Disclaimer: I do not own LoTR. Just my OC.

Rain Shall Pass.

Chapter F.O.U.R.

_"Awaken"_

"All spiritual life begins with a sense of wonder, and nature is a window into that wonder." -Richard Louv

I've always admired her. We had the same red hair, same small and slightly lanky build, even the same smile. She was radiant, like the sun. She warmed the very room she walked into with just her presence. But she was ever so beautiful to my young mind. I felt so lucky to call her mine.

He was my protector, one who I strived to be. I had his eyes, the same freckles across my nose, the wild curls. He had a quiet smile, a barely there tilt to his lips and a gentle creasing around his eyes. I wished for his height, but didn't get that wish granted. Genetics worked against me there. I had to make do with forever having to tilt my head up just to look him in the eyes.

She was the exact opposite. She had her eyes, his hair color, pin straight hair that refused to curl, a small height advantage. A beaming smile. A socialite with an extreme ease to making friends. Polar opposites, but we were ever so close.

She had her temper. I had his temper. Where she was calm and gentle and practical, he was unpredictable, wild, like a volcano waiting to erupt. I was the exact same. It was a mystery what she saw in him the rare times he lost his cool. Never at her. Never at us. Never. Always directed at the incompetence of his higher ups. His inability to do more like he wished. War took something from him.

I've never seen a more broken man. I've never loved a more broken man like I love him. Temper and all, I loved him with all my heart and always hoped he'd get better.

PTSD does some horrible things to a military man.

Something about Arda had it out for me. The will of the Gods, my own stupid choices, or Lady Fate as my friends back home would call it, I had probably the worst luck out of everyone here. Here I am, a foreigner, trying to blend in and not be seen and not cause trouble, but finding that the task is literally impossible because certain people important to history either keep finding me or I run into them. And for whatever magical reason, they won't leave me alone.

Brown hair was barely visible around the corner and I immediately turned on my heel in as normal a manner as possible before striding away with a haste I hoped wasn't frantic looking. Damn it all, they couldn't take a hint.

Please just let it be the hair. I know there's other redheads wandering around on this continent, but please let their pestering be just because it's a different shade of red they'd never seen before.

I refused to believe it could possibly be anything less.

Two days. Two days of constantly feeling an itch on the back of my neck and struggling to ignore my shadows. They never crossed any personal boundaries, merely grinning and waving wildly at me whenever I happened to catch them, but I knew it was only a matter of time. They were waiting for me to get comfortable. The second they were sure I'd relaxed to their presences, both of them would pounce on the opportunity. Whatever that opportunity was to them.

Merry and Pippin were tenacious. They deserved credit in that regard, but damn it all, their tenacity was being directed at the wrong person.

I knew the second I saw the sparkle in their eyes at the training grounds that I'd done something stupid. Something so utterly stupid that warranted the two Hobbits to want to become attached to the hip with me. I don't know what said stupid thing I'd done was yet, but it was stupid solely because the Hobbits were shadowing my footsteps whenever they weren't raiding the kitchens and offering me the brightest smiles whenever our eyes would meet. Their innocence was endearing and I struggled tremendously to appear unfazed by their kindness.

I thought channeling my inner bitch would ward them off, but it appears to have intrigued them more than anything.

Elladan and Elrohir had a damn field day when they caught Merry and Pippin spying on our training session the next morning. And the morning after that. Elladan's raucous laughter had echoed in my ears so much that I hadn't seen Elrohir's sweep until it had connected with my ankles and sent me sprawling to the ground. I'd left that training session in a foul mood with their teasing following me all the way to my room to get cleaned up.

I'd hoped being unapproachable would deter them from whatever it was they were hoping to accomplish once I figured out what they were doing. I felt so cruel every time I turned them away and a small piece of me always broke with every dismissal, but they seemingly ignored my cold words and equally cold gaze and continued with their new mission—because what else could it honestly be other than a mission to them—with determination and cheer.

I thought Hobbits were supposed to be wary of us humans?! They certainly took a second to warm up completely to Aragorn and even the elves didn't receive immediate favor despite their curiosity towards the Fair Folk.

