A.N. We apologise for the following…:

1. The majority of the Two Towers bit will be Movieverse. We had already planned out this part in our little heads before we saw the movie, but it wasn't very good. When we saw the film, after much squealing, we found that things came together a lot easier by using the movie's record of events. Sorry for canon fans.

2. The lack of Romance for the time being. There will eventually be romance, and it will be well-done. These things take time, if romance is rushed (e.g. eyes-meet-across-a-crowded-room-love-at-first-sight) it always (generally) ends up sounding bad. Plus, there will be a few…erm…complications…oops, said too much…

3. The constant change of POV. All 1st person is Yunalesca, and means a change in 3rd person POV (or jumping ahead a little in the space-time continuum). If you can't figure out who it is, then you're not supposed to.

4. The fact that we go in and out of Edoras in a chapter. Sorry, but we REALLY want to get on to our original storyline. These bits before are just there so we can develop Yuna's character a bit.

'…Waiting for the moon to come and light me up inside

And I am waiting for the telephone to tell me I'm alive

Well I heard you let somebody get their fingers into you

It's getting cold in California

I guess I'll be leaving soon

Daylight fading

Come and waste another year

All the the anger and the eloquence are bleeding into fear

Moonlight creeping around the corners of our lawn

When we see the early signs that daylight's fading

We leave just before it's gone…'

Counting Crows Daylight Fading

Chapter fourteen Mortal

It was late in the afternoon of our third day in the saddle when the faraway shadow of the Golden Hall became less than ten minutes riding away. As it neared ever closer, I recalled where exactly it was that I had acquired the beast working tirelessly beneath me. It was their own fault, really, they should have known that she wouldn't say in the stable if they left the door open. Well, she was mine now, anyway. I doubted she'd want to go back to the Edoras stables in any case, and there was no way they would be able to make her do anything of the kind, so I was safe.

I remembered what had happened earlier, and grimaced at the thought. I had cried. Cried. Even if it was only a single tear, I still cried in front of a group of men whom will henceforth view me as nothing more than a weak woman. I was furious with myself. How could I have let that happen? Had those blasted Hobbits made me go soft? I hoped not, if I was going to turn into a blubbering perpetual twenty-five year old, I may as well stay home and knit or whatever it is women are supposed to do in their spare time.

But on the other hand, I suppose I had a right to feel slightly emotional. I had never found out what happened to her, and it was strangely reassuring to have a little closure. It was warming to have that knowledge, even though I had a pretty strong feeling she'd died – not even the worst families can go three millennia without contact. Another strange thing that hadn't struck me until a little while ago was the fact that she was buried. I wondered who would care so much as to bother with making any form of memorial. We had never been very popular in the village. The people weren't used to peculiar Elvish folk, and my mother had been one of the queerest.

I decided not to think of it at the moment. I didn't wish to become all weepy again. Besides, we were nearing Edoras and I needed to clear my head. Something told be we weren't going to be able to simply walk in and demand to see the king, if what I had gathered about Theoden's current state was anything to go by.

A flag swerved in the wind and circled dramatically before flying downwards, landing a small distance from Túlka's hooves. Gandalf in his blinding white attire went through the annoyingly small gates first, then Aragorn clad in the latest ranger fashion of every shade of black held together my a good caking of mud. Legolas with his nauseatingly blonde hair and Gimli with his frizzy red…mess, went after. I trotted up last, my hood covering my hair, but not shadowing my face as it usually would. People shot us odd glances. Puzzled and curious as to why we were there. It was nothing I wasn't used to, but clearly that was not the same for our dear little Dwarf friend, who mumbled something about the general mood of the city. He was right. The people scattered around looked as if we came bearing news that the armies of Saruman were due to arrive in just under five minutes. Well, close enough.

We dismounted and I was forced to involuntarily hand over the reigns of my beloved horse to a convenient scabby stable hand who looked as if he had spend a little too many Winters as a stable-hand. He eyed up Túlka suspiciously.

