Disclaimer: ONE & ONLY! I am not fortunate enough to own any rights to any of Tolkien's works or the world of Middle-Earth. Therefore, anything you recognize is not mine. I'm just a child playing in a literary sandbox.

Title: Rose of Gondor

Summary: We know of the sons of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor, and his wife, Lady Finduilas of Dol Amroth. We know of Boromir, the eldest, brave and honorable until his death. We know of Faramir, the second, noble and intelligent leader of the Rangers of Ithilien. In contrast, Rimiriel, third-born of the House of Hurin, was happy to live a quiet life in service to her country, void of glory or renown. When the Shadow of the East invades Gondor on a quest to rid the world of Men, however, Rimiriel finds herself thrust into a position of influence as she is given the task of seeking aid from the Rohirrim for the severely outnumbered armies of Gondor. As the war to save Middle-Earth rages, Rimiriel must consider the idea that a quiet life is not what fate has in store for her.

A/N: Hello, everyone!

If you are a past reader, welcome back to Rose of Gondor. If you are a new reader, welcome and thank you for taking an interest in my story! If you are familiar with the past version of this work, you will quickly find that many changes have been made to the previous narrative. The idea behind this story has been my fanfiction baby for a decade now, and I decided it was time to rework the story to better fit with the changes and maturation process my writing has undergone in the past several years. I've been working on this storyline for the better part of the last eighteen months to make it more canon-compliant and also address some issues with pacing and characterization that irked me with the original version. I've finally gotten it to a point where I feel ready to share it with all of you wonderful readers, and I hope both new and returning readers will find it enjoyable.

At this current point in time, you can expect an update to this story every other Wednesday. This may change in the future, as each semester brings a new class schedule and subsequent adjustments to my work schedule, but I will do my best to let the readers know when those shifts will be occurring. I welcome any and all reviews, and will do my best to reply to each one, though I will admit that I am more likely to reply to constructive reviews than short requests for updates. I also welcome PMs, whether they be to discuss an aspect of the story that caught your attention or to tell me to get my rear in gear if I get behind on updating. I am extremely accepting of constructive criticism, even if it is harsh, because I believe it is the best way to grow as a writer. I will not, however, tolerate flames. This world is full of enough hate and cruelty without carrying it into the realm of fanfiction.

I extend all of my gratitude to the fabulous Certh, who read the original version of this story and has been a fantastic sounding board and beta reader as I've worked to make improvements. Go check out her work if you haven't already! You will be glad you did!

I think that covers all of the basics...Again, I hope you enjoy the story, and I look forward to reading your reviews! :)

Lauren

Chapter One

Daughter of the Steward

Day. The light of the glaring afternoon sun was undeniably harsh for those left to bake under its rays. Luckily for the Rangers of Ithilien, their home was deep in the forests of Gondor's eastern regions, where the unforgiving sun was halted in its brutal assault by the towering pines, oaks, and elms that sunk their roots deep into the earth, only the most determined of sunbeams managing to pierce the moon-land's canopies and, tamed by the ordeal, fall in gentle patches amongst the shrubs and underbrush sprawled across the forest floor.

From the greatest of Ithilien's hills fell the waterfalls of Henneth Annûn, the Window of the West, and it was from behind these falls that the captain of Ithilien's rangers issued his orders and commands. Faramir was grateful for the fact that the sun was incapable of penetrating the wall of water that hid the base from sight, as the severe glare would have done nothing helpful for the pressure building behind his eyes. The captain stood before a small table, his lieutenant Madril on the other side as they worked to roll out a map of the realm.

"What news?" Faramir asked, squinting at the map in the dim light offered by candles and sconces, the demon in his skull pounding a victorious refrain against his eardrums at the added strain.

"Our scouts report Saruman has attacked Rohan," Madril began, gesturing to Gondor's northern neighbor on the parchment. "Théoden's people have fled to Helm's Deep." The gnarled warrior then moved his finger from Rohan to the land bordering Mordor's mountains. "But we must look to our own borders. Faramir, orcs are on the move. Sauron is marshaling an army. Easterlings and Southrons are passing through the Black Gate."

"How many?"

"Some thousands," Madril replied gravely. "More come every day."

"Who is covering the river to the north?"

