I'm glad y'all have liked the story, and seem to like my characters. This is the final chapter of the Fool and the Huntress. Enjoy.

And Zoop, don't kill me.

There is an alternate ending I may share with you all one day, which is a real heart breaker. I almost didn't finish writing it because of how bad it made my heart hurt, but I changed my mind at the last moment.

He felt like he was coming out of a great pit. In the darkness of the Isengard again, swimming against the water and steam. Swimming from death. He clawed his way out of the great chasm, feeling the red eyes of Death burning his back. He felt like he broke free of the water, floating on the surface. Finally, he decided to open his eyes.

He wasn't in a pit. It was a room, with weak sunshine filtering in and a soft bed that he was laying on. The whole place stank of golug. He breathed in, tasting life in the air. The last thing he remembered was... being stabbed in the chest, and feeling himself fall. Her words. Cool hands, and cold fire burning through him. But now what? He was obviously in a bed in the lair of the Elves. Why put him in there? Was this their idea of a dungeon? If so, it was better than the best barracks in Isengard. He started as he realized one of the Elves stood at the foot of his bed, staring at him. Surely it had not been there when he woke up! But maybe it had.

He felt a growl come rumbling from his chest, his lips pulling back in a snarl. The Elf watched him with a slight smile on its face, and then raised its hands and spoke.

"Peace, Ashbazg. I will not harm you, nor will I let others. The Lord Elfrond placed your well being in my charge before he left for the Grey Havens. My name is Maedor."

Ashbazg couldn't control his feelings. He wanted to be angry, but the Elf was being nice. Polite and quiet. His hands scrabbled up his chest from where he remembered the knife going into his chest. There was a slim scar there, but the damage should have been worse. That bastard elf that had stabbed him, where was he? Waiting for him.

"The golug-hai that stabbed me. Where's he at?"

Maedor had the grace to look embarrassed, looking down to the ground as the tips of his ears turned red.

"He has been... reprimanded. When he sought to fight against his punishment, Lord Elrond cast him from the grace of the Eldar."

Ash had no idea what any of that meant, other than it sounded like the elf had been punished, and that was enough for him. But where was Gléowyn? Had they hurt her? She should be here. Where was she? He clawed his way from the soft mattress, finding his feet as Maedor grabbed his elbow to steady him. He looked around the room, closing his eyes and breathing deep, his nostrils flaring open as he quested. Her scent was here, but it was old. So very old.

"Where is she at?" He growled, the rumble in his throat mutilating his voice.

Maedor grimaced as he walked Ash to a chair. He reached into his robe and pulled out a piece of parchment. He slowly unfolded the letter, clearing his throat before speaking.

"She left you a letter. Would you like me to read it?"

Numb, Ashbazg nodded. Left him a letter? Was she gone? Would she come back? She had promised to get him across the mountains. That's where he was. Across the mountains. He came back to the present as he heard Maedors voice.

Ashbazg,

I had to leave. I'm sorry, but I had to. I can't stay there. What happened to you... it devastated me. I was unmoving, by your side everyday. The Elves had to force me to eat. Force me to drink, force me to leave your bed to bathe. I'm a shield maiden of Rohan, and I have romantic feelings for an Uruk-Hai. To read the words I have just wrote makes my chest hurt, with equal parts shame and happiness. I love you Ashbazg. I really do. But I cannot look past what you are, and that shames me as much as anything. You do not deserve dealing with someone like me.

But I do not know how I can forget you. Even writing this and thinking of leaving you, my heart yearns for you. How can I leave you? But I must. I have to. It's what must be done. But if not...

The day I write this letter is the 22 of Hithui. If I can not shake you from my mind, cannot shake you from my heart, I will return for you. If I still lie awake at night, and dream of you, of your voice, and your touch, I will follow through with this. In one years time, I will cross the mountains again, and find you alive and well in Rivendell is my hope. And if you are... I'll put these feelings behind. I'll eat a plant to make me go blind if I have to. But if I do not come in a year...

Then my love was not true, and I will not be coming.

Gléowyn

Ash looked at Maedor as he finished the letter. He felt so cold. Like something had locked tight in place over his heart. Like something was gone from this world. The sun even seemed darker now. He rubbed his bare arms with his hands, and looked at the Elf who was looking at him with something akin to sorrow.

"What's is today?"

