IMPORTANT NOTE: (MARCH 2015) I edited a few of the past chapters, but I think chapter 6 went under the most revision. That was the chapter of the first Feast of Starlight. I changed quite a few things, and there are details that have been tweaked a bit. Go back and read it if you wish.

Sorry for the wait. To be honest, I stopped for a while because I was unsatisfied with the previous chapters. I think I'm going to revise them more before continuing.

Anyways, thank you for reading, thank you for the support, thank you for everything. I shall try to hurry this up so I can finally write the fun stuff. God, I can't wait until Areth meets Thranduil again.

Regarding the story, I'm afraid to say that there will be quite a few OCs. It can't be helped, though, as we were barely given any characters from Rohan at this era in canon. I'll try my best to not be a shitty writer.

Disclaimer: If you say 'Silm adaptation' three times to the mirror, Christopher Tolkien will come out with a lawsuit.

The air smelled of blood and death.

The ground was stained with crimson, splattering the grass and spilling over great patches of soil. Wet dirt was shaped by heavy footprints, reflecting the urgency of what seemed like a lifetime ago. However, at the moment, as Areth's viridescent eyes scanned the camp, she found none of that previous burst of desperation, and instead saw the grief and hopelessness left in its wake. The air was often fogged with this after a battle.

Haleth had arrived before the rise of the sun to Dorwinion, bringing with her the few surviving Eorlingas of a crossfire. They had made do on the outskirts of the small town, set up in the clearing of the forest.

It was an awful sight– one that the Keeper would not have the courage to tolerate in the past. However, now, she would not turn away, for doing so was such disrespect for those whose lives were sacrificed in the crossfire. It was an unfortunate, heavy burden for those left behind in war, but such things were inevitable.

The tents were set up with evident haste, standing crooked yet strong, but as space was rather limited in the small clearing of the forest, Areth assumed that they would be reserved for the wounded. The elder and the children lingered outside, all reflecting the same blank, dark look of someone who had experienced a great loss. They remained motionless and spoke to no one. Most women wanted the diversion from their plight and chose instead to do all they could to help, bustling from tent to tent, tending to the wounded.

Areth tried to keep her face unchanging, but she could not. A look of sorrow, of grief, of anger shadowed her eyes. She felt a sense of illogical guilt for arriving safely in Dorwinion while her kin was forced to their knees, ripped away from their home. She felt sympathy and compassion for the people left behind. However, none of that could compare to the utter revulsion she felt for the one responsible.

The woman scanned the faces of the figures that were in her sight. None of them took a notice of her. Too busy were they staring at the ground or a faraway point in the distance with glassy, unfocused gazes. These were people that lost loved ones– that lost their homes. Areth did not disturb them. They deserved their time to mourn.

Her people would benefit little from her brood. The Eorlingas had gone though the hardships of being a casualty of a battle they were not prepared for. No longer could any of them claim that it was not their fight. In their recovery, Areth took it upon herself to carry their burden, if only for a little while. She would do her sworn duty to restore the Mark.

Shaking her thoughts from the shadows, Areth forced the tension on her brow to soften, and her expression became carefully blank. In her viridescent gaze, however, was an ill-concealed anger that she did not bother to hide.

She strode forward with the intention of searching for Haleth in one of the few tents, but one look at the face of a child stopped her. The child was coated with soot and blood that did not belong to him. He was in the company of no one.

Suddenly, though the anger she felt did not dissipate, the harsh expression of her mask turned softer. The fury was calmed, making way for a harsher emotion of empathy. Areth could look at the world in the eyes of this one small child. In a flash of a second, she felt the child's heart– she no longer had a place to call home and perhaps no longer had people to call family, and all she could decipher from the whirlwind of emotions was the feeling of being lost and so utterly alone.

Instead of seeking the woman that Gildhel bid her to find, she took ginger steps towards the child and sat on the vacant space on the ground. He did not even bother to look up at the stranger.

Her approach did little to stir the child from his trance. After all, what was a stranger compared to the bottomless pit of a deep wound? Still, Areth sat unmoving beside him. In a time of hardship, mere presence alone provided people with a pillar of strength.

