I withered rapidly.

Whatever spirit or second wind had ensconced me away from Minas Tirith faded within a handful of hours. Though my pain was not so great as it had been before my night in the House of Healing, it resumed with a fury that nearly unseated me from Ellerocco.

Mearling, unsheathed, banged against my back with every one of Ellerocco's strides. I lashed the blade tight as I could across my shoulders, and still I could not escape it. My chest was still wrapped tight as could be, rendering my posture on the saddle preposterously stiff. And my ankle – bound so precariously in clay and very tender – couldn't manage the constraint of a stirrup; instead, my leg dangled loose at the horse's side, succumbing to pins and needles indefinitely.

There was nothing for it, though. I was desperate to press on, as brutal as it was, or else I risked losing the party ahead. Their presence on this very road was evident from the deep ruts and occasional burial mound. Clearly, even the most wounded among them had ventured out of the city gates at whatever cost. Ellerocco could clearly follow the well-trod road, empty as it was.

And so I retreated within my mind, which felt sound enough for the time being. There was a seed of darkness, and I knew then that Maedeth's warning had not been unwise. I feared that the nearer I grew to Barad-dûr, the closer it grew to sprouting. I had not the strength to contain it, however. Lenwe's guards remained, stalwart and clear, at the edges of my mind, but they were meant to protect me from devious malevolence without, not darkness that already lay within.

I skirted that evil as best I could, but it did taint my thoughts. I was fearful of what I would find, whenever I did reach Aragorn's army ahead. Surely, I would find Éomer who by all rights could banish me, behead me, or sentence me to any manner of torture for my desertion. I would find some of my men – surviving members of the Éored I had trained with and would have led to death and glory. I would find the men of Fenmarch – many of whom I had grown up with and ridden besides; who knew what they would make of me after so many months away from home and the troubles that had been wrought upon my entire family. Lenwe, I assumed, had ridden ahead to join them – had he made it, and what would he say of me?

And I would find Legolas. Legolas, who I had turned away from. Who had turned away from me to fulfill his pledge to Aragorn. We had been reduced to shambles in the days and hours before my disappearance. And worse, I could clearly remember his voice before I had died, bidding me to find him in the Halls of Mandos. Had he accepted my death? Did he have any notion of my living? Was there love between us still? Yes, of course there was, but that promised nothing.

I reached a hand over my shoulder and patted Mearling. My sword had killed the devil that was responsible for Legolas' mother's death. Galadriel had warned me of this, as the tides of Isengard had washed over us both – Angmar had left lasting wounds in many elves, Legolas not least of all. And, in an abstract way, it was my action that had led to the Witch King's demise. Was that it? Some prophetic oath to Legolas fulfilled, and now I would either perish at the gates of the Black Gate, or pass into the West as my mother had?

Would I pass into the West? I could live a mortal life, if I was to live at all. I could bind myself to Rohan's service, even if the King would cast me out of his favor and die at some old age having made as comfortable a life for myself as I could. Surely, I could find some cottage in the Firien Wood – marry a young craftsman, raise horses, and bear foals of my own, until weariness took me, and a permanent night fell at last.

I was shaking my head unconsciously, but the movement rattled my chest and I began to cough. When I pulled my hand back from my lips, there was dark blood left behind. I sighed. My thoughts had run away from me; I did not know whether it would be battle or Sauron's rot that would take me, but there seemed little chance of a life beyond the next few days.

I slipped my bloodied hand into Ellerocco's mane and wiped the sputum away in the coarse black hair. "Oh, Elen," I told him, preferring the pet name I'd bestowed upon him to his lofty Númenórean name. "Do you know what a mess you've stumbled into? A stark raving lunatic on your back, spurring you on to sure death. Not quite so cozy as your sickbed back in Minas Tirith, eh?"

Ellerocco said nothing. Still, he could not hear me. It seemed that in addition to all the family and love and honor I'd lost, I'd lost my power too.

In the night, I fell from Ellerocco's back, and at first, I could not get back up. I was locked as if in sleep paralysis, certain that if I opened my eyes or righted myself, a flame-wreathed eye would be staring back. I whimpered somewhat child-like, until I recalled that I needed to make haste.

