Someone left me quite a lovely review and I felt inspired again and glad that people are still enjoying things that I write! Sorry for the long break, I got kind of busy and had some work drama and then I went to college and college is hard, who knew. On the bright side, I'm trying to start writing this again, at least while I'm still on winter break. And I am trying to gravitate towards longer chapters, so...we'll see how that goes. Wish me luck? Thanks to the people who stuck with this story, I really do appreciate you guys.

And since it has been such a long goddamn time since I've written for this, I'm realizing I've forgotten some things when it comes to characterizing? And maybe plot points I had previously written or hinted at? So if anyone seems weird and out of character, or some things don't make sense, feel free to drop me a line and let me know and I'll work on fixing it!

Miraleth groaned and fidgeted on her horse, slouching to one side, and then the other. She could practically hear her nurses scolding her for her not-so-ladylike manners ("The Lady Arwen would never!"), but all she could think about now was how much her backside was hurting.

Beside her on his own horse, Gimli breathed in deeply. "Ah, back on the road, lass. Breathe in that fresh air!"

She only groaned again, resisting the urge to kick her legs so that they would at least get some form of movement. "We had beds for two entire nights, do you realize?" Her face crumpled as she recalled the softness of a pillow under her head and a mattress under her back. "I was not appreciative enough. The Valar are punishing me." She pressed a hand to her lower back, cursing when the horse stepped on a rock.

Éowyn, who walked next to Gimli's horse, looked up at her with questioning in her eyes. "I thought the Elves were blessed with tirelessness and lasting, resistant bodies."

"Yes, so did I," Miraleth grumbled. "We have all been led astray, it seems."

"It is only two days, Miraleth," Aragorn reminded her gently, a smile in his voice. "Helm's Deep is close, and we are going very slowly."

She glared over her shoulder at him. "It is a two days I will remember for the rest of my immortal life." She turned to face the front, pouting. "If Elrohir and Elladan were here to see me complain like this about a little travel, they would never let me forget it."

"Well, look at it this way, one day has already nearly passed!" Gimli grinned from under his beard.

"Yes," Éowyn agreed with a laugh. "I think we will settle down to make camp soon, and you will have a much deserved rest, Miraleth."

"That I will," she snipped, clutching the reins in her knuckles when the horse under her went over another rock. "Gin ú-velin," she leaned forward and hissed, scowling when the horse only snorted. He knew she did not mean it.

Far ahead of them, she caught a glimpse of pale hair as the sunlight reflected off of it, and she wondered briefly how tireless Legolas was feeling.

He had gone to see her that morning before his departure, as promised, but he had been acting strangely, as if he was only half there. When she had reached out to touch his arm to see if everything was alright, he had backed away abruptly before spouting that Háma was expecting him, squeezing her clothing-clad arm once, and leaving, promising over his shoulder that he would find them all (she, Aragorn, and Gimli) once they had made camp that night. She watched him now clambering up a hill with half-suspicious, half-worried eyes, remembering the way he had shied away from her touching his bare skin. Something was bothering Legolas, and he did not want her to See what it was. This was a new development; she could not remember ever keeping anything from Legolas, or ever having Legolas keep anything from her. The only people she had ever been closer with were her brothers.

Well, he reserved the right to keep things from her if he so chose, she supposed, gathering the reins up again to keep her horse moving forward as Gimli and Éowyn struck up a conversation about the existence of Dwarf women.

When their section of the caravan-like procession did finally arrive to the already settled camp, Miraleth slowly lowered herself from her horse with a weary sigh. She needed more than a night's rest to soothe the soreness in her backside. She cast an envious glance at Gimli, who jumped down and continued on his merry way. She didn't know how her companions did this day in and day out, all their lives. She went to tie her horse to the rest at a nearby stream before heading towards Aragorn, who had settled down onto a large rock, and sitting next to him, wincing. "I've discovered a new respect for soldiers and travelers," she admitted, shifting painfully on the rock. "I realize now I have been living in the lap of luxury all my life."

Aragorn laughed around his pipe. "It takes some getting used to."

She sighed. "I'm not sure it's something I want to get used to."

It was at that moment that Éowyn arrived, watching her steps cautiously on the uneven ground, a steaming pot hanging from one hand. Miraleth unintentionally stiffened at the…aroma wafting forth from it.

"I made some stew." Éowyn smiled softly as she neared. "It isn't much, but it's hot," she assured, dipping a bowl into the pot and withdrawing it filled to the brim. "Miraleth?"

Miraleth shook her head, trying not to hold her breath. "No, thank you, I had some Lembas earlier. But," she added quickly at seeing Éowyn's face fall. "I, ah, think Aragorn here is quite hungry." She nodded earnestly, a hand falling onto his shoulder in half-apology as he turned to give her an incredulous stare.

