If you saw the Battle on screening day somewhere in America and you heard someone yell at someone else to shut the hell up during a certain scene, then you may have just inadvertently met the author of this fanfic. But hey, since this is set years after the Hobbit, it doesn't even matter. No direct spoilers for a while.

But hey, the last Middle earth film for a while. Kind of wishing for the Children of Húrin, but I'm probably asking for too much.

Anyways, here's the next chapter. Let me know what you think. A part of me doubts myself, but I'm sure that happens with everyone. Okay. Okay. On with the story. Excuse the typos. I'll fix that when I wake up.

Thanks for all your support!

Author's Note: I don't own anything Middle earth related. Except a map of Middle earth. And the books, I guess. And the movies?

Areth ran her calloused fingers gently over the stray wisps of thread. So occupied had she been in her time in Mirkwood that mending the tear on the hood of her robe had completely slipped her mind. She regarded the pierce, turning it at one angle or another, assessing the damage. Perhaps she could sew it before she left from the Halls, or she could simply acquire a new one before the departure from one of the northern trading cities.

The woman frowned. She wasn't very keen on the idea, however. She was rather fond of this cloak. She knew that time was limited—fixing a cloak out of sentiment could not become a priority. She concluded that even if she did not get the tear fixed, it would still be wearable. It would be able to withstand another journey.

Clenching the dark bundle of cloth in her bare fists, Areth allowed herself a sigh. The thoughts that preoccupied her mind had been so solemn as of late, and it had turned darker only in the course of a day. And now her thoughts wandered towards something so insignificant as mending her robe's tear.

She brought a hand up to her shadowed eyes, hoping that the coolness would alleviate the weariness that she felt. Perhaps this was her mind's way of lifting her worries. Still, she had not been sleeping well. That was fine—she seldom had any true rest when away from home. The journey would not be as harsh as the road through the accursed Forest of Mirkwood, but, like all roads, it would have its set of difficulties. Great preparation would do them well, she knew.

Staring at the robe's damage, Areth felt the edge of her lip twitch upwards. She was certain that it had been Ernil who shot that warning arrow when she was still in the company of the Gondorian scholar Aldamir. She suddenly found the slight amusement she felt evaporate into nothingness. Her face turned blank, but in her eyes held a glimmer of sadness. She would need to find the guard and bid him farewell soon.

When her thoughts started to drift away from her friend, she purposefully emptied her mind. The center of her heart and thoughts had revolved around one person, but this person was not one that she dared to dwell upon at such a crucial time. It would be best to forget.

But forgetting, she knew, was not often possible, especially when the matters were of a personal nature that stuck close to the heart. Sitting on the edge of her unmade bed, Areth's green eyes wandered towards the faint source of light at the corner of the room. Like all else in the halls, the soft light made the walls glow a gentle amber.

It was inevitable that her thoughts should turn once again to Thranduil. She was not his wife, she had told him, and she would not be her replacement. All the affections that he had bestowed upon her—all the soft smiles and kind words—seemed almost meaningless. They were not meant for her. The mere thought of the truth made her heart clench.

In her time in the Halls of the Elven King, she had found herself befriending its leader, and this friendship grew into something that Areth had never prepared for. She could not deny that she cared for him, this irascible, sly, arrogant King. The woman would see his fair face, and she would find her heart swell with affection that she did not know she was capable of. His smile, those rare smiles that he would show only a few, would lift her spirits. His spirit burned with a kindness that he hid so well that she found only after searching a second time—one that swelled so great that it consumed her when she finally found it.

Areth cared for Thranduil. She had promised herself that she would allow nothing more, and she had tried so hard to keep herself from crossing such boundaries. But even so, some promises could not be upheld. Even without a mirror, she knew that her eyes burned with evident affection for this Elf whenever she saw him, and in those crystal eyes, she would sometimes see a glimmer that resembled it. But she knew now that it was not meant for her. It would never be meant for her.