"Excuse me, milady, but…where does this fine mare hail from? She looks strangely familiar. I believe we had a similar example in these very stables just over fifteen years ago it must be. Do you know – it disappeared, just like that?" He asked, being oddly conversational. Yes, he had definitely been in this line of work far too long than is healthy. I Looked™ at him as if he had just asked if my hair was real.

"Yes, actually, as a matter of fact I'm so low as to resort to stealing horses and I'm stupid enough to return to the scene of the crime just a few years later." It was a little colder than I had intended, but I couldn't let him know I wasn't being wholly sarcastic. His drab, mousy curls flopped forward as he lowered his head in an apology.

"Forgive me, milady." He slunk away, clutching Túlka's reins as if they were made of spun mithril. I turned about to see the corners of Aragorn's mouth twitching knowingly.

"What?" I asked innocently, brushing past him. It wasn't as if I'd outright lied, just skipped around the truth a little. Túlka had got loose thanks to the errors of some ignorant stable boy, and had somehow found her way to the outskirts of Fangorn, where I had found her. I had taken an instant liking to her strong-yet-supple body and steady movements. I was hesitant to let her go when the Rohirrim came upon her a few days later, and she wasn't too anxious to go back either. The next time I had to journey to Edoras, I decided to take her with me on my way back. She was all too happy to leave, and as it was rather late in the evening, there weren't many people about to stop us. And that was how I came upon one of my favourite horses ever to be in my possession over the long years.

With that pleasant reminiscence over, I concentrated on the task of walking up the many (and unnecessary, I added as an afterthought) steps with legs that were still numb from riding. A man – Introducing himself as Háma – greeted us with an (equally unnecessary) entourage of guards.

"I cannot allow you before Theoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame." He said, pointedly glancing at the weapons that adorned the company of five. "By order of…Grima Wormtongue." Now…that was something I had to take up an argument against. Gandalf had informed us of where Grima's loyalty lied, but wasn't it rather obvious? With a name like Grima Wormtongue, I would have thought people would have guessed he was evil beforehand. Or perhaps that was just me being overly cynical. But still…

I noticed Gandalf hand over Glamdring, and Aragorn reluctantly setting Andúril against the wall. He shot me a look. Fine, if he would let his precious sword-that-was-broken-but-now-isn't leave his side, I suppose I could part with my weapons for the time being. Noticing Legolas send another look my way, I nodded exasperatedly and began the long process of disarming myself. If I was going to be made to leave my weapons with some incompetent humans, then at least I'd make a point of doing it. Sighing deeply, I drew the daggers at my belt and handed them to the waiting armour-clad mortal in front of me. Two more long daggers materialised from under the folds of my cloak, strapped to my back. The two thin knives strapped on my boots and another one about my thigh joined these in the arms of the human, struggling to hold them all and look vaguely dignified at the same time. I almost grinned at the memory of a young Hobbit searching for the leather strap, a blissful grin etched on his face.

Memories forgotten for now, I took off the short sword about my waist and handed it to another guard, whom had come to the first's aid. Perhaps they weren't so unnecessary, then. Into his hands also went the battered crossbow and the object of destruction I had lovingly dubbed: insert vaguely funny and possibly ironic name for Claw-Thing here. That left the newly entitled Luccrecía strapped in an ornate sheathe about my back. I made a large movement, unstrapping the sheathe and bringing it around, noticing not without pleasure the way eyes followed its movements. It was wrapped and tightly bound in a soft cloth, I made sure to hold the hilt firmly and pass it uneasily to the guard, dually noting the way he seemed afraid to handle it, even with the faded cloth separating his no-doubt filthy hands from the sheathe.

And that was it…but wait, they had asked for all the weapons, hadn't they?