To make matters even worse, I couldn't seem to avoid Boromir any better than I was avoiding Merry and Pippin. Words hadn't been spoken since our first meeting, but he and I almost always seemed to be in the same area at the same time ever since Aragorn and the Hobbits showed up. The dark looks he always gave me were enough of an incentive to continue avoiding the Gondorian, which was no love lost to me. How could I look at a man who I knew was eventually going to die and exchange casual words like his future wasn't already set?

You couldn't. It's that simple.

Plus I was getting tired of whatever feud he had with me. Whatever it was I did, he certainly wasn't giving off the greatest first impressions. I had respected him so much in the first movie and held his character in high regard, but the real thing was kind of disappointing. It hurt to have those expectations sink so far, but I was stupid for believing he'd act like who he was depicted as.

And then came the icing on the cake during the second day not long after I had woken up unusually early that morning.

I stumbled across Frodo on accident after slipping away from the Hobbits who had been attempting to follow after me as discreetly as they could, which wasn't very discreet at all. I knew the Hobbit was being kept in the Healing Houses, being tended to religiously by Arwen and Lord Elrond. I suspected Gandalf had been haunting his room as well seeing as I had yet to see him roaming the grounds and I knew he was here if my knowledge of the timeline was correct. However, to my embarrassment, I had been more focused on dodging Merry and Pippin and not quite paying attention to where I was running off to and what room I was slipping into.

I could only stare blankly at the Hobbit who was moving in his sleep restlessly, the space between his eyebrows scrunched up and pitiful noises catching in his throat. The white shift was slipped off his injured shoulder, showing the fresh bandages that covered the stab wound I knew was there. He seemed to subconsciously avoid laying on that side, but every muscle that moved, every twitch, seemed to pain the Hobbit something fierce as he tossed almost anxiously to find some relief.

Dark curls were lank and plastered to a pale, sweaty forehead, eyes moving constantly underneath shadowed lids. He looked miserable and helpless and the piece of my heart that was reserved solely for children was hurting for him.

Even though Frodo is probably old enough to my grandfather, I thought dryly. I can't help that his small stature reminds me of a child and causes my bleeding heart to fawn over him.

Another sad moan from the bedridden boy broke my resolve and my feet were carrying me towards his bedside before I could logically tell myself to just leave. I gently brushed his curly bangs back and nearly cringed at the heat that radiated off his skin. He was running a hell of a fever. Spotting a small towel resting by his head, I immediately dunked it into the bowl of water that sat on the table beside his bed, frowning at how lukewarm it felt. I placed it gently across his forehead, pursing my lips when he groaned again and almost tossed it off.

"You poor thing," I murmured. My fingers rubbed careful circles through his hair, pulling free any knots they caught with as much gentleness as I could. Dark hair turned to brunette and pale skin became sun-tanned as I allowed a small smile to grace my lips. It was like all the times my sister had been sick with fever, caring for her to ease the burden off my parents. This was a more medieval time where modern medicine wasn't a thing and doctors weren't as advanced, but the concept was the same.

"You'll be alright," I said. Frodo's jerky movements slowly began to still, but his muscles still twitched and tensed underneath my hand. "Something like this won't stop you." Subconsciously, I began to hum a soft tune that always seemed to work on my sister whenever she was having trouble sleeping. I didn't boast huge singing talent, being that I was more into playing music than singing it, but I knew my voice was average and at least pleasing to listen to according to some friends.

Almost like in slow motion, Frodo's tense body began to relax until he was completely pliant underneath his blankets. Soft puffs of breath escaped his slightly open lips as he finally succumbed to what I hoped was a more peaceful slumber. I sat with him for awhile longer, continuing to hum the same tune over and over again as flashes of a time when I was younger and caring for my sister kept playing before my eyes. The situations were identical any way I looked at it.

He must be protected. Just like her.

The song caught in my throat and my fingers stilled. Squeezing my eyes shut and withholding a sigh, I carefully pulled my hand free of Frodo's curls and clasped them tightly in my lap. Damn it all, of course Frodo would elicit these feelings in me. He didn't even have to open his eyes or speak a single word to me, but seeing him so injured and in pain was all it took to grab at my heart strings. He reminded me too much of home.

