The next three days of travel were slow but peaceable. The refugees left us on the morning of the second day, when the village of Entwine came into view and so too did the scent of their hearths and beds on the other side of the river. Twenty or so Rohirrim escorted them, but the remainder continued south to Edoras with us.

The roads were wider and better maintained as we drew closer to the capital. It encouraged us, too, to see that the usual tradesmen had resumed their routes, albeit heavily armed. For months, the trade routes had been abandoned on account of orcs, wargs, and other foul creatures. Occasionally, one of our riders would recognize a wagon driver and stop off for a time, returning to us later with a bushel of late autumn apples or a flask of honeywine.

The mood was good, and as the riders bantered and bartered with one another, I recalled the many times I had set out with my father and his men, welcomed into the fraternal fold as we toured the vast expanse of the Eastfold, or the feet of the White Mountains.

For the most part, Huor avoided me. He rode at the rear of the party, and I only saw him at night when myself, the Captain Fréadan, and his most senior riders sat around our dinner fire. If the men knew we were kin, they did not speak of it – tension had reemerged between us that I sensed was palpable. Our father, though, did manage to become a topic of conversation.

"Cadda told me once that you were nine when you slew a bear with only a pike, Huor," It was one of my men who asked the question – he had told me he had once ridden with my father, but I had dared not press the conversation further lest I openly weep in front of my seconds.

My brother snorted, and was uncharacteristically humble in his response. Perhaps grief had dulled his pride. "I would not deign to call my late father a liar, but I would say that he was an able storyteller."

It was true, though. A rabid bear had terrorized flocks in the Fendowns for weeks. Huor - eager to prove his manhood - had set out without permission and slain the beast after several days of hunt. My mother had nearly flayed Huor for it, but my father considered the tale one of his most intriguing fireside parables.

"And what of you, Calahdra?" Gárling inquired, sloshing his tankard around with a flourish, "Did you too inherit the bear-wrangling gene?"

Some of the men laughed, but when I did not immediately respond as my brother had, their chuckles grew uncomfortable. I met Huor's eye for the first time since he had tended to my elbow, feeling tense, but he jerked his chin subtly as if to encourage me.

Ultimately, Huor broke the silence for me. "There was a time that Calahdra dared not kill living creatures if she could avoid it. Though she dresses like a man, I assure you, she has the tenderness of a woman," The soldiers laughed at this, good-naturedly. A smile came to my lips too, and Huor continued. "Our mother had this quality, and she taught Calahdra a great deal. Our Elvish kin are talented in working and speaking with animals. Bring any of your horses to my sister, and she will tell us their true names and their histories,"

The men murmured in wonder, and some of them made as if they would bring their steed to me. And though I trusted these riders well enough, I was reluctant to make another spectacle of myself.

I broke my silence. "There was one incident, though…," and I drained the tankard I had been holding. The man to my right propped a cask up for me and filled my glass again.

"Eight years ago, my brother Lenwe and I escorted the new beacon warden to Halifirien. The watches are split, you see, between a man of Gondor for 6 months' time, and then a man of Fenmarch. It was the tail end of winter, and the snows were still deep in the mountains. We thought the worst of the storms were behind us, but we were sorely mistaken. Do you remember, Huor?"

My brother nodded. "Aye, and Lenwe was separated from your party. He returned home, but you finished the trek. Mother was worried sick,"

I stood. If I was to do the story justice, I would tell it in my father's manner. Tankard still in hand, I paced around the fire as I spoke.

"The beacon warden was young, nearly as young as I - and though he was spirited, he was inexperienced. The journey was slow and arduous – snow up to our bellies, wind howling constantly in our ears, and at night, the mountains were treacherously dark. But eventually we made it to the mountain pass where the warden's cabin lies. We expected the previous keeper to meet us with warm welcome – he'd spent the last 6 months utterly alone, spending his days doing naught but looking to the east at the Calenhad, and then to the west to Edoras, and back again,"

"But he did not come. No, all that we found were his bones, freshly plucked dry by carrion birds,"

The men shuddered, and I took the dramatic pause as an opportunity to undo my cloak and pass it to Gárling. I was growing warm from the fire and the drink and the adrenaline of my dramatic reenactment. Even now, the memory of the tale made me shiver with phantom cold and fear.

"The cabin still stood, but the door was blown clear from its hinges. Inside we found evidence of a struggle – furniture waylaid; the lower cabinets of the pantry ransacked haphazardly. It was not immediately clear to us what had made the attack. Bandits? No, the scene was too disorderly, and good weapons had been left behind. Orcs? Not likely to have left without making off with the weapons either. But then we saw the truth of it – great bloody paw prints on the stone hearth. A mountain wolf – 14 stones heavy at least and desperately hungry after his long winter sleep."

