A/N: The title of this chapter comes from the song "You'll Think of Me" by Keith Urban. Here is the relevant verse and chorus:

I went out driving trying to clear my head
I tried to sweep out all the ruins that my emotions left
I guess I'm feeling just a little tired of this
And all the baggage that seems to still exist
It seems the only blessing I have left to my name
Is not knowing what we could have been
What we should have been
So

Take your records, take your freedom
Take your memories I don't need'em
Take your space and take your reasons
But you'll think of me
And take your cat and leave my sweater
'Cause we have nothing left to weather
In fact I'll feel a whole lot better
But you'll think of me

Near the end of his stay in the former Mirkwood something happened that Legolas Greenleaf thought would never take place while his father still resided on this side of the Great Sea: he had a Man visit his bedchamber. Of course, it wasn't as if the elf prince had grown up dreaming about having one in there (although it had been the theme of a nightmare or two when he was a small elfling) or scheming about how to make that happen. Having any member of any race entering his private living quarters was pretty much forbidden ever since he was an elfling, first because he and his young friends were capable of making tremendous messes that the cleaning servants would just gape at and weep; and then later because it would be improper and the subject of annoying courtly gossip for months – years, even. The rule had never been strictly enforced; it just existed as a quiet understanding between father and son – until Aragorn (then known as Estel) came into their realm and lives.

Thranduil had always been observant to an unnecessary degree when it came to his son and his mind proved to be especially keen when it came to the development of the relationship between Legolas and the brash young Man. Legolas had never come out and announced that he and Aragorn were anything to each other but instructor-pupil and growing friends; his father never brought the subject up either, but he did make it a point to do much more frequent checks in his son's bedchamber during the duration of the Man's stay. The supervision everywhere else had increased dramatically as well, making it nearly impossible for him and Aragorn to do more than sneak away for a few stolen kisses.

At the time Legolas had greatly resented this and hadn't been shy about telling his father this; but now he thanked Thranduil for his unrelenting supervision. For all the claims that he could control himself without someone looking over his shoulder, thank you very much, Legolas now had a four-and-almost-three-quarters years old proof that he wasn't very good at saying no to Aragorn. Who knew? Maybe if they had been allowed to be alone together he would have gotten pregnant decades sooner. Then again, if he had gotten pregnant before Aragorn had met Arwen things might have turned out much differently for all of them.

'Nice,' he sneered at himself in disgust. 'You're fantasizing about how you could have trapped Aragorn if your pregnancy had happened before Arwen came into the picture. You can't go down this road or else you'll just become everything that Lord Elrond implied that you were!'

Needless to say, no one had ever entered Legolas' bedchamber after the Man left, because Thranduil wouldn't allow it and because Legolas had never wanted anyone except Aragorn. Even now, after all of those years and having a son of his own, he still found it a little strange to be in that space with anyone else – even when that 'anyone' was Caladel. In light of all that it was beyond bizarre in Legolas' mind to see Eomer standing in his bedchamber's threshold, looking extremely uncomfortable and embarrassed as Caladel grasped his hand and continued to pull him in further.

"You have to help Papa, Ada," the boy announced in his most serious tone.

"Do I need to save him from the clutches of a certain elfling?" asked Legolas.

"No!" answered Caladel, exasperated.

Legolas raised an eyebrow as he gave Eomer a cursory once-over. The Man turned an unnatural shade of red and looked down, suddenly very interested in the floor. "Aside from that he seems fine enough to me, burning cheeks notwithstanding," noted the elf cheekily, unable to resist the opportunity to tease Eomer whenever he could. "If he doesn't need me to swoop in and save him I can't imagine how I can be of further assistance."

"He doesn't quite fit in here and I've finally figured out why," explained Caladel. He wasn't quite able to grasp the concept of different races yet and being a member of two different races did nothing to help clear up the confusion. As a result of that the elfling could see no more difference between Eomer and the wood elves than he could between Legolas and the Rohirric, or himself and either of those people – which usually amounted to nothing more than how much their ears were pointing. That was why it took him as long as it did to understand why his papa was having a hard time looking like he belonged in Eryn Lasgalan, and why his solution seemed to him so revolutionary. "Look at him! He doesn't have the braids."

"I beg your pardon?" asked Legolas, managing the almost impossible task of swallowing his laughter.

