Victory. The light prevailed over the darkness, or at least this was evidenced by the horn of Rohan resounding throughout the Deep. But could it really be called a victory? Could the hundreds of bodies lying around be considered a happy ending? Did they win or did they survive?

"It's a slaughter," Éowyn whispered as she walked out onto the walls. She left the caves as soon as dawn began, so she saw with her own eyes the glory of Théoden and Rohan. She saw the rohirim banners flutter again in the wind, the enemy dying and fleeing. She saw dawn and dusk.

Aragorn, the one she so admired, was also there. There was peace in her heart for a moment...he is alive, he is safe...

However, this peace passed as quickly as it came. She felt uncertainty and fear again. Wasn't the sight of him the one her eyes were looking for?

"Quendë..." she whispered uncaughtly, and her hand touched the hilt of the sword she had strapped to her waist. She looked once more in the direction of the horse riders that were defeating the remnants of the enemy's army. She wasn't there.

So Éowyn did something that she couldn't quite explain afterwards. Knowing the risk, she grabbed her sword with both hands and descended from the walls, down a narrow staircase, straight into the sea of wounded, survivors, corpses and even those in which life, filthy, artificially created life, was still smoldering.

The first steps were the most difficult. She was surrounded by the all-encompassing smell of death, which paralyzed not only her body but also her senses. Oh how ridiculous she must have looked! She may not been wearing a silk ball gown, but it was still a dress. One small splinter could break through the material, not to mention swords or arrows.

But she kept moving forward. She felt herself break out in a cold sweat that made her golden hair stick to her forehead, obscuring the vision. With a quick movement, she brushed them away and did it just in time. She only managed to register out of the corner of her eye how a hand dressed in the armor of Isengard pulled out its disgusting claws towards her. Her body reacted instinctively. With a single stroke of a heavy sword, she made a half-turn, and before the enemy could do more than tear the sleeve of her dress, his hand fell limply to the ground.

To her own surprise, this scene did not make much of an impression on her. A slight shiver passed through her body, but she quickly recovered and waded further into the battlefield, occasionally hiding behind fragments of the wall or finishing off the dying orcs. She haven't seen a single living elf or man, which filled her heart with fear.

Suddenly, she reached near the gate, to which an embankment led from the other side. Under the half-broken door wings piled up a pile of bodies and fortifications, which were probably used to repel attacks with a battering ram. She wanted to come up, to look at the bodies, but she just couldn't. For a few seconds she froze in place, her thoughts loud in her head. Only now, after passing almost the entire stronghold, did she realize that the only face she was looking for was the one she was so afraid to find. She couldn't explain why this rather rough and frustratingly independent elven warrior made such an impression on her. Perhaps she was like a breath of fresh air that the princess trapped in the shadow of Rohan so badly lacked. And her death would also mean death to all of the hopes that have been forth in Éowyn's heart.

Unfortunately for her, the hesitation lasted too long. Long enough that she didn't hear the footsteps approaching her and when she finally heard them and turned abruptly, the sight of a man confused her so much that she lowered the sword. When after a short while she saw in him not Rohirrim but Dunlending, it was too late. The enemy swung and she could only minimize the effects of the attack. So she dropped the heavy sword that fell with a loud jaw to the ground and dodge with her whole body so that only the tip of the sharp weapon swept her side. Unfortunately, as she had already known, the dress was not an obstacle to the steel, which is why she hissed in pain and traces of blood immediately appeared on the clothes.

Éowyn tried to quickly reach back for her sword, but he was faster and kicked the weapon far beyond her reach. Thinking little, she grabbed a large and sharp piece of rock, which had chipped from the walls and threw it right at the enemy's head. She was quite content with that throw, but it didn't last long. Apparently, the strength of her slightly frightened hands turned out to be too small compared to the skull of Wildmen of Dunland. The man quickly recovered and now looked much more dangerous than before. He grinned his teeth in a disgusting smile and rushed straight at her.

A range of emotions passed through the girl's face, but they were all dominated by anger at herself. Anger that she got defeated so easily, even though she knew she could beat him. However, she was not going to give up so easily. She tried to reach for her sword once more, but at that moment something whistled near her ear and she saw how the smile froze on that man's lips before he fell to the ground without life.

There was an elven dagger stuck in his neck.

"Tauriel..." Éowyn whispered and quickly looked around. Suddenly, she saw her. She was standing near that gate and the pile of bodies that the blonde was so afraid to approach...With one hand she supported herself against the wall, the other she held tightly on her stomach. Her hair and skin, which had shone with a priscious glow only the night before, were now full of dust and blood. She looked as if she was just waiting for Éowyn's eyes to meet her own. As soon as the other woman saw her, the elf slowly seded to the ground. In the blink of an eye, the girl was by her side.

