Author note: Apologies for the long wait for this chapter, I know I left you on a cliffhanger! I needed to write a lot of stuff which I knew needed to happen, but I wasn't entirely sure what order it needed to be in. Subsequently I had to write two or three chapters worth of stuff before I could publish anything. At least that means the next couple of chapters should be out quite quickly.

The reviews lately… I. Can't. Deal. THANK YOU! I can't even address you all individually any more as I'd just be repeating my bumbling thanks. They are inspiring, and humbling, and honestly one of the best things happening to me during this whole weird year. Every time I receive one I light up a little bit inside, you all are the best. They've actually encouraged me to try and extend my platform, so you'll now find this story on W*ttpad (will FF let me type it?! Answer: no) as well, but it will be split up into three books, as this has become soooooooo veeeeerrrry loooooonnnnng. It's going through editing, for grammar and pace mainly, so the chapters on there will be slightly different from on here, better hopefully - certainly the earlier chapters (my first ever foray into writing publicly AT ALL) will be. Zero changes to plot or characters obviously, apart from a few errors timeline-wise that I've spotted. Fairly slow process getting it all up on there, as my priority is of course to finish it on here, it's home for four years, but if you are on W*ttpad and want to help me get my numbers/views up, and/or you want to read the edited version, do give me/it a follow on there ('singingsprite' as always).

In answer to Michelle's question: all of those words have been said to Keren by other characters at some point during the course of this story, some as far back as the early chapters of the first book. I wanted all her memories of the people that had shaped her in some way to be almost carrying her to the end. Legolas of course got the last, most important, words.

Hello new followers and favs. Big thank you to my patrons Captnschick58 and jazellsparrow, sorry I've been a bit quiet lately. Also I just spotted that this story got added to a community on here, 'Palantiri Fiction'. Thanks so much for the add. Everyone go check out the other stories there!

And now, finally, Ithilien…


Chapter Twelve - The Ghost

"Her heart beats, but faintly," Faramir said.

He removed Keren's weapons, took her up in his arms, cradled like a child, and carried her beneath the trees. Under the canopy a narrow, fast-flowing river rushed by. In the shadows her skin took on a greenish hue, and he suppressed a shiver, for she looked dead already. How had she come to be here, malnourished and alone, with nothing but weapons and ragged clothes stained with blood, and dirt, and vomit? What had befallen her since he had last seen her, riding away from Edoras?

He lay her upon the riverbank and checked her pulse again, feeling his heart judder as he failed to find it.

"Beregond," he said hastily. "Beregond!" He put his ear to her chest, and to her mouth. The tiniest breath brushed his cheek. "Some water, quickly! Oh, no, Keren, no, no, no, no, please, no." His words disappeared into sobs.

And then Beregond knew Faramir loved her still, but there was no time to think on it, or wonder what that would mean for the lady Éowyn. He cupped his hands to scoop up the cold, clear water of the stream, and poured a little upon Keren's brow and lips. There was no reaction. Beregond felt a lump grow in his throat. Not Keren, not now, not like this. He checked her heartbeat. Barely there.

"She's leaving," Faramir was saying softly, as if he could not believe it. "What can we do for her when we're so far from aid? She's almost gone."

But Beregond would not accept it. Keren, his friend, who had helped save so many lives, who by the looks of it had had to fight for her own, would not die today.

"Then we will call her back from wherever she's going," he said. "Call her back, my lord. Speak to her. She slumbers is all, you must wake her."

He brushed her lips with the water, and this time they opened a fraction.

"See, she lives. If we can get her to drink, if we can get her to eat, we can keep her alive for the journey back."

Faramir nodded, a tear dripping from his cheek. He took her head in his lap, and stroked her hair, and called to her, as Elessar had once called to him when his own spirit wandered.

"Keren," he said, low and soft, not feeling foolish. "Keren. Wake. You're safe. You're not alone. Keren. Keren."


Keren dreamt. She dreamt she was resting, magically floating upon the small waves of a calm ocean, being gently carried out to sea. Someone stood at the shoreline watching her go, his black cloak and black hair blowing in the breeze. He held out his arms, calling her back, but she wanted to keep floating away, wanted to follow the pull of her heart, across the waves. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she needed to go there, knew she had something to do once she got there.

She allowed herself to drift further from the strand, until the man was just a small dark shape far away. The sea was her home, she realised - wild and changeable, deep and ancient. It may not always be a safe place to be, but she understood it, and it was taking her to where she needed to go. She smiled up at the blue sky above her, clouds rolling by on a swift wind. But the man on the shore was calling louder to her now, and she couldn't ignore it, and soon she felt a great swell of the tide beneath her. She started to float inland.

