A/N: I am SO sorry this is so late :( Let's just say Friday the 13th lived up to its name :( But I hope you'll enjoy this final chapter of Thief in the Night :)

~8~

A Fractured Fellowship

Menna didn't stop in her sprint back to the camp. She paused only when she heard a set of screams that sounded like the Hobbits. Through the trees she could make out Boromir, an arrow embedded in his chest. Her attention flickered ahead to the orc creature that had struck him. She saw him lifting another arrow and quickly raised a knife of her own. She threw it with a well-practiced accuracy. The creature wasn't moving, it wasn't a running target, it was stationary. That was always an easier target to hit. She didn't have to worry about it moving, she didn't have to worry about it seeing her knife coming, for it wasn't even looking at her.

So she threw it, aiming for the beast's head. She could have aimed for the arm, to keep it from releasing the arrow, but there would be nothing to stop it from attacking afterwards. These creatures needed to be stopped, not just distracted. She had already gotten her second knife raised when her first struck the creature in the side of its head, felling it in one strike.

A creature that had been just behind it snarled at her for the attack and raced at her, but she had already released her knife, driving it right into the creature's heart. She started running closer to the camp, hearing the Hobbits screaming even more. Just as she passed a large tree they came into view, Merry and Pippin struggling in the hold of two retreating creatures who were snarling and making their way into the woods once more. She could see Boromir clearly now, the man struggling to reach for the Hobbits but losing his footing.

She gripped another knife from her leather strap and looked around in case there were any more of the creatures lurking. But it appeared that just as she had arrived at the camp so had Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, the trio already hacking their way through the remaining creatures. While they had the other creatures well in hand, she ran over to Boromir's side, the man having fallen to his knees.

She could hear the sounds of battle going on behind her and she kept her attention fixed all around her, not about to let any of the creatures sneak up behind them. She could see a large pile of them in a heap around Boromir, he had clearly fought hard to protect Merry and Pippin, had been willing to give his life to see them safe. But she would be damned if she allowed him to fall in this battle. He had not cast off the temptation and darkness of the Ring only for his journey to end here.

"Boromir," she spoke quickly to him, using her remaining strength to keep him upright, not trusting that moving him would help. As far as she knew of wounds, moving as little as possible till it had been treated was always best. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Aragorn was rushing towards them, the creatures that Gimli and Legolas were unable to reach already fleeing into the woods and away from them.

They had gotten what they'd come for, she feared.

They had taken Merry and Pippin, they clearly knew a Halfling held the Ring, but not which one.

While she feared for the Hobbits, right now she was holding a fading Boromir in her arms, feeling his lifeblood coating her hands, her fear rested with him right now. She and the others were relatively safe for the moment, but Boromir was in the most danger.

"Be still," Menna murmured as calmly as she could manage, looking up at Aragorn as he skid to his knees beside Boromir's broken horn to help her hold the man up.

"Boromir," Aragorn quickly took in the sight of the arrow.

Boromir gasped painfully, reaching for Aragorn's arm, looking to the man with desperation in his expression, "They took the little ones..."

"Boromir, hush," Menna tried to get him to be still, "Save your strength…"

But Boromir was focused on Aragorn, a trickle of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth, "Frodo...where is Frodo?"

"I let Frodo go," Aragorn told them, adding, without needing to say it, that he knew what had happened between them at the ruins. If he had found Frodo, then he had to know what Boromir had tried to do, what Menna had stopped him from doing.

"Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him."

"But you did not," Menna reminded him, "You returned to yourself."

"The Ring is beyond our reach now," Aragorn reassured him as well. There would be no temptation such as Boromir had faced to plague them from that point. Frodo had ensured that.

Menna would not lie and say she was not somewhat relieved to hear that, as terrible as it was to say. She feared for Frodo, for what it would mean for him to be out there on his own without them to protect him, of course she did. But a part of her was thankful the darkness that was the Ring was nowhere near her again.

"Forgive me, I did not see…" Boromir struggled to speak, "I have failed you all."

"You have failed no one," Menna told him. Frodo lived, he still held the Ring, and Boromir had pulled himself from the darkness and temptation.