Eomer gave him a pointed look. "Caladel feels that I may be more accepted by your people if I wear my hair in a similar manner," he said, wondering all the while about what had made the boy worry about something like that so late on in their visit. While they had never warmed to him completely, the wood elves had pretty much absorbed Eomer into their celebrations and daily life. It was certainly more than he'd expected after he'd first entered the Woodland Realm.

"Well, you do stand out in a crowd around here," nodded Legolas, falsely sage. "Come! I won't have a guest of mine ostracized because he lacks the good sense and skill to braid his hair. That's how you end up not enjoying your visit to this fine land! Sit down on the floor against the bed and I'll see to taking care of that right away."

"All right, if it makes you and Caladel happy," agreed Eomer with exaggerated reluctance. Once he'd settled down where Legolas had instructed the boy curled up next to him contentedly. "But it's really not necessary. I enjoy being around your people. They're…they're…"

"Listen to your papa, Caladel," smirked Legolas as he collected the necessary items to weave proper braids. "He struggles so not to insult them or us."

"No," protested Eomer. "I'm trying to say something good. I mean, I'm trying to say the positive thing that I have to say in a good way; unfortunately I think it's going to come out as an insult and I don't mean it as one."

Legolas walked over from across the room, plopped down on the bed behind Eomer, and grabbed a lock of the Man's blonde hair. "Just say it," he urged as he started combing out the snarls. "And remember that I'm in a position to inflict major pain if I feel that it's necessary."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Eomer wryly. "But the truth is that I didn't expect to feel at all comfortable around your people. The only other time I've been around elves was with the Rivendell elves in Minas Tirith after the War. They seemed so…well, lofty isn't really the correct word but you know what I mean. I just assumed that all elves were the same but I was wrong: the people of Eryn Lasgalan are no more like those of Rivendell than we Rohirrim are like the Gondorians. In fact, the Gondorians remind me of the Rivendell elves – all high and formal in their public lives, and refined and sedated in their celebrations – and your people are a lot like the Rohirrim: closer to the earth, capable of having a fun, loud celebration and getting the job done, earning people's respect without making others feel…less than you. You don't control or oversee, you simply…I don't know. I'm sorry; I'm not making much sense.

Legolas took pity on him as he began to weave the first braid. "I understand you," he reassured Eomer. "We wood elves aren't so stuffy. We may not be as civilized – if that's what you call it, and I don't – but that's part of what makes us who we are. And you like it."

"I do," smiled Eomer. "It's a lot like home."

"Ada, Papa, what's Minas Tirith like?" wondered Caladel suddenly. "You've told me about so many other places but you hardly ever talk about that."

"I don't like talking about it too much because I was very unhappy when I stayed there," said Legolas uncomfortably, as he always felt when the conversation veered too close to Aragorn. "But if you must know it is a very fancy city made up of seven layers of white stone. It looks like it's coming out of the mountainside."

"Does it have a lot of trees?" asked Caladel.

"In special gardens," Legolas told him. "They can't grow there freely because the ground is made up of solid stone too."

Caladel made a displeased face. He was not inclined to like any place where his ada was unhappy and this new information made it sound all the more horrible. "Poor trees, having to grow in captivity for people who won't bother to see one in any other way," he grumbled. "Imagine, not hearing the sound of wild trees whispering or feeling real ground beneath your feet. Ugh! If that's what it means to be lofty, fancy, and civilized then I'm extra glad that I'm a wood elf and a Rohirrim."

"So am I," chimed in Legolas, though he wasn't sure if he was speaking about Caladel or himself.

"Ada!" cried Caladel when he looked at his papa to see what he thought about the matter. "Be careful! I think you're pulling too hard and hurting Papa. Papa, are you all right?"

He was better than all right; Eomer was in complete bliss. Legolas was practically running his fingers through his hair, making his scalp tingle wherever they brushed against it. It was so wonderful that his eyes had drifted shut on their own and Caladel had misinterpreted that as a sign of pain. "What?" asked Eomer a bit fuzzily. "No, I'm fine. Your ada isn't hurting me at all."

"You don't have to be polite," insisted Caladel protectively. "I know he can pull something awful when he thinks he needs to."

"Only when your hair is so full of knots and snarls that I think it might be easier just to shave it all off," Legolas playfully defended himself. "Not because I don't know how not to make it hurt."

