A/N: *Ducks flying daggers and beer bottles* I'm sorry!!! No, I didn't go on holiday again. I'm not that lucky. I'm afraid I was possessed by a Doctor Who obsession, still am in fact. Well, technically, I'm now obsessed with all things David Tennant, but particularly doctor Who and Barty Crouch Jr. The reason I didn't post when I was meant (yes, I'm late by a long time) was that I was going through all of the Doctor Who episodes. I have them all recorded you see, so I was using the computer to watch them, and I'm afraid I was too out of my head to type this up! And yesterday and the day before I was going through Harry Potter 4. but I'm back now! So here is Chapter ten, I'm afraid it's probably not very well written, considering I've been off my head with Tennantness, but nevertheless... Oh, and we're back to weekly posts, I have too many essays to be able to post every few days (just how many essays are you supposed to get in History anyways?). Read on...

Disclaimer: Disclaimed

Starcrossed
The Fall of Hope

A steady stream of men, women and children flooded from Edoras; many were too old for such a journey, and many too young. Éowyn sighed to herself, almost none of her people had ever left Edoras, and now they were to flee all the way to Helms Deep. At her side rode the young boy and girl, and she began to contemplate if their mother was alive; if they would arrive at Helms Deep with no arms to envelop them; if they were to be left alone in the world.

She knew it to be an increasingly common case in these parts, if not even around the very corners of Middle-earth. Families were murdered, crops were burnt, villages were pulled to the ground, and in their smouldering ashes all began to decay. Was it that the world she knew was crumbling? Or had it already been this way?

She couldn't recall a time when she and her brother had shared a moment; couldn't remember a time when her uncle had caught her in his arms. She and her brother had been forced to grow up well before the ripe age, even her cousin had been well matured by the age of at least twelve. He had been a brother to her as much as Éomer had, a helping hand, a supporting shoulder, and a lightened laugh… now he was dead.

She sighed to herself, looking up at the dwarf as she led the bay: Gimli, that was his name, and her sadness was carefully dispelled by his light-hearted jokes and jaunty laugh. He had probably no idea how importantly his cheerful demeanour affected her, but it mattered not.

"-and that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!" Gimli exclaimed, waving his arms to emphasise his words, and for the first time in a long while, Éowyn truly laughed. "Which is of course ridiculous."

At that precise moment Arod, already unsettled by the dwarf's ramblings, bolted in surprise at his bark of laughter, and took Gimli a little way with him before the dwarf fell unceremoniously onto the ground.

"It was deliberate!" He immediately stated defensively as Éowyn rushed forward, giggling. "It was deliberate!"

She bent down and helped him to his feet, beaming joyfully as her gaze flickered to her uncle and the ranger.

A dwarf, a man, a wizard, and an elf; they were who freed the king from Saruman's hold. The dwarf she had already come to know, and from the very first moment, she had decided she liked this hearty companion. The man she had also taken to immediately, from the moment he caught her wrist, and her heart had fluttered despite her uncle's predicament. He was a king in the garb of a ranger, yet no matter what he may be- wanderer or royalty- he treated her with higher regard than all others had. The wizard, however, had gone almost as soon as he came, and she had no memories of him as a child, but knew of the strong friendship he held with her uncle and Rohan. And the elf… well, the elf had yet to talk to anyone besides the wizard, man and dwarf, and now he was nowhere to be seen.

She had never seen an elf before, or a dwarf for that matter, but their kin had been depicted as strange folk from folklore of her childhood. The fairest of all, the oldest of all, and the wisest of all, and yet they were the most mysterious of all. She was curious of this golden haired archer…

-

* * * * *

-

The day was drawing to an end by the time the king called for a halt, and the people of Rohan set about making camp for the night. Éowyn could hear them behind her, hustling and bustling. Some called for their children, and others organised their possessions, but the noises were distant; and her mind was elsewhere.

She gazed back at the path they had trekked, the long and laborious way from Edoras. She was hard-pressed to believe that villagers of young and old had travelled so far in but a single day… in a single day they had gone from sleeping in their own beds, to camping on hilly plains, devoid of trees but for one. She now stood beside it, clutching her pot of broth in her hands. I must surely look ridiculous, she thought with a sigh, turning back to the Rohirrim.

"Is something wrong, my lady?" A soft voice drifted down from above, and she froze, looking up into the threadbare canopy of the tree.

There sat the elf, sat atop a branch as steadily as if it were the ground, and looking curiously down at her. For a moment she didn't reply, too surprised at his sudden appearance, but eventually managed a dumbfounded shake of her head. The elf, Legolas his name was, smiled in amusement, and dropped from the branch to land lightly and gracefully in front of her. She blinked at him; the branch was rather high up…

"You seem troubled."

