchments. “Then you’ll know what to do with these.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her but took them from her, settling his lean frame behind the desk. 

Faramir and Gandalf would stop in occasionally to either add to their load or take stock of what had been accomplished. Erin could not suppress the thrill she felt each time she saw the handsome man – but hoped she wasn’t too obvious with her chattering and smiles. He did not act as if her behavior was odd, however, and always treated her kindly. He was polite verbally, but his smiles, she noticed, were warmer, his looks a little more lingering than before. 

There was something else she noticed during her daily visits to the citadel. Faramir touched her – often. They were always gentle touches, never inappropriate, but they were frequent. He would lay his hand on her arm when speaking to her, or take her hand to guide her from one place to another. Once he even brushed her neck with his fingertips, claiming that she had something there that needed brushing away. 

Each touch, each lingering smile, gave Erin hope. She couldn’t ignore her own feelings about the man – each day that passed, each moment spent in his company, made her fall all the harder. It also made her realize what had been lacking between her an Éomer, and why she had never quite let herself fall for him: some indefinable and unexplainable spark of recognition, deep inside her. Éomer had been all the things she should have wanted – handsome, noble, brave, and kind, and his kisses had made her melt. But she hadn’t felt the connection between them – not the way she had felt it almost the very moment she laid her eyes on Faramir’s face; almost tangible, like an alarm ringing in her head. 

The only bad thing was, while she was slowly but surely falling for the handsome Captain of Gondor, she really wasn’t sure if he felt that way about her. Other than his touches and smiles, he gave no hint of his own feelings other than respect and friendship. 

It was frustrating, to say the least.

On the fourth day, just as Erin finished writing a drafted response to a letter from the head of the furrier’s guild, a familiar shadow crossed the desk where she was working.

She smiled without looking up. “Did you need something, my Lord?” she asked, neatly printing Faramir’s name at the bottom and the date. He would sign it later, if there weren’t any changes. It still felt weird to say ‘my lord’, but after a long talk with Éowyn one morning, she felt it was high time she got used to using respectful titles – until she was told otherwise. Faramir always called her ‘lady’ and never used her name. If he were going to call her lady, she’d return the favor. 

“I was hoping to distract you from your work for a moment,” Faramir said quietly. “There is something I think you should see.”

Erin blew on the paper to dry the ink before setting it carefully aside. Looking up, she smiled at him. “Sure. I just finished anyway.”

He shook his head and smiled warmly. “You have been a gift these past few days, lady. I want you to know how much I appreciate all that you have done.”

She blushed, and busied herself by cleaning up her mess. “It’s nothing. Honestly, I’m just glad I have something to do besides sit around. And helping you is a good thing.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, and she was aware of his eyes on her as she finished straightening the desk. “Come,” he said, offering his hand. “You will want to see this.”

Erin took his hand, acknowledging the fluttering in her stomach at his warm touch with an inward sigh. It was funny – if she was in her world, she would have asked him for his phone number and for a date. In this world – well, things were definitely different. Women just weren’t that forward – not if they didn’t want to get the wrong sort of reputation. 

Faramir glanced down at her as they walked up the stairs that led to the courtyard. “You look lovely today, lady,” he commented softly.

“Éowyn found me a seamstress,” Erin replied, glancing down at her dress with a smile. “I like wearing pants, but sometimes, its nice to wear something pretty.”  It had been hard to accept the gift from Éowyn – but her friend had insisted, saying, “Just until you get yourself settled into a situation where you can pay your own way. Do you not think it is time you started to dress as a lady?”  Éowyn had grinned knowingly at Erin’s blush. The dress was simple and comfortable, and the rich brown color of it flattered Erin’s pale skin quite nicely. 

Faramir led her to the edge of the courtyard, and Erin looked down. She immediately took a step back, swaying dizzily from the immense height of it. 

“Are you well?” Faramir asked worriedly.

“Yes, give me a second. I forgot how high up we are,” she replied, inching carefully towards the edge once more. She felt his hand tighten on hers and she gave him a grateful smile. 

The view of the city below them was impressive, Erin thought. From way up here, the damaged sections looked less damaged than they were. Minas Tirith was beautiful – all white stone, arches and curving roads. In some ways it reminded her of the pictures she had seen of cities in Greece. 

“Look there,” Faramir’s voice caressed her ear, and she absently rubbed at the goose bumps that prickled her arms, caused from the warmth of his breath against her skin.

She looked where he pointed and gasped, her eyes opening wide. 

There, in the distant fields below, she could see the colorful banners of Gondor and Rohan, and the glint of sunlight off of armor and shields.

Faramir’s hand tightened on hers and she looked at him, grinning in excitement.

The silvery trumpeting sound of the tower horns called out, the sound carrying joyfully on the wind. 

“The King has returned.”

~ * ~

Erin stood beside Éowyn, feeling a bit overwhelmed as well as awed by her place of honor beside her friend. The rest of the peoples of Gondor, Dol Amroth, and Rohan stood shoulder to shoulder behind them, watching the procession with awed and faint murmurings.  Other nobles and people of importance stood with them, and Erin felt like she was an imposter in her borrowed finery. 

Two guards of the citadel had passed first, carrying torches with them. They reached the top of the steps and set fire to the metal bowls of oil on either side of the dais. They extinguished their torches then, and took their places, one on each side, standing at attention. 

Next came Faramir, looking utterly and heartbreakingly handsome in his armor, the white tree gleaming in the center, his cloak fluttering behind him as he walked. Beside him walked another man Erin knew as the Warden of the Keys, a serious but kind man named Húrin. Together, they carried a large, black case, each holding a handle between them. In Faramir’s other hand he carried a long, white rod. The two men took their places at the bottom of the steps and waited.

Erin heard the murmur behind her fall silent as the Dúnedain, dressed in silver and gray, passed them. Tall and regal, their graceful movements reminded her of elves. Behind them, walked Aragorn.

She’d never seen the Ranger cleaned up, and she was quite frankly, amazed at the change she saw in him. Clean-shaven, his long hair bound back elf-style; his face was handsome and noble. He wore black and silver, and even from the distance Erin could see the high quality of the fabric. His cloak, or mantle, she amended, was white and clasped at his throat with a green stone that gleamed in the light of the sun. He wore a slender fillet of silver, with a star in the center of his forehead. He looked every inch a King as he walked by them.

Wow, was all she could think of as he passed by. 

Erin couldn’t help but smile as she spotted Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pip, all dressed in their finest clothes, walking behind Aragorn in a place of honor. Frodo was still pale in comparison to the other hobbits, but he no longer held the dark shadows beneath his blue eyes. 

Gandalf had taken her to see Frodo on the third day, when the hobbit had finally woken from his exhausted slumber. He was terribly thin, and the skin beneath his eyes was gray, but his eyes – oh, his eyes. So pure and wide and beautiful – how they had brightened with joy when they had lit on Gandalf. The merry laughter that had poured forth from the skinny, battered and bruised creature on the bed has surprised her with its strength and lightness. She was honestly in awe of Frodo and of Sam, who had been Frodo’s strength when his own had failed. Sam was goodness itself – and he’d hovered protectively over Frodo all during their visit, as if worried his master would over extend himself. Erin listened to Frodo and Sam as they told Gandalf about their journey through Mordor, and she wished she could simply hug them both long enough to take the pain and suffering from their eyes. Gandalf had told her that they both would recover, Sam more so than Frodo. The dark haired hobbit would always carry the weight of the ring with him, along with the pain from the Morgûl blade. He would never go back to the merry, carefree hobbit he had been before. It was the price he had to pay for what needed to be done.

