A/N: it's been a really long time since I've updated! My life has been over the top insane for the past year, so haven't had time to write. Hope you enjoy!

The rest of the time in Meduseld was uneventful. Although sore from being thrown off the great stallion, Daeril spent time working with him from the ground when not venturing out with Lothiriel. She was disappointed when Aragorn and his men returned, as they would be leaving and she would no longer be the horse's keeper. Lothiriel found her on the last evening in Rivornor's stall, doting on him more than she did Rocky.

"He is going to miss you," said the princess. "Elphir has been talking of selling him."

"So I heard."

The princess rested her arms on the stall door, giving Daeril a coy look.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You will buy him?"

Daeril laughed, hanging onto the stallions well crested neck.

"I couldn't afford him if I worked for your father for even a year. Rocky is enough for me."

Lothiriel never had asked her anything about money. She probably assumed everyone had things handed to them like she did. A ranger was no different than a common soldier, even being relation to the king.

The last night was spent in small celebration, with a little too much alcohol. In the morning the company set out to return to Minas Tirith, many nursing hangovers.

It was an uneventful journey of two weeks, and they arrived back to find that much had been done in the kings absence. New roads, major reparations on many buildings... there would even be dwarves coming in withing the next few months to work on the ruined main gate.

The second day back in Minas Tirith Daeril was summoned to the study of the Steward himself. Nervously fiddling with her armour, leather freshly oiled and metal parts polished, she approached the door. Faramir's guard nodded, knocking on the door.

"Enter."

Faramir rose as Daeril entered, his desk strewn with maps and parchment scrolls. He smiled, waving her over.

"Daeril, I trust you are well rested after our journey?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Mablung reports that you have been training hard and believes you are ready to join us in Ithilien. I hear you outshot him this morning?"

"Aye, my lord. It was not difficult."

Faramir could not hold back the un-stewardly snort that escaped him.

"That is comforting. Our company will journey back to Ithilien in two days. I called you here to ask if you will be joining us."

Daeril had done a lot of thinking. An invite had been extended to her to join the Prince's household in Dol Amroth, which was tempting. However after over a month with the princess, as close as they had grown, she needed a break.

"I would be honored to join you and your men."

Faramir actually looked surprised at her answer.

"Very well. I look forward to serving beside you."

-

Minas Ithil, 8 months later.

The party of fourteen made it's way cautiously down the crumbling remains of the causeway of the main entrance to Minas Morgul. The great tower still stood ominously in the light of day, warning anyone brave enough to approach of horrors that may lie inside. Many had tried to come near after the fall of the dark lord, but they had all turned back. Daeril was beginning to regret her decision to join the foray into the fortress.

"No arrows nocked." Says Damrod. "I'm not pulling arrows out of another man's arse today."

"That happen before, then, Damrod?" Ralnor asks.

"More often than you would think. Men get jumpy and arrows leave a bit too early."

The mission was simple. Make it inside, search for any remaining orcs. And don't run out screaming. Thus far small groups had gone in and come back way too soon, too terrified to go further in. The rangers came prepared: lanterns, torches, food and water for at least three days, and the gutsiest people they could find. Daeril did not believe in ghosts, but all the stories of this place... the evil here was gone, but the memory it left still affected many.

Daeril stowed her bow, going in empty handed. If anything attacked she would pull her sword, but for now the greatest threat seemed to be the rubble strewn everywhere. The group made it across the courtyard, and found the front entrance doorway open, one of the great doors utterly destroyed.

"It smells like death." Someone gasped, gagging.

Daeril pulled up the cloth scarf around her mouth and nose, trying to block out the smell. As they passed into the entrance hall, the source of the stench became clear. Hundreds of dead orcs, long since slain yet still rotting. Despite the daylight outside, the hall was dark and foreboding. The ancient windows had been covered in ages of grime, making them black and opaque. The rangers pushed on, picking their way over the bodies, heading for the main stairway up into the tower.

