Note: So sorry for the few and far between chapters! I'm preparing for classes to start up again, but I'll do my best to upload as frequently as possible. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and followed, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

"A great host, you say?"

Aragorn stepped forward even as Théoden turned away. "All of Isengard is emptied."

"How many?" the king asked, seeming to brace himself.

"Ten thousand strong, at least."

"Ten thousand?" Théoden looked round, the grave expression on his face changing to disbelief. He had clearly been expecting a large number, but not this large.

"It is an army bred for a single purpose," Aragorn said, and for a moment there was silence as they stared into each other's eyes, the king beginning to understand. "To destroy the world of men. They will be here by nightfall."

Théoden's eyes darted from side to side as he thought furiously, and even as he opened his mouth, face set, Aragorn knew his decision- they would fight.

"Let them come."

Ever since they had ushered the women and children into the caves, Marian stood staring into the crowd, twisting her fingers together.

It cannot be. Such relationships are doomed to fail.

Legolas' words rang in her ears, with that strangely bitter tone.

She didn't even know why it bothered her. It wasn't as if- as if…

Shaking her head, Marian sat down on the cold, rock floor. It wasn't as if anything. There was no reason she should be upset, and no reason why those words coming from him should hurt. He was right. She was a woman, and he was an elf, for goodness sakes- but what did that even mean, really?

Once again, Marian was struck with the feeling of being completely out of place. Elves, dwarves, orcs- a war. A war! She had never been even remotely near a war. And now the very thing was about to take place right above their heads.

And, Marian thought, looking around at the families surrounding her, she was alone. It was easy to ignore at first, when she still thought the whole ordeal was a dream. And then, with all these events happening one after another- she had barely thought of home. Was anyone wondering where she was?

Her thoughts were interrupted as a shadow fell over her, obscuring the torchlight. Marian looked up, expecting Éowyn, and instead found a different blonde looking down at her.

"Mari," Legolas said as she jumped to her feet.

"You!" Marian replied, flustered. The elf regarded her carefully, and then held something out.

She saw that it was one of the daggers he wore on his back, and shook her head before he had the chance to speak.

"Marian-"

"I can't," she cut in. "You need it more than I do, and I don't even know how to use it."

His hand did not waver, still outstretched. "I will teach you someday. But for now, it will ease my mind to know that you have it, even if you do not know how to wield it."

"I-" Marian looked down at herself, at her bag full of borrowed goods. "I wish I had something to give to you in return."

Reaching out, he took her hand and pressed the dagger into it. "You owe me nothing. I desire only your safety."

Marian accepted his gift, a little openmouthed at the intensity of his gaze. Her fingers curled around the scabbard.

"And," he added, shuffling his feet slightly, "I desire that we part as friends. I fear I was rather… callous, when we last spoke."

Her face felt hot. "No," she said, and he dropped his eyes. "No! I mean- no, don't apologize. It's unfair for me to be upset about… how you feel."

"How I feel," Legolas said, studying her, if possible, even more intently. He took a step closer, and Marian found herself gaping again. "Whatever I said- whatever you think that I meant- that is not how I feel."

There was a beat as they looked at each other. Marian felt she ought to say something, but between her reeling mind and dry throat, she managed only a single croak.

"Eh?"

The corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly, and he took her free hand in his. "Stay close to Lady Éowyn."

Marian watched him leave, the dagger clutched loosely in her grasp.

Legolas emerged from the caves, greeted by the sight of weapons being passed out to all the able-bodied men.

Or perhaps not so able-bodied, he thought, watching a white-haired man accept a helmet and shield.

At the sight of Aragorn, who was studying a well-worn sword, Legolas made his way forward.

"Farmers, farriers, stable boys… these are no soldiers," Aragorn said when Legolas reached his side, tossing the sword down.

Gimli approached, helmet on his head once more. "Most have seen too many winters."

"Or too few," Legolas said as he watched a boy take up a sword with unfamiliar hands, gazing at it with wonder- and suddenly Mari's face was in his mind, wide-eyed, as she carefully accepted his dagger.

Anger, stemming from sheer desperation, rose up in his chest. There were not enough true fighters to save the rest. The battle was already lost for them, and it hadn't even begun.

"Look at them," he said, staring around. "They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes."

The buzz of activity fell away at his words, but Legolas didn't care. It was the truth, wasn't it? But even so, he switched to Elvish as he looked at Aragorn.

"And they should be. Three hundred- against ten thousand!"

Aragorn seemed to cast around for a response. "They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras."

Legolas furrowed his eyebrows. "Aragorn, we are warriors. They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!"

"Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn burst out in Westron, stepping forward.

For a moment, no one spoke. Legolas started after Aragorn as he turned away, edging through the crowd, but Gimli held him back.

"Let him go, lad. Let him be."

Aragorn methodically, almost absentmindedly, pulled on his mail and vest.

Legolas' words may have been true, but that didn't sit well with his fighting spirit. Hope, he thought, may be the only difference between a win or a loss. And they could not afford a loss.

As he reached for his sword, he found it missing- but then, a hand appeared at the edge of his vision.

Legolas stood, holding Aragorn's sword out in front of him. "We have trusted you this far, and you have not led us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

Aragorn took the sword and clasped his companion's shoulder. "There is nothing to forgive."

Legolas' serious look dissolved into a smile, and he mirrored Aragorn's motion.

"You are missing a dagger, my friend," Aragorn said, noticing one less hilt peeking over the elf's shoulder.

"Not missing," Legolas replied, and from the way he carefully avoided Aragorn's gaze, it became apparent who had the blade.

"Ah," Aragorn said, smiling. "And what did the Lady Marian have to say to you, on the eve of battle?"

Legolas thought back to her dumbstruck face and hoarse, one-syllable reply. He laughed aloud.

"I would tell you, but I fear those words were meant for me alone."

Aragorn shoved him, grinning, as Gimli entered. The dwarf was wrestling with an impressive length of chain mail, the end of which fell to the floor in a heap.

"If we had more time, I'd get this adjusted," he said, disgruntled, and Aragorn bit back a laugh.

At that moment, a horn sounded outside. Legolas' head snapped toward the stairs, listening intently.

"That is no orc horn," he said, running up the steps.

Aragorn quickly sheathed his sword, following the elf's path.