I reached out blindly in the dark, my eyes still sealed shut. "Meleare…," I started. But then I corrected myself, choking a bit as I did. "Ellerocco, come to me,"

The stallion did as he bade – he was gentle, though he was brawny. Only when I felt his scarred foreleg firm beneath my palm did I open my eyes, and I scrabbled back up on him, hissing and wheezing at the soreness throughout my body.

I looked up into the cloudless, starless sky – it was late, far later than I'd thought. I spurred Ellerocco into a canter as quick as I could bear. I was nauseous now, though my stomach was empty and I'd run out of water hours prior. "You must press on, you cannot fail now," I told myself aloud, and with a grunt, I bid Ellerocco into a gallop.

It was just before dawn when the Anorien came into view, and I jostled myself out of the half-stupor I had fallen into. I realized I had vomited on myself and across Ellerocco's neck. I apologized to the horse stupidly, mopping the mess with my Gondorion cloak. I realized, too, that blood was leaking from between my legs and across my saddle - the soft cloth pads the healers had graciously dressed me in had finally failed.

I was pitiful and vile – I knew this. "Why do you press on? You can never fight in this condition," hissed a familiar shadow-voice.

"So you've returned, doppelganger?"

The Other Calahdra appeared at Ellerocco's side and pressed a pale hand to his neck. She was gaunt, and dressed all in black, but appeared infinitely more stalwart and graceful than I. She gave me a lopsided smile. "I never left,"

"And how is your servitude to your Master? Not so pleasant as of late, I assume, what with his failure on the Pelennor,"

She frowned a little at this and swept her hand through her amber hair in a gesture I knew well. "Many wasps can sting a horse, and still it will not fall. But unleash the herd upon the wasps… now you have many crushed wasps,"

My father would have produced some nonsensical allegory like this, and I chuckled at her. She pulled her hand from Ellerocco, looking offended.

"You will be Sorceress Queen of crushed wasps, then,"

The Other Calahdra scowled and vaporized. At least I still had my wits to defend me, it seemed.

Ellerocco followed the river for a time, until we found the shallow place where a great crossing had occurred only a day or so prior. The black stallion plunged forward into the depths, confident as ever.

The water came up to his haunches, and I spilled water from my cupped hands over myself as he waded, grateful that I would not arrive among the army looking or smelling like a drunken vagrant. Indeed, as soon as we crested the steep riverbank on the other side, we found a crude camp. I nearly yelped in gratitude, but thought better than to ride in unannounced and unguarded.

Instead, I cloaked myself and approached cautiously, but found myself surrounded by a circle of spears within a few moments anyways.

"Your name and purpose – you are at our mercy," one of the soldiers called.

So many of the men now looking at me were shrouded in green and white, all with the tan skin and dark gold hair of Rohan. I had no way of guessing what their reaction would be to my presence.

Heart racing, I pulled away my hood and gently pulled Mearling over my shoulder, as non-threatening as I could muster.

"Earendel, I am called, and I seek the Host of Aragorn of Gondor and King Éomer of Rohan,"

Silence descended upon the crowd I had gathered, and I saw wonder in their eyes. Their weapons lowered for a moment, but they did not move to escort me. I breathed deep, slightly ashamed. "And I am badly wounded, and ill,"

Another beat of awkwardness ensued, and then a man cried out. "You are Shieldmaiden no more! You abandoned your king on the eve of battle, and he fell!"

I shifted nervously on Ellerocco's back. The other men were staring at the speaker and did not refute him.

'I deserve this. This is my just punishment,'

To my surprise, another voice sounded out, conciliatory – "But she is wounded – you can see it plainly,"

Murmurs broke out among the men.

"Perhaps we should let her go," a third voice called out. "Death now, or death in a few days' time – that was her brother's sentence,"

Ice began to claw at my throat, and though I longed to speak out, I was rendered mute. Ashamed as I never had been, my head ducked of its own accord.

"I say we keep her here, where she'd be of better use. We can't tie her to the battlefield, but we can tie her to our beds," came a quieter voice.

Harsh laughter met my ears. I continued to wither, now remembering all the many faces of my past tormentors.