She did not want to acknowledge the cruel reality of her situation. Her journey was far from ending, but the chapter of her life that was spent in the Halls of the Elvenking would now come to a close. Here, she found her sanctuary, but she was not fated to stay in her long-desired peace. A storm was to come, and the short time she spent hidden in these quiet walls would be a memory that she would hold onto in the harshest of times.

Her viridescent eyes dropped from the walls, falling then onto her pale hands that gripped loosely onto the dark cloth of her cloak. Her palm gently covered the part of the cloak where she knew the flower hid away.

Perhaps it was better this way. Cutting the ties tore away any illusions she may have, and she would never again dwell on what could be. Even if the situation had been different, she was still mortal, and while she would die, he would live with the earth. It would have been doomed from the start.

The woman blinked quickly and took a deep breath. She brought a hand to her eyes and quickly softened the tension on her face. She had tarried for far too long. Thorongil and Cirion would already be waiting for her. She stood up and tightened the leather strap around her shoulders that held her arrows. Grabbing the bow from where it leaned against the wall, Areth prepared to leave.

Unlatching the lock, Areth pulled the door open, only to find that her path was blocked. She quickly took a step back, startled, but she could not say that she was particularly surprised.

But the cerulean eyes that met her was layered with cool indifference. The mask suppressed the warmth that she had been so used to. So long ago did she last see it that it almost seemed foreign, as if such aloofness did not belong on his fair face. However, she said nothing. Perhaps she would have questioned it before, but there was a tension that stood between her and Thranduil. She no longer felt that it was in her place to speak so freely.

Taking another step back, Areth lowered her eyes and inclined her head slightly, and the hand that clutched the cloak lightly touched her heart. King Thranduil regarded her calmly, coolly, but had the woman lifted her eyes to meet his, she would have seen his hesitation, his faltering will. He wished to utter words that he simply had no courage to say.

Instead, in his even timbre, touched only by a subtle softness that Areth was blind to, Thranduil said, "You are leaving."

Only then did Areth lift her eyes to meet his. His appearance remained neat and kept. His golden hair that seemed to contain a bright light was in place, and his robes were straight. But there was a silent weariness in his eyes.

She would not speak. This silence was not due to some sort of petulance or anger, but from the fact that the answer was known already to both of them. Instead, she waited for him.

A moment of silence was spent between two individuals brought together by a twisted sort of fate. Their eyes did not stray once from one another. Both were held unspoken words that they wanted very much to voice, but simply could not. However, when it became evident that Thranduil would not speak, she shattered the silence.

"Yes," she whispered. Areth hoped that she did not appear curt, but she could say nothing else. Truthfully, Areth no longer knew how to act around him.

Thranduil seemed to feel this. He stepped forward and gently closed the door behind him. Though Areth should knew she had no reason to feel such an emotion, a feeling of anxiousness settled upon her. She did not feel trapped, but Thranduil stood in the way of her exit. There would be no escape— not like last time.

The indifferent mask that he was so insistent on wearing suddenly cracked the longer he regarded her. His thick brows furrowed over his crystal eyes, and deep creases appeared on his face, aging his young features. He wanted to voice his thoughts, but he had the tongue of a cunning leader. Speaking his heart did not come easily.

When he stepped closer, Areth's face, coated with sadness and uncertainty, was quick to morph with wariness. It was clear in her green eyes. Seeing it made the creases on Thranduil's face deepen. He was only thankful that she did not make any movements to evade him. She stood where she was, still and waiting.

Voices were silenced, and the only sound that echoed in the room was from the muffled steps from his light boots. And then suddenly, it was shattered.

"Even if I were to say anything, I somehow doubt that you will hear my words. You always were determined to see the worst in me."

Areth's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. He was presumptuous if he thought that she would be so quick to dismiss him so. Areth felt a flare of irrational anger that Thranduil would not even attempt to try. But what did she want him to do? Apologize? Had she not decided that it would be best if thing were left alone as they were?

