23 / 12 /16 ~ In which Eleanor tells a story of crossdressing soldiers, and is the last to realise what (and who) she wants.

Disclaimer: "The Lord of the Rings" is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien. I only claim ownership over Eleanor Dace, Rávamë (aka "Tink"), and the subsequent plot of their story.

A/N: Greetings all! I'm back again sooner than expected, since my primary Beta got around to checking this chapter much quicker than I expected (and consequently threatened to burn my house down after reading it — don't ask, you'll see why). Many thanks to her on getting through it so I could get it out to you guys before the usual Christmas chaos sets in. Oh, and for all you E+L shippers out there, please consider this an early gift from me to you, with (I promise) a lot more to come later. ;)

Happy holidays you lot, and hope you enjoy reading this update as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Part I : Chapter 9

- Golden Halls & Silver Eyes -

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye." ― Jim Henson

"Uruk-hai raiding packs," King Theoden repeated as if the words had knocked the wind out of him, and fell back against the seat of his throne. "Valar's mercy."

"They were unprepared, unarmed. They had no warning, and if these estimated numbers are even close to accurate, half the Westfold is probably in flames by now," Háma added, then winced at his own words, glancing at where Freda and Eothain were sat at the centre table just a few feet away.

Upon hearing Freda's tale of what had happened to their home village, Háma had wanted to take the two kids immediately up to the king to repeat their story. I had politely informed him that if he wanted to try and move either exhausted children before they'd had their wounds properly seen to, he'd have to incapacitate me first — with a sword. He'd been less than happy being spoken down to by a "wisp of a she-elf," but much to Freda's relief, Eothain had woken while I was tying off the last bandage. As soon as I was sure he was coherent enough to walk in a straight line, Háma and Gamling led us up to the much healthier looking throne room. Ilda had brought up some fresh food while they'd both relayed their story to the king, Gandalf, and the rest of us misfits, and the second the shell-shocked Theoden had heard their stomachs rumbling he'd bid them eat as much as they needed.

Kids after my own heart, they fell on the food like wolves on a carcass — but at Hama's words they both looked up with wide, shaken brown eyes.

"All of the Westfold?" Eothain choked, his sixteen-year-old voice still a bit croaky from his ordeal, and being about halfway through puberty. "They couldn't have really got that far, could they?"

"But Mama would have made it out in time, right?" Freda asked in a very small voice.

No one had the balls to answer her as she looked around from the king, to Gandalf, to the somber faces of Gimli, Legolas, Boromir and Aragorn further down the table, then finally to where I was sat helplessly opposite her at the table, unable to force my face to give her the lie she needed. She had told me and the king that they had seen what equated to a small army of Uruk-hai raiders swarming over the hills surrounding their village — and that as they'd fled on their father's horse, leaving their mother behind so they would ride faster, they'd passed the burned remains of at least a dozen other towns along the way.

Freda's face fell as she looked at me, and she stared back down at her food in utter defeat, her eyes turning misty again; never before had I wished to be good at lying so much in my life.

Eothain immediately reached across the table and grabbed his sister's hand.

"She'll be alright, Fre. She just sent us ahead on Garulf so we'd be safer. She'll be fine, she'll find us," he whispered, but the look on his face said he couldn't make himself believe those words either. No one mustered the nerve to say anything until Gimli cleared his throat.

"You listen to your brother, lass," he said, gently patting Freda's tiny shoulder with his battle-scarred hand, sitting down beside her. "Your Ma wanted to protect you two, and here you are. She'll be glad knowing you're safe now."

Freda nodded numbly, still not looking up, and seemed to instinctively curl up against Gimli's side without letting go of her brother's hand. Gimli looked a bit surprised at the gesture from the little girl, but gave her an affectionate ruffle of the hair and nudged her to keep eating her bowl of stew.

"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent, for he is driven now by fear of Sauron," Gandalf spoke quietly to the king but it was hardly difficult to hear him in the quiet throne room. He didn't sound angry as he gestured to the two distraught children, but he did sound firm. Theoden looked sideways at the wizard in unease, then rubbed his forehead as if trying to banish a migraine, his fingers brushing over the white left in his hair after Saruman's puppeteering.

"What would you have me do, Gandalf? Weakened as we are thanks to Wormtongue's interferences."

"Ride out and meet him head on," Gandalf answered immediately but more gently, leaning over and laying a hand on the king's shoulder. "Draw him away from your women and children. If you wish to protect them from further harm, you must fight."

The king grimaced. "With the numbers we have left here? We have barely a few hundred soldiers and guardsmen left."

"You also have a company of two thousand good men riding north as we speak," Aragorn spoke up for the first time since Freda and Eothain had told their story. Theoden glanced at where Aragorn and Boromir were both sat further down the table, along with Legolas standing somewhat rigidly beside them with his arms folded.

"Éomer?"

"He is still loyal to you," Boromir said assuredly. "He and his men will gladly return and fight for their king."

