Not sure if this is going to be any good, but we were learning about the Civil War and how hundreds of women disguised themselves as men to fight in it, and, well, I'm in a LOTR nerd mood right now… ;_;

Btw, for A Ring of Wings readers, the sequel is almost ready to be published :)

OH AND ONE MORE THING. If any of these characters are Mary-Sues/Gary Stus PLEASE TELL ME WHY so I can fix them. Mary Sues scare me. I don't want to write them.

Actually, another one more thing. All I know about LOTR comes mostly from watching the movies (I read the books in, like, fifth grade…) and reading other fanfics. So if there's something totally wrong, well, just go with the flow. I mean, I'm making up a lot of this stuff, so it's practically AU…

The family is as follows: a mother, a father, three sons, and two daughters. They are each perched on their own horse (save Deod, who rides along with Leogas), returning from a hunting trip. While the rest of the family talks and laughs, the mother and the youngest daughter, Leonith, hang back, sniffing in disapproval every once in a while.

The moment is bittersweet. This will probably have been the last trip the entire family could take together. It was only by stroke of luck that Deon could get out of his squire duties at the same time Leogas could get out of his page ones, but it is too much to ask that Deod would be freed the same time as his brothers once he starts his knight training the following week.

"Oh, come, Mum," Leonille, the oldest daughter, bats her eyelashes at her sour mother. "Don't be a stick in the mud."

"Yes, Mum!" Deon, the oldest son, grins. "Are you not happy?"

"No," says the mother. She disapproves of her daughter Leonille acting so vulgar: dressed in her twin brother Leogas' hunting clothes, steering her own horse without the assistance of a servant, with wild hair and an unchecked mouth. In short, she feels her daughter is not nearly ladylike enough. She doesn't voice this, though. She knows it's already a well-known opinion.

Leogas pats his horse on the neck sharply and steers it up towards Leonille.

"You anger mother," he prods. Leonille rolls her eyes.

"Mother is foolish and old fashioned."

"Maybe so," Leogas shrugs. Their father trots up on Leonille's other side.

"Leonille, Leonille," he tsks. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Oh, shut it, Da," Leonille sticks out her tongue. "It's your fault I'm like this, after all."

"Perhaps," says their father. "In fact, I'm surprised your mother hasn't banished me from the household yet."

Deod looks horrified and he squeezes Leogas' ribcage. "She can do that?"

"Of course not, son, I am only joking."

"Oh."

The peaceful family time is interrupted by a harsh call from the woods. Orcs spring out from the trees, waving swords and grinning menacingly. They kill all the servants and the guards easily.

"Deon!" yells father. "Take your siblings and run!"

"What about you?" Leogas cries.

"GO!"

Deon doesn't object. He is a good son, a good soldier, and he obeys his father's orders without question. He darts forward on his horse and grabs the reigns of Leonith and Leonille's horses, yanking them forward into the river.

"Go!" he orders, and then turns back to fetch Leogas and Deod. Leonille looks over his shoulder and nearly falls of her horse. Her mother is on the ground, limbs arrayed in odd angles, blank eyes staring. Leogas has his face buried in his horse's mane. Blood leaks from a wound on his back and he is unmoving. Deod is screaming and sobbing, shaking his brother. Her father canters around Deod, brandishing his sword, but an orc tackles him off his horse - Leonille grabs Leonith and twists her head the opposite direction. Her sister is already in hysterics - she doesn't need to see her father having his neck snapped by them.

"DEOD!" Leonille screams, and she practically stabs her horse with the heel of her boot. She unsheathes Deon's sword from his belt in passing: he's frozen, tears leaking from his eyes that are usually made out of stone. She hefts the sword high above her head. "LET DEOD GO!"

The orcs merely laugh.

"Foolish girl! She takes on an entire squadron of orcs for her bumbling little brother!" one rasps. Leonille feels the adrenaline shooting through her veins. She doesn't feel sadness, only anger. Deod is trembling, his cheeks streaked with tears. He looks at his big sister hopelessly and whispers: "Leonille."

Leonille touched her face. It was dry, for a change. Usually when she dreamed about that day she woke up sobbing. Still, she executed her standard routine for waking up from that nightmare. She slipped out of bed, ignoring her slippers, and spirited into her younger sister's room. Leonith was sleeping soundly, a rising and falling mound under her blankets. Deon was off on some mission and not in the house, so she needn't worry about him. Ever since that day Deon had trained harder and harder, resolving never to freeze up like that in panic, resolving never to let anyone die, resolving never to abandon anyone like that ever again. Leonille had faith in her brother.

