"Farewell is said by the living, in life, every day. It is said with love and friendship, with the affirmation that the memories are lasting if the flesh is not." – Drizzt Do'Urden

Of Journeys Beginning

The next morning, Feldar was gone, and the Fellowship was making their preparations to leave as well. Though they would not leave for another two days, Rivendell was a flurry of activity to get supplies together to last them the first leg of their journey. Mythera was also preparing to take her leave of the fair Elven city. She found amusement in Gandalf's attempts to educate the Hobbits; only the Ringbearer seemed truly interested in the lessons of the paths that the Fellowship would attempt to take.

The delegations of Elves, Dwarves, and Men, were also preparing to leave and return to their various homelands. The young gypsy didn't know where yet she was heading, and as such her preparations were minimal. Perhaps she would linger longer in this safe haven before heading on her way; she had certainly enjoyed her stay here.

Humming to herself, she meandered along a path, her hand trailing along the leaves of the plants near her delicately. Her eyes widened as she came around a corner. Before her was a sight that, in her opinion, was unparalleled in all the gardens. She approached the rose bushes, her fingers brushing the tips of the petals of one bloom. Pale as stars and moon, like fresh parchment, her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at them.

Her hazel eyes become distant as she was lost in memory, gazing at the flowers with a look almost akin to that of a lost child seeking comfort. White roses had always held a special significance to her; they were her mother's favorite flower, and her mother had always made her father swear whenever he saw one he would think of his loving wife. She had been only a child when her mother passed away – she had only a few memories of the woman, and most of those were simple things. A scent almost akin to vanilla, a soft voice, warmth, the color red, a pair of blue eyes, a promise, and a song. The memories of a five year old, by gypsy reckoning, of a woman who was always there for her child.

The unfortunate thing about the gardens was that they were, in fact, a relatively public place, so to speak. Privacy could be found there, but they were open to all comings and goings. Thus, when she was stumbled upon, gazing down at the pale flowers with a dreamy and distant look on her face, she should not have been surprised. To say that the ones who had stumbled upon her were startled, would be an understatement.

Gimli and his father were having a somewhat heated discussion as they rounded the bend, so they were not exactly observant in their surroundings. It was only with a cursory glance to ensure that they were no Elves in the vicinity that lead to them noticing her, and they both paused in shock. Gloin had only seen the brunette looking this wistful once before, and Gimli had never seen such an expression on her at all during their short acquaintance. When one thought of Mythera, they thought of color and laughter, not longing looks gazing into the depths of a flower bush. The two dwarves were stumped to say the least.

"Lassie?" It was the older of the two that made the first motions of breaking the silence.

So deep were her thoughts that she did not stir; for she had not heard him, her mind focused on dredging up what few memories she possessed of her mother.

Gloin reached forward and set his hand on her arm. She leapt in surprise, her body shuddering at the sudden and unexpected contact as she was dragged from her thoughts. Wide eyes turned to look at them, startled. However, as quickly as it came, she calmed again. A smile was quickly dimpling her cheeks as she turned to greet them.

Curls bouncing, she bobbed her head to her old friend and his son. "I apologize – was I blocking the path?" She stepped off to the side.

Gimli gazed at her, but it was his father's gaze that was shrewder, more probing. "Lass," The older dwarf began, "are ya' alright? Ya had…that…look on yer face."

A tilt of her head and another, smaller smile. "Yes, Gloin, I am quite fine. I was just lost in thought I'm afraid."

Gimli snorted at that, shaking his head with a look of amusement on his face. "Better not get anymore lost than that, or we'll be finding you on our way to Mordor."

The statement startled a laugh out of her, shaking her head. Gloin chuckled before gazing at her seriously. "Ye know lassie… ye could come back with us to the mountain." He offered, wondering if she would. Some of the others had not made it here, and they would like to see you. "The rest of the Company would be glad for the visit."

Mythera paused, humming as she mulled the thought over. Honestly, she had missed her dwarves, and it would be a relief to see them again. No doubt they missed her as well. Deciding that this sounded like a very good idea, she nodded her head. "I think I would like that very much, Master Dwarf." She couldn't help but tease him.

The older dwarf snorted and shook his head, shoving her playfully, to which she responded with a shove of her own. Gimli rolled his eyes at their behavior, and therefore received a push from both of the offended parties.

Deciding that it was time to take her leave, the young gypsy scampered off, leaving the two dwarrow to continue their discussion that her presence had interrupted.

