A.N.: I am mixing the movie and the books (this is fanfiction, and even I can't write that long…. We would get nowhere. So bear with me, please?)

Warning: it goes very, very complicated from now on. (Hint: pay attention!)

 Now you may have realised that we have created an AU.

Changes: don't know if you realised, but this fic went under some editing. I decided to cut off some more gruesome/clichéd parts; i.e., Aragorn being a look-alike of Sirius Black and the elves playing hunter-and-orc with renegades. While I'm not telling it never happened, I decided it should be something more of a seldom occurrence, or else it would be common knowledge. And then there would be no way in hell Elrond would stay with the elves, right?

Discrepancies like that.

Fasten your seat belts, we are going to the Battle of Pelennor!

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Chapter Nine: Pelennor – Part I

"Too early seen unknown, and known too late!" Romeo and Juliet, v. 142, Shakespeare.

@ Minas Tirith, Gondor. March 15th of 3019.

The Lord Denethor went down to the first ring. It was an unusual thing, for him to descend  to meet his guests, but the captains needed to counter-attack swiftly and for that, going up and down the rings was very unproductive and time-consuming. The gates were unaligned, making the trip much longer that it usually would be, should the path have been a straight line.

The rohirrim army was camped in one of the patios, and Prince Imrahil was talking with King Theoden.

"We came with as much haste as we could, milord," said Theoden, "We were already on our way when we received the Red Arrow."

"Gondor thanks for your haste, as we all do," replied the prince of Dol Amroth. "I am relieved to see you could go through the siege."

"We feared such thing as a siege. But we hoped we could arrive before it was a deed done."

"King Theoden of the Riddermark. It pleases me to see you here." Said Denethor, finally coming out of his shadowy hidden corner. He had  been listening to the conversation for a while, trying to grasp what their feelings were about the conflict.

"We came to honour our allegiance with Gondor, my lord."

"And you are most welcome, King Theoden."

"My lords," said Pyrrhus, "there's a fleet approaching us. The captain – she informed us that the enemies are now trying to break the gate."

"She?" asked Theoden, with a small amount of surprise. He had seen several females (or at least he thought so, some elves were so androgynous no one could really tell...) but from there to have a female captain,  that was something else entirely.

"Yes, sire," replied Pyrrhus, indifferently. "Now if you excuse me, I must go back to the lines."

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The men could not see it yet, but the renegades watched as a fleet approached the small haven. Distinguishable in the largest vessel, the figure of a dwarf, three elves and several different men. They should arrive in one hour.

"Is the company ready?" Arien asked Selton, who was returning from a talk with the Red company. In Antar they divided the groups by colours – she had taken mostly people who were proficient in fighting, but not part of the militia. The militia would not be docile, and the least she needed was someone trying to boss her around every five minutes. These were mostly wizards, farmers, smithers, businesspeople, and even a few politicians. Ordinary people, with extraordinary hearts. And every company had about fourteen hundred people, being the Red, Green, Grey, Black and Blue units. The Red was the more experienced of the lot, and so far she had placed them on the rearguard, while the Grey company – most of the wizards were there, although she tried to balance the wizards placing a bit in every company -  were used to go first. Grey and Black were mostly archers –thought truth to be told, any company could pose as such. Blue was the company were she had placed the ones she could use in more desperate times, renegades who were able to go on days fighting. The most deadly unit.

"Yes, Enn."

"The Blue will open path with the Red. The others give us cover from the wall. Some will go with us. Has anyone seen Gandalf?"

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No matter how much he (thought he had) prepared himself for the worst, the sight before Aragorn was nothing but a complete nightmare.

He had gathered help along the way – the slaves they had freed from the Corsairs of Umbar, the people of the region of Lebethron, and whatever militia they found on their way. The rest of them, about four thousand men, could not leave immediately –nor would they have room in the ships for them –and were marching to the white city. Yet, the force with him was no more than thirteen hundred men (plus three elves and one dwarf), not all of them soldiers –thought a man defending his home was not to be underestimated under any circumstances.

When Elrond had set the dote of Undomiel, Aragorn did not complain. He went off to the wild and did all that was humanly possible – and more- to clear the world of evil so he could claim his throne in Gondor and wed his Evenstar. When the dark became darker and all hopes but the tiniest faded, he remained true and focused. But now, he wondered if he was but bringing his friends to certain death.

He could not count the enemy.

A few feet away stood his elf-friends, who undoubtedly had a better view of the situation. Their faces were grim and determined, as ones who are ready to die.

Because of the dark, the men in the citadel were unlikely to recognise them. Aragorn's original plan had been to unfold Arwen's banner so the gondorian people could see they were not foe (those were Umbar vessels, after all). With all the army before them, it was possible that it would not have the chance to be a problem.