Behind the hobbits walked Legolas and Gimli, side by side, both dressed in their finery. Legolas wore a circlet of silver and was dressed in the palest of blue tunics. He caught her eye as they passed and nodded, giving her a faint smile. Behind them, Elladan and Elrohir, also garbed in richly colored robes of green and blue and wearing silver circlets over their sable hair. 

She felt a tug on her arm and turned, smiling as Melaphríl came to stand next to her, his eyes following Elrohir as he walked gracefully beside his twin. The fair-haired elf gave her a brief and friendly smile, before turning his attention to the procession once more.

Aragorn had reached the dais and taken the three steps before turning. The crowd around her fell completely silent as Gandalf took his place beside Faramir and Húrin. 

Faramir knelt before Aragorn in one, smooth motion, bowing his head respectfully. “The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office,” he said, holding out the white rod he had held in his other hand. 

Erin watched Aragorn take the white rod from Faramir’s hand, before giving it back with a smile. “That office is not ended, and it shall be thine and thy heirs’ for as long as my line shall last,” he said gravely. He watched as Faramir rose and inclined his head regally. “Do now thy office.”

Faramir turned and spoke in a clear, loud voice. “Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! One has come to claim the kingship again at last. Here is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur’s son, Elendil’s son of Númenor. Shall he be king and enter into the City and dwell there?”

The resounding “Yes!” shook the stones beneath Erin’s feet, and she couldn’t help but grin. Her body trembled slightly with excitement. It was all coming to pass as it was supposed to.

“Men of Gondor, the loremasters tell that it was the custom of old that the king should receive the crown from his father ere he died; or if that might not be, that he should go alone and take it from the hands of his father in the tomb where he was laid.  But since things must now be done otherwise, using the authority of the Steward, I have today brought hither from Rath Dínen the crown of Eänur the last king, whose days passed in time of our longfathers of old.”

Húrin stepped forward with the black case he and Faramir had carried, and Faramir opened it.  Reaching inside, he brought out an ancient looking crown. It was shaped similar to the helmets worn by the citadel guards, except that it was more elaborate. It was all white, with wings at either side of it, embellished in pearl and silver. Seven jewels of adament were set in the crown, and upon the summit was set a single jewel – and in the light of day, it shone like a flame. 

Aragorn took the crown from Faramir and held it up and spoke, his strong voice carrying easily over the vast crowd assembled. 

“Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn’Ambar-metta!”

“Those are the words that Elendil spoke when he came up out of the Sea,” Melaphríl said quietly for Erin and Éowyn’s benefit, neither understanding the words Aragorn had spoken. “Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.”

Then Aragorn did something that surprised Erin, for she had expected him to put the crown on his head. Instead, he gave it back to Faramir.

“By the labor and valor of many I have come into my inheritance. In token of this, I would have the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me, and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will; for he has been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory,” Aragorn said. 

Erin watched as Frodo came forward and accepted the crown from Faramir. She couldn’t hear what the man said to Frodo, but the hobbit smiled briefly, before turning to walk the few paces to Gandalf’s side. 

Gandalf took the crown from Frodo and bowed his head humbly before the little hobbit. Frodo’s cheeks colored at this honor accorded to him, and he backed away, rejoining the other three hobbits. 

Aragorn knelt at Gandalf’s feet, and the wizard held the crown above him for a moment, before placing it gently and reverently on his head. 

“Now come the days of the King,” the wizard said, his voice booming out like thunder. “May they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!”

A great, resounding cheer rose from the throats of the people around her when Aragorn rose and turned to face them as their King. Erin added her cheers to theirs, even as her vision blurred with tears. 

“Behold the King!” Faramir cried above the noise, and trumpets sounded following his cry. Erin heard a noise and looked up, laughing and crying at the same time. 

Above their heads, flapping in the wind, was the black banner with the white tree emblem, with the seven stars sparkling above it. 

Chapter 12

When the people of Middle Earth decide to celebrate, they certainly go all out, Erin thought with amusement as she watched the revelers eat, drink, and make merry in the huge hall. Tantalizing aromas of fresh baked bread, roasted meats and vegetables teased her nose as the servants carried platter after platter of food out to the long table that graced the far wall. People – men, women, elves, hobbits in particular, were already milling about, filling their plates with good food, and their cups with wine and ale. 

She leaned against the wall, her own stomach already full of the King’s good fare, and watched as musicians set up in the corner behind Aragorn’s chair. Servants were already clearing away the chairs and tables set up in the center of the floor, placing them close to the walls so that people could continue to eat while others presumably danced. 

The King himself, Aragorn Elessar, sat on his throne and watched the proceedings with obvious pleasure. He looked tired, but happy as he shared a conversation with his fellow King, Éomer and with Gandalf. His elaborate crown was gone, as was the mantle, but he still looked every bit the King. 

Éowyn was standing beside her brother and Elladan, sharing a cup of wine with the latter, and looking utterly beautiful and every bit the princess in her long, flowing white gown. Elladan looked down at her from time to time, his face brightening with a smile as he gazed upon her, and Erin felt a brief pang of envy at the obvious love she saw written on his face. 

Erin’s gaze drifted over the crowd and she spotted Elrohir and Melaphríl, deep in conversation and totally oblivious to the commotion around them. She smiled as she saw Elrohir reach for Melaphríl’s hand and grasp it tightly with his own. 

Legolas and Gimli were sitting at one of the far tables eating – or rather, Gimli was eating and it looked as if Legolas were giving his friend a good ribbing about something, if the teasing smile on his face was any indication. Gimli did not seem to be bothered in the least by whatever it was, and she could hear his rumbling laugh even from across the room. 

Merry, Pippin, Sam and Frodo were sitting at the table closest to the food, and she watched as Sam prodded Frodo to eat. Merry and Pip were laughing, raising their mugs of ale and sloshing it about carelessly. Even Frodo wore a smile, though it was not as bright as the others. 

She drifted over to where the hobbits sat, smiling as Merry pulled a chair out for her to sit beside him.

“How are you?” she asked, grimacing as her skirts got tangled around her legs. She adjusted them and managed to sit in the chair without tripping. 

“Happy,” Merry replied promptly. “We were just talking about going home.”

“I miss the Shire,” Pippin said, sighing wistfully over his cup. 

Merry snorted into his cup. “You miss the Longbottom leaf, now that you have smoked all of mine.”

Pip grinned. “Aye.”

Smiling, Erin looked at Sam, who seemed to be lost in a private daydream. “What do you miss?” she asked curiously.

Sam muttered something unintelligible, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he took a quick drink from his mug. 

Frodo’s smile was gently teasing. “Go on, Sam,” he urged. 

The gardener sighed and smiled sweetly. “Rosie Cotton,” he replied. “The little dimple in her cheek when she smiles.”

Pippin opened his mouth to say something teasing, no doubt, but Frodo kicked him under the table and fixed him with a look that dared him to say anything.  Pip rolled his eyes and buried his nose in his beer.

“What about you, Frodo?” Merry asked. “What do you miss?”

The hobbit picked thoughtfully at his food but did not eat any of it. “I do not know, really,” he said finally. “I miss the sight of green, growing things. And I miss the people.” He chuckled softly. “I even miss the Sackville-Bagginses.”  He sighed. “Maybe I will keep my house in Crickhollow and finally let Lobelia have the house in Bag End. That would make her happy.”

