The Battle of Pelennor Fields

It was with renewed vigor that Aragorn led Gimli, Legolas, and Menna down from the mountains, towards the side of the river where the ships were nearing, ready to pass by. They could see the mercenaries on them, foul men with no morals, bought by gold, set to join the Dark Lord's forces to the slaughter of other men. They had not lost count of the days nor time it had taken them on this journey. They were all too aware that the battle for Minas Tirith would either be occurring soon or had already begun.

Sauron's forces would not wait for the humans to group, to make a stand, not like they had at Helm's Deep. They had underestimated the strength of Men, they would not make the same mistake now. Their enemies would march on Minas Tirith and attack, regardless of who came to the city's aid. The forces of Rohan would have arrived by now, they would be waging war against their enemies. But all of them were aware it wasn't enough, for it was why Aragorn had mounted this quest to secure the spirits of the dead assist them. And while the dead could travel fast on land, they had to be faster. They needed to fly.

The ships would house the living and the dead, take them down the river to the battle.

What's more, it would serve to change the tide of the war, not only in strength of numbers, but in tactical advantages as well. For clearly their enemies would be expecting these ships to carry their allies to their aid. They would not be expecting their enemies to seize control and bring forces against them. Their enemies' pride would allow the ships into port, right to the edge of battle, where they would be ambushed and run down in the scramble to reach the battle.

The ships would be manned by the allies of Gondor and Rohan, but first they needed to take control of the ships and remove any such enemies from their decks.

"You may go no further!" Aragorn shouted to the ships once they were close enough, the commanding tone of a king in his voice, "You will not enter Gondor!"

One of the commanders of the ship, the bosun, for clearly they had been in the middle of overseeing the deckhands, stood and turned to face the four upon land, sneering down at them, "Who are you to deny us passage?"

"They will not think much of us," Menna remarked quietly, "Ships of them, against four of us? Two of us Men, as well," she added, for it was commonly thought by those of darker species that Men were the weaker of the species on Middle Earth, Elves being immortal and Dwarves made of hardy stuff, they would see her and Aragorn…her especially, being a woman…to be easy to defeat and not a threat, "Perhaps we should enlighten them?" she looked at the three beside her, a small smirk on her face, "It is never a fair fight when one underestimates their opponent."

Aragorn smirked in his own reply, turning to Legolas, "Legolas, fire a warning shot past the bosun's ear."

"Mind your aim," Gimli grumbled in a teasing way, for they had yet to see Legolas miss with his trusty bow and arrow in all the time they spent with him.

Legolas lifted his arrow to the bow, making show of taking careful aim, before he released the arrow.

But just as he did so, Gimli knocked the bottom of Legolas's bow with the hilt of his axe, throwing the aim off so much so that the arrow, instead of flying past the bosun's ear, instead imbedded itself into the mercenary standing just beside the bosun. Legolas turned a fierce glare upon the Dwarf.

Menna had to stifle a laugh behind her hand at how Gimli attempted to return Legolas's glance with a look of innocence that only came across more unashamed than anything.

"Oh!" Gimli put a hand to his mouth a moment, chuckling himself, before he called out, "That's it, right, we warned you! Prepare to be boarded!"

His new warning only served to arouse laughter from the mercenaries, for even with one of their own dead by the expert aim of an Elven archer, they still saw no threat in the four on the shore. Perhaps it was their distance from the ships. Perhaps it was their numbers. Or even their species, as Menna had thought previously. Whatever it was, it was most amusing to the men.

"Boarded?" one of the mercenaries called out, taunting them, "By you and whose army?"

Aragorn's smirk turned deadly as he calmly spoke, "This army."

It was almost startling how quickly the raucous laughter turned into gasps and shouts when the King of the Dead led his army, through the remnants of the Fellowship, and towards the ships in a clear attack. It did prove one thing to the four watching from the shoreline, the battle ahead would be well matched for the Army of the Dead, for they made quick work of the ships and, they hoped, would make quick work of their enemies too.

