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Chapter Text

Prologue

Lótessë 3002, Third Age
(May)

"'Stay behind, child. Stay hidden, child. Practice your letters, child,'" Lúthien grumbled to herself as she used a stick to draw in the soft dirt at her feet.

"I am not a child." The ten year old's chin rested deeper into the dirty fabric of her trousers in frustration as she pulled her knees up tightly before her. Her softly spoken protest was lost to the breeze that weaved its way past her, playing with the loose tendrils of her long black hair as it did. The only sound to keep her company was that of birds happily carrying on their conversations, finding her presence no threat.

Though the ten year old wished to toss her stick deeply into the woods that surrounded her, she reluctantly continued with her limited studies. Having been orphaned three years prior at the tender age of seven, cast out and abandoned for things beyond her control, the child had been forced to mature and grow beyond her years in order to survive. Fate, it would seem, had determined her path would be one of hardship, doing its best to harden her as a blacksmith would harden a knife with fire before drowning it in water.

Lúthien knew many looked down upon her because of her age, but she would not give them the satisfaction of proving themselves superior. Instead, she let a stoic yet determined face fall upon her features—one she had seen on her warrior father's face before he rode away to battle many years before—and focused on obeying the instructions left for her.

She would not, however, obey happily. Instead, she allowed her irritation to fuel her actions, choosing to dwell on the fact that Gandalf had, once again, left her behind to meet with someone about her plight.

It was not a lightly made decision by her wizard friend, but after having her as a traveling companion for nigh on two years, he had faith in her ability to remain hidden from prying eyes and to make wise decisions should the need arise despite her age. Lúthien was determined to not let the wizard down. He was, after all, the only friend she had in the world.

The girl would not betray the wizard's trust. He had been forced to part ways from her before in the past, always to find his way back to her. She trusted him, felt safe with him. Gandalf had been there when nobody else had. Even after learning her true name.

Her parents had raised her on a bed of secrets. In truth, one singular secret. Though, for numbering just one, it had determined the path of her life from birth—a path of darkness, loneliness, and a fight to survive.

Her mother had once told her, as she tucked her in one night, brushing the hair from her face, that her scars were what she had, not who she was. To remember that she had been blessed beyond what any other could imagine.

But then her mother had been murdered that same night alongside her father; each of them taking a single, crucial, and significant secret with them. A secret that Lúthien would not learn until one long year later, when her path crossed with the grey wizard.

Upon learning her true identity, Gandalf had quickly taken her deeper into hiding, instructing her to use a false name, lest someone should realize and seek her death. It wasn't until months later that the wizard had finally shared the reasoning behind his instructions. With eyes full of sadness, Gandalf had revealed her parents' secret.

With that new knowledge—that new burden, the child had quickly adopted the false name of 'Aedre', a name she'd heard once upon a time in a happy childhood; something that now seemed a lifetime ago; something Lúthien would never get the opportunity to experience again.

Her hands moved the stick in flowing and graceful patterns through the soil. Finishing, she paused only a moment before wiping away the letters with the palm of her hand, adjusting the grip of her hand on the stick as she prepared to begin anew.

The sound of a twig snapping a short distance away had Lúthien pausing, her eyes and ears on high alert. A moment later, the sound of a small animal had her releasing the held breath from her lungs. The girl mentally scolded herself. She should have known better. Though Gandalf and she had made a small camp near the Great West Road outside the northern gate of the great encircling wall of the Pelennor Fields, they had made sure to keep enough distance between them and any other that might find themselves traveling in the area.

Lúthien reassured herself that she was safely tucked away, at no risk of being discovered. As she turned back to her task, her mind wandered to her parents in thought. Her father had been a great warrior, her mother a strong and kind woman. Lúthien was determined to be like her beloved parents. They had stood strong in the face of adversity, choosing to not back down when fate threw its worst at them.

Finding herself distracted from her lessons, Lúthien began to trace shapes in the dirt, a crude portrait of her small family taking shape. It was not detailed, nor very accurate, but it was resemblance enough to release a wave of happy memories across her mind's eye. She looked upon the drawing with soft happiness and a bitter-sweetness. The girl refused to let childhood memories with her parents be dwindled down to one of sadness and despair.

Lúthien was pulled from her reminiscing as the sound of joyous laughter floated by on a breeze. Without hesitation, the girl scrambled to the nearest bush large enough to hide her tall frame, her knees erasing the faces drawn in the dirt just moments ago. Adjusting the branches and leaves in front of her, she evened out her breathing lest her frantic pants of breath alert the strangers to her presence.

Minutes passed in silence. Lúthien waited patiently, unwilling to be discovered. It was true, most people she came across knew nothing of her or who she truly was, but enough encounters with those who did had quickly taught her that it was not worth the risk. Even at the young age of ten she had scars enough to prove that.

After waiting another length of time, Lúthien carefully pulled aside the branch of leaves in front of her face just enough to peer out to survey the area where she had been sitting. There were no signs nor sounds of another person. Looking up to the sky, she listened to the birds sing out their calls to each other in happy chatter. Her eyes closed in relief as a sigh released the tension from her shoulders.

It was, however, a short lived relief. The sound of a man's voice softly calling out from directly to her right had her eyes snapping open in almost terror as she quickly scrambled backwards from the bush on her hands and bottom. Lúthien's feet quickly kicked up dirt as they tried to find purchase enough to give her the distance from the man now stood before her.

The wide trunk of a tree abruptly halted Lúthien's motions as she worked to calm her racing heart and even out her breaths once more. She had come across many men in her travels before, surely she had no reason to fear this one. Yet, her racing pulse would not listen, her wide eyes remaining fixed on the stranger, her mouth clamped shut in silence.

The man that stood before her quickly held up his hands in an effort to calm her, as if she were a wild horse of Rohan. "It is all right. I will not hurt you, I promise." His voice was soft, the look in his eyes showing a kind concern.

Lúthien studied him for a moment, her eyes instinctively scanning his person for signs of weapons. Seeing no sword at his side meant nothing to the girl. Gandalf had seen it fit to train her in self-defense as best he could; to train her in how to identify a threat quickly, what to look for.

The stranger stood tall and well dressed. It was evident he was of higher birth, though still young. She did not guess him to be beyond twenty years of age. The knowledge of him being of higher birth put Lúthien on her guard. Nobles were not known for their looking kindly on those below their station, let alone someone like her. The man remained almost frozen, his shoulder length hair moving softly in the breeze, the dark blonde waves gently dancing on his shoulders.

The man spoke again, bringing her gaze back to meet his. "Are you hurt? Where are your parents, child?" His brown eyes searched the woods around them as if he might discover them.

Lúthien grew annoyed at the man calling her a child. She did not have the luxury of being a child. As the man scanned the woods for her guardian, her eyes darted to the small pile of things only partially hidden beneath a bush a short distance to her left. She knew she needed to get to it. Her only hope of surviving any attack against this man, should it come, was buried under the woolen blanket in that pile.

Before she could move, the man's gaze returned to hers in concern. It was clear she was alone in these woods. Slowly, he took a careful step towards her, his hands remaining raised. Lúthien pressed her back further into the biting bark of the tree. "I mean you no harm. Will you allow me to help you?" The man took another small step forward.

"I seek, nor need any help, my lord. Please, be on your way." Lúthien's voice came out strong and mature for a ten year old. Her words had the stranger stopping as he gazed at her with a quizzical look.

It was clear he had not expected such a response from someone her age. As if in disbelief that she needed no aid, the young man took a few more hesitant steps towards her, crouching down only a few feet away.

Lúthien's body tensed in response, her muscles itching for her to put more distance between herself and this stranger. With no escape, she quickly turned the left side of her face away from the man. But she knew she had been too slow. His eyes had traveled her face in concern, his brows furrowing deeper as his gaze came to rest on the scars along her face. Scars she had been born with.

Though he hadn't looked long upon her scar, it had been enough to make him flinch, as if repulsed by the sight. The young girl's eyes filled with hurt against her will. No matter how much she tried to harden herself against the hurtful actions and words of the world, two years was not long enough to do so.

The man let a sad smile grace his lips as he held a hand out to her. "All will be well. You will come to no harm by my hands. You are safe." Lúthien turned only her eyes towards him, her desire to be cared about stirring at his words. With abundant hesitation, Lúthien began to lift her hand toward his. However, the sound of more twigs snapping had her yanking her hand back.

"Faramir! Where have you gone?" A loud joyful voice rang through the trees from somewhere nearby. The crouched man's attention was pulled towards the sudden sound.

Taking advantage of this distraction, Lúthien quickly scrambled to her feet, racing towards the pile of belongings. Sliding to a stop in the dirt, her hands quickly found the handle of her father's sword, pulling it from it's sheath.

With an unbalanced turn, the girl swung the tip of the broad sword around, both hands gripping the leather wrapped hilt tightly as she pointed it at the strange man who was now standing. The quick motion gratefully left her hair falling slightly into her face, hiding her scars. At the sight of the steel blade, the stranger quickly lifted his hands, the confused look on his face morphing into something else.

The next moment, another man, one slightly taller with similar features to the first, also well dressed, barreled into the small clearing. Having not taken notice of her, the man smiled at the first stranger—the one the newcomer had called Faramir—and gave a breathy laugh. "There you are, brother. What has brought you..." The man's words trailed off as he took in his brother's stance of surrender, before he followed his gaze to Lúthien. Seeing the sword directed at his brother, the new stranger drew the sword hung on his own hip in an instant, placing himself more in front of his brother than beside.

"No! Brother, wait!" Faramir quickly moved, turning himself to face the newcomer head on, his back to Lúthien and her blade. The action confused the girl immensely. Could he have meant the truth when he claimed to be no threat to her? The brothers, she guessed, were roughly ten years her senior, and most definitely more skilled than she in any weaponry. Still, Lúthien did not lower her sword.

"What is happening, Faramir? Who is this? Why does she raise a sword to you?" The brother's words were heavy with mistrust. No doubt for her and not his brother. To her annoyance and vexation, his words were also laced with a hint of amusement. The man's sword relaxed slightly, the sight of a child holding a sword easily deemed no real threat.

"I do not know her name. I came upon her just a few moments ago. Please, brother, she's just frightened. She is lost, no doubt separated from her parents."

Faramir's words had Lúthien speaking up in defense, her words coming out strong and determined. "I am not lost."

Both of the brothers turned to her, Faramir's hands and the brother's blade lowering in unison as they looked at her in question.

"I am not lost," she repeated, her chin raising slightly. "And though I am separated from my parents, I cannot return to them." She paused only a moment before adding on, "they are dead."

"Where do you live? Do you have no one to care for you?" Faramir asked softly, sympathy filling his eyes.

Lúthien, unsure of how much Gandalf would wish her to disclose, weighed her words carefully before responding. "My guardian is only gone for a time. He has asked me to wait here until he returns. Any moment now I expect him. We travel together to learn. He is—" she stumbled as her mind raced to come up with the right words. "He is a man of knowledge. I am his apprentice." Her arms began to ache from holding the blade up high enough to ensure the two men kept their distance.

The brothers exchanged a look before the taller one returned his blade to its sheath at his side. "May I ask what the name of this wise man is?" Lúthien wasn't sure she trusted this brother. He seemed too arrogant and much more like a noble than the other.

Glancing between the two men, she lifted her chin, her arms already losing what little strength she had left as they began to tremble. "I do not see how that is any of your concern or business. As I have told your brother before, I do not seek, nor am I in need of any help." Lúthien's arms began to now visibly quiver as her strength finally left her. Feeling the burning in her limbs, she slowly lowered her blade enough to rest only the point in the dirt at her feet.

"Being as we are the sons of the Steward of Gondor, I believe that the business of any who pass through these lands becomes ours to know." The taller brother took a step toward her as he spoke, while his brother placed a hand on his arm to halt the advance.

At the man's words however, Lúthien allowed the adrenaline beginning to surge through her body to swiftly lift the sword back up in defense. These were the sons of the Steward of Gondor. Gandalf had warned her about Lord Denethor. About his pride and greed. And now, his sons, Faramir and Boromir, stood before her.

Fear raced through her veins. How had she not realized as much as soon as she had learned Faramir's name? How could she be such a fool? Surely, being the Steward's sons, they no doubt had already heard rumors of her name and the secret that followed, and would condemn her to death. She needed to leave immediately, but how? Her gaze darted around the clearing searching for any retreat, her fear becoming evident in her expression.

As her eyes darted around to her right, her raven hair caught against her shoulder, unintentionally revealing the scarred side of her face to Boromir. Lúthien met Boromir's eyes as they widened in revelation, his jaw lowering in astonishment. Lúthien knew immediately the look of recognition. It was proof the rumors of her scars and mismatched eyes had traveled ahead of her to Gondor. Her secret was no longer safe. She was no longer safe. Hope faded from her as her panic rose.

"Please, please just let me leave. I swear to never step foot in Gondor if you allow me to leave now." Lúthien's voice came out pleading, now sounding like the scared child she was. "I swear, I will leave and never return. Please, just let me return to my friend. No one need ever know that I was here. I will cause you no trouble, this I swear." Her ramblings came swiftly as tears threatened to fall, the fear of death increasing the pounding of her heart. "Please, just let me return to Gandalf and I shall go away forever."

Though neither man had made a move save to hold up their hands in a soothing manner, they both froze at the revealing of Gandalf's name. The child bit her lip as soon as she realized her mistake. Lúthien had not meant to let Gandalf's name slip. She wondered briefly if the wizard would be upset with her or not.

"This guardian you speak of, is he Gandalf the Grey?" Faramir asked, his voice soft and kind. Lúthien nodded her head repeatedly, hoping it might save her life. Faramir stepped forward slightly, his hand gently touching Boromir on the arm as if to ask him to stay. Lúthien's eyes widened further as Faramir slowly took two more closer steps, her own feet shuffling backward until they collided with her small pile of possessions.

"You have nothing to fear, little girl. I maintain my promise that no harm shall come to you by our hands." Faramir turned his head to look at his brother with a knowing look. "We cannot reveal her, Boromir. We must keep her safe. At least until Gandalf makes his return."

Boromir's face showed one of hesitation. "Gondor has laws, Faramir, you know this. Father will—"

"Father would see her killed." Faramir cut off his brother in a lowered voice, as if hopeful Lúthien would not hear. "You have seen her face, you know of her past. You know I speak the truth. Could you live with the blood of an innocent girl on your conscience?"

Boromir looked at Lúthien, his eyes softening as he let out a defeated sigh. "No, no I could not." With a careful stride, Boromir approached Lúthien and knelt down a small distance before her so their eyes were level, making sure to avoid the blade she struggled to barely hold aloft. "You have my word as well, little Lúthien. No harm shall come to you while you remain with us."

The use of her real name left her frozen. It was the confirmation she hadn't needed. But the looks of kindness and truth that accompanied the brothers' words had her nodding her head in understanding. Dropping the handle of the sword on the ground, Lúthien felt exhausted in every sense of the word. "Aedre," she finally offered up in a small voice. "My name is Aedre, if you please, my lords."

The brothers smiled at her, each giving the young girl a nod in acknowledgment. She was safe.

For now.

*****

Over the next few weeks, Boromir and Faramir frequently returned to the small clearing where Lúthien stayed, bringing her food and necessities. On the second day of their return, Faramir brought with them a dark green woolen cloak with a hood. Though large on her now, he had made sure the size would fit her still as she grew older. As he helped her to put it on, he showed her how the hood had been designed to hide the face of the wearer; a design made for the Rangers of Ithilien, elite archers and soldiers. Lúthien had held the cloak tightly to her chest, a teary smile stretched wide across her face. It had been years since someone had given her something as thoughtful or as precious. Not since long before her parents had died.

Faramir continued to bring small books and journals to share with her for their visit, building upon her education of letters and languages, as well as teaching her the lore and histories of Middle Earth. Boromir spent his time with her teaching her in the sword. The elder brother showed her how to care for and sharpen her father's blade.

On several occasions, they simply sat with her, listening as she shared stories of her father and his soldiering abilities. Lúthien soon came to enjoy every moment spent with the brothers. More and more often, she found herself smiling.

At the end of the third week, Gandalf returned to the surprising sight of the sons of Denethor merrily spending time with and teaching his young ward. While hesitant at first, he eventually relaxed in the knowledge that the young girl would remain safe.

Presently, it was late in the evening, the four of them sat around the crackling fire. Faramir and Lúthien sat happily on one side, using the light of the flames to look at one of the books Faramir had snuck away from his father's library that day. Gandalf and Boromir remained on the other side, both sat back a small distance from the flames.

"You could have told me, Gandalf. I would not have harmed her as others wish to. I could have been of help to her." Boromir's voice remained low as he addressed his friend. The two watched their companions as their laughter floated over the flames.

"I know. But I did not wish to place you in a position that would require you to lie to your father, Boromir. It would not have been fair to anyone," Gandalf responded, as he took a puff from his long pipe.

His eyes stayed with his ward. His travels had been been unfruitful in the answers he sought on her behalf. Yet, he would not give up so easily. Though the wizard had been disappointed in Lúthien at the onset after his return, it had turned to a sense of pride at hearing how she had handled herself. Gandalf's eyes turned sad as the sound of Lúthien's soft laughter rose above the crackling of the fire. It was a sound not often heard anymore and it brought a sad joy to the old wizard. The child had long ago carved out a place deep in his heart.

Boromir's eyes flitted over to the wizard's face in contemplation. "We have enjoyed having her here. It is as if a small part of our lives that had been empty too long, has been filled."

The only response given by the wizard was small grunt as his lips played with his pipe. Boromir's brows furrowed. "What is it, Gandalf? What are you not telling us?"

The grey wizard released a weary sigh. "I fear our time to leave has come."

"What? Why?"

Gandalf turned his head to give the man a knowing look. "You already know the answer to that, my friend."

Boromir's face changed to one of bitterness. "Surely you know we would keep her safe, Gandalf. We've grown fond of Aedre over her time spent here. We would not let harm befall her. Not while she is under out protection."

"You cannot keep her safe from all who hunt her, Boromir." Gandalf's words held a tone of sadness. "Nor can you keep her hidden away in the woods for the rest of her life," he added with a hint of amusement.

Boromir's shoulders sank in defeat. He knew Gandalf's words to be true. The girl would not be safe were she to remain there.

"Fear not, my friend," Gandalf offered in comfort, "we will not stay away forever." His eyes returned to Lúthien. "I fear, at this point, I could not keep her away from this place even should I try." The two friends smiled as they watched Faramir and Lúthien share a laugh over something written on the page in front of them. "She has grown quite fond of you both as well."

"And yet, you must go." Boromir's words were heavy.

"Yes, we must. There are still questions to be answered. And I fear the road to those answers will not be easy. She has a hard road ahead of her."

Firelight danced across the shadows of their faces as silence reigned between the two companions.

"She is strong, Gandalf. And she possesses something even stronger still inside of her. Her road may yet be hard, but she shall conquer it just the same." With those words, Boromir rose to his feet, making his way around the fire. "Enough of these book lessons. It is my turn.

Boromir grinned at the girl as he helped her to her feet. Lúthien raced to where her father's sword lay, an excited grin stretched across her face.

Chapter Text

Nénimë 3019, Third Age
(February- Seventeen Years Later)

She firmly believed her entire being to be nothing more than a cruel joke bestowed upon her by the gods of old. With a Rohinian birth, the looks of a Gondorian lady, the name of a great elf maiden of the past, and an ancestry that left her hunted, Lúthien believed her very existence to be a blasphemy to everyone and everything in regards to nature. Because of this, she spent her life as a nomad, doing her best to stay out of anyone else's story.

This particular day, however, she found her path crossed with an old friend in the most ill-fated of circumstances.

Lúthien ran at the large black orc mass, her hands elegantly gripping the hilt of the broad sword as if it were an extension of herself. A grimace contorted her face into something most humans would find intimidating as she charged forward, dry leaves disintegrating under her feet. The orc, however, found the efforts of the thin looking woman amusing, brandishing his own sword with a careless effort, a grotesque smile somehow making his own features even more revolting as he turned to meet her attack.

With a growl to aid her efforts, Lúthien used the remnants of a fallen tree to lift her body to meet the hulking beast's height as she swung her blade low, misdirecting the orc's own blade for a moment. With a quick movement the beast could not match, she spun herself around to his side, her low stroke following through in it's path to bring her blade back to its height above her head.

Her green Ranger's cloak and singing blade whipped through the air as her sword used the momentum of the follow through to come back down in a slicing stroke across the back of the monster's exposed neck. Though she would have been more satisfied to see the blade cleave the brute's head clean from its shoulders, Lúthien's human limitations required her to be satisfied with simply ending her foe's life.

There was no moment to rest as Boromir's horn sounded among the trees surrounding them, the deep vibrating sound calling for aid from all friends of Gondor. They were being overrun by orcs at an alarming rate. Lúthien looked around, her eyes quickly taking in and assessing the situation. Dozens of the beasts flooded the woods surrounding them, the thunder of their heavy steps sending repeated shock waves through the ground beneath her feet. There was no chance at survival; not against such numbers as these.

In the next moment, the payment for her hesitation in battle was demanded from her with a sharp pain to her side. The blackened blade of the foul beast to her right sliced through her skin. Though not deep enough to cause death nor too severe an injury, it was enough to leave the woman clenching her teeth in pain, the feeling of warm blood easily flowing from the wound. Directing the white hot pain in her side into the stroke of her sword, Lúthien brought another orc to its well deserved death.

Adjusting the grip on her sword, Lúthien took a deep breath and began to push her way through the masses, the adrenaline pulsing through her blood pushing all thoughts of pain to the back of her mind. This may be the day that she fell for the last time, never to see another sunrise, but she would strive to take as many of the unholy monstrosities with her as she could.

As she swung her sword again and again, fatigue beginning to slow her movements, Lúthien's eyes caught a swift motion pass by, the sound of wind whistling through harsh fletching quickly following. The sound of a crude thump echoing in her ears left her turning in terror. She knew that sound all too well. The sound of leather and flesh giving way to a sharp tipped shaft.

Her father had fallen to the same sound.

With eyes wide in disbelief, Lúthien let loose a cry as she watched Boromir's body be pierced with a second arrow. The sound of the offensive shaft piercing deeply into his leather jerkin caused her heart to race, the world around her temporarily slowing. It could not be. In all her twenty-seven years, Boromir was one of only two humans, aside from her parents, who had ever accepted her for who she truly was. He was her family. Her brother. She could not lose him. The Steward's son could not fall this day. Her chest breathed in some relief as she watched Boromir stand again, his sword swinging in fury at the enemy.

To her horror, in all the chaos, her eyes caught on the sight of two children behind her friend, each releasing their own war cries over the struck Boromir. It took no longer than a second before she realized with only slight relief that they were not children, but rather hobbits. Lúthien had heard tale of hobbits before in her travels, but had never seen one in person. The sound of metal clashing with metal abruptly brought her attention back to her goal.

The warrior woman began to fight her way towards her brother and his fellows. However, the pair of orcs attacking her from the other direction forced her attention away from the worrisome sight. As her own battle with the foul beasts drew her further and further from her struggling friend, she prayed to the gods of men, dwarves, and even the elves that Boromir's life would be spared.

Lúthien's ancestral shame did not allow the luxury or benefit of friends, rather it often lead to her condemnation and torture. This alone made the offer of kinship Boromir had extended much more valuable and precious to her than anything else. Though the gods of all had forsaken her sometime ago, she would petition them on behalf of her friend.

Lúthien took a heaving breath as she yanked her blade from the chest of the dead orc that now lay at her feet. The blade dripped black as the wretch fell the remaining distance to the ground in death. Her chest heaving, her free hand instantly applying pressure to her most severe wound on her side, she spun in a circle, prepared for the next attack. But it did not come.

The main part of the orc hoard had disappeared, continuing on their path to she knew not where. She was left standing alone, black orc blood splattered across the exposed soft features of her face. Her back and neck were damp with sweat, her raven hair falling in thick strands past her shoulders. The only company remaining where she stood among the trees were the corpses of several dead orc. As quickly as they had come, they had gone.

An unnerving silence blanketed the land. No longer were there the sounds of clashing blades or flying arrows. No longer did the grunts of man and beast echo among the trees. No longer did the ground tremble under the weight of the enemy. Neither did the breeze play among the dried leaves, tossing them in patterns of swirls as if it were a rhythmic dance. Nor did the trees whisper to each other in low tones as if sharing long forgotten secrets. In that moment, the world stood eerily still.

Dread settled upon Lúthien's shoulders.

Fearing for the fate of her beloved brother, Lúthien gripped her sword tight as she began running to Boromir's last known position. With a fearful motivation running through her veins, she gracefully and lithely made her way over fallen logs and blood soaked leaves, darting through the trees. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her.

It did not take long before Lúthien came upon a sight that left her coming to an abrupt stop, the broken dirt bracing against the leather of her boots. Quickly, she stepped back, hiding herself from the sight of the new arrivals. With her body shielded by a great tree, her bloodied free hand instinctively pulled her dark hood back up to hide her features.

Were anyone to look at Lúthien in passing, one would immediately determine her to be human. Those in her travels who happened to chance a closer look would often cringe back, pity filling their eyes when they spotted the white scarring that traced along the left side of her jaw, crawling up to engulf the base of her ear and left temple.

Here, her skin looked stretched, almost torn, as if a fire had eaten away at the top layers of skin and a failed deity had tried to patch it back together with a thick spiderweb of broad silvery-white thread. Her affected left eye was black, as dark as the moonless night, while the other remained the brilliant light grey of her father, as if reflecting the light of a far away star. Many in her travels of distant lands at first believed her to be the victim of a fire long ago, though rarely did it take long for the whispers and rumors to catch up with her no matter how far and fast she ran.

These common looks of pity were bearable. Preferable even. For it was better to be pitied the victim of the flame than to come across those who knew the truth. Lúthien's family, originally from a small village in the Mark of Rohan, had been forced to flee years ago when rumors—true though they may be—spread far and wide.

Though her father was fully human, her mother was not. While still yet a child, innocently young yet already scarred, the whispers in the surrounding villages began to reach her ears. Where her own people in the small village of her birth were accepting and loving, the surrounding villages wasted no time in proving they were the opposite. No matter the lengths of her people to keep her safe and unseen, their deeds, in the end, remained unsuccessful. They could not change the fact that the claims laid truth to what she was. For Lúthien was the descendant of a mixed breed. Red and black blood ran wild through her veins.

Lúthien's mother was the unheard of product of a violent and vile goblin attack against a human; making Lúthien, the granddaughter, a quarter goblin. And while her mother had escaped the cruel clutches of the goblin genetics, able to easily pass as full human, Lúthien had not.

It was not long, therefore, before notice was given, dispatched by a group of soldiers. By order of Théoden King, her family was banished from Rohan, forcing them into a life of condemnation for things they had no control over. Looks of Gondor, born of Rohan, the namesake of a great elf, and the black blood of a goblin. A blasphemous joke, indeed.

Hidden partially by the wide trunk of a tree, Lúthien adjusted the dark green hood of her cloak, its edges carefully hiding away her scar before she peeked around the worn trunk. Her eyes shone with curiosity and uncertainty as she observed a man with longer brown hair leaning over a pale and motionless Boromir, placing a kinsman's kiss on her brother's forehead. A long bearded dwarf with his head bowed stood only a few paces away.

The sight of Boromir motionless and bearing the paleness of death brought a sharp and intense pang to Lúthien's chest. Her lungs heaved shallowly and quickly as the reality of what she was seeing sank in, the world around spinning with disbelief and her legs threatening to give way beneath her.

Her brother had fallen in battle. Lúthien clenched her eyes shut tightly as they began to sting from the tears pooling. A racking sob loomed in threat in her chest. The tone of a high pitched ring drowned out the world around her as grief flooded her being, threatening to overwhelm her completely. She should not be surprised—nothing ever stayed in this life forever. Yet even that knowledge could not lessen the hurt of such a loss. If anything, the loss of Boromir was felt even more deeply by Lúthien, the woman who truly understood how precious life's gift of family could be.

Forcefully inhaling a centering breath, Lúthien shook her head clear as she reopened her eyes. Giving in to the pain of loss would do her no good at present. The past had taught her it was dangerous to dwell in grief. No, it was better to push through, to push forward to the next step of the journey. Dwelling there would only allow the strong clutches of grief to drag her down into a dark mire that would not be easily escaped.

Lúthien refocused her gaze on the dark haired man, her alertness returning as she realized he now stood motionless. The sudden awareness of a presence stood just behind her left her standing frozen, her fingers tightening around the handle of her sword still wet with blood of the enemy. Silently she cursed herself for her folly. Already, the clutches of grief were effecting her, risking her life over the loss of another.

With inhuman speed and elegance, the elf stood behind her drew and nocked an arrow, it's aim directed only inches from her right temple. A moment later, the brown haired man was spun around, his own sword drawn and pointed at her chest though he still remained a short distance away. The dwarf, though only minutely slower, faced her as well, his ax gripped tightly in both hands and at the ready.

Lúthien did not need to take a moment to weigh her decisions. It was clear she was no match for the armed man and dwarf, let alone the elf behind her. Wishing to communicate that she was no threat, Lúthien slowly bent her knees, carefully laying her sword on the ground before standing back up with her arms raised.

"I mean you no harm," Lúthien offered in the Westron language of Gondor.

The man in front of her remained silent for a moment as his eyes surveyed her form, no doubt in search of how much a threat she might pose. Making a decision, the man sheathed his sword and stepped forward carefully. The dwarf lowered his ax, though not fully. The elf did not move from his position.

"What business does a woman with sword have in these woods? It is not safe and everywhere the spies of Mordor lurk." His voice was level but suspicious. Lúthien knew how rare a sight she was in many parts of this world. Though women warriors existed, she doubted it was common for one to be found alone and armed in a forest that a hoard of orcs had just trampled through.

No doubt, the trousers she wore and the dark woolen cloak that encompassed her tall frame did little to ease their distrust at her sudden and suspicious appearance. Choosing to ignore the accusing undertone of the man's words, Lúthien answered him truthfully though vaguely. Her head remained turned slightly away, however, to ensure her marred features remained hidden.

"A business that I had hoped Boromir, son of Denethor could assist me with," Lúthien's sad eyes returned to her fallen brother for no more than a moment before meeting the stranger's. "I search for a shared friend. Word had reached my ears that their paths had crossed recently."

As adrenaline slowed and fatigue set in, Lúthien's arms began to grow weary from wielding a sword for the entirety of the short battle, the throbbing in her side now increasing tenfold. "May I lower my hands, elf?" Her voice remained level, yet tones of vexation began to appear unintentionally as the fatigue of long travels and the recent battle quickly drained her.

"I have traveled far and fought hard only to find my friend too late. I am no threat to you and considering that you are an elf and I only human, the bow seems rather unnecessary and of poor use at this distance."

Her body unwilling and unable to wait for a response, Lúthien gently lowered her weary arms, her hands tugging the hood lower over her face as she brought them down from their raised position. With a weary sigh and believing the three present were no threat to her, she carefully lowered herself to the hard ground, trying not to wince at the aching wound in her side as she adjusted to a comfortable position. Finding a workable seat amongst the gnarled roots of the tree, her back found rest against its wide smooth trunk. A breeze softly blew tendrils of hair across her face. The world was beginning to slowly stir back to life.

"I am Aragorn," the brown haired stranger offered, "and this is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas." The elf gave her a look lacking any emotion as he smoothly replaced the arrow to its quiver on his back. The dwarf simply grunted at her with a short nod, his red beard dipping closer to his knees as he leaned forward to rest crossed hands on the head of his ax.

Lúthien quickly observed the odd trio before her with wise eyes. The seemingly endless years of travel had allowed her to gain skills and knowledge most women and some men would never know in their lifetimes.

She knew of the Dúnedain and the legacy the one stood before her carried on his shoulders. Easily she recognized his name, as Gandalf had shared parts of his story with her over a shared cup of tea during their days of traveling together. Though her burdens were heavy, she did not wish for the one sat upon this man's shoulders.

She could quickly tell that Legolas was of the Woodland realm, the color and fabric of his clothing giving him away, but beyond that, she had no knowledge of him or his people. Though this came as no surprise. Elves kept their own company, guarding their lives and secrets ferociously. It would be considered an honor to be welcomed into an Elven realm. An honor bestowed on very few.

Looking over the dwarf, she knew not to be deceived by his short stature, nor round size. Dwarves were not to be underestimated. They were fierce warriors, protective of any they deemed kin. It was clear, simply in observing the way the three moved in response to each other, that this dwarf considered the others exactly that.

Understanding that Aragorn patiently and silently waited for her name, she nodded, offering up her false name. She could not trust that her true name had not already been whispered into their ears, all the truths and lies surely following it. "My name is Aedre." The words left her lips in a clipped but breathy tone as her lungs fought to breath against the increasing pain flooding through her body from the wound at her side, adrenaline no longer there to mask its presence.

Aragorn again cast searching eyes to her form before stepping forward to crouch down on his toes before her. His sudden closeness again left her subtly turning her head slightly to the left, away from his line of sight in attempt to better hide her scars. "You are wounded?"

Lúthien wasn't sure if it was actually a question or a statement. Either way, she knew that he must not discover the truth. Quickly, she shook her head. "Only worn from the battle." To help prove her lie, she took a deep bracing breath before lithely rising to her feet, glad that she was able to do so without visibly wincing or flinching. She was no stranger to pain. In a mostly graceful motion, she scooped up her father's sword, quickly cleaning the bloody blade off before returning it to the sheath at her side.

She was stubborn and perhaps reckless, but Lúthien knew that should those gathered find out about her injury, they would insist on her being taken to the healers in the nearest village. Lúthien would die before she would allow that to happen. She was all too aware that the closest village was Edoras, high seat of the Riddermark; home to Théoden King and his conniving and disgusting aide Grima.

Though she had not encountered the aide personally, Lúthien had heard enough tales from outlanders as well as those from Rohan to know why people called him Wormtongue behind his back. Regardless of Grima, she had no wish to ever step foot in Rohan. It was the homeland that had denied her family welcome, instead casting them out, left to be ridiculed and hunted beyond its borders.

Slowly, Lúthien made her way over to where her fallen brother lay, stopping a few paces away. She couldn't bring herself to come any closer. Her eyes stung as she looked upon Boromir's form, his dark blonde hair falling around his head; the blood staining his armor, his sword clutched to his chest by lifeless hands. The beating of her heart picked up it's pace, the feeling of it breaking all too real, as memories of laughter and quiet nights spent by the fire floated past her mind's eye. It took all that remained of Lúthien's strength to keep standing. Again, she fought against the sob threatening to rack her chest. How could Boromir have fallen? How could any of this have happened?

As Aragorn walked up beside her, she quickly wiped away the tears that had escaped her lashes. Forcing back the lump of emotion caught in her throat, Lúthien spoke evenly, "Boromir, son of Denethor was a great man in all aspects of life. All of Gondor shall weep with the news of his death."

"Indeed."

"He deserves to be buried with his kin and ancestors. He has surely earned that right in his lifetime." She cleared her throat softly as she turned her head to face Aragorn, her verdant hood safeguarding her scars and black eye from those gathered. "But aware as I am of these facts, I am also aware of the importance of your own journey, Aragorn, son of Arathorn." The words were spoken in truth.

By no means was Lúthien privy to the intimate details of the trio's company. However, that had not prevented her from discerning and understanding that the journey of the Heir and his company of nine traveled over great distances with a paramount purpose. She was not ignorant of the prophecies from long ago nor of the darkness that stirred and grew in the shadows. Gandalf had ensured she remained, at the very least, aware in that regard.

Lúthien's soft words had Aragorn's brown eyes turning sharply to meet her own, a mixture of surprise and wariness showing for only a moment. "How came you by this knowledge?" His sharp eyes left hers, trailing the path of marred skin from her temple down her jaw. Recognition lit in his eyes.

Quickly, Lúthien turned her face back forward, her shoulders tensing at what may come next. A fool she was not, to think that this Ranger from the North had never heard the tales of her scars and her tell-tale single black eye.

"What business does a traveler have in these woods where orcs roam freely?" Legolas' words were sharp and suspicious after her failing to respond to Aragorn's questioning. His silent steps had brought him closer behind than she had realized. Lúthien did not fault the elf for his suspicions. Should their situations be switched, she'd assume them to be dark agents of the enemy. She turned her head only slightly back towards Aragorn, her eyes focused on the ground beside her as she addressed the elf and dwarf stood only feet behind her.

"I cannot fault you for your suspicions, Master Elf." The woman turned her body to match the direction of her head, her hand casually resting on the pommel of her sword. She let her eyes drift closed for a moment as she took a shoulder lifting breath. The action had her shoulders hitching for a second as she felt the motion reopen part of the wound in her side. Maintaining her composure, Lúthien turned fully towards the trio, knowing they would have the answers she sought.

"But you have no reason to fear me. I have been tracking your small company for some days now in hopes that I might meet with Boromir." Her body remained passive, almost appearing relaxed as suspicion and alertness washed over the three gathered with her like a wave throwing itself on a shore. Boromir had taught her well, however. She allowed her sword hand to subtly and casually rest on the handle of her weapon should the need to defend herself arise.

When nobody said anything, she continued. "I have been searching for a friend. A wizard." She directed only her eyes to Legolas. "You would know him as Mithrandir," her eyes moved to Aragorn, "while others more widely know him as Gandalf the Grey."

Lúthien didn't miss the way that their eyes filled with a sorrow, Gimli's head turning down at the mention of the wizard's name. It was the look of loss in Legolas' eyes that told her all she need know. Elves did not often mix with mortal beings, thus their long lives spared them the pain of loss from frequent deaths. True, there were those who rightfully laid claim to that pain from the wars long ago. But she was sure Legolas held no such claim. Until now. Her dual colored eyes darted back to Aragorn in earnest, hopeful that he might waylay her fears.

"He has fallen." Aragorn's softly spoken words of sadness hit her full force, knocking the breath from her lungs. "In the Mines of Moria."

Lúthien spun her body away from the others, her eyes cast to the ground in front of her, wide in shock. It could not be. Strength once more threatened to abandon her with the news. First Boromir, and now Gandalf. Her friends; family. What would become of Faramir? Would she lose him as well?

Her eyes closed softly as she steeled herself against the rising tide of emotions. Everyone she grew close to, in the end, would be lost. Fate was cruel indeed. Beyond that, the truth of her situation was clear: Gandalf had been her last hope in finding the answers she sought.

The sudden feeling of Aragorn stepping closer had her hand reflexively going to the extra knife at her side, her mind instantly focused and alert, ready for any attack that may come. But relief and her own shock filled her chest when the man spoke in a low whisper. "Gandalf was a dear friend to us all. You need have no fear of us, Lúthien, daughter of Awiergan. No harm will come to you by our hands."

The relief at his promise was quickly replaced by dread from realization. Aragorn, Isildur's heir, knew her true name. A dozen questions raced through her mind in panic. How could he know her name? Had Gandalf informed him of her existence? Had he heard rumors of her, and if so, to what extent did he believe them? No doubt if he knew her name, he knew the truth. Despair ate at her shoulders as reality again became clear. Aragorn knew of her ancestry and what darkness flowed through her veins.

With sharp eyes, she turned her head back to face the man beside her, the hood concealing half her face. "You'll forgive me if I do not take your word as truth." Her jaws clenched as memories flooded in. "I have dealt with the race of men enough to know that those words never ring true." Her eyes returned to the body that lay before them, turning sorrowful again at the loss of those she held dear. "Never but save twice."

Chapter Text

"They will look for his coming from the White Tower. But he will not return."

Lúthien stood at the water's edge in silent despondence, Aragorn's voice echoing in her mind, his words driving the pain of her heart deeper still.

The deep gash at her side had been seen and tended to by her own hands. A mostly clean cloth now wrapped firmly around her torso, hidden securely beneath the long sleeve shirt and worn leather jerkin laced up her chest. She had silently slipped away a distance into the trees, using their cover to tend to the wound in her side without alerting the others to its existence. The constant pain had eased with the pressure of the cloth, but the sharp ache resurfaced with each movement.

Now, solemnity enveloped Lúthien as she stood apart from the others, watching as the elven boat carried Boromir to the next life; one of joy not sorrow, healing not pain. As the boat carried him beyond sight, never for her gaze to rest upon him again in this lifetime, Lúthien closed her eyes, allowing deep ache sorrow to envelope her for a heartbeat. Though the past had taught her different, she would allow a moment for her fallen brother in the distant company of his. It would be the only time she would risk herself to properly mourn her friend before fate cast a new challenge into her path.

With another heartbeat, she opened her eyes, the sounds of the world rushing back into her ears. It was time. Here was where her path diverged from others, once again. The hurried voice of Legolas had her turning her gaze away from the path of Boromir.

"Hurry! Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore."

Leaving the trio to their own venture, Lúthien turned away. Theirs was not her fight, nor her path. The woman began to collect what little items she had laid to rest on the sand while she had tended to her wounds. The sword that once belonged to her father, a horse warrior of Rohan, returned to its place at her hip, the sheathed blade reaching just below her knees. The bright silver blade of her knife, once stored in a small delicately carved chest that belonged to her mother, now hung at her other side in a crude yet durable leather sheath.

Expecting a reply from the companions of Legolas to his urgent request, the silence that followed left Lúthien to pause, her hands just finishing the work of tying on the belt to her knife. Lúthien peered over her shoulder to where Aragorn stood, his eyes trained on the opposite shore. Following his gaze, she espied two hobbits disappearing into the woods. The appearance of her eyes may have been affected by the curse in her veins, but they remained sharp.

"You mean not to follow them." Legolas' words did not pull her attention. Instead, her gaze drifted to the falls farther down the river with Aragorn's quick response. "Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands."

In the years of her experience, fate was not kind. Lúthien's eyes returned to the eastern shore, the hobbits no longer visible as they traveled deeper into the woods. She hoped fate was kind to the brave hobbits. Words spoken of other hobbits caught her ear, causing her to turn her gaze toward Aragorn.

"We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left."

The sight of the three companions embracing one another's at arms length was warming, but brought the painful reminder that she no longer had that companionship in this world. With a determined step and a raised chin, Lúthien approached them, ready to inform the others of her intent to depart on her own path. It was not a necessary action. She did not owe them any allegiance, nor explanation of her travels. Yet, she felt the need arise nonetheless. They were friends of her friends, risking their lives to defend what little good remained in the world.

Her steps, however, faltered as her eyes set upon the item now resting on Aragorn's arms. Dark leather stamped with the white tree of Gondor. Boromir's bracers. The sight brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. No doubt, Aragorn donned the armor of his fallen companion as a show of respect. Lúthien was glad her friend was being honored in such a way. The sight of the tokens brought forth a thought in her mind. She did not know the hobbits of which they spoke, however she knew Boromir had willingly given his life to protect them. The memory of their mighty hobbit battle cries reminded her that, though they were little, they were brave and loyal. She could not leave them to be left in the evil clutches of orcs and Saruman. Not while there was breath left in her body.

With resolution in her mind and heart, Lúthien spoke up. "Boromir gave his life defending these hobbits. I gladly offer my assistance in saving them." The look quickly shared between the three males at her words spoke volumes.

Aragorn stepped forward, his hand coming up as if to soften the meaning of his words spoken in earnest. "These are no simple orc we hunt. They are Uruk-Hai of Saruman. They are a fierce and formidable enemy. I would not risk your safety."

Lúthien resisted the urge to bristle at his words. His concern was honorable and understandable. Expected even, excepting that they were wholly unnecessary.

"I cannot fault you for such concerns. They would be warranted after all, were I a simple woman raised properly in the villages of Gondor or Rohan." The words came out strong and with a soft understanding, if not a little bit of annoyance. "However, I am Lúthien, daughter of Awiergan, warrior of Rohan. I was taught with his sword, the sword I carry now. I have spent my life fighting to survive. Not two hours past did I slay four of those Uruk-Hai myself." She kept her voice diplomatically even. It would do no good to lose her temper. It would not support her stance or argument.

As her eyes scanned the three gathered, she thought she might have a chance of joining them. With one last effort to sway them, she offered, "the Uruk-Hai have several leagues distance ahead of you already. You cannot afford to tarry."

"The journey will not be easy," Aragorn warned, the tone of his voice beginning to reveal his decision.

"My life has been nothing save an uneasy journey across these lands. You need not worry. Nor will you need to wait for me. If I cannot keep up, I will not hold you back from reaching the hobbits. But you will be facing a hoard of Uruk-Hai when you reach them. You cannot argue against any assistance offered in that realm, can you?"

Aragorn took no more than a moment to study her. They both knew time grew short. With a nod, he turned around and made his way through their belongings, grabbing up what little he would carry. As he slid a long curved knife into the sheath at his side, he addressed the others gathered with one final command. "Leave all that can be spared behind." And with those words, he lead the company of four into the woods at a quickened pace, already beginning to pick up the tracks the hoard of Uruk-Hai had left behind.

*****

Their pace was quick, their days long. Lúthien did not know how many leagues they had covered over the past few days. Time was lost to her as the nights bled into days only to return back into night. The terrain challenged her. From the treacherous hills of Emyn Muil, west to the Eastemnent, the great plains of Rohan. Stubbornness and determination pushed her beyond anything she'd endured for travel thus far in life.

The four traveled swiftly, tirelessly pursuing their quarry. By the end of what she believed to be the fourth day, Lúthien felt what could only be described as a thick sludge running through her body, as if the malevolent actions of a wizard were slowing their own actions, while in turn aiding their prey.

Though weariness clung to her limbs like a babe clinging to its mother in desperation, and the wound at her side repeatedly breaking open, sending warm slicing pain rushing through her body, Lúthien pressed on.

More than once she fell behind the hunters three, only regaining the path at their side by some miracle. Yet, she did not relent in her determination to aid in the rescue of the hobbits. She could not. Boromir had given his life protecting them. His memory fueled her fire.

Well into their travels, in a moment of focus, Lúthien only just caught the sound of Aragorn shouting out, his arms directing them to quickly shelter behind a large stone formation before he grasped her by the arm and swiftly directed her path.

As they tucked themselves amongst the stone, the thundering sound of hooves were felt through the fertile ground only moments before the sound reached their ears.

After only a few moments of tense waiting, the sight of a large company of horses carrying their riders began to gallop past, the rumbling sound of so many hooves almost deafening. As she gazed on at the mass of riders, flashes of green banners appeared amongst them. Green banners surrounding the white horse of Rohan. A symbol Lúthien was all too familiar with.

To her alarm, as the last of the riders passed, Aragorn stood from his hiding position and stepped out into the open. "Riders of Rohan!" He shouted as Legolas stood to join his friend. "What news from the Mark?"

Lúthien desired nothing more than to remain hidden among the stones, but it seemed her dwarf companion would not have it. With a gentle prodding of her arm and an encouraging, "come, lass," from the dwarf, Lúthien reluctantly stepped out onto the plains to stand beside the others.

A tremble of fear and awe shivered through her body as she watched the band of riders change course to circle back to where they stood. In only moments, the four found themselves surrounded entirely, the riders forming a thick uniform circle around them; no doubt a maneuver these warrior riders had practice in training and in the company of an enemy many times before. Lúthien held her breath as the spears lowered, their points directed at each of their chests.

Though her hand rested idly but ready against the leather wrapped hilt of her sword, the woman knew she was no match for the famous riders of Rohan. With an intentional glance from Aragorn, Lúthien slowly removed her hand from the sword and carefully pulled her hood further forward to hide her features before letting her hand hang at her side.

The deep commanding voice of one of the riders almost had her looking up at him. "What business does an elf, men, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly."

"Give me your name, horse master, and I shall give you mine," Gimli responded, to the chagrin of Aragorn. Lúthien could not stop the small smile that lifted her lips, ducking her head in hopes that none of the other riders caught it. The tense silence in response brought her eyes back up to the apparent leader, though her hooded face remained lowered.

Lúthien felt her body tense in suspense as the Rohinian rider dismounted, a deep scowl lining his features. Perhaps against Aragorn's wishes, her hand returned to the weapon on her hip.

As the man approached, Aragorn stepped closer to Gimli, and in the process further shielded Lúthien from the rider's sight. The action surprised her. Had he done it intentionally? She did not doubt he was well aware of the positions of all in the company. However, the feeling of appreciation was fleeting as the rider spit out his words with a simmering anger.

"I would cut off your head, dwarf," he ground out, "if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Instantly, Lúthien took a step forward, her hand drawing her sword an inch from its sheath before Aragorn's hand stayed her own. Legolas, however, advanced toward the man, an arrow nocked and drawn, clear in it's aim an instant later. "You would die before your stroke fell."

Lúthien could not help but be impressed. She had been on the receiving end of that threat not a week past. It was relieving and impressive all at once to witness it and not be the intended target.

The collection of spears suddenly thrust further in upon them brought the tension of the moment to its climax. Lúthien's heart raced, her feet adjusted, and her grip tightened against the leather wrappings of her weapon's handle. Aragorn advanced, turning to face the elf as he carefully lowered the bow poised to release. Again, he looked to Lúthien, a pleading look upon his face as he subtly shook his head.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the man began. Lúthien paused in her breathing as the Ranger continued with the introductions of their company. When his hand gestured to her, she held her tense body like a statue, her hand clenching against the itch to release her sword fully from its sheath and defend herself against the words she knew were to come. For surely he would reveal her true name and her fight for survival would resume.

"And this is Aedre, companion of Boromir, son to the Steward of Gondor." Lúthien could not stop her eyes from darting to stare in disbelief at Aragorn. Immediately, she set a blank look upon her face, but the pounding of her heart would betray her were anyone to hear it. It raced at not just the threat stood before them, but at the fact that the three hunters gathered stood to protect her. It left her baffled.

Movement from the rider brought Lúthien's attention back to the conversation at hand. "Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe. Not even his own kin." As the rider removed his helmet, Lúthien subtly stepped back in alarm. This man was kin to the King of Rohan.

She felt as if she might scream. Fate, it seemed, found amusement in throwing her into the paths of nobles who would without a doubt have knowledge of who she was. Though in passing they may not recognize her, the single black eye and scar screamed to those who knew.

The group breathed in relief as the riders gathered lifted their spears. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands." Aragorn exchanged a concerned look with Legolas at the man's words.

As Aragorn turned back to the king's kin to speak, Legolas turned his head slightly to observe Lúthien. She could not read what the elf may be thinking and that disconcerted her. Did he still believe her to be an agent of Saruman? The woman met and held the elf's gaze, lifting her head in confidence while assuring her face remained hidden to those surrounding them.

"The white wizard is cunning," the rider stepped closer to Aragorn, "he walks here and there they say." The rider turned to Gimli. "As an old man hooded and cloaked," he turned to Legolas. "And everywhere his spies slip past our nets." The rider remained stood in front of the elf, but his eyes turned in suspicion to Lúthien at these words, a frown forming on his brow. Lúthien kept the left side of her face tucked deep into her hood, her eyes remaining directed at Legolas. Her heart raced as the man continued to stare at her, even as Aragorn spoke to him.

"We are no spies. We track a party of Uruk-Hai westward across the plain." Lúthien let relief wash over her as the rider's gaze reluctantly turned back to Aragorn, her own gaze peeling away from the elf to follow the man. "They have taken two of our friends captive."

"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night." The rider's words brought a wave of grief across the four pursuers.

"But there were two hobbits," Gimli pleaded. "Did you see two hobbits?" Lúthien rested a supportive hand on the dwarf's shoulders. The rider's news did not bid well for the fate of her companion's friends.

"They would be small, only children to your eyes."

Lúthien saw the rider shift his stance, his eyes downcast. She squeezed Gimli's shoulder in comfort as the man of Rohan shared his news. "We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them."

The sight of smoke rising beyond the hill finally caught their attention. "Dead?" Gimli breathed out. Lúthien returned her hand to her side as Legolas placed his own on the dwarf's other shoulder. He would find more comfort in his friend. There was no more consolation she could offer him. Fate was cruel indeed. While their hope had been admirable, she could not find surprise in the outcome.

Lúthien detested that her mind had come to such a state. She wished she had hope as the others did. Yet life had taught her better. It seemed fate was determined to remind her of that lesson again and again. She remained, however, glad that the companions would be able to find solace and comfort in one another.

With a whistle, the rider offered up the use of two horses for their use. Along with an apology, he bid them farewell. As the man turned on his heel to leave, Aragorn held up a hand to forestall him. "While your hand is gracious, I would ask a favor of you." Lúthien's eyes filled with horror as Aragorn turned towards her, his arm raised in her direction to match the indication of his words. "Our companion is injured. I would ask that you see her to the healing house of the next village."

The rider's eyes shot to her, and hers to him as his brows again creased in curious suspicion when Aragorn revealed her to be a woman. The King's kinsman's hard gaze held her own captive for a moment. His hazel eyes flashing with emotions she could not read before returning to Aragorn.

"We would take her ourselves," Aragorn continued, "but must continue in our pursuit of our friends."

Lúthien suddenly felt a mixture of emotions. Disappointment in herself for not having hidden her wound so well; vexation at seemingly being tossed aside so easily by Aragorn; disbelief that he did not think her able to continue. Had she not made it this far? Beyond all of that, Lúthien felt fear. She did not trust this rider, nor the Eorlingas accompanying him. Even worse, she knew she would most likely not survive long should she be forced to return to Edoras.

The rider lifted his helmet, returning it to his head as he made his way back to his horse. "I am sorry. We have business elsewhere. We cannot afford to carry an injured woman with us." He lifted himself up onto his mount, easily settling into the saddle. His eyes focused once more on her as she stepped up to Aragorn to protest. She would go her own way if they thought her a burden. She did not need to go with the Eorlingas. Aragorn ignored her approach however, petitioning the rider once more.

"Please. I give my word, she will be no burden. She has traversed varying terrain to reach this far with us, and has shown her strength in defeating several Uruk-Hai. But she has traveled far enough. I only ask that you see her to a healer."

The rider once again turned to look at Lúthien, his horse stamping in impatience. While his gaze studied her, Luthien's own bore into the side of her companion's face. Anger simmered just beneath the surface for the man. They had only just met and yet he deemed it appropriate to determine her next course of path without any consideration of what she desired.

After another moment's consideration, the rider gave a nod before motioning to one of the riders beside him to bring her a horse. "I will ensure her safety to the nearest healer in Edoras. Beyond that, her safety is her own." Aragorn gave a nod in thanks before turning to assist Lúthien into the saddle of the riderless horse.

