Author note: *EDIT - I uploaded this chapter a couple of days ago and then it immediately disappeared, and I've had a few people say they received the notification but couldn't actually see the chapter. Some people managed to read it however, so it seems to be hit and miss. For me it appears on my story preview but not on the story page of the site (as if I was a reader). So I've deleted it and am uploading again, in the hope this works for everyone! FF is being a bit naughty lately, lots of issues with reviews, copy and paste, notifications. Some people have been saying for months that they've been missing updates and have had to catch up. It's annoying.*

This chapter is very long, no bones about it. I have edited and edited and edited, but for now everything needs to be here that is here. It is a pivotal chapter for all characters, and it needed to end when it did. I hope you enjoy it.

IT HIT 400 REVIEWS! Wooh! Thank you for your wonderful comments on the last chapter. To see that Keren has a special place in your hearts is a feeling I can't describe - and you know I like words lol. Lockdown is here again in the UK and I've just lost ANOTHER job as a result ugh, so if I'm ever feeling down I'll have a quick skim of your comments. Writing this brings me pure joy and warm, fuzzy feelings - the thought of some of you being in any way cheered up or comforted by the story is incredibly moving and humbling, and makes me feel connected to you all. x

Thanks Raider-K for sharing the first few chapters of Book 1 on Wtpd, it helped hugely and I'm so excited to get the rest of the story up on there. But first, there are still 5 chapters to go on here. Only. Five. Chapters. And they won't all be this long. *Lip wobbles*.


Chapter Thirteen - Forgive, Forget

It was nineteen days into summer. In body Keren was almost healed, the wound across her stomach now just an angry, red scar, which she knew she would bear to the end of her days. But her mind was only just coming to terms with all she had been through, and perhaps would not do so fully for many years.

There would be times when things felt so ordinary that she forgot why she was in Faramir's house at all, but then it would hit her, some memory, and she would go out into the gardens alone, until it passed. She was still unable to walk any great distance without tiring quickly, so she took to strolling out to a favourite place she had discovered, where one could see through gaps in the hills to open land north, south, east and west. The weather was always fine, and the gardens large and wild, with towering trees, and rolling grass with patches of rock scattered about. Little had been done to make the gardens conform to formality, and it was hard to tell where the gardens ended and the outside world began.

She would often look towards the hill Faramir had spoken of. It lay a mile to the south, and she thought in a couple of days she might ask to borrow a horse and ride out to it. She could try walking she supposed, but she still did not trust her legs to walk there and back in a day, let alone climb the hill. It made her anxious, the loss of being able to do ordinary things. As a healer she knew the only way to cure herself of that was to push herself a little every day, but she also knew that she had endured something that had earned her a time of peace, of not pushing anything at all.

She was spending more and more time with Faramir. She found, now she did not have to contend with prophecies, now she was not constantly worrying what to say, how she looked, whether she would ruin her chances with him, that she was enjoying his company far more than in Minas Tirith. But her heart was given, and nothing, no amount of warm smiles, shared jokes, friendly hands on her shoulder, could make either of them forget that. Every day, every hour, she thought of Legolas, of him no doubt drawing nearer and nearer to Ithilien.

"You look well today." Faramir's voice interrupted one such thought, as he joined her at her spot in the gardens.

"Six weeks since I arrived." She smiled. "I realised my birthday's been and gone. I suppose I had other things on my mind. Four-and-twenty. I shall be married at the same age my sister was."

Faramir chuckled. "Could you handle a belated feast do you think? For your birthday? And of course to celebrate the wedding to come?" He of course was forty now, though still looked as youthful as a man in his late twenties. If she had not been so used to Legolas being thousands of years older than he looked she would have found it unsettling.

"You don't have to do that for me," she frowned.

"You're our guest. More importantly you're our friend. And I know the time is soon approaching for you to leave me."

Me. The accidental word did not go unnoticed by either.

"Us. To leave us." He held her gaze as he said it, and she could not make out what it was he was trying to convince her of, to convince himself of, with those words.

There was silence for a little while, then -

"I do love her, you know," he said, softly. "I love everything about her. I would do anything for her. I wish - how I wish I could give her another child. But I can't risk her life, can't risk losing her again. I think if that… problem went away, things would be better. Things would be perfect."

Keren longed to reach across and take his hand. But she thought, now, that that would be dangerous. Dangerous, but not for her.

"I'm sorry," she said instead. "You know… the love is enough. Love is what brought you together, what brought you Elboron. When I was on my journey, when the world seemed so wide, and Legolas seemed so far away, when I didn't know where he was, or if I would even see him again, I walked - sometimes I ran - and I would remember the love. That's what got me through, until the days I was too exhausted to think of anything but surviving. But at the very last, when I thought I was about to die, I suppose just before you found me, my last thought was of that. Of the love."

His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach out to her but had stopped himself. Instead he asked -

"When will you leave, do you think? You'll of course have a horse, and company."

"I want to give myself plenty of time, and to enjoy the journey. I almost feel strong enough to ride now. Perhaps in a fortnight?"