"Or you could be silent, and let her pass, as is her right,"

The men fell quiet. I looked up to see a man now passing through the men, and they made way for him in haste.

He stopped before me, and I raised my head entirely.

"Gamling," I gasped, looking over him. I scowled when I saw that his left arm had been amputated at the elbow.

The brave captain looked down at the arm and back to offer me a bitter smile. "'Tis the price of war,"

He turned then to the men, and with his right hand, he pointed to me.

"It matters not what her titles may have been or may become. What matters are her deeds. And if I recall, it was to this woman to whom we owed our courage when we routed the enemy in Helm's Deep. If that does not outweigh all the sins she may or may not have committed, then strike me down,"

The men fell quiet, looking now to one another with hesitant looks.

Gamling continued. "We stand here now as guardians of Cair Andros because we quailed at the thought of falling before the Black Gate. And now I hear that you are to refuse admittance to one who has the courage we did not possess? Folly, Eorlingas! 'Tis true folly."

Some of the men began to fall back, and before me, the soldiers parted to reveal a path along the riverbank.

I rode forward and stopped beside Gamling. He looked up at me, a kindly smile in his eyes.

"Forgive them, child. They are mad with fear,"

"I do forgive them, Gamling. I would not ride to death with bitterness yet in my heart,"

"I do not think King Éomer does either,"

I gasped a little at this and bowed my head again. This was heartening news.

Gamling smiled, and he patted my calf one last time. "Fly, child,"

I spurred Ellerocco on, and we galloped along and then beyond the Anduin, bending towards the Dagorlad.

We sped through Ithilien as quickly as we could, pausing only when Ellerroco needed water. By late-afternoon, I was dismayed to see that the scar on his foreleg had burst, and a thick black puss had begun to bubble out. Clearly, it was an orcish device that had maimed him during the siege. He was hearty, though, and seemed relatively unphased by it. But I knew I could not press him for long, and I was fading quickly too.

When dusk fell between the boughs of the woods of Ithilien, the familiar fever began to boil in my temple again, this time fierce enough that I slipped in and out of consciousness. I feared I would have a fit in the saddle, and so I removed Ellerocco's reigns and used them to lash myself to him.

I was desperate to be able to communicate with him and urge him on to the Northwest. It was nonsense – I knew this. I was so far gone, there was little hope of making any meaningful contribution to battle without some divine intervention. But I was singularly obsessed, like some salmon bound to death after spawning.

And so, I prayed. I prayed to my mother, who had been the only other beholder of any sort of mystic power I had known well in my early life. I prayed to the demon wolf I had slain on the slopes of Amon Anwar, who surely had been fueled by a more powerful ancestor than I could conjure for myself. And I prayed to Estë, who had held me dearly in the moments in which I had needed comfort most.

And at last Estë did come to me.

She hovered in the trees, clearly more content there than in the open. She smiled at me, though somewhat bitterly. Clearly she mourned for my condition, and wished to fold me into her embrace and care, but her siblings' pact must have held her back, for she lingered in shadow.

"Please," I called out to her. Ellerocco startled at this, as I had been silent for so long. But Estë soothed him from afar, as was her manner.

"Sîdh, roch mellon," she whispered. The stallion's nostrils flared, but he bobbed his head in passivity.

The goddess cocked her head and looked to me, and I realized I could see her in color now. Her robes were still pale grey, but her eyes were the richest blue I had ever seen - not blue like a sky, or the sea, but like the shocking flash of sapphire in the down of an otherwise bland bird.

"You are brave, my dearest, but foolish, yes?"

I chortled a little, and then coughed. When my wheezing stopped, I replied: "You are not wrong, Lady,"

She was continuously flitting from tree to tree as Ellerocco walked onwards, and the effect was slightly dizzying.

"You said you would comfort me when I was released from the Valar's bonds. And now, you are still coy. Thus I presume I am not wrong to hope that there is use for me yet, riddled as I am,"

"Aye, I presume the same," she was mournful as she said it.

The Grey Lady comforted me. It was her nature. But still I was afraid.

"Why is my mind trapped? Where has my power gone?"

She nodded at this thoughtfully and disappeared for a moment. I sensed she had set off on some errand of consequence.