~8~

Aragorn slowly approached the front of the leading Corsair ship, coming to rest near the bow, beside Menna, the woman having gone to stand there the moment they cast off, looking down the river as though she were the one with Elf eyes who could see the docks they sailed for in the distance.

"If you have come to convince me to stay behind," Menna began, not allowing him a moment to open his mouth or speak, "I will throw you over the side of this ship, Aragorn."

Aragorn shook his head, amused, and looked out upon the water as she did. He could not say he had ever been 'threatened' in such a manner before, Menna did keep things interesting.

"Then you will be pleased to know, I have not," he remarked, glancing at her, noticing she gave a nod at his words, as though pleased with it and almost expecting it, "I have learned it benefits me little to argue with you."

"My mind does not often change," she agreed.

Aragorn eyed her a moment longer, hearing an odd tone in her voice. He knew she had struggled, recently, with thoughts and knowledge gained that were causing her mind to change. There was a thoughtful sound to her voice, as though she were considering the thoughts that had changed. He hoped his own words in the past had been cause to help push that so.

He spoke the truth, he had learned that to argue with her was a waste of time and effort, telling her what she should or should not think or feel or that she could not do something because he ordered it so, to tell her she was wrong or try to force an issue. It was not the way to get through to her. He did not like being in the same position either. Both he and Menna fared better when spoken to, when discussions occurred, reasons given, time allowed to consider the thoughts and opinions of others. He had to bring up points and questions and allow her to come to her own conclusions.

This, though, was not one of those times where he felt the need to change her mind but school his own thoughts and feelings instead.

She would fight in the battle to come, whether he wished it or not, she would not be stilled. She had proven her prowess in battle before, in the black of night, while this was midday. He had no arguments he could make that would have her consider not making a stand in this one either. He could not remark on her weariness, for they were all tired. He could not bring up the danger, for they were all putting themselves in danger. Nor could he mention her sex, for she had stood at his side at Helm's Deep when no other woman was present. He could not bring up a lack of weapons, for she had them on her, always, along with her pack.

No, for as much as he wished her safe and far from this battle, she would stand at his side.

For a brief moment, he considered Arwen once more, though it surprised him how long it had been before he considered the Elf, when she was not brought up by others but of his own mind. He had told Arwen to remain behind, and she had. He had done much the same for Menna, and she refused. Menna stood with them, facing down Uruks and Orcs and all manner of beast, to defend Middle Earth, while Arwen had left with her people as she should and he bore her no ill will for doing.

But as he considered this, for as much as he wished her far away, he was also glad Menna remained with him, beside him. For his thoughts also turned to Gondor, to his kingdom, his people, the type of King he wished to be, and the Queen he would have beside him still. A Queen to rule with him and support him always, in times of safety and danger, in good times and bad, when hope was high or when it was lost. Now, more than ever, he knew in his heart that Menna was this Queen, right for him and for his people.

"We need every man we can get," Aragorn mused.

Menna smirked, seeing the opening he had given, "And you have ten with just me."

She looked out at the water, letting out a brief breath, yet another contradiction. That she could claim herself worth ten men, yet also value her life to be nothing. Often it was said in jest, but the more she thought about it, since her conversations with Eomer and Aragorn, the more she began to feel and to know that only one version was right.

She merely had to grasp which it was.

Had her home fallen because of her absence or been better for her departure?

Was she worth ten or worth nothing?

Her value, for so long, was seeped in her Nameless status, but at every turn it was countered and chipped at. Eomer valued her, even now, despite all that happened. Aragorn valued her, despite her status. The Fellowship, even, valued her for Boromir could not have announced a life-debt if the person whose life he owed his to was not worth something. So many others saw value in her, worth in her, even knowing what she was.

Was a Nameless person who held value not Nameless any longer?

And if she was not Nameless…what was she?

Too much had happened, too much time had passed to reclaim who she had been. What was she if not Nameless?

