For the first time in her life, Arwen was terribly bored. She couldn't simply leave the fortress and return to Rivendell; it would give her father false hope. On the other hand, she had nothing useful to do in Rohan. Whenever she tried to help with supplies or tend to the many children, the people wouldn't allow her.
"Oh, no, a lady of your standing deserves comfort," one woman insisted when Arwen offered to wash clothes. The elleth did not understand how her blood could be an entitlement anymore. She had already committed to suffer the pains on the earth and die just as any of the Men would.
Sighing, Arwen left and went for a stroll, hoping the air would sooth her spirit. But as she passed by the bustling folk, the mild breeze faltered and she got the uncomfortable feeling that, once again, all eyes were upon her. The younger women ceased their chatter, the men in armor ceased to move at all, and even the animals appeared to lower their heads in reverence.
She continued walking despite her discomfort at so much attention. I must be patient with them, the she-elf thought. Many of them have never seen one of my kind. But she couldn't help but feel a bit hurt as one child warned her younger sister, "Don't get too close to 'er. She's a witch and she may curse you."
The more mature younglings, though old enough to understand the difference between a crone and an Elvish woman, still whispered amongst themselves, occasionally speaking short phrases that Arwen could just hear: "Too beautiful", "She makes me sad", "I'm scared that..."
Arwen suddenly stopped herself. If she was going to dwell with Men for the remaining decades of her life, she wanted them to love her, not be afraid. Turning to face the now-silent people, she bowed gracefully.
"I would like to thank every man, woman, and child for permitting me to take refuge in the Hornburg on the eve of battle. My people have formed a strong alliance with yours and I hope it remains until the end of the Age of the Elves."
The elleth paused to swiftly brush away the tear that had begun to flow against her porcelain skin. "I only ask that you treat me as you would a lady of Rohan. You need not be intimidated by my presence. I chose to come here because I want to assist your knights and care for your innocents. I know how to forge a sword and heal the ill. I am a fast rider and a competent tracker. I am strong enough to bear heavy burdens…" In more than one sense, too, Arwen thought.
She raised her voice. "I intend to stay here no matter how dangerous the grounds become. I want to help win this war." As she spoke, several of the Rohirrim turned to each other, as if realizing the significance of the alliance for the first time.
Arwen took a deep breath. "I fight for love, just as all of you do. I have looked into the future, and yes, there is death, but there is also life!" Still facing the crowd, she allowed herself to weep silently. The women and children had begun crying long ago, and, although she could not see their faces very well, she suspected the men were too. "Not all tears are evil", she heard an ancient voice whisper.
"I fight-" she choked. She swallowed. "I fight for those I love! For whom do you fight?"
A young boy, no taller than one of the Halflings, rose to his feet and cried, "For my father, who fell in battle!"
The boy's mother, cradling a baby in one arm, took a step towards her son. "For my children, that they may live to see days of peace!"
Somebody began to clap loudly. Others sprung to life as well, shouting the names of their kin, their dearest friends, and the king. One voice rose above the rest with a determined cry of "FOR ROHAN!" The crowd began to echo him, the sound carrying to the farthest corners of Helm's Deep. Then, unexpectedly, another voice yelled, "For the Evenstar!"
Nobody was as surprised as Arwen herself. How did this man, whoever he was, know that she was Undómiel? Even as she pondered the question, the rest of the spectators repeated the cry: "FOR THE EVENSTAR! FOR THE EVENSTAR!"
Arwen stood speechless, mainly because she had momentarily forgotten her knowledge of the Common Tongue. "Rim hennaid..." she finally said. "Garo arad vaer."
She turned and began to walk again. This time, she could hear the murmur of footsteps behind her. "Evenstar, Evenstar!" the little children chanted. A deeper voice suddenly joined in. Arwen spun around. "Legolas! That was you?"
He looked at her, his lips in a straight line, his eyes laughing. "I reckoned that you would want to be in charge of something, mellon, so I saved you some work." The elf pulled out a twisted metallic abomination. "This sword is a disaster. Some poor lad tried to forge it on his own so he could fight, and, well, it needs some adjustments." Arwen took the blade gingerly. "After you have fixed it," Legolas continued, "you should help polish all the armor. These children will show you where to go."
The group's self-appointed leader, a lass of about fourteen summers, smiled at Arwen. "Come, pretty lady. The others will be glad to see you."
Arwen smiled too, relieved that she finally felt needed. "Thank you, Legolas," she whispered before heading off with the children.