'If they even have a way of getting a message to him in time,' Tink voiced my own concern quietly.

At the same time something glimmered in the king's eyes at Éomer's name, but instead of the hope or relief I would have expected to see on his face, only pain and regret stuck there. He rose from his throne and began furiously pacing the dais.

"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now," he muttered, running a hand through his white-streaked blonde hair. Eventually he came to a reluctant stop, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the situation. "Éomer cannot help us now. I know what it is that you want of me, Gandalf, but I cannot bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

Now it was Gandalf's turn to look defeated, but before he would open his mouth to argue, Aragorn's voice cut through the silence like a hot knife through ice.

"Open war is upon you, whether you will risk it or not," he said plainly, and despite the truth of the statement, I felt Tink and I both internally wince.

'Tough love.'

'Tough, but true,' I answered. 'If what Freda saw is anything close to accurate, this city is right in the path of a certifiable firestorm. No point sugarcoating it.'

Silence rang through the room, and for a moment I thought Theoden was going to attempt to burn Aragorn to cinders with his glare.

"When last I looked, Theoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan," he growled, low and dangerous and daring anyone there to try and argue. No one did, and Aragorn didn't flinch. He just looked at Theoden for a long moment, glanced very pointedly at the down-cast children, and then took a long drag on his pipe. Theoden still looked like he wanted to vent his frustration and grief on someone, but thank God Gandalf intervened.

"Then what is the king's decision?" he asked. Theoden went still with thought before finally he turned to look hard Gandalf, and then at Háma, who waited patiently for his king's command.

"Prepare the city for the march to Helm's Deep," Theoden ordered. "Tell the people to take only what we need. We must leave before sundown."

"Yes, sire," Háma bowed instantly, then hesitated, glancing towards us at the table. "And the children?"

"They will remain under the protection of my house, either until this ordeal has passed," Theoden answered, heading toward the doors. He paused before exiting and glanced at Freda and Eothain pityingly over his shoulder. "Or until they are reunited with their mother."

Beside me at the table, Eothain stiffened, the hand that wasn't still holding his sister's clenching as he stared bitterly down into his half-eaten bowl of stew. I'd thought the silence after Aragorn challenged Theoden had been heavy, but that had been light as goose feathers compared to what was left as the king and guard captain departed. I looked uneasily around at the others, each of them wearing varying looks of unease, incredulity, or simply dread — although Gimli had decided the best course of action was to just continue eating the second meal Ilda had brought up for us all. The only sounds to echo through the room were of him gnawing away on a roasted chicken leg.

Unable to stand the silence not even a deeply troubled looking Gandalf seemed willing to break, I forced a cough and looked around with a strained smile.

"Sooo, Helm's Deep? Anyone care to fill me in on why we're going there in particular?"

I knew from my increasingly foggy memories of the books that it was a sanctuary and the site of some kind of battle — at least I was reasonably sure that it was. But, as usual, the specifics of exactly why it was important were frustratingly vague in my mind, and trying to remember details without external prompts was like trying to trap a plume of smoke with just my hands. Lucky for me, Eothain seemed grateful for the distraction, and jumped on it before anyone else could so much as open their mouths get a word out.

"It's the biggest and oldest stronghold in Rohan," he explained, the bitter look in his eyes vanishing into what might be have enthusiasm on any other occasion. "It's never been breached once since it was built. The Deeping Walls are as thick as three horses, and under the Keep there's a maze of caves with walls that glitter if you shine a light on them. Da used to say there…"

He trailed off with a sudden pained look at his sister, who was still staring blankly down at the remains of her rabbit stew. It didn't take a genius to figure out from his tone and Freda's face that their father was sadly no longer in the picture in the most permanent way possible. And now, thanks to Saruman and his minion Wormtongue, perhaps now there was a good chance their mother had gone the same way, too.

'God, it's never the ones that actually fight the wars who suffer most, is it?'

Tink didn't answer me because she didn't need to. I could feel her torrent of outrage and pity for the two children tangled up with my own. I didn't dare try and ease the silence a second time for fear of putting my foot in my mouth again, but thankfully I didn't need to because Gimli did it instead.

"Pile some more onto those plates, wee ones. The pair of you could do with more meat on your bones," he insisted jovially, dumping another helping of stew and bread into each of their bowls before helping himself to another chicken leg and looking at Eothain. "Your head feeling any better now, lad?"

Eothain looked a bit startled, but nodded vigorously.

"Yes, a lot better. Well, enough to help defending the march to Helm's Deep too if I can…" he seemed to realise what he was saying a second later and glanced around at all of us watching him with a faintly self conscious look. "We saw them burning down our home. I want to be able to do more than sit around being coddled like a child. I still have my Da's blade and I—"

"You've got four sutures in your head, boy," Boromir interrupted him bluntly around his pipe. "And a lump on your crown that would knock off a helmet."

Aragorn gave an agreeing nod, but at least he tried to offer the kid a sympathetic little smile as well. "Rest and get your strength back before anything else. You'll be no good for protecting your sister or the march to Helm's Deep if you collapse from exhaustion again."