"We pulled five hundred men at Osgiliath," the lieutenant continued his report, tapping on the mark representing the city nestled against the shores of the Great River. "But if the city is attacked, we will be incapable of holding it."

Faramir ran his finger over the map, the worn parchment smooth beneath his callused hand as he traced the routes of the enemy. "Saruman attacks from Isengard. Sauron from Mordor. The fight will come to men on both fronts." He sighed wearily. "Gondor is weak. Sauron will strike us soon, and he will strike hard. He knows now we do not have the strength to repel him." The captain was then struck by a new thought as he recalled the day's skirmish with the Haradrim. "What of Rimiriel? Have she and our scouts reported anything useful?"

Faramir waited a long moment, looking over to his lieutenant when no response was offered to find the warrior's face overcome with hesitation, tentative even in something as simple as meeting his leader eye-to-eye. "What is it, Madril?"

At the sound of his name, the seasoned ranger finally brought his gaze level with Faramir's, unable to ignore a direct inquiry from his commander. "Your sister and the others have yet to report in," he revealed slowly.

Faramir's stomach plummeted to his toes as his heart simultaneously tried to leap into his throat, and he swallowed hard before trusting himself to speak, not wishing for his distress and concern to be overly evident in his demeanor. If he could not keep control of himself, he could not hope to control his men. "Have her report directly to me as soon as she arrives. In the meantime, I shall see what we can glean from the pair we collected."

Without another word, the young captain left his second to collect the maps, letting his feet take him out of sight of his lieutenants and the other rangers before allowing himself to stop and lean against the rough wall of one of the tunnels tracing through the hill he and his men used as their central base. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply before lifting a silent prayer to the Valar for the safety of his sister and her team. Too many men had disappeared in the forests of Ithilien as of late, never to be seen again and most likely slain by the orcs that endlessly plagued the lands. The plea did little to settle the dread in his heart, but still Faramir pressed on after a moment. There was no rest for a captain of Gondor when war waited just over the horizon.

Faramir sat against the wall of one of the larger caves secreted behind Henneth Annûn, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees as he massaged his temples. The pounding in his skull refused to abate, and he dismissed it as a compilation of all of the stresses building on him in the wake of the increased number of skirmishes with Mordor's allies in the past months. He was certain that his sister would have something to ease his suffering—even just her presence as affirmation that she had not been lost on the mission he had assigned would be a balm at this point—and so he looked forward to her return. Despite all of his confidence in her abilities, however, a small part of his mind harbored the sickening dread that he would never again see his sister—at least not while he was a part of this world—and that small doubt only served to increase the tempo of his head's throbbing. He had not been ready for the Halflings' revelations that they had been companions of his brother, whose horn had been found washed up on the banks of the Anduin, and so he certainly was not prepared to add his sister's name to the list of kin waiting for him in the Hall of Mandos when he finally met his end.

With his eyes focused on the ground between his own feet as his fingers traced slow circles on each side of his brow in attempt to calm his wheeling thoughts, it was the crunch of boots in the dirt and the appearance of leather-bound toes only a hand's width from his own that told Faramir he was no longer alone. Had he truly been paying attention, the keen captain might have recognized that the boots intruding upon his solitude were much smaller than his own or those of his men and so deduced the identity of his visitor, but he instead waited for the trespasser to speak and acknowledge their reason for disturbing his musings.

"Headache, brother?" came a voice from somewhere above him. "I could brew a tea that might help?"

Faramir glanced up quickly and then leapt to his feet, deep relief enveloping him from head to toe as he recognized the form before him as that of his sister, garbed primarily in the same green and brown as his men, dusty and grimy from days of sneaking through the dirt and underbrush of Ithilien. "Rimiriel!" he exclaimed, drawing the woman into a tight embrace.

"Is that relief I hear, Faramir?" Rimiriel asked, her voice light as she extracted herself from her brother's arms. "We were only delayed half a day!"

"Aye, but those few hours seem like a lifetime in the midst of the darkness we face," Faramir returned, trying to appear undisturbed as he ran a scrutinizing gaze over the slighter form of the Steward's youngest child, a frown deepening the corners of his mouth as his eyes caught a bandage tinged with blood wound tightly around her upper arm, the mottled red and white contrasting ironically with the grey fabric she kept tied around the opposite arm to mark her position as a healer amongst the rangers, and a bruise stretching its dark shadow over one side of her jaw. "What happened?"

