Laurelin felt like she was in a dream; drifting in the inner caverns of her mind aimlessly like a ghost. She awoke the next morning. She had cried herself to sleep sitting up. She still clutched Rolen's cold, pale hand in her fingers. A grey mist had settled, leaving her clothes damp and clinging to her skin. She choked a sob as she slowly freed her hand from Rolen's grasp. He looked as though he was asleep, his wound no longer crying red.

Prince Eldarion was nowhere to be seen. She saw that he had dragged the bodies of the wargs to the fire and burned them. Ashes black with the morning dankness were only left. She stood. Her back hurt from sleeping so oddly the night before. She looked down the mountain. Eldarion's figure emerged from the mist; tall and harsh from the restless night. A shadow of a beard crossed his chin and dark circles lay under his grey eyes. He smiled weakly when he saw her; standing out in the open, fresh tears stained her cheeks like memories of a nightmare.

They buried Rolen's body on the mountain, tears watering the grave. Laurelin vowed to that when this was all over she would go to Minas Tirith and tell Rolen's daughter what happened.

She slowly walked to a creek that ran a few feet from where they were camped. The sun had burned away all the fog, leaving the air still and cold. Laurelin washed the blood of the wargs and Rolen from her face, neck and hands. She dunked her head into the rushing creek to rid her hair of the mud and leaves that were caked in the strands. When she was done she looked at her reflection. She remembered back to looking in the mirror of her chamber all those weeks before. How much she had changed. She had seen and done much. She had disobeyed her parents, runaway, joined a company of soldiers, seen death, and had the blood of another living creature on her hands. Yes, she had changed much. She ran her fingers through her hair, getting out the tangles that knotted the locks.

"We should be leaving soon," She heard Prince Eldarion say behind her.

Laurelin stood and turned. It looked as though he had been crying not long before; he would not look her straight in the eye.

"What troubles you my Lord," She asked approaching him.

He looked up for a second than started to away walk, "Nothing Morwen. Gather your things."

Laurelin nodded and decided to not argue. She did not have enough energy to. She followed behind with her eyes to her feet till Eldarion stopped and turned. Laurelin looked up; new tears were brimming in his eyes.

"The death of all the soldiers and now Rolen. Am I at fault?" He asked.

"No," Laurelin answered, feeling a surge of sympathy hit her for the prince, "It was out of your control. There was nothing to be done."

"Morwen," Eldarion smiled weakly and brushed away the remnants of a tear on her cheek with his thumb. Laurelin trembled at his touch, "I shouldn't have brought up this topic, come now. We must be going," He said, walking back to the camp.

Laurelin followed and cried no more.

They walked all day and night, trying to rid their minds of the death of their fallen companion and friend. They cut through a valley, green with new spring grass.

"Can we rest?" Laurelin asked, not waiting for an answer as she fell to her knees.

Eldarion looked over at her and smiled. She was already asleep. He had to admit. He was tired himself. He sat and kept watch while Morwen slept. His thoughts wandered as he sat plucking blades of grass one by one out of the ground. He thought of his father's trust in him, for letting him take this on by himself. He then remembered why he had done this in the first place.

He rolled his eyes as he remembered his bride waiting for him back in Rohan. She was a child bride if anyone asked him; a sixteen year old baby. He rubbed his head. He was suddenly getting a headache from the thought of it. He remembered back to the last time he had seen Lady Laurelin. He had been eight years old and she only two. She was learning to walk, talk and all the things children of that age do. He remembered her stumbling over to him after a meal and then vomiting on him. He cringed. She had probably grown up to be an ugly awkward dolt; brainless and beauty less. All women seemed to be that way these days.

He looked over at his companion. She was a runaway from an arranged marriage, quite like himself now that he thought of it. Her black hair framed her small pale face in the watery sunlight. He had to admit, she was pretty. Not beautiful but he had never found women considered that to be entertaining in the least. Morwen was feisty, and he enjoyed their arguments, even though he would never admit it. Laurelin had had golden hair when he'd last seen her. He smiled thinking of the way Morwen had stood up to him. It was rare anyone ever did that. The moment his royalty was known, they were all agreeable and passive. It was tiring.

The sky rapidly altered; the colors of evening blending with the colors of day. They washed over the sky in a canvas of purple and blue, pink and black. It was his turn to sleep. He walked over to Morwen and shook her gently from sleep.

"Morwen, Morwen wake up." He whispered softly. She opened her eyes and looked up at him dazed with slumber. "My turn to sleep," He said.

Laurelin nodded, and sat up. She rubbed her eyes to try to rid them of sleep. Night came without any unexpected surprises and morning came unaltered.