What was I supposed to do?

My eyes burned sharply with tears and a sob threatened to crawl up my throat. How was I supposed to avoid all this if the Fellowship wouldn't quit making me second guess my decision to stay away? Aragorn's kindness. Lord Elrond's patience. Tobrien's and Lindir's friendship. Merry and Pippin's attempts to get close. And now Frodo, who was unintentionally causing me more grief over my sister. It was all unintentional and not a plan they had concocted, but it may as well have been. They were distracting me from my sister. "Damn it, I just want to left alone," I hissed.

"I am sorry to have to break your solitude and peace," A gravelly voice said, causing me to fly off the bed and whirl around, wide-eyed at the grey figure that stood in the doorway. "I did not realize my presence invoked such responses in strangers."

God, WHY do you DO this to me?

Of course it's Gandalf next. Why wouldn't it be Gandalf? Next thing I knew, Boromir and I were going to be singing raunchy tunes and dancing Irish jigs with Faramir and Eowyn.

"I-I'm sorry," I stuttered hurriedly. "I didn't realize someone else was in here." I flushed furiously at his arched eyebrow. It felt cruel of the universe to have me always embarrass myself in front of these people. "I mean, I didn't hear the door open, so I just assumed that I was alone."

The old man chuckled, his grandfatherly-looking face softening and his beard lifted upwards in a smile. "There is no need to explain yourself, my dear. I know your words were not meant for my ears to hear." He stiffly sat himself down in the chair on the other side of the bed, sighing almost tiredly as he did so. He produced a long pipe from within his sleeves, holding his hand over it as he brought it to his lips and I marveled at the curl of smoke that instantly began to drift out.

"You really are a wizard," I whispered, slightly awed at the genuine display of magic. CGI was an almost magical invention back home and my younger self had firmly believed everything happening in the movies was real and true, that magic was really happening before my eyes. And then I grew up and realized it was all just made by a computer and that belief was crushed. Seeing it now, as Gandalf quite obviously lit his pipe with no visible flame, brought back that childish fascination.

"Did you think I was something else?" Gandalf asked, though I could hear the faint teasing undertone.

"Oh, no, not at all," I shifted nervously, edging away from the bed. "I've just never seen magic being used before. It's kind of surprising to see the real deal."

Gandalf hummed, a plume of smoke billowing past his lips. Curiously, it arched upwards away from Frodo when my mind logically knew that it should've gone right onto his face. "I see now. You must be Lord Elrond's Ward. He had told me about you briefly when I last heard from him, but I'm afraid your name is escaping this old mind of mine."

I frowned. "There are people who don't realize magic exists in the outer realms, living in their own ignorance to what's going on and how things are evolving. How could you logically come to that conclusion and make the connection to myself and Lord Elrond when we've barely spoken two sentences to each other?"

I'm considered bright and have been told that I'm smart, but if I was in his spot and him in mine, I know for a fact I never would've made that connection. Too vague, not enough facts to go off of.

Something Tobrien once said from a conversation a while ago hit me then and I pursed my lips. His eyes twinkled as they met my suspicious ones, seemingly agreeing with my unspoken thoughts. "You just confirmed it for me actually."

"Wizards are similar to elves who have been alive for many, many centuries. They constantly speak in riddles and are never outright with their true thoughts. Every word is a puzzle that cannot always be taken literally."

Damn it, I walked right into that one. I scowled at him, slightly annoyed at both him for fooling me and myself for falling for it. "Do you make it a habit to make everyone you first meet look like a fool?"

"Not at all," He said easily. "It was not my intention to come across as a trickster, but I'm afraid old habits die hard."

I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, but at the probing look he gave me, I surrendered my name reluctantly. "I'm Asherah. Asherah Kaiser."

If Gandalf thought anything of the abnormal introduction, it was difficult for me to tell because he simply nodded and said, "I am known as Gandalf the Grey. Mithrandir amongst the elves if that is what you are used to hearing."

"I've heard about you," I said, unable to keep the dry sarcasm out of my voice.

"All good things, I hope?" He queried, amused.