Ah well, I reflected, at least this will give me a few seconds of entertainment at the look on their faces. And with that, I thrust my shoulders back and pushed my chest up, catching the bemused looks from the men surrounding me. One hand slid down my…erm…cleavage with ease, searching for the weapon kept there when I really had nothing else. My fingers grasped the hilt loosely, and I attempted to drag it out…but to no avail. It dropped back in as smoothly as it had almost come out. Cursing softly, I dug my hand in a little deeper and a little harsher than before, cradling my bosom with the other hand…success! The two-inch blade revealed itself and made a satisfying clink as I dropped it onto the small pile of weapons. I looked up and realised I was on the receiving end of a number of stares, most were just a mask of utter confusion, although some of the younger guards looked as if they were about to ask me if I needed a hand. Háma waved this off with an air of expertise, and returned to the subject at hand.

"Your staff." He asked somewhat reluctantly.

"You would part an old man with his walking stick?" Gandalf asked, mildly horrified that he would do such a thing. Háma hesitantly yielded, letting us pass without much more incident.

The Doors closed behind us, and a claustrophobic lump formed in my throat before I had time to swallow it. I hated being in a room surrounded by men at the best of times. But this room smelt. Legolas noticed, I saw him wrinkle his nose slightly, but other than that, that was it. It smelt of sweat worked up from a long days riding, the faraway scent of raw meat drifted pleasantly to my nostrils, already bombarded from the old leather and animal skins that adorned the floor, walls, and most of the people in the room. I heard the doors being locked, and momentarily stiffened. The people around us were dressed pretty much the same. Tunics, some with helmets, arm guards, shields strapped to their backs, swords at their sides, a confident-turned arrogant air that seemed to radiate off all men in these parts. And there I was, in a room full of them. And they weren't even trying to hide the fact that they were staring. I walked silently behind Legolas and Gandalf, keeping as inconspicuous as possible, although that was hard in my current situation.

One person, however, stood out easily enough from the crowd. Standing next to the overly moth-bitten king was a…man? I assumed it was a he, anyway. His skin was a sickly pale colour, with an almost greenish tinge about the edges of his face. His eyes were deep-set and shallow, framed by a good inch of bags. His hair was black and slick with grease, hanging about his face in a tangled mess. I absently identified him as Grima Wormtongue. He fitted the description easily enough. The king – it was obvious who he was – looked dangerously ill. His face was pale from lack of sunlight, his hair was a ball of grey frizz, he seemed almost…mouldy? No, that wasn't the right word, but it seemed to fit…

Saruman I reminded myself. It was strange how rapidly he had moved from being a friend to a foe in my mental filing cabinet. One moment it seemed he was content to walk throughout the trees in Fangorn, caring about the forest, and the next, he had morphed into a servant of Sauron, falling trees without a second thought and destroying the once beautiful area around Isengard. I remembered my thoughts on Grima, and then thought about Saruman. Eyebrows to rival Gandalf's, long, talon-like nails, deep, menacing voice… Perhaps there might have been a slight indication that he was due to switch loyalty.

"The courtesy of your Hall has somewhat lessened of late, Theoden King." Gandalf boomed, his voice resounding around the hall. Wormtongue whispered something into the old King's ear, glaring openly at us.

"Why…should I welcome you…Gandalf Stormcrow…" Theoden croaked out with some difficulty.

"A just question my liege." Grima said, coming forward. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear." His lips were dark, almost black as he spoke, his tongue flicking over every syllable. "Láthspell I name you. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent." Gandalf commanded, interrupting. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." He raised his staff, narrowing his eyes at the man before him.

"The staff!" Grima hissed. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!" And that was it. The crowds of men around us came flowing towards us, hands to the hilt of their swords. Legolas and Aragorn broke away from Gandalf, and dealt with the men coming towards them, shielding the wizard as he worked his magic on the King. A few came at me also, determined to gain the upper hand. It was now that I wished I had not given up all of my weapons, but I was more than competent at hand-to-hand combat as well. A backhand and roundhouse kick dealt with two that had made their way towards me. I dodged a feeble blow by one, and backed into none other than Legolas whom was busy fending off others. At least with him behind me I didn't have to worry about a back attack. A well aimed punch put off another, and his accomplice was soon disarmed by a deft flick of my wrist on his, and was pushed away by my boot heal connecting with his chest.