Eothain looked as if he wanted to argue, but Freda's small hand found its way across the table again and clutched at his.

"Eothain…" she whispered pleadingly, and his expression faltered as he looked at his sister. There weren't any tears in her eyes now, but she still looked like she desperately needed a hug, and a big brother to hold her hand. Taking one last look round at a still serious-faced Aragorn and Boromir, he shook his head and forced a weak smile at Freda, returning the gesture and giving her hand a comforting squeeze. Satisfied that Eothain's delusions of revenge were averted, Aragorn stood and extinguished his pipe.

"Don't take too long to finish; we will also need to prepare to leave before too long," he said, and strode past us toward where Gandalf was still so deep in thought, I wasn't sure he was even aware we were still there. At the same time, Legolas decided to drift over and join us mere mortals closer to the food, and I couldn't help but smile as I saw Freda's eyes go a bit wide and her face go a bit pink as she looked up at him. Legolas was probably the closest thing I had to a best friend in this world by now, but he was still by far one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen — and I'd spent two years living in Rivendell with Glorfindel. Poor Freda looked nothing short of star struck at just being that close to him, but he just smiled kindly at her and pointed at me.

"Eleanor is a good story teller. If you ask, you might persuade her to tell you one while you finish eating," he suggested.

I narrowed my eyes at him, but he just kept on smiling at me, innocent as a kitten.

"Aye!" Gimli agreed heartily through a mouthful, waving the chicken leg he was eating at me in an encompassing gesture. "Tell them the one you told us that first night we camped on the river bank. The one with the brother and sister, the witch, and the breadcrumbs."

I gave them both a glare of indignation, but one look at the curious expressions of the kids had me sighing in defeat.

"I'm not sure Hänsel & Gretel would be entirely appropriate, all things considered," I answered awkwardly, running a hand over my braid again as I thought. It took a moment, but finally a smile broke over my face as an idea struck. "I do have another one I've been saving, though."

And so I told them the story of Mulan, the girl who secretly went to war in her father's place.

Thanks to my dad's travels around Asia when I was still a kid, I was already familiar with the original, less cuddly and more tragic story of Mulan. But for Eothain and Freda's sake, I decided to stick entirely to the Disney version this time, and sweet Lord did it go down well. Eothain ate up every detail of the glory and excitement of training and battling the invading Huns, while Freda soaked in every word of Mulan hiding the fact that she was a girl and saving her handsome captain from being buried in an avalanche. The talking side-kick dragon got Gimli grumbling a bit, but no one else seemed to mind — especially when it came to the part involving soldiers cross-dressing as concubines to break into the Emperor's palace. Eothain had snorted with laughter through a mouthful of bread, and Freda had covered her face to hide the scandalised smile. Finally, when I got to the end, after Mulan had accepted both the Emperors and the entire kingdom's thanks, but had refused his offer of staying on as his advisor, they were both hanging on each word.

"Why did she do that?" Freda asked with wide eyes.

"Because she wanted to go home. That was the whole reason she joined the army in her father's stead in the first place. So she would have a home and family to return to," I explained, and despite my smile I felt the words cut into me, just a little. Eothain eased that feeling when he gave an amused little snort.

"Her Da must have been furious when she got back."

I returned the wry grin and nodded.

"That's what she thought. So as soon as she got home, she presented him with the Hun leader's sword and the Emperor's seal as a sign of their family's restored honour, hoping he wouldn't disown her for her disobedience."

"What did he do?" Freda whispered.

"He dropped them."

Freda and Eothain's eyes widened in horror. "He dropped them?!"

I nodded sagely, trying hard not to grin.

"He dropped them, and hugged her so hard she thought her ribs might break," I said, still smiling at them. "What Mulan never realised until she returned home was that honour wasn't her father's greatest treasure — it was her, his irreplaceable child. And despite all the honour, praise and riches she had earned from the Emperor in her family's name, there was nothing more precious to him than having her return home to him safely."

I have to admit, I'd been a bit worried that the mention of fathers and families at the end of the tale might have set the kids off mood-wise again, but to my relief I was met with smiles from them both. Freda looked as if she was in danger of tearing up a little, but her smile was warm and genuinely happy, and Eothain's was too — if a little less watery. Gimli, who had only stopped eating to comment or cackle at the occasional battle I'd described, let loose a booming chuckle, leaning back on the bench opposite.

"One of these days you're going to have to share with us where you get all these from," he rumbled. I tried not to grimace at the pang of guilt that went through me. Instead, I pushed it down and forced a grin at him, popping the last of the rye bread in my mouth.

"Trade secrets, I'm afraid. I'll take them to my grave."

He and Eothain chucked, and I saw Legolas crack a little smile out of the corner of my eye. The heavy feeling of dread had lifted almost entirely, and the hall no longer felt uncomfortably silent as more and more of the Meduseld staff began gathering the essentials for the trip to Helm's Deep. I'd peeked another glance at Aragorn and Gandalf who were still neck deep in a very serious looking conversation when a familiar warm hand I was becoming rather fond of appeared on my shoulder.