She glanced over at Aragorn, studying the profile of his face for but a moment, before she turned away, leaning more against the rail of the bow, her hands resting on the beam. If she gave but a word, Aragorn would offer his name to her, she knew it in her heart to be true.

Perhaps she was worth something, for so many people could not see value in her if there was none there, but…was she worth that much?

She blinked, looking down when she felt something settle over her hand, to see Aragorn had placed his own upon hers, even as he continued to look down the river. She felt a small smile crack along her lips as she shook her head at his action, setting her eyes upon the water once more but leaving her hand where it was.

They were heading to battle, one of but many that had happened and were yet to come, she was sure. But this…this battle would be in defense of HIS home now, of Gondor.

The more she thought on this topic of homes, the more she felt a lightness within her, one she had not felt in so long.

She had fled her home and cast it into darkness, and returned to free it, to fight for it, to defeat that darkness claiming it again.

She had suffered for fear of horses, but worked to never be fearful of anything else, a feat not even some of the bravest of Horse Lords could claim.

She failed at the use of a sword, yet excelled with her blades, small and many.

Perhaps…perhaps she had proven her worth once more, to her home, perhaps she could, when this was over (for if it was revealed who and what she was, Theoden, Eowyn, Aragorn and many more would never let her see this quest to the end nor the light of the next battle), do as Eomer bid and take back her name at the very least, eve nif she did not take back her place among her family.

Eowyn deserved that role far more than she ever would, having stayed, having fought, having supported Theoden King when he was weak.

But…perhaps there was no harm in revealing her ties to them, the blood they shared...

No, she shook her head, no, she had done too much to reclaim that just for help in one battle. No.

If she did THIS, if she succeeded in helping Aragorn protect his home as well, to prove she would not run from this darkness but stand and fight…then, then she would consider herself worthy of a Name once more.

She had failed her home, she had not lied, she would not fail his home.

…and, perhaps, a very small voice within her spoke that…if he WAS this king he claimed himself to be…she ought prove herself to his people as well, that she would fight at his side and protect them from what would seek to harm them.

But that was ridiculous, truly, Aragorn was not a king.

~8~

Menna stood beside Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli as the ships drew nearer the docks of Minas Tirith, two blades in hand, the rest strung about her, ready for use. They could see an Orc hurrying along the planks of the docks lined with Orcs, all falling into shadow as the ships approached, ten in total, this branch of the army not alarmed by their presence.

It was as they thought, the Orcs would think them on their side due to the ships, they would not realize the danger they were in until it was too late.

"Late as usual!" the Orc shouted up at them, "Get off your ships, you sea rats! There's knife work here needs doing!"

Aragorn looked over at the three of them, sending them a firm nod, before they all ran for the edge of the ship and leapt off the side, landing on the docks and rising to face the line of Orcs.

"Plenty for the both of us," Menna could hear Gimli mutter to Legolas as they began to make their way towards the enemy, "May the best Dwarf win!"

With that, they rushed straight across the dock, battle cries escaping them as they made for the Orc Commander and the creatures stationed behind it. It was clear in their surprise that they had not expected four of them to appear, nor to attack, but it was also with an overconfidence that they stared on, as though unable to believe four would try to take on so many more enemies.

She could feel a cold chill creeping up her spine and looked back to see the Army of the Dead had appeared, leaping straight out of the sides of the ships and swarming down across the water and the docks with alarming speed. She shuddered as they overtook her, the sensation of them passing through her chilling her from the inside out, but she would not speak a word. Instead she grit her teeth, watching as the ghostly warriors charged for the Orcs, who now appeared alarmed, screaming at the sight and trying to brace themselves to fight.

But it was useless, she and the others had only just made it to the edge of the docks, but the Undead Army had surged out, raging over the Orcs, decimating them and any in their path as they swept on into the Fields of Pelennor, where the thick of the battle was occurring. It was as though a mountain or a wave of ghouls had risen up before them, smashing into the enemy, who did not have the weapons to defend themselves from their undead foes.