Eomer's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Besides, my son," he said, "a little sting every now and then helps keep you grounded."

"Ow! That hurts!"

"It only hurts because you're hair is so unruly. When was the last time that you bothered to brush it?"

"Stop trying to change the subject. You hurt me."

"And I suppose that you wish for me to find a way to soothe you. Do you have any suggestions?"

"There is but one cure for my pain: a kiss from the fair Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, as always."

Two pairs of lips met in a tender yet passionate kiss. "You do realize, Estel, that this isn't giving me any reason not to keep pulling your hair."

"I know, but it's worth it. Besides, a little sting every now and then is good for me."

Legolas bit back a gasp. There one was again! As much as he liked being home the memories of Aragorn were so close to him there. He hated how he couldn't stop them from coming.

"Legolas?" asked Eomer, noticing a change in the elf's body language. "Is something wrong?"

Pulling his mind fully back into the present Legolas managed to plaster on a fake smile. "I'm fine."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was late into the night when Legolas rolled onto his back with a sign, the latest move in his countless attempts to get comfortable enough to go to sleep. As much as he hated to he had to concede defeat – there was no way that he was going to find any rest that night with so many wonderful, awful, happy, and hurtful memories vying for the chance to be at the forefront of his mind. He had to get them out.

With that goal in mind Legolas rolled once more, this time until he was on his stomach and half-hanging off the edge of the bed. He didn't bother grabbing a candle to illuminate his search as he groped under the bed; what he was looking for was fairly large and something that he'd know by touch even if he was blindfolded in the pitch black. Fingers swept over the floor and a few other items, gathering dust on them as they went, until they stumbled across the box that contained his treasure: a bow and arrows. Legolas pulled the box out and set it on the bed so that he could open it without too much fuss; and almost cried out in relief when he grasped the weapon. Taking it out, he couldn't help running his hands over the arched wood, caressing it lovingly. Most of the other weapons were kept in a special closet but this one was meant to be for the prince's personal defense should the very worst happen and invaders take the palace. Legolas found another, more frequent use for it a long time ago: with the bow right there he didn't need to worry about breaking into the weapon's closet every time he had a lot on his mind and needed a way to vent it.

With the bow and arrows safely in his hands he climbed out of bed, walked softly across his bedchamber, crept out the door and through the hallway until he reached the door to his son's bedchamber, and opened it as quietly as he could. There he could see in the faint glow of a lantern kept lit so that the boy wouldn't wake up in the dark alone in what as still a relatively strange place that Caladel was sound asleep. Good; the last thing that Legolas wanted was to be nowhere to be found if his child needed him for any reason. Knowing what he did about Caladel's sleeping patterns and the like Legolas would have been willing to bet money that the boy would sleep until the morning.

As he closed the door again Legolas heard footsteps approaching from one side. "My prince?" whispered the guard who was patrolling the royal quarters that night. He eyed the bow in his hand with confusion. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes," Legolas told him. "I'm going out to the archery field and I might be done there for a long time. Would you listen especially close for Caladel? If he wakes up, please let him know that I'll be back and then direct him to either Eomer or my father."

"Of course," agreed the guard. "But may I ask why you're going out to the archery field so late?"

"I just – need to think," explained Legolas as best he could without giving away too much.

The guard bowed and went about his business, making it so Legolas could do the same. The elf swiftly made his way through the corridors to the main entrance, pushed the doors open, and with a nod to the guards on duty there walked down the torch-lit path to the archery field. There, as there had always been, was a row of eight large targets that had long ago been deemed to unwieldy to be stored away every night and dragged back into position every morning. Walking up to one of them, Legolas turned his back to it and marched away, counting his steps. When he was an acceptable distance away he turned again, readied his weapon, and fired. And again. And again. And again.

He knew that it was bitterly ironic that he had come to that place to rid himself of the memories that were haunting his sleep, memories of Aragorn. If there was any place in Eryn Lasgalan where the memory of the Man was most alive it was there. How many hours had they spent there that magical summer, laughing, shooting, instructing, learning…kissing, holding…falling in love for the first time (for both of them)? Legolas quickly shook his head and readied his bow once again, trying to keep from letting those recollections from overwhelming him but it was an uphill battle. In the dark of the night he could practically see the ghosts of the past all around him.