The stairs themselves were stone, and safe to ascend. They went slowly, in case of structural dangers, but other than being disgusting and dead orc infested, the tower still stood the test of time. Daeril could see the beauty this place once was, even so tainted by evil. As they ascended, Daeril began to feel the hair on her neck prickling, as though they were being watched. She knew it was just fear and paranoia, all in her mind, but it was there nonetheless.

They proceeded to the next level, slowly making their way down the corridor and checking each doorway as they passed through. Nothing but empty rooms, decayed with the test of time. Some held old storage crates, ruined furniture, heaps of animal and orc waste, and spider webs. If they were to ever rehabilitate this place it would take years, so much had to be taken out and disposed of and the cleaning alone... it would never happen in Daeril's lifetime, she was certain of that.

The rangers scoured the tower for hours, finding nothing of interest. Just more decay and waste. Until they reached the throne room on the way back down. Upon entry, it was silent and deserted. The room was a great hall, filled with overturned, rotten furniture and great statues that had been desecrated, heads and limbs broken off. Bones of animals long since decomposed lay still in tact on the marble floor, three horses and what looked like a fell beast. The Nazgul must have kept them in here.

Daeril maintained her position in the middle of the party, looking around as they slowly went through, spread out to cover more ground. This hall must have been something glorious, at one time. High vaulted ceilings, pillars of finely hewn stone running down the center in two rows, alcoves on either side containing remains of statues. It was much like Minas Tirith, a near identical twin. This twin, however, had a much rougher life.

A scream pierced the air, and Daeril jumped to attention. Her hand deftly drew her sword, and she stood looking for the source. Ahead, Maeldor seemed to be struggling with something, and it was not until someone shone the lantern light on it that she realized he was being attacked by bats! They were driven off within seconds by Damrod, and Maeldor stooped over, breathing hard. Daeril rejoined the group, standing around him.

"Bastards nearly gave me heart failure!" He gasped, clutching his chest.

The men couldn't help but laugh, and Daeril eventually joined in. This place wasn't occupied at all! Nature had taken over, and they were the invaders now. The fright of the bats passed, and onward they trod. The throne itself still stood, blackened and ugly, a bastardization of what it once was.

"None shall sit on this again," said Mablung. "We burn it."

Daeril helped coat it with oil, and then Damrod set his torch to it. Within minutes the entire thing went up in flame, iuminating the hall. More bats flew up to the rafters, their squeaks echoing. They watched in sullen silence as the relic burnt away, crackling and crumbling.

"I do not believe anything remains living here, save wild animals." Mablung spoke. "The king wishes us to destroy the place, which we can do from this inside out."

"Where do you want the powder barrels set?" Asked Baelon.

"If we place them on the ground level and leave an oil trail, it should ignite them with us safely outside. I do not know if we can get the whole tower, but if the supports are weakened, eventually it will fall."

Daeril joined in with Damrod, Baelon and Maeldor in getting the barrels. It stood apart from the horses, under guard by four other rangers that elected not to enter the tower. They were surprised to see them back so soon.

"Get scared already?" One asked.

"No. There's nothing in there." Damrod said. "We are fetching the powder."

Daeril hooked up Powder, the aptly named drafthorse, and they drove the wagon into the entrance, where the others were already ready and waiting. They unloaded the barrels, placing some in the middle of the entrance way, and the rest spread out around the ground floor. Others were placed outside around the base of the tower until there were none left. Then rags with oil were placed touching the barrels, and all the rest of the oil barrels were dumped out, leaving a trail going out to the causeway.

The wagon was driven out, several of the rangers hitching a ride as Mablung orchestrated the lighting of the oil. Rather than stand close and risk being caught in a blaze, he lit rags inside an oil bottle, and three of the rangers helped him to toss them towards the tower. The explosions fortunately did not happen until everyone was clear of the causeway, well away from the tower. It was loud, and sent shrapnel out a good distance. Even far from it everyone could feel dust and wood splinters hitting them, and the blast was enough to make their ears ring. Wanting to get far away from the tower, lest it fall towards them, the rangers mounted up and rode towards the mouth of the vale as the explosions echoed behind them.

