I don't own Lord of The Rings, nor the places or characters. Only Mÿne.


They gathered outside the Mansion of Meduseld for the funeral of the Kings' son, Theodred. The people of Rohan were dressed in black, as custom to funerals. The little group of the Fellowship remained in their clothes, for they had nothing else. They followed the line of the King silently, as they walked down Edoras. The people behind the line of the guards bowed their heads crying as they passed.

Theodred's body was laid on a stretcher, made of shields and spears, resembling his loyalty and death. He looked so young, Mÿne thought. He was not much older than she was. His dark hair was neatly combed and his lips were pale. He looked so peaceful, even in death. Mÿne pushed a strand of her own hair behind her ear.

They emerged outside the gate of Edoras, following the line of guards to the tomb hills. At the end of the line Eowyn waited for them, dressed in black as well. Her golden curls were intertwined with the small thin crown she wore on her pretty head. As the men passed the stretcher with Theodred through to the tomb for him she started to sing. Her voice was beautiful and lined with sadness and sorrow. It was old Rohirric language, and although she hadn't heard it in such a long time, she could still recognise some of the words.

Beside her Legolas bowed his head in respect but Mÿne could tell he was uncomfortable, just like he had been when he found her, Aragorn and a dying Boromir. She wondered if the concept of death was different for Elves, especially the immortal ones, like Legolas. They did not die by old age. They never died of old age.

Theodreds feet disappeared into the darkness of the tomb. Eowyn ended her song in a muffled sob. The tomb was closed with an enormous boulder and the crowd started to dispersed again, back to Edoras, to carry on their daily business.

The King remained at his place, watching the guards close the tomb. Gandalf walked up to them.

"We should pay the King and his kin our respects." he said to them, with a small sad smile.

Aragorn followed him first, followed soon by Legolas and Gimli. Mÿne closed the line of their little group and watched as the ranger shook the King's hand and mumbled some words. Legolas and Gimli shook hands and noddedi n sympathy, probably not accustomed to the funerals of Men. Mÿne followed, bowing her head as she averted her gaze to the ground.

"Theodred was too young." Mÿne commented, before she looked back at the King, his expression engraved with sorrow.

"Yes. Yes, he was... Tell me child, how old are you?" King Théodred said, eyeing her, though absentmindedly.

"Twenty-two years yet, my Lord." Mÿne answerd.

"It would have been Theodreds twenty-fifth birthday two months from now..." the King said sadly as he sighed.

Mÿne had no response for that and so, she quickly took the spot on the next in line, the fair maiden with the pretty pale face. She bowed again.

"I am sorry for your loss. It was a beautiful song you sang. The minstrels will sing songs about him. Of his death, but also of his life." she said as she took a glance at Eowyn.

"You understood it?" Eowyn said, her eyes growing larger.

"Little pieces..." Mÿne admitted.

Eowyn took a glance at the her, her eyes glued on her sword. Mÿne quickly hid it with the Elven cloak that hung around her shoulders. Even though funerals were not places to carry swords, she could not help to do so. She could not leave it with the guards.

"Will you walk with me? For I much like to hear about you. Not often does a maiden my age come to my house's aid." Eowyn told her as she gestured to the main gate of Edoras.

"So... Who are you?" she asked.

"My name is Mÿne, milady." Mÿne answered politely.

"You are named after the flowers on these tombs..." Eowyn concluded, "Why, how ironic that you come at this time of my cousins death."

"I am sorry, milady. I do not wish to make you sad." Mÿne answered quickly.

"No, please. I do not mind. In fact, I think it's quite fitting, don't you think?" Eowyn said, a small sad smile on her lips "But there is something I need to ask."

Mÿne looked at Eowyn, who had knitted her brows together, thinking as they walked. She could tell something weighed heavily on her mind, even though she did not know this maiden. She was easy to read, her eyes big and her worries even bigger. They were etched on her face, like carvings into stone.