"We had best gather our things as well," Legolas said, following my gaze to the debating Man and Wizard with an expression that said he didn't want to interrupt them, either.

"Good idea, they might look up and see us actually smiling. Can't have that," I rose out of my chair, giving the two kids and the still feasting Gimli one last grin. "See you lot later."

Gimli and Eothain both grunted through mouthfuls of food and Freda waved at us shyly as we left. As we passed a still very quiet Boromir, I tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his eyes following us, but the second we were out of the throne room and into the vestibule the pressure was gone. I hadn't even realised I'd been holding my breath until it came out in a long sigh of relief.

"It was getting rather tense in there," Legolas commented, reading my mind.

"Right? I thought the air was going to turn solid," I looked up as we walked through the surprisingly quiet halls towards our temporary quarters to see him smiling minutely to himself. "Nice moves with the story idea, highness. Though, you could have warned me, first."

His smile only widened and he shrugged. "They looked like they were in need of it, adults included — and it seemed like it worked."

"True," I conceded with a sly grin, "But admit it, you just wanted to hear another story."

He stopped walking so suddenly it took me a couple of steps to realise he wasn't beside me. I stopped as well, near a half open window, and peered back to find him frowning slightly at me.

"Of course I did," he said without a trace of sarcasm, his expression softening as he looked me straight in the eyes. "I was not gracing you with false praise for their sake. You are a fine story teller, and I enjoy listening to you."

I don't think he could have gotten a more stunned reaction from me if he'd sprouted antlers. I stepped up and pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. Normal pupils, no temperature, if a little pink around the ears.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"I am," his frown came back as he looked down at me, perplexed. "Why?"

"You're actually complimenting me, on something non-survival dependant. It's unsettling."

"My complimenting you is unsettling?"

"It's…" I was frowning too now, chewing my lower lip and trying to find the words. "It's been a while since anyone paid me an honest compliment on something other than my ability to stitch people back together or run away from things trying to kill me very fast. You know, frivolous stuff."

With a little sigh, I added sheepishly, "I guess I'm out of practice."

Legolas' frown vanished instantly into that wide, boyish grin that occasionally came out just to get the butterflies in my stomach all hot and flustered.

"Would you feel better if I lied and said you were terrible? That you should never tell another tale again, lest all fourteen of the Valar return to Arda to put a stop to your reign of torment on the ears of the Free Races?"

I burst out into a fit of bubbling laughter and it felt ludicrously good.

"It might," I giggled, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes. "I'd still punch you in the gut for daring to say it, but it might make me feel a little better."

His playful grin continued to warm me from the top of my head right down to my toes. He patted my shoulder in mock apology. "Sadly for you, I am not that good a liar. You will just have to live with the truth."

"A bad liar huh?" I smirked. "Lucky me."

His smile didn't fade, but it softened around the edges as he looked down at me.

"I meant it, Eleanor."

"I…" my auto-wiseass reflex went to say something smart, but the look of utter sincerity on his face stopped me. I swallowed and looked down, trying not to show just how happy the compliment made me. "Thank you."

He didn't answer, but I could feel his smile still on me like warm sunshine.

Or maybe the warmth was just me.

I was suddenly very aware of how empty the hallway was, and how close we were standing together, his hand still resting on my shoulder. I felt his fingers shift slightly, brushing against the still tender skin at the base of my neck, and I instinctively looked up. He was gazing down at me with a faintly hazy expression, as if lost somewhere deep in thought.

My hot and bothered butterflies came back with a vengeance.

'Settle down girls,' I told them all severely. 'It's not like he's…'

Like he was what? Interested in me? Making a move on me? Trying to seduce me?

Just the idea made everything south of my chin suddenly churn in a mix of nervous excitement and a familiar rush of nerves that made my knees tremble. I knew full well I'd been deliberately putting off really thinking about us, and I knew I couldn't keep it up forever. It had been the first time in a while when the mayhem around us had quietened enough for us to simply look at each other for more than a minute, let alone find a moment alone to truly stop and consider… whatever this was we had between us now. And I knew I'd been putting it off because the truth — well, the truth was, I was scared of looking at what it had grown into.

Since I had awoken from my second near-death experience, he'd been confusing as hell. One moment he would smile boyishly at me, appearing to all the world not a day older than I was. Then the next, his face would fall, the weight of centuries appearing behind his blue-grey eyes. And while part of me really hoped it was what I thought it was, another more damaged part of me half hoped it wasn't — just so I wouldn't have to risk baring that cracked side of my heart again.

I mentally kicked myself. Dammit, now I was the one getting lost in my own head.

"You are staring," Legolas' low voice brought me right back down to earth so fast I found myself blinking up at him stupidly.

I had indeed been staring at him, just like he'd been staring at me.

