A/N Thank you everyone who has read and enjoyed the story so far! If any of ya'll have suggestions I would love to hear it, it's been so much fun to write and rewrite history.

I didn't wander into a portal that much I'm sure, so how did I get back? And why isn't Dargan with me?

"Excuse me, what is the date?" I asked in a panicked voice running into the gas station that wasn't far from the street I almost got run over in.

The fluorescent lights above buzzed lazily, casting a sterile glow across the small, cluttered space. To my right, an old, creaky cooler case hummed with a collection of chilled drinks, their labels glistening with condensation. The selection ranged from neon-colored energy drinks to soda cans adorned with vintage logos.

The cashier, a fat man, lazily looked up and laughed, "I am not that high." He shook his head.

My eyes fell on a stack of newspapers neatly arranged next to the cash register. Their bold headlines and colorful photographs promised a glimpse into the outside world, a world I had momentarily left behind. I didn't so much ask for approval as I swiped one and began scanning the page.

It was 1997, the year was 1997. The headline blared in bold font, 'BREAKING: Political Summit Ends in Historic Agreement.'

"Where are we?" I asked not looking up, my voice taking on a shrill note in my panic.

The man laughed and ran a hand through his hair, "OK I'll play along, we are at the Fred Meyer Fuel Center on North Plum." He added emphasis to each syllable.

"Where?"

The article revealed that leaders from rival nations, long entangled in a bitter conflict, had come together for a series of secret negotiations. The summit, held behind closed doors, was shrouded in secrecy until its successful conclusion.

Intriguingly, the summit had resulted in a groundbreaking agreement, one that promised to reshape the geopolitical landscape. The nations had committed to a ceasefire, marking the first step toward peace after years of bloodshed and animosity.

Photographs captured the surreal image of these leaders, once adversaries, now sitting side by side, sharing tentative smiles and firm handshakes. It was an image that spoke of hope, a testament to the possibility of reconciliation even in the darkest of times.

The United States President was seen shaking hands, the president was not who should have been president. Bob Dole, I know absolutely nothing of the 90s but Clinton was supposed to be president.

It was a local newspaper, holding the city and state in the right-hand corner. Hutchinson Kansas. I was far from home.

"If you're gonna keep flippin through you'll have to buy it," the man said.

"It's in the middle of the night; these will be thrown out in just a few hours and replaced." I countered not looking up as I flipped through the pages. There were bits of local news, little league champions, obituaries, help-wanted, it was all the same. It was all the same but different.

A Mandela effect, a false memory, a world that doesn't exist, that's what home was for me now. The snacks and treats on the shelves, though mostly recognizable, carried slight differences in logos and packaging. It was as if they had evolved in subtle ways to stay current with the times. The chips seemed to have bolder flavors and snazzier branding, while the candy wrappers sported new colors and fonts. The panic turned into curiosity as I set the unfolded newspaper back into its pile messily and began wandering the aisles. The soda aisle held a stock of Pepsi products, but the familiar blue cans had been replaced with a deep, regal shade of purple. Pepsi, in its royal purple attire, looked like it belonged to a different era, a playful twist on the classic design.

Coca-Cola, the timeless rival, had also transformed. The cursive font, which had been its trademark for as long as I could remember, was nowhere to be found. In its place, the soda bottles and cans bore an "Impact Style" font. It was a bold, modern choice that gave the beverages a different, edgier feel.

"It's buy one get one for the cans of cock," the man said with a wave.

"Excuse me?" I flushed at his vulgarity.

"The cock, right there." He pointed over the counter toward the coke.

"Coke?" I squeaked.

"All cock products are buy one get one." He answered to my mortification.

"Ok, goodbye." I did the only logical thing I could think of. I left, and I prayed to the Valar to send me back. Was it my attitude? Did they decide to return me because of it?

Where was Dargan? Did he live out his life in Middle-Earth or did he return as well? I was only a few blocks from the gas station and returned again; thankfully the man was used to dealing with crackheads and did not call the police for my loitering.

"Where's the library?" I asked poking my head in through the glass door.

"It doesn't open until 9 a.m.," he answered.

"Where is it?"

"So if you're going down grand coming from the Lowes you'll turn off onto independence, then take a left-" He was pointing in different directions and I politely nodded during his entire tangent.