Gloin watched her go and suppressed a sigh. He was glad she had agreed to come to the Lonely Mountain – they could really use her cheer.

Gimli looked at his father, curious. "What is the meaning of 'that' look? You spoke as if it had happened before." He inquired.

A rumble proceeded the answer he sought. "I have only seen that particular look on her face once before." The elder dwarf explained, still gazing the way that the troublesome girl disappeared.

"When?" He pushed for a real answer – his father was not normally this evasive in response to his questions, not since he came into his majority at eighty.

"The night that Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews died." Gloin's face was solemn, for despite all their disputes, she had been relatively close to all of them. It was hard not to like her, given her nature. He had no doubts that their deaths had been hard on her, and that no doubt had much to do with her abrupt disappearance once the mountain was reclaimed.

Gimli turned his gaze to follow his father's, stunned into silence. He wondered then, just what thoughts had been troubling the gypsy woman.

Mythera found herself gazing out at the woods surrounding Rivendell as twilight began to fall. After her surprise meeting with the dwarves, she had beat a hasty retreat back to her own personal chambers, indulging herself in a rare moment of quiet and thought. She now stood on the balcony attached to a nearby hallway, watching as the sun set and the first stars appeared in the sky.

A soft voice behind her drew her from her reverie. "You have been unusually quiet today." The wizard mused as he moved to stand beside her, setting his hands on the railing.

She smiled slightly, shrugging her shoulders. "There were white roses in the garden." Was all she gave in the way of an explanation.

Gandalf let out a sigh, moving a hand to rest on her shoulder as a small frown appeared on his face. "She loved you. She would be incredibly proud of you if she could see you now." He reassured her, gazing at her, taking in her expression.

The brunette woman turned to meet his gaze, her eyes oddly distant. "I know. I just wished I remembered more about her. All I have are fragments…. I was so young."

He nodded, after all, he was the reason her parents had met. "Perhaps you would feel better if you distracted yourself. Come, I was just on my way to the Hall of Fire." His hand moved from her shoulder to rest on top of her own hand gently.

She laughed softly as she turned towards him. "You really are such a grandfather, Gandalf. I suppose our name is apt for you indeed." And though she smiled and jested to make light of it, there was a look in her eyes that told him more than her words did, and it brought an affectionate smile to the old man's features.

"Perhaps my old age is getting to me." He gestured for her to lead the way down the hallway as the pair walked to the Hall of Fire together.

When they arrived, she was startled and pleased to discover that many of those remaining in Rivendell were there. She spotted Aragorn near a beautiful elven woman, and Legolas with Callanon and the rest of the Mirkwood elves. The Hobbits, including Bilbo, were near Lord Elrond, and the Dwarves and Men had clustered together. Few noticed their entrance, though those that did greeted them with a smile or a nod.

Mythera, at first, was content to merely listen to those who performed, but as time wore on, a song tickled at the back of her mind. Giving in to her desires, she spoke softly to those others who desired to share their talents and arranged a spot for herself.

When her turn came, she stepped up fearlessly. Some of those in the room had yet to see one of her performances, and those that had paused in what they were doing with an expectant hush. She smiled, taking a deep breath, before parting her lips and beginning to sing.

"On a long road, miles to go
It's winding and cold and its covered with snow
But I ask you what we all want to know
Where are we going from here?

Lines on my face, lines on my hands
Lead to a future I don't understand
Some things don't go as they're planned...
Where are we going from here?

Tracing the trails through the mirrors of time
Spinning in circles with riddles in rhyme
We lose our way, trying to find
Searching to find our way home...
Trying to find our way home...

As the day dies, with tears in our eyes
There's too few hellos and too many goodbyes
Silence answers our cries...

Where are we going from here?

We're all on this road, with miles to go
Braving new pathways into the unknown
But who do you ask, when no one really knows
Where we are going from here.

Tracing the trails through the mirrors of time
Spinning in circles with riddles in rhyme
We lose our way, trying to find
Searching to find our way home...
Trying to find our way home...

Please help me find my way home"*

Once she was finished, she stepped down and watch as others took their turns, a soft smile on her face. While she was not lost in thought as she had been earlier, her energy was much calmer than it had been before, and she was strangely relaxed – peaceful. It was noticed, but not commented upon. However, she only listened to a few more acts before she excused herself, wandering back out into the gardens in search of the rose bush that started all this.

