To the reviewer who asked for more Legolas/Miraleth moments: funny you mentioned that. I was thinking it was just about time for some more of those, too. Stay tuned.

A lot of this chapter is Miraleth interacting with Eowyn and observing the customs of Rohan and I wanted to apologize in advance if I've gotten any of them wrong, if anything seems a little out of place, etc. I'm pretty sure I exaggerated, if not purely invented, a couple of them (i.e. some of the details surrounding the funeral) but Eowyn is such an important example of a woman in a predominantly patriarchal society and I really wanted to explore that a little. This is a topic that will probably also come up again in the future, so. Haha. I'm excited.

Your feedback keeps me going, babes.

Théoden had quite the library, and Miraleth spent most of the next morning inside, poking through the shelves for texts she had not seen before. Her mind continued to mull over the events of the previous day, of course—if by mull over, one meant needlessly obsess over. You have Seen what lays in the depths of the Great Eye. She slammed a book back onto the shelf angrily. What did that mean? What had she Seen? Her dreams lately had been filled with landscapes, faces, unimportant events that had already happened. There had been nothing of Merry and Pippin, nothing of Frodo and Sam, and certainly nothing of Sauron or the Great Eye.

"Lady Miraleth?"

She turned her attention away from the leather-bound book she held. "Yes?" Éowyn was advancing towards her along the shelf, and Miraleth relaxed. "Ah. Mae govannen," she murmured, smiling gently at her. "Your uncle's library is very impressive."

It was Éowyn's turn to smile. "Thank you, I will tell him." She took a moment to prepare her next words, opening her mouth and then closing it, and then opening it again. "Are you…are you coming to my cousin's funeral, Lady Miraleth?" She went on hurriedly when Miraleth froze. "Gandalf will be accompanying my father, as will Aragorn and your other friends."

Legolas and Aragorn would be there, and Gimli. She found herself nodding. "I—yes, of course."

Éowyn relaxed into an easy smile, as if a weight had been taken from her shoulders. "Oh, good, I am glad." She appraised Miraleth for a moment. "Although…you will need to come with me for now. I assume you didn't bring anything black with you."

"…I'm sorry?"

Éowyn gestured for Miraleth to follow her, and she hesitated for a split second before dropping the book back onto the shelf and rushing after the girl. "If you don't dress in mourning, the women here will think you're being disrespectful," she said regretfully. Miraleth shot her a bewildered glance, wondering briefly if Legolas and Aragorn and Gimli would be forced to dress in black—she couldn't even begin to imagine Gandalf wearing anything but his white garb. Éowyn seemed to know what she was thinking. "Women are much harsher on their own kind, I'm afraid."

Éowyn ruffled through a wardrobe when they arrived to her modest chambers. "Here," she held out a flowing river of chiffon with a simple cotton underbody and gestured to a changing screen. "This is probably most like what you are used to."

Miraleth took it with a grateful smile, beginning to unclasp her riding clothes when she was behind the screen. "Any black dress would be a new experience, actually," she called. "I've never owned anything black." All her silken gowns and clothes had always been greens, whites, purples, blues, creams…some browns, in the case of the riding clothes she wore now. But never black.

"Nothing?" Miraleth could hear Éowyn pulling off her own clothes. "Why's that?"

"We don't often have funerals in Imladris. We don't often encounter death." She savored the feel of the soft cotton sliding on her skin: a welcome change from the weeks of the roughness of her riding clothes. "No reason for such dark color."

"You are lucky then," Éowyn remarked.

Miraleth paused to think on Boromir's death, and Gandalf's almost-death. She thought off standing on the shore of the Anduin, watching Frodo and Sam's retreating backs. They could be dead already, for all she knew. "You'd think so," she said. She moved out from behind the screen, fingers pulling her hair out of the braid down her back she'd had for weeks, her loose curls falling to her waist. "Are you very close with your uncle?" she asked, picking her riding clothes and boots up off the ground.

Éowyn joined her at the vanity and reached for a comb. "I used to be, before he fell under the spell. I was…" Her voice softened. "I was much closer with Théodred. And my brother, of course." Miraleth's fingers paused in her hair to look at Éowyn, whose face had crumpled. Théodred, who was dead, and Éomer, who was exiled still without any knowledge the King had awoken. Éowyn hardly had anyone in the big, lonely hall and the knowledge pulled at Miraleth's heart. Miraleth yanked the rest of her hair out of its braid, not bothering to brush it before sitting Éowyn down in front of her, her hands replacing the girl's as she finished combing out her tangles. Éowyn did not protest.

