Amidst the perpetual gloom issued from the Dark land and Mount Doom within, dawn fell unevenly and abruptly about the encampment. Men, grim and silent, retrieved their armor and horses.

I, too, was silent as I prepared for battle. But it was not fear that rendered me so.

My fever had returned sometime in the hour of early morning, and despite Aragorn's best attempts at harnessing some of his healing power, my illness would not fade. And beyond that I had not slept, nor had I eaten in days. The result was misery.

Legolas, although clearly distressed, was inordinately gracious in his care for me. Though I had half expected him to fight for my removal from battle, no such request came. Instead, he had told me stories of Mirkwood in the safety of the tent, until at last another question about Frodo or Rivendell or the power begotten by the Ring dawned on me.

My initial reaction to the tale of the Fellowship was that of stunned silence. I could not at first make sense of what had once been an eerie fireside haunt told by my father in funny voices and with homemade props - and the thought that the source of all Evil was now being carried to Mordor by a pair of Hobbits was beyond befuddling. But I did not doubt the tale - I was simply overwhelmed by it.

When a pale semblance of a new day did dawn, the rumors spread quickly enough – we would make for the Black Gate today. This was likely the last day of our lives.

Legolas was sitting at my feet in Aragorn's war tent when the news was brought by a scrawny page. When the young boy left, there were no words to be shared – we merely gazed at one another for a breath, and in that time a lifetime of words and memory passed between us. Was it true, what he had said the night before to me? Of course it was true. He would die for me today. He would die for me a thousand years from now. Ring or no Ring, Evil or no Evil – this was the way of it between us

Legolas helped me up, and drug out a small trunk beneath my cot that another messenger had wordlessly brought in overnight. As his quick, slender fingers undid the latch, Legolas explained – these were the wares of a young Lord of Dol Amroth, who had not been wise enough to refrain drinking water so near to this cursed land.

"Swans are graceful and vicious, but not so wise, my father used to say," I told him with a wink, and I picked up a mail shirt cautiously

I dressed in all of my odd assortment of bobbles and findings except the outer armor – green of Rohan, silver finery of Dol Amroth, dark blue of Gondor. Swans and horses and white trees. This sword slayed the Witch King, and this bow had sat idle. My mind was wandering – was it adrenaline and the promise of death or glory, or was this last good bit of my brain screaming out before it was doused by Sauron's rot?

Before I could wholly sort myself out, Aragorn called for a meeting of his captains, and Legolas and I were forced to make ourselves scarce. We passed through the glum, grey camp in silence. Legolas, usually so lithe, was slow for my sake, and he quietly pointed out the few remaining lords and princelings who had come at Aragorn's summoning. The small, the host was fleeting. "What my father would have given to fight alongside these names," I told Legolas.

"Mine as well,"

But his father and his people had not come, nor any elves. We were all there was to represent our kind. I halted, and nearly stumbled, unsteady as I was, and I looked down at my assorted raiment. Legolas quirked his brow.

"It does not seem right that I would not carry something elven into this last battle,"

At once, the prince pulled one of his long, curved knives from over his shoulder. "No, it would not be right," he said, and he passed the hilt to me.

I weighed it, though still slightly stunned, in my hand. A vision of Legolas' elegant knifework at Helm's Deep came to me, and I twirled the blade under my wrist in memory. I met his eyes, and despite the darkness in which we were dwelling, I saw the laughter there.

"It suits you," he said simply. "But you must wet the blade, so it knows its purpose,"

"You've not yet taught it its purpose?" I chastened him.

"No, that's the left blade. I can only say I've ever made good use of the right,"

My snort came out in a harsh croak, but I passed the razor edge over my palm obediently. A thin strip of crimson emerged underneath, and Legolas picked up my hand flat in his before bending his head over it.

"Sigilen, berio hiril vuin,"

I turned my hand over and grasped his, smearing my blood between us. I smiled with as much assurance as I could muster, though I could feel tears just beginning to prick at the outer corners of my eyes. "I will be protected, Legolas. You will be beside me,"

Though I knew he was trying dearly, he could not seem to find it within himself to smile back.

Together we retrieved our horses, as well as Shadowfax and Brego. Upon seeing me call Ellerocco from the herd, Legolas had placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I am dearly sorry, Calahdra. About Meleare's passing,"

I nodded to him. "Thank you,"

"And who is this?" He asked, extending a hand towards Ellerocco.

And so, as we made our way back to Aragorn's tent with horses in hand, I told him the tale of Rochirion and my new steed.

Upon the completion of the tale, Legolas whistled lowly. "It could only have been fate,"

"Surely," I agreed, hitching my pair of stallions to a tent stake. When I stood, Legolas was quite suddenly beside me. He took me into his arms at once, and in a familiar scene, we hid behind my war horse.

I pressed my face to his chest, breathing in the woody scent that I had so dearly missed.

"Are you afraid?" he whispered, his lips moving against the crown of my head.

Without any reservations, I shook my head. "Are you?"