"You fought bravely," Aragorn told him, "You have kept your honor. Now be calm so we can tend your wound. There is still hope yet."

"Leave it," Boromir argued weakly, his face unnaturally pale, "It is over...the world of Men will fall and all will come to darkness and my city to ruin…"

"Boromir," Menna cut in, her voice firm in a way Aragorn had never heard before, "Be silent and still…Legolas!" she turned, calling to the Elf who was already on his way over, "Have you any experience with healing?"

Legolas looked down at the man slowly being lowered to the ground by Aragorn, "I do," he told them.

And he had, not on the level of Elrond, but far more than what the basic soldiers of the Mirkwood were taught. His mind flashed back to a fellow Elf he had known and grown up around, how she had healed a Dwarf of a Morgul poison that had infected an arrow wound. It could not be much different than an Uruk-Hai arrow. Growing up in the Mirkwood, with the constant threat of spiders, he and his kind needed to know how to heal while out on the field, being the Prince he was expected to excel in all areas. On his journeys with Aragorn, he had learned even more.

But all his training would amount to nothing if he didn't have more than that, the arrow wound was too near Boromir's heart.

"But I need herbs," Legolas continued, looking to Aragorn, "Athelas would be best…"

Menna was up before Aragorn could open his mouth, rushing to where she'd hidden her pack, relieved to see it was still there. She quickly rooted around and pulled out her store of the plant, "It is dried," she warned as she held it out to the Elf, "Will it still help?"

Legolas took the plant from her, his eyes slightly wide as he stared at it. She had a small pouch of what appeared to be flakes of dried leaves, another rolled cloth that had small bunches of the plant itself, one even appeared relatively fresh. But her question came back to him, and he shook his head, the dryness of it would matter little for he'd be making it into a paste either way.

"Will it help?" she repeated.

"Very much," Legolas told her.

"Then use it, heal him," Menna nearly ordered, but Legolas was already moving to make the paste.

"Do not waste your strength on me," Boromir wheezed out, "My people…"

Aragorn turned to him, shushing him slightly, "You underestimate the strength of us all. So long as we hold true to each other, it shall never fail us," he tried to offer Boromir a comforting smile, "They will look for your coming from the white tower...but they will have to wait longer. You will not be leaving us. I swear to you, no matter what comes, we will not let the White City fall, nor your people fail..."

"Our people..." Boromir corrected, "Our people..."

"Aragorn, the arrow," Legolas called as he finished with the paste, moving over to kneel on Boromir's other side, across from Aragorn.

Aragorn nodded as Gimli hurried over with a small piece of wood for Boromir to bite down on, but before the man would take it, he latched onto Aragorn's arm, "I need you to know," he told the man, "I whatever may come, I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my King."

Aragorn knew not what to say as he reached down to grip the arrow, preparing to pull it out. He looked up for only a moment to Menna, the girl nodding at him and he turned back to Boromir, silently counting in his mind before he pulled the arrow out, Gimli using all his strength to hold Boromir down as the man screamed and thrashed in pain.

Menna watched as Boromir's eyes rolled back into his head as Legolas began to murmur in Elvish, pressing the athelas paste into the wound. She moved back from the trio, Aragorn and Gimli holding Boromir down while Legolas focused on healing the man of his wounds, wanting to give them more room to work. She stumbled slightly, her back coming in contract with a tree and took a breath, letting herself slide down it. Now that the battle was over, now that they seemed safe for the moment, it was as though all the power that had built up inside her from the 'thrill of the fight' was seeping out of her, leaving her feeling drained and worn. Moving now, she could feel how sore her arm was, how much her ribs stung, how her vision swam and her head was throbbing.

She let her head fall back against the bark of the tree, looking up at the sky that was still sunny and bright despite the terror that had just found them. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes, just needing a moment to rest, just a moment to…

~8~

Menna slowly woke to the feel of someone gently touching the side of her face. She scrunched her nose in instinct as her eyes slowly fluttered open to see Aragorn crouched in front of her, a deep look of concern on his face. For just a moment, still in a hazy state of rest, she felt herself turn her head more into his touch. Before she winced, reminded that that was the side Boromir had struck her on. She pulled away a little more, blinking her eyes to fully as she woke up. Aragorn's hand, however, didn't stray far from her face as it moved up to her hairline where there was a small cut, his finger lightly tracing the side of it. It reminded her of when she had attended to the cut that had been on his neck.