"It's the 8th of Girithron. You were wounded on the 19th of Hithui, and have slept since then, your body trying to heal your wounds."

Ashbazg put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. He was rusty on times and months, but he knew there was twelve in the year. If this was the month after she had left, he still had eleven to go. What was he going to do for that amount of time? He voiced his concerns to the Elf.

Maedor thought for a moment, tapping one carefully manicured nail against his teeth.

"Are you a hunter or a blacksmith? We always have need of food. Most elves who know metalwork have not the strength for working Iron and Steel, and instead work gold or silver, which will not help us when Iron is needed."

Ashbazg nodded. "I can hunt. Can work a bit of metal, nothing too fancy. But I want to grow things."

Maedor nodded. "I will teach you to grow things, when the seasons are right. We can not grow anything when the snows are on the ground. But we will help you, for the Lord Elrond made it his parting command."

Ashbazg nodded. He still felt so cold. So numb. He felt Maedor pat him on the shoulder, saying he would leave him be for now, but would retrieve him for dinner. When the Elf left, Ashbazg felt the tears start to grow. The pain in his chest was worse than being stabbed. Worse than anything he had ever endured. The Elves left in Rivendell started, some in fear, as the pain filled screams echoed through the buildings. It was not physical pain, but pain of the heart.

Ash took a deep breath, smiling at the smells of the spring air, glad to be out of the forge for the day. He would never understand Elves. They would even want to put their pretty designs on simple things, like door hinges. They said that even function could be beautiful. His opinion was that functioning was good enough for something he created. It was the month of Gwirith. Seven months left.

He was sure she would be back, would come back to him. He could feel it in his bones. She would come to him, because he was sure she loved him as much as he loved her. Every day without her by his side was a constant ache in his chest. Sometimes, he would catch a scent that reminded him so powerfully of her, it would bring tears to his eyes. Maedor was still here, helping Ash. It was close to the time to plant, and he had promised to teach Ash how to grow things. It excited him, to think that he would make something. Cause it to grow. He grinned as he watched some of the younger elves sing, playing flutes and other stringed instruments.

They had tried to include him in the merry making, but his voice was not suited for it. Too rough, and singing was very hard on his throat. He sung songs at the forge though, simple songs to keep the beat of hammer true. He was content, but he knew he would never be truly happy until she was back here. Back in his arms where she belonged.

It was the month of Ivanneth, and the harvest was going well. Maedor and Ash worked side by side, great satchels on their sides, as they picked apples from the fruit trees. They worked quietly, trying to finish at least another acre before it became dark. Maedor could see, but since Ash could not, they would pack it in at dusk. There were fewer elves now, but they picked like there were more. They would preserve what was not going to be eaten, just in case the winter was truly horrible. Maedor hummed a song, and Ash would also hum along to familiar bars. Before long, they were finished, and began to walk back to the main part of the stead.

"Maedor. I have a question."

Maedor laughed aloud, the sound like a silver bell. "As you always do my friend. What do you wish to know today? More constellations? Or the pathways to the sea from here? Or something new?"

Ash nodded, a habit he had picked up for when he was deeply thinking. "Why haven't you went West yet?"

Maedor's gait faltered slightly, then he caught up with Ash. "Because... I feel it is not my time. And I still love too much the great trees of this land, the stones, the animals, the very air I breathe. I doubt I will ever go west, unless some great tragedy befalls that that is the only choice that remains to me. Why do you ask?"

Ash shrugged. "Because... you're the only friend I have. Didn't wanna lose you just yet."

Maedor gripped his shoulder, their silence as telling as any words. He would correct Ash on his grammar and speech later. It was something they had been working on, along with him learning his letters.

"Two months Mae. Two months."

The 22nd of Hithui came and went. Ashbazg stood at the gates of Rivendell, as unmoving as a statue made of stone. Without Maedor, he would have frozen to death. Maedor kept him wrapped in furs to stay warm, and would build a fire at his side and stay with him until night, when only Ash would stand his watch. Food was brought to him, but he never touched it. He burned with a feverish warmth, and was so wasted that he appeared to only be bones and skin. His eyes burned with a cold blue fire as he stared over the road. His hair turned brittle and he began to grow a beard, something he had fastidiously maintained before, and soon he was too weak to stand.