He was smiling, overjoyed, but something wasn't right. She was going the wrong way now. She knew she was going the wrong way.

Do you hear them calling, the voices of my people… I will leave, I will leave the woods…

A voice called to her on the wind from across the sea, from where she thought she had been headed before the tide turned. She knew that voice, longed for that voice.

Legolas. Find me. Turn the tide.

But she drew ever closer to the man on the beach, and his face was handsome and kind and clear of guile, and she knew it and loved it, and as much as she tried she could not help but be carried towards him, until he was wading out, and she was in his arms, and she felt warm and safe. She would always be safe, now.

But something would always be missing, she thought, as the dream faded.


Faramir watched as Keren's eyelids flickered.

"There's water. There's food. We can take you to a healer. I just need you to wake and drink, and eat a little. Can you do that?"

"Say who you are," Beregond said quickly, sure that she might not trust strangers on the road anymore.

"You're with friends now, you're safe. You lie in my arms, in Faramir's arms, and Beregond is here. We'll look after you. You're safe, Keren, you're safe."

And he watched as her brow furrowed a little, her chest rose, and her eyes opened.


Green was all she saw. Then a shining, radiant light. All a blur above her head. She could hear a whispering sound.

It was sunlight through leaves, she realised. Beautiful green leaves, being blown in the breeze. Glittering sunbeams were illuminating them, shining through and around them, like a moving painting. The gentle wind was making them dance between her and the sky.

Green leaves. Leag golas.

He was here after all. He was all around her.

Was she dead, then? Was this where she would get to stay, where there was a memory of him? Well then, she could be happy here.

But there was a voice. It was earthly, it was real, and it belonged to someone she knew.

Not dead, then. Unless he was too? But why was he here, in her eternal forest?

"Can you drink a little? Beregond has water for you."

There was a blur of light and shade close to her, and as her eyes focussed she saw it was a pale face, and dark, dark hair. She had not the energy to feel anything when she realised it was Faramir.

"Can you drink?" he asked again, but she could not make herself react. Instead she watched as hands bearing a water skin came towards her, and then she saw another man, dark and bearded. She knew him, too. Beregond, his eyes as kind as ever as he approached her with the water. What fortune had brought one of her dearest friends to her now? But she couldn't smile or weep, or do anything to show she was overjoyed to see him. Instead she lay still as he cupped her chin and poured a few drops of water into her dry, parched mouth.

She would have cried out at the coldness of the water hitting the ulcers and sores about her lips, but she had not the strength. Instead she focussed on the blissful way the water soothed her throat as she swallowed, quenching the desperate longing she had had to drink.

"That's it," Beregond said, and his voice called to her from the past, bringing memories of Minas Tirith, and all the care he had given her when she had needed it. Her heart was full, and though she was still unsure if she would live or die, she felt peace descend upon her. Beregond would not let her passing be painful, Beregond would hold her hand and kiss her brow. She closed her eyes.

"No, no sleep just yet," he said. "Take a little more water. Then what do you say to sitting up and eating a few crumbs?"

The thought of that felt overwhelming, and she thought she made a sound in the back of her throat in protest as she started drifting off again. But she was soon taking a huge, gasping breath as she felt cold water hit her square in the face and run down her neck.

"More air in those lungs is what we need," Beregond said, not too gently. "And water and food in your belly. If you want to live, that's what needs to happen. So wake up. Drink. Eat. Don't make me have to tell your sister I let you die."

She heard his voice crack as he said those last words, and she remembered there were people in the world who she wanted to see again, who she now had a hope of seeing again. She would see her sister again. And… Legolas. She could see him again, she could wed him, now she had completed her task. Almost. The tree… She must get to the tree. Her head spinning, she felt the person she was leaning on - Faramir, yes, Faramir, - push her head up, as Beregond pulled on her arms. Together they held her in a sitting position, and she felt Faramir's rapid heartbeat against her back. Her head rested upon his shoulder, and she felt a warm tear fall upon her cheek which was not her own.

"Come on, Keren," was all he said, was all he could say, his voice rough and desperate.

She still could not speak, she could not even move her arms to reach out and touch them, but she could try and stay alive, for them, for Legolas. She managed to open her mouth and take some more water. Her ears were still ringing and her vision still blurred, but she sat, in and out of consciousness, as Beregond gave her a few sips every minute or so, not wanting to overload her stomach. Half an hour passed in this way.

