4 / 1 / 19 ~ And in which it finally bloody happens!

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: It's finally here! It's finally done! The trickiest chapter I've written to date!

Ok, I originally wanted to get this chapter out to you for Christmas, but I decided realistically (what with family holidays, new work, and getting sick literally the day before I came home again) I wasn't going to get it polished before New Year at least. Then when I did, I kind of gave my Beta a blue-screen-of-death moment when she read through a particular scene at the end of this chapter (you'll know it when you see it).

It's been a long time coming, and I'm so grateful for how patient you've been with me, and I really hope you guys enjoy the results half as much as she did. :)

Side note: I wanted to get this up asap so this version hasn't been fully checked by my Beta yet. I'll update the chapter again once all the grammar and spelling corrections are done, so hang fire on any critiques regarding that. :D

Part II : Chapter 17

- Mîr Nín -

"For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." — Matthew 6:21

Helm's Deep was a monster of a fortress, though you wouldn't know it at a glance.

Sarra had told me during our walk that over half of it was actually below ground, dug straight into the side of the mountain it was built against. But as Aragorn, Benvolio and I crested the final hill that brought the valley into view, the parts that were visible were breathtaking all on their own.

The Hornburg — the main fortress of Helm's Deep — stood out from the sheer wall of the cliffs like the bow of a ship, its two levels and internal walls formed entirely from the same dark grey stone of the mountains. It had been built so that it was slightly raised above the valley it overlooked, the only access via a long, narrow causeway leading up to a set of heavy wooden gates.

Unless, of course, you felt like scaling the enormous Deeping Wall that stretched literally from one side of the valley to the other, with only a thick steel grate at the base to let the stream flow through.

It wasn't quite dusk yet, but the sun was hanging low enough in the sky to cast a forbidding red hue over the cliffs as we cantered past the empty trenches and ramparts.

One tiny, stupid part of me was almost reluctant to guide our Benvolio up the stone walkway towards the entrance, the intimidatingly huge walls of the citadel looming up over us like some kind of sleeping giant that would swallow you if you got too close.

But deep down, I knew exactly why I was truly reluctant to enter, and who I would face inside.

That feeling of dread quickly disappeared the moment the lookout guards began pointing and shouting all along the battlements. Eventually, one had the presence of mind to bellow for the gates to be opened, and the colossal wooden doors began to swing outwards. Benvolio — who had carried us the entire way without so much as a snort of complaint — staggered inside before coming to a shaky stop only a few steps past the threshold. Tired soldiers and nervous refugees lined the walls of the first courtyard, all of them turning to watch open-mouthed as Aragorn slid off the horse — indecently spritely for someone who'd been on horseback all day, in my bruised opinion. I carefully swung my creaking legs off Benvolio's back too, trying to ignore the clamouring, pointing people beginning to surround us, and immediately fell as my knees gave out.

My annoyance at Aragorn's supposed lack of exhaustion disappeared as he caught and steadied me.

"Can you stand?" he asked, no trace of judgment in his tone. He obviously knew how much the journey had taken out of me by how naturally quiet I'd been. It took a moment to properly get my feet under me, and even then they were barely steady enough.

"Yeah, just give me a second."

He nodded, slipping an arm gently around my back. The action was partly to disguise the fact that he was still mostly holding me up from the growing crowds around us, but also to make sure I was the only one who could hear him whispering.

"Don't say anything about what we saw. We must tell the King before anyone else."

I nodded, trying to Keep the look of dread off my face. The last thing we needed was to panic the civilians with the news of what was really coming our way.

A gale of furious shouting erupted suddenly from the back of the crowd, cutting off any reply I might have had. I couldn't immediately see who it was coming from, but it wasn't hard to guess — I'd have recognised that angry, dwarven baritone in a crowd of a million people all shouting at once.

"Where are they?! Get out of the way! Out of my way, I said! I'm going to bloody kill them!" Gimli was howling as he literally shoved his way through the crowd, almost kicking over a gawking young soldier when he didn't move fast enough. Aragorn and I both just gaped as our resident dwarf appeared in the gap he'd created, his fuming, helm-less face almost as red as his beard…

And bloody hell, there were tears in his eyes.

"Gimli—?"

"You two are the stupidest," he shouted, cutting me off and jabbing a thick finger at us with every ground-shaking step towards us. "The luckiest, canniest, and the most reckless pair of sodding lunatics I've ever known in all my days!*"

I'd barely had time to draw air to spout some kind of fumbling apology before he drove into us, arms as strong as tree roots coming around to pull us into a hug so hard my breath left me all over again. "Bless the both of you bleeding basket cases!"

The embrace was clumsy, warm, and made every one of my bruises scream with protest, but it was by far the best thing he could have given me right then. I let my body fold over with the force of the hug, my arms automatically returning it as hard as I could.

Well, crap. Now there were tears in my eyes, too.

"I'm so glad you're ok," I managed to mumble through the knot in my throat. Aragorn let out a soft laugh that I could hear the tired smile in, giving us both a comforting pat on the back.

"I, too, am glad to see you well, master dwarf," he said softly, the weariness beginning to creep into his voice at long last. "Are the rest of you well?"

"Aye, for the most part," Gimli answered, releasing us with some reluctance. "A few bumps, a few bruises. We all made here in one piece at least. But what by Mahal happened to you two fools?" He jabbed a finger straight at my face, his glare like stone. "And you, lass. What in the 'byss were you doing in the middle of the bloodbath? And losing your knife, again!"

I suddenly had the unsettlingly familiar feeling of being scolded by an affectionate but exasperated kindergarten teacher.

"I—"

I didn't get the chance to finish my train of thought, let alone my sentence, because I suddenly felt a pair of familiar eyes on me, and turned to find an equally familiar face staring straight at me.

Though, granted, not the one I was both hoping for, and dreading all at the same time.

Boromir was standing open-mouthed at the foot of the stone steps leaning up to the upper battlements. He looked as if he had been awake for far too long, and on his feet for even longer, and if the expression on his face was anything to go by, I either looked truly amazing or like I'd just crawled out of my own grave — probably the latter.

I felt myself give a sheepish smile and an awkward little wave, and his face split into a wide, joyous smile. He pushed his way through the gap in the crowd far more gently than Gimli had, but the hug he wrapped around me was no less strong.

"We thought you both dead," he mumbled quietly against the top of my head.

"It was a near miss," I admitted, hugging him back as hard as my shaking arms were able before pulling back. He had a few new cuts and bruises from the warg fight, but otherwise looked as healthy as I'd left him. If anything, there was a renewed spark in his eyes that I was sure I hadn't seen before. "Are you alright?"

"Am I—?" He threw his head back and burst into a loud rumbling laugh, pulling me into another one-armed hug. "I'm quite well, you tiny madwoman. Next time, for once, worry about keeping yourself in one piece before fretting over protecting the rest of us."

I couldn't quite hide my surprise at the warmth of his reaction, but I also couldn't hide the wide grin that came with it. I gave an exhausted but genuine laugh as I rested my forehead against his shoulder.

"I'll take it under advisement."