"Yes," I said a little shortly. Some people found it easy to laugh at themselves when they get caught in an embarrassing situation, but I was definitely not one of those people. "I'm sure you're well aware that your adventures are thought of highly here, so I fail to see why you would ask such an obvious question."

"It doesn't hurt to stay in touch with all the talk in Rivendell," Was all Gandalf said. A wrinkled hand carefully pulled at the bandage on Frodo's shoulder, raising it enough to be seen by his eyes only. I could only see thin, spiderweb-like veins from my position, but a shiver still went down my spine. It wasn't the source of the wound, but such markings were unnatural and were not supposed to be present on a human body. Gandalf let out a pleased sound, pressing the bandage back down and pulling Frodo's shift over it.

"His wound is healing?" I asked, nonchalant. I knew it would, but I couldn't help asking anyway. The poor Hobbit didn't deserve to suffer after all that he'd been through so far. His journey hadn't even started yet, but he didn't deserve this at all.

"Quite well, if I may say so," Gandalf said. "Lord Elrond is a master of healing, so I had no doubt in my mind that he'd been able to treat a wound from a Morgul blade."

"They cut it close, though," I said, only a little pessimisticly. "He was in critical condition when Arwen brought him in. Some weren't sure if he would make it."

"Yes, so I'd heard," He agreed softly. "It is lucky that Arwen arrived when she did. Any longer and he would have been lost to us." Lucky, indeed. Or rather how the plot of this world is playing out. Can't start a story with the main character already dead before the journey can even get rolling. "But enough about such depressing talk, why don't you tell me about yourself and how you became a Ward of Rivendell, child."

I froze, my whole body seeming to shut down for a split second before going haywire. "Excuse me?" My heart thudded painfully against my chest, echoing so loudly in my ears that I could barely focus on Gandalf.

"How did you become a Ward of Rivendell?" He repeated. "Lord Elrond is known for his hospitality and has let many a traveler stay within his walls. So long as the peace is kept, all are welcome."

"Except those from the Black Lands," I quipped nervously, my tongue heavy and my mouth feeling like cotton.

Gandalf nodded, agreeing silently before continuing. "Only once before has Lord Elrond taken in someone under his name and the circumstances surrounding that gave him little choice." The smile he gave me was innocent and disarming, but I couldn't help but feel like he was digging, trying to pry open my brain to see what secrets I kept hidden. His character wasn't exactly expanded on in the movies, so I wondered if he gave every stranger he met this little interrogation. "What circumstances caused him to extend that courtesy to you?"

Common sense told me to blow him off and jump ship before this conversation could get going. Rightfully, I didn't have to answer him. I could just walk away now and call it good. However, doing so would rouse Gandalf's suspicions, something I definitely didn't want happening, and it would paint me in a bad light. Not any person just walked around disrespecting someone with a reputation like his. I don't know how the elves here would react to that blatant disrespect, but I wasn't going to find out.

Another reason was simply because I couldn't bring myself to just walk away. It was so incredibly rude and I'd lived my life constantly saying that I wanted to be treated with the same respect I'd give to someone else. To go back on that big talk now wouldn't sit right with me and even though having this talk with Gandalf would be like sliding down a slippery slope, I knew deep down that I'd already decided to risk it because I wasn't one for disrespecting my elders.

Oh God, someone please get me out of this mess.

I forced myself to swallow the acid that suddenly crawled up my throat. I'd die of pure embarrassment if I actually threw up in front of this man.

This was one person I did not want to divulge too much to. I was no liar and I knew he'd see right through me if I tried. I had to be careful. My story had to be convincing enough to fool even a Wizard of his calibre. "I'm a foreigner if it's not obvious enough. If it's not my features, it's definitely my name that gives it away," I explained slowly. "I do not know these lands as well as the natives, so I found myself lost in the woods. I was found and subsequently taken in by Lord Elrond. I've been here ever since."

"Lost, you say?" Gandalf probed, intrigued. "And where did you say you hailed from?"

"The outer realms," Was all I said. I feared clarifying anymore than that as I was ignorantly unaware of the geography that far away. I could only hope that would be enough.