"Thanks, goodbye." That man did not help at all.

oOo

There are many failures among the race of men. Walt Disney for example, was fired for a lack of imagination. You know, the Walt Disney. Walt worked as a cartoonist at a newspaper, the Kansas City Star. I think he was 18 or perhaps a bit older when he was fired, anyway, Walt, a red-blooded American, decided that he wanted to go fight in World War I and fight for freedom. The year was 1918, and the war had been going on for a few years. Walt was only 16, so they turned him away, obviously. Walt changed the date on his birth certificate to a year earlier to make it seem like he was older than he was and joined the Red Cross as an ambulance driver. I'm not sure how long he did that, but when he finally returned and went back to his beloved job as a changed man of war, his editor wasn't impressed with him at all. 'Walt Disney lacks imagination and has no good ideas,'

No one remembers his failure, will they remember mine? Will they remember me as the girl who was stumbling through time and could only make a mess of things?

Walt could have given up, but instead, he won 22 Academy Awards and was nominated 59 times, and has a name bigger than that of government officials. The Walt Disney Company now makes nearly 90 billion each and every year. Or at least that's how it was in my time. Perhaps in this time Walt too fell through time and his success went with him.

The library was hard to find, not only was nobody helpful, I had no sense of direction.

"Oh, the library? Yeah just keep heading south." One woman had said as she jogged passed me, the cord of her headphones slapping against her jacket.

"-The library oh- well, if you take main it's faster." Another early morning jogger had offered.

By the time I found the public library it was well past lunchtime and my mood was abhorrent. How long had it been since I slept? As I pushed open the heavy wooden doors, I was greeted by the comforting scent of old books and the hushed atmosphere that only a library can provide.

I wasn't much of a reader before, that was all Dargan. It wasn't that I didn't like reading; it was that anything I tried to read he had already read.

"Oh, that's a good one." He said excitedly one time.

"Don't," I pleaded.

"He dies in the end, and it isn't at all historically accurate-" He ruined all books with his rants. By the time he would be finished, I would know every single fault and typo within the book and the universe the author created. So I wasn't much of a reader.

The library was a vast, quiet sanctuary of knowledge. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with an array of volumes that seemed to stretch to the heavens. The librarians paid me no mind as I made my way to the fiction section.

People, each immersed in their own world of words, sat at long, wooden tables, or nestled into plush armchairs with books open before them. I scanned the shelf panic once again rising until I found the book I was looking for, The Return of the King. I opened it,

Part III The Return of the King, the third part of The Lord of the Rings, by J. R. R. Tolkien, revised by Dargan Bates and J. R. R. Tolkien, second edition, 1970. This book is copyrighted under the Berne Convention. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism, or review as permitted under the Copyright Act 1956, no portion may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

What.

I scanned the rest of the shelf, opening every other Tolkien book and reading the same copyright. Revised by Dargan Bates. Dargan traveled back, Dargan was in each of these stories, was he here? Was he here in the 90s?

I sat on the ground and began reading, I started with the fellowship. As I read, I could almost hear the voices of the characters, the rustle of leaves, and the distant echoes of their adventures. I reached the mines of Moria when the library announced it would be closing for the day. So I did the only logical thing, I hid. The soft hum of conversation and the rustling of pages gradually gave way to a chorus of shuffling feet, as patrons reluctantly packed their belongings and made their way to the exit. In the corner of the dimly lit reading room, a large wooden bookshelf offered the perfect cover. Quietly, I slipped behind it. Then when the security system was armed and I was alone once again, I cried myself to sleep.

Walt Disney once said, 'All dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.'

oOo

I found a vending machine on the second floor that spits out granola bars if you kick it hard enough. The third morning in the library one of the librarians found me. I was terrified. They took me to a private room and set me in a chair placing a stack of papers in front of me. I knew it was a matter of time; I didn't exactly blend in in my golden glittering dress.

"I've noticed you in here the last couple of days," the librarian stated pushing the stack toward me with a warm smile. I looked down once then twice as a scared mouse, afraid to look away from her face. It was government assistance, a sign-up sheet for SNAP, low-income housing and even insurance.