"We buried what was left of the warden during the day, and at night we took turns taking watch. It was evident the beast had charged the door, the way the hinges had snapped. And who knew how well the man's body had sated him,"

"Meanwhile, the storm continued to rage. We could hardly make out the peak of Calenhad from within the cabin, and the young lightkeeper was growing anxious at the thought he may miss his responsibility and his moment of glory. On the fourth day, he made his critical mistake – we had brought a mule with us to carry his supplies, and in his anxiety over the weather, he forgot to bring her into the cabin before dark fell. Just as he made to fetch her, and passed the threshold of the door, the wolf emerged from the squall and overtook the mule, as if to show us his might and ferocity."

"And truly, I had never seen a more terrifying beast - the largest wolf I had ever seen, with fur of pure black and eyes glowing crimson. I wondered if there was some spell on him, or if he was possessed by a dark spirit lost on the Holy Mountain. By then, as my brother said, I had some skill in speaking with creatures – but when I cast my mind out to him, it was is if he was bottled lightening – no substance, merely incoherent danger. I recoiled at the touch,"

"I knew I could not leave the warden alone on the mountain, nor was I confident I could have made the descent without being hunted myself. There was only one thing to do, and that was to kill or mortally maim the creature,"

"The following day – 5 days since we arrived, the weather was a little better and I ascended Amon Anwar. I found a cask of oil near the great furnace; I brought it down and the warden and I laid our trap – we dug a small trench around the cabin, filled it with the oil, and butchered several mountain hares. We thought that if we could lure the wolf within the bounds of the trenches and light them, he could not escape us. We would either all die, or we would conquer the wolf,"

I stopped for my longest pull and pressed my other hand to the small of my back. Here, my memory grew all at once sharp and blurry, like the feeling that came on the cusp of utter drunkenness. Fréadan refilled my tankard, and the mood around the fire was of stone-cold seriousness.

"We waited, and waited, but the hares proved too puny to warrant his arrival. We had no more bait – the mule was dead, and so…," I set my tankard down, rolled up my sleeve, and held my largest scar aloft overhead. A neat silver streak the length of my hand etched down my forearm. The men murmured mixed sympathy and wonderment at the sight, and I continued. "The wolf came. His appetite was immense, and perhaps the scent of my blood was a curiosity to him – surely he had never tasted elleth before,"

"The beast charged the door, and the warden, who had been hiding on the roof, lept down and lit the trench. We were all trapped within the inferno now, and only the wolf's death would save us. So, we fought for our lives. I cannot say I have ever fought harder. And though it was brutal, and half the cabin was knocked down in the process, it was brief. In his fury, the wolf's mental defenses cracked. I distracted him with visions of the flame creeping ever closer, or phantom sensations of his hair being singed and the pads of his feet blistering. Meanwhile, the warden landed several crippling blows to his joints with a club and a hammer. When the wolf was nearly dead, I plunged my shortsword into his heart, and made his death as quick as I could. He was a fearsome but honorable creature – he did not deserve to suffer, as terrible as he was,"

"We put the fire out quick thereafter with barrels of melted snow. And then we slept – 20 hours each, with the wolf carcass festering all the while. In the morning, the squall had finally stopped. We buried the wolf in the shadow of Amon Anwar, and gave him proper rites, with hope that the demon spirit within would not claim another host to terrorize and plunder the beacon warden again."

And that was that, the story I sometimes thought of as my coming into my manhood, so to speak. The men, awestruck and nodding, were silent.

The night was quiet except for the crackle of the fire, until at last Garling spoke. "If you did not already have a title, I would name you Burgrunwere, Lady Fenmarch,"

Another rider piped up - "Aye, or Morderbicce,"

The men laughed at this, and I chuckled too. Huor replied, though, "Settle yourself, Guthmer. That is my little sister after all,"

And because there was a spark in Huor's eyes, the men laughed harder, but I sensed a biting edge beneath his words. I met his eyes from across the fire, and within them I saw the truth. The jealousy, and the fury, that had always coursed just beneath the surface of his countenance. Though he had prompted it, I had told the story too well for his taste. The love these men had for me, despite what they knew of my magic, was clear. And Huor had known no such love, for though he had charisma, he had had far less power all his life. As children, had he sensed my power coming in to its own? Is that - on the bank of the Mearing Stream all those years ago - what he had thought to seize for himself?

'A black and bitter curse,' I thought, in Galadriel's voice as well as my own. And through the cast of the flame, indeed – it was as though Huor's eyes were as dark as the demon wolf's pelt.

In the morning, home was on the horizon. Each and every one of us was eager and anxious to be in warm beds or stalls. Meleare was chomping at her bit – she sensed her journey was coming to an end, yet her oats were close, and her thoughts were almost manic.

"Peace, friend," I told her time and time again as her visions showed chaotic montages of younger versions of herself coursing over grassy dunes and into piles of oats and hay.

In mid-afternoon, we crested the last of the large hills obstructing our view of Meduseld. Having come in striking distance, I commanded Captain Fréadan lead the party home – and I let Meleare fly.