She could see through the haze, through the glow of the undead, that battle beyond, which, as they feared, had already grown and spread out at an alarming rate. They truly had arrived just in time, as had Eomer not so long ago. The humans were weary, worn, falling fast and looking hopeless…until the undead army spread across them. She almost regretted their additional surge of the fight, for the undead were so fast they swept so far ahead that by the time she or the others made it anywhere near the thick of the battle, it was almost as though it were already over. There were only a few stragglers who had escaped the initial onslaught, easily taken out by her knife or Araogrn's sword, even allowing her enough time to yank her blades back as she rushed past the bodies so as not to lose any more knives, for she was sure she would have more difficulty finding it on this battlefield than outside Helm's Deep.

There were cheers going up all too soon, the dead swarming, the Orcs fleeing, their beasts trampling them as they tried to get away from the attack as well. Menna nearly laughed when she saw Legolas amble up the side of an Oliphant, picking off all the warriors upon it, and taking the beast down himself with only his arrows. That, it seemed, signaled the end of the battle, to see the enormous creatures come down and fall. The army of Men saw all that happened, and lifted their swords in victory.

"I will say this," Menna panted beside Aragorn, the man not having stepped far from her side during their own charge, Gimli and Legolas hyaving rushed off in different directions to attack what enemies they could, "I prefer a war in daylight than a battle at night."

Aragorn looked over at her, wheezing out a laugh at her words. He could see it in her face, the small smile she gave him in return, that this battle had been easier on her, though it was true about most things when beheld in the light of day, even more so with the path cleared for them by the dead army on their side. He could only gaze upon her even as his laughter faded, the sun was shining behind her, her hair had fallen from its tight plait and there was a light shine of sweat upon her skin that glowed in the sun.

She lived still, and that was enough to set his heart light.

He struggled for but a moment to pull his gaze from her, looking out upon the battlefield, searching for the Fellowship, for Boromir and Pippin as well.

Menna nodded to herself as she straightened, "Come," she called, nodding her head to the side to lead him on, "We ought find the others," she agreed with where his mind had turned, without him uttering a word about it, "I doubt Boromir will be long."

Aragorn cracked a wry smile at her words, nodding his head. He had glimpsed the armored men of Gondor in the heat of battle, he did not doubt Boromir was among them, nor did he think the man would hesitate to begin his own search for them as well, or for Menna at the very least. It amused him to no end that the man was so set to protect the woman above him, his King, for, he felt, Boromir's attentions went beyond a mere life debt.

As they made their way along the fields, it was not lost on Aragorn that Menna drew nearer and nearer to him, for while it was easier to fight in the daylight, it also meant that those who fell were all the more prevalent and visible as well. They had come in at the very end, they had fought briefly, but that did not mean that others had the same opportunity. There had been a full scale battle happening long before they arrived, men dying, enemies falling, people lying wounded everywhere, both of Rohan and of Gondor. The field was scattered with the bodies of those dead or dying. The carnage itself was gruesome to behold. It was no place for a woman, no place for Menna, but he would bite his tongue. She was there and, perhaps he was selfish to think it, he was glad for it. He could look over, upon this victory, and see her beside him, whole and hale, it was a relief and joy he could not recall feeling in earlier times.

It was only when the sounds around them began to quiet, the field fall silent, that Menna and Aragorn noticed the ghostly figure approaching, the King of the Dead coming to stand before Aragorn. He glanced at Menna a moment, a silent request that she stay where she was, just this once, for it was HIS duty to see to this. And, for once, she gave him a nod of understanding and stopped walking, allowing him to take a few steps forwards to face the King.

"Release us," the King of the Dead demanded, nearly snarling at Aragorn, "You gave us your word."

Aragorn nodded, "I hold your oath fulfilled," he intoned, "Go. Be at peace."

It was a disturbing sight to see such a skeletal face smile, but the King of the Dead gave his best effort at such a thing even as all around him his army and people began to fade, dissolving into dust on the wind now that they were released from their curse.