"You look the same like the Ranger that came with you. However... you understood my song. Are you...Are you Rohan?"

Mÿne bit on the bottom of her lip, as she watched the grass underneath their feet. It bend and flattened against the ground as they walked on it. Her mind was thrown to the past again as Eowyn asked about it. It was futile to lie about it, especially since she herself had admitted to understanding the song.

"Yes, originally I come from these lands. I was born in a small village, but it was destroyed in a raid of orcs. Aragorn found me and he took me as his pupil." Mÿne said as she gestured to Aragorn, who walked behind them with Gimli and Legolas.

"I see..." Eowyn said as she looked at Aragorn as well.

They passed the gates of Edoras. Different than the first time Mÿne had passed them, there were now guards on top of it, watching them. It seemed the King had put things back in order again as soon as he was able to.

"I'm sorry milady, but I'd like to linger outside the gate for just a while." Mÿne said as she bowed.

"Oh, of course. Please, come see me later, I'd like to hear your stories. You must have so many!" Eowyn said smiling again."And please, you can call me just Eowyn, Mÿne."

Mÿne nodded, smiling too. Eowyn turned around and proceeded her way up to Meduseld, the King's Hall, disappearing from sight quickly.


Mÿne walked past the gate and sat in the grass, playing with its long strands. She recalled Eowyn's song and smiled sadly. It had been honorful, describing Theodred's life and deeds and ultimately, his end. Death waited for no one, it seemed. Not even the King's son.

Someone sat beside her, silently and gracefully. Only one person could be as graceful. . She looked next to her to find Legolas' face. His expression was calm but wondering. As if he had been staring into the distance, trying to figure out a puzzle.

"That song..." he said, still in wonder. "It was not Elvish... I could not understand it's meaning. But you did..." he said. Mÿne looked at him. "I saw it in your face."

"It was about Theodred. 'An evil death has taken a noble warrior. Minstrels will sing a sorrow song about him' and..." Mÿne thought deeply, trying to remember the words her mother and father had taught her. "I don't know. Something with necessary rest..."

"It was beautiful though." Legolas said.

"Yes it was." Mÿne agreed.

She looked at Legolas' hands, holding a flower. It was one of the tiny flowers that grew on the tombs, white, with a yellow heart.

"Simbelmÿne." Mÿne said as she pointed at the flower. "It is what I was named after."

Legolas looked at the flower, dumbfounded it seemed. He rolled the stem between his nimble fingers, making the petals turn into a colorful wheel before he stopped.

"Really?" he smiled as he turned to her.

With his hand he stroke back a strand of her hair and placed the flower behind her ear. Mÿne's cheeks reddened as he did that, but she waited patiently for him to finish.

"For you." he finally said as he pulled back his hands, before he stood up and walked away.

Mÿne blinked her eyes and felt the flower behind her ear, with her fingers. Its soft petals stroke her fingertips, reminding her of Legolas' gesture. She smiled softly at herself as she gazed upon the hills before her, Simbelmÿne covering them like stars in the night.


"They had no warning. They were unarmed. Now the Wildman are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Every rick, cot and tree." Eowyn said as she stroked the little girls hair. She could not be older than ten, Mÿne guessed. Maybe she was even younger.

All of a sudden they had appeared, when she had been sitting among the hills. The boy had been so exhausted that he had fallen off the horse they had came on. Their village had been attacked and burned, much like the one they had encountered on their journey to Edoras. Mýne wondered if it even could be the very same. The rag doll she had found could have been from this little girl, but she did not ask. She watched the tired faces across her, pale and worn out. They ate eagerly, shoving big pieces of bread in their mouth and scooping big spoons of hot soup. The boy looked no older than fourteen, not a boy anymore but still not a man grown.

"Where's mummy?" the girl suddenly asked Eowyn, but she hushed her and looked at her uncle at the throne. Gandalf answered for him when he remained silent, buried in his own thoughts.

"This is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven by the fear of Sauron." Gandalf said, "You must ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away fro the women and children. You must fight!"