He nodded. "A feast in a week's time then, with food, and wine, and ale, and dancing. A birthday, a celebration, and a farewell."

"That sounds wonderful. Though I'll be sad to leave you and Éowyn."

She was very careful to say the name of the person who dominated the conversation, despite her not being there to hear it.

She had grown closer to Éowyn, and found the lady could still be sad, and cold, amongst the moments of kindness and light. But she knew why this was, now - a very different reason from the first time they had met.

Elboron was now a year old, with dark, curling hair and grey eyes. There was not much of Éowyn in his looks, but Éowyn did not mind, for his heart was of the Rohirrim, she said. Keren would feel a pang in her chest, when she held him, or saw him laugh. Dannis, and Palen - she missed them. Dannis would be almost two now. Perhaps she could send word…? No. No-one must know she was here.

She felt Éowyn's eyes upon her one day as she read Elboron a story. When she had finished, and Éowyn had put her son down for a sleep, they sat together.

"You're a natural with him," Éowyn said, smiling, though her eyes were sad. "I fear he'll be a lonely child. I wish we could give him a brother or sister."

"It must be very hard," was all Keren could find to say. She remembered that horrible day, remembered how Éowyn had lain bleeding out on the bed, how she had had to tell Faramir…

"You know, when we had the news that I couldn't bear another child," Éowyn went on, "I vowed I wouldn't let any wet-nurse or servant be with him more than I. I'd do everything, spend every possible moment I could with him. And I did that, but still I - I can't always seem to… be good at it. Faramir is much better with him than I. He - he doesn't… smile much, for me. He doesn't scream at me, but he - "

"Éowyn, he loves you. You play with him, you nurse him, you cuddle him when he needs it. He's still so little, don't - "

"But he's the only chance I have. I have to get it right."

Keren put a gentle hand on Éowyn's arm, not knowing what to say, not being anywhere close to motherhood herself.

"Do you think you and Legolas will have children?" Éowyn voiced the question immediately, just as she had feared. "Can you even have - oh, forgive me."

Here it was, the subject she had been thinking of more than anything since she had survived her journey.

"We talked about it," she heard herself saying. "He said he can't face me bearing a child, for there's no way of knowing if I can survive it. It's true there have been no accounts of a mortal woman bearing an elven child. It's different for elves, you see, they can…" She looked around, checking they were alone. "They can lie together as many times as they like, but there will be no pregnancy unless they will a child into being, call upon the Valar to bless them with one."

Éowyn's eyes grew wide.

"And I know he would never do that," Keren went on, "so there's no chance. And at first, although I hated that I had no choice, no say, it didn't matter overmuch, for I couldn't see children in my future for a long time. But now… The journey I made, the reason I made it, it was for a future with Legolas. And it taught me that our time together may be even shorter than what we hope for. We're counting on me living to an old age, but I - " her fingers subconsciously went to her scar - "I might not. The fact I almost died, was willing to die, to try to get to him - do I not owe it to myself, to us, to risk something for a different future, a future I didn't think I wanted until I saw how hard it would be to lose it?"

Éowyn was silent. Keren smiled awkwardly.

"Did my answer give you more than the simple 'I don't know' you bargained for?" she said.

Éowyn let out a little laugh in the back of her throat, her lips still shut tight. But she spoke eventually.

"And Legolas? Does he want…?"

"I think so. He's told me he doesn't, but I can read him like a book. He lies to make it easier for me."

Éowyn nodded.

"So you want a child that your lover refuses to give you, no matter how much he also longs for that child himself?"

Their eyes met and held, and for the first time the healer of Gondor and the White Lady of Rohan completely understood one another.


The week before the feast was strange - the anticipation of seeing Legolas was making every day feel interminably slow, but the time to leave seemed to be rushing up to meet her before she felt ready. Was she strong enough to journey on, to face life outside the safe haven of the beautiful home Faramir and Éowyn had made for themselves?

The nights were short and warm now, and Keren found herself strolling out in the twilight, counting the stars as the sky darkened, late into the evening. She could walk further than before, but still she did not voice her plan to go to what she had secretly named Hrafn's Hill. She wanted to go entirely alone, for the weight of his death was her burden alone to bear.

Beregond would sometimes join her on her evening walks before he went home for supper, and together they would reminisce about days in the city. She once asked if he had seen her family, if they had ever made the trip to visit him. Once, was his answer. As he was technically still banned from setting foot within the city walls, Palen and Dannor had come to Emyn Arnen, bringing Dannis. Her father, he told her, had stayed home. Palen wrote fairly often.

"She's happy," Beregond told her. "Though worried about you, for of course she's had no word from you since… well, when was it?"

"I'm not sure," Keren answered. "I haven't seen her for over a year, and I've not exactly been anywhere I could write a decent letter and it could get to her. But it was always a worry, knowing she was worrying."

Beregond frowned. "I really don't see the harm now - " he began.

"No," Keren said, quickly, panicky. "No letters. No surprise visits. Not until I'm at that tree and it's all over. I can't risk anything."