The woman adjusted the bow slung on her shoulders before resting her elbows against her bent legs. She said nothing, but the child knew that she was there. These two strangers were brought together by ill fate, and here they stood in the aftermath of a great shadow.

Areth did not look at the child. Her green gaze was trained forward, looking over the vast expanse of the grassy horizon towards the distant sea. The rippling water reflected the light of the glowing star above them. She could smell the distinct scent of salt that mingled and washed away the blood and smoke that lingered in the encampment. This was the first time she saw the sea.

She did not notice the child's scrutiny, but she heard his soft, rough voice that broke the silence, gravelly and harsh from excessive use. When he finally turned his eyes her way, her bow and arrows were the first things that he saw.

"You fight for the Riddermark," he said quietly. He swallowed visibly, hoping to soothe the dryness of his throat.

"Yes," said Areth. Taking a leather pouch from around her hip, she opened the lid and wordlessly offered the child water. When he drank it with evident relish, she could not help but feel the wave of pity. They had prioritized the wounded, undoubtedly, and had overlooked the needs of those left behind. "I fight for the Mark. Or, rather, to restore what it once was."

"Then where were you?"

She asked herself the same question many days after Ceadda's death. But as her eyes finally met the sad, angry eyes of this child, she found that she did not have the courage to keep his gaze. Countless times, she had stared into the eyes of death, and yet she could not hold onto the just accusation of a mere boy.

"I was away."

That was all she could say. The child remained quiet after that. Still, however much he wanted to be left alone, Areth could not part knowing that his thoughts lingered in death.

Seeing him now, dirtied and coated in a layer of ash and blood, Areth felt her anger renewed. If this was to be the future of Rohan, then the hold of the Kings of Old over its kingdom would inevitably fall.

The woman's gloved hand hovered over the shoulder of the child with hesitation before gently touching the tips of her fingers to the cloth of his shirt. She did not know the comfort she could possibly offer. But at this point, the boy was not longer paying her any mind. His dark gaze was already lost to the never-ending nightmare.

Areth stood and let him be, feeling angrier than she did before– though, directed at herself or at the King, she did not know. A part of her was burdened with the possibilities of what could have been had she not stayed in the Halls of Mirkwood, thinking perhaps it could have made the slightest bit of difference. Would that child still be looking at her with those haunted eyes filled with resigned accusation?

Most of the ire was to Fengel King. But another part rationalized that the village would not have been destroyed in the crossfire had the Circle decided against hiding its resistance within the Riddermark. Areth would have to discuss another tactic with Gildhel, she knew. The trouble with the spy was truly becoming more of a nuisance.

Reaching for the slit of the tent, Areth meant to part the cloth open. From where she stood, she saw only the turned back of the tall woman overlooking an unconscious, injured man. She was unable to fully grasp how sever the wound was, but from the grunts and shallow breaths, Areth grimly assumed the worst. She quietly entered.

When she took a few steps closer, Areth saw the thick blood coat the healer's hands. When she came even closer, she realized with a sinking dread that she knew who the man was.

"What have you gotten yourself into now, Eomund?" she whispered.

The older man's dark eyes opened beneath a great layer of dried blood and soot. The great slices and shots at his abdomen oozed crimson, disorienting him in great pain, but he possessed enough of his wits to recognize the newcomer. He tried to smile, but it reflected nothing but his suffering.

"My Lady," he breathed quietly. Had it not been silent, his words would not have been heard.

"Don't try to speak. Save your strength," she said, giving her own smile. It betrayed the severity of his condition. "Rest, my friend. You deserve it."

His eyes closed, and he looked away. "I will not make it."

Removing the glove from her hands, she sought his palm and simply held on. The action conveyed the comfort that she was unable to properly word. Areth looked to the healer beside her, and when she shook her head, she received an answer to her unspoken question.

"You have led me far, my Lady," he whispered. "And for that, you have my utmost gratitude."

"It was a privilege," she said quietly. Areth's eyes closed, and she gripped on Eomund's hand tighter. "I would have led you farther if it were in my power."

