Chapter 8:

"Abcd" = English
"abcd" = Westron
abcd = Thoughts

I think I'll call this one the "Broomstick", Hermione decided as her eyes traced the stars in the night sky that made up her newly named constellation. Like most constellations, the collection of stars looked nothing like its namesake, just a relatively straight line of bright stars in the sky. A sky that was becoming incredibly familiar to her.

A light breeze rushed over Hermione, grasping at the exposed skin of her face. It was cool on the plains, with a light blanket of dew along the ground. The little droplets of dew covered Hermione from head to toe, leeching her warmth causing a pervading chill to settle over her.

Hermione, however, was too focused on the night sky to feel how cold she had become. Her chocolate eyes roamed the glittering tapestry above her. She had spent many sleepless nights in Edoras searching the sky for any type of familiarity to her home and while a part of her would never stop searching, Hermione was whiling away the time by creating new constellations. Many were named from her home like "Broomstick", and it comforted her a little to know that even in such an unfamiliar place she could still look up at the sky and see home.

Once again, she traced the stars that made up her newest constellation, her imagination superimposing an image of Harry's Firebolt over it. A slight smile came unbidden to her face as she recalled the first time Harry rode his Firebolt. They were so young then, as carefree as they ever were. She now saw Harry riding the broom in the night sky, a beaming smile of joy graced his face. Warmth swelled within her as Hermione remembered their first couple of years at Hogwarts.

To the right of her broomstick constellation was a bright star that stood out among its neighbours. It was slightly yellow in colour and Hermione imagined it to be the Golden Snitch. In her mind's eye, Harry was chasing the snitch all over the night sky, weaving in and out of other constellations but never being able to catch it. It was in this moment that Hermione felt close to Harry, that she could believe that he was still alive and out there searching for her.

The stars before her blurred and her imaginary Harry disappeared as tears welled in her eyes. The warmth she had previously felt in her chest was consumed by a wave of despair and loneliness. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, causing her tears to slide down her face. Her hands clenched the blanket around her until her knuckles were white. An immense desire to scream and cry rose within her, a desire to lose control and succumb to the emptiness and depression that grew within her every day.

Harry! Oh Harry! I can't do this without you.

Tears streamed down her face from under her lashes.

Ron. I need you here!

The emotions within her grew and Hermione felt like she would burst, like a balloon which had been filled with too much air.

Why did you guys leave me?

Her thoughts screamed within her mind and Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from screaming out loud. She clenched her blanket so hard that her nails dug into her palms sending little pricks of pain through her skin. The pain helped bring her back from the brink of hysteria, helped centre her mind. With every ounce of willpower she had, Hermione muffled her negative emotions, pushed them back into the depths of her mind.

She took a deep breath, drawing the crisp night air into her lungs.

Just breathe, be calm, be strong.

With each breath she took, Hermione was able to smother the feelings inside her.

Don't be weak, you need to be strong.

Eventually Hermione calmed, the tumultuous emotions inside her buried, leaving behind an all-encompassing numbness. Her bottom lip was bruised, a result of how hard she had bitten down in order to not let her screams out. Her hands were stiff as they unclenched, releasing the blanket from her grasp. She could feel the crescent shaped indentations along her palms from her nails.

Hermione slowly opened her eyes, her expression blank as she gazed back up at the sky. No longer seeing Harry, just an arbitrary arrangement of stars above her.

Unable to look at the stars any longer, Hermione turned her head to the side. She could see the sky changing as dawn quickly approached, shocked as the night seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, where once again sleep seemed to evade her.

She watched as the sky grew lighter, illuminating the vast grassy plains before the horizon. Today dawned the third day that Hermione had left the familiarity of Edoras, of people she had come to call friends.

The day that she and Gandalf had set out to Minas Tirith had been long. They rode from dawn to dusk with few breaks and even then they were only for the horses. Hermione had been morose all day as it finally sunk in that her path may not take her to Edoras again, that she'd never she the Golden Hall of Meduseld one more time, that she'd left behind Éowyn and Éomer.

Although Hermione had thousands of questions for the old wizard, conversation between the two was fleeting. Both were still too untrusting or weary of each other to give any secrets away.

