We thought the tales led to Sauron's return, yet we could never have anticipated what it really was.

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L U M O R N E L

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No!

From high up in the bare tree, I could plainly see my ambushed pack on the path. The foods stores had been completely demolished, every morsel, except for maybe a few crumbs, had been eaten. My roll of bandages had been strewn about, their cleanliness ruined by the path's dirt. The thought of putting those dirty bandages on my wounds made me shiver. Blood oozed down my shoulder, warm blood melded with the cloth of my shirt. Every time I moved my arms wrong, the wound would break open, oozing more blood. The uur rauko's claws had ripped through my shirt and chest binding. I could feel the underclothing slipping under my shirt. And—

My journal was safe. In the uur rauko's search it had been tossed aside, open to a random entry with my small supply of elleth needs keeping it open. A muddy, animalistic footprint marred the page and a claw had ripped an obvious tear. But it wasn't shredded.

I held my breath and scoured the area, letting my eyes rove around and my ears to pierce every sound. The evergreen trees clashed in the wind, the bare branches of hibernating trees clanked, those around me threatening to sweep me off. After an extended moment of time, no dark creatures came padding into view. I didn't think the uur rauko were smart enough to lay a trap so I dropped from the tree, landing lightly on the cold ground, my wounds stinging.

And froze.

Listened.

Twigs swayed overhead but didn't crack on the forest floor.

Cautiously, I crept towards my scattered belongings.

All my food is gone. My water canteen is ruined.

No more water.

I clenched my fists to keep them from shaking. No food. No water.

Going without sustenance, and then suddenly having it, my ability would break me like it did this morning. The landscape was dangerous, steep and rough. Monsters lurked in the shadows. How would I stay strong without f—

I'll just have to hunt—like I have been.

But water. How would I find water? How wo—

Stop.

Breathe.

I closed my eyes, nearly biting my tongue off.

Okay, okay. I can do this.

The sun shined through the trees. How long had I been running from the uur rauko? Noon had long since passed.

I stooped, hissing through my teeth and gathered my things. Then I stepped off the beaten path.

A stream would never run across a trade route. Or at least I hope so, otherwise I could be making an idiot's move—

Well, I wouldn't be surprised if I was. I bit my lip, fighting off a smile.

But a stream had to be out here somewhere. Oh if only I could have the animals lead me to water.

I noted where the sun was shining through the trees. West. And I need to be going North East. The Western Hope can't be too far away... I hope. I only saw trees and dirt and old, decaying leaves and not any sign of people. My shoulder felt like tenderized meat, my back like cut steak. Every step made my shirt shift, grating against the clawed wounds. The blood... and no clean bandages.

Those—those stupid monsters! Warmth pricked at my eyes.

I gritted my teeth. How did I know the Western Hope would help me? Even if Legolas did know me, everyone else probably didn't. They would all treat me like everyone else. Legolas might too...

I'll just have to take care of myself. Like I have been for Valar knows how long.

I couldn't use my cloak as bandages... Its warmth would save me in the winter and it gave me the ability to blend in with my surroundings. It's dull greenish-grey color might save my life.

So I set my things down, along with my quiver, and with a quick glance around the quiet forest, took my shirt off.

The wintry air caressed my skin, but being an elf, the chill was only mildly uncomfortable. My chest binding immediately fell, pulling a little on my torn flesh, cut from the uur rauko's claws. Despite being completely alone, rouge stained my cheeks.

I worked quickly, using my hunting knife to cut up the long cloth into strips while my top half was completely bare to the forest.

Well. You have to do what you have to do...

It didn't help the blush warming my face.

The cloth was relatively clean, except maybe for some sweat stains. My wounds were in such a place that I'd have to use more cloth than I was willing to part with. I'd have to choose which wound to bind.

Shoulder.

But...

"Ah!" I buried my head in my hands. My shoulder wouldn't stop bleeding but my back had long, open wounds that reopened every time I moved too fast.

How would I even wrap my shoulder? The binding would cross over my back wounds...

I tied a few strips together and began wrapping my upper torso. When I was done, I was out of cloth and the long gashes weren't completely covered.

Wait... don't I have another shirt?