"I can help you fill it out if you have trouble writing," she went on.

I furrowed my brows, "You think I need government assistance?"

"I know it's hard asking for help, times are tough I understand." She pulled out a pen and clicked it.

"I'm just here to read," I answered.

"The door behind the front desk leads to our break room, third cabinet from the right." She stood to her feet, "in case you need more than reading material."

oOo

'He saw no colour but those he knew, gold and white and blue and green, but they were fresh and poignant, as if he had at that moment first perceived them and made for them names new and wonderful. In winter here no heart could mourn for summer or for spring. No blemish or sickness or deformity could be seen in anything that grew upon the earth. On the land of Lórien, there was no stain.'

I smiled at the book as I continued reading; the fellowship had just reached the Golden Wood.

'There she stood; she was beautiful not as one would find velvet in its dark uniformity. She was beautiful like the speckles within the petals of an orchid,'

The fellowship had arrived within the city now and were all wearily eating within the dining hall.

'Legolas, he was tall as a young tree, lithe, immensely strong, the least tired of the fellowship from their journey. There within Elvendom he beheld her.'

I sneered at the page, great, Legolas has an affinity for someone and I'm forced to read about it. Dargan had a very different writing style than Tolkien, it was obvious the parts that were changed because Dargan didn't bother stating who he was talking about, always assuming the reader already knew the information he knew. So this mysterious woman, was unnamed, the writer however thought highly of her so my only guess is Mabeth.

'His thoughts were consumed by her; whether in his wake or in his sleep it was clear to the fellowship he had left his heart within the Golden Wood.'

I frowned shutting the book, I should have had it finished by now but I needed to stop frequently, I needed to pace myself once they got to the Golden Wood, it was like reading an obituary. You know going into it what will come, yet even still after reading about their life; their death still comes as a surprise.

I didn't want them to die; I didn't want to relive these memories with them from Dargan's eyes. So I read other books, history books mostly. At night I would search the break room for what the sweet librarian had left for me, often it was leftovers in the fridge, a note in the cabinet with blankets, and a change of clothes she thought would fit me.

As the days passed she began leaving more, a hairbrush, toiletries, until that little cabinet became almost a small wardrobe of personal belongings.

The history books I read were jumbled; I couldn't quite tell what was changed, it felt familiar but off. Certain things were glaring; the United States flag for example, that I know held 50 stars for the 50 states. However, now there were a mere 49, it looked off even if it was how I had always known it, it looked off, it should be an even number.

Texas had only been a member of the United States for 15 years when secessionists prevailed in statewide elections. Texas formally seceded on March 2, 1861, to become the seventh state in the new Confederacy. Tensions were high when the Civil War began, and Texans responded in impressive numbers. By the end of 1861, more than 25,000 had joined the Confederate army. During the course of the war, nearly 90,000 Texans served in the military.

What was supposed to happen was on June 2, 1865, Robert E. Lee surrendered to Gen. Ulysses S. Grant. On June 19th Gen. Gordon Granger, ended slavery in Texas by issuing an order that the Emancipation Proclamation was in effect. That day was a Holiday, Juneteenth, banks would close, you'd get vacation pay at your day job if you had one.

But, this didn't happen. Lee didn't surrender, and when the bodies began to pile up both sides grew tired, and in 1871 the war ended. Not with Texas rejoining the union with the others. The war would have continued, had there been more public support.

What did I do that caused that to happen?

Texas was independent; one needed a passport to travel there. They fought alongside the United States in the First and Second World War. But there was no Texas as I knew it. Texas still existed, the United States was still here, but it was different, everything was different. They were our neighbor, like Canada.

Slavery was never abolished in Texas, yet now in modern times, it's looked at differently. Texas does so much for our economy; they supply us with all of our agricultural needs. Oil, natural gas, fuel processing, manufacturing, it seems Texas needs none of that from us, yet we need it from them. And as Americans, we turn a blind eye to the pain of others if we benefit from it. Their slaves are different now, prisoners, war criminals, never just someone born into it like before. They capitalized on criminals, using them for profit. Mexico even had several trade deals with Texas, bussing over many of their own criminals over the border to become free labor and boost the economy.

I sighed rubbing my eyes closing the book and picking up the Two Towers.