Éowyn handed him the stew-filled bowl and a wooden ladle. "Thank you," he smiled, taking it gratefully and turning the spoon over in the bowl. Something fleshy floated to the surface. He took a bite, and froze with the spoon in his mouth, eyes floating up to Éowyn, who looked on anxiously.

Aragorn swallowed slowly, hiding a grimace. "It's good," he croaked. Miraleth watched with interest, her chin in her palm. Éowyn was very impressive to have made something worse than Aragorn's own rabbit stew.

Éowyn broke into a relieved grin, brightening. "Really?" Aragorn nodded and as she turned away, subtly moved the bowl of stew to pour it out over the grass ("Don't give it to the grass!" Miraleth hissed at him. "It will die!"), but Éowyn's voice as she turned back to face him forced him to suddenly jerk the bowl back over his lap, soaking his arms with the piping hot contents in the process. Miraleth jumped away. "My uncle told me a strange thing," Éowyn continued, missing the pained look on Aragorn's face. "He said that you rode to war with Thengal, my grandfather. But he must be mistaken."

Aragorn grimaced still. "King Théoden has a good memory. He was only a small child at the time."

Éowyn's face changed from one of merriment to one of confusion, and she crouched down to study Aragorn. "Then you must be at least sixty."

Aragorn shook his head once, looking away with something like a laugh.

"Seventy?" Her voice was amazed.

Still, he was silent.

"But you cannot be eighty!"

Aragorn regarded her for a quiet moment. "Eighty-seven," he admitted.

Éowyn stood from her crouched position, her face stony with shock. "You are one of the Dúnedain," she realized. "A descendant of Númenor, blessed with long life." Aragorn nodded, looking down. "It was said that your race had passed into legend." She was quiet. "Eighty-seven…" she repeated.

"I taught him to read," Miraleth threw in proudly, nodding.

Éowyn glanced at her and then at Aragorn for confirmation, eyes wide. Aragorn shrugged. "I told you I had been raised among Elves for a time. I may treat Miraleth as though she is younger than I, but she remembers having to hold my hand in the roads through Rivendell when I was a boy." Aragorn's cheeks reddened.

Miraleth grinned in mirth. "He was an adorable little boy," she tacked on, resisting the urge to squeeze one of his cheeks. "My brothers and I used to have to get him out of all sorts of trouble."

"But then," Éowyn's voice still held the same note of amazement. "How old are you, Miraleth? You mentioned fifteen centuries before, but that cannot…" She trailed off.

"Yes, I may have exaggerated a bit." She looked down at her hands as Éowyn relaxed. "I am a bit closer to fourteen centuries, truthfully."

"Fourteen hundred years old?" The woman standing before them had found her amazement again. "I cannot believe that you have lived for over a thousand years."

"I am very young," Miraleth chuckled at her. "Still a child among my kind. Legolas is much older than I am, and my grandmother remembers the Eldar Days."

Éowyn nodded, her breathing still coming short as if she'd been caught in a whirlwind. "Well, please, eat," she gestured breathlessly to Aragorn—he still held her bowl of good intentions. "Miraleth, are you sure you wouldn't care for some stew? Aragorn says it's very good—"

She nodded. "Yes. Ah, yes. Yes, I am sure." She stood to go find Gimli or some other safe haven. "Aragorn, I will leave you to your…delicious meal." Aragorn shot her a look, and Miraleth delightfully ignored it before she dipped her head to Éowyn and took her leave.

"Gimli," she called through the throng of people, craning her neck to search through the bodies huddled around and weaving through fires and carts. "Gimli!" She grasped the arm of an old man she passed. "Have you seen a Dwarf, sir? No?" She called again, standing on the tips of her toes before sighing harshly. "Stupid Dwarf," she muttered.

"What's that, lass?"

She spun to find the very Dwarf she was looking for, leisurely waddling towards her and closing his lips around the stem of his pipe. "Oh," She broke into a smile. "There you are. Have you seen Legolas anywhere?"

"Hm? Can't say I have." He puffed some smoke from his nostrils.

She frowned and peered over Gimli's head through the crowd, hoping to catch a shine of blond hair. "He was supposed to come find me—us. Us," she added, her tongue stiffening in her mouth and her cheeks pinkening for no apparent reason at Gimli's raised eyebrows. She instantly berated herself. "Once we made camp. He was supposed to come and find us."

"Strange," Gimli commented suspiciously, still eyeing her. "Not like the Elf to say something like that and not do it."

"No, it's not like him at all. Do you think he might be at the front with Háma and the other guards still?"

"I think I saw Háma pass by alone not too long ago."

"Oh." She deflated.

Gimli worked around to her front and stared up at her, squinting in the fading sun. "Is everything alright?"

She paused to consider. Was everything alright? Was everything alright with her? She was awfully upset about what might have been only one small miscommunication with Legolas. She had gone spaces of a hundred years or more without seeing him; what did one day suddenly matter?