The Gondorian warrior released me and turned to face Aragorn with equal relief as he had shown me, if a little more restrained. He clapped the ranger hard on the shoulder, the nearest battle-worn men like them ever seemed to get to an embrace, but they both looked genuinely pleased to see each other alive.

"We found the Orc who saw you go over. You have much explaining to do," Boromir started to tell us, but Aragorn raised a hand to him.

"Later, friend. Right now we must see to Theoden, urgently."

Both Boromir and Gimli's faces fell at the severe tone of his voice.

"You saw something?" Gimli guessed, and Aragorn nodded, eyeing the surrounding crowds who were still shellshocked at the reappearance of two of the supposedly dead.

"On our way here. It's imperative we're all prepared."

Boromir had taken one look at the expression on Aragorn's face and nodded, immediately flagging down a couple of passing soldier. Less than a minute later, Theoden's lieutenant — who I recognised as Gamling — had appeared at the bottom of the steps leading to the second level. After a brief moment of shock at the sight of me and the ranger still alive and walking around, he started conversing in urgent, hushed tones with Aragorn and Boromir while the soldiers started dispersing the crowd and led a knackered Benvolio off toward the stables.

I couldn't help but scan the crowd with a searching gaze as the curious soldiers and Edoran refugees started to lose interest and move away. I hadn't intended to voice my thoughts as my eyes failed to find who I was searching for, but my mouth moved before I could stop it.

"Where's—" I cut myself off, but Gimli saw the look on my face and knew instantly whom I meant.

"He's not here, lass," he told me gently. My stomach dropped at the words, icy dread forcing its way past my flimsy composure.

"Oh God, he's not—?!"

Gimli threw up his hands in a calming gesture.

"No, no, he's alive," he reassured, seemingly not at all surprised to see the fear on my face. "Though I wouldn't say he's well, exactly. He's assisting the women and children down into the caves."

I felt my whole body sag in both tiredness and sudden relief.

He was alive, and helping. At least that meant he wasn't injured. The weight that knowledge lifted from me was a surprise. I'd been so focused on keeping myself and Aragorn alive after our fall, I hadn't stopped to realise Boromir had been right — I had been worrying about them all. Not knowing whether they had been hurt in the fight, whether they were even alive…

I felt sudden, humiliatingly exhausted tears stinging the corners of my eyes, and I had to clench them shut to stop them falling.

Gimli cleared his throat and gave me a gruff pat on the shoulder.

"Here," he said, reaching into his spare scabbard and withdrawing a familiar-looking blade with a clumsily carved handle, now slightly stained with Orc blood. He took my hand and pressed the handle into my palm, pointing a warning finger straight into my face. "And I swear by Mahal, you lose this again and I'll have the smithy weld it to your side."

I hiccuped a laugh, and it was just what I needed to get myself under control again.

"I do have the worst luck with that knife," I agreed, clutching it to my chest once before stowing it safely back in the sheath at my waist. "Thanks, Gimli."

"Bah," he waved me off, but I saw the smile lurking behind that beard.

Just then, a woman appeared out of the crowd still moving around us. I wouldn't have otherwise noticed her, she blended into the other refugees so seamlessly in her dusty travelling clothes, wavy blonde mane and tired look. But the moment she spotted us she made a bee-line straight for me, dark brown eyes intent.

"Pardon, m'lord and lady," she said as soon as she was close enough, her voice holding a similar Rohirric accent to the one Sarra had. She still had her gaze fixed on me, eyes flicking occasionally up to my ears. "I don't mean to intrude, but, you are the one called Eleanor?"

"Aye," Gimli answered before I could even open my mouth, clapping a solid hand on my back and almost collapsing my spine. "This is she."

The woman never looked away from me, and there was something uncannily familiar about her…

"M'lady Eleanor, my name is Etain," she told me solemnly with a slight bow.

Suddenly I realised why I felt like I'd seen her before. Her hair might have been threaded with grey, but it was exactly the same as Eothain's sandy blond, and her eyes mirrors of Freda's warm brown.

"You're Eothain and Freda's mother," I blurted stupidly, but she smiled, the expression weary but warm as a midsummer afternoon.

"That I am," she confirmed. "My children tell me you are responsible for their lives."

I fumbled for some kind of response, suddenly feeling — against all reason — truly embarrassed by the blunt statement that made me sound far more heroic that I was.

"I, well…"

She hugged me.

Crossing the small distance between us in one smooth stride, she wrapped me in an embrace so similar to my own mother's, it almost floored me. I suddenly found myself fighting back the sting of tears a second time.

"Thank you," Etain whispered, her own voice thick with her own unshed tears. "I am in your debt, m'lady. Thank you."

I hesitated a bit before giving her a gentle pat on the back in acceptance of the hug, honestly unsure of how else I should react.

"You don't owe me anything, Etain," I told her gently. She released me and gave me a disbelieving look.

"Of course I do! You are the reason my son and daughter have not joined my husband in death."

"I was… only doing my job," I said feebly, and the overly humble reply seemed to amuse and please her because she beamed, taking both my filthy hands tightly in hers.

"Whatever your reason, should you need anything, any request I can grant, it is yours."

"I—" I was about to try and deny that she should offer me anything, but something about the look in her eyes told me that refusing her graciousness would be deeply insulting. Or worse, ungrateful. So I swallowed the impulse, hoping I wasn't too red-faced and ducked my head in a small bow. "Thank you, Etain. Where are Freda and Eothain anyway? Are they alright?"

"They are both well. Already safely down in the caves," she said, a questioning glance from me to where Gimli had joined the grim conversation with Boromir, Aragorn and Gamling. "Will you be joining us, m'lady?"

I quickly promised her I would come and check on them once I'd seen to my companions. She'd just moved off towards the archways leading down to the catacombs below the Keep when Aragorn appeared at my side again.

"Theoden is preparing the Keep for defence. We must inform him of what we witnessed," he said with a pointed glance at the retreating Etain and the other refugees. I blinked at him, more than a little surprised.

"You want me there too?"

Aragorn eyed me as if the answer was obvious.

"Of course. You saw them as clearly as I."

"Likely clearer, depending on how hard you hit that river," Gimli added dryly, to which Aragorn threw him a dirty glare. The dwarf simply smirked, clapping the ranger on the arm.

"Go. We will continue with the preparations. Come find us after," Boromir urged.

So we left them to the refugees, making our way up towards the main hall of the Keep in Gamling's footsteps. I couldn't help but peer back over my shoulder as we left, glancing at Boromir's back as he assisted an elderly couple carrying their provisions towards the caves.

'Something's different about that one,' Tink piped up from the back of my head, eyeing the smile the man offered his charges as they left. I made a silent noise of agreement, turning to catch up with Aragorn and Gamling.

'He's definitely a little closer to the old Boromir I remember.'

'Not just that. He feels… lighter somehow. More so even than before Lothlórien,' she told me seriously, though she didn't sound displeased by the observation. I smiled to myself, suddenly glad to have that second voice echoing around the inside of my mind again.

'Well, that wasn't cryptic at all. Glad to have you back in the land of the living, Tink.'