O – Flashback – O

Early in the morning Legolas effortlessly loosed another arrow and hit the dead-center of the bulls-eye. With a sedately proud smirk he lowered his bow and indulged in the time it took for him to admire his latest handiwork. It had been a very good shot, even by his standards; if he was ever going to better it he would have to split that arrow with another one. What made it even more impressive was that he hadn't even been concentrating as much as he should have been. One ear, one part of his mind, was constantly focused on listening for any signs that his student that morning was approaching. It was a shame that he wasn't there yet. Legolas wished that Estel had somehow caught a glimpse of him doing what he did best.

It was strange, silly, and completely unexpected that Legolas should wish to impress Lord Elrond's Mannish foster son so much; and the elf had a hard enough time admitting that that's what he wanted to do without acknowledging the reasons why. Estel had turned out to be nothing that he had expected when his father informed him that the elvish lord was requesting that they host the young one for the summer and instruct him in the art of archery. Knowing that this son was of the race of Men Legolas had naturally envisioned what always came to mind when he imagined what Men were like: a creature who was either unattractively bulky – perhaps with that odd fur on his face – or else awkwardly gangly; clumsy; loud; unthinkingly destructive to nature; and above all obnoxiously proud and arrogant.

This image had not changed in the slightest when, a few months after Thranduil sent Elrond the letter agreeing to take Estel and informing him that his son would be the young Man's instructor, a message from the elvish lord came straight to Legolas. In it Elrond had told him not to worry about being too tough on Estel (permission that was unnecessary – Legolas had taught many people and had quickly realized that they tended not to learn anything if they were coddled). "Knowing my son as I do," the letter had said, "Estel could probably stand to be knocked down a peg or two, just to keep him from becoming too recklessly cocky."

Imagine his surprise, then, when on the morning of Estel's arrival Legolas had been informed that his new pupil was already down at the archery field. Not the behavior he'd anticipated from a person who's own father described him as "recklessly cocky"; but then again perhaps he was just trying to make a good first impression on the person he'd be spending a good amount of time with that summer. The prince had allowed himself a moment to be taken aback by the news and then had journeyed straight down to the field, the same archery field that he would find himself at decades later when the events of that day and the days following were haunting memories, to find the young Man practicing. Truth be told, he wasn't a bad shot, but Legolas had a witty and sarcastic sense of humor that made it impossible to resist tormenting him just a little. When Estel had turned around Legolas had known without a shadow of a doubt that the summer would be a lot more enjoyable than he had first thought it was going to be.

Presently, the prince's cheeks burned a little when he whipped his head around to see if the noise he'd just heard was Estel and it turned out to be only a squirrel. It was absolutely ridiculous that he so looked forward to seeing the young Man at the beginning of every day! It wasn't as if he had a silly little crush on Estel, was it? That was unthinkable! Sure, he had those clear, gorgeous eyes that were a color that Legolas had never seen before on another person; and a breathtaking smile that unashamedly showed every tooth and every emotion; and a remarkable fire in his spirit. Of course he was enjoyable to be around, being polite enough to be endearing, just cocky enough to be interesting, and charming on top of all that. But Estel was a Man. He even had that strange fur on his face – although that had turned out not to be as repulsive as Legolas had thought that it would be. Sometimes he even found himself wondering what it would feel like against the skin – of his hand; of his hand, of course. Not against the skin of anywhere else because Legolas didn't think about Estel that way.

No, Legolas decided, it was curiosity and not attraction that motivated him to think the way he did about Estel. After all, he was like nothing the elf had ever seen before; who wouldn't be curious about seeing a member of a race he'd never seen up close before? That also explained why he came down to the field earlier and earlier each morning so that he wouldn't miss a moment of time that he had with the Man; it wasn't because of Estel, just that the elf wanted to…savor this unique cultural experience. As for the great pains he took to show off his skills, he did so because – because he wanted to be a good instructor and give the young Man something to aspire to be like. And all the extra time he'd been taking to dress especially sharp and to braid his hair with more care, well that was just Legolas making sure that he was projecting a positive image. He couldn't have a guest of Mirkwood thinking that the prince was sloppy; and he'd act that way whether said guest was a stupid dwarf or a gorgeous young Man whom he absolutely felt no attraction to. Nope, none at all.