"She's burning, I can feel heat radiating from her," Faramir said tersely to Beregond. "It's not just exhaustion."

Beregond put a hand to her brow in answer, and his eyes met Faramir's with alarm.

"Some disease? Or perhaps an infected wound. She's been fighting."

"Check her. See there's blood here, and a tear. Were you wounded, Keren?"

She tried to nod as Faramir began undoing the belt to free her from the surcoat that lay over her shirt and hose. Their voices went in and out, dulled and blurred, but she sensed they'd found her injury. There was a terse silence.

"We have to get her to a healer," one of them said. Faramir.

"It's a hundred and fifty leagues on horseback, she'd never last." Beregond winced as he looked down at Keren's thin torso, ribs protruding, stomach concaving, and across both an evil slice of open and rotting flesh.

"We'll send for one, then. She can stay resting." Faramir could not look too long at her body, could not associate this broken being with the young girl who had dressed in green and given him hope enough to fight to save his city. What hope was there for her, now?

"But who could come, who would make the journey?" Beregond asked.

Their eyes met and held again. "There's only one who could save her, only one who has that power. He saved me when I was as close to death as she. And he will come, though his head now bears the crown."

Beregond looked down at Keren again. Faramir was right. He had witnessed his lord being brought back from death when no other healer could cure him. But to ask the King to come here, foregoing all else…

"How fast can you ride?" Faramir said quickly.

"Gwaedal is swift, and I will not stop for rest." Beregond had already stood. "Assuming he can come straight away, and there is no trouble on the road, I could bring him here before sunrise the day after next."

"Do so. And if he threatens punishment for you entering the city, tell him I will take it in your place, tell him who sends you and why. Go, my friend, fly. Do not fail me, Beregond. Do not fail her."

Beregond nodded, already starting to walk away, words becoming too hard. He mounted Gwaedal, and they flew west in a cloud of dust.


Arwen had awoken in a fey mood. She had not wanted food when they had broken their fast, alone in their rooms. Aragorn had not questioned it, when he had asked her what was wrong and she had just given him a small smile. Those smiles always did the opposite of reassuring him.

He had been buried in papers all day, and when the evening meal came he was pleased to see she had revived a little, eating and laughing with her friends. But still sometimes a strangeness came upon her, and her face grew pale and her eyes met his with concern. The final time he gave her a worried look, and she shook her head a little, brow furrowed. She did not know what was wrong, he realised.

It grew dark, and they were making ready for bed, when a shout came from the hall outside their chamber. Then many cries, and the drawing of swords, and running feet. Above it all there was a lone voice, shouting. At first it sounded like a cry of anguish, but Arwen's keen ears heard it first.

"He calls your name. But I cannot say if he be friend or foe."

"The guards clearly think foe," Aragorn said as he rose from bed quickly.

The man kept shouting, and the cries changed from Elessar! to another name, one they both knew, though were not expecting to hear.

"Keren, my king, Keren! She… Ithilien… Lord Faramir sent… I beg… do not… friend Legolas would… help us!"

His swords were interrupted and muffled as the guards yelled over him, trying to fight him off. But he stood true, careful not to spill blood again, taking a blow or two in the process.

Aragorn tried to process what he was hearing. How was the man even here?

But then Arwen spoke.

"She dies." Her voice was low, prophetic and tense. "She lies in Ithilien, wounded and exhausted. That is not… I know she…"

His wife's fair face was filled with terror.

"You must save her," she said. "You are the only one with the strength, Faramir knows this. Think of what it would mean, were she to die now."

Her eyes were full of feeling, of bitterness and grief, and it shook him to the core.

"It would break him," she said, of Legolas. "And it would mean… I - I think it would mean - "

He was already opening the door.

"Estel, I'm coming with you."

Aragorn turned to look at his wife, in raiment grey, like her eyes, her black hair shining in the candlelight. The cries from outside faded, for he felt some magic in the air about her.

"You are sure - "

"Yes, I need to be there."

"No, I - I mean, you are sure it is Keren? You gave Frodo your place on the ship."

"I gave him my passage West, not my immortality. He will still die, though he be healed in mind and body. You knew I suspected it may be her, when she and Legolas bonded, though I could not say for sure, to her, to anybody. But now I know it, for I see her clear as day. She lies by a river, Faramir holds her close, and she is fading. Our fates are bound - if she dies…"

Aragorn's heart clenched. "You become immortal once more. But… there is no passage West for you now."

Tears came to her eyes.