It didn't make matters any better that she was once again forced to travel via horseback. Several hours into the journey had her muscles protesting from sitting in the saddle. While she was used to riding Dandy by now she was not a confident rider and Hermione could tell that Gandalf had not intended to ride at such a slow pace. Hermione vowed that if she were to ever return home, she would never complain about flying on broomsticks again. Her mouth curved into a small grin imagining Harry and Ron's reaction to her voluntarily riding a broom. They'd surely rope her into playing a game of Quidditch with them before she could say "Snitch".

With the grin still on her face, Hermione looking back up to the brightening sky. Only the brightest stars were visible now. Her new constellation, Broomstick, had faded with the day but the Golden Snitch still shone brightly in the sky, its shine not yet defeated by the light. Looking up the bright golden star gave Hermione a feeling of momentary peace.

Hermione's feeling of peace was shattered as she heard movement from her left. With a sharp intake of breath all her walls came back up and her muscles tensed as they prepared for action. She knew it was only Gandalf, but the old wizard was still an unknown entity and therefore treated with caution.

As Gandalf prepared for the day Hermione knew she must do the same. The previous days had taught her that once Gandalf was ready they were leaving whether she was ready or not. Whatever quest Gandalf was on seemed extremely urgent and, despite not trusting the old wizard, she did not want to delay him in any way. Hermione sat up with a groan, her achy muscles protesting the movement. She could feel the saddle sores on her butt and an irritated sigh escaped her.

Knowing that all her current physical ailments could be fixed by a few simple potions in her beaded bag was a source of great annoyance. None more so than the fact that she had a perfectly good wizarding tent packed away. Instead of sleeping under the stars on the ground, Hermione could be sleeping comfortably in her soft feather bed. She couldn't use her beaded bag though, Hermione didn't want there to be any chance that Gandalf found out about it. There was no knowing how the old wizard would react to it. Besides, if he did turn out to be her enemy, it'd help to have this ace up her sleeve.

She quickly packed away her bed roll all the while glaring at her beaded bag as though it had offended her greatly. Realistically, Hermione knew that even if she could access it she shouldn't waste potions on such frivolous things since she didn't know if she could even brew replacements. Best that she left the potions until she really needed them.

"Good morning Lady Penelope," Gandalf greeted from across the camp.

Hermione turned to face the old wizard forcing a smile onto her face, "And you, Gandalf. I trust you slept well?"

"More so than you, I dare say," Gandalf replied after noting the dark circles under her eyes.

Not that Gandalf needed evidence that she hadn't slept well, he too did not trust the young witch yet, leaving him to only sleep a few minutes at a time.

Hermione didn't bother with a reply and continued to pack up her things in silence. In the two nights she had been travelling with Gandalf, she had barely gotten any sleep. The fear of nightmares added to her distrust of the old wizard had rendered Hermione unable to sleep. As a result she had permanent dark circles below her eyes and a constant headache.

No more was said between the two and it wasn't long before they were back on their horses continuing their journey to Minas Tirith.

The day flew by in a monotonous blur. Gandalf only allowed enough breaks for the horses to rest otherwise the rest of the day was spent in the saddle, much to Hermione's chagrin.

Hermione was far from idle. Between concentrating on guiding Dandy and trying not to fall off, keeping one eye on Gandalf and the other on her surrounds looking for danger, her mind was spinning in circles trying to organise and plan. Now that she well out of the safety and comfort of Edoras, Hermione really needed to plan what to do. With hundreds of thoughts running through her mind she kept coming back to two points.

1. Find Voldemort's last Horcrux.

2. Destroy said Horcrux.

Those two goals were nowhere near easy to accomplish and the more Hermione thought about it the bigger and more daunting her tasks became. Without the help of Ron and Harry it seemed impossible. For starters, Harry had the Gryffindor's sword, destroying the Horcrux without it would prove challenging. Not only that, but Hermione didn't even know where to start looking for it. She wasn't even sure how many there were left, for all she knew Voldemort could have another seven hidden in this world.

Hermione's thoughts swirled around and around in her head until all that accomplished was a severe headache and a great deal of stress. A sigh of frustration escaped her and tears welled in her brown eyes. There was no mistaking the impossible task ahead of her. A wry smile formed, the Golden trio had done the impossible before. Who was to say that they couldn't do it again?

