My hands shook as I tried to wrestle my hair into a braid. The ends kept frizzing, vicious tangles materializing out of nowhere. I was just about to scream for a pair of scissors when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," I snapped, letting my stress slip into my voice.

Èowyn poked her head into the itty-bitty room I had been assigned last night to try and get some rest. "Queen Amariel? Might I help?"

I dropped the half-started braid and rubbed my face. "Yes." In the last twenty-four hours since Legolas had been stabbed, I'd bitten every one of my fingernails down to the quick and tried—unsuccessfully—to funnel my energy into useful things.

Èowyn walked in and laid a battle-dress thing on my bed. "This should fit, there are lots of places it can adjust, and the blacksmith is talented at guessing sizes. He made mine perfectly." She came over to me and finger-combed my hair into her hands. Sighing, she murmured, "You aren't the only person who struggles to keep your chin up. Everyone is afraid."

I eyed the battle dress. It looked too tight around the middle. "It's not just the battle. Or...it's not me I'm afraid for." I sighed. "Legolas was hurt quite badly yesterday. He's up and about, not listening to anyone telling him to rest...and if I want him not to fight, I'm going to have to knock the daylights clear out of his head."

Èowyn didn't say anything, but her fingers kept pulling and twisting my hair into an efficient braid with expert precision.

Crossing my arms, I said, "What about your love interest? How does he feel about all this?"

"Boromir is a good man," Èowyn emphasized. "His loyalties are misplaced, but Denethor's madness aside, can you blame Boromir for supporting his father to the end?"

"When your father-in-law is trying to kill mine, yes."

A pause. "Would it help if I apologized for them both? I do not wish to be your enemy."

That girl was good at politics—or maybe just people in general. "No, don't apologize for them," I said with a sigh. "I'm sorry for taking out my frustration on you."

"I understand. And I forgive you." She secured the tail of my braid and stepped back. "But please, Your Majesty, do not let these comparatively petty grievences prevent you from fighting with the Alliance."

Pulling a strained smile to my face, I nodded. "You're right."

She smiled in response, with not an ounce of stress or anxiety in her features. "Would you like aid, getting into your armor dress?"

"Thank you, yes." I raised an eyebrow as she retrieved it from the bed. "Where is yours?"

Èowyn glanced down at her elegant, but ordinary dress, and the wrapped item tucked under her belt. "I thought I should feel what it's like to dress properly, at least one more time." When she smiled at me again, her face betrayed sadness, fear, anger, and exhaustion. She quickly masked it. "I will put it back on before we march, don't worry."

We worked together to wrestle the monstrosity over my other clothes. Èowyn deftly located what could and couldn't adjust, and miraculously, when we finished I could breathe without anything falling out of place.

"Thank you," I said, giving her a grateful smile. "It's good to have armor...and Legolas will be glad as well."

Èowyn smiled as well, relief showing through her eyes. "I'm glad you are pleased. But...that was not the primary reason I came." She pulled the wrapped item from her belt and extended it toward me. "I have been saving this for you, and now is a perfect time to return it."

As I accepted her offering, my fingers wrapped around something as familiar as the back of my hand. I knew what it was before I even pulled the wrapping off. "My dagger," I breathed, tears welling up in my eyes. I'd missed it here and there through the madness of being crowned and getting married, but nostalgia wasn't something I'd allowed myself much of. Now...I realized just how much I'd longed for the heirloom.

Èowyn's smile widened. "This is to say thank you for bringing together an army to rival the darkness. It is my hope—and Èomer's as well—that from this day forward, Rohan will enjoy a long and happy alliance with Erebor and the Woodland Realm."

I wrapped the sheath's belt around my waist and buckled it. Then I stepped foward and hugged Èowyn. Regardless of our differences of opinion on politics, she was a good ally to have.

* * *

People of all shapes and sizes milled around in front of the WhiteCity late that evening, nervous energy radiating off of every single person as Thranduil studied his notes one last time, preparing to explain the battle plan. I stood hand in hand with Legolas, trying to clear my head of the useless what-ifs scrabbling for my attention.

Thranduil nodded to himself and looked up at the waiting crowd. "Listen closely, because I won't be repeating myself," he shouted, projecting his voice well over the mass of people. "We have salvaged two of the enemy catapults, which will be used to aid us."

Excited murmurs went around.

Thranduil raised a hand. "There will be five divisions of our army, and each division will have a captain and a second in command. Each division has a critical part to play in our success. To say it simply: if you fail, we all die."

Sobriety came over the crowd. No one spoke. I squeezed Legolas's hand, and he squeezed mine back.

"The catapults fall into the first division, led by Legolas." He gestured toward us, and Legolas lifted a hand. "They will be placed behind our armies and aimed into the mouth of Mordor. When the Black Gates open, the catapults will launch deadly explosives, wounding and slowing the tide of scum before it even reaches us. The best elven archers will accompany the catapults, also helping to stem the tide of enemies."

Nods of approval went around, but an air of doubt hung over the people.