He took another step, but when his hand rose to touch her, she could not stop herself from tensing. He stopped right before the tips of his fingers could reach her cheek. She did not look at his face when his arm fell limp on his side.

"I..." he began, but his voice faltered. His eyes closed, hiding away anything he did not wish for her to see, and his head inclined forwards. "I only wish you the best of journeys, horse rider."

The title he gave her was detached and impersonal. Never before had she heard him call her horse rider.

Had she let him go, that moment would have been their last. It would have made leaving easier for her. This would be the last time they would ever have to meet, for their paths would never against cross. But then the realization, the weight, of what that truly meant struck Areth. This would be the last time they would ever see one another. The paths set by Eru would diverge, never again intertwining. She should have let him turn away.

But Areth did not. Instead, her hand shot forward, dropping the cloak onto their feet and clenching the loose silk on his arm. Thranduil, taken aback, turned her way and looked to her, his gaze searching for answers that the mortal could not give him. Areth, too, looked startled by what she had done—as if it had not been her intention to do so—and quickly pulled her hand away as if she were burned by the touch.

"I am sorry, I don't..." she said, but stopped. Her voice strengthened before she continued. "Thank you for allowing me refuge in your home." Her voice turned repentant. "I am sorry for all the trouble I brought you."

"Don't be foolish. "

"Despite what may have happened between us, your friendship—it means a great deal to me. You helped me see a light that I did not know existed," she said. Though she spoke of something so hopeful, there was a sad glimmer in her eyes.

"You once asked my reason for befriending you," he intervened suddenly.

But Areth did not want to hear it. She stopped him to show how grateful she was. She did not want to be swayed again by the Elvenking's silver tongue. Then, she had wanted an answer to shatter any illusions that her mind conjured, but now that she was leaving, she wanted nothing that would make her look back to these Halls with longing.

"Don't."

The Elven King's ire flared. Insufferable woman. For all of her wit, Thranduil only now realized how absolutely pig-headed she could be. It came close to the point of being illogical.

"You may keep your illusions, Thranduil. Think back on the light-haired horse rider and be reminded of your wife."

She had not meant for it to sound so bitter.

This made his anger flare even more.

"If you think that I would dishonor you so, then you do not know me at all. Memory is a precious thing, Mîrdómiel, and it is not to be trifled with."

"I must leave, Thranduil. Thorongil and Cirion are waiting."

But Thranduil's patience was stretching thin. He could only tolerate so much before his pent-up anger seeped through his mask.

"I will not be not be dismissed like some commoner."

Many cowered before this side of the Elvenking. This face—the commanding, imperious, and absolutely menacing face of Thranduil—was the last vision many saw before their untimely deaths. Areth, too, was taken aback by the sheer demand and intimidation that emanated from his being.

Her green eyes widened, and for once, Areth felt a semblance of fear that ran through the King's enemies. It was then she understood the authority he had as a leader. She understood that he would not hurt her, but her mind paralleled the tyrannical command of the King of Rohan. The feeling in her chest was then replaced by anger.

His tone brought her narrowed eyes to lock with his.

"Do not address me as if I am yours to command, Elvenking."

But this only seemed to fuel Thranduil's ire even more. His anger-befuddled mind perceived her answer as mere impertinence. His brow narrow even more.

"You would dare to speak to me so in my own halls?"

Only when he spoke such words did the little warmth in Areth's viridescent eyes diminish into nothingness. Her gaze turned cold. Seeing this managed to make Thranduil realize his mistake. The tense muscles on his face softened and he gazed at her imploringly.

Thranduil's eyes closed in exasperation. This is not going accordingly to his intentions. He breathed in deeply, silently, collecting himself.

"Please listen," he said quietly. "If we are to part, then let us at least part as friends."

Thranduil wanted Areth to understand, wanted her to forgive him. Unbeknownst to him, she already had. She had forgiven him, but she could not tell him. Doing so would further bind him to her. There would be no other outcome to this tale– he would live, and she would die. And Areth did not wish for her dear friend to mourn her.