"Theoden, son of Thengel," Gandalf began.

Somehow, Legolas and I had changed positions, and I was now facing the weary-looking king whilst fighting off his subordinates.

"Too long have you sat in the shadows."

Grima made for a hasty exit, but a quick yank on his billowing cloak sent him skidding across the floor to a waiting Gimli, where a Dwarven boot was stuck firmly on his chest.

"Hearken to me!"

Success! I had finally managed to steal myself a good sword from the men around me, and I was now making good use of the sheathed weapon, causing enough damage to certainly stun my attackers, but nowhere near enough to kill or seriously injure. But I had little time to make use of my newly acquired weapon, by now those in the hall had given up and were standing by to watch the events unfold.

"I release you from this spell." His hand was raised in a strange fashion, a faint boom echoed around the stone halls. His head was bowed. And then something strange happened. The old king slowly rose his head and began to laugh. It wasn't so much a laugh as a deep, throaty crow, but that was the general idea. I looked to Aragorn, who appeared just as confused as I.

"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey." His eyes held a maddened glint, he wasn't himself, that much was certain. He was grinning maniacally, his fuzzy hair rustling slightly.

And then something else happened. Gandalf looked almost insulted, and countered this by throwing off his old grey cloak and letting the blinding whiteness of his robes do the talking for him. Theoden's laugh turned to more of a cry as the cloak hit the ground. Gandalf said something, but this was lost to my ears as a woman rushed forward. Curious as to how events would unfold, I grasped her arm and held her back.

She spun round to look at me, and my breath almost caught in my throat. She was…beautiful. Arwen was as dark and as fair as the night sky, but this woman was as lovely and as radiant as the day. Her long, blonde – I thought to myself just how much of a cliché that was – hair fell in waves about her perfectly sculpted hips. The white dress and silver belt about her waist accentuated her flawless figure, and her face did nothing to let it down. Her eyes, now that was something else altogether. They were of the deepest azure, wide and cold as ice, now fringed with curiosity as her gaze bored into mine.

"Wait." I managed, tearing my attention away from her and onto the scene unfolding. She regarded me strangely for a moment before turning to Theoden.

"If I go…Theoden dies!" He hissed, never breaking eye contact with Gandalf. The former thrust his staff forward, effectively pinning the king down with magic.

"You did not kill me, you will not kill him!" Theoden struggled against the magic's grip, forcing his face into a sneer as he glared at Gandalf.

"Rohan is mine!" And that did it for Gandalf, the King was shoved against the back of his throne, grimacing in what I expected was pain.

"Be gone!" Gandalf rebuked whatever demon was plaguing Theoden's mind. Suddenly he leapt forward from his chair, growling, but was pushed back down again as Gandalf raised his staff once more. The glint left Theoden's eyes, and became one of pure and utter confusion. This lessened slightly as he glanced around him. Then suddenly a great weariness overtook him, and he plunged forward. The woman yanked her arm from my grip – and, I had to admit, she was stronger than I had thought – and ran to the King's side, catching him and propping him back up. Her large freakishly blue eyes stared into his desperately, searching for some light of recognition. His face seemed to crawl back into itself until it resembled the king he once was.

"I know your face." He stated, staring at the woman, a look of recollection dawning on him as the last of his white beard shrivelled. He smiled suddenly. "Eowyn." He breathed as she cupped his face, beaming. "Eowyn..." He repeated, relishing the moment. The two broke apart, and their eyes rested on the wizard. "Gandalf." Theoden acknowledged him gratefully.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend." With some difficulty, the king managed to rise from his throne, golden circlet glinting in the unseen light. It was as if a fanfare of trumpets was playing in the background. The men around me seemed in awe of this wizard whom had restored their king to his old self. Not a word of apology to the four they had tried to viscously attack not two minutes ago. As people crowded around the unfolding scene to watch Theoden try and remember how to hold a sword, I felt it best to skulk away into the background slightly. One person wouldn't be missed after all.

