"Have..." I gulped in a big breath as I skidded to a stop. "Have you seen—" breath "—Melnare?"

"The elf-maiden?" Gimli inquired. As usual, he leaned on his walking ax. Did he ever part with it? I nodded in answer.

"She's been at the top of the eastern tower since we've arrived. The strange lass hasn't come down to eat, not even when Aragorn and the elf-lad argued with her."

"Okay, Gim. Thank you." I turned to set off jogging but—

"I don't trust her. Fire-elves are unnatural."

I swung around. "Well I'm unnatural, yet you appear to trust me."

The poor stubborn dwarf shuffled his feet all flustered like, his ruddy cheeks reddening. "Ah, well... well... you see..."

"Try getting to know her a bit... well," I muttered, "I don't even know her that well..."

Scrapping that idea, I turned around and continued over my shoulder, "just spend time with... around her and you'll see she isn't as bad as you think." With that, I set off jogging to find the east tower.

*********

There she was, doing the most stupidest and dangerous thing ever: sitting on the protective railing thousands of feet above the bone-crushing ground.

Deciding it was best not to spook her, I slowly sidled up next to her—firmly planted on the safe side of the railing.

I let a small smile come to my lips as I remembered how we often passed time in the cells of Orthanc. "What clothes do clouds we—?"

"Thunderwear." Her voice was different, lighter and heavier than it had been, all at the same time.

"How—what—you're supposed to not know the answer!"

She bit her cheek, probably reigning in a smirk. "I can't help it if you give me all the worst jokes."

"But—but—"

"Stop rambling. I see my son did not raise you to speak like a Lady." Her soil eyes drifted to me, then away to the horizon, letting her hair blow and dance in the wind. She looked so... Free.

Oh. Yeah. I nearly forgot about that... still strange to think that—that she's my grandma.

"I wasn't raised by him. I grew up in Mirkwood, remember?" Did I tell her about all that...? I mentally shrugged.

Her brows twitched in a furrow she tried to hide, the sun gleaming on her now tan skin. "Why?"

My fingers pushed my hair behind my ear. "I... I don't know." That question, among many others, still kept me awake at night. "To keep me safe, I think. Galadriel doesn't know why I was born mortal." Although I suspect she has some ideas.

The wind was ever strong up here, filling in the silence. Melnare's brown hair whipped around her in a whirl wind of soil, the coffee strands obscuring her vision. However, it didn't seem to bother her. But it bothered me. I reached behind me and twisted my hair up into a tight bun. Then let my fingers rub at my temple.

"Headaches?"

I groaned in answer, this headache had been plaguing me since last night, getting worse as the hours had gone by. Like mold or a weed. Let it alone too long and it becomes a problem. Dropping my fingers, I gazed at the elleth.

"Why haven't you come down?"

Her eyes became golden discs as she stared directly at the sun. The last few rays disappeared under the gray horizon. No answer.

I sighed, she's more antisocial than me! "I'm the only one up here... grandmother."

Did she just roll her eyes? "I haven't seen a sunset in hundreds of years, nor felt the wind or heard the cries of birds."

Oh. She's been stuck under concrete for longer than I've been alive, no wonder she doesn't want to go inside, trapped in walls of stone. Sometimes I even got wigged out.

"I can get you a cot and blanket. Food too."

She nodded after a while, closing her eyes as the first brilliant star shone down on us. I turned away from her sanctuary, my footstep echoing on the first step of the long flight down.

"You look like him." My movement stopped.

"I kept denying it, but now I know." She swiveled her head around to survey me before turning around again. "You have his silver hair, his cheekbones. Maybe that's why I took to you—you look like my baby."

Something silver glistened in the starlight, but she hurriedly wiped it away. Thinking I wasn't supposed to hear or see that, I turned and made my way down the tower. Besides, she probably doesn't want to be around anyone right now.

*********

Legolas stood just inside my door, not quite knowing what to do with himself. He normally stood tall and proud as if he was a monolith, but now his regal air was gone and in its place, was a ten year-old boy.

"Legolas," I stifled a laughed. "It is only my room, not a woman's dressing chamber."

An undeniably cute blush painted his cheeks rose, his eyes snapping to mine in surprise. Now there's not something you see every day; an elven prince blushing.

"This is not proper of me," he responded, but came and sat next to me on my bed, albeit hesitantly.

This time I couldn't hide my laugh, I winced at the pain it caused in my throbbing headache. "You didn't say that in Lorien! I remember clearly a certain elven prince sitting in my room, bidding me farewell and handing me a precious stone."

"Well," he nearly chuckled, "that was different."