Thranduil's cerulean eyes reflected the soft amber glow of the nearby light. Within their depths was a glimmer of conflict. He did not want to let her go. While he wanted to remember, she wanted to forget. He knew he would always remember for as long as he stayed on this world and beyond, and he selfishly wished that she would, too. But if he were to tell her what he wished, it would forever trap her, cage her, in a world that was not meant to be her own.

And so, for the first time in a very long while, Thranduil conceded. His selfish desires were set apart to make way for another.

Thranduil did this with a heavy heart, but he would let her go.

The King slowly kneeled before then taking the fallen cloak from the ground. Standing to his full height, he straightened the robe, but as he did, his keen eyes observed the tear on its hood. Swallowing the words that he so deeply wished to speak, he instead unclasped the winter cloak that draped his shoulders. Stepping closer, the Elf wound it about her and clasped it securely around her neck. He pulled her hair gently from beneath it.

"The cloak is thin, but it is made from the finest materials, withstanding even the harshest winds of the season," he said quietly. The King's blue eyes were unwaveringly on his hands while he tied it together. "It will serve you well on your journey."

She brought her palms to cover his hands, and he halted. Everything suddenly seemed like it did before.

Half lidded, crystal eyes regarded her with sorrow that came from farewells. He did not close his eyes until he felt the tips of her calloused fingers caress his cheek.

"Thank you for everything, Thranduil."

Thank you for giving me peace, if only for a while.

"We are so close, Areth," said Cirion. "You need only to hold on for a little while longer."

Gripping the mane of the horse she rode on, the wanderer regarded the companion beside her with a curious glance.

"Hold on?" she repeated, bemusement evident in her voice.

Cirion's grey eyes took a moment to stare at her before once again moving towards the path. Wetting his dry lips, he allowed himself an almost imperceivable shrug.

"You haven't been sleeping well." Looking at her from the corner of his eyes, he said, "Do not think that I haven't noticed, my friend."

"This is common. From all our journeys together, you should know that I never did sleep well beyond safe walls."

"You will get your rest soon."

"I imagine not," said Areth with a small sigh. "Thengel will want to speak to me first and foremost, I'm sure."

"You are useless to us half-dead," he said. Looking once more to the shadows under the woman's eyes, he assured, "I will talk to him."

"You need not worry. I will rest well only after being assured the safety of our people."

"Ever for the people, you are."

Areth shook her head slightly, but kept silent. She knew Thengel well enough to know that, just like she, he would be unable to rest until absolute surety that they have done the best that they were capable of. Staring forward, she looked to the horizon. Their companion rode ahead, scouting and ensuring the safety of their route. He had been gone for hours. The woman was sure that if he did not come across trouble, Thorongil would already have reached Dorwinion.

Suddenly, the piercing sound of an arrow shot broke through the air, instantly bringing Areth to reach for her bow. Blood quickly rushed through her veins, awakening her body into action. There would be not time to think.

As the arrow flew past them, Areth and Cirion stared at one another with haste, and, in mutual understanding, Cirion held his gloved palm out towards her. When she reached for him and had a strong enough hold, the Gondorian pulled her from the back of her horse and settled her behind him.

The horse she rode on fell back considerably. Seeing that he was falling close to the enemies, Areth whistled loudly, and the steed was quick to gain speed.

"Orcs," Cirion muttered as if a curse. Trusting Areth to take watch of the rear, he concentrated on moving the horse faster.

"They are mere scouts," Areth said. Her hand clutched onto Cirion's waist while the other held onto her bow. "Make haste, Cirion."

"You need not tell me twice, keeper."

Surveying the horizon of the rear. Areth found that there were only four orcs on their tail. She and Cirion were quickly making their way from them, but she knew that they could not risk allowing their pursuers to live.

And so, she took four arrows and shot four times. None missed.