Aragorn took a deep breath in relief, and turned to look at Menna. He could not help the small smirk that grew on his face, "Only the King of Gondor could release them," he reminded her, in jest, curious to see how she would explain this given her misgivings of his role as heir.

"I think they would believe anyone who made such a claim and wielded that blade," she countered easily, "They are dishonorable," she reminded him, "They would take any chance to escape their bonds."

He chuckled, not making a remark that the magic that bound them would not have broken if he had not been the heir of Isildur. He was in too good of spirits at their latest victory.

"Come," he nodded to the side, sure he had seen the white of Gandalf's robe across the field. He hoped that, where the Wizard was, Boromir and Pippin would be close.

They slowed, hearing something, a howling noise, a wounded sound.

They turned, looking over to see Eomer, racing across the field towards something, dropping his weapons as he went, his face red, his eyes streaming with tears, a look of utter devastation on his face. He fell to his knees, reaching out and…

Lifting Eowyn, pale and wounded, dressed as a soldier of Rohan, off the ground and into his arms, burying his face in her hair as he sobbed and rocked her back and forth.

Menna stumbled at the sight, tripping and sinking to a knee, her gaze locked on them. For it wasn't just Eowyn lying there…Theoden King was mere feet away, crushed under the weight of his horse. In one single instant, it appeared two of the blood of Rohan were gone from the world.

It was not until Aragorn had moved to crouch before her that she even realized he was speaking to her. He reached out, one hand grasping her hand, the other touching her cheek, gently turning her gaze from the two to him.

"She lives yet," he assured her, his words muffled to her ears, as though he were trying to speak to her from under water, "Menna," he spoke more firmly, his hand sliding further along her cheek till his fingertips touched the back of her neck, anchoring her, "She lives."

Menna swallowed hard, closing her eyes and shaking her head, taking a number of breaths before she forced them open again. She looked at him, lifting her hand to grip his wrist, and then she could hear it, Eomer calling for help, for aid, confirming Aragorn's words for he would not do so if Eowyn did not live still.

"They will take her to the Houses of Healing," he murmured in her ear as his hand guided her closer, his other arm winding around the back of her shoulders in comfort.

The breath she released spoke of a hope that the Houses would serve their purpose and heal Eowyn.

Though Aragorn knew it would take much more than the healers of Rohanor Gondor had skill to do to save someone from a wound such as what Eowyn sustained. He could see it, even from this distance, the discoloration of her arm, the darkening of her skin, he could recognize the evil magic of Sauron. He would know what to do to help, and he would.

"Come," he murmured, lifting her to her feet once more, "I shall see to her myself."

Menna said nothing more, though he could see in how she pulled herself together, a familiar wall coming over her. With a single breath she steeled herself, lifted her chin, and blankened her face. He had seen it a handful of times before, when she feared she had revealed too much of herself to another, when she thought herself too weak and needing to show strength.

He stepped closer to her, touching her cheek once more till she looked upon him, "You do not need to be strong with me, Menna," he told her, such understanding in his eyes that he could see her mask slipping away under his fingertips, "I would gladly be your strength."

Menna let out a breath, nodding slightly, hearing more than what he said aloud.

He had done the same, in reverse, only a short while ago. When he feared he had failed in summoning the dead to their cause. He had turned his back on Legolas and Gimli, had not wished to look upon them as his own hope shattered and splintered. He had been weak then, but he had allowed HER to see it, he had allowed HER to be his strength, renew his vigor when he felt he had none left.

She had felt herself closing off to him, had been unable to help it. Her reaction to what she saw, to Theoden and Eowyn having fallen…she should not have done so, not where others could see. She had braced herself for Eomer or the king to fall in this battle, for it was to be a hard one fought and there was always that danger for any soldier on the field. But Eowyn? She had not expected to see it. She had thought Theoden or Eomer would sooner lock her away under guard, knowing her lust for battle, than to risk this fate.

She had not meant to reveal so much in her faltering.