"Unfold the banner!" he cried. In face of the inevitable the least he could do was hold his head up high.

The ships approached the port and stopped. The tripulants were ready to land – they all knew that hopeless as the situation might be, there was truly nowhere else to go. Not if they wanted the preservation of Middle-earth as they knew it.

The king had returned to Gondor.

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"So your people will never again call mine selfish, Master Elf, and I shall give you another chance to beat me. Thought we both know it won't matter anyway." Gimli said with what tried to pass as a smile.

Elladan and Elrohir, who were both close by, looked quizzically to the Prince of Mirkwood.

"He still believes he can outscore an elf." Replied Legolas with a hint of mirth.

"Another chance?" asked Elladan, with an arched eyebrow.

"He was lucky at Helm's Deep. I told him that only happened because he got trapped outside longer than I did." Legolas said, with a slight shrug.

"Let's hope his luck proves true once again," said Elrohir.

At that moment, they heard a muffled little explosion and fireworks bursted above them.

"What are you doing?" asked Aragorn, running down from the platform on which he was standing.

"Warning Gondor we are friends."

"And our foes, too." Aragorn said in a deadly quiet voice. Damon, apparently, did not take that intervention on his actions very well.

"Our foes got the clue from that cute piece of fabric you are showing off. 'Tis Gondor that must be warned, so Arien can open us a path." The slytherin replied in a silky voice that had nothing to do with friendliness. He had been holding himself back for days, and now that baby boy was thinking he could judge his efforts! As if!

Gimli, of course, would not let Aragorn be told off like that. "How could she open a path, Damon? She is at Rohan!"

"Look again," Damon replied shortly, indicating the white city with a long, slender finger.

A huge line of archers stood up on the wall of the first Ring of Minas Tirith, firing down restlessly. The metallic gates opened partly, letting out a good four thousand warriors under the protection of the arrows shot from the walls, and started to push their enemies back with a measured fury. Inch by inch they gained grounds, making way to rescue the soldiers that were disembarking a few miles away. But of course Gimli only saw  the enemies being pushed back, and the identity of the warriors was a secret until Legolas told him what he saw.

The men were already on the ground, trying to break through to the friendly army and reach some semblance of safety. The orcs, torn between their long hatred for the 'elves' and the new and vulnerable targets, split their attacks – but they had a number great enough for that. The renegades were doing a great job keeping the orcs off but they were just badly outnumbered. Where they had agility and dexterity, the orcs had bloodlust, experience and odds of  thirty to one. Oddly enough though, they were not suffering any losses.

A thin line, like the path of ants in a garden, formed all the way from the gates to the haven. When Aragorn's men saw there were not enough of the elves to reach out for them, for the distance was too great, another army –actually, the forces of the fiefdoms of Gondor- appeared in their rescue and the men Aragorn's gathered gladly forced their way to the rescue force.

But the Gondorian army never left the city.

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"Will we not go to hem?" asked Faramir, when his uncle Imrahil left. The Prince of Dol Amroth, quite wisely, left without a word –in the state of nerves Denethor was in, it was quite a dangerous thing to cross him.

For the first time for as long as Faramir could remember, his father was shaking with anger. Not that it lasted long, in a few moment's time his calm, controlled poise was back ; but for the moment it lasted it had been terrifying. It still was. The very idea of his father showing emotion that way was disconcerting.

But now Denethor saw all he cared for going to ruin. Not only his beloved capital was under siege from all the forces of evil Mordor could gather, but also, in the crucial moments, the banner of Isildur was lifted.

He was in a crossroad. If he helped them, he was inviting the snake into his house, to bring division among his already suffering people and risk losing his position as the ruler of the city. He had worked too long and too hard against the shadow to be thrown out like that, in the last days of his life. For he had worn himself out in his will contests with the Dark Lord in his Palantír.

If he did not help them, not only would the morale of his troops be thrown in the mood, but his allies may turn their backs on him and fight the war on their own, even claiming Minas Tirith for themselves – they had the numbers for a civil war inside the streets of Minas Tirith. Although that was a faint possibility. It was more likely that one of them would try to get him killed during the conflict, but trying to keep Gondor in some semblance of unity. The bastard suitor might even be a part of a plan to do so. Either way, the survival of his people would  become even fainter a possibility.

"Not yet," he hissed, as if the words were pulled out of his chest against his will. He would hold back his army for a while longer.

And if Sauron's forces did not take care of the supposed heir, Denethor would have to think of something else.

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Noon turned into dusk, and stubbornly  the armies stood before the gates felling foe after foe. Many of their allies lay dead on the ground, but their slaughtering was no less terrible. They fought like the caged beasts they were, with determination and the kind of despair that does not let a man realise his own exhaustion.