As they trotted out of the eerily looming gates, a volley of arrows greeted the rangers. One struck Damrod in the arm, who cried out the alarm. It was then that Daeril realized they had become too complacent, letting their guard down after not seeing any signs of enemies inside the ever feared fortress. They were safe inside, but not here in the Morgul Vale.

The orcs jumped out from the rocky outcroppings where they had been hidden, scimitars and other crude blades in hand. They looked scrawny despite their size, as if they hadn't eaten in a long time. It had been a while since any orcs were seen in this area at all, and no wonder they were so unhealthy. Daeril reached for her sword, but barely had it in hand before Rocky reared up beneath her. She tried leaning forward and grabbing mane to stay on, but the horse was already gone without her. The last thing she saw as she hit the ground was hooves, and then black.

-

"-only ten of them. Maeldor took four men to scout, but there's no sign of any other orcs in the area."

"They were probably waiting for an easy catch. The fires must have drawn them out."

"Poor bastards looked like they hadn't eaten in weeks. They didn't put up much of a fight. Only three injuries in our party, Damrod and Gurion are fine. This one's horse got her."

Daeril slowly roused, hearing the voices talking near her. Her head felt heavy, throbbing like a painful drumbeat. She opened her eyes, seeing the roof of the cave above her, and knew she was back at Henneth Annûn. She went to sit up, and almost immediately felt dizziness and nausea wash over her.

"Easy! Don't get up just yet!" Strong arms pushed her back, and she gave in.

"Guess she's awake." Another voice said.

Daeril looked up at Remion, the healer, a little confused as to how she got there.

"The orcs?" She asked.

"You didn't stick around long enough to join the fight," Mablung came to her side. "Damned horse took an arrow and bolted. Kicked you right in the head as he ran."

"Well that's lucky, I suppose."

"Lucky you're not dead." Remion added. "The boys thought you were, the amount of blood that was covering your face. Head wounds tend to do that. You will be fine, just take it easy for a few days."

"And my horse?"

"The horse is fine. However, I don't think he is suited for this life. You may wish to consider trading out for one that won't dump you in the thick of battle."

-

Three months later. Ithilien, Emyn Arnen.

Preparations were in full swing for the arrival of Lady Eowyn and King Eomer of Rohan. There was to be a wedding, and a grand affair it would be. Already Prince Imrahil and his house had arrived, taking residence in the house at Emyn Arnen.

For once many of the rangers of Ithilien would have a chance to let loose, as Imrahil's and Eomer's men would supplement the guard. Many looked forward to ale and merriment, weary from campaigning to clear the remaining evil from these lands. Daeril, for one, was glad to be able to look like a woman again.

Inside her guest quarters, nearby to the rooms of the Gondorian coterie, Daeril found herself the victim of one of Princess Lothiriel's ladies in waiting. Dara worked her magic, brushing the ranger's now longer dark hair into somewhat tame waves. Daeril was not used to her hair being done for her, opting to wear it much like the other men and then forgetting to comb through it for days on end. It was a painful process, but by the end of it she admitted she looked quite lovely. The front parts had been pulled back and braided back, the rest left to hang loose about her shoulders.

"Daeril, you little heart breaker!" Lothiriel all but sang, barging into the room. "I have the perfect gown for you!"

The princess held up the gown, layers of flowy fabrics in dark blue and a tight bodice fitted with white gems. She held it up to Daeril, a huge smile on her face.

"Perfect, just as I thought! Matches your eyes. Come, Dara, let's get her into it!"

-

The wedding was beautiful, the Steward's new bride even more so. Her golden hair stood out among so many dark haired folk, and she cut the image of a warrior turned noblewoman perfectly. Eowyn had never looked happier, and Faramir more proud.

The festivities came into full swing as soon as the ceremony came to an end. Ale and wine flowed freely and food sprawled across the tables as the guests milled about. Some ate, some danced, and some just drank. Daeril found herself sharing wine with the girls of Dol Amroth, giggling and watching the other guests. For once the burden of her duties was forgotten, and she enjoyed acting like a lady of her age and status.