He sighed. "So be it. Not long now, I suppose."

"Indeed. I'll miss you."

He gave her an odd look. "I think there's someone here you'll miss more."

Immediately she felt her hackles rise. "What do you mean?"

"Keren, I have eyes, and I have ears. Now, I know you well, and I trust you, I trust in your love for your elf-prince. But others don't, others see you and Faramir always together, smiling, laughing, heads together, walking arm in arm. His wife sees it. You can't have forgotten all that went before. If you suspect how he feels why are you encouraging it?"

Keren stopped walking, hurt to her core. "I'm not - not encouraging, I'm being a friend!"

Beregond raised an eyebrow. "Then I tell you this, as a friend. To anyone who doesn't know what bonding with an elf means, it looks for all the world as if you're falling for each other. Again. Only this time you're betrothed and he's married."

She shook her head, rattled. "But you know I wouldn't… even if I wanted to. The past is firmly in the past, Legolas is everything to me Beregond, how could you even think - "

"Hush," he said, more gently. "I know. I believe you. But it's hard for people to understand. All they see is a sad couple, and a fair young woman who is coming between them, with her betrothed conveniently not here."

"I've just been… I've been someone to talk to," she said honestly. "For Éowyn too. They're both sad, they both feel they're not enough for each other. If talking with an old friend lets him feel some happiness then - "

"'Old friend' my grandfather's left arse cheek," he interrupted. "The man's in love with you, maybe never stopped loving you. And my poor Lady…" he added, almost to himself. "You think you're helping, but you're not. It hurts my heart to see them both so low, after such promise. This is a sad house. Beautiful, but sad. Don't confuse the novelty of your presence here for happiness."

Keren was shocked, for Beregond was grave. "I would do anything to protect my Lord and Lady," he went on. "I never thought I'd have to protect them from you. But for your own sake too, think how it looks to others. It's too late to stop tongues wagging, so the advice I offer is this: be kind, and courteous, but distant. You must make it clear. And then go. Go and live your life with Legolas and stay away, until all you are to Faramir is a shadow of a mistake almost made."

Keren could barely speak. "I'm sorry you think so little of me. I would never…"

"I think the world of you," he said. "Always have. Like a daughter, remember? So I feel I can tell you what you need to hear, even if it hurts. You love Legolas, Legolas loves you, you are bonded, and nothing can tear that bond asunder. But you are human, Keren, and you are allowed to be frightened of a bond that nothing can break. You're even allowed to feel regret. I know, in the end, love will win out, for I know that's what you're ruled by - love, and goodness, and heart. But don't use pity for Faramir as an excuse to spend time with him, the one you would have chosen if Legolas and his bond hadn't come along. Be honest with yourself, and with him, and see this for what it is - your chance to say goodbye to the very human life you might have had."


Beregond was right, he had not been the only one in the household to notice how close Keren and Faramir had become, though only he knew of the history behind it. There were many mutterings and whispers, all saying how cruel it was for the poor Lady of Emyn Arnen. But Éowyn, from the moment she had had word that Faramir was bringing Keren to their home, had prepared herself for the worst. One look at her husband's face when he had arrived and she had known, known his heart was still torn. That had hurt. But could she honestly say that should her path cross Aragorn's again, her heart would not flutter in the old way it used to? And if it did, would that mean she loved Faramir any less? No, said her heart. So, she let it slide. Keren would not be here forever. And she had her own love - there had been no lie in Keren's eyes when she had spoken of Legolas.

But now two months had gone by, and Éowyn was starting to suspect Keren's heart may also be wavering, remembering how things were with Faramir before Legolas, and Éowyn herself, had entered her life.

She watched her husband and her friend now as she looked out of the window, their laughter carrying across the lawns back up to the house, and the seed of an idea began to form in her mind. She would watch, and she would wait a few days, to be sure, but she thought she had it, a way for the pain to be lessened a little, for them all.


The feast day came, and it was everything the new court of Emyn Arnen represented. Music of Gondor and Rohan was played, food from both lands, fashions and dances and languages, all mixed. Even the celebrations themselves were split - the dining inside, and the dancing and music later spilling out into the gardens. Long into the night the musicians played, harpists and drummers and flautists and fiddlers and singers - Keren had not heard such music, full of life and joy, for years, and it filled her heart, as the plentiful food filled her stomach, and the delicious wines filled her head. The court danced and mingled under the starlight in the warm summer air. She was happy. A little drunk, and happy. Such a long time it had been since she had felt that. And Legolas - Legolas was hers. Thranduil had failed. One short journey and he would have to face that she had beaten him, beaten the smug smirk off his face. Evil. That was what he was.

Evil, and mad, she thought.

"What was that?" Beregond shouted over the music and laughter.

"Oh." Keren had not realised she'd spoken aloud. "Er, nothing! The wine…" She laughed, and sent the contents of her cup spilling in an arc around her. "Oh, whoops, sorry, my apologies, I - "

She was cut off by the filthy looks she received from the couple talking nearby, people who a month ago had been all smiles and concern. She blinked, taken aback. What had she done, or said? The wine hadn't even gone on them, much.