Still he sat, watching the road. No amount of pleading would move him. When he slept, if they moved him inside, they would find him back at his post as soon as he woke up, furious that he had left his watch post. Maedor begged, he pleaded, he tried to bribe. He offered to ride to Rohan himself and bring her back with him. Ashbazg had said no. She must come of her own will, or not at all. Maedor raged, he wept, he attempted to reason. Ashbazg would not be moved. Maedor cursed the stiff necks of men and orc, the only combination that could create such a neck as the one belong to Ash!

Finally, when a strong burst of wind could blow him over, Ashbazg was carried inside. He was simply too weak to fight them anymore. He had finally given up, on the 22nd day of Girithron. He did not have the will anymore, and love would carry him now further.

She was late! She cursed that storm, that wolf pack that had attacked her, she cursed everything under the sun, including herself. The only thing she didn't curse was Ashbazg. She couldn't think about him right now. About how he must feel, thinking that she had abandoned him. She reached into her pack and began to chew on some of the dried meat she had grabbed from the orcs at the mountain crack. Mal and her mate had been the ones guarding it. After a quick explanation, they had given her as much as they could, and she had left.

Now she was coming to the foot of the pass, and she had many more miles to go. Hopefully, the snow would not be too thick on the ground once she got closer to Rivendell. She was so tired. But she was so close. So very close to the man, orc, Uruk-Hai, whatever he was. It didn't matter. He was whom she loved, and she loved him deeply. She had heard that rough voice in her dreams. The feel of those calloused fingers on her skin in her dreams. She had thought of him every time she had taken a bath in a cold stream, or dyed her hair. Every time she heard a wolf howl, she had thought of him.

She had tried to seek the company of other men, but they all wanted her in a dress and raising children. And none compared to him. They were... brief gusts. Small candle flames, a summer shower that lasted not a moment and left the ground just as dry. How could they compare? He was... a wall of fire, that threatened to engulf the entire plain. A windstorm that threatened to steal her breath and knock her from her feet. He was a thundering wall of rain, that soaked the earth beneath her feet. He would allow her to grow, allow her to flourish, a wild flower that bloomed for nothing but the sheer joy of blooming. All of the others would rather strangle her with their own petty weeds, and wouldn't be happy unless she was limp and weak in their trophy garden.

She felt fierce joy in the thought of claiming him as hers. She would. He would be hers until they couldn't move, until the sheets were so soaked with sweat they had to change them. She would claim him in the forest, where her cries would go unnoticed by all but the birds and bees. She would not allow anything else to take him from her. Her heart knew what it wanted. It wanted him, and him alone, forever. Her body, telling her in dreams and the feeling between her legs when she thought about him, was also telling her that it wanted him. It had just taken a year for her stupid brain to catch up.

She could see the smoke of Rivendell. Could smell it. Could see the gates. She did her best not to break out into a run, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. She hadn't put any red in her hair in a couple of weeks, she was dirty, smelly, and sweaty, even in the cold. What would he, or even worse the elves, think of her in this state. Gléowyn started laughing at herself, realizing how ridiculous she sounded. He had seen her road-weary before. He had cleaned and packed the bloody wound in her side. A little dirt on her face was nothing to him. She hoped, anyways.

She felt her feet carrying her faster, a smile coming to her full lips. She hoped he would forgive her. She had said she would return in Hithu, but now it was Narwain. She was three months late, into the start of the new year even. She just hoped and prayed he would forgive her, and would accept her love. If he didn't, it was no fault but her own, but it would still destroy her. If he had found another, she could not blame him, but it would still be the same heart wrenching pain. She shook her head and continued on. The Gods could not be that cruel.

As she crested a small hill before the gates, she noticed a somber celebration going on. A pyre was burning, and the elves stood around it, singing their sad songs in their own tongue. She couldn't see Ashbazg anywhere. None had his girth. There were a couple who could be as tall as he, but none with the broadness that she had come to associate with her Uruk. Her breath caught in her throat. This was a funeral, and she could not see Ash. An elf named Maedor had promised he would care for him! He had promised! But where was Ash?

A sob broke loose as she ran, her feet covering the ground between her and the elves at a terrifying speed. Almost inhuman, something an elf would have trouble matching. She burst into the circle, skidding on the snow and knocking over elves. She stood in front of the pyre, her hands held out in front of her. Was it him? Could it be him? Had he died? Had he killed himself when she hadn't come? She whirled, looking for answers, any answers. And there he stood.

