A.N.: Trigger warnings for this story. There will be mentions of rape, substance abuse, suicide, postpartum depression, and post-traumatic stress. Unfortunately, this story will not be all sunshine and rainbows… at first… I hope.

Chapter 1

Her eyes narrowed as they followed the black dots in the distance. Her position on the grassy knoll made it impossible to make out any individual features, but there was no mistaking the fetid odor that drifted down with the wind. The scout's information rung true; the Orc horde was over forty strong and was quickly approaching the trap the men set up. If all went to plan, the wretched beasts would be eliminated. Two years had passed since the end of the war. Sauron was vanquished but his scum still remained. They were fewer in number but, moved efficiently, even without the threat of their master.

The captain motioned and the archers took position. Aranel raised her long bow. Her hands caressed the polished yew. Her fingers found the string as she notched a goose fletched arrow. Even after all of this time, all of the battle she had seen, her heart still quivered in anticipation.

"They are coming."

Swallowing the last pitiful mouthful of poppy infusion, Aranel slowed Rover, from the canter he was in to a trot as they neared the city gates. Although Rover had an easy gait, the pain from the arrow shaft embedded into her chest was rearing its head again. She was lucky. The arrowhead was barbed but not poisoned. One of the healers tried to remove it, but his lack of tools and Aranel's general squeamishness of healers had her sent away with the reports.

"Good riddance" one of the newer men had muttered. "A battlefield is not a place for a lady."

A sharp glare from her had made him close his mouth but Aranel could not help the flush that bloomed on her cheeks. After all this time, she was still just a woman to them- weak. All that aside, Aranel was going to make sure that she would not falter at the task she was given. The Rangers were all she had.

Aside from the guards at the gates of each level (men who were so used to seeing her out and about, that they recognized her by sight) and the stumbling patrons of ale houses, the streets of the White City were empty. It was either very late or very early; the sun would be rising within the next hour or so. A cold wind whipped through the street. Her back ached- old wounds groaned as the cold wind tore through them. She burrowed into her grey cloak; nose wrinkling at the stench of Orc blood, mud, and sweat. As much as Aranel disliked the city, it did hold the promise of a warm bath and a soft bed.

The people here were a stiff bunch but resilient. Two years after the war and already much of the city was hammered back together again- with the aid of Elves and Dwarves. But despite the architectural differences, the air seemed less stifled than it had been two years ago. The shadow was gone- and with it much of the suspicion and fear that gripped the people. Many men had died but the people were slowly coming together under reign of the King and his beautiful elven bride.

Aranel slowed her horse as she heard footsteps quickly approach. They were from ahead, not from the drunkards at her right- who were seated outside the now closed pub. Though she was confident in her abilities with a sword and knife, life with Rangers had taught her always to be cautious. Pulling up her hood, she stopped completely in the shadow of an alley and waited as the footsteps grew louder.

For a moment, she doubted her eyes- as she saw an un-escorted, (seemingly weaponless) woman walking the streets of the lower level of Minas Tirith. She was a lady of noble birth- as indicated by the quality of her wardrobe and her noble mien. Although she had the sense to wear a dark cloak, the material was clean and lined with ermine. In the place of quieter footwear, the Lady was wearing heeled boots. Her hood was down giving Aranel a sight of the Lady's complex hairstyle. She was beautiful- high cheekbones, a fair complexion with large grey eyes, surrounded by long dark lashes.

Her face was young but her expression made it look younger. Eyes wide and full lips parted into a smile with very white teeth as she glanced here and there at the sights before her. It did not seem to take much to make her smile with delight: a horse, a wagon, or a sign.

The Lady however, did not heed the path before her. Before Aranel could call out for her to watch her step, the Lady's foot caught in a hole. She fell to the ground with a loud cry managing to bring a barrel to the ground with her- the sound breaking through the quiet of the street like thunder. The Lady let out a sob as she sat up. Her fingers ghosted over her ankle.

The two drunkards by the pub noticed her. Their movements were not quite coordinated but, they still managed to make it over without falling like the lady had.

Aranel slid off of Rover and began making her way over to where the people were all clustered.

One of the men whistled.

"Are you lost?" His voice was cold and full of mockery as he slurred his S's like a snake. The Lady seemed to regain her composure for a moment.