I dug in my pack, and at the very bottom, I found it. The one spare garment I owned. After a while, I had it cut into strips and wrapped a terrible bandage around my shoulder. I was too stiff in it—if another uur rauko came along...

With one hand carrying my considerably lighter pack and quiver and my other holding my bow, I continued through the forest, following the sun. With adrenaline worn off, the pain hit hard, my back feeling like fire. Yet I put one shaky foot in front of the other and continued.

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The light of highmoon hit the treetops, casting the needles of winter trees into a dark-pale glow. Barren branches shattered moonlight, sending it elsewhere. Varda's light both illuminated the flora and cast it in darkness.

Bats were dark, soaring holes against the canvas of stars, dropping low to catch some of the few loud insects screaming about the cold; a last meal before true mountain winter settled in. With summer now tucked away for another year and autumn retreating, a bone-deep cold settled upon the night. It didn't bother me as much as it did the folks of the towns, yet I was very grateful for my cloak. Grateful I didn't cut it up for bandages.

As if on cue, my wounds screamed, more so after climbing this tree. Liquid warmth made my already hot wounds hotter and I knew without looking, knew with a thick dread, that the bandages I had put on nearly a day and a half ago had already bled through.

I really need to find water...

Not only had I not been able to refill my canteen, but I hadn't been able to wash out my soaked bandages, or even able to clean my wounds. I couldn't risk infection—I didn't even know how to treat it. And would anybody even help me if I went to them?

The answer was no. Nobody would help... whatever I am. Evil-doer, murderer, treasonist, whatever.

But... how does everybody know who I am? How could I have done something so bad that people, separated by leagues and rarely even travel due to danger, know who I am?

I bit my tongue and dug my nails into the bark of the tree branch, searching out the moon.

Good, I'm still going in the right direction.

Slowly, I lowered myself to the branch, just so I can sit, relax. Lead seemed to weigh down my limbs and my mind simply wanted the bliss of sleep—

A small pack of wolves ran underneath the trees' skeletal canopy—

"—rytime I talk to 'er she turns away." A tall, broad man strode beneath the trees. Three other men walked with him. All were armed with a small armory, with coats like that of wolves.

"That's a sure sign she has a hankerin' fer yeh, yeh know? Soon you'll have h--"

"What about you, newbie?" The first burly man asked, turning his gaze to a tall, lean young man. Tree-filtered moonlight glinted off the younger one's dark hair. "Any gal catch yer eyes?"

The burly man's accomplice grinned. His nose seemed to be as big as his face."Or have a gal's eyes on you?"

There was a pause, and I tried my best not to breathe. The young man kept his gaze fixed ahead, walking a few paces behind the two older sentinels. "No, there's no girl."

Through the bare branches, one of the older soldiers dropped back to nudge the younger man, a broad grin on his taunting face. "Aw come on, Renar, there ought to be a gal out there."

"I got a sister that loves to play Vaire the Matchmaker," said the second soldier. "She'll find ya a nice curvy women to appease ya."

"Hey!" The soldier grinned, a quiver of arrows on his back. "I got a younger brother all teary-eyed over the last git he smooched. You got a sister, Renar—"

"We're out here to maintain the perimeter, Tain," Renar snapped through his gritted teeth, those eyes hardening as he kept his alert gaze around his surroundings. "It's best if we do our duty."

"Don't be like that," the one with the arrows whined. "So do you have a sister—" Renar's fists tightened "—my brother can spend a night with? That'll sure git 'em over his last girl—"

Renar whirled on his superior. "I would never send my sister to your rat of a brother. Ask one more time and—and I'll send you to meet my sister." He snarled the last words.

"Oh," the man smirked. "So she's a feisty one?"

Renar's fists clenched dangerously. "Yes—and she's dead."

A muscle in his jaw flickered and his chest rose in a deep breath as he slowly released the tension in his hands, then jaw. The other two men glanced at each other—and the one with the brother didn't even look insulted. As if he knew his brother was indeed a rat.

I itched to descend to the forest floor but... western hope or travelers?

My wounds throbbed painfully, fire emanating from beneath my blood-stained cloth. What if these men had bandages?

Mind made up, I wrapped my scarf around my neck and head like a headscarf and picked my way down to the base of the tree. Purposely, my foot stepped on a fallen twig. The snap echoed throughout the dark forest.