"I can bear many things. I can bear hundreds of years without you, until my body fades. But not eternity. Not alone, not until the world ends. And Legolas…"

Aragorn nodded, and stepped out into the hallway.

"Beregond!" he cried, holding an arm aloft. "Hold, hold! Guards, hold!"

He gave one quick glance to the former guard of the citadel, and took his wife's hand.

"We ride for Ithilien."


Hours passed, and the sun began to set. Faramir had found himself talking to Keren as if they were having a conversation, to keep her awake, and to keep himself calm. Sometimes he could not stop her from falling unconscious, and he would anxiously let her sleep, his hand upon her heart or her throat, always checking for her heartbeat. He called for some of his men to go into the forest and not return until they had brought down an animal fit for making into a broth.

What blessed gods had put him in her path just in time? What twist of fate had meant that he was on patrol this very week? Surely he had been meant to find her, to help her.

And when she had eaten, and Elessar had done his work, he would take her home to Emyn Arnen until she was fully herself again. It would all be alright.

But Éowyn…

No. His wife was wise, and kind. She liked Keren. Keren had saved her life, had saved their child. She would not think twice about taking her in, he was certain of it.

As for himself, he would banish any feelings, any memories that this strange occurrence had brought up from his heart. He had loved her in those days in the Houses, almost immediately, wildly, uncontrollably. So scared to face it, though, so scared to give up control over his fate. Too proud to admit he had fallen for someone so easily, someone whose rank would be laughed at and scorned, should he have wedded her. He had been such a coward - a cruel, detestable, coward. And he had vowed never to hurt another in that way again. He would never hurt Éowyn so. His Éowyn, honest and brave - who had told him not long after Elboron's birth that she had once loved another, but in the end had chosen him, when she knew her love was not to be. The King, of course. That was what had led him to tell her of all that had transpired with Keren. And they had sat, both a little angry, both a little sad, but with a new trust between them. They had chosen each other, in the end. And now they had their precious child, gifted to them. Faramir loved the woman who had birthed him, deeply. But, as the night became black and cold, and he watched Keren unfailingly as she burned in a fever-dream, he realised that it was entirely possible, however painful, however confusing, to love two people at the same time.

His thoughts were broken by some of his men bringing a young deer through the thicket, which they quickly skinned and butchered to go in a stew. As it sat bubbling in the pot on the makeshift fire, one of them offered Faramir rest whilst they kept watch over Keren, but he refused. She would wake every now and then, and he would give her water, and stroke her brow, and whisper comforting words. When the stew was ready he brought it to her lips, but she would not eat. Mostly she slept. There was no change for the worse, but no change for the better either. Dread still hung heavy in his heart.

A full day passed, the sun just beginning to set, when he heard the sound he had been longing for. Hoofbeats, swift and heavy, upon the road. Three horses, not two. The riders brought them right to the fireside before dismounting, hooves kicking up the dirt of the forest floor. Two heavy treads came towards him, and a third, so light and swift it was barely there.

"My queen!" he said in surprise.

"I come to help as I may," was all she said in return.

"I am most gracious, majesties, to you both. She sleeps, but not a sleep of rest. She hovers between life and death."

"We will do what we can," Aragorn replied, and they both kneeled either side of Keren, who lay with her head in the crook of Faramir's arm. "Beregond, heat some water."

"Kingsfoil," Faramir said, staring at the leaves the King bore.

"It saved you, my friend, and that with just my ministrations. You did not have the Lady Arwen by your side, then. There is hope for Keren, as long as we have not reached her too late."

And with that the Queen placed a hand upon Keren's brow and called to her in Elvish with a low, sweet voice.

"Keren, nin istog, Arwen, ni si an natal Elessar gi nestad. Lasto nin. Na van nidhig mened? Aphado nin na galad. Echuio."

Then she looked to the stars.

"Carathon i iets lîn, Elbereth. Pi iestol, gweston nidhin de chared."

"What did she say?" Beregond whispered to Faramir.

"She asked her where she thought she was going, and she said to come back, to come to the light. And then…"

He looked at his queen with blossoming understanding.

I am willing to do as you wish, Elbereth. If you wish it, I swear I will do it.

"And then she said she would help," was all he said to Beregond.


The journey home was as swift as they deemed Keren could bear. When Faramir saw the strong walls of his new palace nestled between two hills he felt a great relief. She had survived, her wound had been cleaned and dressed, her spirit soothed, the infection banished, and her exhaustion tempered a little with rest and such food as she had managed to keep down. The King and Queen had stayed with them until she was well enough to take food, and speak a little, then they took their leave. She might not even remember it at all, Faramir thought. She slept again now, sat before him on Celtir, held closely to him whilst he held the reins with one hand. All she had to do now was rest in comfort, only waking for food and water. And all he had to do was continue puzzling over what he had heard.

