The face of her chieftain shifted in and out of focus as Daeril blinked the sleep from her eyes. She had been dreaming so deeply it had been a struggle to break free of its grip. A wet warmth was on her brow, and Aragorn had his hand on her head. For a moment she thought she was a child again, ill and fevered as her father took care of her. Aragorn's face shifted to that of Rýndir, but then Aragorn called to her again and the hallucination ended.

"Am I dying?" She slurred.

"No. Not today," Aragorn removed the cloth from her head, replacing it with one that was cooler. The chilled water felt good against her burning skin. "You fought bravely, but I need you to fight a little longer."

Elladan had removed the arrow, having had to cut into Daeril's back with a blade to get the head out. It had bled, quite a bit, the blood thick and blackened. Most of the tarry poison had come out when he irrigated the wound, but much had also entered her blood. Aragorn knew that any average man would have been dead already, but those of Numenorean blood did not succumb so easily.

"Try to drink this," Aragorn helped Daeril to drink the warm liquid that Elladan had prepared, some mix of herbs and Athelas. She choked it down, the taste of bitter herbs nearly making her retch.

Aragorn beckoned Daenir over, and he came to his sister's side. Daeril's eyes were glazing over, the fever not yet broken. Her breathing had slowed and deepened, a good sign. The Athelas appeared to be doing its job, under command of the future king. Aragorn took Daeril's hand in his, but she had already drifted off to sleep again. He said something to her, so quietly that Daenir couldn't hear what he said, then stood up.

"I believe she is out of immediate danger," Aragorn told Daenir. "The fever is breaking. If she awakens, have her drink more of that. If she gets worse, you know where to find me."

He clasped Daenir on the shoulder as he left. Elladan stayed a moment longer.

"I will stay with her if you need rest, Daenir."

"No, I will be fine. Thank you, Elladan."

The Field of Cormallen was a constant buzz of activity. Men were arriving in droves for days, many wounded, but almost everyone was in good spirits. Daeril knew there was much to be joyful for, but her heart was heavy. She had been laid up for several days, ill beyond anything she had ever known. Daenir barely left her side, but she could not remember anything she had spoken to him of in her delirium. It wasn't until she was finally on her feet, limping around on her own, that he told her that Aeldis had fallen in the battle.

The pain of losing another dear friend was worse than any wound she bore, and she wished the arrow had taken her at the field of battle so she did not have to mourn anyone else. She had screamed when Daenir spoke the news, so loudly that guards had come running. She had loved Faron, and he died. Boromir had been a friend to her, and he died. Halbarad had been part of her life since she was born, he died. Her mother, she hadn't even known, had died because of her. And now Aeldis.

"I should have died." Daeril's voice was hoarse, spent from hysterics. She had never felt so much overwhelming grief and anger, and it all hit at once. Too long she had been strong, too long she had pushed the thoughts of Faron's untimely death at the hands of the Nazgul aside.

"No. Do not say that." Daenir clung to her as they both knelt on the ground of the tent. "You live for a reason."

"Everyone died because of me," She sobbed. "I could not save any of them."

"You can't save everyone. If we could, I would have saved father. I wasn't there, and I don't know If it would have changed how things turned out... but I don't regret that I got to raise you, because he died. I've lost many friends, and not a day goes by that I don't wish them back... but they died so all of us could be here, standing at Aragorn's side."

"But Faron... I loved him."

"I know you did. And he loved you. But he will not be the last to love you."

Thannor appeared at the tent flap, and Daenir nodded that all was well. The older ranger left the siblings alone. Daeril's energy was spent from crying, her wounds aching. She had wanted to get out, and take part in the festivities and fresh air, but healing was tiring. It felt, however, as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, one that had been burdening her since that night at Sarn Ford, which seemed so long ago. Daenir helped her back to the cot.

"Rest. I will not be far if you need me," He said, kissing her forehead.

When Daenir was certain his sister was asleep, he quietly left the tent. Thannor was not far, sitting outside the tent they shared, drinking ale by the fire.

"Everything well?" Thannor asked, taking a swig.

"As well as things can be," Daenir sat. "She carries a lot of guilt when she shouldn't. You were right about Faron."

"Of course I was right!" He laughed. "Those two thought nobody knew, but we all did. Boy couldn't stop staring at her when he thought no one was looking."

"It's a sad loss. I wish I had known when I saw her in Imladris, she never told me."

"She wouldn't have," Thannor handed Daenir a mug of ale. "She's just like you that way."

"I fear I'll lose her," Daenir let the bitter ale wash over his tongue. "What if she can't handle the life I dragged her into? She's lost so much so young."

"She is harder than you give her credit. I saw her face down the Nazgûl twice." Thannor's eyes flicked upward, as though saying the word would bring them back. They were gone for good, hopefully. "Scared to death, no doubt, but she knows her duty and she does it without question. Most men cowered at the sight. And she's not so young anymore, mind you, we're getting old."

"I suppose you're right."