"Whore," the woman muttered, before turning her back.

Keren stood staring for a while, in confusion and shock. Then she put two and two together, and blazing rage shot through her. She went to snatch at the woman's gown, but Beregond was already there, moving her away.

"Easy," he said.

"I - I - " she couldn't speak for her anger. She took a deep breath and looked square at Beregond. "Is that what you were really saying the other day? Is that what the people here think of me? That I'm some - some bought woman Faramir brought home because he doesn't share a bed with his wife anymore? Do they think that of him?"

Beregond exhaled and looked awkward. There was her answer.

"Right. Excellent," she said sarcastically. "Well, luckily for you all, I'll be gone soon."

"Keren, I don't think that, my family don't think that, we know you - "

She found herself shouting angrily as a new tune began. "I'm going to dance, alone."

And she did, she jumped and twirled and span, and laughed and cheered, and looked - she knew - quite mad. But she did not care overmuch about her reputation here now, not now she knew what they all thought of her. Faramir's whore. Faramir's dancing, drunken whore. She could play that part. She'd be gone in a week, and she would be with the person who had brought her back to life, who she had never needed to play a part for, who had loved her for all her frailties and weaknesses, and her strengths too, long before she even realised.

After a time she whirled away from the music to go and fill her glass.

Legolas had his faults though, as did she, she thought in a jumbled way as she poured a drink. He was so old, and so wise, careful in his judgement and clear with his words, but that meant he was over-cautious, not always thinking her capable of all she could - no - had achieved. He would do anything to protect her, even if it meant stopping her from doing things. That would change, now.

She took a sip and sat to the side, watching the dancers, numbers dwindling as the night went on. Faramir and Éowyn danced together several times, before the Lady retired, slightly pinker of cheek and brighter of eye than usual, bidding a goodnight to Keren with a warm smile.

Shortly after Beregond also took his leave, with a warning look to the goblet beside her. She shook her head, smiling. She was definitely done drinking for the night. In fact she had a mind to retire. But the music grew gentler, quieter, and her feet found themselves walking out into the grounds again, past the few dancers left on the terrace, onto the gently sloping lawn just past the musicians. She sat on the grass, and looked up at the stars.

Like old times, she felt her hand go to the pouch at her side and to Tinúnil, the crystal which for so many years had had no name.

Are you still watching me, Lady? Have I done what I was supposed to do?

Nothing. Just silence, the stars themselves seeming to be held frozen in the darkness. She sighed.

"All alright?"

The voice, though she had almost been expecting to hear it, still startled her a little.

He sat beside her. She froze, wary of anyone seeing them together. She smiled nevertheless, at his handsome, friendly face.

"I heard from Beregond of your unfortunate altercation," he said. "I thought I'd see how you were. I'm so sorry that you… I'm sorry if I've made it seem - "

"People like to talk, is all," she said quickly. "We know we've done nothing wrong. And soon I'll be gone, and you won't have me hanging about causing trouble."

"You could never cause trouble."

"But I have, haven't I? Just by being here. You should never have brought me here."

There was a silence. But she couldn't help herself.

"Why did you?" she asked. He frowned.

"Why did you bring me here?" she clarified. "Why not take me to Minas Tirith - to the Houses of Healing, or to my sister's house? Why to your home?"

He looked at her, then looked at the crystal in her hand. He stared at it a while, but did not comment on it. Instead he spoke, low and sad.

"I worried you wouldn't survive the journey. And I - I wanted to look after you. I wanted to make things right between us, after how I… left things. I owed it to you. Keren, I'm so sorry, for what I did. You must know I did love you, that I was just too proud and stupid and scared - "

"Yes, I worked all that out," she said, with some chill in her voice, but then relaxed. "But it was all fine, in the end, wasn't it? You and Éowyn, you were happy."

She winced. "Are. Are happy."

"I love her very much," he said. "And you and Legolas, well, you were born to be with him it seems. Your prophecy. 'The son of a ruler, wearing green of the forest', all of that."

She looked down at her hand, stroking the soft grass. "You remember it."

"Well, there was a time when I thought it was about me, so I always remembered it. But then I saw you, the two of you together at Edoras, for the funeral. I looked at you, as my betrothal to Éowyn was announced. And you looked away, as I deserved, and I saw Legolas beside you. He put his arm about your waist, and you turned to him, and the look on your face… I'm not sure you even realised. But I learned something then - I just knew, even if you didn't… I'd lost you."

The words hung in the air, and it was too late for him to take them back. Keren's head was reeling. So it was true. He was married to Éowyn, he loved Éowyn. But he also still loved her.

She felt strangely lonely, in that moment, unable to help any of them. But words came tumbling out of her mouth nonetheless.