"The second division is the Angle, led my Master Dwalin." Thranduil sent a respectful nod to Dwalin, who stood not far away. "The Angle will be arranged directly in front of the Black Gate in a wide V. Dwarves will be on the front line with heavy shields and the short-range weapons of their preference. Swordsmen of Gondor will be directly behind the Dwarves, also carrying smaller shields. And behind them will be bowmen of Gondor. The purpose of the Angle is to slaughter what survives the explosions and elven arrows as long as they can."

The last five words made me cringe.

"Inevitably, as the bowmen of Gondor run out of arrows, the Angle will be forced to retreat. They will fall back into the depths of division four to rest and treat critical wounds. As they do, division three—the Rohirrim, led by Lord Èomer—will sweep through in two waves. The first will eliminate the filth chasing the Angle. The second will ride into Mordor, clearing a way for the Alliance to advance. The first wave of riders will double back and follow."

A hearty cheer went up from Rohan's bulky clique.

Thranduil smirked and continued. "Division four will be the vast majority of all of us, the Mass Army. Elves, Dwarves, Men of Gondor and Rohan—we will be fighting elbow to elbow. So grow accustomed to each other's..." —he waved his hand— "...scents."

An uncomfortable chuckle went around.

"I am the captain of division four. Division five will be led by Lady Èowyn." He motioned toward where she stood beside her brother. "Division five will be the shieldmaidens amidst our number. Your duty will be to deliver aid and supplies, bind wounds, and defend the wounded." Thranduil paused. "Women, do not underestimate our need for you. And men...you are to treat these brave souls with absolute respect and gratefulness. Though their number be smallest, I am confident they will save many lives in the coming battle." He looked directly at me for half a moment. "Perhaps even sway the tide of fate."

Silence clung to the listeners. Finally, Èomer spoke. "That is a grand arrangement, King Thranduil, but that alone will not win the war."

Thranduil gave a sharp nod. "The Mass Army will follow close behind the Rohirrim into Mordor. Behind us will follow the Catapults. If able, the Angle and the Swordmaidens will meld into the Mass Army. If unable to fight, they are to immediately retreat to the WhiteCity and remain.

"At the mouth of Mordor, we will fight as long as neccessary, using the wall at our backs to our advantage. When the battle turns in our favor, the remaining scum will flee, but we will not pursue—not yet.

"Our next move will be to march on Barad-dûr. Enough explosives will be reserved in order to bring the Dark Lord's tower crashing down around the ruins of his encampment. When this happens, we will divide our army into hundreds of smaller teams and scatter across Mordor to slaughter every remaining creature of darkness, and to search for the halfling known as Frodo. Then we will go home."

People glanced around, beginning to murmur to each other. It was a plausible plan.But could we dare to hope it would work?

Thranduil cleared his throat. "If anyone has any questions, now would be a great time to keep it to yourself. Report to your captains tonight, you will sleep where they tell you to. If you are female, report to Lady Èowyn. If you are a rider of Rohan, report to Lord Èomer. If you are Rohirrim but find yourself without a horse, you are with the Mass Army. Dwalin and Lord Imrahil will hand-pick those for the Angle, and Legolas will hand-pick those defending the Catapult. If I am your captain, feel no need to inform me, because I will not remember you. Do try to sleep." With that, Thranduil swept off into the WhiteCity.

Legolas gave a burdened sigh and turned to me. "Go to Èowyn. I will find you before we march tomorrow."

"What?" I squawked, drawing a bit more attention than I should've. I lowered my voice. "I am not leaving your side during this battle, Legolas."

He turned to me and squeezed my arms, looking down but not at me. "I discussed this with Adar...it's safer to have us apart. I need to focus on leading my division, and you'll be at the back...please don't argue."

I crossed my arms. "Only if we sleep together tonight." Negotiation is a pain in politics, but helpful in everyday life. Or was it supposed to be the other way around?

Legolas's face flushed, and he glanced around at the three-dozen or so people pretending not to eavesdrop. "Sleep with, like the sleeping kind?" he practically whispered.

I tilted my head and regarded him from beneath half-lowered eyelids. "What do you think?" In truth, we really shouldn't...mine for gold, so to speak. I didn't need to be walking funny while orcs charged me. But embarrassing Legolas was my revenge for not getting to fight with him.

His cheeks flushed more. "All right," he muttered. "Go report to Èowyn, then come to the catapults. I'll be there as soon as I collect my archers."

Grinning victoriously, I went up on tiptoes. "Give your wife a kiss." I puckered up my lips.

Rolling his eyes, Legolas leaned down and gave me a brief peck. "See you in a little while," he said, and strode off.

***Author's Note***

Show of hands, is anyone else excited for this battle to happen? *deadly silence* ...Yeah okay me neither. BUT that's just because I hate writing battles...nothing bad will happen...I think. *muffles evil laugh* Ooh sorry did I do that out loud?

:P

As always, I'll see you guys next week with another update. Take care of yourselves!