“Hogswallop,” Sam replied, shaking his head. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mister Frodo, but nothing is going to ever make that woman happy.”

The musicians chose that moment to begin to play, and the conversation between the hobbits fell by the wayside as the music swelled and filled the hall with sound. In a matter of moments, couples were out in the middle of the floor, dancing and laughing as their partners swung them around.

“Will you have a go with me, Erin?” Merry asked, smiling impishly. 

Erin shook her head. “Absolutely not. I can’t dance to this stuff or in this dress. I’ll fall flat on my face.”

Merry tugged at her hand. “I will not let you fall,” he promised seriously, though his eyes were bright with mirth. “Come on, it will be fun. You need some fun if you are ever going to live like a hobbit.”

She couldn’t help but laugh as she followed him, lifting the edge of her dress so she wouldn’t trip on it. “Who says I want to be a hobbit?” she asked. “I don’t know how to dance like that!”

He ignored her protests and took both her hands in his. “Now, we go this way!” he said, and pulled her along with him. “Now, the other way.”

Despite the fact that he was a good foot and then some shorter than her, he managed to be a good instructor, and Erin forgot about looking silly. Instead, she found herself laughing as he spun her across the floor. The song ended and she managed to curtsey, even as she gasped for breath. 

Merry grinned as he bowed. “See, that was not so hard. It was fun, too.”

Erin straightened from her curtsey and shook her head, still laughing. “Yes, it was fun. Thank you.”

The musicians began another song, and Erin felt a polite tap on her lower back. She turned, and found Pippin grinning up at her with his hands held out for hers.  With a glance back at Merry, Erin found herself being danced recklessly across the dance floor. More dancers had filled the floor, and Erin wondered how Pip could see around her to keep from bumping into them, but somehow, the hobbit managed. By the end of the song, she was out of breath from laughing and dancing. 

“I need a drink and to catch my breath,” she said. “That was fun!”

“Did you save a dance for me?” an amused voice asked from behind her.

Erin squeaked in surprise and whirled, her surprise turning to a mixture of consternation and delight. “I’m going to put a bell on you one of these days, Legolas, so you can’t sneak up on me.”

He took her hands with his and led her into another dance, this one, thankfully, a little more sedate. “Now where would the fun be in that?” he asked with an impish smile. He released one of her hands to twirl her, pulling her back towards him and catching her other hand once more. 

It was easier to dance with Legolas – he was a strong partner and managed to guide her steps, even though she felt clumsy beside his graceful form. It also helped that he was taller than she was. 

The style of dancing reminded her of the old fifties movies with Errol Flynn. The only contact between their bodies was their hands – and it was probably a good thing, when one was dancing with someone as breathtakingly gorgeous as Legolas. He was just her friend, but if their bodies had been any closer, Erin didn’t know what she would have done. Her brain probably would just shut down from the sensory overload. As it was, she was able to simply enjoy dancing with him, laughing as he moved her into an elaborate spin around him that made her dizzy. 

When the song ended, he surprised her by leaning forward to brush her cheek with his. 

“It is good to see you laugh, meldis,” he said quietly in her ear. Then he was gone as another partner whirled her away and onto the floor once more.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Gandalf said, smiling down at her. 

She took three steps to the side, curtsied, then returned to follow him across the floor as they passed beneath the other dancers’ upheld hands. The more she danced, the more she got the hang of the steps, which were fairly repetitive. It was merely the combinations of them that changed. By watching the others, and by her partner’s cues, she could usually guess what to do. 

“I am,” she agreed. “Though I didn’t think I was going to when Merry asked me. I think I’ve got the hang of this….oops!” She missed the step and went the wrong way. Gandalf guided her back quickly and they fell in step behind the other dancers. 

The song ended, and Erin thought she’d finally get the chance to sit down and rest her feet, when another song, a lively, foot tapping tune, began. No sooner had Gandalf’s hand released hers, than she was whisked out into the middle of things once more.

Melaphríl grinned cheekily at her as he spun her around him. “I wanted to say thank you for looking out for Elrohir while I was gone. You have been a good friend to him and to myself.”

“You’re welcome. I…ack!” She was dizzy from twirling. She couldn’t even begin to keep track of where her feet were supposed to go. It was enough to simply try to keep up with the other dancers and not get run over. 

“Haven’t you guys ever heard of the waltz?” she complained, when they finally stopped. She was bent slightly, her hand pressed against the stitch that had developed in her side. “Something nice and slow?”

She finally managed to escape the floor and retrieve her cup of wine. Her face was hot from all her exertions, and she made her way out one of the smaller side doors to the fresh, outside air. 

Leaning against the stone ledge of the balcony, she looked down at the torch lit courtyard below her. Her breathing slowly returned to normal and the stitch in her side faded as she watched the people below moving and milling about, some arriving, others leaving for the night. She had no idea what time it was. It felt like it was late in the evening, but she wasn’t the slightest bit tired. She felt energized – and, in a word, good.

A cooling breeze ruffled the short strands of her hair and dried the sweat on her forehead and she smiled, closing her eyes in pleasure. It was nice out here. She could still hear the music, but it was quiet, and no one was whirling her like a dervish across the dance floor.

“Am I disturbing you?”  Faramir’s softly spoken question made her open her eyes and turn to look at him.

Smiling, Erin shook her head. “No. I just came out here to take a break and to cool off.”

Faramir smiled and crossed the distance from the door to the balcony’s edge to stand beside her, leaning across it and looking down briefly. “I was hoping to ask you for a dance, but could not find you. I was afraid you had left.”

She was glad it was dark out here, so he couldn’t see the blush that warmed her cheeks. 

“No,” she was glad her voice came out sounding normal. “I just came out here. I’d be happy to save you a dance.”  More than happy; down right giddy was more like it, but she wasn’t going to say that aloud. 

Faramir shifted beside her, and suddenly Erin was quite aware of how close he was standing. The breeze shifted slightly, and she was teased with a sudden whiff of his scent – clean and masculine. It made her want to bury her nose in his neck and inhale for all she was worth. Instead, she gripped the ledge tighter and kept her gaze on the torchlight below. 

“I am glad for this opportunity to speak with you alone,” Faramir said quietly. “For there is something I have been meaning to ask you these past few days, but have not yet had the appropriate time to broach the subject with you.”

Erin turned her head, gripping the ledge tighter. “Yes? What is it?” Her heart felt like it was trying to pound its way through her chest. 

“Back in the garden, in the house of healing,” he began, his voice soft. “You said something that has preyed on my mind ever since. I cannot let it go any longer.”

She couldn’t find her voice to say anything to that. It didn’t seem like he wanted a reply anyway, so instead, she simply nodded, swallowing nervously.  

Faramir took a deep breath. “You said you were glad I did not exchange places with Boromir. And then…you said you loved me.”  

Erin could practically feel the weight of his gaze on her. 

“Did you mean that, lady?” he asked quietly. “Or was it merely spoken in the heat of your anger, and forgotten?”

“I – that is…” Damn it, this shouldn’t be so hard, Erin thought, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to be honest, Faramir. It did just slip out – I didn’t mean to say it, and I didn’t even realize I had said it until later.”

“Then,” he responded slowly, carefully. “You did not mean it?”

“I didn’t say that,” she replied quickly. “I just said I didn’t mean to tell you, certainly not like that, anyway.”

She could almost see his smile in the darkness. 

“And how did you mean to tell me?” he challenged softly.

Oh dear. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I guess I wasn’t going to, until I knew how you felt.” 