Thirty minutes passed, or perhaps thirty seconds. I had no measure anymore, as the sun was obscured by the canopy overhead and my own pulse was irregular.

When she did return, her garb had changed. She was dressed in simple armor that appeared to be made not of steel or leather, but of the pearlescent underside of oyster shells. 'But with whom does she do battle?'

"I have made a bargain," she told me simply, although I sensed she was slightly winded. "I may give a little of your power back to you, though not enough that it could bring you harm,"

I nodded as if I understood, but in truth I was partially mystified. She continued.

"If you live, you will be as you were. If you fail, you will die and I will know it was by my own doing. And if you die before you fail, well," she looked to the ground, and the reflection of her ethereal blue eyes sparkled within the moist moss beneath her feet. "Then you will be dead,"

"That's clear as bells to me," I told her, flailing my hands a little for effect.

She nodded in agreement, and lifted one hand, palm towards me. "Then it is done,"

And she disappeared.

For a moment, I felt a giddy lightness. I seized this and pressed my advantage upon Ellerocco.

"You must travel northwest, Ellerocco. You must continue to the Black Gate even if I fall asleep. Do you understand?"

The stallion started and snorted but settled quite quickly. In his mind, I saw visions of tender clover and a serene glade. I laughed and asked again. He gave me his horseish affirmation and quickened his pace, simultaneously showing me his mental rendering of the entrance to Mordor as an intricate, iron-wrought gate to a paddock full of frolicking foals.

"More or less," I replied.

A moment passed, and as my eyelids began to close once more, I felt his conscious tap on mine.

"Yes?"

"I do prefer Elen,"

I smiled for a moment, but darkness grasped me again.

I awoke to a low bray. Groggily, I lifted my head from my stallion's neck and looked about.

A league away, a few hundred fire lights glistened in a valley.

"Good work, Elen," I told him, patting his neck in praise. I could feel his joy at the edges of my mind, but it was clear that Estë's gift was already fading.

Straightening, I made as if to stretch, but nausea overwhelmed me yet again.

I dismounted at once and doubled over as cramps gripped my stomach. The acidic sting of bile burned in my throat, and I shivered in exertion as I heaved onto the parched ground.

When at last the episode passed, Ellerocco nudged my back with his nose, neighing lowly.

"You are very sick, mistress, but you must get up. There is a man nearing,"

I stood at once, drawing Mearling from my brutalized back. I knew that the rider my stallion had sensed was most likely a guard, but I was too near to Mordor to be sure. And the sounds of wolves howling nearby awoke the logic laying trapped behind my feverish thoughts.

"Lower your weapon,"

The low voice came from behind me, and I spun at once, blade raised.

A metallic screech sounded out as my stroke was met.

The soldier 's brows raised as he beheld me.

"You are the Shieldmaiden. And you look... ill," he said.

I lowered my blade. "True, to both," I told him, gripping Ellerocco's martingale as another wave of dizziness struck me.

"Come, I will lead you into camp,"

The soldier brought forth his own steed as I mounted up. His skepticism of my ability to ride on my own was clear, and I passed him one of the reigns that I had wound around my saddle's pommel.

When I awoke again, it was to the sight of a rather familiar face.

"Aragorn," I attempted to smile, but I was not sure that it appeared as such, for my face was beginning to feel as stiff as the rest of my body.

When Aragorn said nothing, my fears returned. I was not sure that I could bear it if everyone had grown to hate me. "Aragorn?" I repeated, whispering pitifully.

A rather fatherly look suddenly passed over the man's comely face, and his eyes creased at the corners.

"We had prayed that you might have been alive, Calahdra,"

He took my hand in his, and I felt warmth settle into my heart.

With the help of several other soldiers, I was lifted from my saddle. Aragorn held me close to him as my weapons were removed from my person. I heard him whisper to his guards, and the sound of hoof beats alerted me to Ellerocco being led away. All else was a blur.

An arm around my waist steered me about. My legs felt gelatinous, and my lids were shading my eyes despite my desperate attempt to stay awake.

When at last I was halted, I felt light prick at my eyes. I lifted my palm before my brow and opened them slowly.