"No, you didn't lose me then," she said, steeling herself. "You lost me that night on the balcony. You were betrothed to someone else, and you deemed it fit to kiss me, then tell me it was goodbye. Whether the prophecy was about you or not, I think, I hope, you would have always lost me then. Though I loved you for many months afterwards, I would never have let myself go back to you, if you'd changed your mind. You told me you feared losing control, losing any power you had, to obey the strangeness that was forcing us together. Looking back on it, it almost sounds like a bond of some kind, like the elves have. But the difference between you and me is that, however frightening the prospect of being steered into a fate I can't control might be, I take the measure of the happiness it brings me, and I let that be my guide. Legolas fills me with happiness. Yes, there's fear, and there's confusion, but most of all there's love, and joy. You, back then, you let the fear take hold. You took away any happiness there might have been in a future together, because you feared you were being controlled by some external force. But I said it then, and I say it again now - that is love. And to experience all the wonderful things it brings, you have to let it take over."

She looked over at him, curious to see how her words, words she was not entirely sure she'd remember in the morning, were affecting him. His eyes were locked on hers.

"And now we meet again, and now I know that you - you still love…" She couldn't bring herself to say it. "But it's too late. And I see it all now, I understand you. All your life you've had to prove you're making the right choice, for your father, for your country, for yourself. But now your father is dead, your country is at peace, and no-one is holding you to account but yourself. You have a wife who loves you, who is good and wise and brave. Let go of the fear that you made the wrong choice. I am bonded to Legolas. I'm told so over and over again, whatever it truly means. But deep down, I still believe I have a choice to obey that bond. Is it the right choice? Who knows. I don't seem to get any guidance anymore. Perhaps I don't need it now. Perhaps in another world you and I are together after all. But Legolas… I'm tied to him…"

She was interrupted briefly by a sudden light in the sky, which took the few remaining people on the terrace by surprise, and had them pointing in delight. A shooting star. Then another, then three more.

The two of them sat together, watching in silence. Faramir could not speak. Finally, as the last of the lights disappeared, Keren finished her sentence.

"I'm tied to him, but that's the choice I made, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Learn to own your choices, to see the pride in making them, not the fear."

Faramir was silent a little while more, studying the face of the woman who sat before him. But then he was moved to speak.

"You're as wise as an elf, now," was all he said, and he watched as a smile grew on her face.

"Wiser than some," she said. "Though not nearly as tall, alas."

They laughed gently together. And there it was, the moment of peace both had been craving, since they had first met. So tumultuous their path had been, and now, finally, they knew what their place was in the other's life.

They both turned to look back at the terrace, which was empty now except for one couple, drunkenly swaying around to the gentle strums of the two harpists that remained. The other musicians had retired. Keren and Faramir remained on the lawn behind them.

"Can you ever forgive me?" he asked.

"Hmm. For causing me to run away to live with the elves, find my true love, and triumph over an evil king who wanted me dead? I think I can find it in me to forgive you."

"I'm glad. I don't deserve it," he said. "You're… well, you know what I think, what I've always thought." He looked back to the harpists. "We never got to dance together, in all these years. Would it be too much if I asked you to now? A peace offering?" He offered her his hand.

She looked warily at him for a moment, looking for any trace of ulterior motive in his eyes, his gestures. But he was just Faramir, the lost man, who had never had the belief in himself to own his choices, now finally awakening to not having to second-guess his every move. He was just Faramir, and this would be, they knew, their real goodbye.

Their hands met, and if for a second both of them felt an old pull of sadness at the memories of their meeting, neither judged the other for it. The last couple on the terrace had disappeared, and only the two harpists remained. Softly they began to sing, simple words for a simple melody.

As their feet found the first few steps any awkwardness they had feared melted away. Their movements were graceful, gentle, warm - arms entwining, feet skimming the soft grass. Again peace settled upon them, and they felt joy for each other as they understood all that had gone before, though still the memories span around them like sad shadows of a love lost.

The moon shone down, and all was still around the two dancers, save for the strumming of the harps and the gentle voices of the singers. Neither could say how long they danced, or what the steps were, both committing the details of the face, the eyes, the smile of the other to memory. Love came in many forms, Keren realised, and perhaps the strongest kind was knowing when to let something go, if it was the right thing to do. She had to let Faramir go, for he had to forget her in order to find happiness. She had to turn from the world of men altogether, for her beloved Legolas just did not fit into it.

Faramir seemed to sense this.

"I'll never forget…" he said softly.

"You will," she replied. "In time. You'll perhaps remember how things looked, but not how things felt, not how they hurt or brought happiness. It all just… fades, once you let it. Trust me, I know. And the spaces all those lost memories leave behind are filled, with new love. Love for someone else perhaps, love for the sky, and the earth, and all innocent things, love for you. Don't fear love, Faramir, revel in it. All you see in me is a lost chance, a ghost - when there is a real woman by your side, who you chose then, and who chooses you every day. All I brought you was doubt and fear, let the Shieldmaiden bring out your courage, and your love."

And with that she stood upon her toes and kissed his cheek, and as the last notes of the song played, she disappeared into the darkness, leaving him alone.