Elbereth. He remembered a night, long ago, when Keren had given him a crystal, small and clear. He had seen the face of a woman inside it, a woman with hair of starlight and darkness and dreams. Had he truly seen the face of the lady of the stars? Did Keren still have the crystal? What was she mixed up in, that the Queen seemed to know about? And what was his place in it all?

Word had been sent ahead, so a room had been made ready, with a bath tub, and fresh clothes, and a fire in the hearth already crackling by the time he carried her to the bed. Éowyn was there, her face pale and grave. She had been expecting them.

"You rest, my love," she said, as soon as Faramir had laid Keren down. "You have wearied yourself with the care of her. I will take over for a little while. She needs to be washed and changed."

There was a very brief glint of something in her eyes, some wariness, but Faramir knew an order from Éowyn when he heard one, and went to his own bed.

Éowyn looked down upon the sleeping young woman. She tried to feel anger, and bitterness, and jealousy - this was the first time she had seen Keren since Faramir had told her of the past that had been hidden from her. But she could not. Keren had saved her life, had saved her son, had always been there for her. She would do her part, now. She would nurse her saviour back to health, so Keren could have a long, happy life with the elf who loved her. As Keren had granted her a life with Faramir. How tangled this web was.

For three more hours Keren slept, and Éowyn kept watch beside her. When she stirred, Éowyn called for hot water and some food, before going back to her bedside and taking her hand. She watched as Keren's dark eyes opened slowly, taking in the room around her.

"Where am I?" Keren said to no-one, her voice hoarse and quiet as a whisper.

"You are in my house, in Emyn Arnen," Éowyn said, and smiled as Keren's eyes found her. "Faramir found you five days ago, on the north border of Ithilien, when he was out on patrol."

Keren blinked slowly, once, twice.

"I don't remember."

"Have some water, here. And I have sent for some food for you. Just a little. And then what do you say to - "

Keren's eyes shone. "A bath!" she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster from her pillow as she saw the large wooden tub. "How I longed…"

But then her face changed, and she grew still and solemn, and would not speak again, even when the food was brought, allowing herself to be fed, but not responding to anything. Some colour came into her cheeks with the food, and the warmth of the fire, and she sat quietly as Éowyn pulled gently at her clothes and led her to the bath. Her legs were shaky. When was the last time she had walked with ease? How long had she…

"You don't have to talk until you want to, or need to," she heard Éowyn say, as she stepped into the shallow water and sat, curling up in the steam. "But I must ask, you wear a ring around your neck. Legolas, does he… Do you know where he is?"

Keren shook her head. Legolas. There was something… something she…

"What date is it?" she asked suddenly.

Éowyn looked puzzled for a moment, but picked up the sponge and gently dabbed at Keren's bruised face as she answered.

"The eighth of May."

She watched as a smile bloomed upon Keren's face, beautiful and joyous despite her broken skin and filthy hair.

"May. May? You're sure it's only May?"

Éowyn could not help but smile back, though she knew not why the date was such a happy occurrence.

"Quite sure."

"Then I have over two months more," Keren said. "Two months to get well and go."

"Go where?" Éowyn frowned.

"Cormallen. The oak tree." Her eyes glowed. "Legolas, he… I'll make it."

"Watch your stomach, you mustn't get the dressings wet," Éowyn said quickly, for Keren suddenly had energy, and the water splashed as she straightened her legs. She looked down at the bare skin, and Éowyn looked on in pity as Keren remembered she was injured. The blankness came upon her again. How had she got that wound, Éowyn wondered. What had she been through? What horrors had she endured?

She was silent all the while Éowyn gently washed her hair, and combed through the matted and tangled locks that hung just below her shoulders as best she could, though it took a long time. Keren wept quietly, tears for… everything. No. Tears for Hrafn. She had made it. She would make it. But she had left him. Panic took her, and she tried to spring out of the bath, but had not the strength.

"Where are my things? What have you done with my things?" she asked Éowyn, wildly.

"Hush. They're still on the bed. Would you - would you rather we got rid of the clothes?"

"No! Let me - let me look." She tried to haul herself out of the bath again. Éowyn helped her stand and draped her in warm sheets.

"Keren, what is it?"