"By the gods," came a voice that I seemed to recognize.

I heard several pairs of feet begin to shuffle towards me, and as my eyes cleared, I could see dark masses appearing from a blinding background of yellow light.

I was laid down on a cot before I could truly see them, and I felt Aragorn's cool hand pass over my brow as the blood raced from my head and left me in a land of shadow and quiet.

I awoke a little while later, feeling far less ill than I had before. My fever had broken, and when I sat up, I did not swoon with dizziness.

I looked about and found myself in a large, unlit tent lined with several empty cots. At the foot of each was a pile of armor and weaponry. Beside me was a rough-hewn stool adorned only with what looked like a sprig of bound incense. I had been undressed and put in a much larger man's clothing – fortunately, I no longer reeked of putridity.

As I gained my bearings, I heard voices wafting through the canvas walls. A fire hissed and snapped between their furtive whispers.

"I do not imagine that anyone has seen him lately," came Aragorn's voice.

"Nay," came Mithrandir's. "He vanished just before she was found,"

There was a pause in their words, and I laid back down.

"Do you think that he... senses her presence?" Aragorn asked.

"Perhaps. I think it is safe to assume that they were bonded well enough for such to be the case,"

"But Legolas had said that the bond had been severed when they had separated at Dunhar...," Aragorn's words were cut short as a vicious howl sounded from the east. I sat up again, now fully aware of the topic of their conversation and quite rattled by the sound so close to the encampment.

The sound died out, and a man shifted comfortably. Gandalf's voice changed - I could imagine him with his pipe in his mouth, staring thoughtfully at the fire.

"I do not think that it was, Aragorn. There are some bonds that cannot be broken no matter what may wish to sever them,".

"And if their bond has held, and they love each other yet, what then does the future hold?" Aragorn asked, and I could tell that his inquiry was as personal to him as it was to me.

"That is for the Valar to decide, Aragorn,"

There was silence for a moment.

A chuckle sounded out, and Aragorn continued. "It is unbelievable, don't you think, that Calahdra's family has not one, but two mixed unions to speak of?"

I had to agree with Aragorn here. His incredulity matched my own opinions on the subject.

"Unheard of, it is indeed," Gandalf said, "But unbelievable? I am not so sure,"

I could feel Aragorn's unease as he waited for the wizard to continue.

"You yourself know better of this topic than many others. Think back on history, Aragorn. How many unions have been made between elfkind and mankind?"

"It is told that there were three,"

"Indeed, three such unions are written among the myriads of other tales in the histories of the elves. But there are many tales that go unwritten, Aragorn. Does that make them any less true? Calahdra's grandmother's beginnings, and her mother's too, remain unwritten, and yet they exist,"

"That is true. But perhaps that is simply because they have not been written of yet,"

"No," came the wizard's voice, "I do not think that those tales shall be written while we draw breath. Perhaps later, when it is this age that is told in dance and song, their deeds will be shared. But for now, they remain subjects of scrutiny,"

Gandalf chomped on his pipe, and then blew a smoke ring, or perhaps some other specter.

"But therein lies the difference. In our time, the unions we know of have been passed down for ages, sculpted and glorified so that they may hold the morals we wish to pass on to our children's children. Luthien and Beren's tale was spun into one of suffering and heroics. Surely an impressionable child would be inspired by their courage and their sacrifice. And Idril and Tuor married in the glory of true love, as it is said Imrazor and Mithrellas did. 'True love' is the object of desire of any number of adolescents and unhappy couples, is it not? And these were elves and men of noble lines, and often they fell in love during times of war. Is it not true that out of war, all of the greatest epics are born?"

"History is painted with a biased brush, Aragorn. Would you doubt the one who told you that some stories simply didn't make the cut?"

"No, I would not doubt him," Aragorn returned, drawing quiet. "But I would pity those that were the subjects of tales that were left to fade away in the shadows,"

"You would pity those that have found love?" Gandalf asked.

Aragorn chuckled once. "I could not. And you will never change, Gandalf... Here on the eve of battle you speak in riddles and rhetorical questions that leave the mind boggled. And I am glad of it as I always have been,"

The two shared a moment of laughter, but I felt it fall away as anxiety enveloped them again.

