Reminder:: Even though I've been absent for awhile, I have not acquired any new copyrights. Not mine.

So I've been gone a couple months. I wrote a complete story in that time and I think I've grown quite a bit in my writing. We'll find out now, I suppose… xD

Note: I wanted to use the palantir, but Tolkien said that Denethor died with it and those who looked into it afterwards only saw his shriveled hands. So… I did this instead. Sorry for the cop out, but I don't want to change something that's canon – even if it is rather minor. n_n'

Just as a refresher, there are forty-nine chapters total. That means ten more to go until it's over – whoa! =O Thanks for sticking around – here's the next chapter!

Chapter Thirty-Nine :: Decoy

I came to myself with a young Hobbit before me. My eyes focused, my head reeling. My lungs caught – only now did I realize I was sobbing. Peregrin stroked my hand comfortingly, sitting across from me in my small bedroom.

"Lady Finwen?" He seemed to realize I had come back. But where had I gone?

I hid my face in my hands, pulling away from him. "I'm alright." I lied. He called me Finwen. Denethor called me Finwen. Everyone called me Finwen. I was not Finwen. My name was Sarah. He said it. It was true. He knew. I wanted to scream it now, tell everyone they were wrong – stopitstopistopstopstop. But I bottled it up and forgot about it and the trouble it would cause.

Pippin didn't know what to say. He stared at the curled hair on his bare feet as he clicked his heels together underneath his chair. I sat back in my bed, reveling in the darkness my hands buried me in and hoped it would devour me.

"They're all dead, Pippin." I finally said, barely in a whisper. The chair creaked as he leaned forward, straining to hear me. "Everyone. Everyone I've ever known."

"Not everyone, Lady!" He corrected jovially. His roused spirits put a buzzing in my head that made me regret speaking to him. I was having a dark moment and he intruded with his sunshine. "Captain Faramir's alive – and doing much better now that the King paid a visit."

I sat up straighter. My loyalty to Denethor had me bristled – I was determined to carry on his wishes and I was now skeptical of this 'King' that the people of Minas Tirith longed for. Denethor didn't trust him? Why should I?

"Where is he? This 'King?'"

Peregrin sat back, surprised at my attitude. "Out in the camps – he doesn't want to come to the City. He thinks it wouldn't be best."

He's wise then. I certainly wouldn't be handing him a welcome wagon – but then again, I wasn't in any leadership position to do so. I was just an angst-y girl who was sick of death.

I pulled my legs closer to me, folding in on myself. Silence loomed around us, but I felt the young hobbit was anxious. I turned to him. "Peregrin, is something the matter?"

He blushed, embarrassed he was caught fussing. "Oi, nothing, Lady. I just… my good friend Merry turned up. I was watching him in the Houses, but I wanted to make sure you were doing alright…"

"By all means – go!" I shook my head. "Tend to the wounded. I should join you shortly, anyways. Peregrin, fear not for me. Be gone now – quick!"

He bowed and tried his best to be professional about it, but he hastened out of my sight quick as an arrow. I laughed to myself as the door swung shut behind him. Pippin was so kind – a little clumsy – but true. I admired the little fellow and held a respect for his people through knowing him. I would often wonder about the Halflings – the strange hobbit folk – years from now. For I would never see his lands.

I lay my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. They were swollen and dried after the hours I had spent crying myself numb. I was so tired…

The winds were cold and the mountains tall and capped with ice. It was still winter here.

Chilled rock scraped underneath my hands and I realized I was on my knees, looking upwards at a star blanketed sky swirling with the navy that would bring the rising sun. Though my robes were lovely, they were made for harsh winter weather – thick and coated in wools and scratchy linens.

Then I heard the cry. It was more of a call, echoing throughout the crevices and canyons, singing a shrill message in the icy wind. Or a warning. It was an eagle's voice, strong and pure. The song filled my ears and mind and heart, dwelling somewhere in the back of my mind. I would remember this. This was important.

My body felt detached and the stars changed overhead like a kaleidoscope. A woman, skirts twirling about her, danced in the sky, leading me. Her raven hair glistened in unfathomably large tresses, her eyes the color of night. She was a woman of the stars, of the blank expanse of sky, and she was more beautiful than any word could describe.

I followed her as she wound her way above me, impossibly fluid and pure. I ran up tight mountain passes and through thick chunks of rock to have my feet touch something softer. Moss. Lichens. My eyes absorbed the darkness and I saw the eyrie she wanted me to see.

Before my feet reached the large branches and trunks of full trees of an enormous nesting site, my vision flickered before a star and I saw a large black gate carved into dark, jagged mountains. An army fought at its feet, hopelessly losing their battle. A mountain of fire erupted, the Earth cracked, and all was lost – but for the eagles' distant call.

She had no voice, but somehow I knew. This woman was a messenger of a God – a God I knew with perhaps a different name. The woman stopped in the sky over the nest and as I climbed out to meet her, she nodded once to me and disappeared into the cosmos.

I awoke. The room was dark, a single candle burning by my bedside. Someone had lit the wick when I was asleep – it must've been hours ago. The wax had drained and formed a puddle in the basin, overflowing and drying on the table underneath. The room was light when I shut my eyes – a surprise in and of itself. The dark clouds that had been coughed from the East had lessened and a blanket of stars reminiscent of my dreams began to emerge on the horizon opposite the setting sun.

I kicked the blankets from me and leapt up from bed.

I had lost it all. There was nothing left. I was nothing. But this – this was it. What I had been looking for. This was Finwen's purpose. And I, as Sarah, would serve it well.