'Riders!' cried Aragorn, springing to his feet. 'Many riders on swift steeds are coming towards us!'

'Yes,' said Legolas, 'there are one hundred and five. Yellow is their hair, and bright are their spears. Their leader is very tall.'

Aragorn smiled. 'Keen are the eyes of the Elves,' he said.

'Nay! The riders are little more than five leagues distant,' said Legolas. His eyes weren't focused on that of the approaching cavalry, however; for Legolas only saw the image of his love he had left behind.'

I wanted to roll my eyes; every mention of Legolas now had an addition to his feelings. He didn't appear as an Elven Warrior but of a lovesick puppy. Wouldn't I have noticed? How had he been in love with Mabeth or another Elleth this whole time and I never saw it?

The more I read, the more I no longer wanted to read about history. History wasn't real, coke pronounced like cock wasn't real but what was real was Middle-Earth. I researched Dargan too, there were several biographies written about him, he was in his 80s now and living in New York. The internet hasn't been invented yet, though on our original timeline, it would have been. I needed to go to him, go to New York, find out what happened.

His biographies paint him as a different man, living in Britain and writing alongside Tolkien himself, Tolkien even gave one of his children the middle name of Dargan in honor of their friendship. He never married, and none of these puffed-up books even mention his family or me. I was his best friend for years! And all he cares about is Middle-Earth. Devoted his whole life to writing it, same as Tolkien.

After two weeks of living in the library as a rat I accepted the librarian's aid and signed up for government assistance, however, we ran into several issues. First I had no documentation; second, my documentation wasn't valid as I wasn't born yet.

She was nothing but helpful, "I understand it can be scary, no one else here will know the information you share with me." She assumed I had an abusive ex-boyfriend I was hiding from, or I was a runaway slave from the Republic of Texas.

I settled on the slave narrative, it was far more believable than the truth. Her name was Naomi, and she acted the same way the Elves used to act around me so long ago. Like I was a scared mouse that would bolt if given a chance.

Which, to her own credit, I wanted to. "Do you have family stateside? Angel Air can transport you to the-"

"New York! I have family in New York!" I stood up and quickly sat back down realizing how loud I spoke.

"I'll go get the forms, one of the librarians packed an extra lunch again on accident, you know us, forgetful." She stood up and made for the door, "third cabinet to the right."

As she left the room I was able to sigh in relief for the first time since returning to my time. Dargan, I'd finally be able to find someone I knew, even if he was 80 now and senile. The door opened again, "Thank you for your help Naomi-" I had started to say but stopped when I felt the wind against my cheek.

I no longer sat in the air-conditioned library; I was in Middle-Earth. I recognized the streets as Edoras, but they too felt different from when I was there a mere few weeks ago. I felt the townspeople watching me as I made my way to Meduseld. I didn't walk like a fearful mouse, I took large purposeful strides. I was home.

Standing guard before the entrance, the vigilant doorward of King Théoden, was an imposing figure. He wore the garb of a loyal soldier, his presence exuding strength and resolve. His eyes were watchful, and he held his position with unwavering determination, ensuring the security of the hall.

"Hello Háma," I greeted him with a smile. We had only exchanged a few words previously but a few weeks shouldn't make him not remember me, I am the Commander of the White Hand after all.

"Milady do you request a presence with the King?" He made to open the door before I had even finished walking up the steps.

"Actually, do you know where Gandalf is? Or the rest of the fellowship?" I walked inside the hall deftly as Háma trailed after me.

"Milady, Gandalf has not graced these halls for many years."

I froze in my step, they sent me back, the Valar sent me back but I was not back. "Háma… When have I seen you last?"

When I looked back at him I noticed it, there were subtle signs of aging, creases in his skin, gray in his beard.

He gave me a pitying look, "Come, I'll take you to the king."

I was numb, my feet moved underneath me and before I could remember to breathe I stood before the king. He sat on a noble throne, his aura emanated authority and wisdom. His eyes held a gaze that bore the weight of responsibility, and his expression was a mix of solemnity and determination.

Next to him sat a woman, she had a cascade of dark, lustrous hair that framed her face in elegant waves, the deep, rich hue a stark contrast against her fair complexion. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of gray, held a depth of wisdom.