'Likewise, boss. Here's a thought, let's never do anything like that again,' she suggested in the driest tone I'd ever heard from her. I resisted the urge to chuckle aloud and give the watching refugees even more reason to stare as we passed.

'Don't hold your breath. We've still got an oncoming siege to survive, remember.'

'Right, an army of badass monsters. It's all coming back to me now…'

The rest of our silent conversation devolved to tension-easing jokes as we moved up the Keep towards the Hornburg's main entrance.

If I'd been in any doubt before about the magnitude of the fortress from the outside, the climb up through its levels cleared it right up. The Keep was laid out kind of like the tiers of a wedding cake, with the bottom one housing the front gate, lower courtyard, and the stables. The second was accessed via a curved set of wide stone steps that levelled out to hold the armoury, barracks, upper courtyard and entrance to the caverns. As we passed through the throngs of loitering refugees I spied what I assumed was the smaller rear gate of the Keep, its doors open to show the steep, winding stairway leading down to the gully behind the Deeping Wall. The final level rose up only a little higher than the second and was almost entirely devoted to the entrance to the King's hall, the stone watchtower holding the horn of Helm Hammerhand looming up above it like a spear piercing the gap between the mountains. When we finally reached the doors to the main hall, Aragorn shoved them open to reveal a room the size and hight of a cathedral. Carved wooden arches and stone pillars made for a cavernous room, and at its centre, a war table had been set up — surrounded by grizzled, tired-looking Rohan soldiers, and one stunned King.

The moment Theoden saw us standing in the entranceway, he was out of his chair and striding around the table, past his shocked advisors. He'd barely managed to utter a word before Aragorn started speaking over him, no time or patience left to stand on formalities.

We had one hell of a bomb to drop.

I was mostly content to stay quiet through the briefing as Aragorn filled everyone in on what was coming, only speaking up to confirm his descriptions and add in details of my own. Surviving the fall into the river, the journey to catch up with them, the army we'd seen: the King took it all in with a grim expression, the hand resting on the pommel of his sword flexing with agitation. When Aragorn finally finished telling them about the horde of sunlight resistant Uruk-hai marching with siege equipment, an unsettling hush fell over the entire hall. I wasn't even sure anyone was breathing.

"How many?" Theoden finally asked, piercing the silence.

"Ten thousand strong," Aragorn answered.

"At least," I added.

Theoden just stared at us, looking as if someone had just danced the foxtrot over his grave.

"Ten thousand…"

"They had the white hand of Saruman on their helms," I told him, glancing around to see the King's expression of shocked dread mirrored on almost all of his men. Aragorn made a sound of agreement.

"All of Isengard has emptied. They will be here by nightfall if they've kept their pace."

Theoden looked as if he needed to sit down, but instead, he only hunched forward over the war table, resting heavily on his arms.

"Why?"

"It is an army raised for a single purpose," Aragorn said without any preamble, or sugarcoating whatsoever. "Ending the race of Men."

For what felt like minutes, Theoden just stared at us across the war table, gauging the weight of Aragorn's expressions and the consequences of the info-grenade we'd just thrown at him. Then he very obviously buried his own fear and dread, stood straight, and met the expectant looks of his men with renewed confidence.

"Then let them come. We shall be ready for them."

The soldiers surrounding him didn't quite appear to share in his confidence. Some of them even looked alarmed by it.

"My King, we do not have the numbers to fight that many," one older captain with greying hair said.

"Even within the mouth of the valley we would be swarmed in minutes if we manned the ramparts," another added.

Theoden ignored them all, leaning back over the war table to observe the map of the valley spread over it.

"We will do as we have done before. We endure the barrage from within the Hornburg as a cliff withstands the sea," he told them, his tone brokering no argument. "We have enough supplies stored in the caverns to last us at least two weeks. This army will doubtless pillage and burn as they go. But homes can be rebuilt, crops resown. As long as we are within these walls, we will withstand them."

"Withstand them?" Aragorn repeated under his breath, and I think it was the first time I'd ever seen him truly lost for words. I was kind of stunned too. Had Theoden completely missed the part about them toting battering rams and thirty-foot scaling ladders?

"You really think an army raised and armed by a wizard will come unprepared to storm a Keep?" I asked aloud before I could think better of it.

The King of Rohan looked up barely long enough to throw me the kind of look normally reserved for finding dog shite on the sole of your boot.

"I think as King I know how to defend my own fortress from those who would see it burned to the ground, my lady," he said, emphasising the title as if it was something beneath his concern.

I felt my temper flaring, the sudden urge to smack that expression off his face so great, I was kind of glad for the sprawling table between us. Beside me, Aragorn was no better; he looked as if he was about to burst a blood vessel.

"This horde does not march on us to destroy crops or buildings, they come with the will and means to wipe out its people," he argued, stepping up so he was leaning over the opposite head of the war table from the King. "Your men are right. You cannot repel this threat alone. You must call for aid, my lord. Send out riders to your allies."

Theoden fixed Aragorn with a toxic scowl.

"And who will answer us? The old Alliances are long dead, and if what you say is true, then there is no time left even if we did have the men to spare." He shook his head, blond hair with its white streaks falling to hide the wavering confidence in his eyes. "No, we must devote all our resources to the Keep's defence."

"Gondor would answer if—" Aragorn started to argue, but was cut off as Theoden slammed a fist onto the table with a thunderous bang, making the candles flicker and several of the younger soldiers, myself included, jump in alarm.

"Gondor?!" he spat, furious eyes on the ranger. "Where was Gondor when my people cried out for aid as the Westfold burned? When our enemies closed in around us and families were murdered in their beds?! Cloistered in an ivory city behind thick walls and thicker politics!"

Aragorn didn't respond. He simply absorbed the King's vitriol with the same stony look I'd seen him wear in combat, not contradicting or defending, but not backing down either. The silence hung thick in the air for a few moments before Theoden managed to reign his temper in again, breathing deeply and shaking his head. "No. I will not place a fool's hope on aid that will never come. We are alone in this, Lord Aragorn. As we have ever been."

'Bleeding hell. This man's pride is going to get everyone in this Keep killed,' Tink muttered from the back of my exasperated thoughts.

'We'd better hope Gandalf makes it back in time with some kind of miracle in tow, then,' I agreed.

"We will need to repel any who come close to the walls. Station archers along the battlements. I need every man and strong lad armed and ready for battle by nightfall," Theoden was saying, directing his captains to begin putting the plans into actions. Aragorn — despite still being incensed by Theoden's refusal to even send a raven for help — looked as if he intended to stay and at least put his strategic skills to good use. I, however, had had quite enough of everything going on in that hall. And anyway, when it came to war plans, I'd probably be as helpful as a shot of brandy to someone dying of heat exhaustion. So, with my witnessing job done, I turned for the exit, hoping to slip out and off to find Sarra unnoticed.

At least until the King's voice stopped me.

"M'lady Eleanor."

I halted in my tracks, feeling a dozen sets of eyes suddenly focusing on my back, preventing me from pretending like I hadn't heard him.

'Busted,' Tink groaned.