For a long moment she couldn't bring herself to say anything, still just a little more exhausted from the last few battles and wanting a moment of peace before it was disrupted with talk. She used that time to observe Aragorn as he seemed to take note and stock of all her various injuries. She must look a state. Her fight with Boromir hadn't been easy, Merry and Pippin's reaction to her were more than enough to tell her she had been a sight even then. She could only imagine how much worse she looked after fighting those mutated creatures.

She didn't particularly care how she looked, in the sense that a wound or cut or scar meant little to her. When she had first started to live among the wood and the stone she had seen injuries as signs of her being too weak to take care of herself. That, if she had been better, if she had been stronger, she would never have gotten them in the first place. She took great care to hide them whenever she was among other people. She didn't want to risk them thinking she was someone they could easily target. It wasn't for many more years that she would start to think of her scars as a show of strength, as a sign that she had survived. She knew women in the Villages or the nobles in their towers likely tried to keep their skin unblemished. They saw markings such as these as flaws. She couldn't remember seeing any such a scar on any of the female elves she had noticed in Lothlorien, nor had she seen any markings on any elf she encountered on her travels.

She wondered idly if that was why Aragorn was staring at her wounds as though they were out of place, had he seen a woman bear battle scars before? She did not know much about the Rangers, for surely there must be females among them...but she could imagine Aragorn's elf maiden had not seen such battle or garnered such wounds. How would an elf like that be able to rule over a people that may end up war-torn should Sauron get the Ring? She could not imagine the people of any kingdom reacting well to an elf who held no role in a battle to come as opposed to...

She shook her head from where her mind was going. She cared not what others thought of her or her scars. It was not their body, it was hers, and the way she viewed her scars or injuries was at most a mere annoyance when they were fresh. They could be painful and irritating then. But once they healed, it was merely yet another show of her strength and will, it was just another one she had gotten in the course of her life. These weren't the first, they would not be the last.

Yet Aragorn was looking at her as though regretful she had suffered even the faintest of injury. The way his gaze drifted from her face to her arm, to the various cuts and bruises scattered across her body? He looked almost as though he were shocked to see them. She could admit the damage was likely extensive, but it was no worse than things she has dealt with in the past.

"Here," was all Aragorn could seem to muster as he turned to pick up a small cup of liquid, offering it to her.

Menna took it with her right hand, just letting her left rest across her front. She brought it closer to her face, taking a soft sniff as she could smell something faint in the liquid, "Is this ginger?" she sniffed it again, even as she looked up at Aragorn.

"Aye," he nodded, "It is good for swe..."

"Swelling and pain," Menna finish for him. She had picked up some rather useful knowledge of herb lore over the years, speaking to midwives in different areas about plants that were useful while travelling. Ginger had been a common one brought up. She didn't bother asking Aragorn where he had gotten some, whether it was from one of the fallen packs of the Hobbits left behind or something that has been found naturally in the area, she just turned to him, offering the cup back, "Boromir needs this more than I..."

"Boromir has used nearly your entire stock of athelas," Aragorn reminded her.

"And his wounds are far more severe," she argued, "His wounds are more important than mine..."

"Your wounds deserve just as much attention. You are not unimportant, not to me, Menna."

"Aragorn..." she began to shake her head, about to remind him that a sprained arm was nothing compared to an arrow through the chest.

But Aragorn cut her off, "Boromir rests," he told her, "He is not awake to drink this, and we have more ginger to spare. Drink."

Menna let out a sigh, but took a sip of the liquid, looking over to see there was a small fire going, that they had heated up the drink into something of a tea. She knew that, sometimes after a wound was gotten, the body might not always be able to handle the pain of it and that a person would experience a fit of some sort, as though the wound and the shock of it was overwhelming them. The liquid, warming it, was meant to remedy that, to keep the body warm and the person calm. Not that she thought that would happen to her, as she had been trying to tell Aragorn, she had endured worse without such tending.

