We were to ride for the ancient encampment at Dunharrow the next day, and Éomer and I were charged with preparing Edoras' small legion of Rohirrim for battle. Huor rode southeast, to gather up our uncle's men and ours from the Folde. Lenwe, kind and willing, assisted me in preparations.

Though it had been Huor that had rode with Éomer for many years, Lenwe and the Marshal were not unfamiliar with one another. The two men clasped hands briskly in greeting outside the stables. "We will need your bow, Cadda's son,"

"Aye, and your courage, Lord,"

Éomer turned then to me, his cool and not-unflirtatious gaze appraising me. "It's your sister with all the courage, sir,"

Legolas, as he often did, appeared from nowhere. "She outshines us all. This I have known since first I saw her,"

Éomer's returning glance was bitter.

I flapped my hands impatiently, flustered by the pettiness of males. "Come, come. Éomer, set us to work. There's no time for this,"

Huffing, Éomer instructed me to match unclaimed horses to horseless riders, and I was pleased to do it. Legolas lingered with me, and Lenwe was sent off to round up any sloths who had yet to commence preparations.

For the most part, the riderless horses were in good condition, but there were a handful with dubious injuries. By the end of the afternoon, I had identified a half dozen on the margin, and was covertly attempting to mend them, even if it meant diving into a bit of my power.

Legolas, who had been flitting about and maneuvering tack from one stable to the next and down the city slopes to the encampment outside the city walls, found me where I had tucked myself away behind a gelding. The horse in question was oozing dark pus from his ear, but I suspected I could draw the cyst out with a little prodding and patience.

"Help me?" I asked, and the tall elf wordlessly pressed a hand to the horse's neck. He closed his eyes, and murmured quietly to the chestnut gelding, bidding him stay calm while I lanced the lump as quickly as I could. The horse merely stomped, and I thanked Legolas for his assistance.

He watched me for a while, quiet and stiff. I glanced sideways at him and grew wary of how his arms were crossed before him. When I had dressed the wounded ear as best I could, I turned at last to him and quirked my brow.

"The Marshal grows too fond of you, Calahdra,"

I guffawed. "This hardly seems the time or place to discuss this,"

"So you don't deny it?"

I gnawed at my lower lip. There was a terrible warmth spreading up from belly and into my throat.

"Is it my responsibility to rebuke him when he's made no blatant pass?"

Legolas shifted on his feet, and his emerald eyes sparkled ferociously. 'Jealous? I had never made him out to be the type, prince that he is,'

"You might endeavor not to goad him on,"

"Goad?" I was incredulous. In what manner could I have possibly been soliciting Éomer's attention?

"He is your captain, your people's prince. Yet you act oh so familiar with him, as if he is not above your station in the slightest,"

"You are a prince, Legolas Thranduilion, and I've grown mighty familiar with you,"

"Aye, and quickly too,"

This was too far, and utter nonsense. But I was too angry now to consider why he was so spontaneously irrational.

"To claim to love me, yet to insinuate that I am a strumpet – that is rich!"

Legolas' nostrils flared, and he stepped very close to me. For a moment, I feared he was going to grab my wrist, or neck, so powerful was the ire rolling off him. Instead, he clawed his hand into the wall of the stall beside us.

"It is not the authenticity of my own love that I question,"

I heard my mouth open with a small, broken gasp, but all other sounds had stopped. At my side, my hand clawed and contorted. As I inhaled, I had the sense that my breath was feeding a tiny flame within my throat – on my exhale, the blaze was unleashed, and my vision grew dark.

Legolas yelped and pulled his hand from the stable partition, but not without effort. Where his palm had been, a twisted, bloody spike of wood nearly four inches long remained. Around it, the wood appeared stretched and spiraled, like clay on a potter's wheel.

Legolas was clutching his hand to his chest, and I watched in horror as droplets of blood began to fall and pool on his tan leggings.

"Gods, Legolas, I'm so sorry," and I reached forward to him, both astonished and grieved.

But Legolas stepped back, his eyes wide in terror. I stared at him, mouth agape, one hand still held out in offering. Quick as he had been impaled, he rounded me and fled.

The remainder of my day passed in a state of stunned horror. At every turn, I wondered to myself 'how has this happened?'. And though I expected the Enemy's foul voice, or the queer voice of phantom-Calahdra from before, to answer me, no answer came.