He was so thin. He looked like a corpse. His cheek bones looked like they were about to cut through his skin, and his blue eyes came forth through the dark sockets that they had sunk into. His hair was long and dirty once again, and he had grown a beard. She had not even know that was possible. But it was the same dirty blonde color as the rest of his hair, but it was shaggy and unkempt. He had been sitting on the ground, but he was so shrunken, she doubted she would have recognized him anyways. She ran to him, hitting her knees and sliding into him, her arms wrapped around him so tightly she heard his bones creak. She could feel every sharp edge of him, every backbone and rib. She started crying, her words broken by her sobs.

"Ash I'm so sorry I'm late, please forgive me, I didn't mean to be, please say you forgive me!"

She buried her head into his chest, wanting to be closer to him, wanting to be able to smell his scent on her, wanting him. Nothing more, and she would take nothing less. One of the elves touched his shoulder and he nodded, gathering Gléowyn in his arms as he stood. He was woobly on his feet, and she grabbed him by the waist, holding him up. His rough voice rumbled up from his chest, even deeper than she remembered.

"Come. We must talk."

She walked with him, feeling his warmth even through the furs they both wore. They went inside, up some stairs to the same room she had left him in all those months ago. She helped him sit in one of the comfortable chairs, and then she stepped back. She was scared. Uncertain. She had tackled him like that, and now she didn't know what to do. He hadn't answered her question. He looked so sick. Like he had died, and someone had brought him back. No other option, she started talking.

"I'm so sorry I am late. I was hurt and it made everything later than it should have been, and then I was almost captured by Moria Orcs, and then I was stuck in the mountain pass until I found the crack and Mal was there, and she gave me some food and water, and then I got here, but I have no excuse for being late and I wanted to be here by the time I set so badly but so many things happened and I'm so sorry..."

She stopped, forcing her nervous chatter to stop as she looked at him. He looked so frail. She was so worried and so in love. His face, the face she had hated, was so beautiful to her now. He was so beautiful. His skin didn't look dirty. It looked dusky, and the darker parts looked like rich earth, perfect for growing things in. She found herself staring into his eyes. So beautiful and blue. Like the sky with no clouds in it.

"What are you staring at?"

"Your eyes. I've seen them every single night in my dreams."

Ash just stared at her.

"Why are you here?"

Gléowyn looked at him. Didn't he understand? She was here because she loved him. She had returned to him. For him. Because she loved him.

"I'm here for you. I love you Ashbazg."

The pain across his face broke her heart. She could see his jaw twitching, the muscles under his eye as well.

"I waited for you. A month. I never left the gate. Not until I was too sick to fight them from bringing me in. Maedor... Maedor used magic to heal me. Something like it anyways. Whatever it was, it was too much. He's the one who's out there burning. Because of me. Because stupid tark love."

Gléowyn stared at him. He was so angry with her. She could see it in his eyes. Could hear it in his words.

"I'm sorry Ash. But I needed to do it. I needed to realize what I wanted in life, and what I would refuse to live without."

Hesitantly, she reached out her hand. He didn't move his towards hers, but he didn't move it back either. Finally, she placed her hand in his and tried not to weep with joy when he curled his fingers around it. She moved forward, until she was standing in front of him. With a wry smile on his face, he pulled her down to his lap, where she happily sat, feeling his warmth. She looked at him and thought about it for only a moment before she pressed her lips to his. His lips were so soft. She broke the kiss and looked at him, her cheeks turning red from blushing.

"I had plans, but I don't think they'll work in your current state."

She stopped his words with another kiss, her hands reaching up to cup his face. When she did, she trailed a finger up his neck and his ear, wanting to feel the sharp point. The result was almost immediate. He shuddered, breaking the kiss, and she could feel him hardening and pressing against her. She looked at him with a smile.

"What just happened?
"I just... touched your ear. Like this..."

She reached up with both hands and trailed them down from the point of his ears to the lobe. He shook, and she could feel him underneath her, as hard as the rocks of the mountains. Maybe he was up for what she wanted. Needed from him. She kissed him again, and couldn't help the movements of her hips against his own.

"Ash? How strong are you right now?"