"Look for your friends," the man spoke with a defeated tone, "but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands."

Lúthien's heart fell into her stomach at the rider's words. Once again, fate worked to throw her into the hands of death. After assisting her lift into the saddle, Aragorn grasped her forearm gently. "Fear not, Aedre. You will be safe in the hands of Éomer. He is the Marshal of the Mark. He is a good man."

Aragorn's words gave her no comfort. In fact, they only instilled dread. Steeling her features, she answered him, "My mother believed the same of Théoden King once." Aragorn's face turned to one of surprise at her words.

Before he could respond, Lúthien placed a soft hand on his that still grasped her arm, squeezing it gently. She would not hold a grievance against Aragorn. Surely, he meant only to do what he believed best. Furthermore, her anger for him would only be detrimental to her after their parting.

Instead, she allowed a soft look to enter her eyes as she spoke, "I thank you, Aragorn. I wish you a swift pace, light burdens, and good news. Whatever hope I have, I offer to you in these dark times." With a final nod, she turned to settle properly into her saddle. It had been some time since she last rode, but she had been taught by her father, a great horse warrior of the Mark and she would do him proud.

With one final look towards the three stood watching on the ground, Éomer urged his men forward with a loud command.

*****

The pace they kept was easy enough, but Lúthien made sure to keep her distance from the group of horseman. No attempt at conversation with her was made by anyone, for which she was grateful.

After a few hours of travel, Éomer held back the reigns, easing his horse to ride alongside hers. Lúthien tilted her head forward slightly, allowing the hood of her cloak to perform it's duty of covering her features. She was hopeful that her lack of acknowledgment would persuade him to leave her be. It seemed the man was right in hope having abandoned these lands, as he spoke anyways.

"You ride well."

Lúthien blinked at his clipped words. "I thank you, my lord. I was taught by my father at an early age." Still she did not look at him.

"Your father was evidently a good rider. And a good teacher."

"He was one of the best," Lúthien spoke, her words full of sorrow as memories of her father surfaced.

Awiergan had been one of the best riders in Théoden King's army when he was younger, quick to climb the ranks of skill and position. That was, until he had fallen in love with a goblin mix. When Lúthien's mother's ancestry was revealed to him, he hadn't cared. He still loved her and cared for her.

Though it had been hard, her mother had kept their secret. It wasn't until Lúthien had been born, scarred and born with a blackened eye, that her secret had resurfaced. By the age of four, Lúthien and her family had been forced to leave Rohan, Wormtongue—as she later learned his name—demanding it of them.

"I know that I claimed earlier that I could not offer you any protection beyond our arrival at Edoras, but I assure you now, while you are in Edoras, you shall be under my protection as Marshal of the Mark."

Lúthien wanted to laugh at his words but bit her tongue instead. "I thank you, Lord Éomer. However, I do not need it. I cannot stay in Edoras long. My path leads me elsewhere."

"Cannot or will not?" Éomer questioned, bringing his horse closer to hers as he leaned forward to glimpse her face. Lúthien instinctively turned her head away. "I swear that you will remain protected." Lord Éomer's voice was softer, spoken more earnestly than she had yet heard from him.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion from the past week, the grief she still bore over Boromir's death, the pain of the wound at her side festering, or perhaps a mixture of all of them at once, but her next words came out bitter and angry.

"As I said, I do not need your help. I have survived on my own thus far. You need not make oaths you cannot keep." With a nudging kick to her horse, Lúthien spurred the mount ahead, escaping the company of Éomer, the feeling of his eyes trained on her burning into her back.

*****

Later that night, as the others camped around the fire, Lúthien sat in the shadows, her back leaned against her small bag of possessions. The rest of the day had been spent keeping her distance from the men. Éomer, blessedly, made no further attempts to start a conversation with her. His gaze however, she had felt trained on her more than once. Worry permeated her being over his reasoning for such constant observation.

Now, she sat, watching the last few men awake turn in for the night, crawling into their bedrolls near the dying fire. When the last one climbed into his bedroll, she counted in her head to one hundred.

When they had first stopped, Lúthien had been content to remain leaned against her small pack at a distance from the fire, her cloak sufficient in providing any necessary warmth. However, as the sun disappeared below the horizon, a chill had settled in as the wind blew freely, with nothing in the expansive fields, beyond a few boulders, to break it.

Reaching the end of her count, she counted to one hundred once more to make sure none would stir at her quiet approach. She only needed a moment nearer to the fire to capture some of its warmth.

At the end of her second count, Lúthien quietly made her way across the grassy area, light and silent on her feet. The warmth grew the closer she got, the feeling a blessed relief to her sore body, her eyes closing as she let the warm air lap at her form.

Quiet movement nearby had her shooting her eyes open, her head snapping in the direction of the potential threat. But no animal nor enemy threat did her eyes find.

Instead, her gaze landed on the solid form of Éomer casually crouched opposite her. Their eyes locked across the flames, his deep brown eyes holding hers in place. Time seemed to stand still for a moment for Lúthien. She could not be sure how she felt in that moment. It felt as if she were prey, and he the hunter. And she was positive the feeling was not meant in the flattering way that a man hunts a woman he desires. No, in this moment, the feeling of a cornered animal seemed to fit her feelings better, whether those were the intentions of the Marshal or not.

The feeling grew as his eyes broke away from her own and began to trail down the side of her face. The exposed left side of her face. Snapping herself out of whatever trance she had been held in, Lúthien quickly grabbed at her hood, yanking it down to cover her face once more. When she returned her wary gaze back to Éomer, terror crept through her body. His eyes seemed darker than a moment before, his brows furrowed.

Without another sound, Lúthien quickly scrambled backwards on her hands and feet, only turning when she reached the edge of the fire's light. As nimbly and quietly as possible, the woman ran. Grabbing her few possessions as she passed, she ran away from the camp and out into the dark of night.

Lúthien was aware she was somewhere on the fields of the Eastfold, but beyond that, she did not know which direction to turn. Determined to put as much distance between herself and the riders before dawn, she set her path towards the closest mountains in the distance.

Lúthien kept a vigilant ear out for the shout of Éomer calling alarm at her running. Yet none came.

As she drew farther from their encampment, she turned her focus to listening for the pounding sounds of a company of riders. Again, none came.

The night wore on and still she ran. She ran until hours later when her body finally turned against her and collapsed against a rock formation. The light of the early sun was just starting to brighten the sky, the first shades of golden blue replacing the darkness of the night. Taking in her surroundings, Lúthien determined she had traveled far enough to allow herself only a short rest.

*****

Day fully broke, lighting the sky's expanse with golden hues that quickly turned into a brilliant blue. Silently, Lúthien searched through her pack, hopeful at finding any provisions left from her trek with Aragorn's company. Finding none, she settled for a small sip of water from the water-skin she carried with her.

Though her rush from the riders' campsite had prevented her from obtaining any provisions before her escape, she knew she would not have taken them had the opportunity been there. She did not wish to be labeled a thief as well.

Picking up her pack, Lúthien continued on her journey, a true nomad once again as her travels no longer held purpose beyond remaining safe. Her path to seek Boromir had ended in death. Her secondary short path to seek Gandalf had also ended in death. Her path to seek the hobbits had ended in death. Perhaps if she forsook her quest for answers, Death would no longer haunt her footsteps.

Using the increasing number of boulders dotting the fields, she kept to the shadows when possible, seeking shelter from any spying eyes. The desire to keep warm on the chilled day pushed Lúthien forward through the hours, crossing several leagues before the burning pain in her side forced her to rest again.

Though it bled only slightly, the wound from the orc's blade, unfortunately, had not begun to heal. Instead, Lúthien determined herself to be growing worse as she began to feel a chilled fever take over her body, her limbs growing increasingly weak and clammy. As she sat in the sun, leaned against a rock formation in an effort to soak up the sun's warmth, chills and sweats began to rack her body.

Stubbornness flooded her, encouraging Lúthien to rise and continue on her journey to no where.

As she placed her palm against the rock behind her in an effort to lift herself from where she rested, a sharp white hot pain shot through her side, causing the woman to collapse to the ground, black spots dotting her vision. Her body leaving her no choice but to give in, Lúthien allowed herself to curl up into a ball against the rock, pulling her cloak over her shaking form. Rest. She just needed a little bit of rest and then she could be on her way again.

And so, Lúthien allowed her eyes to drift closed as a deep sleep took hold of her. Her trembling body began to relax as the voice of her mother singing a soft lullaby in Rohirric, the language of her childhood, reached her ears, pulling her farther into the dark abyss offering rest.

Chapter Text

Wakefulness spread.

As consciousness returned, her senses becoming more awake, Lúthien became suddenly aware that she was no longer lying on the ground against a rock.

Frantically, her eyes snapped open and her body shot up, ignoring the tight pain in her side. Panic rose in her chest as she took in her new surroundings. No longer was she surrounded by fields and rocks, but by walls and a ceiling, a thin straw mattress beneath her. Realizing she was awake, a blonde woman in a grey blue gown quickly made her way to her side, offering soft words of calm.

In reflex, Lúthien grabbed for her hood to hide herself, only to realize in fear that it was not there. Nothing was making sense as dread and fear settled firmly in her stomach. Frantically looking around the room, Lúthien looked for a way out as she scrambled from the bed.

"Please, you must not move. You are still recovering from your injury." The woman lifted her arms in an attempt to soothe the wild eyed Lúthien. "Please, you are safe here. You need rest," the soft spoken woman calmly pleaded.

Lúthien felt a torrent of emotions swell in her chest as tears began to flood her eyes. She felt like a trapped animal as she pressed back against the hard wall behind her.

"Please, please leave me alone. You must let me leave. Please. You must." Lúthien's pleas came out low, choked by the sobs rising in her chest.

A deep timbre of a voice called out her false name, the commanding sound freezing her in her spot. "Aedre, you must calm yourself!"

Lúthien moved only her eyes to the owner of the voice, her heart rising to her throat. Lord Éomer stood there just beside the woman, her hand pulling at his arm in chastisement. "Brother, was that truly necessary?"

Éomer turned to the woman, apparently his sister, with a scowl as he gestured an arm in Lúthien's direction. "She was in a panic having woken in new surroundings, Eowyn. Is she not quiet now?" Éomer grumbled under his breath at his sister's scolding look.

Lúthien swallowed harshly. Undoubtedly, if Lord Éomer was here, that meant she was now in the Healing House of Edoras. Surely, someone had already identified her. Had he come to condemn her to death? Her throat tightened at that prospect.

The feeling of Eowyn gently tugging at her arm brought Lúthien's attention back to her current predicament. The blonde woman gently lead her back to her bed, offering encouraging words to help calm her. Lúthien allowed the woman to lead her, her eyes never leaving Lord Éomer's.

"You are safe," Lady Eowyn offered again in a hushed voice as Lúthien climbed back onto the bed, her hands immediately pulling the thin woolen blanket up to cover her scars as best she could. She felt that she should wish to laugh at the blonde's simple words, but found she indeed could not. Lúthien knew she was not safe. It would only be a matter of time before the axe fell, so to speak. With her time now gravely limited, she knew she had to find a way to leave. But she knew escape was impossible so long as the two siblings stood watch over her. The decision to cooperate at the moment seemed best.

Eowyn's eyes followed along the part of Lúthien's face now hidden under the blanket before filling with sympathy. "You have nothing to be ashamed of," she offered in a soothing tone. Lúthien's confused eyes darted to the blonde woman's. Could this woman, sister to the Marshal of the Mark not know who she was? She could not possibly know and yet speak those words.

"Scars are not limited to men in battle alone. Few who have fought with fire remain unscathed." Eowyn offered her a soft smile as she pat her arm in comfort. Lúthien's shoulders sagged in relief. Her secret remained safe. The relief was short lived, however, when her eyes returned to Éomer's commanding presence. Her shoulders tensed in preparation for anything as she watched Éomer's brows move into a deep frown. Was his mind recalling the truth of who she was, what her scars truly meant? Perhaps her secret was not so safe after all.

What Lúthien knew for sure was that she needed to leave. The time not yet come for her condemnation of death. That meant there still remained a chance for her survival. She just needed to leave before anyone discovered who—or rather what she truly was.

*****

Patience had never been Lúthien's strong point. Gandalf had tried on several occasions to teach her, to instill it in her through droll and seemingly never ending lessons, but he had never proved successful. How she wished those lessons had paid off.

Lying back in her bed, Lúthien resisted the urge to fidget and move. Her side had greatly improved, the healers having cleansed it of infection and wrapped it in fresh bandages. According to the attending healer, she had been asleep for a full day after she had been brought in.

Since waking four hours before, Eowyn had remained either at her bedside, offering her quiet company, or at the bedside of another patient who lay much too still for Lúthien's liking. Éomer, after standing at the foot of her bed with his scowl of a face for far too long, had finally been shooed out like a child by his sister. Lúthien did not see him again during her time in the healing house.

Eowyn had offered several attempts at befriending Lúthien, but the woman had remained steadfast in her silence. It pained Lúthien deeply to refuse to even acknowledge the kind woman's words, but she would not risk any chance for a friendship to form between them. Eowyn had been kind and attentive to her even though Lúthien was nothing more than a stranger. Yet, Lúthien refused to allow Eowyn to be deceived, especially by her. For she saw that Eowyn's heart was too kind to be tainted with such deceit.

As Eowyn moved to sit beside her for the third time that day, Lúthien allowed her shoulders to drop. The lady's attempts were endless it seemed. "There is no need for you to sit with me. I am content to remain alone. It will be nothing new for me to endure." Her words were not unkind as she looked at the blonde woman.

Garnering any response from her patient seemed to please Eowyn, as a smile spread across her face. "Simply because one is used to being alone, does not mean one should continue to be. Everybody deserves the company of a friend."

Lúthien's features dropped at those words, causing Eowyn's smile to falter slightly. Wishing to avoid any conversation on the topic, Lúthien changed it. "I—" she paused, looking down at her intertwined fingers, "Despite my behavior, I would like to thank you, Lady Eowyn, for your kindness. Although I am certain anyone else would be better suited to receive it, I am thankful."

Eowyn looked at Lúthien with a puzzled look. Not allowing her a chance to respond however, Lúthien asked the question that had been bothering her since she awoke. "I would wish to ask though, how did I arrive here? Last I was aware, I fell asleep against a rock somewhere in the fields of the Eastfold."

Eowyn chuckled at her question. "Yes, my brother said you had made it quite a challenge to find you."

Lúthien started at this. "Lord Éomer searched for me?"

"Yes," Eowyn said, "he said that you had been roaming across the Mark injured when they came across you, but that you had somehow gotten separated from the party during the night. You were lucky to be found. There have been rumors of strange things roaming the plains at night."

Eowyn's words made no sense to Lúthien. She would never dare to correct the Marshal, especially not to his sister. But his story did not match the truth. Eowyn must have sensed her confusion, for she continued on. "He said you were found to be missing when they broke camp the next morning. Unsure of what direction you may have wandered, it took quite a while to find you. Éomer and his men searched through the next night, only finding you a few hours before dawn."

Lúthien couldn't stop from wondering why he had chosen to pursue her. Especially after he had watched her leave in the night. A thought pushed its way to the forefront of her mind, shining a light on her lack of understanding. He had recognized her. That night across the flames of the dying campfire, when she had determined him to be a hunter and she the prey. Of course he would pursue her. No doubt, he intended to bring her before the king. Yet, Lúthien's mind questioned, if he knew who she was, what her secret was, why had he not brought her before the king already? Why would he allow her to first heal? He had not initially struck Lúthien as one to be cruel. Angry, stubborn, and certainly proud, but not cruel.

As she ruminated on these thoughts, the sound of hurried murmuring came from across the room before someone called to Eowyn. The woman abandoned her post beside Lúthien, rushing to the side of the man that lay in the other bed across the room.

Not more than a minute later, Eowyn's soft cry broke the sudden heavy silence of the room.

*****

The King's son. The man whose side Eowyn had held vigil over, had been Théodred, Prince of Rohan. Lúthien had waited with baited breath for the king to visit the body of his son, but he never came. Lúthien recalled Éomer's words of the king no longer recognizing friend from foe, not even his own kin. Had the darkness truly penetrated so far and so deep as to keep a father away from his child's deathbed? It was all too unsettling.

Lúthien contemplated offering any consolation or comfort to Eowyn, who sat huddled over her cousin's body in grief, but she did not know what, if anything, could be said in comfort in a time like this. Yet she felt that she must offer something. Her mother had taught her to have sympathy and compassion, even for those who condemned her. She had instilled in Lúthien the lesson of rising above, of not lowering oneself to the depths of evil some willingly sunk down to.

Sitting up in her bed, she carefully threw her legs over the side, ready to make her way to the woman to at least offer a comforting touch. Her actions halted when the door to the room opened, a sickly pale man with dark greasy hair, dressed in furs of black entering the room.

"Oh, he must have died sometime in the night." The words sent a shiver of disgust down Lúthien's spine. The man's attempt at sincerity was overridden by the slithering eel-like air that radiated from his person. Lúthien had no idea who this man was, but was well aware of the danger he posed simply from the way he spoke.

"What a tragedy for the king to lose his only son. I understand his passing is hard to accept, especially now that your brother has abandoned you." Lúthien stood quickly from the bed—thankful to have had her trousers and dark linen shirt and belt cleaned and returned to her—as the man laid a pale hand on Eowyn's shoulder.

His presence alone made the very air of the room feel as if it were full of filth. She did not wish to know what his touch felt like. She remained standing where she was, still unnoticed by the newcomer, but her muscles felt alive, ready to help should he try to assault Lady Eowyn, though Lúthien was sure the Lady held a strength of her own.

She was not surprised when the Lady proved as much, rising and stepping away from the man. "Leave me alone, you snake!" She demanded of the man.

"But you are alone. Who knows what you've spoken to the darkness." His words caused Lúthien to pause, his words hauntingly accurate in regard to herself. "In bitter watches of the night, when all your life seems to shrink, the walls of your bower closing in around you—" Lúthien could take no more. The frightened look on Eowyn's face reflected what she herself felt inside. She could no longer stand idly by as this monster called forth Lady Eowyn's fears, stalking her as if he were a snake in the grass circling his prey.

Stepping forward, Luthien called out, "Enough!" Her gaze held steel, her shoulders squared against the man. The man shot his head around to see who dared to interrupt him, the look on his face full of venom. Lúthien resisted the urge to cringe back against his look. "You would be wise to leave the Lady Eowyn alone, creature." The last word came out with a snarl of disgust. Who this man was, she did not know, but she could not stand by and do nothing.

The reaction of the man was not what she had expected. A small glimmer of recognition slid across his features as he took her face in, before one of rage settled on his face. "Guards!" He shouted, causing both women in the room to jump. "Guards! Arrest this creature." He repeated the word back to her with his own snarl of disgust.

Eowyn's eyes widened, rushing to stand in front of Lúthien. "What is the meaning of this?"

Lúthien stood straight as men rushed into the room, swords drawn. "Arrest this woman," the man repeated.

"For what crimes?" Eowyn demanded, as she threw her arms out to stop the guards.

Lúthien gently laid a hand on Eowyn's shoulder. "Please, my lady. Leave them be," she softly pleaded.

Eowyn's head shot around to look at Lúthien in confusion. "Surely you do not expect me to stand by and let them arrest an innocent woman?"

"Innocent woman?" The greasy man let out a devilish laugh. "This woman," he spewed out, "and her family were banished years ago, on the King's orders, never to return to Rohan except under pain of death." He pointed a pale finger in Lúthien's direction as he spewed his words as if bullets of hate.

"I do not believe it. Even if it what you say were true, she was brought here against her will, unconscious and injured."

"My lady, please," Lúthien begged again, as she now tugged on Eowyn's shoulder in an attempt to move her from the advancing soldier's path. She did not wish for Eowyn to put herself in harm's way for her. She would never forgive herself should any ill will befall the lady because of her.

As soon as she was far enough clear, the soldiers pushed forward, wrenching Lúthien's arms behind her back. The woman gave no resistance, only letting a grimace mar her features at the pain. It would be futile to fight back.

"Yes, she was injured, that is true isn't it?" The man turned a scheming look on Eowyn. "I would tread carefully, my lady. I would not wish to have you arrested for treating an enemy of the king."

Eowyn's eyes went wide. "This is outrageous. I do not believe it. What claims do you make against a poor innocent woman?"

At the same time, Lúthien raised her voice in Eowyn's defense. "She did not know! She cannot be punished for showing kindness to the injured."

Again the man snarled in disgust at Eowyn's words, ignoring Lúthien's. "She is no woman." He turned to face Lúthien, her hands now secured behind her back, a soldier on either side of her, holding tightly to her upper arms.

"No, she is a mixed breed. The black blood of a goblin flows through her veins." The man said the words with such disgust, Lúthien almost didn't notice the look of fascination in his eyes. The feeling of his eyes traveling up and down her form made her want to curl up and hide. Or cast up her accounts.

Eowyn opened her mouth to object, but nothing came out. She turned her eyes towards Lúthien in disbelief, but the woman could offer no defense against the truth. Lúthien simply lowered her head in answer.

"Take her away."

Lúthien did not raise her eyes as the soldiers roughly led her past Eowyn. She did not need to see another kind person look upon her in disgust.

Chapter Text

The stone walls were cool against her aching skin. Lúthien tucked herself against the farthest wall of stone, the coolness aiding in the pain that radiated through her body from the past few weeks. While the wound in her side had been stitched closed and had begun to heal nicely, it still brought pain with too much movement. Stacked upon that specific pain and the general ache from overused muscles, was the pain from the guards roughness in delivering her to the gaol.

The cell they'd thrown her into the night before was simple to say the least. Old bits of straw were scattered across the hard packed earth that made up the floor. Other than that, the cell was empty. The walls, made of solid heavy stones, held no windows. The only light that managed to find its way into the place came from a small window built into the wall opposite her cell. But even then, it was located farther down the hall, closer to the cell that currently housed Éomer. Lúthien had caught a glimpse of his form as she was led down the short hall to her cell.

Briefly, as the guards had roughly shoved her into her cell, her body crashing into the opposite wall with the force, she had wondered if Eowyn was aware of her brother's presence here, or if she believed Grima's lie of his abandoning her.

The gaol as a whole consisted of only three barren cells, the walls nothing but solid stone. The doors to each cell were simple yet heavy wooden frames holding long iron bars in place. For the most part, it was a clean but empty building.

A shaft of light briefly lit up her cell as the main door opened to let in a visitor. Lúthien kept the left side of her face hidden against the stones, allowing only her eyes to move enough to determine who the person was. A small sense of satisfaction in finding the answer to her earlier query bloomed briefly in her mind before fading away.

Eowyn passed by, her steps hesitating only briefly as she cast a glance at Lúthien before hurrying past to her brother's cell. Soft whispers carried to her small room of confinement from their conversation, but none came clear enough for understanding. Not that Lúthien tried. It was of no concern to her what the siblings discussed. Nothing was of concern to her anymore.

On Eowyn's second visit the next day she paused at her door, taking a few moments to silently observe. Lúthien did not meet her gaze. She remained motionless in the corner of her cell, knees pulled to her chest, her left side remaining pressed against the cool stones.

Lúthien had fought all her life. It was more than enough. Boromir was gone. Gandalf was gone. Faramir would have no knowledge of her predicament until after her death sentence had been carried out. All self-preservation had deserted her.

No longer did she hold the energy to continue in that fight. Despair and defeat began to consume her like a disease rampaging through a small village. Closing her eyes against the sight of the observer, she let out a small sigh. Lúthien held fast and tightly to the knowledge that she would soon be reunited with her parents. That thought alone would give her peace.

*

Later in the evening, as the golden light of the sunset faded away, Éomer's voice startled her from the light slumber she had managed to enter.

"You are a strong fighter. You shall endure this as you have endured in the past." His voice was soft but clear and commanding. Silence followed.

She was not sure if he spoke to himself or her in encouragement. Choosing to believe he meant it for himself, Lúthien closed her eyes in an effort to seek the slumber she had been roused from.

*

The following morning brought the same guard that had thrown her, quite roughly, into her cell two days before. Swift were his steps as he carried a small bowl and cup of what she could only assume to be water. No more than a half minute later, he left, his hands empty.

Éomer had been brought food. Only he.

Lúthien did not expect to be fed. She had been marked as an enemy of the king and a creature of darkness. She considered it strange enough that she had not been executed without delay. It would be considered stranger still were she to be fed.

When the midday meal was delivered in the same manner: food for Éomer and none for her; Éomer's voice called out after the guard as he passed Lúthien's cell. "What of Aedre? Does the king refuse to feed his prisoners?"

The guard only paused outside her cell long enough to offer a look of contempt and disgust. "Half-breeds of Sauron will get no feed from our stores." The guard kicked at a loose stone on the hall path, sending a cloud of dust in her direction.

Lúthien shielded her face against the initial blow of the dust cloud, but in the next instant met the gaze of the guard in anger. Many things had she been called in her life, but never a belonging of the evil that was Sauron. Her knowledge was limited on the dark enemy, but Gandalf had shared enough for her to know the depth of the offense of his words.

"I am no friend of Sauron," she growled out. The guard simply ignored her words, continuing on his way out. As the last shaft of light from the midday sun disappeared with the closing of the door, Lúthien slowly returned to her position huddled against the stone wall.

Not long after the departure of the guard, Eowyn returned to visit with her brother again. In her passing, her footsteps again slowed as she noticed the unchanged position of Lúthien, as well as the lack of any sign of food or water like those in her brother's cell. Her footsteps continued on their path where whispers between the siblings again reached Lúthien's ears. Again, they were ignored.

Soon afterwards, Lúthien detected footsteps, once more, pausing outside her cell. Assuming it to be nothing more than another guard come to harass her she did not bother to move, choosing instead to pay the onlooker no heed. The footsteps retreated.

Again, time slowly passed. And again, Éomer's voice rang out against the stone. "You deny any relation with Sauron, but it did not pass my notice that you did not deny being a mixed breed." His voice was loud, angry, perhaps hurt. Lúthien did not respond. Surely he knew her story by now, he knew the truth. Therefore, it would not matter what words she offered in return. No doubt, his mind and judgment had been made.

"Human and goblin." The words carried the familiar sound of disgust, but they did not come from Éomer. Lúthien could not abstain from turning her head to look at the man now stood beyond the bars of her cell. Disgust turned anew in her stomach. This man was not to be trusted and she would be remiss to turn a blind eye to him.

"Yes, filth and disgust," the man's words curled around her like tendrils as he slowly opened the door to her cell and made his way to her. "Reviled and repugnant," he continued as he slowly knelt down in front of her, a pale spindly finger coming up to trace her scars.

As revulsion tumbled in her stomach, the beginnings of fear clenched at Lúthien's chest. "An abomination." Fascination lit his eyes as they traveled the length of her scars, took in the blackness of her eye.

Lúthien pressed herself further into the stones, their sharp edges beginning to slice into her back. Shivers of repulsion and fear ran through her body at his cold touch. She tried to pull her face farther from him, but there was no where for her to go. Tears beat at her eyes from his unwelcome touch, but remained held back by her will. She would not cry in front of this monster. She would not give him the satisfaction.

"Grima! Leave her alone, you vile creature!" Éomer's voice boomed off the stones as the door to his cell shook.

This only brought amusement to the man's eyes. Though his foul gaze remained fixed on her, Éomer's words at least brought his touch away. "Not only a traitor to the crown," Grima smiled, "pulling a weapon in the king's presence, but a defender of a vile half-breed." Grima chuckled at the revelation but said no more on it, keeping his thoughts to himself for once. Lúthien wondered if it might be better to know the man's thoughts. At least, then, she would know what to expect.

As his attention refocused on Lúthien, his eyes seemed to light up again as he looked once more upon her scars. It was as if he were talking to silvery webs of skin rather than herself. "My master may have great use of you, my dear," Grima whispered out, leaning his face closer to hers, his hand reaching up as if to cradle her face in fondness.

Lúthien spit in his face before his hand could touch her. Grima fell back onto his seat on the dirt floor in shock.

"I will gladly take my own life before serving a contempt and corrupt monster like Saruman," she growled out. Grima's face contorted in anger as he scrambled to his feet, his reaction proof of her correctly naming the evil fueling him. "I know the evils of your master, Wormtongue," she continued. "And though the blood of a vile race may flow through my veins, it does not govern nor control me. I will gladly stay here to my dying days than to do the bidding of the likes of you." Lúthien forced every drop of disgust and malice into her words as she could manage, for he deserved no less, nor did she mean no less.

It was soon evidenced that the point had been received. Grima lurched forward, grabbing her chin roughly between his fingers with bruising strength. Lúthien remained still, refusing to break away from his vile gaze. "You will get what you wish for, you vile thing." The spittle accompanying his words sprayed across her face, but she refused to flinch. She would not allow him to get any more satisfaction from her. "The only vile thing here is you," she spit back through clenched teeth.

Grima growled out, releasing her chin with a shove. Lúthien gently rubbed at her jaw, an ache left behind from the man's clammy clutches.

Grima stepped away from her, his lips a thin down-turned line. Fiddling his fingers as if he'd just touched something horrendous and infectious, the man wiped them down his black robes. Leaving in silence, he cast one last dark look at her as he closed her cell door with a slam, slinking back from whence he came like the creature of darkness he was.

Allowing a minute of silence to pass, Lúthien finally collapsed back into the huddled position against the stone, allowing a few tears to fall. A giant heave escaped her chest as a chilling shiver ran through her body before she regained control. With a shuttering breath she closed her eyes, wishing for death to take her swiftly.

"Is it true?" Éomer called softly, disrupting the quiet.

The silence lingered for only a short while before her response was given. "Do not waste what little time I have left asking questions you already have the answers to."

Silence.

"I have heard stories of your birth," Éomer spoke again, "but they are mere stories. I only ask for the truth."

Lúthien scoffed at his remark, her own words angry and biting in response. "You have the truth."

"Do no release your anger on me, creature," Éomer yelled. "For I am not at fault for your position!"

Anger flooded her body at his use of the word 'creature'. "I AM NO CREATURE!" Lúthien screamed at him. She leaned forward in anger, resting on her hands and knees as she screamed her response in Rohirric. "I am Lúthien, daughter of Awiergan, warrior in Théoden King's army, and Cwenswith, born of the Riddermark, cast out by your uncle under the advisement of Grima Wormtongue for reasons we do not control! You have the answer because your family was the one to give it!"

As the remnants of the echo of her words fell back into silence, Lúthien's shoulders sagged, the anger flowing from her body. Silence again reigned. She crawled back into her huddled position against the stones, tears spilling from her closed lids at the memory of her parents.

The shuffling from Éomer's cell was the only sound to break the silence for a short while. Lúthien took a deep breath in shame. She was stronger than that. She should not have lost her temper. Her mother and father had taught her better. But she was just so tired. In an effort to assuage the anger exchanged, Lúthien spoke again, her voice calming but loud enough to reach Éomer.

"My father was a great warrior, a fine horseman in the King's army." The woman did not know if she spoke to give voice to the memories of her family, or to share her true story with Éomer. Nor did she care. Too long had the story of her family been kept secret, their memories almost erased from time. If she were to die, she would die knowing that at least these walls held the memories of their past.

"He served Théoden King loyally. Fought beneath his command to defend Rohan against invaders. My father met my mother shortly after. They only wished to live in peace." Lúthien's loving words turned bitter towards herself as she continued. "But my birth revealed my mother's past, her secret. My father tried to hide the truth, but it was too late. They were cast out, exiled to lands beyond the borders, under orders of Théoden King." Her voice held a venom as she spoke the king's name before it lost all strength, becoming defeated with her next words. "All because of me." Lúthien felt that old hatred for herself rise to her chest. "I am the reason my family is dead."

Ignoring the rising tide of anguish, Lúthien continued with her story, a long held bitterness lacing her words. "My parents' wish to live in peace became a wish only to survive. Their wishes were lost when the whispers of a man caught up with a village nearby. Once again, we became the hunted." She paused, squeezing her eyes shut as the pain from the assaulting memories resurfaced. For a time, only the sound of her wet sniffles filled the gaol. Lúthien appreciated that Éomer chose to remain silent. A deep breath allowed her to continue on.

"It was late at night when we were forced to flee once more. My father pushed us to run ahead, staying behind in hopes of slowing the villagers; in hopes of granting my mother and me a chance to escape. But it was no use." Her words stuttered with tears as she spoke. "I watched as arrows pierced my father's body." Lúthien took a deep breath as she tilted her head back, her eyes opened wide against the memories as they stared up at the ceiling. "I will forever be haunted by the memory of the life draining from my father's eyes." Another deep breath. Lúthien swiped at her nose with the back of her hand as she lowered her head.

Lúthien did not know if Éomer was listening, nor if he cared. But she had carried this burden alone for so long. Though she knew that Éomer was not personally responsible for what had happened, his family was. Perhaps, by laying her pain at his feet, she might find a sense of peace for the short time she had left in this world. If nothing else, at least one other soul would carry the memories of her family.

"Did your father know?" Lúthien jumped at the man's sudden words, not expecting a response. When there was no answer, he spoke again. "Did your father know of your mother's curse?"

Lúthien flinched at the word. Curse. Though it was the truth, it did not lessen the pain and anger she felt at its use. "My mother was a kind and honest woman. My father knew of her ancestry before their courting began." Her heart swelled at the fond memories of her mother, before clenching against Éomer's next words, the memories fading back to ones of pain. "What happened to her?"

"She fell the same night as my father, cut down by the blade of a scythe as if she were no more than a stalk of grain."

A heavy silence fell with those words. Lúthien adjusted her position against the stones. Taking a deep breath, she fought against the memories of that night, her mother's cries echoing inside her mind.

"How old were you?

She released a sigh. "I was but eight years old." Her voice was heavy. The sound of Éomer letting a sigh fall reached her ears. While she had hoped that in sharing, her burden would ease, she quickly realized the falseness of that belief. The reality of it all was that Éomer was here in the gaol with her. Being of similar age, he likely had no knowledge of the banishment and eventual murder of her parents. He was not at fault.

Beyond this, it was clear Éomer had his own burdens to carry; ones she knew would never be known to her—her eyes closed in sympathy—and burdens she did know he carried. Éomer had just lost his cousin, the Prince of Rohan, his uncle—regardless of who he was—was losing a battle against the darkness, and his sister was to be left all alone in this world while he sat rotting behind bars, helpless to anyone.

Lúthien released a tired sigh. Éomer did not deserve this. This was her burden to carry, not his. Her parents would be ashamed of her. They had taught her to be better than what the world gave her. No more would she willingly add to his burdens. Silently, she turned back to the stones, the coldness bringing a feeling of calm to her.

There she remained as the sun fell, darkness and silence hanging heavily around her.

There she remained when the first shafts of light filtered through the small window at the top of the stone wall.

There she remained when the guard returned, again passing her cell with little more than a gruff remark, delivering food and water to Éomer.

And there she remained when Eowyn passed by, her steps only pausing for a hesitant moment before continuing to her brother.

Chapter Text

It did not take long before, once more, the whispers shared between the siblings reached Lúthien's ears, but she paid them no mind. The only movement to come from the woman was the steady breathing and the subtle shifting of her closed eyelids when the sharp and commanding yet still quiet voice of Éomer split the quietness. On occasion, Eowyn's responses carried further, her words firm and commanding in her own way as she responded to her brother.

This carried on through the first day meal as well as the midday. Lúthien let it all pass over her, remaining motionless. Ending her visit with her brother following the midday meal, Eowyn's steps sounded down the hall once more. Lúthien opened her eyes briefly when she noted the steps slowing more than usual in front of her own cell.

A look of harsh curiosity blanketed the shield maiden's face before it settled on annoyance and the woman continued on her way. Once more, Lúthien paid no mind. She curled up further, wrapping her arms as tightly as her ailing muscles would allow. Her stomach had begun to cramp from lack of food, her head swimming and her body feeling as if filled with sludge at the lack of nutrients. Her most recent nutrition had been a simple bland broth from the healing house before her arrest three days prior. Lúthien calculated it had been six days at least since she had eaten anything substantial. Even then it had been nothing but hard tack consumed quickly as the company of four had been hunting Uruk-Hai in hopes of saving the hobbits.

Her thoughts turned to the two halflings, wondering what had become of any of them. Was it true the hobbits had been slaughtered by either the Uruk-Hai or the Rohirrim? Was it possible they had somehow survived? What had become of Aragorn and the others? She hoped for their sake's that their paths had come to fruition and not ruin.

A short while later, the door to the gaol creaked open. It was Eowyn returning. That was unusual, as her visits thus far had accompanied the delivery of meals. What was even more unusual was that she had returned with a small slice of bread and a cup of water.

Surprising Lúthien, the lady stopped and knelt in front of her cell door, carefully passing the items between the bars. "It is what I could gather," she said as she looked down the hall in the direction of her brother. The tone of Eowyn's voice made it clear that she was not entirely happy to oblige what was clearly her brother's directions.

"Take it away." Lúthien did not mean the words to sound so harsh, her eyes clenching in regret, but hunger was wearing her down quickly and the thought of food so close did nothing to help.

Eowyn clearly bristled at the woman's words. No doubt her forced actions went against her belief that Lúthien was indeed a monster and traitor to the crown of Rohan. "You, of all people, would refuse a kind act from someone?"

Lúthien let the implied insult roll off her shoulders. She did not have the strength to let it provoke her any further. "I refuse to be the cause of another person's unnecessary punishment. You bring this against orders, no doubt Wormtongue's. Nevertheless, they are still orders," Lúthien answered, taking a deep breath to ease the ache in her head and the nausea clutching at her stomach. She carefully turned her head only enough to look at Eowyn. "There is enough cruelty in this world already. I will not be the cause to add to it."

Eowyn's face softened slightly at her words, astonishment flickering across her face. The woman stood, glancing down at her hands for a moment, her eyes bouncing down to where Éomer was contained. Without another word or look, she turned on her heels and left the gaol, the food and water remaining on the floor of Lúthien's cell.

As soon as the main door closed, Éomer's voice came from down the hall. "Under the orders of Théoden King, no prisoner of Rohan shall be mistreated or starved. You eating what was given does not go against orders."

Lúthien released another exhale of defeat as she raised her voice to reach him. "You cannot guarantee the enforcement of that law under Grima. Not when that slimy devil desires something for himself that he cannot have. He may have changed that decree to suit his desires already. Either way, I do not wish to take that risk and put another in danger of his cruelty."

"You would die from starvation to protect my sister?" The shock in his voice was evident.

His question brought Lúthien a hurt sadness. Was he truly surprised by her actions? "It is as I told you," her voice was soft, "I am neither a creature nor the monster you have made me to be."

"Yet I am told you have slaughtered many in your travels." Unlike Eowyn's words, something about Éomer's harsh critical words fueled Lúthien's ire. A burst of energy driven by anger allowed her to shout her defense in reply.

"I have killed only in defense. I am no murderer." She did not know why she continued on. It never proved to be of any use. No matter how many times she pleaded her defense, every person was ready to condemn. She was tired and frustrated by it all. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Have you not also been told that I eat the living flesh of men? That I find sunlight abhorrent and miserable and cower in the shadows? Should I not be dwelling deep beneath the Misty Mountains at this moment, should all that you hear be counted as true?"

The swelling emotion of desiring to cry raced through her chest, but she found she had no more tears to give. Nothing more was left in her. No desire to defend nor fight for life. She let her eyes slowly slip closed, having already made the choice to welcome Death. Perhaps he would be more kind.

Éomer's voice however pulled her back, the flash of anger heavy in his tone. "Will you let the unlawful death of a prisoner of Rohan weigh on my uncle's conscious then?"

Lúthien couldn't help the humorless burst of air escape her drying lips, all that the energy she had left would allow. Was Lord Éomer truly trying to play with her guilt to get her to eat, all while rising to anger? Moreover, did he truly believe he could use the conscious of his uncle, the man who held the blame for her parent's death, as a way to convince her to risk Eowyn's welfare over a crust of bread? Lúthien shook her head in disbelief.

"Your uncle will find no remorse in my death, I can assure you. You fail to remember it was he that cast my parents out those many years ago." Her voice remained level despite her falling energy, unlike the resentment that began to resurface in her chest.

Éomer was quick to defend the king, his anger loud. "Under the suggestive spells of Grima."

Lúthien paused at this. She would admit that here, it was possibly—even likely—that he spoke the truth. Again, her eyes closed. She just wanted to be left in peace, could he not see this? Yet, again the man spoke, but this time his words carried a sorrow rather than anger. "You have no hope then that my uncle can be saved from the clutches of evil that holds him prisoner in his own skin? That he will one day return to the man he once was?"

"Was it not you, Lord Éomer," Lúthien replied softly, "who told Aragorn and his companions not to look for hope? For it has forsaken these lands?" She paused a moment. "I fear it forsake me long before it did these lands."

The heavy quiet fell once again, weighing down on her like a heavy blanket. The undertone of sorrow was its companion this time.

The weight of it all had her releasing a frustrated groan, her mind swirling. She was angry at herself that she could be so easily bent under Éomer's words and emotions. It frightened and frustrated her that the man held even a small amount of invisible power over her where others seem to not. Lúthien wished she could discover the root cause of it and sever it.

Instead, she slowly crawled on hands and toes over to the bread and water, weakly picking up the hard bread slice and nibbling at it. Lúthien took her time, knowing from experience how her starved stomach would react should she eat or drink too quickly.

After a length of time, all evidence of the food was gone, the small wooden cup now dry. Her head felt clearer, the pounding no longer as prevalent. Feeling full, even with just that small amount of bread, she carefully crawled farther over to the door of her cell. There she placed the cup onto the stone floor, sliding them across and down the hall so as to make it seem less likely that she had been given anything.

As she pulled her arm back from between the bars, Lúthien glanced down the hall for the first time since being locked up. Her eyes landed on Éomer for the first time in days. Other than looking dirty and grungy from lack of any hygienic care, he looked well. He sat with his back resting against the far wall, one leg bent sideways under the other that was bent with his foot flat on the floor. One arm rested over his bent knee while the other sat in his lap. Éomer gazed up at her through a parted curtain of blonde hair, his eyes meeting hers.

Lúthien froze in her spot, aware of how exposed her features were; the scars lining her jaw and temple, her single black eye. She stayed there, one hand still clutching the bars, frozen under his watchful and stoic gaze. He did not frighten her, instead something else held her there as if cast under a spell.

"Thank you," was all that was softly spoken by him, giving her a small nod. Lúthien could only manage a trembling nod before quickly slinking back to the spot against the stones where she could once again hide her scar and black eye from the view of others.

Sitting against the stones, the shaft of sun slowly passing across the sky outside, Lúthien realized that no look of fear or disgust had passed across Éomer's face when he had looked at her. It was unusual; unlikely; almost impossible. Even those who believed her to be a victim of the fire would slight back or wince at the sight of her scars. The realization that Éomer had never done such intrigued her.

Lúthien shook her head at herself. Éomer was the third Marshal of the Riddermark, a Lord of Rohan, a great warrior, and nephew to the King. Of course he would not let his own features betray him. He had experience in hiding his true feelings under a mask. Furthermore, she was sure he had seen his own fair share of wounds and scars. Hers would be nothing new.

She closed her eyes, choosing not to dwell on those thoughts any further. Instead, she allowed sleep to over take her once more. Unfortunately, with the darkness came the faces of her slain father and mother, chased by murderous men to haunt her dreams. She would not rest easy that night.

Chapter Text

Súlìmë 3019, Third Age
(March)

The loud sound of a cell door opening startled Lúthien from sleep. Her eyes snapped open, releasing her from the nightmares that had held her captive. Grateful for the release, Lúthien shifted her body, her muscles sore and stiff from being in one position for far too long.

The sound of more than one set of footsteps caught her attention. Turning her head, she watched as a new guard, a soldier of the king, lead Éomer past her cell.

"What of her, Gamling?" Éomer questioned when the guard did not even hesitate at her door.

Gamling simply shook his head in response, offering Éomer only a partially saddened look. It was clear this new guard respected the Marshal. "I'm sorry, my lord, I have no orders concerning her. It was only your release Théoden King ordered."

Lúthien expected nothing less. Yet, the news that Éomer was being released and not taken to his doom brought a small light into her life that she had not expected. She found herself happy for the man.

It was only that an innocent man had been given back his freedom, she reassured herself. She could feel the heavy gaze of Éomer on her as he moved passed her cell, but she would not return it. Instead, her head turned further into the stone, the only safe shelter for her scars.

"Lord Éomer?" Gamling questioned as footsteps stopped at her cell door. A moment of quiet passed before both sets of footsteps resumed their trek beyond the gaol walls. Regardless of the dehydration wracking her body, Lúthien felt no need to cry. It was as she had told Éomer: hope had forsaken her long ago.

After a time, the sound of the main door creaked open. This surprised Lúthien as there was no longer another prisoner to deliver food to. Footfalls grew closer before ceasing in front of her cell. Wanting to be left in peace, Lúthien did not turn to acknowledge the onlooker.

However, a familiar voice had her head sharply turning, her eyes wide and curious. "Open the door." Stood there with a new guard at his side was Aragorn. Lúthien could not deny that it lifted her spirits to see the man. He looked well, offering her a small smile. She tilted her head in regrettable understanding however, when the guard hesitated to follow the command. Of course, a rider of the North held no power here. He could not order her release.

It was the next voice, one of age and wisdom, that had Lúthien scrambling weakly to her feet as her head swam with unbelief. "It is under the orders of your Théoden King that this order is given. I suggest you listen to Lord Aragorn and open that door."

The inability to shed tears in that moment did not halt the silent sob that escaped Lúthien's lips. The guard promptly opened the door, allowing her old friend to enter. Immediately, Lúthien rushed to him, grasping tightly at his white robes. "Gandalf," she breathed out as he gently returned her embrace.

"My dear child, what have you gotten yourself into now?" His voice was not scolding, but kind and lighthearted. Lúthien simply held tighter to him, a small laugh releasing from her chest. Emotions swelled and swirled within her. Joy, shame, disbelief, relief.

Gandalf gently stroked her raven hair as he offered her sounds of comfort. "Come now, my child. All will be well. Let us get you some well deserved food, shall we?" Gandalf pulled back, looking at her with a kind smile that slowly melted into a worried brow. Tremors ran through her body in protest of the sudden burst of energy she'd displayed using up what little reserves she had left.

The look of sadness and sympathy showed only briefly in his eyes before a smile returned to his face for her. In all the years she had known the wizard, he had never shown her pity and for that she was grateful.

Though anxious to be free of these stone walls and to once again return to the sunlight, Lúthien did not move beyond lowering her head slightly. Understanding her hesitation almost immediately, Gandalf turned only slightly away from her, reaching a hand out to someone stood in the hall.

Turning back around, her dark hooded cloak was now in his hands, a smile of comfort lifting his lips. Lúthien instantly returned his smile, deeply grateful that he knew her well enough to understand her concerns. Quickly, she threw the cloak around her shoulders, her hands automatically lifting the hood, the edge falling down enough to cover her face.

Lúthien's eyes closed for a moment, this time in relief at being hidden away once more. "Thank you, my friend." Her heart rejoiced once more as she opened her eyes to see Gandalf still alive and stood before her. If this were a dream, she did not wish to wake from it.

As if reading her thoughts, Gandalf let out a small chuckle. "You do not dream, dear Aedre. Fate it seems is not finished with me just yet."

Lúthien smiled widely at his words. "Though I count Fate against me, I will not refuse any gifts she deems to give."

Aragorn smiled as they stepped beyond the cell walls and into the hall that lead outside. Lúthien paused at the door. "I cannot help but wonder, though," she said softly, "how my release came to be? Especially at the orders of Théoden King. Is he aware of the truth of who he orders released? What of Grima's hold on him?" The thought of Wormtongue working dark magic against her senses suddenly had fear and doubt taking over.

"Théoden King is no longer under the dark control of Saruman the White. The King of Rohan has been restored to his throne and Grima has been cast out beyond the borders. You need not worry over that man's action any further," Aragorn offered in explanation.

"As for Théoden being aware of his actions," Gandalf hesitated as he leaned on his staff, his eyes casting a sidelong glance at Aragorn. "Well, let us simply say that you need not concern yourself with the details. Just know that the king has requested your presence to render an apology."

Lúthien stepped back, her head shaking vehemently. "No. You cannot keep this lie from him, Gandalf. Either with words or by sight, he will find the truth. It is no use to keep it from him." Feeling defeat settling upon her shoulders once more, she did not give voice to the one thought she held above all. Should she honor the King's request and present herself before him, it would surely only end in her being exiled and hunted once more, if not cast back into her cell. The peace of her earlier surrender returned as she once again faced death.

The look on Aragorn's face softened with a sadness as he recognized the look on her face, the tone of her voice. "Do not make peace with Death just yet, Aedre. Fate may yet have surprises in store for you."

Lúthien's chin lifted in defiance, her eyes purposefully avoiding the surprised hurt ones of Gandalf. "Let us go." It was all she could offer as she bowed her head. She hated to be pitied by any; more so to have it given by Aragorn.

As she moved to follow Gandalf through the door to where the sun shone down, Aragorn gently took her by the arm. She turned her head, unafraid to meet his gaze. She knew he neither condemned nor judged her by her blood. He had already proven that. For a moment he peered into her eyes, as if searching for something.

"It is not pity I offer you, but understanding and sympathy." The Ranger read her all too well, his words quiet and offering comfort. "Though you claim to be forsaken by hope, do not believe it. Hope is yet on the horizon, you need only be patient, my friend."

Lúthien could not hide the shock of his words effected on her, the same words she had spoken to Éomer while imprisoned. Had Éomer confided in Aragorn what she had said? Mentally, she shook her head of the sidetracking thoughts.

Despite the encouragement, she could not find it in herself to do as he asked. "I have traveled man's Middle Earth far and wide, Lord Aragorn. From the highest peaks to the lowest of valleys. I have been cast out and hunted, despised and rejected by all that I have crossed paths with. No longer than two day's time ago was I cursed and accused of being a creation of Sauron's evil. Only three have looked past to the woman behind the hood." Her eyes softened as her eyes turned to Gandalf, the wizard waiting patiently at the door with a sad smile at her overheard words. "One has been returned to me and for that I am grateful."

Lúthien turned back to Aragorn, a bitterness lining her words, "But I can not believe hope had anything to do with it." With nothing left to say, she offered the man a nod before continuing down the path to follow Gandalf.

The three departed the gaol in the midday sunlight. Feeling the warmth of the sun coat her once more brought an almost joyful feeling with it. It was amazing how only a few days of deprivation could make the return of something so enjoyable. More than anything she wished to feel it on her face again, but she dared not to expose her scars surrounded by so many of the Rohirrim as she now found herself.

Suspicious and curious eyes followed her as she followed in the steps of Gandalf. It was long ago that she had mastered the skill of making herself smaller, less noticeable. Being lead by the wizard who had freed their king and followed by a Ranger of the North, however, left her unable to escape notice.

The escape of notice was further lost as the three paused their steps to greet Gimli and Legolas who now approached from a place they had clearly been waiting. The elf and dwarf each nodded their head in greeting to her, both kind and welcoming. The small group held their position, chatting lightly as if they were old friends, passing in the street, having stopped for a quick chat.

Her confusion at the delay in travel quickly changed when Gimli turned to her. "I believe these belong to you, lass," he said as he lifted her sword and knife. A broad smile split her face as she gratefully accepted them, immediately working to return the blades to her sides. Tying the final knot, she felt herself stand taller, feeling more confident having her father's blade once more at her side. "Thank you kindly, Master Gimli." Her smile did not waver.

"It is my pleasure," the dwarf happily returned her smile. "I must confess, I am sad to part with such a fine blade," he motioned to the broad sword hanging at her side. "May I ask how you came by it, my lady?"

"It was my father's. It was with this sword that I first learned how to wield such a weapon."

"Ah," said Gimli, "then I take even greater pleasure in being able to return it to your side." The bearded dwarf stood proudly with his words, his chin lifting higher with a grin.

"Where is it that you acquired your side blade?" Legolas asked as he turned to join their small conversation. Though his question was not a new one, she felt slightly taken aback at the easiness with which the two conversed with her.

"Uhm," she started, blinking her eyes quickly to refocus her attention, "it was my mother's. It used to rest in a hand carved wooden chest. I do not know from where she obtained it. I was under the impression that it had been handed down from my grandmother, once a wedding gift for her marriage to my grandfather. I am lost as to who the bestower was." Lúthien carefully withdrew the blade from its sheath, handing it pommel first to the elf for him to examine, the blade resting on her open palm.

Legolas lithely lifted the blade, turning it over to examine in the sunlight. The light danced off the silver of the smooth blade, the soft teal of the handle glistening with gold inlaid designs. "This blade is of elvish make," he said, his eyes squinting in curiosity. Legolas looked curiously at Lúthien, his eyes dancing with interest. "The design resembles the sword Uiveleth, the blade that belonged to an elven princess, Lúthien Tinúviel."

Lúthien did not know how to take this revelation. She had never known much of her namesake beyond the shame of being named after an elf many great tales were told about.

"Its equal is not easily found amongst men." Legolas gracefully flipped the blade, a small smile tugging at his lips as he held it out to return to her. "A fitting blade for one such as yourself."

Lúthien stood astounded by Legolas' compliment. For indeed it was a compliment, the sincerity of his words evident in his expression and tone. Quietly, she retrieved her blade, almost reverently returning it to its worn sheath at her side.

Aragorn leaned closer to her side then, a smile lifting his words. "Perhaps not just three." Lúthien looked at the man, a twinkle dancing in his eye. Warmth blossomed in Lúthien's chest. Never had she been surrounded by so many who had looked beyond the hood and the scars it hid. She was not sure how to respond to the position she now found herself in. Never had she been in such one.

Gandalf cleared his throat, failing to hide a small knowing smile before returning to his serious self with a throat clearing cough. "We have delayed long enough. It would be rude to insist the King wait any longer for his guests in his own home."

*****

A weighty feeling fell among the small group once more as they made their way through the streets to the famed Meduseld. Though having been born in the Riddermark, this was the first time Lúthien had laid eyes on the famed Golden Hall of Rohan.

Its beauty and grandness was not left wanting. The sun glinted off the golden roof, acting as a beacon to all within a day's ride. Though it did not hold the grandeur and awe that other places such as Minis Tirith or any of the elven realms held, it was beautiful and mesmerizing in its simplicity. To Lúthien, it felt like home.