The King sighed, bowing his head in defeat.

"I'm still hungry..." the little girl said softly to Eowyn, but she shook her head.

Mÿne watched as the girl averted her eyes, afraid to ask more, or simpy instructed not to. Mÿne broke off a piece of her own bread and gave it to the girl, with a small smile. The girl happily accepted and dug into it eagerly. She was still growing and food was scarce.

"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak." Aragorn said as he bit on the end of his pipe, drawing Mÿne's attention back to the discussion, "Eomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for you."

Eomer, they found out, was the brother of Eowyn, and the leader of the riders they'd encountered. Indeed he was loyal, but also out of reach. Mÿne could see the rejection of the idea in the King's eyes. He stood up and walked into the middle of the Hall, sighing before he looked at Aragorn and Gandalf.

"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now. No... Eomer cannot help us. I know what it is what you want from me but I will not bring more death to my people. I will not risk open war!" he said, getting agitated by the moment.

"Open war is upon you, whether you risk it or not." Aragorn stated, matter of factly.

Mÿne watched as the King walked over to Aragorn and looked deeply into his eyes. The fear and furociousness was almost dripping from it. The tension in the Hall thickened and Mÿne held her breath silently.

"The last time I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn was King of Rohan." the King spat before he turned away.

"Then what is the King's decision?" asked Gandalf, growing impatient.

Silence fell for a while, and King Théoden returned to his throne.

"We will make for Helm's Deep." he stated and he called his guards to spread the King's will.


And so the people of Edoras was forced to empty their homes. They could only take with them what they needed, which was not much admittedly. Mÿne watched as the people around her filled their carts, or saddled their horses. She followed Gandalf back to the stables as he mumbled angry.

"Helm's Deep!" Gimli spat as he kept a watchful eye on the guards around them. "They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight! Who will defend them if not their King?"

"I would not have thought a dwarf reject the mountains so quickly... " Mÿne jested first, before she shrugged, "This city is build on a hill. Saruman has but to surround it and the people will die, either by spears or hunger. There is no way out of here. If I were a King, I'd decide to make for Helm's Deep too."

"Helm's Deep is a ravine. There is no way out of there too, Mÿne. He thinks he's leading them to safety but it's a massacre he will get." Gandalf said.

"At least it's better than Edoras. I've heard the walls of Helm's Deep are strong. They will not break through that easily. Up here, in Edoras, it's just a matter of breaking wood." Mÿne retorted, "No one has bested the Hornburg yet."

"Théoden is a strong man, but I fear for him." Gandalf said when they reached Shadowfax. "I fear for the survival of Rohan."

Survival of Rohan... Mÿne looked through the gates of the stable, to the people who were making a line, readying themselves to move. They were slow, and poor, and only the richest could afford horses, if they had not sold them already. Mÿne leaned against the timber of Shadowfax's stable and looked at Gandalf, who grabbed Aragorn by his shoulder. His eyes were lined with worry and fear.

"He will need you, Aragorn. The people of Rohan, Mÿne's people, will need you. The defences have to hold!"

Aragorn, who seemed a bit startled, nodded. He looked at Mÿne, who gave him a reassuring nod. She dared not dream to help her own people in this very journey. Now that she walked around some more, spoke more to Eowyn, she could not deny the nostalgic tug at her heartstrings. As she looked up at Aragorn, she could almost see something break in his gaze, before he looked at the Wizard again.

"They will hold." he said, reassuring Gandalf.

Mÿne watched the stables. Young men were trying to saddle their horses, packing their last things. Stable boys were trying to help them, running across the building in panic and haste. It seemed everybody wanted to leave as soon as they were able, and there were not enough stable boys to keep up.

"My search will not be in vain." Gandalf said as he mounted Shadowfax. "Look for the light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east." he told them.

"Good luck." Mÿne said as she smiled at him. She had no idea what his little riddle had meant, but that was the thing with Gandalf. He never stated clearly what he was planning. If it was either to protect them from disappointment or just the way he was, she would not understand.