She was not particularly successful in her search, given that she did not recall exactly where the path that led to the roses was. Several hours of wandering in the night and she did eventually find them. With a soft sigh, she reached out and touched the petals. The silver moonlight had transformed them, made them pale and ghostly, mirroring the very promise that her mother had made with her father, which she herself had made with him.

"Promise me, when you see a white rose, you'll think of me."

A promise that Mythera had done her best to keep with her mother, and it was inevitable that she would. With so few things to cling to of the woman that had raised her until her death, those that she had were preserved fiercely. "I love you so…never let go… I will be your ghost of a rose…"** She murmured softly to herself, her eyes becoming unfocused as once again she brought forward the rare strands and fragments of memory she possessed of the woman. She had been told some stories, but they had been few and far between.

They told her that she had her mother's spirit, and her curls. But she didn't have her mother's eyes, or her complexion – those things she took after her father. She did not have her mother's mannerisms either – she was not a polite and delicate beauty. Her father claimed her singing voice matched that of her mother's, and that thought had always pleased her. She disliked how very little of her mother she had in her. As her mother's only child, she felt like she should contribute more to her legacy.

It was unfair to her brother of course; she loved him dearly, for all the trouble he caused her. He was six years her junior. She had found him when she was twelve and he was six. It was during the civil war – he had been orphaned by the untimely death of both his parents. She had taken him and his twin sister under her wing. It always stung her heart that only one of them survived. She tried her hardest, but she too was only a child at the time. Still, over the past seven years he had adjusted well to them, and she had never heard him speak of his deceased parents except when they had first met. He called her father 'father' and he called her sister – sometimes she wonders if he even remembers the time before that. She was only a year younger than him when she lost her mother, and her memories were few and far between of that era.

Still, they were all happy, and they were a family. She had faith that her brother would be a good leader to their tribe and their people.

Deciding she had spent enough time in thought, and that the night may have been getting a touch chill, she headed back to her own rooms. Settling in for the night, she gazed up at the ceiling until she fell asleep.

Perhaps because of her train of thought before she slept, her dreams were filled with days of old, memories that were hers and hers alone.

The war had been raging for almost three months now. Mythera had done was her father had asked her, and was searching through a burnt out village for survivors. Her surprise was great when she found many more than she was expecting. There were quite a few elderly, two pregnant women, a crippled middle aged man, and a small group of children who had hidden from their attackers. The young girl gestured to them, leading them out of the village and to her tribe's encampment. It had taken her almost a full hour to gain the trust of the adults, but she had succeeded. The children immediately attached to her, an adoring pair of young twins in particular glued to her side. She basked in their hero worship with a big grin and confidence. When they walked into the camp, people immediately rushed them to offer their assistance and medical treatment, as well as food, to the new refugees. Victims of the war had been streaming in to the Lynx camp ever since her father announced that their tribe was welcoming to any and all who wished to seek shelter amongst them, no matter their tribe of origin. When Mythera had asked him why, as she always did, the curious child that she was, it was Yzni who answered. "War is terrible." She just nodded wisely, even though she wasn't sure she really understood. Now, two months after that declaration, she understood much better. It wasn't just the soldiers and leaders who were impacted by the fighting – men, women, children, elderly, they were all impacted too, losing their homes and sometimes their lives to the war.

The downsides to her father's declaration were the fears of spies or others who may claim to be seeking shelter but were in fact going to attempt to bring war to the encampment in some form or another. And one night, those fears came true. Mythera snapped awake – she had been sleeping heavily after her taxing rescue mission – to the smell of smoke heavy in the air. Immediately she rushed out to investigate, and ran to the source. A few tents had caught flame. Trusting in the voice that she had always been complimented on, she took a deep breath and screamed with all of her might, hoping it was enough to wake surrounding residents. When she heard the sounds of others stirring, she rushed towards the flames, calling out and investigating. She found a small group of women and children, who had all escaped the grip of the fire, luckily. Amongst them were the twins that had grown so fond of her.

Her father came running, along with one of his closest friends. They looked over the situation grimly, and her father ordered her to do him another favor.

"Mythera, take the women and children somewhere safe."

She nodded and turned to them, gesturing to them to follow her as she led them towards a designated safe place if any evacuations were necessary. Unfortunately, their way was blocked. A group of men on horseback came thundering into the encampment, whooping and shouting. One of the women was injured. Realizng that the strangers were dangerous, Mythera encouraged the children to keep going.

"Run! Stay with me!"