"We were sidetracked…nothing we could not handle," Rimiriel answered quickly. Faramir was certain the swift quirk of her lips into the smallest semblance of a smile was meant to be reassuring, and it might have worked if not for the fact that she refused to meet her brother eye-to-eye. "What news here? The tunnels are echoing with rumors of captives."

The captain chose to bypass his sister's curiosity to first satisfy his own inquisition. "Where are the other scouts I sent out?"

"Reporting our findings to Madril and Damrod. I only came directly to you because I was told you requested it," Rimiriel revealed before a spark of mixed curiosity and excitement ignited in the stormy grey eyes she shared with her brothers. "Tell me, did you really discover two Halflings? Like the stories Mithrandir told when I was young?"

Faramir had almost forgotten how his sister had clung to the old wizard's stories and teachings just as eagerly as he had when they were children easily awed by any who might know more of the world than they. As he read the anticipation smoothing over her face, the captain nearly succumbed to his sister's prying just to keep the light in her eyes. It had been some time since he had seen her show interest in anything other than the duties that came with defending their homeland's borders, and it was wonderful to see the darkness growing in Rimiriel be chased away by this novel development, even if it were only for a moment. Still, they each had roles to play, and so Faramir shelved his own desire to keep that exhilarated glow in his sister's face and pressed on with more dire matters. "What news can you tell us?" he asked. "Are the Dark Lord's forces moving as we feared?"

A wrinkle appeared between Rimiriel's eyes as her face fell, her eyebrows drawing together and a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Brother, you are avoiding my questions!"

"I am the elder and your Captain," Faramir reminded his sister, sensing her stubbornness rising in response to his skirting of her queries. "My questions get answered first. Deliver your report and I shall tell you what you wish to know."

Rimiriel opened her mouth, the set of her face telling Faramir that she was prepared to argue, but she failed to find a suitable rebuttal, finally sighing and taking a seat on a flat rock jutting from the cave wall next to the stool on which Faramir had been sitting upon her arrival, silently agreeing to the terms of this compromise. As the second son of the Steward of the realm reclaimed his seat, Rimiriel pulled a crate of supplies over to rest in front of the pair before pulling a folded map from a hidden pocket of her uniform and smoothing out the wrinkles as she spread it across the makeshift table. With Gondor and all of the surrounding realms clearly defined in dark ink on worn parchment, the map was nearly identical to the one Faramir had pored over with his lieutenants only a few hours before, though this one had been written on in what the captain recognized as Rimiriel's own hand, each letter uniform and straight with no movement wasted.

"It is as we thought," the lady revealed as she rested her hand on the southern realms of the map for a moment before running a finger up a line drawn in red ink from the Harad Road and through Ithilien. "The Haradrim move east toward the Black Gate and Mordor. The forces move in smaller numbers, with ranks staggered and disorganized, which leads me to think not all of the Southron tribes have pledged allegiance to Sauron, though we have no way to know for certain. The more pressing matter is the fact that they no longer strive to hide their movements."

Rimiriel then pointed out the dark fortress that had once been one of Gondor's greatest cities. "Orcs are leaving Minas Morgul by command of the Witch King," she reported, tracing another line of red ink over the border between the forests of North and South Ithilien to Osgiliath. "The orcs are taking a clearly defined route, but they move in large, organized numbers. Our usual methods of attack would yield little success." A lithe finger tapped the dot marking the ruins of Osgiliath where they spanned the Great River. "The Dark Lord is readying for the launch of his war, of that I am certain. The forces of Minas Morgul will join the forces already congregated in East Osgiliath and launch their assault from there. I expect an attack at first light, if not sooner."

Faramir watched as Rimiriel's lips parted as if she wished to say more, her eyes intent on the map and the routes she and her men had carefully scouted over the past several days. He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind and wondered what suspicions she had pieced together but was so hesitant to share. "Is there something else, sister?"