I felt a tremble run through his shoulders, and I knew his answer. "How is it that you yet have such blatant courage, Calahdra? How can you march against the forces of Sauron without any reservation?"

I stepped away and took his jaw in my hands. The look in his eyes was that of a terrified child, and I was determined to beat it out of him.

"As you said before... it is fate. Fate has brought us to this moment. Fate has carried us through innumerable horrors and placed us once again in each other's arms. Does that not mean something to you, Legolas? Does that not bring you hope?"

"Yesterday's triumphs do not bring us certainty for today, Calahdra. I thought that you were a firm believer in that,"

"No," I said, dropping my arms to take lace my fingers through his. "No, yesterday is not a guarantee of anything. But the Valar have carried us this far for a reason, Legolas. And fearlessly, I will uncover the reason for it,"

Legolas was quiet for a moment, studious as he examined my scarred hands. When he turned them over, he gently ran his fingers down the fresh scab on my left plan, and then over the older ones running parallel to the veins in my wrists. We had not spoken of them, nor had I myself acknowledged them.

"You have suffered so greatly, Calahdra. And yet I see such light in you. More light than I first did," He looked back up at me, ardently searching my eyes. "How can that be?"

I did not have an answer, and so I sighed, and I gathered him once more in my arms for the span of a breath, before backing away and kissing his brow a final time. "Come, love. Battle awaits,"

Hand in hand, we rounded the tent and pushed aside the flap, expecting Aragorn's meeting to be over and the tent empty. But such was not the case.

Éomer sat upon a stool near Aragorn, his hands crossed in his lap and his head bent. He looked careworn and deeply troubled, and I could not find it in me to feel anything but pity at the sight of him.

Though I continued on, Legolas remained at the entrance of the tent. I turned to question him, and Aragorn bounded up and past me to stand beside his friend. "We shall leave the two of you in peace," he told me firmly, and bid Legolas out despite muttered protestations.

And as I realized that I was now alone with the new King, I did find myself to be afraid.

When I turned again to look at Éomer, I found that his insipid gaze was still cast upon his hands. I walked to him slowly, and when I was just before his feet, I knelt.

I bent my own head, suddenly feeling heavy with intimidation. "Forgive me, Éomer - liege,"

A broken moment passed, and in it I began to relive my sins.

"Oathbreaker," A voice breathed within my head, and for a moment I felt compelled to look around the homely tent for my doppelganger. I knew I need not, though – of course she was there, in every dim shadow and in the knit of every muscle in my body.

The moment broke when a pair of fingers gripped my chin. I closed my eyes as my face was forced to look up into Éomer's. When they opened, I did not see the fury I had been expecting. I saw only exhaustion painted within a pair of earthen eyes... eyes that were too young to have been crowned King.

"I do forgive you, Calahdra," he said, his voice hoarse even for one speaking the rough tones of Rohirric. "But the trust of your people will be hard to regain, for they would not understand the truths behind your actions,"

Part of me wished to rejoice, but the majority was realistic. Éomer spoke as plainly as he ever had; it was not his blade that I should be wary of.

"The law of Rohan is firm, Calahdra. You are a Shieldmaiden no longer. You have gained my forgiveness and mercy, but I am bound by justice when I say that I must revoke your title,"

A lead weight fell through me, and I felt myself crumple before him in misery.

But Éomer bent before me, now on his knees as well.

"Calahdra, I…,"

He was trying to comfort me chastely, as a King would. I could not bear it.

"No Éomer, leave me be. I… I deserve this. I know it. And I will be fine,"

But I stood too fast, and I grew faint again. Blind except to darkness and violent pricks of light, I tumbled headlong into him.

"Woah," he chuckled, and he steadied me. As my head cleared, I realized that he had not let go of me. In fact, he had gathered me into his arms as Legolas had not but a few minutes ago.

I looked up at him, quite alarmed. The moment my eyes met his, he reared back.

"I am sorry, Calahdra. I didn't mean to...," He gushed, his palms facing me as if to prove he held no weapon.

"There was no harm done," I managed, but the blush on my cheeks must have proved otherwise. I wiped tears away from eyes hastily and suspected that I had left smears of blood from fulfillment of Legolas' oath in their stead. 'So be it,' I thought. 'Shieldmaiden no longer, but ever I might look the part,'

Éomer cast his gaze down, and carefully, he took my hand in one of his.

His voice was miserably quiet. "I should have been forthright with you far sooner, Calahdra. For I...," and Éomer shook his head, suddenly biting on his lower lip quite viciously.

"What?" I demanded, although I already suspected what it was that he was going to say.

"There was a time," he began, forcing himself bodily to turn back towards me, "that I might have asked you to have been my wife,"

These words could not shock me. Legolas, damn him, had known it. My mother – though she had not said as much – had wished it when she sent me away to Edoras. And in my heart, I knew – had the Ring not been found, had Boromir not betrayed Frodo, or any number of twists of fate not become quite so tangled - Legolas would never have come to me, and planted himself so thoroughly within my spirit.