Eowyn had no way of knowing all the men fighting by her were Gondor's allies, not Gondorians themselves. In the enchanted darkness they fought, only the lights of the fire consuming the walls of Pelennor and a couple of cabanas across the valley, as well as some trees, and sometimes, some dead bodies. The men's arrows were long gone, but the elves had a seemingly endless supply of it, or they retrieved them quickly indeed. The war was being fought with the blade –spears, swords and long knives; and for the enemies, scimitars and black blades from Mordor.

Gandalf the White, she saw, was chanting his incantations to keep the Nazgûl away.

She was near where her uncle had fallen, arrows stuck in his chest. The Shield Maiden of Rohan fought madly.

After all, if she merely wished to die, she could do that at home. But no. she wished to prove herself, to rise once again amongst the fame and glory and honour of the House of Thengel; and  to be sung about in Lays long after her demise.

But this war thing was a tad more complicated than the carefully censored tales her brother and cousin had told her, and from her hard but civil fencing lessons. When fencing, one had to worry but with her opponent. In the battlefield, one should have an almost supernatural sense of space and danger, keep balance when walking over the dead, as well as fencing any enemy that might cross her path. And sometimes  more than one came to her.

Her little companion was lost in the confusion, and Eowyn had not the energy to care about that then. She had enemies to fell. And if the odds ensured that she would not live out the day, she just did not care.

In fact, the idea was quite appealing. She had never been afraid of pain, or death. But a cage, oh a cage was just what she could not face. And people said it was bravery…

If only they knew how easy the choice was, how liberating, how intoxicated she was with the idea of finally being free.

The elves were right. Death was indeed a Gift.

Not too distant from her, Eomer was growing worried. His soldiers had ridden hard for days, fought their way to the city in the morning, and now they had opened path with arrows, swords, and spears for the arrival of the reinforcement that, he had heard, was in fact Aragorn with the forces he managed to gather. The dunadan's army had lost much of its number in their march for the safety of the ally soldiers' gathering.

With the passing of his uncle, King Theoden, murdered on the field alongside the royal guard who kept watch over him, Eomer was now king. It was a role he had not been prepared for, having focused on the military career instead. There was a crown prince, and he had loved his cousin deeply. But he could not worry much, as in that moment the King was the military chief only, and that he could do well.

And as a soldier, he knew he should call his soldiers to retreat. They were tired, too tired, and the ocean of enemies around was not going anywhere else. Eomer was not one for leaving a deed incomplete, being in his heart an eorlinga; but he admitted they needed to restore their strength. They were not elves. They were men – very exhausted men.

Reaching for the horn hanging from his belt he blew hard, three times. Not five minutes later, Imrahil's general blew the horn of Dol Amroth too, being imitated by all the others captains. It was night already. Painstakingly slow, they marched back into the city.

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"Hey Gandalf," cried Arien, approaching him from the fifth time that day, "did Theoden not say that Merry stood in Rohan?"

"So he did," replied the wizard, with no small sense of doom.

"Guess the hobbit found his way, too," Arien pointed at two little warriors fighting side by side, none taller than a ten-year-old boy, fighting like wolves in the front lines. "Maybe we should call them back, one of them is hurt. They are fighting like madmen. I'd never guess that from the gentle, pipe-smoking fellows we met in Fangorn."

Gandalf's premonition developed to a tight ball rising up his stomach. Not because Merry  was there, but rather for the manner in which they were fighting. His long acquaintance with the race told him hobbits that mad could only mean one thing.

The Istar gazed around. Theoden had fallen, but that would not explain Pippin's wrath. It should be Merry, being his courier, to be closer to the King of the Riddermark. Aragorn was fighting alongside his relatives, while Legolas fought by Damon a good two miles away from where they stood. Elrond's sons were helping cover the men's retreat. There was only one he could not see.

Gimli.

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Damon ran back to speak with the Minister of Magic.

"Are we going back with them?" the slytherin asked. The last humans were crossing the gate.

The renegades were a bit more confident now, having tasted the feeling of freedom and power slaying their enemy, and it was intoxicating.

"No, I think we'll stay a bit longer," said Selton, remembering Arien had stressed the need of a quick victory. They had to bother the Dark Lord, Gandalf had said, and not let him pay attention to his own lands, where the Ring of Power travelled with a little hobbit into Mountain of Fire.

"Well, if we must," said Damon with a grin. He too was fascinated with the fight, and it was a joy to fight alongside his friends, the long millennia of practice showing in the way that he held himself. "Let's battle."

Selton laughed, but inside he was worried. There was a gleam in his friend's eyes that made him uneasy.