"I am so sorry," Miraleth said, surprised by the wobble in her voice.

"It's alright," Éowyn said after a shaky breath. "It is my place, to remain here." Something in her voice was bitter. Miraleth reached for the gold headband Éowyn held, slipping it onto her head and weaving her yellow locks around it.

"If it's any consolation, your brother's doing very well. He threatened to decapitate Gimli when he challenged him." Miraleth smiled when Éowyn laughed.

"Yes, that sounds like him. He is hot-headed."

Miraleth finished Éowyn's hair, tucking the last bit into the headband. "He is strong."

A bell rang across town, causing Miraleth to jump and look out the window over her shoulder. Éowyn only stood. "It's time. We should hurry, we'll be expected first."

Miraleth looked over her shoulder again towards the room she had been staying in once they were in the hallway. "I really should find Gandalf, Legolas…" she trailed off as she began to follow Éowyn, who gave her another regretful look.

"The custom here is for the women to wait at the tomb. The men will bring the body." There was that bitter tone again. Miraleth made a face, suddenly not quite sure that she liked the ways in which the women were expected to act here.

"But I am not a woman," she protested, her brow creasing even as she followed Éowyn outside. "I am an Elleth. I am a daughter of Elrond. I have been alive for nearly 15 centuries; I remember teaching the trees to speak; I could wield a blade before I could properly read; I…" She what? She was not content to stand idly by and wait for the men. She had fought in battles, had slept beside warriors, had guided her little Hobbits through the dark of Moria and trekked through Fangorn.

Éowyn shared a glance with the elleth, her blue eyes just as fierce and her lips a straight line. "I know. I know."

The burial passed quickly. Something struck Miraleth when the guards came bearing Théodred's body. His face was colorless, his skin had taken on a pale, sickly pallor in death, but it was easy to see he had been handsome once, with long hair and a strong jaw. He had been so young, though, she noticed with a pang. He had only lived for a blink of an eye. Was that what mortality was? To be alive and glorious for a split second, and then to be gone forever?

Miraleth began a silent prayer for him when they began to move the stone over his tomb. The Valar would know he had fallen in battle before his time. They would be good to him. She picked three white flowers from the grass under her feet and held them to her lips as they ghosted over the words, her fingers smoothing over the soft petals. If anything, at least he had been buried in the earth, under the grass and soil and white flowers. She could not ask for anything more, if it had been her grave.

Across from her, she noticed Legolas praying as well.

She accompanied Éowyn back inside once everyone began to disappear, holding her arm as they left Théoden to his few private moments. They returned to Éowyn's chambers quietly, their footsteps echoing on the stone walls.

"Why don't you borrow a gown for now?" Éowyn asked when Miraleth reached for her folded riding clothes. "I'll have those washed for you, I know how long you've been wearing them." Miraleth smiled in thanks as Éowyn handed her a simple cotton gown—a lovely forest green, just like she was used to.

The two women only looked up when a servant knocked on the door, bowing her head towards Éowyn. "Apologies, m'lady, but Théoden King would see you in the main hall. He said to bring the Elven lady as well." She ducked away as quickly as she'd appeared.

Miraleth's eyebrows quirked. Elven lady. She often forgot how mystified Men became by anything outside of their own race.

Éowyn sighed. "Let's go see what he wants, then." Miraleth just had time to finish the lacing on her gown and tug on her boots before she followed Éowyn out of the room and down the corridor to the fire-warmed hall where Théoden awaited. The walk was short, and once there they saw Gandalf and the rest of Miralth's party as well. His hands were on the shoulders of two young, tired children, and he was staring at Théoden, who slumped in his throne with his head in his hands.

Éowyn raced forward to take the children in her arms, ushering them to a table and sitting them down before calling a servant over and asking for two bowls of the warmest food they had.

Miraleth wandered over to where Aragorn sat with Gimli, who was devouring his own plate. Legolas stood nearby, his hands folded in front of him like they did when serious matters were being spoken of. "What's happened?" she asked.

"A village was attacked," Gandalf said from where he sat at Théoden's side.