Rimiriel looked up from the map, enabling Faramir to truly see the conflict warring in her face, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. Though the nearly-pure blood of Westernesse running through her veins gifted her with a keen awareness that meant the majority of her suspicions would later be proven correct, the Steward's only daughter held a mistrust of her own instincts, having been taught to rely on sound knowledge and incontestable fact, and it was only ever through gentle prodding that the Captain of Ithilien could sway his sister to share her misgivings.

After another moment of battling her own inner turmoil, Rimiriel finally took a ragged breath and shared her theories with her brother and commander. "The force moving on Osgiliath is massive—more than fifteen thousand strong," she noted carefully. "It is much more than the garrison at Osgiliath is prepared to handle; they simply don't possess the numbers. But still"—Rimiriel again traced the red ink representing the march of the Haradrim from the south—"I suspect the Dark Lord has an even larger wave of reinforcements waiting in Mordor. If the force moving on Osgiliath were the entirety of his army, why would he not direct the Southrons to Osgiliath as well?" The unlikely scout looked to her captain as if expecting him to discredit her theory, but Faramir only nodded for her to continue, his face impassive but his eyes thoughtful as he absorbed her report.

"I suspect the battalions preparing an assault on our holdings in Osgiliath are only intended to test our defenses," Rimiriel continued when her brother failed to contest her offering. "If the city falls and the orcs gain the fords, Sauron will be able to move his armies over the river unhindered, and that is when his full force will be set against Minas Tirith and his war will truly be launched against the world of men." She drew a circle around Minas Tirith with her finger before leaning back from the makeshift table and letting her hands fall to her lap, suddenly seeming weary. "How are we to defend against an evil so massive?"

"By first worrying solely about the problem just before our feet," Faramir returned, keeping his voice calm and level despite the dread worming its way into his very soul. Rimiriel was apprehensive enough without him giving her more reason for concern. "I will have the men prepared to leave at a moment's notice. Should Osgiliath call for reinforcements, we will be ready to immediately offer our aid. Let us deal first with the enemy we can see."

Rimiriel nodded and Faramir made the mental note to have Madril send scouts east to see what they could discover about any forces Sauron was trying to keep hidden. His own intuition told him that his sister's suspicions were correct, but he would not directly tell her so. Not this time. If he did, she would want to join the team scouting for Mordor's reinforcements and, though Faramir had become lax in keeping his sister close after years of her proving herself capable of handling any situation, the Black Gate was not a place the captain would ever willingly send her.

As he noticed Rimiriel gathering her map as if assuming their meeting was finished, Faramir reached out and placed a hand over the tattered creases in the parchment, preventing her from completing her task. "You have forgotten something in your report," he chided when met with a questioning gaze. "Or perhaps purposefully left it out."

If the day's events had left him in a better mood, Faramir might have been amused by the look of confusion on his younger sister's face at having her report questioned. Rimiriel was a creature of logic and reason who strove for the highest possible level of perfection in all that she did. Requiring clarification in anything the young woman delivered was arguably the rarest of rarities among the rangers, and the daughter of the Steward was uncertain as to how to respond to the situation. "What have I forgotten?"

Faramir reached out and caught his sister's chin in his hand, worry lines creasing his brow as he ran his thumb over the mess of purple and blue bruises swirling over her jawline. "What happened to cause this mark on your face, Merilig?" The captain let the appellation from Rimiriel's youth slip as the protective urges he had felt from the moment she had been born surged anew in his chest, his brotherly instincts incapable of being leashed. "And the need for a bandage around your arm?"

Rimiriel sighed and pulled her chin from her brother's grip, casting her eyes to her lap. As the moment of silence stretched, Faramir was beginning to think she would stubbornly refuse to answer. "A scouting party of orcs stumbled across us while we were breaking camp this morning," the young woman finally said, allowing the captain to discover that it was guilt that slowed her reply rather than pride, the shadowy emotion fully entwined in her speech. "We won the ensuing skirmish, but we should not have been caught off-guard like we were. We let ourselves feel too secure amongst the familiar terrain. I should have seen them."

"And your arm?" Faramir pressed, not liking the hints of self-loathing in his sister's voice any more than he enjoyed the fact that she would not look at him, her eyes resolutely fixed on the dirt around her boots.

"An orc snuck up behind me while I had my bow drawn. It was a lucky down strike at just the right moment," Rimiriel reported listlessly before her voice grew venomous with a deadly promise. "It shall never happen again."

