A/N: Please read and review. This takes place at the beginning of the third movie, at a celebration like the one where Merry and Pippin dance on the table and the men mourn the dead of Helm's Deep and celebrate victory. Except, the feast lasts 7 nights in this fic, not just one, because, hey, who doesn't like eating. This is the first night. More back story will be given as the story progresses.

PS- NO, Gandalf is not physically attracted to my OC. T'is purely father/daughter relationship there. Please R/R! Only my second LotR fic, don't skin me. And someone give me a better title, this one bites. (no pun intended)

THE HORSE LORD AND THE DARK ANGEL

Chapter One

Dilemma

"You're a beautiful woman, you know, Mina," Gandalf murmured, watching the young woman out of the corner of his eye. They were outside the halls of Meduseld, while feasting and revelry went on inside the hall. Mina paced up and down the porch, shaking her head viciously to flip her long, jet black hair into her face. Her teeth were clenched, and her hands fisted her dark green sleeves.

"It's not fair, Gandalf. It's just not fair, that he asked me… asked… Gandalf, what am I supposed to do?" Her soft voice like black silk was stretched taut with frustration. "I can't say yes to him!"

"Why not?" Gandalf asked. He knew her reasons of course, but he didn't think them very valid. "You want to say yes to him."

"You know very well why not. I'm not from this world! I can't stay here! And you know my policy. I don't just tumble and run, I go in for the long haul. Besides, what if he found out about… about…."

"About your little… tooth problem?" He gestured to the fangs that even now were sliding over her eyeteeth as the sun set. "You mean you don't yearn for the taste of Eomer's blood?"

"Gandalf, don't say that." She started shaking, and she covered her face with her midnight hair. "It can't be. I can't… not like that. I can't be with anyone, I might… might hurt them. Hurt him. Kristoff surely will. It's just not meant to be."

"Eomer's blood rushes hot through his veins," Gandalf replied, watching her eyes widen. Her fangs pressed against her lower lip. "He would taste so good on your tongue, wouldn't he?"

"Sublime," she whispered brokenly. "I've tasted him before," yes, she had, on her tongue, running down her throat, just the once on the battlefield just the very once when his throat had been slashed by that orc and he'd been dying in her arms, she'd run her tongue across the gaping wound across his jugular with tears in her eyes and a sob trapped in her throat because the man who had shown her such kindness since she'd landed in this terrifying fantasy world was bleeding to death and drowning in his own blood in her arms, and she'd tasted the richness of his life's blood as the life began to fade from his eyes, and the wound had healed with the touch of her tongue to his cool, sweaty, dirty skin and she'd cut into her wrist with his knife, sobbing in pain because she'd cut too deep but it didn't matter as long as Eomer lived, her friend, her protector, her guide and guardian, and she'd begged him to swallow the gift of her blood and he'd done it and oh, his mouth on her skin, sucking and sucking and sucking as she gave him new life, so sublime.

"Have you, now?"

"Just once." But so many times in her dreams. "To save his life. Never again, though, never. I can't. And don't forget Kristoff, the bastard."

"Ah. Your sire."

"My worst enemy."

"He made you, yes?"

"Yeah," she ground out from between her teeth. "But that won't get in his way, just like it sure as hell won't get in mine. Besides, I don't want him to hurt Eomer. He's such a jealous bastard. Gandalf-"

His arms were around her, and he was a father to his daughter, nothing more, trying to comfort her. He thought she would be happy here, in Rohan with the golden haired children and the magnificent horses and the Rohirrim, and he thought that, having proved herself in battle so many times to everyone, she would be accepted by any who mattered despite her nature, and he wanted her to be happy. Yet the shadow of her twisted maker haunted her, even now, even though Mina was the last vampire alive of Kristoff's kiss. Maybe because of that.

"You're sorrow breaks my heart," he whispered into her hair. "You love him, the Third Marshall of the Mark."

"Well," she muttered, watching the stars twinkling into being in the sky over Gandalf's shoulder, "I wouldn't call it love, Gandalf. Love is dangerous. I can't afford to be in love with someone, not even a warrior as great as Eomer."

"As you say, dear Minalie," he said, and laughed when she yelped, "Gandalf! Mina, Gandalf! Not Minalie! Mina!"

"Very well. But Mina... if I were you, I'd accept Eomer's offer." With that, he walked back inside, and she was left outside, thinking hard.