"Maybe I like the shape of your ears," I blurted before I could even think about running it past my filters, and I immediately wanted nothing more than to just skin straight through the floor. But he just chuckled, low and genuine, and leaned down towards me very slightly with the kind of smile I wished I could keep there forever.

"Perhaps I like the shape of your ears."

I found myself laughing along with him, though the sound came out a bit too breathlessly and a bit too close to a nervous giggle to be anything dignified.

God, what a pair of dorks we made.

His hand had slid further around the back of my shoulder, his fingers just close enough to brush the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck under my hair — a gesture that could have been accidental, but wasn't. I tried not to shiver as I looked at him, trying to think clearly through my sudden, frustrating nerves.

If I was truly honest, I hadn't really dared to consider the idea of becoming close to someone in a not-just-friendly way since I'd fallen out of reality and into this very dangerous fairy tale. I hadn't even planned on being able to trust anyone in that way again for a good long while after what had happened between Mark and me. I knew full well — that disaster of a relationship was responsible for the bulk of my nerves, fears and doubts. Yet even now, two years later and an entire world away, I still couldn't seem to completely escape it. Even though Legolas had proven multiple times that he was worthy of that trust; if only I was willing to try…

And like someone turning a light on inside a part of me that had stayed in the dark for a long time, I realised that I did want to try.

I was scared, nervous, and terrified enough for my legs to feel like pudding at the thought of making myself that vulnerable again; still, I wanted to see where that path might lead. I wanted to know if there was hope in whatever was growing between us. That maybe, if given the chance, it would flourish into the kind of thing I'd once hoped for. And if — no, when — someday I found the courage to tell him the whole truth from start to finish, everything that had happened back on Earth to make me the way I was now, I knew he wouldn't use it against me. I could trust him.

"Eleanor," I heard him ask, concern bleeding into his voice this time. "Please, tell me what is bothering you."

My legs had finally stopped trembling but the rest of me had gone unusually still, none of my usual fidgeting or shifting from foot to foot, and he'd noticed. The list of what I was able to hide from him really was shrinking fast.

I looked up at him, taking in the details of his frustratingly handsome face — my stupid, smart-ass Prince Charming — and swallowed hard, trying to bury the storm of too many thoughts and doubts. I really did want it, did want him, I knew that now — but beyond our camaraderie and goodnatured banter, did he?

There was only one way to really find out, and thankfully there were no sentient cherry trees to interrupt this time.

He was still looking down at me, waiting patiently, unmoving and watchful as a statue. This close, I could count the tiny flecks of silver in his grey-blue eyes, and see the traces of uncertainty beginning to creep into the lines of his face. Yet still he waited, leaving those few inches of meagre space between us for me to do with whatever I chose. And for the first time since I'd woken in Arda, I truly cursed my abnormally small stature. He was over a head taller than me, and even looking straight down, our chests almost touching, his face so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my cheeks, I still couldn't quite reach…

So before I could lose my nerve, without a word, I lifted my hand up through that space between us, my fingers touching painfully light to the side of his jaw. I saw the look in his eyes intensify as he realised what I was doing, what I meant to do. But instead of shock or distain, he leaned into that touch, my touch, gaze darkening to a devastating smoulder I didn't know he had in him as he looked at me. I felt both our pulses begin to race as I slid my hand gently around the back his neck into his hair, warm and soft under my fingers. Our half closed eyes never wavered from each others as I rose up my toes, and gently pulled him down—

The sound of a door being thrown open was like a canon going off right next to my ear. Legolas and I sprang apart on pure instinct, both of us reaching for weapons that weren't there, and whirling towards the noise with my heart thudding like I'd just run marathon. And there standing in the doorway to a second corridor not four feet away was my young guard "admirer" from earlier that day — and he was staring at us both with his eyes wide, his jaw hanging wider still.

I wanted to scream, or punch him, or sink through the floor, or possibly all three at the same time, and Legolas must have appeared the same, for when he spoke his voice was dark as a thunderstorm with repressed wrath.

"Yes?" he all but growled at the young guard, who now looked very much like he wanted to retreat back out the door he'd just crashed through and hide quietly under a rock. His face went from flushed to ghostly pale and he quickly bowed in apology.

"S-sorry to intrude, but your companion is asking for you. The ranger, I mean," he babbled nervously, trying to cling to some kind of propriety through the desire to run from the duo of angry looking elves. "He said it was important he speak with you and the wizard."

Legolas still sounded like he was one step short of biting the boy's head off, and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Sweet and adorably awkward as he'd been that morning when he'd taken my weapons so carefully, I too couldn't help but want to wring his skinny neck now.

"Where?" Legolas demanded.

"The king's stables. Your horses are being tacked and prepared there."

"Fine, we will be there momentarily," he said curtly. The last word was barely out of Legolas' mouth before the guard bowed again, and took off back the way he'd come, walking so fast I thought he might trip over his own boots in his haste to get away from us. When he was gone, Legolas let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck and closing his eyes.