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Arien stepped behind a line of swordfighters and massaged her arms vigorously, as well as she could. She wasn't used to fighting hours straight.

Not to mention casting Avada Kedavra gave her cramps.

The humans were entering the city -  a very sensible choice, in her opinion. Their exhaustion was showing-  but she hadn't given order to withdraw her own army yet. The renegades continued their onslaught, trying desperately to decrease the odds. There were just so many orcs, so many barbarians.

That's when she saw them.

Three elves, lost in that ocean of orcs, Southrons and renegades. Near the elves, there were more radical renegades than she'd be comfortable with. Arien knew if they were not killed by foes, an arrow would soon 'accidentally' fell them. Renegades had a bitter hatred for elves. And the same went with men. The only reason why they were fighting together was that they realised it was necessary for the survival of Antar.

With a shock, she realised had to do something about it. She reached for her own horn and blew it strongly: one, two, three times. The captains , who had heard her saying they would fight all night long, were flabbergasted at first, and voiced their objections about leaving the battlefield yet, but obliged anyway.  Arien then ran to the place they were standing.

"What are you doing? The army is going back to Minas Tirith, you'll be locked out!" Arien yelled when she finally reached them.  Running two miles wouldn't be a problem to her, but killing the orcs in her way was a bit time-consuming.

She could see Gandalf was showing signs of tiredness himself.

Elladan, or Elrohir, she could not tell them apart yet, turned to look at her for a split second, before silently nodding in the direction of Legolas, who had gone absolutely berserk; and then the dark-haired elf continued his own slaying.

She would have yelled at Legolas rather colourfully, had not an Uruk hai jumped among them with a group of his friends, finally realising the redhead female in the group. They made some cruel comments on her gender while Arien fought them, swiftly and not at all gracefully like the other elves were handling their own orcs. She had no time –and no knowledge how – for fancy fighting. Elrohir, or Elladan, decided to be a gentleman and help her decapitate the Uruk hai. Those orcs were way stronger than they should be. There was an impression of intense hatred in his eyes that told her his anger run very deep indeed.

"LEGOLAS, YOU INSUFFERABLE GIT, GET YOUR SORRY ARSE OUT OF THIS FIELD AND INTO THAT GODDAMNED CITY RIGHT NOW!" 

One would think an elf wouldn't mind a lady swearing when he was busy fighting for his life against a bunch of Uruk hai, but Legolas did.

"That language does not become you, milady," Legolas replied coldly, without even facing her (no wonder, he had to keep his eyes trained on his foes…).

"If that got your attention, I'll live with it." She answered sarcastically.

"You should go back," said Elladan –or was it Elrohir? Arien fought back the urge to ask whom she was talking to.

He was worried for her – how cute.

"So should you. We have little time."

Soon they'd be isolated in that sea of orcs. "We must go now," she tried again, urgency in her voice.

She'd never know if it was her pleading, if they went down to their senses themselves, or if it was Gandalf yelling that got them to retreat. All that she knew was that she felt stupidly happy they were going to Minas Tirith, alive and unharmed.

They had to hurry in their flight, as the friendly forces were beginning to seem too distant. Arien  wanted to run, run her legs off but she could not; there would be no guarantee they'd be behind her if she weren't there to keep an eye.

There was none even with her around. But she did not wish to think of that. When they finally joined the rest of the antarian warriors, she was so exhausted she tripped on a dead body, and a group of orcs would have cut her in pieces hadn't Elladan and Legolas kill him right off.

"Thank you –" she started, but the rest of the sentence died on her lips. Bellow her, a perfect expression of contentment and peace, with hints of a death more painful than one would like to have, was the beautiful lady who had stood by the ugly guy in Meduseld.

Eowyn. Dead.

"Madrin?" a faint whisper. The soldier in front of her, who had been her pupil, answered.

"Carry this lady back to the city, will you?"

He was clearly not happy about it, but obliged. The Headmistress was a very… eccentric person, but she was the Headmistress, and they all loved her.

What Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas thought upon seeing Eowyn was another thing she'd never know. Even if she wanted to –which, surprisingly, she did not – she was too tired for mind reading. The way back seemed endless.

And it was not as if Arien was looking forward to meet Eomer, either.

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 When the Grey company entered the city of Minas Tirith, soldiers clad in black and white received them.

"The Lord Steward asks for a meeting with the person who claims to be the heir of Isildur." Said Dellion, the Royal Guard's chief.

Of course the dunedain understood the steward wasn't asking anything. He was ordering. Aragorn himself knew that too well, as he had served Denethor's father, Ecthelion II, using the name of Thorongil.

Denethor would definitely be a problem.

