Helm's Deep was sent into a whirl wind of frenzy. Women ran about with bandages and food, some tried to take the Eored's horses to the stables, but the men would not part with their beloved animals. The men themselves were battle and travel weary, many covered in their own blood. Eomer himself was drenched in a deep crimson, the blood flaking in places.

The arrival of Eomer and his men (who were cast out by Grima Wormtongue before the attack) sent the camp alive with joy and relief. But it also sent a new wave of grief rolling through. The arrival had sent false hope into the hearts of many. Wives, sisters, mothers, and children had to relive the death of their loved ones all over again.

My heart filled with their pain. I was too aware of all the pain in the world. It's a terrible curse to bear.

I did whatever I could, but the Rohan women beat me to the healing. And the feeding. And just about everything else. So, I left them to it, understanding the emotions they felt.

Eomer and Eowyn had shared a loving reunion but swiftly left the scene to debrief. Not that it bothered the others, they were so engulfed by their joy they hardly noticed.

My eyes snagged on Leofwyn, who wandered around in the thick of the crowd. She stood on her tiptoes looking for someone. With every passing second, I could see her expression become more hopeless.

A young woman conversed with a returning soldier, hope and concern filling her brown eyes as a hand settled on her swollen belly. She asked a question, but the soldier shook his head wearily. His hand came to rest on her shoulder as she broke into sobs. A ring glittered on her finger.

Two riders huddled together, tears making paths down their dirt-caked faces.

Children hugged their mother's knees. Their sweet voices asked where their father was and why he wasn't returning.

"Excuse me," I shifted past Aragorn, "I need to get away from here."

But his hand caught my wrist. "I know what you're feeling, Lumornel. It not good to go and hide it away."

I tugged at his grip, but he was relentless. "I've been doing this all my life, Aragorn. And I've survived so far."

So, please, let me go be alone. Let me escape all this soul-crushing sorrow.

"You need to talk to someone." I could practically hear the name of the person he was implying.

Uh, no thanks.

A pulse emanated out of my skin, pushing Aragorn back a few steps in surprise. I hurriedly escaped him before he could grab me again, cursing my emotions and lack of control.

The way to my room was much shorter than I last recall, maybe because of my running mind. I close the door with a quiet 'click' and rest my forehead on the cool door surface, my eyelids fluttering shut.

"Why did I ever agree to go on this quest?"

"Why, why, why?!" I softly banged my head on the door before quickly falling onto the bed.

My fingers lightly grazed the scab on my neck. They trailed down towards the healing scars on my collarbone and shoulders. Gorthaden became heavier at my hip.

But the answer was simple.

Middle-Earth has too much sorrow, so much pain and toil. It all needs to heal. But healing cannot be done smoothly without some sort of healer.

I rolled over, pressing my face into the pillow while gliding my fingers down to unbuckle Gorthaden. The sword clunked to the ground.

Sleep carried me away, dark thoughts swirling around and around in my head.

*********

"uuhhhhhh," I groaned. My limbs felt like they were set through a meat grinder and my head felt as if a warg had used it as a chew toy! How could my body ache this much from just sleeping? And what was in my hand?

I rolled over, but I felt something squelch underneath me. I stopped. And awakened fully.

"What the Valar!" I stood lightning fast, taking in the mud around me.

This isn't my room.

I glanced upwards, at the mountain cliff towering over me. Its overhang hid me from the sun. A fast-flowing stream surged through this little hideout, brushing away any chance of plant-life. The only problem with that is that there's mud, everywhere. How did I get here?

"Ah!" I yelped as whatever was in my hand sent a sting of pain surging through it. I quickly dropped it.

I held my bleeding hand to my chest, gazing down at the glittering reflective shard. The small piece of shattered mirror echoed the image of the cliff face to me.

Why did I wake up with this in my hand? In a matter of fact, why did I wake up anywhere besides my bed?!

Completely and thoroughly freaked out, I bent down to pick up the m—

What in the name of Eru...?

The image in the mirror reflected the cliff face, but an arched doorway was cut into the stone. I whipped my head around, to see the cliff face with my own eyes. But there was no arched doorway. I checked the mirror again—archway still there.

Okay. I've got it. I'm going crazy. That's the only explanation.

Not wanting to, but getting the inexplicable urge to do it, I stuffed the mirror-shard in my boot.

It was strange, its touch felt clean, pure, and honest. Like rippling clear water.

Shaking away the feeling, and the extraordinarily strong feeling of being freaked out, I strode out of the cliff's shadow and jumped over the stream.

Before I completely lose my mind, let's find out where I am, shall we?

A grassy plain stretched out before me, the grass as tall as my hip. No flowers grew, for the Rohirric wind made it impossible.

Is this just a lone mountain?

... Am I at the Lonely Mountain?

"Oh wait," I said, turning east. Helm's Deep was the size of a cat from here, sprawled out against its mountain. I squinted against the morning sun, struggling to make it out.

Might as well start walking.

