Though Legolas' admission did nothing to abate my heartbreak, it was in some sense freeing. I no longer felt the heavy guilt of having unleashed my power upon him, though some small part of me cried out against my abandonment of that shame. My thoughts turned to other troubles, though they were somewhat withered by the darker shadow looming ahead.

So when we made camp at Dunharrow, I was emboldened enough to seek out my brother, who had inadvertently outed himself when he admitted his knowledge of my brother's nature to Théoden. It appeared that he had known of my defilement for 15 years and done nothing. And now he had haplessly become the Lord of Fenmarch. Rage was boiling in me again.

And indeed, I found him, cloistered at a small cooking fire with a handful of the other South Rohan lordlings. He stood at the sight of me, clearly taken aback by the ferocity with which I approached.

"Sister?" he asked when I stopped before him, shifting my weight onto my left hip such that when I patted Mearling at my side, it might have passed as an idle gesture.

Lenwe knew better.

"Let us walk," I said, and he abandoned his half-eaten plate of supper.

"So you knew," I said simply, when we were just out of earshot of his compatriots. "You knew what Huor was and you said nothing,"

"Aye," he murmured, and I noted the grief in his voice. It did not placate me.

"Did you ever think to confront him? Or to ask me how heavy of a burden it was to carry? Do you know what it cost me, to wake every night of my life for years, shaking in fear and indignity? Did you never wonder whether it would happen again, as I did every time that he returned from training or battle?"

"No, Calahdra, I…,"

I rounded on him. "I trusted you above all, Lenwe. Where Huor was dark, you were light. When mother was despondent, you were kindness. It was you who bid me to Edoras, who fended off our attackers while I fled! How can I ride to battle now, and still call you brother and Lord?"

"Calahdra, I am sorry," We had stopped at the foot of the mountain, which ascended above us until it blotted out the twilight sky. "I could scarcely comprehend it, some part of me couldn't believe it to be true,"

"But how long did you know?"

"The evening of the day it happened,"

I was speechless. My jaw was clicking as it popped open and shut, open and shut again. My hand was clawing again at my side, but I shook myself and stretched my fingers wide as if to beat out a cramp. 'I will not unleash that terror again.'

"And you still could not believe it?"

"I was a young man, Calahdra. Barely so. And all I knew of such things was from stories and tales. And mother's books… mother's books said that elves could not survive it. That they would die of grief before they yielded to such treatment. Some part of me – a dark part, a cursed part – figured that if you still lived, it was a sign that Huor had not succeeded, that he was only boasting, sick and twisted as it was…,"

"But we are not elves, Lenwe. We are quarter-elven,"

"I know, I know…," Lenwe batted at me with a weary hand, turning in towards the granite wall as if to hide himself. "I was foolish and heartbroken for you, and too much of a coward to confront him,"

"Then you could have told someone else! Told father!"

Lenwe looked up at me through his long, black lashes. "And deprived him of his heir? Calahdra, we are a quarter-elven but we are also children of Rohan. If Lord Cadda's eldest son was a known defiler – of his own sister – the dishonor would have been swift and brutal,"

What could I say to this? It was the truth. It was the very nature and depravity of power – that elder sons could be protected from their crimes by the very nature of the flesh between their legs and the order of their birth.

Now I turned to hide my pain, and to consider the darkness rekindling itself within me. She was so close, that other Calahdra. And very near behind her stood a darker figure, made of pure wrath and shadow.

Lenwe's hand came to my shoulder and I nearly jumped. "I could never ask your forgiveness, Calahdra. It was my duty as your kin to protect you, and I failed day after day. I can only ask your mercy,"

Could I give it to him? Was I capable of mercy anymore?

I turned to Lenwe, and when I looked into his scarred eye, my own gaze was fogged with red. "I do not think it matters much, Lenwe. I doubt we will survive the week,"

I left him in the shadow of the mountain.