As the three men twisted around, I held my empty hands out to the side, hoping that no snow-white strand peeked out from beneath the scarf, hoped it was too dark for them to see my eyebrows. Their swords sang as they unsheathed them, one of the two older men nocking an arrow.

I took another step forward. "I'm here for the Western Hope, are you with them?"

I bit my tongue, and holding my breath while keenly aware of the dagger at my side, I searched the grimy faces of the men. Renar's head cocked to the side ever so slightly, brows narrowing, and he opened his mouth to speak—

The burly man beat him to it. "Yeh, we are. What's it to you? You seekin' to join?"

My mouth opened. Then closed. No. No, I'm not wanting to join. Not permanently. But if my memories did return... if this group of people didn't treat me like a monster... It wouldn't happen—everywhere I went I was treated like a thing of evil.

So I lied. "Yes."

A hopeful step forward.

"Yes, I've been looking for you for months now! I met someone from here a while back, told me where to go."

The big man glanced at his companion, then he eyed me again. Took in my attire, my pack. My weapons.

"If I take you in, I'll have to take your weapons."

My stomach sank. But of course. It made sense. I'm more than a stranger—and never trust one with weapons.

"Okay, I understand." A sidelong glance to Renar. "But I want him to carry them."

The burly man shrugged. "Fine. Less for me to carry."

Reluctantly, I unloaded my weapons onto Renar. Yet, I was able to keep my pack (which held an eating knife) and a short throwing knife sat sheathed in my boot. As I handed over Legolas' bow, Renar had that look in his eyes like he knew very well that I had not given him my weapons.

But his brows then furrowed deep, searching for something...

I took a step back, averting my vivid irises.

Recognition sparked in his eyes. His mouth fell open in a soft, sharp inhale. He took a half-step back—

He blinked once, then shouldered my bow in a flash and grasped my elbow.

"She needs to relieve herself, we'll be back on the path in a few." I was so busy gaping at the rough hand on my arm that I stumbled as he forced me deeper into the brush, arm and back throbbing.

Then his words registered.

No.

No sooner had I started to struggle, writhe in his iron grip, did he put a knife to my throat. With no words, Renar led my deeper away from his superiors with all my fight-for-escape stilled.

He's going to kill me—he knows who I am—

My heart pounded as fast as a rohanian horse. Slick sweat covered my palms—

Light, softly seeping from beneath my clothing, illuminated the dark path before us. I struggled, struggled so hard for control over that light. All I could do was hold it at bay lest it escape and... and it was only these last weeks that allowed me to do that.

Renar pushed me away, shoving me to my knees. His knife angled down towards my face. I gulped, staring at that moon-reflecting blade. My eyes flickered to Renar's face. Dark eyes bored into me, a day's worth of stubble blending into his shaggy dark hair. Despite his cool exterior, his chest rose and fell quickly—and he ripped off my headscarf, leaving my brilliant white hair exposed—

"Lumornel."

I froze.

The air seemed to lose all oxygen as I rasped, "how do you know my name?"

"How... how is it you're alive?" He kept the knife angled at me, but his grip relaxed and he ran a hand through his hair incredulously.

But then his hand returned its grip on his blade and his wide eyes narrowed. "Why did you not rejoin Aragorn?"

I could only stare and stare at the man before me. He knew my name. Seemed to know even more.

This really is the Western Hope.

"Who are you?" A whisper.

Confusion glinted in his eyes. "Dever; I saved your life at Helm's Deep."

Helm's Deep? I had been at Helm's Deep?

Renar—Dever—lowered his weapon. "I'm—" his gaze dropped for a second. "Leofwyn's brother."

My eyes flicked to the bracelet on my wrist. Her name, etched beautifully, was carved on one of the beads. But it sparked no memory. Dever—he sparked nothing. Nothing.

I pressed the heels of my palms into my forehead. Then—

I took in a deep breath, centered myself. And stood.

"I need to—"

Dever cut me off, lowering his blade and sheathing it. "Have you been called Gwaraith?"

My heart nearly pounded to a stop. That terrible name. "...yes..."

"Have you killed anybody?"

I retreated a step. "Orcs—"

"Those aren't people," he snarled.