When Areth secured the bow around her, her grip once again landed on her companion. Though the danger for the time being was eradicated, Cirion did not allow their speed to falter. They were only a few leagues away from their destination.

The rest of their journey was spent in relative silence. Nothing but the sound of the whistling wind and the hooves of the horses could be heard.

And finally, two weeks worth of traveling came to an end upon arriving on the edge of a forest. Farther within this forest was a small town that based their income heavily on the production of fine wines. To the East was the horizon of the Sea of Rhûn, and to the South was the uneven terrain of the rolling hills.

It was quiet.

Areth did not like it.

She got off from the horse and walked the rest of the way. The animal had diligently led them from danger at an impressive rate. He deserved his rest. Cirion followed soon after before then taking the lead.

The path that they took was desolate, avoiding the main road that would have been commonly used by the traders and inhabitants of Bleutuin. They took instead a route that circled around the town's center and towards the back of a single house. Already waiting for them there was a man. He stood as if he had been expecting their arrival for a while. Though he may be nameless to the commoners of the far East, from his commanding presence alone, even they would know that this man was of nobility.

"Areth," he said simply as a way of greeting. "It is good to see you unharmed."

So long ago had Areth laid eyes on Thengel that he seemed to have grown taller, prouder. However, the shadows beneath his eyes seemed to have grown darker. Though he wore the simple clothes of a town merchant, there was no denying that this man was of royal blood. His dark eyes held a look of perpetual contemplation, as if his mind were always plotting. Though, despite the distance that he placed between he and his kin, Thengel regarded Areth with a hidden look of relief.

Areth brought a closed fist to her chest and bowed slightly, as was the custom of the Eorlingas.

"Come," he said, gesturing forward. "We have much to discuss."

Areth allowed a silent scoff exhale sharply from her nose. He never was one to linger, even at the expense of those around him. Still, she would comply, as she always did. Thengel stepped forward and Areth followed closely behind.

Cirion, however, looked ready to object. Before he could speak, though, Thengel said, "You all are weary, I'm sure, but such matters can wait no longer. You will rest after we speak. Cirion—summon the Circle to the northern corridor."

Cirion hesitated. However, with a nod from Areth, he finally conceded. Turning to the opposite direction, he did as he was bid.

Areth walked in step with the older man.

"Thengel, I have wondered this for quite some time, but I must know why you sent me as Aldamir's guide."

"Why? Did you not enjoy it?"

Always so deadpanned. Areth would have laughed had the situation been any different.

"I had the time of my life, my Lord."

"Then I do not see the problem."

"My Lord," she said, the tone of her weary voice changing.

Thengel looked at the woman from the corner of his vision, but there was no outward change in his expression. Though, instead of answering, he said, "What did Thorongil and Cirion tell you?"

"Very little."

"Good. We can no longer speak freely in foreign lands. However, we are safe here."

"For now," said Areth, if not with a subtle hint of bitterness. She was rather tired of having to constantly look behind her back.

"Hm. Yes."

"But we have no enemies within the walls of the Elvenking's home."

He suddenly became very interested in what she said.

"You are certain of this?"

"Yes," Areth said with conviction. "The Silvan Elves of that realm purposefully live in isolation. They have no business meddling in the affairs of Men."

However interested he seemed, he did not press further.

"My father knows now that you are the keeper of our people. You must not take this duty lightly."

"Of course, my Lord," Areth said. "My loyalty is to you. With whom would I share such information?"

"I am merely stating that you can trust no one. When you take your journey to where our men are hiding, you must trust no one. We can no longer tell who is friend or foe."

Areth nodded. However, something still pressed her mind.

"But why Mirkwood? You easily could have sent me elsewhere, perhaps to a place I am more familiar with. Sending me to that forest may have cost us our lives."

"You and your pursuers have shared the same lands, Areth. You have nowhere to hide in the South."

