I couldn't help the anxiety building in my stomach as I sat in the courtyard. Èowyn had Boromir in the infirmary, and was stitching up his chest and side, which were apparently torn up pretty bad. I glanced around, trying to distract myself by tapping my boot on the stone tiles. Helm's Deep was a sober place, but a safe place. In a sad way, it reminded me of Rivendell.

That just made me more anxious.

I wasn't sure why I was this upset. Maybe it was the storm clouds building, and the way the earth seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the torrent to come. Or maybe it was that every minute seemed to stretch into three, making it seem the Men—and my companions—had been gone far too long.

But finally, there it was. I thought it was thunder at first, until I heard the rattle of the horses' equipment, and hooves striking the causeway.

I jumped up. The guards were already opening the gates, and after a moment, the horsemen poured into Helm's deep. At the front was Thèoden, and another man I recognized but didn't know. I kept my eyes peeled for my companions. Legolas wasn't hard to find, and Gimli rode beside him on his borrowed horse. But—I didn't see Aragorn.

Anywhere.

The dread, which I had almost forgotten, hit me full-force. Crippled by it, I stood motionless as the Men dismounted. I was vaguely aware that Èowyn joined us and touched my shoulder, but I didn't respond. I just watched my friends.

Legolas swung off Arod, leaving the horse in the care of a stable boy. The ellon met my glance briefly, then he broke eye contact and just walked away.

Gimli didn't. He slowly shuffled forward, his expression stunned. Finally, he met my gaze, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Lord Aragorn—where is he?" Èowyn asked carefully.

Gimli didn't answer. A single tear spilled over his cheek, getting lost somewhere in his beard.

No.

My knees faltered. Èowyn grabbed my arms before I could fall, but all I wanted was to curl up on the ground and cry.

"Gimli," Èowyn said softly, "would you give me a hand?"

The two of them lead me away. I didn't watch where they took me; I didn't care. But after a few minutes, we ended up in a small, dim room. Èowyn sat me down on a hard mattress. "Could we have a few minutes Gimli?" she said.

"Of course," he replied gruffly, and left the room. As soon as he pulled the door closed behind him, Èowyn turned to me.

"This is my room, Eda," she said softly. "You're welcome to use it as long as we're in Helm's Deep."

I gave a mute nod. I was probably coming off ungrateful, but I didn't care. Aragorn was gone. Nothing else particularly mattered.

"Perhaps you should take a bath," Èowyn suggested gently, pointing to the other side of the room. "It might help you feel better."

My gaze followed her gesture, resting on a tub carved right out of the stone wall. It was nice. Luxurious, for these people. But I honestly didn't care.

Èowyn rubbed my back comfortingly. "Is there anything I can get for you?" There was a telltale waver in her own voice, but she bravely bit it back.

I shook my head. "No...thank you. I just...want to be alone."

Èowyn nodded and stood. "Alright. I will be in the infirmary, if you need me." And she left the room.

I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath, letting myself fall onto the pillows. A few individual tears squeezed out and dripped onto the pillow. I was alone. Completely alone. I used to be fine alone—happy, even. So what was wrong with me? Gandalf had left, that Legolas hated me, and now...Aragorn was dead. Why did I care?

But care I did.

I should never have left Rivendell.

More tears came, and I gave a quiet sob, burying my face in the pillow. When had this emotional binge started? When had I started letting myself care, so much that it hurt? But even as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer.

It had been a dark night. Elrohir and Rusceth had been making out in one of the gardens, and Aragorn was on the bridge with Arwen.

"My lord," I had whispered, seemingly so long ago. "Will the Valar grant me a love of my own?" I had been so broken, so vulnerable that night. So desperate.

"A chance," Elrond had admitted reluctantly. "But, Eda, I have seen hundreds of possible paths for you. That is but one. And a very unlikely one, at that." He rubbed my back, comforted me, even as he relayed the bitter truth.

"Does it end happily, my lord?" I had begged.

"No. It does not."

I closed my eyes and wept. I shouldn't have been here. Shouldn't have joined the Fellowship, shouldn't have burdened them. Shouldn't have distracted Legolas, Aragorn, or Boromir. In trying to find my place, I had completely lost myself. Perhaps, it was the will of the Valar to punish me for the crimes of my parents. As well as my own.

"What about your will?" came Aragorn's voice.

My eyes opened. Aragorn wasn't here, so it was official; I was crazy. And yet...

My will. What did I want for myself? What did I want my fate to be? I stared at the ceiling, thinking. I wanted to be a person that did more good than harm. I wanted to be someone that, when I died, people would lay me to rest with fond memories.