"There is never a moment's peace," he muttered. I forced out an awkward, breathy little laugh and coiled my arms around myself, trying to calm my racing heartbeat down to a sensible pace.

"Not for this Fellowship there isn't," I said. I didn't want to look at him — for fear my treacherous mind would start replaying the image of that heated gaze of his — but I made myself do it anyway with a smile. "Why don't you go see what Aragorn and Gandalf need us for. I can deal with getting the last of our stuff together. I need to change back into my riding gear, anyway."

He nodded, opening his eyes at last and looking down at me with an anaemic smile.

"Alright, I will find you out there," he said, and I'd just turned to flee before my face could give away exactly how affected I'd been by what had almost just happened between us when his voice stopped me again. "Eleanor—"

I halted as if I'd walked into a brick wall and turned hesitantly to look at him. Just as I'd feared, the half pleased, half disappointed expression on his face sent my heart racing again, and I knew my face had probably gone red as a phone box.

"Yeah?"

He hesitated, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself for a split second.

"If you are willing, I would very much like to continuing this… discussion at a later time."

My butterflies started doing synchronised aerobatic manoeuvres of joy through my insides.

"I—" Oh, to hell with it, who was a kidding anyway? I let my face break into the shy smile and blush I'd been trying to hide under my mask of stoicism. "I'd like that."

If his words hadn't already sent me into a tailspin, the answering, blindingly bright smile on his face would have.

"Later, then?"

I returned the smile without a trace of sarcasm or self-consciousness, despite my butterflies now doing something akin to a Mexican wave.

"Later," I whispered. Then, I turned and fled down the hall, my heart pounding so hard it almost hurt, but grinning like a moron all the way.

~ Ω ~

The quarters we had been assigned following the king's healing-cum-exorcism were in the residential wing on the other side of Meduseld's halls, and it took me a couple of wrong turns to find my way back to the room I'd used to wash and change for the funeral in.

When I did, I was a little surprised to find not only my clothes, weapons and gear had all been cleaned and set out neatly on the cot; the laundresses had obviously decided the green tunic I'd left Rivendell in was too shredded to be wearable anymore, because they'd left a loose linen shirt in its place, alongside a simple jerkin made of soft leather to wear over the top.

Silently thanking whoever it was up there watching over me, I stripped out of my funeral dress and began pulling on the clothes. The shirt was a little big and gaped across the chest, but once I'd laced up the jerkin and pulled it tight, it held everything secure and close to my figure. A little closer than I was used to, honestly, and as I turned to inspect myself in the small mirror on the washstand, I had to stop to stare.

I'd thought, after seeing myself in Lothlórien following my recovery, I couldn't be surprised by my own reflection anymore. Yet, once again, I found myself surprised to see a familiar face and yet unfamiliar girl looking back at me through the glass.

I had a waist — a slim and very noticeably toned waist — under the snug jerkin. My shoulders looked a little stronger, my chin held a little higher, and the way I stood now was both steadier and more relaxed at the same time. So different to what I'd once been used to seeing in myself back in Rivendell; a naive young woman not quite fitting into the beautiful but dangerous world around her. Even my face looked less tense now, more self assured — at least under the surprised expression and lingering blush. I wasn't any more or less beautiful or ugly, or anything as superfluous as that. But I guessed that everything we'd been through over the past few weeks — coming close to death, running for miles chasing kidnapped companions, wading through haunted forests, then riding a horse flat out for days across uneven terrain — must have been one hell of a transformer, both physically and mentally.

The last time I'd seen myself, I had been lean, but still wispy and breakable-looking. When I looked at my reflection now, I didn't look like the delicate slip of a she-elf any longer. I looked strong, and capable, and vividly alive in my own skin — like I actually belonged out here there with the rest of my companions, warriors and wizards alike.

No wonder Eomer and the mortal guardsmen had all looked at me with such astonished curiosity.

'Your butt looks pretty awesome too,' Tink added with a smirk so wide I could hear it. 'Just sayin'. That might have something to do with it.'

I snorted through a cackling laugh, grateful that she was still there to snap me out of my self-gawking before I turned into the evil queen from Snow White.

'Sweet of you to say, Tink,' I said silently in reply. 'But a little biased, since it's technically your butt, too.'

'True, though I'm sure your pointy-eared admirer would support the observation, if you asked him,' she said primly. My stomach did a nervous little backflip, and I knew she must have felt it too, because a dash of satisfaction crept into her tone. 'You and his royal sassiness seem like you're becoming pretty cosy.'

I tried not to notice how my cheeks darkened again in the mirror and went to splash some water on my face as a distraction.

'You disapprove?'

Tink scoffed. 'Oh stars, no! In fact, I'm kind of shocked it's taken you two this long to wake up and smell the pheromones. The least you both could do now is get on with it and give the rest of us a good show.'

I sputtered through the water on my face, and didn't need my reflection this time to know my face had escalated from pink to scarlet at those words. Never mind the idea of what she'd just implied with them.