Faramir nodded despite the fact that Rimiriel was paying little attention to him. There was truth in that vehement oath; his sister had a knack for identifying her own weaknesses and doing her best to eliminate them in any way possible. "Were any of the others injured?"

"Maerven received a cut to his leg no worse than that on my arm. I have already taken care of it. Apart from that, everyone emerged unscathed aside from some bruises that will fade in a few days' time."

"That is good," Faramir ventured. Rimiriel only nodded absently, still not meeting him face-to-face. The captain sighed, knowing his sister was most likely drawn into herself, revisiting the mission in her head and cataloging every misstep, finding some way to assign blame for each error to herself. She had always been one to dwell, even over things of which she had no control. "Rimiriel, you cannot hold all of the blame for yourself. With the way Mordor's forces have been moving as of late, the fact that this is the first accidental encounter is the more surprising one," he admitted. "We cannot foresee every move the enemy makes."

Faramir had hoped the remark might at least pull his sister's attention to him, but she was not to be distracted as she remained resolute in her gloom, her eyes remaining fixed on the far wall of the cavern. The captain could think of only one thing to divert Rimiriel from the dark path down which she was allowing her thoughts to be drawn. "We discovered two Halflings watching our skirmish with the Haradrim earlier today," he said, keeping his tone nonchalant even as he kept a keen eye on his sister to judge her reaction. "Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee of the Shire."

The effect was instantaneous. Rimiriel swiveled around to meet her brother eye-to-eye so rapidly Faramir had half-expected to hear bones popping in her neck. The dark gloom fled her eyes as they again glowed with wonder. Even her posture improved, her shoulders and spine no longer bowed under the weight of her own self-doubt. Faramir much preferred his sister in this state of mind, and loathed that circumstances had robbed her of much of the positive enthusiasm he remembered from their youth. "So, Mithrandir's stories of the Little People were true? Can I speak with them? How long do you intend to keep them here?"

Faramir had almost forgotten how much Rimiriel had enjoyed the stories of the cheerful Halflings in their Hobbit-houses as a child; he himself had much preferred the tales of dragons looming over their hordes of treasure. His earlier interrogation of the Halflings then pounced on him out of the shadows to which it had been banished by his relief at finding his sister returned from her mission and relatively unharmed, and the captain immediately rebelled against it, quickly and desperately wishing he'd chosen any other way to pull Rimiriel from her inner despondency. Still, his sister had as much a right to know what he had learned from the Halflings as he did, even though it was likely to snuff out her brief return to the light and cause a repeat of her withdrawal into the darkness of her own mind.

"Aye, I imagine you have many questions for them," Faramir finally began after shaking off his reluctance. "Though I doubt you will find any more satisfaction in their answers than I did." When Rimiriel only seemed confused with such a response, Faramir steeled himself and continued. "They were companions of Boromir."

Clarity came swiftly to Rimiriel, a desire to have her curiosity sated being replaced by a burning and frantic need for truth and understanding. "Boromir? Do they—?"

Faramir quickly fielded the question he knew was coming. "They have no knowledge of what ill befell our brother. My inquisition was the first they had heard of any misfortune."

As disappointment flooded his sister's face, the captain felt guilty for the myriad of emotions he had put her through in the span of a single meeting, but he knew it had to be done. It had not been easy for either of the Steward's remaining children when they had found Boromir's horn cloven in two and watched his funeral barge drift past on its journey down the Anduin, leaving them with nothing but speculation as to what misfortune had befallen the brother that had been a guiding force for both of them as they clumsily navigated through childhood and adolescence and into adulthood. Faramir could not have Rimiriel meet the Halflings whilst overflowing with the hope of finally gaining closure only for that faith to be dissolved into despair once again when the Hobbits were unable to provide the answers she sought. It was better to tell her firsthand.

"But if they have no information concerning Boromir's passing then why keep them here?" Rimiriel asked, still uncertain as she tried to process all that she had been told.

This question, at least, permitted a simple answer. "I need to ensure they are not spies of Sauron."

"Spies?" Rimiriel parroted, reservation clear in her eyes.

"Aye," Faramir confirmed with a nod. "They are hiding something. I know I saw a third companion with them, but the Halflings have insisted there was none other. I have teams out scouting for him now."