Faramir stepped closer, until she could feel the line of his chest against her shoulder. His hands gripped her arms lightly and turned her away from the ledge to face him. Now that she was turned towards him, she could see the profile of his handsome face, lit from the lamps shining in the windows of the hall. 

“Erin,” he said, and she felt her stomach do flip-flops at the way his voice caressed her name. “You are a puzzle to me, that, try as I might, I cannot unravel. I have never known a woman like you.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She tried to make her question light and failed. 

"It is a good thing," he answered honestly and smiled, his eyes soft as he gazed down at her.

It took her three tries to find her voice. "What…what made you decide to talk to me…about this?"

Faramir's hands tightened briefly on her arms. "I saw you dancing," he replied simply. "You were laughing, your cheeks were pink and your eyes were bright. You were so lovely to behold, I found I could not look away."

Erin blushed to her toes. "You forgot to mention I was tripping over my feet."
 
He chuckled. “Aye, you were not the most graceful of dancers,” he admitted. “Yet never have I seen a sight more enchanting. I found myself jealous of your partners, and wishing I were bold enough to cut in and keep you for myself.”

She smiled what she was sure was a foolish, idiotic grin. “So, what exactly are you trying to say, my Lord?”

 “This,” he murmured, before bending his head to claim her lips with his own.

It was everything a kiss was supposed to be: soft, tender, and hinting at the passion beneath its gentleness. It quite literally took her breath away. His hands crept up to cradle her face as his mouth moved slowly over hers, and she melted into his kiss, her lips parting under the gentle pressure of his. She felt the first warm, velvet soft swipe of his tongue against hers and trembled at the sweetness of his taste. His lips felt so right against her own, as if they had been made to fit her perfectly. Everything about him felt so good, so perfect, she was convinced she was dreaming.

Faramir drew back, his thumbs brushing softly against her cheeks. She could barely see his smile in the shadows. 

"Fair maid who has stolen my heart," he whispered, drawing her against his chest.  She could hear the rapid beating of his heart beneath her ear and smiled, loving the warmth of his arms around her. 

“It’s only fair, since you stole mine first,” she replied happily.

“Truly?” His voice was soft, but she could hear the amusement in it.

“Yes. Truly,” she replied, giving into the temptation she’d felt earlier and burying her nose in the warmth of his neck. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as his scent filled her nose.

His chest rumbled with his chuckles. “What are you doing?”

“Smelling you,” she replied, tilting her head back so she could look up at him. Once she had been glad of the lack of light, now she wished it were broad daylight so she could look her fill of his handsome face. “You smell wonderful.” There was enough light for her to see his smile.

“Eh-hem.” Someone cleared their throat gently from the doorway. Faramir released his hold on her, but exchanged it for one of her hands. 

“Forgive the intrusion, my Lord Faramir, but King Elessar was asking for you and for lady Erin.” 

Faramir nodded. “Thank you, Gerrin,” he replied. His hand tightened on Erin’s for a moment as he glanced down at her. “Shall we, my lady?”

~ * ~

He walked her home – or rather, to the Three Hens, which had been her home since arriving in the city.

Elrohir was staying with Melaphríl in the fields outside the city – not that she blamed him for deserting her. If she had a lover waiting for her – she’d have eagerly slept in a tent, barn, wherever, just to be with him. 

Come to think of it – she did have a lover, or a love - she hastily amended. Faramir had done nothing more than kiss her and hold her this evening. He’d been a complete gentleman in his behavior, which didn’t surprise her in the least. Not that it wouldn’t be nice to explore their new found feelings in other ways…but Erin was in no hurry. It was nice to simply savor the little things, like the warmth of his hand as it held hers, and the way he kept looking at her. 

Despite being happy from her head to her toes, Erin couldn’t quite ignore the little, worry-filled voice inside her that insisted upon being heard. 

Aragorn – King Elessar, had made it quite clear that Faramir’s duties to the realm of Gondor were far from over. He was sending him to Osgiliath to help rebuild the city to its former glory. He was also making him Prince of Ithilien, which, to Erin’s understanding, lay to the north and west of Minas Tirith. 

If things work out between you and Faramir, you realize what his little promotion means, don’t you, the voice insinuated, refusing to be ignored. How do you feel about the possibility of being a princess?

Scared shitless, to be frank. 

And what about the fact that you’re no lady, or even a maiden in any sense of the word? How do you think he’ll react when he finds out about that?

Erin’s happiness faded. In its place was a large, unhappy knot in the pit of her stomach. 

This couldn’t work. She wasn’t a lady, despite the fact that the others had been calling her that out of courtesy. Faramir’s new rank deserved someone of higher status, of noble birth. Someone gently reared and bred. Someone like Éowyn – she would have been perfect for him, if she weren’t already in love with Elladan.

Erin bit her lip and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. She hadn’t thought of all of this beforehand. Now she wished she had. It might have kept her from falling in love with him.

Who are you trying to kid, she snorted mentally. It wouldn’t have mattered. She’d been half in love with him the first time he smiled at her. 

A tug on her hand told her that Faramir had stopped and was looking down at her with a small frown.

“What is wrong, Erin?” he asked quietly. “You have been very quiet.”

Erin lifted her head and looked at him, swallowing the hard lump in her throat. “I need to talk to you.”

He smiled, and it made her heart hurt just to see it. “Very well. To be honest, I was not all that anxious for this evening to end.”

“Can we go someplace private and talk without people getting the wrong idea?” Erin asked.

Faramir nodded, his frown returning. “What is it?”

“Take me someplace private, and I’ll tell you,” she replied, looking away from his handsome face.

Without another word he pulled her after him through the emptying streets, past the closed shops and darkened windows of homes, until he reached a small alley. Turning down it, he led her behind him, stopping after a few feet. He released her hand and reached for the keys he wore at his belt. She heard the sound of the key sliding home in a lock and the distinctive click as it turned, before he pushed the door open and led her inside.

It was utterly dark once he closed the door.

“Wait here. I will light some candles,” he said softly, releasing her hand.

She heard the sound of a match being lit, and blinked, her eyes gradually adjusting to the light as he went about the small room, lighting candles. Soon the room was bathed in the soft, golden glow. He blew out the match and tossed it in the small stove in the corner, before turning to look at her.

“This was a place that my brother – Boromir – and I would sometimes go, to escape from our father’s notice. It was once part of the Inn that shares this building, but this room has been walled off and separate for several years now.” He smiled faintly, gesturing for her to look around. “It is not much, but we should not be disturbed. Only Boromir and myself knew about it. And now you.”

She nodded, looking around her with curiosity. The stove in the corner would supply heat in the colder months, it’s small chimney poking into the wall and no doubt joining the main one for the building. A round table with two chairs sat in the center of the room. A dusty chess set was pushed to the side, the board set with what looked to be a game in progress, though the dust on the pieces gave testimony to the fact that it had been a long while since anyone had played it. Against the farthest wall was a cabinet with wooden doors. A large, woven rug covered the floor. From the look of it, it had probably once graced the floor of the citadel, though now it was faded and raveled a bit on the edges. 

“Would you care for a glass of wine?” Faramir asked, moving to the cupboard. “I believe we left a bottle or two behind.”

Erin took a seat on one of the chairs, pulling her skirt aside so it didn’t tangle around her legs, and watched him pour them each a cup. He carried both cups to the table, and returned to the cabinet to retrieve the bottle. Placing the bottle in the center of the table, he took the seat opposite hers.

Erin smiled weakly and lifted her cup, taking a fortifying sip of wine.