"She is yours, Calahdra. You are her rider now,"

I was too giddy to respond. Instead, I tossed my arms around the yearling's neck with an excessive shout – it was likely unbecoming of a 25-year-old woman, but I could not be bothered to care.

I pulled my head out of the mare's mane to see my father watch on with a grin on his face. Even my mother, with her arms crossed around the black bodice of her dress, managed to turn up the corners of her mouth.

I pulled myself away and took a hunk of the mare's mane into my hand. I looked her seriously in the eye.

"We are a team, now, horse. Do you understand that? We are one in the same from this day forward. Like true Eored,"

The horse was still for a moment, as if she understood. But a second later, she knocked her head into mine and began to lip at my nose. I giggled despite myself.

The mare head-butted me once more, and then she turned about me in a tight circle.

"Happy birthday, Calahdra," my Ada called. He took my mother by the arm and led her into the house, leaving my mare and I to frolic as we pleased.

Another memory chased back the first.

The putrid scent of rotting flesh caused the horse to rear backwards as it rounded a turn in the trail. I clung to her neck, frantically seeking to calm the frightened mare.

"Peace, Meleare. Peace,"

The horse settled down, but only after a moment or two of angry snorting.

I prodded the horse forward, wary of the increasing pools of gore that splattered the trail. I had seen this before, after the first of the flocks were discovered missing.

Of course, a week had passed since then. The wolf had grown hungry again.

Only this time, the desperate creature had carried off a foal.

The mare slowed as we came upon what remained of that foal.

I inhaled sharply, fighting off a powerful bout of nausea. All feelings of illness passed as a sinister growl sounded from the brush behind the corpse.

The mare paced backwards, and I knew I would not have enough time to dismount. I whipped the bow from my back with a curse.

I knocked my arrow and found my mark. The wolf was stepping closer now, edging out of the shadows of the surrounding trees. Bloody froth was spitting from his mouth.

Meleare, still making her way backwards, stepped upon the foal's decaying jawbone and skidded in alarm, letting free a whinny of terror.

The wolf lunged, and I let loose my arrow. My mare screamed as the wolf's claws raked over her left foreleg, and then slumped against her, arrow shaft emerging through its left eye. And although the creature lay dead, the horse screamed in panic, stomping again and again upon the mangy animal.

"Meleare, stop!" I yelled, unable to dismount midst the horse's frenzy.

But the mare's onslaught would not end. Fearing that the horse might bolt at any moment, I reached within myself and unleashed a power I had rarely so much as grazed before.

"Meleare stop," I repeated, pressing my will on the horse. But the screaming would not end, nor would the rearing.

Reaching further, I laid my hand flat between the horse's ears.

'Meleare, stop this,'

And the horse, startled by this new terror, did as she was told.

I - confronted with the brevity of Meleare's base emotions - was rendered mute. It took some effort to release the connection. I had only so much as spoken with animals before, and that took a skosh of power and no need to delve into the consciousness of another.

This was a new sensation – nearly parasitic in its intimacy.

As I pulled away, I heard a cautious voice sound within the horse's mind.

'How can this be?'

I shrugged, and aloud I replied, "I cannot rightly say,"

I had no tent to pitch, but winter had come in the mountains. Unable to stand the cold night any longer, as I found that it seemed to be feeding my madness, I sought out Éowyn's tent. She bid me in without question, but when I had settled my pack and sunk warily onto my blanket, she squatted before me and clutched my hand.

"Tell me what happened, Calahdra,"

But I could not bring myself to tell her. Where would I begin? And how could she possibly understand the witchcraft that seemed to teem just below the surface of my skin?

Éowyn sighed, and she dropped my hand. "I am going to see to the horses,"

And so she left, leaving me to stare at a canvas ceiling.

The sun had not yet set, but I dozed for an hour or so, albeit feverishly. It was a half-sleep, tinged with visions of my mother travelling north by foot across blood-soaked plains. I had the sense that I could have woken myself at any moment, but I chose not too – observing my mother's grey form, as desolate as she was, was almost meditative.