Step by step I made it to the fortress, sweat dripping from my forehead and the sun almost set. Dried mud crumbled in the creases of my clothes. My hair was stiff with it. I probably look like a giant slug.

Gross.

If I hadn't already walked through tens of fields, forest, and over hills, my thighs would probably be on fire.

I hadn't even made it all the way to the gate when a horn, deep and true, blew mightily into the air. The heavy gates groaned open and a handful of people emerged. All were armed.

They can't recognize me.

I should've bathed in the stream before I set out for Helm's Deep. I dropped to my knees and held my hands up in surrender. The only weapon my sleeping body had thought to arm myself with was my own hands.

I could've died. Lucky, I didn't stumble upon a horde of orcs.

That fear that had been sneaking up on me during my long walk emerged again. How had I even walked that far away? Why did I wake up with a shimmering mirror in my hand? The cold smoothness of it against my ankle felt like a fiery brand. Maybe it wasn't the wisest to put something sharp in my boot.

"Who are you?!" Eomer yelled, walking forward slowly. His sword pointed at my chest.

"L—"

A body came crashing through the soldiers. "Lower your weapons!"

Legolas's hair whipped behind him as he came to kneel before me. "Are you hurt?" the elvish rolled off his tongue, his wide eyes searching me.

"No," I replied. "I don't think so."

Behind Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli broke through the crowd. It wasn't awkward to be in Legolas's presence after his revelation to me—well, slightly. But it was sad. I felt terrible for what I had to do.

"You look terrible," he smiled tentatively.

"What a thing to say to a girl," I rolled my eyes and allowed him to help me up.

"Where were you, lassie?"

I opened my mouth, not really wanting to talk about it (since it'll sound so absurd) but Legolas cut him off.

"We'll talk in a safer location." He eyed the people staring curiously at me.

I wanted his arm to stay around my waist. So, I shrugged out of it. I couldn't look at him.

The back hallways were quiet and long. Few people walked these corridors, only an occasional maiden who gawked at all the mud.

Sorry. I almost said the word multiple times.

And then—

"Where's Duvaineth?" Did they execute her? Is she imprisoned? I didn't like knowing that someone who tried to murder me was so close.

Legolas averted his gaze, "she escaped. Sometime in the night."

"What?" I gasp. Weren't their guards—?

"She killed all the guards sentenced to watch her." He motioned to the room. "We still don't know how she evaded us."

Probably Morgoth worship.

The dark chamber only had one candle and an iron hanger for a torch. A silver chair lay on its side next to the wall. A chink was taken out of the concrete wall. Something oily dark stained the floor.

I turned to Legolas, eyes wide. What happened here?

But I knew. I couldn't stand the thought of another feeling the pain I felt. Even on someone who tried killing me.

Legolas didn't speak. He didn't need to tell me what he wants to know.

"I fell asleep after I went to my room, I woke up near a cliff face, and—" do I tell them about the mirror? "I found my way back to Helm's Deep." Biting my lip, I struggled not to jiggled around my ankle.

"You must sleep like the dead, lass." Gimli meant to be amusing, but it sounded more morbid than anything.

Aragorn furrowed his brows. He and Legolas glanced at each other at the same time.

"What? What's wrong?" What were they thinking?

Legolas, like the true soldier he is, faced me square on. "We suspect this might have something to do with Sauron. Or Saruman."

My blood ran cold. Just the thought of the old ma—

"But it's nothing to be concerned about!" He added hurriedly, seeing the horror on my face. "It could simply be that you're an avid sleepwalker." He tried giving a comforting smile. It didn't work. There's no way I could have just slept walked all the way to a cliff face. And picked up the shard of a mirror. Not on my own, anyway.

I wanted to shake and pound my head while screaming to the heavens, 'get out of my head!' I've had enough of villains messing with my mind.

I let out a shaky breath, turning away from them so I could try to compose myself. Key word there is 'try.'

"Let us reconvene later. Food awaits us in the mess hall," Aragorn urged, striding past me to the door.

My stomach rumbles in earnest, but I ignored its needs. "I... think I'll just go to my room."

"But—" Legolas objected.

"Legolas, I want to get this mud off me. Let me take a bath, then I'll join you to eat." Maybe a steaming bath would help this terrible headache I have. Legolas cutely blushed.

"Yes, of course."

I ran my hand through my hair, then quickly dropped it. Mud made my hair one solid block.

"We'll see you then," Gimli nodded. "Come on, lad."

The elf shook his head, "I'll walk her to her room." He turned to me, "with your permission, my lady." He held out his arm.

"Of course, hir vuin," I quip, threading my muddy arm through his. I only felt slightly bad for the dried mud clods that littered his green tunic.

The hallway echoed our footfalls, our silence heavy between us. Until—

"Are you alright?" He queries, his voice soft as falling feathers.

"I thought I told you I wasn—"

"Not physically."

Oh.

My silence answered him.

"Let me help," he pushed, but quietly in that falling leaf voice of his.

I shook my head. "It... It hurts talking about it." For it's not just the past day I'm thinking of, its everything that has happened since that day King Thranduil ordered me away to Lothlorien.