"You're a long way from home," He murmured thoughtfully, dragging from his pipe and smoke curled towards me. Subtly taking a breath, I was surprised that I didn't feel my throat clench at the smell of tobacco. It smelled sweet and was almost...light on my senses. "What brings you so far inland? Outer realm natives rarely travel as far from home as you have."

"I'm looking for my sister," I said truthfully. "She's missing."

"I'm sorry to hear that," He said, shaking his head. "Maybe I have heard of her during my recent travels." I doubted that. "Her name?"

It took a second for me respond as I had barely spoken her name during the time I'd been here, but I whispered breathily, "Her name is Emmalee." I knew it was impossible, but I still felt disappointment when Gandalf showed no signs of recognition.

"I've not heard of her, I'm sorry," He apologized. "I'd remember such a name if I had."

"It's not your responsibility to remember or not," I disagreed, though I bitterly kept a snide thought to myself that if he did know about her, I'd expect him to tell me. "She'll turn up or I'll find her. One of those two are bound to happen sooner or later."

He lifted his pipe to me in a small salute, nodding his head. "I hope, for your sake, that she is found. These are hard times for family to go missing right now."

That's the truth. "I do, too," I agreed softly. "Once things settle down here, I plan to leave Imladris to go search for her." My mouth snapped closed audibly and I mentally berated myself for revealing that little bit of information. I didn't have to worry about Gandalf prying anything out of me. The old man could just sit there and I'd probably continue spilling my whole life story to him if he let me.

He reminds me too much of Grandpa. These people remind me too much of my family. This is dangerous. I need to leave now before it gets out of hand.

"How long?"

I blinked at his question, tilting my head. "How long what?"

"How long has she been missing?" He clarified.

"Three years and two months to this day," I answered automatically. I had no shame admitting that I'd been keeping track. "She went missing the same day Aragorn found me and brought me to Rivendell." My stomach clenched painfully when something passed through his eyes, a slight widening before they returned to their previous state. Yeah, anxiety was beginning to set in and that was my cue to leave.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Frodo chose that moment to stir, eyes opening slowly to reveal baby blues that were stilly murky with sleep and fever. They connected with mine, not seeing Gandalf, who had sat forward immediately, and my skin seemed to burn when these pitiful blue orbs seemed to scream that he was hurting and needed help. My hand moved on autopilot, easing my fingers across the skin of his forehead in a gentle caress. He was still hotter than normal.

"Go back to sleep," I urged. "You've not recovered enough yet, Frodo. Have no fear, you're safe here."

Something like relief crossed his face and as Frodo succumbed once more to sleep, I knew, without any doubt or uncertainty, that the little Hobbit had me wrapped around his finger. All it took was one glance, but a deep part of my heart knew that I'd do whatever he needed to help him get by should he ask it of me. A glance in Gandalf's direction showed him watching me with an unreadable expression on his face.

Suspicious. Wary. I need to go.

I wasted no time in excusing myself, purposefully pretending I didn't see him start to stand as if to stop me, and damn near flew out of the room in my hurry to get away from the Wizard.

"Father has called a Council to convene tomorrow," Arwen stated absently. She fiddled with the edges of her long sleeves, tugging them this way and that with her long fingers.

My stomach flipped and I grimaced. "Is that so? Tobrien mentioned it to me a few days ago, but she said it would take place in a week. Why so soon?"

"Frodo finally awakened this afternoon. He is on the mend and Father has decided that the issue cannot wait any longer."

"The meeting is centered around Frodo?" I asked with as curious a tone as I could muster.

"That's what I'm gathering," Arwen muttered.

"And it's that urgent?" God, it was so hard to play off that I'm supposed to be ignorant of all of this.

"Yes, it's urgent from what he told me." She urged me on, leading me at a slow walk through the gardens. Night had already fallen, Arwen having sought me out in my room earlier that evening to go for a walk. She clearly had a lot on her mind, though had yet to share her thoughts and I did not push her to do so. Some of these walks were filled with her worries and fears and some were filled with silence as she merely wanted companionship. I was only happy that she thought me trustworthy enough for both circumstances.

I carefully stopped her from pulling anymore at her sleeves, worried she would tear the stitching out and ruin the pretty gown. "You're worried about this?" I asked.