"No, please no," she spoke feverishly more to herself than to anyone else, she didn't even know if the elf could hear her. Only now she saw that Tauriel's hand that was holding her stomach was all covered in blood, red liquid still oozing from the wound. So she tore her already torn sleeve and rolling it into a tight ball, she pressed tightly against the injury. The elf lifted her eyelids and contorted her face in a grimace.

"Leave it," a husky voice come out her throat. She didn't want to sound so harsh, but she was very sore and very tired. On top of that, she actually didn't think she deserved to be saved. She liked that this is how her already too long life ends. At least she would die for a good cause, doing something good. "My lady, please," this time her voice was much softer, much quieter, but with her free hand she still tried to grab Éowyn's wrist.

"Stop fidgeting. Let me help you," young woman's voice was gentle yet very firm. You could hardly hear all the emotions that tugged at her and how relieved she truly was about the fact that the elf was alive.

Weak hand tried to tighten on her wrist a few more times, but after a while it let go and fell almost limp to the ground.

"You shouldn't be here," Tauriel spoke, struggling against the darkness that was surrounding her. Suddelny she wasn't so sure anymore that this is how her life is suppose to end.

"You shouldn't be dying," Éowyn's response came out faster than she meant it to. It was so blunt yet held so many hidden emotions that neither of them could name.

"You're hurt," elf's face covered with concern. She even tried to pull herself up, but the girl held her in place with a gentle movement of her hand.

"I said stop fidgeting. It's nothing, he barely scratched me," the blonde tried to cut the subject off, although in fact her own wound was starting to bother her a bit. But she had no place in her head to worry about it now. The most important thought now was the elf she held in her arms and whose life was starting to leak through her fingers.

"Your cheek alone has suffered more than my body," the girl gently stroked the skin on the elf's face with her thumb. Tauriel's cheek has indeed been hit by some rough weapon judging by the size of the cut.

"Some say battle scars could be alluring," the redhead mumbled. Her eyes shut down again, partly because of how weak she was and partly because Éowyn's touch felt like a spark that could've ignite the fire in her eyes that she didn't want anyone to see. "Your thoughts are pretty loud, my lady," she added quietly, but her lips twitched in a sly smile.

Suddenly Éowyn laughed. This whole situation, the ashes of battle surrounding them, the horror of this world ahead, but even the threat of death hanging over her could not break the spirit of this elven woman.

"Few moments ago, when I was lying on the ground, hurt and defeated I thought that this wouldn't be the worst way to die, you know? Fighting for a better tomorrow is always a noble sacrifice," Tauriel started, her voice now trembling from the cold that began to overwhelm her. She exerted the last strength she had to open her eyes and focus on that face, that beautiful face staring at her with an impenetrable expression."Then I heard your scream and I thought that dying while saving someone was an even nobler one. But now? Now I think that dying right here in your arms, just listening to your laughter is more than a simple warrior deserves and needs,"

Some invisible force squeezed Éowyn from the inside and made her unable to breathe for a moment. Do people really behave like this under such inhumane circumstances? Do they really feel the things she was feeling or is it that all of the emotions they're experiencing is just an illusion created by a wounded body in order to ease the wounded and scared mind? Was it the vision of impending death that weighed on her judgment or was it really that this elven woman was someone special, someone who suddenly seemed so close to her heart, even though they had only met a few hours ago?

"Ava quel," Tauriel heard girl's voice, though she felt her senses slowly shutting down, one by one. She could see nothing but the blanketing void, hear nothing but that one request she was unable to fulfill, feel nothing but a pair of soft, warm lips pressed against her forehead and strong arms that lifted her limp body upwards. And then nothingness took her away...


Nothing. Everything and nothing. Pain and fear...
Throughout her long life, Tauriel thought she had learned all the emotions a being could feel. How wrong she had been...
Nothing hurt her, though she was suffering terrible torment. She did not feel the temperature, although a fire was raging in her head and thoughts. She felt an overwhelming emptiness and at the same time she knew, that wherever she was, she was not alone.

Voices, quieter louder, smells mingling together, the smell of death, hope, fear and... there was one scent that caused even more confusion to arise in her whirling senses. A sweet and pungent scent, as soothing as it was dangerous; simbelmynë mixed with sun-scorched grass, hay and leather. A lethal mix for those too easily tempted.

And it was this deadly scent that caused the corners of her mouth to gently lift upwards and her eyelids, though closed, wrinkled in an irreverent grimace.

"Tauriel?" the elfess had never been fond of her name, but those few letters falling from the lips of this Rohan maiden had never sounded more sweet and gentle.

She forced her eyes open. With her elven senses sharpened, she expected the brightness of the room to be a very unpleasant experience, but nothing of the sort occurred. Instead, she realized that she was in a rather large, dusky chamber. The only sources of light were torches placed in wall mounts.