The dying man wheezed a laugh. It turned into a cough, and Areth felt a platter of warm blood touch her face. Still, her grip on him would not falter.

"And I would have followed you until the end."

Her heart beat painfully in her chest. Here was an honest man with an unwavering loyalty that she did not feel she deserved. Had she truly chosen the safety of Thranduil over her kin?

When the grip on her hand faltered, Areth feared the worst. Her green eyes quickly turned to the healer, silently questioning.

"His heart is fading," she said grimly. "He lives, but only barely. His strength is leaving."

Areth said nothing. She turned once again to the man, remembering him as they traveled northwards from Rohan in their exile. He had been strong and wise. And now, he was lost to them.

The horse rider did not move until minutes later when Eomund's heart stopped. He had simply lost too much blood. Only then did her grip loosen from his limp hold.

She turned away, unable to face his body, and quickly made her exit. The atmosphere outside was not any better, however.

And that was that.

Another one dead, another life ended. Eomund would not be the last, and the cycle would continue. But she would not dwell on this now.

Steeling herself, Areth addressed the healer and said, "Gildhel wishes for your presence, Haleth. The council will be starting soon."

Haleth regarded the golden-haired woman quietly. By the way she closed herself off, she knew that Areth had no intention to speak of what happened inside that tent.

"Let them wait. I am exhausted and after the utter chaos I've been through, I wish only to speak to a friend."

Areth smiled wanly. "We spoke not too long ago, Haleth."

"Winter seemed an age in the past."

"Indeed," said Areth grimly. Her eyes scanned the camp. A frown was set on her lips. It did not go unnoticed.
"What ails you?" she asked. Haleth seemed to know that this trouble had nothing to do with Eomund.

"It is not important."

"Not important? Please, by all means, feel free to share. I've had quite enough of important at the moment. A dab of the mundane will be enough, I think, to pull me from madness."

Areth silently agreed. The peace and silence of the mundane was something she took for granted years ago. Many people here undoubtedly felt the same.

Haleth could not stand the dreary quiet any longer. She had spent the past days in the company of the injured and dying, hearing nothing but pained groan, shallow breathing, before ultimate silence. While she understood that those left behind were grieving, any longer would bring her, too, close to shattering.

"You certainly took your time," she said. "Where in the world were you dwelling for the past three months?"

"I was sent as an escort."

Haleth's brow rose in question.

"To the Woodland Realm, the Elevnking's Halls, at Gildhel's request."

"You stayed there for the entire time?" she questioned, taken aback. Areth was often reluctant to stay in the same place for too long. "Still, it was for your protection, I would imagine. Though, I think that entering that forsaken realm brought you as much risk as staying in the southern lands." Haleth waved her hand in dismissal. "No matter. I reckon you will not have to go there again. You speak Sindarin, do you not? These Wood Elves— they are versed in the language?"

"The ones I spoke to were, at least. Language served no trouble."

"Those Elves that live there, I hear, are unkind to strangers," she murmured.

"They are wary, but kind enough," Areth said. "Some were not too keen on welcoming a mortal from foreign lands. Many were afraid that my presence would involve them in affairs that did not concern them."

"So solitary are they that they could not even find it in their archaic hearts to welcome anyone. Such wariness in unwarranted, I believe, if all you did was linger," Haleth muttered.

"I think they would not have minded so much if I did not lead a group of Dunlendings their way."

"What in the actual...?"

"Fengel has been making friends with the wrong kind," she said grimly.

Her low voice filled with heavy irony, she said, "Brilliant. With the expansion of that snake's allies, we stand little chance in an actual battle." Exhaling a great sigh, she turned the subject. Haleth wished to speak of something lighter. "How were the days spent in the Elf haven? You seemed content last I spoke to you in Dale."

Areth stayed silent and looked to the horizon. She did not need to be reminded.

"You were adamant on staying a while," Haleth pressed.

"You cannot blame me for wanting the peace it offered. To be taken away from this war… It was-" she stopped herself. She did not need to say anymore.