Éomer continued, speaking now as if he was anything but a King. "I had gotten it into my head that if the War passed and Legolas returned to his homeland...,"

I started at his, but Éomer parried my attempt at scolding him.

"Come now, Calahdra. Is it such a wild thought? For you are indeed a woman... Lady of Fenmarch. Lady of the Court in fact, when you're not traipsing about killing things or racing horses! And I was a Marshal, and heir to the throne. We would have made a fine match...,"

I was pursing my lips, but I could not refute him. And I was too proud to give him any reply, either. Perhaps my silence was what did him in, because then I saw the last threads of his infatuation break in his eyes. A rather grim smile passed over his lips.

"What then are we now?" I interjected.

The young King sighed and stood. I remained on my knees, not out of obsequiousness, but out of fear I did not have the strength to rise.

"We are former Shieldmaiden and newfound King - devious servant and just master,"

I was somewhat relieved as I heard these terms, for they were far less foul a fate than death. A little courage bubbled up in me.

"Devious, perhaps, but not disloyal. Éowyn is the same,"

This struck him. "Éowyn is…,"

"Aye, she is. You did not leave her in the Houses of Healing convinced she would die, did you? No, that is folly. She was in a dire state, but there is fire yet within her. So long as I draw breath, so too does she, I reckon,"

Éomer did not speak, but he did reach a hand out to me. I held it firmly. His eyes were closed, and his lips pressed together so much like his uncle's had in times of consternation.

'Yes,' I thought chastely. 'There was another timeline when this might have been something else. And another timeline even still where Théoden still yet lived, and Théodred also, and Éomer had lived the life of a Marshal, and not of a doomed King,'

When Éomer finally rose, he rose decisively.

"You shall not be put to death. You shall not be a Shieldmaiden, either. You are a free woman, Calahdra Medlinniel, but I suspect you have made your choice,"

I nodded solemnly. "I have tried to die for Rohan already, and Rohan would not let me. It seems I must try again,"

A firm and heavy hand rested on my shoulder.

"Aye. It seems it is so for me as well,"

And the King turned and left.

It was only moments later when the tent flap opened again, and I had not moved. In two strides, he came to me.

"The verdict?"

"I will not be put to death,"

Legolas smiled as he helped me up. "Then I shall not have to murder Rohan's new King,"

When I chuckled, there was heat between us.

I looked towards the armor laid out on the cot we had been sharing, and back to Legolas – he jerked his head once, and I cast it all aside. I undressed to my breeches as Legolas secured the flaps to the tent. When he turned, a possessive grin crossed over his face.

"Mine," he murmured, and he strode forward to lay kisses on my bare shoulders. But he pulled away at once.

"You are very dirty," he expressed, beginning to scrub at the coat of mud caked on my collarbone.

I laughed. "Baths are a luxury, Legolas. And a young princeling of Dol Amroth would remind you that not all water is yours for the taking, if he were here to tell the tale,"

Pleasant reverberations echoed through his forearms and into me. "What I would give for a bath with you,"

"Alone?" I asked, settling on my cot as my legs began to shake.

"Oh, yes. Most certainly a bath with you alone," He knelt before me to lay siege to my neck once more.

"How much time do we have, Legolas?" I breathed, my fingers curling in his hair.

"Enough," he whispered. "An hour,"

'An hour could be all that there is,'

My desperation heightened my awareness of his ministrations, and a secret reserve of energy dawned in my belly.

I was subtle in my attack on the laces of his breeches. By the time he noticed what I had done, they had already slipped to rest above his knees.

"Cal," he breathed, and there was no question or wariness in his voice. Instead, he merely let his head fall onto my breast.

"I want you to stand, love" I murmured to him, resting my hands on his hips.

He did as I asked, trembling in the process. I glanced up at him longingly, beholding his bright, wild eyes as he looked over me.

"I would like to exchange my elvish blade for this one, if it's not too late,"

This next laugh was his loudest of the day. It fascinated me how such joy could dance so near to darkness.

"It will take more than a blood oath to wet this blade, melissë,"

When it was done, I knew it was finally time. Joy could only have its turn for so long.

"I love you," I said, laying a kiss to his ear.

"As I love you," he returned, pulling away to kiss my nose. "Thank you,"

He turned then to sit cross-legged, his back to me. From the pack beside him, he pulled forth a single comb and a pair of leather ties. I, having mastered the art of weaving his intricate braids from our time in Meduseld, set to the task. And when I was finished, we turned so that he could pull my hair up into its high horsetail.

We then set to dressing each other, silent in the task as we went about our separate ways of mentally preparing for battle. When our weapons were sheathed and our quivers full, we embraced for a final time.

"To whatever end," Legolas said, holding me impossibly close.

And I returned the sentiment, sealing its truth with a soft kiss to his lips.

Sigil - (S) blade or knife

Sigilen, berio hiril vuin - (S) My blade, protect my beloved Lady

melissë - (Q) female lover