I turned slowly to see Theoden frowning at me again, though with mildly less disdain and more caution than before at least.

"Yes?"

The King shifted to stand a little straighter as he regarded me.

"I hear from Gamling you near smashed in the face of one of my junior soldiers before we left Edoras," he stated in a deliberately neutral tone that didn't match the faintly disapproving tilt to his expression. I saw the mirror of that same silent judgement reflected in several of the other captains as I looked around, and the shadow of a grimace cross Aragorn's face out of the corner of my eye. He obviously knew the reaction that comment delivered in that tone would garner from me.

And he was absolutely right.

The anger that had sparked earlier kindled into a searing flame. Over the past twenty-four hours, I'd been attacked, shunned, dropped off a cliff, almost drowned, ridden bareback for miles with an unconscious man strapped to my back — and all in the knowledge that the person I'd grown closest to in the past few months never wanted to speak to me again.

And I had exactly zero patience left to spare on subtlety.

'Right, screw this!' I thought, anger pulsing through me. I turned away from the door to face them all head-on, raising my chin partly in challenge, but also to clearly show the ring of bruises still fresh around my throat.

"I hear that same soldier of yours tried to sexually assault an unwilling young woman in an alleyway whilst drunk off his rocker, my lord," I replied, loud enough so the entire room could hear every word.

The hall went suddenly, deadly silent — enough that I could hear the roaring of my own furious heartbeat in my ears. Half the younger men visibly cringed back in shock, clearly unused to hearing some of those particular words said aloud, let alone as an accusation of one of their own. The older ones that didn't either averted their eyes or gave me genuine looks of shame. But to my surprise, not one of them attempted to contradict me or call me a liar. Theoden himself looked faintly stunned behind his poker face.

I probably should have left it there, but my flaring temper was long gone, and my mouth just kept on going without me.

"I also heard," I continued, holding the King's gaze hostage, "That this soldier only backed off when one of the woman's companions heard the commotion and came to intervene. And that if he hadn't, she would have been justified in beating your junior to a pulp to defend herself from such a violation."

'Drag him, girl!' Tink was hollering at the back of my mind, but I ignored her in favour of watching the King's reaction like a hawk. I might have been counted as a guest and friend of his court, but I was acutely aware that if his pride was truly too great, he might treat this outburst as a great insult. Or worse, a threat to his authority.

Turns out the King of Rohan was many things, but someone who tried to belittle ugly truths was not one of them.

Theoden watched me for an agonisingly long moment of complete silence. Then he straightened, placed his hand to his heart and bowed low to me — a gesture I recognised as a deliberately Elven mannerism.

"I beg you to accept my humblest apologies, my lady. There is no excusing such an act. Under normal circumstances a shame of this magnitude would be met with banishment at the least, the headsman's axe at worst," he said, and despite the anger still beating through me, I couldn't sense any deceit or insincerity in his voice. A look of regret with a tinge of guilt coloured his expression. "Please know he will be dealt with severely when this crisis has passed. But given our number and what we are now up against, we will need every hand we have to defend the Keep, and the innocent people within."

I stared long and hard at the King of Rohan across the table, mine and Tink's mingled fury a silent storm beneath my skin.

What he said made perfect sense. But that didn't mean the part of me that still raged at the injustice had to like it.

I gave a single sharp nod of acceptance, not trusting myself to Keep from spitting venom a third time if I opened my mouth. I needed to get out of there before my anger got the better of me.

"Please excuse me," I managed to get out from between clenched teeth. The King nodded.

"Of course. You are excused—"

But I was already out of the doors before he'd finished speaking.

'Mother fu—!' Tink was still yelling, but a second voice drowned her out before she could finish the obscenity.

"Eleanor, wait!" Aragorn called, following me out of the hall before I'd made it halfway down the steps. He caught up with me just as I reached the courtyard. The soldiers had already started herding the last of the women and children into the caves and guiding the young men towards the armoury, and several curious heads turned to watch us as I stopped and spun to face him.

"What you said in there—" he started, but I cut him off. I could barely deal with the idea of a lecture right then, let alone enduring one.

"Aragorn, I swear if you tell me I should have held my tongue and said nothing I'll—"

"I was going to tell you that it was deeply brave," he interrupted me. My outraged counterargument fizzled out along with the anger. I blinked stupidly at him.

"What?"

Aragorn gave me a lopsided smile: the fond, borderline affectionate kind I'd seen very rarely from him. It threw me off balance almost as much as his next words did.

"Not many could have said what you did to whom you did. Let alone in a room full of that boy's brethren and friends. It was brave of you to do that."

For a moment I couldn't think of a damned thing to say, torn between genuine shock and crippling relief that he was on my side. Truly on my side this time.

"It… needed to be said," I replied at last, giving a feeble little shrug that really didn't feel adequate. "It was me that guy went after this time, but it could have been another girl later. One who didn't have a Maia and posse of warrior friends backing her up. I just said what they all needed to hear."

His lip twitched in a micro-grin at the word "friend", and I couldn't help but mirror it.

"Nevertheless, I wished you to know," he said, and his face fell slightly as he glanced back up at the entrance to the main hall. "It is… surprising sometimes, the lengths good men will go to avoid painful truths."

I thought back to the King's mask of confidence, and faces of the older soldiers inside. The ones who had said nothing to stop me, but also had turned their gazes away when I'd voiced what had been done. And also of the younger ones who had appeared shamed, but had not once condemned the actions of their fellow.

"I guess so," I muttered, heaving a heavy sigh and turning from the hall, the last of my outrage vanishing to be replaced by weariness. I was suddenly so bloody tired. "Anyway, I thought I'd see if I can help out down in the caves. See if anyone was injured in the warg attack who still needs help."

I imagined Sarra would be down there somewhere along with Freda and Eothain as well, all of them likely sick with worry by now.

I felt Aragorn rest a warm hand on my shoulder, substantially gentler than Gimli had.

"A good idea. Your skills will be greatly valued among the refugees," he said, then paused, eyeing me with a suspicious raised brow. "And you plan to stay down there during the fighting?"

I chuckled, lightly batting his hand away.

"Oh, I will. I'm barely any help in a fight, let alone a siege." I pointed a warning finger at him. "But make no mistake, I'm doing this because I know I'll be more useful there. Not because some beardy horse King orders me to."

"Noted," he smiled again, but then something over my left shoulder caught his attention and the expression fell into shock. Confused, I turned to see what he was looking at…

And found Legolas standing on the other side of the courtyard, staring at us as if he'd seen a pair of ghosts.

I honestly wasn't sure what I was expecting to find when I saw him again, but it wasn't what I got. I remembered all too clearly the outward signs of worry I'd noticed on him after waking from healing Boromir at Amon Hen — the disarray where there had normally been composure, dark circles under grey-blue eyes.

But the person I saw staring back at me for that tiny fraction of time looked as if he had just woken from a horrendous nightmare, and wasn't certain if he was still trapped inside his own torment. His dark gold hair was mussed and dark with dirt and blood from the warg attack as if he hadn't even touched it since the fight. There was sill Orc blood staining his hunting leathers and hands, unwashed, and untreated cuts dotting his knuckles. The circles under his eyes were back, but they were dark, restless bruises this time, exacerbated by the bloodless pallor his face had taken on.