"Commander," Éomer greeted with a stern nod, the woman next to him offered a smile.

I swallowed, "Where is Théoden?" I asked already knowing the answer. If Éomer sat on the throne it meant Théoden had passed.

"I don't think I'm supposed to be here, I need to go back, I need to go back and I just saw you. I just saw you and we were all here and where's Legolas?" I was rambling I knew I was rambling.

I took a deep breath, "And Dargan he was here, and now he's in his 80s and he lives in New York! Everything is different and changed." My limbs shook and my voice took on a shrill tremor, the woman next to Éomer stood up extending her delicate hand to me.

I held it, but she didn't have a chance to speak as all of the words poured out of me, "Everything is different, and nowhere is home to me now! I can't go back and I can't come here!"

I glared at Éomer, "The Valar can go to hell!" Hell was not real I do not think, but I wish for those that sent me and allowed me here went there.

"Perhaps some tea?" The woman holding my hand offered.

I nodded even though I did not want tea. I wanted the world to burn, I wanted to shake Dargan, I wanted to go back to before and never take him to that hiking trail. I wanted to go home but home doesn't exist anymore.

She led me gracefully to a council room that reminded me of the one in Hornburg. Maids came in with all of the fixings. She sat across from me and gave my hand a gentle squeeze, "Can Éomer be in here too?" I asked, then added. "And Háma, and if Éowyn is here can she come for tea too?"

She nodded and spoke to one of the maids in Rohanese. "I'm Lothíriel, Queen of the Riddermark."

I was growing frustrated, "I want Éomer, and Éowyn, I know them. I know Éowyn she wears dresses and carries a sword. I don't know you."

Éowyn would help, she would tell me something about how the women of Rohan can't whine about the past, and she would help, Éomer I don't know if he would help I've said maybe two words to the man. But I knew his face. Lothíriel was a stranger.

"Forgive me for the mess," Lothíriel gestured to the pristine room I did not care about. "One of my handmaids has recently had a terrible accident."

"What happened?" I found myself asking even though I did not care about her handmaid or Lothíriel herself.

"A burn, grease fire in the kitchens."

"Calendula is good for burns," I answered.

And that was how Lothíriel calmed me. And by the time Éomer and Háma entered the room, we were both discussing different healing herbs as if we were old friends and swapping stories from our past lives as healers.

"Yes, I believe most of the Mark would agree with Gimli's sentiment." She laughed as I told her of Gimli's cure for a hangover.

"He has visited a few times traveling with King Elessar and a few of his councilors," her gray eyes scanned my face as if waiting for a reaction.

"You know Gimli?" I smiled.

"Aye, and he knows his ale," she laughed.

Lothíriel was quite skilled in healing and knew several techniques and remedies I had never heard of.

"Lady Calliope," Éomer interrupted carefully, he had a child with him, an awkward-looking thing in-between stages of growth not quite a teen not quite not one.

I ignored him, wanting to only focus on my conversation with Lothíriel. Wanting only to learn different techniques and stories.

"Calliope," the young boy said.

My eyes widened as I recognized the voice, "Eomah?"

"I go by Elfwine now Milady," he answered.

"You're tall," I stated, standing to my feet and sizing him up. "How- how long has it been?"

"Almost 4 years,"

So as I stood there beholding the past and future at once I was only able to hear a "Catch her," come from Lothíriel as I fainted.

oOo

"Shouldn't you already know this… since you're from the future?" Elfwine said shuffling his feet.

"Piss of-" I started to say and stopped, "Don't repeat that, that's a bad word."

Elfwine was 11 now, and had a decade's worth of sass to go with it. He was so different now, he wasn't the terrified boy that clung to the saddle, this was a king's son.

"Why did you change your name anyway? Eomah is a good strong name."

We were alone him and I, after I had fainted I was brought to their healing house and after Her Lady the Queen saw me well I was brought back to the Hall. Éomer had taken Eomah in, at first as only a ward. Éomer had pitied him; he too was orphaned far too young. But it was Lothíriel who had fallen in love with the child and decided he should be more than a ward. There was pushback, as now this grafted-on branch stood in line for a throne, but with the pushback came even more acceptance. The Rohirrim were wary of the courtship and marriage of Lothíriel and Éomer, they saw her as an outsider, a woman of Gondor who wouldn't care for their people. So her falling in love with the child and adopting him as her own after only being wed a few months surely helped.