She burst over the moors with a triumphant whiny, and I let out my own whoop as soon as I was out of earshot of my men. The thong holding my braid burst in the maelstrom, and my hair bloomed out around me – the sunlight made it shine like fire. When Meleare galloped through the Snowbourne's small pools and estuaries, the freezing water sprayed over us like droplets of crystalline glass, casting rainbows all around us.

200 yards from Edoras' front gate, a rider on a grey gelding snuck through. It was Legolas - of course it was Legolas. He was riding bareback and beaming at me as vividly as the sun.

Arod and Meleare rounded on one another, huffing gleefully, and we pulled up our steeds.

"The Red Lady returns, and oh how glorious is her arrival," Legolas said. His voice was a panacea after the many days of horrible weather, threats on my person, and rough riding.

He gestured up to Edoras' ramparts, and I doubled back at the sight. Dozens of the city folk were lining it, waving at me and hollering in welcome. When I waved back, dazed, they cheered, and then turned their attention to the slower moving company behind me.

The gate was thrust thoroughly open and my men and wagon lumbered through. There was near pandemonium inside – a few wives openly wept as their husbands returned from literal months at war. Children let out streams of laughter I'd not heard in years as the soldiers distributed some of the spoils they'd collected from the tradesmen we had met along the way. And Éowyn – oh how lovely she looked in her laundered white dress – she had come, too, and handed me a bouquet of purple fountain grass. I leaned down from Meleare and clasped her shoulder. "I missed you, friend,"

She was smiling and kissed my cheek. "It is a blessing to see your face again,"

Ever the dutiful princess, she made her way into the throng of soldiers and gave them her thanks and well wishes. Legolas bid me on through the streets, and the wagon followed.

"You are whole and well?" Legolas asked. 'Oh, I am more than whole in your presence.' But I contained the outburst threatening within me; city folk still lined the street, curious and kindly.

I dodged the question as best as I could, loathe to tell him of the attack in camp for fear it would derail what I suspected would be a very pleasant afternoon in my washtub and bed.

"The weather was foul, but the roads were clear. It was as if Rohan was coming back to itself,"

Legolas nodded. "I saw the tradesmen and travelers too. A sight I've scarcely seen in this past year of journeying,"

"And your ride from Isengard? Untroubled?"

He nodded. "Completely. But my nights were lonely,"

I gave him a coy smile before we pulled up at the stables. Éomer stood awaiting me, dressed only in a loose white undershirt but looking as kingly as ever.

"Thank you for bidding our Shieldmaiden home, Master Mirkwood," he said to Legolas, a trace of contempt underpinning his words. "I see she has safely borne home the spoils of Isengard,"

"She has," I responded, and dismounted Meleare. Here, Legolas would see the wound to my elbow – I was sore, and not quite so lithe with only one hand to guide me down. Fighting back a groan, I continued: "If you can call ale, tobacco, and barley a spoil,"

"In these days, I would say so," the Marshal told me, and clasped my back. "Welcome home, Calahdra. Get your rest – you deserve it. And my sister will want you in fighting form in only a day's time. You were the last feast guest she was awaiting,"

I thanked Éomer with a salute, and that prompted grooms to rush forward and seize Meleare from me. I gave her nose a kiss. "You get your rest, too, my friend,"

She responded with a satisfied bray. As much as she might have wanted to continue her romp along the Snowbourne, she was nearly spent herself.

Legolas gathered my packs up in his arms, and unprompted, starting walking back towards my chambers. I was suspicious as to how he knew the way, and even more confused when he in fact led me straight to my door. "You have good friends, Calahdra. And they were not unopposed to befriending me, either,"

The door was unlocked, and when I entered, my room was sparkling clean. Freshly laundered bed linens, a small clay vase of chrysanthemums over the hearth, and best of all – a servant woman was presently filling my washtub with steaming water. Had she not been there, I would have kissed Legolas soundly.

She made her way out quickly enough, and it was then that I noticed that his own possessions were neatly tucked around my trunk, too. "Marmagen, I think her name is," he explained when he saw my startlement. "She told me that you owe her a brace of coneys and a cask of honeywine,"

I snorted. "I owe her at least that much,"

Legolas took my hand in his, and I turned to him. "I missed you dearly, Calahdra," and then he took my elbow gently in his left hand, "…and it appears that I cannot leave you to your own devices whatsoever. What is this?"

I let out a long breath. "Bring me a wine and wash my hair as you do so well, and I will tell you,"

Legolas nodded seriously and turned at once to the small cabinet where I kept my store of drink. "And," I stopped him, "you must do it all naked,"

He froze, and then turned very slowly. A devilish look spread across his face, and his fingers moved to the seam of his shirt. "As you wish, Lady Fenmarch. I am but your obedient servant."

Old English/Rohirric Translations:

Burgrunwere - Wolf Sorceress

Morderbicce - Murderous Bitch