She blushed, aware that she'd been staring, and cleared her throat lightly before replying.

"I was just thinking," She began, "of the distance we have covered."

"You are surprised?" The elf enquired; his voice was musical, a soft purr in the wind, lilting and beautiful even with the use of the common tongue. She was so mesmerised by it that she almost forgot to answer.

"We are but farmers and villagers." She said, reluctantly tearing her eyes from his blue ones. Was an elf meant to be that pale? "Most of us have not even left Edoras."

"Perhaps you underestimate your people." He mused kindly, following her gaze to the horizon. She couldn't help but discreetly note the high cheekbones and smooth jaw, completely free of hair and beard. "I find that even the unlikeliest of people, be they farmer of villager, can accomplish a great number of things when in dire times."

It was the most she had ever heard him say, and for a short while the two regarded the plains in silence. The sun was fading, lighting the sky a tremendous gold, and darkening the hills. She glanced sidelong towards him; he could have been a statue of marble, his porcelain skin was a stark white against the dimming day, and the only movement that came from him was the soft flutter of his cloak. She contemplated how alone he must be, so far from any of his kin.

"And what of your people, my lord?" She enquired after a while.

"My people were great warriors in their time… but soon I suspect we shall all fade to the undying lands," He replied, his velvet voice quiet, "and Middle-earth shall be left to the world of men."

They were silent again, listening to the villager's bustling, before Éowyn finally remembered the pot of broth. "Would you like some broth, my lord?" She found herself asking.

"I would indeed, my lady." He smiled warmly, and she hastily poured him a bowl, watching eagerly as he raised the spoon to his lips and sipped. Something resembling a soft shudder passed through the elf's leonine body, and her hopes were immediately dashed.

"You do not like it?" She stated more than asked, her tone coloured by disappointment.

"Nay, it is not that… I think it may be…" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "May I enquire as to the content of this broth?"

"I'm afraid it was only what we had to spare;" She replied, slightly confused, but nevertheless began listing off the ingredients, "a mite of lamb, a few herbs, mushrooms-"

"Ah!" He suddenly exclaimed, nodding as if she'd just told him the time of day. "I'm afraid we elves do not take too kindly to mushrooms, my lady. A rather unfortunate flaw." His expression changed, and she would have thought him to seem mischievous if not for the fact that he was an elf; elves were meant to be serene. "Though, I am sure that Gimli or Es- Aragorn would certainly like some."

"You truly think so?" Éowyn asked happily, and he nodded with a smile. "I shall go and find them… I have enjoyed your company, my lord."

"As I have yours." He replied lightly, bowing gracefully to her before she turned to find the dwarf and ranger.

Mushrooms? She though to herself, what a peculiar race…

-

His bulging stomach rumbled in distain, protesting deeply against the broth inside. Aragorn sighed, shifting restlessly on the rock as he attempted to gain comfort from its bare surface. Éowyn's broth had taken complete resident inside of him, much to his regret. I must learn to say no, even if it were a lady. A quiet peal of laughter sounded lightly from behind, and suddenly Legolas was sat beside him, his pale eyes brimmed with mirth.

"I assume you loved Lady Éowyn's broth?" He enquired innocently, though his eyes gave away his true intentions. It was fantastically easy to fit two and two together.

"Watch yourself, elf." Aragorn growled in false menace. "I shall have my revenge."

Legolas merely laughed again, immediately quietening when one of Gimli's snores punctuated the air, and he noticed the sleeping dwarf beside Aragorn. With a content sigh, Legolas settled back against the rock, his hands on his knees as he gazed up to the sky.

"Have you seen a more beautiful night, Estel?" He asked, and Aragorn shook his head, smiling at the elf's dreamy demeanour.

"No, Legolas," He replied, shifting once again. "I have not."

They gazed in companionable silence at the velvet sky, listening to the snores around them. It was a little while before the elf finally broke the silence.

"Do you hope for Frodo and Sam?" He enquired softly, never breaking his gaze from above.

"I hope with all my heart." Aragorn replied quietly, before shifting once again with a heavy sigh. "Did we do the right thing, Legolas? Should we have instead accompanied them?"

"We did what was best…Merry and Pippin were in danger." The golden archer replied slowly, with measured words, breaking into a soft smile. "Plus, with each other, Frodo and Sam could defeat a whole army if they so wished to."

Aragorn smiled, before grimacing in embarrassment as his stomach gave another almighty rumble.