He shrugged, too interested in what she was making his body feel to pay attention. She kissed him again, and then stood up, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him to the bed. His arms wrapped around her, and she wanted to be unclothed now. But him first. She wanted to feel his skin under her hands, wanted to bite and taste him. His robe was easy enough to take off, and the loose pants under it were pushed to his knees and she would leave them there. He was attempting to undo the buckles and straps, and the mounting growl seemed to say he was becoming frustrated. Gléowyn pulled back from kissing down his chest, a laugh on her lips as she quickly undid the buckles and pulled the straps loose, dropping the armor over the side of the bed onto the floor. Her furs and wool underclothes followed as well.

She could see the widening of his eyes and the fluttering of his nostrils. Could he smell that too? Her desire? She trailed her hands down his body watching the muscles twitch under her fingertips as she reached his manhood. It was big, just like the rest of him. The skin was slightly lighter than the rest of his body, but when she pulled the skin back, his head was black. He was so excited already that a small drop of milky fluid stood out proudly on the end, and Gléowyn lowered her head and flicked her tongue across it. He tasted... it was strange. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't exactly the finest spring water either. She pulled on it, twisting and turning, and she watched as his clawed fingers found her womanhood. The thrill of the danger from his claws was its own excitement.

Ashbazg didn't know what he was doing, but she didn't care. He was touching her and that was what she wanted. And she wanted him, inside her, now. She pushed at his shoulders until he was laying flat on the bed. Crouching over him, she slowly worked and lowered her way down, feeling his manhood fill her up. He moaned the moment she took him inside, and when she rested her body against his, him fully inside her, he kissed her. She could feel him moving his hips, wanting movement.

"Ash. Let me control it. You'll spend fast, and you've been sick. Let me control the pace, okay?"

He nodded fervently, desperate for movement. She slowly rolled her hips, watching the look on his face. She began to move up and down, gripping his shaft with her inner walls, watching the sheer bliss on his face as he grabbed her hips. She felt his claws dimple her skin a bit, but no punctures. She lost herself in the rhythm of their bodies, the feeling of him inside her, the waves of pleasure that were rolling through her body. He wasn't her first, but she was his as far as she was concerned, and that made her happy as well. She knew what he had went through in Isengard, but that was

Being the first time, he didn't last long. It was almost comical, the way he froze up, eyes and mouth wide open as his climax crashed over him in a wave. She felt it grow even bigger, if that was possible, as his seed spilled inside her. She sped up her own movements, rolling her hips and feeling her own release mounting in her. When she finally found it, she collapsed on his chest, breathing slowly and deeply. He ran his hands up her back, his claws thrilling her tingling nerves as they softly scratched on her back.

"Are you going to leave me again?"

"No Ashbazg. I am never going to leave you, until the day I pass into the Vale or you do. And I will be waiting there for you if I go first."

"I'll wait for you too Gléowyn. As long as it takes.

"MAEDOR! GET DOWN FROM THERE!"

"Gléowyn, what's wrong?"

She turned to face her husband, her face red and her hair blowing away from her face in the wind.

"That son of yours is climbing that tree! I can barely see him he's so high up!"

Ash chuckled as he drew his angry wife into his arms, waiting for her to wrap her arms around him and calm down. She huffed into his chest, knowing what he was doing.

"You know our son love. He's just like the elf he was named after, entirely too interested in trees."

The boy in question was swinging down the branches, and hit the ground in front of them, smiling. His blonde hair and blue eyes were bright, and his skin was a light brown when compared to his fathers. His tusks were almost non-existent, but his ears were still pointed. He ran forward with all the excitement of a six year old boy and grabbed his fathers leg.

"Did you see how high I went? Did ya?"

In the Elvish home of Rivendell, where few of that gentle folk remain, lies a burial mound in the style of the Rohirrim. Inside resides the bones of one Uruk-Hai and his love, a shield maiden of Rohan. It is said to be the only place outside of the land of Rohan where the sibmelnyne flower grows, covering the burial site of the two lovers. There children went on into the world to find love of their own, and too have children of their own, and the existence of such a couple passed into the histories, and like all history, was changed and some facts forgotten, but the elves remember. In the West, the spirit of Maedor the Elf remembers, and he tells the tale when he can. When his friend Ashbazg passed into the Vale, Maedor wept. When Gléowyn followed, he wept for joy, knowing they were reunited at last.