"I wanted to be like you," Elfwine replied.

"What?"

"My mother says it means lover of the stars." He shrugged, "My father says it means Elf-friend."

I laughed, "Those are very different translations." I smiled, "I like it. It fits."

Elfwine answered all of my questions even if his answer was an 'I don't know.' He was delightful, holding the bluntness of all the Rohirrim and the childishness that Dargan brought to the table as well.

"-Why don't you ask him yourself?" Elfwine sighed dramatically. He already felt like a little brother.

"He's here?" I asked.

"No, he's in Minas Tirith."

I let out a breath, "Where's that, is it far?"

He stuck his finger to his chin, "A few weeks when we go, but if you didn't take so much stuff you could go faster."

I sighed, and he spoke again. "You could write him."

"Letters travel faster; you might get a reply in the time it would take you to travel there."

I could do nothing but nod. And as Elfwine brought the papers and parchment to the writing desk and I sat down in the seat my mind went blank. What do I say; we weren't even really friends, were we?

'Hey, how you been? Heard you won the war, great job. I used to have a crush on you four years ago but for me, it wasn't exactly four years ago, hahahah awkward anyway.'

Everything I wrote was wrong. Not only was writing with a quill difficult, you had to write it on a slanted surface for gravity purposes. It was nothing like a ballpoint pen, I would pick up too much ink one time and then another not enough and scratch at the paper.

"Do you not know how to write?" Elfwine asked.

"Of course I do!"

That wasn't the only problem though, the Common tongue, though spoken like English was not written as English, at least not the way it is now. It was written with extra letters, dashes, and dots above existing ones.

Historically, English has used the diaeresis diacritic to indicate the correct pronunciation of ambiguous words, such as "coöperate", without which the oo letter sequence could be misinterpreted to be pronounced /ˈkuːpəreɪt/. Other examples are the acute and grave accents, which can indicate that a vowel is to be pronounced differently than is normal in that position, for example not reduced to /ə/ or silent as in the case of the two uses of the letter e in the noun résumé (as opposed to the verb resume) and the help sometimes provided in the pronunciation of some words such as doggèd, learnèd, blessed.

But it's stupid and unnecessary; just memorize the combos like the rest of us did in Kindergarten! I know the K in 'know' is silent without having extra lines around it because I know how to read.

Elfwine stood over my shoulder annoyingly, "That's not how that's spelled."

"How do you know?" I narrowed my eyes. If this punk child thinks I'm going to add unneeded dots and dashes when I can barely write as is he is mistaken.

"My mother is teaching me," it warmed my heart to see that Eomah had moved on from the trauma from so many years ago, it was still strange to see him calling these strangers mother and father though, and going as far as to change his name.

"That's wrong," he said pointing at the E that was blank of any serif or additive.

"I think I have more authority on this here," I countered. Obviously, if writing in such a manner was right then it would have still been in practice.

I sighed trying again, 'Hello it's Calliope, I don't know if you remember me or not, I met you several years ago during the war of the ring. Anyways I'm in Edoras now, a lot has changed and I remember you as a friend. How are you?'

I made to crumble the page when Elfwine stopped me, swiping it before I could, "I will see to it he gets it swiftly."

I didn't see another soul until dinner. Éomer and Lothíriel had graciously taken me in, to them I was a legend, I was like Gandalf himself. Many of the Rohirrim thought I brought good luck, in just my short few days here I've already been offered a permanent residence as a guest if I wish it.

Is it what I wish? Do I wish for Edoras to be my home?

Lothíriel, the Queen of Rohan, sat at the head of the grand table, a vision of grace and elegance. Her dark hair cascaded like a waterfall down her back, and her gray eyes held a hint of both wisdom and warmth. She had Éomer to one side and Elfwine to the other, when I entered the room I took my place next to Elfwine.

Lothíriel dined with a refined air, each gesture deliberate and composed. Éomer and Elfwine however were true Rohirrim, the table before them shown for it with its growing mess.

"How was your day, did you have a chance to explore Edoras?" Lothíriel asked me with a smile.