I was woken, however, by the shout of my name from across camp. I wrestled myself up and strained to hear the voice while unsheathing Mearling.

"Calahdra! Bring me that whore bitch! She has stolen my birthright, corrupted our king!"

It was Huor. Of course it was. He was babbling viciously and coming near. A cluster of anxious voices was trailing him, but no one seemed to be keen to stop him.

I knew I was foolish as I did it, but red was boiling within within me, and I stepped out of Éowyn's tent, Mearling in hand and freshly polished. Nearby campfires alit my sword with an eerie orange glow, and eyes turned to me.

Huor's did as well – he was 50 yards away, and he made for me at once.

"Vile, half-elven BITCH," he spewed, his hand going to the hilt of his own sword. When he was 8 feet from me, he drew our father's greatsword high overhead – only to be blocked by the hilt of a dagger on his downswing.

"She is not to blame for your failings, Huor. Your depravity is your doing and yours alone,"

I was nearly compelled to speak – 'No, it's not. It is generations of dark curses passed down,' – but I could not bring myself too. If I opened my mouth, fell power would erupt from me, and Huor would surely die.

Instead, I cast my mind to his, as lightly as I could. "Rapist,"

His eyes went wide with shock, and his sword arm lowered as if to block.

"Defiler,"

Witch. I saw his mouth form the word, but he could not speak it.

"Coward,"

I was stepping forward now as Huor drew back. A crowd was loosely gathering around us, captivated and astonished.

I barely heard Lenwe's warning. I could faintly feel Mearling rising in my hand, until the sword point was aimed squarely at Huor's neck, though he was 10 feet from me now, then 12. It did not matter. As I spoke the words into his mind, I channeled them through the sword as if to hone them into razors. My eldest brother winced as if pricked when the next insult fell, and then yelped at the next.

"Calahdra, stop,"

Lenwe turned his dagger defensively towards me.

"Witch," Huor mumbled again.

"Scum. Unworthy worm,"

"WITCH!"

Huor charged, I parried, and Lenwe leapt back. I swung Mearling up, and Huor lunged forward – but I was light, so light – like a mote of dust on air. I twirled right and brought Mearling around in my pirouette. 'I am going to kill him. Sever his neck. His head will pop from his body like the cap of a mushroom,'

The thought made me laugh, and what might have been a chuckle came out of my mouth like a fury's wail.

"STOP!"

My sword met steel, and I was bludgeoned squarely in the chest by what I guessed was a round shield. I stumbled backwards, and when I came too, I discovered it was Éomer who had intercepted us.

I was heaving with exertion, but Éomer's look of wrath stilled me. Huor's face was red as a plum – he was scrabbling at the earth beside him, clearly still spoiling to kill me. Éomer sensed this too.

"Get, Calahdra. Be gone from here,"

'But I want him dead,' I was itching to say. Éomer stepped towards me though, and I did not doubt he would thump my jaw with his round shield again if I disobeyed him.

"Get," the Marshal repeated coldly, and I fled.

I was bent over Meleare's neck, and though I sensed she was desperately trying to speak to me, I refused to hear her.

"What is this terror?" I merely asked her. "What is this pain?"

It was not her voice that answered.

"I will tell you how it is that you inherited this gift, Calahdra of Fenmarch,"

The terrible voice had only one owner; it was the voice of the Eye.

"No, no…," I managed, pulling from the claws now ensnaring my mind. I opened my eyes, desperately hoping to awake to the ceiling of my own quarters, or a canvas tent above my head.

Instead, I saw dark. But the dark evaporated as the voice laughed; a laugh that was a mix of feral growls, tortured screams, and bliss. Although it made my blood curdle and my skin crawl, it was oddly seductive.

And when the laughter faded away, so too did the empty void. Before me now was the Eye I had so feared.

And before him, on a pedestal of rock and magma, I was naked, left transparent for his pleasure.