She stuck her head out the window. The sun hadn't quite peeked out over the horizon yet, but with the moon already gone it wouldn't be long. She pursed her lips and opened her wardrobe. A little blind groping and she found the handle. She pulled it and another door swung open. Inside it were peasant clothes belonging to a male and her sword. She changed quickly and then slipped out of the house off the balcony in her room.

The clothes she'd bought from a vendor 'for her little sister to cut up and sew into a dress for her doll'. The sword was her own. It wasn't a great one: in fact, it could barely be considered a real sword, just a smidge above a practice foil. Ever since she could lift it, she held it in front of her for her brothers to hit. "It's one thing to swing at a dummy, but the feeling of striking the sword that an actual being holds is much, much different," her father used to say. So she played as the actual being. By the time she was thirteen, her brothers could attack her from any angle and she could defend herself with ease. Her father used to tell her that she was the best at blocking sword slices in the entire land of Gondor.

That wasn't good enough. She didn't want to only hold off hostiles, she wanted to be able to hack them to wee bits.

That's why she'd begun going to training. With war looming over their heads, the Steward had set up training for peasants who wished to attend. A draft would come soon, and if one had time they could attend training so that when they were forced to join the army they wouldn't be cut down immediately.

She'd gone to the training every single day since it had begun, without fail. She rose at the crack of dawn and trained with the knights who were in charge of the district she'd begun claiming to be her home. Her hair was hidden under a helmet and her slim, female body was shapeless under the bulky armor that was provided. Luckily, she was tall enough to pass as a man and relatively flat.

"Greetings, Leo," said Jenalir. He was the knight who generally was in charge of training her. Leo was the name she'd taken up, since Leonille was obviously too feminine. "How are you on this fine morning?"

"Fantastic, sir. How about you?"

"Just dandy, kid. You wanna know something? I have a question," said Jenalir.

"Shoot," Leonille said.

"How in gods do you manage to get down here every single day?"

"I'm very motivated, sir."

"Yes, but you don't need to be here," Jenalir said, drawing his sword and testing it in his hands. "Back when I was a Paige, I skipped training all the time, and I didn't have all your peasant duties. You are here every day, rain or shine, even on holidays like today when most of the others are home with their families."

"I need to survive this war, sir."

"Yes, I realize that, but why?" Jenalir ran his finger along the blade. "Well, that's a silly question. Everyone wants to survive. But why you, why so much?"

Leonille hesitated. Because I want to avenge the deaths of 4/7 of my family and prove that just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm useless. She couldn't say that, of course.

"I have a younger sister. She's only twelve, and very dependent on me. If I die, she will most certainly not make it in the world," it wasn't exactly a complete lie. Leonith was terribly dependent on Leonille and Deon, but she wouldn't die if she was the only one left. Their father had been a very powerful man, the Steward's closest friend and most intelligent advisor. There was plenty of money left over, and the Steward (or more Faramir) wouldn't just let her rot.

"Ah, so that's how it is," Jenalir shrugged. "I got me a child sister as well, although she's stubborn as a mule and has my mother to take care of her. Anyways, let's get to the training, shall we?"

Normally there were at least twenty men in the small square roped off for training purposes and one had to spar with other trainees, but as Jenalir had said, it was a holiday and Leonille was among only three men who were crazy enough to show up. Three men, three instructors. It was a private lesson.

Jenalir and Leonille began to spar. Her father's training had served her well, and she rarely had a single opening in her defense. Unfortunately, Jenalir was better, and much better at landing attacks than her.

"Place more weight on your back leg. That way you can lunge more easily."

"Attacking from above leaves your entire body free to be attacked, but if you get the opportunity, do it. They are often the most powerful of strikes."

"Don't look just at my eyes. You have a firm enough understanding of defense to be able to read the rest of my body without risk of having your limbs chopped off."

Two hours later, Leonille was sweating and exhausted.

"I must leave," she said. "Thank you, Jenalir!"

"Alright, Leo," Jenalir nodded. She gathered up her things and started to leave. "Oh, and Leo?" Leonille turned around, scowling. She'd been about to take her helmet off. It was hot and uncomfortable, but she couldn't if she was going to keep on talking to him. "I think you'll survive."