"Then not on purpose," I said carefully, eyeing him with more caution. "I only fight out of self-defense."

Dever nodded, as if he believed me, his jaw still tight. He opened his mouth—

"I'm looking for Legolas Greenleaf," I cut him off, feeling bad before moving on and motioning to the bow he held. "His name is engraved on that bow, I'm hoping he can—somehow—help me stop my memory loss."

His brows furrowed as he assessed me, those soil eyes going somewhere else.

"The Western Hope—"

"Renar!"

Dever briskly grabbed my arm, yet his grip wasn't as rough as before. It still jostled my muscles, reigniting pain.

"Here!"

The burly man and his lackey broke through the brush grumbling. "Thought you and the gal had run off."

Dever kept silent, but slid his hand off my limb and walked past the man. I followed, the man's eyes following me suspiciously. I looked away.

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Just as the sun started to turn the sky a palette of pinks and oranges, we came across a soldier—one that dropped down from the trees and greeted us before going back to his skyward station. The camp was several minutes after that, and a group of armed men stopped us at the boundary. Smoke floated upward between tree limbs, the smell of multiple campfires permeating the crisp air. The whites and beiges of tent canopies peeked out from the trees and the yells and chatter of people rose skyward.

After a few exchanged words and pointed glances at me, the border guards let us through.

The Western Hope.

I glanced at the two lewd men. I hope there aren't too many of those here.

And there better be a healer.

I turned to the leader who led us here, an anxious buzz humming through my veins. I knew I needed to have my wounds seen to, I knew they were unclean and still bleeding but— "I'm looking for Legolas Thranduilion, can you take me to him?"

The man narrowed his brown eyes in thought—and then smiled. "Of course." He bobbed his head towards one of the permanent structures, "he's this way."

I bit my lip, working my fingers into my palm nervously, and glanced behind me. Dever followed behind, all my weapons—except a knife in my boot and one in my pack, in his hands and belt. Legolas's beautiful galadhrim bow was in his other hand, my wide variety of arrows on his back.

His face was a dark cloud, an internal war playing behind his brown eyes. He met my gaze and his mouth tightened as if he was deciding what to say.

His eyes seemed almost apologetic.

I whipped around, a slick, heavy feeling rising in my stomach.

The lean man in front of me walked with ease... and the building we headed to seemed normal...

Something wasn't right.

I jog forward a few steps, ignoring the fire on my back, my shoulder, getting closer to my guide. "Is Legolas okay...?"

The man shrugged, reaching forward to pull open the door. "I really wouldn't know, but I hear he looks like a spirit of Mandos and is as deadly as a storm."

I wouldn't know...

I twisted to see Dever's face harden—

A rough hand hauled me by the arm, grip like iron manacles. I cried out in pain, my knees buckling, as my wounds stretched.

My eyes went wide, twisting around to see the big man as he pulled me into the building. My eyes adjusted to the dim room, lit by a few lanterns—

Behind a desk, two guards stood vigil at the entrance to the rest of the building.

Barred cells filled the space behind.

"What are you doing?!"

He continued to drag me around the desk, the armed clerk eyeing the situation.

"Stop! I'm only here for help! Please! Let me talk to Legolas!"

I pulled against his grip—

I went slack in agony, crying out as my back and shoulder seemed to be doused in fire. Cool tears surfaced involuntarily.

"Please," I rasped, panting through the pain. "I have—I have his bow."

"Hey sweet cheeks, this isn't the Western Hope, so shut up!"

Cold shock froze my veins.

"What."

A new terror, a new panic rose in my throat.

"No." Softly at first, that coldness sinking into dense heat, hot as a humid, tight room. "No."

Desperately, I twisted my neck to Dever, caught a glimpse of his murky hair—but was immediately thrown in a cell.

I grasped at that glaring light in me—

My hip hit hard stone, and my cry was cut short as my head bounced sharply. Any grasp on the light slipped right through my fingers, my vision going white not at all because of my slippery brilliance.

Vision slowly returned, spinning spinning spinning, colors that melted together too harmful to look at. A cell door slammed shut.

Crystal clear, words echoed over and over, damning as an executioners blow:

This isn't the Western Hope.

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Thank you so much for reading.
^-^
Blessing to all