“What is it you wished to talk about?” Faramir asked.

She looked away from him and took a deep breath. “You know I’m not from here, so I hope you’ll forgive me for not behaving like a lady of your world. I need to tell you some things, before we go any further.”

He nodded and reached out, taking one of her hands with his. “Tell me, Erin. What is wrong?”

Erin bit her lip and looked at him. “I’m scared,” she said finally. “I don’t know the rules of your world well enough to know if I’m worrying over nothing or not.”

Faramir frowned, his fingers squeezing hers reassuringly. “I am a little nervous as well,” he admitted. “I have never felt this way about a woman before. But tell me what is worrying you. Perhaps I can lay your fears to rest.”

“I guess I should start with the most important one,” Erin said, taking another drink from her cup. “This is going to sound horribly blunt, considering we just admitted our feelings for one another, but I need to know before I let myself…before this goes any further.”  She swallowed and looked him in the eye. “Where are we going with this?”

He blinked, startled by her question. He considered it carefully for a moment, before he smiled faintly. “You are asking what my intentions are?” 

Erin nodded. “Yes. Exactly. What are your intentions?”

“To love you,” he answered simply. “To learn everything about you. To know who you are and how you think.” His smile grew slightly. “You are asking me if I intend on marrying you?”

She held her breath and nodded. 

He chuckled, squeezing her hand again. “I did not think a woman would be asking me these things, but yes, Erin. I had thought that we would, if the Valar are kind to us, be married.”

Erin let out the breath she’d been holding and closed her eyes. For a moment, she allowed herself to revel in the happiness his words gave her, before she pushed it away. 

“I’m not a noble woman,” she said, opening her eyes again. “Does that matter?”

Faramir shook his head. “No. It matters little. Perhaps if I were a King, it would matter, but I am not. My King has this very day, given me the title of Prince, but it is a title, nothing more. I will wed whom I will. I will wed the one I love, and titles and nobility do not matter to me.”

His answer gave her hope again, but she still wasn’t quite done laying her cards out on the table. 

“Before I came here, to your world, do you remember that I told you I had been engaged?”

He nodded. “You broke off your engagement because he was untrue.” His expression alone told her what he thought of any man who would do such a thing. 

“Well,” she paused, shaking her head. “Its just that…before we were married…we…”  She looked up at him meaningfully, her cheeks crimson with embarrassment. “I don’t know if that’s important or not, but I didn’t want you going into this with a false picture of what you were getting.”

It took him a moment to get what she was implying.  When he did, he laughed softly, shaking his head.

“I’m glad you think its funny,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought not to smile as well. “That wasn’t easy to say.”

“Sweet Erin,” he said finally, when he could speak again, his eyes were bright with amusement. “While virtue is admired, it is not a requirement I personally hold in potential lovers. You do not strike me as a woman who is free with her favors.”  He shook his head again. “Why did this worry you so?”

“Because in my world, years ago, it was a big thing. You didn’t do ‘that’ until you were married. End of story. Women who did were ostracized and looked down upon by others. I didn’t know if it was like that here or not, but I was worried it was.” Erin took a drink of her wine to cover her embarrassment.

Faramir nodded, raising her hand to his lips and kissing the back of it gently. “I understand,” he replied. “As I said, virtue is admired. Women who are loose with their favors are looked upon with less than kindly regard. But it is not uncommon for women to take a lover before being wed. A woman’s virtue rests in her heart.” He smiled, running his thumb over the back of her hand. “You, Erin, have such a heart, or you would not have confessed to me in such a way.”

She flushed, looking away. “I know I was jumping ahead of things, but I had to know before it was too late. I didn’t want our relationship to progress to a certain point and then have you leave me because I wasn’t what you expected, or wanted.”

He smiled slowly. “You have been unexpected since the moment I first felt your gentle touch upon my brow, sweet lady. I have come to enjoy that about you greatly. As for what I wanted, I believe I have found that as well.”  He rose from the chair, using the hand he held to pull her to her feet and into his arms. Smiling down at her, he cupped the side of her face with one, large hand. “Have I successfully laid your fears to rest, lady?”

Erin was lost in the blue of his eyes, how they darkened with emotion as they looked down at her. “Yes,” she managed faintly. “I think so.”

“That is well,” he murmured, lowering his head to brush her lips with his. He lingered there for a moment, before sighing softly, pressing his cheek against hers. “I will walk you home now.”

Chapter 13

Erin leaned out the window of her room and took a deep breath of the crisp, morning air. The scent of wildflowers carried on the breeze that tickled her nose, and Erin smiled. Below her she could see that the main street of Osgiliath, where in just a few hours, the wedding procession would pass, was strewn with blossoms of every color. 

It was hard to believe that little over year ago, the city had been in a state of ruin; buildings half-destroyed by the war machines of Sauron’s army, the streets themselves blocked with debris. 

So much had happened over the past twelve months.

King Aragorn had married Arwen Undómiel, and there had been a huge celebration in Minas Tirith. She had finally gotten to meet Lord Elrond, Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir’s father, and had been as awed by the kindly elf Lord as she had been of Galadriel and Celeborn. He, in turn, had been very interested in her own story – the world she had come from, her education, her background. Both he and Lord Celeborn had cornered her in the gardens of the Citadel one morning a few days after the wedding, and had questioned her for what seemed like hours about her people and the land she came from. She had been flattered and more than a bit overwhelmed by their interest. 

Shortly after the wedding, the rest of the Fellowship left with Éomer for Théoden’s funeral in Edoras. She had accompanied Faramir, along with Éowyn and Elladan. Lord Elrond, Elrohir and Melaphríl had left a few days earlier with the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. Honestly, she didn’t know which was more difficult – watching Lord Elrond leave his daughter, or watching Éowyn and Éomer bury their Uncle, who had been more like a father to them.

Saying goodbye to the Hobbits was hard – harder than she would have ever imagined. Only Merry’s mischievous attempts to steal kisses from her had kept the farewell from being unbearable. Saying farewell to Gandalf was difficult as well, but she managed to do it without bawling her eyes out. It wasn’t until Legolas and Gimli stepped forward to give their farewells that she finally lost it and cried.

Gimli bore it stoically, muttering what she took for comforting words in her ear, though she could barely hear them. He did not seem to mind too much when she sniffled and stepped away from him. In fact, his eyes had been suspiciously bright when he turned away to join the others. 

Legolas had smiled down at her with such warmth before embracing her, making her tear up again. 

“Do not weep, meldis,” he told her, hugging her gently. “I am certain I will see you again one day.”  He pulled back slightly, glancing at Faramir who stood beside her. “Be happy,” he said softly, before releasing her.

Éowyn stepped forward and hugged Erin so hard it nearly squeezed the breath out of her. “I will only be gone a year. Elladan has promised we will return to Edoras after we visit his home.”  She kissed Erin’s cheek and drew back. “He likes Rohan, and it may be that we will settle here so that we may be closer to our family.”

Faramir held her tightly as they watched their friends ride away. 

The seasons passed swiftly. King Aragorn had been busy setting his kingdom to rights, and Erin found herself drafted in the process, helping to field correspondence and appointments until things were better under control. Faramir was busy in Osgiliath, overseeing the repair and cleanup, helping the people who lived there reclaim their city. 

Word reached her that Galadriel had left Lothlórien for Valinor, taking with her most of the Galadhrim, including Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin. Lord Celeborn had remained behind with those elves not yet ready to depart for fairer shores. Erin found herself thinking warmly of Rúmil and Orophin, and realized how much they had helped her open her heart to love again. She missed them fiercely, but couldn’t blame them for leaving for the elven version of heaven. 