Footsteps then neared the fire circle, and they halted just beside it. I heard someone stand, and the sound of arms clasping in embrace followed.

"She is inside," came Aragorn's gentle whisper.

The tent flap was pushed aside, and, suddenly wracked with anxiety myself, I lowered myself into my cot.

Legolas stood in the haze and shadows of the tent. A single shaft of moonlight fell across his face, painting his vibrant eyes a sorrowful gray.

I gasped, and his gaze fell on me at once.

For a moment we were motionless, looking over each other with the same bittersweet expression. In his eyes were all the many emotions I was feeling; relief, pain, adoration, and forgiveness.

My lips parted again, and an almost imperceptible moan fell through them. Legolas strode to me in the passing of a second, and he knelt beside my cot. Whether I had reached for his hands or he had reached for mine, I was not sure, but they laid entangled on my ribs.

"I am so sorry, Calahdra. I am so terribly sorry," he said. And, as suddenly he had appeared, he was weeping, his head bent over my breast as his body shook with noiseless sobs.

Shocked, I pulled a hand free from his and laid it on the back of his head, pulling him closer to me.

"Shh," was all that I could manage. And as his tears continued to fall, our fate became clear to me.

For, as Gandalf had put just minutes before, there were some bonds that could not be broken no matter what tried to sever them. That was a raw and inimitable truth. Perhaps we both had pressed it aside, convincing ourselves that we had in fact broken the mithril ties between us. Perhaps we had done so in the hope of abating the pain of the other when at last we had died.

But neither of us had died. We were alive yet, entirely prepared again to die in the coming days.

Time and time over we had been convinced that war would claim us, and yet we loved each other still. Nothing - not war nor despair nor any conceivable evil had torn us apart.

Again, my faith in the Valar was renewed. At thought of the Valar, I recalled Estë 'What would she have me do?' I thought, as I considered the golden head buried on me in sorrow.

"Shhh... be still, Legolas," I murmured, and slowly I lifted his head from my chest. His reddened eyes met mine, and tears continued to fall from them.

I gave him an encouraging, albeit entirely forced, smile. "I missed you,"

Legolas' eyes twisted up into a smile for a moment, but his face collapsed into a frown a split second later.

"I was so certain that I had lost you, Calahdra. I was sure that even if you were still alive, you had been lost to me,"

"And yet here I am," I said, and I ran my thumbs under his eyes. He caught my hands in his again.

"Here you are. And so am I. And if you can forgive me, I will swear to never leave you again,"

Through his marbled irises I stared, blissful in my ability to see into his soul as I had before. I felt the honesty there, as well as the shame and self-loathing. I felt the days he had lived without me, and the harsh scars that they had left upon the happy memories we had made.

Our past had been marred irrevocably, and yet I still longed so desperately to be with him forever.

"I love you," I said simply, pressing into his consciousness the brevity of this consuming truth.

"As I love you," And he fell forward over me again, running his lips over my own. His hands searched amongst my tangled hair, and as his tongue delved into my own, he stroked the delicate whorls and faint tips of my ears. Losing myself to his erotic mastery of my body, I moaned.

Legolas pulled away just as I arched towards him.

His devilish smile faded as he ran his finger beneath my eye. I could only imagine the shadows that lay there. "You are so sick, my love. I do not wish to harm you,"

I pouted, hoping to sway his mind. But he held fast, unmoving except for the circling of his palm about my cheek. Giving up, I looked away, gazing thoughtfully at the nothingness of one shadowy corner of the tent.

"It is Sauron, and his wretched shadow. He is eating away at me,"

Legolas gulped, and, from the corner of my eye, I could see him attempt to shield his fear. "Aye, it is," and he continued to run his hand through my matted hair.

The tent flap opened behind us, and we both turned.

Aragorn stood in the shadows, and we attempted to straighten ourselves before he saw our entanglement.

Aragorn laughed, and came to us anyways. "Well, I am glad that I no longer must worry about the state of things between you two,"

We both smiled at him, and Legolas squeezed my hand.

