Summary: Taking place a few years after the events of Return of the King, this story primarily features Éowyn, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, Faramir, Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen, along with a few more minor characters. Faramir is on a mission for his King that goes horribly wrong, leading our heroes (and heroines, of course!) into something far darker than the simple discontent they were originally trying to root out…

Disclaimer: Neither the places nor the people belong to me. Most of them were created by Tolkien, although a few were made up based as much as I could on possibilities within his world, such as the of the Rangers and the guards of the White Swan, aside from Beregond, whom you will remember from the books. If you only saw the movies, you will still be able to enjoy and understand the story; however, there are spoilers in here for the Extended Edition of RoTK, just to warn you. I made up Ostad, along with the characters that exist within it; I'm not selfish, if you like any of it enough or if anything gives you an idea, you're more than welcome to use it. That would make me feel very special! No, seriously, I'm not trying to "lay claim" to anything, I'm just letting you know not to pull out the Appendixes or Map of Middle-earth, because you won't find anything about it; it doesn't exist. Except in this story. So suspend your disbelief, welcome to my imaginary world of post-RoTK, and hopefully, you will enjoy…

Éowyn stood a long time on the grassy hills of Emyn Arnen, watching even after there was nothing left to see. Although her words to her husband had been ordinary and her tone calm when they bid each other farewell, now that Faramir could no longer see her, her clear eyes were shadowed. She had hidden from him her reaction to his leaving, for she knew that if he thought her troubled he would have been torn between staying by her side and doing as his king bid him. While Faramir was loyal and would give his life for their king, he would have been tormented if he thought he left his wife in anything other than perfect contentment.

And in truth, Éowyn was content, not troubled. Raised a shield-maiden of Rohan, she hardly batted an eye when Aragorn called her husband away. She only wished that the king had not chosen to do so right now. She thought that she might soon have had news to give Faramir, welcome news, and only wished that he could have stayed long enough for her to be proved right enough in her guesses that she could tell him. Of course, if Aragorn had any inkling of what Éowyn suspected, it was unlikely he would have allowed anything but the direst of circumstances to part his steward from his wife—but Éowyn was a daughter of Rohan. She understood duty in her heart the way that Gondorian women did in their heads; they knew that the realm's defenders owed their allegiance to more than family, they owed it to their country, and although that was sorrowful it was necessary. Éowyn knew that a man's duty to his liege was above all else, and understood as the fact of life that to serve that lord, you went where and when he said, out of love and honor more than sworn oath. So although it might be months before she saw her husband again, she had not wept as she watched him ride away, and she would never prevail upon Aragorn to spare Faramir his duties so that he could stay with her. Éowyn smiled, her pale face transformed as if a flower had suddenly shaken off its coat of frost.

She turned and walked back inside. At any rate, she was likely to have a wonderful surprise for Faramir when he returned home.

……………

Legolas turned smoothly on the slippery rock and looked back at his companion with a bemused expression.

"I had thought," the willowy Elf said in a voice of wind in trees and starlight on greenery, "that the point of crossing here was to avoid getting wet."

His companion was a marked contrast to the tall Elf, as he floundered up from the river and, clutching one of the wet, smooth stones that served as a type of bridge for the sure-of-foot, sent a damp glare at the other. "That was before some lame-brained idiot suggested we run across," Gimli, son of Gloin, pointed out accusingly.

Legolas tipped his head to one side, for all the world like a bird pondering a strange creature in front of it as he examined Gimli, then shook his head. "Perhaps your memory is failing, Master Dwarf, for I remember nothing of the sort."

"Then your flighty Elvish ways have finally driven away the few wits you had," retorted Gimli as he struggled to heave himself up onto the rock. "Although," he muttered to himself, knowing the Elf's sharp ears could hear his words, "I can't imagine it took much to do i—" His wet grasp on the rock slipped, and he plunged into the water again. When he surfaced, he looked first at the Elf, but he heard no laughter and Legolas was looking aside into the distance, so Gimli could not see his lips twitching.

"Nay," said the Elf after a moment spent bringing himself back under control. "I fear your dunkings must have caused what remained of your brains to become so water-logged that they cannot function properly, for you recall incorrectly. 'Twas I who suggested the race; the 'lame-brained idiot'" —his bright eyes turned back to fasten on the Dwarf— "was the one who agreed to the challenge."

Gimli tried to roar with rage, but his foot slipped and he inhaled a mouthful of river-water instead. He choked and coughed, trying to rid his lungs of the water without loosing his grip on the rock. Eventually he shook enough water from his ears to become aware of a high, lilting laugh and of hands on his shoulders, half-hauling him to a more secure position on the rock. He blinked water out of his eyes and scowled at the unwanted helper, summoning up his most fiery expression. This only made Legolas laugh harder, which did nothing to appease the Dwarf. His eyes suddenly took on a look of cunning, but before Legolas could brace himself, Gimli had applied the strength of his stout body and sent the Elf flying over his shoulders to join him in the river. With a much happier disposition, Gimli clambered onto the rock, chuckling at the splashes behind him.

……………

Gimli's sour mood, in part from his wet clothes and bedraggled beard, was not helped by his companion. Legolas's thin tunic and leggings were already half-dry, while his own made him feel like he was trapped on the inside of a water-skin. The dunking had not dampened the Elf's spirits, nor done anything to lessen the spring in his step. By contrast, Gimli felt that he had half the river still in his heavy boots as he squelched along ploddingly.

"The challenge was unfair," he said gruffly, continuing their argument.

Legolas, never flagging in his graceful stride, looked over his shoulder at the Dwarf. "I thought," he replied lightly, "that you said 'Elves may be surer of foot on dainty grass, but on good, solid stone, none will surpass a Dwarf.'" His attempt at imitating Gimli's tone was an obvious failure, for a smooth Elven voice could no sooner adopt a Dwarven gravelliness that Legolas could deepen his light tones to the heavy rumble of his shorter friend—but that did not mean that Gimli was unaware of the attempt.

His frown deepened. "Your cursed Elvish-sight told you those stones were slick with river-water before we came nigh," the Dwarf pointed out sulkily.

Legolas, eyes wide in innocence, responded, "the rocks were slick? Are you sure it was not merely Dwarven clumsiness? I noticed no difficulty."

"Then why is it you're drenched?" Gimli snapped quickly. "Couldn't be you fell in the river, could it?"

Instead of snapping off a sharp retort, Legolas laughed happily, an infectious sound—to most. "Drenched? Nay, merely damp enough to cool the warm day," he replied brightly. Gimli was not amused; he glared at the Elf who was a few paces ahead of him—close enough for a good axe swipe, he determined—and thought, I will never understand these flighty creatures. Legolas twittered a whistle in response to a small bird, which circled his head twice before flying off, singing its song happily. The Elf laughed at its antics with joy.

Never, Gimli swore to himself, then muttered it aloud for emphasis. "Never, never, never."

Legolas laughed again.