"Since the beginning of days, the Eldar have been better attuned to reading the wishes of men's hearts. And in some of their lines, this gift has been amplified into something more,"

At once, a vision of Galadriel came to my mind. But the vision, having stepped out of the confines of what was safe in my psyche, was cruelly dispersed by the will of the Eye.

"You received this gift as few others do, despite your quartered blood. You, child, are a wondrous anomaly,"

The voice laughed its sinister laugh once more, and as he did so, lashes of flame flew out from the Eye to graze my exposed flesh. I screamed not in pain, but horror as the darkness passed through my body and began to assault the deep recesses of my mind. I fought to protect the memories, the secrets, the knowledge I possessed. But with every word, the Eye's strength grew and my energy waned.

"You shall become my puppet, Calahdra. Your secrets shall become my own,"

"No," I whispered into the face of the fire, panting as my breath was sucked from me. Heat, intolerable heat, penetrated my skin, my bones, my soul. It was a torture beyond mere pain.

And yet my mind held. And the Evil's anger grew as his assaults failed.

"You cannot resist against me, child. Do you have no knowledge of who I am? I am Sauron, the hand of the Great Power, Melkor. You are naught but a plaything to me, child. I shall break you,"

I writhed as his words became weapons. Like shards of glass, the reality of who the Enemy was, no matter how obvious, ascended upon my being with violent impact.

"Why?" I whispered, falling now to my knees as the waves of assault overwhelmed my body.

But my desperate question must have been one of poignancy, for the onslaught halted for a moment. In the interim, I strove in secret to place some of my crumbling defenses back in place; I was shoving what I knew of the fellowship's quest into the darkest corners of my mind.

The Eye re-fixed itself on me. "Why? Because you will aid me in the days to come, Calahdra. When the war is won and Gondor burns, you shall be my envoy in the land of Rohan. A ruler you shall be over the horse-people, and you shall tear them from their archaic ways. A mighty queen you shall become,"

Evil he may have been, but Sauron was not lacking in rationale.

The logic in his plan was eerily seductive, for the people trusted and revered me. When Théoden was dead and the Rohirrim fallen at the gates of the White City, there would only be one – Éomer – who might stand in my way. An untimely death could be easily explained by the grim realities of war, and my people would accept my leadership without question if I offered them protection. And they would unknowingly fall under Sauron's sway.

"Very good, Calahdra. You see it now… the splendor of this future. You could have the fame you desire, the love and adoration you deserve. Protection… and vengeance. Even an elf as your prince, if you desired it. I swear to you that this shall be yours. Everything you could have ever wished for is in your grasp,"

The temptation was so great, palpable even. And beyond anything I had dreamt of before. There it was – this was not an organic vision of my own. The Eye was planting these seeds within me even as he spoke. I felt it – the freshly disturbed loam in my memories, where his foul fingers had sowed this seduction. And yet, was I so opposed? Sauron would release me from this torture. The death I was so certain of would fade from view. My people, the people of Rohan, would be safe. And better – Legolas could be mine, and I his.

The Enemy would no longer be my enemy. I would fight no longer. There would be peace.

"All you must do," the voice said, enveloping my urgently laid ramparts, "is open your mind to me, and give me use of your body and power for a short time,"

Peace. But I could not bring peace, that was not my fate.

Éomer had said it himself. 'You will bring death,'

And how many lives would I destroy if I accepted Sauron's offer?

For but a moment, a vision of Legolas, pale in death, and then again, clutching at the body of a woman who could only have been his mother, broke through the iron bars holding the great Eye to me.

I lifted my head to stare into the vortex of flame and enticement and I opened my mouth. Before the malicious tendrils could seek to gag me, I cried out in defiance.

"NO!"

The iron, the flame, the shadow - all of it imploded. The discordant voice cried out, screeching in a foul concoction of Quenya that I did not understand. And as I closed my eyes and held out my hands to ward off his wrath, the pain faded.

I opened my eyes and saw a vaulted ceiling of canvas above my head, rendered grey as night had fallen. How had I gotten here? How much time had gone by?

