Disclaimer: (sing to the tune of "I Want It That Way" by…guess who? The Backstreet Boys! Who I don't own either! Remember: bust it out!)

This is fan fiction,

Result of LOTR addiction

I believe, it would be fun,

But I don't own it, Peter Jackson!

Tolkien, he dreamed it

PJ, he screened it

And I'm just an admirer

A court date is not my desire!

Tell me why

Ain't nothin' but a lawsuit!

Tell me why

Lots of paperwork to boot!

Tell why, please get out of my foyer,

Cause I'm not paying for a lawyer!

A/N: Wow…two in a row. Ah well…inspiration comes in strange forms…even boy bands.

NOTE: There have been some important changes made in this chapter as of December 26, 2004.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Forgetting

"The problem with you…" Aunt Kate explained as she dropped a tea bag into the mug of steaming water in front of her, "…is you never let things go. You're just like one of those toy terriers Mrs. Wallace keeps—you know how they latch onto your pant legs and growl when they don't like you. You've just got to say something smart-alecky." I smiled slightly as I reached for the sugar, the steam from the tea warming my face. It was a cold day in late January, around four o'clock in the afternoon and I had just finished a particularly grueling essay.

"I like to think of it as opinionated," I replied, pouring a generous amount of the white granules into the dark liquid in front of me. "It makes me sound more agreeable." She laughed, her voice almost musical against the sound of the wind rattling at the windows.

"See?" she said, gesturing with her right hand, raising her mug to her lips. "Always a fresh remark."

"You taught me well," I returned, pressing my palms together and lowering my head in a mock bow. She smiled, placing her mug gently on the table.

"I don't have to worry about you, Haley," she said as I sipped at the hot tea. "You know how to put up a good fight; you can look after yourself."

I wonder what she would say if she could see me now.

My feet pounded against the uneven turf and my breath came in short, panicked bursts as I flew across the ground, my heart beating in a persistent tattoo. I stretched my legs to their greatest extent, my speed increasing with the knowledge that he could very well stop me if he wanted to.

If he wanted to.

My thoughts were jumbled and confused as I bolted up a stairway, taking the steps two at a time. The one constant emotion I was aware of was a mounting panic, which manifested itself as a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. I had to get away. I needed to get away from my mistakes.

But I have nowhere to go.

I carelessly shoved people aside, my feet driven by panic and fear, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. All my senses were directed at the terrified emotions boiling inside of me and I could barely hear the irritated shouts of those with whom I had collided.

I don't know how long or how far I ran. Time and space seemed to have no boundaries, distorted by my burning need for flight. However, the physical strain soon became evident, even in my fear-saturated state. My lungs ached for air and my legs began to feel rubbery and worn-out with every step I took. My body, already exhausted and injured from battle, craved rest that I could not bear to give.

I need to get away…

My body finally betrayed me, my leg muscles seizing up painfully, the air I breathed sharp and bitter in my lungs. I stumbled into an abandoned watchtower and collapsed on the stone bench, my chest heaving for want of air. Blood pounded in my ears and my sides ached. I lay sprawled on the bench for several minutes, gasping and wheezing, my throat dry and raw.

What have I done?

I leaned back heavily on the stone wall, my breath still ragged and uneven, and tears pricking at my eyes. I was bruised, bloody, and in a great deal of pain. I wanted nothing more than my wounds bandaged and the note back in my pocket, undiscovered.

But I ruined all that in one stupid moment.

Tears began to slowly trickle down my face, mingling with the grime that had accumulated during battle. I had ruined a perfectly good friendship and jeopardized my relationship with the others. I could not think of a single positive part of my life that I had not managed to damage or completely destroy with my foolish, selfish choice. I buried my face in my hands and tried to muffle the sobs that shook my shoulders. I had completely alienated myself.

Cool metal brushed up against my neck and I suddenly remembered: Galadriel. I clung to the rather irrational notion that she would hear me in my hour of need and come to my aid. I removed the necklace from underneath my shirt. The silver still shone brilliantly, despite the hardships it had endured since we left Lothlorien, the clear round stone bright and smooth against my abused fingers. I took the pendant between my fingers, and tried to concentrate.