Keren ran. She ran again for the first time. She was feeling strange. Sad, powerful, deliriously happy, troubled, all at once. Running seemed the best thing for it. The moon lit the sky and reflected off the grass, the hills, and suddenly she knew where she was running to. Already she could feel the rising in her chest, up through her throat.

The ground rushed by, growing rockier. Perhaps she had left the gardens already. She began to tire, her heart pounding, and slowed to a walk.

So weak, I've been left so weak, she thought, bitter at how Thranduil had power over her, even now.

But he didn't. For she kept walking, though her chest was tight and her breathing grew raspy, and she smiled, and started to laugh. She was stronger than she had ever been, in her heart, in her mind. Her life was in no-one's hands but her own, and each step, feet pounding into the soft tufts of grass as she marched on, was one of triumph and defiance.

The ground started to rise, and she saw she had reached the hill. The ravens were roosting, no dull croaks sounding, no territorial carks. She would wake them, she would have them all crying, yelling to the sky.

The trees grew denser, blocking out most of the moonlight, and the path grew steeper, but on she went, feeling her way. She stumbled a few times and her face and hands were scratched by brambles, but she smiled, feeling the pull of adventure again, feeling her place in the world. She missed it, she realised, the wild wandering, before it had all gone wrong, before the Emyn Muil had brought its cold, dull misery down upon her. She missed the days when the sun and the rain and the wind had brushed her skin and carried her onwards, the days where she had chosen where to stop, and where to run, and where to eat, and how to survive. Her rules, her freedom. Thranduil had given her a gift, she realised, and the glee that brought her, picturing his face scowling in annoyance, was enough to make her almost begin running again as she reached the top of the hill.

The trees here were large and spaced out, perhaps oak, she could not see well enough to tell. Almost a natural circle they formed, open on the northern side, where the side of the hill fell sharply down. North - back to where her journey had started, back along all her long path, though it was too dark to see much beyond the low moonlit hills nearby. Back to where Hrafn had lived, and died.

The night had remained still and quiet, with just a gentle night wind rustling the leaves amongst the heavy branches. She sat for a while, just listening. Occasionally a bird, high above, would stir and call. The croaking caused her heart to stutter, for the last time she had heard that sound had been upon the marshes, and for a time the darkness brought her evil faces and foul voices. Memories only, but enough to make her nearly turn and run. But then she remembered it was just a raven, and ravens had been nothing but her friends on the road, both bird and man.

Still she could feel the strangeness in her chest, the need to call, to shout. Her words to Faramir… There was power, and truth, in her voice tonight, though whether from her or from Elbereth she had almost stopped distinguishing, or caring. They had made her question herself, those words, question her love for Legolas, her trust in herself, everything, for Faramir had looked so lost, so sad, that she had almost wished things were different, that she were able to save him from himself, that she had fought for him after all. But then she had felt her betrothal ring, back where it belonged upon her finger, and all regret was lost. There would never be anyone who she could love more than Legolas, not if they knelt before her and offered her all her heart desired, for all they could offer her in that case was Legolas himself. Entwined, that was what they were, part of each other, and the idea of losing that was what was causing the strange fluttering feeling in her chest, she realised. She could not lose him, not after all she had done.

But one day he would have to lose her… Again the need to cry out pushed her forward.

She walked to the edge of the hill, where it ended abruptly, a cliff falling into the valley below. The trees fell away and the moon shone clear again, and all the wildness of the land about was shown to her. The wind blew stronger, and more dull carks started up above.

"The ravens call for a Raven's fall," she said to herself, to Hrafn. "Can you hear them?"

Silence.

"Hrafn, can you hear them? Hrafn? Hrafn!"

Her voice grew louder. She knew it was futile, talking to a dead man, hoping to hear an answer, but it comforted her, to remember. Not how she had left him, cold and broken and lonely, far away - that image would haunt her until she died, however much she tried to replace it with memories of him when he was alive. But now, here, it was easier. Just her, and a sky shining with stars, and the trees. The kind of night he liked.

"Hrafn!" she said again, louder still. "Be at peace. Be at - be at peace, Hrafn." She had not known she was sobbing until she heard her voice falter. "For I can't bring you back, though it was me who - it was me who…"

The tears stopped her from speaking, and she felt such anger and grief rise up inside her that it was all she could do not to scream.

"I never meant… I - I never meant… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, Hrafn."

The birds were restless now, for she had disturbed their slumber, and more croaks and calls sounded, with some flapping of wings and rustling of branches.

"Forgive me!" A stream of sobbing burst forth, until her face was wet and her throat was sore. All the emotion she had been too exhausted to express in those horrible days after his death came pouring out. "Hrafn, Hrafn, Hrafn!" Her voice rose in intensity. "Hrafaaaaan! Hrafaaaaan!" She yelled his name into the night, as she had always known she would, and all the ravens were disturbed and yelled with her.

After a little time his name was no longer recognisable, and the sound became a high, keening scream, a recognition, a mourning, for Hrafn, for her mother, for her father, for all she had been through, for all she had lost, for all the hard lessons she had learned. She screamed and screamed, at the moon, at the birds, at the ground, and most of all at the stars, until she felt she had gone truly mad.