"I am not lost," she replied. She was smart enough not to reveal that she was injured but her voice had shaken and she had given them what they needed- a whiff of her fear.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" the other called. He had a disgusting smile on his face. His beak like nose twitched as he giggled repulsively. If there were a struggle, he would be the one Aranel would pummel first.

"My business is my own."

"Business? I see! You are self-employed? Do you work in the chamber? Well how much does it cost for a good-"

"Hold your tongue! Speak another word and I will have your head," Aranel said. She had purposely attempted to drop her voice a few octaves lower. Perhaps they would think she were a man- after all, she was dressed like one.

The men startled, as they had not heard Aranel approach. She uncovered her sword and pushed her way to where the lady was.

"Come, I will take you home," Aranel told the Lady, still keeping her voice low as she preferred her hand. The Lady stood with difficulty, favoring her left foot.

"Be on your way," Aranel commanded the men who stood and watched.

She turned back to the Lady. Then, she heard a shuffle of feet and saw the Lady's eyes widen. Aranel smelt the stench of stale ale before she felt his fist collide with her arm. She should have known better to turn her back. Years of practice had honed her reflexes but never enough to avoid pain entirely. Aranel rolled off the punch and in respect launched a series of well-placed blows to his abdomen, nose, ear and groin. He crumbled to the ground, beak of a nose releasing a stream of blood.

Angered at his friend's downfall, the snake charged. Although, he was down in minutes, he had placed two very heavy handed blows on Aranel's already weary body. One made contact with the barb already in her side- and for a moment Aranel saw stars. It was folly though; a battle-hardened ranger fighting against drunkard.

Aranel resisted the urge to spit on their prone forms. She turned instead to the lady.

"Are you alright?" The Lady nodded. Her eyes dropped to Aranel's torso and widened.

'She's probably figured I'm a woman and is now in even more shock.'

But Aranel was wrong.

"Your side!" the Lady exclaimed.

Aranel looked down. The blood had thoroughly penetrated the cloth of her shirt and the coppery scent wafted in the air. The rush of battle was beginning to wear off and the pain Aranel felt was quickly doubling. Dark spots danced before her eyes. Shaking her head, Aranel managed to clear it slightly. She hissed aloud and cursed, congratulating herself for being a fool.

"I was injured before. Let us move to the higher levels. Can you walk?" Aranel asked through her gritted teeth.

"After a fashion. I do not believe my ankle is broken but I think it is sprained."

"Do you want me to check."

"It is quite alright."

"Right. I would send you for my horse but he would probably bite your hand off if you came too close."

The lady frowned.

"Lend me your arm," Aranel said. "We can support each other back to him."

"Who are you?" the Lady asked.

Aranel did not reply. Instead, she focused on walking to her horse.

Rover huffed lightly when he caught sight of Aranel. He danced back slightly as the Lady neared- not trusting her.

"Hush you oaf," she said as she swatted her grey horse lightly. Aranel turned to the woman, who looked at the war horse uneasily. Aranel didn't blame the Lady. Rover was a tall horse at 17 hands.

"Do you need help getting on him?"

"Will he bite me?"

Aranel smothered her smile.

"No."

"Then can manage," the Lady replied. Despite her ankle, the Lady swung onto the saddle as though she were born in one.

Aranel followed, albeit a little more clumsily. She adjusted herself but it was not comfortable. Her saddle was molded to her size and thus was not made to accommodate two riders (Aranel was especially grateful that she was not in her armor) but they were making do. They went slowly and Aranel held back her nausea. Her head was swimming and her side throbbing with every heartbeat.

The Lady was wary of her but, if the stench of the Orc blood and general foulness coming from Aranel bothered her, she hid it well. The pair rode in silence like this for a while, until the Lady suddenly began to speak.

"I was exploring the city," she began. Her tone was matter of fact. "I was raised in a sheltered environment. Although I have traveled to Gondor previously, I have rarely left the sixth and seventh levels." She was cautious. The Lady wanted to say more but she was guarding her words. Like all nobility, she had to watch what she said. Once more, Gondorian nobility seemed to make a sport of relishing one another's faults. It was true that they had calmed some with the arrival of the new Queen and King but they were ever mindful. Everything was done with strict protocol and unyielding practice. This Lady had braids in her hair common to those who were betrothed; a complex tangle of knots that seemed to be pulling at her scull very tightly. Only someone of a very high class would pursue the custom with this much fervor.