Only a few of them kept with her; the others scattered with fright. She took the three girls and two boys that followed her, and met up with a few of the elderly and women at the designated cave. She frowned as she looked at how few had come.

"Stay here! I'll try and get to the others!"

She rushed back to the camp, and screams flooded her ears. More tents were burning now, and everything was chaos. Pushing down her fear, she rushed in, grabbing children as she encountered them and pushing them towards the hill. When she could, she left them with other groups who were rushing towards the safe place. Ducking a falling pole, she turned a corner to a sight that made her stomach turn. The twins were cornered by two men, and they had the little girl by the hair, while the boy was trying to fend them off with a stick. Pulling out the dagger her father gave her to protect herself with, she swallowed and headed towards them.

"Hey ugly! Why don't you let them go and pick on someone your own size?!"

Of course, both men turned to leer at her, and their expressions sent shudders down her spine. It was predatory and awful.

"Well well, look at this pretty. Now we have two new toys!" The one holding the little girl said, shaking the girl in emphasis as she whimpered in fear.

Both children gazed at her with wide, frightened eyes, hoping for her to save them. Mythera held her knife the way her teacher had shown her, even as her hands trembled. "Let them go!"

With a snort, the man with his hands free other than a large spear approached her. "Put the knife down, girlie."

She swallowed and shook her head. Even if she was scared, the children were her responsibility.

"Don't be stupid, girl. Put the knife down." The first man ordered again.

She inhaled and took a step towards them, determined.

With a growl, the one with the spear lashed out at her. She dodged the blow, remembering more of her lessons. She wasn't supposed to fight, but she couldn't just leave them here…what would her mother and father say?

"Give them to me!" She demanded.

The one with the little girl threw the smaller child aside, pulling out a sword and confronting her. "Now, now, that's enough out of you." He snarled.

She looked at them, trying not to show how scared she was of the two large men. She looked at the children and felt braver. They needed her. She shook her head and lunged, darting under the spear and scoring a line on the second man's arm. The two men began to attack her in earnest, and she ducked and dodged as best she could. Still, she was only a child with two years of tutelage under her belt in the area of combat.

She slipped, and cried out as the dagger was knocked from her grip. She looked up at the two men from her position on the ground, knowing that now she should really be afraid. She looked at the two children.

"Run!"

They obeyed her and darted for their freedom. The man with the sword turned on them with a snarl and lashed out, catching the little girl across the chest.

Mythera swallowed, a spear tip resting on her throat. For the second time that night, she screamed. This time in hopes of being found by someone who could help her.

Yzni and a warrior came sprinting around the corner, and the two men spun to face them. She ran to the little girl's side, kneeling next to her.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The little girl was gasping, and making strange noises. The little boy, her brother, was sticking close. She noticed blood on the girl's lips. Once the two men had been chased off, Yzni knelt near her.

"Mythera, what are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to get all of the women and children to safety." She said stubbornly. "Is she going to be okay?"

The older man looked down at the little girl and frowned, before sighing. "No, I'm afraid not, my child. Why don't you take the other little one and go? Your father would want you to be safe. You're still a child too."

She frowned and pouted, but did not argue. "Fine. But why can't I take them both?"

At that moment the little girl in her lap gave a little sigh, and stopped choking. Mythera frowned and looked down at her, noticing for the first time the large puddle of blood, as well as the blood that was now on her clothes and hands. "Oh…. She stopped breathing… is she…?"

Yzni sighed and nodded. "I thought to spare you. I am sorry. Now take the boy and go."

She didn't dare disobey the order, so nodded and grabbed the boy's hand, leading him back to the safe place. She looked at him, and frowned. He was crying. She stopped and hugged him. "Don't worry. You can be my brother now." She smiled at him, nodding her head firmly. "Daddy doesn't say it, but I think he gets sad when there's just two of us."

The little boy sniffled as he looked up at her.

Mythera stirred, sunlight shining on her face as she blinked her eyes open. Cool, wet fabric was pressed against her cheek. When she rose and looked in the looking glass, tear tracks stood out against her dark skin, and all she could do was smile bitterly.

AN: Andddddd this is where I'm going to stop for this chapter. Thank you all very much for your reviews! They motivate me, and are responsible for why this chapter is up so quickly! Hope you all enjoyed the next step of the journey! Disclaimer: I own nothing but what's mine.

* = Where are we going from here by Blackmore's Night

** = Based on the lyrics to Ghost of a Rose by Blackmore's Night