Please…I thought, tears streaming down my cheeks, if you're listening—I need help. I don't know what to do. Please… I waited for a moment, anticipating a calm, soothing voice to suddenly penetrate the tangles of my troubled mind and offer wise words of counsel.

Please…

But nothing happened.

I released the necklace and fell back against the wall, trembling with both panic and despair. I was completely, utterly, helplessly alone.

I sat for a long time, tears running down my cheeks, occasionally letting out a small sob that was quickly muffled with the aid of a handkerchief I found knotted up in my pocket. The wind was cool against my cheeks and the sunlight warmed my aching arms and legs with soothing rays.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the abandoned byways of the fortress. I tensed. The area I had chosen to occupy had been ignored by the survivors and I was thankful for the little solace it could provide. My heart beat rapidly as a familiar figure came into view.

Aragorn.

I relaxed slightly. Although I did not particularly want visitors, Aragorn and Gandalf were the lone exceptions to that rule. The Ranger entered the watchtower cautiously, sitting down quietly at the other end of the bench, regarding me with a probing stare.

"You should get those bandaged," he said after a moment of silence, nodding at my clasped hands. I looked at them for a moment. They were bruised and bloodied and two of my fingers were most likely broken, judging from the way they were swelling. I shrugged, averting my eyes from my grimy appendages.

"It can wait," I replied trying to avoid the Ranger's gaze. "How did you find me?" I asked, staring blankly at a nearby wall.

"You left quite a trail," he informed me, most likely referring to the people I had bowled over in my escape. I scolded myself for being so careless. There were several moments of uncomfortable silence. I took to studying the wall in detail in order to prevent myself from bursting into tears, wondering if my relationships with others would follow a similar awkward pattern.

"He is worried about you," he said, breaking the quiet. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

"I would be worried too if a friend or acquaintance gave me a note that revealed very personal information and then acted like a maniac and ran off when I tried to read it," I replied, still not taking my eyes off the wall.

"You ought to talk to him," the Ranger advised gently. I tore my eyes away from the wall and looked at him, trying to keep back the tears forming in my eyes.

"Did you read it?" I asked, trying to keep the emotion from my voice. He nodded.

"I did."

"Then you know why I can't," I replied, tears running down my cheeks, cooling with the wind's kiss. I wiped at my eyes with the handkerchief, trying to regain hold of my composure. Aragorn regarded me with a silent stare, as though he were trying to calculate something.

"I have seen you frightened before," he said after a moment. I shifted slightly, turning my eyes to the wall again. "Yet you found strength and prevailed."

"This isn't the same thing," I whispered, another tear trailing down my cheek. His lips quirked up in a small smile and he placed his hand gently on my shoulder.

"You say this after fighting what would have been a losing battle, showing very little despair even in the darkest hour, and yet you continue to remain frightened by what seems a rather trivial issue in comparison," he pointed out, his tone suggesting illogic on my part. I bit back more tears. He thought I had been relatively fearless in battle. He had obviously not been very receptive to the darker thoughts that had consumed my mind. I inhaled deeply and tried to keep my voice steady.

"I had honestly thought I was going to die today," I explained, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I thought the best thing to do was accept it and try to do what I could to make it better. I thought I made the right choice—I thought I was doing the right thing. I had nothing to lose." I swallowed, taking another deep breath. "But I've lost anything that note could have gained for me." Aragorn gripped my already bruised shoulder tightly and I winced.

"Nothing is lost," he said, his voice inflamed with a strong passion that seemed to arise from some secret part of his being, "until you stop fighting." His green eyes were insistent, darkening with an unknown emotion. "You are not one to give in so easily." To my intense relief, he released my shoulder, which was smarting painfully. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, partly from the physical pain of his declaration.

"There's nothing I can do," I replied weakly.