"Immensely so," She breathed. "Father has not called for a Council of all the Free People in a very long time. Not since Sauron the Deceiver. I cannot help but fear our greatest worries are finally coming to pass."

I took a second to choose my next words wisely. "Whatever the reason, your Father will find a solution. He always does. He has a great mind for strategy and would not lead the other races astray." I gave her small smile when she glanced at me, hoping the action was reassuring to the older woman. "Have faith, my friend. There is no need for you to despair. Things will work out. That's just the way of the world."

Arwen was silent for a few minutes before she suddenly huffed a laugh. Her tense face relaxed and she was as radiant and infallible as I knew her to be. "For someone who denies being wise, you have a rather reassuring way with words."

I blushed, turning sharply on my heel so she wouldn't see it. "I don't," I denied as confidently as I could. "I'm just repeating what my parents would always say to me. It's not even my own words, so really, I'm not the wise one here."

"Your parents have done right by you," Arwen praised softly. I went rock still, barely breathing as she continued. "I do not know how your people raise their young or what traditions are considered normal for you, but you are an extraordinary human being, Asherah. I like to think all of your people are raised to be like you." A hand lightly rested on my shoulder, squeezing the tense muscle. "You've been nothing but a great friend to me, as well. You have my many thanks."

Her words struck a fragile cord. My parents would've loved to hear Arwen say that to them. It was a proud moment for any parent to hear that their child was doing right to others, that they were raising a child who would do good for themselves and for others. They wanted to hear that the little human they had brought into the world was leaving a positive impact on others. They wanted the unspoken reassurance that they were succeeding in this train wreck called parenthood. There's no manual and there's no correct way of raising a child, so many parents feared and worried that they were leading their children down a road that would spiral out of control at any moment if the wrong choices were made.

My mother would immediately burst into relieved tears and my father would stand there stiff as a board and struggle to express how much those words actually meant to him.

Tears began to cloud my vision and I took a deep, shaky breath to keep them at bay. "They did their best for my sister and I," I admitted, my voice cracking. "Things weren't always perfect and we did have our share of fights, but they tried so hard for us." A tear escaped and slid down my cheek and the homesickness hit me hard then. "I miss them so much."

Arwen's arm slipped around my shoulders, leading me along as she said, "You will return one day," She reassured. "You are here now and I know that it is hard being away from your family. Do not let yourself believe that it is impossible for you to see them again. That path is long and dark and leads to madness. As you just told me, have faith. You will go back with your sister right at your side."

"That's almost a dream come true," I said, blinking away the mist and plastering on a smile. Arwen mirrored me, opening her mouth to say something else before we both ground to a halt as a large shadow suddenly blocked our path, gunmetal eyes immediately latching onto us. I nearly groaned at loud.

For Christ's sakes, I can't catch a fucking break. First the Hobbits, then Gandalf, and now this shit show.

Arwen straightened, nodding her head into a shallow bow to the man. "Lord Boromir," She greeted softly.

He returned the gesture, albeit stiffly. "My Lady." I tensed at the slight sneer he directed at me, my lips curling into a scowl unconsciously. "Forgive me for interrupting your...stroll. I was turning in for the night."

"Of course. Please have a good rest of your night," Arwen bid.

"It was a good night," He muttered under his breath. I shifted closer to Arwen as he made to leave, my eyes widening when he harshly shoulder-checked me. I stumbled back a step and upon hearing the derisive scoff he let out, my temper began to boil and my mouth got the better of me once again.

"Quite a way with words, that one," I said loudly. Arwen peered at me curiously, though the sounds of Boromir's loud footsteps halted. I knew he was listening and as I glanced over my shoulder, I matched his glare with one of my own. "Forgive me, Gondorian, for being blunt, but you're being very rude for someone who is supposed to be royalty. I would've thought etiquette and respect training was required for a Son of the Steward, but perhaps you skipped those lessons and went straight to being the brute that you're making yourself out to be."

"Asherah," Arwen whispered harshly, scandalized.

He slowly turned around, eyes narrowed almost hatefully and I once again had to ask myself what I had done to warrant such loathing from a man I'd hardly spoken to. "Be careful who you taunt, woman," He threatened. "You clearly do not know who you are speaking to in such a manner."