As she approached the tall doors, opened in anticipation of their approach by two door warden who stood stoically on either side, Lúthien could not help the knots that formed in her stomach. Surely they would deny her entry.

Yet, no one stopped the company. Lúthien pushed down the surprise, keeping her composure, as she passed through the doors without even a second glance at any of them. She had fully expected to be stopped and stripped of her weapons before entering the king's presence.

The gazes of those already gathered in the great hall fell upon the company as they entered but only briefly. Some were dismissive, others full of awe at the strange company's arrival. When their eyes landed on her, it was with no more than brief curiosity of their arrival, further surprising Lúthien. There was no pity nor condemnation found in their looks and glances. They showed no signs of hatred. How could this be? Were they not aware that she had been the prisoner locked away as an abomination in the King's gaol? Where were the looks of hatred and fury that had been given to her parents?

Nervous anxiety grew in her chest with each step. As if sensing her discomfort, Gandalf leaned close to her as their steps slowed. "You have no need to fear, my dear. You are quite safe in our company." The words brought only a mild relief to her anxiety, but Lúthien held her shoulders squared as they took the remaining steps to meet a smaller group of people gathered around a table strewn with maps and parchments.

Remaining fully aware of her surroundings, Lúthien noted as Legolas and Gimli moved off to the side, entering into a quiet discussion with one another, their eyes consistently scanning the occupants of the hall. Aragorn and Gandalf flanked her sides, leaving her front and center as they came upon the small company.

Immediately, she recognized the faces of Éomer and Eowyn stood facing them on the other side of the table, each leaning over the parchments and maps. On this side of the table stood a man with shoulder length blonde hair, his back towards her.

Éomer's head lifted at the sound of their approach, whatever words he was speaking slowly dying out. His eyes remained focused on Lúthien, his face revealing nothing of what he was thinking. As his words died, his sister looked at him, her gaze following his soon after. Upon seeing the new company, Eowyn stood straighter, her face revealing no more than her brother's, though her eyes seemed to be drawn to Aragorn.

The man with his back to her glanced over his shoulder briefly before recognition took hold. Presently, he stood straight, turning to face them. His eyes did not turn to Lúthien right away, instead focusing on Gandalf and Aragorn's taller frames.

Lúthien again was forced to hide her shock. This man could not be the king of Rohan. The last reports of him had made him out to be aged beyond his years, eyes full of clouds, his posture beginning to hunch from the weight of life.

The man in front of her stood tall and proud, none of the advanced aging signs present. Ducking her head slightly, she allowed Aragorn and Gandalf to proceed the last few steps forward without her, choosing to use their figures as a final shield.

The king began the talks with thanking Gandalf again. Lúthien could only assume it had been Gandalf that had restored Théoden to the light and had been the one to cast out Grima.

Gandalf brushed his words off with a humble smile. "I am simply glad to have the King of Rohan rightfully restored to his seat." His voice turned tender. "And to have an old friend returned." As if suddenly remembering something, Gandalf's eyes lit up, the wizard stepping slightly to the side. "And speaking of old friends," he held an arm out in Lúthien's direction, "may I present my friend—" Lúthien took a small quick step forward. "Aedre, my king," she interjected, cutting off Gandalf's introduction.

She gracefully bowed her head, ignoring her friend's harsh look at the false name she offered. Lúthien did not miss the almost imperceptible double take Théoden took as his eyes landed on her differently colored eyes peering out from beneath the dark hood. Again to her amazement however, his eyes held no signs of fear or disgust, simply curiosity.

She could not ignore, however, the scowls sent her way from Éomer and Eowyn beyond his shoulder. It did not matter. They knew the reason for her lie. No one could blame her for the fear directing her actions.

Aragorn stepped forward, placing a hand on Lúthien's arm. "Perhaps," he began in a conspiring whisper to the king, "the remainder of this conversation might be held away from prying eyes and ears?"

The king looked over Lúthien, his curiosity piquing. She did not meet his eyes, instead keeping her head bowed, her eyes staring steadily at the floor in front of her.

"Perhaps you are right," Théoden agreed. "Clear the hall!" His command echoed loudly throughout the room. No reason was given nor needed as the others gathered quickly obeyed their king's command. Théoden turned to look at his niece and nephew, clearly expecting their removal as well.

"Ah," Gandalf stepped forward with a raised hand, "I believe Lord Éomer and Lady Eowyn have already been made aware of the delicate situation we find ourselves in." Théoden nodded in understanding, his eyes again curiously looking her over. With a reassuring nod from their king, the door wardens shut the doors, leaving only the eight remaining.

Lúthien could not help but feel like a trapped criminal being brought before the executioner. Again.

Her eyes scanned the emptied hall, searching for a way out from habit. Her heart began to race despite her attempts to remain calm, fear taking over as she was sure she knew what was to come. Just as her parents had been, she would be cast out and despised for something she held no control over.

Gandalf gave her a soft look before turning to address the king once more.

"May I present," Gandalf gave her a quick side eyed glance, as if daring her to interrupt him once more, "Lúthien, daughter of Awiergan of Rohan."

Almost instantly, Lúthien felt the eyes of all those remaining in the hall fall upon her at the mention of her father's name. Almost more than anything, Lúthien wished Gandalf had not spoken of her father. Éomer stepped forward, as if to offer a comment, but was stopped when Théoden spoke first.

"Awiergan." His eyes crinkled slightly. "I know that name, do I not?" He turned to Éomer in question.

"Yes, Uncle," Éomer said with a quick nod of his head. "He was one of the great riders of Rohan. He fought beside you in defense of the borders where it was believed he fell in battle." Éomer's eyes returned to meet Lúthien's, perhaps in an effort to gauge her reaction. Frustration and resentment flooded her veins.

She moved to step forward, to bring truth to their lies, but Aragorn's soft touch held her back, the man giving her an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Gandalf coughed out a clearing of his throat, only briefly glancing at her from the side of his eye before he responded.

Senses on high alert, Lúthien did not miss Legolas and Gimli carefully positioning themselves alongside her and the two already stood at her side. An unusual feeling flooded her chest at the action. It had been an age since anyone had stood at her side or come to her defense.

"It grieves me," Gandalf politically offered, "to clarify that it was by your hand, my friend—under the influence of Grima," he quickly clarified, "that Awiergan and his family were cast out of Rohan because of rumors spread by those jealous of his choice in marriage." Again, Gandalf glanced at Lúthien as he leaned heavily on his staff for a moment, a grandfatherly look on his face.

What was this half truth he was sharing with the king? Lúthien desired to bring herself to speak up, to correct the wizard, but she found she could not. Instead, she stood there, almost frozen, in disbelief, revealing no emotion as his story continued.

"Rumors were quickly dismissed because of the lack of evidence. However, when Lúthien was born, scarred as a babe by those wishing her family harm, the rumors resurfaced, the tragedy of her family used as proof of an evil from the dark ages."

Lúthien was impressed yet not surprised. The cunning wizard had managed to share her story, but in such a misleading way as to lead those listening down a path of untruth, while not speaking a single lie.

She had been scarred as a babe, born that way, by those wishing her family harm, albeit generations before. Though a stretch, it was indeed the truth. Her family had been harmed generations prior, the evidence of that presenting itself in her features.

Lúthien found her eyes traveling to Éomer in order to determine his thoughts. The scowl that lined his features was dark. He knew the truth, she had given it fully to him herself. Would he clarify the details of Gandalf's story? Judging cautiously by the look in Eowyn's eyes, it was concluded that Éomer had in fact not shared the details of her story with his sister. This confused Lúthien. Why did he not step forward now?

Théoden's words pulled her attention back to him. "As the fog covering my memories continues to roll away, memories from long ago return. I do recall to memory of the soldier Awiergan." Théoden stepped closer to Lúthien. "He was a good and honorable man. How did he fall if not in battle?"

Lúthien lifted her eyes proudly to meet his. They began to glisten as she fought against the tightness in her chest. Of their own accord, her eyes darted back to Éomer, her mouth unable to speak the words. Perhaps it was because she felt she might find comfort from the Marshal, as he already knew how her parents had died, and therefore would understand her inability to answer just now.

Solemnly, Gandalf rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, allowing her to take a step back though her eyes remained locked with Éomer's softened ones, the man already knowing the answer to his uncle's inquiry.

"Awiergan and his wife Cwenswith were felled in the same night some years ago, hunted by those who believed the vicious rumors."

Éomer's furrowed brows lessened into a look of almost shared sadness. Of course he would know her pain, Lúthien realized. For he too had suffered the loss of both parents at a young age. This brought no comfort to Lúthien, only another layer of sadness that another child should suffer such pain at such a young age.

Théoden's face softened with sadness as his gaze returned to Lúthien. "I am sorry, my child. No child should know such pain." His attention returned to Gandalf and Aragorn. "I believe I now understand your desire for privacy." The king approached Lúthien once more, gently taking her hands in his as a father would hold their child's.

"I apologize for your lifetime of pain under orders of my own making." Sincerity shone through his voice. "Well aware that words will never be enough, I still offer you my heartfelt apology. And with this offer, I give the promise of safety and welcome in my court."

Lúthien could not bring herself to believe his words. Not because they were so unbelievable and lies, but because she knew he spoke them with only the knowledge of half-truths. Not knowing what to say, she simply nodded.

"I thank you, Théoden King," she spoke softly. The king's words were true beyond what he knew. For words would never be enough to erase what had been suffered under his reign. She found that she was sincere in her thanks to him nonetheless. It was more than had been granted in the past and she would not let her pride destroy it now.

Lúthien was determined to let go of past faults and forgive. If she did not, she was no better than those who had done ill against her, and the anger and pain would slowly poison and destroy her. Beyond what it already had. She refused to further give anyone that power over her.

A test of this decision came quickly as Eowyn stepped forward, protests upon her lips. "But he was not himself! You cannot truly hold him responsible—"

Her words were cut off with a raise of Théoden's hand. "And yet it was still done by my hand."

Lúthien met his eyes, each looking at the other in silent conversation for a moment. A moment passed as they seemed to come to an understanding unspoken. Lúthien offered a nod in acceptance of his words before stepping back and formally bowing. "Théoden King," she offered. By her actions, Lúthien showed her acceptance of his apology, both parties understanding that his words would never be enough.

Yet the observation could also be made by those in the know, that her hand may have been slightly forced by the half-truths and guilt dropped on the king's shoulders by Gandalf. Though the wizard had still spoken the truth, Théoden believed his guilt to be for different reasons: For the exile, deaths, and imprisonment of innocents. Not for these things done because of the black blood that ran through the veins of the women of her family.

Receiving a final nod from Théoden before he turned back to the maps, Lúthien's eyes found Éomer's once more. The man's face was unreadable, the look something that Lúthien did not recognize. She offered him a nod in thanks for keeping silent her secret, before stepping back to allow the men—and elf and dwarf—to continue their discussion of current events.

Chapter Text

News of the king's decision traveled quickly. He and a company of Rohirrim were to ride to battle against Saruman immediately. The three hunters and Gandalf were to accompany them, the party set to depart Edoras that same day.

Upon hearing this news, Lúthien had immediately set out to find her friend. "I can be of help!" She begged, following the wizard around as if she were a pestering child. "Please, Mithrandir! At the very least allow me to accompany the women out to the borders of Edoras' lands. Surely you cannot argue with that," she continued.

Gandalf laid a heavy look at her. "And allow you the opportunity to sneak your way in amongst the riders and join the battle? I will not fall for that again, child." Gandalf's words were not scolding, but they were spoken with a finality.

Stubbornly, she planted her feet, her frame straight and tall, arms crossed over her chest. "I am my own master," she called after his retreating form, halting his steps. "You cannot stop me." Gandalf turned to look at her. Lúthien held her ground, ignoring the smile of amusement lifting Legolas' lips as well as the grin spreading across Gimli's face.

"She would made good company," the dwarf offered, almost too nonchalantly.

"I too would enjoy the opportunity to speak with her. Good conversation can be hard to find on the ride out to battle," Legolas offered, making no effort to mask the amusement in his words.

Their support, once again, seemed unreal and surprising. Grateful, she offered up a small smile to them both. Finding himself outnumbered, Gandalf finally relented with a great heave of a sigh. "Very well, but you must promise to stay back when you are instructed to do so." He held a finger up at her as if she truly were a child.

"I will be as obedient as you are truthful, Gandalf the Grey," Lúthien responded with a mischievous smile. Gandalf had no response for her other than to ask the skies for strength and to move on with his tasks.

*****

It was obvious that Eowyn was as unhappy as Lúthien at not being included with the company readied for battle. However, both women found their pace and routine soon after the party departed from Edoras.

After learning of her skill as a rider, Théoden King had kindly offered the use of one of his chestnut colored mares named Branwen. She was a strong and beautiful creature, her flaxen mane and tail contrasting against her deep brown chestnut coat in the sun.

Lúthien could appreciate the kind gesture from Théoden. Though she had not lived in the lands of Rohan for many years, experience with horses flowed through every Rohan-born's blood. Lúthien, daughter of a horse warrior, was no exception.

It did not slip her notice at the king's remark of her skill that it could only have been Éomer that had offered comments on her ability to ride well. More than once her gaze sought out the Marshal, her mind trying to work out the puzzle of the man. Suspicious wonder at what his actions meant occupied her mind on the long ride only momentarily before it was stolen away by the sound of a child softly crying.

She rode farther behind the rest of the company, used to keeping her distance from prying eyes. Slowing her horse, Lúthien carefully made her way over to the young child falling behind at the back of the train of travelers before gracefully dismounting.

Maintaining her hold on Branwen's reigns, she knelt down, resting on the balls of her feet to be at level with the young child. "And what ails you on this beautiful day, my fair lady?" Lúthien's voice was light and cheerful as she spoke in Rohirrim.

The little girl rubbed at her teary eyes. "My ankle," she sniffled keeping her head down. An older woman, a grandmother Lúthien guessed, walked up behind the little girl, resting a gentle arm around her shoulder. Her eyes widened slightly as Lúthien looked up at her, only for her face to quickly turn to one of pity. Quickly casting her gaze back down to the child, her chin lowering, Lúthien's hand came up to tug at the edge of her hood.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I did not realize she had fallen behind." The older woman turned to look at the girl. "Freda, you will be all right. Come, child, let us see if you may ride on Fréadred's wagon." The older woman stood to cast a look around, searching for, Lúthien assumed, Fréadred and his wagon. The only wagon Lúthien could find was a distance ahead of them. Pointing it out, the woman sighed. "I cannot carry you, Freda. Do you think you can walk well enough to catch up?"

The little girl rubbed at her eyes as she shook her head no.

"Would you like a ride up to the wagon?" Lúthien asked, bending down once more to address the child. Freda looked up at Lúthien with wide eyes and a bright smile, a stark contrast to her tear stained cheeks. The girl quickly nodded her head up and down.

A soft laugh of amusement lifted Lúthien's lips as she stood to address the grandmother, the woman's previous look of pity forgotten at the sight of the child's dancing eyes. "Will that be all right?"

The old woman immediately gave a grateful smile. "Yes, thank you very much, my lady."

"Please, my name is Aedre. I am no noble woman."

The grandmother simply nodded her head and offered another pity filled smile. "Thank you, Lady Aedre."

Lúthien withheld a sigh, choosing instead to focus on the child. Easily, she lifted the small girl into the saddle before lithely mounting the horse behind her herself. With a gentle command, Lúthien directed the horse to the wagon ahead at a slow pace. Freda leaned back comfortably against Lúthien's chest, a small giggle bubbling out of her.

After reaching the wagon and receiving assurance from the man named Fréadred that it was fine, Lúthien lifted the little girl onto the wagon. "Rest easy and be sure to stay off your ankle for a time, all right?" The little girl nodded gleefully, waving goodbye as Lúthien lifted herself back into the saddle of her horse and trotted ahead.

The empty place on the path beside her was quickly filled, to her surprise, by Éomer. "That was very kind of you," he said simply.

She cast him a sidelong glance. "It does not take great effort to lend aid to a child."

"Yet, no one else had stopped to help."

"They would have if given enough time. Perhaps they had not noticed she stood alone."

Éomer turned his head to look at her silently for a moment. He shook his head at her, the crease between his brows deepening. "You do not take a compliment well, Aedre."

Lúthien looked at the man. Had he paid her a compliment? Thinking back over their exchange, Lúthien realized that he had, in fact, paid her a small compliment. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment at her fault. "I apologize, my lord," she offered civilly. "I suppose having spent my life having to defend myself, it has become habit, and easy to overlook kind words."

Éomer looked at her again, his gaze piercing. "It makes me wonder how many kind words you have overlooked in the past without realizing it."

Lúthien had no reply. Though she found it hard to believe any such thing had occurred, she could not deny that the possibility of him being right was still existant, though doubtful.

Taking advantage of the temporary silence between them, Lúthien allowed her eyes to subtly take in the man riding beside her. His riding form was perfect, obviously having spent most of his life in the saddle. It was made obvious by his frame alone that he was a man of great strength. His golden hair, pulled back at the front, shone like silk in the sunlight. She could not deny that overall, Éomer was a handsome man.

Lúthien mentally shook her head, training her eyes on the path ahead of her. It would do no good to dwell on thoughts such as those. A world separated the two of them, making her thoughts pointless as well as ridiculous. Yet, the silence that passed between them was almost comfortable, neither seeming to feel the need to fill it. Éomer's attention scanned the crowds of people on occasion, but for the most part remained on the path ahead.

The two rode on like this for quite some time, neither breaking the peaceful silence between them, their horses rocking with each step in almost unison. It wasn't until Éomer was called ahead by someone in his uncle's company that he offered a silent nod to her before spurring his horse on ahead. The entire encounter was peculiar to Lúthien, to say the least. But as she found she had enjoyed his company, she let the surfacing questions rest.

As time passed, Lúthien mostly kept to herself, her hood safely in place, stopping twice more to offer help to those in need of it. Presently, she took amusement in listening to Gimli laugh and talk along with Eowyn who walked beside him. She could not see them as they traveled behind her, but the dwarf's voice carried far enough for her to hear. A moment later, the sound of a horse snorting, the pace of it's hooves spurring into action brought her head around to see what the commotion could be.

"Don't worry, it was deliberate!" Gimli called back to his companion as the horse slowed next to hers. Lúthien let out a light laugh at the dwarf's words, welcoming his presence at her side. It was not long before she found herself laughing at the words spoken between Gimli and Legolas who traveled on his other side. With no reason, Lúthien allowed her eyes to scan the travelers around her, turning her head to look back at her friend, Aragorn. For the first time in years, as the long trail of travelers moved along at a steady pace, Lúthien felt light. The smile on her face and light in her eyes conveyed this to her new friend. He returned her smile with a happy one of his own.

Lúthien's eyes drifted from his, moving to observe Eowyn's own eyes steadily watching Aragorn. As her gaze continued on their scanning path, she took notice of Éomer's eyes settled steadily on her, a smile seeming to threateningly pull at the corners of his mouth. Suddenly feeling unsure of things, she cleared her throat and quickly faced forward, returning to her more hidden self.

Thoughtfully, she inquired about stories of Gimli's home. This allowed him to go into great detail and speak for quite some time. She heartily enjoyed listening to her friend, but was also grateful for the lack of requiring a response from her.

Aragorn rode up alongside her, casting her a look of knowing. She promptly ignored it, again tugging at her hood to ensure she was hidden.

In a lull of one of Gimli's tales, Legolas spoke up, changing the topic of conversation to one she was was not thrilled with. "What decision brought your mother to name you such as she did?" Lúthien looked up with concern, only to realize that their small group had distanced themselves from the traveling company. She need not overly worry of their conversation being overheard.

Still, she could not contain the look of shame that changed her features. She briefly glanced at Aragorn before lowering her gaze down to the neck of her horse. "You are all aware of my birth, of my heritage." She flicked at an invisible piece of something on her sleeve as she let out an unamused huff. "It is nothing but a blasphemy. I do not know what provoked my mother into giving me such a name."

Nothing of her mother's choice spoke of sense. By naming her Lúthien, she had not only crossed the boundaries of propriety by naming her after an elf, she had also forsook Rohan tradition of the child's name taking a part of the parents. Nothing about Lúthien was allowed to be normal, it would seem.

Legolas spoke in response first. "Your choice to use a false name is not only to hide your identity, is it?"

Lúthien shook her head. "I apologize, Legolas, to you and all the elves of Middle Earth. I know that I must bring great shame to your people. To give the name of such a noble elven princess to someone such as I was an abhorrent decision to be sure. Surely my mother did not know that the name she had given me would be such a burden to bear."

Gimli let out a small bark of laughter at her words. "Burden indeed," the dwarf joked. "Truthfully, I find the name rather fitting for yourself, m'lady. Upon our first meeting, I am not too proud to confess that I may have mistaken you for an elf maiden for the nimbleness and stealth you displayed."

"Yes, Master Dwarf," Lúthien huffed out in amusement, "so much stealth as to have been detected by Aragorn and Legolas within moments of my arrival."

"Ah yes," the dwarf drew out with sarcasm, "such a shameful thing to avoid the detection of all but a Dúnedain and an elf. Yes, indeed, you should cast yourself upon the stones for such failure." Gimli let out an exaggerated guffaw with his words as he cast Lúthien a sidelong glance though it was done in jest and held no bitterness.

Aragorn brought his horse closer in order to garner her attention with a light touch on her arm. "Though your ancestry has given you a dark eye, perhaps it has also seen fit to bless you with one of Elven starlight."

Lúthien frowned in doubt at his words, immediately moving to correct them. "My grey is nothing more than that of a Gondorian. Though, I do not know to whom in my heritage Gondor is connected. It would be to whomever I owe credit for my raven hair."

Legolas' gaze moved off into the distance, as if contemplating something in his mind's eye. "The elven folk of Imladris are known for their raven hair and grey eyes of starlight." Legolas adjusted his gaze to lock with hers. "The same starlight I see in your eyes now."

Lúthien sat in stunned silence. Though she trusted Legolas and knew he would not lie to her, his words refused to ring true in her mind.

Aragorn took her attention as he spoke. "Your eye is not of grey Gondorian, Lúthien. I believe it is grey with the starlight of the elf your mother named you after."

Lúthien could not prevent the disbelieving scoff that escaped her lips. She knew without a doubt that there was no elf blood running through her veins. How would it be possible for her eyes to carry their starlight?

Neither Aragorn nor Legolas could offer an explanation to her questions nor convince her enough to find any truth in their words. "You should take pride in your name and its origins, nonetheless," Legolas said. "It is not a burden you carry, but a strength from days of old."

Lúthien had no response for the elf's words. Instead, she returned to silence, taking some time to contemplate what had been said. If it were true, why had Gandalf not spoken of it before? Surely the wizard would have detected it before any other.

It would take a great deal to convince her of their words, for even if there was indeed truth to them, she would force herself to refuse it. For if they were, in fact, true, it would only leave her to be more blasphemous a creature. If they were true, did Fate truly have no other to bestow its cruel intentions on? Was Fate determined to make her the scourge of every race of Middle Earth?

*****

Sometime later that evening, the company of soldiers and the civilians that had traveled to see them off finally stopped to make camp for the night.

Weary from not only the trek but from the past few weeks themselves, Lúthien, ensuring any work she could assist with was done, made herself comfortable leaning against her small pack beside a small fire set away from the main body of the camp.

From her vantage point, easily could she observe the goings on of those around her. Only rolling hills and the familiar rock formations were at her back, a large dwarf sleeping easily on her left. As she leaned back, she quietly watched as Aragorn spoke with Eowyn, a bowl of stew in his hands.

A soft laugh in amusement floated from her lips as she observed Aragorn try and fail to discard the Lady's stew in secret. Her sympathy was nowhere to be found as he winced against the pain of taking another bite. The man, apparently having heard her laughter, met eyes with her as Eowyn left. The two friends shared a conspiratorial smile, Lúthien's look assuring the Ranger that his secret was safe with her.

Her attention was stolen as she became aware of a child approaching her shyly. Lúthien recognized her as one of the children she had helped earlier that day. The little girl stepped closer to her. Lúthien sat up to address the child, but before she could say anything, the girl quickly laid a small clump of picked flowers at Lúthien's feet before turning and running away in a fit of giggles.

Lúthien sat for a moment, staring at the flowers, stunned. A smile slowly lifted her lips, her eyes twinkling at the action, as she gently gathered up the flowers. She took a moment to rearrange them, the smile lingering on her lips.

Aragorn joined her, making a seat for himself to her right. Gimli's snores broke the quiet, causing Lúthien and Aragorn to share an amused smile.

"You should not shelter yourself from the people. They only fear what they do not know."

Lúthien's smile faded at his words, her eyes staring into the small flames of the fire before her. Her friend was attempting to encourage her, this she knew. But it was not enough. Lúthien rightfully feared that with the knowledge of her blood, there was nothing that would waylay the people's fear.

Knowing Aragorn was witness to the actions of the little girl, she asked him, "How do you think the child would have reacted had she known the truth?" Gently she spun the stem of one of the flowers between her fingers as she watched the delicate petals spin. Lúthien looked up to her friend to offer him a sad understanding smile. "It is better for others if they remain ignorant of the truth of who I am. What I am."

The large form of someone appearing on the opposite side of the fire had both of them turning their heads. Éomer stood there, a softened look upon his face. "You are wrong, Aedre." The deep timbre of his voice caused bumps to form on the skin of her arms.

"I do not deny the people of Rohan have their fair share of those who would wish harm," he continued as he firmly held her gaze, "But there are also those who would welcome you, if only given the chance." His words turned to hold a hardened edge. "But you do not give them the chance. You judge others as harshly as they judge you."

Lúthien bristled at his words, the heat of her ire removing all trace of the bumps on her skin. "I judge more fairly than they," she responded, her voice elevating a degree. "I have scars and memories enough to prove that."

With this sudden admission, a silence fell over the area, the crackling sound of the flame the only sound for a time. No longer able to hold the Marshal's gaze, Lúthien lowered her head in shame over her spilled words. Already she was failing at her own resolution to forgive easier. Yet, it was difficult to release so many years worth of pain and suffering at the hands of so many.

Offering the men no more than a silent nod goodnight, Lúthien turned to the side, leaning against her pack, pulled her hood further down over her face, and closed her eyes. Sleep would not come for a while yet, but she did not move.

*****

The following day brought a change of plans. The King's party had been intercepted by the scout Ceorl, sent by Erkenbrand, Lord of the Deeping-coomb and a valuable soldier, to send warning to Éomer in Edoras. Saruman had let loose his forces and the Rohirrim under Erkenbrand had been forced to retreat with great losses.

This news was cause enough for Théoden to change course. After consulting a few members of their entourage, it was decided that they would turn their paths and join Erkenbrand in Helm's Deep. Gandalf, it was also decided, would part from the company and meet them at Helm's Deep at a later time.

Lúthien had pleaded to accompany her friend, but he had adamantly insisted that she remain in Aragorn's company. After soft words and a sorrowful look from Gandalf, Lúthien had reluctantly agreed to obey the wizard's wishes.

The travel to Helm's Deep was different than the earlier days' travel to say the least. Shortly after the company set out, Lúthien looked down to find Eowyn walking beside her.

"Word has begun to travel amongst the people," Eowyn began. Lúthien's grip tightened on the reigns as she waited for the words she knew were to come. "You prove to be an oddity for a woman of Rohan, wearing trousers and constantly carrying a sword at your side."

Lúthien's head quickly turned to Eowyn, her eyes alight with disbelief and curiosity. Those had not been the words she'd expected at all. No trace of judgment was found in Eowyn's face. Instead, the woman held a look of almost jealous awe as she looked at the sheath that tapped against Lúthien's thigh. It appeared that all hostility previously held by the woman was gone. Lúthien briefly wondered what might have cause this.

"It was my father's before he passed. He began my teachings in it." Lúthien offered.

"My brother spoke of your loss. I am sorry. It is not easy to lose a parent, let alone both in one night." Eowyn's words were spoken kindly and honestly. Lúthien recalled that Eowyn had lost her parents as well, both in the same year.

"I cannot deny that I envy your position." The lady's words shocked Lúthien before she remembered that she did not know the truth of Lúthien's life. Quickly, Eowyn continued on, "No female duty is expected of you. Openly you carry your sword, while I must keep mine hidden amongst my pack on the horse." Eowyn spoke these last words in a smiling whispered confidence, as if the two women were old friends. Lúthien smiled at her words, but only for a moment as Eowyn continued, her voice full of frustration.

"I feel as if I were a bird, locked inside a gilded cage. Why must the men be allowed to go to battle and gain the glory? Why must we women sit behind and mend the washing and care for the children and animals?"

Lúthien looked down at the reigns in her hands. Though she'd never been in a full scale battle, her recent memory of fighting the Uruk-Hai came to the surface. There was no evidence of the glory that Eowyn spoke of, only death and pain. Lúthien chose to keep silent on this subject, instead addressing the other Eowyn had spoken of.

"I must confess, Lady Eowyn," she turned to look down at the blonde woman. "I would trade my life for yours in a heartbeat. Though you may feel as if fate keeps you locked in a cage, you must realize that you are greatly blessed. Blessed beyond anything I and many others will ever know." Eowyn cocked her head slightly to the side at the words. "You lost both parents as I did, and you have my sincerest sympathies, yet you still have your brother and uncle." Lúthien looked ahead to where the two men rode in the distance. "Both of whom love you greatly." She returned her eyes to Eowyn. "I pray that you will never face the day when you are forced to measure how much you had in life by how much you have lost."

Lúthien offered Eowyn a sad eye. "What is more, I beg that you do not envy that which you do not know fully. For in doing so, you might find your wish in truth is a nightmare." With a formal nod of her head, Lúthien knocked at the sides of her horse, spurring it ahead to a position beside Gimli's seat. Eowyn remained behind, a confused yet contemplative look on her face.

As Luthien pulled up beside Gimli, the dwarf turned in his seat to welcome her, proudly handing her the metal compact that held two photos. "My parents," Gimli pointed out with a grin.

"They must be proud of you." She returned the photographs. As she did, she caught a twinkle and a smile in Legolas' look. "What?" She asked warily.

Legolas smiled brightly as if he had been waiting for someone to ask that question. "I believe I recall a time when a photo such at those was shown to me." The elf looked at Gimli. "I mistook the picture of the dwarf's wife as his brother."

Gimli hacked out an unamused laugh. "Purposely mistook. I am well familiar with the story you speak of." Rolling his eyes, he turned to Lúthien to explain. "Legolas came upon my father in Mirkwood Forest many years ago. Upon accosting him," Gimli gave Legolas a harsh but not serious look, "and taking the locket of pictures my father carried, Legolas then insulted my mother, asking if she were his brother." A light laugh came from Legolas at the memory. Lúthien barely held back her own.

"Yes, well that is all well and dandy, but when he looked at the picture my father carried of me as a wee lad! That is something my father never forgot. 'Who is this creature?' Legolas had asked, 'A goblin mutant?'" Gimli's laughing words turned into a covering cough as he realized the words he had just spoken. Legolas looked to Lúthien with a plain expression, waiting to see her response.

Lúthien let the laugh bubbling in her chest escape, surprising Gimli and bringing a satisfied smile to Legolas' face. "Never before have I been compared to a dwarf-son! I take that as a high compliment, Lord Legolas." Gimli let out a bark of proud laughter as he grinned at Lúthien's response.

The attention of the three was diverted to a ruckus forming at the head of the convoy. Each spurring their horses forward, they moved ahead to see what the cause of the commotion was.

Warg riders.

The words had adrenaline pulsing through Lúthien's veins with haste as she reigned in her mount. Warg riders posed a deadly threat to the innocents steadily trailing up behind them. She turned her horse around to look at the citizens making their way up the hillside. The faces of those closest were contorting into fear as their ears caught wind of the incoming danger.

Her eyes followed Eowyn as the woman rushed forward to the men, her blonde hair flowing behind her in the breeze. "I can fight!" She called to her uncle on her approach.

"No!" Théoden ordered in a booming voice. His face softened as he directly addressed his niece. "You must do this. For me." Théoden glanced briefly at Lúthien who steadied her horse nearby, offering an understanding nod before turning to rejoin the others.

Lúthien allowed her horse to come closer to Eowyn who stood still, her hands clenched at her sides. She could sympathize with the lady. She too itched to join the men, but wisely understood the situation. It would do nobody good to have a woman fighting at their side in a time such as this.

Turning in her mount, she called to garner Eowyn's attention. "Do not think lightly of staying behind, my lady. You should know that there is purpose beyond keeping you safe; beyond you being simply one of the women." Lúthien blunted her next words, as she knew Eowyn would prefer the harsh truth to any sugared words, "Should they fall, you are the last of your line."

Eowyn stood there a moment longer, her pale gaze following the riders as their forms grew small in the distance. Lúthien's gaze joined Eowyn's, her eyes instantly catching sight of the signature white horse tail marking the helmet of the Marshal of the Mark. Eowyn's action distracted her as she turned back to her people. Pulling the hair falling in her face back, she gave Lúthien a small nod of thanks before moving into action.

The trail of people moved swiftly, following the orders of Eowyn readily. At one point in their hurried travels, as Lúthien led her horse by the reigns, choosing to walk beside for a while, the sight of a young girl pointing curiously at her and mumbling something in Rohirric caught her attention. The attention had her reflexively pulling her hood further down, but her hands paused as the child's mother scolded her for pointing and commenting.

Lúthien found herself turning towards the woman, speaking in Rohirric, "Please, do not scold the child. She meant no harm in her curiosity." Noticing the slight fear on the child's face, Lúthien stepped forward and knelt down on her toes before her, meeting the child's eye level.

Hesitantly, the child spoke in a quiet voice. "Is it true? Were you born this way as punishment for something your ancestors did?"

The question surprised Lúthien, though she found no offense with the child's words. It was evident that the rumors of her life had begun to find its way amongst the people even in these uncertain times.

Lúthien shook her head no as she thought about her response. "This is a reminder of what my ancestors endured so that I might live. A reminder of the strength my mother and her mother before her had." Lúthien held out her arm, her fingers tracing the blue veins of her forearm. "Strength that now flows through my own veins."

Lúthien watched as the young girl lifted her own arm, her small fingers tracing a long scar that ran the length of her own forearm. Carefully, she took the girl's arm in her hands, softly running her fingertips over the white mark. Lúthien smiled at the girl. "Do not be ashamed of this, little one. It is a mark showing great strength. It shows that you have been challenged and survived." The little girl's face brightened at once with Lúthien's words, a proud look lifting her chin.

"Wise words to live by." The words brought Lúthien quickly to her feet, turning to see the speaker. Eowyn stood there, offering her own smile for the little girl before looking back up at Lúthien. "Ones, perhaps, to be lived by yourself?" They were words said in kindness and encouragement, but they did nothing to dampen the belief Lúthien held about them for herself.

She straightened her spine, keeping the stone look now set on her face from the view of the child. Stepping forward to pass Eowyn, Lúthien paused only a moment to reply, "I once tried to live by those words, my lady. The world forced me to do otherwise." Her words were quiet to ensure the child did not hear, but the truth of them reached Eowyn's ears.

*****

It was not long later that the company in whole reached Helm's Deep, the men who left to fight the warg riders returning soon after.

Lúthien was sat at one of the tables in the main hall, the corner wall to her back in order that no one might approach her unawares. It was here that she watched as the men returning entered the hall. Her eyes scanned them as they walked through the large wooden doors propped open.

First to enter, as head of the company, was Théoden King. Instantly, Lúthien sat up, leaning forward, as she recognized the look on his face. She had seen it too many times in her life; experienced it herself too many times. Her posture straightened with tension. Someone had not returned with the company. The dreaded question was: who had fallen?

Her eyes flicked to the next man to enter, her shoulders lessening in tension as she identified Éomer. Why the news of his survival would cause any amount of relief she was unsure. No doubt, it was simply due to the simple and kind gestures he had shown recently: ensuring she was fed while locked away, speaking to her while traveling; remaining silent when Gandalf fed only half-truths to his uncle. This last measure of kindness still left Lúthien perplexed, the question of 'why' frequently rising to the forefront of her mind.

Ignoring the strange feeling of relief, Lúthien watched, dread settling in her stomach, as Théoden approached Eowyn, a sorrowful look marring his features. Lúthien's breath caught in her throat. Surely she was misreading the situation. Surely, fate would not be so unkind; not again in so short a period of time.

A fresh wave of familiar pain and despondency crashed over Lúthien as she watched Théoden grasp Eowyn's hands in comfort and reveal the news of Aragorn's having fallen. How did Fate expect any to endure so much loss in one lifetime?

With wide eyes, Lúthien sought out Legolas and Gimli, begging for them to reassure her that Théoden was in fact mistaken with all her being; that Aragorn was directly behind them, about to enter the hall at any moment.

Instead, she was met with more sorrowful looks as the elf and dwarf made their way to her table. Lúthien stood at their approach, tugging at the leather jerkin laced up her chest as she cleared her throat in an effort to appear stronger than she felt.

"I—" Gimli began only to find himself at a loss for words as he himself fought against a tide of emotions. Lúthien stepped towards the dwarf, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder as she looked to Legolas. "There are no words sufficient enough to offer, but I am sorry for the loss of your friend."

Legolas looked at her with glistening eyes. "And yours as well."

Lúthien dipped her head as she attempted to fight back the threat of tears. For Legolas had spoken the truth. She had not known the ranger long, but she had counted him as a friend nonetheless. Neither did their short acquaintance lessen the pain of his loss. Too much death was known in these dark days. Death it seemed, came too quickly to those few she called friend.

"I am sorry, milady," Gimli croaked out, laying a comforting hand over her own on his shoulder. Squeezing his shoulder and offering a forced saddened smile, her eyes caught sight of Eowyn, the blonde woman's cheeks sporting trails of fresh tears as she sought comfort from her brother. As if feeling her gaze upon them, Éomer turned his attention to Lúthien, their eyes meeting in the same moment.

Lúthien did not fight the compassionate look he offered her. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to find comfort in his softened look. As with all things in Lúthien's life, it did not last. Théoden calling Éomer's attention away brought reality back in to focus in an instant.

Swallowing down her emotions she offered her two friends a commiserating smile before straightening her posture. It was time to move on. The evil dwelling in the world would not allow them the luxury of lingering in grief.

"What steps are to be taken next?"

Chapter Text

Súlìmë 3019, Third Age
(March)

Low conversations filled the main hall of the Hornburg. The day was growing late, and while others performed their required duties, Lúthien found herself sat off to the side of the main hall, using the free time she had to clean and sharpen her father's blade.

Ignoring the multitude of separate conversations filling the air, she was lost in her own little world as she ran a whetstone along the edge of the blade draped across her lap. Occasionally, the King's voice would reach the farthest walls of the large room as he debated tactics with those in higher command of Rohan's army, but conversations were predominately spoken in hushed tones and easily ignored by her.

During one of the lulls in conversation, Lúthien looked up to find Éomer approaching. The man took a seat on the wooden bench near enough her to hold a conversation, but far enough away to not risk knocking the long blade she worked on.

"I had wondered if Aragorn's words regarding you defeating Uruk-Hai before our meeting were true. As I can now see that you seem to be well educated in the care and upkeep of your sword, I am less inclined to find fault in his words."

Lúthien kept her attention focused on the smooth movements of her actions as she responded. "My lessons with a sword began at a young age. I have been working to further my education and skill in it ever since."

"May I?" Éomer asked, motioning to the sword with open hands.

Obliging his request, Lúthien gracefully lifted the sword, effortlessly flipping it around in order to present it to him hilt first. Delicately and with honed skill, Éomer took up the sword, rising to his feet in order to put the sword through several quick maneuvers. He appeared quite satisfied with the blade as he resumed his seat, his thumb gently flicking across the edge of the blade to gauge its sharpness.

"Impressive," he responded, returning the blade to its owner. "Was your father the one to teach you how to care for the weapon?"

"My father taught me the beginnings of sword fighting," she offered with a small shake of her head. "But it was Boromir, son of Denethor, who taught me how to care for the weapon and continued my education." Her smile faded with Boromir's name.

Éomer watched Lúthien with a keen eye. "I am sorry for your loss. I had heard great things in regard to the Steward's son."

Lúthien readily agreed. "He was a great man of strength and valor." She scrunched her nose up in memory. "Perhaps a bit reckless at times, but it was well meant." She smiled softly as she met Éomer's gaze. "He was a kind and beneficial teacher. While most would not even deign to consider teaching a girl the way of the sword, Boromir seemed to find great joy in sharing his knowledge with me."

The woman grimaced at a now fond memory, an amused happiness shining in her eyes. "Many were the nights when I laid down to sleep with bruises and sore muscles. Yet, I would not trade a moment of those days for anything in this world. The days of laughter and lessons spent with Boromir are among some of my favorite memories." She sighed as she leaned back against the table behind her. "It was indeed a dark day when he fell." Lúthien's gaze dropped to her the blade in her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the pommel.

Smiling through the resurfacing pain, she returned her eyes to Éomer, her mind turning to a happier topic. "He was a great man, as is his brother Faramir." Her smile widened as more memories of the younger brother came to the forefront of her mind. "He was the one who taught me the lore of Middle Earth and advanced my language in writing and reading. We would get lost in book after book that he would secretly steal away from his father's library for me." Something about their quiet and relaxed gathering loosened her memories and lips, causing Lúthien to share more than she perhaps would have another time.

"One evening, Faramir shared a silly children's story he had loved as a young child. We took turns in the dialogue of the characters, each using silly voices for each. By the end of it, we were laughing so hard that the book almost fell into the fire we were sat near." Her eyes shone with mirth as she recalled the memory. "Gandalf quickly decreed that we should only read while the sun allowed it." Lúthien smiled broadly at the memory as she looked at Éomer. His own lips were lifted in a small smile, but his brows had begun to furrow at the sharing of her story.

Not understanding what she had said wrong, Lúthien sat up, returning the whetstone to the blade's edge, her mood returning to its mature and serious tone. "Faramir is often mistaken as inferior to his elder brother, but I cannot find that to be true. They are both strong and admirable men in their own way." Lúthien's motions paused as she thought on the two brothers. "Faramir is perhaps less eager than Boromir was, but he is no lesser a man for it. He is a wise and brave soldier." Lúthien accompanied her words with a definitive nod as she looked at Éomer.

The look on his face, she found, was not one she could quite discern. He seemed almost displeased with her sharing her memories with him. Suddenly feeling ashamed and embarrassed that she perhaps had overstepped any bounds of propriety, she returned to her blade once more, offering a quiet apology. "I did not mean to overstep, Lord Éomer. I should not have rambled on so."

The whetstone let out a soft grinding sound with each stroke of her arm.

"You have quite a strong opinion for the brothers of Gondor." Éomer's words confounded Lúthien as she looked up at him.

"Of course I do. Aside from Gandalf, Boromir and Faramir are the ones I have known longest in my life; since the age of ten when they discovered me hiding in the forest outside the walls of the Pelennor Fields." Lúthien lowered her voice, her eyes quickly cast around the room before leaning slightly closer to Éomer in order that he might still hear her words. "They were the first strangers I had ever met that did not instantly deem me a monster or worthy of the death so many wished upon me after discovering my true name. In fact, they were of the opposite opinion, and immediately swore to protect me. For years they remained close and proved their greatness time and time again. So, yes, of course I hold strong and high opinions of them. It is rightly deserved. The brothers of Gondor mean more to me than any other I have met in my travels, aside from Gandalf."

Lúthien's eyes met Éomer's. She suddenly became aware of the fact that Éomer had leaned forward to hear better as well, bringing him significantly closer to her. He was leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his brows darkly furrowed. "You find it easy to transfer your affections so easily from one brother to the next?"

Lúthien could not stop the shocked expression from taking over her face. "Affect—" A rather loud laugh escaped her lips. Quickly, she clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes offering an apology to those whose attention she had garnered with her disruptive outburst.

Taking a breath, she lowered her hand, still fighting against a smile. 'I assure you, Lord Éomer, I was very close with Boromir, and am very close with Faramir." She found amusement in his unreasonable darkening of spirit at her words. Not wishing to prolong whatever torture she had unknowingly cast upon him—over what she was not certain—any longer, she continued, "As close as you are with Eowyn. Long ago, almost from that first night of our meeting, we claimed each other as family. They are as close to me a brother as if they were born so." Her smile faded softly at the mention of her fallen brother.

Éomer's face softened, the crease between his brows lessening as he adjusted in his seat. "My apologies for the misconception." Silence hung for a moment before he spoke again with a quiet sincerity. "I truly am sorry for your loss." His eyes drifted to the doors leading outside to where Eowyn was assisting her people. "I pray that I will never know that pain." He turned back to Lúthien.

"And I would not wish that pain on anyone." A long moment of content silence passed between them; their gazes holding. It was broken in the next instant as great commotion amongst the people outside the hall reached their ears.

Before any could fully react, the doors were pushed opened wide, drawing the attention of everyone gathered. Éomer stood slightly in front of her, immediately at the ready, his hand reflexively reaching to his sidearm. Lúthien followed suit, firmly gripping the hilt of the blade that had rested across her lap. But as all eyes registered who had entered, shock and amazement washed over the room.

Lúthien stared in disbelief. No. It could not be. Her heart pounded in her chest as her sword arm fell limply at her side. Surely her eyes were deceiving her. Yet, all others in the room acknowledged the new presence as well. Perhaps, just maybe—she blinked her eyes. She had witnessed Gandalf return from the grave. Should it not be possible for Aragorn himself to make a triumphant return?

As Lúthien watched Aragorn approach the king, she remained frozen in amazement, her eyes trailing his steps. Only the feeling of someone lightly touching her arm brought her mind back from its frozen daze. Looking, she found it to be Éomer with an offering of a smile. A happy smile, for Aragorn had returned from the dead. "Another brother returned to you?" Éomer asked, a slight hesitance audible in his voice.

"Not a brother,' she said with a grin. "But a good friend."

*****

Lúthien walked along the parapets of the Hornburg and breathed the fresh air while she still could. The air grew heavier with each hour that passed, the sense of the enemy's presence rising like a tide on the ocean. They were close, very close. War was coming. It was inevitable. And so, Lúthien had chosen to breathe in the last few remnants of crisp night air.

The hood of her freshly laundered cloak hid her face as she passed by soldiers and citizens alike. Not having experienced a proper bath in some time, she had admittedly taken her time to enjoy the clean water the maids had offered on behalf of Théoden King.

Now, as the clouds began to gather in the early night sky, she casually walked, ignoring the fleeting glances of those who passed. It was not long before it occurred to Lúthien that many of those passing paid her no heed at all. Clearly, the threat and fear of war almost upon their doorstep had pushed any rumor of her to the back of their minds. War now sat heavily upon their shoulders.

Despite all that she had suffered at the hands of man, Lúthien could not help but wish there were more she could do for them. Aragorn's surprising yet more welcome arrival at Helm's Deep earlier that day had been miraculous and met with relief and hearty rejoicing. The merriment however, was short lived as the news of the approaching Uruk-Hai army cast shadows of doubt upon the survival of the defenders.

Making her way down a path along the wall, Lúthien's eyes caught the movement of a dark mass making its way up the ramp to the Deep. Fear seized at her heart. Had the enemy arrived unseen to the doorstep of the Deeping wall? Fervently, she raced through the streets, quickly and silently making her way to where the others were gathered in the main hall. Only the sound of crisp clear horns unrecognizable to her and the awe in the faces of some she passed began to ease the fear in her chest. The horn call had not been crude enough for an orc army, but she was sure it was no horn of Rohan.

Arriving at the main hall in search of answers, Lúthien moved among the shadows, keeping her distance but staying close enough to hear the conversations. The widening of her eyes could not be stopped as she realized the host that had arrived were, in fact, a company elves clad in beautiful golden armor.

Beyond that, their leader, whom Aragorn identified as Haldir in his greeting just then, stood just paces away from her as he began to discuss tactics with the others gathered. A small bud of hope bloomed in Lúthien's chest as she took in the sight. The elves had arrived to aid Rohan against the enemy army that marched against them. With them had brought a greater chance for everyone's survival.

Hidden in the shadows of the hall, her hood tucked low over her head, Lúthien took a moment to observe the newcomer. The elf was tall and broad-shouldered, no doubt a fierce and skilled warrior. He exuded an air of grandeur and elegance. In total combination, the elven lord was intimidating to say the least. His movements were graceful and fluid, as if each one were a well practiced performance. Lúthien guessed that was to be expected of one who had lived for centuries.

Making to move to another area of shadow for a better look, Aragorn's voice had her halting mid-step. Lúthien turned abruptly at his calling, shock evident in her features as she found herself suddenly summoned to join their conversation.

Hesitantly, she stepped forward into the light of the candles, Aragorn's arm motioning her forward. "My friend, this is Aedre, friend to Mithrandir, a daughter of Rohan, the one of whom I have spoken of before," Aragorn introduced the two with a smile.

The tall and regal elf elegantly offered a greeting to her, his form bowing slightly in respect. "Lady Aedre, I have heard much about you already." Haldir's voice was warm and welcoming, but Lúthien did not miss the emphasis he had placed on her false name nor the knowing look he gave her as he said it. She wondered if it were possible that Aragorn had already told him of her true name. Or had the tales of her cursed ancestry made its way even to the realm of the elves? The lingering look in his eyes made it clear that he knew more than he said.

"My lord," was all Lúthien could offer. Everything about Haldir spoke of elegance and grace. His presence made her feel an awed fear. Would his knowledge of who she was bring forth condemnation again? Would Haldir be the bringer of her death?

As she contemplated these questions, the towering elf stepped closer, gazing deeply into her eyes as if he were reading her very soul. Though she wished to remove herself from his penetrating eyes, she found that she could not.

Instead, she watched as puzzlement, curious interest, and eventually amazement crossed his face. Quickly turning to Aragorn he spoke, "I believe it to be just as you have said." He turned back to Lúthien yet still spoke with Aragorn. "But how can that be? Never has this occurred before in my lifetime. Never have I read or heard stories of such a thing transpiring."

Lúthien frowned at the two of them. To what did the elf refer? She was about to ask when Haldir took her hand gently in his and lowered his head in respect. "It is truly an honor to have met you."

Lúthien looked at Aragorn as Haldir released her hand and stepped back. "What is going on, Aragorn? What has been discussed? What has occurred?" Lúthien fought against the fear threatening to rise. She would not allow it power until she gained answers.

Aragorn lifted a hand to stem her tide of questions as he turned to speak with Haldir. Yet, Lúthien apparently was not allowed to be privy to their short conversation as both spoke in the Elven language of Haldir's people. The two shared several comments back and forth, their expressions giving nothing away as to the subject.

At last the two turned back to Lúthien, reverting back to the common language. "Many months ago, Gandalf shared with us his search for answers. Answers that he himself could not be sure of the questions to. Answers in regards to you, Aedre, and your ancestors." Aragorn looked at Haldir for a moment. "I had shared your story with Haldir, in hopes that he might know of anything; in the very least that he might set Gandalf on the correct path to find that which he seeks."

Lúthien's mind raced, torn between two rising emotions: confusion and anger. She almost opened her mouth to demand what right Aragorn believed he had to share the truth of her birthright with the elves. He was aware what such knowledge could bring down upon her. But the anger quickly faded, logic answering that Aragorn had meant no harm to her and that she could trust him. Confusion next burst forth, drowning out everything else. The questions that Gandalf sought; questions she had searched for years to find. Details regarding her birth. Could that be to what Haldir and Aragorn spoke of? But what had Haldir seen in her eyes that had never before happened? Did they speak of the light of Lúthien that Legolas had?

"I do not have the answers for which you seek," Haldir apologized, "But I can assure Mithrandir that he is on the correct path."

"What path is that?" Lúthien almost begged.

The two exchanged knowing glances. "We cannot say for certain. But know that Fate it seems has given you a great destiny, milady." Haldir offered up vaguely.

Before Lúthien could press them further, anger again starting to rise at their vagueness regarding her own self, Gamling approached, requesting Haldir and Aragorn's presence on behalf of the king. With a quick nod from each, the two departed, leaving Lúthien standing by herself in the main hall.

Quickly realizing her exposed position, she scanned the room as she made her way out of the line of sight of all and over to a set of chairs leaned against the far wall. Her mind buzzed in confusion and, dare she admit, hope.

Her thoughts replayed the conversation shared with Legolas and Aragorn on the road to Isengard regarding the light in the grey of her eye. Could their words be true? Could she somehow have been graced with elven starlight? Was it possible that she might have elven blood flowing through her as well as the black blood? This thought brought her train of thought to an abrupt halt. Those thoughts were beyond the realm of foolish thinking. There was, without a doubt, no elven blood in her veins. She already considered herself an abomination; undoubtedly, nature would never allow anything more abominable than that to walk this earth. And a human with goblin and elvish blood would be exactly that.

As her eyes scanned the room, taking in the presence of all those gathered, her mind was distracted by a new observance. She had stood among them, almost center to the room, exposed to all gathered. Yet, even now, lost in her own world, no eyes were turned to her, let alone in disgust or loathing.

While stood among Aragorn and his companions—even with the elf who knew the truth of herself, she had been treated fairly, as if an equal. It was an astounding revelation.

Unsure of her conclusions, Lúthien stood and made her way to the large wooden doors leading outside. Covertly, she observed those she passed, not once feeling the need to touch the hood on her head to draw her features into shadow. And while a few she passed glanced her direction, some nodding in acknowledgment, not once was she given a look marked with negativity.

An astounding revelation, indeed.

Chapter Text

In the dark of the night, the siege began. The ground thundered under feet, the rumbling echoing along the cavernous walls where all the women and children had been evacuated to. For what felt like an eternity, everyone waited with baited breath. A baby would cry, the mother quietly shushing it. There was no sound of children playing, no laughter or loud talk. Only hushed and frightened whispers were audible. There were no fathers or husbands to comfort their children or wives. The youngest to the oldest had been called upon to fight. But not Lúthien.

Instead, she had stayed behind in the caves. While Eowyn became the leader of her people, acting in place of Théoden and Éomer, Lúthien wandered aimlessly, trying to find any way to be useful. It was not something that she wished to do. Desperately, Lúthien had desired to join the men and elves, fighting against the enemy. But she knew her strengths and weaknesses. She knew from experience that while she may be of help against a small band of Uruk-Hai running through the woods, she would be no use in the battle that raged beyond the walls of the deep. That logic however, did nothing to ease the frustration of feeling useless.