"I need to - need to see…" Her voice was high and frantic as she staggered over to the bed. Her travelling clothes lay there, filthy and torn. The pouch was there too, and she tore it open. Tinúnil lay inside, untouched. But there was no sign of the feather. Perhaps it had just fallen from her belt to the floor? She knelt to look, but nausea took hold, and weariness, just as it had on the road, and the next thing she knew she was lying upon the floor, looking up at Éowyn.

"You passed out," the White Lady said gently. "Come on, into bed. You are fed and clean. Sleep now. There's nothing to fear anymore. We will send word to Legolas's people, in Ithilien and Mirkwood, try and find where he is. He can come here, and both of you can stay as long as you wish."

"No," Keren murmured. "Has to be… tree."

"What was that?" Éowyn said gently as she brushed the damp hair from Keren's face.

But Keren was already asleep.


When she woke again she was clad in a soft, warm shift, and there was more food waiting for her, bread and cheese this time, rather than stew. Solid food. She wished her stomach well.

Her mind was clearer than before. She had worked out where she was - Faramir and Éowyn's new home in Emyn Arnen. Beregond and his family must be nearby, which cheered her. It was late spring, which cheered her even more. She had made it to Ithilien, and now had a whole two months to get strong, inspect the progress at the colony around Cormallen, meet Legolas at the oak tree on the fiftieth day of summer. But she had to stop her hosts from writing a letter that would fall into Thranduil's hands, for his terms were quite clear - no aid from anyone. Though she had already broken that with Hrafn. Hrafn…

The feather was gone, she knew it. Perhaps it had never been. Or perhaps she did not need it, now. She had fought, and she had starved, and she had killed, she had endured broken bones, and a wound that should have killed her. She had survived a road that was almost always fatal, had spent months without shelter. She had done all of that.

And it showed in her face, she realised, when a week later she dared to look at herself in her mirror. She had not seen her reflection for over eight months. Old cuts and bruises, lips with healing sores and ulcers all around. Cheeks sunken in, eyes dark and haunted, with purple hollows beneath them. Skin dry and red. What a mess. She chuckled darkly. And she had thought she looked bad the first time she met Legolas.

As for her body, she could not bring herself to laugh looking at that. Her legs and arms were spindly and weak, her breasts shrunk almost to nothing, her stomach a hollow beneath ribs that jutted out. She did not recognise herself. This was the product of months of little food and rest, not just weeks. Had she looked like this when Hrafn met her? Or had those last horrible weeks in the Emyn Muil and the marshes so ravaged her? How had she been able to fight at all? How had she had the strength to go on?

"You have clearly been through much, and it will not pay to remind yourself of it," Éowyn said as she came into the room, and Keren tore her eyes from her emaciated form. "Here. A gown for you. I thought today you could sit at a table for a little while and eat, perhaps talk with us, rather than stay in your bed. Soon you'll be back to health, and looking more like the healer I once knew."

"I think she's a different person," Keren muttered as Éowyn threw a shift, then the gown over Keren's head.

"She was always in there, Keren," Éowyn said gravely. "The part of you that could survive whatever you've been through. She just didn't need to show her face, back then. You are the same person. And we'll feed you up and make you strong again, as you did for me."

"I'm so grateful to you both," Keren said. "If Faramir hadn't been on that road at that time…"

"I know. Such things are not to be questioned. Let us just be thankful that he was."

There was a silence between them, as Éowyn laced Keren into the gown. But then Keren heard something that caused her heart to stutter.

"I - I'm not sure I should say while you… or indeed if there will ever be a good time to say, but…"

Keren turned to face her. So rarely had the White Lady ever fumbled over words.

"But I know," Éowyn said, and Keren panicked. Knew what? Knew about Tinúnil, knew about Elbereth, knew about everything? "I know about you and Faramir, before I… and before Legolas. And I want you to know you are welcome here, and I do not judge you for it, nor will I ever let it come between us."

Keren stared. What to say?

"But it would - it would ease my heart if I knew that you no longer - "

"No!" Keren almost shouted. She felt unbelievably awkward. "No." She repeated, more calm. "It's true, even when you were betrothed I still" - Éowyn's eyebrows raised - "I mean… no. Well. Yes, I still… loved him."

Éowyn froze.

"And now?"

Keren could feel her anxiety.

"Now my world has changed," she said honestly. "I've bonded with Legolas. And that isn't something I can easily explain, but it means that I can't love anybody else. I love him, of course, but there's… more. So much more that it meant I travelled alone through forest and marsh and plain, for a chance to see him again. I - I killed to see him again. I watched my friend die to see him again. And you will never understand what it is, to love as I do, to have done the things I have had to do."