Turning the knob of the farthest door in the corridor, Thengel allowed Areth to enter before then closing the door behind him. The room was small, containing no windows. It was furnished only by a long, wooden table and many vacant seats.

While Thengel walked around the table, Areth paused. She touched the edge the surface, but felt nothing other than the lining of her gloves. She then said with no amount of hesitation, "Thengel, perhaps it would be wiser to give my position to another. Fengel now knows that I keep all the resistance's locations. Every move I make will be under scrutiny."

"No," he said. His tone held finality, and Areth knew that there would be no argument. Softening his voice only slightly to one resembling the tone of a father, he said, "Areth, there is a reason why I chose you as the Circle's keeper. You think that your duty is merely to rely messages in my name, but that is not so. The people look to you in a way that they cannot look to me. You give them something that I cannot."

Areth sighed, suddenly feeling very exhausted. Thengel's words were meant as encouragement, but he only made the weight heavier. "And what is that?" she said with resignation.

"Unity."

There was a strong rap against the wooden surface, startling the woman. Long journeys in the wilderness had always made her anxious.

"Enter," Thengel called. His voice returned to its usual timbre.

A tall man was the first to enter. His long, light hair, held together by a single rope, was unmistakable. Deorwine was his name, and he came from the city of Aldburg. Though he possessed one of the greatest minds that Areth had even encountered, Deorwine simply loved getting a rise out of the horse rider. When their stares met, Deorwine simply sent an innocent smile that lacked sincerity, but Areth kept her expression carefully blank. Behind him was Thorongil who, like she, had no time to tidy his rugged appearance. He looked to Areth with a mixture of greeting and apology for whatever nonsense Deorwine may utter.

They took their respective seats with Areth right across from Deorwine and Thorongil beside him. Areth felt a rush of relief after having been standing for so long. Thengel, however, remained standing.

"The rest of your journey went well, I hope," said Thorongil with sincerity.

"Cirion and I are both alive," Areth said, offering the man a small smile.

"Unlike many who look to you, I'm sure," said Deorwine with slyness.

Thorongil sent the Rohirrim a sharp glance with a raised brow, but Thengel's disapproval was even more apparent. He gave Deorwine a sharp stare—the sort of commanding stare that brought about a silence from his subjects.

If Deorwine was phased, he did not show it. Instead, he inclined his head, the expression on his face unchanged, and he said, "You are right. I apologize." He paused. Leaning his chin on his open palm, he said all too innocently, "How is Ceadda?"

"Deorwine."

Thorongil feared that Areth would once again fall in her brooding despair, but the woman merely gave a weary sigh before leaning in her seat and closing her eyes. She acted differently around different people. She was in control of what she wanted others to see.

"Have you anything useful to offer our council, Deorwine, or shall I have you replaced?"

"Sigemund, Haleth, and Odelyn have yet to reach the borders of Dorwinion, my Lord Thengel. I'm afraid that you're left with me for the time being."

The Rohirric Lord regarded every individual seated in his council with careful, calculating eyes. "A council meeting with only half of its counselors present," he said. "Very well. Let us begin."

"Should we not wait for Elfdane?" said Thorongil.

"He will be informed after his arrival."

"Will Cirion be joining us?" said Areth. In her weariness, she only just realized his absence.

Breathing out a loud sigh, Deorwine said with feigned impatience, "Must you be upset every time an ally of yours is missing?"

"Your irritating company hardly makes up for their absence."

"Children, please," Thorongil attempted to pacify.

The edge of Deorwine's lips rose in a boyish smile, making him look much younger than he really was. In her exhaustion, it did nothing but irk her even more.

There was a short knock on the door, for which Thorongil was thankful for.

A tall man took his entrance. This man—he possessed the sun-kissed features of the Eorlingas that dwelt in the far south. He was young—much younger than Thengel, but only slightly younger than Deorwine. He did not hold the same attention-grabbing presence that emanated from someone like Thengel or Thranduil or even Thorongil, but he held himself with pride.