"It is my twentieth birthday and I have yet to explore Minis Tirith on my own." She seemed wistful now. "You must think of me as both childish and naïve."

Aranel took her time to answer.

"Not childish," Aranel finally replied. "Though, if I may be so bold as to say, yes you are naïve. Why would you be unarmed this late? Surely a lady of your stature has had some formal training in the art of defense?"

There was a small smile in the Lady's voice. "It is true, I am proficient with a bow, but I had not taken it fearing that it would be stolen."

"A knife perhaps my lady? It is easier to hide and more useful when your foe is upon you."

The Lady turned towards Aranel, bumping her elbow into the arrow shaft wound. Aranel cringed, eyes immediately shutting in response to the stinging pain.

"Oh! I am so terribly sorry!" The horror was evident in her voice, though her shuffling was not helping with their procarious balance.

"Do not worry yourself," Aranel replied trying to soothe the Lady and keep her still. She looked at her through her watering eyes and smiled. The Lady smiled back shakily.

They continued- though now in a more peaceful silence. They were nearing the end of the fifth level when Aranel spoke up.

"I still do not know your name Lady."

"And I still do not know yours."

Aranel barked a laugh.

"My name is Aranel and I am of the Rangers."

"I am Lothíriel-"

"The Princess of Dol Amroth."

Melkor's balls.

"Indeed. Though I will not be the Princess for long. My father will disown me if he finds I was out of the house."

Aranel frowned.

"A father should always forgive his daughter."

They did not speak after that- and Aranel feared it would be impertinent if she continued. She was feeling every minute of the journey but focused on keeping to the road. Lothíriel gave directions and at last they reached the street of her abode: Swan House.

When they turned the last corner to the Princess's townhouse, they were greeted with the sight of the Princes of Dol Amroth. Although there were four in total, Aranel believed that out of the two present, one was old enough to be Imrahil. It was evident that they were relatives of Lothíriel, as their features were all the same. Father and son both had long flowing hair, darker than crow's wings, tanned skin, and stormy grey eyes. Both were garbed befitting their stations and were armed with jeweled swords. Their very posture conveyed their noble heritage. Although their faces shown with anger, their eyes held worry as they saw the women riding up.

Aranel had not personally seen them fight in the war but she had heard stories from the men in her unit. The Princes fought courageously at Pelennor and the Black Gates. They seemed to be the picture of valor and honor. The men all looked up to them as models.

They were the Princes who fought alongside the common man -regardless of their station in life- and even Aranel could appreciate that.

Lothíriel visibly shrunk at the sight of her kin. Aranel stopped before them and the young Prince rushed forward and pulled Lothíriel off of Rover.

"Lothíriel," Prince Imrahil hissed, "explain." He seemed to have eyes only for his daughter as he completely ignored Aranel.

Aranel took this as a sign of dismissal and turned Rover around, hoping to sneak out of the uncomfortable conversation she knew was coming. She had made it but a step when the other Prince commanded her attention.

"Halt! Rider, I command you to dismount your horse at this instant!"

Sighing, Aranel slid off of Rover. She gasped lightly as the world quaked beneath her feet. The sudden movement was not a smart move. Aranel took a deep breath and turned, using Rover as support. The Prince stalked forward, frown deepening on his face.

"Yes?" Aranel grit out sarcastically.

"You smell like an Orc," he said with his nose wrinkling.

"At least I don't have the manners of one," she replied.

The Prince looked horrified; his mouth an O as he floundered for an answer.

"And now you look like a fish. You really must be from Dol Amroth."

"You!"

Aranel bit back a smile. But then, her vision blurred. She shook her head lightly, focusing for a moment on the whispered argument between the Imrahil and his daughter. A shadow moved in the window above. The household was taking note of what was happening. There would be gossip flying around the city by the time breakfast was placed on the table.

"You- You!"

"Yes?" Aranel replied. She was holding onto consciousness by a thread.

"Let her be Amrothos!" Lothíriel said turning to them finally. "She is hurt!"

"Hurt? She? A woman? Who is she Lothíriel? And why does she smell like an Orc?"

"She is my kin." Aranel turned her head and caught sight of Aragorn's amused grey eyes. He was standing in the doorway of the townhouse, ready it seemed to go on a hunt.

"You have saved us all the trouble and found the Princess I see," he teased as he walked up to Rover.