There. It had been said. Hrafn was not just in her heart now, but out in the world. Someone else knew of him, someone outside his forest. Someone else would know he had lived, know he had died. And yet she felt anger - anger at Éowyn, anger at herself, for the need to explain what she had been through.

But Éowyn put her arms about her, and held her as she cried. Her voice was soft and low, close to her ear.

"No. I will never understand what it is to bond with an elf. And no-one can stand in your place and share what it is you have seen and done for that bond. But I do understand love, and facing what you are most afraid of. Sometimes running from it too."

She pulled back, holding Keren's shoulders gently.

"You don't need to ever explain to me, to us, how you feel, or why, again. I'm sorry I asked." She smiled hesitantly. "Beregond is to join us for dinner, I hope that may convince you to come?"

Keren nodded.

And so began one of the oddest times of Keren's life. The bruises faded, and her body changed, and in as little as a month she looked almost as she had before, for she was fed and tended with excellent care. She was happy, in a way, for she spent many hours with Beregond, and Bergil. She read a lot, for there was an excellent library, and on days when she felt strong enough she would stroll gently with them in the gardens, when they were not on duty. Éowyn kept her company most days, and the servants were friendly and kind. But then there was Faramir, passing her awkwardly in long, empty halls, opening doors just as she went to do the same the other side, looking upon her, then quickly appearing fascinated in something in the opposite direction when she met his gaze.

He was ever polite, ever kind. But he was always there, as much as he tried not to be, a memory of what had gone before, a ghost of what might have been.

One night they were alone in the great hall, Éowyn having retired to bed. Keren was curled up with a large book, nestled in a nook in the wall beside the fire. He sat before her, long legs crossed, a glass of wine in his hand, and a distant look upon his face as he stared into the flames. Keren tried to concentrate on the words of her book, but she had read the same passage five times. She was grateful for the crackling logs filling the silence. She was avoiding going to bed herself, for it was still early, and she was warm, and comfortable, and there was wine - something she had had to reacquaint herself with very, very slowly. She also didn't want their history to cause her to flee the room. They had run from another enough times in the past. But still… It was the first time they had been alone together for a long, long time.

She wondered what Legolas was doing. Was he even now beginning his journey south on the river to meet her? Her limbs felt twitchy with excitement at the thought. So soon, so soon they would be together. But how would he feel, if he knew where she was, who she was with? She glanced at Faramir, still gazing at the fire. Was he troubled? His face had often been hard to read. Not like Legolas, whose every emotion had been written plain on his face. She smiled.

Once I'd learnt what those emotions were, of course, and that had taken me a little while to work out.

Now she was safe, and she knew nothing else could go wrong, she had allowed herself to imagine the moment of their meeting again. A matter of weeks, now. Soon she would thank her hosts, and leave for the elven settlement in Ithilien. And from there - the oak tree, and her beloved. She would have a wedding feast to plan, and she planned to invite all those she had met on her travels, as well as old friends. But there would be one who would be missing, one who would never attend any feast again.

"Would that I could see inside your mind," Faramir said gently to her, making her jump a little. She did not know how to answer.

"You've been sat there pretending to read for so long," he said, kindly. "And I would leave you to your thoughts, if I were sure they were happy."

She took in a breath.

"Some of them are happy," she replied.

"Éowyn - " he began, then hesitated, sipping his wine. "Éowyn told me a little of what you said, of what happened to you. But we are at a loss to understand where this happened, and why."

Keren closed her book.

"It's not a cosy tale to be told by the fire," she said shortly.

He looked at her for a moment, then sighed sadly.

"How about a friend telling me how I can help her?"

"You've helped me enough. I would have died. I thought I would die. If you had not found me, sent for the King…"

Faramir could not reply, the memories of that day too near to revisit.

"If I tell you," she went on, "it's only because I don't want you to interfere further."

"Interfere?" He frowned.

She shook her head quickly. "That was the wrong word. But there's been talk of letters to Legolas, to his people. That - that can't happen."

He blinked. "Why? Are you… Is he - "

"No, we're alright. We'll be more than alright. But only if we allow things to carry on without your help."

"I don't understand." Faramir placed his wine glass upon the table, next to a flickering candle. She was reminded of another night, long ago, another conversation alone with him in darkness. This one would be very different.

"You've heard of Beren and Lúthien?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"How Lúthien's father set Beren a challenge, an impossible task to complete in order to win Lúthien's hand? And how Beren, somehow, miraculously, achieved it?"

"Ye - es," Faramir said.