"I know exactly who I'm speaking to," I rebutted. "And I could give a damn less." Arwen seemed to barely hold back a choking noise, one I only just caught and one Boromir clearly missed as he was so intently focused on me. "You're someone I've heard nothing but good things about during my time here. Songs have been sung about your bravery and strength and honor, and here I am, wondering why it is that someone whom I've heard nothing but praise for is making a valiant effort to not even bother concealing his dislike for me."

Slightly true, but also majorly false. I'd heard the elves singing songs of his battle prowess and the victories that he'd claimed for Gondor, but I definitely didn't know as much as I do about him just from songs and poetry. The beauty of the Internet was a marvelous way to gleam more information.

"Those of the South do not deserve any type of respect from myself or my people," Boromir snapped.

I frowned, confused. "The South?" Looking at Arwen, I was surprised to see her eyes widen, realization shining in them.

"The Haradrim have been my people's enemies since the Dark Days," Boromir pointed at me, the gesture mocking and as obviously rude as he could make it. "Do not think that just because you are here as Lord Elrond's guest that it will change how you will be treated."

"Haradrim? What?" Vague memories of men wearing black shawls wrapped around their faces, leaving only their eyes visible, and bright-colored clothing invaded my mind. My initial anger faded away to complete bafflement as I tried to follow the man's thought process. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Your skin," Arwen whispered under her breath, almost shocked. My skin?

"You obviously hail from the South," Boromir stated angrily, as if that was the most clear answer in the whole world. "Your people are not welcome this far North and I will not tolerate your blatant disregard to the feuds your people have started with my own and others as you sit here in the lap of luxury."

"Lap of—" Forget my own confusion, my temper was quickly boiling back into place and I latched onto it angrily. "I don't know how you think I've been spending my time here in Rivendell, but the lap of luxury is as far off the spectrum as you can get, pal."

He scoffed, waving a hand harshly. "I have seen your life here. You are waited on hand and foot like some common royalty."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not familiar with this land and needed a guide to help me get around?" I hissed furiously. "In case you hadn't noticed, I don't exactly have the same physical traits as some people here, so let me spell it out for you, you stupid bastard." Boromir's brow furrowed at the English I had accidentally let slip, clearly not understanding what I'd just called him. "I'm a foreigner. I came here from the outer realms. I'm not from the South as you so adamantly believe me to be."

"The outer realms have been desolate for many years," He countered snidely. I bristled at the know-it-all tone his voice took, curling my teeth back into a snarl at the superior look he gave me. "Those lands are uninhabitable, laid waste years ago during the war against Sauron. You cannot think me so predictable that I'd fall for such an obvious lie."

"You wouldn't know that unless you actually ventured there," I said. "And I know for a fact that you haven't. You take it at face value that the outer realms are barren, merely looking for excuses to use against me." Or rather, I hoped what I said was true. Leave it up to me to say such a bald-faced lie when I had no idea if Boromir had actually done what I said he didn't do.

Boromir took a threatening step forward and for the first time, I noticed the sword strapped to his hip and I coldly realized that he might actually draw it on me if I'm not careful.

"Lord Boromir—" Arwen interjected, faltering when I unashamedly cut her off.

"You have only been here a handful of days and you are so arrogant as to believe you have me figured out?" I asked lowly, glaring at him. "Do not presume yourself to be so good at reading people. So far, everything you've accused me of has been wrong. I am not from the South. I am not a Haradrim, whatever that means to you. And I am not a liar."

Hypocrite.

"Your skin tells otherwise," He snorted.

"So we're bringing race into this now?!" I demanded loudly, stomping towards the taller male. Arwen's fingers grazed mine as if to grab me, but just barely missed as I stopped before him, having to tilt my head up just to meet his furious gaze. "My skin has nothing to do with this argument and if that's really your only excuse to hold a misplaced grudge against me without actually knowing who I am or where I come from, you're a damned fool."