Let it be done now, she thought. No more. Let it be done.

Elbereth had wanted her to get to Ithilien, and she had.

So no more. Just peace, I beg you.

And as she thought of peace so it came to her, and she sank to the ground, her back against one of the old trees, and felt the earth solid and strong beneath her fingers as she stared into the darkness. The ravens settled, and the night was quiet once more, save for her gentle sniffs as the tears abated.

So she turned back, and her steps, and heart, were lighter. But evermore the folk of Emyn Arnen would warn their children of going to Raven Hill after dark, lest they come across the creature whose unearthly cries disturbed the silence of a summer night.


Éowyn was sat, still very much awake, in her chamber, lost in thought. She thought she heard a dim, faraway cry, carried on the gentle summer breeze from the north. Eerie and sad, she went to close her window against it, but the night was warm. Then there came the knock upon the door she had been waiting for.

"Come in," she said softly.

A delicate, feminine tread sounded behind her, and she stood anxiously.

"Well?" Her voice was low, and far sadder than she had been hoping to sound. She felt she knew what she was about to hear.

"My lady…" The harpist began, then tailed off.

"Were you able to hear anything?"

The young woman nodded. "They sat close to us, just behind, where the lawn begins to slope downwards. For the most part I was playing, so I could only watch, but sometimes I could hear… Forgive me, my lady, I'm not often in the habit of spying."

Éowyn shook her head, annoyed. She did not like calling it spying either, not when it could mean happiness. She had almost stopped herself, earlier, before sending for the girl to ask her to watch her husband and friend, but ultimately she had pushed guilt aside.

"Go on."

"Well, after you'd retired, my Lord went to her side. She'd been sat alone for some time, but as soon as she went outside he joined her. They talked much, though I couldn't hear any of what was said, but they didn't seem too close. But then I - I heard…" She took a breath. "In the silence between two songs, I heard her clearly. She said something like, 'is it the right choice, who knows, I don't get any guidance, perhaps I don't need it, perhaps in another world you and I are together after all.'

Éowyn felt the blood leave her face, her fingers, and rush back to her heart.

"And then she was silent for a little while," the girl went on, "but then I'm sure - I'm sure I heard her say, 'but I'm tied to Legolas.' Or if not that then something very like. After that the stars danced in the sky and all were distracted, and then we played again."

"Is that all?" Éowyn's voice was barely a whisper.

"There's a little more, my lady. When everyone had retired and they were alone I made sure we kept playing, as you instructed. And they - they danced together. The song was sweet, and their steps were gentle, and they looked - well, they looked strange. Both happy and sad. Then as the music ended she kissed him - I couldn't see whether upon the cheek or upon the mouth - and ran away."

"She ran away?" Éowyn said sharply.

"Perhaps she felt guilty, my lady? I must say, she doesn't seem the type to go about seducing husbands. She was sweet, and funny, and smiling, though people were cruel to her."

"Yes, I saw that," Éowyn said, still distracted, then realised she must act quickly. "That will be all. Thank you, for helping me."

The girl tried to smile, and all but ran from the room. Éowyn tried to stop her hands from shaking. She sat at her desk, and stared at the blank parchment in front of her. She had a letter to write. But where to begin?


Keren's final week at Emyn Arnen passed without event. She had little belongings to pack, and few goodbyes to make. She had been careful to distance herself from everyone, spending many hours alone in her room, but when the day came for her to depart she found Beregond and Bergil waiting in the hall, with a full pack for her short journey.

"We'll escort you the whole way," Beregond said, with a soft smile, knowing she would have mixed feelings about leaving the relative safety of the grand house. "Though the road now offers little threat, you'll be guarded at all times."

Bergil smiled crookedly at her. Now fourteen, he was old enough to go with his father on patrols, and he felt some pride at protecting Keren, who in his eyes was now quite famous after bonding with an elf. He would often boast to his friends how he had known her since before he could even remember.

Her parting with Faramir and Éowyn was full of thanks, and tears were shed by both her and the White Lady.

"You won't be far away," Éowyn had said, smiling through her tears. "And soon all will be as it should be."

Faramir offered only a brief farewell, as he held Elboron in his arms. His eyes gave little away, this time. Perhaps he was relieved that she was going.

The weather was fine, the sun shining on the hilltops, as she rode across the forecourt. Her horse was well-tempered and small. Stian, the last horse she had ridden, trotted briefly into her thoughts, resolutely refusing to leave his master at the edge of the Emyn Muil, but Beregond's kind gaze pulled her out of the memory.

She turned and waved back at the couple who had taken her in, at the man who had saved her life. Would it would be fit to invite them to the wedding? Would it be fit to ever see them again? Three times now she had ridden away from him, every time with Éowyn by his side. She could not see a happy future with them in it. She needed it to end.

Boe annin mened. Cuio vae. No veren.

An Elvish wish for them, as she turned her face towards the path that led her to her future amongst the people with whom she had found a home.