At end of day, I was summoned to Théoden's council chamber, and I was surprised to find Lenwe there as well.

The King was behind his desk, with a quill in hand and furious ink spots dotting his hands and sleeves.

"Thank you for coming, Calahdra. There are many matters to be settled before I ride, and the matter of your father's estate and title is one of them,"

I righted myself. Of course it needed settled. From my brothers' previous bickering, it did not seem that the chaos Eofel had described had been at all abated.

"Huor expects his inheritance," Lenwe said to me simply and with neutrality.

"And there are many who would oppose him, merely on account of your mother's race," Théoden replied. He took a deep breath, and then a speedy pull from a stone goblet. Surely it was not water – the King was flushed and speaking quickly.

"Word from me will put the issue to rest. Tell me, Calahdra. I trust your word above most. Is your brother a good man?"

I could feel my breath hitching, and my hands turning to claws once more. Earnestly, I tried to steady myself before Théoden's eyes. I sensed Lenwe's eyes on me too. What was he thinking? What did he know? Surely he had suspected that there was a deep void between Huor and I, and the reasons for it…. And why was Théoden asking this of me?

Lenwe spoke before me. "Our brother is an ardent supporter of Rohan, and of your Lordship. He has fought for his people his whole life, unquestioning and with incontrovertible fairness."

Lenwe paused and looked to me again. I sensed a shift in him, and for a moment I could have sworn that his consciousness pressed on mine as if seeking forgiveness, though he had never shown to have shared a trace of my gift.

Lenwe took a step before me and passed one hand over the scar on his face, the other resting wearily on Théoden's desk.

"My Lord, my brother is also a rapist,"

I withered and bent my head in shame.

I felt the King's eyes on me for a fleeting moment, and then he bent back to his letter. Wordlessly, he signed the document, flapped it in the air overhead to dry the ink, rolled it, and passed it to my brother.

"Then it is done. Rule of Fenmarch is yours, Lenwe Medlinniel. And you and your sister shall split ownership of Halistowe when it is rebuilt, though our Shieldmaiden will always retain her position in my house, so long as she desires it. Your brother Huor will keep his position as Captain in the Rohirrim for now – the issue of his crimes needs must wait for a later date. I will tell him as much myself when he arrives in Dunharrow with your men,"

Lenwe turned his head and we shared a glance. I noticed that the scroll in his hand was quivering – indeed, his whole arm trembled.

'Huor will have his head,' was all I could think, but I bowed my head to Théoden.

"Thank you, my Liege,"

Lenwe did the same. "It is an honor and a privilege, King Théoden, that my family shall continue our guardianship of Fenmarch,"

Théoden muttered his assent, and then bent his head to his next missive. Lenwe and I turned heel and left.

"And Calahdra," Théoden called as we reached the door. I turned.

"The claim against Huor is credible. But a victim has not yet come forth. When you return home, to help in the rebuilding of your family estate, you will see to it that the women of Fenmarch and the Fendowns know that only justice, not retribution, will face them should they bring forth allegations,"

There was pure kindness in his voice, and decency. My eyes stung with tears, but I held back the wave of emotion that threatened to cripple me. I bowed my head again. "Yes, my Lord,"

When I returned to my quarters, late after dark and in a state of utter exhaustion, Legolas' things were gone. I could not say I was surprised, but the sight was disheartening enough that I stood in silence for a time, reliving the memory of casting my mind out unwitting, such that I manipulated the very fibers of my environment and made them a cruel weapon.

I knew I could not sleep, and so I pulled my winter cloak around me and crept back out into the night.

Though I had not frequented it in many weeks, I went thoughtlessly to my crag on the side of Edoras' rocky hillock and wrapped my arms around my knees. I wept bitterly – for my transgressions, for Huor's, for the thought of my mother journeying broken and alone to Lothlorien, and then across the sea. And for the slow but steady realization that the battle ahead would be resolute – it was very likely that I would never return to the ashes of Halistowe, as Théoden had sought to reassure me.

The scene before me as bleak as my thoughts. I was staring towards the West, which though peaceful, was utterly lifeless. Fall was turning to winter, and the grasses of the plain had nearly all died. There was nothing for the wind to stir up even as it buffeted between the mountains and along the face of the winding Snowbourne.

And yet this country, despite its rawness and its brutality, was my home. How could I dare do anything but defend it now?