But the worst part was the look in his eyes.

He looked haunted, disbelieving — a raw emotional wound open to the elements.

My mouth just kind of fell open. I think I meant to call out to him on instinct, but the sound caught in my throat. For that split second, I couldn't look away from the ruin that Aragorn's and my supposed deaths had left in their wake.

Was this the effect I'd had on someone I'd grown to care for so much?

It was true I had never considered the repercussions of becoming emotionally attached to someone who quite literally would live forever unless killed in battle, what it would feel like to care so deeply for someone who would be around long after you were gone. But I also had not considered — at least until our fight at Edoras — what such a loss would mean for him. I had at least led enough of my human life to know death firsthand; what it looked like, how to deal with it, and how to shield my heart against it.

He didn't.

And this is what that loss had done to him.

That terrified me — more than I was entirely able to understand.

The horror inside me turned to terrible sadness, guilt and panic, and it was more than I could handle.

"Mellon nín…**" I heard Aragorn murmur, and the sound of his own shock only brought my own emotions down harder, crushing the air from my lungs.

I couldn't handle this.

My inner turmoil-hurricane was abruptly cut short by the sudden sound of a familiar war horn, along with the chaotic shouts of the watch guard cutting through the air, and the moment shattered. I realised with a strangely disjointed rush that I recognised that sound of that horn — I'd heard almost every day back when we had still been in Lothlórien when the Galadhrim had been running drills in the training grounds.

The crowds filing into the caves surged with sudden alarm at the noise, and the clusters of shifting bodies momentarily blocked Legolas from my view, and us from his. I didn't know if the feeling that washed over me was relief or frustration, one part of me desperate to charge through the crowd after him, the other unable to bear the thought of seeing him —yet knowing that I would break apart right now if I heard the same pain in his voice that I saw in his face.

The storm of things going on inside my head and heart was suddenly too much.

Everything was suddenly too much.

'Boss?' Tink's voice brushed hesitantly against my awareness.

'I… I can't…' I felt my own chaotic thoughts echo through my head in response. 'I can't… I can't handle this. Not now. I can't do it…'

'Boss, are you ok? Your emotions are going all over the place.'

I didn't even try to explain what was happening inside me. Instead, I took one last look back at the place where I'd last seen Legolas' haunted form — the person I both wanted to see again more than anyone else, and yet the one I couldn't bear to look at right then for the ruin I'd made of him…

And I turned and ran for the battlements, leaving a stunned Aragorn behind in my place.

"Eleanor?!" he called after me, but I didn't answer, my feet barely touching the stone as I flew down the steps towards the lower courtyard.

'You coward!' Tink shouted, her outrage returned and firing through my head like a banshee's howl. 'You utter fucking coward, Eleanor Dace!'

I didn't deny it.

I was a coward. But right then, much as I loathed myself for it, the only thing I could bear to let myself focus on was the last person I'd heard create that horn blast.

And the hope that he had brought an army that might save us with him.

I regretted it the second I took the first step, but I couldn't stop moving once I started.

I almost knocked over four different people as I flew down the stairs; one old man even shouted after me in what I assumed was some colourful Rohirric swear words. My heart was racing more than I'd ever felt it do, even when I was running for my life, even after I came to a gasping halt at the edge of the lower courtyard.

I hadn't had a true anxiety attack in so long I wasn't sure my Elf body was capable of it, and it took a minute to realise what was happening to me. It wasn't quite the same as I remembered experiencing when I was human, but it was close enough that I knew what I needed to do. I quickly found a free patch of wall in a corner and let myself fall back against it, resting my hands on my knees and breathing deeply and slowly as I could.

Tink didn't try and ask me if I was ok again, obviously sensing what was happening on some level. She just let me deal with everything I was feeling as I could.

It took a minute of deliberately deep breathing to slow my racing pulse before I finally came back to myself, and when I did I realised my eyes were wet with tears. I wasn't sure what was more shocking to me then — the fact that I'd had my very first anxiety attack as an Elf, now of all times, or that it was the sight of Legolas in such clear emotional pain which had somehow triggered it.

Shoving the thought away for later I wiped my sleeve across my face, hoping none of the surrounding people had noticed, and looked up to see the gate guards running for the doors as another horn blast echoed over the walls. It took three grown men to lift the wooden bar across the gate and push each door open, but at last they swung outwards.

And as they did, over a hundred Elves marched into the Keep, all of them armoured, carrying an assortment of blades and bows, and all garbed in the familiar grey and indigo of the Galadhrim. They moved in the perfect unison, the picture of militaristic discipline, three columns of them led by banner bearers that filed in to form symmetrical groups wherever there was space in the courtyard.

It wasn't until the entire lower level of the Keep was nearly full of Galadhrim warriors that their leader finally entered after them. The Marchwarden of Lothlórien strode over the threshold of the Hornburg flanked by his two brothers, Rumil and Orophin — all three of them armed in the elegant but durable armour of the Elves heading into battle.

"Haldir!" I cried, a wave of relief drowning out all other feelings as I saw him. He spotted me, and a tiny upward twitch at the corner of his mouth was all the reaction I got as he moved cooly past the wonderstruck human soldiers.

"Lady Élanor," he said, offering me a small bow and a sardonic look at my bedraggled state. I was still a mess from the fall into the river — torn clothes, dirt everywhere, and my hair all over the place. "I am pleased to see you alive and arrow-free."

I was too stunned to even notice the reference to the first time we'd met.

"How?" I spluttered, staring around at them all, flabbergasted. "How did you know? How did you know we needed help?"

"A certain former Grey Wizard thought it best to send a preemptive call for aid," Haldir explained quietly. "His raven's message gave the impression that you were in dire need of armed reinforcments, although you did not know it yet."

I grimaced, glancing around at the Rohan soldiers, who now appeared hopelessly exhausted and under-equipped beside the perfectly armed Elven warriors.

"He wasn't wrong." I was about to tell him about the army headed our way in Sindarin so the surrounding refugees wouldn't understand, but the sound of heavy boots on stone steps got there first.

We both turned to see Aragorn and Theoden both appear at the top of the stairs with Gimli and Gamling in tow, and the rows of Elven warriors all turned in perfect parade-synchronisation to face them. Theoden's mouth dropped open, the sight of an entire Elven war party on his doorstep clearly the limit of what he could plausibly hide behind his mask.

"I bring word from both Lord Elrond and Mithrandir. There once existed an Alliance between Men and Elves." Haldir addressed them without preamble, clear and loud enough that his voice carried around the courtyard. He offered them all a serene, diplomatic smile. "Once we fought and died alongside each other in the defence of all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth. We come now to honour that promise once again."

Theoden appeared to have almost completely lost the ability to form words.

"How is this possible?" he murmured, nearly too quiet for anyone to hear.

"Gandalf seemed to believe you would be in dire need of our aid, and your guest here," he gestured at me. "Concurs. Were they mistaken?"

