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Will Dawn Become Dusk?

Aralyn set her travel bag aside. She had the feeling that she would not need it during the battle. Besides, she still had her herbs for healing in her belt pouch. Just as the girl was thinking of how she missed her fifth dagger, an older serving maid came in. At first, her eyes were slightly downcast, but, upon seeing Aralyn's temporarily ageless face, the woman's golden-amber eyes lit up.

"Miss Falathiel! I was told that a woman of your description was given this room, but I didn't believe that it could be you…yet, here you are, dear girl!" the woman exclaimed. Aralyn recognized the maid, Josephine, from her last visit. The old woman's black hair had taken on a grey sheen, making her tall, trim figure seem even more regal. Any casual observer would have thought the woman to be of noble birth if not for the plain servant garb. In fact, she was of elvish heritage, though few knew it. It was partially why the ranger had such a friendship with her.

"Josephine?" the ranger disbelievingly queried. "So Denethor was kind enough to keep you around. I'm glad to see that!"

Josephine then slipped back out before popping back in, carrying some sort of clothing in her arms.

"On the unlikely possibility that you were the one here, I brought this along. It's just a little something I made myself, for the unlikely event that you ever did return."

"By the way, you can call me by my real name now," Aralyn stated as she took what appeared to be some sort of battle garb from the other woman. "I finally revealed my identity to the world." That comment caused Josephine's eyes to turn to fire with joy, though she made no response. Instead, she urged,

"Please, try it on."

A few minutes later, Aralyn was standing in front of the full-length mirror, wearing the new dress, which fit like a glove. It was made with two layers; the first was a light, chain mail type material skirt which felt lighter than looked. That particular part had multiple splits from her mid-thighs to nearly her ankles. The outer dress was black, randomly patterned with more of the silvery materiel, and with long, wide sleeves of the same fabric, with a thigh-to-mid-shin wide zigzag hem. The outfit also included a semi-low V-neck and the bright silver pattern of the Tree of Gondor over her heart. She gaped at her reflection. Never before had she thought of herself as regal, queenly, or anything close to it, until that moment.

"Josie…I…I don't know what to say," the girl whispered as the older woman stood by, trying to hold back a smile.

"Well, you could say thank you, for one thing." Aralyn shocked her with a hug.

"Oh, thank you so much!"

"I told you that you would make the perfect queen, but…who am I to go against the words of your dying father."

"You were always a tease, Josie. What is this silver…stuff?"

"That is not just 'stuff', dear girl! It's Mythril."

"How could it be? Mythril is incredibly rare."

"Not for someone with rare connections with the dwarves."

"Just for me?"

"Well…I admit that I did make a little something for myself, but, yes. Most of it went into that dress. It was the least I could do for my princess."

"I owe more than ever, now."

"You owe me nothing, dear one."

"By the way, how is my torso supposed to be protected?"

"If any orc has any wits and you are not protecting yourself properly, then your heart will probably be the target. The Tree of Gondor will take care of that problem."

"Thank you."

"Alright, enough thanking. Hurry up and get ready. I'm told that you're leaving in an hour."

--

(Aragorn)

Aragorn was standing in the stables, waiting for the rest of his men, although they were not leaving for another half an hour. Suddenly, his sister walked in. Thinking of her as family was still strange to him. Even though he had seen the similarities, he never imagined that…

"Oh, Aragorn," the woman said, slightly alarmed by his presence. He temporarily ceased stroking Brego's neck to stare. With the black and silver battle dress, plus her weapons, she looked ever more prepared for battle than he did with his armor. "I didn't expect to see you here. I'm sorry. I'll leave you be," she finished.

"No…Aralyn. It's alright…you don't have to leave."

"I just need to find a horse. I can't continue fetching rides from you."

"The stableman who just left wanted to give you a gift. It's in the back stall. You seem to have become rather popular during the past day with the common people."

Aralyn's eyebrows rose with curiosity as she walked towards the back stall.