Standing and striding over to the armoire, I replied carelessly over my shoulder, "I hardly see the difference." I gathered a soft nightgown in my arms and padded softly to behind the folding screen. Months ago I would've squealed and threw Legolas out the door so I could change, but after traveling like a barbarian with a group of unshaved, dirty men must've changed me. I let Legolas sit on the bed, letting the opaque folding screen be the only thing between us as I changed.

"I see the difference clearly."

I scoffed. "It's not like you haven't already seen my skin." But of course then, in Isengard, I had been covered in blood. And it had only been my torso. Okay maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should kick him out. But I already had my blouse over my head. I swung it over the folding screen to hang. My sight suddenly warped. A spear of pain struck my head.

I dismissed it with a steadying breath—I hadn't had anything since tea with Sunnwyn and Sunngifu.

"You were wounded then, it was necessary."

My fingers grazed over the still healing wound along my torso, the pink line rose out of my skin like a mini mountain range. It would add to my already ample collection of scars. The light pink scars ranged from thin lines from a knife to large bubbly patches from burns. How long would it take for them to turn pale and dead?

My vision went black—then returned. I really need to eat something. The silence of air stuffed my mind into something dull. The world swayed dangerously.

"But you still saw—my skin." Air, it wouldn't come fast enough.

"Only barely, the blood made it difficult for me to really see anything," I could hear the smirk in his voice.

Colors not of this world flashed before me, voices in a strange language tickled my ears.

This wasn't from lack of food.

"Legolas—" I gasped. A vice-like grip crushed my skull, making me stumble and cry out in pain.

"Lumornel?" I tried lifting my hands to clutch my searing head, but I failed. Or maybe I didn't. I couldn't feel my fingers, I couldn't feel anything of this world. Only pain. But that went away too, along with worldly sounds, as white overtook my vision.

Then—

A storm like nonother raged; war. Yells of battle and pain clashed like thunder, steel struck as lightning. No scent of rain or freshly drenched dirt permeated the air, only the putrid smell of urine, blood, and fear assaulted the olfactory. No driving winds of freezing rain, only the spraying of crimson. Sweat stuck to bodies like a second skin, heat not from the sun but from exerting bodies filled the stuffy air around the warriors. No mud made the earth slick, instead blood, guts, and excrement made the earth deathly slippery. Rocks and the fallen threatened to trip soldiers.

This was not the battle of legends, depicted in glowing glory. History taught it wrong, for war was a messy art. It was not made of fantasies of victory and sport, but out of the greed and cruelty of the races, often, but not always, paired with the tenacious urge for freedom and safety.

Men and elves and orcs mixed the riotous battle field, forming a heterogeneous collection of varied color. Rage blanketed the features of some, others held searing pain or plagued fatigue or grim determination. But it drove them all into a set drive of survival. Most everyone here wanted death, either for their enemy or for themselves. Those who wanted ill for the enemy were at risk for careless mistakes, those who wanted a death for themselves—to escape the horrors of battle—were more sloppy. The elder warriors knew this, therefore they held their minds and emotion in a firm cage, so as to not let themselves feel panic or the blanket of death.

Several centers made up the field—where the battle raged shoulder to shoulder and made swords most useless. Knives saved the lives of many here. Swords were the protection of those who had enough space to wield such a mighty weapon. Several fights strayed to the fringes of the battle or in the alienated spaces in the thick of the fighting, one on one. Legends and tales were made from such isolated clashes.

Such as the one on a slightly elevated rocky hill. A tall figure stood arrogantly on the rocks, her hair swimming like death in the ghastly wind. A long sword rested in her malicious hand while her vulturous eyes gazed upon the bodies that still held life for her to plunge her sword into. She didn't find any worthy enough. Until a single body of importance caught her eye. The warrior with a bloody hand, a digit missing from the limb, made its way towards the goddess of death.

The world flickered to another time of an uncertain future. The deathly woman of preying nature changed to a woman with hair of dull fire. The warrior with a missing finger flickered to a new disguise. The battle still raged around them, but made of many more.

Then the world flickered back.

Death to many. Swords through those of Importance. Great sorrow surged in rage and tears. But the plain was flooded with black creatures and those of sorrow were forced to flee the land.

The death of an evil filled their sorrowed hearts, mourning overcoming what should have been glee.

But death swelled and grew. It's evil plagued the lands with its darkness.

And a new dawn didn't come.

The whispers and otherworldly colors pushed and swelled against my mind and I was forced from the vision violently.

My oxygen starved lungs vacuumed in air, the Rohanian room coming into focus, sounds floating back in waves.