'Wow, I can't even—hey, wait a second! Were you there the entire time?!'

Tink made an impatient tutting sound, but I knew her well enough to catch the evasive note in her voice.

'Give me some credit, boss. I'm not that pushy. I was, I guess you could say, listening from another room…'

'Tiiink,' I said slowly. She folded.

'… possibly with my ear pressed to the door.'

'God you're terrible! My guardian angel is a rabid shipper as well as a voyeur,' I groaned, unable to hide my embarrassment but also relief that she wasn't insisting that I was being an idiot and had bigger things to worry about. 'So then, what is worrying you? You've been really quiet since we got here,' I asked, drying my face with a small hand towel.

'Been thinking, mostly.'

'About?'

'Aside from a certain yummy princeling and his very yummy smoulder?' she asked cheerfully, but then sobered with an audible shrug. 'Well, us actually.'

'Us?'

'Us, you and me, in relation to your other guardian angels, specifically. The ones on the outside of your head,' she elaborated.

'Ah,' I said, pausing to consider what could have sparked off her train of thought, the last of my euphoric near-kiss high slipping away. 'You're thinking about what Gandalf suggested in Fangorn, right? About the others not knowing about you sharing my head?' I guessed, and Tink made a sound vaguely reminiscent of a submarine's alarm going off.

'Direct hit, boss,' she confirmed, though she sounded uneasy at the idea. 'I only think about it because, well… hypothetically how do you think they'd react if you were to tell them?'

'That I'm carrying around the disembodied spirit of a Maia around in my head with no clue how she got there?' I thought about it for a moment, staring vacantly at myself through the mirror — the little ring of gold in my green eyes glinting back at me. 'I don't know Tink, I haven't really considered it. Everything's been so frantic the past few days, I've barely even thought about how to tell them, much less how they'd take it. Why? You think I should just come out and tell them now?'

She didn't answer immediately, and I got the distinct impression that if she'd been standing in the room with me, she'd have been shifting from foot to foot in unease.

'I think… I think they're going to find out one way or another, and it would be better coming from you than from me, figuratively speaking. I also think that you should do it soon.'

'Ok, but why now?' I asked.

'You've felt Boromir eyeballing the back of your head for days now, boss. You told Gandalf you thought he might have seen something that spooked him during the antacuile. I agree. I think he did see something, and it's freaked him out so badly that he's scared to come within six feet of you.'

A chill went down my spine at the idea. I'd always thought it might be a possibility, but hearing it straight from Tink it seemed to make it unsettlingly likely to be true.

'You think he saw you when I was healing him? Like Frodo did when he used the Ring?'

'Maybe. Look, all I'm saying is that I don't think we're going to be able to keep this secret forever. It's getting… difficult to keep things separate and under control in here.'

The little chill that had rolled down my spine turned to ice, and I found myself standing up straighter, my expression in the mirror turning to one of instant alarm.

'What do you mean? Tink, are you ok? What's wrong?'

'I'm fine, boss,' she answered, and with little dash of surprise, I recognised the tone in her voice as guilt. 'It's you I'm worried about actually.'

I blinked. 'Me? Why me?'

'You remember what happened in the throne room? During the fight with the fake guards?'

I thought back for a minute, and at the same time realised I was still staring blankly at myself in the mirror. I shook my head, and just to give my hands something to do I pulled my loose braid out completely and began trying to comb the tangles out with my fingers.

'I got 'Hulk-smash' levels of angry and scared, and knocked a man out cold with a fruit platter,' I said, then paused. 'Oh yeah, and my nose was bleeding. I must have got hit and didn't realise.'

Tink's uneasy shifting went up a notch, and I could feel it stirring up my own anxiety along with her own.

'Yeah… only you didn't get hit, boss. And it wasn't just you who got angry and scared, then. It was me too. Angry enough to want to smash a man's head in with strength you shouldn't have had — and you almost did,' she told me, her voice thick with both bone deep worry and a little dash of shame. 'Boss, this is just a theory, but I think the more I feel your feelings, the more you end up using my power.. Ever since Amon Hen I've been feeling… more of what you do. Every time you feel something strong, unless I make an effort to block it out, it spills in. And I think mine is starting to spill over into you, too.'

I considered that, scary idea as it was.

'And you getting angry and letting me use your strength made my nose bleed?' I asked sceptically. It still sounded a little out there, even for us — but Tink persisted.

'Mortal bodies aren't designed to use the kind of power the Maiar wield, not even elf bodies. You're too breakable physically and mentally to handle it for 's why conjuring that fire with a creation word knocked you down so hard, and your nose started bleeding during that fight. You weren't just using your own anger and strength and instincts, you were using mine too — and it hurt you.'

I reluctantly thought over not only the fight when I'd somehow used strength I didn't have in my anger, and the moment back in Fangorn when Boromir had grabbed me and my eyesight had suddenly sharpened along with my fear. My guts went a bit cold. God, she was actually right. When I stopped chasing my tail and focused, I could actually feel it even now, her own anxiety and worry tangling with my own, our emotions building on each other until we both felt the effects — like sunlight concentrated through a magnifying glass.