"Oh my…" she breathed; however, she didn't finish. Aragorn finally saw what the stable boy had been so proud of when he had left. A huge stallion, about the size of Brego except that it was more muscular, emerged from the shadows. Its deep black coat and long mane and tail glimmered in the light seeping through the door. The deep brown eyes displayed more wisdom than seemed possible as its massive hooves clopped on the ground.

"He is a magnificent creature."

"I…I have to do something for the stable boy."

"I can promote him to stable master. The older one died during the battle."

"Perfect. Does he have a family?"

"They also died."

"Does he have a place to live?"

"Other than here? No, but I can give him better accommodations."

"You have my thanks, Aragorn. Now that you are about to be king, I should give you a bit of advice…Always do things like that. Always work towards bettering the lives of your people." Before the Man could respond, the girl began whispering to her new horse in elvish, though he only caught fragments. She was praising the animal for his strength and beauty, asking if he would bear her, and pointing out that he needed a name. After the little dialogue, Aralyn began saddling the horse.

"What are doing? We still have a while before we depart."

The girl smiled as if Aragorn was a naïve child while stroking her steed's muzzle.

"He has been cooped up in here since before the fighting."

Without another explanation, she walked out the back door, probably to avoid being seen by too many people. The Man shook his head in amusement for a moment until Éomer entered. The Man of Rohan had been obviously trying to win Aralyn's heart. He was utterly failing, however. As Éomer went to saddle his own horse, Aragorn chuckled, receiving a rather serious look from the new heir of Rohan.

"What is so funny?"

"You…trying to woo my sister. You may know what and who she is, but you have no idea how to handle her."

"Alright, if you know so much about her, then tell me…what did the three other men have over me?"

"Let me tell you what you did. You instantly began underestimating her. Although Aralyn is perfectly happy with being treated like a lady, she hates nothing more than when people underestimate her. Make a balance of the two, and you will have a better chance."

(Aralyn)

The black giant raced fearlessly through the day-old battlefield, its great muscles rippling underneath Aralyn. A single orc, which had somehow escaped the scouring of the Men of Rohan, stood in their path. Although Aralyn had a flash of doubt at the fact that the orc was armed, the horse plowed on. As it approached the foe, her steed slightly reared in mid-step and kicked the orc right in the middle of the head with fearful precision. It then continued running east, having barely even slowed for the roadblock. When the creature slowed to a stop about three miles from the city, Aralyn praised it in the elvish tongue. He almost seemed to understand what she was saying. She also noticed that he was not even breathing slightly heavy from exertion. Nearly an hour later, the army caught up with her. As she joined the procession behind Aragorn on the far right beside Gandalf, Aralyn noted Éomer's edgy glance in her direction.

"Some of the Men feared that you had run out on us, Aralyn," Gandalf pointed out.

"You know me better than that."

"I'm just saying…" The two friends shared a smile. Even at the threshold of battle, humor was still needed.

--

Several hours had passed since their departure as the small army finally reached the Black Gate. Aralyn felt the presence of the Eye looking at them.

"Gandalf," she whispered, "it's working."

"I know."

As they halted in plain view of the Gate, Pippin muttered,

"Where are they?"

In response, Aragorn caused his horse to run towards the Gate, closely followed by Gandalf with Pippin, Legolas with Gimli, Éomer with Merry, Aralyn, and a standard-bearer. To the girl's annoyance, she ended up beside the Man of Rohan as the little group stopped almost directly in front of the entrance.

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" Aragorn called. "Let justice be done upon him!"

Almost right after he finished, the doors opened slightly to permit one rider to emerge from inside. The Man…or thing, more like it, was taller than a normal person on a black steed, smaller than Aralyn's horse and less cared for. Most of him was covered with glossy black armor, and the only thing which showed was his pale chin and a huge mouth with bloody lips that constantly grinned, showing off massive fang-like teeth.

"My master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome," it stated with a rough voice. "Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?"

"We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed," Gandalf countered. "Tell your master this: The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

"Ah, Old Greybeard! I have a token I was bidden to show thee." At that, the creature threw a Mythril shirt at Gandalf, who caught it.

"Frodo!" Pippin cried.

"Silence!" the wizard snapped.

"No!" Merry shouted.

"Silence!"