After Gandalf rode out of the stable Mÿne started to look for Hasufel. She found her at the end of the right stables. Hasufel neighed softly as Mÿne opened the door and took her reigns.

"Hello friend." she whispered softly while patting the neck of the horse.

She let the horse drink for a few moments after she'd saddled her. Her former rider's gear fit her perfectly and Hasufel was an example of an obedient horse. She stood still and allowed Mÿne to saddle her quickly. It was mere moments before Mÿne was finished. Taking Hasufel's reigns, Mÿne gave the saddle a quick last look and led her to the halls of the stables. When she came to the exit she saw Aragorn calming a horse down, speaking Elvish. Eowyn watched him as she was saddling her own horse. Mÿne had just been on time to watch their little exchange.

"I've heard of the magic of Elves, but I did not seek it in a Ranger. You speak like one of their own." Eowyn said to him, and if Mÿne was not mistaken, she could hear some envy in Eowyn's voice.

"I was raised in Rivendell for a while." Aragorn explained. "Turn this fellow free, he has seen enough war."

Aragorn gave her the reigns of the horse before he walked away, probably to saddle Arod, the brown horse Eomer had gited them. Mÿne continued her way outside with Hasufel but when she looked back at Eowyn, she saw her still staring at the back of Aragorn. The maiden's face lit up for a bit before she continued her saddling.


They were slow. A caravan of people walked behind them, carrying carts, childeren, sick... They needed to make camp at night, for their journey would last one or two days. Mÿne hoped they'd reach Helm's Deep before Saruman would attack. Out in the open they were done for.

The sun shone softly that day, making their journey a bit easier. Mÿne decided to ride on Hasufel, giving her some exercise. She seemed to appreciate it, neighing happily and easily following their command. Legolas and Gimli were ahead of her, and she grinned as she approached them.

"Well, what do I see here?" she said smiling as she watched them. "An Elf and a Dwarf, enjoying each others company?" she teased, laughing when Gimli tried to make excuses. He walked away quickly.

"Well, that was no fun." she complained as she watched Gimli trying to engage a conversation with one of the guards.

"You seem to like that horse, don't you?" Legolas said as he patted Hasufel on its side.

Mÿne nodded eagerly as she looked at him and smiled.

"Master Elf, you still owe me a story." she said as he stopped patting. "It seems like we don't have any other things to do so...Tell me, how did you come to speak with the trees?"

She eyed him as his brows knitted together. He seemed to be in thought for a moment before he looked ahead again with a bright gaze. Not soon after, he started to speak, telling her the most wondrous story. It was almost a shame she was the only one listening.

It appeared that when he was a young elf he went hunting in the woods of his father. When it grew dark he had found himself in a part of the woods that were unknown to him. He got lost and tried to make camp at a place, deciding that with morning light he'd find the way back home. As he wanted to start a fire, the forest rumbled around him, as in pain. No matter how hard he tried to start that fire, it would never actually burn. It was like the wind extinguished it every time.

But, had he said, it had been no wind. Suddenly a voice had spoken to him. It was an Ent, who had laughed at his attempts of fire. The Ent had admitted in Elvish he'd continuously blew out his flames, making Legolas start over and over again. It had been a game to him. But the Ent knew but a few words in Elvish and as seeing Legolas could use some company, they tried to learn from each other. Legolas taught him Elvish, in exchange for Entish. And with words, pointing at their surroundings, they were getting better at understanding one another. They had stayed up all night, the Ent guarding Legolas and keeping him warm with his leaves. There was no need for a fire anymore.

"His name was Finglas. Or, Leaflock as I called him after. He showed me the way home, come morning." Legolas said, concluding his story with a nostalgic smile.

"Have you seen him after that?" Mÿne asked as she looked at him. His expression grew sad.

"A couple of times when I came looking for him. But the last time I went looking for him I could not find him. It was like he had vanished."