But then, she remembered, he had been acting so strange that morning. He'd rushed away with a murmured excuse and hadn't wanted her to know why—hiding something from her! As if anyone could hide anything from her, the Valar know her father and brothers had been trying for well over a thousand years. "I think Legolas is avoiding me," she said quietly to Gimli, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Well, what have you done now—?"

She crossed her arms. "Nothing!" She began to stalk off; Gimli followed as she wove through women and children around small fires. "Nothing that I know of, at least. Has he said anything to you? Anything at all?"

Gimli scoffed, Miraleth rolled her eyes. She should have known better than to ask.

The two of them reached the small formation of rocks where Miraleth had left Aragorn. He was nowhere to be seen now, but she spied his sword propped up against the edge of a stone, and she plopped onto the ground nearby, figuring he would be back soon. She glanced at Gimli, who chose to lean against the rocks instead. "He is hiding something from me."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true. All you've got to do is bat your eyelashes at the Elf and he'd be on his knees in a second telling you all you could ever want to know."

"What?"

"Nothing," he waved her off. "What makes you say he's hiding anything at all?"

Miraleth tucked her legs under her and twined her fingers together. "He would not let me touch him."

Now it was Gimli's turn to be mystified. "What?"

Miraleth reached out. "Give me your hand," she said softly.

He stared at her, all surprise written out on his face. "No! What are you going to do to me?"

"Do not be so hasty to make judgments, Dwarf," she snapped. "Give me your hand."

After a brief look around and a gruff Dwarvish curse under his breath, he did. Miraleth pressed her palm against his, the tips of her fingers meeting only air. "Gimli, son of Glóin," she murmured, her eyes clouding into just a shade lighter as she watched him and memories that were not hers washed over her. There was a certain comfort in this. "Cousin of Balin, Lord of Moria, and his brother Dwalin. You played in the halls there when you were a child. You thought you would marry Naín, daughter of Farlin. You used to chase her around the fires she kept with her mother." She smiled faintly. "You were…you were very happy."

Gimli had gone quiet, his rigid jaw slackening as he stared at Miraleth. "How did you know about Naín?"

She dropped her hand, the endings of her nerves buzzing. She could hear the grass laughing in the breeze underneath her legs. She blinked to bring herself back down. "It is the Sight. It is what my House is gifted with." Her lips flattened. "It is why Legolas would not let me touch him."

"And I can see why," Gimli grumbled, self-consciously rubbing his hands together. "You're lucky you didn't stumble any farther than Naín. You could wander into some dangerous things that way, you know."

"Legolas has never had anything to hide before."

Gimli studied her. "Everyone's got something to hide, lass."

She was quiet for a moment as she picked at a broken fingernail. "In any case, I have always tried very hard not to See into his heart."

Before Miraleth could say anything else, Aragorn appeared in her line of vision, settling himself down on the rock he had propped his sword up against. "Where did you run off to?" she asked.

"Here and there," Aragorn answered vaguely. "I had gone to see if King Théoden would see any reason, but his mind is set on Helm's Deep."

"I'd say it's a little late to turn back, Aragorn," Gimli said with a harsh sigh. "You didn't happen to see the other Elf there, did you?"

Aragorn frowned. "Legolas? No, why?"

Gimli shrugged. "Apparently he's nowhere to be found."

"He's probably scouting further ahead," Aragorn said, harnessing his sword back to his hip again. "I wouldn't be worried. What I would be worried about," he continued. "Is you, Miraleth."

She started. "I'm sorry?"

Aragorn regarded her with concern. "Have you Seen anything else? Any news?"

She could feel a sigh bubbling up inside her chest. "No, Aragorn." And she was glad for it, too. She did not think she could handle the weight of Legolas' confusing behavior and Saruman together. One at a time was difficult enough. "Although," she added casually, frowning. Aragorn's eyes darted up to her face. "There has been something on the wind, today."

Gimli cast a confused look at the air around him. "What are you babbling on about now? Wind?"

It had been on the wind since the early dawn and she felt it in her bones almost as if there had been an image in her mind's eye to go alongside the cold feeling. It was almost as if all the plains of Rohan were waiting with bated breath for a weight to fall and break the silence. There was a certain apprehension in the trees they passed. They wanted to curl their roots closer to their trunks.

"What is it, Miraleth?" Aragorn's voice was ever patient.

She squinted at the setting sun. "I am not sure. But something is going to happen soon."

"Well, that's not very helpful!" Gimli complained. "What's going to happen? Is it good, or bad? Come on, you can tell us a couple details!"

She shifted in discomfort. "I don't know. I can't tell." And she knew better than to try and See now, especially with Saruman and his master waiting for her to lower her guard. "But everything on the plains is waiting for it."

Gin ú-velin—I don't like you