Trembles shook the bed, my heavy blankets helping to hold in the heat emanating from my body. A body with heat. Not cold, like death.

I held myself tighter, my humid breath nearly suffocating under the covers. No tears fell, I was not sad. I was terrified.

The same dream haunted me every night. It came again.

And again.

And again.

It never left, never stopped. It was like a songbird, singing the same tune over and over.

Other dreams of innocents dying, screaming their rage haunted me. Nightmares of Saruman and his knife. Of Sauron and me leading an army. My hand killing children and mothers, husbands fighting for their families.

But this one always began them. Always followed them. Bookends. As if I forgot it the first time, it would remind me later.

The images, the pain, the frantic soundless screams, the terror all seemed so vivid. It left me aching in my chest, surprising me when I awoke to cool air.

It wasn't a nightmare.

It was far, far worse.

*********

I only had five days left in this suffocating stone refuge. Which meant I had business to attend to. The other things could wait until after. I would have plenty of time to talk to him... or convince myself not to do it.

"Please, let me help."

The nurse—the fifth I had gone too—shook her head. "I'm sorry, my lady, but there is nothing you can do." Nothing of low enough skill, she means.

I took no offense. Although many of the wounded were now healed enough that all that was required was a dosage of medicine and a cool cloth to the head, there was more than enough apprentices to do that. The massacre may have reaped death, but it also reaped a great deal of rising healers. Of the wounded who were beyond the skill level of an apprentice, the veteran healers tended to them. I didn't dare ask to help with that. I did not have the skill, and once ago I wouldn't have had the stomach but... maybe seeing the insides of orcs spill to the ground changed that. Or maybe it was seeing so much of my own blood, I was now accustomed to seeing others.

I came to Rohan to help, but all that I had done so far was panic and stare out over a wall. I wanted to do something meaningful. Something tangible.

I picked my way through the fortress towards the small training grounds. Helms Deep was meant to be a place where trained warriors could fight, the architect did not take into account that a large number of soldiers would be trained here. Most of the grassy area was used for the horses. The archery targets were crammed together, several arrows protruding from the haystacks. Multiple circles had been painted on the grass for a sparing area. Young boys waved around their wooden swords carelessly, determination edged into their brows.

I approached, plastering a smile on over my soaring headache. "May I join?"

The two boys jumped, one of them dropped his wooden sword. They were no older than ten.

The one who dropped his sword looked hesitant, "umm..." He glanced over at his companion who bounced eagerly, a wide enthusiastic smile brightening his face.

"Yes! Can you teach us?!"

I nodded. "Of course," I answered, looking between the two. They both had blond hair and blue eyes. Most everyone here did.

"Are you brothers?"

"No!" exclaimed the one who dropped the sword. The other shook his blond head, smiling.

I picked up the grumpy boy's wooden practice tool and handed it to him. "What's your name?"

He crossed his small arms and refused to answer.

"His name is Jeden. Mine is Resoden, but my friends call me Reso."

"Well, Reso, I'd love to teach you, but I don't have a practice sword. Can you show me where they are?"

He nodded, still smiling as bright as ever and ran off. I hesitated, was I supposed to follow? I scanned the area, but only found other children or seasoned warriors. Where did he go?

"Is... is that a real sword?"

I looked down at Jeden, he moved forward a couple steps. He had a curious hand out, as if daring to caress Gorthden. As a reflex, I jerked my hips away from his grasp.

He immediately blushed, a humbling look on the young grump. "Sorry. I'm used to yanking my weapons away from orcs."

His eyes widened. "You've fought orcs?"

I couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping my lips. "Yes. And they're as terrible as the tales you've heard. Worse, probably."

His blue eyes, now devoid of any animosity, glided back to the sword hanging from my hip. Smiling, I unbuckled Gorthaden, knelt down in front of Jeden, and held out the hunk of elven steel. I hesitated, not sure if I should be holding out such a weapon to a child. Ah whatever, he's going to hold one at some point.

I deposited Gorthaden into Jeden's small hands, which wilted under the weight.

"It's so light."

"Mm-hm, it's made from elven steel. Normal wrought swords are heavier."

Could his eyes get any bigger? I could practically see the whole of the sheath's reflection in his eyes.

"Does it have a name? My papa told me that only the best swords have one."

I bit my tongue, smiling around it. "Yes. Its name is Gorthaden."

"Gor... Gorfaren?" His tongue stumbled over the elven syllables.

"Sure," I laughed. "Close enough."

"What does it mean?" I laid my hands on the sword.

"It means—" My wraith. "It's named after a friend that passed." Erlathan.

"Orcs?"

"Yes," I said softly. "Yes. Orcs killed him." My hands tightened around the sheath, willing it to turn to dust.

"And you killed them, right?"

"Yes," the word was barely audible, low and shaking. "I killed them." With my starlight. I had used so much I had seared the ground tainting it black and brown. Everything there had died.

"Then why are you so angry? They're dead."

I stared at the young boy. Yes, yes he's right. They're all dead. But Erlathan is too.

"I'm not angry at them."

"Then who?" This little kid knew too much. How could kids read people so well?

"Myself. I didn't sheath this sword and it ended up killing him."

His forehead twisted. I almost thought he would turn away, his mind too small for it to wrap around what I said. But he—

"But it was still the orc who killed your friend. Not you."