She tried to get up, but her own body betrayed her. As soon as she tensed her muscles she felt a sharp pain in her abdominal area that effectively held her in place. Resigned, she turned her head to look at the room. It was definitely not a guest room. The wood used to make the furniture came from the oldest trees in Middle-earth, the floor and walls were decorated with hand-painted shapes, and the fabric under her fingers was softer than mithril. These must have been the royal chambers...

"Tauriel," once again, that sweet and gentle voice, brought her back to her senses.

"You are unbearably quiet for a human being, my lady," voice that came out of her throat was slightly husky, but she allowed herself a small, challenging even, smile. Éowyn sat in a large armchair perched on the edge of the bed, her hand dangerously close to Tauriel's palm. The gown she had last seen her in was gone, replaced by a loose white shirt tied at the back and riding pants. And though her wounds had been attended to, her hair was still tangled with dust from the battlefield. As if she didn't have time, or didn't want to waste time on such mundane things as washing herself.

And what was it really like? Éowyn tried to find the answer to that question herself. How had this elf, a stranger to her, gained her respect and aroused her curiosity in just one evening? And why was it that from the moment the elf's eyes closed some invisible hand was squeezing her insides, making breathing a challenge? She didn't even know if she wanted to know the answers to those questions. And even if she did, she'd be too proud to admit it.

The princess didn't answer, though the elf could swear her eyes were telling their own story.

"How long was I unconscious?,"

"All Day. Right after that...right after you saved me you fell lifeless," an unexplained shadow fell over Éowyn's words. "But I...Legolas didn't want to accept it, I think he used some sort of elven medicine, magic maybe, to help you," blue eyes full of unguessed emotion looked at Tauriel as if they were trying to say more than their owner was letting them. As if Éowyn was too proud to admit that the moment she held the unconscious elf in her arms was the moment the Rohan maiden felt an overwhelming emptiness and fear.

"Thank you," and there it was. In that one short word, Tauriel heard all the emotions the princess had tried so hard to conceal. She smiled to herself.

"I think this chamber is an expression of gratitude that I don't believe I deserve," elven woman started as she tried to get up. Again the pain and pervasive weakness, so unfamiliar to her trained body, overwhelmed her. For a moment she thought the darkness would once again slip its stifling blindfold over her eyes, but again she felt someone's arms catch her and effectively settle her back on the bed.

"You're hurt, please. Let go of this feeling that you have to deserve something. Sometimes people's deeds come from the depths of their hearts, from a reflex and a desire to do good in this dark world. And besides, I personally feel that the mere fact that you were willing to fight by our side is noble enough to, as you put it, earn the privilege of using this chamber," for a moment, the bluntness and firmness of those words made Tauriel forget she was even hurt. She just sat there and tried with all her might not to show any emotion on her face. But after a moment she shook herself off and obediently lay down without a word.

"And besides, this is my chamber. We have plenty of wounded, and beds for care are sadly insufficient. My chamber, on the other hand, is spacious enough to comfortably accommodate more than my person alone. I thought it was the least I could do for you for saving my life," Tauriel wondered how one could talk so much about such emotional matters and do it in a way that even her sharpened senses couldn't permeate this shell. But the elf was not one to be easily discouraged.

"I always wanted to save a damsel in distress," there is was again, a small blush crept over girl's pale face. "Though I must admit you did quite well my lady," elf added with appreciation in her voice.

"The women of Rohan need to be able to take care of themselves," again this proud tone. Oh if only Tauriel had the strength for some cutting reply. But even from this brief conversation she was beginning to feel a little dizzy. With a loud sigh, she sank down into the uncommonly soft bedding.

"In fact, I should be thanking you. If it weren't for you I don't know...perhaps I would have been just one of the bodies of the fallen...perhaps no one would have been able to find me in time. I was even beginning to come to terms with death, but then you... thank you my lady," the elf turned her head towards Eowyn quickly enough that her sharp eyes managed to register the glassy glint in the princess' eye, which the princess quickly hid by turning her face away.

"Illumë tambë valatëa," Tauriel smiled teasingly and whispered more to herself than to the princess, but as soon as the words left her mouth the other woman sent her a puzzled look. Elven woman still didn't know if Éowyn actually spoke Elvish or if it was just words she had picked up, but something began to tell her that underneath that layer of coldness and haughtiness were secrets that Meduseld had kept in its chambers for far, far too long. And it was in that moment that Tauriel realized how much she wanted to discover them all

Illumë tambë valatëa - always so proud


Unfortunately, I can't promise when the next chapter will appear, only that it will surely appear and that every chapter I write, I write from my heart and from passion, so if at least one person likes this story it means that it all makes sense after all. Thank you and until the next chapter!