As the wounded began to trickle into the first smaller rooms of the caves closest to the entry, Lúthien put to use what little skills she had acquired during her lifetime to help assist the apothecary and healers. Finding a use for herself, she did what she could to offer comfort to the wounded. She wasn't much use, however, beyond sewing and wrapping a few of the lesser wounds and offering encouraging words where they might be needed. After a while, most of the wounds grew beyond her abilities, making her useful for only offering comfort when none was of use.

The steady and ever growing flow of beaten and bloodied soldiers weighed heavily on those huddled in the caves. They weighed heavily on Lúthien. The sight of so many injured so early in the battle did not bode well for the people of Rohan.

When the men beyond saving began to arrive, Lúthien felt the full weight of the battle settle in her chest. Amongst the groaning and cries of the men soon to be collected by Death, Lúthien had to remind herself that the men still fighting stood a chance. No army before had breached the walls of the Deep. They were safe so long as the wall held. The battle would not last forever.

At some point during the night, a large rumbling thunder unlike any she had heard before was felt by all gathered. The fear and panic that ran through the crowds of women and children like a crashing wave was palpable. Currently unoccupied, Lúthien rose to her feet instantly, her body moving in the direction of the entrance to the caves.

As she came upon the tunnel that lead to the doors, she was met with the sound of clashing weapons and shouts. Her eyes were met with the sight of a small battle as men fought to keep the enemy at bay. The grotesque and filthy bodies of Uruk-Hai were fighting desperately to gain entry to the caves behind her. Their shrieks and growls bounced off the stone walls, amplifying the chaos they brought with them. Though she had faced down Uruk-Hai in the forest, the swarm of them the men now faced seemed to be more terrifying. They came at the soldiers without fail, without end. No matter how many dropped by a soldier's sword, another immediately replaced it.

The sight of one of the older men clutching at the spear that pierced his chest caused a resolute determination to swiftly fill Lúthien's chest. Without hesitation, she ran down the remaining length of the tunnel, quickly drawing her sword as she slipped in amongst the men fighting. Though she was tall and strong for a woman, she was still small enough compared to the enemy to slip in amongst them unseen. Doing so allowed her the ability to attack the enemy from another angle in surprise.

Well aware that her skills and strength were no match for the Uruk-Hai army as a whole and would no doubt result in her quick death, Lúthien made sure to keep close to the men and on the inside of the large doors, only facing the small number of Uruks that had managed to slip past that far. Lúthien was more than happy to leave the 'glory' to be found outside to the men.

Easily, at first, Lúthien felled several orc by surprise, her sword cleaving almost straight through the enemy's armor. The feeling of her blade slicing through the monster's skin was nothing compared to man's flesh. Unlike the skin of a man, cutting through an Uruk's felt like trying to cut through a thin yet stiff leather. Though still easily done, it gave more resistance than a human's. Using the size of her person as an advantage was short lived. The enemy was quick to grow wise to her presence, more of them dangerously turning their attention—and weapons to her.

At first, it seemed the men she fought beside mistook her as a young lad, her trousers and cloak misguiding. This thought dissipated as some of the men moved position to fight alongside her. Any worry she had of being reprimanded and immediately sent back up with the other women did not last long. It seemed the men, though hesitant of her being a woman, had witnessed her capabilities and soon welcomed her by their side. There were a few times she received a scolding look or a soldier came to aid when it wasn't wholly necessary, but for the moment, they had allowed her to stay and fight.

As the small battle to defend the doors raged on, Lúthien fought and defeated another two Uruks, the opportunity to fell more seeming to never end. Energy began to lag as the enemy persisted, her limbs beginning to scream in fatigue, the stores of adrenaline beginning to dry up. Several lines of red ran across her arms, where the enemy blade had gained enough of an advantage to slice across her skin. Her shoulder ached, no doubt already coloring, from a blow at the hand of a smaller Uruk-Hai that had surprised her from behind. Finding herself shoved to the ground, out of reflex her body had rolled itself to face the oncoming attack. Such a reflex had saved her life.

With a grunt, her sword clashed against the Uruk's black blade as it swung down in an intended death blow. Her arms strained as she pushed against the blade, a snarled groan coming from her lips. Her arms shook as they strained to prevent the enemy's blade from driving closer to her body. In that moment, as her strength began to fail, Lúthien believed that perhaps this would be where Death finally came to collect her; that the Uruk might just succeed in pushing his blade through to it's target; but the pressure of his weight suddenly ceased as a blade swung, clearing the head from its body.

With the sudden absence of the weight of sure death, Lúthien's arms collapsed to her sides, her chest heaving as a tear spilled from the corner of her eye and trailed down to her ear. Knowing she was in a precarious and dangerous position should she remain there much longer, Lúthien accepted the offered hand of a man, his strong arm pulling her quickly to her feet.

With a gasp, she found herself face to face with Éomer. His face was one of surprise before it contorted into a mixture of anger and fear. Whatever words he had opened his mouth to say were forestalled when another Uruk's blade swung at the two of them. Pushing her away from the glistening blade, Éomer raised his own to meet it in the air. Lúthien wasted no time in swinging her own sword at the side of an enemy currently engaged in a battle of strength with another soldier nearby, leaving Éomer to his own battle. The man only paid her a quick nod of thanks before moving on as well.

Understanding that her condition was well on it's way to making her less a help and more a liability to the men around her, Lúthien focused on making her way back down the tunnel for a moment of respite. She most certainly was not a war hardened man, and she would not bring death upon them with her stubbornness.

At one point, in her retreat, as she paused to stab the short blade at her side into the neck of an Uruk-Hai winning a battle of two against one man, the shaft of an arrow sliced across her upper arm, causing a cry of anguish to escape her parched lips. The pain burned as a deep gouge in her skin allowed blood to begin to flow down her arm.

Lúthien knew she was becoming more of a hindrance than a help. Her right shoulder ached as if she had been thrown repeatedly from her horse. Or smashed into by the full weight of an enemy Uruk-Hai. The pain was enough that lifting her blade now required great effort. Her other arm was now on the verge of being useless as blood freely trailed down it, its tendrils beginning to slicken her fingers in a coat of crimson blood.

Finding her way back to the entrance of the caves, Lúthien allowed herself to slip beyond the few older men stationed there to pick off any stragglers. Ensuring she had traveled far enough into the caves to avoid the clash of men and Uruk, Lúthien leaned back against the wall, her chest heaving as her lungs worked to refill with breath. Fighting in war was definitely a job best left to the men.

But even with that thought, Lúthien felt an almost satisfaction sweep through her. Even the few Uruk-Hai she had taken down perhaps had saved the life of one of the young boys fighting for the endurance of the race of men.

The sight of one of the women healers rushing to her brought her eyes into focus. The woman began to fret over the state of Lúthien's arm, to which Lúthien reassured her it was nothing more than a scratch. She politely declined the woman's kind offer to help her farther into the caves to a more comfortable place of rest. Instead, remaining where she was, she listened intently as the battle raged on just a short distance away. The sounds of flesh tearing, metal clashing against metal, and the shrieks of orcs mixing with the cries of men would surely haunt her dreams for quite some time.

Presently, shouts began to echo off the walls closer to her, the sound of many boots thundering down the halls. Lúthien carefully lifted herself from her half-collapsed position, her hand moving to rest on the handle of her sword, ready to draw it should the need arise. After a breath's moment, a small contingent of tired men and a dwarf appeared at the opening to the small cave Lúthien was positioned in.

Seeing her friend, Lúthien made her way to Gimli, noticing right away the blood that trickled from his forehead. "We've held them back for now," the dwarf explained as his steps slowed in their approach. "But I doubt they will give us much of a respite. They're persistent rotting beasts, I have to give them that."

"Come with me, Gimli," Lúthien ordered, holding a hand out to direct him. "I will see to your head, my friend." She lead the dwarf to an area the nearby healers were at, acquiring a rolled bandage and a small bowl of water with a cloth as he grumbled on about someone finally speaking in Westron rather than the unintelligible Rohirric. Amused at his words, Lúthien worked at cleaning the blood from her hands before attending the wound on Gimli's head.

"Oh it's not so bad as that," Gimli fretted as Lúthien began to apply the bandage. "Let me back out there."

"Shush," Lúthien scolded, swatting at the hand that tried to push hers back. "Hold still, Master Gimli. Pressure needs to be applied or the bleeding will never stop."

"Eh," he grunted, "a little blood never stopped a dwarf before!"

"Maybe so, but this wound is directly above your eye. How do you expect to see to fight the enemy when you have blood trailing into your eyes, blinding you to their blades?"

Gimli paused in his protests at her words before stilling, his hands moving to rest in his lap. "Aye, lass. Do it up quick. I cannot allow the elf to beat my count. I'd never hear the end of it."

Lúthien's lips quirked up in a small smile as she began to wrap the bandage securely in place. "What does the count stand at, currently?"

Gimli's eyes twinkled with mirth. "I stand forty-two to his forty-one."

Lúthien laughed lightly at this. "I wish you both the best of luck," she said, her fingers nimbly tucking the end of the bandage securely in place. She stepped back, about to dismiss Gimli on his way with luck, when a hand gripped her shoulder, spinning her around abruptly to face the owner.

Éomer stood there, his face most unhappy. "Are you mad?" He growled out in Rohirric. Lúthien motioned to Gimli behind her, confused. "I was only cleaning and bandaging—" Her words were quickly cut off.

"What were you thinking, leaving the caves to slip into battle? You saw what it was like out there! It is no place for a woman! You could have been killed!" Éomer's eyes flashed with fury, his thunderous voice echoing off the walls for all to hear. Any embarrassment at the situation of being publicly scolded by the king's nephew quickly vanished with her own rising irritation. Forgoing any response, she turned her back on him to check on the placement of Gimli's bandage, though she knew it was fine.

Éomer's anger was evident in his words, though he did not shout when he addressed her again. "You could have been hurt, or worse, killed. Do you hold no sanctity—no value—for your own life?"

Lúthien lowered her eyes to her hands now fidgeting with nothing at her waist as her vexation grew. She was not under his command. He had no right to scold her for her actions. "I will not beg your forgiveness, Lord Éomer. I did only what I thought to be right. I heard the battle turning against your men." She spun around to face him now, her own fury beginning to burn in her eyes. "I could not stand idly by and watch your warriors fall when I possessed skills enough to offer them aide." Her voice trembled only slightly as she hesitated a moment before continuing. "I do not hold my life's worth above their own." Turning back around, she offered Gimli a kind smile, silently apologizing for any awkwardness she was sure they had caused him.

"You were ordered by the king to remain in the caves." Moving to tidy up from treating Gimli's wound, Éomer's words brought her spinning around, a proud look on her face.

"If you remember, Lord Éomer, though I was born of Rohan, Théoden denounced himself with written edict as my king many years ago. Though he may have extended an apology and welcomed me into his court in the weeks past, my homeland was not restored. There is no land that I call home. Therefore, I am under no obligation to obey your king's orders." Angry tears began to pool in her eyes as her words forced into light the reality of her situation. Though she had found herself recently surrounded by people who welcomed and accepted her, still she had no place to call home; no place she truly belonged.

Lúthien nodded her head at the Marshal and made to move past him. As she did, his gentle grasp on her arm to halt her retreat left her wincing, a breathless gasp escaping her lips as his fingers wrapped around her wounded arm. Éomer's demeanor changed almost instantaneously, only concern marring his brow as a gentleness worked its way into his lowered voice. "You are wounded." It was not a question.

"It is nothing," Lúthien tried again, making to step past him. Her steps were held back however as Éomer's grip remained, gentle but halting. Deftly, his fingers grasped at the reddened tear in her sleeve, ripping it further to reveal the deep gouge in her skin. His hands held onto her arm with a gentleness she would not have guessed he possessed, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. "You need to have this tended to."

Lúthien lifted her eyes to meet his, suddenly becoming aware at how close they stood. His gentle touch began to burn against her skin, yet she found it as a comfort. His eyes held hers as his thumb gently rubbed back and forth against the unmarred skin of her arm where he held her. For a moment, she felt as if, once more, a spell had been cast, his gaze holding hers in place. Her breath stalled for only a second at his touch and the look in his eyes before his eyes released hers, moving to travel the length of her scars.

Quickly realizing that her hood had fallen from its place, Lúthien grasped at it with her free hand, lifting it back onto her head, her scars once more concealed, her face turned away to the ground. "I had every intention of tending to it when I was finished seeing to Gimli." She looked down at her arm to inspect it. Thankfully, it was not as bad as she had thought it originally to be. "The healers are busy with those facing worse wounds than a simple scratch."

She looked back up, her eyes once again meeting his, her look challenging him to deny her words. Éomer nodded softly, having no words to argue. As if suddenly realizing the position they were in, he released her arm and stepped back. Clearing his throat, he adjusted and squared his shoulders. "See to it immediately. You should not risk infection." With those final words, Éomer turned and went on his way. Lúthien watched as he made his way through the clusters of people, more than a little confused at their interaction.

The sound of Gimli clearing his throat brought her attention back. Turning back to him, her cheeks slightly warmed at the knowing look her friend was giving her. Gimli let a sly smile curl his lips.

"What?" Lúthien asked with what she hoped was an innocent look, easily switching back to Westron for him.

Gimli let out an amused and soft laugh. "I may not know the tongue of Rohan, but any fool could see what passed between you two, my friend."

Lúthien scoffed at his words and merry eyes as she made to continue cleaning up. "You have a head wound, Master Dwarf. You must forgive me if I do not believe what your eyes claim to see." Gimli chuckled but thankfully left it alone. He thanked her for her help and excused himself to return to where he was needed.

Lúthien made her way back to the healer's station, replenishing the bowl she had with clean water and obtaining another small roll of bandages. As she sat on the ground in an empty corner of one of the smaller caves, Lúthien let her thoughts wander as she tended to her wound.

The feeling of Éomer's hand grasping her arm still lingered. Without thought, her fingers lifted to trace the scars his eyes had scanned. What thoughts had gone through his mind as he looked at them? She had seen no signs of disgust, hatred, nor fear.

Recalling their earlier interactions, she realized his eyes had held no signs then either. Yet what had the emotion that she'd seen been? That puzzle left her mind confused and befuddled. It also brought forth a budding feeling deep within her chest that Lúthien refused to acknowledge, quickly shutting it down and forcing it to return to the dark depths where it belonged.

Any days of girlhood dreams such as those were long passed for Lúthien. Her path would never lead that way; Fate had already made that decision for her. Shaking her head clear, Lúthien returned her thoughts and attention to her arm. It would do no good to dwell on such fanciful and impossible things.

Chapter Text

Once the wound on her arm was tended to and bandaged in a clean wrap, Lúthien made quick work of cleaning off the blood that coated her hands and sword handle. With that task finished, she made her way back to the gates leading to the caves. While the main rush of the brutal orc army had abated—no doubt thanks to Lord Éomer and his men, the few older men stationed there still dealt with the occasional break through Uruk-Hai.

Lúthien wisely kept her distance, finding a place close enough to the gates to be able to determine if the wave of the enemy's beasts should break through, yet far enough away to not cause a stir among the men.

Her desires to avoid a stir, however, were not to be granted. After only a moment's peace of leaning against the cavern wall, Lúthien took notice of two of the men approaching her. The one who lead the way was closer to her in age, yet undoubtedly still much older. He had a tall thin frame and hair in the beginning stages of graying. The man who followed may have been a soldier in his youth, but based on his age, that had been many years ago. He perfectly fit the description of the old miserly grumpy men mentioned in the children's tales Faramir had shared with her when she was young.

Immediately, her stance straightened, her fingers twitching to the pommel of her sword as her eyes quickly scanned the distance behind them.

"What is it? Have they broken through again?" Lúthien's eyes met the man who was closest. Instead of urgency and potential panic that would bring an affirmative answer to her questions, she saw a mixture of emotions that surprised her: an air of almost humbleness, and—she wasn't sure she was reading the man correctly—could that be admiration? Upon further observation, Lúthien realized that she recognized the man stood before her. The soldier was the very same that had offered her a quick grateful nod after she had assisted him in the earlier scuffle, beheading the orc he fought a losing battle with.

"Forgive me, m'lady," the thin man offered with a nod of his head, "Might you be more comfortable farther in the caves?" The man seemed hesitant in his question, as if he were afraid she were a friend he might offend. Though she found no offense, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his use of calling her a lady. She'd given up trying to correct any of the people who addressed her as such. No matter the number of times she had corrected them, they'd simply smiled at her and acted as if her words had never reached their ears.

"I would wish to remain closer to the gates, thank you." Thinking on her answer further, she asked, "Do the men find my presence a hindrance?"

The shorter, older man gave a gruff harrumph as he eyed her with an annoyance. Lúthien chose to ignore his response. It was nothing she had not experienced in her lifetime. On the contrary, it was the usual response she received, especially from the older men who believed themselves wiser and more knowing than anyone else. Years of such had allowed her to grow a thick skin against such attitudes.

"Not at all, Lady Aedre. I would more say that several of them found your assistance earlier gladly and thankfully accepted. I am one such." He gave her a wide toothy smile while the other soldier simply let out a slight cough. "No business for women, if you ask me." He had mumbled his words, but they had still reached Lúthien's ears. She simply smiled at his words before turning her attention back to the younger soldier.

"Then, I should like to remain here. I know you and the men beside you are capable warriors, but surely an extra blade—even one wielded by a woman," her eyes quickly darted to the man behind, "would be welcomed nonetheless." Lúthien returned the younger man's smile with a soft one of her own.

The responsive look on his face as he hesitantly glanced over his shoulder at his companion was not what she had expected. He seemed to be warring with himself, reluctant to speak plainly.

"Have I offended you?" She asked.

The man's reply was instantaneous and sincere. "Not at all, m'lady. Not at all. As I have said, we are grateful for your assistance, and would be honored to have you fighting beside us against such foul beasts. However..." The soldier's words trailed off as he took a moment to choose his next words.

"However?" Lúthien prodded him.

The older soldier let out an annoyed sigh before he stepped forward. "We've been given orders, Lady Aedre, to stop you from engaging with the enemy or assisting the men at the cave gates." His gravelly voice wasn't unkind, nor was it all politeness.

"I only wish to help. Will you truly prevent me from helping the men should the need arise?"

The younger man gave her a sympathetic look. "Lord Éomer was adamant, m'lady."

"We have our orders," the older man spoke. "Under no circumstances were you to be allowed to get yourself killed."

Lúthien's eyes widened in offended shock. The first soldier quickly lifted his hands up in innocence. "Lord Éomer's words, not ours."

"Not yours, perhaps, but I share in the Marshal's sentiments. War is no place for a woman." The old man shook his head. "'T's nothin' against you, m'lady, but a woman is nothing more than a distraction in the heat of battle. Too many of the men would unnecessarily risk their lives to save you." He huffed out as if his next words were a bitter taste in his mouth. "I'll thank ya gratefully for your help earlier. 'Specially in saving this one's empty head," he motioned with his chin to the man stood beside him, "but I'd rather not risk your life or the men's if it's not needed."

Lúthien clenched her fists at her sides in an attempt to reign in her anger and frustration. While the older man's words were understandable and nothing she had not heard in the past, it did not lessen the annoyance that came with them. However, it was Lord Éomer's ridiculous and petulant 'order' that became the root cause of her anger. Did he truly think so little of her? Did he not think her capable? Had she not proven that she was?

Maintaining her composure, she nodded to the gentleman in silent acknowledgment.

"M'lady," The younger man spoke with a nod of his head in respect. The older man simply eyed her for a moment before giving a stiff nod of his head as if in satisfaction before both turned and walked away.

Lúthien heaved a deep breath as she spun around and made her way back up the path to the other caves. On the path to the main cave, Lúthien took steadying breaths in an attempt to release the anger and frustration burning through her limbs at the arrogance of Éomer.

While the older man's reasoning had been rational, irrational vexation flowed more freely the more she dwelt on the Marshal's order. Allowed to get herself killed? What absurdity was that?

As she approached the large hand-hewn stone that marked the entrance to the main cave, Lúthien paused in her steps to take one last fortifying breath before making her way inside. If she could not aid the men in securing the gate against the enemy, she would find a way to be of assistance among the women and children.

For a time, she kept herself busy comforting the children of mothers who did not have enough hands. As she returned a small child that had wandered off to his mother, Lúthien heard someone calling her name.

"Aedre!" Eowyn's voice calling her name had her turning to find the source. A second later, Eowyn's worried eyes were before her. "Where have you been? Is all well? You look as if you have been dragged through a battle yourself."

Lúthien paid no mind to the blonde's words. No doubt, she looked a fright to be seen after having dealt with the few orcs she did. "What happened?" Eowyn asked, her hand coming up to hover cautiously over Lúthien's bandaged arm.

"Oh," Lúthien waved her off, "it is nothing. What of you? Is there anything I can help with?" The question worked in directing Eowyn's attention away from demanding a complete answer from her. It would do no one any good for the woman to discover that Lúthien had involved herself in battle after using her words to praise the duty of staying behind with the women and children.

"Have you any experience in the healing arts?" Eowyn's eyes lit up with cautious hope.

"I have sewn together and treated small wounds I've suffered myself in the past, but none beyond that I'm afraid." Her limited amount of skills seemed to be more than enough qualification, for within the next minute Lúthien found herself lead to one of the larger rooms in the cave system, and promptly presented to one of the head healers as volunteer.

This was where she remained, doing her best to assist where she could, readily listening to any instruction that was offered. As a way to distract from their pain, Lúthien used casual conversation where she could, introducing herself as Aedre to each patient. Moving from one wounded soldier to the next, Lúthien met with a few of the men under the Marshal Éomer's command.

On occasion, she would be turned away, cursed at by an older soldier that took in the sight of her webbed scars and black eye and let obscenities fly freely. More than once, one of these terrified men had seen her black eye and cursed her as a dark enemy. Lúthien had stayed her tongue, her posture stiff as she called on another healer to assist in her place.

Their hateful words were nothing new to Lúthien's ears. She had long ago learned to ignore such contempt. However, her forced indifference was not capable of fully voiding the hurt such levels of anger and disgust caused. With a deep breath, Lúthien had to remind herself to not stoop to their levels; to not allow her own anger and spite to drive her actions. Her mother and father had taught her better.

Conversely—and to her genuine surprise—some of the men's eyes lit with cheerful recognition when she spoke her name. "Ah! So you are the rebellious Lady Aedre. I am happy to put a face to the name that has been the cause of Lord Éomer's bouts of anger in recent days," one of the soldiers responded in Rohirric as he grinned through his pain. The humorous glint in his eye made her believe that he found amusement in his Marshal's anger rather than wariness. His confession had Lúthien pausing for a moment in her application of a bandage to the man's wounded shoulder as he sat on a cot.

"Have I offended Lord Éomer so greatly?" Lúthien responded with a small amount of self satisfaction, her hands moving once more to dress his wound. He too had found himself the target of an orc arrow. She counted herself lucky that her own wound had been so light as she tightly wound the long strip of cloth across the bleeding hole in his shoulder.

Seeming to have realized the words he had spoken through pain, the soldier quickly backpedaled, his face now one of slight alarm. "I beg your pardon, m'lady. I meant nothing by my words, just a jest between those of us serving under the Marshal. I meant no disrespect to either of you. You should not listen to the painful ramblings of an old man."

Lúthien let out an exaggerated guffaw in amusement. The man was surely no older than she. "To begin, soldier—"

"Sigeberht, m'lady," the soldier interjected with a grin.

Lúthien nodded her head with a smile. "Sigeberht," she repeated. "To begin with, I am no lady. I am simply Aedre. Secondly," Lúthien tucked the last length of cloth under itself before tying it into a secure knot. "If you are an old man, then I am an ancient elf. We both can make observances well enough to know that is not true." She patted the top of his shoulder gently. "There, that will have to do for now. Please, be careful. As much as I have enjoyed your company, Sigeberht, I would be grateful to not see you requiring the healing arts again."

Sigeberht turned to her with a grin. "Yes, m'lady." He gave a grateful nod of his head, shooting her a final grin, before taking hold of his weapon and armor that laid on the ground beside him and made his way back to the where the battle raged on. Were it any other battle, she would have insisted he return to bed to rest. The orc army currently battering at their gates made this option impossible. Every man was needed.

Lúthien moved on to the next man, seeing that his wound, though bleeding profusely, was not as dire as it appeared. A quick examination allowed her to judge that the injury did not require treatment beyond her limited skills.

Again, as she spoke to distract the soldier, she learned that he served under Éomer. And again, the soldier offered up a pained but sincere smile as he spoke with her. As she sent him off with a wish of luck and a kind smile, Lúthien was left in almost utter confusion and a sense of surrealism.

Moving to the next wounded that required tending, she paused in her steps for only a moment as recognition spread over her face. Before her on the cot, looking more annoyed than wounded, sat the older gruff soldier that had guarded the cave system's entry gate. Lúthien allowed a coy smile to lift her lips as she approached, her hands folded in front of her.

"Do you require assistance, sir?"

The man's head shot up at her words, an annoyance that she was now sure was a permanent fixture lining his face. His only response was a gruff noise from his chest, his lips mumbling something incoherent. For some strange reason, she found his honest temper and annoyance amusing and almost comforting more than anything.

With an amused smile for the man, Lúthien stepped forward and lifted the bloodied bandage laid across the back of his shoulder. She only just avoided wincing at the deep slice. This would require stitches. Thankfully though, it was not beyond her stitching abilities.

Carefully, she prepared a needle and sutures provided by the head healers. Next, she took the time to exam the wound carefully, mentally mapping out the best way to sew up the long slice in his skin.

After sufficiently cleaning and disinfecting the would as best as she was able, Lúthien gingerly slid the needle in its first pass through the leathery skin. She offered a small apology as the man winced, his teeth gritting against the pain. "I've suffered worse," the man replied, his eyes squinted shut as she continued with the sutures.

"Just because worse has been suffered, does not mean the lesser suffering does not hurt." Lúthien made another pass with the needle, carefully tugging the slice closed bit by bit.

The man grunted again but did not move. In hopes of distracting him from the pain she was sure he felt, Lúthien asked, "May I ask by what name you go?"

The man gave no response beyond an annoyed grunt. Silence reigned between the two, the old soldier remaining still while Lúthien continued her work. She would not press him for an answer.

Feeding the needle through his skin one final time, Lúthien tied off the remaining suture and clipped the needle free. Again in silence, she placed a fresh clean bandage over the injury to help keep it clean of debris when he no doubt rejoined the battle.

As she stood up, she laid a gentle hand on his other shoulder. "There you are, sir. Are there any other injuries that need tending to?" Lúthien's words were sincere and kind. She did not fault the man his beliefs against women in battle nor his abrasiveness. Nor did she hold any of it against him. It was the way of the world and no doubt, just by the look in his eyes, he had seen hardship in his long lifetime.

Brusquely, the old man grunted at her as he cautiously lifted his arm, testing out the strength of the stitches and his shoulder. A quiver of a smile threatened the corners of his lips, but no smile actually formed. He nodded at her before he stood.

"Thank you, m'lady," he finally grunted out, as if the words took excess effort.

Lúthien offered him a smile. "You are most welcome. Please, take care, and though I'm aware it is not possible, try not to over exert that shoulder. Though my stitches are sufficient, my skills do not measure the same as one of the trained healers."

The man eyed Lúthien for a moment. His eyes studied her face for a second in thought before he nodded to himself. A mumbled line of grumbling came from his lips as he retrieved his sword from where it lay on the bed, before he spoke more clearly. "Ealdberht."

Lúthien looked at him in question before realization dawned. A small smile lifted her lips. "Be safe, Ealdberht."

The man finished tying on his sword at his hips, avoiding eye contact. He stepped to move past her but after a moment's hesitation, paused. Still avoiding eye contact, he spoke in gravelly voice, "Don't do anything stupid, m'lady." He opened his mouth as if to say more, but snapped it shut, his ever present frown returning to his face before he walked away. Lúthien couldn't keep the small smile from her face as she gathered the used supplies to dispose of before moving on to the next soldier she could help.

As she continue in her work, helping what wounded she could, moving from cot to cot, a stark difference between those serving under Éomer and those not had formed for her to see.

The wounded that did not serve under the Marshal had welcomed her with wariness and hesitance that—save for the few that bellowed and roared at her in fright and anger—eventually melted into acceptance and gratefulness for her gentle touch and kind words.

Soldiers serving under Lord Éomer had welcomed conversation with her directly, more so upon learning her name. Lúthien couldn't comprehend how these men knew her name. How had her actions earlier in the tunnels at the gate spread so quickly amongst the men? It seemed impossible as many of the wounded had been brought in from farther outside the caves.

What was more, how had word of Éomer's harsh scolding for her earlier traveled so quickly? She would not put it past the women in the caves to spread word like a wildfire. Women tended to be more open to the idea of sharing gossip; especially huddled in fear in caves with nothing better to distract themselves from the battle raging just beyond the walls. Yet, surely, the men had more important things to discuss than what the wives were gossiping about. No, it did not make sense. Lúthien was left stumped on how her existence was becoming so well known among the Marshal's men.

The apothecary calling over to her removed Lúthien from her thoughts, her feet instantly propelling her to the next patient the woman was directing her to. With a fortifying breath and a compassionate smile, Lúthien focused on the task before her.

As the wounded continued to flow in, a worrisome detail began to reveal itself. Unspoken realization played on the faces of the healers as each moved from bed to bed, tending to the wounded that cried out for help—whether it be in the form of wails of anguish or the soft whimpering of simply hoping to draw breath a moment longer.

To Lúthien's horror and sorrow, many of the numbers of wounded laid to their final rest, beyond the hope and skills of the healers, were children; young boys who had been called upon to help defend Rohan and save its people from complete annihilation. That somber and sobering thought pressed a weight against Lúthien's chest as she wound bandage after bandage; as she spoke soft words of encouragement and hope, though she herself could find no assurance in them. With so many wounded flooding the caves, she could not prevent her mind from drifting to the battle that raged outside; wondering if the people of Rohan would last the night.

Pushing against the thoughts that did no one any good, Lúthien focused her attention at the task set before her, on the wounded soldiers requiring her assistance and skill. Mustering what hope she could find in the depths of her soul, she poured it out through a gentle smile and kind word for each person she attended to, freely offering it to each of them for they required it more than she.

And there she remained, tucked away deep in the caves seeing to soldier and after soldier. Winding bandage after bandage, sewing stitch after stitch. It was hard to determine how much time had passed, but no doubt the hours had come and gone. Surely dawn was near. Patient after patient came, soldier after soldier. Some required a simple bandaging; some required stitches; some, unfortunately, could only be saved with an amputation. For some, no more than a comforting hand would help as they took their final breath.

The hours progressed and drew long. Exhaustion clung deep into Lúthien's bones, nestling itself thoroughly to her center as her fingers repeatedly laced the needle and thread through torn flesh; as her arms moved in a repetitive motion, wrapping bandage after bandage around a countless number of wounds; as she forced a smile through the fatigue, her voice remaining soft and comforting; stern and commanding where required. And so the night passed, the long line of wounded never seeming to cease.

Lúthien fought off another profound yawn as she caught sight of one of the healer women approaching.

"Come with me, dear." The thin old woman grasped Lúthien by the hand, tugging her with a surprising strength toward one of the smaller caves. "It is time you had that bandage changed and your wound cleaned."

Lúthien opened her mouth to protest but stopped when the older woman pinned her with a look that could only belong to a seasoned mother. Offering an accepting smile and nod, Lúthien acquiesced, taking a seat on an empty cot the woman had motioned to with a frail but commanding finger.

Lúthien remained still and silent as the woman worked to clean her arm up. The wound must have opened up at some point during the long hours, she realized, as the bandage was peeled off rather than removed, the dried blood acting as a bond. She held back a wince as the dried bloody cloth pulled at the edges of her wound. It was tender, a sharp pain shooting down the length of her arm from the removal, but she sat surrounded by those suffering from much worse wounds. It did not feel right to whine over a scratch in comparison.

After the older woman's thin fingers had thoroughly cleaned the wound, a new clean cloth was wrapped around her arm. When that task was completed, the woman grasped Lúthien's hand once more and lead her further into the cave system with no more than a commanding "come."

With a final ushering, Lúthien found herself seated on the hard ground beside a woman far along in her months of pregnancy. With a stern yet kind nod, the older lady silently thrust a small bowl of stew into Lúthien's hands. She then turned to the woman sat next to her. "Should she get up before she's finished, sit on her."

The pregnant woman let out a small laugh. "Yes, ma'am." The elder woman left with a final and firm nod at the two seated women.

"She is rather demanding, is she not?" Lúthien asked with a soft jest.

The pregnant woman gave her an amused grin. "We call her Mother Ymma. She is one of Rohan's best healers, and has been around for as long as any of us can remember. There are none who would dare defy her orders." The twinkle in the woman's eye showed that her words were said in jest, though they rang true.

"And what do they call you?"

"I'm Cenbryth," the woman offered with a friendly smile. Her hand went to rest on her belly, her smile turning tender as she looked down.

"Aedre," Lúthien offered with a hesitant smile.

"I know. You've made quite a wave in the conversation of idle worried women." Cenbryth's words were kind, her voice light with amusement. "It is not often that a lady joins the men in battle. From what has been spread, I would not be surprised if certain wives come forward to thank you personally for saving their husbands at the gates."

Lúthien could only blink at her words. She shook her head with her honest reply. "I am no savior. I simply aided for the few minutes I was able. No more than any of these women would gladly do were they able and given the chance." Lúthien shared a smile with the expectant mother before lifting the filled spoon to her lips.

The stew—which resembled more broth than stew—was warm and soothing as Lúthien took her first bite. As the first spoonful settled, she couldn't help but close her eyes and lean her head back. She hadn't realized how fatigued she truly was.

"You should eat as much as you can first," came the soft voice of Cenbryth. Lúthien lifted her head, opening her eyes, to look at the woman. Cenbryth looked as comfortable as a woman well into her pregnancy could while sat on a small pile of woolen blankets. Her legs were stretched out before her as she leaned back against a half filled woven basket that conformed to her body.

Lacking the energy to respond, Lúthien simply gave the woman a tired smile and continued to eat. The stew wasn't much in the way of a filling meal, but it was enough to bring a satisfied feeling.

When the bowl was empty, Lúthien looked around in an attempt to figure out where to return the bowl.

Cenbryth just shook her head at Lúthien, the smile staying on her face as she held out a hand to take the bowl. "Rest for a bit. You have earned it."

Lúthien did not have the strength to argue. She was well and truly exhausted. Though her heart warred for her to get up and continue helping where she could, her body and mind lacked the energy to obey.

So, after relinquishing the bowl to Cenbryth, Lúthien scooted a short distance back, tucking herself out of the way into a corner created by a tall softly woven basket and the wall. From habit, she pulled her cloak closed tighter around herself, her hand reaching up to adjust the hood further down to hide her face only to discover it missing. Her heart suddenly raced in panic, both hands reaching up to grasp the sides of the hood that had fallen down to gather on her shoulders, bringing it back up to cover her head and hide her scars.

She could not recall how long ago it had fallen down to her shoulders. How long had it been absent, the marring of her face and black eye on full display?

As she nervously adjusted the edge of her hood, Lúthien's eyes cautiously swept over the small cave. There were no sneers, nor sidelong glances cast her way. No one gathered was actively avoiding her as people had in the past. Instead, she seemed almost as one of the other women, tired and worn. Cenbryth sent Lúthien another small smile as she softly hummed out a lullaby, her hand gently rubbing her swollen belly.

It was an astounding moment for Lúthien. But no, it would make sense. These women had far bigger worries to keep their attention. The roar of the clashing battle rumbled through the cave walls, bringing truth to this thought. As Lúthien carefully leaned her head back against the soft basket, she found that her mind was too tired to focus on the thought anymore. Instead, her eyes drifted closed, the effort to keep them open no longer present.

Her final lucid moment before passing into the land of the dreamless was the awareness of someone gently laying a blanket across her curled form.

Chapter Text

"Is this what you have been up to while the rest of us fought to defend? Sleeping the day away in complete and ignorant bliss?"

The words brought Lúthien sitting up in a sudden and abrupt movement, her eyes flying open in almost panic. As her gaze adjusted, Gandalf's tall form came into focus. The wizard's eyes glistened with merriment, his lips forming a matching smile. Lúthien couldn't help the groan that escaped her lips, her hand moving to rub at the ache in her lower back from having slept in such an awkward position.

No matter how many years she had spent sleeping on a forest floor, age was beginning to win out. Lúthien rubbed a tired hand over her face before she moved to stretch out her limbs. Feeling more awake, Lúthien cast her gaze around the cave, her hands falling limply over her folded knees in astonishment. The dread and heaviness of a few hours prior was gone, now replaced with lively and determined movement.

"What has happened? How are you here, Gandalf?"

The wizard chuckled at her words. "Yes, it is lovely to see you too, my child."

Lúthien smiled at him ruefully. "Of course I am glad to see you, my old friend. Nothing could ever change that."

Gandalf gave her a satisfied nod before answering her question. "I arrived, as promised, bringing Erkenbrand, chief-Lord in the Westmark and his Eord. We arrived in time to turn the tide of battle."

"Late to arrive, as is usual," Aragorn said with a smile as he joined their conversation.

Gandalf cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I was delayed."

Aragorn offered Lúthien a hand up in assistance, one she happily took. The swift movement of rising from the ground left her wincing, her body requiring a few moments for stiff joints to move freely enough. Aragorn cast her a concerned look. "Are you all right? Éomer mentioned you had been wounded. He was not happy."

Lúthien shot Aragorn a despising look. "I am fine. It was nothing more than a scratch and a few bruises. Éomer frets like an old woman." Aragorn's eyes shone with mirth at her words.

"Why he should find the need to fret over me," she continued, stretching out her limbs, "is beyond my wisdom. The Marshal has enough burdening his shoulders."

Gandalf gruffly cleared his throat, sharing a look with Aragorn that made Lúthien frown. Were they withholding something of import from her?

"Yes, well, you'd best hurry and clean yourself up, Aedre, if you intend to join us." Gandalf gestured to her torn and bloodied sleeve, casting a sidelong glance at the number of women busy behind them at the use of her false name. "We can't afford to sit around and wait on you all day."

Lúthien's eyes traveled between the two of them. "What do you mean? To where do we go?"

Aragorn answered her, his eyes sharp and cautious. "We ride to meet Saruman at his tower."

His words reawakened a desire for revenge in Lúthien that had long been buried. "Understood." With that one word, she moved to find some clean water.

Before long, she was cleaned up as best a small bucket of water and rag could make her. Thanks to the generosity of one of the women healers, she had been able to change out her bloodied and torn tunic for a fresh clean one. Her trousers still left much to be desired, but after quickly throwing her dark hair into a long thick braid, she was ready to depart.

Not long after, their small company—which included Théoden King and Éomer, much to Lúthien's partial dismay—were on their way. The path they traveled lead them along the edge of the foot of the mountains, leaving vast vistas to capture Lúthien's breath.

The sight of soft winds blowing across the fields in the distance appeared as golden waves to her eyes. It brought back memories of walking through the growing fields with her parents, the two of them swinging a giggling little girl between them. Their bright joyous smiles would forever be one of Lúthien's favorite memories. Though she had been young, her mind had held fast to that specific memory at least. It was one of the few containing warmth and love that she still had.

As their path continued on, conversation amongst the company shifted periodically, different riders falling back or pushing forward to converse. Lúthien remained silent towards the back of the party, only conversing briefly with Gimli and Legolas—who shared a horse—or Gandalf and Aragorn when they were not engaged in conversation with others.

The solitude and silence did not bother her. Years of it had taught her to enjoy the opportunity to simply observe those around her, safe beneath the hood of her cloak. It was this developed skill that had taught her the most about the people of Middle Earth. It was amazing what one could learn if only they learned to close their mouths for a moment.

Presently, her solitude was interrupted when Théoden gently tugged at his reigns, slowing his horse enough to allow it to fall into step with hers. She offered him a formal nod, but remained silent. If he chose to speak with her, she would not deny him the opportunity; her parents had taught her to be civil and polite, after all. But she would not be the one to begin a conversation with him.

"I was informed of your reported recklessness in joining the battle over the doors to the caves."

Lúthien released a sigh at the scolding no doubt coming. Irritation and anger began to stir in her chest only to be quickly snuffed out with the king's next words. "Others have deemed it foolhardy," Théoden cast a meaningful glance at Éomer's back, "And though I may agree in some aspects, I cannot deny that your efforts were appreciated by most." He met her eye. "Myself included." His hardened face softened as they continued forward. "I offer you my thanks for your assistance in the battle. On behalf of my men as well as myself."

Lúthien could only manage a respectful deep nod in response. The king's words were most certainly not what she had been expecting. Théoden's eyes studied his nephew for a moment before turning back to her. His lips remained closed, no words being spoken, but his eyes glistened with a look she could not read. He nodded at her with a kingly smile before spurring his horse forward, returning to his place beside the others.

Lúthien rode a moment in wondrous confusion. Théoden King, the man she held responsible for the untimely death of her parents and her condemned life, had thanked her sincerely for her assistance. The world seemed to have up-ended itself.

Gimli's rough voice distracted her from further thought. "Is it a great past time of yours, Lady Aedre, squirreling out all the trouble you can find?"

Lúthien laughed lightly, his teasing words a welcome distraction from her tumultuous thoughts. She chose to ignore his address of 'lady', as any arguments brokered previously had studiously been ignored. "I do not go looking for trouble, but it is a deft hand at finding me all on its own." Gimli let out a bark of laughter at her response, drawing the attention of the company.

"It is a deft hand at finding you because you do not hide from it. No, you claim to avoid it, all the while casting a great banner out, seemingly in hopes of being found." Gimli laughed loudly at his own joke, the others smiling at his words. Lúthien smiled brightly in amusement.

Gandalf sent her a knowing look, a smile threatening the corners of his lips. "All too true are those words, Master Dwarf. More than you know."

Lúthien took mock offense at her friend's words. "I have no idea of what you speak, Gandalf."

Éomer's words joining the conversation had Lúthien's eyes snapping to his. "Do you not? Tell me again, Lady Aedre, how you obtained the wounds on your arm?" His words were light, his eyes bright and teasing as he held hers for a moment longer.

Lúthien lifted her chin and nose at his words in an exaggerated manner, a knowing twinkle in her eye. "As I said before, my Lord, I have no idea what you are talking about."

Éomer's face lit up with a smile, a laugh rumbling through his chest.

As the company continued to make their way through the overhanging limbs of the forest, a silence fell over the company, a weight hanging over them as they carefully made their way through the peculiar trees. The ground was blackened as if from a raging fire, yet the vivid green trees growing there remained untouched.

Éomer slowly but gradually fell back in the line of travelers, his horse eventually coming up beside hers. His wary eyes cast around the forest. Though his presence had been cause for vexation in the past, she was not about to protest his presence in the present. In fact, Lúthien found herself grateful for it. She could not deny that she felt safer with him traveling at her side.

"Something strange has happened here," Éomer whispered loud enough for her to hear.

"Yes, but what?" Though a question, she expected no answer, for what answer could anyone offer for what had occurred here? Instead, he offered her a weighty look before returning his attention to the silent trees around them, ever on guard.

As the edge of the forest became clearer, Lúthien could not resist the itch to rest a ready hand on the pommel of her sword. Éomer caught her motion, his eyes following her movement before lifting back to meet her gaze once more. His face remained blank, but his eyes seemed to offer a look of comfort and reassurance. Lúthien tore her gaze away, her eyes blinking against the light spilling from the scorched land before them as the company emerged from the trees.

It was the sound of laughter that brought a frown to her face. It floated in the air, a stark contrast to the extensive and massive swath of blackened earth and remnants of apparent destruction that surrounded the formidable and soaring tower of Isengard.

As the company cleared some of the rubble and remaining trees, Lúthien's eyes looked ahead on the path, setting immediately on the two hobbits relaxing atop what remained of a stone wall. The same two hobbits, she realized, that had issued war cries in defense of Boromir.

Her eyes lit up at learning that they had in fact survived the Uruk-Hai. She sat up straighter in her saddle as they approached, the weight in her chest lightening. Boromir had not died in vain. He had succeeded in saving the halflings. Lúthien's eyes glistened with tears over the memory of her friend. The feeling of Éomer's eyes studying her was only brief before one of the halflings—whom she later learned was Merry—spoke as he stood, his arms spread wide.

"Welcome, my lords—and lady," he added quickly, catching sight of Lúthien, "to Isengard!"

"You young rascals!" Gimli lightly scolded from the back of Legolas' horse. "A merry hunt you led us on and now we find you feasting and—and smoking!" Lúthien couldn't help but smile at Gimli's words. She did not know what the two had suffered or survived after their escape from the Uruk-Hai, but she believed without a doubt that their spoils were well deserved.

"We—" Pippin—she also learned later—clarified, "are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well earned comforts. The salted pork is particularly good." The hobbit leaned forward with a smirk for the dwarf. Lúthien laughed softly at the hopeful look that took over Gimli's face. "Salted pork?" He questioned.

Gandalf, true to his fashion, simply shook his head. "Hobbits."

"We're under orders from Treebeard. Who's taken over management of Isengard."

Lúthien shared a puzzled look with Éomer who still held his horse in position alongside her. As they made their way forward, the hobbits now joining Aragorn and Gandalf on their mounts, Lúthien could not stop the shock and awe that grew at the sight before her. Her eyes grew slightly as they approached the tower and took in the depth of the destruction surrounding it. Her jaw dropped however as her eyes caught sight of the Ents walking about. There were no words she could speak and so she wisely remained silent.

This proved even more wise the closer the travelers came to the dark tower that was Isengard. A shiver of discomfort ran down the length of her spine as the horses nervously drew closer to the entrance and its steep steps. Their hooves danced in anxiety as they too sensed the last remnants of vileness that clung to the air. Inconspicuously, she drew her hood further down as if it might shield her from the last remnants of evil that dwelt in that place.

Subconsciously, Lúthien drew her horse slightly closer to Éomer's, seeking the comfort and safety that his presence had brought. The Marshal, as if understanding her actions, maneuvered his horse into a closer but safe position, allowing his horse to remain a step or two ahead of hers, almost as if acting as a shield.

As their horses began down the final length of flooded path to Saruman's tower, Gandalf reigned in his horse, allowing the others to pass while he pulled up alongside Lúthien's other flank. "I advise you to stay back, stay hidden, my child." Gandalf's wary eyes peered up as he spoke lowly. Éomer glanced back at the pair hearing the warning, a concerned look marring his features.

"There is evil that still lurks here," the wizard continued, looking over at Lúthien. "Saruman is not one to give up easily. You must pay no heed to anything he may say." Gandalf's words of warning fueled an alertness in Lúthien's bones. She cast her eyes about, scanning her surroundings and the tower before her. She could not allow the wiliness of the enemy's white wizard to best her. Already her blood crawled in acknowledgment of the foulness that clung to the air. A shiver ran up Lúthien's spine the closer they came to the dark tower, a feeling of realized dread settling in the pit of her stomach.

"I should not have come, Gandalf," she whispered to the companion at her side, her eyes trained forward in alertness.

Gandalf paused only a moment in thought before responding. "Perhaps, on this occasion, you are right, my friend."

Upon their final approach, the echo of Saruman's voice rumbled in their ears. In unison, all eyes lifted to the top of the tower where Saruman now stood, his white robes billowing in the breeze, his hand clenched tightly around his staff. The quick conclusion was drawn that it must be by magic that they could see him so clearly, as if he were stood just before them.

As the wizard talked, Lúthien took a moment to survey the man she had been accused of being a creature of. The hatred and contempt she held for a man she had never met before filled her very being. For reasons she did not know nor did she care about, she transferred the entirety of blame for all her suffering to this wizard alone.

Saruman turned his attention to Théoden, speaking vile words against not only the King, but all people of Rohan. Her eyes shifted between Théoden and Éomer for a moment. Saruman's words echoed in her head. "What is the house of Rohan, but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and the rats roll on the floor with the dogs?" Her fingers clenched around the leather reigns, her knuckles growing white. In that moment, the foundation of Lúthien's essence shifted with the wizard's many spouted words against the King and his people.

Truly, she took no offense at his words. No, for no doubt she had said words of a similar nature in the past. Rather, his words brought a wave of sickness and disgust roiling through her stomach; all directed at herself. For surely it did make her a creature of Saruman to hold such similar hate and disgust against her own people. Even in the short time she had her parents, they had continued to teach her kindness and love; not hate and loathing. The hatred and anger and blame she held for the Riddermark shifted to one of shame for herself.

Rightfully, Lúthien was allowed to begrudge—even condemn—those responsible for the death of her parents; even those who had cast harsh judgment and pain on herself. Yet, wrongfully she had condemned Rohan as a whole for the actions of the some. For the actions of a king under the control of a powerful and dark enemy. Perhaps the black blood that ran through her veins had maintained control over her after all.

Upon this realization mixed with the memories of her loving parents, a weight lifted from Lúthien's shoulders she had not known she carried. With a fueled determination, Lúthien chose to truly let go of past faults placed against her. She refused to allow the black blood of the goblin race to dominate her mind. No, she vowed to herself then and there that no longer would she carry that spite and resentment. No longer would it control her.

As if sensing the shift in her person, Saruman's eyes darted to Lúthien, his face darkening in recognition, a foul smile lifting his mouth. "What a lark," he spoke, his words hard, "that your mother would choose to bestow such a name upon someone such as you, Lúthien, daughter of Awiergan."

Lúthien lifted her own hard gaze to meet Saruman's. The feeling of all eyes instantly turning to her was immediate. Théoden's furrowed brows were evident in her peripheral. Had this latest use of her true name triggered memories in the king's mind? Was he now fully aware of who—or rather what she was?

Saruman's smile became stern as he continued to address her, fascination evident in his tone. "I had given no truth to the rumors for it seemed an impossibility too great to believe. But to see you stood here, now," Saruman's eyes squinted at her as if he were looking straight through to her soul. "I can see that the rumors were indeed true. I can sense the darkness that fights to consume you; your very blood turning against you."

Lúthien ignored the shiver that once again plagued her spine at Saruman's words. They were far too reminiscent of Grima's, filled with an almost awe.

What was worse, was that she felt a fire pumping through her veins with his accusation, a harsh desire to strike out in rage at the White Wizard rushed through her body. Lúthien trained her eyes on the flaxen mane of her mare in an attempt to calm herself and her racing mind.

Éomer, still positioned beside her, watched her carefully, the look on his face one of support and concern.

Gandalf cast a side eye in Lúthien's direction, no doubt sensing the struggle Saruman's words seemed to have ignited in her. In an attempt to remove the focus from his ward, he nudged his steed forward, calling to his former friend to distract his attention.

"Saruman, this must end. Come down to meet with us. You can tell us what you have seen of the enemy's plans."

As the conversation moved forward with little progression in its aim, Lúthien's eyes snapped upwards as she heard a barely audible gasp. She watched with widened eyes as Saruman stumbled a moment before tumbling over the edge of the tower end over end as if nothing more than a doll.

Foreseeing what was imminent, Lúthien turned her head away, chin to shoulder, her eyes closing tightly. Though she wished to, she could not escape the impacting sound of his body. The entirety of her own body recoiled against the sound. She had witnessed battle enough, had felt her blade slice through man and orc flesh before. Yet it did not lessen the effects of death.

Witnessing her reaction, Éomer moved his steed closer beside her, reaching out a comforting hand to clasp hers. Lúthien gratefully gripped his hand for a moment of peace before releasing it. She resisted the urge to grab back onto his hand as soon as she did. The warmth and feeling of his hand in hers had brought a wave of comfort to her body she had not known was possible.

After a moment's passing, her eyes opened, Éomer's heavy gaze drawing her attention. A look of regard passed over his eyes before turning to one of solace. The sincere look he leveled at her caused an unfamiliar warmth to bloom in her chest. It felt welcoming and terrifying at the same time.

Pulling her gaze away, Lúthien focused her attention to her mentor. Worry flooded her chest, dousing the blooming warmth in an icy spray. Saruman had once been considered a good friend by Gandalf only to give in to the temptations of evil. It could not be something easily passed over, even for a wizened wizard such as Gandalf. Though her mentor and friend portrayed himself as someone generally unaffected and more easily annoyed than caring, she knew from experience that he had a soft heart. It most certainly would have pained him that Saruman had rejected the offer of reconciliation and redemption, it all ending with death right before him.

As their horses stepped carefully through the flood waters, beginning their return journey, Lúthien inconspicuously flexed her fingers. A faint warmth remained in them, as if exposed to a spark from Éomer's comforting touch, her nerves demanding the return of his skin against hers.

She could not understand the feelings she was experiencing. Or rather, she did not wish to. She was no simpleton. Her mother and father had shared enough stories during her brief childhood for her to understand what her heart was beginning to whisper to her mind. It was dangerous territory her heart was treading through, however; leading her down a path that would inevitably end in heart ache. For no matter how much she denied it, the truth could not be overcome. Black blood ran through her veins. And a lord of Rohan, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, could never and would never return her growing feelings.

With a click of her tongue and a gentle nudge from her boots, Lúthien directed her horse forward. She would need to find a moment to speak with Gandalf. It was time for her to once again find her own path, separate from her current company.

Despite their earlier teasing, she did not seek out trouble. No, instead she was most apt at running from her troubles. Staying with the current group surrounding her would surely only lead to more trouble. And heartache.

As the journey progressed, Lúthien pulled further into her hood, into herself, ignoring the company as a whole. She was determined to return to her distant self. It would be best for everyone.

Despite her efforts however, as the journey continued, reality settled. Repeatedly, she was drawn into conversation with her fellow riders. Legolas and Gimli spent a majority of the ride conversing with her, the dwarf sharing many jokes and childhood stories that left Lúthien fighting against laughter more than once. It would seem, she realized not without despair, that regardless of how much she wished it, she could not return to who she once was.

Lúthien now knew the friendship and acceptance of too many.

Gandalf. Aragorn. Gimli. Legolas. Boromir. Faramir.

She even counted Eowyn and Éomer to an extent.

The child marked with a scar down her arm.

The giggling girl who had dropped a small bouquet of picked wildflowers in her lap.

The many soldiers who unhesitatingly had met her gaze, their eyes holding only gratitude and warmth for her.