"I understand," he nods. "But it hurts more to keep it in. It festers. It rots. It'll eat you away until you don't know the person you were."

His words stop me like a suffocating gale. He faces me, but his eyes are far away. Anger, fear, confusion, disappointment, grief; they all pass through his sky eyes fleetingly. They scurry to light and then hide, hating the way they are seen, as they prefer to stay in the dark.

"Legolas, I—" My mouth stops moving, not exactly sure what to say. "I—I'm sorry for the things that have happened. In your past and recently. But there's nothing you can do to change it. You must live with it, the same way we must all live with our sorrows and mistakes."

His jaw clenched as if he's biting his tongue. But I continue on, not knowing where these words are coming from, but having the need to say them anyways. "Do you remember what I said the first time we met? I had told you failing means a new chance to start over and learn. We must humble ourselves and acknowledge our mistakes, for they make us a better person. In time, anyways."

"Live with your mistakes they way you live with your heart and you'll never be that monster you think you are."

His hand comes to cradle my face, his eyes unusually soft. My breath catches as his thumb strokes my cheek, catching the corner of my lip. "When did you become so wise?"

I shrug. Honestly, I don't know.

His hand falls away. I long for the feel of his warmth.

Stop, Lumornel.

"Does your wise words mean you're not going to talk about your troubles with me?" He jests, almost playfully, his arm elbowing me in the ribs.

"Ahh—Stop!" I shy away from his elbow, clutching my side protectively. He cracks a smile.

"My lady!" Sunnwyn turns the corner, saving me from the conversation with Legolas progressing.

She gasps when her blue eyes land on Legolas and all his elven glory. "Your Highness!" she gasps and bends into a deep bow, her gray braid falling forward to the floor.

Legolas's princely mask falls into place as he lets her bow for a second and a half. "You may stand."

"My Lady," she cast nervous glances towards my elven friend, "will you be joining my daughter and I?"

I could feel my eyes widen to the size of saucers as guilt and surprise floored me. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I completely forgot!" Now I feel even worse.

"No worries, my lady, I understand. No need to ask for forgiveness."

I tripped over my words, trying to ignore the question written all over Legolas's curious face. "I—well—I'm covered in all this mud—I don't want to be rude—but—"

Sunnwyn, bless her elderly heart, chuckled. "No worries, my lady. You may clean yourselves off."

So, I thanked her repeatedly—while still saying sorry—and listened to her directions to her abode.

Heaving a great sigh, I turned back to Legolas after Sunnwyn left and found him giving me a questioning gaze.

"She's just—I ran into her earlier—yesterday and she wanted me to meet her daughter. She was just so kind and—"

"You couldn't refuse?"

Sighing, I nodded. He rolled his eyes. "I'll leave you to it, then, my lady." He gestured to my door.

"Oh, hush." Rolling my eyes back at him, I slammed the door in his face. I only felt slightly bad about it.

Hurriedly I stripped myself of my clothing, throwing them into the wash basket to clean later, and instantly regretting not asking someone where to get hot water. So, I used the icy water from an unused bath set aside for yesterday and scrubbed myself raw. Mud had caked every inch of my skin. What was I doing last night? Rolling in mud?

I hope I'm not turning into a pig. With all the new revelations lately, I wouldn't be surprised if I was.

Once freshly cleaned—well, as clean as I could get—I searched the wardrobe for clothing. But since there were no trousers or blouses, I was forced to put on a dress. Not that I don't mind dresses, it's just that I don't want to risk being caught in fighting with only a dress. I might rip the pretty fabric.

"This'll have to do," I say while pulling out the most elven yet least embroidered dress. It's green—of course it yes, green's the best—and the sleeves fan out to flow starting just above the elbow, but we're long enough to cover my wrists. A tight green belt wraps around my torso to keep it tight—so I toss that aside immediately. The underdress is tight but... that's sadly necessary with the light fabric of the dress. If I were to go outside without the underdress, the Rohirric winds would freeze me to the core.

Of course, I strap my weapons belt around my torso, letting Gorthaden hang from my waist, a long dagger keeping it company.

And my hair... there's still a bit of mud in it! I'll just bathe again later. With warm water this time.

My mirror is a whole five feet away... I bend down and shuffle through my dirty clothes until I find the shard of the mirror.

Strange... its edges almost seem to shimmer with a purply blue hue—

I gasp and almost drop the shard.

W-what?

I stare wide-eyed at my reflection, pointy ears poking out of my wintry hair. My skin glows with an elven aura, no blemish tainting my face.

The reflection that stares back at me is elven. A pure elf through and through. And that reflection is me.

*********

"My dear Frodo!"

—Gandalf

Thoughts? Predictions? Constructive criticism? I'd love to hear all the ideas you all have forming.

Thank you, to everyone who is reading this and has stayed through out this entire journey—even when I disappeared for several months that one time. Again, thank you, to everyone here, whether a new reader, a long-time reader, or a 'ghost' reader.

Novaer, mellyn
~awatin~