A new day brought peace to Daeril's heart. She rose at dawn, feeling better than she had in a week. The wounds ached, but it was a dull pain, and strength was beginning to return to her. She left the tent, venturing in a different direction than the only one she had been traveling since waking up here, being the path to the woods which served as the privy. Today she had an old friend to find, one whom she wished to see above all others. Not many residents of the encampment were awake, but upon reaching the corral area, she could see that the horses had been attended to, and were eating hay peacefully.

Some of the horses were far out in the paddock, grazing, and when she did not see Rocky in the closer herd, she went into the paddock, making her way across the field. One of the brown shapes in the distance had to be him. She could hear hoofbeats coming up behind her, and turned to see Mithrandir's horse had decided to follow her.

"Shadowfax," She stopped as the great silver horse approached, sniffing her. He lowered his head, and she rubbed his forehead. He closed his eyes in gratitude. He may be the lord of all horses, but he did not deny the simple pleasures of horsedom. "I am looking for Rocky. You may join me, if you like."

She began walking, and Shadowfax followed. Rocky was on the far end, eating in a massive patch of clover. She took a moment to admire how different he looked from the scrappy horse she got in Bree. His black mane was grown out a few inches, and he even had a forelock as opposed to the little tuft he had in Rivendell. His brown coat had started to shed, and shined with luster in the sun. He was well muscled, his stocky legs bulging at the shoulder and his gaskins. He did not look up when Daeril approached, rather moved away, not wishing to be disturbed from his busy work on maintaining the clover field.

"Rocky, do you not miss me?"

The gelding twitched an ear towards her, but continued to eat. Fine laughter startled her, coming from nearby. She looked up to see Legolas, walking up from the nearby river's edge. Of course he had heard her talking to her horse, blast that perfect elvish hearing.

"He has been beside himself with worry, Rýndirien! Nearly ate the entire field in anticipation of your return."

"Prince Legolas," She placed her hand over her heart, bowing her head. The elf returned the greeting.

"You look well! I hope your wounds do not pain you too much."

"I feel much better than I have. If I rested any longer I fear I would have gone mad."

Shadowfax sniffed at her side, clearly looking for pockets and what may be in them.

"It appears you have made a friend."

Daeril laughed as Shadowfax twitched his nose, trying to get into her pocket. For being chief of the Mearas he certainly could act like a normal horse.

"Feed a horse once and they love you for life. Unless of course it's Rocky."

She turned out her pockets, showing Shadowfax that they were in fact empty. He snorted, and walked over to Rocky, pushing the smaller horse away from his feast. Rocky pinned his ears, but complied. He picked his head up, walking toward Daeril, but then going to Legolas instead. The Prince of Mirkwood laughed, scratching the gelding behind his ears.

"I do not think it is personal, mellon."

In the two weeks since the battle, much was done in the Field of Cormallen. In a clearing by the river, away from the encampment, three grassy thrones stood, the banners of Rohan, Dol Amroth and Gondor standing behind them, and many pavilions had been constructed nearby. On the largest throne, in the middle, sat Aragorn, dressed in meticulously polished mail with Anduril across his lap. Daeril stood with the Dunedain in the front rank of a battalion of Rangers of Ithilien and soldiers of Gondor. The reflection on everyone's armor, shined up for the occasion, was almost bliding. Her own mail had been replaced, unsalvageable after being wounded in battle, and she had to admit she looked like a warrior out of legend, even If she did not feel as one.

They had been told that the halflings had risen and were on there way, and had formed their ranks accordingly. After the first half hour of standing in formation, Daeril was getting antsy. Her leg hurt, the muscle not fully healed, and her back was starting to nag at her. She could hear rustling of chainmail as almost everyone started to fidget, bending knees so as to not pass out. If this was what life was going to be like serving directly under the King, she wasn't sure she could hold up with the ceremonies for very long. Finally, after the agonizing wait, two small figures appeared, followed by Mithrandir in his bright white robes. At Prince Imrahil's signal, they drew their swords, raising them high, the opposing battalions creating somewhat of a tunnel for them to walk through. Everyone began shouting praises to the halflings, the ringbearer and his loyal friend.

"Cuio i Pheriain anann! Aglar'ni Pheriannath!"

"Praise them with great praise!"

"Cormacolindor, a laita tárienna!"

"Praise them!"

The noise was overwhelming, and the poor hobbits looked like they would die of embarrassment. Aragorn stood, coming down to greet them. Frodo, the ringbearer, recognizing Aragorn even in his finery, ran forward. Aragorn dropped to one knee, and taking their hands, led them to the thrones on either side, Frodo at his right and Sam on the left.

"Praise them with great praise!" Aragorn cried, and the rest followed once more.

To Daeril's great dismay, a young man came forth, asking to sing. She had never liked minstrel types, having had a spat or two with a rather annoying one in Bree who liked to swindle money in any way he could, on top of being tone deaf.

"Lo! lords and knights and men of valour unashamed, kings and princes, and fair people of Gondor, and Riders of Rohan, and ye sons of Elrond, and Dúnedain of the North, and Elf and Dwarf, and greathearts of the Shire, and all free folk of the West, now listen to my lay. For I will sing to you of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom."