His blue eyes scanned the room in silence. When he caught sight of the familiar golden-haired woman, exhausted but very much alive, a sense of relief washed over his being. The man inclined his head in greeting, and Areth returned the gesture, her hand raising slightly in response.

The silent reunion would have to do for now, however.

"I see that we will have to be detained in Bleutuin until the others arrive," commented Elfdane, who saw that his companions had yet to arrive. He then took the vacant seat beside the woman.

"Good," Thengel said, commanding the attention of his peers. Only when Elfdane was seated did the Lord take his own seat. Clasping his hands together before him, he regarded each of the people carefully. "Let us first discuss," he said, "the glaring weakness in our defense. Ceadda's fall is a confirmation that someone within out circle is feeding Fengel information."

"It should not be hard to ween the traitor from our ranks," said Deorwine. His lilt suddenly gained the semblance of solemnity. "We are, after all, small in numbers."

"Are we so certain that the traitor is amongst ourselves?" said Areth. Looking at the faces of every individual in the room, the faces of her allies and companions, she loathed to think that any of them would betray the Circle. "Perhaps they dwell in the lower ranks with our soldiers."

"It is possible," said Elfdane, but even he did not have faith in this. "But the chances are slim. Ceadda's reconnoissance mission was at the time known only by nine—the Circle of Eorl. Though, I understand your feelings. I cannot even begin to think that any of our own are so willing to betray for Fengel," he murmured.

"Perhaps it is Odelyn," Deorwine carelessly suggested. "She is rather traditional in her views, raving always about the superiority of the monarchy and whatnot. She would not be too keen on a revolution."

"Stop, Deorwine," Areth intervened with force. "Do not plant doubts. This discord will only tear our confidence in one another."

"You speak as if it has not already happened," he spoke dryly.

"But can you not see that this is what Fengel wants? Linden said to me-"

This, however, captured Deorwine's immediate attention. While he previously looked disinterested, his sharp eyes suddenly held an edge, showing the true intelligence of his mind. "Linden? You spoke with Linden?" Leaning against his chair, he regarded the woman with narrowed eyes. "Perhaps Odelyn is not the traitor after all."

Areth's glare intensified. Her green eyes burned with indignation and absolute anger that exceeded the mere irritation from before. Her hand clenched on the surface of the table. "Throw yourself in the Void, you arrogant shit. If I were the traitor, you would already be dead."

But just as she said this, the accusation in Deorwine's eyes faded into nothing, leaving his face as if it were mere imitation. His face became lax, and he looked to Areth as if in approval. However, Areth was not so quick to forgive.

"Are you two quite finished?" Thengel uttered dryly.

Areth and Deorwine were silent, but their locked stares never faltered.

"Now," said Thengel, touching his chin lightly against his clasped hands, "What is this about Linden?"

Breaking away from Deorwine, Areth quelled her anger and kept her lilt respectful. "He was leading Dunlendings, attacking the realm of the Elvenking. They never came close to capturing me, however. Thranduil's guards are far too strong."

The action was far too quick to be perceived, but had the others caught sight of it, they would have seen Thengel share a look with Deorwine. The Lord's face remained impassive, but his dark eyes mirrored achievement.

"It is true, then," Elfdane murmured, but he was not at all surprised. "Fengel is allied with the Wild Men of the South."

"His influence is spreading quickly," said Thorongil. "I fear that the time will come when his forces will reach Gondor."

"No, he will not do that," Deorwine disagreed. "Not yet, at least. Fengel cannot afford to spread his power—not when the people of Rohan are so divided in allegiance."

"Much needs to be done in the limited time that we are granted." Looking to Areth, Elfdane said, "What is our course of action?"

Though the man looked to the wandering horse rider for answer, Areth looked to Thengel.

Turning to each individual in his company, Thengel weighed his options.

"For now, gather the Circle's leaders. That is all I can reveal regarding this matter."

Well. The different faces of Areth.