"I will be pleased to oblige." Aragorn wanted to ask his name but a deep sense of danger kept him from doing it. He was on uncertain terrain, and the ranger knew it. His kin accompanied him to the Steward's room, and the Royal Guard could not dissuade them. Estel's life was hanging on the edge of a knife, and they all knew it.

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Arien hated being locked – even in her own rooms, where she had dozens of secret passages to all main halls of the castle. But when the huge metal gate closed behind her, the innate part that was essentially a survivor was extremely grateful for the protection she was granted.

Madrin looked at her, still holding the body in his arms, silently wondering what he should do with her. 

"We have to find someone to warn Éomer," she whispered quietly. Inside those walls, she was used Westron unless she was talking with her own fellows, when antarian was used. Madrin nodded and put the dead woman's body on a stone bench  across the street.

"Okay now. Why don't you explain to me why you three were so eager to get yourselves killed?"

Elladan and Elrohir stayed silent and emotionless, while Legolas threw at her a glare filled with such cold hatred she wondered if he had been taking lessons with Damon while they travelled together.

"We were not doing such." The prince of Mirkwood replied.

"Like hell you were not."

"That language really does not become you, milady."

"I'm not concerned with it. I'm concerned with why you guys were not going inside when all captains had blown the withdrawal signs."

"Aragorn hadn't."

"He did not have to, we were exactly ha-" she began speaking crossly, but suddenly halted. "Where is Aragorn?" she asked in shock.

"'Twas not him who fell, milady. 'Twas Gimli."

"Wait a bit, I was not talking about... Oh god, I'm so sorry, Legolas." Arien said, contrite. "But I wasn't talking about it. I asked where Aragorn is."

"How would we know? He arrived before us." Elladan inquired.

"Pyrr, did you see the newcomers' captain around?" she cried out loud. A tall, dark antarian turned to her, with a bewildered expression.

"The Royal Guard just came after him, said the Steward wanted to speak with him." The dark male answered.

"Gentlemen," she said in a dead tone, "Either you run, or you may find another friend fallen."

The elves were quick to understand the meaning of her words. In the same moment, they were running upwards to the Upper Ring.

Madrin stared at her with uncomprehending eyes, "What's the deal with Aragorn, Headmistress?"

"He's the heir to the throne of Gondor. The steward may wish to prevent him being crowned, if you get my meaning." Arien replied sombrely, trying to figure what should be the best course of action for her to take.

"You know," said Madrin – a Hufflepuff graduate from twenty years ago, "that's why I love democracy. Everyone may have a go at the Ruling, and nobody needs to resort to such uncivilised ways."

Uncivilised, indeed.

She apparated next to the first gate.

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The gates had orders to let them pass, although they had just arrived.

All three crowned princes managed to arrive in the Upper level in breakneck speed, given the fact they had inhuman velocity. The only problem was when they arrived in the Steward's palace, because the guards did not wish to let them in at all. Being in a desperate hurry, they even considered knocking the man out –even though that should raise an issue between them, more than before – when Gandalf appeared, riding Shadowfax.

And Gandalf did not mind creating an issue with the guard.

"Eru save me! He cried, "I have not the patience nor the time to discuss with you! Stay out of my way!"

The Istar  moved his staff and the guards were thrown to the wall. The wizard then strode into the palace, followed close by the elven princes. They soon found Aragorn –the yelling was quite loud.

"Now I see the reason of your coming, Mithrandir," Denethor said icily when the group broke into the throne room. Aragorn stood before the Steward, with five of his kin by his side; Faramir was on his father's left, neither of them sitting in the stewards' chairs below the King's –vacant – elevated throne. Another group of Royal Guards was in the room as well, discreetly standing near the walls.

"The reason for my aid, Denethor," said Gandalf, clearly relieved for seeing Aragorn still unharmed, "is to ensure something beautiful will yet grow when these dark times have passed."

Aragorn cleared his throat and resumed the discussion, "I have no intention of dividing the people of Gondor, but unite them. To give them hope."

"You think so?" Denethor hissed. "But I know better than that. You are all accomplices in a conspiracy to weaken Gondor."

"There is no such thing, Lord Denethor," Gandalf replied soothingly.

"I have seen it!" Denethor cried with such vehemence even the guards were taken aback. "I am no fool, Mithrandir. I see you moving your pawns, trying to Lord over Gondor so you can use us as a puppet to your heart's desire. You even won my son's heart and enchanted him so he would not bring me the weapon that could seal our victory, and now you bring a nobody-knows-who into my city, so you can lord through him. Do you not think I see it?"

"You were never a fool Denethor, but in this your wisdom failed you – there is no conspiracy."

"Of course not, my good wizard. But next time you try such thing, if we live to pass through this into another time, choose someone I don't know already. Thorongil and I are old acquaintances."