"Daeril, don't look, but Mablung is watching you!" Lothiriel hissed.

"Is he really?" Daeril felt herself blush.

"Has he not expressed interest in you yet?"

"No. It would not be appropriate. He is my commander and it is not often I'm not on duty."

"Well, tonight your duty is not required. And he is coming this way."

Daeril pretended not to know this information, and did not turn until she heard her name spoken.

"Lady Daeril, you look lovely tonight."

"Thank you, Lord Mablung."

She took him in, taken aback by how well he cleaned up. He had always been handsome, but dressed in his finest clothes and groomed he was even more so.

"Care to join me for a dance?" Asked Mablung.

Daeril graciously accepted, and the two rangers joined in the other dancers, for one night becoming a lord and lady rather than hunters and soldiers. They danced until both drunk and out of breath, and then set out for a stroll together along the bank of the pond.

"I saw a friend of yours in the stables earlier, not sure if you knew he was here."

"Which friend?" Asked Daeril.

"Big grey stallion... a bit tempermental."

"Rivornor?!"

"Aye, that one. I remember you loved him despite him throwing you back in Edoras."

"He is a remarkable horse! I wanted to buy him, but... Rocky is doing much better, anyway, I do not need a second horse!"

Mablung smiled as he watched her speak. Daeril found herself gazing into his grey eyes, and for the first time in a long time saw that he felt what she was feeling for him. She felt this way with Faron, when they would sneak off into the woods... the same attraction, the same desire. Mablung leaned in, and Daeril met his lips with her own.

The two stayed interlocked for a while, until finally Mablung broke away, both gasping for breath and all smiles.

"I've been thinking about that for a long time," said Mablung.

"I too," Daeril smiles. "We should get back to the party."

The two did not return to the celebration. Things were starting to wind down, although it was doubtful all the revelers would be done before the early morning hours. Many would be up all night, but Daeril grew tired and decided to retire to her quarters.

"I will walk you to your room," Said Mablung.

"Thank you, kind sir!"

The two made their way down the hall, and Daeril opened her door to her room. The room was dark, the moonlight not quite reaching this side of the manor. She walked in, looking for the flint and steel to light the candles, leaving Mablung standing in the hall.

"You may come in, Mablung."

He hesitated, but came in and shut the door. Daeril finally found the flint, and lit the candles by the bedside and upon the mantle.

"That's better! Care for some wine?"

"You have it?"

Daeril grinned at her friend and superior. She thought he knew her better than that. Reaching into her bag, she procured a bottle of red elvish wine, a gift from Legolas on his last visit to Ithilien. She had told the elf years ago she wanted to try Mirkwood wine, and he had remembered.

"This is the good stuff," she pulled out two glasses, setting them on the small table by the window. She poured two glasses, and gave one to Mablung.

The two took initial sips, and it was clear from Mablung's expression that it really was the best wine he had ever had.

"This is fantastic! Where is it from?"

"Mirkwood! It's strong, just to warn you. Doesn't taste it, but you may feel it."

The two finished their first glasses, replacing it with more, talking and laughing. They grew closer and closer as they spoke, until Daeril could feel Mablung's body heat. His hand moved gingerly to her thigh, gently brushing the flowy skirt down. She wanted more, to actually feel him. His eyes met hers, and they closed the distance with another kiss.

Neither of them expected anything to go this far. Maybe it was the wedding drinks, or the wine, but mostly it was months upon months of built up tension. Daeril never had second thoughts, even when the dress landed in a head at the foot of the bed, and she stood before Mablung in nothing but a silk slip. His hands traced the curve of her body, and she felt her skin trembling as his warmth went through the thin fabric.

Mablung pushed Daeril gently onto the bed, crawling in next to her as he stipped off his shirt. Daeril found her eyes drawn to his well muscled torso, and then back to his eyes.

"Daeril... are you sure you want this?"

"I've never been more sure."

-