Her chocolate eyes sought out the sun in the sky. It was approaching dusk meaning that it wouldn't be long before they would be stopping for the night and with no town in sight they would surely be sleeping under the stars again. Hermione silently grumbled while looking longingly down where her beaded bag hung and she swear she could see the inanimate object laughing at her.

It wasn't long before Gandalf had slowed and started looking for an acceptable camp for the night. He settled on a spot hidden from the road which was visible to them. Hermione assessed the camp from her seat on Dandelion noting where and how they could be ambushed plus escape routes should that happen. Finding the location acceptable she dismounted and started setting up camp with Gandalf, not that there was much to set up.

Not long after, Hermione sat on her bedroll eating bread and dried meat staring into the small fire. Gandalf sat across from her, the fire in between them like previous nights, puffing on his pipe and looking off into the sunset. Both seemed lost in their own thoughts as the sun slowly made its way below the horizon.

Her thoughts drifted to Harry and Ron as she watched the flames flicker before her. A small ball of guilt settled in her stomach ending any desire she had to eat. A small frown marred her beautiful features as she tore her gaze from the flames and looking in the direction that Fangorn Forest was. Her best friends may be dead for all she knew. She never looked for them.

Hermione swallowed down bile at that sudden realisation.

She. Never. Looked. For. Them.

That was a thought that was hard to swallow. Both of them would have torn the forest apart tree by tree to find her, dead or alive. And what did she do? Had a vacation in Edoras. Living life in luxury as a guest of the royal family. She didn't even try to look for them.

Pathetic.

What if they were still alive and needed her help? She clenched her fists by her side, knuckles white as her nails dug into her palms.

You abandoned them. Your brothers. You left them to die.

Her jaw clenched in an effort to stop herself from screaming, as her thoughts took on a mind of their own. Her heart raced against her chest as the guilt within became all-encompassing. All the thoughts and feelings that she had actively been repressing made their way to the surface. Tears silently made their way down her cheeks. Her tightening chest was making it harder and harder to breathe.

They could have died for you and you never looked for them!

A loud crack came from the fire with a blast of searing heat but Hermione never noticed.

You're still not looking for them! What type of friend are you?!

Sparks shot into the sky with fury.

You can't do this without them, why aren't you looking?

Hermione choked back a sob, clenching her hands tighter until she felt the skin of her palms split. Her thoughts had turned on her and she couldn't stop them. They created a negative feedback loop that had her spiralling out of control.

I'll tell you why. You're nothing but a spineless know-it-all. Content with hiding behind her wall of books while your friends do all the real work, fight all the real fights. You hide behind them as much as you do your books. You should never have been sorted into Gryffindor!

She could feel blood dripping from her hands onto the ground below. Guilt and anguish consumed her from within. Hermione shut her eyes, causing more tears to fall.

All they've done is protect you! And this is how you throw it in their face? By running away! They'd be so much better without you!

Wind whistled around her, fanning the flames to become higher and higher. Every now and then a small flaming tendril would lash out and whip her. Hermione, oblivious to her surroundings, was struggling to draw breath.

They only became friends with you out of pity. The disgusting know-it-all mudblood who had no business being at Hogwarts.

Hermione felt the letters on her arm burnt against her flesh, feeling as fresh as the day they were carved.

They shouldn't have saved you in first year!

Hermione didn't want to hear any more, she blocked her ears with her hands in an attempt to mute the voices in her head, silently shaking her head in denial.

You've been nothing but a burden to them ever since!

Her bloody hands gripped her hair, pulling at strands in distress, while flames licked at her dress.

They. Should. Have. Let. You. Die!

Hermione couldn't cope anymore, the silence of the plains shattered as her anguished scream tore through the night sky. A pillar of flame erupted as her scream echoed over the grassland, shooting high into the sky.

Then all went black as Hermione fell to the side in heap and didn't move.