"How do you feel, knowing he will be waiting?" Beregond's voice called her back into the present.

She took a moment to gather herself before answering.

"I've never been happier," she said.

And he nodded, as if he saw a weight fall away from her.

So the days on the road passed, and with each day Keren's heart grew lighter and lighter, and she became almost jittery with the excitement. Every mile brought her closer to Legolas, every day was one day less that she would have to live without him. She felt blessed, to be travelling through such beautiful country, to have food and rest and merry company under the stars.

They forded a river, running swift and cold down from the Mountains of Shadow. Still they loomed over all, dark and threatening, but now only with the threat of a brief summer storm, all malice and evil forgotten. It would be many a year before folk would dwell beside them, let alone cross them, but Keren felt no terror being so near, when before the Fall even the sight of them from Minas Tirith would cause her to tremble.

Shortly beyond the river was a crossroads, where men of Gondor were at work rebuilding a large statue of a long-dead King. Keren smiled to see it. All felt good, and hopeful, as if the joy she felt at her reunion with Legolas was simply part of the world being set right again.

They followed the road north a little further, then took to the forest, cutting across north-west as best they could with the horses. These were the nights Keren enjoyed the most, a little campfire, sometimes with song, always with laughter, some food, and the soft forest floor as a bed - all the good parts of travelling in the wild. She herself began to feel wild again, ready to meet her half-Silvan prince, feeling his equal now.

On the twelfth day out from Faramir's home, Beregond said they were within a day's journey of Cormallen. The going had been leisurely, as she had wished, not wanting to push her still recovering body, but it would still leave her with three days spare. As she woke that morning she literally jumped up and danced for joy, leaving Beregond and Bergil blinking groggily.

And suddenly, after a few hours walk, there was a bright glint of light in the distance. Sunlight upon water.

"The Anduin," she said softly. "Hello, old friend."

For the great river had been her companion for many miles of her journeys, both north and south.

They rested the horses for a short while upon its banks, then continued north, keeping the river close by on their left. Soon the trees opened out, save for a long line of willows close to the water's edge, and she knew where she was.

The trio dismounted, and Keren stood still, taking in the wide river, the graceful trees, the large expanse of grass. Beyond the field she saw the forest edge, trees spreading up the gently sloping hill. Somewhere amongst those trees, only three years ago, she had heard an elf sing of the sea.

Everything felt very still, and she did not know how to feel.

"I've done it. I'm here," she said to Beregond and Bergil. "I never thought…"

She tailed off.

"Really?" Beregond said. "I'm sure a part of you always thought you could do it, or you wouldn't have set out. Many congratulations, my friend."

She sighed. "I may have taken the long route, but I'm here." Then she allowed herself to smile, to feel again. "Thank you both. And not just for this journey."

Seeing their proud faces was enough to cause a lump in her throat.

"You must come and stay, for I know we shall make quite a home here."

"We will, and gladly," Beregond replied. "But make time first, just for the two of you." He placed a hand upon her shoulder. "Your sister will be so proud of you. Now, go and find your elf-prince. And may you have all the joy in the world."

She hugged them both, Bergil taller than her now, and watched as they rode away, two more pieces of her old life, though hopefully two that would remain in her new one.

She took stock of her surroundings once more. She had expected to see some people, elves building or planning the colony that Legolas was shaping here, but Cormallen was quiet. But of course, they would be living deep within the trees.

So, she would journey to the oak tree alone. She knew where it lay, just a few minutes walk away, the glade almost on the edge of the forest.

And then she felt it - eyes watching her. There were elves in the forest after all, clever, hidden people, and she had been sighted. Probably even now someone was rushing to Legolas with the news that she was here. She felt her hands begin to shake. So close, so close.

The walk to the trees felt unbearably long, so she began to run, past where the feasting tents of the army camp had been, past the spot where Frodo and Sam had once slept in their rags, and up the slope to the edge of the trees. She paused, and smiled. She took off her shoes. She wanted everything to be as it was, as it had been then. Leaving her boots behind, she walked into the glade. The sun shone through the leaves and onto the bright grass that lay in the centre. There, to the right, was the glorious old oak, as she had remembered it, low and squat, with many a branch to climb. There was no-one here, but that was alright. They had sent word, and he would come.

She walked up to the oak, laid a reverent hand upon it, whispered a greeting, then sat as she had before, in a cosy nook between two large roots. She closed her eyes, and waited.

My feet will be bare, and I will be singing.

His voice was so loud in her head, it was as if he was already there, but she knew that was just her excitement.

An hour passed, then two, and she began to feel worried. Perhaps he would come on the exact date, and she had two more days to pass here alone? But just as she convinced herself that was the case, she heard slow, gentle footsteps sound from behind her, just as they had that night long ago.

She stood, eyes gleaming, and watched as the tall figure appeared amongst the trees. Clad in silver and green, there were the bare feet, the grey eyes, the long, silver-blonde hair.

But it was not Legolas.

It was his father.


Author note: I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'M SORRYYYYY. (Not sorry). But totally sorry.