Too many faces, too many smiles offered to her.

Lúthien had experienced the feeling of welcome and inclusion. No matter how hard she might wish to, she could never be the girl in hiding again. Her heart yearned too much for the fellowship of others.

Chapter Text

Laughter filled the air, a joyous ruckus doing its best to drown out the multiple conversations occurring at once. A large pig spun slowly on the spit that sat over the large fire in the center of the hall, it's mouthwatering scent filling the large room. Barrels of ale lined the walls, mugs overflowing with golden liquid littered the long feasting tables. Had she not known better, Lúthien would have assumed the men and women of Rohan were in the midst of a victory celebration. And Lúthien supposed, they in part were. Saruman's evil no longer troubled Middle Earth—nor would it ever again—and those that could, had returned to their homes in the Mark. It was cause for merriment, indeed.

Yet, for Lúthien, an internal war raged on. Still, she yearned for fellowship, for the company of her friends. But for the sake of everyone, she firmly believed she must soon leave. Her presence was never one to bring blessings. Rather, she held the firm belief that she was usually a harbinger of death.

Once more, her attention was stolen by the rousing drinking occurring amongst the men, Gimli, and Legolas. That feeling of wanting to belong somewhere, to find her place amongst everyone, gripped at her chest.

She watched silently as Legolas finished off another mug of ale, leading to Gimli offering some rather crude and descriptive remarks about the elf and what he could do with his elf-self. A burst of melodic laughter erupted from Lúthien at the dwarf's words. Though she did not know the language plainly, she knew enough to understand the gist of what the dwarf had grumbled. The merry making had her wondering if she could even bring herself to leave the company at this point.

Like water dousing a fire, previous thoughts plagued her mind, drenching the joy with a thin layer of melancholy. Suddenly, the mixture of noise, scents, ale, and the heat of the room increasing due to the weight of the dress she now wore became overbearing, forcing a retreat. Lúthien made her way to the wide opened doors of the grand hall, her borrowed dress making it more of a challenge to skirt her way through the throngs of people.

Stepping outside into the crisp and clear night air, Lúthien stood at the edge of the steps, taking a moment to breath deeply as her eyes took in the beauty of the surrounding mountains and fields. Rohan, surely, had to be the most beautiful place she had ever seen in all her travels.

Of course, other places held majestic sights of their own; but it was Rohan that held something none of the others ever would. It was where she truly felt like she gazed upon the lands of her home, despite the painful memories endured there. It was the land of her parents, of her ancestors. Her grandfather had worked these lands just as his father had before him, going back to Eorl and the founding of Rohan.

The mountains that rose high above the fields, stretching high as they reached to kiss the sky; the wide stretch of fields, the breeze dancing among the grass and grains that grew, creating gentle and calming waves; the stars that lit up the darkened sky, each holding the words of a story of old; they all held a beauty and peace she had yet to find elsewhere.

The sounds of hobbits singing mixed with laughter and boisterous talk floated on the air with the cool March breeze. With a melancholy sigh, Lúthien made her way to the long stone bench that sat to the side of the steps.

Sitting down on a nearby wooden bench, she played with the skirt of the dark green dress that encompassed her legs. It was a strange feeling to be wearing a dress after having gone so long in trousers and belted tunics. One of the women of Rohan had graciously offered her the use of the garment for the evening's festivities, even going so far as to pride herself on having matched the green beautifully to Lúthien's green hooded cape. Though the kind woman had argued that the cape would not be necessary in a crowded hall, Lúthien had donned it anyway.

As she played with the soft fabric, rubbing it between her fingers, she turned her focus elsewhere, watching the comings and goings of revelers in silence, tucked away and hidden by the shadows.

It wasn't long before she watched as Éomer stepped out into the night air himself, pausing on the path to take in the sights of the night. As his eyes scanned the surrounding vista, they came to land on her, staying there. A moment later, he walked over, motioning to the seat beside her. "May I?"

"Of course, Lord Éomer."

Éomer settled beside her on the empty bench to her right, only a small distance between their two bodies. Save for the sounds of singing and laughter that floated from the great hall, silence reigned for the next few moments, though not an awkward silence. Rather, Lúthien found the quiet peaceful and relaxing, neither of them feeling the need to fill the air with ramblings or pointless words.

The moment brought a soft yet saddened smile to her face. For though the combination of it all was welcome, the past had taught Lúthien that it would not last.

"Is all well?" Éomer's words brought her attention immediately to him, embarrassment altering her smile.

"Forgive me. It would seem you have caught me in a moment of self pity. It will not happen again." With her words spoken, Lúthien turned away from him, a long formed habit to ensure she was able to hide away her scars easier.

The sound of laughing couples passing through the large open doors to enjoy the fresh air themselves caused her to turn even farther away, her chin automatically finding its hiding place tucked against her left shoulder.

"Why do you insist in hiding away?" Éomer's words were not unkind, rather filled with curiosity.

Lúthien looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, her hood sufficiently hiding her features. "There is no need for me to answer that question. You are aware." She had not traveled the lands of Rohan in some time—prior to her recent visit to the gaol and healing houses—but the memories were still fresh. These were things Éomer was surely already aware of. There was no need for Lúthien to give voice to them.

A moment of silence passed between the two. To her astonishment and slight fear, Éomer's hand slowly rose, his fingers gently grasping the curved crown of her hood before hesitantly sliding it back off her raven locks, allowing them to cascade freely down her back.

Lúthien's eyes snapped to Éomer's in fear and shock at the motion. Yet, Éomer did not back down. The man leaned forward and around, his gaze holding hers, as he moved to get a more direct line of sight to her. Not unnoticed by Lúthien, was just how close this action brought him to her. The man was close enough that his musk assaulted her nostrils in the best sense of the word. A mixture of strong intoxicatingly deep scents reached her nose, the undertone of horse noticeable but not unpleasant. He smelled of home.

As she held his gaze, she felt as if Éomer's eyes were boring into her very essence; as if the man might be able to read her thoughts.

"There. Much better." His words were soft, the richly deep baritone of his voice causing a tremor to run through her body, goose flesh appearing on her arms. Lúthien could not tear her gaze away from the man. Nor did she find that she wanted to. His eyes studied hers as if her own held the key to the universe; as if she were his queen. And at that moment, Lúthien's heart whispered that all of her hidden away dreams were possible. Anything was possible.

A round of laughter cast down the whispers of her heart, her mind taking back control as she instinctively tucked her jaw back against her shoulder, bringing her face away from Éomer.

For a moment, he silently watched the merry group pass while Lúthien silently scolded herself for the brief lapse in judgment. She needed to remember Lord Éomer was a great man of Rohan; that she was a creature, banished in exile; and any thoughts that entertained anything beyond that—especially ones of love and fondness on either part—were dangerous and stupid.

As if in direct defiance of her thoughts, Éomer leaned forward once more to catch her gaze, his fingertips gently pressing against her right shoulder in order to turn her back towards him. "You need not hide, Lúthien," he whispered. "Especially not from me."

His words were soft, a perfect match to the look on his face. His eyes searched hers for a spell, once again holding her captive. Thoughts of what it might be like to brush her lips against his entered her mind. With the thought, her eyes betrayed her, glancing down at his lips for a split second before she forced them back up to his hazel eyes.

What a ridiculous notion for one such as her. Never before had she thought of someone in such a way before. Her mind, once again fully in control, brought again to the surface the same ice cold truth it had realized back at Isengard. Her heart was leading her down a path that was idiotic and would inevitably end in heartache should she continue. Her black blood would never allow Éomer to return her rising feelings. For she was an abomination. And nothing could ever change that.

Taking a fortifying breath, Lúthien again pushed the rising feelings down, immediately working to build up a defense around her heart. Eowyn had once spoken to her fear of being trapped in a cage. Well, Lúthien would build it and live in it most gratefully.

Ignoring the thundering of her heart at his heavy gaze, Lúthien attempted a distraction, speaking the question that had long plagued her in attempt to cover up the motion of her readjusting her position to one farther from the Marshal. Additionally, it would serve the purpose of reminding the Marshal of what she was, and that it was best to keep one's distance from her.

"Why did you not reveal the full truth to your uncle when Gandalf spoke of my past in only half truths?"

Éomer's brows furrowed at her actions, he himself leaning away from her slightly. Lúthien mentally nodded in approval at the success of her silent motives before his words halted all self-congratulating. "It was not my truth to tell. Gandalf gave my uncle enough of your story to allow him to make his decision. The details did not matter."

Lúthien did not try to stop her laugh of disbelief. "Did not matter?" She asked incredulously. "Are you sure we speak of the same details? I would say that the details of—" she paused a moment to lower her voice, her eyes trailing after the guests that passed at a distance, "the details of my birth would matter greatly when they carry the power to sway the decision of the king." Her eyes refocused on Éomer as she continued. "The past has proven that."

"The past has proven nothing beyond the power Grima held over my uncle." Éomer's reply was quick and sharp, his eyes ones again boring into hers, each filled with an emotion Lúthien refused to dwell on.

Softer and with a conviction that tugged at the newly formed walls around Lúthien's heart, Éomer continued, "My uncle made the correct decision. Regardless of the details. He has bestowed a forgiveness that was long overdue. I only wish it could have been granted sooner."

Feeling her defenses weaken, Lúthien tore her gaze away, instead focusing her attention on her hands clasped in her lap. She could only nod her head in agreement to Éomer's words. Yet, she could not bring herself to fully believe in the sincerity of his words. Although she could not find a trace of deceit in them, it was still something she found herself unable to believe. Too much fought against too much in her mind. It made no sense for a Lord of Rohan to be fully aware of her heritage and ancestry and yet still be so accepting of who she was. Stilling her head for a moment in thought, Lúthien switched directions, her head now shaking back and forth in confusion. It was all too much; too unbelievable; too fanciful for the real world.

"What is it?" Éomer asked softly, his voice carrying a mixture of concern and worry for her.

Lúthien's fingers picked at the folds of dark green fabric that laid across her lap. Words fled from her mind. How could she answer Éomer's question when even she could not make sense of everything flying through her head?

Needing a distraction from everything running through her head, she lifted the corners of her lips in a small smile, her fingers gingerly lifting one of the folds on her lap. "It is ridiculous but I cannot seem to get over the strangeness of wearing a dress." A light laugh was forced from her lips, an attempt to bring the conversation back to a lighter topic.

The look on Éomer's face made it plain that he did not believe her answer to be the true reason for the conflict playing out in her features. Yet, thankfully, he did not press her, instead following her topic diversion. "I find that I cannot complain about your choice of dress tonight. Everything about it suits you perfectly, especially the green of Rohan," Éomer answered quietly. His eyes swept her form modestly as he paid his compliment.

Lúthien could not stop the blush that spread across her cheeks. In an attempt to keep her heart contained behind its walls and keep the conversation light, Lúthien offered a sarcastic tease in response. "You yourself have both witnessed and attested to the fact that I cannot accept a compliment. I fear I still do not, so I beg that you cease your ramblings on that subject." The teasing smile on Lúthien's face faded gently into a more honest one. "But I do thank you for your kind words."

Éomer returned her smile with a scheming one of his own. "That means only that I must pay you more compliments."

"Why is that?" Lúthien asked in astonishment. Her face took on a dubious look upon seeing the smirk that propped up the corner of Éomer's lips, a stark contrast to the faux innocent look he attempted.

"Practice is the only way to help you learn how to accept and respond to a compliment, is it not?"

Lúthien gave him a shrug in response. "Surely you have more important things to do than to spend your time teaching me how to accept a compliment."

"Ah," Éomer said, a twinkling in his eye as he leaned forward as if to impart a secret, "but selfishly I find that paying you compliments brings me happiness and is a welcomed respite from the worries of the world." His voice, just above a whisper, was full of tenderness, the look on his face reflecting the honesty of his words.

With those words, Lúthien knew then more than ever that her heart was indeed in serious trouble. This man, without a doubt, would be her doom. Intentionally or not, he had cast his spell and she had fallen victim. If she was not careful, she would soon be drowning in very dangerous waters.

Lúthien cleared her throat, her focus returning to the vista surrounding them as her mind scrambled to change the subject to something less dangerous and frightening once again. She needed to sever her growing—no doubt one-sided—affection for Éomer. And quickly.

"Well, I am afraid you will not long have the chance to make me practice, my Lord, as I plan on leaving soon."

Almost instantaneously, the air between them shifted. Éomer's brows returned to their furrowed place, his words coming out brusquely. "What do you mean? Where do you plan on going?"

"My path, I believe, will soon split from the company gathered. It was always coming." Her gaze scanned the horizon before her, the looming mountains in the distance giving her courage and peace. "In truth, it should have happened much sooner." She turned to face Éomer. It was important that she spoke her next words to him directly. Lúthien needed to see his face when she said them, to help remind herself that she spoke the truth. "But nonetheless, my journey in life is better suited to be traveled alone."

A flash of something flashed across the Marshal's face. Something that caused both hope and terror to simultaneously soar in her heart. Was is possible that Éomer shared the feelings that she felt? Feeling her strength for bracing the walls around her heart begin to fade, Lúthien's eyes returned to her fidgeting hands as she tried desperately to ignore the sudden ache in her heart. An ache for the man beside her. An ache from the knowledge that nothing could come of it.

A lump rose in her chest, settling heavily around her heart. A heart that held a growing list of friends. Again, Lúthien scolded herself. She should not have allowed herself to get so attached to so many. She knew better. As self-defeating and criticizing words raced through her mind, tears began to threaten to well up as the thought of leaving everyone became more real. And despite her efforts, one name had slowly yet steadily grown more painful to leave than the others.

Lúthien's sadness quickly began to stir into anger for herself, the emotion becoming evident on her face as her brows furrowed and she let out a frustrated huff. She knew better. Those words had passed through her mind over and over. She knew better. She was smarter than that. Fate had determined long ago that she should be alone. Yet here she was, tempting Fate once more by growing attached to others. Lúthien should know better. It was only a matter of time before Fate sentenced someone she cared about to death.

In response to the questioning look on Éomer's face, Lúthien vaguely clued him in to the internal war raging inside her: "I keep saying that I must leave, that my path must diverge here, yet I never do."

Éomer reached out and gently grasped her hand with one of his, stilling their anxious movements, while the other reached up to gently grasp her chin, turning her to face him once more. His touch made her skin burn and her heart thrill with the contact.

"Perhaps it is time for you to realize that your path is not separate from ours. Rather, it is intertwined."

Lúthien looked up at Éomer and instantly realized it for the mistake it was. The look in his eyes mimicked one of hurt mixed with another. This realization alone caused her heart to crumple even more beneath the weight of guilt. She had caused that hurt, once again bringing suffering to someone she cared about. The desire to hold him, to comfort him, surged in her veins, selfishly overriding the screams of her mind telling her it was better if she ran away; she would only bring pain and suffering to Éomer.

Instead, her heart drowned it all out, wanting to do anything to bring back the smile that had adorned his lips not moments ago. His perfect, very kissable lips. Lips that Lúthien most decidedly wanted to feel against her own. The pair sat in silence, their eyes locked, Éomer's warm calloused hands tenderly cradling her small worn ones. Perhaps she could stay here forever.

As if shattering glass, loud boisterous laughter spilled from Meduseld, shattering the thick air that hung between them and bringing Lúthien quickly to her feet. Filled with shameful embarrassment over her traitorous thoughts, Lúthien avoided his gaze and offered abruptly, "I believe it is time I bid you a goodnight, Lord Éomer."

With a quick nod in his direction, Lúthien hastily withdrew from the festivities before Éomer had the chance to respond; before she could change her mind. Briskly, she made her way down the stairs in the direction of the house she had been given a room in.

As she crawled into bed later that night, the beautiful green dress returned to its rightful owner, Lúthien felt more clearheaded. Feeling more like herself in her trousers and tunic, she reminded herself to be strong and resilient. As if by habit, the list of names of her fallen loved ones ran through her mind. Reaffirming her belief that everyone was better off if she would only remain on her path alone, separate from them. Lúthien closed her eyes and settled in to sleep, plans for her departure already decided upon.

A separate path was best. It ensured that no one would get hurt.

More selfishly, that she could not get hurt.

Chapter Text

The next morning brought with it a somber weight. The sun rose just as it had every other morning: people in the village of Edoras went to work, the horses ran, the soldiers trained, the children played, the babies cried.

Yet it was the day Lúthien was to depart. With her decision made, she had slept restlessly, waking early yet remaining hidden away from others until the late hours of the day. Thus far, she had been met with success in avoiding Éomer, though the Marshal had made it easy. It seemed he had been avoiding her as well, keeping himself tucked away with advisors and the king in Meduseld.

Presently, Lúthien held vigil alongside Aragorn, leaned against a pillar of one of the barns that lay just beyond the Golden Hall, the simplicity of her trousers, tunic, and laced up leather jerkin comfortably back in place. While she had felt as if one might have considered her pretty in the borrowed flowing dress, Lúthien preferred the safety and mobility of her own clothes.

Aragorn sat near her, both of them sitting in silence as they enjoyed the cool morning breeze that preceded the heat of the afternoon sun. It had been days since Gandalf had made a hasty departure for Gondor, Pippin tucked between his arms securely. Something had occurred with the small hobbit, though what exactly had transpired Lúthien was not privy to. The only news that had been shared with her by her mentor was that he rode to bring warning to the Steward of Gondor, Denethor. Lúthien chose to remain silent regarding her disappointment in being excluded from that journey. She would have given anything to see Faramir again. Yet she understood Gandalf's choice in leaving her behind. Denethor would not be as kind and forgiving as Théoden.

While her friend watched and waited vigilantly for the lighting of the beacons, Lúthien remained hesitant. She knew deeply of Denethor's greed and pride over the Steward's seat. He would not give it up easily. Regardless of everything, Gandalf's quick departure had brought a dour blanket to all those gathered.

Though Lúthien need not worry about it anymore. It would not affect her path. Her pack was prepared, sitting at the ready on the bed she had been offered the night before, waiting for the hour of her departure to come. Yet still, Lúthien hadn't been able to resist one final meal with her friend. It was her quiet way of saying goodbye, knowing she would never be able to say the final words aloud.

Though Aragorn and herself entertained light conversation here and there, peace rested between the two friends for the majority. Lúthien could not deny she would miss the company of the friends she had made on the journey thus far, however, as she continually had to remind herself: it was for the best.

In a moment of silence, abrupt yet hesitant movement from Aragorn brought her attention away from the base of the snowy capped mountains to the man. His widened eyes were trained on something at the ridge-line. Following his line of sight, her eyes landed on the large altar of wood now ablaze with roaring flames. In the next moment, Aragorn was off, his swift feet carrying him to the golden hall to alert the king.

The beacons had been lit. Gondor called for aid.

Lúthien remained seated as her eyes trailed after the Ranger. A calm settled over her. Though her final moments with her friend had come to an abrupt end, perhaps it was for the best. She did not believe herself strong enough for any actual words of farewell. With the distraction of the beacons, Lúthien could quietly slip away unnoticed.

All around her, Edoras sprung into organized madness. Soldiers began to move to action as the women and children in the village watched on, their faces that of curiosity and worry. Théoden King had decided that Rohan would answer Gondor's call. As it should be. Even darker times lay ahead. The race of men would need to stand together if any were to survive.

Slipping into her room, Lúthien checked over her pack one last time as she prepared to depart. It was finally time for her path to diverge. With a deep breath of finality, Lúthien picked up her cloak, readying to swing it around her shoulders and set in place. Before she could don the cloak, however, the door burst open without so much as a knock, Eowyn rushing in.

Eowyn's eyes instantly fell to the pack on Lúthien's bed. "You have already heard, then. Rohan rides to war."

Lúthien calmly nodded in response. "I have."

Eowyn gave a hard nod. "And you are already packed. That is good." Eowyn let out a breath of air in relief. "As you know, the people are still recovering from the last battle. There is much to be done to ensure Rohan is ready to ride and very little time to do it in." Eowyn reached out and took hold of Lúthien's hand in preparation to lead her from the room. "You must help me with seeing to some of the preparations."

Lúthien hesitated, her eyes darting between Eowyn and the door behind her. "Truthfully," Lúthien stumbled out, "I had thought it might be best—" Her words stumbled to a stop at the questioning look on Eowyn's face. How did she find the words to explain? Her thoughts halted when Eowyn stepped forward and grasped her other hand, an urgency in her voice. "Please, Aedre. We could greatly use your assistance."

Lúthien held back a sigh. "Very well," she responded.

With a hastened thanks, the two women departed together, Lúthien's pack and cloak hastily returned to its place of waiting on her bed. Swiftly, they made their way through the paths of the village, Eowyn leading Lúthien up the steps, the blonde's hand still clasped around hers, to Meduseld and through the great doors to where Éomer and Aragorn were stood talking.

As they stepped through the doors and into the hall, both men's attentions turned to the women. "Ah, you have found her, then. Very well." Éomer nodded at the two of them, his eyes lingering on Lúthien as he spoke.

"Yes, it was just as you had said, brother. Aedre had already packed and is able to lend us her assistance." Eowyn finally released Lúthien's hand as she passed by her brother, making her way over to a group of women who were bustling with preparations.

Ignoring the questioning look from Aragorn, Lúthien frowned herself at the exchange between the siblings. Why had Éomer sent Eowyn to find her and ask for assistance? He knew of her plans to depart. There was no good reason for stalling her departure.

Eowyn's approach distracted her from these thoughts, the woman handing over parchment with a list of items and tasks to be seen to around the village before the army could depart. "I have taken charge of the more complicated tasks. Will you see to these as quick as possible?"

After a quick scan of the list, Lúthien nodded to Eowyn, resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow at the tasks listed. They all seemed rather simple; perhaps too simple to be wholly necessary.

"I shall see to them," Lúthien replied before turning on her heels and making her way towards the town. With quick steps, she was determined to complete this small list of tasks and be on her way.

The tasks on the list seemed arbitrary and redundant. The first items on the list tasked her with checking in with the apothecary and stables to verify that each were aware of their destination and had all the assistance and provisions required.

While both places had been polite and pleasant,—some of the them recognizing her from the caves and offering her a broad smile and a small bow of their head—each response had held a note of confusion as much as Lúthien felt in her inquiries.

Everything was in order or very quickly on its way to being so. The men and women of Edoras knew their duties, knew what needed to be done to prepare for a quick departure. The list of tasks in her hand seemed to be nothing but an attempt to keep her occupied and distracted. Yet, Lúthien had said she would help Eowyn, and if this was where her assistance was required, was something Eowyn deemed important enough to need to be completed before the soldiers of Rohan rode to war once more, then she would see it through to its end.

With a resolute steadfastness, Lúthien moved on to the next item on her list. From early on she had been taught that while the task set before her may seem futile and pointless in that moment, it mattered in the long run. Boromir and Faramir had taught her that. Repeatedly. Usually, by assigning her what appeared to be annoyingly impractical and senseless tasks, only to be shown at the end that each step served a purpose to the whole. Perhaps the list given by Eowyn seemed foolish when viewed in part. But experience told her that it served its purpose, even if that purpose was simply to double check the supplies or to hold someone hostage and prevent them from departing.

As past memories of time spent with her brothers crossed her mind, Lúthien moved on to the next item on the list: check in with the local wainwright to determine the progress of repairing the supply wagons that had been damaged in the lengthy travels recently made.

Stepping into the small open front building belonging to the village wainwright, Lúthien found the man she must speak to. With a polite smile, she greeted him. "Good day, sir. I have been sent on behalf of Lady Eowyn to inquire on the progress being made on the repairs." The man glanced at her for a moment, his eyes briefly scanning her person, but turned away from her, returning to the tool and wooden pieces in his hands without a word.

Knowing she needed some sort of confirmation or update to bring back to Eowyn, Lúthien cleared her throat and tried again. "I know you must be busy, but any report of progress for Lady Eowyn would be appreciated."

The large man dropped the tool and part onto the workbench before him in frustration, turning to face her. Lúthien's back went rigid as she took in the look of disgust on the man's face. She braced herself against what she knew was to come next, the man opening his mouth with a look of detestation she had not experienced in quite some time.

"If Lady Eowyn wishes an update on my progress, she can send someone else to gather it. I'll not be answerin' t'the likes of you." The man's lip curled as he waved a thick arm at the people passing by as they attended to their own business. "Evra'one else might be bowin' down ta ya, actin' the fool like pigs scraping their knees through the mud, but I won't be givin' precedence to the likes of your kind." He ended his pointed statement with a splatter of spit shot to the ground at Lúthien's feet.

The man's words were nothing new. Undeterred by his words, Lúthien stepped forward, her chin raising a fraction in determination and courage. "I was sent by Lady Eowyn to take report of the progress being made on the preparations for the upcoming battle the people of Rohan face. Who I am, sir, plays no part. No if you would simply supply that answer—" The man's loud voice cut her off, his large body moving closer in his rage.

"Leave my workshop now!" He threw an arm out, pointing at the exit he demanded she take. "You've no right t'be here. You're a monstrosity! The very evil that we, us humans, fight against." He stepped closer to her, his fury and rage growing with every word, invading her space, his figure looming and intimidating in it's closeness and size.

In order to create space between the them, and hopefully calm the situation, Lúthien stepped back. In reflex to the violent outburst and harsh words, her hand went up to pull the hood of her cloak down, a common defensive maneuver for her; but her hands found nothing. Instead, she was reminded that she had left it with her pack in her room. When had she become so comfortable and, as she now deemed, complacent around the people of Rohan? She had been foolish, letting her guard down when she should know better. She would not make that mistake again.

The man's harsh presence pushed forward in advance in order to drive her from his shop. Revealing the full extent of his hatred towards her, the man's arm lifted into their air, his hand clenched into a fist as if poised to strike.

Lúthien stepped back again to add more distance, her own hand immediately going to the short blade at her side. Yet before she could fully draw her weapon in defense, the sudden surprise and chaos of the situation caused Lúthien to misstep, her foot catching on a rock buried halfway into the path behind her. Her body began to tumble backwards, her hands raising in an attempt to regain balance. Before she could fall more than a few inches however, two sets of hands gently grasped each of her arms—one pair gnarled and aged, the other calloused and strong, bringing her back solidly to her feet.

In the next instant, the large form of Éomer swept past her, his hand threatening to draw his sword. Following his advance, one set of hands released her arm, the owner revealing themselves to be the soldier Sigeberht as he followed his Marshal, his own sword drawn a few inches from its scabbard. The older pair of hands released her arm, the owner revealing him to be the older soldier Ealdberht, his thin but tall frame stepping protectively in front of Lúthien.

"You dare to strike a lady?" Éomer's voice thundered, the attention of passersby garnered by its strength. "Especially one who has devoted her strength and skill to protect the people of Rohan?" Éomer moved closer to the man who now cowered under Éomer's towering broad form. His next words were like venom, the fury and loathing prevalent as he spoke them in a graveled whisper through clenched teeth, his face only inches from the wainwright's. "You are the monstrosity; the evil that we fight against."

The man flinched at the Marshal's words, his shoulders coming up slightly in an effort to hide himself. "I apologize if I have offended you m'Lord," the man kept his eyes on Éomer as he pointed at Lúthien. "But surely I can't be expected to lower myself and answer to such a creature." The man stood a little taller, having found ignorant courage somewhere. "She may have recently fought with the men of Rohan, mi'Lord, but have ya thought about where did those skills come from?" His courage and ire rose with each word he spoke, his voice raising as his lip curled in disgust, his eyes finally turning to Lúthien. "From the evil one is where."

Éomer shoved the man forcefully against the shop wall, anger radiating off of him. The sudden action caused the man's head to bounce off the wooden plats, his eyes wide in fear. Through clenched teeth, Éomer growled out, "I demand you retract your filthy insult and apologize to Lady Aedre this instant."

Lúthien moved around Ealdberht, knowing this encounter needed to end before someone said or did something they could not take back. Softly, she laid a hand on Éomer's shoulder, stepping up beside him to catch his gaze. "Please, Lord Éomer," her voice was calm to match the look in her eyes, "This is not necessary. I learned long ago to ignore remarks of hatred such as those." Her eyes flicked briefly to the man still pinned against the wall by his shirt caught in Éomer's clenched fist before returning to the Marshal's. "Do not lower yourself to this man's station by letting anger dictate your actions. It is not worth it."

Éomer's penetrating gaze remained on the man, but after a moment, his hand relaxed, releasing the man from his position. As if resetting himself, Éomer adjusted his shoulders before turning to look at Lúthien, his eyes softening as he took in her form.

"Thank you, my Lord." Her words were sincere and gentle. Éomer's eyes studied her fiercely for a moment. He nodded, turning with her to leave, his arm wrapping behind her without touch as he guided her out to the path. Sigeberht turned to follow as they passed, the soldier taking the moment to cast his own condemning look over his shoulder at the despicable wainwright.

But the old man could not hold his tongue. As the party retreated, he spat at the ground behind them, calling out a final insult at their departure, his words laced heavy with sarcasm. "Yeh, that's right and proper. Follow her out, mi'Lord." Sarcasm dripped heavily from his address of 'lord'. "Let her drag you further under the dark filthy magic of her spell. Let her lead you around like a castrated dog through the gunge. Let her besmirch and blacken the name of your father with her company."

Lúthien no longer held back her anger as she spun, Ealdberht's arm reaching out to stop her from making a stand against the man.

Éomer however had no such person to halt his anger. In an instant, his sword was drawn and pointed in defiance against the man. Sigeberht's own sword quickly followed his Marshal's, the blade poised and ready to aid his Lord in an instant.

"Enough!" A loud commanding voice from behind Lúthien halted everyone's movements in an instant. Looking over, Lúthien found Théoden King walking towards them from a side path. Éomer's chest heaved, his eyes full of raging fury never leaving the man who now stood pinned against the wooden wall, eyes wide in horror at the blade that rested inches from his throat. His fear dissipated quickly at the king's approach, his brows furrowing in anger and resentment.

Théoden picked his way through those gathered, everyone remaining as still as statues as he took in the scene before him. He placed a gentle but commanding hand on Éomer's arm, moving his nephew to the side in order to address the wainwright himself. The King took a moment to study the man before him before speaking. "What is your name, wainwright?"

The man bowed his head in respect for his king. "Eoforheard, your majesty."

Théoden studied the man further. "Did I hear correctly that you accuse Lord Éomer of being under this woman's spell?"

The man fumbled for a moment over his words. Théoden showed mercy on the man, his face prompting him to speak. "Answer as you will, Eoforheard."

With these words, the man found witless confidence and responded boldly, "Yes, sir, Théoden King, I do. Your nephew has fallen under the curse of this," his lips curled in disgust once more as he glanced at Lúthien, "this vile thing."

Théoden turned on his heels in the dirt to look at Lúthien. In response, Lúthien stood straighter, meeting the king's eyes in a show of her strength; that she was above the words thrown at her in hatred. Théoden pointed at her as he turned back to address the man. "You refer to Lady Aedre?"

"I do, my King."

Théoden stood taller at his response, his face unreadable as he clasped his hands behind his back in a leisurely manner. "You are correct, my man, of the vileness that threatens to plague this land." His voice raised as he looked around so that all gathered—including some of the gathered bystanders—would hear. "And as King of these lands, I will not allow the hatred and evil that seeps from Mordor to sweep across and infect the very ground of Rohan."

Lúthien's breath hitched at the king's words, an ache rising in her chest. His words should not surprise her. He had cast out her parents, after all. Why should she stand to face anything different?

The old wainwright puffed his chest in pride, blatantly casting Lúthien a condescending look.

Ealdberht, who had stood at her side through the whole encounter, worked his jaw as he silently scowled at his king. Éomer mirrored the old soldier's scowl and took a step forward to speak up. Théoden held up a hand, halting his nephew in his tracks. Glancing around, the king motioned to Sigeberht with a quick flick of his hand. Sigeberht reluctantly stepped forward to obey his king's command, an apologetic look passed to Lúthien for what they all waited for.

"See that this man is given time to reconsider his words. Take him to the gaol, where he is to remain for three days time at least." Théoden's orders brought a welcomed surprise to everyone's faces except for Eoforheard's.

The man's face flashed quickly from surprise to confusion before settling on anger. "You canno' be serious, sir! This creature—" His angry outburst was sharply cut off by Théoden, the king's voice loud and commanding.

"Lady Aedre," he emphasized her name, "has been welcomed into my court; has been promised the protection of the King of Rohan. I find, here and now, that that protection has been threatened, and at the hands of my own people no less." Théoden's face revealed an inkling of sorrow mixed with a hardness. "I expect better of the people of Rohan. I expect better of my own men."

Sigeberht stepped forward just then, happy to follow his orders. He took the man by the arm, who only struggled slightly in protest before Éomer stepped forward to grab his other arm. Silently, the two men stepped from the eaves of the shop, escorting him away. As they passed Lúthien, Éomer's eyes met hers, holding them for a moment before returning to his duty at hand.

The few people gathered returned to their business, a few casting Lúthien a kind smile and nod of acknowledgment. Ealdberht turned to Lúthien, a grandfatherly look appearing in the old soldier's eyes for a moment as he scanned her person as if checking for injuries.

Apparently being satisfied with his assessment, he turned his gaze back to hers, his eyes once again holding the annoyance and irritation that came with old age. "You might consider seeking out better company next time, m'lady," Ealdberht grumbled out. "Can't be around to protect you all the time."

He moved to step past her, only pausing a moment to whisper to her, a twinkle shining in his eye. "You've proven your worth with the blade once before. Perhaps dispense with the hesitation and go straight to its use should you find yourself in such a situation again." With a gentle pat on her shoulder, the man departed, no doubt returning to his usual duty.

Lúthien turned back to Théoden, her eyes softening as she took in his form. The king looked worn and tired. He turned to face her, a weary smile lifting his lips, his hands once more clasped behind his back as he stood tall. "I apologize for the actions of that man. I hope he is the only one you have found disfavor with."

Words escaped Lúthien for a moment. This entire turn of events was unforeseen. Never in her life had so many come to her aid in the face of conflict—one a king no less. She shook her head. "No, your Majesty." Lúthien cleared her throat in attempt to better find her voice. "While there have been some who remain wary and avoid my company, he has been the first to display such hatred and malice since my return to Rohan."

Théoden nodded in understanding, his eyes soft. "I hope that by now, you are aware that we do not share in his opinion." The king pointed down the now empty path. "That man is not the example of the people of Rohan." He paused a moment. "Your people." Théoden's final words were strong but soft.

Lúthien returned his words with a look of hesitance. In his own response, Théoden stepped forward, taking her hands in his, as a father might hold a daughters; a comfort flowing from his gentle touch. "While some memories from my time under the dark hand of Saruman may never return to me, there are those that have found their way back through the cracks." His eyes turned a deep shade of sadness, a sorrowful look transforming his features. "Some more painful than others. These ones, my child, weigh heavily on my shoulders. Weighty is the knowledge that I have condemned even the innocent few to their deaths."

Lúthien gaped at Théoden, her own eyes wide. Surely she misunderstood his meaning. Had he truly remembered her parents? As if reading her mind, Théoden softly nodded in confirmation. The memory of her parents and their banishment had returned to him.

Realization crept into her mind at the further meaning of his words. He knew, once more, of the black blood that ran through her veins. Fear started to creep like ice through her limbs before a resounding thought banished it away. Théoden King was aware of her heritage, of who she was, of all of it. And yet he had still stood in her defense.

But it was not enough. To truly banish the fear, she needed to hear it from the king's mouth herself. She needed him to say with his own two lips that she was no longer banished, that he was well aware and did not hold her past against her, that she might have the chance to return to her homeland.

"Please, sir," tears began to glisten in her eyes at the hope swelling in her chest, "I—." Lúthien didn't know how to phrase her request.

Thankfully, words were not necessary. The king squared his shoulders but kept his words quiet between them. "Here and now, I renew my oath to you, Lúthien, daughter of Awiergan. With full knowledge of your mother and your mother's mother. You are welcome in my court. Under this oath, you carry with you the protection of the crown of Rohan. I hope that you will one day be able to find the comfort and welcome necessary for you to once again call these lands home."

Lúthien stood in shock. Home. Yet he was not just offering her a home. He was offering her a chance to return home. Any possible response escaped her. There were no words to offer. Never had she thought this day would come. She had never allowed herself to dwell on the possibility nor to consider what it might feel like or how she might respond to such a situation. And so, there she stood in silence, her eyes glistening as they spoke volumes.

Théoden, thankfully, did not require any actual response from her. Instead, he gave her hand a soft pat in understanding comfort. Pulling their attention back to current events, a soldier appeared at their side, offering a low bow to his king. "I beg your pardon for the intrusion, Théoden King," he looked to Lúthien briefly, "Lady Aedre, but I have been sent to inform you that the council has gathered and is awaiting your arrival, your majesty." The soldier stepped back, standing at attention as he waited for his king.

Théoden turned to Lúthien, offering a nod of respect at his departure. Lúthien, in turn, offered a deep bow of her own head, effectively bidding him farewell. She wasn't sure she was ready to call these lands home again just yet. But the more she thought on it, the more she found the idea a most welcomed one.

Taking direction from the king—perhaps her king—Lúthien moved on to the next item on the list Eowyn had given her.

Chapter Text

Lúthien somehow found herself dragged into joining the company on their journey to the rendezvous point. It seemed as if every time she attempted to depart, someone showed up to pull her back into the fray, into the chaos, into the work.

Someone required her assistance in some form or another. Eowyn had needed further assistance with preparing things for the army's departure. Aragorn had sought her out, asking for her assistance in mending a leather vambrace. Gimli required assistance with shortening the length of his chain-mail shirt. Even Legolas had sought out her company, though his reasoning was simply to take some time to demonstrate more archery skills and to take a moment of respite to talk about cheerier times over a quiet fire.

But each time she had readied her pack, slinging it over her shoulder, ready to depart on her own path, Fate had chosen that moment to give her a reason to stay. And so, finally, Lúthien had relented, fixing her pack to the horse Branwen, offered by the stable master for her use once more, as she joined the procession of soldiers and wagons making ready to carve the path to Dunharrow where they were to join others in bringing aid to Gondor.

The thought of Gondor brought a small rush of excitement to Lúthien's veins. Faramir had last been reported to be in Gondor. She had heard rumors and stories of the battles coming out of Gondor against the Black Armies. Lúthien hoped he still lived. More than anything she wished to see her brother.

Their reunion, no doubt, would be bittersweet, the absence of the older brother weighing heavily on both of them, but even with that heaviness, Lúthien could not deny that seeing Faramir would be most welcome.

As their queue of mounts crossed the final stretch of path leading to the level upland that lay at the top of the cliff, Lúthien instructed her horse to pause a moment. Dismounting, she ran a soothing hand down the mare's neck, offering a quiet thanks to Branwen for bearing her through this long journey. Even though she had faced exile from a young age, the love and connection she found with horses had never left her.

With a final pat, Lúthien handed the reigns off to a young boy who lead the mare away to be fed and brushed. She turned her attention to face the large expanse before her. There, in that moment, she stood at the edge of a precipice; the world seemingly at her feet. Concurrently, feelings of rejuvenation and weariness marked her bones. The sight of so many pitched tents, horses, and men lined up in neat rows below was awe inspiring and sobering all at once. Everything would change with the rising of the next sun.

Aragorn stepped up beside her. "It is breathtaking and daunting, is it not?"

"My thoughts exactly," she readily agreed, her eyes watching the men move about, readying their camps for the night.

Aragorn turned his head to her, waiting in silence for her to meet his gaze. When she did, his words caused her to pause. "Do not leave just yet, Lúthien."

How could he know her so well after such a short time of knowing her? There was no doubt that Aragorn would one day make a great king.

"You are not only needed, but wanted as well, my friend."

Lúthien couldn't help the sigh that left her lips as she turned her eyes back to the soldiers on the ground below. "I do not agree with your words, Aragorn. I cannot see where my presence is of any benefit to those around me. While I may have been of small assistance to some, my help was not required. Beyond those few, I have been given simple and effortless tasks as if I were nothing more than a child needing distraction; a hindrance." Her eyes scanned the tents before lifting to the lands beyond in thought. "The time has come for me to part ways." Lúthien glanced at Aragorn for a moment before returning her attention back to the tents below when he only had a scolding look to offer her.

His hand lifted and rested gently on her shoulder garnering her attention. He studied her face for a moment before pointedly observing something behind them. Yet, as Lúthien turned to identify what had taken Aragorn's attention, his eyes had already returned to her, her own seeing nothing that stood out in the gathering of soldiers.

His words brought her focus back to him, his eyes holding a downcast honesty. "Perhaps it is time you stopped believing the lies the world has convinced your mind of. These people have grown fond of you, can you not see that?"

As if on cue, Sigeberht walked by, offering her a genuine smile and nod, a faint, "M'lady, Lord Aragorn," as he passed, his arms full of a basket of supplies to be distributed.

Aragorn smiled knowingly at Lúthien, who in return could only huff with a small amount of amusement for the moment.

"Perhaps," Aragorn said, "Fate is determined for you to see that your path is not separate from ours, but rather interwoven with ours."

Lúthien could not hold back the disbelieving chuckle that rumbled in her chest. "Have you been conspiring with Lord Éomer? For he spoke almost those same words not two nights past."

"Well," Aragorn smiled, his eyes shifting once more over her shoulder. "Éomer is a wise man."

Lúthien turned her head to follow his gaze once more. This time her eyes landed on the large form of the Marshal gathered amongst his men. Lúthien looked freely for a moment, admiring the man from a distance. As if feeling their gazes, Éomer looked in their direction. Lúthien turned abruptly, hopeful that the Marshal hadn't caught her staring.

Aragorn stood beside her a moment more before he left her with a final encouragement. "Please, consider what we have said, Lúthien. Remember that you are no longer alone. Nor need you be."

*****

Later that night, talk was softly audible, a low hum across the camps; but a heaviness accompanied it. The weight of battle settled onto each and every person's shoulders. Lúthien was no exception. She had been trying to keep herself busy, helping where she was able; refusing to dwell on Éomer and Aragorn's words.

Fortunately, the army of Rohan was a well trained thing, each man knowing what was expected of him and what his duties were. Unfortunately, for Lúthien, it had left her feeling rather useless; like a child wandering underfoot once more.

A wearied and frustrated sigh passed between her lips as she rubbed at her forehead with her fingertips. Her mind stood, as she had earlier that evening, on a precipice. Torn between two roads. One encouraged by her mind, the other by her heart. As time had passed, her feet restlessly leading her through the camp of soldiers, her mind had pushed her heart back into place, coming to the firm and final decision that she must part upon the departure of Rohan's army.

Weaving her way through the camp, she found herself passing by a small group of men gathered with Éomer around a fire, the Marshal's words firm as he discouraged his sister for her support in Merry's desire to join the battle, leaving unspoken her own desire to join as well.

"War is the province of men, Eowyn." Éomer released his sister's shoulder as he turned back to his men. Upon doing so, his eyes caught sight of Lúthien watching from the edge of the tents.

"As one who has seen the edges of battle yourself, can you not concur, Aedre? Will you offer words of your own in attempt to help my sister understand?" Éomer called to her, glancing back at his sister who stood silent, her eyes glistening at her brother's put down.

Lúthien contemplated what the Marshal had said, taking a moment to study the two siblings. Her eyes stayed on Eowyn for a moment, offering the woman a sympathetic nod before she turned to the men gathered. "I find that I have no advice to give, Lord Éomer. For how can I? Though I have seen the edges of a battle, I have never been in a battle such as the one sat upon our doorstep. One that may very well decide the fate of all races of Middle Earth. War may be the province of men, Marshal, but the one you prepare for affects all of us more greatly than those in the past." Her steely gaze held Éomer's as she gestured to his sister, "What is more, I would not venture to advise Eowyn against something that I myself have desired. If Théoden King allowed it, I would join you and your men on the battlefield without hesitation, grateful to fight alongside the men of Rohan, prepared to give my life to spare one of theirs."

Her response was not met with snickered jests and shared looks as Eowyn's had been. Instead, the men remained silent, some daring to lift their eyes to their leader for guidance. It was clear to them their Marshal had found disconcert with her words, evidenced by the tight look now set upon his face.

Lúthien held his eyes only a moment before she tore her gaze away, looking to Eowyn and offering a small smile and nod in understanding before continuing on her earlier path.

Heavy footfalls followed her a moment later as Éomer stalked after her. A frown had descended, his face colored with anger as he called out to her. "You cannot mean what you say! Risking your life so."

Lúthien's steps slowed as she glanced over her shoulder at the advancing man.

"Why do you always desire to place yourself in such positions? Why must you always be so willing to throw yourself into such dangerous situations? To be so adamant that your sacrifice is the only thing for you to offer?" Éomer's words were full of anger; for what reason she would not dare to guess. But it, combined with his words, stirred her own anger to the surface as she spun on him, her voice low and strained.

"Do you dare to stand there and suggest that my life is higher, more valued, than that of your men?" She spit out through clenched teeth as angry tears threatened to pool in her eyes, the culmination of days of stress and mental struggle driving her emotions high.

"Especially when you hold full knowledge of who I am." She cast her eyes about quickly to ensure her words were not overheard. Several of Éomer's men watched their exchange, but thankfully from a distance beyond hearing her quietly spoken words. "I make these decisions so easily because my life is forfeit. It was deemed so long ago."

"No!" Éomer roared back in defiance, causing her to pull back a step. "No," he repeated once more, quieter, as if begging her to see the lies and deceit of her words. "Your life is valued!" He countered in a strained voice. "You are valued, Aedre. Can you not see it? Do you not see the fondness of the dwarf for you? Of the elf? Of my men?" His voice quieted, as if speaking only for him to hear. "Of myself?"

With a crestfallen face, Éomer stepped closer to her, no more than a shield's width between them, his brown eyes piercing in their gaze. Éomer's hand raised, his fingers brushing softly against her smooth jawline as he took a step closer.

Lúthien's lips parted to say something, but nothing would come out in response to his whispered words. Was it possible this man returned the feelings that had been growing in her own chest? Against what her mind demanded, her eyes scanned his for an answer she was not sure she wanted to find.

Time, however, would not allow her to find an answer as Théoden called to his nephew before she had a chance to fully search out the meaning behind his words.

Éomer's hand dropped instantly. He hesitated only a moment longer, his gaze holding hers, the anger burning only moments ago now dimmed by sorrow. "Surely you must see your worth by now, Lúthien," he whispered to her, his eyes taking on a pleading look. With that, the Marshal turned and stalked off to obey his King's summoning.

Lúthien's chest heaved as she processed what had passed between them just moments ago. Her mind warred against her heart, thoughts clouding her vision. It could not be possible that Éomer cared for her. More specifically, that he cared for her the in the same way that she repeatedly denied to herself that she cared for him.

The men gathered around her kept their gazes diverted from her person, but it was clear at least parts of their conversation had been heard as she took in their figures; their gaze cast everywhere but at her.

Feeling confused and as if she was rapidly losing control of everything, Lúthien spun on her heels and made her way to anywhere but there. The culmination of recent events had made up her mind: she must leave. She could not stay.

Mindlessly wandering as her thoughts raced, Lúthien came across the trio of hunters, immediately shocked at what she saw. The three were gathered at the opening of the mountain, clearly preparing to depart somewhere. Confused, she approached Aragorn, her brows furrowed in question as she looked at their packs ready for travel. "What is this? To where do you plan to go on the eve of battle?"

Aragorn turned from adjusting something on his saddle to look at his friend. His eyes softened with his words, an apology offered. "I apologize, Aedre. Fate it seems, is in agreement with you. The road I must take is not to be the same as yours."

Lúthien studied the man. It was obvious something had occurred. Momentarily, she wondered what had transpired in the short time since their arrival to cause such a heavy burden to weigh upon his shoulders that her keen eyes now perceived. For it was obvious that something had indeed happened. Something that had changed their course, perhaps enough to alter the course of the war itself. Whether for good or bad, she could not be sure.

Everything was falling apart. Just as it had many times throughout Lúthien's life. She internally sighed, allowing no trace of her weariness and defeat to seep into her expression. Her past had prepared her well for times such as she faced in that moment. Lúthien took a deep breath, forcing an encouraging smile to her face to hide the traitorous lies that whispered in her mind.

They were leaving her. Casting her aside, abandoning her. The woman felt the hypocrisy of these words, rebuffing her mind against what she could recognize as a lie. The hunters did not choose their path lightly. If Aragorn believed their departure to be crucial to the battle about to begin, Lúthien would respect that.

With a reassuring nod to Aragorn—and for herself—Lúthien reminded herself that all would be okay; that no matter how much she now found herself wishing it, she could not remain at their sides forever.

"I cannot promise that we will see each other again," Aragorn whispered, "Yet, even though our ways must part here, do not believe yourself to be thought less of." He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, his eyes darting between her mismatched eyes. "You have a great strength inside of you, Lúthien. Do not forget that. Nor should you deny the friendships and bonds you have formed. Should our paths meet again, I would gladly welcome it, my friend."

Lúthien raised an eyebrow at the Ranger. "I thought I was the one that was to take the separate path?" Forcing a smile to her lips, she continued, "I once again offer you any hope I may have, Aragorn. Take care of yourself. May the road you take ease your troubled mind."

With a final and silent farewell to the company, Lúthien stood back and watched as her friends slipped silently into the hole in the mountain, the floating mist devouring them, until they were no longer visible.

Lúthien stood there for some time, even after her friends could no longer be seen.

Chapter Text

Lúthien woke just as the sun's first glimpse of light began to crack across the sky. Silently, she slid the leather vest on over her dark grey shirt, nimbly lacing up the leather straps in the front. With that comfortably in place, she moved on to secure the leather belt that held her blades around her hips. Late into the night she had spent time ensuring her blades were sharp and ready for the road ahead.

Gandalf was far away; her three companions had left the night before; Éomer himself had declared war was no place for a woman. The world stood at the threshold of war, a fight for Middle Earth, to save all races, and she was not welcome to join. Her assistance deemed unnecessary. And so, Lúthien had decided her time to diverge paths had finally and truly come. Even Fate could not deny her that action this time.

As she stepped from the tent that had been offered to her among the tents of the other ladies, it was clear that the camp was quickly coming to life. Men moved quietly, some donning weapons and armor while others gathered around what few small fires existed, eating a final meal while quietly chatting with those sat beside them.

Silently, Lúthien slipped past the few soldiers gathered near her tent unnoticed, fading into the shadows that still held on in the predawn light. She pulled her cloak tightly around her, reaching up to ensure her hood was in place.

Lúthien stepped around a tent, the path that would lead her down from the clifftop just ahead. As she did, the sight of long blonde hair caught her attention from the corner of her eye, causing her to pause in her steps.

Remaining deep in the shadows, Lúthien observed a rider as they made ready a horse, securing the straps of the stallion's saddle in place. While it was possible one could easily mistake this rider for another, the length and shine of the hair combined with the stature and movements of the soldier revealed the truth to Lúthien. She could not help the smile that lifted the corner of her lips at the woman's bravery. Eowyn was dressed for battle, the helmet perched upon her head hiding her identity from those that might pass by.

As Lúthien stood in the shadows, her mind contemplated Eowyn's actions. This shield-maiden was prepared to face the coming battle beside the men of her homeland. It was more than evident the woman desperately wanted to have the chance to do more for her part in the war of Middle Earth.

And while Lúthien shuffled through her thoughts regarding Eowyn, one thought rose above the others: Éomer. As if summoned by her thoughts, the Marshal strode down a nearby path, addressing his men as they readied for battle, his form a commanding one. His path unknowingly brought him almost directly towards his sister, making the shield-maiden tuck her face down, appearing to be focused on securing a cinch on the saddle.

Éomer was wholly unaware of what his sister planned to do. And Eowyn, Lúthien was sure, had no idea what she was about to face. She let out a weary sigh. She could not step in and demand that Eowyn stand down; she could not reveal her deception. Simultaneously, Lúthien could not allow Éomer's sister to ride into battle. Alone.

Of course, she would be surrounded by her father's men, but it would not be the same. Lúthien knew the pain of a fallen loved one. If she could prevent Éomer from ever having to live with such a pain, she would do whatever was needed. Additionally, she found herself rather fond of Eowyn, finding a blossoming friendship between the two of them.

With a determined nod, Lúthien made the decision to follow Eowyn's path for the time being. Diverging from the dirt path that would lead her down from the cliff, her footsteps carried her over to where her mare Branwen had been stabled for the night.

"It looks as if we ride to war, my dear," she rubbed at the horse's neck affectionately as she spoke softly. "I swear to do my best to bring you through it whole. I only ask that you might carry me as far as you are able." The horse chuffed at her, rubbing the top of her nose against Lúthien's hand.

*****

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her eyes as Pelennor Fields came into view. Every where Lúthien's eyes looked, the enemy flooded. The field was blackened with an ocean of orcs; the great White City was in flames as massive chunks of stone were catapulted towards it.

Lúthien's breath caught in her throat, her fingers gripping white around the reins. Her mind could conjure up no words of encouragement, no words of surprise, no words at all. The sight before her was nothing like she had ever seen.

The horn of Rohan rang out as the Eorlingas breached the top of the last hill, signaling to their allies that they did not stand alone. The horn of Rohan—the horn of her people, rang out clearly again, causing vigor and resoluteness to settle into her bones. Her eyes scanned the gathered riders for the back of the woman she followed.

As the mass of horses came to a pause, awaiting the King's orders, Lúthien patted Branwen's neck, thankful that the horse seemed as determined and resolute as herself. She was a good companion. Lúthien hoped they both made it through the next few hours at least.

Recognizing Eowyn's form holding tightly to Merry who sat before her in the saddle, Lúthien maneuvered her horse subtly to remain closer to her friend as Théoden called out commands to his Marshals. With a tightness in her chest, she watched as Éomer lead his éored into position a distance away to flank the enemy.

Théoden rode before the Eorlingas, his thunderous voice reaching Lúthien's ears.

"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!"

With the finality of his speech, Théoden claimed a horn from a rider and blew, the sound ringing clear and far. Immediately, the other horns of the éoreds echoed in sound, a beautiful and glorious cacophony of resonating rallies.

Suddenly Théoden King cried out to his horse, Snowmane, the white mount setting off in haste towards the enemy. Immediately, the warriors of Rohan followed their King. Lúthien leaned forward as her mare picked up speed.