 "Thorongil?" asked Legolas, in a whisper.

"He used that name some time ago, when he served Ecthelion II. Father thought it should be wise for him to know the city and the people before he laid any claims." Answered Elrohir.

"This breach will only further weaken Gondor," said Faramir, speaking for the first time.

Being a second son, specially a not favoured son, the ranger rarely crossed paths with his father, preferring to make his own way discreetly. It was always Boromir who confronted Denethor, often for Faramir's sake.

And Denethor never held it against Boromir.

But Boromir was dead, Denethor had all but called Faramir a traitor, before the ranger left for Osgiliath, and as furious as the Steward might be, the claim might be true.

Actually, the main reason Faramir thought the claim may be true was because Denethor was so mad.

"Whether your claim is true, we shall judge when we can afford the commotion. Until then, I'd ask you to unfold your banner and not give the gondorians further reason of unrest. What do you think of it, father? Is it of your liking?"

"That's a very wise decision, Faramir. But Denethor must oblige." Gandalf said.

Denethor didn't skip a beat.

"Wise indeed. The conspiracy went further than I thought. My very kin rebels against me. But I know not why this should surprise me, you were always with the wizard."

Stunned silence.

"This but seemed the right thing to do, for Gondor's sake," Faramir countered stiffly.

"And you intend to show me how to rule the city?" the Steward continued. "Gondor is my responsibility. Last I looked, I was still Steward in the White city. You," he turned to Aragorn, while waved his hands calling the guards, "Will be taken hostage until I can deal with the matter, Thorongil. From all your impertinent actions, this tops it all."

Aragorn sighed and said something that got lost in the sudden cacophony of cries that filled the throne room.

"Absolutely not!" cried Legolas, while the twins shouted imprecations in elvish, and the dunadan circled their kinsman to protect him from the approaching guards, "he will not be taken captive like a criminal!"

"I am still Steward here!" Denethor shouted.

"It depends on the analysis, actually," Arien said, entering the room. "Common sense says the leader will be removed from charge if he is not acting on the behalf of his people."

Gandalf turned at the renegade with a who-on-Arda-called-you-here look.

"Hello there." She said sweetly. "Followed the screaming. Could hear it all the way from the Sixth Ring. Anyway, the thing is, could you please solve this thing quickly? The humans are throwing funny looks at one another down there, and I would prefer to keep the battle in only one front."

"Are you with them in this?" Denethor asked, wearing his former composure like a velvet cloak.

"With whom in what?"

"By the sea and the stars, Denethor, there is no conspiracy!" Gandalf lost his patience.

"Oh, I see. Someone regretting not having claimed kingship yet. But then again, Aragorn  that banner thing was ridiculous. I almost had a heart attack when I saw it."

"You know not of what you speak." Denethor hissed.

Arien threw him a look. "Whatever you say, baby. I just came by to make sure we did not work like madman for naught. Next time you decide to go hyper, my lord, lock yourself in your chambers and break some vases."

"Milady!" Faramir cried, horrified.

"Nevermind," she waved her hand at this shock, "I just came to say the tents are ready. Have some rest while you may, those guys out there  will resume their attack soon enough."

Denethor paced for a while, not relishing being cornered at all. The subtle threat was not lost on him –if he was not reasonable, he'd be thrown off the stewardship like an indigent dog. Those damned antarians had no respect for tradition, it would seem.

"You have gathered quite a team, Thorongil," he finally said. "I will let you go – for now. What my dear son said stands till I say otherwise, but I will keep vigilance."

Aragorn bit his lips to keep from saying what he wanted. Sixty years of hard work, to be received in his city like a mongrel. Maybe expecting for welcome had been wishful thinking.

Denethor pointed the door. "Now out with you, all of you. I want to be alone."

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Gandalf let out a deep sigh when they were out of the royal palace.

"That was close." Arien whispered.

"Did you absolutely need to threaten him?" asked Faramir, who had joined them in the exit.

"I'm sorry lad. I hope you don't hold it against me in the future, but it seemed gentle reasoning would not work on him. And I'm not about waiting to see what happens."

Faramir digested her words in silence. It pained him to hear such, in spite of all his father had done and said to him, Denethor was always a figure to admire. It was hard to love him,  but impossible not to admire him.

"It was still rude, Arien." Gandalf protested.

"Well, what's done is done. Aragorn, why don't you go get some sleep? Damon told me the trip was rather tiring, and the welcome party was no less. Gandalf, dear, I must speak with you urgently. Faramir, the captains will meet in four hours to decide what will be done next. I'm not sure what Denethor wants, but we'll need a representative."

They took their different paths, stil discussing the events, but not before Arien pushed Halbarad aside.