Rimiriel's misgivings were still written across her face even as she mulled everything over. "I do not know, Faramir. I cannot see much value in spies the size of children, so why would Sauron?"

"Most would say the same about a female healer serving directly in the field, but that does not mean they are correct," Faramir pointed out. His sister still did not seem convinced, however, and so he continued. "I have to make sure. You, of all people, know that too many of our men have been lost because we did not have all the information."

Rimiriel's eyes hardened into steel and Faramir immediately wished he could swallow his words. "I, of all people?" Even though her voice would sound steady and calm to those who did not know his sister as he did, Rimiriel's word were a dagger of ice plunging into Faramir's chest as her eyes remained locked on his in a cold mix of hurt, anger, and disbelief. "You think I need a reminder of what I, of all people, understand?"

"No, I am sorry," Faramir said quickly, knowing he could not retract his words as guilt burrowed through the pits of his stomach, Rimiriel turning away from him to once again stare at the far side of the cavern. "It was not my intention to sound so callused. Please accept my deepest apologies."

Rimiriel said nothing, only closing her eyes and sighing deeply—more of a hiss due to the way she clenched her teeth and set her jaw. Faramir settled in to wait, knowing his sister needed a moment to sort through her rage and calm herself before she could trust herself to speak without erupting with a firestorm of words she would later regret. It was into this atmosphere of silent tension that another ranger unwittingly stumbled moments later, hesitating in his mission as he felt the strain and pressure shoving into every corner of the room.

"Captain Faramir?" the ranger began tentatively, looking between the captain and his sister and waiting to be chastised for his interruption. Instead, the captain glanced over before beckoning the ranger closer. The scout approached, warily glancing at the woman who sat with her eyes closed—something every ranger had quickly learned was never a good sign—before leaning down to report to his commander. "We found the third one."

The crunching of nearby boots pulled Frodo from his already restless slumber for him to find himself boxed in by a flight of Gondor's rangers, their bulk blocking the dim light offered by the candles lit on various ledges and alcoves and throwing Frodo and Sam's corner into ominous shadow. Their captain stood in front of the team of men, his eyes fixed on Frodo as the young Hobbit bolted upright, alarmed by this sudden show of force.

"You must come with me," Faramir said once he saw that he had the Halfling's attention. "Now."

While the Gondorian captain turned and busied himself with barking orders to his men in what Frodo recognized as the language of the elves, its musical cadence flowing skillfully from the captain's tongue, Frodo stood and began stretching the cricks from his bones and joints. Rock did not make the best of beds, and the Hobbit allowed himself a moment of longing for the comforts of Bag End and the familiar securities of home. Frodo paid little attention to the exchange between Faramir and his men, only vaguely noting the departure of many of the rangers as they set out to fulfill their orders. The Hobbit was forced to pause and reconsider the situation unfolding before him, however, when a voice fired back at the captain in the same lyrical Elvish syllables but with a voice considerably higher in tone and pitch.

Frodo had first glanced over the figure that seemed to be verbally sparring with the captain, seeing only another ranger, albeit one slighter in both height and build. It was only with a second look and longer study that the Hobbit realized this ranger was a woman. She was arrayed the same as the men, from the brown and green clothing that allowed them to so skillfully hide among the trees and bushes of their territory to the quiver of arrows hanging at one hip and sword belted opposite. Dark hair was twisted and secured in a coronet to be kept out of the way, emphasizing a face softer than that of the stolid man she argued with that made her gender unquestionable. There was a certain similarity in the set determination carved into the expressions of both debaters, and Frodo found himself wondering who this woman was who dared question this captain of men.

Something in the argument between the two Gondorians declared Faramir the victor, the woman going quiet and finally stalking over to a nearby ledge jutting from the wall of the rangers' underground base and sitting down with a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. Faramir then gestured to Frodo and they set off through the tunnels, the captain of Gondor leading with Frodo trailing in his wake. Frodo truly desired to inquire as to the identity of the woman they had left behind, but Faramir's brisk steps and hunched shoulders did not seem to invite conversation, and so the Hobbit kept his questions to himself, instead turning his thoughts to the question of where the captain could be taking him at such a late hour.