It was not until late spring – Aragorn had been King for exactly one year-- that Faramir surprised her one bright morning. She had finished sorting letters for Aragorn’s attention later, when a familiar shadow had fallen across the desk.

“What are you doing back so early?” Erin asked, looking up with a happy smile.

Faramir had sat on the corner of the desk and smiled down at her. “It is nearly finished,” he replied. “I want to show it to you.”

Intrigued by his boyish and mysterious smile, Erin followed him out of the citadel and into the courtyard.

His horse was saddled and waiting for them. Faramir knelt and cupped his hands for her, boosting her easily onto the back of his tall stallion. He mounted behind her, his arm wrapping securely around her waist, and cued the horse into a canter.

She leaned back against him, enjoying the warmth of his body against hers. Her body reacted to his closeness as it always did, and he didn’t make things any easier by nuzzling her neck.  Goosebumps traveled up her arms and she wiggled against him, feeling his strong thighs press against her backside. His soft chuckle warmed her ear.

“You should not tease me thus, my lady,” he murmured. 

Erin tilted her head back and smiled up at him. “Then you shouldn’t be teasing me, my lord,” she replied. “I give as good as I get.”

He slowed his horse, bringing it to a stop. “Do you?” he said, lifting his eyebrows, before smiling rather wickedly at her. 

She reached up, rubbing her fingers against the soft, golden brown hairs of his beard. “I do,” she answered, answering his smile with a grin of her own. “But only to you.”

Faramir’s arms shifted her in the saddle until she was sitting sideways, her legs across his thighs. With one arm firmly wrapped around her waist, he bent his head to kiss her.

Erin leaned into the kiss, winding her arms around his neck as he teased her lips with his own. She yielded to the gentle pressure his mouth exerted against hers, opening her mouth and meeting the bold, velvet touch of his tongue with hers. Her eyes fluttered shut and a tiny moan escaped her. She clung to him, her upper body pressed against his chest as he deepened his kiss. She could never get enough of the taste of him. 

Her hands moved seemingly of their own accord, sliding down his strong back. She loved the feel of his muscles beneath his shirt, and wished she could pull it out of the way and touch the warmth of his skin with her hands. He released her mouth and explored her neck, nibbling and nuzzling the sensitive skin just below the curve of her jaw. A shiver of delight ran through her – he had learned early on where her weak spots were and knew just how to exploit them. 

It was a game that two could play, however. She found the edge of his tunic with her fingertips and slid her hands beneath it, teasing the silky skin just above his belt. He shuddered against her, lifting his head to claim her mouth in a bruising kiss. His free hand moved lightly over her arm before sliding down to cup her breast. His thumb brushed boldly over her nipple, making her gasp and fall against him weakly.

“You win, Faramir,” she managed weakly. “I surrender.”

A soft chuckle escaped him before he turned her so that she was facing forward on the horse once again.

“Good,” he murmured, kissing her ear. “I accept your surrender.”

She squirmed in the saddle, feeling deliciously bothered. She could feel the hard press of his arousal against her back, and couldn’t keep from feeling a bit smug that she wasn’t the only one left rather uncomfortable. Served him right, for teasing her so unmercifully. 

As they continued their peaceful ride towards Osgiliath, Erin wondered how much longer their teasing would continue. Each kiss and caress, was a little bolder each time, yet never went to the next inevitable step. It was both frustrating and wonderful, yet Erin couldn’t help but wish that Faramir would take things a little further. Yet he had already told her he didn’t wish to be merely her lover – and they both agree they wanted something more. She just hoped he wouldn’t make her wait too much longer – there was a decided lack of cold showers in Minas Tirith.

The sun was well on its way to setting when they finally reached Osgiliath. The guards at the gate bowed formerly as they passed through it, and a young boy eagerly came to take Faramir’s horse and lead him away to the stables. Erin looked around her in amazement, pride filling her when she saw the improvements Faramir had wrought. He laughed at her comments, and said, “Thank you. But that is not what I have to show you.”

They climbed a long set of stairs to a huge and fancy-looking house, and Faramir stepped in front of her to push open the large wooden doors. Gesturing for her to proceed, he fell in step behind her and watched as she looked about the grand hall with quiet awe.

“What do you think of your new home?” His breath tickled her ear.

Erin turned, looking at him, for a moment speechless. 

Faramir smiled, taking both her hands in his.

“Would you do me the honor of being my wife, Erin Smith?”

Erin understood, finally, why it was that women cried when they were happy. So much happiness filled her, and it refused to be contained. 

“Yes!” she cried, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. He picked her up by the waist and swung her around, making her skirts fly out. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”  Her tears dissolved into laughter as he spun her. “Ack! Faramir! You’re making me dizzy!”

He stopped spinning her, setting her down carefully, though his hands held tight to her waist. He looked down at her and smiled so happily it made her giggle.

“I have another surprise for you,” he murmured, before kissing her soundly.  It had taken several moments before she could answer him coherently.  His kisses had a way of doing that to her.

“What is it?”

Faramir kissed her again, before taking her hand and leading her back outside.

“Hello, Erin.”

“Éowyn!”  Erin tore loose from Faramir’s grasp and flew down the steps. She returned her friend’s embrace enthusiastically.

“When did you get here?” Erin demanded, when they drew apart. 

“Yesterday evening,” Elladan answered with a grin, giving her a brief, one-armed embrace. “You look well.”

Erin turned to look at Faramir accusingly. 

He smiled. “They wished to be included, once I told them my plans for this day. They made me promise not to tell you.”

Éowyn grabbed Erin’s hands and smiled. “You did say yes, I hope?” she asked with a laugh.

Erin nodded, reaching up as Faramir came to stand at her side. His fingers entwined with hers and she glanced at him happily. “Of course I did.”  Her gaze returned to Éowyn and she saw something about her friend that made her eyes narrow a moment, before widening in surprise. “You’re pregnant!”

Elladan’s arm wrapped around Éowyn’s waist and rubbed her slightly protruding stomach gently. “Aye,” he said, grinning down at his wife. “So she is.”

Erin shook her head. “You didn’t want to wait? You only just got married a few months ago.”

Éowyn’s happy smile dimmed slightly. “We thought it best not to,” she said softly, glancing up at Elladan. “Because elvish children take longer to mature.”  Her smile returned, and there was a rueful look to it. “There is also a chance I will carry two months longer, or so says Elrohir. Apparently elven females carry their babies eleven months.”

“How are Elrohir and Melaphríl?” Erin had asked, silently grateful that her husband to be was 100% human. 

Elladan smiled. “They are well and are living in Imladris. They have become healers of some renown. The humans in nearby settlements come to them for injuries or illnesses they cannot cure themselves.”

It was so good to see her friends again, and Erin hugged them each again to their amusement.

“How long will you stay?” Erin asked. “At least a month?”

“Until the wedding,” Éowyn replied with a smile. “I thought you might appreciate some help in planning.”

Faramir and Elladan had left the women to their planning, and the two friends had been eager to catch up on each other’s news. 

“What are Elvish weddings like?” Erin asked curiously.

Éowyn blushed as she picked over the samples of cloth they were looking at while they tried to pick out which one would make the best wedding dress.

“They are not like human ceremonies,” Éowyn answered finally. “They are more…private.”

Erin raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean? Just family?”