"Halbarad?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Keep an eye on Aragorn. Don't let him go anywhere alone."

Halbarad nodded his comprehension, and left with his family, swift as a shadow.

"Gandalf, if you don't mind, I'm in a hurry here." She spoke next, as if she had not just implied the steward might send someone to solve the problem in a definite fashion. Sneaking her arm in his, the redhead pulled the Istar into what Aragorn knew had been a public garden. "We must discuss a couple of things before the meeting starts."

And the two wizards disappeared in the public aisle.

"I thought we had lost you, mellon," Legolas interrupted Aragorn's dark musings.

"I'm hard to kill," Aragorn half-joked.

"From now on, I'd like you to watch your back, my brother," Elladan whispered, his deep voice echoing faintly. 

"Arwen would skin us alive if anything happened to you,"  Elrohir jested, trying to lighten up the mood.

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"How bad is our situation, Gandalf?"

"I don't know, child. Denethor is a liability – things may get rather complicated."

They walked in silence, approaching the exit of the park. It was very peaceful in that part of Minas Tirith, even if the darkness was so encompassing they could not see the sky. It seemed as if the war never existed there.

"Why did he say that he had seen it? What was there for him to see?" Arien asked after a few minutes.

"That is what worries me, child. That's what worries me."

"Do you know Eowyn was here, Gandalf?"

"No. Where is she?"

"She's dead. Found her next to the gate."

"Goodness. Poor Eomer.

"Could you give him the news? I am a stranger to him."

"I will, Arien. See you at the meeting?" the Istar turned from her, and headed for another path. Arien nodded.

"See you there."

The redhead wandered through the park for another hour, unwilling to leave the haven and face the angry face of war. She would have to meet Damon before she got some rest, but for some reason she could not bring herself to leave just yet.

She was getting restless.

The capitol of Gondor was what it was, a stone fortress in colossal proportions. If at first she had been relieved for having protection from the army of Mordor, now she could only think of how trapped she felt. Every street, gate and building was a work of stone, with a few gardens here and there to soothe the spirit. And there was nothing she needed more than that.

Four hours. That should give the mortals time enough to get what rest they could before the planning of the defence urged them together again. Arien could empathise with them now – the Ravenclaw also felt she needed a break from everything.

So she lied down on the soft grass and closed her eyes with a sigh. She felt so tired...

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"You sleep with your eyes closed."

It was the voice that brought her back from the dreamscape, even thought it was much more comfortable there than here. Although Arien could honestly say she had had much worse, and she was getting soft with all the comfort she had in Aryan.

Her eyes were still closed as she stretched like a cat, and her mind noticed, still fogged with sleep, that the voice seemed to need an answer. That's ridiculous, she thought. Everybody sleeps with their eyes closed.

Except...

Bingo. A pair of azure eyes pierced hers when she finally deigned to open them, and she found herself lost in the absolute perfection of the moment. Except the moment was not perfect. There was something behind the blue, something dark and lonely and broken, something that called for her like a magneto. She recalled a night like this, very long ago, one of the many that had changed her life.

Arien had been wandering in the woods behind Mrs. Weasley's house, enjoying the pure bliss that was being in contact with her element without looking over her shoulders or measuring her actions in fear of being discovered. To her, the woods would always be more than just good company, mysterious or even friendly beings. It was a place where she could be herself.

Then she felt the calling. It had been him – Arien was pissed with Sirius because he insisted on denying his feelings for her because she was younger, but she felt so much loneliness and desperation that she could do nothing but go and help. In whatever way she was able to. At the moment, a little company and conversation seemed enough.

"Such dark thoughts, Sirius."

"Well, I have a name to live up to, don't I?"

"Names suck," she had answered, thinking of what dark meanings could be drawn from his name and of all that should be expected of her if her parentage was unclosed.

And then, when he was about to leave, the conversation turned to an altogether different path.

"What happened?" he asked, pointing her hand.

"Nothing dramatic, really. I just backed down." She spoke nonchalantly.

"How so?"

"I don't fancy the thought of being anybody's slave. He thought he owned me, and I dumped him. That simple."

This had led to that, and they saw the end of the night with a confrontation that had finally broken the last barriers between them but one – which would take a few more years to be broken.

She had never been quite able to shield herself from the needy, broken people, whoever they might be. Slytherins, Aurors, Unspeakables, renegades – she had always had that urge to reach out and comfort them, for she could literally feel their pain as her own.

The similarity hit her like a bludger. She sat up and faced him.

"I only sleep like that when I'm extremely tired. The last couple of days have been chaotic here."

Legolas bend down and sat on the ground himself, getting eye level with her –which was very fortunate, because the elf was very tall. "I had already noticed it when we were at Rohan. How did you get here with the reinforcements so fast?"