The sight of the Rohirrim, even from amongst the first riders was breathtaking. The thunder of hooves was so magnificent that Lúthien could feel the tremble of the ground even atop her horse. Ahead, the King's banner, a white horse against a field of green, flew on, encouraging all behind it in their charge.

As the earth flew past beneath Branwen's feet, Lúthien felt a rush of something course through her being. Her spirit lifted, a fresh wave of energy and strength pulsing through her the closer she came to the enemy. A large smile lifted her lips as the wind whipped past her, forcing tears to her eyes.

"Death!" The war cry echoed amongst the Eorlingas as the enemy drew closer. Lúthien shouted with all her might as they bore down on the sea of black. The sounds of orc cries turned into shrieks as the riders of Rohan reached their target, clashing forcefully into the enemy host, trampling and cutting down all who stood in their way.

Lúthien let lose her own war cry as she raised her father's sword up only to bring it down swiftly and effectively against an enemy's neck.

As the battle raged, Lúthien's world narrowed. No longer was she on that bloodied field in duty to Eowyn, ensuring her safety. Indeed, as the sharp blade danced in her hands, singing in the air with each deathly stroke, Lúthien's world was forced in nothing more than herself and the next beast within reach.

The enemy came endlessly. Where one was felled, another took its place. The sounds of screams of the living, cries of the dead, metal clashing against metal, filled the air. The stench of blood, both black and red offended the nostrils. Chaos reigned.

Lúthien pushed forward with the éored that remained on their horses, but as time slowly ticked on, it became more difficult to remain astride and continue in the fight. At one point, Lúthien made the decision to dismount and release her brave mare. Though she wished to remain with Branwen, it was a tactical decision. She found it easier to navigate the ever increasing number of bodies littering the ground on foot. Perhaps it also allowed Branwen a chance to survive the war that surrounded them.

Maneuverability was less limited, Lúthien's agility and almost inhuman swiftness easily coming out without the restriction of her mount or cloak—which had been quickly discarded in the earlier moments of battle.

As the orc before her fell dead to the ground, Lúthien immediately turned to face the next enemy that no doubt came for her. The large beast advanced on her, swinging his black blade. Lúthien spun left in attempt to dodge the crude weapon. The enemy however must have anticipated this move as it changed direction slightly in the last moment, bringing the sharp blade across Lúthien's arm, delivering a deep slice across her skin. If it stung, her mind did not register it in that moment. She staggered back from the force of the swing and contact, her foot catching on the leg of a fallen orc. Lúthien landed harshly onto her back, her sword slipping from her hands in a moment, her head slamming against the ground.

Lúthien groaned as the impact sent a jolt of pain through her body. As her dazed vision began to clear, her eyes focused on the large form rapidly advancing on her. Quickly, her eyes darted around for her weapon, only to find it slightly out of reach. With the advancing orc only seconds from delivering a death blow, Lúthien allowed her instincts to take over, her body moving before her mind could fully comprehend what was occurring. In one quick movement, she rolled to her side, dodging the black blade that slammed into the ground where she had just laid, the enemy releasing a roar of frustration. Before her eyes lay a fallen enemy, a decorative skull of some animal grotesquely rammed into its head as if to act as a helmet. With rapid speed, she grasped onto the skull, ripping it from the head of the enemy and turned, launching the projectile like an arrow perfectly aimed at the towering orc's face. The distraction of the incoming object smashing into his face bought her the few precious seconds she needed.

With a practiced and perfectly timed move, Lúthien kicked her feet up and used the momentum to roll backwards on her shoulder, throwing her body up and over. She landed in a plank position with the smooth motion before quickly moving into a crouch as she grasped her father's sword, gripping the hilt tightly as she leaped to her feet. With a war cry to add to the momentum and force of her swing, Lúthien brought the blade down onto the orc's neckline before he had a chance to raise his own sword in defense.

Knowing time for rest was not an option in that moment, she continued in her individual battles against the enemy. When the opportunity arose to search for the telltale blonde locks of Eowyn, or the short stature of Merry, Lúthien was frustrated to find that they were not within easy sight of where the battle had taken her.

A frustrated cry tore from her throat as she ran her blade clean through an orc's chest, the rage of battle once more forcing her from the friend she sought to protect. The situation rang eerily similar to Boromir's last stand. The thought of failing to protect another friend left a fire flashing through Lúthien's veins. She could not allow herself to fail.

As she brought her sword up to deflect a swing from an enemy, she drew her short blade, ramming the silver metal up into the beast's exposed underarm and straight into where its heart would be. Briefly, Lúthien wondered if something so monstrous could possess a heart.

Pushing the dead orc off her blade and away from her, Lúthien's eyes again scanned the fields. The flash of white horse hair caught her gaze. The sight her eyes registered caused her breath to hitch.

With an agile speed, she let her feet carry her closer to what she could not believe she was truly witnessing. The sight of Éomer leaned over the lifeless body of his uncle, his face one of anguish as he shouted orders to the men stood near their fallen king.

Lúthien swung her sword over and over, fighting to reach the Marshal and his fallen king. She didn't know what drove her so desperately; why she needed in that moment to be there. All she knew was she did. And so she continued to push through the enemy, adrenaline pushing her abilities and granting her abundant strength in that moment.

Death walked too freely in her life, collecting those she cared about yet never abiding by her screams to collect her in their stead. A worrying thought crossed her mind. Where had Eowyn gone? Was she still near the king? Had she fallen?

Her feet slowed as the enemy once more stood in her path. Swinging with fluidity, she fought. Once more she felled the beast before her; once more she incurred the wrath of the enemy's blade, deep lines of red beginning to stack up across her body.

As the enemy fell dead below her eye line, Lúthien's gaze once more sought out the Marshal's. In that moment a loud and soul shivering screaming cry wretched through the air before dying off, the wind carrying the last remnants away.

Lúthien's entire body froze with the sound, her breath hitching as her eyes immediately fell to the horrendous sight a short distance across the field. It was as if the world stood still and silent for a heart's beat. Her heart dropped to her stomach as she took in Éomer's appearance. His face had turned deathly pale, his form falling to his knees amongst the fallen.

Fear struck at Lúthien's heart. Had Éomer been struck down? Anguish and torment twisted Éomer's face as another cry ripped from his throat, his arms gathering up the body of a fallen soldier clad in Rohan green to him.

Confusion dwelt in her mind for only an instant. It was brushed aside, replaced with her own heartbreak and torment as Éomer lifted the soldier to his chest, the long waves of golden hair revealing the body to be Eowyn. Éomer's voice pierced the noise of the battle, sending a shard of pain through her chest as the man cried out in pain, the name of his only remaining kin carrying across the battlefield.

Lúthien collapsed to her knees, still a distance away. She had failed in her direction. She had taken this course in order to ensure that Eowyn would live; that Éomer would not feel the pain of losing one so close. And she had failed.

The pain of the siblings bond broken broke Lúthien

Once again, she felt as if she were the harbinger of Death. The clash of ally versus foe carried on around Lúthien, as if the world had forgotten her for a moment as tears began to stream down her face.

Éomer's furious cry brought the world back into focus. His words spurring a new fire within her bones as she climbed to her feet.

"Death! Death! Death! Death take us all!"

A horn of Rohan rang out in echo of his words, the sound rallying the Rohirrim to avenge the death of their King, the death of a beloved sister.

Chapter Text

Lúthien gripped her sword, her eyes whipping around impatiently in search of a viable mount. As if granted by the gods above, Branwen came charging through the field, fear nipping at her heels as she ran from the enemy approaching on the horizon.

With a trained hand, she cut off the horse's retreat, her hands raised, her voice calm but loud as she spoke the Rohirrim language. Hearing her rider's voice, Branwen slowed, her chest huffing from exertion.

With a smile, Lúthien grasped the reigns of her horse, lithely throwing herself into the blood splattered saddle, her hand immediately running a soothing hand through the mare's mane before directing her to follow Éomer's path.

The cries of war, of a final stand, of loyalty to their king; a cacophony of voices rose amongst her people. The size of the éored grew as riderless horses were claimed by those who found themselves on foot; those distant raced to join what might be the final ride of the Rohirrim.

A feeling passed over Lúthien as she raced forward surrounded once more by the thundering hooves of the people of Rohan. Her people. Their war cry sounded as a chorus, rising above the trampled fields, like a gathering of warriors the world had never yet seen before. Reminiscent of the tales of old.

Lúthien felt as if she could laugh. The feeling enveloping her in that moment was one she had not felt in so many long years. Emotion and an almost euphoria flowed through her. It was as if Lúthien could feel her father charging beside her, his horse and steady hand guiding hers; The voice in her ears seemed to be that of her father's, cheering her on.

The sounds of the enemy's shrieks overcame the sound of attack, fear evident in the enemy's eyes as the power that surged with the ride of the Rohirrim.

A fierce clash rang out once more on the Pelennor fields, the men of Rohan driving through the army of orc. Yet, as quickly as it all rang out, the sound fell to a dull roar in Lúthien's ears as all eyes turned to something much larger and much more terrifying approached.

Mumilak.

The giant animals approached at a rapid speed, their massive legs clearing leagues of field with ease. Tall war towers rested upon their backs, filled with countless numbers of the Haradrim enemy.

Lúthien had heard tales of the Haradrim and their ruthless ways, just as others had, but she had never witnessed them for herself.

Terror, fear, horror—none of the words seemed sufficient enough to describe the feeling that coursed through her body, rendering her frozen in her saddle.

Éomer's words from Dunharrow echoed in her ears. "When the fear takes hold, and the blood, and the screams, and the horror of battle take hold..." No truer words were spoken. War was not glory and honor. It was horror and death. Éomer had not spoken those words out of some misguided belief that women were incapable or weak. No, he had spoken them as a warning against something he had witnessed before. Something he would wish his sister to never experience. Yet she had, and it had cost her her life.

An eternity passed in a few seconds as the Mumilak bore down on the defenders of Gondor. The sight of the enemy's destruction played out in horrific detail before her eyes. She watched in frozen terror as the men of Rohan were strewn about by the spiked tusks of the Mumilak as if they were nothing more than wisps of grain. The people of her homeland were dying in rapid succession.

Lúthien snapped from her frozen haze, a renewed determination flooding her muscles. Her feet knocked against her mare, urging it forward. If she were to die, Lúthien found that it was a good day to die; fighting against the enemy in defense of her homeland.

The Mumilak tore through the mass of riders, sending the mounts scurrying away in fear, their riders fighting to regain control. Lúthien fought with her own mare, urging the horse to turn back towards the towering giants. Finally gaining control, Lúthien directed Branwen closer to the massive foot, her blade swinging out in attempt to slice through any tendons.

As she brought her mount back around, Branwen suddenly shifted away, barely missing the large swinging spike attached to the angry giant's tusk. While she was glad her mount was spared, Lúthien let out a cry of pain as the spike drove a shallow trench across her thigh, the skin ripping instantly and easily against the mûmakil's strength.

Lúthien spurred her horse on, pushing the pain down as she raised her sword once more to slice against the gigantic beast's legs. Yet the action did nothing. Another close encounter with the mumakil's tusk sent enough fear through Branwen that Lúthien could not maintain control of her mount, the mare galloping furiously away from the hulking masses of danger and into the fray of orcs and Haradrim battling men of Gondor and Rohan.

It was a never ending sea of enemy. The black and scarlet clad Haradrim, the massive Mumilak, the black army of Orcs. It seemed as if this day would be man's final stand for Middle Earth.

Shaking off her fears, Lúthien held tightly to the memory of her parents and spurred her horse forward, her blade singing as it swung through the air once again.

Felling another enemy, she turned her attention to the next one, only to falter a moment. This one stood taller than the previous ones she had encountered, it's massive size bringing it's gaze almost to her own level atop her mount.

She swung her blade in an arc, bringing it down against the enemy's form only to be blocked. The orc grabbed onto her blade easily with a metal gauntlet covered hand, shoving her blade away as if it were nothing more than a minor nuisance.

The emphatic shove caused Lúthien to lose her balance, the force knocking her off Branwen. A torturous pain ricocheted through her body as half of her torso landed on the sharp angled body of a dead orc, the rest of her body slamming against the hard ground.

Pushing through the pain that loudly demanded she was in no condition to move, Lúthien shoved herself to her feet, her sword swinging. The world narrowed down to one simple notion: survive. Her blade glinted in what little sun had pushed passed the dark clouds of Mordor as she swung with all her might.

All of Boromir's lessons rushed to the forefront of her mind; her father's own words softly coaching her movements. Relax. Breathe. Focus. You only need to dodge by an inch. Keep your movements fluid. It's not about brute force, it's about timing and control.

With a graceful swing, she felt the blade pass through the thick leathery flesh of the orc before her. In response to her slice, the orc repaid her with a blow from his free hand to her chest. The air was knocked from her lungs as she once again found herself thrown to the ground.

As if reflexively anticipating the next strike, Lúthien lift her blade with lightning speed, her blade flat against her open palm. The timing was perfect as her blade caught the orc's black one inches before it could make contact with her head. She grunted as his strength pushed down. Lúthien knew she was not strong enough for this fight.

In a desperate effort, she kicked at the enemy's exposed legs, her foot making a solid and forceful contact with his knee. The kick forced the orc to veer sideways suddenly, his leg temporarily unable to support his massive weight.

In a flash, Lúthien rose to her knees, simultaneously drawing her mother's elven blade and driving it through the guard and into his neck.

Though her body screamed for a reprieve, a chance to at least catch her breath, the enemy would not allow it. She faced two more enemy soldiers- these two both Haradrim men—before her mind had a chance to catch up to the damage done to her body.

As if opening floodgates, her body swayed violently in response to the overwhelming pain. A sharp pain pierced her chest, a burning sensation filling her lungs. Lúthien dropped to one knee as her lungs coughed forcibly as if trying to expel something. Slowly, she rose back to her feet, a small whimper escaping as she stepped forward. Her face curled up in a wince as she continued forward.

While Lúthien was not foolish enough to believe she would make it through this battle unscathed, she had not realized the extent of her injuries thus far. Her leg ached beyond anything she had felt before; the extent of the injury from the mûmakil lost on her.

As she continued to pick up the pace, pushing forward to rejoin the fight, Lúthien's body screamed at her. But the screams of those around her quickly drowned that out. Ignoring the pain coursing through her body, her eyes swept around her in search of the next enemy fighter. Her chest heaved in stuttered waves as she fought to breath through the pain, to bring enough air in to bring clarity to her mind and sight.

As her eyes swept the surrounding fields, her eyes passed over a familiar figure only briefly before bouncing back. Making his way to her in a sprint was the seasoned soldier Sigeberht. He stopped shortly before her, his own chest heaving from the battle, his hand reaching out to grasp her arm as if to make certain she were actually stood before him. His eyes were wide with shocked concern.

"M'lady! You should not be here," he breathed out as his eyes scanned the area for any approaching foe.

"Yet, here I am." Lúthien could not hide the pain in her voice, the soldier frowning as his eyes scanned her person. No doubt, she was as much of a sight to be seen as he was. Black blood and gore mixed with dirt and sweat coated his clothes and dotted his skin.

Lúthien turned away with a nod to seek out her next match, only to find the man glued to her side. It did not surprise her that the soldier was hesitant to leave her in the middle of such a battle. She met his concerned gaze once more, only offering him an encouraging nod before returning her focus to the enemy.

As the next wave of orcs came, Sigeberht valiantly and loyally fought at her side, each of them engaging with their own separate enemy soldiers. However, Sigeberht was always close to her side, present should she find herself in need of assistance.

Just as Sigeberht was there for her, she in turn was there to aid him; both in turn aiding their fellow horseman, a large lot of them forming a smaller version of an éored. For this Lúthien was grateful. The sight of so many orcs was daunting and caused despair to threaten to take over.

In a break of the fighting, Lúthien managed to catch sight of Éomer's white tail helmet, the matted and bloody horse hair moving as if offering proof of life to the woman. Though only for a brief second, the sight allowed relief to flood through her in the knowledge that he still lived, quickly turning it into an energy that allowed her to push forward.

Her life was worth no more than Éomer's, Sigeberht's, nor any other man fighting. And so she fought to the best of her ability.

Orc after orc, enemy after enemy, fell beneath their steel blades. The number seemingly never ending.

As Lúthien felled another enemy, the sound of shouts rose above the noise. The words on the air caused a palpable fear to sweep through the Gondorians and their friends. The black ships of the enemy had arrived.

Surely, this spelled the end of Rohan and Gondor.

Adjusting the bloody grip on her sword, Lúthien readied herself for what was to come. Death. Yet, she would not go quietly. Death would have to fight his own way through if he wished to collect her this day.

The sight and sounds that came next were most unexpected, yet caused an outpouring of relief to flood through Gondorians and Rohirrim alike.

Though the large telltale sails of the black ships had appeared in the distance, it was the flag that flew at its mast that brought hope. The recognizable Tree of Gondor flew proudly, surrounded by seven stars and a crown laid out in white and gold.

The next sight to appear brought more hope than Lúthien had ever dared. Aragorn, leading an army of his own, poured from the ships as water pours from a high cliff. The reaction from the enemy brought rejuvenation to the men already engaged in battle.

Luthien stood there in shock, her sword arm collapsing to her side, the point of her sword burying itself in the blood soaked dirt at her feet as she attempted to process what was happening.

Could this be reality, or was it nothing more than a dream? Had she perhaps died and joined the dead?

The world seemed to hush for only a moment before renewed war cries erupted amongst the remaining Rohirrim and Gondorians surrounding her.

Even with the newly arrived reinforcements, the battle was not over. And so it raged on, until the sun set fire to the sky as dusk approached. Until it sank below the horizon, painting the red stained earth in dark shadows.

When the dark of night blanketed the fields, the final foe was defeated and cast down.

They had done it. In some miraculous way, victory was theirs.

The race of men would survive another day.

Chapter Text

Lúthien's eyes searched the fields, the sight of the fallen a heartbreaking sight. Wails and cries of the ailing and dying blanketed the air. Soft whimpers and quietly shed tears became the undertone, the men searching among the dead to find any remaining living.

Sorrow and anguish covered the land as snow covered the tops of the mountains.

The battle had been won, but at a great cost.

Unsure of what to do next, Lúthien turned at the touch of someone grasping her elbow, her heart skipping a beat at the supposed threat. Her arm moved to draw her sword once more, but stopped short when her eyes registered Sigeberht.

"Might I suggest you make your way to the city, m'lady? They'll have healers there, and a place for you to recover."

"I assure you, I am perfectly fine, dear Sigeberht." She lifted her arms slightly. "No more than a few scratches."

The soldier simply raised an eyebrow at her in a scolding manner. She could not deny that she needed rest at the very least.

"Very well," she relented. "I shall make my way to the city. No doubt, they will be in need of assistant healers."

Before departing from his company, Lúthien took a moment to take in her friend's injuries. "And what of you?" She pointed at a rather gruesome and nasty gash stretching across his chest and arm. "That is not something you should allow to go long before being tended to."

Sigeberht kept a straight face, his stance one of strength and stubbornness to match his words. "I will see to it when the time is right, m'lady. My duty and loyalty to my men must come first."

"I am no worse off than you, Sigeberht."

Sigeberht simply gave her a knowing look.

Lúthien released a defeated sigh. "Very well, I will do as you request. On the condition that you do not delay longer than necessary to having your own injuries attended to."

"I swear it." The older man bowed his head with his words. He watched her for a few moments as she began her trek in the direction of Minas Tirith. Once he was sure she would not detour from her path to the healing houses, he turned to see about his own duties.

Despite her reassurances that she was fine, Lúthien's body screamed with each step she took, with each breath inhaled. Neither could she hide the injury from being thrown from her horse; an injury that forced her to walk with an obvious limp.

Moving slowly, she fought against a whimper as the sharp pain from her fall caused a burning pain in her chest that increased with each step taken. She was not too proud in this moment to admit that she desperately required rest.

Black blood mixed with dirt covered her like a second skin, leaving the red blood that flowed beneath undetected.

As Lúthien continued to carefully pick her way amongst the dead towards the White City, familiar voices rising in conversation caused her to divert her path. Slowly, she made her way over to her friends, a small smile lifting her lips as she approached.

"What is this?!" Came an angry bellow from the red bearded dwarf as he jumped from his seat upon a rather fat slain orc. "Have you gone mad, lass? What are you doing here?" Gimli's voice was loud but full of concern and anxiety at her disheveled and stained person.

Legolas stood upon seeing her, concern marring his brow as his keen eyes immediately identified her stuttered breathing and pronounced limp.

Lúthien waved off the dwarf's questions. "I am pleased to see you as well, Master Gimli," she said smartly.

"Bah," Gimli waved away her nonsense with a smile. It only lasted a moment before his face took on a concerned look with Legolas' inquiry.

"Are your injuries severe, Lúthien?" Legolas' eyes scanned her person. It was clear she was wounded, but to what extent was where the importance lay.

Lúthien looked down at her person to examine herself for the first time. "I do look a fright, do I not?" She asked with a smile for the elf. Her cheery disposition eased the tension in the pair's shoulders, if only a little.

"I was attempting to make my way to the city. Would you two care to join?" Lúthien asked, her right arm barely lifting as she attempted to motion to the city. Her brows furrowed at the lack of motion and the pronounced exhaustion and pain. She had carried and swung a sword for most of the day, Lúthien considered. Exhaustion was surely catching up to her. Undoubtedly, her body would ache and be tired for the next few days.

With their agreement, the trio were on their way. Legolas and Gimli argued briefly about unfair counting while Lúthien listened in silence. After only a short distance however, fatigue began to make itself sufficiently evident in her limbs as her vision began to swim at the edges.

Lúthien shook her head, only partially successful in refocusing her eyes. Her mind struggled to follow along and keep track of the conversation occurring between her two companions.

Gimli's bark of laughter and his slight nudge at her side brought her attention back while at the same time causing a sharp pain to jolt through her body.

"Looking for trouble again, are you, Lady Lúthien? Perhaps I was right after all, eh?" The dwarf wriggled his eyebrows at the woman, causing a tired smile to lift her lips.

"I did not go looking for trouble, my friend. Yet," her eyes flicked across the field of death surrounding them, "I am happy to be counted among the lucky." Speaking began to seem more difficult with each word she spoke, the words desiring to stick in her mouth. Her stretched speech caused Gimli to pause and look at her with unease. "Are you sure you're well, my dear? You're looking awfully pale at the moment."

Lúthien made a sad attempt at waving her friend's words off, her strength almost non-existent. "Battle fatigue," was all she could muster for a verbal response.

Looking around in a dazed confusion, Lúthien realized they stood near the leg of one of the fallen Mumilak. The size was impressively daunting. Had she truly ridden so close to a living breathing one of these? Shaking her head of the questions bouncing around, she clenched her eyes shut for a moment against the sudden rising tide of nausea.

"Lúthien." Legolas' calm yet loud voice called out to her, snapping her eyes open momentarily. Based on his tone, it had not been the first time he'd called her name just now.

"I am fine," she huffed out, the air in her lungs seemingly running dry. "I find I just need to rest a moment."

She reached out to lean against the leg of the giant beast in order to ease herself down. Her hands had been slick with sweat, but as they came in to view, Lúthien realized it was not sweat, but in fact blood. Red blood. She frowned in confusion. Orc blood was black. Why should her hands be covered in red blood. The knowledge of this did not bode well, but Lúthien could not induce her mind to catch the reason as to why she should be concerned about it.

The distant sound of wails of sorrow briefly registered with her mind as her sight began to fade, black beginning to creep in. Lúthien reached out once more to lower herself against the mûmakil to rest, but her limb seemed useless and numb, her slicked hand slipping off the leathery skin of the animal.

Her body slammed against the limb of the beast and down to the ground as her strength finally left her, her balance lost.

Briefly, Lúthien could make out shouts of someone rushing closer to her, but her mind could not understand what was happening. Everything suddenly sounded as if she were underwater.

"Open your eyes, lass! Open them, I say!" She recognized the voice, but her mind was swimming in too much fog and too drained of energy to work properly any further.

She knew it was a command, she knew she must do something, but what?

As Lúthien's mind began to slip further and further into darkness, she found that she no longer wanted to fight it. Everything hurt, the pain worsening the longer she sat there and she just wanted to fall into the blissful dark sleep that now called her name.

For a moment her mind was shocked into a blurry clarity as Gimli's thunderous voice called her name once more. But still, his voice was muffled. The world felt as if it were rocking beneath her feet, though her mind registered enough to recall that she was sat upon the ground.

Lúthien wished whoever was shouting her name would understand that she was fine, she just needed to rest. Sleep beckoned her and she felt she must answer. She desired to go. With the last remnants of consciousness and strength leaving her, Lúthien's body slid slowly along the leathery skin of the dead Mumilak, away from her friends, her head almost crashing against the ground before being caught by Legolas before it could.

*****

The sound of waves gently crashing against a sandy shore reached Lúthien's ears. Warm surrounded her as a bright warmth bled through her eyes, the light encouraging her to open her eyes.

While at first she was reluctant, the soothing atmosphere that surrounded her coaxed her soft lids open further, revealing a beautiful and breathtaking landscape.

Lúthien found herself sat in a wooden boat, just large enough to carry herself and perhaps another, surrounded by crystal blue waters. Her clothes were soft and smooth against her glowing skin. Confusion made an attempt to course through her mind, but it was quickly pushed aside and replaced by a peaceful feeling.

As she looked around, her gaze froze on the couple stood a distance away on the white sandy shore.

There, holding to each other and smiling brightly, stood her mother and father.

Tears instantly welled in Lúthien's eyes as a smile split her face. Long had she desired to look upon their features just once more. Now, she found them stood before her, almost within reach of her grasp.

With a desperation she had not felt in years, Lúthien searched the boat she found herself in for oars, something, anything that would aid her in reaching the shore to join her parents.

Frustration began to mount as her search proved fruitless, her gaze returning to her parents, her arm reaching out to them as her body balanced precariously on the edge of the boat.

Using her arms, she reached down and paddled at the water. Yet, the boat remained where it was, the shores coming no closer.

"Mother! Father!" Her voice was pained as she stretched her form, the desire to simply feel their kind and loving touch once more rising.

Yet, no matter how she pleaded, she could not drift any closer; she could not escape the boat. Her parents remained on the shore, tucked in close to each other, both smiling fondly at their daughter.

Tears threatened to spill over and down her cheeks, her voice cracking as she collapsed against the side of the boat. "Please, please let me come home. I beg it of you."

Suddenly, a quiet voice drifted on the air from behind her, renewing the warmth that had begun to drift away. Turning around, no identifying form could be found save for a warm light that began to grow on the horizon like a sun marking a new day.

Lúthien tried to determine the source of the growing voice, but failed. Turning back to where her parents stood, she was saddened to realize that she had begun to drift farther from the shoreline. Her parents remained stood where they were, each with an arm wrapped around the other, the other arm lifted as they waved to her as if bidding her farewell. Their smiles were encouraging and sympathetic.

"No!" She cried as she moved to the side of the boat facing the shore once more. "I do not wish to leave you!" Her voice was broken and desperate. Lúthien wished for nothing more than to reach the shore and feel her parents' loving warmth once more.

The unseen voice called louder, its tone broken and pleading. While it continued to grow louder, it remained soft and comforting. The familiar voice beckoned to her, the words becoming more clear. Whoever it was, they were calling her true name.

I have lost enough already. I do not wish to lose you as well.

Lúthien looked to her parents. She missed them and wished desperately to be with them, to feel their loving arms wrap around her and comfort her. To feel loved once more. As her eyes found them in the growing distance, their smiles had lessened, their forms slipping farther and farther away from her vision.

The voice from behind called her true name once more, the warmth and strength in it pulling her gaze from the shoreline and to the growing light in the distance. It was not blinding. Though it grew brighter with each passing second, it did not hurt her eyes. On the contrary, Lúthien found it beautiful, her eyes sparkling in awe at the sight of it. Surely, this was an elven light. For no other light could contain such peace and warmth and luminosity yet cause no harm.

She turned once more to see her parents, knowing the boat she sat in continued to drift away; but the light was beckoning, entrancing, pulling her attention with a spirit, both familiar and unfamiliar.

As she drifted closer to the brightening horizon, the voice echoed loudly around her again, soft yet strong. It was a deep voice that rumbled through her body like a roaring fire. It clothed her in comfort and safety. The desire to reach out to it was too great to resist. And so Lúthien did. This time, nothing held her back from reaching her destination.

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered through the pulled curtains at the side of the room. The soft light was strong enough to brighten the darkness beneath Lúthien's closed lids, causing her to stir.

Slowly her lashes fluttered as her eyes adjusted themselves to consciousness and light once more. The room around her was plain yet tasteful. It was a small room set up as a bedroom, yet any personable affects was distinctly lacking. From experience, Lúthien would guess this to be a private room in the healing houses. Should she guess further, she would say she had somehow made it to Minas Tirith.

Turning her head slowly, she was greeted with the familiar sight of Gandalf sat in a chair, a pipe held tightly between his lips as he listened to Gimli, sat beside him, speaking quietly with him.

A weary smile lifted the corners of her lips as a feeling of soft joy filled her chest. Gandalf had survived the battle.

Lúthien's mind became sharply focused at the memory of battle. With a speed her body was not prepared for, she moved to sit up, only for her two companions to jump to their feet, rushing to her side to gently push her back into bed.

"Rest easy, my friend," Gandalf's low voice rumbled as he rested a calming hand on her shoulder. "There is no need to worry any longer." His eyes were kind and comforting, his voice bringing a peace to Lúthien's worried mind.

"What happened, Gandalf?" Her eyes scanned the room briefly before returning to her friend.

Gimli crossed his arms over his chest as he spoke, the scolding in his voice unable to mask the honest concern behind it. "You told us that you were fine and needed only to rest. And then you continued to fall into darkness and chase death."

Gandalf gave the dwarf a compassionate yet chastising look as he retook his seat. "Gimli, my dear friend, perhaps now is not the time to vent any lingering anger at her recklessness." Gandalf turned his own softly scolding eyes onto the woman. "Even though that was exactly what it was. Absolute recklessness and utter stupidity. What were you thinking, throwing yourself into the battle such as you did? And then to attempt to hide your injuries, ones as serious as what you sustained? Foolishness in—" Gandalf cut off his words as Gimli loudly cleared his throat, his arms going down to his side.

"I believe you're right, wizard. It is not the time for rebuking words."

Gandalf looked at the dwarf, the concerned anger in his eyes leaving quickly. An apologetic smile replaced the ire. The wizard had gotten carried away with his emotions and words, something he found happened more often when it came to anything regarding his young ward.

"Yes, well," he looked at Lúthien, taking her hand into both of his with compassion, "I am glad you are well and are recovering. You had quite a few people quite worried, my child. The healers found you to have sustained wounds inside that surpassed even the skills of Gondor's greatest healers. For a moment there, we had feared you were lost to us."

Lúthien's eyes glistened as her friend's voice caught with his words, the memories of her dream slowly beginning to fade. He was not yet aware how close he truly had been to losing her.

Her mind pulled briefly at the memory of the boat and the voice that had called her name, attempting to identify it before it completely slipped away. She knew that voice, yet the harder she tried to remember who it belonged to, the quicker the memory faded.

"Twas Aragorn's healing hands that brought you back to us." Gimli's voice pulled her back to the healing room, the voice fading to nothing more than a soft echo in the recesses of her mind.

Lúthien's eyes met Gandalf's. The wizard was silent a moment as he studied the emotions flashing through her mind and pouring our across her face. He leaned forward in perception as he spoke with understanding. "We were closer to losing you than we originally believed." It wasn't a question. Gandalf could see it in her eyes.

Gimli's mouth dropped open slightly at his friend's words. "Gandalf?"

Gandalf leaned back in easiness, yet his aged face betrayed the relief he felt at her survival. "Lúthien stood on the very brink of death, I believe; that fine line that firmly separates the living from the dead." He paused a moment as he chewed on the end of his pipe, studying the woman that lay bandaged before him. As if seeing something in her memories, Gandalf's face lit up in curiosity. "Something pulled you back." He quickly corrected his words. "Someone brought you back. And I don't believe it was entirely Aragorn's doing."

"I don't know what it was that happened to me, Gandalf," Lúthien began, trying to pull back the dwindling memory. "It was as if I were in a dream, yet it was unlike any dream I had ever experienced before. It felt so real." She looked to her friends, her eyes shining with earnestness at her words.

"I was stood on a boat that neither swayed nor rocked. It was warm and peaceful, the light unlike anything I have ever seen in this world." Her hands began to fidget as she worked to retell the events of her unconsciousness. She spoke of her parents and her inability to reach them on the sandy shore. She told them of the light that stole her away, the voice she recognized still familiar in it's remnants, but one she could not assign an owner to.

As she finished, Gandalf remained seated in quiet thought. Gimli remained silent, noticing the contemplation in the wizard.

Gandalf leaned forward, his thoughtful eyes looking deep into hers, studying them with fervor. Lúthien remained still, unsure of where his thoughts would lead. Eager curiosity flooded her expression at the sight of Gandalf's face lighting in loving awe for a moment.

"What? What is it, Gandalf?" Gimli's anxious words were spoken before Lúthien could voice her own. The dwarf scooted forward on his seat, his form hovering close to hers. Clearly, he was as much desirous of answers as Lúthien was.

In true wizard fashion, Gandalf leaned back in his chair, the end of his pipe returning to his mouth as he smiled softly on Lúthien as a grandfather might look at his granddaughter. "It seems this world is not done with you yet, Lúthien, Daughter of Awiergan. I believe there are still great things left for you to do."

*****

It was not later that day when Lúthien's two friends departed and another arrived, eager to confirm her recovery.

Faramir stepped into her room quietly, pausing at the door as his eyes glistened, taking in the sight before him. His sister was alive and recovering.

Lúthien's heart soared at seeing Faramir once again. It had been too long since she had last seen her brother. Bittersweet tears flooded both of their eyes. Faramir, seeing his own dear friend's glistening eyes, moved swiftly to take a seat in the wooden chair at her bedside, his hand immediately finding hers.

Such a simple touch was not enough. Mustering what energy she could, she grasped his hand, pulling him to her. With a mournful joy, Lúthien carefully wrapped her arms around Faramir's frame, noticing his bandaged arm and jilted movements; obvious signs that he also had not made it through the battle unscathed.

Their reunion was bittersweet for so many reasons. The most prominent of these being that this was the first time they were able to properly mourn the loss of Boromir together.

As tears streamed down her cheeks, Lúthien cried into her brother's shoulder, her words strangled as she apologized for being unable to save Boromir from his fate. "Forgive me, Faramir. I tried to save him, but I could not. I swear, I tried."

Faramir's tears fell into her hair as he whispered words of comfort as he held her closer, his hand moving to stroke the back of her head. "I do not blame you, little sister. Nor should you blame yourself." He pulled back only enough to meet her gaze in order to ensure she heard his words.

"Fate long ago determined his fall. There was nothing you nor I could have done to change that." Faramir's thumb gently wiped away a tear falling down her cheek, her dual colored eyes drowning in sorrow. "Let us honor Boromir with the lives we live." He pulled her back to his chest, his arms hugging her close. "But you must strive to make sure you are alive to live it, Lúthien."

Lúthien held on to Faramir, not wishing to ever let go. Silently she nodded her head against his chest.

The pair remained there, wrapped in each other's comforting embrace, for a while longer. Neither one attempted to stop the flow of tears. The last few months had taken its toll on them both in their own way. They allowed themselves each to take advantage of the safety and comfort the other's presence brought to let down the walls and mourn; mourn the loss of Boromir, mourn the death of so many, mourn the war, mourn the path fate had put them on; mourn their own injuries.

Loathed to be parted from each other, Faramir and Lúthien spent most the day and late into the night sharing stories—both good and bad—of what had occurred in the time since they last saw each other. When that became too much to bear any longer, they lifted each other's spirits by sharing memories of their years growing up before the darkness' talons fully grasped at the lands of men.

It was well past the rising of the moon in the distant sky when Faramir was reluctantly shooed from her room by one of the healers. The healer had made the argument that Lady Aedre still required rest, yet Lúthien could not bring herself to believe that rest over Faramir's presence would be more medicinal.

Left alone with her own thoughts in the dark of night, Lúthien struggled to sleep. Flashes of death and blood plagued her dreams. The hours of darkness dragged on, as if determined to bring punishment and unease for her choice to join in the battle.

Unable to find solace and rest in sleep, Lúthien lay in her bed staring up at the dark ceiling. The sight of the first hints of daylight breaking on the horizon was the only thing to bring relief to Lúthien's shoulders that night. She turned her head, her eyes begging the coming light to rise faster in hope that the darkness of the night would no longer be able to cast torturous thoughts in her head.

Finding something more lifting to focus on, Lúthien adjusted her body to a more comfortable position, the pain still sharp and present enough to leave her wincing and hissing in response. Slowly taking a deep breath, she focused her thoughts on one memory. The warm voice that had called her away from Death's edge.

The memory was barely there, her weary and injured mind no longer having the strength to hold onto it. Lúthien strained to identify the voice. She knew who it was, she was certain. The sound of it scratched at the recesses of her mind like a dog pawing at a door to be let out. Yet she did not trust the answer she knew to be true.

The voice had belonged to Éomer. She was certain, yet she could not bring herself to believe it. Had Éomer truly been the one to pull her from Death's clutches? Did the man hold such power over her heart?

As she lay there alone in her bed, her mind tracing the vanishing shadows of the curtain, Lúthien looked deep to examine her heart. It did not take long for her to find the answer that she already knew; the answer that terrified her.

Éomer held her heart.

Lúthien breathed deeply as this revelation poured forth from her soul, ignoring the screams of pain her body sent with the motion, the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

How could she have been so foolish?

Chapter Text

It was late morning when Gimli visited to keep her company. Her friend regaled her with tales from his homeland, proudly informed himself the winner against Legolas for number of enemies slain, and smiled triumphantly when he brought a smile to Lúthien's face with a dreadful joke that she should not have found so amusing.

With the help of her friend, Lúthien had carefully moved herself into a more comfortable reclined sitting position.

Thus far, her visitors had been limited to Gimli, Gandalf, and Faramir. Though she could not help but wonder what became of the others, Lúthien found herself too scared to ask anyone about them.

Gimli seemed to have read her well though, for his next words had her eyes snapping up to meet his as he leaned back comfortably in his chair.

"You may as well ask, m'lady. I can see the wheels turning over in your mind. Give them a break before you run yourself into a nervous fit and send us all back into a worried frenzy."

Lúthien blinked at her friend, her body frozen by fear for a minute. Her hands shook as she worked up the courage to give voice to her question. "What became of the others?" Her voice was quiet with a slight tremble. "I have seen only you, Gandalf, and Faramir. Legolas was in the field with you, that I can recall. Aragorn has been only been mentioned once in passing. Can you tell me, Gimli," Lúthien leaned forward only a minute amount and grabbed his hand in hers, her desire to know the fate of her friends finally overriding her fears. "What of the others in our company?"

Gimli leaned forward to ease her reach, his other hand coming to enclose hers in his grip, his face serious. "Aye, lass, Legolas was there as you recall. He was with Aragorn and I, bringing the army of the dead. Aragorn is well and seeing to the business of war with Faramir and Gandalf as we speak." He patted her hand in comfort as he continued, "Let me see, Merry," he chuckled, "Merry seemed to find himself in much the same position you found yourself. However, he and Pippin are well and recovering nicely."

Relief seeped into Lúthien's bones with this news. Yet it was not filling enough to reach those held in her heart. Her eyes turned with worry once more as she spoke quietly the names of the two she wished most to know the fate of. "What of Eowyn and Éomer?" She studied the dwarf's face for any sign of an answer. Yet it was not his voice that gave her heart the relief it sought.

As if summoned by her inquiry, Éomer's form appeared in the doorway of her sick room, his voice answering her before Gimli was able.

"We are both well and recovering."

Lúthien's face at once turned to meet the man's gaze. The ease of worry and comfort she found in his presence was immediate. She could not stop the small smile from appearing on her face nor did she try to. Her friend was alive. What was more, Éomer was alive.

Unexpectedly overcome by happiness from assuagement, Lúthien's head softly fell back against her pillows, her eyes closing as a tear escaped from her lashes. Her friends has survived. They were safe. All of them.

"Thank you," she breathed out to the universe before opening her eyes to look once more upon Éomer.

"Are you all right, my dear?" Gimli asked, his thick and calloused hands squeezing hers in concern over her newly shed tears.

Lúthien quickly nodded in response. "I very much am, Gimli." She wiped at her fallen tears as she let out a huff of a laugh. "Perhaps I am just overly emotional from weariness, who may know," she met Gimli's eyes, "but this is the first time that I have come out of a battle and found that all those I hold dear have survived." Her eyes bounced to Éomer's briefly before resettling on Gimli's. "I count it nothing less than a miracle."

Her eyes moved to Éomer's once more and recognized the sorrow of loss in his own. His cries on the battlefield echoed in her mind. The sight of Théoden King laying bloodied and pale on the ground, his nephew's face one of anguish and torment would be one that would haunt her mind for many nights to come. Any words of comfort fled from her. What could one say to another in a situation such as this? Too many times she had been the one to lose the one she cared about. Yet Lúthien could not think of any words that might have brought her comfort in those times. There were none that existed.

Éomer's deep voice was quiet in the room, the almost teasing tone of his voice catching Lúthien off guard. "Have you openly admitted that my sister and I have the honor of being one of the few whom you hold dear?"

Gimli made a feeble attempt to hide his surprised bark of laughter before he turned in his chair to look at Éomer. The look Gimli gave the man could only be described as knowing, his raised eyebrow speaking for him.

Lúthien felt her cheeks burn at his choice to focus on those specific words of hers. Lifting her chin proudly, she pushed away her blushing, met his eyes and answered him as evenly as her voice would allow. "I do not deny it," she spoke in Rohirrim.

Éomer took a few steps farther into the room, his steps almost hesitant as he stopped to stand at Gimli's side, his gaze never leaving hers. Once more, Lúthien felt as if she were under his spell, unable and unwilling to look away as everything else in the room seemed to fade away.

Gimli looked between the pair, the silence in the room lengthening. Making a decision, he cleared his throat and abruptly stood, offering Lúthien a broad smile. "I will leave you to your visit with Lord Éomer, m'lady." He glanced at Éomer from the corner of his eye. "I have no desire to witness a dance of words between the two of you again. Especially when I cannot understand what is being said. There is no fun in eavesdropping if one cannot understand the conversation." Gimli once more gave Éomer a knowing look, which confused Lúthien.

"Please do not stay away," Lúthien offered as Gimli headed towards the door.

He paused at the threshold, turning to offer her a smile. "I can promise I will do no such thing. And I promise to bring more of our company the next time I return."

Lúthien smiled gratefully. "I look forward to it."

With a final nod of his head and one last look shot at Éomer—which was only replied with an eye roll—Gimli finally departed, leaving Lúthien and Éomer in an awkward silence.

Time ticked by for what felt like an eternity as Lúthien fiddled with the edge of the blanket in her lap. Her eyes now awkwardly refused to meet Éomer's, unwilling to allow herself to fall under his spell once more. It would do no good to allow her heart to dictate her actions now.

Over the years, her heart had been hardened against pain, building up walls to protect her. Yet, when it came to Éomer, it seemed her heart was willing to ignore all the pain and suffering of the past. Her heart had allowed him to slip past her barriers, to make a home within its depths.

He had been the one to pull her from the edges of Death, to pull her back towards the warmth of the living. And that knowledge brought the pain she would undoubtedly suffer to new heights. Fate was a cruel mistress indeed. Lúthien was no fool. For Éomer, son of Éomund, nephew to Théoden, son of Thengel, was to be the new crowned king of Rohan.

And Lúthien could never be with him.

Éomer moved to claim Gimli's vacated seat at her side, pulling Lúthien from her spiraling thoughts. Avoiding his gaze, she instead studied his face. She could not say how she was so certain, yet she was that Éomer desired to ask her something. She could read it in his face. But she would not press him. She would not pry.

"I'm glad to hear that Eowyn is recovering," Lúthien spoke instead.

"Yes, as am I."

Seconds ticked by in silence.

"I feared I had lost her at one point," Éomer spoke quietly.

"Yes," Lúthien whispered back, her chest tightening at the memory of her failure. "I thought her lost until Gandalf informed me of her recovery." Lúthien's hands began to shake as the image of Eowyn's lifeless body clutched in Éomer's arms flashed across her memory. She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, begging her mind to show her something—anything else.

"I thought you lost as well," Éomer's voice was softer, quieter, as if imparting a secret.

"I suppose I almost was," she whispered back again. Her fingers clutched at the blanket, her mind a swirling storm of so many different memories and emotions.

Her reply seemed to bring a low anger to Éomer, his question coming out strained, as if he were trying to reign in his rising temper. "Why were you on the field of battle to begin with?"

Lúthien could only give a weary sigh in response. "I will not argue with you. What is done, is done. It cannot be changed, and I find no use in dwelling on such a topic that will clearly lead to nothing but arguments." She finally brought her gaze up to meet his, her eyes firm.

Éomer heaved his own sigh, the fire in his eyes draining. He leaned forward onto his elbows, his hand rubbing against his forehead in attempt to relieve the stress that visibly weighed down on him.

"I will reluctantly agree," Éomer said, his eyes scanning her face for a quiet moment. "Will you return to Rohan with Eowyn once you are both healed enough to travel?"

Lúthien attempted a small shrug, wincing slightly at the movement. Her eyes drifted to the edge of the blanket draped over her torso. "I think it may be time for me to leave on my own path once I am healed enough." Her words were soft, only a small hint of sadness revealing itself.

Éomer frowned at her response. "Why can your path not lead back to Rohan? Why cannot Rohan be your home?" His words were insistent.

Lúthien gave Éomer a dispassionate look. "It was determined long ago that I would have no home, Éomer." Flutters danced in her heart as his name fell from her lips, she could not deny it.

Pushing them back behind her constructed walls, she spoke on. "I have been given the path of a nomad in life. Nothing has changed."

"I refuse to believe such nonsense," Éomer argued promptly, his voice rising. "You are free to live where ever you choose."

Lúthien rubbed in frustration at her eyes. "You know very well how false that statement is." She returned her gaze to Éomer, doing her best to remain calm. "You know well enough that I am in fact not welcome to make a home for myself where ever I choose. Quite the opposite in fact."

Éomer was visibly frustrated. His actions betrayed his own attempt to remain calm and civil, his nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply. A moment passed as he composed himself, his words softer when he next spoke. "Why must you insist on believing these lies that you speak? How can you be around our people as you have, seen them treat you no differently, and yet still believe the lie that everyone will condemn and banish you?"

Though Lúthien's heart fluttered once more at his declaration of 'our people,' but those flutters were quickly replaced with her own ire at his refusal to see the truth of her life. Unable to hold back the rising temper his words brought, Lúthien lashed out.

"Everyone repeatedly tells me that I must let go of the lies this world has convinced me of. That I must be mistaken. They wonder how could I not see the kindness?" She paused, regaining control of her temper, a sadness taking its place. Lúthien took as deep a breath as the pain would allow, tears threatening as memories flooded in.

She turned her head away from Éomer, avoiding the sorrowful and shocked look on his face. "How can I let go of the lies when I cannot hold them to be less than the truth?"

"But they are lies, Lúthien!" Éomer pleaded, his hand resting flat against her bed as he leaned forward to make his case. "The people of Rohan have grown to love you. Can you not see that?"

"They are not lies!" Lúthien spit out at him, her head turning quickly to meet his gaze with a fire of her own. Her body protested at the sudden movement. She struggled against the pain, wincing as she took a deep breath, her back arching slightly off the bed as she fought against the sharp wave of pain, both physical and mental. Lúthien closed her eyes tightly against the flood of feelings and emotions.

Once the pain and anger had subsided, she opened her eyes and met Éomer's gaze once more. Her voice was quiet and sharp as she spoke, her attempts to keep her voice steady failing. "You cannot tell me they are lies when their truth is marked into my very skin." An angry tear fell from her blackened eye. "When every morning that I rise to dress, I am reminded of the anger and hate directed at me for the simple reason that I was born. They are not lies, Lord Éomer."

Éomer's eyes softened and filled with a hurt. Lúthien held his gaze unabashedly. She had suffered greatly in her life, she would not deny it. Yet she did not hold any grudges or anger towards her attackers. Their evil deeds had made her the woman she was today; stronger and wiser despite their attempts to make her and see her as the opposite. Yet, that did not signify that the pain from the memories did not persist.

Éomer's eyes dropped slightly, his gaze catching on the scars revealed on her bare upper arms resting above the blankets. Lúthien followed his gaze, her own ire fading away with the pain evident in his eyes. "Do not fret over what you see, Éomer." She spoke softly. "It was not the worst of them."

Lúthien immediately cringed slightly at her words, Éomer's face pained as he looked back up at her instantly.

"My apologies, I should not have shared that." She reached out, weakly swatting the air near his arm as if to sweep away her spoken words, her mind not thinking clearly as she treated him with such casual interactions. "I do not mean to worry you."

Éomer took advantage of her closeness, catching her hand, holding it comfortably in his. The flutters in her heart returned tenfold as he lifted her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

Her heart hitched at the contact, his soft lips sending a cascading fire up her arm. Éomer's eyes were soft when he released her hand and looked at her, his gentle grip refusing to release her hand. His voice came out rough and catching yet soft and quiet with his confession. "I cannot help but worry over you, Lúthien. From the moment I first saw you, I knew my life would never mean anything if you were not in it." Lúthien's heart pounded in her chest, the flutters morphing into a complete frenzy.

"Every day that passes," Éomer continued, "I find that I worry over you." His calloused hands gripped hers tighter. "I do not want to lose you."

Lúthien felt her eyes flood with tears. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to fall in Éomer's arms and confess her love for him.

But she resisted. She loved him with such fierceness as she had never experienced before. Yet she should not. She could not. She could never be with Éomer, no matter how much she wished it. Fate was cruel indeed.

When silence reigned and it was clear she would give no reply, Éomer departed, neither one of them speaking a word as he reluctantly released her hand. Lúthien's fingers clutched at the blanket across her, the absence of his tender touch an ache she wished she had never learned.

*****

That night brought another round of sleeplessness as Lúthien fought against the nightmares that were determined to plague her mind.

Growing restless in the small room, Lúthien had taken to complaining fervently about being held prisoner. She knew it was an exaggeration, but it was one that proved fruitful. With the promise that she would only walk a designated distance and pace—backed by Gandalf's insistence—Lúthien was released into the sunshine.

With her cloak draped around her shoulders and her hood pulled loosely over her head, Lúthien slowly meandered through the stone streets of her level of Minas Tirith. On another day she might have been tempted to search out the walled edge of the city level and gaze upon the lands of Gondor. This day, however, she made a conscious effort to avoid the streets that might give her a glimpse. She felt every desire to not look upon the battle field that was no doubt still stained with the blood and bodies of the fallen.

The limp in her gait was still evident, her ribs still painfully throbbing as she leaned against the cane given to aid in her walking, but she could not stay locked away in her sick room for one more minute. Her mind had been on the verge of breaking even further.

She allowed the sun that broke through the gathering dark clouds to drench into her exposed arms where the sleeves of her tunic had been rolled up. When taking a step seemed too laborious, she would pause and look up, her eyes closing against the brightness of the sun, as its rays soaked into her scarred skin. To feel the sun on her skin was a beautiful feeling. Lúthien hadn't realized how much she had missed it.

Continuing slowly around the white stone building that sat adjacent to the healing house, Lúthien came across a small group of Rohan's soldiers, some of their faces familiar. As they passed her, the group and Lúthien exchanged small nods of respect, offering a small smile before continuing on their way.

Feeling her limbs grow weary, Lúthien took a seat on a stone bench that stood beside a small garden outside the front steps of the building beside her. Her eyes scanned the mostly empty streets as her mind wandered. What was she to do now? What path had fate in store for her?

Her eyes caught on two familiar figures as they strolled down the street together in conversation. Seeing Faramir and Gandalf change coarse towards her, having spotted her themselves, a smile grew on her face.

The smile quickly faded as she took in the consternation of their faces. "What is it?" She asked, carefully rising to her feet as their approach grew closer. Lúthien forced her breath to remain steady as she met with her friends, her mind racing.

Faramir stepped closer, offering her a kind but serious smile. "The war is not over, dear sister. One last effort must be made." He shared a look with Gandalf which only caused the worry in Lúthien's chest to grow.

Gandalf spoke up, expounding on what Faramir spoke of. His face sorrowful and full of worry as he stepped closer to her, his voice quiet as if worried the enemy stalked nearby and might hear. "We leave this day to march on the Black Gate."

Lúthien immediately felt a sob force its way into her chest but fought hard to refuse its release. Her head grew faint with the news. Swallowing, she forced the pain down, instead inquiring about any details they might be able to offer, her own voice low to match Gandalf's. "Who is to go? When are they to leave?"

Gandalf's words remained sad and soft, as if sharing dreadful news with a small child. Or a broken woman. "Most of our company, I'm afraid."

Lúthien fought back her tears as she nodded in understanding. Her head lowered, her eyes closing against the worry and fear flooding like the ghost army spilling across the fields of Pelennor. Her knuckles began to turn white as she gripped at the cane in her hand.

Faramir took hold of her free hand, bringing her teary gaze up to his. "I will remain behind as I, as you, still require healing." He offered a small smile in an attempt to assuage her fears. "I'm afraid you will have to suffer my company a while longer, dear sister."

Lúthien managed a small smile in response. Her mind raced for a moment before looking to Gandalf with hopeful eyes, but before she could even open her mouth, Gandalf raised a stern finger at her, his hard look matching. "You as well shall remain here to recover. And here I expect to find you upon my return. Do you understand, child?"

Bitter memories from her childhood swirled briefly in Lúthien's mind before being swept away by Gandalf's soft warning. Though she had momentarily wished to join the company in what would potentially and likely be the last battle for Middle Earth, she understood that it would be best for all if she stayed to recover.

"I promise," Lúthien offered sincerely. She held up her own finger towards her mentor in challenge. "But only until I am recovered. That is the best I can do." Her lips twitched as she fought a smile.

Gandalf relented with a huff. "I should not expect anything less from you, I suppose."

Lúthien and Faramir shared a smile for the old wizard. Lúthien's body began to grow weary from her injuries and so Faramir offered to escort her back to her rooms. Though she dreaded the thought of being forced to look at nothing but those four plain walls once more, she could not deny it was what was best. Her body still had a ways yet to go before it was fully healed.