The last dregs of an awful dream startled Sam awake, and he cracked his eyes open to find the pallet beside him empty. Panic flooding his veins, he bolted upright in his own makeshift bed. "Mr. Frodo?" he called frantically.

"Your friend has joined Faramir to aid in the apprehension of your missing companion." The voice came from behind Sam, and he quickly gained his feet and turned to find a ranger sitting against the wall, a double-take revealing this ranger ensconced in the shadows with eyes cast down to a knife in one hand and a block of wood in the other was a woman who looked up to see Sam eyeing her warily. "My apologies…startling you was not my intent."

The pair simply stared at each other for several long moments as if each trying to discover the other's secrets from within their eyes and so gain some kind of superior understanding of the situation. Sam went so far as to cross his arms over his chest, silently daring the female ranger to underestimate him. After a moment, the ranger returned her attention to her project with no indication as to what her study had decided and the cavern fell silent save for the rough scratching of her blade as it shaved pieces away from the wood in her hand. Sam returned to sitting on his pallet but could not seem to stop fidgeting from worry and anxiety as the minutes stretched on with no sign of Frodo's return.

"Your name is Samwise Gamgee," the woman said abruptly a few moments later, shattering the silence and catching the Hobbit by surprise. His astonishment must have been evident on his face since she quickly continued. "That is correct, is it not?" Sam nodded slowly, suspicious of the motives behind this stranger's questions. "And you are a Hobbit? From the Shire?"

"Maybe," Sam dodged, not wanting to reveal too much to this odd woman of Gondor. "What's it to you?"

Sam expected the woman to be offended by his remark, but she instead seemed to perfectly understand his reluctance. "Where are my manners?" she said as if chastising herself, settling her whittling project to one side and brushing sawdust from her hands. "I should not expect you to volunteer information when I have offered none of my own…I deeply apologize, Master Samwise. I am Rimiriel, daughter of Denethor; I serve the Rangers of Ithilien primarily as a healer, though I also serve as a scout and messenger when there is such a need."

Rimiriel smiled as she leaned forward to shake Sam's hand, the act banishing the shadows from her form as she entered the reach of the candlelight. Sam discovered deep-set grey eyes above high cheekbones and flanking a wide, straight nose, artfully arranged in a face still soft with youth and yet etched with the weariness of the dark times in which they found themselves. A faded white scar slightly pinched the skin from just beneath the outside corner of her left eye down to the corner of her mouth where she smiled and a bruise darkened the right side of her jawline. Sam found his curiosity prickling as to the origins of such marks, for the Hobbit understood women of all races to be creatures that put great stock into their own appearance, and could only imagine the ensuing panic caused by being scarred across the face.

The revelation then struck Sam that this woman might be self-conscious of the damage to her skin and the way his inquisitive eyes lingered longer than was polite, and the Hobbit quickly cast his eyes down and away from the ranger's face, searching for something to cover his blunder as he released the hand offered in greeting. He was saved from having to formulate some kind of apology, however, when a commotion erupted at the entrance of the caves, causing Rimiriel to rise to her feet in alarm. Sam also rose from the blanket he had been sitting on as Frodo came into view, appearing miserable with the results of his quest, not even protesting as Sam began furiously checking over his companion to ensure no harm had come to him during their separation.

Rimiriel seemed anxious to investigate whatever commotion was occurring elsewhere in the tunnels, restlessly shifting her weight from side to side. "I have to see what Faramir has gotten us into now," she finally said as if forgetting there was anyone around to hear, turning and collecting her whittling project and blade from where she had abandoned them before facing the Halflings once again, suddenly seeming uncertain. "My brother's actions must seem strange to you," she began slowly, "but I assure you his intentions are pure. If you have need of anything—food, water, extra blankets—please do not hesitate to find me or ask another ranger to fetch me."

Without waiting for an answer, Rimiriel strode away. Sam watched her go until she rounded a bend in the tunnels, thankful for her compassionate words in the midst of such peculiarity, before returning his attentions to his friend and the fact that he had disappeared somewhere the loyal gardener had been unable to follow.

A/N: Thank you again for reading. Please be sure to leave a review.

The next chapter will be posted on or near February 8th. There is also a trailer I made for this story on YouTube. If you are interested in checking it out, the link is in my profile.

Lauren