Aragorn said nothing as he crouched there before her, watching her drink, watching so intently she was sure that he meant for her to drink all of it before he said another word. Only when she was finished and set it aside did he actually speak.

"This should never have happened," he murmured, though she wasn't sure whether he was speaking to her or to himself.

"You cannot control the will of Orcs, Aragorn, no matter the king you claim yourself to be."

Aragorn gave her a firm look, understanding her teasing tone was meant to lighten whatever guilt he was feeling, but this was not the time for something so light, it was not the time for forgiveness when his judgement had so harmed her. He shook his head at that thought, "Boromir," he continued, "Had I listened to your warning..."

"Had you listened to the warnings I am sure the others gave you about me, I would not have been here to give you such a warning in the first place," Menna told him gently.

"But I knew that there was a danger in Boromir," Aragorn murmured as he put a hand on his chest. For as much as he had defended Boromir to her, a part of him HAD taken her words to heart, had been wary of Boromir.

Menna frowned as she looked at Aragorn for his words, how he had said 'danger' made her feel he was ONLY speaking of Boromir, "And me? Did you not sense that same danger from me?"

Aragorn looked at her, searching her eyes, but shook his head, "No."

Menna felt a small smile grow at hearing that, a gratefulness shining in her eyes. She didn't know when it happened, she hadn't much cared what the rest of the fellowship thought of her, whether they trusted her or they accepted her, so long as they allowed her to travel with them and take part in this quest to ensure the darkness would depart from their land. But somewhere along the line Aragorn's trust in her had become something she didn't realize she wanted. It wasn't that he was the leader, and that the others would follow the example he set. It wasn't that, as their leader, he would have the final say in whether she remained part of the fellowship or not. It didn't even have to do with this crown he claimed was his, she still thought that was a jest being played on her.

No. It had to do with the talks, with the way he was willing to sit with her, the way he didn't treat her as though her past was something to look on with suspicion. He acknowledged the pain and the loss of her home, he acknowledged her skills and how she had to gain them, and she genuinely felt that when he sat up with her at night it wasn't to keep watch of her, it wasn't to ensure she wouldn't steal the Ring again. It was because he wanted to talk with her and sit with her, that he enjoyed her company as she had come to enjoy his.

Merry and Pippin trusted her to a degree, perhaps even Legolas and Gimli to a lesser extent. It appeared she had just recently gained Boromir's trust, or at least his approval, his thanks. She held no hope of gaining Frodo or Sam's fully, nor would she expect to. On such a quest, Frodo could not trust any so much as he trusted Sam, Boromir had proven that. Nor would Sam trust any who posted a threat to his friend. Gandalf, with all his power and wisdom, had seemed a distant figure to her, had seemed more intent on the Ring and the quest than any who took part in it beyond Frodo. But Aragorn, it was different with Aragorn. She couldn't say how, she couldn't see why it actually mattered to her that he trusted her, but hearing that he did, that he had never seen her as a threat, made her feel warm, it meant something to her.

She forced herself to look away, thoughts like that would be of no help at the moment. She turned and looked back to the camp, looking to see that Boromir was resting on the ground as Aragorn had said, Legolas was sitting beside him though the Elf looked quite exhausted, far more tired than she had ever seen an elf look before. Gimli was going back and forth between the both, tending to them, while it appeared Aragorn had been designated to tend to her.

"Will Boromir live?" Menna asked after a moment, letting out a sigh as she felt the ginger starting to do its job. If she had just used up all of her store of Athelas on Boromir and he died now she would be quite cross. That herb could have gone and towards any other of them should they get injured later on, but it appeared almost all of it had been used on Boromir. And she firmly believed the man had more to do, more to prove, to die now.

"Aye," Aragorn told her, turning in his crouch to sit a little bit more so he could face the camp. He observed Legolas as the Elf actually closed his eyes for a moment, "Legolas expended a great deal of energy healing Boromir, he will need to rest, as will Boromir," he looks back at Menna, "As will you."

The firm way he had said that last part told her that he was going to insist she rest no matter what. Looking at the state that Boromir and Legolas were in, they would all need a little bit of rest after this last battle.