"You sound like Pippin." Legolas chuckled, shifting closer to the ranger.

"Treebeard will not find better company." Aragorn grinned happily, thinking wistfully of Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. "And the little ones will not find better safety."

"Aye," Legolas murmured in agreement, seeming thoughtful, "they are the safest of us all."

The two were silent for a little while longer, and the only sounds that filled the air were the rustles of the Rohirrim

"Then… we are not safe." Aragorn whispered finally, closing his eyes briefly as he shifted again.

"No one is ever safe, Estel." Legolas remarked with a musical sigh, pulling his cloak around him. Aragorn frowned slightly. Was the elf cold?

"But we shall be in the very hubbub of it all, mellon nîn." Aragorn continued heedless. "Have thoughts of death never filled your mind? Have you ever thought, that in merely a year's time, you shall not taste the victory with your people? That you would be lying cold on a patch of soiled dirt?"

"…In a year's time?" Legolas appeared slightly dazed as he repeated the words, but quickly recovered himself. "Come now, Estel. Do not plague the air with such negative thoughts. I, for one, am going to sleep."

And with that he relaxed back into the rock, his eyes quickly glazing into elven dreams. Aragorn smiled, gently tilting the elf's head to rest on his shoulder, before pulling out his pipe and settling back to smoke.

-

* * * * *

-

Aragorn strode silently as he led Hasufel, thoughtfully observing the surroundings. They were nearing Helm deep, less than a day's walk away, and the villagers were gladdened by it. Even the weariest of them began to imagine the fine stonewalls of the stronghold.

Beside him walked Éowyn, lost in her own mind as they journeyed westwards over hill and grass.

Somewhere behind them the dwarf led Arod, using the entire length of the reins to distance himself from the horse, and every now and then glancing backwards at him with distrust. Aragorn stifled a chuckle, turning to the lady of Rohan as she spoke.

"Where is she?" Éowyn asked, looking curiously at him. "The woman who gave you that jewel."

The ranger instinctively glanced down, his eyes meeting with the necklace of Evenstar: the jewel of his loved one. He sighed, looking down to the floor. Had he condemned that very loved one to death? He remembered the words of Lord Elrond, when the fellowship had yet to set off from Rivendell. They had argued; merely one of the few times Aragorn had ever done so with the Lord of Imladris. Harsh, bitter words had been exchanged, yet both arguers had noble causes. Elrond simply wished for a thing any father would want for his daughter: safety. He would have Arwen sail to the west, and leave this world of suffering and despair. He would see his daughter protected from harm. And Aragorn… Aragorn loved her.

"She is sailing to the undying lands with all that is left of her kin." He replied, avoiding her eyes as he looked in front.

The shieldmaiden went immediately silent, and the two remained so, as Háma and Gamling thundered past on horseback, passing by all villagers, and the solitary, lithe figure ahead of them all.

Both Aragorn and Éowyn watched as the two disappeared over the hill, and past the rocky ledge where Legolas stood, clutching his bow and scanning the path ahead with hawk-like eyes.

Aragorn sighed again; the changes in the golden archer were blatant. Of course, the Rohirrim could see nothing wrong. After all, as far as they knew, all elves could be that… wan. Yet he hid his concern silently, instead choosing to assess the elf's condition by watching his every move. Legolas had the uncanny ability to hide a wound until the last possible moment. He remembered the time the Prince of Mirkwood had collapsed in the very middle of an Elven festival, and all because he considered a deep gouge in his side- inflicted by a wandering warg while returning home- a mere 'scratch'. Aragorn doubted there was anyone who could surpass the stubbornness of his friend.

He watched carefully as Legolas remained completely motionless, when suddenly the elf's head lifted, cocking slightly as he listened to the air… the yell of panic and savage roar arrived a mere moment later.

Éowyn audibly gasped beside him, her reaction of fear echoed by the others as they froze. Aragorn hastily handed her Hasufel's reins, running forwards as Legolas jumped down from sight, an arrow notched. Please be careful, mellon nîn. He grasped his swinging sword to his side as he sprinted up the small hill, stopping at the edge. Gamling was attempting in vain to control his horse, and a bloodied and ruined body lay nearby: Háma.

"A scout!" Legolas yelled back to him, savagely wrenching his arrow from the head of an orc rider, beside the ugly corpse of a warg. The ranger turned back, racing back down to the Rohirrim as Théoden rode towards him.

"Wargs!" Aragorn bellowed, rushing for Hasufel. "We're under attack!"

"All riders to the head of the column!" The great king of Rohan roared back to his people, steering his horse around to face them.