Strikingly blue dots floated above me, a sun's halo reaching for me. The blurred dots suddenly came into sharp focus, revealing Legolas's eyes, wild panic bouncing in his irises. I sputtered, his hair tickling my lips.

His brows pulled together, the crease there begging me to take my thumb and massage it out. "What happened?" The words were rushed, as if the panic was too much for him to hold in.

"A-a vision." Swords and spears and death.

And then he did something I didn't expect him to do. He set his jaw, trust for my words shining in his eyes as he became a pillar of strength.

"What's coming?" How could he trust my words so easily, these visions?

My own wild eyes darted around, seeing not war-driven warriors, but my own Rohanian room. Then I felt the soft, cool air on my skin.

"Ah!" I scrambled out of his arms, my own coming up to cover my bare torso and shoulders. I only had a chest binding on!

"I-I agree with you now. This isn't proper." My face erupted in flames, no doubt leaving behind a pallet of bright red paint. My ears even burned!

"Lumornel." My eyes flicked up at his stern voice. He wasn't that shy ellon from before. "What's coming?" It wasn't a question, it was a command.

A heaviness settles over my heart as the vision of war came to the forefront of my mind. I knew what it was, I knew that it was a foretelling, not just of war, but of something else too. I knew the truth of it in my heart, not just because of the innate feeling telling me so, but because of the prophecy.

'Poundings she will encounter,

Tales of new and now and then,

Less be of mind and more of another.'

My mortification drained away as dread took its place.

"We must tell the others."

*********

I sit over the edge of my bed panting, my blond hair reaching for the floor. The darkness of night pressed into every side, announcing just how alone I am.

Murderer!

I winced as I heard Casdir's voice from my nightmare—memory. He was so young, too innocent. His parents don't know the torture he had to endure, nor do the parents of the nineteen other soldiers. They only know what I told them: an orc raid had overpowered us and I alone survived. Not even my father knows the truth of what really happened. He pressed me so many times, knowing my words were false, but I did not yield. The terrible event stayed locked in my mind, not made know to another soul.

Until Lumornel.

What would my companions do if they found out the terrible thing I did? Gimli would see me like he sees every other elf. Aragorn; would he stop communicating with me completely? Especially after I nearly killed him?

I had done so many terrible things under the influence of the Ring. And an equally terrible thing when I led my warriors to their deaths.

Soul crushing guilt bared down on me until I yearned not to breathe. For my heart to stop like it did to my soldiers I killed.

How many times had my father found me like this afterward? Too many. For months, years I barely spoke. Food did not appeal to me and sleep only made things worse. Father ordered me away to Imladris, 'with all the love in his heart,' Elrond had told me.

The healing air there had helped, along with two mischievous elves. Elladan and Elrohir. Outwardly, I improved, but inwardly I was still all broken shards. But Elrond sent me home, giving me his best wishes.

Some of those shards had melded together with time. A young mortal by the name of Estel had helped too, even though Aragorn knows nothing of the event—only that something terrible had happened. But there was still parts of me raw and bleeding, aching every time I awoke drenched in sweat. Or when I saw an innocent young elf. Or a group of warriors laughing merrily amongst themselves. Or that one word—murderer!

Sometimes I wish that Casdir's fists had never stopped, wished he would've spared me this raw pain.

The screams of warriors cursing my very existence made my nails cut into my skin.

Everything they said is true, Legolas, Morgalen hissed in my head. You're a murderer. You deserve nothing but pain. You are not fit to be prince, not even King. You are the dirt beneath their shoes, the scum everyone sneers at.

You're not real, I pleaded. Morgalen left along with the Ring.

The silence afterward proved me right. It's just my dark thoughts coming forth in the voice of Morgalen.

I breathe deeply. Shoving away thoughts and memories, I let myself transform into the prince my people need. King. The king my people need.

Years before this journey I was able to keep up the strong mask, barely remembering my soldiers' deaths. Until the Ring. Until it brought what should've been kept hidden to light.

Standing, I throw my tunic over my head and walked the hallways until I found the stars.

*********

With the shinning rays of morning, I sought out Mithrandir. As much as I hated to say it, I needed him. Thirty minutes later my company was gathered in the empty mess hall. All except one.

I sigh in exasperation. "Guess she's not coming," I comment bitterly.

Gimli cleared his throat. "Look behind you, lass."

Eyes going wide, I swirl around and—Melnare.

"Finally come down from your tower, I see," Gimli smiled. Smiled. At an elf.