"Maybe he has left to guard the trees on the other side of your fathers woods?" Mÿne suggested.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Legolas said as he shrugged. "But I'd like to see him some time again."


She was walking with Eowyn and Gimli, who sat proud on Arod, the horse he shared with Aragorn. Seeing as how he had objected the ride the damn horse only a couple of days prior, she thought he had made some good progress. She blamed Gimili's competative spirit. Surely he wanted to show the Elf just how daring he was. With his loud voice, he was telling about the mines he came from.

"So, what about the Dwarf women?" Eowyn asked as she turned to look at him, all the way up on the horse.

"Yes, tell us, Gimli." Mÿne encouraged him.

"Well," Gimli started, "It's true you don't see many Dwarf women. And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, they are often mistaken for Dwarf men...However-" he continued, as Eowyn took a glance at Aragorn. He walked beside the King but made a gesture with his hand, at his chin.

"It's the beards." Mÿne explained to Eowyn when she looked back, snickering softly. Gimli didn't notice, he kept on telling.

"-and this in return has given the rise of believe that there are no Dwarf women! And the Dwaves just spring out of holes in the ground!" he roared, grinning. Eowyn and Mÿne laughed loudly at the idea, shaking as they did so.

"Which is ridiculous of course!" Gimli stated, before his horse took off running, suddenly spooked by his booming laughter. About two meters he let himself fall off the horse's back onto the ground. Eowyn and Mÿne helped him up, laughing again.

"It's all right!" Gimli said reasurring, "It's all right! Nobody panic! That was deliberate. It was deliberate!" he said as he wiped off the grass from his shoulders.

He picked up his axe and walked on with a steady trud, not really wanting to show everyone his failure. After all, he had a reputation to uphold: the first horseriding Dwarf. Eowyn took the reigns of Arod and laughed some more as she and Mÿne watched Gimli's Walk-of-Shame.

"How long has Aragorn been your mentor?" Eowyn asked as she took a glance at the Ranger behind them.

"I think...for fourteen years now..." Mÿne said, thinking. "I met him when I was eight, I believe."

"And he has trained you, right? What does he teach you?" Eowyn said, pointing at Mÿne's sword.

"Sword fighting and archery is a tiny bit of what I have learned. A ranger needs to be capable of much more. I've learned about edible plants, hunting, tracking, shadowing and camping too. It's not just fighting, there is so much more to it..." Mÿne said as she thought back at her days with Aragorn in the woods.

"I've learned the basics of swordfighting, but nothing more than that."

"Well, you're a daughter of Kings. I did not expect less." Mÿne said, but Eowyn seemed serious.

"It's bothering you, isn't it?" Mÿne asked as she looked at Eowyn's face.

"My uncle is strict when it comes to that. Women aren't supposed to fight."

It fell silent after that for a while.

"What is he like?" Eowyn asked. "Lord Aragorn I mean."

"He's kind. He can be strict, but he's like a brother to me." Mÿne said as she thought. "But he's a good teacher too. Patient."

"He seems kind...Someone the people would love. Like a hero." Eowyn mumbled.

"Don't let Aragorn hear you, he wants none of it." Mÿne said as she shook her head.

After all, Aragorn had trouble accepting his true destiny: the Gondor throne. He did not want it, he did not seek it. Any time she tried to open the subject, he closed it down with force. He was running from it, Mÿne realised when she was a little older. He did not want to become King. He did not want to carry that burden. After a few tries in the past, she stopped trying to talk about it and they left the subject untouched.


Around the end of noon the caravan stopped to make camp for the night. Helm's Deep was still miles away but they had to stop for the people's sake. They were tired, worn out and hungry. Mÿne sat with Aragorn in the grass when he was starting a fire. Around them, makeshift tents were put up. Some even existed out of a piece of cloth with just a few sticks.

"There will be many stars out tonight." Mÿne said as she watched the cloudless sky.