"They were not," Aragorn spoke before the King could gather himself, striding down the stairs and surprising all of us — Haldir included — by pulling the Elf lord into a manly embrace that would probably leave bruises. "Mae govannen, my friend***. You are most welcome here."

Once Haldir had recovered from the sudden application of masculine affection, he smiled and returned the embrace before pulling away to address the leader of Rohan again.

"If you will allow it, Theoden King, we would be proud to fight alongside you in defence of your people."

The entire courtyard seemed to zero their attention in on the King who was still stood paralysed at the top of the stairs, myself and Aragorn included. For a long moment Theoden did nothing — or probably could physically do nothing — but stare around at his abruptly full courtyard. Then at long last, he slowly descended the steps one at a time until he was face to face with the Elven warrior.

Then he bowed, considerably lower than I'd seen him do to anyone else, including me only five minutes before.

"And we would be honoured to have your blades and bows at our sides," he said, and the raw gratitude in his voice was unmistakable.

Haldir offered the King one final, fierce smile, and immediately threw a couple of rapid-fire commands in Sindarin to his brothers. His men swept into immediate motion, the bulk of them moving straight towards the Deeping Wall, while a good chunk remained to help barricade the gates and stock the battlements with arrows and heavy stones.

No time left to waste with the sun sinking, Gimli headed off to the armoury with the intention of "finding some chainmail that might actually fit him" whilst Aragorn, Theoden and Haldir began conversing rapidly about strategically staggering the archer's shots over the walls. I followed them up onto the battlements, lingering and watching the preparations get underway. I wasn't entirely sure why, but felt the need to talk to Haldir specifically before leaving to head down to the caves. Some unsettling part of me felt like I'd not get a second chance if I left it too long.

I waited patiently until they'd clearly decided upon some key tactics, Theoden excusing himself to see to his men's equipment, and Aragorn to find his own ranged weapon — having not carried a bow since Moria.

As he passed, the ranger reached out and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"When you next meet, give him a chance to speak, if you can," he whispered to me, providing no further explanation before he headed off for the armoury. I stared after him, brows furrowed in confusion until I finally realised he wasn't talking about Haldir.

The same rush of anxiety I'd had just minutes before rose up inside me, and I scrabbled for a way to crush it back down again.

"How's Merileth?" I blurted suddenly at the Marchwarden, and I realised as I said the words that I really did want to know — my memory flying back to the days I'd spent playing with the two Elf children in the Golden Wood. "Gweredir and Colion?"

He turned to me, and even armed to the teeth and garbed in plate mail, the smile he gave at their mention warmed every inch of his presence.

"They are all well," he said, the fondness emanating from every word. The smile didn't vanish but he shot me a pointed look, adding: "And the former far more grateful for your meddling than I originally was, Lady Élanor."

Despite everything that had happened, everything I'd felt in the past hour alone, I couldn't help but feel my face spread into a small, wicked smirk.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Haldir snorted.

"Indeed not," he said dryly, but the tone didn't reach his eyes. I shrugged.

"She's my friend, Haldir. Knowing what I did about you both, did you really expect anything less?"

"From you? I suppose not. However, I cannot say I am unhappy with the outcome," he admitted. My victorious smirk turned to a genuine smile.

"I didn't get to say before we left, but I'm very happy for you both," I told him earnestly, and while I knew the Marchwarden wasn't truly gloomy by nature, I honestly think it was the first time I'd ever seen him really smile at me without any irony or cynicism at all. He rested a hand over his heart and bowed slightly to me.

"I must see to my men. Even with our added numbers it will not be an easy fight…" he said, straitening as his gaze drifted momentarily over my shoulder. "And it would seem someone else desires your attention far more than I."

My stomach flipped over as Haldir moved smoothly past me.

I already knew exactly who it was behind me, but this time I didn't immediately turn to look. I could suddenly smell the faint scent of pine and rain as the breeze rolled past, but I still wasn't sure I could make myself turn and see him. It was stupid. I don't know when I expected to be faced with him again, but whenever it was, I hadn't been prepared for it to be so soon.

Then again, I thought — looking around at the battle preparations going on all around us — it wasn't like we had the luxury of time anymore. That strange anxiety shoved its way to the surface again, cutting through my flimsy composure. But I fought it back, forcing myself to close my eyes and breathe slowly.

No matter what I felt, I thought, I wouldn't run this time. Not this time.

I turned to face him.

The sight of him had the exact same sharp, painful effect it had before, but I was braced for it this time. I forced myself to stay rooted to the spot, watching with a kind of paralysed detachment as Haldir passed close to him on the narrow walkway.

The two elven men nodded to each other in silent greeting. And to my surprise, the Marchwarden gave him a companionable pat on the shoulder as he passed, far less formal than any of their previous greeting. Then he simply walked away…

Leaving Legolas and me alone, standing opposite each other on the battlements.

Every detail of him that I'd seen before was thrown into painful clarity up close — every harsh line looking like a crack in porcelain, every dark shade like a fresh bruise. He looked so ill. But I knew all too well that it was no disease or sickness that had made him appear like that. Elves simply didn't get sick, at least not of the body. All those dark circles and harsh lines were a sign of something much deeper.

Far more difficult to heal.

I couldn't honestly say how long we just stood there, staring at each other. I think we were each hoping the other would speak first, but I for one couldn't find any words. So much had happened in such a small space of time, and so many emotions were rattling around inside me. Where the hell was I even supposed to start?

I drew a breath to speak at the same time Legolas did, and we both stopped, waiting for the other to go first. When I continued to remain hesitantly silent, he tried again, his voice coming so coarse I could barely hear him on his first attempt.

"You're… truly alive," he tried again.

It was almost a question, as if he still couldn't quite make himself believe it. And I was right, the sound was like having salt-covered knives pushed under my skin.

"Mostly…" I said, my own voice losing almost all of its strength. "Are you… alright?"

It was such a ridiculously stupid question, I wanted to bury my face in my hands. Of course he wasn't. Anyone with eyes could see that. But still he considered the question, as if his own wellbeing hadn't crossed his mind until right then.

"I…" he cleared this throat again, the rasp coming back. "I believed I was, until now."

That simple statement pierced me deeper than any blade could have. All the clever words in the world, in several different languages, all at my disposal — and I couldn't think of a single bloody thing to say to that. I wanted to hug him, scream, and burst into tears all at the same time, but I did none of them. I could barely continue breathing steadily without struggling or falling to pieces.

My eyes closed unbidden, my fists clenching at my sides, trying to hold it together.

"Eleanor," he breathed, but I heard him as clearly as if he'd whispered the words against my ear. "I am sorry."

I went abruptly, painfully quiet inside, the word echoing around my head like a voice in a completely empty cathedral.

"You're sorry," I repeated blankly, and the shamed look Legolas gave me made me realise he thought I was still angry with him.

"The word is woefully inadequate, but yes," he told me, taking the tiniest of steps forward. "I am truly sorry… for everything I both said and did in response to your honesty."

The numb silence inside me was deafening. I didn't know what to say, where to start. It was so much worse than if I'd been silently howling with fury.