"But Merry, Pippin?" Menna looked to him, she could vaguely remember the Hobbits being carried away by those creatures just as she had arrived to throw her knife at the one attacking Boromir. It was all feeling like a blur right now, but she could remember them shouting as they were carried off.

"We will find them," Aragorn promised her, "But we will be no good to them if we are too exhausted to fight the Uruk-Hai who have taken them."

"And Frodo? Sam?"

"Fled."

She shook her head, "If we go now, we may yet catch them..."

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," Aragorn told her solemnly.

"And Boromir's fate? We cannot leave him here either," Menna began to say, not thinking for a second that they would just abandon the man, not after they had worked so hard to heal him. But wanting to make it clear that wherever they went, whenever they set out to go after Merry and Pippin once more, SHE would be going with them.

"Nor shall we," Aragorn agreed, "When he is well enough to move, we will go for the nearest village we pass and acquire a horse to send him back to Gondor."

Menna nodded at that, it was a wise plan. Her arm would heal fast enough, perhaps just needing a few days of disuse, her ribs should be fine if she bound them well enough. She knew Legolas would be energized once more, sooner than all of them. She would be able to continue on this quest, but an arrow to the chest, even with Elven healing, could not be easy to ignore.

"For now we rest," Aragorn repeated to her.

Menna looked down as Aragorn picked up a small bowl, one she hadn't noticed was set just next to the cup of ginger water. It seemed to be some kind of paste that he had been making just before she woke.

"What is that?" Menna asked when he tested the consistency of it.

"Arnica," he said, "You used a great deal of your athelas stock, but there are still other herbs we can use to help you heal," he moved closer to her, coming to sit on her left side, the paste still in hand. His gaze moved over her, as though trying to determine where it would be best to apply the paste, there wasn't enough to help with all of her wounds, but there was enough to handle some of them, he just had to determine the worst, "When applied to the skin, it can soothe aching muscles and reduce swelling," he began to explain as he scooped a liberal amount onto his hand to begin applying to her shoulder, which was already red and quite puffy around her shoulder.

Menna hissed just slightly at the cool temperature of the paste compared to her overly warm skin, but she couldn't deny that it did feel quite nice. She knew what arnica was, it was another plant that was quite good for sprains as well as for healing wounds, she just hadn't noticed any in the area. Aragorn must have though.

She shifted just slightly where she was sitting as she felt a flutter in her stomach at the thought that Aragorn had gone looking through the different plants just to try and find something that might help her with her wounds. She looked over at him and then Legolas and Gimli, her eyes searching them to make sure they hadn't been injured as well, that he wasn't wasting resources on her. Thankfully they all seemed in much better straits than she and Boromir.

Menna allowed Aragorn to continue to apply the paste in silence, he seemed quite focused and intent on what he was doing. She watched as he slowed, the first scoop of paste that he had taken now worked into her shoulder. He looked her up and down, looking at her other wounds as though to determine where he should put the last the paste. She had some scrapes, she had some bruises, but it was truly just her ribs and her arm that would pain her the most in the coming days.

Aragorn, however, seem to determine exactly where to use the last of the arnica. He scooped up the very last of the paste, looking at her intently as he gently reached out, touching the side of her face where Boromir had struck her, what he had been assessing when she woke. His touch was light, all too aware of the bruising that was already forming there. Menna couldn't quite look away when their eyes connected but neither did Aragorn pull away from her either.

A moment later he gently lowered his hand from her face, though he still didn't look away.

"My thanks," Menna murmured.

Aragorn could only nod, seeming to shake himself out of the moment with her words, as he turned to set the bowl to the side, resting back against the tree, sitting beside her. Everything was silent for a moment, when he looked down at her to see her eyes fluttering as though she were trying to keep awake. Between the ginger, the battle, and the paste, he couldn't fault her for her exhaustion. But he could see she didn't want to sleep, and he could guess why.

"Rest," he repeated, "Gimli and I will keep watch."

"You should rest," Menna argued, but her voice was weakening with the sleep she could feel creeping up on her. She didn't want to sleep, she didn't want to be seen as weak. She'd already gotten injured, if she fell asleep now, she didn't want to be a burden. But if Aragorn was going to rest too...