"Means it will be a cold night too..." Aragorn said, muffled by a few sticks in his mouth for the fire.

"I hope it will be peaceful though. I mean, I don't want to be woken up to fight half an army." she said, watching as guards passed them.

"I hope so too Mÿne, but for our sake, we should still keep watch." Aragorn said.

"You're probably right." Mÿne said as she laid down in the grass. Hasufel sniffed on her head, making Mÿne laugh. Gimli came over to them, sighing deep as he sat down.

They smoked and talked together, sharing a laugh or two, and after a while Gimli left again. At that moment Eowyn came over, carrying a pot. It was steaming and she smiled at them.

"I made some stew." she said. "It's not much, but it's hot." and she looked at them hopefully.

Mÿne sat up and took a glance at the pot. Without Eowyn noticing she made a face. It reminded her at the stew that Sam had made at the beginning of their journey, only that had still smelled like food. Little pieces of what looked like fish floated in a liquid that Mÿne could not define, yet it would be rude to refuse it. She nodded at Eowyn and she and Aragorn received a wooden bowl and spoon, Eowyn's smile as bright as the sun itself. She poured some of the content of the pot in their bowls and Mÿne poked with her spoon in a piece of white fish. Aragorn scooped up a spoon and tasted it, trying to satisfy Eowyn, who waited patiently. As he tried not to grimace, Mÿne had to try her best to stop laughing at him.

"It's good." he managed to choke out.

"Really?" Eowyn's face lit up.

She walked away with a smile on her face. Mÿne and Aragorn looked at each other.

"Don't eat it." he mouthed at her, silently, as he shook his head. Mÿne looked around to find a safe place to pour away the soup, but before she could do so, Eowyn turned around. It was a sudden motion and Aragorn pulled his bowl back quickly, spilling the stew over his fingers. Mÿne chuckled softly, quite enjoying his performance.

"My uncle told me a strange thing." Eowyn said, wonder in her voice, as she walked back to them. "He said you rode to war with Thengel, my grandfather."

Mÿne laughed loudly now, amused by the idea alone.

"That is not possible. King Théoden is either confused or lying." Mÿne stated as she looked at Aragorn.

"Indeed, he must be mistaken." Eowyn agreed.

"King Théoden has a good memory. He was only a child at the time." Aragorn said to them, amazing them both.

Mÿne's mouth fell open. Théoden, small child? But he was older than Aragorn, right? Right? In Eowyn's eyes Mÿne could see the same question.

"Then you must be at least sixty!" Eowyn said as she bend down to look at Aragorn face. He shook it.

"Seventy?" she guessed again.

Mÿne watched Aragorn shake his head again. If she thought her mouth could not open further, she was wrong. Her eyes glanced over Aragorn again as she felt her mind scream at her in confusion.

"You cannot be eighty!" Eowyn said, slightly horrified.

"Eighty-seven." Aragorn corrected her.

Mÿne did not believe her ears. It was true they never discussed Aragorn's age before, but eight-seven?! She had figured he looked like the way he had from being weary of the elements, not age. Her hands lowered themselves, almost emptying the contents of her wooden bowl by accident. Eighty-seven...

"You are one of the Dúnedain, blessed with long life. A descendant of Númenor. It was said that your race had passed into legend." Eowyn said, dumbstruck.

"There are few of us left. The Northern Kingdom has been destroyed long ago." Aragorn said sadly.

Mÿne kept silent as she tried to process this piece of information. It was almost too much to take in. Eighty-seven... and he was still in shape! But if he was indeed a descendant of Númenor, it was self-explainatory. Long life...

"I'm sorry." Eowyn said, "Please, eat!" as an encouragement to make him feel better, before she left. Truly this time.

"Eighty-seven?" Mÿne whispered at him, still amazed, "You're an old man... I never knew... Wait! That does not make you my brother, that makes you my uncle... No, grandfather!"