"abcd" = Westron

Alvina sighed as she wiped the sweat from her brow. A bard in the corner was playing a jovial tune which she could just hear over the loud drunken conversations around the inn. Like always, the smell of alcohol, sweat, and Martha's great cooking pervaded the air. The fire roaring in the hearth plus the body heat from her many customers meant that the room was just that little bit too warm for her liking.

It was even busier than usual due to the band of traveling merchants that had taken up residence in the inn for the night. They were rowdier than the locals, which was impressive in itself. Not to be beaten, the locals had upped the ante turning the night into one lively affair.

She couldn't bring herself to complain. While bringing more business to the inn, the merchants did have some much needed wares. Plus, being a remote town in the Riddermark, news from the cities always took time to trickle down to them, therefore any news that the merchants brought with them was invaluable. That didn't mean to say that they didn't bring their fair share of ridiculous rumours, so one had to use their brain to see what was truth and what was just hearsay.

Alvina snorted thinking of one particular rumour that was ridiculous beyond belief.

"What's so amusing Alvi? Finally lost your mind?" Gilford interrupted teasingly.

She flicked her blonde braid over her shoulder as she playfully glared at the young man, while grabbing his stein from the bench.

"If I did, Gili, it would be due to your insufferable behaviour," Alvina joked as she fixed him a new drink.

Gilford cried in mock outrage as she placed the drink before him with a wink. She saw his cheeks redden slightly and was about to tease him when a loud crash stole her attention. The inn was blanketed in a momentary silence as every started at the scene. Old Mr Wulfston had slipped off the bar stool and smashed his stein on the floor. He lay red-faced drenched in ale where he let out a loud burp. The whole room burst into laughter and the lively atmosphere resumed.

Alvina shook her head chuckling.

"Give me strength," she whispered under her breath as she made her way from behind the bar, picking up a rag as she went.

She squeezed her way between her customers as she made her way to Mr Wulfston. Summoning two men from the area she ordered them to take the drunken fool outside. With a sigh, she started cleaning up the shards and spilt ale.

"Need help Alvi?" Gilford asked from behind her.

Alvina turned and gave him a grateful smile, "Thanks but I'm almost done."

Gilford smiled down at her, he really was a handsome man, and held out a hand to help her up once she was done.

Alvina rolled her eyes but accepted the hand anyway.

"Go back to your seat, I'll be back in a sec," She told Gilford with a smile.

Just as she turned to go back to the bar an ice cold shiver went down her spine putting her on edge. For some inexplicable reason, Alvina felt as though she were in immediate danger. She held her breath as she turned to look behind her.

There was an alcove in the inn that sat out of view of the bar. Usually it housed the miscreants that wanted to drink away from her prying eyes but tonight, despite how busy it was, the alcove unexpectedly housed a single inhabitant. Swathed in a black cloak, hood raised, Alvina had no idea what the man looked like.

Despite the hot and stuffy air of the inn, the hair on her arms stood up on end as she shivered. All of her instincts were screaming at her to leave, but her legs would not move. There was something slightly intoxicating about the dark aura emanating from the solitary figure.

He must have sensed her gaze because his head raised enough to stare into her eyes. Piercing grey eyes bore into her sky blue and Alvina felt as though her soul was being laid bare before this man. Her mind was screaming at her to run, that this man was dangerous, but like a moth to a flame, she couldn't break away.

Alvina saw many things in those steely grey eyes. She saw the promise of retribution and death, which quickened her heart and froze her blood. She flinched as she saw the blazing anger simmering beneath their cool exterior. A cold sweat broke upon her brow as she felt all her happiness being drained from her, like this man was leeching it out of her.

Her legs tensed, preparing to run but unable to move all the while her mind was screaming at her. Then she saw, underneath all that, the pain, the heartbreak, loss and sorrow, absolute wretched despair. Looking into those desolate eyes broke a part of her, Alvina thought that she'd never be whole and happy again. Broken, just like him. What type of monster was he to have such an effect on her?

The broken man blinked, shattering the spell he seemed to have on her. Alvina jerked coming to her senses, almost sprinted back behind the bar. She reached for a bottle on the top shelf, the good stuff, the strong stuff. Deftly pouring a glass for herself she quickly knocked it back, relishing the after-burn of the alcohol. Anything to warm against the bone-deep chill that had settled within her. Her heart raced, she felt as though she had run miles upon miles.