"You can talk to him," he suggested, his eyes gentler and more soothing then they had been a moment ago. "You are getting nothing accomplished sitting here."

I looked at him silently. I was safe where I was, free from scrutiny and the awkward conversations that would take place as result of my actions. I made no reply, looking helplessly at the Ranger.

"I have given you my counsel; the course you take is your decision," he said, rising to his feet. He gave me a somber look before departing, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I sat for some time, reflecting and fighting back tears, chewing worriedly on my thumbnail. I didn't know what to do; Aragorn's advice was sensible, but required a strength I didn't have. Galadriel was suddenly (and suspiciously) unavailable. Both Arwen and Elrond were miles away. Gandalf was undoubtedly too busy to be bothered with my problems and I had a nagging suspicion that his advice would be similar, if not identical, to Aragorn's.

I sat up quickly as I realized something I had forgotten earlier.

Éowyn.

Éowyn was a woman, I reasoned with myself. She understands relationships. She would know what to do. Was she not facing a similar dilemma? I stood up, brushing off the back of my pants. Even if her situation was not entirely parallel to my own, she was smart and clear-headed. She would be able to help me, or at least give me some guidance.

I hastily wiped my tears with a handkerchief and tried to take a few calming breaths. I tucked my braid into the back of my shirt and pulled the hood of my cloak far over my head. With any luck, I wouldn't be recognized and I would be able to find Éowyn without subjecting myself to further questioning. I took one long, filling breath.

I can do this…I reassured myself. Breathe. Just breathe.

I took a reluctant step forward.

One.

I exhaled sharply.

Another step. Two.

My walk became more evenly paced as I went on, my breath slowing to a normal rate. I bent my head toward the ground as I walked, counting every step in order to distract myself from the intensified feeling of panic that shook my hands and made my knees wobble uncertainly.

I can do this, I encouraged myself as I strode forward. This is not a big deal. I can—

My thoughts were interrupted as I collided with something rather solid. My first reaction was somewhere along the lines of "not another wall", but the object in question was not firm enough to be made of stone. I looked up, expecting to be confronted by Aragorn's familiar green eyes. Instead I gazed straight into two azure orbs, my mouth hanging open in mid-scold.

Panic seized me and my breath caught in my throat while various strings of profanity ran their course through my mind. The intense fear I had felt before was nothing in comparison. I would have been less frightened had I been looking down into the fiery cracks of hell itself. I lunged to the right, hoping to bypass him and avoid an uncomfortable and humiliating confrontation. A hand shot out and gripped my elbow tightly.

"I need to speak with you." His voice, calm as always, with a slight hint of insistence, fell sharply on my ears and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

"I can't right now," I replied, straining against his firm hold on my elbow.

"I need to speak with you," he repeated, his grip tightening as I tried to twist away. Realizing that my resistance was futile, I relaxed slightly, taking a deep breath before turning around.

"I'm sorry," I began quickly, looking more at the twisted handkerchief in my hands rather than at him, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks once again. "I was stupid—I didn't know what I was thinking or doing." I was nearly choking on my words now, fighting to keep myself under control.

"Haley—" he tried to interrupt.

"I don't know what to say to make this better," I continued. "I would leave here if I could, but I doubt travel is safe at this point." My stomach was a knot and I felt ill.

"Haley," he said quietly. "I would like to speak with you."

"Legolas, I don't want to discuss it!" I exclaimed, a tear escaping out of the corner of my eye. "If there was anything I could do take it back, I would. I was stupid and I regret it. There is nothing I want more than to just forget about it, to pretend it never happened."

He paused for a moment, his expression more unreadable than ever. He opened his palm and extended his hand, the white square of paper resting in the center. I took it from him, my hands shaking.

"As you wish," he said.

He turned and departed quickly and quietly.

I looked at the innocent paper in my hand as his footfalls faded. I had what I wanted, didn't I? I had the note back in my possession and he agreed to forget about it. Why did I feel so horrible?

I let my fingers close over the paper, a lone tear rolling slowly down my cheek.