The woman – Eowyn, I gathered – tore her gaze away from her monarch to the area of the shadows that I had just decided to slink away to. Her eyes rested on me for a brief, brow-furrowing moment, before turning back to the days events, following as Theoden and his soldiers, whizzing around him like electrons, headed outside. I went to the door so I would just be able to see what unfolded. Wormtongue was hurled down the steps in a rather unfriendly fashion – as it usually is – as he struggled to some kind of half crawl to the bottom, trying to get away from an advancing Theoden.

He was actually going to kill him. I can't say the little bugger deserved to live, but to die like that was a bit much…wasn't it? I let them get on with it. I had never understood humans, and if this was how they solved their grudges, so be it. It wasn't like I was about to complain in any case. I spoke too soon it seemed though. Just as the deathblow was about to be struck, the hero of this particular tale started forward and stayed the king's hand.

"Enough blood has been spilt on his account." I had to raise an eyebrow at that. It appeared the dunadain had actually had a little sense forcibly knocked into him. Whether I liked it or not, my opinion of him rose just a few millimetres. Something amongst the dusty cobwebs of my mind clicked. Blood. Weapons. My weapons. In care of grubby humans. As the people migrated away from the scene, I made my way over to the wall where our weapons had been stacked. It wasn't as if anyone would want to stop me in any case, and even if they did, they wouldn't really have much of a chance.

I sheathed my small army of knives and daggers, moving on to the rarer weapons. Luccrecía had been propped delicately against the wall, the cloth hadn't been moved in the slightest. I couldn't help but smirk slightly. I had instilled enough fear into the poor soldier for him to be scared of touching my weapon. I was good at doing that to people. It was an acquired art. As I finished strapping it onto my back and fastening my drab grey cloak, I noticed Eowyn from the corner of my eye. There was that look again. A mixture of curiosity, puzzlement and strangely enough, admiration. Now that was something I hadn't seen in a while, but then…something else caught my attention. Her stance was bold and sure. She didn't look at all like the floaty elf maidens of Rivendell or Lorien, no, she was different somehow. Then it struck me. She was a warrior. That was the spark in her eyes, the hidden strength in those thin arms, the pride in her stance. They all spoke volumes about her. She was still looking at me. I turned to meet her gaze, and gave her a look that was oddly non-malicious as she jumped slightly.

"My lady?" I inquired, using perfect courtly manners I had picked up. I suppose she was my superior, being the king's niece, but then again, I was the only non-Ent and non-shrubbery to take up residence in the Forest of Fangorn. If Mirkwood and Lorien could b counted as kingdoms, so could Fangorn, on the basis of those two facts I could always claim monarchy if the urge presented itself (And I had to admit, it didn't). It was an entirely stupid and random thought, but there you go.

She stood there, staring transfixed for a while longer. "I…oh, forgive me. Would you care for a bath?" It was obviously not what she wanted to say, but it was a decent attempt to cover it up. I played along, not so much for her, but for the fact that the word 'bath' brought a joyful unshed tear to my eye.

"That would be most welcomed." I replied, struggling to keep my unusually polite voice from becoming tinged with longing. She nodded and I turned back to my weapons as she beckoned a random woman clad in dull beige forward.

"Milady?" What? Oh, yes, the bath. I turned to meet her rather vacant gaze. "Follow me."

By Ilúvatar that felt amazing. My hair was untouched – there was no way I was going to face the amoral frizz that was sure to strike the second I took out my head of braids – and was still held up in a messy yet secure thing resembling a bun. I had managed to get my clothes suitably clean, and as I stepped out of the bathing room, not only did I look a lot better, I felt a lot better too.

Of course, this was all before I stepped back into the main hall. It was late in the afternoon, nearing nightfall, the sun was just dipping below the horizon. There seemed to be some sort of commotion near the – I suppose it was a palace – doors, so I investigated.