There was only one thing I could pull from the numbness. One simple question, the answer of which I knew would either break or mend me.

"Why—?" I asked, and the sound of the word was all it took for holes to start appearing in the dam holding my emotions at bay. I was suddenly having to bite my cheek against the sting of tears. "Why did you leave?"

Legolas tried to remain stoic in the face of the words, but it was clear they had hit him like a tangible blow.

"Why did I…?"

"Why did you go?" I asked again, my renewed feelings giving my voice its strength back. "Back in Edoras. Why did you leave before we could talk, before I could explain?"

I think it was the first time I'd ever heard him truly, painfully unsure of himself.

"I… I was not attempting to punish or hurt you, I just…" he trailed off softly, searching for the words. "I needed time."

For a tiny moment the invisible space between us seemed just a little bit narrower.

"I don't know how much of that I have left to give," I answered far more calmly than I suddenly felt. "That's three times now I've escaped dying by the skin of my teeth. I'm not sure I have a fourth in me."

He looked truly pained by the answer, but nodded.

"I know that now. More so than ever before."

The uneasy silence came back again, the only sounds between us the clatters of shields and weapons being prepared as men readied for battle.

"I want to know something," I said abruptly into that silence, unable to look away from him now that I'd worked up the courage.

"Ask," he said without hesitation. "Anything you wish."

"Are you only telling me this because you thought I was dead?"

I don't think I could have conjured a more surprised look onto his face if I'd stabbed him and pushed him off the battlements. Of all the questions he was clearly expecting from me, this can't have been one of them. But I pressed on. "If Aragorn and I hadn't gone over that cliff, would you still be giving me the cold shoulder? Would I still be wondering if I hadn't made a huge mistake telling you the truth?"

It was the first time since we've faced each other that he couldn't meet my eye. Instead he glanced down at my hands — still scratched and filthy as they were — before forcing himself to look at me again. I didn't need any kind of Elf sight to see the struggle going on behind his eyes.

"I will not lie, the thought of you… gone…" he stumbled over the word slightly, but cleared his throat and continued. "I regretted everything I had said and done before I'd taken a step away. But once I had, I believed the damage was done, and my pride would not allow me to try and undo it. After that it was simple cowardice. I knew what I had done, but hadn't the bravery to face you after truly seeing the damage I had wrought. But then… believing I had lost the chance to atone permanently…" He trailed off again, and this time he closed his eyes and breathed deeply to quell whatever he was wrestling with. "So to answer your question, I do not know. I don't know if I would have mustered the courage to apologise. All I can say is that I put my pride ahead of someone I've come to care greatly for, and it is a mistake I will not repeat again."

The dam I was only just starting to realise I'd built to hold all my more painful feelings back began to buckle and break. The sting in my eyes was becoming too much. I closed my eyes and dropped my head, breathing steadily just as I had to calm myself before.

When I looked up again I was calmer, but my eyes were still wet at the edges.

"I suppose near death experiences are good for more than just proving how durable we all are."

Ignoring the surprise on my friend's face, I walked up to him, closing that gap that had formed between us and slipping my arms around his waist and into a hug. My forehead rested against his collarbone as his scent washed over me, eyes clenched shut tight against the tears that suddenly didn't feel so bitter anymore. There was the briefest beat of shock. Then warn, strong arms closed around me, his tall form hunched over to curl around mine. It was tentative at first, as if half afraid I would break or vanish if he held me too tight, but I only hugged him tighter, a storm of feeling where there had once been numbness as I felt the press of his lips and nose against the top of my head.

"Aragorn told me of what happened, what you did," he whispered. "I am so sorry I was not there."

"I'm sorry too," I whispered against his tunic, the word sounding totally inadequate for the host of things I now wished I could have done differently. I only felt his arms hold me tighter, the press of his hand on the back of my head and his breath against my hair.

"You have naught to be sorry for, mîr nín," he said, the tiniest tremor in it I might not have noticed had we not been so close. A fresh wave of tears came, and this time I didn't try to hold them in.

"I didn't lie before," I said shakily, voice suddenly thick with the knot in my throat. "I wanted to tell you everything for so long, but I just…"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"Yes I do," I insisted, and he surprised me with a soft laugh against my hair. I felt the press of his lips on the crown of my head, and backed up in surprised to see him smiling down at me — the hint of dampness at the edges of his eyes too.

"Then I will gladly listen to every part of your tale, and likely ask a thousand questions for every word. But not here, not now," he told me, a hand stroking over my hair. "For now, just let me be grateful you still live."

I bit my lip and clenched my eyes shut again as he pulled me into another gentler embrace, not wanting to give up my voice to embarrassing sobs of relief just yet.

"Later, then?" I mumbled, unwilling to look around at the battle preparations going on and remember exactly what we were up against. "If there even is a later."

This time Legolas pulled back, making me look up at him.

"There will be," he said with blunt finality. Inexplicably, it made me smile.

I might not have gotten out everything I needed to yet, but still everything felt suddenly lighter. Lighter than I had since I'd first joined the Fellowship, I think. Like a weight I hadn't realised I was carrying all that time had suddenly been lifted off my chest.

"I guess there will have to be, if you really do want to hear my entire mad life story. It's a lot longer than the others I've told," I said quietly. I put my hand on his arm until he let go, allowing me to take his hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Besides, you still owe me."

His brows furrowed, momentarily confused.

"For?"

"Our bargain. Back in Lothlórien, remember? I told you what those names on my knife meant. You still owe me a translation on what mîr nín means, and I intend to collect."

Another tiny, breathy chuckle escaped him, a light and easy sound in stark contrast to how he looked.

"So I do," he admitted, that familiar fond, slightly crooked smile creeping onto his face again. Just as it had been before this whole mess had started, back when we'd talked in the Meduseld corridors.

One of the guards outside the entrance to the caves had started calling for the last of the women and children to come inside before they closed the entrance. Past Legolas I spotted Haldir and the last of his archers heading out to line themselves across the Deeping Wall; the first line of defence for when the army came for us.

The awareness of exactly where we were, and what was about to happen fell on me again — and while it didn't completely diminish my new-found relief, it did force some dread back into me.

"I guess that will have to wait too…" I murmured, unable to hide my disappointment and worry. So I tried to do what I always did: make a terrible joke. "Break a leg out there."

Legolas gave me a genuinely startled look.

"Surely a broken leg would be detrimental to our survival."

"No, I didn't mean—" I took one look at his perfectly serious expression, and threw up both my hands. "God, you know what? Never mind! Just promise me you'll come back in one piece."

His eyes were still marred with dark circles, and he could still have done with a comb and some water to wash the dirt away, but the smile he offered me then was the brightest, fiercest, and most beautiful I think I'd ever seen from him.

"Maybe two pieces," he said, echoing my own words from all the way back in the Council chamber in Rivendell.