He was in the process of pulling another arrow out of his quiver when he heard the long-awaited footsteps coming up from behind him. Legolas paused but didn't turn around, not wanting Estel to see the goofily sappy smile that he couldn't stop from spreading across his face. "You really need to learn how to walk more softly," he called, not even moving his head slightly to the side to speak over his shoulder. "It's a good skill to have in this day and age, especially if you want to continue sneaking to your lessons late."

"I'm not late," protested Estel as he came around to stand by the elf's side. Legolas saw that his eyes were shining and the young Man, unlike himself, didn't bother to hide his inappropriately happy smile. "You just got here early. You can't expect me to know exactly when to show up if you keep coming here before the scheduled time."

"I suppose you'd want me to knock on your door and gently shake you awake in that case," said Legolas mockingly. How was it that he wasn't able to stop his mouth from making such improper suggestions?

Estel blushed. "I wouldn't turn you away," he mumbled.

"What?"

"Oh – nothing! Nothing!" burst out Estel quickly. "I was…was just wondering how you manage to be up so early? Elbereth, Legolas; don't you ever sleep?"

"Not excessively, unlike some mortals around here that shall remain nameless," replied Legolas, thankful that Estel had chosen not to repeat his potentially troublesome declaration and steer them back into the familiar territory of verbal sparring.

"I wouldn't be able to be as good as I am without getting a good night's sleep," boasted Estel.

"If sleep is what you credit your skills to you might want to find another way to improve," teased Legolas as he notched his bow and aimed. There was no way that he wasn't going to fully concentrate on this shot, as it would be most embarrassing if he missed it. "Just think, if I spent as much time in bed as you do I would have never been able to learn how to do this."

The young Man's mouth fell open when Legolas fired his shot and successfully spit the arrow that he'd shot dead-center into the bulls-eye moments before. "That's…that's not bad," he croaked.

Legolas turned to cock an eyebrow at him. "Not bad?" he repeated with a hint of joking incredulousness in his tone. "Is that all you have to say?"

Estel grinned. "Well, good form and good aim and all that," he said, mockingly condescending.

"Thank you so much, oh wise instructor," said Legolas dryly. "I only aspire to hear those flattering words of praise coming from you."

"Hey, I was giving you a compliment," protested Estel, a laugh breaking through his disinterested façade. "But I'm afraid that I can't find it in me to fawn over such a shot. What did you do, hit the center of center? Please. I mean, that's something that I could do without thinking any day of the week if I wanted to."

"Oh really?" asked Legolas sardonically. Maybe he wasn't the only one who was trying to show off. Still, he couldn't let Estel get away with mocking his wonderful shot the way that he did. With a little 'tut' of his tongue he shoved the bow into one of the Man's hands and placed an arrow in the other. "Well, it just happens that such a shot has been set up for you right now! How fortunate for me; I'm most interested in seeing the technique you're going to use to split the arrow like I did."

"Fine," said Estel. The Man was never one to back down from a direct challenge, even if the slight tremor in his voice belied his confidence. He readied the arrow on the bow but did not aim; instead pointing everywhere except to the bulls-eye while he tugged on the string nervously. "This is going to be very easy."

Legolas couldn't help smirking. "Then let's see it," he practically dared.

"You will," Estel told him, pulling on the string a little harder as he obviously searched his mind for some way – any way – to stall. "I just think that first you should understand a little more about my skills and talent. I've been practicing my archery since I was a little child, you know. I don't know why Ada thought that I needed to come here to learn – he was the one who gave me my first bow! Granted it was a toy, but the fact still remains that I used it to shoot all the time." He chuckled a little hysterically. "I used to get into so much trouble with that thing. One time – OW!"

"Estel!" Legolas cried out in alarm. In the young Man's desperate attempts to buy more time he'd actually accidentally loosed the arrow – at his foot. Dropping to his knees to examine the damage the elf cursed himself for not putting a stop to Estel's careless antics sooner. Was it really so important to him to tease…flirt that he couldn't make sure that his charge came through it intact? "Estel, dear Elbereth. How bad is it? Can you wiggle your toes?"

Estel was breathing very loudly through his teeth. "I'm all right," he insisted, though he was groaning a little too much for that to be convincing.