As I descended the steps, I saw a haggard looking horse being led into the stables by the same ratty stable hand. It was as I neared the small huddle of soldiers that a piercing wail took over my ears. A young human boy was being carried by Háma into the palace, while an even younger girl – she couldn't have been much more than four or five – was staring after him, eyes creased and red, mouth open and bawling, fists clenched unwavering at her sides. She started after him, but was caught by a soldier, who attempted to pick her up. She kicked away from him, and half dove, half was shoved into the nearest woman's arms. Mine. Wonderful. I now had a screaming child in my arms, and all the warriors around me were backing away as if the whole scene had nothing to do with them.

It was at this point that Screaming Child looked up, abnormally large blue eyes boring into mine with a fixed look of determination. Her frizzy blonde locks were tangled and strewn across her face by the wind. She stopped screaming and slowly worked her way down to sniffing.

"They – sniff – they took my – sniff ­– brother – choke, sob, sniff." Sniffing Child said, speaking as if they had just proclaimed they were going to roast her family on a spit and have her for desert.

"They are just going to make sure he is alright." I said in the most soothing voice I could manage without shattering my windpipe. I didn't have much experience with dealing with children first hand. I supposed that a calm tone and a lot of improvisation might work. "Do not worry, I am sure you shall be able to see him shortly." Sniffling Child nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "What is your name?"

"Tel…Telnariel…" She said. Telnariel. Interesting. Her parents must have liked elves. There were an increasing number of children with Elvish-sounding names. It was becoming a trend, scarily enough. Most people were under the illusion that elves were all beauty, grace, and mystery. Well, true, most of them were, but that wasn't the point. Never mind. As soon as Aragorn stopped trying not to laugh out loud at my predicament, I was going to take little Telnariel inside and…give her to the nearest maid. I couldn't handle children. They never seemed to like me. Which was good, because I never really liked children. Much.

Pointedly ignoring Gimli and Aragorn's stares, I turned on my heel, Telnariel clinging to me like a barnacle, and marched inside, muttering random Elvish more to myself then to her.

Once inside, ridding myself of Sniffli…Telnar proved harder than I had thought. First of all, I had to find a convenient maid and dump my charge on her. Or him. Whatever I came across first.

The first person I happened across was none other than the Lady Eowyn. I sighed inwardly, hoping she wouldn't mind.

"Lady Eowyn." I called after her before she could disappear into the corridor. She turned round to see me awkwardly holding the child in my arms. "Could you…" She started towards me, probably already guessing what I had in mind. "…do something about this." Her face had brightened a little, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was already reaching out to take the child into her arms.

"Is this the boy's sister?" I nodded. "He is still passed out, I am afraid." As her arms curled around Telnariel, the girl tightened her death-grip around my chest.

"I want to stay with the strange elf-lady." She mumbled, burying her face into my top. No, no she didn't. She wanted to go with Eowyn. She just didn't know it yet.

"Go with Lady Eowyn, I'm sure she can do something with you." Oh dear, she looked up at me with massive blue pools that were misting over with tears. Her bottom lip quivered.

"Where is mother?" She asked, changing the subject entirely. "She said she would meet us here, but she isn't here is she?" She pleaded. "She said take the horse, and me and my brother were to come to Edoras and…and…" She broke off, hurling her face at my neck, sobbing furiously. I could do nothing but stroke down her hair absently as she cried.

A memory of times long forgotten ran through me…

flash

"But mother, why do I have to go?" A small voice asked, a child, no more than seven. Fear tinged and riddled with uncertainty.

"Just trust me. You must leave. Now. Before it is too late." Another voice. A woman, old, yet not aged. This was one who had seen more than her fair share of the world.

"But…what about you? Are you coming too?"

"No, I…cannot." Regret and sadness were clearly evident.

"Why not? I don't want to go by myself. I don't want to be alone…"

flash

I snapped back to reality and stayed my hand that was cradling the child's head.

"I don't think she likes me very much." Eowyn said, the faint smile still on her pale lips. She turned her head slightly to see another random maid waiting. "Forgive me, I must be going." And then she was gone. Leaving me with Telnariel who was crying uncontrollably into my tunic. Fantastic.

