I re-wrote this chapter because the last version sounded too forced. And it was too long. Long really isn't me. This one just came out, and it's much better, I think, even if it's less detailed. So. On with it. I dunno when the next one'll be up.

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One week later:

Hand-in-hand with Merry, she watched, breathless, as the shadow loomed suddenly huge and malevolent above the dark mountains of Mordor, grasping hungrily at the wheeling sky and reaching its arms out towards their tiny frozen bodies in the gardens of Minas Tirith...

And then, it was gone. Vanished. Blown to just a memory with a breath of wind, and the sun burned very brightly in the sky, as if in triumph.

Hathel let out a breath she had not realized she held. Dimly beside her she heard Merry shouting and laughing and dancing about. But the world seemed far away, and for the moment she was alone in her head, dazed with wild joy. She couldn't laugh. She did not have the breath. She smiled until her cheeks were sore.

Frodo! Merry was crying. Frodo!

"Frodo," whispered Hathas. "Thank you."

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The days passed like a dream: hazy, unreal, golden. Hathel was happy, lighter than she had been in what felt like ages, and yet not so. For Merry had been summoned away to Osgiliath to meet the victorious army on their return to the City, but no summons had come for Hathel, and she realized with growing dread that none ever would. For what would happen to her now was not the concern of the great lords, not even the Elf who so many times showed her care and kindness – she was alone again, though she had not realized it until now. What would become of her?

She did not wish to return to Rohan. She thought she might stay in Minas Tirith, her place of rebirth, and perhaps try to carve a life from its walls of white stone. Yet her heart grew slow and heavy, for her true desire was to remain with Legolas, even if at a distance.

He will go home, she told herself. And that is where he belongs. You must stay here. You are a human girl. You do not belong in the realms of the Firstborn.

But it made her sad, and she grew more and more melancholy until the day Merry's summons came, demanding that his friend be released from the Houses of Healing for a day to see his return and the crowning of the King. The Warden relented, and Hathel's hope was rekindled. A last time then, she would look upon that perfect, angular Elven face. She would say thank you for everything, and kiss his hand.

Then... how did they say it? Namaarie. She would say goodbye.

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Two young healers scrubbed her clean in a porcelain basin, until her skin grew soft and her hair smelled not of sweat but of lavender. Then they helped her into a soft white dress and laced her in so that she felt for the first time that she was truly shedding the guise of a boy. And when her face fell at the sight of her gaunt and pinched reflection in the mirror, they wove a glossy green ribbon into her coppery curls, and gave her a bouquet of flowers to throw to the soldiers if she wished. She reserved it in her thoughts for Merry, wisest and dearest of friends.

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"Merry," said Hathel, and smiled though the expression lacked warmth and her voice was dull. She handed him the flowers. He took them without a thank you, his face concerned.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

Nothing. She would move on. "I do not know what will become of me now, or if I will see you again, or anyone else." The words were out before she could think. She clamped her lips shut and wished she could take them back, swallow them whole back into her secret thoughts. She could not burden Merry, who had already done so much.

But he was smiling, in his inexplicable hobbit way. "Never see us again!" And he laughed, as if it were ridiculous. Hathel dared to hope.

"Don't be silly, of course I'll see you, for my part, you're my friend! I don't know how you were raised, but in the Shire it's considered terrible manners not to keep in contact. I expect you'll be seeing quite a lot of me, actually. Special friend of the king and all. But really. Come along now, you'll want to meet Pippin and Frodo and Sam, and see Legolas, and show Aragorn how well you've healed... and I don't suppose you know Gimli? You must. Come say hello to him as well, then. You're here by my special invitation, don't think I spent all last week telling you about my friends just to have you run off without meeting any of them."

Hathel's cheeks flamed. She stuttered her gratitude, tried to tell Merry in clumsy ham-handed words how thankful she was for his kindness. He waved her off.

And in her head, Hathel revised her plan for the future. If possible she would join the King's household, perhaps even as a maid, so as to be within reach when Merry and the others visited.

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Hathel was stricken speechless. Legolas's fingers were light on her hair, and his voice spoke the words above her head, yet she could not believe it was true. Her heart paused in its beating to listen, her breath stopped passing from her lungs. Her veins buzzed with wild, fierce joy. But it could not be true.

"Are you certain of this, Legolas?" Aragorn was asking. In her head, Hathel seconded his question fearfully. "It is... quite an expense, you realize. Humans live differently than Elves, with more needs, and as she grows you must consider providing a dowry, which could be considerable, I don't know..."

"Money is not an issue." His Elven laughter rained down upon her head. "Have you seen my father's treasury? And part of it is my due, though I know I will never spend it. I have never used any of it, in all my years. Why not bestow it upon one who needs it? Look at her – look at her face, Aragorn. No child should look so worn. What will she do now but struggle more? She deserves an easy life, after this war."

Her eyes were hot. She realized she was crying, though with joy or hope or fear that it was all a dream she could not tell.

"She is very young, Legolas," Aragorn said skeptically. "You mean to provide for an entire lifetime of costs, and if you mean to give her an "easy" life, the expenses will only increase."

More laughter. "A lifetime? I can afford to pay for a lifetime, as short as your human lives are. I understand your concerns, my friend, but I do not share them. Money aside, it is a kindness I wish to bestow upon one of whom I have grown fond, and who needs it. If you must have a concrete reason, say I am paying her back for her short service as my squire, say she did an excellent job grooming my horse those few times."

Aragorn's face was unconvinced. Hathel's heart resumed beating at an accelerated pace. Legolas knelt beside her chair so that his face was level with hers, and he smiled.

"Well, my squire, dry those tears, you have no need for them now. I take you gladly into my care."

"Your care?" asked Hathel breathlessly.

"Yes," he said. "I cannot take you with me, child. Understand, I cannot. But you may live here if you wish, or in your home country, and you will have everything you desire."

Everything she desired. She wiped at her wet face, shaking her head despite her joy, but he only laughed. Everything she desired. She seized his hand and kissed it, sobs shaking her shoulders.