My breath came in sweeping, ragged wheezes for a while. When I regained the strength to move, I ran my hands over my body, searching for the burns and gore I expected.

But I was whole. Physically, I was unscathed.

My mind, however, was not in a similar state. The sounds of the various soldiers outside mixed haphazardly with memories of my childhood. Conversations with the laundress Marmagen blended unevenly with my mother's looks of discontent. Fantasies of Legolas and I making love were interchanged with nightmares of me strangling Éomer or running him through with my sword. The bodies of the orcs I had killed on the ramparts of Helm's Deep were replaced with horse heads and the rotting corpses of children.

The scrap of rationality that remained claimed that I had been driven mad.

It also told me, in my father's bold, gritty voice, that I was a threat to my people. That to stay in Dunharrow was as good as inviting Sauron into my bed.

I stood, shaking so viciously that I fell and was forced to stand again.

A cloaked figure entered the tent, and a scream nearly tore through my throat.

"Calahdra?" it asked, clearly concerned. As my eyes focused on her, I saw tears in her eyes instead of the murder I expected.

"Éowyn?"

"Aragorn has left. He has taken the Paths of the Dead,"

Sending my consciousness down the trail, I confirmed her claim. With Aragorn also was an elf and a dwarf. I clutched at her shoulder while I sent my mind ahead.

"You abandoned me," I called to the elf, effortlessly casting myself upon him.

"I had no choice. My place is with Aragorn. Yours is with Théoden. These are our oaths,"

"My place should have been with you. We should have died together,"

I felt as Legolas' memory, one of my anger falling upon him and ripping open his flesh and his will, buffeted me. Anguish panged within me, but cold resolve was the substance with which I reacted.

"My power was unleashed in anger. I never meant to harm you. I did not know what it was that I was capable of…,"

"But the anger, Calahdra, that was of my doing,"

I then felt Legolas' own shame. The blame he placed on himself was as great as my own.

In the end, we were all made of the same stuff.

I shook my head, and Éowyn's brow furrowed as she observed my behavior. "It means nothing now,"

"You are wrong, Calahdra. What we were shall always be. I never doubted your love, not for a moment. And I have loved you since first I saw you. That is a truth I will take to my grave,"

Tears fell from my eyes and onto the loam beneath my feet. Éowyn was backing away, horrified by the insanity of my episode.

"I love you. I'm sorry, Legolas. Goodbye,"

The last pieces of what remained of my heart crumbled to dust, and my path was laid bare.

I looked to Éowyn.

"Before we left Edoras, your Uncle asked me to ensure that you left Dunharrow before the men ride out tomorrow. His command was that I see that you safely on your way to Edoras before I joined the Rohirrim,"

Éowyn, still plainly terrified of me, nodded.

"I ask this of you now. Ride out in my stead. Ride out in my stead and protect our King,"

Resolutely, I unbuckled my sword belt and rested Mearling in her hands.

"This is the sword of my forefathers, wrought of their blood and their heritage. It is my wish that you wield it for me, Éowyn, before the gates of Minas Tirith,"

Bewildered, Éowyn took the sword from me. "Why do you do this? Are you abandoning your men as well?"

I looked out past Éowyn and the door of the tent, and at the many fires now painting the mountain side. I sent a silent prayer to each one.

"No, Éowyn. I am upholding my oaths. In this, I am protecting them, and I am protecting my King,"

For if I stayed, and Sauron succeeded in invading my mind, not only could I become his marionette, but it would become known to him also that all of Rohan's forces marched upon the enemy in secret while the one ring was carried closer to the furnace that could destroy it.

If I fell under his sway, all would be lost. If I destroyed myself, hope would remain.

Éowyn's voice broke through my panicked rationalizations.

"But there are so many that love you, Calahdra. My brother, least of all…,"

I gave Éowyn a skeptical look which must have transferred as something far more menacing.

"I love you, Calahdra, as a sister,"

This statement somehow registered, for it was something I could return. I wished so badly to tell her the truth; that I loved her too, that she was my sister and my shieldmaiden. But I choked back the sentiment, for to hurt her any further with words of affection would simply add to my sins.