'So, what Gandalf was talking about when he said: "abilities who's costs run deeper than you may realise." You think this is what he meant?' I asked finally, remembering my unhelpfully critical conversation with the wizard that morning. Had it really only been that long?

'I think it's a fair guess,' Tink answered. 'And maybe the reason he wants you to tell the others about me and you sooner rather than later.'

I found myself nodding, agreeing with her, but also grimacing at myself in the mirror. I'd been trying to imagine a good time in which I could tell the others the entire truth about me ever since I told the Hobbits. Not only about how I could casually bring up the topic of not only the semi-angelic being who'd been riding around Middle Earth with us for months, but also about me technically being from an entirely different universe. I wanted to tell them; I really did.

Still, every time I tried to picture a scenario in which I explained it all to them without them collectively agreeing that I was lying or off my rocker, I realised — I just couldn't do it, even with Gandalf backing me up.

Giving up on my hair as a lost cause, I exhaled, long and heavy, slumping over the wash basin and resting my head against the mirror.

"Great," I groaned aloud this time. "How in hell am I supposed to do this?"

'If only I knew, boss,' Tink said, audibly wincing, and I imagined if she could, she would be patting me on the back. 'Sorry.'

I sighed, but smiled weakly.

'It's ok. I guess we'll have the journey to Helm's Deep to think long and hard about it. It's not like we have to tell them right this second anyway.'

'Yeah…' she hesitated, then let out a nervous little giggle. 'Though maybe when you do, you could leave out that bit where it was me who got us all attacked my a sea monster and then trapped under that mountain? Just a thought.'

I laughed out loud at that, though it came out a bit dry. Try as I might to put on a brave face, what she'd told me had left me more worried that I wanted to admit.

'Agreed.'

Forcing my worry and anxiety down, I stood up and checked myself in the mirror one last time to make sure I was decent. It was the first time I'd let my hair down since Lothlórien, and even then, Merileth had usually insisted on constantly pulling it back in a tail or complicated braid so it wouldn't get in the way when I trained. Now it fell almost to my mid-back, curling around my face and neck in messy waves, almost completely disguising the points of my ears. I might have changed from the neck down over the past few weeks, but for once in a very long time, with my ears hidden, I felt and looked almost like my old self again.

My human self.

My weak smile brightened just a little, and I turned away from the mirror towards my weapons on the bed, deciding to leave it down.

Just this once.

Five minutes later I was geared up, marching out a side entrance a guard had assured me would get me to the king's stables quicker than any other route. I'd slung the last few bits and pieces of Aragorn's and Gimli's freshly cleaned armaments into a knapsack over my shoulder, and strapped my knives and medical pouches securely to my belt. My hunting knife in particular had been cleaned and polished until the clumsy words of the engraving stood out like brands against the light wood, and it felt good to have it resting against my hip again.

I stepped out of the king's hall to find the city in frenzy of preparations. Most people were dashing about, gathering what little they deemed necessary for their own stay to Helm's Deep, but there were also a few going out of their way to help others less capable than themselves. I spotted the young guard who's head Legolas and I had nearly bitten off lifting a heavy sack onto a cart for an old woman.

I couldn't help but smile as I headed past them towards where I assumed the guard had meant for me to go. He'd said the king's stables would be easy to spot once I was close enough to hear the horses, but with all the other noise of the preparations going on it was all but impossible to hear anything distinctive.

It took yet another duo of wrong turns down some gaps between various homes for me to realise I had obviously gotten myself lost, again.

"Some sense of direction I have," I grumbled, annoyed with myself. At least, the little sheltered alley behind the houses was a bit quieter. I listened for the sounds of Shadowfax or the other horses neighing, but there was nothing.

Just the uncomfortable feeling of the hair on my neck raising a bit, like there were unfamiliar eyes on me.

I shoved the sensation aside, hoisting the knapsack higher on my shoulder as I headed back towards the main square. I was just anxious about breaking the truth to the others, that was all. It would be difficult, but it needed to be done. If I expected them to trust me, the least I could do was to extend them the same courtesy.

I'd tell them the next chance I got, I promised myself. Once we were at Helm's Deep maybe, or even before on the road, if I could get any of them alone for long enough. Or maybe even—

"A woman in a man's breeches," an unfamiliar, slurring voice came from behind me. "Now that's something you don't see every day."

A/N: Another cliffy, but is anyone really surprised at this point? I don't think I could stop ending chapters on them even if I wanted to! All I can say is please don't try and murder me just yet. We're nearing the end of Part I (at last!) and while I know the story pacing has been a bit slow up until now, it's about to pick up speed rather fast. Hope you enjoyed it (despite my shameless shipper baiting XD) and hope you're ready for what's about to hit the fan next!

As always, much love, Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and best wishes for whatever occasion you happen to be celebrating this time of year!

Rella x