She laughed loudly at her own joke, shaking a little as she tried to steady the bowl with horrible stew. She wasn't going to eat it, but she was not looking forward to burning her fingers like Aragorn.

"Laugh all you want, Mÿne." Aragorn said, grinning again. "I'm still your mentor! Despite my age, I'm still a better Ranger than you are."

Mÿne scowled softly, her fun spoiled by his comment.


THWACK!

She rushed passed the trees. Jumped over rocks, but the faster she ran, the further it seemed to be.

THWACK!

She wasn't going to make it. She was too late already. She tried to scream his name, but no sound came out of her throat. Fear had taken over her. Black shadows followed behind her. They were going to catch her, eat her from the inside out.

She ran down a hill, tripped and rolled further. Leaves stuck in her hair and turned into ashes. She could see him so clearly now, so close... But it was still too far away. She tried to scream again, but it was in vain. She crawled, ran and dragged herself to an end she rather not faced. She knew what waited at the end for her, but she had no choice.

A body fell down as she got closer. His eyes white as the moon, blind, his reddish hair turned to grey and his skin fell from his bones like hot wax. A skeleton with a round shield remained, his horn cloven in two by an evil shadow-like sword. She struggled to keep herself standing. Her legs shook and her breath started to fade. A suffocating feeling came over her as she watched the ground. Blood. Blood everywhere. It caked on her clothes like spiders on a web, crawling up to her shirt. She could no longer see her feet. They had disappeared in the puddle of blood.

A scream was heard behind her, high pitched and frightened. She turned to look, only to found she could not.

The shadows were coming.

Drums sounded, dark and slow.

Foot by foot she tried to get out of the puddle but found she couldn't. Her hands were covered by the red dark blood of the skeleton. She tried to wipe her eyes, only to smear red liquid on her face. A cold caught her and she found she could suddenly look back, but all she saw was darkness, creeping towards her. Trees turned to ashes, grass melted under its touch and rocks sprang back in the black earth. Hands came from the darkness, with long fingers, grabbing her, shaking her. They moved to her throat, suffocating her. Her sight became black and all that rested was the sound of drums and the screaming.

With a gulp of air Mÿne shot up. Her eyes were not yet accustomed to the light of the fire in front of her. It's warmth washed over her like the comfort of a bath. She squinted her eyes and looked at her surroundings. Grass, dark, but green. A night blue sky with stars above her. She sighed, reassured. It was nothing but a dream.

"Are you all right?" Aragorn's question seemed to reach her later than he asked. She nodded her face and found sweat coming of her forehead. She was afraid to wipe it away, to see blood, but there was none.

"Bad dream." she said to Aragorn, who was sitting across the fire, his eyes lit up by the smoulder of his pipe.

Aragorn sighed. "Boromir I guess?"

Again Mÿne nodded.

"Death happens to all of us, Mÿne. I know it's hard, but let it rest. Let him rest."

Mÿne nodded again but could not find her sleep again. She laid back on the grass and looked at the stars above her. There were so many.

"I just...cannot let it rest." she said after a while.

"If you cannot let him rest, he will always hunt you."

She thought about Aragorns words, looking at the sky again. Some stars were shining brighter than others. Some had faded for the most. Suddenly an idea hit her and she pointed to a bright star, right above them. It shone the brightest of all, almost as much as the big moon.

"I'll name that star after him." she said. "Boromir was a great warrior, though there will be no statues of him. No songs of the sorrow of his death. He's the unsung hero of our journey. He deserves some honour. I'll name that star to him, for saving Merry and Pippin's lives. And mine."

Aragorn nodded after a while. "That's a great way to remember him. But there are so many stars, you might get confused."

"I will not. I will always be able to find him." Mÿne sat as she sat up again.

"Will you name a star to me, after I die?" Aragorn joked as he gave her a bag of leaves for her pipe.

"Don't be silly. I might name my firstborn after you, if you're lucky. Old man." she joked back as she filled her pipe.

Aragorn laughed at that and even Mÿne could manage a small smile.