“No,” Éowyn answered, her cheeks a lovely shade of pink. “There was no one there but myself and Elladan. It is not something you would want your family to be a witness to.”  She looked up at Erin meaningfully.

It took her a moment, and even then she wasn’t sure she understood. “You mean – you guys….er…?”

Éowyn blushed harder and smiled. “Yes. That is it. We spoke words of formal binding to one another and then…” she trailed off, her smile growing. “It was magic, Erin.” She sighed happily, making her friend chuckle, before becoming more businesslike. “Now, do you prefer the velvet or satin?”

Invitations were sent throughout the kingdom and beyond. Though she knew they probably would not be able to come, Erin made sure that Merry, Pippin, Frodo and Sam were included. She had fretted over the invitations to Legolas and Gimli, for the pair were still traveling, and no one really knew where they were. Elladan had simply told her to give them to him, and he would see that they received them, though he refused to divulge how he would accomplish it. 

Now, finally, after three months of planning and enough preparation to make Erin’s head hurt, the day of her wedding had finally arrived. 

Her dress lay flat across her bed, and she fingered the silky, cream-colored material wistfully.  Her life had certainly changed dramatically over the past two years. It was still hard to believe that she’d only been living in Middle Earth for such a short time. Some days it felt like she’d lived here all her life. 

It was still some hours yet before she had to change into her dress, and she was upholding the custom that the bride not be seen before the wedding ceremony itself – making her essentially a temporary prisoner in her own bedroom. Not that she minded terribly – it gave her time to think – and some relative peace and quiet, which she’d had a shortage of lately. 

She moved her dress carefully to one side and stretched out across the bed, folding her hands behind her head. 

The only thing, that could make this day more perfect, Erin mused, would be if her parents could be here to share in her happiness. The pain of missing them had eased only slightly – it still hurt to think about them, to wonder how they were, to know that they probably had given her up for dead by now.  It was the only thing she truly regretted about her decision to stay in Middle Earth – the pain she knew she must have caused her parents. She hated the fact that her disappearance from her world must have caused them no end of worry and grief. She wished there were some way she could tell them she was okay – alive, and so gloriously happy. And she wished there was some way she could tell them how much she loved them.

She rolled to her side, curling her arm beneath the pillow. She didn’t want to cry – not on what should be the happiest day of her life. Instead, she closed her eyes, sending a silent and heartfelt prayer to the powers above: please let them know I’m all right and happy, and that I miss them every day.

She did not fight the sleep that gradually took hold of her, but surrendered to it willingly. 

~ * ~

She was standing beneath the trees of a familiar forest, dressed in the creamy brocade of her wedding gown. White blossoms adorned her dark brown hair, which now curled just above her shoulders. Her feet were bare against the soft, green moss, and she curled her toes against the velvet texture of it. 

“What is this place?” she asked, lifting her head to smile at the man and woman who stood before her. 

The woman regarded her with a gentle smile. “A place of dreams,” she replied. 

“Where we can speak to you,” the man added. 

Erin looked around her, watching the brightly colored orange and yellow leaves of a maple tree flutter and fall in the playful breeze. “Will you tell me who you are now? Or do I have to guess?”

The woman’s laughter was silvery, like the tinkling of chimes. “You have already guessed who we are, child.”

Erin nodded, and looked pointedly around her once more. “Why have you brought me here?”

The man regarded her thoughtfully. “It is you who brought us, Erin.”

“We heard your wish,” the woman said. “We know of your grief.”  They exchanged a brief and knowing glance, before the woman continued. “We have come to ease it.”

“To undo the grief we have caused,” the man added softly. “For though your fëa has found its rightful home, your heart carries the burden of sorrow.”

The woman smiled. “There should be no sorrow in your heart, not on this day.”

Erin looked at them doubtfully. “What can you do? My parents are in my world – I’m here. I don’t want to leave Faramir, no matter how much I miss them.”

“This is a place of dreams, child,” the man chided gently. “Anything can happen.”

“Wait here, and you will see them, for only now has their dreaming brought them to this place,” the woman said. She reached for the man’s hand and clasped it with her own.  

“Farewell, Erin Smith. May the blessings of Ilúvatar be upon you.”  

Erin was not surprised to see them disappear in a flash of bright, blinding light. Standing in their place, looking rather dazed and confused, were her mother and father.  She trembled, feeling tears prick her eyes as she looked at them.

“Mom? Dad?” She took a step towards them, her arms held out.

They looked at her, shock giving way to joy. “Erin!”

They felt completely real as the embraced her, crying, laughing, and talking all at once. 

“Where have you been?”

“We’ve been so worried.”

“We missed you so much…” her mother’s tears soaked through the thin material of Erin’s dress, but she didn’t mind in the least. 

“Mom, Dad. I’ve missed you too.” She was crying too, but it didn’t matter. “I’ve got something to tell you. I don’t know how much time the Valar will give us.”

Her parents drew back finally and looked at her, touching her, as if they couldn’t quite believe she was real.  It was a feeling she could relate to.

“What do you mean?” her father asked, gripping her hand so tightly it hurt.

“This is a dream – sort of. It was the only way they could grant my wish. Please – just listen for a moment,” Erin said, squeezing his hand in return.

Her mother nodded, biting her lip as she stroked Erin’s hair. 

“I’m alive – but I’m not in our world any more. I’m living in a place called Middle-earth now – god, I can’t believe how weird this sounds, but you have to believe me. I was sent here by the Valar – kind of the Gods of this place – it’s a long story.” She shook her head, taking a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know I was alive and happy. And I miss you both so much. I hated knowing you were worrying about me – and not being able to tell you I was okay.”

To her utter surprise, her parents simply nodded.

“We knew it could happen,” her mother said softly, reaching out to grasp her other hand. “We knew it, though we hoped you would stay with us.”

Erin blinked, glancing at her father. He nodded, confirming what her mother had just said.

“I don’t understand,” Erin said finally. “How could you know…?”

Her mother smiled, releasing her hand to brush Erin’s cheek lightly. “Do you remember a story I used to tell you when you were a little girl? The one about the baby?”

Erin nodded slowly, her throat tight. “I do,” she whispered, the realization hitting her like a wet bag of cement. “You mean that it wasn’t just a story?”

Her mother shook her head. “Not a story, Erin. Not a make-believe one, anyway. You were given to us when you were barely a month old. We couldn’t have children of our own, so we considered it a blessing to have you. We knew…” Her mother broke off, smiling apologetically as she wiped the tears that fell from her eyes. 

“We knew we would lose you one day,” her father finished gruffly. 

Her knees felt weak and she locked them to keep from falling over. “How – how did you know? I mean, how could you believe it?”  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have believed it.”

Her mother smiled through her tears and shrugged. “There was something about the woman – whether she touched or minds or something else – we couldn’t do anything but believe her, Erin. We never doubted the truth of her words, regardless of how bizarre it seemed.”

Erin struggled to keep from crying again. “I didn’t know. I didn’t remember the story until after I was given the choice to go or stay.”

Her father reached up and hugged her tightly. “Are you happy, Erin?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she said, sniffing. A short laugh escaped her. “I’m getting married today.”  She felt her mother’s arms around her as well. “I wish you could be there. I wish you could meet him. He’s wonderful.”

“We love you, Erin. Never forget that,” her mother said. “We are happy for you. I’m so happy for you.”

“I love you too,” Erin whispered, holding them both tighter and closing her eyes. Already she could feel the magic of the place beginning to fade. “I love you too.”

“Be happy, Erin,” her father’s voice whispered. “We love you.”

