Rowan and Éowyn entered the festivity arm in arm. The main hall was almost full to the brim with the surviving warriors of Helm's Deep. Men of Edoras—most Rohirrim, but others from different areas of Rohan (like Erkenbrand's men and those from the Westfold)—made up the attendance, but the elves of Lothlórien weren't few. Their golden armor was easy to spot, especially since they stayed grouped together. Wives, their children, and the elderly were also present.

As eyes turned on them, the backs of men straightened. Light shone in their eyes as they beheld the two ladies. The notice embarrassed Rowan—unused to being the center of attention; Éowyn never faltered.

Spotting her brother beside King Théoden, the Lady of Rohan bid her farewell and headed for them. Seeing her coming, Éomer turned and caught sight of Rowan. His eyes brightened as well, and he stood even straighter. Rowan wasn't sure if the joy and pleasure on his face included her being in his mother's dress—his gaze had briefly taken in her attire, so he had recognized it. She inclined her head to him—which he returned with a small smile—then turned away to join Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Haldir, Rúmil, and some other elves sat further down.

As she headed for the table the three hunters sat at, the eyes never left her back, including the Third Marshal of the Riddermark's. More eyes joined the others when those in the back saw her heading down the aisle. Rowan kept her back straight and head high, but increased her pace.

A space was already set between Aragorn and Legolas when she finally reached them. Rowan quickly seated in her reserved spot—grateful those lingering eyes disappeared when she dropped out of view.

The Ranger turned to her. "You seem uneasy..." His eyes dropped to her wringing hands in her lap.

"I'm usually unseen," she whispered back.

He looked shocked. "How is that so?"

"What do you mean?"

"All eyes are on you this evening. None can look away."

She stopped her nervous fidgeting. Without speaking the words, Aragorn called her attractive. The man who was in love with the most beautiful person Rowan had ever seen—elf or not—put her in the same category. It was absurd—Alessandra Gibson was the beauty back in the modern world, not Rowan Reed.

But the men—and elves—continuing to cast glances her way seemed to think like Aragorn. Maybe she was considered pretty here, not plain.

Not knowing how to respond, Rowan just nodded. She didn't feel insecure now.

Gimli leaned up. "You look radiant, lass."

She smiled. "Thank you."

Beside her, Legolas held two mugs—already filled—and handed her hers. "I agree, Rowan. Your beauty rivals the stars."

Rowan blushed and could only mumble a thanks.

Éowyn headed up the dais at the end of the hall, all faced and handed the king a golden goblet. King Théoden rose to accept it and when he raised the goblet, everyone stood.

"Tonight, we remember those who shed their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!" he said.

Rowan joined in on the unanimous "Hail!" then sipped her beer too. Boromir's face flashed in her head. She wouldn't mourn his loss anymore.

***

She didn't fake sharing the laughter and merriment in the Court of Meduseld. There was no reason not to. The reason they had all gathered was somber, but also a reason to be happy. Many had been lost, but their sacrifice was meant to be celebrated, for they were still alive.

Like in the Extended Edition, Legolas and Gimli got into a drinking game with Éomer providing the drinks. Men and elves watched them down mug after mug—the men egged them on, some placing bets on who would remain upright. Most wagered the dwarf would win, and the elves chose their kin; Rowan remained quiet.

After lowering his eleventh mug, Legolas looked down at his fingers in wonder. "I feel a slight tingling in my fingers. I think it's affecting me."

Gimli slammed his empty mug on the table, joining the others. "What did I say? He can't hold his liquor..." His eyes rolled to the back of his head as the dwarf fell back off the bench, passed out.

Éomer looked from Gimli in shock to Rowan. She grinned.

Legolas watched his friend pass out, then looked at the Third Marshal of the Riddermark. "Game over."

With a chuckle, Éomer headed over to the passed-out dwarf to pick him up and haul him to the bedrooms. The elf went to help. Legolas picked up Gimli's legs as Éomer took his head. They soon went down the candle-lit hallways.

Legolas had walked over without stumbling and had picked up the dwarf's heavy legs with ease—no sign of him being drunk. Rowan shook her head. He had been pretending, and the elves had known it.

Knowing Merry and Pippin would soon sing and she wanted to watch, Rowan stood, turned around, and sat back down. Nearly everyone had a drink in hand—men drunkenly laughing or leaning on a friend for support, women talking with others as children ate and played, and elves mingling with the race of men, smiling. They weren't drunk like the men, though.

Haldir suddenly appeared and bowed with a hand over his heart, which he then offered to her in greeting. The bandage he had wrapped around his injured hand was gone. "May I sit with you a moment, Rowan?"

The stern captain of the Galadhrim seeking her out was a surprise. It probably meant he had something to say.

"Of course," she said.

He sat beside her, and didn't say anything for a while, gray eyes monitoring those close by.

"You knew I was to die at Helm's Deep," he stated. "But you did not know of the Gondorian's death."