"Wow Alvina, you look like you've seen a ghost," Gilford commented concern lacing his words.

Her sky blue eyes just looked at her handsome friend.

"I think I did," she whispered, while pouring another drink, her hands slightly trembling.

She was cold, why was she so cold?

Alvina had no idea what had just happened, or why looking into his eyes affected her so. Some type of devilry to be sure. Her body was still tense, wanting to run, run forever and never look back. She closed her eyes to calm herself but all she saw was the stormy grey eyes full of pain, suffering, and death. Alvina jerked, her hand knocking over the bottle, cracking it.

Warm hands grasped her numb ones, holding them still from shaking.

"Mighty Béma Alvi! Your hands are like ice!" Gilford exclaimed, his blue eyes shining with worry.

Alvina didn't reply, she just watched numbly as the amber liquid flowed from the crack in the bottle before her.

The bottle was broken, like him, like she now was.

"abcd" = English
"abcd" = Westron
abcd = Thoughts

It took a while for Hermione's mind wake, like a 90's computer slowly rebooting after crashing. Her thoughts were sluggish and unintelligible. Her hand twitched igniting a stabbing pain to radiate up her arm. She couldn't comprehend why she was in pain. Her brow creased in confusion. She tried to recall her last waking moments but was coming up blank. She became aware of a dull throb in the back of her mind, and the bone-deep exhaustion clouding her senses.

Her eyelids fluttered but did not open, not quite having the strength to do so. She felt numb, completely drained, and unable to move or think or feel. Hermione's sluggish mind was quite content with just lying there, oblivious to the world around her.

A slight breeze gently caressed her skin as it blew over the plains. A small smile tugged at her lips, content. The wind brought with it the smell of the fresh morning, ash, and the unmistakable aroma of pipe weed.

Gandalf!

Hermione's eyes snapped open, her distrust of the old wizard dredging up enough energy to function. The fog from her mind cleared and events from the night came to the forefront of Hermione's mind. Her complete and utter breakdown, and the old wizard had witnessed it all!

A pained groan escaped her. If he truly did turn out to be an enemy, he could have done any number of things to her in her vulnerable state. Hermione couldn't help the panic that rose within her, how could she have been so stupid to put herself in such a position? She could not tolerate weakness, weakness led to death.

It was with a great effort that Hermione doused her rising panic. She took a few deep breaths and scanned her body. Aside from the exhaustion running through her veins, she could feel her hands burning. Bracing herself, Hermione wiggled her fingers and she hissed as pain shot up her arms. Ignoring the pain Hermione lifted her arms to eye level to determine the cause of her discomfort. To her shock she was met with neatly bandaged hands. Hermione's brow furrowed in slight confusion.

The slight breeze carried another waft of pipe weed, and Hermione scrunched her nose in distaste.

Gandalf, but why?

"What a world you must come from, young Penelope, for you to be suspicious of a helping hand," Gandalf pondered out loud, seemingly knowing her the direction of her thoughts.

Hermione dropped her arms to rest at her sides once more.

"One where trusting a stranger can get you killed, or worse," she replied, her voice cracking slightly at the rawness of her throat.

Gandalf just hummed in response while puffing his pipe.

"A world where friends and people you have known for years don't hesitate to stab you in the back," Hermione continued unprompted, voice slightly broken.

She gingerly sat up, careful of her injured hands.

Her chocolate eyes roamed the area.

"We've moved," Hermione observed, looking around her some more.

"Oh yes, an unfortunate mishap befell our camp fire," Gandalf commented lightly, as though observing the weather.

Hermione looked down to her hands in shame, as she vaguely recalled the fire going haywire as she lost it.

"I'm sorry," her apology was sincere and laced with embarrassment.

"What's done is done, my dear. Take this as a lesson perhaps. It's not wise to keep your emotions buried for so long."

Hermione nodded meekly, still looking at her hands. She knew Gandalf was right. If she lost control in the wrong place, at the wrong time, she could severely hurt someone.

"I do hope, young Penelope, that you find someone here you can trust. Someone to lean on when you're not strong enough," Gandalf continued and Hermione could hear the genuine concern in his voice.