Then he pulled me to him again, this time wrapping his arms around me in a rib creaking hug without a trace of fear in it. I returned the embraced with as much strength as I possibly could, my arms around his waist, his cheek against my hair. We stood there just a little longer than was technically proper as Men and Elves passed us, and I didn't care in the slightest. I just buried my face in the space where his neck met his chest and hugged him tighter, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him as he clutched me to him. When we finally did release each other, there was a strained look in his eyes, as if he badly wanted to say something more, but—

A shrill cry, too young to be any of the soldiers came up from bellow the battlements. Legolas and I both instinctively turned to look in its direction, only to see a tiny, scruffy little girl with wide brown eyes and dusty blonde hair racing up the steps as fast as she could. She was so out of breath by the time she reached the top it took a second to realise she was calling my name.

"Freda?" I blinked, relieved to see her completely unharmed, but muffled by the panic in her eyes. "What are you doing ou—?"

"Eleanor! It's Sarra!" the little girl gasped out, pointing frantically back towards the entrance to the caves. "Her baby! It's coming!"

You could have punched holes in the beat of silence that followed, right before the panic dropped.

'Oh shite, bollocks, and flaming balls from hell! Now?!' Tink squawked. My own mouth just kind of dropped open in shock, some odd part of me insisting Freda was joking for a second. That this was once again just a badly timed, not-all-that-important message being delivered as a failed punchline.

Then the reality of what she'd just said hit home.

Sarra was in labour, and none of the healers were willing to help her.

My eyes went wide, looking between her and an equally pale-faced Legolas, only he was staring straight down at my suddenly panic-stricken face.

"She — I-I need to — oh God, I don't think—" I started babbling, unable to form coherent thoughts let alone words. I'd read plenty while studying with Elrond, but never actually participated in a live childbirth. How was that even possible? Had he deliberately left out that part of my training for fear I'd not be able to cope? How was I supposed to focus on something I'd never practiced before with an army marching on us? What kind of healer was I if I balked at the mere thought of—

Legolas' warm hand closed around mine, and I was suddenly forced to look back into the abruptly calm face of my friend.

"Go to her," he told me gently, giving my hand a comforting squeeze. "Help your friend. I will be here when this is over."

I suddenly felt tiny and fragile standing beside him, my composure slipping, and renewed fear leaking into my voice.

"Swear?" I croaked in a very small voice.

He smiled tenderly.

"I swear it."

It was enough. I forced another deep breath, letting go of his hand and turning to the little girl — who was all but hopping from foot to foot in agitation.

"Ok, ok, let's go Freda."

"Mîr nín…" Legolas' voice sounded suddenly hoarse.

I turned.

"Wha—?"

A warm, weapon-calloused hand was suddenly cradling my cheek, turning my face back to him, and before I had the chance to so much as inhale in surprise, his lips were on mine.

My heart stopped. My breathing stopped.

Everything stopped.

The kiss was so sudden but so gentle that it barely seemed real. I heard Freda and Tink both inhale sharp little gasps as if from far away, and then everything else disappeared completely from my awareness. All I could process was him. Pine, rain, earth and the wind through tree branches. His scent filled my head, the echo of his voice still in my ears. His mouth pressed against mine. I hadn't expected his lips to be so soft, or so gentle — almost timid. As if he half expected me to shove him away, but I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to. I couldn't have been more paralysed with shock if someone had shoved the head of Medusa straight into my line of sight.

It all happened so fast I didn't even get time to recover from my brain short-circuiting, let alone think about returning it. So when I didn't immediately respond he began to pull away. I saw doubt, and what looked like true horror at what he had just done begin to creep into his face, a fumbled explanation or apology forming on his lips.

That was more than enough to catapult me out of my stasis.

I didn't want to hear his excuses. I didn't want anymore hesitations, interruption, or painful near-misses because it was never quite the right time, or someone else needed something.

I'd said it myself, I'd almost died for the third time today.

And I was done with waiting for a chance that we might never get again.

So, before I could think about what the hell I was doing, I lunged after him. His eyes went wide as one of my hands pulled him back down by the front of his tunic, the other catching around the back of his neck, forcing his tall form to stoop back down to my level. It was a tad more aggressive and a lot less elegant than I'd hoped, but if I'd expected to be met with disdain for it, I was very, very wrong.

His arms instantly came around me again, gathering me hard against him. I felt like I'd jammed a penny into a wall socket as our lips met a second time, no time or patience left for gentleness. The difference in our height made it awkward, clumsy; our noses bumped hard enough to bruise, his fingers knotted in my tangled hair, and my toes almost left the ground. It was fumbling, embarrassing, desperate, and wonderfully imperfect. I was only distantly aware of the stunned silence of the Men, Elves, and Freda that had fallen around us, and the echoing of Tink's howling cheers — but I didn't care about any of it.

It didn't matter.

For one tiny, glorious flickering moment, nothing else in this entire bloody world — or any other — mattered at all.

It ended far too quickly, still leaving us both a bit breathless as we finally tore away from each other. He looked down at me, face flushed, blond hair mussed, eyes still half closed, breath hot against my filthy cheeks. His hand went from the back of my neck to cup my jaw, leaning down to rest his forehead tenderly against mine. And when he spoke it was so softly I knew I was the only one in the world who could have heard him.

"It means treasure," he whispered. "My treasure."

Then with one last brush of his lips against the edge of my mouth he was gone, disappearing down into the crowds of other men and elves readying themselves for a hopeless fight.

I just stood there staring after him, speechless. My jaw was hanging agape, and I was only vaguely aware of Freda tugging frantically on my sleeve, asking what was wrong with me. I just shook my head, my cheeks, ears and neck all burning, and my lips still tingling from where he had brushed them so tenderly with his own.

"You… bastard," I breathed all but silently, unable to think of anything else to say.

Footnotes:

* — Keep in mind that Gimli was childhood friends with Fili and Kill, and then consider the weight of that statement.

** — "Mellon nín" — my friend (Sindarin)

*** — "Mae govannen" — well met (Sindarin)

A/N: Ok, for the record, writing romance is bloody hard, ok! Seriously, you have no idea how much I slaved over that damned scene! I swear those few paragraphs have had more re-writes than most of LM and CM combined! Urgh, anyway—I am pleased to announce that it's happened at last! It's taken a long old time to get here, but the slow burn has finally, finally started the catch! :D

I'll share a secret with you guys, I had no idea how the bit was going to turn out when I started. Almost every other bit in the story I could picture really clearly before I started typing, but I really wanted E + L's friendship and eventual relationship development to be completely organic. So I deliberately left this scene alone right up until now.

Many thanks to everyone who left me comments/reviews. I'm sorry I can't do the traditional list version naming and thanking everyone directly, but there is legit too many of you to do it! :D I've made a start on the next chapter but Jan is honestly going to be a busy month for me, so there prob won't be anything up until Feb at the earliest. Hope you can hang on that long, and thanks so much again for sticking with me on this insane journey!

Much love, thanks, and a Happy 2019!

Rella xx

PS. We're almost at 1000 reviews guys, which has kind of blown my mind. Call me obnoxious, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this chapter will be the one to tip it over. I think, given what just happened, it would be kinda poetic. :D

PPS. It's only just dawned on me… my mother reads this fic… which means she's going to read that scene…*buries face in hands*