And what had she called me? Strange Elf lady?I'd been called worse, but the way she'd said it indicated it was meant as a kind of warped complement. She probably hadn't seen many strange Elf-ladies. 'Although if she wants strange, maybe I could introduce her to Galadriel…' I banished the odd thought from my head. I was seaming to have a lot of those lately.

I soothed the child in my arms who had been reduced to sobbing feebly and wondered – not for the first time – what in Arda I was doing. I was a warrior, not a babysitter. And yet here I was. That seemed to be the story of my life for the past year or so. Uncertain of where I was going or what I was doing. Not knowing what I wanted or why, but doing things anyway. It all started one dreary Firith morning as I rode my faithful mare into the safe haven of Rivendell…

Great. Telnariel had discovered my ears and was not hesitating to make herself rather annoying in a scarily cute sort of way. I assured her that, no, she most certainly could not touch my ears as they were a lot more sensitive than a human's were. I suppose they were like a second pair of inner thighs. Not the whole ear, just the finely pointed tips. I wasn't about to give her a lecture on Elvish physique, so I tried my best to change the subject…which wasn't all that hard as Legolas walked in. If she liked elves so much, she should love him.

"Look, there's another elf." I whispered, nodding my head in his general direction. He quirked one of his dark brows half in curiosity, half in amusement.

"Where?" Her blonde head whipped around to stare at him. She regarded him cynically and with all the aloofness that comes with being a young child before stating simply. "Oh, he's boring." The eyebrow shot up even higher.

"What do you mean he's boring? Certainly he's a lot more interesting than me." She tugged one of my braids.

"I like you."

Sweet lady Elbereth, no. Please no. She did not just say that.

The corner of the Elf's mouth curled up slightly.

Apparently, he had been sent to take the girl to her brother, whom had awoken. Upon hearing this news, she had jumped out of my arms and practically sprinted to the infirmary. I thanked my hero with a Look™ and headed outside.

What? Had time suddenly leaped forward a couple of hours?

It was now nightfall, the fiery sunset was slowly fading from the horizon, and people were packing up for the night. I was too tired to be confused, and so instead I opted to just be indifferent to the whole situation.

I sat down on the steps, exhaling loudly. Why was I here? I tried to convince myself that I merely wanted revenge, but that was too simple. I wanted something deeper than that. I chuckled quietly at the sudden thought that presented itself. 'Yuna has a heart.' It said in a teasing voice. In truth, I was here because I didn't want to see people killed.

I had been witness to a colossal number of deaths, a lot of the time it was me doing the killing. Why did a few more bother me so?

I knew why.

Because these people did nothing to deserve it. Perhaps they were criminals by their own laws, but no crime save murder itself deserved death in my opinion.

Humans…as much as I was ashamed at some points to admit it, they were my people too. I had always been more Elvish than Human, it was easy to see which was the dominant race, but I had always envied the humans. They were so oblivious at times, even…clueless to the goings-on around them. Sort of like Hobbits, but not in the same way. Humans were well aware of the wars and conflicts of the world, but they could never just stand back from everything and just…

Stop. Just stop. Stop and take a look at the world around them. The beauty, the majesty, the care and preciseness with which every flower petal was constructed. It was all…I would say beautiful, but the word didn't seem to apply any more. More like…fading…

My muse on my purpose in life was interrupted by the silent steps that belonged to the only elf on the premises.

"Hello Legolas." I said without turning around.

"Yunalesca." He said back in his usual monotone, coming down to sit on the steps beside me. "You seem rather pensive this evening." How well discerned, considering I was staring off into space with a rather pensive expression on my face.

"Just pondering…things." I said cryptically. I could hear the raised eyebrow. He was curious, but was far too well brought up to ask what I was thinking about. I could tell these things. "Do you feel it?" I asked suddenly, not too sure myself of where I was going with this particular line of conversation. It didn't strike me until later that I'd used this opening line once long ago, or so it seemed.