Above me, and near enough to make me double-take, wafted a cloud of heady pipesmoke. I stared up the cliff-face, and saw a hooded ranger standing on a lip above me, shaking out his match.

"Do I disturb you, Shieldmaiden?"

I eased back into my seat, and told him dejectedly "No, Lord Aragorn. You do not,"

Pipe still in hand, the ranger eased himself down from his perch to join and sat beside me with his legs stretched out like a gangly teenager. He offered me the pipe, and I took a long, pensive draw before passing it back.

"Legolas' hand?" I asked, and Aragorn nodded once.

"Nearly wholly healed, as is the way of elves,"

I looked down at my fingers, awkward and at a loss. Aragorn was quiet too, though occasionally he would mumble a few lines of a poem or song that came to mind. For a time, he sat next to me as if I was not there. 'This is the heir to Gondor,' I thought incredulously. In truth, he felt more like a childhood friend.

Finally, I broke the quiet. "Do we go tomorrow to our doom?"

Aragorn glanced at me sideways, and to my surprise he smirked.

"I have faced too much evil, and journeyed too far and for too long to believe that to be true,"

But then he patted my hand where it rested between us and passed me his pipe again.

"But I do not think we go to our triumph, either. Nay, many will sacrifice themselves in the days ahead, and I pray it will be for glory and not evil,"

I bowed my head, considering this. The people of Rohan had already sacrificed so much. What more could we give but our remaining lives? I passed the pipe back.

"He loved another once before, nearly as fiercely as he loves you,"

I started at this, but Aragorn went on as if it was in no way a drastic departure from talk of death and doom.

"Tauriel was her name, and he knew her for several hundred years. She is a fierce warrior, and an honorable elleth,"

My brow was furrowing. "He has spoken of her to me. But why do you tell me this?"

"Because she did not love him back,"

Aragorn was frowning too, and I paled under his gaze.

"I see," I said, and turned my head away. "So that is the root of his fear,"

"No, there is more,"

A wind burst berated us on the cliffside, and while I pulled my cloak tighter, Aragorn's pipe went out. The ranger paused long enough to pack his bowl again, and after it was lit and he had taken a proper draw, he resumed his story.

"She was a Captain of the forest guard, and entrusted with the care of many soldiers. Mirkwood was withering for a time, and she defended its borders even at great cost to herself and her men. Until she met another,"

"Her love was not foolish, mind you, nor was it disingenuous. The dwarf she met taught her much of the world beyond Thranduil's borders, and showed her kindness when all the Elvenking had wrought in his own kingdom for many years was anguish,"

"Before her lover died, Tauriel abandoned her people, and left the borders unguarded, in the name of an early flame that would never be requited. And meanwhile, Legolas had been rebuked. He was far younger then, and I think that the sting he felt left deep roots. And though he has grown much in very little time, as the Shadow has done to us all, the darkness is feeding those seeds of poison,"

'Poison,' This I understood. But which part of Aragorn's tale was the reason for Legolas' wrath today?

Aragorn sensed the question on my lips before I ungirded it. "There are two sides to this coin, I think, and Legolas himself may not have had the time or foresight to untangle them. On the one hand, he fears a love unanswered, as we all do. And on the other, he knows the cost of loving another so deeply that one is wrenched from their duty and their people,"

"For my part, or his?"

"Both."

I passed my hand over my forehead, which had begun to ache. A cloud passed over the waxing moon, and shadows danced on the surface of the Snowbourne. I tried, and failed, to fix my attention on the water in order to soothe the pain.

"How could he not know my love, Aragorn? How could he doubt it?"

Aragorn looked at me mournfully and tapped his pipe out at last. "That is the nature of poison, Calahdra. It festers and it blinds."

At dawn, the legion was rallied. I was dressed in my fine red leather armor, and Meleare carried nothing but my weapons, a flannel blanket, and a day's worth of food and water.

I had bid my men out before first bell, and several hundred of them now formed the left flank of the steady column streaming out of Edoras. I sat atop Meleare at the city gate, between Éomer and Gamling, as we saluted the riders on their way out.

It felt final, this last passing out of the country's capital. Perhaps in mourning of this day, I had smudged black kohl around my eyes and donned a helmet topped with black horsehair. "You will bring death," Éomer had said to me when he saw me first that morning, without lust or even friendship in his voice. I knew he spoke the truth. For better or for worse, I would bring death in the days to come.