Elfwine answered for me, his mouth full, "We were writing love letters."

I gaped at him, "Was not!"

He flew into a fit of giggles and spit, "Yes!"

I held my palms out looking quickly between Lothíriel and Éomer, "It was just a letter, not a love letter I swear."

They both exchanged looks then Éomer smirked, "Is this the letter you had me send out with haste?" He narrowed his eyes at Elfwine who reddened.

"Names have meaning," Elfwine answered. "I must live up to mine."

Éomer threw his head back and barked out a laugh, "So it was an Elf?"

I wanted to die; I wanted the ground to swallow me. I shouldn't be embarrassed because it wasn't a love letter at all, it was completely innocent.

"Legolas to be precise," Elfwine started as I tried to kick him under the table.

"Oh! Legolas," Lothíriel entered the chat, "He's visiting the Hornburg now remember dear," she looked at her husband. "Remember? Gimli and him wanted to see the Glittering Caves again."

Éomer scratched the back of his neck, "I had forgotten, the messenger is getting sent to Minas Tirith."

She smiled at him, "Should they stop here on their return journey," her eyes flicked to mine, "you can tell him a letter will be awaiting him at home."

"Lovely meal, isn't it lovely?" I tried changing the subject, and to my relief, Lothíriel took the bait and the rest of the meal was indeed lovely.

The next day was spent exploring Edoras, Elfwine was forced to leave my side and attend to his tutor. Lothíriel and Éomer were both held up most of the morning with court and council meetings so I took to wandering.

It was so similar yet so different, like déjà vu. The cobblestone pathways were worn, and many of the faces I saw were familiar yet the thatching on the roofs was new and there was an overwhelming presence of toddlers as if there was a baby boom.

Everyone was friendly, everyone remembered me, and those who weren't sure were quickly reminded.

"That's the Commander!" A woman slapped another in the back of the head as I passed by.

"Quick go pick some flowers," she shoved her aside smiling at me. Banners bearing the symbol of the White Horse of Rohan billowed gently in the breeze, their presence a constant reminder of the kingdom's heritage. These too were the same symbol I remembered yet these weren't frayed and stained with mud and blood like before.

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from the bakeries, mixing with the earthy scent of the stables. Horses were a common sight in Edoras, and the sound of their hooves on cobblestone streets created a rhythmic symphony.

"Milady, may you shine your light on the Mark," a woman said as she handed me a bundle of wildflowers, her eyes filled with gratitude. What?

I was rude, I couldn't even think of the words 'thank you' so I simply blinked at her. How twisted had history gotten?

Nathanael Greene, Major-General of the Continental Army fought during the Revolutionary War. He's remembered as being one of the most talented and dependable officers stateside. Never in school did we learn of his limp, sources quote different causes, but he carried the limp the majority of his life. Sometimes even commanding armies he'd have a cane nearby, or use it to prop himself up temporarily.

That isn't what's interesting about Nathanael though, throughout the war, he was very wishy-washy. When he was stationed in New Jersey, he publicly threatened to resign and switch sides. He was a scared man, scared of decision-making and scared of losing. But we don't remember that about him.

Would I have liked him if I met him, or would I have been let down? Would we have been friends or enemies?

I remember the first time I met the closest thing to a celebrity, the news station was at the mall, I was 15. I had this idea in my head about them as people. David was a meteorologist so logically, he lived and breathed only weather and could not have a life outside of it. Jennifer, she did the small segments, she would bring on local heroes and play with stray dogs, and then there was Bob who chased storms.

I remember how eye-opening it was and at the same time soul-crushing in a way, meeting them. David had a life, a home, a wife and children, and even a 401k he was normal like me. Jennifer, I refused to put her in the normal everyday human category because she is living the dream.

Bob however was the most deflating out of the bunch, he was normal; he didn't look like the speed demon or courageous hero that would drive into tornados or storms for the news. He had a pot belly and a thick mustache.

They were still great, don't get me wrong. Bob could give you directions to anywhere in the state without Google Maps. David could simply look into the sky and predict the weather. Jennifer was so used to public speaking she never stumbled over awkwardness. But they were people and finding out they were people was a letdown.

What would the Rohirrim think finding out I was just Calli?