Lúthien turned to accept his offer, but instead her eyes caught on the sight of Éomer and the Three Hunters walking towards her small group. Faramir noticed the look on her face and lack of response, causing his head to follow her gaze over his shoulder.

Aragorn arrived first, offering her a wide and happy smile. "I am happy to see you so well recovered to be out walking. You had us all worried."

Gandalf huffed. "Yes, well do not let her appearance out of doors deceive you. Our dear friend still has quite a bit of recovering to do. It was only her threatening the healers harm that allotted her release." Gandalf cast Lúthien a scolding look, though it held no malice.

Lúthien resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Gandalf. Though, she knew he meant well and only wanted to ensure her quick and full recovery. Whether the wizard would admit it or not, Lúthien held a special place in his heart.

Ignoring the wizard, Lúthien turned to Aragorn, offering him a smile of her own. "I apologize for the worry I caused. I can promise it was not my intention. However, I would like to most heartedly and sincerely thank you, Aragorn, for your assistance in saving my life."

Aragorn, in all humbleness, simply bowed his head, his hand placed briefly to his chest in response. "I find the honor to be mine."

Unsure of how to respond to such a thing, Lúthien simply dipped her own head slightly in silence. Raising her eyes, she caught Éomer's gaze, his eyes piercing as he stared at her.

In the silence, Faramir cleared his throat, garnering everyone's attention before speaking up. "I was just about to walk with Aedre back to her rooms," his eyes flicked to Éomer briefly before turning back to Lúthien to address her. "However, I find that I have forgotten that I must see to a state of Gondor." Faramir turned. "Lord Aragorn, might I gain your your advice on this matter?"

Aragorn's eyes scanned the company gathered before responding with a subtle smile. "I would be glad to offer my assistance where I am able." The two gentleman departed down one of the streets with nothing more than a silent nod of farewell.

Lúthien frowned at their sudden departure while something ticked at her brain. Faramir was clearly plotting something, she knew him well enough to deduce as much. Gimli, huffing gruffly, brought her attention to him. The dwarf knocked Legolas in the leg with his axe handle. "Aye, let us go, elf. We need not make up some falsehood to find an exit." Legolas smiled at Gimli, as Lúthien's eyes went wide, Gandalf simply chuckling as he leaned against his staff.

"You are all subtleness, my friend." Legolas' eyes gleamed as he nodded at Lúthien before following Gimli down a side street.

Gandalf turned to Éomer and Lúthien. "Lord Éomer, might I trouble you a moment. Lúthien has walked farther and longer than promised today. Would you see to it that she returns safely to her rooms?"

Éomer stuttered only a moment before his training as a soldier kicked in. "Of course, it would be my pleasure."

Without a word, Éomer turned to Lúthien, holding out a hand to direct her down the path that lead back to the healing house. Lúthien only gave Gandalf a passing look, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him as she passed.

The walk back was quiet but not completely uncomfortable. Lúthien's still present limp forced them to take a slower pace. As they drew closer to the entrance of the healing house, Lúthien gave voice to the question swirling in her mind. "Do you accompany Aragorn in his march?"

"Yes," came Éomer's simple reply.

"When are you to leave?" She asked, her eyes looking ahead.

"We depart as soon as provisions are seen to and the host readied."

Lúthien looked at the ground as her steps came slowly. She nodded her understanding. "So, very soon."

"Yes," he replied quietly, "very soon."

Lúthien walked with her eyes focused on the path at her feet as her mind began to race again. The sudden reality of Éomer marching on the Black Gate, the possibility of losing him forever swirled with the crushing reality that he was never hers to lose and never would be.

Emotions flooded Lúthien's mind as everything swam through her mind, everything and nothing all at once. Regardless of the torrent enduring in her mind, Lúthien's heart remained quiet and constant. She was in love with the man who walked silently beside her. The man who fought nobly, had the heart of a lion, who willingly and protectively defended those he loved. Éomer was a brave, kind, and loyal man. A man who had seen past her scars and mismatched black eye, who had seen her, Lúthien. The woman hidden behind the hood.

As the pair approached the healing houses, Éomer paused, lightly grasping at Lúthien's arm, halting her in her steps and turning her carefully to face him.

It quickly became clear that Lúthien's mind was not the only one in a storm.

"I must ask a question that has been plaguing my mind."

Lúthien held his gaze, remaining silent.

"I do not wish to fight, not when we stand on the precipice of another battle, but I must ask." His eyes held a pleading look. "Why would you risk riding into battle with the King?"

Lúthien met his gaze squarely, desiring for him to understand her reasoning. "It is a simple answer. I felt it my duty to protect Eowyn." Éomer's brows furrowed in confusion of her words. "While it may be true that your sister is not my family and therefore theoretically I am not duty bound to her, I also knew that I could not stop her from joining the battle.

"I was prepared to leave that day, to follow my own path in the belief that Rohan fought a war that was not my own. However, when I caught sight of your sister preparing, I knew I could not just leave. It was in my power to offer protection and so I did. I know the pain of a fallen loved one." Lúthien's eyes studied Éomer's. "I would do everything in my power to prevent you from living with such pain."

Her eyes lowered in shame of her failing to protect Eowyn properly. "Though I came close to failing in that as well." Lúthien clenched her eyes as the vision of Eowyn laying almost lifelessly in her brother's arms flashed through her mind; Éomer's voice crying out in pain replayed in her ears.

With nothing more to say, Lúthien moved to turn away from him and leave him with his answer. His hand, however, grasped onto her free one, holding her in place. Éomer spoke not of the pain he suffered, nor how he almost lost his sister. Instead, his voice was sincere and heartfelt as he said, "thank you."

Lúthien lifted her head to look into his face. The pair stood that way, locked in each other's spells for what felt like only seconds wrapped in an eternity. The sound of a group of Gondor's armor clad soldiers running past them left them stepping back, Éomer's grasp releasing Lúthien's hand.

Lúthien hid her hand in her cloak, her fingers clutching in response to the feeling of missing his touch once more.

"Good bye, Aedre," Éomer whispered out softly, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek before turning and walking away. Lúthien stood at the door of the healing house watching him walk away. Unwilling to move from her spot, Lúthien's eyes watched his retreating form until he disappeared down a corner street, her chest fluttering as his eyes found hers once more over his shoulder before he was gone.

With more speed than was probably appropriate for one in her condition, Lúthien made her way back to her room, closing the door tightly behind her. She found she was suddenly weary and most desirous of sleep. Her injuries were no doubt the main cause of her weariness, yet Lúthien knew they were not the only cause.

Lúthien carefully laid down in her bed, pulling the blanket up over her shoulder as she curled up as best as her wounds would allow. There, in the curtained light of her room, for the first time in a long time, Lúthien allowed her tears to freely fall.

Her friends, people she cared so much about, were to ride to battle the all seeing Eye in the East. They marched, most likely, to their deaths. So many would leave that day for battle and there was nothing to be done by her save for hide in her room like a child. Yet, she found the term fitting for her current state. For the first time since her childhood, Lúthien was beyond terrified and felt utterly helpless to save the ones she loved so dearly.

She did not want to suffer the pain of losing someone else she held dear.

Lúthien rested her head on her palm against the bed, the place on her cheek still holding a warmth from when Éomer's lips brushed her bare skin. Slowly and gingerly, she pulled herself into her chest, her body forming into a childlike ball as her tears began to fall harder.

So much effort had been spent trying to harden her heart against it all. But somehow, a love far stronger than she thought herself capable of had worked its way past her walls and settled deeply in her heart.

With this thought, another crept in. Surely, with fate so set against her, her loving Éomer had surely doomed him. Whether he returned her feelings or not. Once again, Lúthien would be the harbinger of death.

Éomer, Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli.

No matter how ridiculous the notion might seem, Lúthien felt as if somehow it was she herself that had sent them to their deaths; that their deaths were Fate's punishment for what she was.

Lúthien squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of tears. She could be brave and strong on the morrow. For tonight however, she allowed her sadness to well up and envelope her in heaving sobs.

Her eyes eventually ran dry as she cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Text

The tension in the city was palpable in the days following the army's departure. Each day marked one day closer to the fate of Middle Earth being decided.

Lúthien spent the following days slowly exploring the streets of her level, resting when she felt it necessary. Anything to avoid being tucked away with her thoughts in her small room. Thoughts swirling with dark thoughts and worries of those who had departed for the final battle of Middle Earth.

After the first day, Eowyn had asked to join her to which Lúthien had readily agreed. The two women spent most of the time in silence, choosing to enjoy the quiet walks. Despite the silence, a quiet bond formed between them, growing stronger with each passing day.

One afternoon, as the two women rested on a bench, Eowyn spoke of a conversation she had had with her brother. "Éomer told me how you saw me as you worked to depart from Dunharrow." Lúthien looked at her hands in her lap. "He told me that you followed me into battle, that you fought to keep me safe."

Lúthien looked up apologetically. "I am sorry I was not able to do more to protect you from the pains of war."

Eowyn took Lúthien's hands in her own as she turned her body to face Lúthien more. She shook her head at Lúthien's words. "I only speak of it so that I may say thank you."

Lúthien blinked at Eowyn. How was one to respond to a thanks when she had failed so miserably?

As if understanding where her thoughts had gone, Eowyn squeezed Lúthien's hands. "I do not blame you for my fall, nor do I believe you could have done more. Were I given the chance to make the choice all over again, I would make the same one. Do not carry my wounds on your shoulders, Aedre. Please."

Lúthien could only nod slightly, her head turning to look at the streets before them.

Silence returned between the two of them, nothing more to be said.

*****

Éomer's white tailed helmet lay crushed on the muddy earth, his horse lay slain not far from it. The Black Gate loomed high in the distance, it's heavy oppression making the air thick and hard to breathe. A thick black blade swung down, its sharp blade falling across Éomer's neck with a sickening sound.

Lúthien jolted awake, her body heaving the contents of her stomach over the side of the bed into a readied bowl. The nightmare of Éomer's death left her night shift damp with sweat, her heart racing like a herd of galloping horses. It had not been the first of its kind, nor, she feared, would it be the last.

The softness and safety of her bed did little to ground Lúthien and her thoughts. As she worked to regain control of her breathing, Lúthien sat back up, pulling her knees to her chest as best as her injuries would allow. With shaking hands she ran her hands through her dampened hair as she fought against the storm in her mind, the images of Éomer's lifeless and bloodied body laying in the mud.

As her mind began to settle, soft whimpers and muttered calls of anguish reached her ears. For a moment, she thought them to be nothing more than her memories. Realization struck as she identified the soft cries to be those of Eowyn and they were, in fact, not in her memories, but rather just down the hall from her room.

As fast as her body would allow, Lúthien threw off her blanket and scrambled out of bed and down the hall to where she knew the blonde slept.

Quietly, she pushed the door open, stepping inside to check on her friend. She hesitated, unsure if waking Eowyn would cause more harm than good in such a situation. The decision was made for her a second later as Eowyn's body jolted her awake, her form quickly sitting up.

With care, Lúthien moved forward to her friend's side, sitting beside her as she whispered words of safety and comfort to her. "I am here, Eowyn. You are not alone."

Eowyn's wide eyes snapped to Lúthien, her body tensing for only a moment before recognition registered. As Lúthien sat, Eowyn's arms swung quickly as they wrapped around her, Eowyn's hands clenching tightly at the back of Luthien's nightgown. Lúthien held her tightly in return, whispering only a few words of comfort. For what words would really do justice to chase away the sights and sounds these night horrors brought?

The two women stayed like that for a short while, silence reigning. No words of explanation were needed, the nightmares speaking enough of the trials, tribulations, and memories of recent days past.

As Eowyn's body began to relax, she slowly pulled away, adjusting the blanket of her bed.

Lúthien wondered if the haunted look in her friend's eyes was reflected in her own.

"Would you like me to stay?" Lúthien asked softly.

Eowyn looked to her, a haunting sadness prevalent in her eyes that broke Lúthien's heart. "No," she answered softly, her voice rough, "but thank you, Aedre." Eowyn offered a half attempted smile.

With only a soft nod and smile to offer, Lúthien left Eowyn to try to return to sleep, though she knew it was unlikely either of them would be returning to sleep that night.

As she walked slowly down the dark halls back to her rooms, the cool floor seeping into her bare feet, Lúthien found that she did not want to sleep, did not wish to risk returning to the nightmares she knew waited for her.

Instead, she diverted her path, leaving the halls and stepping through a door leading outside to a small garden. Her feet were slow, leading her in no particular direction, as she walked the empty paths.

Dark clouds blanketed the sky in a thickness never before seen, stopping the moonbeams from reaching the earth below. Lúthien inhaled deeply as her steps led her nowhere. The air was different. She looked up. The night sky was different.

As her steps continued slowly, her path meandering, Lúthien realized she was different.

Reaching where the path curved along a low stone wall, Lúthien stopped and leaned forward against it, her arms crossed tightly over her chest to ward off the crispness of the night as well as the ghosts in her mind. She looked out over the darkened houses in the levels beneath her on this side of the city. Her mind slowed, the onslaught of noise in her head dimming. Taking a deep breath, she looked up to the horizon in the direction she knew the Black Gates lay, though they were too far to see with the naked eye.

For the first time in her memory, she had something to hope for. Lúthien did not hope for herself. Instead, she hoped for all men, all races, all of Middle Earth.

She hoped for one man. Éomer of Eothred.

Lúthien struggled with her feelings, but in such dark times she could not hide them. Her energy was better spent elsewhere in that moment.

She let her hope rise to the dark clouds above.

She kept none for herself.

But she hoped for Éomer. For Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas. For Gandalf.

Her friends. She hoped for her friends. And for the ones she loved.

*****

The next morning brought Faramir's company. He, Eowyn, and Lúthien set out on a walk to explore a different part of the city, keeping in mind their currently limited abilities in traveling any great distance. Yet it did not deter Faramir from fulfilling his wish to show his sister his home.

With Faramir's presence, talk was more prevalent, as was the sharing of childhood stories. Eowyn at first was surprised to know they had already long been acquainted.

Faramir had just finished sharing the story of how he and Boromir had first met Lúthien. "And that is how we came across this little urchin living in the woods." Faramir's eyes danced with amusement as he fought against a smile.

"Little urchin?" Lúthien feigned offense. "What a thing to say about someone who held you at sword point within the first few minutes of meeting me!"

Eowyn turned wide and amused eyes to Lúthien. "Truly?"

Lúthien nodded proudly, causing Eowyn to release a light laugh. Faramir offered a smile, his voice turning sarcastic with his response. "It was indeed a fearful sight seeing a ten year old girl barely holding a full sized sword up against me. I was sure I would die that day." He looked at Lúthien out of the side of his eye.

Lúthien scoffed, barely hiding her smile. "You were wary enough to keep your distance!"

"Whatever you must tell yourself to sleep better, my dear sister."

Eowyn laughed at their sibling squabble, amused at their loving bickering.

"I am sorry, but I was ten years old!" Lúthien defended before her smile turned mischievous. "At least I was not eighteen."

Faramir froze in his movements for only a second, however his reaction was noticeable. "I haven't the faintest idea of what you might refer to." With his words, he quickly moved to grasp Eowyn's arm in order to lead her further down the street and distract from the direction Lúthien worked to take the conversation.

Eowyn however pulled away, a bright smile on her face. "I would like to know what she is referring to."

Lúthien's face split into a smug smile for Faramir before turning her attention to Eowyn. "Boromir played a trick on Faramir, sounding as a large creature rampaging through the forest. Faramir showed bravery and moved to protect me," Lúthien gave credit to her brother, "however, he could not miss the large rock beside us as he scrambled away in fright. He dropped the book he had been holding, almost dropping it—and in the process, himself—into the fire."

Eowyn laughed at this, her face lighting up with the sound. Faramir made a sound of protest, a finger raised with his defense. "Now wait a moment, if I recall correctly, I only almost lost the book and myself to the fire because a certain young girl screamed in terror and threw her entire being at me in fear!"

It was Lúthien's turn to hold her nose up in response. "I haven't the faintest idea to what you refer."

Eowyn laughed again in amusement, causing a smile to split Lúthien's face.

As she looked over at Faramir, Lúthien could not miss the loving gaze he held as he watched Eowyn laugh. This brought a knowing smile to Lúthien's face. For the remainder of the afternoon walk, Lúthien slowly grew quieter, becoming conveniently more distracted by any such thing that might the pair more time together.

She could easily see the affection blooming and growing between the two and she could not have been happier for them.

******

The following morning, Lúthien left the healing house alone, desiring to walk for a time by herself. Her limp was barely noticeable, her body healing up nicely. She still had a long road to travel before she was fully recovered, but being able to walk without a limp or cane was a major improvement in Lúthien's eyes.

As she stepped from the walk leading to the healing house, her eyes caught sight of a familiar face. A smile spread as she approached the man. "Good morning, Sigeberht," she greeted.

"Good morning, m'lady," he offered her a respectable bow of his head.

"I am just out for a quiet walk this morning. Would you care to join?"

"I would be honored," Sigeberht replied before moving along beside her.

Lúthien took in Sigeberht's appearance with a quick look as they moved along. The large wound that had stretched across his chest and arm on the battlefield had left him wrapped in a bandage, his arm secured safely to his chest.

"I am glad to see you are on the road to recovery, but I am sorry to see that it was so serious a wound," Lúthien spoke, motioning to his arm.

Sigeberht only gave her a small smile. "I count myself among the fortunate ones. It will take time, but I will heal and be able to return to my position amongst my éored. I would have gone with my Marshal if it were not for this injury keeping me from my duty."

"I am sorry you were unable to be with your fellow men, but I cannot be sorry for more than that I'm afraid."

Sigeberht smiled in understanding. "I cannot complain, m'lady. If I had gone to the Black Gates, I would not be able to spend my time with you." His smile turned teasingly cheeky with his words.

Lúthien blushed at his flattery, unsure of how to respond. "I—" she stuttered out. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Thank you, Sigeberht."

The soldier grinned broadly at her. "Marshal Éomer had said you had a hard time accepting a compliment."

Lúthien sputtered. "Does Marshal Éomer discuss everything with his men?"

Sigeberht shook his head, his demeanor becoming almost serious. "No, m'lady. Not Everything. But he has a hard time escaping his men's teasing when he fails to hide his affections for a certain lady."

Lúthien stopped in her tracks, flabbergasted. "I beg your pardon?"

Sigeberht turned to look at her, his face completely serious as he shrugged. "It does not take a wizard to know when a man falls in love, m'lady. It's very easily written all over his face."

Lúthien suddenly desired to change the subject as she pushed away the hope that attempted to force its way into her chest. "Do Lord Éomer's men always speak so freely in their Marshal's absence?" Sigeberht opened his mouth to respond, but Lúthien immediately held up a hand to stop him before he could. "It might be best," she decided, "if you do not answer that."

The soldier simply shrugged once more, offering her a smile and side eyed look. The two continued on their walk through the city, taking some time to stop at several shop carts to admire the wares of the people. Commerce still thrived, though delicately, despite the remnants of war that littered the city.

Spotting several small bouquets of flowers for sale, Lúthien purchased one for Eowyn. Perhaps it might do her friend some good to have something happy to look at in her room.

As they continued on their walk, Faramir's approach caught Lúthien's eye. She raised her hand in greeting as he came closer. Faramir greeted her with a smile upon his approach while Sigeberht stepped back to a respectable distance, allowing the pair to converse.

"How are you feeling today?" Faramir inquired. "Have you managed to sleep?" He was well aware of her nightmares for he shared in them as well.

"As well as can be, I suppose," Lúthien responded honestly. "And you?"

Faramir slowly rotated his arm in demonstration with a grin. "The arm is on the way to being as good as new. Though the rest of me still has a bit of a ways to go."

Lúthien nodded in understanding. "Well, be sure you are not pushing too far."

Faramir grinned at her like a mischievous little boy. "Yes, dear sister."

Lúthien resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the man. Faramir's laughing eyes glanced behind her to spot Sigeberht stood at attention. "Who is your friend?" He asked Lúthien, his eyes remaining on the mystery man.

"Oh, my apologies. Faramir, this is my friend Sigeberht. Sigeberht, this is Lord Faramir."

Sigeberht bowed respectfully to Faramir, his appearance and demeanor more formal than he had been before Faramir's arrival.

"Sigeberht is a horseman under Marshal Éomer," Lúthien explained.

"Ah," Faramir's face lit in recognition, a solemn look taking its place. "Thank you for your efforts in the battle." His words and inquiry were sincere as he scanned Sigeberht's bandaged arm. "You were not injured too badly, I hope?"

"No, mi'Lord. In fact, I am hopeful to be back in fighting condition within the month's time." Sigeberht was all politeness and respect, his voice more formal. Lúthien supposed it was to be expected. Sigeberht had a history with Lúthien, allowing them to act on friendlier terms. Beside that, Lúthien was a nomad, a nobody. Faramir held a respected title and position.

Faramir smiled at the man. "I am glad to hear it. I will advise you to be careful, though," his voice turned graver as he spoke to the soldier. "Keeping too much company with this mischievous one might get you into trouble." Faramir could not hide the lightness of his words nor the smile that pulled at his lips by the end of his warning.

Lúthien lightly smacked the back of her hand against Faramir's chest in protest, though there was no malice in it. "Despite what you all claim, I do not seek out trouble!" Lúthien laughed out. The two gentlemen joined in her laughter.

As her laughter died out, she turned to Sigeberht in thought, a more serious tone turning her words. "Though, I cannot help but wonder, Sigeberht; while I sincerely enjoy your company, I cannot help but wonder what has made you decide to spend your day with me and not with your own men?"

Faramir turned to Sigeberht as he waited in response.

Sigeberht shuffled, looking down at the ground briefly. "I uh," he began, "I have thoroughly enjoyed your company this afternoon, m'lady," Sigeberht began, his tone clear he desired to convince her.

Lúthien raised an eyebrow at him, uncertainty painting her chest. "However?" She prompted with a soft hesitance.

Sigeberht had the decency to look ashamed. "But it was suggested rather strongly by Marshal Éomer that I keep an eye on you just in case."

Lúthien's eyes grew wide in shock while Faramir only chuckled. "In case of what? I decide to go running after the company?"

Sigeberht could only shrug. Lúthien wanted to be mad at Éomer, but Faramir's laughter pierced her anger, causing her to let out a half amused-half disbelieving laugh and smack him once again. "It is not funny, Faramir!"

Faramir raised his hands up to defend his torso. "Is it not?" His eyes gleamed. "It seems the Marshal knows you rather well. Have you managed to cause trouble in his life already? That is impressive, I must say."

Lúthien crossed her arms over her chest as she scoffed. Though it was only Faramir teasing her, she suddenly felt outnumbered and she found did not like it.

Seeing her displeasure, Faramir held up his hands in surrender, his laughter dying out. "Forgive me, Aedre. In all sincerity," he split his gaze between the two stood there, "I am thankful to Marshal Éomer that he had the forethought to ensure your safety. We are still at war after all." He rested a comforting hand on Lúthien's shoulder. "And though we are far removed from what undoubtedly may be the final battlefield, it cannot guarantee our safety."

Lúthien dropped her arms to her side. She could not argue with his words. She also could not ignore the feeling in her stomach as she realized the truth of Faramir's words. Éomer had confessed to her that he worried about her when he could not be there. His actions of essentially assigning Sigeberht to stay at her side was the closest thing he could do to ensure her safety in his absence. Warmth blossomed in her chest at the thought, the feeling spreading to lightly dust her cheeks at the man's actions.

Sigeberht spoke up then, concerned by her silence. "Please, do not take offense m'lady. Or doubt that I do not wish to enjoy your company."

Lúthien was quick to assuaged his concerns with a smile of her own. "I take no offense, nor do I doubt your intentions, Sigeberht. While I am perfectly capable of seeing to my own safety, I do appreciate the kind gesture by both the Marshal and yourself." Sigeberht smiled in relieved gratitude.

Faramir stepped forward, offering his arm to Lúthien as he addressed the Rohan man. "Sigeberht, I believe you have earned the rest of the evening. Please, take this time to relax and find yourself some supper."

Sigeberht hesitated, his eyes bouncing between Faramir and Lúthien. Lúthien smiled reassuringly as she looped her arm around Faramir's. "It is all right, my friend. Lord Faramir will see me back to the healing houses. I think it best for me to return. I believe I have seen too much and walked too far today."

Sigeberht hesitated only a moment more before bidding them both farewell and making his way down the street.

Faramir turned, leading Lúthien back down the street in the direction of her room.

"It was exceedingly kind and thoughtful of Éomer to assign you a protective guard."

Lúthien looked away, as if she found something interesting to look at. "As we have already discussed, yes it was kind. No doubt he is simply continuing his uncle's decree that I am under the protection of the crown of Rohan." Lúthien resisted the urge to cringe at her own words. Though it was a quickly thought up lie, it settled uncomfortably in her stomach. She couldn't deny that her words held a hint of truth to them.

Was it truly nothing more than Éomer honoring Théoden's wish? She hated how her mind operated. She wished it would not doubt things so much. But life had beaten her down too many times for her mind to work differently.

Faramir only hummed at her response, remaining quiet as they approached the door of the healing house. He paused, wishing her a good night, allowing her to step through the doorway before speaking again.

"Lúthien." His calling to her had Lúthien pausing and turning back to look at him. "You may lie to yourself all you care to. For that is what I believe your words are: a lie. But I can see how you look at each other." Faramir reached forward and squeezed her wrist in reassurance, emphasizing his words. "I do not believe it was honor or loyalty to his uncle that caused Éomer to see to your protection. Do not think so lowly of yourself. You are worth so much more than you believe." With a final squeeze, Faramir released her arm and turned to make his way back down the street. Lúthien stood in the doorway frozen, unaware of how to process Faramir's words.

*****

It was later that evening, around the time the sun would just be setting if it were not hidden away behind the clouds of darkness that weighed heavily upon the land. Eowyn and another woman knocked on Lúthien's door.

Welcoming them in, Lúthien took notice of the Rohan green dress draped across the woman's arms as they entered.

"What is all of this?" Lúthien inquired.

With care, the woman carefully laid the dress out on the bed before excusing herself from the room, closing the door behind her.

"I asked a local woman to fashion a dress in the Rohan fashion for you. She finished it this afternoon and I was excited for you to see it."

Eowyn and Lúthien had grown close over the days of their recovery. The two had held on to each, each one understanding of the other's pains and nightmares.

"That was not necessary, Eowyn. I assure you, my shirt and trousers are sufficient enough."

Eowyn made a face at Lúthien's usual attire. "While I will admit that I have often desired to wear trousers on a more frequent basis, there are times in life, Aedre, when a dress is more appropriate."

Lúthien smiled at her friend. "And how is this time more appropriate?"

"The people need something to look to. And right now, the people of Rohan that are here in Minas Tirith, look to you and I. We must try to look presentable and at the very least show them that we have hope for a brighter future." Eowyn's look turned school girlish. "And perhaps you might catch the eye of a man?"

Lúthien laughed at her friend's ridiculous suggestion. She knew that Eowyn was one of the last women that would ever have matrimony as her main focus. She was too much of a shield maiden to be such a woman.

"Very well," Eowyn relented the point easily, only to pick up another vein. "Perhaps you wish to look presentable for when the men return from war. I know one such man that would enjoy seeing you look like a queen."

Lúthien could not hide the shock of her friend's words as she instantly sobered. "You cannot be serious, Eowyn."

Eowyn's response showed she was offended that Lúthien would not believe her. "I most certainly am. I believe my brother could not find a better woman to be at his side."

Lúthien gasped, shushing her friend. "You must not speak things such as that."

"And why not?"

Lúthien's voice softened. "You must believe me when I sat that what you might wish will never work. I cannot be queen," Lúthien's eyes saddened with her quiet words, "no matter how I might wish to be at your brother's side."

Lúthien spoke the words aloud for the first time. Though it may have been foolish to share such feelings with Eowyn, the woman was as close a friend and confidant Lúthien had ever had. She desired to share her feelings with Eowyn, despite the fact she was Éomer's sister.

Eowyn rolled her eyes at Lúthien's words. "You speak nonsense," she said with sincere bluntness. "I have seen you with the people of Rohan. I have witnessed the kindness you show, the diplomacy you use to manage disagreements. More importantly," Eowyn stepped closer, taking Lúthien's hands in her own. "I have seen the way you look at my brother and he you. You would sit well on the throne of Rohan beside my brother."

Though Lúthien was greatly honored by Eowyn's words, she could not hold back the shame she felt. Pushing down both, she looked to Eowyn, her voice stern, her tone insistent that her friend understand her words. "I can not be queen, Eowyn. There is nothing else to be said about it." Her voice softened as her shoulders slumped. "Please, my friend, do not speak of such things again."

Eowyn, unsure of what might have caused such a determined reaction, reluctantly agreed. "Though I will not deny that it saddens me that you feel as such."

Lúthien only nodded, taking up the soft green fabric of the dress in her hand. A small yet sad smile returned as she looked at Eowyn. "It is a beautiful dress."

With those words, Eowyn lit up, taking advantage of the change of subject. "Why not try it on and see how well it fits?"

Lúthien agreed, suddenly feeling childish and giddy at the prospect of wearing such a beautiful dress.

With Eowyn's assistance in loosening the lacing of the dress, Lúthien worked on removing her leather belt and vest and linen shirt.

As Eowyn turned back towards Lúthien, having placed her vest and shirt on the bed for her, the dress now in her hands, her eyes landed on the scars marking Lúthien's back. A small gasp escaped at the unexpected sight.

Lúthien's head snapped around, looking over her shoulder at the sound. Her eyes followed Eowyn's wide gaze to her back before lifting back up to Eowyn.

"They do not hurt any longer," Lúthien offered in reassurance.

Eowyn's wide eyes darted up to Lúthien's. "I am sorry, I did not mean..."

Lúthien cut off her apologies, her brows furrowing, lips pursing in dismissal of the apology. "There is nothing to apologize for, Eowyn." She reached around to her bare back, tracing some of the raised scar tissue on her shoulder. "This one was not so bad." She slightly turned her body the other way, lifting her arm to look at the other side of her lower back, her fingers pointing out a large thick band of scar tissue stretching from her lower right side up to the center of her back. "This one was probably one of the most painful I have endured."

Eowyn bunched the fabric of the dress in her arms as she almost hugged herself, sorrow palpably flowing from her. "What happened?" Eowyn asked quietly.

Lúthien motioned to the dress and Eowyn quickly got to work helping to lift it over her head. Once the folds fell over her figure, beautifully draping down her body, Eowyn got to work lacing up the ties in the back.

"I was attacked as a young woman," Lúthien began her story as Eowyn's fingers worked nimbly. "Gandalf had been needed elsewhere for a time and so I was on my own. It was not the first time, so I knew how to take care of myself. Following Gandalf's instructions, I was making my way towards the forests surrounding Gondor." She looked over her shoulder at Eowyn. "The place where I had first met Boromir and Faramir." She faced forward again as Eowyn continued to tie up her lacing. "I had stopped briefly at a creek to refill my water-skin. What I had not realized was that a small group of men had chosen that day to spend the afternoon fishing and consuming large amounts of ale. As soon as I noticed them, I began to make my way in a different direction as quietly as possible so as to not draw their attention. But one of their group had been seeing to business in the woods behind me and stopped me on the path."

Eowyn finished up the ties and gently laid a hand on Lúthien's shoulder to let her know the task was finished. Lúthien turned to face Eowyn, continuing the story. "He dragged me back to where the other men were gathered."

Eowyn's voice was almost frightened. "What happened?"

Lúthien looked down at the dress, her hands playing with the folds of the skirt. "They recognized the scars on my face and the stories that accompanied them. They called me all manner of names, the worst of the worst." She lifted her head, a sad smile on her face to fight through the pain of the memory. "They had deemed it necessary to kill me in order to avoid spreading my plague to others, but wanted to have their fun first." She emphasized the words the men had spoken.

"They didn't..." Eowyn began before trailing off, unable to finish the horrifying thought.

Lúthien shook her head. "No," she answered, "They would not risk my contaminating themselves. I was too filthy and disgusting even for the likes of them apparently." Lúthien kept her smile in place as the painful memory replayed in her mind. "I struggled, but I was barely beyond a child against several grown men."

Lúthien moved to the end of the bed, sitting down, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "I was certain I would die that day. They had knives for filleting their catch, and so they began to see how much of my skin could be peeled off with a knife before my screams became unbearable." She laid a hand on the right side of her abdomen, the memory of her top layer of skin being sliced off bringing forth ghosts of the pain she suffered that day.

"How did you escape?" Eowyn asked softly and unsure.

A small smile lifted the corner of her mouth. Her eyes glossed over for a moment as the memory played in her mind's eye. "I didn't," she said simply. Lúthien refocused and looked at Eowyn. She look a deep breath, her voice more level as she continued. "Boromir was riding beyond the gates that day and my screams of pain drew his attention. He arrived in time to witness the leader of the men drive his blade into my back, drawing it across as he did." Her arm wrapped around her waist, her fingers tracing the place of the long thick scar Eowyn had seen earlier.

"Boromir saved me that day. Faramir as well."

"Faramir?" Eowyn inquired.

Lúthien nodded. "Boromir rescued me from the men, slaying two of them in the process. He carried me on his horse to our hideout in the forest. He did what he was able to make me comfortable before he returned to Minas Tirith."

Eowyn stood in shock at her words. "He left you?! But you could have died!"

Lúthien held up her hands in a calming matter. "He had no choice. My wounds required treatment he could not offer without the proper instruments. He was only able to offer a spare cloth and pressure." Lúthien grasped Eowyn's hands in comforting reassurance. "He could not risk bringing me into Gondor. Had anyone recognized me, I would have immediately been dragged before his father and condemned to death. He had no choice."

More calm, Eowyn asked, "and what of Faramir?"

Lúthien smiled genuinely at Eowyn's inquiry of the younger brother. "Boromir returned as quickly as he could, bringing Faramir with him. Faramir had brought the necessary tools and supplies he would need to take care of me. It was extremely painful and I was half convinced my screams would bring the whole Gondorian army down upon us. But I survived and remained safe. That was the day that Faramir taught me how to properly sew up a large wound."

Eowyn's face held a look of amazement. Lúthien supposed her lifetime's worth of experiences could seem amazing to someone who had spent their whole life living in the King's quarters. Lúthien did not discredit Eowyn's life experiences, however. The woman did not lead as privileged a life as some would believe. She carried painful memories of her own.

"After I was healed," Lúthien went on with an amused smile, "Boromir insisted that I needed more lessons and spent the next few weeks instructing me as much as possible." Lúthien laughed lightly at the memory of Boromir being so distraught and determined to teach her everything he knew in two weeks.

"It was not possible, but he most certainly tried," Lúthien spoke after sharing the memory with Eowyn.

Eowyn's amused smile faded a moment later. "I am sorry that you were forced to endure such things."

Lúthien simply shook her head at the words. "It was not you, nor was it your fault." She stood and walked over to the small window, getting a better look at her dress in the fading light. "I choose to look back at memories such as those with gratefulness."

"Gratefulness?" Eowyn gasped out.

Lúthien looked up at her. "Yes, gratefulness. I could focus on the pain and suffering and hate and let it drive itself deep into my heart. Or I could focus on the outcome of it. To begin with, it brought the brothers and I closer. It also taught me more than one valuable lesson in life."

Chapter Text

They had returned. Every last one of them, safe and alive.

Lúthien did not know how but she would not turn away any great gifts fate might choose to give her. Their return had been joyous, the darkness dispersing as if blown away by a gale force wind.

It was all strange to Lúthien, as the world seemed to be full of joy and beauty once more, almost as if nothing had occurred. But the theme of sorrow and loss still hovered over the people gathered.

It could be seen in the eyes of the newly widowed, as their gleeful children pulled them along in excitement; in the laughter of old men as they shared stories, the sound no longer as light as it once was; in the movements of all, their actions slowed as if their bodies could sense the loss and were fatigued by its weight.

Yet, the joy was still evident. Joy that there may peace at last. Joy at the war's end. Joy for those who were lucky enough to return home.

Joy that for once, Lúthien had not proven to be the harbinger of death.

A week following the men's return marking the end of the battle for Middle Earth, Lúthien had yet to see much of any of her friends, though she did not discredit them.

Much of Middle Earth would need to begin again. Time and attention was demanded of most, but most demanded of were the kings: the newly crowned King Aragorn, and the new King of Rohan. Alongside them the remnants of the Fellowship.

Lúthien did not mind that their attention was required elsewhere. She was willing to simply live in the peace and knowledge that they had survived and would live for many years to come. And while she had once again put to thought where she might travel to next, knowing that her place was not among those who were now noble and honored, she was never given the chance to decide.

At Eowyn's, and even Éomer's insistence at dinner one evening, Lúthien made the monumental decision to return to Rohan with them. To the place of her birth. Gandalf, upon learning of her decision, was pleased. "That is good," the wizard had nodded wisely at her information. "It is time. It is where you belong."

The day the company set out for Rohan came quickly. Sigeberht resumed his spot at her side, keeping her company and regaling her with tales from their shared homeland and growing up in the presence of the King.

Lúthien briefly wondered if he acted in accordance with Éomer's orders once more, but chose not to dwell on it. The older man made for good company and she was glad her friend was finally well enough to return to his home.

She herself was still sore and tired, her wounds still not quite fully healed. She did not let it hinder her, however, in preparing for the long journey ahead.

At their first stop for the night, Lúthien had already prepared to sleep on a bedroll near a fire. Her practiced mind had worked through a list of what she must see to before bedding down for the night: securing her horse, finding wood, preparing a fire. She had just started to consider what she might do in the way of finding food when a servant of Rohan approached her, offering for Sigeberht to lead her horse to the stable boy that traveled with them while they showed her to her tent.

"My tent?" Lúthien asked in confusion.

The servant looked at her as if he did not comprehend the confusion. "Yes, m'lady. You travel as a guest of the sister to the King of Rohan. You are to be afforded all that accompanies that. For this journey, we have been instructed that you are to reside in Lady Eowyn's tent with her."

Lúthien looked to Sigeberht for reassurance. Could it be true? Her friend simply nodded respectfully, encouraging her to follow the servant as he took the reigns from her hands. "I will see to Branwen, m'lady."

Lúthien released the reigns to Sigeberht as confusion continued to reign in her mind.

As she followed the servant to a decently sized tent, she found that she felt honored and happy. Surprised, yet not. Eowyn was very much considered her close friend by now, the two having bonded so well during their recovery in Minas Tirith.

That thought left a strange feeling in Lúthien's chest. Never before had she thought that one day she might lay claim to a life such as the one she currently lived. A small yet abundant group of friends, a close female friend, a kind mentor, two brave men that counted her as family. It all seemed so surreal as she thought about it. The past few months of her life had truly held many surprises.

As the journey continued on over the following days, Lúthien began to wonder what would become of her. Surely, she would be aided at their arrival in Rohan, but what of her life beyond that point? Would she be left to essentially fend for herself? She did not begrudge anyone should that be the case. The new King's graces could only extend so far.

As the company drew closer to Rohan, the sunlight glinting off the familiar roof of Meduseld only a few leagues away, Lúthien came to the decision that she would figure everything out as life came. It was a practiced method; how she had lived most of her life. The war was over, her friends were safe, and the beauty of Rohan was before her. Yes, her worries could wait for another day.

Upon their arrival of their return to Edoras, Lúthien once more handed the reigns over to a waiting stable boy as Eowyn approached.

"Come with me," the blonde said as she grasped Lúthien's hand with a friendly smile and lead her up the stairs to the great hall. Lúthien could not help the smile that lifted her lips. She had missed the beauty Rohan had to offer. Her gaze was distracted on the rolling farmland and great white capped mountains in the distance as Eowyn pulled her into the hall.

The magnificent vista gone, Lúthien focused her attention on her immediate surroundings. Memories flooded back of meeting with Théoden, of the evening outside on the bench with Éomer when her feelings for the man first started to come to light. Lúthien wasn't sure how the hall made her feel in that moment. Truth be told, she wasn't sure if she felt anything at all, yet at the same time it all—the buildings, the fields—it all felt familiar and welcoming in a way she had never known before.

Her attention was pulled back when Eowyn lead her onto the large dais at the end of the hall and tugged her through a door at the back, following her brother. It took only a moment for Lúthien to realize where she was being lead: the private quarters of the King's family.

Eowyn came to a stop before an elderly woman with a loving smile that emphasized the rows of creases and lines in her aged face. Her long graying hair was braided and neatly wrapped several times around the crown of her head. "Welcome home, your majesty, Lady Eowyn." The woman dropped into a curtsy before rising again. "I have readied your rooms as requested." The kind woman's eyes drifted to Lúthien, her smile turning hesitant.

Lúthien was prepared to excuse herself and find lodging somewhere when Éomer stepped forward. "Anca, this is our guest and friend, Lady Aedre. She will be staying with us for a time." Éomer turned to Lúthien. "Lady Aedre, please meet Anca, head of our household staff. She will see to any needs you might have during your stay with us." Éomer turned a familial smile towards the maid who gladly returned it.

Lúthien offered her own kind smile and a small dip of her head for the head housekeeper. "I will try my best not to cause too much of a disruption," Lúthien offered. She had no desire to cause trouble or step on any toes while she might stay in the King's hall.

Anca seemed to approve of Lúthien's words as her hesitance dissipated, replaced with a kind smile. "If you have any needs, I or one of my girls will see to them, my lady." Lúthien gave a grateful smile and nod in reply before the housekeeper dipped in a curtsy once more and was on her way.

Eowyn leaned into Lúthien, speaking quietly. "Anca has held the position of head housekeeper for as long as I can remember. Do not let her motherly tendency frighten you." Lúthien simply smiled in reply. This was all new territory for her. Her life had been spent sleeping on the ground, in abandoned buildings on the edges of towns, fending for herself with no one to rely on except herself. Never before had she come across any situation that might grant her experience with household staff whose only job was to fetch and serve.

Éomer stepped in front of her drawing her attention. The look on his face was serious, his words matching. "My uncle welcomed you graciously into his court, swearing on oath that you were protected under the King. I intend to carry out his oath as long as I am king."

Lúthien blinked at the man. "I—" she stuttered, "I thank you, your majesty." Unsure of the dynamic between Éomer and herself, she curtsied, relying on the walls to remain upright, to remember her true position in this world. Their roles in life had always been of greatly differing levels. Éomer had been Third Marshal of the Mark while Lúthien had been and still was nothing more than a mixed-blood nomad without a home.

Now, Éomer was King of Rohan. She refused to take advantage in his position, making sure to treat him with the respect he deserved. She would also use his position to remind herself—and him—that there was a world separating the two of them.

As she stood up straight, she looked up to find Éomer frowning at her. Without giving him time to respond, Eowyn grabbed Lúthien's hand and tugged her away. "Let me show you where you will be staying."

Lúthien followed Eowyn silently, only briefly glancing over her shoulder. Éomer remained stood where he had been, the frown still marring his features as his eyes trailed after her and his sister. She would need to tread carefully.

*****

It was late at night—or rather early in the morning, the moon still high and bright when Lúthien found herself walking along the edge of the stone veranda that lead to the main hall doors. Nightmares had left her with no desire to return to sleep. The cool night air had called to her instead.

Everything seemed so different and yet still the same as she stood on the edge of the stone ledge. The sky was brilliant with stars against the dark sky. A cool breeze blew in from the mountains adding a crisp chill to the midnight air, a simple wrap around Lúthien's shoulders enough to ward off the chill. The air itself, for the first time in so long, felt fresh and refreshing to breathe.

Yet, for all the beauty and awe, Lúthien felt restless and without peace. The nightmares that plagued her sleep, also plagued her waking mind. She wondered how long it would be before she could close her eyes and not see the images of a bloody, violent, and terrifying war. How long would it be before she could sit in silence and not hear the clashing of metal or the screams of the dying? On nights such as then, she wondered if she ever would.

The sound of heavy footsteps slowly approaching from behind her, mixed with the memories of her nightmare, had Lúthien spinning, her mother's small blade drawn in reflex to the threat sneaking up.

Lúthien released a heavy relieved sigh as her eyes recognized Éomer stood a short distance from her. His hands were raised as if taming a wild horse. "It is only me," he quickly announced.

Lúthien closed her eyes briefly before turning back to the view, the small blade returning to its sheath at her side. Éomer carefully stepped up beside her, his own eyes on the vista before them. "You could not sleep." It was not a question.

Lúthien glanced at him before looking to the mountains and fields once more. "No," she spoke softly.

"Many will find it difficult to sleep after the past few months."

Lúthien could only nod, her hands pulling her small shawl tighter around herself.

A few minutes of silence passed between the pair before Lúthien spoke up, her voice soft and quiet as if afraid she would wake the night. "Do you struggle with sleep as well?" Almost instantly, she regretted her prying question. "Forgive me," she rushed out, "I should not have asked."

Éomer was quick to reassure her. "There is no need to apologize." His eyes scanned the horizon. "I do not sleep well, no."

Silence fell between them for only a moment before Éomer continued on, his face glancing at Lúthien's occasionally as he spoke. "It is not just the result of battle, though. It is the heavy burden of king as well."

Lúthien turned to look at him.

"I never wanted to be king. It was always expected of my cousin, Théodred. I was content as Marshal of the Mark. But now..." Éomer trailed off as he looked down at the dark houses and buildings that made up Edoras. "Now, there are so many expectations of me."

Without thought, Lúthien laid a gentle hand on Éomer's arm in reassurance. "I believe you will make a great king, Éomer."

Éomer turned to look at her, their eyes meeting in the darkness. The air shifted around them as they stood, locked in each other's gazes, the stars reflecting in the color of their eyes. For the briefest of moments, Lúthien's world calmed, a blanket of peace settling around her. The images of blood, the screams of agony; it all faded away. Right there, in that moment, the world shrunk to only Éomer, stood close enough that she might lean in and kiss him, and a dark sky bursting with endless stars.

Her hand involuntarily flexed against the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, drawing his attention to her hold. Realizing their position, Lúthien snatched her hand back, tucking it beneath the folds of her shawl as she turned back towards the farmlands. "You had a great example in your uncle," Lúthien spoke. Though her voice trembled from their close proximity, her words were honest.

"My uncle began as a great king," Éomer agreed. "because a great queen stood at his side."

Lúthien felt Éomer's heavy gaze settle on her, but she fought the urge to return it. Instead, she focused on her fidgeting hands before her. "Yes, a great queen would make a difference."

"Do you believe I will ever find a great queen, Lúthien?"

Lúthien's hands trembled with his question. "I have no doubt. You are a wise and kind man. I do not doubt you will one day find a woman with equally great qualities as your own."

The words tore through her heart. She was in love with the man stood beside her, speaking of a marriage she would wish everything for. Yet it would never be.

Éomer turned to face her, a step bringing him closer to her side. "What if I have already found the woman I wish to marry?"

Lúthien kept her gaze focused on her hands. Why must the man insist on this conversation with her? Could he not see that she had no desire to discuss his future marriage to another woman with him? Could he not see her heart falling apart? Her voice remained steady despite her shattering heart. "I would count that as a great joy for you. I hope you and your queen will be happy."

Éomer reached out and grasped her fidgeting hands with one of his own, the other reaching out to lift her chin so that she might look at him.

"I would only be happy were it to be you, Lúthien." His voice was quiet yet firm. His eyes bore into hers, love and honesty flowing from them.

Lúthien's heart skipped a beat, her mind becoming a vast emptiness in that moment. She had denied it over and over, regardless of the words Éomer had spoken. Yet here he stood, looking at her with love in his eyes, speaking of only finding joy in a marriage if it were to her.

Lúthien's silence encouraged Éomer to continued, stepping close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, could almost feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers.

"I cannot hold back any longer, Lúthien. As I said earlier, I offer you the protection of the crown, but I wish to happily do so as your husband." Her eyes darted back and forth between his, disbelief the only thought she could put into words. Éomer wished to marry her.

"I love you, Lúthien."

Her body froze.

Éomer loved her. Éomer wished to marry her. Lúthien felt a joy and happiness she never knew to exist begin to bloom in her chest. Her eyes began to shine with a hope she had not felt in this lifetime.

"I wish," Éomer continued, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip, "to have you at my side as my queen."

In that instant, reality came crashing down upon Lúthien like an icy bucket of water. His queen.

Quickly, Lúthien stepped back away from his hold as her mind struggled to bring her back to reality. She stripped the shawl away from her shoulders, allowing the cool night air to bring clarity back to her senses. With her mind back in control, she was able to remember all the reasons why she could never marry Éomer.

"I can't," her voice trembled as she shook her head, her body trembling with fret. The pain of her refusal was felt by both of them, heartbreak reflecting in each other's eyes. Tears threatened to gather, but she would not allow it. Lúthien was determined to remain steadfast as her mind focused on what was true, what was real in the world. Her decision was the right one, whether Éomer could see that or not. She turned back to face him, making sure to keep him at a distance for both their sake. "I am sorry, Éomer. But I cannot marry you."

"Why not?" Éomer's words were even, but the pain and disbelief was still evident.

"You know why not, Éomer. You know why you cannot marry me." Lúthien's tone begged the man to see, to not make her speak the words aloud.

"Do you speak of your scars? Of your heritage? I do not see why any of that should matter. I love you, Lúthien, and I wish to marry you." His voice began to take on a desperation.

Lúthien shook her head. "My scars should matter to you, Éomer. All of it should."

The sadness in Éomer's eyes was no longer hidden. "No, it should not. Nor should it matter to you. Why do you continue to hide away? Why will you not take down your hood?"

Lúthien knew he spoke figuratively, referencing the night they had sat together on the bench. Éomer had pulled back her hood, letting her know she no longer needed to hide. But that had not been true. It still was not.

"Why will you not let the people see you as I do?" Éomer continued. "If you would, you would see—" Lúthien cut off his words with sharp ones of her own.

"Do you think that I have not tried? Do you think that I relish spending my days in hiding? Running in fear? Never staying in one place more than a few days time? I have tried." Lúthien cried out, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. "I have stepped out into the sun for others to see, Éomer. And each time, I was driven back into the shadows, hunted like the creature that I am!"

Her words brought her to an abrupt halt in shock, her mouth snapping closed. Lúthien had fought so hard against the belief; told herself and everyone with fighting words that she was not a creature. Yet she had just spoken where her thoughts truly lay. She was in fact a creature. And nothing would ever change that.

"You are not a creature!" Éomer argued with determination, his intimidating and electrifying figure stepping closer to her. "You are the daughter of Awiergan." Éomer took another step towards her, now close enough to grasp her hand, while the other reached up to cup her cheek. Lúthien's resolve weakened for just a moment, her heart taking control, as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. She desperately desired to stay, to accept him, to let Éomer love her all the days of her life, and her love him in return. But she could not.

Her eyes snapped opened, full of pain and regret as she pulled away once more. "I am a creature, Éomer. A blasphemous thing with the blood of a vile and dark race flowing through my veins."

"Will you not stop?!" Éomer shouted in anger. "Stop speaking such words! Such lies!"

Lúthien only shook her head. Her voice was level as resolution and logic settled. "No matter how many times you or I wish to deny it, it is the truth. And no power in the heavens above all the way to the darkest depths below will ever change that. The evil that stalked and haunted these lands—your lands, Éomer—that worked to devour them with a darkness so thick..." she could only shake her head again, the truth of her words crushing her beneath the weight of their dark truth as a lump formed in her throat. "That same evil is in me."

"No, I have seen you, Lúthien. You cannot convince me of it." Éomer's ire rose, fueled by the pain of her words.

"You cannot deny it. And you cannot stand there and look me in the eye—with full sincerity and honesty—and tell me that you desire for that to be at your side." Lúthien's words came out with a spitting disgust for herself. "That you desire for that to be on the throne of Rohan, queen over your people." Angry tears began to slip from her lashes. "You cannot do that to them." She gritted her teeth, determination flowing through her words. "I will not do that to them. You all deserve better."

"No," Éomer denied once more. "I have seen you with the people. Despite all they have done to you, you have not turned your back on them. You still care about them. That is what makes a true queen. Not your appearance, not your past. But how you lead and care for the people of the land. I have seen you do that, Lúthien." He attempted to step closer to her once more, but she retreated back for every step he advanced.

Éomer stood his ground, refusing to let her win in the argument that she pushed. "The people that now know you have come to love you and welcome you gladly. Do you not see that? Rohan has already begun to see who you truly are at heart and they do no despise you." His voice turned soft once more as he made his case. "I have no doubt that the rest of Rohan will do the same. Please, Lúthien, consider all this. See that you do not need to hide any longer; that you are loved." He took a small step forward. His voice pleading. "That I love you."

Lúthien's heart broke, not only for herself, but for Éomer. She wished she were capable of giving him all he desired, all he deserved. Fate was cruel indeed. Was her line doomed to suffer for all eternity for an evil done against her ancestor? Tears began to fall more freely. It was not fair. How could fate be so evil? Did the dark hand of Sauron still somehow maintain control over her life despite his defeat?

Lúthien wanted to give into the pain and release the dam barely holding back her tears. But she could not do that. She began to restore the walls around her heart, hardening in preparation for what must be done. She must show Éomer that he was wrong.

Lúthien allowed her frustration and anger to flow through her words in hopes that they might help Éomer see reason and change his mind.

"You have not thought this through, you have not considered everything, Éomer." She met and held his gaze. "What of your heir?"

Éomer's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Having a queen with black blood is one thing. But what of your heir? Do you truly believe the people of Rohan—of Middle Earth—would have no qualms with the heir to Rohan's throne having black blood? Do you truly believe that your own child would not be hunted by others because of his lineage?

Éomer opened his mouth to respond, but Lúthien raised a finger at him in anger. "If you dare to say that it would not happen, I will strike you. Because I am living proof it will happen." Her anger dissipated some, her shoulders falling. "I cannot burden you nor any possible children in such a way."

No matter how much she wished to give in to his proposal, to return his declaration of love, she could not do that to him. Nor his people.

Éomer spoke up in frustrated determination. "I do not care, Lúthien. I love you."

Lúthien's heart broke even more for the man. All fight had drained from her, her voice quiet and resigned. "But it is not so simple now. You are King. You must care. You have an entire people to consider now."

Suddenly exhausted and drained, Lúthien turned towards the hall doors. Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the nothingness before her. She only wanted to be gone from this moment, from this place, from this heartache.