We stopped only once during the hard ride to Dunharrow, and Legolas found me then. I was watering Meleare, and he rounded me atop Arod.

"Calahdra," he said quietly, and I straightened before him.

My eyes went at once to his left hand, which indeed was wrapped in bandages but not many of them. "I am sorry, Legolas. I did not know my power had grown so… unwieldy,"

Legolas dismounted cleanly and stood before me with sorrow in his eyes. Though he did not wear his steel plates, as he had at Helm's Deep, he was intimidating all the same in his Elvish ranger's garb. His lips were quivering, as if he was fighting back the words he wished to say. This was as unlike him as his outburst the day prior, and all at once I felt pity for him, not fear.

He was his people's only prince, and now he rode to his doom too, with his scarred heart wrenched open by a woman from a far away land.

"Tauriel…," I started, but he shook his head and dipped his eyes.

"It is not just Tauriel,"

I reached out for his hand, and he let me take it, though it was limp and almost cold.

"I told you of my mother,"

"A little,"

He met my eyes, and there were tears within them.

"She was Silvan, from an old family, but Silvan nonetheless." His voice was halted, pained.

I nodded, eager to have him continue though I could not foresee the direction.

"My father," he started again, pulling his hand from mine and starting to pace along the stream from which Meleare drank, "is Sindar. His father was named lord of my mother's land, and she was brought to him as a token. The most beautiful of their maidens, she was, and the most cunning. She was wedded to Thranduil at once,"

"Though my father ascended his father's throne, and brought peace and culture to a cultureless place," – Legolas said this derisively, I noted, and inside myself I smiled at it – "and though his rule was accepted, it was my mother that was the true monarch. She was a healer, and a warrior, and sorceress,"

Legolas stopped and turned to me. Without looking into my eyes, he took my hands in his. "She was all that you are,"

My breath was trapped within me, and for a moment I could not move. A single tear fell from his eye and onto my palm. The sight of the water droplets bursting and undulating in the air reminded me of shattered glass.

"They lived together for an age, in peace and in love, until Sauron's scourge awoke foul evil in Endor,"

"The Witch-king wrought terror across the kingdoms, and my father was induced by the other Elvenkings and Queens to send out our armies. But it was not my father who led our people into battle – it was my mother,"

I clutched at Legolas' hand, knowing well what would happen next.

"He was," Legolas started, at last looking into my eyes, "still a foreigner, all those years later. He had born a son, and many daughters, for the people of Eryn Galen. He had brought protection, and wealth, and new languages and traditions. But he was not of their blood. Thranduil was fair, and hawk-eyed, like the sun – and my mother was the moon and evening stars,"

"And so she led them all, even if it was to their doom, to save the peoples of Middle Earth from torment and terror. And when she was taken to Dol Goldur," his voice broke, and more tears followed the first, "a piece of our peoples' souls died,"

I pulled myself as close to Legolas as he would allow, desperately wishing I could hold him. But there was still a bottomless chasm between us, and I cursed it.

When he recaptured his composure, he did then let me press my forehead to his shoulder. But the embrace was collegial, and barely intimate.

"Many years ago, I said that there was no grave, no memory of my mother. I know now that that is not the truth. My mother is a cold, dark stone grave within my heart, that threatens to sink me like an overburdened ship in a maelstrom. There is no light in that place, wherever it is buried. Only dark,"

I am weeping now too, for I think of my father, and all the words of love and farewell I had not spoken to him before he was stolen from me. Was that the poison that lived within me? No, Galadriel had told me that the blight had come from my mother's lineage. But still – my father's murder, Huor's shame, my own attack on the one I loved – these many lashes made up a tapestry that now fueled my despair.

I stepped away from Legolas at the same moment he retreated from me.

"And what of us?" I said, quiet and afraid.

Legolas wiped the tears from his eyes and shook his head.

"I do not know,"

"We are bound to our oaths, and to our peoples,"

He nodded at this grimly. And then came an admission that broke me. "Though once I had thought you might be my people's queen,"

Queen of Mirkwood, and Eryn Galen. An Elvish Queen, and warrior, and healer, and sorceress. Like his mother, stolen from him more than a thousand years ago.

I could not picture it. I could not even feel it.

"I think, Legolas, that my fate is bound. I think I go now to my doom,"

He looked at me pitifully, but he did not refute me. His eyes were still red and broken, very much like a mortal man's.

"I think I do as well,"