"I think you will, too, sir," Leonille bowed and Jenalir laughed.

"I hope so," he smiled, wiping sweat from his brow.

She dashed back to her home. It was the eighth hour and Leonith was up and about, making breakfast. Leonille snuck in through the window and drew a bath. She was expected in court.

Changing back into her night dress, she stumbled into the dining room as if she'd just woken up and helped Leonith with breakfast – not that Leonith needed any help. The girl spent half of her time obsessively working on her culinary skills. She claimed she would need them once she married. Leonille was content with the ability to properly bake a loaf of bread. Normally the servants would make breakfast, but due to the fact it was a holiday they had a day off.

They ate breakfast quickly and then Leonille took her bath and changed into a dress. They walked up to the Steward's hall, uncomfortable in their long dresses and high heeled shoes, and waited outside the door in the warm sun. Finally, a servant (the Steward's servants didn't get the day off) came to fetch them.

In the Steward's presence, Leonille and Leonith curtseyed deeply.

"How may we be of service, your Highness?" Leonille said, making sure not to look him in the eyes, as was polite.

"Where is your brother? It is he who I wish to speak to!" the Steward hissed. Leonith flinched. He scared her, and Leonille couldn't blame her.

"Deon is not present at the moment, your Highness. He is currently stationed in the southernmost part of the kingdom, if you would like to reach him there," Leonille said. She made her voice sound calm, but slightly intimidated. That was how one was supposed to address the Steward.

"No, no. I sought his counsel, but if he is not here, it is useless," the Steward gave Leonille a look that could curdle milk.

"You sought his counsel because of my father, am I right, my liege?" she guessed. "If that is the case, perhaps I may be of assistance."

"What? Oh, no, no, leave, girl," the Steward said. Leonille was slightly disappointed. Was her brother so much more intelligent than her that the Steward wouldn't even try to see if some of her Da's wisdom had rubbed off on her? "Genthin, are you quite finished with your report?"

Genthin. "Yes, my Lord." She hadn't noticed him standing in the shadows there.

"Then leave me. All of you! I wish to be alone."

Leonille, Leonith, Genthin, and all the other visitors scurried away.

"Go on ahead," Leonille told Leonith. "I need to speak with Genthin."

Leonith nodded, but shot her a curious look before hobbling back down to the house. Leonille stepped across the cobbled streets towards the ranger.

"Genthin!" she cried. He turned to look at her and grinned broadly. Genthin was not a person Leonille usually wanted to be around, because he was madly in love with her and they were to be married. She didn't find many glaring flaws in his character, but she also didn't like the idea of spending the rest of her life with someone she would hardly ever speak to if she had the choice. It bothered her how arrogant and flamboyant he was. This was one of the reasons Leonille disliked the Steward. The only time he ever fulfilled his duty and looked after her, it was to declare that she would marry Genthin no matter what.

"Leonille! How do you fare?"

"Well," she said. "I have a message for Lord Faramir. Could you bring it to him for me?"

"Of course," he looked slightly bitter. "Seeing as I am mostly restricted to being a messenger of late."

Leonille's eyebrows shot up. "What did you do?"

"I? Nothing! I am perfect! Why must you always assume the worst of me?" Genthin boasted. "But enough of that. What is your message?"

"Tell him..." she hesitated. "Tell him that I'm sorry."

"Well," Genthin looked startled. "What did you do?"

Leonille scowled. "Oh, he'll know soon enough."

"You mean to say you're apologizing for something he doesn't know you've done? That doesn't seem wise," Genthin scratched his head.

"It's a surprise that will be waiting for him when he comes home," Leonille explained. It hurt to think of what that surprise would be. Would Faramir even care? A silly question, she knew. Faramir was practically her godfather with the horrible job the Steward was doing and she'd known him her entire life.

"I can't wait," Genthin smirked. That made it worse even though she knew it wasn't fair because Genthin had no idea what the surprise was.

"Yes," Leonille smiled weakly. "Well, I must leave. Leonith will be worried."

"Of course," Genthin stepped forward and drew her into an embrace. Leonille frowned and carefully ducked out of it.

"Good bye, Genthin," said Leonille, walking away. "Remember. I'm sorry."

"I'll remember!" he called to her receding back. As she walked away, she heard him punch himself in the leg and hiss, "ugh! Stupid!" and she felt bad for rejecting him like that.