Daeril had to admit the minstrel was quite good, as he sang a song both sweet and sad, in both elvish and common, and his powerful voice carried through the crowd leaving them in silence. She had to blink away the tears that threatened to fall, nearly failing in preventing them until the minstrel finally finished.

"Praise them with great praise!" He said as he knelt.

Aragorn stood, and led the great migration to the pavilions where a feast would be served. The Dunedain, save for Daenir and the sons of Elrond, gathered with the Ithilien Rangers to feast together. It had been a long time since Daeril had taken part in any formal dinner, having skipped out on the big feast they had had in Rivendell, and she was more than relieved to not have to sit at the King's table. She already felt out of place being a woman among thousands of men, even though she knew there were women among the Rohirrim, having to eat and drink in front of royals was not an attractive concept.

After all honored the Standing Silence, looking to the West in a moment of silence as was the tradition in Gondor and among the Ithilien Rangers, the feast began. Wine and ale were brought forth, and massive amounts of food. The rangers had a toast, to fallen friends and new friends, and a new age for middle earth. Before all had finished their meals, many more toasts were given. Daeril almost could not keep up with the toasts, even having to change over to ale from the wine lest she drink herself under the table.

"Mae Govannen, Rýndirien!" One of the Ithilien Rangers slid in next to Hador, across the table from her.

"Suilad," She replied.

"You probably do not remember me. I am Mablung."

She studied his face, noting his bright grey eyes, well trimmed beard, altogether handsome features. She shook her head.

"Sorry, cannot say I do."

"It is no matter. You were quite injured when we met, I'm afraid. I know your brother from his time here."

"Do you? Tell me, then- the Mumak story... did it really happen?"

Mablung laughed, long and deep.

"I do not know if he actually saw one, but I was with the patrol that came back with him to look. Biggest doe I've ever seen, but no Mumak. He will never live that down."

The table was quite loud, a drinking game having begun at the center of it. Daeril had drank too much too quickly, and was becoming hot and dizzy, especially wearing all the armor for ceremony's sake.

"I need to... feed the horses." She said, standing and having to grab the table as she swayed.

"The horses are being looked after already," Hador said. "Sit. Enjoy yourself for once."

The feast continued into the evening, many revelers going off to continue drinking and celebrating. Daeril, having sobered up considerably, walked with her cousins, Corudan and his brother Aglaron, to watch the sunset over the Anduin. The three looked very much alike to anyone that saw them, young but weathered and stern, all dark haired and grey eyed. Corudan, who was only one month older than Daeril and thus very close to her when they were growing up, was quite drunk. Daeril and Aglaron walked close by him as they went out onto the docks, lest he stumble and fall in the river.

"Cousin... remember Pelennor?" Corudan chuckled.

"Yes, I remember." Daeril steadied him as the dock moved under their feet.

"I didn't know you couldn't swim." He teased.

"I can swim, dear cousin. If you desire to know what it's like to fall in a river in full armor, I would be much obliged to demonstrate."

"No, no. Just reminiscing."

The three cousins passed the great ships docked on the river, those of Dol Amroth with carved swan heads at the prow. They were much more stable looking than the Corsair ships they had commandeered, but Daeril was still apprehensive about taking them back to Minas Tirith. She had half a mind to leave early on horseback, but Aragorn had made it clear he needed all the Dunedain at his side, and that meant traveling with him on the ships.

"Have you thought of where you will go once all of this is over?" Aglaron asked as they took a seat on a bench at the end of the dock.

"Nay," Daeril rubbed her thigh, trying to quell the itch of her wound but wincing at the contact. "I did not expect to survive, truth be told. I supposed I will go wherever Aragorn sends me?"

"Some of us will go to Annuminas," Aglaron kept his voice low. "Aragorn has plans to rebuild it. The last I was there it was overrun with Southrons. Our father is there still. When the King gives us leave, I will go join him. You are welcome to come."

"She's going to turn into a lady of the court the moment she gets her first taste of it," Corudan ruffled Daeril's hair. "Marry some elvish prince."

Daeril nearly choked with laughter.

"Aye, cousin. I only have eyes for men two thousand years and older."

"That's too bad. Poor Mablung will be heartbroken." Aglaron said.

"What?" Daeril's attention went straight to her eldest cousin.

"Mablung? The Ithilien Ranger?"

"What did he say about me?" She was very interested now.

"Nothing... just asked your name."

"Whether you really were a girl," Corudan added.

"Marital status. That sort of thing," Aglaron winked. "Did he talk to you at the feast?"

"He did, a little... did he really ask about me?"

Corudan was chortling now.

"That's all he asked about you," Aglaron said. "I didn't pry any further."

As the last of the red glow disappeared into the horizon, the cousins continued to talk, listening to the gulls calling overhead. Soon they would sail down that very river, and the King would return to Gondor. But for now, they world was still, and all those present enjoyed rest in a beautiful land, in a new age.