"Goodnight, Éomer King," Lúthien spoke quietly, her gaze never meeting his. With those final words, Lúthien returned to her room. She carefully returned her borrowed shawl to its place on the back of a chair. She calmly pulled back the covers and gingerly climbed into bed.

With the broken and patched walls returned to their place around her heart, Lúthien laid down and closed her eyes, refusing to give her pain and grief control over herself.

No, she must remember who she was and what it took to survive in this world. Allowing a fantasy to take hold would only bring her more pain.

With a sigh, Lúthien closed her eyes. The nightmares that awaited seemed more comforting than reality did that night.

Chapter Text

The following day arrived grey and overcast, a perfect match to the way Lúthien felt inside. On the outside, she maintained her smile for the few she encountered. By late morning, she had been successful in avoiding Éomer's presence.

Eowyn's presence, however, was one person's company Lúthien did not wish to avoid. She wished to confide in her friend, her first female confidant, but her relation to Éomer left Lúthien to hold her tongue. However, her presence offered a comfort that Lúthien would miss when she left.

For that was what had been decided. Lúthien, as she had laid in her bed, staring up at the wooden beams stretched across the ceiling of her room, had decided she must leave. To the benefit of everyone.

Though she did her best to avoid revealing her decision, Eowyn's repeated offering—and at sometimes almost demands—of requisitioning Lúthien more dresses was pushing Lúthien to her limit.

It was when Eowyn appeared at her door later that day, inviting her to accompany her down to the training grounds that Lúthien first genuinely smiled. A good fight with her father's blade sounded like the perfect way to relieve some of the stress in her shoulders.

The beginnings of their time at the practice field had been spent leaned against the railed fence, Lúthien simply observing the soldiers training while Eowyn spoke with the Captain of the guard and the head trainer.

The men of Rohan had already proved their fighting abilities, but seeing them here, without the distraction of a falling blade and death pulling her attention away, Lúthien could see the brilliance and gracefulness of their maneuvers; the strength they held not just in muscle, but in practice and ability.

Eowyn soon called her over, the two women being offered one of the smaller training rings to use as they pleased. It did not take long for the two of them to enter into a quick bout of easy swordplay. Eowyn was skilled to say the least. However, Lúthien was able to best her more than once. Sometimes, real world experience trumped training.

After their first round of sword play, Lúthien drew her smaller side blade and began showing Eowyn some moves that would assist her should her sword ever get torn away or pinned by an enemy.

"I would encourage you to find a side blade of your own. It is handy to have on you at all times. Especially in places where a long sword might not work as well."

Eowyn inspected Lúthien's side blade, turning it over in her hands. "This is a beautiful piece. Where did you acquire it?" Eowyn handed it back as she spoke.

"It was my mother's," Lúthien smiled down at the blade for a moment before returning it to its sheath. "I would no doubt be dead if I did not have it." She raised an eyebrow at Eowyn.

A voice from the side fence brought their attention to it.

"That was very impressive fighting from the both of you." It was the head trainer, an older soldier, undoubtedly experienced in war. The large man offered both women a smile with his words. "But perhaps, you'd find fighting without your cloak more effective, Lady Aedre?" He lithely climbed the fence and hopped over it before walking over to where the women stood.

"I believe you would find it much easier to maneuver and it would offer less advantage to an enemy."

Lúthien hesitated at the man's words. Her eyes scanned the training grounds, seeing the large number present had not dwindled. Turning back to the soldier, she was prepared to politely decline his offer, but his gentle smile caused her to pause, his voice low and kind.

"Look around, m'lady. You will not be the only one with scars on display here. You should feel no shame."

She wanted to believe the man, but the scars of others were from war, from fighting to defend their homeland, for their king. Hers were not.

The broad shouldered man's next words caught her off guard. "Though from a different time, your scars are from a battle just the same as theirs." He winked at her knowingly, leaving her shocked and quite speechless.

Did the man truly know the truth of herself? And yet he still offered her kind words? It was something strange to come across a man who so easily accepted her despite knowing her heritage.

Lúthien paused. Yet, hadn't Éomer claimed such a thing just the night before? As if sensing him, her eyes drifted past the older man's shoulder and caught the eye of the king leaned up against a fence post, watching their small group silently. The look on his face betrayed nothing in the way of what he might be thinking in that moment.

The soldier pulled her attention back, patting her shoulder as if a father comfortingly encouraging a child. His other hand he held out, patiently waiting for her to remove and hand over her cloak.

"I will hang it up for you to ensure it is not ruined, m'lady." His smile was gentle and warm, encouraging in its manner.

Her skin bristled as his words registered in her mind. Now that the war was over, she had time to address it. Her sobering conversation with Éomer the night prior had reminded her that she was beneath those around her and they should not be addressing her as 'lady' in any form.

It was time she returned to reminding people before they remembered on their own.

"Why does everyone insist on addressing me as 'lady'? As I have said, repeatedly, I am no noblewoman. Far from it, in fact. That title should not be given when addressing me."

If the soldier was ruffled by her question, he did not show it. In fact, he seemed wholly unaffected by it. "You are the daughter of Awiergan, Lady Lu—Aedre," he quickly corrected himself and continued on before Lúthien could address the sudden rise of confusion. "He was a well loved and well respected Captain under Théoden's reign." The man straightened his stance, as if wishing to pay more respect to her father. "His men felt anger and disagreed keenly when Wormtongue cast him out." His voice turned softer, his eyes matching. "The men who knew and served with your father—who have passed on their legacies to those around you—they simply wish to show you the respect they believe you deserve."

Lúthien's eyes scanned the men training around her. Of course, many of the younger men present would not have had the chance to know her father. But the older ones? The teachers? Had they truly known and loved her father? Enough to have passed his memory down to their sons who were now old enough to stand with her on that field?

"Beyond that," the man continued, "you have earned the respect of the company with the bravery and kindness you showed during the battle at the Hornburg and for Minas Tirith." He leaned closer then, as if wishing to conspire about something. "Regardless of any fear-mongering rumors that may accompany your father's name, I can guarantee, spend enough time with the men here and you will find yourself in welcome company."

He leaned back, standing tall, and raised his voice slightly louder than necessary, as if to address any prying ears. "And should any raise a hand against or bring harm to you, they'll have the likes of us to deal with."

The sound of several agreeing cheers from some of the closer men training left Lúthien in complete stupefaction. There were no words to express what she felt in that moment.

"And the King's family," Eowyn spoke up proudly, stepping up next to her as she nudged her elbow against Lúthien's.

Lúthien felt as if she might cry. Not sorrowfully nor mournfully. But rather gratefully.

Yet, in the next moment, she felt her heart break a little more. She would not be here much longer. Nor did Eowyn offer her protection with the full knowledge of her past.

With another insistent request from the head trainer, Lúthien reluctantly handed her cloak to the man. As she did, her eyes caught once more on Éomer's tall frame, now stood proudly rather than leaning against the post. The look he gave her was a challenging one. As if daring her to disprove his words from the night before.

Turning on her heel, she beckoned Eowyn to follow, the two returning to the center of the training ring, dulled practice swords in hand. She would not dare to use a real blade against her friend.

As she took her beginning stance, she felt odd and exposed without the protection of her cloak. But the sight of Eowyn's dulled blade flying through the air and down towards her snapped her attention to the dance at hand.

Lúthien's moves were smooth and graceful, her reflexes quick and lithe. Until, out of the corner of her eyes, she caught the sight of Éomer now leaned against the rails next to the head trainer, his eyes intently watching his sister and Lúthien spar.

Distracted, Lúthien did not block Eowyn's side blow fast enough and took the blunt edge to the side of her arm. The blow smarted, Lúthien's attention being pulled back to the fight at hand.

Twice more this happened before Eowyn dropped her hand that held the sword and spun to face her brother. "Do you not have some royal duties or horses to see to, brother? I would like to learn something today but cannot so long as my tutor is easily distracted."

Lúthien's jaw dropped at Eowyn's blunt words, but snapped closed in frustration with Éomer's loud laugh, her cheeks flushing red.

"Eowyn." Lúthien's hiss was blatantly ignored.

"Very well, sister. I will leave you to your practice." He turned a charming smile to Lúthien. "Try not to kill my sister." With a wink, he turned his back and left, glancing over his shoulder at her once more before turning the corner of a building.

The remaining hour or so of sparring with Eowyn left Lúthien smiling. It felt good to work her muscles again, to spend time with Eowyn, helping her better her techniques and fighting abilities. The afternoon was not one sided, as Eowyn taught Lúthien a few tricks of her own that her uncle had taught her. Lúthien felt grateful and honored to be taught a small bit of the wisdom that came from Théoden.

As the women made their ways back to their rooms, guilt of Eowyn's lack of knowledge in regard to her pained Lúthien. As Lúthien paused outside her door, Eowyn continuing on, a decision was made.

"Eowyn," Lúthien called to her friend, causing the woman to pause in her steps. "May I speak with you a moment?"

Eowyn's brows creased in confusion, but she acquiesced, following Lúthien into her room. Lúthien rung out her hands as she paced the short path from wall to wall.

"Is everything well, Aedre? Are you well?" Eowyn's use of her false name made Lúthien wince.

"Not exactly," she confessed. Steeling herself against the pain no doubt to come, Lúthien took a deep breath and forged ahead in honesty. Eowyn was aware of her true name, now she must be made aware of the rest of her truth. "I cannot continue on in this vein, cannot allow you to offer your friendship without knowing the whole of who I am." Lúthien took a deep breath.

"They are not simply rumors," she began vaguely, unsure of where to start her confession. Lúthien met Eowyn's gaze with a soft one of her own. "The stories and rumors that you know of in regard to my past, they are not lies. I am indeed a half-breed as they claim." She fought against the pain her heritage frequently brought.

Eowyn remained quiet, patiently allowing Lúthien to speak without interruption. Her demeanor and kind expression gave Lúthien hope enough to give her the courage needed to seek her forgiveness, her own words carrying a hint of desperation. "Please, I beg that you would forgive me for withholding the knowledge from you for so long and for deceiving you. I will not offer excuses, for surely there are none that would suffice. But I could not continue on receiving your affection and support without you knowing the full truth."

Eowyn remained quiet a moment, her face contemplative. The silence caused Lúthien's shoulders to fall along with her hope.

"Do you truly believe I did not know?" Eowyn's question brought Lúthien's eyes snapping to hers. "Have you spent all this time believing that the friendship I offer was done in ignorance?" Eowyn's face was saddened and guilt ridden as she stepped up to Lúthien, grasping her hands in her own.

"I am truly sorry if that is the case. Though I have not known as long as my brother, I have known for quite some time." Her grip tightened briefly in compassion. "The friendship I give is done so with the full knowledge of your family history. You need feel no shame or guilt, Lúthien. You are a brave and kind woman. One of whom I have come to call a dear friend."

Joy and emotion rose in Lúthien's chest with these words.

"Though you have suffered unfairly at the hands of many in the past, you will not find that suffering here, this I swear." Her words were resolute, Eowyn's eyes filled with determination.

Lúthien could not hold back the emotion swelling, nor did she try. Instead, she threw her arms around Eowyn's neck, pulling her into an embrace.

"Thank you, Eowyn. You do not know what that means to me."

Eowyn pulled back, a smile on her face as she studied Lúthien's face. Her smile faded some as she seemed to read the thoughts still plaguing her friend. "There is something more." Eowyn's eyes darted between Lúthien's two different colored ones, as if pulling the truth from her soul. Eowyn stepped back, her face falling with realization. "You are not staying, are you?"

Lúthien shook her head.

"Why?" It was a simple question, yet it was filled with confused loss.

"It is time," Lúthien answered quietly as her gaze fell. "As grateful as I am for our friendship and the kindness that has been given, it is time for me to be on my way."

"But that is the point, is it not? You have friends here, you are welcome here. Why would you wish to leave?"

"I have no place here, Eowyn. I have no family, no land, no place to call home. I was born into the life of a nomad. It was inevitable that my path would diverge from others."

"What of my brother?" Eowyn attempted a different tactic in convincing her friend to stay. "Surely you cannot say he means nothing to you, that he alone is not reason enough to stay."

Lúthien let go a huff of air from her nose as she turned to look out the window, the pain from the night prior resurfacing. The lands surrounding Edoras were draped in a golden light, the waves of grass and grain flowing like waves in the breeze. They seemed to offer everyone hope save her. "Éomer will do perfectly well without me. He does not need me." The words pained Lúthien's heart.

Eowyn grasped Lúthien's arm, turning her to face her. "Do not take me for a simpleton. I am no fool, Aedre. He loves you!" Her words were insistent.

Lúthien gave no reply, instead she stood there, her arms hanging limply at her sides.

"You cannot deny it," Eowyn almost begged.

Lúthien's eyes fell with heartbreak. "No, I cannot. But that does not change things. I cannot stay here."

"Why not?" Eowyn's words took on an edge of frustration.

"I have no home, Eowyn!" Lúthien snapped in frustration. Her shoulders immediately fell in regret. She ran her hand across her forehead, everything seeming to be too much suddenly. "I apologize, that was uncalled for."

Eowyn's voice softened for her friend. "You know you are always welcome to stay with us."

Lúthien's chuckled response lacked humor as she settled onto the edge of her bed. "I cannot spend my life living as a guest to the king and living off his generosity. Even offered, I would not do that to the people of Rohan."

Eowyn was quiet for a moment as she took in the entirety of the situation. "What of Éomer?" She breached the topic once more. "What of his love for you?" She asked softly.

Lúthien fought against the tears that rose. "His love his misplaced." She straightened her shoulders, ignoring the disbelief that crossed Eowyn's face. "He will no doubt one day move past his infatuation and meet the perfect woman for him." She did not think there was anything left of her heart to break. Yet it felt as if it would not stop.

"He will not let you go so easily." The words were filled with a defeated sadness.

"The choice will not be his to make. Duty demands his presence here."

Silence fell between the two women for a time. Eowyn studied Lúthien while Lúthien looked at her hands clasped in her lap.

"What of you?" Eowyn gracefully moved to sit beside Lúthien on the bed. "Does your happiness not count for anything?"

Lúthien was unable to hide the surprise in her look as she looked up at Eowyn. The blonde laughed lightly. "It is rather obvious how you feel about my brother. That is one of the reasons he has not given up hope."

Lúthien stood in frustration. "Then I fear it will fall to you to convince him otherwise, for he will not listen to me." She spun to address Eowyn directly. The timeline of her future path began to reveal itself. "Do what you must to encourage Éomer to move past his feelings and find another."

Eowyn's face turned sour at the suggestion of lying to him. "And how do you suggest I do that?"

Lúthien raised her arms and shoulders in a shrug of frustration. "I do not know. Tell him—" she stuttered in thought. "Tell him that I could never love him."

Eowyn scoffed in disbelief but Lúthien would not let her deter her words. "Paint me as the monster they believe me to be. Tell him I have only been using him for his protection and safety. Tell him..." her voice trailed off as sorrow replaced her energetic reply. "Tell him what you must to make your brother elated to be free of me."

Her friend abruptly rose to her feet, her own ire rising with Lúthien's words. Her mouth opened to protest, but Lúthien spoke first, her voice a teary pleading.

"Please, Eowyn. You know I cannot stay. I cannot be the person he so desperately wishes me to be. I cannot be the queen your people need." Lúthien breathed deeply as she spoke what she believed to be truth. "You would be helping your brother to find his true queen. Someone who could be loved by the entirety of Rohan."

Eowyn remained silent, neither supporting nor contradicting Lúthien's words.

And so, it was that night Lúthien made the decision to leave. She managed to avoid Éomer for the remainder of the day and evening, only catching a glimpse of him during the evening meal. Fortunately, he had been kept occupied by advisors and others on Rohan business. With a look from him in her direction, even Eowyn had stepped in to distract her brother; something Lúthien would be eternally grateful for.

Once night had fallen and silence reigned in the town of Edoras, Lúthien slipped silently from her chambers and made her way to the stables.

Her mare Branwen, a gift from Théoden, was easily saddled and readied. As quietly as possible, she lead the mare out from the stable. Her steps halted, her grip on the reigns tightening as a figure approached in the night.

As they drew closer, she recognized Eowyn, a small bag held in her hands.

"I knew you would not allow yourself any provisions from our stores," she held up the small cloth bag, "so I have brought them to you instead."

Lúthien smiled sadly as she gratefully took the bag from her friend and tied it beside her other bag at the back of Branwen's saddle.

"Thank you, Eowyn," Lúthien smiled as she turned back to her friend. "I will miss you."

Eowyn reached out and embraced Lúthien tightly. The earnestness of the embrace ran the edge of convincing Lúthien to change her mind and stay. But her mind demanded control from her heart and steeled her decision. Her departure was for the best interest of everyone.

With a final nod, Lúthien removed herself from the embrace, lifting up into the saddle of her waiting mare.

"Westu hál, my friend."

Directing her gaze to the dark path before her, Lúthien directed her mount forward, snaking her way through the darkened and sleeping streets. With nothing more than a silent nod for the guard on duty, she passed through the main gate and rode out onto the dirt path that wove through the plains of Rohan.

The night was dark, the moon veiled by shadow. And so Lúthien set out, her cloak wrapped around her, the hood pulled up, hiding her face in darkness. Where it belonged.

Chapter Text

Lúthien ran to the borders of Rohan. She ran back to the plains of her birth.

As the sun rose, the golden light cast its warmth across the land as the world slowly woke. Familiar peace in freedom filled her mind, the feeling of the untamed air flowing across her face. The wind flowed off the plains that surrounded her, pushing against her as if a welcoming embrace.

Yet even as the peace settled across her shoulders, the familiarity of years as a nomad welcoming her return, she could not hide the melancholic ache in her heart. Despite her welcoming return, Lúthien was not the same as the woman she had been at the start of the year. So much had changed.

Lúthien now had those she could call friends, she had family. She had tasted and seen what it meant to be counted among a company, to be welcomed, accepted, and loved. And her heart ached to bid farewell to her life from before and return to the company of those she cared about.

Lúthien directed Branwen in the direction of the small village that had appeared on the horizon. As the small buildings grew closer, she slowed her pace, directing Branwen to the border of trees that edged the village. Maneuvering amongst the trees, hidden from sight of the village, she sat atop her horse, her sharp eyes surveying the town less than a league in the distance. The town that had at one time done its best to keep her safe.

It all looked familiar and different at one time. She held memories of following in her mother's footsteps to the local market, the muddy ruts giving her the opportunity to create a game in her head as her small legs raced to keep up with her mother's.

From her observation point, Lúthien could make out the thatched roof of where she had once lived. She had been young and so many of her memories held little detail, but she could remember the smell of the fire burning in the corner, the sound of her mother humming as she prepared the evening meal, the scent of her father as he oiled and sharpened his blade.

Yet for all of the scattered memories Lúthien held of this small village, it was not her home. She had understood that the moment her family had been pushed from these lands, thrown out into the mud and pouring rain as if nothing more than a heaping pile of waste. Lúthien knew that.

Yet these harsh memories could not banish how she felt in that moment. For the first time since childhood, Lúthien desired a home. Yet not just any home. A deep timbered voice in the back of her mind brushed against her heart. It spoke to her in hushed and loving tones, told her that she could have that. If she would only return.

Lúthien forced herself to see through the lie, to push past the voice and see the world with reasoning and logic. Guarding her heart further, she pushed away memories of Éomer standing so close to her, his deep scent of him, the shine in his eye as he gazed upon her; Lúthien pushed them all away, storing them away forever where they could no longer cause her heart to ache.

Her face hardened, her back straightening as she knocked her heels against the side of her mare, her hands gracefully directing the reins to lead her horse away from the village. With her back to the small village she had once called home, Lúthien increased her speed slightly, allowing more distance to grow between her and her memories. She did not look back. She refused.

With the world at her back, she continued. This was who she truly was: nothing more than a cruel joke bestowed upon the land by the gods of old. With a Rohinian birth, the looks of a Gondorian lady, the name of a great elf maiden of the past, and an ancestry that left her hunted. Lúthien's very existence was nothing more than a blasphemy to everyone and everything in regards to nature. And no one would ever change that.

And so, she continued on her way, her hand guiding the horse around trees and bushes, making her way back to the familiar lands of Eastern Rohan.

*****

The sun began to set on the horizon, the sky erupting in colors not seen in these lands for some time. Lúthien leaned against an outcropping of stone, the warm stone a balm to her aching muscles and still recovering wounds.

Five days had passed since her departure from Edoras. It had been easier than Lúthien would care to admit for her to slip back into the routine and life of living amongst nature.

She watched as Branwen grazed happily, her saddle removed and resting on a low thick branch. As her eyes watched the mare, a sound caught in Lúthien's ears, her body tensing with alertness. The sound was easily recognizable: a single horse rider. Lúthien jumped to her feet, her hand resting readily against the handle of her sword, the blade drawn a few inches from its sheath in preparation for any incoming attacks.

Lúthien's heart beat steadily in her chest, her body loose and ready to fight should this newcomer show to be a foe.

As the rider crested the hill, all tension immediately flowed from Lúthien's shoulders as annoyance and happiness simultaneously replaced it.

Faramir directed his steed in her direction, quickly closing the remaining distance between them before pulling him to a stop and carefully dismounting. He offered her a hesitant smile as he approached after looping the reigns on a nearby tree branch.

"You are a hard one to track, my dear sister." Faramir offered her a smile before pulling her into a fond embrace.

"Clearly not if you found me within a few days time." She smirked at her brother.

The two moved back to the large grey stone and sat down together, their backs against the formation while their legs stretched before them.

After a moment of enjoying the breeze, Lúthien's patience ran thin. She turned her eyes towards Faramir. "For what reasons did you search me out?"

The man was silent for a moment before he spoke, pulling at the grass beside him as if avoiding her gaze. "Lady Eowyn sent an express to Gondor, informing me of your plight."

Lúthien scoffed at his comment, her eyes returning to their hard state, her gaze turning out towards the horizon. She should have suspected no less from Eowyn. The woman was as determined as she was stubborn. Lúthien wished only that Eowyn would leave her to go in peace. "I have no plight save for my blood, Faramir. Eowyn no doubt exaggerated in her writing to you."

"I am no fool." Faramir spoke candidly as he looked at Lúthien a moment. "Regardless, I gave her my word that I would find you."

Lúthien looked down at her lap, her brows furrowing in determination. "You should not have come, brother. To begin with," she turned concerned eyes on Faramir, "you are still recovering from your injuries." She ignored him waving her words away with little effort as she raised an eyebrow. "And you no doubt are shirking responsibilities to chase after someone who does not need to be chased after. Responsibilities most definitely more important than some nomad."

"And secondly?" Faramir asked, his tone conveying he found her beginning argument fruitless and futile.

"And secondly, you failed to take into account the fact that I cannot go back."

Faramir's face softened, his look one of compassion and sympathy. "I know, dear sister," he spoke softly. "I know."

Lúthien was grateful for Faramir's understanding. He and his brother had always encouraged her, but never pushed beyond. They were the few who were witness to and understood why she made the choices she had in life; why she lived her life closed off from others.

"But perhaps you might consider an alternative option?"

Lúthien lifted her head, looking at him as she searched his face. "What option is there to consider?"

"Return with me to Gondor," Faramir raised his hand to halt her oncoming protest, her mouth opening to speak. "You need not stay long. But I have long desired to honestly show you my homeland, you know. My father's presence had prevented me from doing so. With his death," Faramir's voice turned hesitant and sorrowful with those words before he pushed forward. "With his absence, I have the opportunity to do so now."

Though she contemplated agreeing to Faramir's offer, she was still dubious about her presence being welcomed in Gondor, even with the Steward's death.

Reading Lúthien's face, Faramir pressed forward in his reasoning. "You would be under my protection as well as Aragorn's. You would have no reason to hide nor to fear any danger. Besides," he offered a small smile, "I would enjoy a visit from my sister. And I believe we would both benefit from some time spent in each other's company." His eyes turned soft and pleading. "For me, Lúthien."

Lúthien's shoulders fell. She could not deny that she would enjoy spending time with Faramir again, and she knew what it would mean to him to be able to show her the place where he grew up. Beyond that, she could not deny such a request from Faramir. She cared about him and wished to see him happy. With a final gaze at the horizon, she answered, "Very well. I will accompany you on your return to Gondor."

*****

Lúthien was unhappily annoyed. While she had enjoyed a day spent with Faramir, exploring Minas Tirith and some of the places Faramir had fond memories of, she was less than thrilled at his current offer for her.

"What good will a gown do for me on the road across Middle Earth, Faramir?" She argued as she looked over the deep blue gown a servant had laid out across her bed.

"That is a matter for another time. Tonight, however, I would insist that you happily accept this gift."

Lúthien raised an eyebrow at the man. Faramir refused to relent. "Since you have left the gown given to you in Rohan, I insist you accept this one." He held up placating hands as she moved to protest. "At the very least for tonight. I wish for you to attend a dinner tonight and I would wish for you to accompany me."

Lúthien placed frustrated hands on her hips as she gave Faramir a disbelieving look. She was very much aware of how full of manure his words were. There was no reason for her to attend a dinner in a gown rather than her own trousers, shirt, and vest. However, she loved Faramir and was willing to do this thing for him. She held up a finger towards him. "Tonight only," she spoke with stubbornness.

*****

As she stood before the small looking glass, the phthalo blue fabric draping beautifully down her figure, Lúthien, for once, felt like the lady that everyone addressed her as. Her hair fell in lustrous raven waves, framing her face and mismatched eyes gracefully.

For the first time in her life, Lúthien truly felt beautiful.

A gentle knock pulled her gaze toward the door, bidding enter.

Lúthien's eyes widened minutely as Lady Arwen entered her small chambers, leaving the door only slightly ajar behind her.

As Arwen approached, Lúthien bowed deeply and respectfully, admiration for the elf before her evident in her eyes. "Lady Arwen," she rose, "to what do I owe this honor?"

Arwen smiled kindly, her porcelain looking face bright and beautiful. "I had wished to meet you when I heard of your arrival."

Lúthien could only offer a nod, unsure of what to say in a situation such as this. "I am greatly honored," she finally offered.

"I have heard greatly of you, Lúthien, daughter of Awiergan." Arwen's voice was soft, her smile serene. "I have heard many stories of your travels with the Hunters Three. I am most impressed with your keeping up with the company as they tracked the hobbits. That is no easy feat."

Lúthien laughed lightly at the words. "No, indeed. On more than one occasion, I was certain I would collapse dead from exhaustion before I would have a chance to hit the ground." Lúthien took in the amused smile Arwen gave, her mind racing in speculation at her coming to see her.

"I feel that you did not come to hear my perspective of Lord Aragorn's travels, however."

Arwen's reduced smile answered Lúthien before her words did. "No, I have not." Arwen motioned to a large window that allowed the fading light to enter. Lúthien obediently followed, standing before Arwen in the sun's fading rays.

She felt no awkwardness nor fear in Arwen's presence. The elf's entire presence was calming and offered comfort. Lúthien waited patiently for Arwen to speak.

"Lord Aragorn and Legolas have shared with me the knowledge regarding the presence of light from your namesake in your eyes."

Lúthien resisted the urge to turn away and hide from Arwen.

"Haldir had informed my father following his meeting with you. I was present for this and had a wish to see for myself." Arwen reached out a comforting hand, grasping Lúthien's forearm as she stepped closer.

Lúthien, in acquiesce, met Arwen's gaze, allowing her to peer into what felt like the very depths of her soul.

"She carries the light of Lúthien," Arwen spoke softly, her eyes focused, "one who bore heartache and the misery of betrayal." Arwen's focus shifted, her eyes focused on Lúthien rather than what she had seen in her mismatched eyes. "And all of these she overcame, just as her namesake."

Lúthien realized then that Arwen's words spoke of her rather than the honored Elven princess. Her eyes turned downtrodden as she turned away from Arwen's scrutiny. "Whatever the starlight may mean, I feel ashamed that one such as myself should carry it."

Arwen lifted her hand, the tips of her fingers elegantly touching Lúthien's chin, bringing her attention back. "You should not feel shame nor count this as a burden, Lúthien. It is a gift. A gift of great value." She smiled softly. "Mithrandir has searched long for an answer to this light."

"Yes," Lúthien quietly agreed. Their path in seeking out answers had taken them to many lands, both distant and far. Yet always they were left with nothing to show for their efforts. She had long known that a light unnatural to this world lived in her eyes. It was not until the ride alongside Legolas and Aragorn that the suggestion of the light being that of her namesake became known to her. Yet, even with that knowledge, all paths to any answers were fruitless, never revealing the answers she had sought.

"Then I am honored to be allowed to bestow the answers you have sought for so long."

Lúthien's breath hitched as she turned wide eyes on the elf. "My lady?" She practically begged. For so long she had searched for an answer. It had been that search which had set her on the path the Fellowship of Nine had traveled, that had led her to the forest where Boromir had fallen. They were what had separated her from Gandalf when he searched where she could not. Lúthien had desperately sought a way to rid herself of the curse of the black blood. Could it be true that Arwen held and now offered what she had for so long searched?

As if in answer to her unspoken thoughts, a knock at the door came, immediately followed by it opening. Lord Elrond stepped forward to join the two women. The elf Lord was regal and graceful, nothing about his person to be found out of place. He was intimidating to say the least.

Elrond smiled kindly at him, a mirror of Arwen's own smile. With a silent request and silent answer, he stepped forward, awe stretching across his face as he looked into Lúthien's eyes.

"So it is true," Elrond shared a look with his daughter before returning his gaze to Lúthien. "Lúthien of Tinúviel has bestowed her light upon you, Lúthien of Awiergan. And a great honor bestowed it is indeed."

Chapter Text

Lúthien had many times over heard tales of the great magic of the elves. What she had just bore witness to, had experienced herself, was beyond anything she had ever imagined. As she opened her eyes, she wondered if one would call what had transpired 'magic'. The word seemed too brusque and simple a name for what the elves were capable of. Their abilities were amazing and beautiful to witness. They were prolific weavers, capable of skills beyond what humans could accurately define, truly beyond human comprehension.

As Lord Elrond and his daughter departed from her private room, Lúthien could not stop herself from staring at the image reflected back at her from the looking glass. She was still the same person, yet she was not.

As she looked on, her hand lifted, gently tracing what remained of her scars. While still present, the marring was much lessened and smoother, the deep grooves no longer there. Her eyes, though still mismatching in color, were now more alike, the blackness now faded to a dark grey. For the first time in the entirety of her life, Lúthien felt as if she could breathe fully and deeply. It appeared, Lúthien had held the answers she so desperately sought within her all along. Her blood no longer mixed red and black.

She was finally free. Her ancestors finally redeemed, any decedents now free to live as they chose. The emotions that flooded her were almost overwhelming. For so long, she had fought, run, hidden because of the color of the blood that ran through her.

As Lúthien took in her appearance in the whole, she found that while she was grateful that the cleansing had removed the vileness that flowed, she was grateful that the scars she had carried from birth remained to an extent. She had grown accustomed to them, them making up a part of who she was, and she found that she would have been disappointed and possibly lost to find them changed completely.

With a lighter heart and lighter thoughts, one specific thought escaped, flitting through her mind. Perhaps, maybe, Lúthien might be allowed a chance of happiness with Éomer now. Immediately, she banished the thought.

Lúthien had rejected Éomer. She had made sure that Eowyn would turn him against her. She did not have any right to hope in that aspect. Though her heart still longed for him, Lúthien ensured the walls around her heart stayed in place, the cage securely latched shut.

Simply because she had been cleansed of the black blood, in no way meant that Éomer owed her anything. And so, she would continue in her nomadic life for a time, grateful for what had been given. Perhaps one day she might be able to meet a nice man and settle down.

That last thought surprised Lúthien, bringing a new found joy to her. It was the first time in her life such thoughts and dreams could actually be considered within her reach—should she be able to live beyond the rumors, she reminded herself. Maybe she never would. Conceivably, she could travel, freely visiting with her friends—Faramir, Aragorn, perhaps Gimli. It could be that she would accompany Gandalf on his next journey, annoying him just enough to make his life interesting.

Though the world had essentially been at her feet her entire life, for the first time it seemed like a brighter world awaited her.

After making her way to the great hall where dinner was to be served, Lúthien stayed along the wall, searching out Faramir. Music, laughter, and conversation filled the grand room. A large fire burned in the pit at the center of the hall, a large pig slowly spinning on a spit above it. Her eyes caught upon Aragorn and Arwen stood close together, the former in conversation with a few people. Longing flooded Lúthien's chest. She wished to be with someone such as the future King and his love were. She released a pitying sigh as she continued her search for Faramir.

Finding him, she smiled to herself and made her way to him. When Lúthien was only a few feet from the man, he met her gaze briefly before snapping his attention back, his eyes now wide. Quickly excusing himself from his current conversation, Faramir closed the distance between the two, a disbelieving yet joyful smile gracing his face.

"I did not mean to pull you away from your conversations," Lúthien offered in apology.

"Please cease your concerns, Aedre," Faramir addressed her in the public setting. "My conversations will wait. But you..." his words trailed off as his eyes scanned down the side of her face, his face lighting with a wide grin. "I see that Lady Arwen and Lord Elrond have been to see you." His eyes held sincerity as he held her hands. "I am most joyous for you, Aedre."

"Thank you," Lúthien beamed back. "I find that I am quite joyous as well." Already, her being amongst a crowd felt different.

"Though," Faramir lowered his voice, his grin turning mischievous. "You shall always be that wild child that was, and still is, so easy to tease and torment."

Lúthien resisted the urge to cuff Faramir, instead, turning to greet Lord Elrond in his approach.

After a brief exchange of greeting between Faramir and Elrond, Lúthien offered her thanks once more. "I would wish to express my gratitude once more, Lord Elrond."

Elrond raised a quieting hand, his voice kind. "Speak not of it, Lady Aedre. I am not the one who bestowed the gift, I simply brought it to the surface." His countenance turned soft, the light dimming in his eyes as he exchanged a glance with Faramir. "Éomer King travels to Gondor to escort his uncle home where he may be laid to rest."

The light in Lúthien's eyes dimmed. All gathered were grieved by the fall of the King of Rohan. "He was a good man," she spoke, "a very good man."

"Indeed," Elrond agreed. "I have come to offer an invitation to travel with our company to lay to rest Théoden of Rohan."

For a moment, Lúthien was tempted to decline simply in order to avoid Éomer. She held no desire to return to his company so soon, she lied to herself. However, she could not find it in herself to refuse, especially after what Elrond and his daughter had done for her.

More so, she wished to pay her respects to Théoden. He had taken the first step in returning her freedom. Though not indebted to the man, Lúthien was deeply grateful and felt it only right to respect the fallen King. Her fallen King.

"I would be honored and grateful," Lúthien answered the elf. With a bow, Elrond departed, returning to the company of others. Lúthien watched as the crowd conversed and reveled. Seeking a moment of solace, she excused herself to Faramir and made her way to the doors, stepping out into the late sunlight.

She would return to Rohan and pay her respects but she would determine to keep to the shadows. Lúthien paused. That thought now seemed so misplaced. No longer did she feel the need to hide herself away in the shadows. Instead, she now desired to seek out the light.

Lúthien lifted her head, eyes closed, as she allowed her skin to soak in the warmth of the early summer sun. It felt different.

It felt more welcoming and less harsh that it used to.

*****

Éomer returned to Minas Tirith, setting out the following day in return to Rohan accompanied by a large procession in escort to Théoden.

The honor and respect paid to the fallen king was great indeed. The host that traveled was large, perhaps the greatest that had ever traveled in honor of the fallen. Yet, each and every payment of respect had been earned and deserved. Théoden king would go down in the history annals as one of—if not perhaps the greatest, King of Rohan.

Upon their arrival to Edoras, Lúthien was successful in avoiding Éomer and Eowyn, keeping her own company amidst the encampments surrounding Edoras for the funeral.

The day Théoden, son of Thengel, was laid to rest, Lúthien was forced to face those inside the walls of Edoras. The feasting celebration bursting from Meduseld was a much needed event for the people after so many years of darkness for all.

As the crowds gathered into the great hall, Eowyn had quickly discovered Lúthien's presence, making her way over to her as soon as her eyes had laid sight on the woman.

"You have returned," Eowyn spoke joyously.

Lúthien easily returned her friends smile. "I have, but," Lúthien warned, "I cannot stay."

Eowyn nodded in understanding, though some of the light left her smile. Before any more words could be spoken, a lady in waiting appeared at Eowyn's side to whisk her away at Éomer's beckoning.

Lúthien's heart stuttered, her eyes scanning the crowded room as she tried to remain hidden. Thus far, she had managed to escape Éomer's gaze. Certainly, the new king was aware of her presence in Edoras, yet he had not sought her out. Lúthien was grateful, even if the knowledge caused an ache in her heart.

Her attention and thoughts were diverted as Éomer stood on the raised dais and called loudly for silence before addressing the hall.

Lúthien stood in joyous surprise at the king's announcement. Faramir and Eowyn were betrothed.

The thought brought such elation to Lúthien as her eyes immediately sought out her brother and his bride-to-be. Without thought or hesitation, she snaked her way amongst the revelers, making her way to Faramir.

Her face was lit with beaming joy as she embrace Faramir. "May I offer many congratulations, brother."

Faramir's face radiated joy, his smile unfaltering. "You may, dear sister, and I thank you for them."

Eowyn turned from the person she was speaking with to face Lúthien. In response, Lúthien stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Eowyn in jubilation. "I wish only the best for the both of you," Lúthien beamed as she stepped back, taking one of each of the couple's hands in her own. "Words cannot describe how thrilled I am to see you both so happily situated after so long a dark time." Her eyes glistened as she fought off tears.

"I am so glad you approve," Eowyn beamed in happiness.

"How could I not?" Lúthien laughed out. "I could not wish for a better wife for Faramir. Nor a better husband for you."

The appearance of another caused Lúthien to release their hands and step back a touch from the small group. Éomer smiled brightly at the couple. His eyes cast in her direction, meeting her own. He held her gaze for only a moment before offering a silent nod and returning his attention to the happy couple.

Lúthien's entire person dimmed with the action. His distant demeanor was expected—hoped for even—yet it still hurt. She stood in silence, her hands clasped before her and stepped slightly back as Faramir and Eowyn regaled those around them with their story of falling in love. Lúthien focused her attention on them, showering them with quiet smiles.

"I shall have to keep an eye on you, Faramir, while you remain here in Edoras. I trust you, but she is still my sister." Éomer's deep yet lighthearted voice caused shivers to travel across Lúthien's skin.

"Éomer, why do you not dance? Perhaps Lúthien would care to join in the revelry?" Eowyn urged her brother.

Lúthien resisted the urge to find embarrassment in her friend's blatant attempts in pushing her and Éomer together.

"I thank you, Lady Eowyn," Lúthien spoke up quickly, "I am not familiar with the steps of these dances." She kept her attention focused on Eowyn only glancing at the dancers filling the center of the hall as she strove to ignore Éomer's gaze that burned into the side of her head in that moment.

"I would be happy to teach you in the ways of your homeland," Éomer offered, his voice coming out earnestly.

Lúthien turned her head and met Éomer's gaze, instant regret filling her chest. She cleared her throat, attempting to force her voice to come out evenly. "I thank you for the honor, your majesty, however, I find that I have no desire to dance this evening."

"I would find amusement in witnessing Aedre dancing. As I recall, dancing is the one thing she cannot seem to conquer." Faramir did nothing to hide his teasing smile.

"I have yet to witness anything Lady Aedre cannot overcome, should she truly wish to." Éomer's voice was polite, but his words carried a sting. There was nothing Lúthien wished more to do than throw herself into the arms of Éomer, whether it be in a loving embrace or in a celebration dance. Yet she knew, regardless of how much she desired to be with him, she could not. While it was true she no longer carried the black blood of a goblin, there were still rumors that followed her and would taint the rule of Éomer King.

She also could no longer lie to herself, nor could she silence her heart. Being so near to Éomer once more, hearing his voice, feeling the electricity in the air that accompanied his presence, she found her walls were beginning to easily crumble. The bars that made up the cage she'd placed around her heart were bending under the desire to stay at Éomer's side forever.

"You cannot stand here in the corner all evening, Aedre. This is a celebration. You must at least attempt to dance," Eowyn urged her friend, bringing her attention back to those before her. Lúthien did her best to smile through the conversation, making an attempt to divert the conversation away from her rather than reply.

"What of you, Lady Eowyn? Do you enjoy dancing?" She asked.

Eowyn easily returned the question, her eye twinkling with mischief. "I do. In fact," she turned to Faramir with a broad smile and Lúthien instantly recognized her mistake. "I will happily do so should I be asked."

Faramir lost no time in offering his hand to his bride-to-be before whisking her away to join the many who currently danced. Neither one of the happy couple spared a second glance at the two they left behind.

Lúthien stood awkwardly near Éomer, watching those gathered smile and celebrate. It was the day they had buried the fallen king, yet it was filled with jubilation at the news of their beloved Lady Eowyn announcing her betrothal. Too long had darkness and sadness drenched the lands of Rohan and beyond. Lúthien was glad the people at last had something to celebrate.

Éomer shuffled beside her, choosing to remain silent, his gaze cast elsewhere. Feeling the awkwardness of the moment grow, Lúthien prepared to excuse herself. As she turned to offer a curtsy, Éomer spoke.

"You look beautiful tonight." His eyes searched her face, flickering between her eyes before briefly following the path of her faded scars. "Though I would wish to clarify that I believed you just as beautiful before the change."

"Thank you," Lúthien spoke quietly lowering her gaze to her hands before her as she willed her heart to cease its thundering beat.

The quiet between them returned for only a minute before Éomer released a frustrated huff. Lúthien looked up at him. Éomer shuffled on his feet as if straining against speaking.

"I would wish—" he cast his eyes around the hall, his words cutting off as if he fought to keep them inside.

"Plague and the devil take it." Before she could think, Éomer grasped her hand and tugged her through the crowd and through a side door out into the warm night air. He gently yet quickly led her down the short set of stairs as Lúthien continued to trail behind him. "Lord Éomer," she gasped out as her legs worked to keep up in a dress.

He finally came to a stop, spinning to face her once they were behind a storehouse off the side of Meduseld. Lúthien looked around only to find they were completely hidden from the sight of those in celebration.

Light from the fires burning bounced off the wooden wall beside them. Lúthien turned towards Éomer to find the light from nearby flames reflected in his eyes. Her heart raced at the secluded position he had brought her to, at the nearness of his form.

"Lúthien," Éomer said with a strained voice, his hand lifting to cradle her cheek, his touch instantly lighting a fire within her chest. "I cannot go another minute without trying again. It is impossible for me to go one minute without thinking about you. You have plagued my mind, filling every cavern and mountain. I have tried to keep my distance, I have tried to stay away, but I cannot. Please," he stepped close enough that Lúthien could feel the heat radiating from his body. "I must ask you again—must beg you—to please consent to being my wife."

Lúthien's heart raced, her breaths coming quicker as she took in his words. She dared not speak, dared not believe this moment to be real.

"Eowyn's half-hearted attempts to dissuade me from you were in vain. No matter the answer you give now, I will always love you, Lúthien. Nothing, nothing, will change that. I am a proud man, as you well know. But I will never be too proud to confess that I need you at my side." His other hand lifted to cup her face, his own face hopeful and pleading at once.

"I ask once more, Lúthien, please be my wife, my queen. Not the people's queen, but mine." His words began to rush out as if desperate to give her all the reasons before she would have the opportunity to refuse. "If you would begin by agreeing to that, to being my wife, I am convinced that all else will fall into place. Because that is the first step. For you to step into the place where you belong." Éomer held her gaze, his eyes boring deeply into her own. "You belong in Rohan, Lúthien. You belong with me."

Éomer finally paused, his chest slightly heaving as he silently and anxiously waited for any response from her. Looking into his eyes, Lúthien saw the depths of them filled with hope, longing, and love.

She had dared not to hope, could not believe, that she would ever have the opportunity in life to spend her life with the man she loved. Yet, here she stood, cleansed of the evil that had held her back, the man she loved expressing a great desire and longing for her to become his wife.

Lúthien no longer wished to hold back. She had dared not hope that Éomer's love would be so consistent, so permanent. Yet here he stood, confessing it would forever be.

She had spent the entirety of her life trying to not let the dark waters of life drown her, fighting against it all. Perhaps, she realized in that moment as she stared into the depths of Éomer's eyes, she no longer needed to keep her head above the water. Maybe she could finally let go, allow herself drown. In Éomer's love, in a life in Rohan, in finally having a home. Perhaps she could finally be done with fighting and simply surviving. Perhaps she could finally be happy. She could truly live.

"Before I give my answer," Lúthien whispered nervously. She had to be sure, be positive that Éomer understood all he was asking to take on in his life. "I wish to make sure you understand," Lúthien stepped back a moment, the feeling of Éomer's hands releasing her face causing instant regret in her. She wished to grab hold of his hands and return them to her skin, to cast away the saddened look that was now cast across Éomer's face.

"You must understand," she started again, "though Lady Arwen and Lord Elrond helped to banish and cleanse the evil that plagued me, I am still Lúthien." She turned away slightly as she spoke. "I still bear the scars, the marked eye. The marks of my ancestry still forever stand." She turned back to meet his gaze. "And so will the whispers and rumors that go with them. Your people may have words to say in protest in regard to them."

Éomer closed the distance Lúthien had placed between them. "King or not," he spoke with determination, "I do not care." He held up a halting hand as Lúthien opened her mouth to speak. "And neither do my people. Have you not realized, my love," Éomer cupped her face once more, the fire in her chest returning, "how welcomed and loved you are by my men?"

"But what of the people who are not your soldiers?" Lúthien asked quietly.

Éomer laughed, leaning his forehead against hers for a moment. Lúthien reveled in the feeling of his touch.

"No king or queen is loved by all," Éomer leaned back to see her face, his hands trailing down her neck, her shoulders, and finally down her arms to wrap her hands in his. A trail of warmth was left in the wake of his touch. "Even the greatest rulers of Middle Earth had those who stood against them. As will I. But I believe," Éomer said softly, his face leaning closer to her as his eyes held hers, "that I shall have many less should you stand at my side. For who could not love you?" The tone of his voice was in earnest. "You are full of love and kindness, caring even for those who have stood against you. I have seen you with the people, I have seen you with the men. I have seen you with those who would raise a hand against you. And each time, you acted as a queen would. You care about the people, you cannot deny it."

"I cannot," Lúthien agreed quietly as she gently shook her head.

"And the people care about you," Éomer continued on. "I care about you. Without a doubt, the people of Rohan will one day love you as much as I do, Lúthien."

"Are you sure, Éomer?" She shook her head before clarifying. "And I do not speak of the people, I speak of you. Are you quite sure that you would wish to marry me? That you would not one day grow to regret choosing me?"

"I swear to you here and now that I love you and always will. Should you reject me now, Rohan would suffer the fate of having no heir. For I do not believe I could ever marry another. Not when my heart is so fully and completely in your hands. My dearest Lúthien, will you finally give me an answer? Will you marry me?"

At last, the walls around her heart collapsed as if dust in the wind. "Yes," Lúthien smiled at him, "Yes, I will marry you."

Éomer closed the remaining space between them, his lips crashing against hers in a hard and passionate kiss. His hands fell from her face, gripping her hips and pulling her body closer, crushing against his as he wrapped his arms around her back.

Relief Lúthien hadn't know was missing flowed through her. For the first time in her life, as Éomer's lips enveloped hers, his tongue clashing with hers, she felt complete. Wrapped in his arms, kissing the man she so desperately fell in love with, Lúthien felt as if she had finally found her home.

*****

Reluctantly, and some time later, the couple parted. Though to Lúthien's relief, Éomer's hand immediately found hers, placing her hand in the crook of his arm as they returned to the great hall. No doubt the people would be wondering what had become of their king, some certainly beginning to worry. Yet, Lúthien could not find it in herself to care just then.

She was betrothed to a man she loved. It was something she had spent her life believing would never happen, had deemed impossible and so had never even bothered to contemplate or hope for.

As they stepped into the great hall, Lúthien suddenly became nervous and self-conscious. Her mind began to race with worry about what they people gathered might think or say once they witnessed her arm wrapped up with Éomer's, their king's.

Lúthien moved to release his arm, but he would not relent. He reached up and settled his hand over hers. She looked up at him, finding his eyes already on her. He leaned over and whispered to her, "Do not let fear dictate your actions. You are where you belong, my love. Right here with me." Éomer stood back up, gently squeezing her hand before releasing it.

Taking a deep breath, she kept her hand in the crook of his arm.

Éomer led her through the crowd and over to where Eowyn and Faramir stood smiling lovingly at each other. Upon their approach, Eowyn's eyes widened with excitement as they stared at the pair's linked arms.

A grin split her face as she gave her full attention to her brother and friend. "Tell me," Eowyn said hopefully, her eyes darting between them. "Brother?" She asked with barely restrained joy.

Éomer grinned widely in reply. "She has finally agreed to marry me."

Eowyn's own face split wide with a grin as she rushed to hug her brother in joy. She immediately released him and turned to her friend, throwing her arms around Lúthien's neck. "I am so happy for you." She said softly to Lúthien. When she pulled back, she held Lúthien's arms. "I am so wonderfully pleased, my dear friend."

"As am I," Faramir spoke, stepping to Lúthien and claiming his sister in a tender embrace. "I cannot tell you how happy it makes me that you have found such happiness and love in life." He spoke quietly to her.

Lúthien could not agree more. She had spent so much of her life suffering and fighting to survive. Yet, here she now stood, among friends and people who loved her. While part of her still held doubt, doubt that it was not all a dream, doubt that she would face rejection from the people of Rohan, doubt that it would last, that it was only a matter of time before something devastatingly horrible would occur—while those doubts still lingered, they shrunk away, becoming less prominent when Éomer reclaimed her hand, once again linking her arm in his, pulling her closer into his side.

As others of their company approached, news and congratulations were shared.

Lúthien knew in that moment that no matter what fate held for her, Éomer would be at her side, he would be her support. She knew he always would be.

Chapter Text

Éomer and Lúthien wed in the winter of 3020 in the Third Age.

Their love was one for the ages, constant and unwavering. Éomer King became known as Éomer Eadig. Éomer Blessed.

Though the name was given by his people for the bountiful refreshing of the lands he brought back during his long reign, Éomer always believed himself blessed because of the woman stood at his side. Lúthien Queen, love of his life, mother of his children, his partner in ruling, was who made Éomer blessed indeed.

In the Autumn of the year 63 of the Fourth Age, after reigning sixty five years and sixty four years of marriage, King Éomer died, his wife and children at his side. Lúthien, Queen of Rohan, passed only a few days later. All of Rohan mourned, filled with sorrow over the passing of their beloved king and queen.

*******

Bonus Scene:

Late Spring, 3034 (Fourteen years of marriage)

Éomer sat working at his desk in his private quarters. Parchments upon parchments detailing trade agreements with Gondor, annual wool production reports, and various other business accounts littered his workspace.

A soft knock preceded the entry of one of the housemaids carrying a small tray of refreshments.

Welcoming the interruption, Éomer stood from his chair, stretching his back. After a glance out the window, he turned to the maid. "Would you happen to know where my wife and children are?" Even after all these years, his wife's absence was still a distraction, still brought an ache of longing to his heart.

The young maid offered a quick curtsy before addressing her king. "Your children are currently occupied down at the training grounds, your majesty."

Éomer was not surprised by this response. His two sons and only daughter could often be found at the training grounds. His men were always pleased to teach the youngsters a few things—age appropriate of course. That had been the reassurance they'd given him at least.

"And my wife?" Éomer inquired.

"I believe the queen took her mare out beyond the walls to the fields not long ago, Sir."

Éomer nodded, dismissing her with a kind wave.

After returning to the seat at his desk, it did not take long for Éomer to come to a decision. Remaining at his desk would prove unproductive as his mind was constantly occupied on his wife.

In no time at all, he was in the saddle of Firefoot, the horse that had seen him through the war, and was passing through the gates of Edoras.

His eyes easily found her in the fields in the distance. Her black silken hair easily stood out amongst the colorful blooms dotting the ground. Her beauty never failed to take his breath away.

Dismounting his horse near where Branwen grazed, Éomer left Firefoot to join the mare, offering an acknowledging nod to Lúthien's personal guard Sigeberht who remained with the horses and on guard.

As Éomer approached, his steps quiet, he picked up the low sound of her humming. Éomer stopped a few steps away, her back to him as she sat on the ground. The skirt of her gown billowed out around her as she collected flowers in her lap. He was silent as he ran his eyes over the form of his wife. She was as beautiful as the day he met her.

Her scars had never affected him. From the moment he had fully laid eyes on her on that field, worn down and wounded, he had thought her beautiful. It was the moment their eyes had met over the campfire, moments before she fled, her face fully exposed to him, that he had realized he was drawn to her.

It was the moment that she had spit back against Wormtongue and refused nourishment in order to protect his sister—it was then that he had realized he was starting to feel something for her.

Above them all, was the moment he had realized he was in love with this strong, stubborn, stupidly brave, loyal, beautiful woman. The moment he had grabbed her hand, hauling what he believed to be one of his men up from the cave floor amidst the battle of the Deep, only to come face to face with Lúthien's dirt covered bloody face.

The fire in her eyes had enraptured him, but the fear of her death had swamped him. Had she understood the power she held over him during those dark times? He had experienced a fear like none other that night at Helm's Deep, when he thought he might lose her before ever having her.

His mind drifted to the night he had learned of her injuries from Aragorn after his friend healed Eowyn after the battle on Pelennor Fields. He could easily recall the dread, the fear like no other, that had gripped at his heart.

Éomer shook his head, refusing to dwell on those dark times, instead focusing on the light before him.

"Hello, dear wife," he spoke up as he closed the distance between them.

He never tired of those words. His wife. Éomer could not imagine anyone else by his side; a place that Lúthien had been for years. His heart still soared at the sight of her.

Lúthien smiled up at him as she stood to greet him.

Did she understand the power she still had over him?

"Hello, dear husband," she smiled cheekily. "What brings you out to the fields?"

She carefully brushed stray leaves from the skirt of her gown, a small bouquet of wildflowers in her hand. Éomer wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into him and smiling. He stared deeply into her sparkling eyes for a moment, memorizing again the beauty of her face.

"My heart."