Hermione raised her glistening chocolate eyes to meet Gandalf's dark eyes.

"I'll try," she whispered.

They sat in silence some more as Gandalf finished his pipe, both deep in thought. It was mid-morning and Hermione knew that Gandalf wanted to be on the road by now, but he wasn't hurrying her. Guilt formed in the pit of her stomach, the old wizard was in a hurry and she was being such a burden, delaying him. In her current state, Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to ride Dandy. She clutched at her beaded bag. Taking out a few potions wouldn't be suspicious. Hermione bit her bottom lip in thought. It wasn't like she was taking out the tent. Using the potions would mean that she'd be able to ride and stop delaying Gandalf.

Coming to a decision, Hermione dragged the beaded bag to her lap. She had a pocket on the inner lining of the bag that housed the potions, for quick and easy access in case of an emergency. Otherwise, without a wand to accio them to her, she'd never be able to reach them.

Hermione quickly pulled out some burn cream and a pepper up potion before stowing the bag away in the safety of her dress. Conscious of Gandalf's casual observation, Hermione set to unwrapping the bandages from her hands every now and then flinching from the pain. She gazed at her hands with a clinical eye. Large blisters covered shiny red skin on the tops of her hands. Flinching as she turned them over, Hermione saw deep crescent-shaped cuts on the palms of her hands.

With a small sigh she started applying the burn cream and relaxed as it immediately started soothing the burns on her hands. Hermione figured that after another application tonight, her burns would be healed by the morning. Already feeling much better, she gulped down the pepper up potion and in no time at all it had her feeling healthier than she had in weeks.

She looked up at Gandalf whose eyes were full of curiosity and gave him a small smile.

"I'll be ready to leave shortly. Sorry about the delay," Hermione said, determination in her voice.

Gandalf took a deep puff on his pipe before putting it out before saying, "Excellent. We should reach Minas Tirith by nightfall."

Eager for a nice soft bed to sleep in, Hermione hurriedly packed her things and before long the pair of them were back on the road with their destination in their sights. As they set off they passed a large area of blackened earth, the smell of smoke still lingering in the air. Hermione gulped, seeing the destruction of her out-of-control emotions. Her out-of-control-magic had left a dark taint on the earth, which Hermione could easily sense. She had no doubt in her mind that Gandalf could also feel the dark taint her magic had left. It left he uneasy, the darkness in her magic that had never been there before.

I really need to pull myself together before I seriously hurt someone, Hermione thought with a frown.

Hermione woke with a start, her heart hammering in her chest as the nightmare she was suffering from lingered in her waking thoughts. She calmed her racing heart and snuggled back into the soft feather bed beneath her, relishing in the comfort and sense of security it provided.

True to his word, Gandalf and Hermione had reached Minas Tirith yesterday, just after dark. They had pushed their horses harder than previous days to make up for lost time, neither one wanting to spend another night in the open. The pepper up potion's effects had worn off during the day leaving Hermione dead on her feet, barely able to keep her eyes open. It was only due to Gandalf that she had even arrived in one piece.

Gandalf had lead her up through the levels of city as the darkness of the night grew. Hermione had been far too tired to give her surroundings a proper look. She knew that if someone had ambushed them, there was no way she'd be able to defend herself. She dimly remembered dismounting and being greeted by unknown faces. The last thing she could recall was being shuffled into a room where she collapsed on the bed, asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Now that she was awake, Hermione noticed that she hadn't even bothered to remove her shoes. She gave a small chuckle, as she sat up. A small window in the stone wall looked out onto a little garden. The sun was high in the sky indicating that it was late morning. Her lips curved into a small smile as the scent of the flowers in the garden wafted into her room.

Rubbing the remaining sleep from her eyes, Hermione examined the room she was in. Constructed from white stone, it was a pleasant room, elegantly styled, with obvious touches of wealth. A plush rug sat upon the polished stone floor. The furniture in the room was made from a dark wood, hand carved with beautiful designs. The lack of any personal items indicated that it was a guest room.