But Aragorn did not question it, did not seem startled, he merely seemed concerned. Perhaps he even thought she saw HER in Eowyn, in how that could have easily been her to fall in this fight, being the only other woman there. Perhaps he thought her reaction a kindred spirit between the two, a fate easily shared.

She knew not what he saw, for she could take no time to work out his thoughts. Not at a time such as this, not when so much rested on the brink.

She swallowed hard, "We should make haste," she spoke, looking up at him, "Eomer will not be in a good state."

Aragorn nodded in return, squeezing the hand he was still holding and turned to lead her off towards the Houses of Healing. It did not disturb him, to hear her concern lie with Eomer, for even he feared for the state of the man, to stumble upon his sister so near death.

Though he knew, the concern Menna held for the man was far different than his own.

~8~

While he expected it, Aragorn was truly startled with the speed with which Eomer turned to Menna as they approached his vigil over Eowyn where she rested in the House of Healing. The moment the man looked up from where he knelt next to Eowyn and saw them, he was on his feet. He walked right past Aragorn and pulled Menna into his arms, clutching her tightly as his shoulders shook with tears he had barely held in since stepping off the battlefield.

Aragorn observed them for only a moment, knowing he could not afford to do so longer, not with Eowyn in such a state. But the glance he cast over them, spoke much to him. For Menna had…not welcomed the hug, nor opened her arms to him, that much was clear, she was just as startled as he had been with the man's actions. But she did not push him away, she merely wound her arms around him in return, a hand moving to his hair, gently stroking it as a mother would a child frightened or upset, soothing strokes. She murmured something to Eomer too quiet for him to hear, but he could not give more time to try and listen.

He settled beside Eowyn, placing the small bowl of water and cloth he'd taken with him beside him. He lifted her arm, it was badly damaged and poisoned with dark magic, before reaching out for the water, squeezing the excess from the cloth and beginning to bathe her brow with it, murmuring healing words in Elvish as he went, utilizing all he knew to help save this woman who, if whispers were to be believed, had struck down Sauron's Witch King, a deadly enemy.

A sniffle and shuffle told him that Eomer had released Menna, the two coming to join him, Eomer kneeling back at Eowyn's side. He cast a glance at Menna, who stood on the other side of the cot, with Eomer, her hand gripping his shoulder in support though her gaze was on Eowyn as well.

He turned his attention back to the ailing woman, carefully ministering care, working as long as it took to see her returned to them from the edge of darkness she had fallen to. For if there was one thing Araogrn was, it was determined, he would not give up so easily, and Eowyn benefitted from it, for, what felt like hours later, she took a deep breath and her eyes fluttered open, looking first at him, before turning her gaze to her brother as he leaned in to hug her tightly, careful of her arm.

Aragorn stood, allowing the siblings a moment, Eowyn's arm would need to be tended to, but it could wait a few minutes more for Eomer to share his relief. He glanced over at Menna, the woman smiling smally, tears in her eyes, her hands clutched together before her. But while there was relief in her eyes, thankfulness, there was also a sorrow.

It was one he knew, had felt himself, whenever he looked upon Gondor in his travels, whenever he looked upon anyone in any kingdom he visited. They had a home, he had not. It was the same look in her eye, though for a different trigger, he knew.

He moved over to Menna's side, tugging her back slightly and winding his arms around her, breathing deep when she clutched at the back of his shirt, returning his embrace. He mimicked her in a sense, his hand coming to rest on the back of her head, though he did not stroke her hair, but held her to him, letting her take his strength.

There was one thing he could hear, in the quiet of the Houses of Healing, Menna, mumbling two words into his chest.

"Thank you."

A/N: I know many of you wanted a very happy ending, where all of Menna's family learned the truth, especially Theoden (or that he at least learn it before his end). I debated for a long time whether to go that route, but it just felt like, with how Menna's story was going, her path, the consequences of her choices, and the timing, it just wouldn't work.