"Soon," Aragorn promised her, reaching down absently to take her left hand, as though it might be a comfort to her and allow her to feel secure enough to sleep once more. He watched, unaware that a small smile had grown on his face as she began to drift off. But the smile turned into something else when, moments later, her head fell a little to the side and came to rest on his shoulder.

It began to fade the longer he looked at her, she was so injured already, and the true fight had not even begun. She had been injured by the man she had demanded be saved, and now both were living because of her actions. He couldn't help the relief that filled him at the thought that both Boromir and Menna had survived this battle. But he also couldn't help a dread that seeped into his bones at the notion that this was just the beginning. There would be many more battles to come, much more evil to face, and the fellowship was already so fractured, the uncertainty that would follow them in regards to Frodo's own quest would be unbearable at times.

He saw only one path to follow now should Legolas prove skilled at healing and Boromir capable of movement...

Come morning, they would be hunting Orc.

To be continued...in...Darkest Before Dawn!

A/N: O.O The story is over! And Boromir is ALIVE? O.O

Well, he's alive for now, whether Legolas actually managed to save him will be revealed in the next story ;) I think that will also be the story where Aragorn and Menna get even closer, and there may be something of an interesting reason behind it ;) ;) Menna is still quite a mystery to him and she may get a bit more mysterious as the story goes :)

I feel like, with the change of Boromir's fate (so far), it hopefully makes sense. Menna manged to stop the Uruk-Hai before it could launch two more arrows at Boromir, he was able to keep fighting until he was hit with 3, so, to me, that makes it seem like there might have still been hope to save him. I use a bit of the Hobbit movies as a reference for this too and yes, I know the Hobbit movies stray from the books with the inclusion of Tauriel, but as this is a fanfiction that follows the movies, for the most part, it will take the movie version of the Hobbit into consideration too. In that movie we saw Tauriel heal someone of a different species of a poisoned arrow using Athelas. If she, a 'mere Silvan elf' can manage that, I figure it's not a far cry to imagine Legolas just as capable, even more so. Being the prince and being out fighting as often as we saw, I felt no matter how distant his father was that he would have made sure Legolas knew healing as well as a precaution. So if Tauriel can heal a Dwarf days after he's been poisoned and the wound has been festering, then the Prince of Mirkwood could certainly heal a human moments after he's injured. Menna also carries athelas on her, which assisted Legolas in the healing too.

If he lives, I wonder if Boromir will be grateful that it was largely Menna that saved him, giving him another chance to redeem/prove himself, or if he will be resentful that he could have died with no one else knowing his shaming weakness and having died to protect someone else? Hmm... }:)

I know Menna probably would have been MUCH more concerned about Frodo and the others than she appears, but she's dead tired, wounded, sore, and still sort of sluggish as she speaks to Aragorn. She needs a little time to process her own wounds and the immediate situation before she can really react to something she can't see. But we'll see more of her thoughts on it in the next story ;)

Finally, I really have to say thank you guys SO much! Really, I give each and every reader/reviewer/favoriter/follower/ko-fi giver/anythinger a virtual hug because you guys are amazing :) I write for you guys and I'm just so touched that you all liked the story and am truly thankful that you're enjoying Menna :) I'll do my very best to keep it up in the future, because you guys most definitely deserve it. I love you all :')

Some notes on reviews...

Yup, there'll be two more stories after this one, one for each movie :) So next we get a revision of Two Towers ;)

I hope you like the little twist, Boromir DOES live! :D ...well, so far };) We'll have to wait till the next story to see if he makes it out of the woods completely ;)

We'll have to wait and see if Menna drops any more hints about her past to know for sure who she may or may not be ;)

Aww thank you! :') I'm so glad you've been enjoying the stories so far :) I have to admit, the movie-stories are probably my favorites to write, breaking them out into 10 or even 12 chapters for an hour and a half/two hour movie gives me so much room to really get into their minds and understand them better, I'm so happy that you've liked Menna, I hope you'll enjoy her next two stories too :)

Don't apologize! I love any review no matter what, I'm beyond happy that you're enjoying Menna so much, that really means a lot to me to hear that you like the LotR story as much as you do :') I hope the next two stories will be something you'll enjoy just as much :)