Rowan hadn't told him of his movie-death, so he must've put together her words and actions on the Deeping Wall. She took a moment to think of a reply. "In one of my visions, you die; the other, you are not present." She would have to explain what she meant by visions later, when there was no one close to overhear. "Boromir wasn't meant to live to see that battle—he wasn't supposed to even see Rohan."

Haldir remained quiet, considering her words.

"For saving my life, I wish to show my gratitude by traveling with you," he began. "With Boromir fallen, his sword is lost from aiding; allow mine to take its place."

Rowan stared at the elf. "Are you sure? My visions do not involve you in where we are to go next. Only in Lothlórien will you be secure."

He looked at her. "Can you guarantee that? Your choices have changed what you believe to be true. There is no certainty that I will return home, or that I will not fall in a battle there.

"You know there is danger ahead, but details are unknown. I can defend you from that which you cannot foresee."

She looked ahead, easily finding Rúmil speaking with Aragorn. He was too far for her to see the scar stretching from his hairline almost to his right eyebrow. "What of your brother?"

"He will lead the rest of the Galadhrim home," Haldir said, not hesitating to think it over. "I would offer our force to assist further, but Estel believes too great a number here in Edoras will draw the Enemy's gaze."

The elf had already decided he would join them since he had spoken with Aragorn. And it seemed like the Ranger thought it a good idea for Haldir to come.

Well, she didn't expect the fierce Elven warrior to feel indebted to her for saving his life. Having him fighting by her side would surely help, though. Perhaps prevent her from falling before the Black Gate too...

"I would be honored to have you with me. Thank you."

Haldir just nodded, then rose and disappeared into the revelers.

Rowan watched him go, wondering what else would change in this Lord of the Rings story she was forging. Hopefully nothing dramatic; she could handle small additions like this. Whatever would happen, though, she'd face it—she wouldn't fret or panic like in the past. Come what may. She was a warrior now.

Somebody sat beside her on the bench.

"I do not believe Legolas was drunk," Éomer began.

She chuckled. "No. Wine is favorited in the Woodland Realm—it would take more than eleven mugs of beer to affect him."

"Now I'm glad I did not partake in their drinking game. I, too, would have fallen unconscious."

As expected, Merry and Pippin jumped up on the center table and began singing and dancing to a tune played on a fiddle. The men seated at the table clapped in time with the song. They laughed even harder when the hobbits kicked mugs or plates into friends sitting nearby.

Near the end, Pippin paused, spotting Gandalf. Merry called his name, and the two hobbits finished their fun song to cheers and clapping of the men, women, and elves.

That guilty pause reassured Rowan the hobbit would steal and look into the Palantír tonight.

She applauded their performance, along with Éomer by her side. Merry and Pippin hopped off the table, receiving extra mugs and joining the men in continued celebration.

"It has been a long time since laughter rang in Meduseld," Éomer mused. "Long has it been since we've had any hope, or a reason to laugh." He looked at her. "Until you and your company arrived, and restored what we had lost. Rohan has a future because of what you and your companions have done, Rowan."

"Hopefully, the rest of Arda will have one as well when this war is over."

Éomer was quiet for a spell. "Because the future can change..."

She had implied such discussing the battle at Helm's Deep and had proven it with her reaction to Boromir's death. Rowan was glad he had figured it out. She didn't like weaving a believable lie for why things didn't happen the way she knew, which was why she stopped predicting—just gave suggestions of potential outcomes. "Yes."

Merry and Pippin were still in the throngs of celebrating men, but the main hall had mostly cleared because of the late hour—or early morning, if that was what Rowan's yawn meant. Aragorn, Gandalf, Legolas, or any of the elves, along with King Théoden and Éowyn couldn't be found. She turned to the Third Marshal of the Riddermark to excuse her retirement to sleep when he beat her by asking if he could walk her to her room.

They were silent as they headed down the candle-lit hallway. Muffled snores sounded behind closed doors.

At her door, Éomer turned to her.

"Tell me something: Is there anything in the future you are certain of? Is there anything that will remain true?"

Rowan almost immediately said no, but then she thought about it. And stared long into Éomer's eyes, seeing what lay within. Realizing what he was truly asking.

"Your care for me," she admitted quietly.

Relief and pleasure lit up those hazel eyes. "And what of you?"

She took a long while to answer—she had to ask herself that, even knowing she may die soon, and how fleeting it may be loving him. Also, what grief her death may leave him in if she took a chance... "I think I do."

His eyes twinkled as he smiled.

"Until you are certain, know I will be waiting," he said.

Like at Helm's Deep, he ran the back of his finger down her cheek. "Sleep well, Rowan."

She replied the same to him, then watched Éomer head back down the hallway for wherever his chambers were. Rowan would have trouble sleeping tonight, not from knowing she had his unabashed love, but the question of returning it.