"Asherah!" A voice scolded. My eyes squeezed shut, dread curling in my stomach. A heavy hand pulled me away from the fuming Gondorian, dark hair shadowing his shoulders and blocking me from the man's view. Aragorn was just that little bit taller than Boromir, but that didn't stop the lighter-haired male from directing his dark gaze to Isildur's Heir. "Forgive her. She has only been in Imladris for a few years now and is still learning each day."

This didn't appease Boromir as he so very obviously seemed to size up the Ranger, not liking what he saw if the curl to his lip was anything to go by. "She would do well to learn her place," He growled.

I opened my mouth, every intention of telling him where he could shove that comment, but squeaking when Aragorn's hand clapped over my lips, muffling my protests effectively. "Like I said," Aragorn appeased. "She is learning."

"It is late, Lord Boromir," Arwen spoke, subtly signaling Aragorn to remove his hand. He did so without hesitation and Arwen moved herself so she was just in front of me, shielding me from view. "The Council meeting is early tomorrow morn. It would be best that you are rested and prepared for the pleasantries."

Boromir didn't move for a solid minute, and while I couldn't see but the top of his head with Arwen and Aragorn's heights blocking me from seeing him, I knew he was glaring a hole through them at me. I saw his hair swish as he supposedly turned on his heel and marched away, leaving behind a stony silence between the three of us remaining in place.

Aragorn sighed, his head dipping as he dragged a hand across his face. "Asherah, you cannot go insulting people like that."

"He insulted me first," I exclaimed. "Who the hell does he think he is—"

"He is the Son of the Steward," Aragorn stressed, turning to face me. "If you were anywhere but here, he could've had you executed for what you just said."

"Son of the Steward or not, I will not stand by and let him use me as his punching bag for a misguided grudge," I ground out stubbornly.

"Please, Asherah," Arwen said, visibly frowning when I refused to look at her.

"I refuse," I insisted, crossing my arms. "He thinks I'm some Haradrim, whatever that truly is, because of my skin color. So I'm a little darker than a normal human, big deal. I spend more time out in the sun, so obviously my skin is going to tan. I can't help that! It'll tone down when winter comes back, so then he'll see what a gigantic ass he's making of himself."

"There is bad blood between Gondor and the Haradrim Tribes," Aragorn explained. "I cannot fault him for being angry, but—"

I whirled on him, eyes blazing furiously. He agreed with Boromir? "So you agree with him?"

Aragorn visibly back-tracked, shaking his head. Arwen gave him a surprisingly cross look, one which had him faltering before saying, "That's not what I said."

"You just said you can't fault him for being angry," I accused, seeing red for a split second before I forced it down. "So you're basically saying that he is right to hold a grudge against me that is so obviously false."

"Asherah—" He stopped as I backed away from him, my body visibly shaking with barely concealed anger. If I'd been any lesser person, I knew I would've lashed out at him. Let my anger take control for just that split second. The only thing stopping me was my Mom's soothing voice telling me two wrongs didn't make a right, as cliche as that was.

"I didn't take you for someone to believe in dumb prejudices such as someone's skin color," I snapped bitterly. Was this man truly the same one who had found me in the woods three years ago, using gentle words and slow arm motions to lead me to the safety that is Rivendell? Was he truly like Boromir, holding a silent grudge against me cause my skin was tanner than his?

Something inside me seemed to shrivel in on itself, leaving behind a horrible feeling of betrayal that I had no right to be feeling.

"I owe you my life for saving me," I told him quietly. "You didn't have to, but you did. I can't ever hope to repay that debt, but maybe I won't have to if this is the person you really are."

As I fled from the two lovers, Arwen's voice echoed out to me, a dark undertone I'd never heard before in the woman's voice being directed not at me, but Aragorn.

"That was careless of you," I heard her faintly say. Aragorn must've said something because her voice abruptly got clearer, louder, as if she herself was trying to hide the same anger I was currently feeling. "That does not matter right now. Fix this."

A/N: I've had this written for a few weeks now, not gonna lie. I was reading back through it and realized I'd left out a whole section and tried to fix it, but then the life of working three jobs caught up with me and I got swept away. Forgive me.

Constructive criticism is always welcomed and appreciated. Do tell what I can do to better myself as a writer for I'm always looking to be someone who writes good and accurate content. *Hearts*

Thank you for reading!