"No, I understand. That is what we all want. But it is rather unlike you. You are not quick to trust. I only find it odd that you befriended anyone at all." Areth quickly turned. The sharp look she sent was a clear warning– one that Haleth ignored. "That friend of yours– he is the reason you stayed, is he not?"

The horse rider said stiffly, "Our friendship was an illusion of what we wished most. He offered me safety and I… I offered him a memory."

Perhaps she would believe her own lie if she said it enough times.

"I certainly do not believe that," said Haleth. "You would make friendship for safety? No, you are not so selfish."

"Am I not?" said Areth. There was an edge in her voice. "Was I not the one who hid while they fell?"

Haleth's dark eyes narrowed. "I've always respected you, but I fear my good opinion of you will shatter should you continue this display of self-pity."

"Then so be it," said Areth coldly. "It would do well to be rid of all your high opinion." Certainly, it would unburden her of all their expectations.

Haleth looked to her in disbelief. Her hard expression then turned into one of understanding. It was the grief talking. The unnecessary deaths of their kin lingered still fresh in their minds. Areth had always been closed off. It was difficult to see plainly, but those who knew her knew well enough that she was never aloof.

"Death is no fault of yours," Haleth said plainly. She hoped that blunt words alone were enough to convince her. "People will come and go. In battle, death is inevitable, but casualties are lessened when following a competent leader. You are not responsible for everything."

Areth's lip twitched in wry amusement. Haleth definitely knew how to spout out the most flattering bullshit.

Raising her hand to stop her from continuing, Areth said calmly, "I am not asking you to pity me, Haleth. I am asking you to listen to what I have to say and understand that I cannot lead you."

"But you know very well that there will be those to doubt Thengel's reign. Many here are starting to believe that the line of the king has fallen."

Areth laughed. The smile she wore looked so genuine, as if she was truly humored. "And you think that the word of a farmer girl with no social position will have any value?" Shaking her head, she said, "No. Let the people think for themselves." Looking around the camp, she said grimly, "They certainly deserve to make the decision of whether or not they want a king."

There was a moment of silence between the two women.

"How is your health?" Haleth inquired with alarming solemnity.

Areth's eyes turned to her sharply, but she did not respond. Her lips pressed tightly, and she turned her eyes once again to the horizon.

She decided that she quite liked the sea.

The Elvenking regarded his reporting guards with a fierce look of contemplation. His mind worked quickly. It was his turn to make a move.

His two guards felt under pressure beneath the piercing blue stare of their king. The fury of their leader was not directed at them, but being in the same vicinity while he was in a foul mood was an occurrence that his people tended to avoid. King Thranduil's temper was known about his lands. His capability for ruthlessness was even more infamous. They took relief in the fact that they were not on the opposite end of his sword.

The guards discreetly looked at one another when their leader's back turned to them. His silence made them even more nervous. However, they were yet to be dismissed until the King made his command.

But Thranduil paid them no mind. He voiced nothing of his thoughts aloud, but the look on his face gave away enough to know that there would be a reckoning. He was rather tired of these trespassers, and he intended to have them cornered soon enough. When that time came, the Elvenking wanted payment.

Until that time, Thranduil needed careful planning.

The attackers were mortal, and their arrival coincided almost exactly with Areth's arrival. He would have to have been an imbecile to miss their intentions. But as Areth was no longer under his protection, Thranduil had to wonder then whether they knew if she had left. The King felt it necessary to divert their attention from the woman for as long as he could, but he knew that they were competent. He would have thought that they would have been aware of her departure by this time. The Elvenking had long since suspected that Areth was not longer what they were after.

His thick brows furrowed and he allowed his eyes to close. The entire ordeal was quite a nuisance, but it was one that he could overcome. So far, the gwathuirim had shown no intention of killing his guards. They had harmed, and they were capable, but it was evident that they answered to a higher command. At this point, it seemed that their main duty was to observe, and that unnerved him.

King Thranduil had been quite solemn when he spoke of his distaste for the Gondorian scholar. As innocent as his intentions may have been, Thranduil worked hard to keep his people hidden. It had been enough to protect them so far. He would not allow these intruders to compromise their safety.