At first glance, though, his assertions seemed true enough; thanks to the heavy boot that he was wearing the arrow hadn't completely penetrated Estel's foot. Still, it had done at least some damage to the very top of it. "Be that as it may we really should get you to a healer," declared Legolas anxiously.

Estel shook his head stubbornly. "I'm fine," he stressed.

"Estel, there's an arrow sticking out of your foot," Legolas felt compelled to point out exasperatedly, even though strictly speaking it was more sticking out of his boot and poking his foot. "You really do need to do something about it."

"I think," Estel stopped as if reconsidering what he was about to say and then reflexively licked his lips. "I think that the only thing I'll need is one kiss from the fair prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas' head snapped up. Kiss Estel? He was somewhat surprised to find that his lips were already tingling in anticipation. But it was to be expected that he was eager to do this; after all, it sounded as if the young Man wouldn't budge until he got one innocent little kiss. Yes, Legolas would simply be doing what any responsible instructor would do. "If I give you one," he said slowly, rising to his feet, "will you agree to go to a healer?"

"I won't need one, but yes," nodded Estel.

Letting out an unconscious sigh Legolas leaned in and planted a sweet, chaste kiss on the Man's mouth. As he pulled back before the emotions that he'd been trying so hard to deny got the better of him, he couldn't help thinking that Estel's stubbly fur had felt rather nice against his cheeks – it was something…new, and interesting.

"My foot still hurts," declared Estel quietly.

"We can't have that," whispered Legolas.

This time it was Estel who leaned in and kissed first, holding their lips together for a lot longer. When their mouths open instinctively to get some air their tongues seemed to come together of their own volition and tentatively brushed one another. Legolas gasped and pulled away. "I would," the elf breathed. "I would be remiss in my duties if I…didn't see this healing technique through to the end."

Estel's grin spread from ear to ear. "And I shall be your willing patient," he proclaimed. The kisses that followed were increasingly passionate and the young Man didn't end up going to a healer for another hour.

O – End Flashback – O

"Legolas?" Legolas turned around to watch Eomer approach him, wrapped in a large blanket with a concerned look on his face.

"What are you doing out here?" Legolas asked him.

"The guard," explained Eomer, gesturing to the path that led back to the palace. "He was concerned about you, so he woke me and told me that you'd left and where he thought that you were going. It's late; what are you doing out here at this hour?"

"I'm thinking," replied Legolas with a sigh, putting down his bow. "Eomer, has there ever been one moment that's completely changed your life? Who you were, how you felt, where your life was heading, everything?"

Eomer's mind immediately went to the moment that he saw an unconscious Legolas on Elfhelm's horse. Everything was different after that. Still, he supposed that it would have been if he hadn't already cared for Legolas; so maybe the life-changing moment was at Aragorn's wedding when he and Legolas had their first real conversation. But then that wouldn't have changed much if he'd never seen Legolas again. "I would say more moments than moment," he finally answered. "Alone they wouldn't have altered much about me; yet together they made me who I am today."

Legolas could understand that; after all, he supposed that kissing Aragorn for the first time that summer wouldn't have been so life-altering if he'd never seen the Man again, and certainly if he hadn't renewed his romance with him decades later. "Do you think that one moment leads to another or do they exist independently while together influencing your life?" he wondered.

"I think that it's too late to have such a deep philosophical conversation," replied Eomer kindly. He took the blanket from around him and wrapped it around Legolas' body. "Come inside, get some sleep, and in the morning we can get into the this and the that of life-changing moments if you wish."

"I can't take your blanket," protested Legolas.

"It's not that cold," Eomer told him. "I really don't need it; I just grabbed it because I thought it would be inappropriate to traipse about Eryn Lasgalan in nothing but my sleep leggings."

"But you're still in nothing but your sleep leggings," pointed out Legolas, nodding to the Man's bare chest. "Besides, if you don't need it then what makes you think that I do?"

"It's to stave off deep ponderings and questions that have no real answers," replied Eomer, pretending to fuss with the blanket, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles and such. "Sometimes it helps to have something wrapped around you, giving you a place to burrow down into away from the world."

A warm feeling that Legolas was too emotionally drained to explore touched the elf's heart. "Thank you, Eomer," he said quietly. He fell in step beside the Man, away from the field where the ghosts of the past kissed away their lives as they knew them.

To be continued…