But here I was, having disregarded all form of authority and guidence. Leaving broken hearts and hard feelings behind everywhere I go. A refugee of my own kingdom.

How did it come to this?

* * *

Legolas's POV

I stood on the causeway, doing nothing to stop the tears from falling. In my hand rested Aragorn's Evenstar necklace, shimmering in the subdued light. All I had left of my best friend. Truthfully—my only friend. For it would seem I had lost Eda's companionship, as well.

I hadn't felt this lonely since that wretched year in Mirkwood. The year Adar disappeared without a trace, leaving me to take the throne, honestly believing him dead. Suddenly thrust into the heat of political squabbling and strategic backstabbers. Surrounded by people more cunning than I, ever working to an end, while I was crippled by grief and loneliness.

Not much had changed since then. Truths had come out—truths I would rather live without knowing. And Adar was back on the throne, where he belonged. But now, reduced to the same emotional state that I had been then, I reacted precicely the same way.

I wept.

It wasn't long before Gimli's heavy footsteps approached and came out the gate, stopping behind me. Laying a heavy hand on my arm, he said gruffly, "I'm sorry to disturb ye, laddie."

I glanced down at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were grieved, as well, but concerned as well. There was wisdom to be found here; his concern for the living outweighed his grief for the dead.

Taking a deep breath, I drew the necklace around my neck and clasped it in the back. I knew no safer place for it, yet, it weighed cold and heavy on my heart. Finally, I met Gimli's gaze and said, "Do not apologize; you have done nothing to wrong me. What brings you?"

Gimli sighed, more grief revealing itself. "She needs ye, Legolas," he said gently. "She's taking it poorly, and I fear she may bring harm to herself."

"And you did nothing?" I asked sharply.

Gimli made a soothing gesture. "Lady Èowyn is with her. But laddie, ye know I am merely a friend to her. She wants ye."

"She hates me," I sighed, looking away.

Gimli clasped my arm. "I think not. She's a lass, and lasses never seem to know what they want."

Sighing, I said, "Well then, I've already failed."

Gimli held up his hand. "No indeed! Because ye know what she wants." Even through his grief, the Dwarf managed to offer a meaningful grin.

I rolled my eyes, but I was already smiling a little. "Do all Dwarves have dirty minds, or is it just you?"

Gimli burst into uproarous laughter. "It's probably just me, laddie."

He led me back into the fortress, and through a labyrinth of corridors dug into the mountain. Gimli's stride never faltered, and he never doubted his direction—even though I was thoroughly lost. Finally, he came to a door in the hall. "This is it," he said quietly. He frowned. "Lady Èowyn was here when I left, but I don't hear anything..."

I listened, and picked out a slow, steady breathing pattern. "Eda's asleep," I said, glad that she was resting.

Gimli gave an impressed 'huh'. "Ye have excellent hearing, laddie."

I patted him on the shoulder. "And you, directional skills. Thank you, my friend."

His bushy eyebrows lifted, and he smiled, the gesture moving his entire beard. "Ye're most welcome, laddie." And he clomped away as quietly as his solid frame could manage.

I gazed after him, scarcely believing what had just happened. I was now friends with a Dwarf. Repulsive as the thought was, I remembered the stubborn loyalty of the Dwarves in Thorin Oakenshield's company. Unwavering, even in the face of sure death. A friend of that same mettle would be good to have. Or, as the case may be, metal.

I scoffed at my own humorless pun and silently went into the room.

A small lamp sat on a bedside table in the corner, casting a golden glow over the dim room. Eda was on the bed, her legs hanging off the side as though she'd just sat down and buried her face in the pillow. And in the other corner was a chest, a screen to dress behind, and an alcove carved out of the wall, inside of which was a stone bathtub, and even a crude source of running water. It was luxurious for a human settlement—nonetheless for a fortress in the mountain.

I walked over to the bed and looked down at Eda. Her position of rest looked remarkably uncomfortable, so I lifted her feet and placed them on the bed. Eda groaned and shifted, but didn't rouse. I waited until she had settled, then I carefully tugged off her boots and removed her sword belt. Finally, I reached up her sleeve and removed her Dwarvish knife. That, I placed on the table. The others went onto the floor.

That done, I caught myself glancing longingly at the bath area. I was filthy; it had been over a week since I'd properly bathed, and I didn't like the feeling. I glanced at Eda. She was still fast asleep, so I went over to the bathing alcove.

It was quite literally a tiny cave. Just big enough for the stone tub and a little walking room, it was cozy, even if poorly lit.

And, that was that. It was time to clean up.