"The halfling was dear to thee, I see," the representative stated, grinning. "Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host. Who would've thought one so small could endure so much pain? And he did, Gandalf, he did." As Aragorn and Aralyn rode nearer to him, the Mouth slightly lost his grin, addressing the Man. "And who is this? Isildur's heir? It takes more to make a king than a broken elvish blade." Then, he looked to the girl. "So the scout was telling the truth. You think that you have restored Gondor. You have only sealed its doom." With a yell, Aralyn drew her sword at chopped the Mouth's head off along with her brother.

"I guess that concludes negotiations," Gimli grumbled.

"I do not believe it. I will not," Aragorn hissed. "Pull back! Pull back!" he ordered as the Gate began opening to allow the host of orcs through. "Hold your ground!" he called to the soldiers as he began riding Brego back and forth. "Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers, I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

Hopping down from her horse, Aralyn whispered to the steed,

"Kai sai si shas shor Shadowfax, Astaldo (Go to the back with Shadowfax, Astaldo)."

"Astaldo?" Gandalf queried as their steeds trotted to the back of the army. "Elvish for valiant. I suppose I can understand why you chose it. He rivals Shadowfax even."

The choppy dialogue was cut off as Aragorn lowered his sword and walked a few steps forward while the orc host surrounded them. The woman could tell that the Eye was fixed on her brother.

"Never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an elf," Gimli muttered.

"What about side by side with a friend?" Legolas asked.

"Aye, I could do that."

"Aragorn?" Aralyn addressed the Man. He didn't respond instantly. "Aragorn!" Her brother then turned to his friends behind him.

"For Frodo."

Sword raised, the heir of Elendil raced forward, closely followed by the hobbits and his sister running beside him. In seconds, the two armies collided in a bloody, fierce battle. Aralyn didn't allow herself to think of the odds. Instead, she lashed out at her foes with all of her strength and resolve, not thinking, just fighting. A few minutes later, the Ring Wraiths came to join the fray, spreading fear, even terror, throughout the ranks of Men as they picked off two or three of their number with each turn, letting out their piercing screeches as they went. It caused the girl's leg to go numb with pain from the old wound. The screams ceased, however, as one of their number was crashed into by a giant eagle.

"The eagles! The eagles are coming!" Pippin could be heard yelling somewhere in the crowd. As most of the wraiths began flying back towards Mount Doom, Aralyn turned around to see Aragorn being knocked over and pinned down by a cave troll not ten feet away. While the Man desperately tried fighting the creature from the ground, his older sibling ran as fast as she could and collided with the troll, just throwing it off balance enough for Aragorn to get free and find his sword. Even as she rolled to safety, Aralyn noticed a familiar feeling. Just before each of the deceased men in her life had died, the woman had had the same exact sensation: imminent demise; however, this time, it was different. Still on her knees, she spun around to be met with the most horrific pain she had ever experienced. The remaining wraith was hovering above her on his winged steed, his hand poised in the air, having just thrown something. After the Nazgûl disappeared, Aralyn looked down at her torso. Seconds seemed like hours as she pulled her missing dagger from the probably mortal wound in her abdomen. Exactly like what happened during her one-on-one encounter with the wraith, the flash of memory of Boromir's death went through her mind while she continued fighting. It was the only thing keeping her from passing out and giving up, in that order. Killing eight more orcs, she paused along with everyone else when their enemies fled. Mount Doom was exploding and Mordor was collapsing, to the relief of the free people of Middle-Earth.

"Frodo! Frodo!" Merry cheered. Then, the faces of every single human, elf, dwarf, and hobbit dropped, realizing that there was a good chance that Frodo and Sam were dead. The ground underneath the orcs' feet gave way underneath them, although Aralyn's allies were left untouched. A single tear ran down the girl's cheek. She wasn't sure if it was from joy, sorrow, or pain. As her knees gave way and her eyes fluttered, Aralyn heard the voices of Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, and, most prominently, Éomer, call out to her in alarm. The last thing she saw was the concerned and stern, yet handsome face of the Man of Rohan hovering over her. The woman could almost hear her ancestors calling her home.

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