Apparently, he had gone from silent mode to trifle-talking-rather-than-what-I-really-want-to-talk-about.

Arien lied back on her shoulders, an instinctive sensual poise, and regarded him with amused eyes. "You didn't actually thought I'd let Aragorn just order me home like a baby, did you?"

The ghost of a smile appeared in his lips, as he replied.

"Not really. Although seeing you here with an army did surprise me. I recall you said your country laid far in the east?"

"It does, but I had an unholy haste. I'm afraid I ruined my horse." She said with fake contrition, and then looked at him – really looked.

"If you were trying to be alone, why did you awake me?"

Legolas took some time to answer, disturbed by the accuracy of her perception. The prince had always prided himself on being able to shield his thoughts and emotions from others, even when those others were elves. Only a handful of carefully chosen friends had access to the depth and width of his heart.

"I'm not entirely sure," he replied, surprised because it was true. He knew not why. Maybe it had something to do with her risking her life to shake him out of his furious trance and into the safety of Minas Tirith.

"I'm not complaining." She said, with the same emotion on her voice. "I just thought it unlikely you should turn to me of all people. You were rather suspicious of us in Rohan, I seem to recall."

"'Twas foolish to disturb you, milady. I apologi-"

he could not conclude because she placed one hand upon his shoulder and another upon his lips.

"Stay."

Legolas stared at her eyes, in the darkness of the Mordor's spell, their skin glowed ever so slightly. He was trying to pry her thoughts and intentions, she could tell.

"There is something I had not told you before," she whispered, removing her hand from his lips but not from his shoulder. It seemed to burn her, and it had been a very long time since she had felt so attracted by someone. Yet the prince of Mirkwood had something so utterly good, so pure and fresh and loyal, she was drawn to him, and felt as if she could trust him. She could try.

It wasn't as if he wouldn't find out soon, anyway. She might as well be the one to tell him. An elf like him wouldn't take deception lightly.

His eyes assumed another quality –attentive, careful, calculating. She had his full attention now, but it seemed as if he had drawn himself back, and left only his cool mask instead. Arien realised with a jolt she resented the exchange.

"I'm a peredhil."

Legolas only released a deep breath, and laughed. "'Twas only that? That's certainly odd, but nothing to be ashamed of. Why have you not spoken of it before? I'd be delighted to hear the tale if you do not mind."

Arien was absolutely shocked for a moment. Surely Middle-earth hadn't changed that much in three thousand years? Could that be a plot to get her off her guard? But that couldn't be – there was no malice radiating from him.

"Legolas, we all are."

That did the trick. He turned to face her with an unbelieving expression and asked quietly , "But how could it be?"

"Apparently you did not keep a close eye on everybody in the First Age," she replied simply.

He kept his scrutiny for a moment, then stated nonchalantly, "That should explain why you have different traits."

For lack of anything better to do, Arien smiled at him.

"Why didn't you tell us  before?" the prince asked, deciding that speaking of anything else was better than examining his feelings about the battle where his dwarf friend had fallen.

"I did not know how it would be accepted."

"You thought we would think less of you?" he inquired disbelieving.

"Who knows," she answered shyly.

"Why did you think so little of us?" he asked quietly.

"It's difficult, really... 'Tis the first time we unclosed it. We always kept it quiet."

He seemed to digest the news for a moment, then took her hands in his.

"You should have told us."

There was nothing remotely flirtatious in his gesture, except that she suddenly felt uncomfortable. If Legolas did not want to discuss Gimli's passing, fine, but there was no need to make little of her people's most deeply ingrained fear.

"Well, we all have secrets." She dodged with a smile, which quickly faded. When she resumed eye contact. The pull was getting stronger.

He said something, but Arien wasn't paying attention to the words anymore. The hand that had rested in his rose to touch his temples lightly.

If it was her who felt thus, she'd be nowhere as restrained.

"Would you allow me to alleviate your burden, Legolas?"

"You already are, hiril nîn," he replied in awe.

She only smiled and pulled his head down upon her lap. After a few minutes stroking his hair, Arien felt his body relax under her ministrations. She never expected him to cry around her, he was too reserved for that. Legolas just laid there, receiving the light caresses she offered his scalp, whilst listening to the nonsense talk she quietly whispered.

"We must go now." She said when the four hours had passed.

He heaved off the ground and offered her a hand, and then they silently walked back to the Steward's Palace.

And it was the day and the night, the second day of the siege.

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A.N.:

Hiril Nîn – my lady in sindarin.

And it was the day and the night…- a bit of cross reference here… it should refer to both Biblical verses of the Genesis and the last chapter where I used the same phrase.