"What?" He asked, furrowing his brows.

"Everything." I paused slightly. "The change in the world, in everything around us." There was another silence, one I filled with more of my endless reflections. "Every Spring that comes around, do you ever notice how the flowers never blossom as brightly as they did the year before? How the forest never looks as lush and green as it did the year before? The world is fading. Our time is coming to an end, and soon there will be none of our kind left." Wow, even I was impressed at how morbid that sounded.

"You wish for the sea?" Now that was unexpected, but then, as I swished this proposal around in the tumble dryer of my mind, I understood.

"I do in a way. I wish to leave this place before…before there is nothing left. I have no wish to remain here to see the fall of Arda. Before the world has faded beyond recognition. Before it is too late."

"Why do you stay, then? Could you not have left long ago?" This was turning into an interrogation.

"I could have, yes, but I have reasons to stay." This was certainly not a subject I wished to get on to with the Prince of the Woodland Realm. Thankfully he noticed this, and asked no more on the matter.

It was a short while later that we were called inside to discuss matters with the king and Gandalf. I absently wondered why I was required. After all, it wasn't as if I was an expert on the subject of Uruk-Hai warfare. I knew how to kill them easily enough, but an army if it, indeed, was coming was another matter altogether. I remembered back to what Lord Elrond had said.

"…I believe that you would be a valued member of the discussion. I want you for your presence alone…"

That had confused me, but I hadn't really looked into it. Thinking was painful during this particular period of time, especially with the sleepless past few days. I decided to keep that particular exercise to a minimum and concentrated on just going with the flow.

Aragorn was idly rubbing the rim of his pipe. Dear Ilúvatar how I would kill for a pipe at the moment. I could smell the second hand smoke faintly from across the room. But that wasn't right, Elves didn't smoke. Yes, well peredhils weren't Elves, and they could do whatever the Hell they wanted. But I couldn't have one now, not with this…child cradling her bowl of soup with one hand and clinging to me with all the fierceness of a five year old with the other. She seemed to be unaware of the fact that my hand had lost all life a long while ago and was now an interesting shade of lavender. There was some random discussion concerning the imminent doom of mankind going on in the background. My mind was concentrating on the slurping noises and occasional burp that came from the Dwarf as he finished the last of his ale.

I glared at the elf. Didn't these people eat? No, that was far too normal a thing for the great Prince of Mirkwood to do. Alright, so I was exaggerating a little, but it still annoyed me that he had chosen to practically cut off all non-essential contact with humans excluding those whom just happened to be the heirs of Isildur. He was even starting to make me feel mortal. But then again, elves didn't generally associate with humans that much. And most humans tended to keep a safe distance from the mysterious fair folk.

But, as I was a woman, it was my right to bitch about anything I felt necessary. And, considering Pipeweed was just out of reach, all circulation to my hand had been firmly cut off, and I was being forced to sit and listen to something I had no say in, I would think it was necessary.

A.N. NOTE: Firith is the season of late Autumn in the reckoning of Rivendell (Quellë for those of you who prefer Quenya) around the time of the council. Also, we are aware that Christianity is not a main religion in this particular plane of reality, and therefore why did we mention Hell? Because we can. There we go. And about the time thing? Author's Whim. Plain and simple.

Rai: Where do I begin? First of all, I'm sorry this chapter isn't very good, has a rushed ending, and is rather, um, late. But, I'm suffering from a little thing called manic depression coupled with chronic insomnia, ovarian cancer, a vicious cold, and PMS. Happy, happy, joy, joy. Things have just been rather crap for me lately. I get angry at my closest friends for no reason, and the tiniest things seem to drive a powerdrill through my head. Screaming into a pillow's always good. Very therapeutic. Oh, and by the way, I'm not actually here writing this, oh no, I'm revising. Of course I am.

Lilena: Thanks a lot for the review. It made me smile. Well done. We feel honoured to be on anyone's fave list, and that was a real boost for me to finish/start this chapter.