Being on the offense had not worked, Thranduil noted, and avoidance did absolutely nothing. He brought a ringed hand to his chin in contemplation. These people were sly. After the capture of one of their men, they became even more cautious.

At this point, he was quite certain that Areth was no longer their prime target.

But it simply made no sense. The Elven Halls of Mirkwood was isolated, but it was common knowledge that the Elvenking commanded a strong legion. They would gain nothing but another fierce opponent by making an enemy out of him.

Oh, Areth. The trouble I go for you, he thought wryly. Indeed, the arrival of the horse rider disrupted the quiet order of things in his realm. Suddenly, the predictability was shattered.

His mind wandered then, and he found himself thinking of her. It had been a common occurrence as of late. The same tinge of sadness was mixed with the constant awareness of her absence. It could not be denied that he missed her quite a bit more that he expected.

Thranduil's hand clenched. If he were to be honest with himself, he did not quite know what to do with the situation. Areth had given him the silent assurance that their paths would never again cross, but he realized that it was not something he wanted.

When he turned to face his guards, the two Elves flinched slightly. However, the grimace was quick to fade upon seeing the softened expression on their liege's face. His jaw was still set, and his cerulean eyes ablaze, but there was a quiet emotion that betrayed his stern façade.

Still, despite this, his command was sharp and unfaltering. His deep voice echoed in the room, and the guards straightened.

"Do not allow our watch on the south to waver," he said evenly. Dol Guldur should never be left unattended. "Follow the Men, but do nothing else. Spare only a few of the guards, and do not allow yourself to be discovered. Take note of every move they make. Every step, every action– I want to be informed."

"Yes, my Lord."

"That is all."

The two bowed and were quick to exit upon dismissal.

Upon leaving the room, the guards allowed themselves a quiet breath. The intensity of the King's presence was something that after hundreds of years they were still quite unused to.

When he was certain that he was far away enough from the Elvenking, one of the guards sighed, "We would not be in this mess if it weren't from that woman."

"Don't let the King hear you say such things," murmured his companion. He discreetly sent a nervous look behind him. He somehow had the feeling that the King had ears all over the Halls.

"But it is true, is it not? She brought trouble about us. Really, we had our hands filled with those blasted spiders already."

"King Thranduil is quite fond of her…" he said quietly.

"All for the oddest reasons. Have you noticed her resemblance to the late Queen?"

The guard stared at his companion oddly. As a matter of fact, no, he had not. They had similar hair color, he supposed, and they were both women. But Queen Isilthel possessed the grace of the Elven kind. The mortal woman, however, possessed a different kind of presence.

Quiet as she was, she held herself in a manner that reminded him of his king beneath the farce. There was wit. There was wariness. But there was also a genuine kindness that he seldom saw in his peers. Even Ernil, who was rather harsh on his judgment on others, had seen this.

But then he supposed that his companion would not understand. He had never once spoken to the Lady Areth.

"You were always quick to judge."

"And you were always quick to trust," he retorted.

"I trust our King's judgment."

"Don't be naïve, Arphen," his companion scoffed. "My loyalty to King Thranduil is and always will be unwavering, but he is not faultless. Even he is not immune to-"

"Quiet," Arphen hissed. Just as he said this, the Prince entered, appearing from behind the closed doors of the underground rooms. "Prince Legolas!" he said, bowing.

Legolas, on his way to go beyond the forest, halted. He acknowledged the two guards under his command with a small nod. The expression on his face turned questioning when he regarded Arphen.

"My Lord, King Thranduil commands few of the guards to be spared to track the gwathuirim. We are to avoid confrontation."

"I see," said Legolas. Thinking of the hunters under his command, the Prince was quick to pick the names of those most suited for the job. "Very well. My father will be informed. Go about your duties."

They had tried to fight the enemies in an attempt to drive them away, but every time, they were evaded. The easy avoidance was enough to confirm the fact that their numbers were very few.

Securing his knives in their proper sheath, Legolas prepared to exit the Halls. The Prince took it upon himself to command this very mission.