Aranel laughed and fell clean into his arms- exhausted and unconscious.

"Ouch!" Aranel exclaimed. The healers gnarled hands stilled her as she jumped from where she lay. She had awoken in an unfamiliar location a nearby servant quickly identified as the Swan House. Prince Imrahil, she learned, had offered her a bed when she collapsed in the King's arms. The servants bid her to stay in her room as they filled a tub with steaming water. After a cleansing bath, Master Alrick from the House of Healing had come to dress her wound. He was by no means a young man and Aranel wondered if he could actually see the metal he was attempting to remove. Alrick grumbled about the thoughtlessness of children and continued to pry out the barb. Crying out in pain as he dug deeper with his infernal metal contraptions, Aranel prayed for a dose of poppy. This pain was unbearable and the lovely poppy infusion healers gave was numbing and brought sweet bliss. When Alrick finished, he cleaned out the wound and sutured it.

"You are lucky that the barb was not poisoned," he said grimly. She held back a retort and continued to squeeze down on the down on of the bedding. When he had finished, Alrick gave her a tonic to drink and some gauze.

"Take a spoonful every day for three days and re-bandage your wound once a day. How does your back fare?"

A look of surprise flitted across Aranel's face.

"I helped treat you when you received the burns," he answered by way of her unasked question.

"It aches insufferably," Aranel's voice was low. "Although it has been months since I received it, sometimes… sometimes it burns as though it was newly made. It pains me greatly if I get hit there- or if I overstretch the area."

He nodded but did not remark further.

"No poppy?" Aranel asked.

Alrick looked at her, his dark eyes probing.

"For the pain," she added quickly. Aranel tried to keep her face blank, and devoid of the panic that she was beginning to feel.

"No. The pain you feel is to be expected. I have numbed the area with an ointment so you should not feel much today. You must remove the sutures after a week," he replied slowly- eyes still probing.

Aranel thanked him. He walked out of the room, leaving her to redress in what the servants had left for her. The dress was a plain white one- not belonging to the Princess as Aranel was a clean head taller than her (and bulkier all the same)- but it was cleaner than the garb she had come in with. It fell a hand and a half short of the ground. The slippers were a bit tight on her feet but they would have to make due until she could find her boots. She ran a quick comb through her hair and twisted the strands away from her face. The rest she left hanging down her back to finish drying. She slipped out of the room and collided with Prince Amrothos.

He caught her round the waist and steadied her. He was dressed as immaculately as he was when she saw him last, but absent of the jeweled sword at his hip.

His storm grey eyes flit over her once. Something indecipherable passed over his handsome face.

"My Lady Aranel," he said voice not quite cold but not warm either. She stepped back out of his hold and dipped into a wobbly curtsy. She caught the smile on his face.

"Prince," she said mood souring. Aranel detested when someone laughed at her.

"The King bids me to bring you to his side."

"My belongings?"

"Your clothes and boots are being washed and mended by the servants. They will return it to you as soon as they are done."

She nodded.

"Your horse and saddlebag were taken by the King."

"Please lead the way Prince." He proffered his arm out for her. Aranel accepted, letting her hand rest on his forearm.

She could not help moving closer to him as they stepped outside the townhouse. Though the sun was warm, the air was chilly in the shade.

"You are cold," the Prince said with a frown.

"No. I will be fine if we walk in the sun."

"You may have my cloak if you wish it."

She could not help but color slightly. Some still considered it an intimacy to share a cloak. In Rohan, during a marriage ceremony, all a man had to do was place a cloak on a woman's shoulders and say a few words in front of a few witness to be wed. Still, this was Gondor.

"Thank you, but the sun shall suffice."

He seemed to understand her. Aranel spied that the tips of the Prince's ears were red. She had embarrassed him. He decided not to further the conversation.

They walked through the streets, a tense silence about them. Aranel did not know what to say so instead she looked around. She never quite got the chance to look around when she was delivering messages- she was single minded in that fashion.

The city was shaking itself awake. People milled about setting up their stalls along the main way. The houses here were further spaced from each other and were made from pale stones. The streets here were well paved. Two guards on their way to their station bowed to the Prince. A servant girl rushed from her mistress's side. Aranel could smell lemon cakes in the air and spied a woman selling them. Her stomach rumbled aloud. Blushing, she excused herself.

The Prince, smile now on his face, maneuvered her towards a stall.