Miraleth glanced at the two children, who were attacking the food that had been placed in front of them. The boy had a cut over his eye, and her face fell. "Orcs?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Men."

"Something must be done," Éowyn demanded, pleading. She stood when her uncle did not respond. "They had no warning. They were unarmed. Now the Wild Men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot, and tree," she added when the little girl asked for her mother. Éowyn put a blanket around her shoulders.

Gandalf looked to Théoden. "This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent, for he is driven now by fear of Sauron, if his interaction yesterday with Miraleth is any indication." Théoden removed his hand from his face, but did not look any less weary. "Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children." The King studied Gandalf's hand on the arm of his throne. "You must fight."

"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak," Aragorn said, taking his pipe form his mouth. "Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their King."

Théoden leapt from his throne to his feet, crossing the hall. "They will be three hundred leagues from here by now! Éomer cannot help us." He spun to face Gandalf. "I know what it is you want of me, but I cannot bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

There was a moment of silence. Gimli chewed a chunk of bread.

"Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not." Aragorn's face was hard.

"Open war has been upon you, my Lord," Miraleth spoke.

Théoden turned towards them slowly, indignant. "When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, nor Miraleth, was King of Rohan."

Aragorn leaned back in his seat. He was calm, but he could feel Miraleth simmering where she stood for him. Gimli watched the both of them with interest as he took a long gulp of his ale.

Gandalf's mouth was a flat line. "Then what is the King's decision?"

Théoden was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "Evacuation. We will make for the refuge of Helm's Deep. We will be safe there."

Gandalf stood. "Théoden, this is—"

"I will not negotiate, Gandalf. I have spoken on this matter. We leave at first light tomorrow."

Gandalf stormed out of the hall, his staff loud on the stone floor. Miraleth rushed to follow him, throwing a quick glance at Éowyn before she was quickly followed by Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli, who complained at having to leave good food on the table.

They burst into the sunlight. "Gandalf," Miraleth rushed to catch up to him. "Helm's Deep may be a stronghold if Théoden was facing men, but it will do nothing against Saruman's armies. He must know that."

"He is a fool," Gandalf admitted, his pace quickening.

"Helm's Deep," Gimli grumbled. "Bah! They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight! Who will defend them if not their king?"

"He is only doing what he thinks is best for his people," Aragorn defended wearily as they entered the stables. "Helm's Deep has saved them in the past."

"There is no way out of that ravine," Gandalf said heavily. "Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he's leading them to safety. What they will get is a massacre." Gandalf paused in Shadowfax's pen to regard Aragorn, his voice lowering. "Théoden has a strong will, but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan. He will need you before the end, Aragorn. The people of Rohan will need you. The defenses have to hold."

Aragorn nodded. "They will hold."

"Mithrandir." Miraleth followed him into the pen, standing on the other side of Shadowfax. "I…" she sighed, struggling to find words as Gandalf watched her. Was he going to make her say it? "I…I don't know what to do," she finally admitted with some degree of humiliation. She could feel her cheeks burning. "Saruman grows bolder every day, and now he's forged an alliance with the Men of the Mountain. What if he attacks on the road?"

Gandalf sighed. "Everyone is in danger now, regardless of any personal battles Saruman may hold with you, my dear. For now, you must keep your head down. Keep trying to learn what you can, but be cautious. We cannot afford for either Saruman or Sauron to catch you unawares again. Remember, your dreams are not so harmless as everyone else's are. Keep yourself awake if you must."

"Yes, Gandalf."

He sighed and ran a hand over Shadowfax's mane. "The Grey Pilgrim, that's what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of men I have walked this earth, and now I have no time." He mounted as Aragorn opened the pen door. "Good luck. My search will not be in vain. Look to my coming. At the first light on the fifth day, at dawn, look to the east."

Aragorn nodded. "Go."

And go he did, kicking his heels into Shadowfax's sides and riding out of the stables at a gallop. Legolas and Gimli jumped aside for him.

"Do you think he will find them?" Miraleth asked as she leaned on the wall next to Aragorn.

He nodded. "Yes. On the fifth day, he said. We must keep faith."