"I have forsaken family, Éowyn. I no longer recognize the word,"

I had seen her world die once before, on the steps of Helm's Deep. I watched once more as Éowyn's world died again.

But I now knew what such a thing felt like. And, having been tempered to the cruelty of it, I stared upon her with my cold eyes, seemingly unfazed.

Éowyn looked away. "I will do as you ask, Calahdra, for it is my will to ride to war whether you would allow it or not. And remember this; you know of your oaths, and you know now of my brother's feelings for you. I would not cast such things away so idly, for there are some who would die for what you have been given,"

The White Lady retreated into the gloom of the encampment.

I looked then to the stars.

'I am sorry Galadriel. I could not find another way or carve another path. But perhaps, just maybe, I shall become a star. Perhaps, like the heroes of old, I too shall dot the heavens,'

A final, crystalline tear rolled over my jaw. And as it fell to the ground, I watched as it, like so many of the promises I had made, shattered.

I slipped out into the night on foot, carrying nothing with me but a hunting knife. My leather and long bow lay beneath my blanket in Éowyn's tent.

When at last I had slipped out of the encampment, I turned northeast. And I ran as I had never run before.

I fell back into terror before long, and I soon lost all sense of direction.

'Why do you do this?'

It was my own voice, now doubling back through my consciousness, burrowing through graphic visions of rape and torture.

"Because," I whispered aloud, blinking back wind-stricken tears, "I must protect them. I must die,"

'You could take Sauron's offer. You do not have to die,' My voice had grown into the seductive growl of the Other Calahdra.

"No. No, I cannot,"

My mother's face, twisted by age and wickedness into a gruesome memory of her true beauty, loomed before me. "You are a coward, Calahdra,"

I shook my head, and spun to the right, quickening my pace.

But my mother, upon a black steed, followed me. "Suicide is a coward's vice,"

"You do not understand," I looked her in the dull, empty sockets that had become her eyes, "You never understood me,"

"Oh, yes I did,"

Her steed evaporated and, with a grace that was as fearsome as it was unnatural, she drifted to the ground before matching my pace.

"I still do. For we are one in the same, my daughter, my reflection. You have taken the same path. You lead the same life"

"Liar,"

My mother turned to Legolas, and the figure drifted ahead of me. Legolas' face, contorting in on itself, let loose a violent scream as he fell back through an open cave face and into nothingness. I leapt away from his corpse as I had a thousand times that night. "Liar," I screamed again.

My mother reappeared.

"Am I? Imagine it, Calahdra. We were trapped, bound by grief. And then a stranger came into our lives. Naively, we fell in love, or at least convinced ourselves that we had. We fled our homeland, though our home had never truly accepted us for who we were – half-blooded, imbued with terrible power,"

Her rationale, like the Eye's, was impeccable. And yet I refused to see it. For a moment, her apparition flickered out, and I saw the truth, beaming with all the power of the sun, loom behind her.

"But we did not choose the same things, Alassë. You chose love. I chose duty. You lost the will to fight for a purpose, a destiny. And I shall die for mine, my destiny. That is where our similarities end,"

My mother laughed, a harsh, broken laugh. "Your father's stubbornness has worn off on you. So be it. Like him, you will sacrifice yourself, and leave me to my grief. Selfishness, such selfish hubris…,"

As if caught in some vortex, her being was spun up into the air. And she disappeared.

Heat lightening, brilliant in its madness, lit up the landscape. About me, the plains of Rohan passed by.

For a moment, I saw clearly. I saw the very bones of the land I was racing to protect.

'But why then are you running? You have a weapon. Finish yourself now,'

The sky burned. Crows that were not there called to me as if I was carrion.

"I shall run on as I always have, and I shall die when I can run no more,"

And now, as each bolt of light broke the surface of the earth, flames sprung up in walls and hurdles. With every passing second, I began to forget that they were but figments of my imagination.