The ranger came to us and knelt beside Legolas, though he no longer looked like a mere ranger now. His dress was finer, and his normally uncouth black hair was tied back neatly. 'He is a King now, in body and in spirit,'

"Your fever has broken, and that is well. But it cannot last, Calahdra, you know this," Aragorn frowned, clearly disappointed.

I bowed my head in admonishment, but he pressed firm knuckles beneath my chin and bid me look at him.

"You have a warrior's spirit, my Lady. I know you would drive yourself into battle even if it was with your dying breath."

Legolas' own breath caught a little at this, but Aragorn was smirking.

"I have used some of the last of my athelas to abate your suffering, but it is not enough to quell your sickness. Even still, my own strength is limited now, close as we are to the enemy's stronghold,"

I was thankful, and I nodded grimly. I met his dark eyes and saw the new King's sorrow and his honesty.

"Sauron's claws lanced deep within you. Only victory can save you now,"

Legolas gripped Aragorn's shoulder. His face was bleached white. The two friends exchanged a meaningful glance, and I looked away. I was loath to be the cause of more suffering, but I knew that Aragorn spoke only the truth.

"I understand," I murmured, clutching one hand to my chest. Legolas peeled it away and pressed my palm to his own breast. "There are an infinite number of things to fight for. Know that chief among them, I fight for you,"

I bent my head to his hand on mine and kissed it.

Aragorn rose. "Calahdra, would you like to join us at the fire?"

I nodded, and Legolas helped me up. Suddenly, a memory came over me.

"Oh," I breathed, and Legolas seized my middle in alarm, as if he thought I might fall.

"Are you well?"

I chuckled at the seriousness of his tone, and I batted his arms away.

"I am fine, Legolas. I just thought that, seeing as how we have nothing left to lose because of it, you may want to tell me the whole truth of the 'Fellowship' and such,"

Gandalf began to chortle from outside the tent. When we joined him - Legolas' arm still iron-tight around me - he raised an eyebrow at us.

"In all the time you spent with her, Greenleaf, you failed to find enough to tell her that tale?" the wizard asked, adding a little more weed to his pipe.

"I was hesitant to tell her anything about it because I was under the impression that it was forbidden," Legolas replied, mild sarcasm tinting his voice.

I settled down upon a log beside the fire, and Legolas sat close beside me, one hand on my forearm. As I looked about, I noted that most of the soldiers were not asleep at this hour either. Fear had settled over the encampment like a fog, and a foul brittleness had crept into the stale air.

Footfalls turned all our heads, and I watched as Éomer passed into a tent nearby. The sight of him made my heart sputter wildly.

Aragorn reached over to me when the new King had passed inside.

"Do not fear, Calahdra. He knows that you live. I suspect that he will wish to speak to you in the morning,"

I nodded but looked down at my clasped hands. "I broke my oaths. He has every reason to put me to death,"

Legolas' fingers tightened about my wrist. "He will do no such thing,"

Gandalf shook his head as if in agreement, and I looked to him. "He knows the reason behind your deeds, Calahdra. We all do,"

Confused, my brow lowered over my eyes.

"Your brother, Calahdra," Aragorn said, pointing to a nearby fire. At it sat Lenwe, two hobbit-sized silhouettes, and Gimli, the four of which were caught up in a vibrant conversation. I had no doubt that the dwarf was once again telling his well-rehearsed tale of his visit to the Caves of Aglarond.

"He rode out as soon as he brought you to the Houses of Healing. He told us your tale in full, but none of us were sure if you would recover," Aragorn explained.

"So you abandoned me?" I called out, teasing my brother.

Lenwe looked over to me and smiled brightly. "It is good to see you too," was his reply.

"No one faults you, Calahdra," the wizard said, a gentle sparkle in his eyes.

"If anything," Aragorn said, now stoking the last coals of the fire, "those who know of your feats think far better of you,"

I looked down once more, blushing and abashed.

"But now for our tale," Gandalf said, leaning forward towards me. Having appeared to have spent the last of his pipe-weed, he pulled the device from his lips and puffed forth a great ring of silvery smoke.

And in the doldrums of a broken land, beneath a starless sky and a waxing moon, I learned at last of the Fellowship, and of the One Ring, and of the two hobbits on whose shoulders rested the doom of our time.