Walking back up to the hall, Miraleth was almost surprised at how quickly Edoras had burst into motion. When they'd first arrived, the city had been dead, stagnant, quiet, and now there wasn't a still person in sight. The auburn-haired head guard, Háma, she had learned his name was, shouted over the din ("Do not burden yourself with treasures! Take only what provisions you need!") as people gathered their things together, loading them onto carts and wheelbarrows and into heavy saddlebags. Children carried sacks of food as they ran for their parents, laughing as they chased each other, playing games even in the face of disaster. Miraleth found herself feeling jealous.

She walked back into her room and found her clothes folded on her bed. They had not been washed, as there had not been time, and one of the servants must have placed them back in here. She sighed, already feeling the constraints of the trousers and rough sleeves on her skin. She fingered the soft fabric of Éowyn's gown, absentmindedly wondering how long she could wear it before she needed to change again.

She heard familiar footsteps pad down the hallway, so light and so nearly undetectable she sighed before they even appeared in the doorway. "Legolas," she acknowledged, going to the dresser to begin packing her things away. "You know, I almost missed the feeling of a gown? I don't know how you and Aragorn wear trousers every day, it's so tiring."

She heard him laugh in the doorway. "I've never seem to had any problems with them."

"Well you wouldn't," She turned towards him, throwing her hands up. "You've never known the pleasure of a nice gown."

He leaned on the frame of the door, looking her up and down with a playful smile. "I have never seen you wear the clothing of Men before."

Miraleth looked down at Éowyn's gown. There was something so wonderfully simple about it; nothing was embroidered or detailed or embellished, it really wasn't anything more than a flowing piece of cotton with lacing up the back to keep it tight around the upper body. Nothing like anything she would have worn at home, except maybe a night shift. She swished it around her ankles. "It's growing on me quite a bit. I might have to bring one home to Arwen." She chuckled once at the image of Arwen in something so simple before turning back to the dresser and drawing the strings of her small pack shut tight. "Did you need something, Legolas?" He still leaned in the doorway as she passed, picking up her folded clothes off the bed and disappearing behind the changing screen.

"I'm going to scout tomorrow," she heard him say. "The road is dangerous, and Háma says they could use an Elf."

Miraleth frowned, peeking out from behind the screen at him as she pulled her tunic around herself. "Well, alright." She, Aragorn, and Gimli would most likely be riding somewhere in the middle of the long procession to Helm's Deep, with Éowyn and the King. "Be careful," she added. He was right about one thing: the road was dangerous. She stuck her head around the screen again. "Could I go with you?"

"No," he quickly answered. "No. You're safe riding near Théoden. Stay with Aragorn and Gimli."

"What?" Miraleth's frown deepened as she finished dressing, pulling her long hair out of the tunic and appearing from behind the screen to pull her boots back on. "Why? It's not as if any of the guards here are better fighters than I am, you know that, Legolas. If anyone's going to do a better job at protecting me than myself, it won't be them. Besides, you said they needed Elves. I see not one, but two Elves, both completely capable." She folded the green cotton gown and set it on the bed beside him before going back to the dresser to strap on the weapons she'd been going without. She'd forgotten how heavy they were, she realized as she slipped them into hiding places.

He smiled ruefully at the fact that she hadn't particularly cared about scouting ahead until he said she couldn't. "You are too stubborn, Miraleth. It's safest riding with the King."

"Well maybe I don't want to be safe, maybe I want to help."

He stood to hush her, his hands finding her tense shoulders. "Well Gandalf wants you to be safe, and he told me to keep you safe, and if you are safer riding with Théoden then Aragorn and Gimli and I will tie you to a horse, the Valar help us."

She did not protest to that, only leaned into him to rest her head on his broad chest, his hands dropping from her shoulders so he could wrap her in his arms. He rested his chin on top of her head and thought that he might like to stay like that forever, Helm's Deep and Háma be damned.

And then Gimli's gruff voice echoed in his head. "Just out of curiosity, exactly how far gone are you for the she-elf? You know, lad. Love. How in love with her are you?"

Legolas' breath caught in his throat for reasons he couldn't quite understand and he wordlessly released Miraleth, only half-aware as she moved away to strap her quiver across her back. She said something about coming to find her in the morning before he left, and he nodded, murmuring some agreement before saying something about needing to find Gimli and leaving the room, wondering exactly why he was having trouble clenching and unclenching his fists without his hands shaking.

Mae Govannen — Well met