Spying a wash basin in the corner, Hermione became acutely aware of how much she needed to bathe. Stretching her stiff muscles, hearing a few cracks and pops, she made her way over to the basin and splashed her face with the cool water within. Suitably awake, Hermione glanced at her hands, the burns had healed overnight without leaving any scars. Flipping her hands over, she saw that the small crescent-shaped cuts were stark against her pale skin.

There was a quiet knock on the door, easy to hear as she was awake but not loud enough to disturb her if she was still sleeping.

"Enter," Hermione called, the Westron felt unfamiliar on her tongue due to disuse.

A young maid entered the room with a curtsy and a good morning. She was holding a bowl of fruit and a water pitcher which she promptly set on the small table by the window.

"Would you like me to arrange a bath, my Lady?" the maid inquired.

Hermione thought the idea was heavenly and a smile lit up her features.

"Please. What is your name?" Hermione asked, eager to put a name to the young maid's face.

"Farrah, my Lady," she answered with a curtsey, clearly shocked at the question.

Farrah left to prepare a bath, leaving Hermione in the room. Not knowing how long it would take them, she helped herself to the fruit as she pondered what she should do now that she was in Minas Tirith.

It wasn't long until Farrah came back to take her to a private bathing chamber, letting her know that her bath had been prepared. Hermione almost skipped down the hall in joy, eager to be clean for the first time in day.

Like her room, the hallway she was travelling down was also constructed from white stone. Various tapestries and paintings adorned the walls telling tales of battles long ago. Hermione was intrigued by the history and culture embedded in the wall hangings and promised herself to come back later for a closer look.

The bathing chamber Farrah took her to was no prefect's bathroom but simple and elegant in its own right. A frosted glass window let light into the white stone room. Potted plants were dotted around the walls. The main attraction was the large metal tub in the centre of the room and Hermione could smell the perfumed water it contained from the doorway.

In no time at all, Hermione had shed her clothes and jumped in the tub. The warm water had rose petals floating in it and it felt delightful as Hermione relaxed in the tub before scrubbing at every inch of her body until she was squeaky clean.

As much as she wanted to stay in the tub all day, Hermione knew she had things she needed to do. With a sigh she exited the cooling water, feeling a lot happier now that she was clean. After dressing in a beautiful green dress that Éowyn had gifted her, Farrah braided her hair in Gondorian fashion.

Hermione wandered the grand stone hallways, searching for Gandalf. He was the only familiarity within this new place, and Hermione loathed to admit she was feeling a tad vulnerable, she'd feel better once she saw him and ascertained that he hadn't just ditched her. With her intuition as her guide, Hermione's soft footsteps echoed along the halls as she walked.

She passed a few maids along the way, all who curtsied as she walked past. It wasn't long before she came across large wooden doors that opened up to a large stone courtyard. The courtyard was high up and had a grand view over the Fields of Pelennor. The wind tugged a few strands of her hair free from her braids as it blew across the area. She was wary of the soldiers guarding the door behind her so she quickly moved away out into the open.

In the middle of the courtyard was a solitary tree. Its white bark gleamed in the sun, yet no leaves adorned its branches. It stood lifeless in the courtyard as Hermione approached the tree. For some reason she felt drawn to the dead tree and with a tentative hand she reached out and placed her hand on its trunk. Hermione's eyes lit up. She could feel a small spark of life deep within the tree. A smile grew upon her face. The tree wasn't dead, merely slumbering.

Luck seemed to be on Hermione's side today as she turned around and spied Gandalf on the other side of the courtyard talking to a regal looking man. Her eyes lit up and she made her way over to the pair. Gandalf was dressed in his customary grey cloak and hat, carrying his staff, bushy eyebrows furrowed as he conversed with the man. Dark hair shielded the unknown man's face from view. His clothing spoke of obvious wealth and the sword hanging at his side glinted in the sunlight.

Gandalf's eyes lit up as he saw he approach. The man, sensing his companion's inattention, stopped talked and turned to Hermione as she approached. From this distance she could see the grey of his eyes, sharp and piercing. He looked very much a warrior.

As Hermione gazed at the man before her, she had some unexplained feeling that he would be a big player in events to come.

"Ah, Lady Penelope, may I present to you Lord Boromir Son of Denethor," Gandalf introduced with twinkling eyes.