"Well that's what I've been doing, that's where I've been. Thranduil set me a challenge to win Legolas's hand. And I've done it. Almost."

Silence again. The fire sputtered.

"Wh - " Faramir let out a little laugh. And then he shook his head, frowned with confusion, when he saw that Keren was not joking. "What?"

"Legolas and I went to his halls, and he granted his blessing for our marriage, on the condition that I proved my love, proved that I was worthy of the elves. He gave me a year to travel on foot, alone, from his kingdom in the north, to Cormallen in the south. If I meet Legolas there on the fiftieth day of summer, then we can wed. And now it's June, and I have a month left. But I was to have no help, no aid. If he learns that you helped me on my way, my journey is forfeit, and I will lose Legolas forever."

Faramir's eyes were wide.

"Trust me, I find it hard to believe I've done it too," Keren offered as a way to stop him staring. "But I did, no boats, no horse. Through the Brown Lands and the Emyn…" Her voice grew thin and faint for a time, but she revived herself. "…Emyn Muil, and the marshes close to Mordor. But I did have help, in the end. I lodged with some bears for a time, but - "

"Bears?!"

"Oh, well, just skinchangers, really. But they didn't travel with me or offer me anything but food and warm clothes, which I - I think was allowed. But then a boar attacked me and I broke my ankle, so I had to live with the woodmen for a while, until the snows passed."

"Skinchangers," Faramir whispered, taking a while to catch up with all he was hearing.

"And that's where I…" Again her voice grew low. "The friend I spoke of, to Éowyn. I accepted his help, and in doing so I broke my vow to Thranduil, risking everything, just hoping we wouldn't be seen. And I was punished for it. He - he died. Was killed. Fighting to help me get away. I left his body for the carrion birds."

Faramir was utterly still. "How did - who…?"

"Orcs. And men." Her voice quavered. "Forgive me, this is the first time I've spoken of it to anyone."

"You don't have to say anymore," Faramir said quickly.

"No, I - I don't want him to be some - some dirty secret I keep hidden. He should be spoken of, should be honoured, should be remembered. He was the young leader of a tribe in the woods, a hunter, a fighter, a lord of sorts, amongst his people. He was… wild, clad in leathers and furs, hair all braided in a way I'd never seen, and he had tattoos on his face - evil looking at first, but beautiful when you looked closely, full of craftsmanship and meaning. He had raven wings upon his shoulders. But he wasn't fierce. He sheltered me, and helped me along the road. He died for me. He'd always guessed he would die for me, once he followed me. And yet he did follow me, left his people, his home, to help me. And now he'll never return. His name was Hrafn. Raven, in our tongue."

Faramir let out a heavy breath, before pouring himself another glass of wine. "Then let us drink to him," he said. "To his life, his sacrifice for you, and his memory."

Keren actually smiled. "I don't think he would have wanted that. It's far too refined. He'd rather I… howl his name to the wind on a moonlit night."

Faramir tried to smile back, a little bemused. He decided to change the subject.

"And Legolas, you've had no sight or word of him since you left the woodland realm?"

Keren shook her head. "Not since last summer. Thranduil was cruel indeed. But there were times I thought we spoke to each other. It's impossible to explain to anyone - there are only four of us who know what a bond between elf and mortal is like. But this was strange even for us. Perhaps I was just delirious with tiredness or fear, but there were times I… heard him, in my mind."

Faramir again was very still. Both of them were back on the balcony in the King's House in their memories.

"This isn't the first time you've told me of such a thing," he dared to say. "Of when you've… heard things. Your prophecy, all that time ago, it spoke of Legolas?"

She tried not to react. "Yes, clearly I was mistaken when I thought it was…" She stopped herself. "But I think we should not speak of that night, of all that, now."

She did not need to say, 'because of Éowyn, your wife, sleeping a few rooms away'.

"You are very wise," Faramir said, standing. "Before I take my leave, I will say there is a hill, not too far from here, where raven's gather. Perhaps, when you're strong enough to walk a fair distance, you can go there and… howl to the wind."

Keren smiled again, sadly.

He turned to leave, walked a few paces, then stopped and looked back at her, his face shadowed, lit only by the distant fire.

"You know I would do anything to help you," was all he said, before he bowed his head, and left.

Keren was left alone, staring through the doorway at the darkness he had disappeared into.


Author note: LEGOLAS GET HERE NOW DAMMIT, I've missed writing Keren and Faramir together and I need you to STOP ME. (I jest. It's all part of the plan... But it really does feel nicely old-school these two being alone together, it's like it's 2016 again haha, ah good times)