"Forgive me my Lady. I feel as though I have been remiss as a host." He bought two lemon cakes from a woman (who batted her eyelashes at the Prince with such fervor Aranel hoped her eyes would not fall off) and gave one to Aranel.

"Thank you," Aranel said smiling a full smile. It was thoughtful of him. He bought one too, probably to make it less awkward for her. He smiled back. His teeth were straight and white. Aranel flushed and busied herself with the pastry. The pastry was soft, tangy, and danced on her tongue. It had been too long since she had a delicacy. She held back a sigh of pleasure. The Prince however did not.

"This is divine," he groaned. "Wait a moment. I wish to buy more." He ran back to the stall and brought the rest of the tray. Aranel did not hold back her laugh. He walked back a moment later with a bright smile on his face.

"Father will enjoy these."

Aranel's smile fell as she thought of the man she used to call Father. When he was alive, she did the same for him- she bought him treats and baubles she thought he would enjoy and find useful. No longer could she enjoy the same privilege as the Prince beside her. She was alone in that regard. The rest of the walk was quiet; sensing her mood, the prince did not speak.

"No thank you," Aranel replied. Had she spoken to any other person above her station in the same manner, she would have been struck for her impudent tone.

For his part, Aragorn simply sighed tiredly. He ran a hand through his dark locks and turned sideways to get assurance from Arwen.

Beautiful and as ethereal as ever, the Evenstar was dressed simply in plain blue. She smiled at her husband reassuringly. The Evenstar, in addition to being Queen, was the King's adviser as well. Arwen was seated- with all of the poise that Aranel did not possess. Her hair was unbound and she wore no circlet- though the king was just as relaxed in his simple red tunic and black leggings. If anyone from the commons came to see them, Aranel was sure they would confuse Prince Imrahil (who was seated beside a stony Lothíriel) for King Elessar.

"The Princess needs a guard Aranel."

Aranel let her hands trail over the design on the shawl Arwen draped on her. It was beautiful. Lighter than air but warmer than wool, the blue shawl had embroidery done by Arwen herself. As soon as they finished their bows, prince Amrothos- much to Aranel's embarrassment- had told them that she was cold and hungry. After a quick meal of eggs and toast, Aranel was confronted by the King.

"Maybe so but I am a lowly woman and Prince Imrahil's family may be much more comfortable with a man guarding the Princess," Aranel replied.

Lothíriel moved to Aranel's side. Up until now, she had been subdued and sullen. From the look on her face, Aranel had no doubt that Lothíriel had been chastened by her father. She took Aranel's hands in her own. Her hands were soft and white- the hands of a true princess- though Aranel did feel a few callouses, mostly in the forefinger and thumb. Perhaps the Princess was not lying when she said she knew how to wield a bow.

"You are my own kin Aranel," Aragon replied. "You are the niece of Halbarad and you have traveled with the Rangers since childhood."

"I will not go unless you are there with me. You have proven yourself worthy," Lothíriel said. The stormy depths of her eyes were filled with some glimmer of hope.

"And I would not send you if you were not worthy," Aragorn supplied.

Aranel felt her resolve break.

"Will I only be her escort until we reach Rohan or do I start immediately?" Aranel asked. She made the mistake of looking up at Aragorn as he smiled triumphantly. She curbed her urge to throw something at her liege lord.

"You will start from tomorrow as Lothíriel's personal guard," Imrahil replied in his rich voice. The Prince of Dol Amroth looked pensive for a moment. "Given the circumstances of present events," at this he shot a stern look at Lothíriel, who in turn flinched violently, "I have hoped that you will be able to provide a closer eye on her and protect her if the need should arise."

Aranel raised a brow.

"Do you expect an attempt on her life in the city?"

"No," here Imrahil smiled warmly "but my children are oft unpredictable and it will take you some time to get used to them."

"What have I gotten myself into," Aranel muttered. Aragorn laughed.

A.N.: What have I gotten myself into? Thank you for reading the first chapter. It's been a long time! I want to thank Lialathuveril who read this story in it's very rough draft about 6-7 years ago (Oh crap) and gave me some great advice. I've put this down and picked this up again so many times since then but nothing beats studying like a test than writing a some LOTR fanfiction.

Anyway, please take care of me and continue to support my work. I still don't know how this will end- but it's a whole new ballgame.

Best,

KS