Going with Aragorn meant she arrived at the battlefield after Theoden had been struck and stuck beneath his horse, after Eowyn killed the Witch King. With the battle going on, and not expecting to see Eowyn there or Theoden crushed beneath a horse, Menna wasn't looking at the ground as she fought with Aragorn to take out more enemies, she couldn't afford to look at the fallen bodies when enemies are coming at her trying to kill her, there was no time. If anything, she would be more likely to be looking for Theoden and Eomer standing and fighting :( I imagine Eowyn finding Theoden is taking place the same time Aragorn and Menna are looking for their allies and confronting the King of the Dead about his oath. By the time Menna becomes aware of Eowyn there and Theoden having fallen, it's too late :(

There's always a threat and a danger with war, anyone can lose at any point, Theoden lost and Menna wasn't able to tell him the truth before that :( Things don't always work out in war, and there's not always a happy ending, all choices have consequences and Menna will have to live with this one for the rest of her life :'(

I think part of Menna's mentality, that she's very close to shaking off but still tugging at her, is that her life has had no value for so long, she thinks that she would be the one more likely to die in this fight. She has less experience fighting, she's a woman, she's Nameless...why on Middle Earth would the gods see fit that SHE walk away from this battle and not someone like Theoden? But, like the Hobbits being even worse off than her, it doesn't always work out that way and sometimes people survive that are unexpected and people you think have the best chance to live don't. Part of her, I think, still sees Theoden as that little girl did, unbreakable, invincible, stronger now to survive Sauron's influence and fight on. She truly didn't think fate would dare take Theoden, the king, from this earth. And it did :(

I also debated going super in detail about the battle, the part that Menna was there for since it was such a small part compared to the whole of the battle. But I felt like, compared to Helm's Deep where she was there from the start, it fit the flow more to keep it short and simple. Because they did come in so near the end and because the Dead Army did sort of pave the way and left fewer enemies to really worry about, it made more sense to me to keep that part just as short and simple. It was over fairly fast, from Menna's POV compared to the other attacks she's been part of.

But Eomer! His reaction to Eowyn on the field, it killed me. He's literally lost everyone and then sees his sister and, as the brother, in that time, couldn't protect her and just, my heart! I feel like, at that point, he didn't know if Menna was safe either and it just sort of hit him how close he'd come to losing Menna at Helm's Deep and then seeing Eowyn and fearing he's lost her, coupled with not knowing if Menna was ok or if she was somewhere on the field too...seeing her in the Houses of Healing, I don't fault him his reaction, his tears or hug or need for comfort despite Menna's request not to bring light to who she is. I don't think she'd fault him for it either :'(

On a tiny bit of a lighter note, next chapter will see more of what happened with Pippin, Boromir, and Merry ;)

Some notes on reviews...

I'm glad you like the story so far :) The next one after this is complete will be a new Doctor Who series/story featuring a new Time Lady OC and beginning in Series 6 of the show :)

I don't think I'd even make it to the Ghost Army. I'd probably see some weird glow in the distance and be like 'I'm out!' lol :) I'll be putting up a note about the vision in the second to last chapter to see if others would like to see it too and we'll go from there ;)

I debated whether to add the ghost scene or leave it out, but I felt like, with Menna there, and with the story following her more, it would fit to see what she saw and also to get a bit more of a bonding moment for her and Aragorn :) I feel like a lot of the relationship they've built is because of their shared experiences on the quest, they are going to share and endure things no other couple could ever come close to and each obstacle strengthens it so I like exploring those dark moments, seeing the trust between them and seeing the traits they both find attractive in the other on display :)

I felt so bad for Eowyn too :( A very long time ago I actually considered writing an Eowyn/Aragorn story, because I never really felt like Arwen was right for Aragorn and, in the scope of the movie/books, I felt like Eowyn was a better fit. Not perfect either, but better fit than Arwen was. That was before I really considered OCs and their potential and before Menna sort of snuck up on me lol :) But I did feel bad for Eowyn, it's never fun to have love, or even the beginnings of feelings, not reciprocated and to learn it the hard way :( I'm glad she met Faramir though :)