Broken, bleeding, burning, I raced on.

"This is war," my father said, bending to lift a scorched rag doll from the pile of ashes. "War is not death, nor murder, nor any other crime. War is the way that this," he handed the doll to me, and it crumbled to dust in my hands, "makes you feel,"

I looked up and stared incoherently at the sight before me. The skeletons of burned buildings rose up over the remains of the dead.

"This is war, Calahdra. Do you choose to fight it? Do you choose to devote yourself to ending this madness?"

Rain began to fall, dousing the surface of the earth in steam.

The sky was weeping. The Valar were sobbing over this waste.

And I, at the age of fourteen, made it my vow to avenge those who had died that day.

I was not sure when I had collapsed, but I awoke to great lips slobbering against my nose.

A bay mare, with a savage light in her eyes, stood before me now.

"Meleare?"

The horse, untacked and covered in a thin coat of sweat, snorted defiantly.

"Did you think you could leave me behind? Without a word, you could sneak off into the night?"

As happy as I wished I could have been, I felt only misery.

"Do not follow me, Meleare. I will lead you only to death,"

Meleare knelt and nudged her head against my hand.

"I have always known that, Calahdra. I will follow you anywhere,"

I sighed, and I pulled myself up onto her.

"Where must we go?"

I looked to the northern horizon. On it danced an ethereal light.

"There," I told her, pointing to the glow, "That is where the story ends,"

And so we came to it, only to find that the glow had faded to a simmer as the burning fief fell to dust.

A great wrath grew up in me, for I recognized the emptied city as that of Elmarch, Fenmarch's sister in the Eastemnet.

Meleare shook her head with anguished whinny.

"This was my mother's pastureland. This was the place of my foaling,"

My hands tightened in her mane, for our minds had been connected so long that her emotions had become my own.

"We must go on, Meleare. The place is near,"

It felt near. Like Legolas had called to me as I sat before the Snowbourne, a similar force compelled me as I neared the Anduin.

And so we pushed on into the east, our souls sprinting towards the brightening horizon.

And as the sun rose, I felt the land tremble. The armies of Rohan had awoken. The foul creatures of Mordor had but a day before our vengeance would fall upon on them.

At midmorning, a new evil was cast upon me.

Wracked with fever, I hardly had the strength to ride Meleare bareback. I fell twice. Then my stomach began churning too, and I feared that sick was leaking down from between my legs. If Meleare felt it, she said nothing.

The assault came soon after.

"Did you think you could run from me, Calahdra? Silly girl. You cannot outrun what you have become. For I am everywhere, everything. I am your blood, your body, your breath.

"Give unto me, my queen,"

And as Sauron spoke, his words became true, for my body felt as if it had gone up in flames. A scream fell from my lips.

"Meleare," I whispered to her, preparing to sever the bond to save her mind. "You must run. You must see to it that I die,"

I felt her anguish, but as the malice and flames licked at her conscious, she complied.

And, for the last time, I distinguished our union. As I did so, a shattering blow fell upon my psyche. Memories, hallucinations, apparitions of the dead floated out into the tortuous furnace I was once again bound to.

"Give up, Calahdra. Break open your mind and free yourself,"

But I held my defenses, wrapping the thin, steel band of my will around the secrets I held, the oaths I had made, the love of my life.

When Legolas spoke out to me, his words were as real as they were imagined. "My love for you will live on, Calahdra. Go now in peace, to Mandos. I will be there soon,"

Through the wall of flame obscuring his ghost, I reached out to the golden hair I adored, and the irises of fire and sea foam and ivy that I had been lost in so many times, a muttered curse bubbling on my bleeding lips. And as my fingers grazed his mouth, I was cruelly tugged away and below. Rushing through time and space and air, the confines of my mind broke at last, and all I had once known was left behind in scattered rubble as I fell.

Down, down. Crashing through memory and wisdom, through the fierce lances of love lost and the slow, pulsing arsenic that had been my consuming hatred. Freezing, falling, fading.

Into the void at last.