A/n: sorry, I took so very long. I'm planning on updating "The Day I woke Up In a Very Scary Middle-earth as well. I hope you don't all hate me, also I thought the title change would be good. Ill explain it later.
Dear Diary, November 5, 7384
Dear god, I am involved once again. Eowyn must think I am related to her somehow. Theodren found me, but Theoden always looked on me kindly. So maybe she thinks of me as a cousin now? No matter, Theoden is back now, and now I must face the repercussions of that fact. I was called in today, to welcome him back, and to meet the fellowship casually. Legolas, avoids me, pretending we had never talked, and Mythrandir keeps staring at me, as if I were a wizard too, hidden behind a shroud. All the others, which only consisted of Gimli and Aragorn acted indifferently. After all, they all (with the exception of Mythrandir possibly) think of me as a little more than a cow herding farm girl, with air where her brain should be. They smiled kindly, though and asked stupid questions. How fake Legolas acted! I could burst out laughing, in an effort to to seem kind to me for the king, he actually kissed my hand. What an idiot. He does not know me, but I do him. Or atleast how he is likely to act, as any Mirkwood elf would.
I hear tell that they might move us to Helm's Deep soon. That scares me moere than anything, for they would not let me fight, even if I were better than all of them combined. Mythrandir asked me, though if I knew any elves. All this served to do though, was give Legolas and me something in commen. Shocked expressions. Why the hell would he ask me that? Maybe, Eowyn squeled to him about me speaking elvish. I will have to remember to get back at her for that.
November 7, 7384
Dear Diary,
What were they thinking? Not only is Aragorn dead (there goes Gonder), but now we are trapped, as we all sit here awaiting doom. A scout has informed us, that WAY more than 300 orcs are approaching, though he had no specific numbers. There are only 300 soldiers here, many way to young to even pick up a sword properly. The only hope the women have, is that the orcs act mercifully and do not seek to do to our bodies, other than death. There is a fat chance an orc would ever act mercifully. There is a fat chance I will be alive tommorow, and though I truly do not mind, I feel a stab of regret for this doomed land the horse lords own. I fear I will not get another chance to write in this journal. The war should not be for another 4 days or so, but I have a lot of decisions to make. If a scout comes back, and the numbers are high, I am thinking of hiding in hood and cloak, and fighting as a man. It is risky, there is more of a chance I'll survive then, and it would be bad to be alive much longer during these times, atleast for me. But I would much rather die fighting, than to be a woman at the mercy of the orcs.