She woke, clutching her pillow with both arms. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

Thank you, she thought with all her strength, knowing that the Valar could hear her if they wished. Thank you for everything.

If they heard her, they gave no outward sign, but Erin felt a peace she had not felt since she’d returned to Middle Earth settle on her heart. The sorrow she had carried was gone.

~ * ~

He was so handsome, standing there beside Aragorn, dressed in all his finery; it made Erin’s heart nearly stop to see him. His blue eyes widened with appreciation and nervousness as she walked slowly towards him, and she felt the finest tremble in his hands when he took hers with his own.

Her eyes met his, and she was dimly aware that Aragorn began to speak the words that would make them husband and wife, but Erin didn’t hear them. She was only aware of the blueness of Faramir’s eyes, the warmth of his hands against hers, and the rapid beating of her heart. 

His hands shook slightly as he placed the wedding band on her middle finger of her left hand. His voice, when he spoke his vows, was low and sweet. When he bent his head to claim his kiss as her husband, Erin thought she would melt in his arms. 

“I love you,” he murmured, brushing her cheek with his and tickling her with his beard. 

She opened her mouth to reply, but he was turning her towards Aragorn once more. Her friend and King smiled down at them both. He held something in his hands, and it wasn’t until she felt the weight of it on her head, that Erin realized he had placed a circlet of silver atop the white blossoms she wore in her hair. 

“Gentle guests, by the grace and authority I have been granted as your King, I present to you the Prince and Princess of Ithilien,” Aragorn’s strong voice carried across the pavilion and was greeted by applause and cheers. “May the Valar bless their union.”

If it hadn’t been for Faramir’s arm around her waist, Erin would have fallen. She leaned gratefully against his support and smiled blissfully up at him. 

He leaned down and kissed her again, much to the approval of the guests present, if the sudden rise in noise was any indication. Blushing, she pulled back, but did not let go of him.

She didn’t remember leaving the pavilion for the great hall, but suddenly, she was there, standing beside Faramir as they greeted their guests.

The King and Queen were the first to congratulate them. Aragorn hugged her warmly and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“You have come a long way, Erin,” he murmured, his blue eyes bright with approval. “It hardly seems like it was only two years past that Legolas and I found you sleeping in a tent on the plains of Rohan.”

She smiled, her cheeks warming as she laughed. “Yes. You don’t look much like the ranger I met that day either, your majesty.” Her smile faded and she leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, Aragorn. For everything.”

Queen Arwen was next, and Erin smiled as the beautiful elleth hugged her warmly. “I am happy for you,” Arwen said softly. “I wish you much joy in your new life.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Erin said, feeling awed as she always did in Arwen’s presence. She had never met or seen anyone like her – and she felt blessed simply by knowing her. 

Éowyn’s hug nearly knocked the breath out of her. “Congratulations, my dear friend,” Éowyn whispered. “I am so happy for you both.”

Erin laughed, looking down at her friend’s ever expanding waistline with a grin. “Thank you, Éowyn.”

Elladan brushed her cheek with his and whispered teasingly, “You will come and visit us in Rohan, Princess? The baby is due at the beginning of the new year.”

She nodded, smiling. “Yes. Though I hope we will visit before then.”

More people – other nobles and dignitaries of Gondor, filed past, giving the newly wedded couple their well wishes and kind regards. Erin’s feet began to hurt, as did her face from smiling so much, when a familiar and gruff voice made her look down the receiving line with a grin.

“Gimli!”

The dwarf grinned up at her through his beard, his eyes shining. “Aye, lass. You did not think I would miss your wedding?”

She bent slightly and hugged him tight. “I’m glad you could make it,” she said honestly, kissing his cheek just to hear him grumble. 

“Oh, go on,” he said, looking pleased. “You look well, lassie. Are you happy?”

“Yes, I am happy,” she said, glancing at Faramir and reaching for his hand. He squeezed it gently in return. She looked back at Gimli. “Where is Legolas?”

A soft laugh tickled her ear and she turned, shaking her head as the elf stepped around from behind her. 

“You just couldn’t resist, could you?” she asked, hugging him warmly.

“No,” he admitted. “I have missed those funny noises you make whenever I startle you.” He kissed her cheek and hugged her back. “It is good to see you again, mellonen.”  He greeted Faramir with a warm smile, clasping his arm tight. “Congratulations to you both,” he said happily. “May your home be filled with love.”  Smiling, he turned back to Erin.  “I have a message for you from Merry. He said to tell you that he is sorry you decided to marry the tall human, and that he believes you would have made a better Hobbit. He also wishes you both much happiness and many children to fill your home.”  Legolas grinned. “The other Hobbits send their regrets for not attending, and also their good wishes for your marriage.”

Faramir chuckled. “It is a good thing that Master Meriadoc is not present, or I would take him to task for coveting my wife.”

Erin couldn’t repress the wiggle of pleasure that went through her at Faramir’s words – my wife. It still didn’t seem real. She kept glancing at the hand that held the ring he had placed on it not too long ago and smiling. 

Thankfully, just as Erin’s feet were about to give up on her, the line ended, and she was able to sit down. Faramir sat beside her, and immediately reached for her hand. 

“Are you happy, my love?” he asked softly, leaning his cheek against hers.

“If I were any happier, Faramir, I think I would burst,” Erin told him, laughing. “How about you?”

He drew back, resting his forehead against hers and smiling down at her. “I am happy,” he replied. “But I think I will be happier still when we can finally have some time alone together.” His lips curved into a wicked smile that sent shivers of anticipation down her spine. 

The afternoon passed in a blur of food, music, and dancing. It seemed to be a tradition for every male present to dance with the bride on her wedding day – or it certainly appeared that way to Erin as she was whisked away from Faramir’s side again and again. She danced with Gimli, Legolas, Elladan, Aragorn, and countless others until her feet were begging for mercy. 

Finally, Faramir came to her rescue. The music ended as he led her to where the King and Queen sat. He bowed low, and she managed a somewhat graceful curtsey. 

“The hour grows late, gentle guests,” Faramir said, tucking her arm against his and holding her hand tightly. “We beg your pardons and ask for your leave. Will you grant it?”

Aragorn and Arwen smiled at each other before nodding. “Go, dear friends, with our blessings,” Aragorn said, raising his glass in a toast. “May you have many long years of happiness. We wish you joy in each other till the end of your days.”

She didn’t know what to expect as Faramir led her from the hall and down the steps to the courtyard below. She was surprised to see that a groom waiting for them, holding the reins of Faramir’s horse. He smiled at them as they approached.

“All is in preparation for you, my lord,” the man said, touching his forehead deferentially as he handed the reins to Faramir. 

“Thank you,” Faramir said. He turned and before Erin could realize what he was going to do, he lifted her into the saddle. He mounted behind her, lifting her again until she sat on his lap sideways. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he cued his horse into a walk.

“You will see,” he answered, wrapping his free arm around her to steady her as the horse moved into a slow canter. 

It was something out of a fairy tale, to be riding with a Prince across the grassland, his arm holding her so she wouldn’t fall. I’m living a fairy tale, she thought, chuckling. I’m even a princess, for crying out loud.

“Why do you laugh?” Faramir asked, glancing down at her.

She raised her head so she could kiss him. “I just realized I’m living a fairy tale,” she told him. “And that dreams sometimes do come true.”

His arm tightened around her and he nodded. “Yes,” he replied softly, his eyes warm with love as he looked down at her. “They most certainly do.”

The End

Here ends Erin’s adventures in Middle Earth.