Gimli started, rushing back to Arod's side and attempting- yet failing- to climb onto the saddle. Two soldiers noted his dismal plight and came to aid him, one proceeded to boost him up while the other steadied Arod.

"Come on, get me up here." Gimli grumbled, more to himself. "I'm a rider. Come on! Yes!"

Aragorn climbed lightly onto his saddle, passing Gimli as the dwarf struggled forwards, and the stubbornly refusing Arod. The Riders of Rohan charged forward over the hill, their swords raised and pointed, and in the hubbub of panic, Aragorn sought out Éowyn. For a short, calm moment their eyes met, holding each other's sorrowful gaze.

And then Aragorn turned away, surging forward with the riders.

Over the hill they raced, nearing the golden archer as he stood firmly, his bow singing as a single green-fletched arrow flitted into the approaching swarm of Warg and Orc. It soared elegantly through the air, effortlessly cutting down one rider and Warg, and still they approached. As the Rohirrim neared, another arrow felled another life before Legolas spun, catching hold of Arod's neck and swinging gracefully to sit in front of Gimli.

Their battle cries coloured the air as the gap between Rohirrim and Orc was lessened, and Aragorn raised his sword as Hasufel plunged straight into the fray…

Horse collided with warg, spear collided with orc, and the battle cries were turned into sickening thuds and cracks. Aragorn saw a warg clamp its teeth into one man, and winced mentally at the scream emitted: there was nothing he could do. Instead, he swung and parried atop Hasufel, felling both Wargs and their riders. From his peripheral vision he saw Gimli topple to the ground and face a warg, but the elf's arrow put a stop to the beast long before it could harm Gimli.

"That one counts as mine!" Gimli roared, turning to wave his axe at another Warg. "Bring your pretty face to my axe."

The ranger spurred Hasufel on, separating an orc from its head with little effort. He had spun and thrust his sword hilt-deep into a Warg's head and decapitated another orc by the time he noticed the dwarf's new predicament. The dwarf lay under the corpses of an orc and a warg, struggling to lift both and completely unaware of the new warg stalking in his direction. Aragorn scanned the bloodstained hill, his eyes meeting with a spear. He steered Hasufel towards it, seizing the wooden shaft, and with all his might throwing it straight at the Warg. The warg was pierced, falling to add to the ever-growing bulk of weight on the dwarf's chest, who huffed indignantly with frustration.

He continued straight on past them, as he and a warg rider met blades. He parried twice, before finally thrusting his sword into its chest; it let out an ugly squeal before keeling from the beast's back.

By the time the roar of a warg had reached Aragorn's ears, it was too late.

-

-

Leave the dead. Legolas watched passively as Théoden paced the walls of Helms Deep, scrutinising every aspect. Leave the dead. Gimli stood beside him, resting his hands on his axe as he often did. Leave the dead. Éowyn stood at the wall next to Gimli, gazing out at the land; there was much emotion hidden deep in her eyes. It never ceased to amaze the elf how quickly Aragorn gained the hearts of others. He'd often joked it was the ranger's 'masculine scent', or his 'rugged looks', or even the way his 'dishevelled caught the sunlight'… the ranger would merely snort haughtily. Oh, how they'd laugh.

Leave the dead. Théoden had finished scrutinising, and now walked back their way, his hands folded behind his back; he was a good king, Legolas didn't doubt that. Théoden did only as a king did for his people.

Boromir. Gimli shifted beside him as Théoden neared, a soft smile on his lips as he looked at them. It was broken, of course. What did a king have to smile about when his people were in peril?

Háma. Gamling trailed after him, inclining his head as he passed. Háma and Gamling had been firm friends; that much was blatantly obvious. Another loss. No time to mourn.

Estel. His grip on his bow tightened, he could feel the carvings cutting into his flesh. His sworn brother. His friend. How could he be dead? The others were beginning to leave after the king, weary from the journey and fight. Gimli sighed as both he and Éowyn turned.

"Come on, lad." The dwarf's deep voice rumbled, but Legolas couldn't move.

He could feel the coil again, tensing and flexing inside his stomach. Why was there so much suffering? Why was so much blood spent so willingly? Leave the dead. He bowed his head, closing his eyes as nausea washed over him. His side burned, his insides twisted and jerked.

"Lad?" Gimli's voice was worried now, his tone unsure.

"Lord Legolas?" Éowyn's voice joined in; the clicking of their footsteps neared him.

Leave the dead. Something welled inside, the coil tensed further, his side roared, his chest clenched, his inside wrenched. Leave them all.

Oh Estel… The bow of the Galadhrim clattered to the floor as the coil was sprung.