If Melnare heard him, she didn't acknowledge it. Instead, she sat beside Aragorn (the only place left). Her clothes were tattered and were in desperate need of repairing. Actually, they needed to be burned—they were far past from saving. But she had not come down from the tower until now, so she had had no chance of receiving clean clothes. At least she smelled better than she had in Isengard—we had both bathed in a stream while the men had set up camp way out of sight. Legolas had to face the other way.

"So." I lay my hands out on the table, gazing at the wood beneath my spread fingers. "Um..." I am so not good at this whole meeting thing. "I think we need to start thinking about what we're going to do after Rohan."

I cast a nervous glance at Melnare. Her eyes seemed to say, 'you think or you know?'

Deeeep breaaath. "I know we need to start planning for it. There is undoubtedly going to be a war with Sauron, whether we like it or not. Sooo..." now for the awkward part. "I'm leaving you all now."

Stiffening, I waited for their reaction before leaving. But I was only met with the stunned air of silence.

Gandalf gave me a smile, his head dipping in reassurance. I had gone to him and told him my thoughts about having a meeting. Including the reason for why I can't be at it.

"Why won't you stay?" Aragorn asked. "We do not mind your presence, you are more than welcome to participate in the meeting." Awe, he thought I was concerned about that fact that I'm a female in a male meeting. Well, he didn't have to worry about that.

I shook my head, my eyes involuntarily straying to Legolas, who sat beside me. Concern swam in his eyes. He knew me well enough—and knew how to read emotions—that he instinctively knew the reason was not what Aragorn suggested.

"What is it you're not telling us?" At Legolas's words, Gimli's bushy brows rose.

Mithrandir shifted beside me. "I can give them your reasoning, if it be your will, Lumornel."

I shook my head yet again, trying to ignore Legolas' watchful gaze. "No, it wouldn't feel right if my mistake came from someone else's mouth."

"I..." I took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry... for what I've done..." Tremors shockwaved through my hands, a cup rattled on the table. I withdrew them from the table and sat on them to still the physical emotion. A hand came to rest upon the small of my back, Legolas' calming aura seeping into me.

Another deep breath. I let my eyes focus on the pattern of the wood table—I couldn't meet any of their gazes, although they burned into me.

"When I was unconscious after Isengard, you all know I was with Sauron. And that I made a bargain with him to free Legolas." Could I go on any further? Yes, I must. "I agreed to command the Uur Rauko."

"Balrogs?" Aragorn inquired.

I shook my head. "They are fire demons. But worse. They have claws that can sheer through metal and a tongue that melts flesh." I shuddered, the scar on my cheek from one tingled. "I had dreams... but they were real. I'm not sure what they were. Sauron revealed part of his plan to me." Like a fool. "He wants me to command his monsters."

Aragorn stood from the table so fast that I was sure if he had a chair—not a bench—it would fall over.

I continued, trying my best to ignore his enraged—and yet bewildered—expression. "That bargain I made... I agreed to command the Uur Rauko." Although I wish I didn't have had too. "I did it to save Legolas." I purposely did not look at the mentioned elf.

"But Legolas is freed from the Ring, and by your hand was it done. Will Sauron still keep the bargain?" Gimli pondered.

I shook my head, looking down at my hands in my lap, watching as I wrung them. "I don't know. But I'm sure he'll find a way to rope me in. Perhaps... perhaps he'll counter and say by me freeing Legolas, his side of the bargain was fulfilled..." I bit my tongue, hoping the pain would chase away the angry tears.

If I could kill tears, I would.

Gandalf nodded his agreement. "That is no doubt what the Dark Lord is planning."

I nodded back, "then you know why I can't stay here for this meeting. Once he has me, he'll force everything I know about your plans out. Anything you don't want Sauron knowing, I can't know."

Aragorn nodded his understanding, taking his seat once more. "Sounds reasonable."

"And..." I cast a nervous glance at the elf by my side, then at Mithrandir. "I had a vision recently. Of a battle to come. I don't know whether it came from some unknown part of me or the Valar, maybe even Eru himself, but I trust it."

I wouldn't tell them what else I knew.

I forced myself to look them each in the eye, making sure they heard and understood my words.

"War is coming."

********

"They looked so dangerous, like alligators. Really fast alligators wearing black. Ninja alligators,"

—Brandon Sanderson

Okay... I love that quote but... I need a more serious one...

"Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination,"

         —1st Ideal of the Knights Radiant, from the Stormlight Archive written by Brandon Sanderson

TELL ME WHAT Y'ALL THINK. PLS.

THEORIES? PREDICTIONS?

Also... Did you like the chapter...?

Novaer mellyn,
~awatin~