I felt myself freezing, unable to take my unbelieving eyes off of Jeden. How could one so young take something so twisted and self-blaming and make it into a thing of sense? My sword had not been in my hand, but in the orcs. But it was still my sword, was it not? What about Sunngifu's words? The blades will not hurt you, they have no mind of their own. It is only the person behind them you should fear.

Was it as simple as acknowledging that it was the orc's hand that had led the blade into Erlathan's chest? Wouldn't the orc just have found another blade to use on Erlathan?

The kid, oblivious to what he just did, pointed behind me. "Reso got the sword."

"I got it!" I turned slowly, still processing the unbelievable, to see Reso holding the wooden sword like a trophy above his head.

A gave him a smile, pushing all other thoughts out of my head. Until tonight where I'll have time alone to think.

"Uh, Lady—"

Jeden leaned over and failed at whispering, "it's 'my lady.'"

"Shhhh!" Reso sprayed, making Jeden wipe the spittle from his cheek. "Why do you have white hair? You don't look old. My grandma has white hair."

Unable to contain myself, I snorted. "I get it from my Father. And I'm not old. I'm seventeen—" Did my birthday go past? "—Eighteen, I think."

"Where's your papa?" Jeden asked, seeming thoroughly curious. His friend, however, was bouncing on his feet. He was almost bursting with anticipation, waiting—surprisingly patient—to learn how to wield a sword.

"My father..." Mirkwood or Lothlorien? "... Is a long ways away. Where's yours?"

"My papa..." Jeden's face contorted. "My papa..."

And then I understood.

His papa had been one of the victims of the massacre.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay." I quickly took the wooden sword from Reso. "Why don't I teach you to be a warrior?"

He nodded, looking away. He picked up his wooden tool, hiding away all emotion. Death forces even the youngest of children to grow up.

Reso flew at me. Literally. I think I saw grass flying out behind his running feet.

"Woah!" I easily parried his eager blow. Then disarmed him with a quick flare.

"Here," I emphasized my grip on the wooden sword. "Hold it with both hands. Like this. And this."

*********

Clink!

I pulled my pen from the bottle of ink, watery blackness gliding down the side of the glass. Words spilled from the metal tip, creating a river of intricate ink. Magic silk created a story of my thoughts.

I had to replace the melting candle thrice, sticking the wax in the puddle of its former brothers. Orange flickered and flared across the pale-yellow parchment, creating a background on which my words could live in.

My overfull mind slowly let go of its tempest of pressure, like water seeping through a dam. Thoughts I withheld came free, worries and troubles. Hopes. Dreams.

Nightmares.

Everything slipped loose. The person who wrote the previous words in this diary is not the same person who now writes. Things have changed, just as a tree changes through the seasons or how a rock is changed by time. But life goes on, even though it's not the same as before.

Jeden, Reso, Sunngifu, Sunnwyn, Leofwyn, Eowyn, Eomer.

The Fellowship.

Melnare, Celeborn, Galadriel.

Sauron and Saruman.

Each and every one of them found their way onto parchment, letters spelling out their image.

My fears and terrors ripped the paper. My sorrow and worry left tear stains. Every second or third paper had a smudge from my hand. My minds tempest found its way to paper.

'... and I don't know what to make of it.'

The pen lifted at long last from its canvas, finding its way to rest in the inkwell. I leaned back, making the chair groan. Dark smudges of exhaustion marked my eyes, but my head and shoulders felt lighter than ever.

Finally. Some peace.

I let myself breathe in the isolated air, my muscles freeing and releasing. It seemed like forever since I've had time to myself, without people present. Most—who am I kidding—only some people are great, but after awhile... even the greatest are too much.

Crawling onto the bed, I flopped onto my back. Suddenly glad I already changed into my nightgown.

Peace. Silence.

Until my headache stood out like a nasty boil, throbbing as if thunder.

"Eugh," I groaned, gripping my head as the pressure built and built. Surely there's a balloon growing in my head, that's the only explanation for this pressure. This pain.

My eyes watered against the onslaught, light itself only seemed to make the migraine worse.

What is this—

My vision changed.

New images, new futures filled my sight.

And then I was lost in sights and sounds soon to come.

*********

"Let me through," I panted. "I said, let me through!"

The guards pushed me back, their leather hands nearly toppling me over in my weakened state.

"Please," I begged, not caring about the sweat dripping from my brow or the fact I'm still in a simple nightgown. "It's urgent."

"The Lord and Lady have ordered for no disturbances," the burly guard on the right said darkly.

I steamed, vision nearly going red. My finger, hard and rigid, got up in his petulant face. "Mister, despite feeling faint, I dragged myself all the way down here to inform Eowyn and Eomer of their impending doom! So unless you'd rather stand here on your obstinate feet and be responsible for the downfall of Helm's Deep, I suggest you move!"

He blinked.

I held out my hands, feeling out for the energy humming around me. "I will move you if you do not," I growled.

He glanced sideways at his fellow soldier and quickly moved aside.

"If you get me fir—"

I strode past the stubborn stupid guard and through the door. Conversation in the stone war-room stalled to a stop.

Eomer halted, then took a step forward. "The guards, I ordered—"

"Your guards—their fine. I forced my way through here."

Eowyn stepped up to her brother. "Lumornel, why have you interrupted—"

"What brings you here, child?" Mithrandir's words held a grave knowing.

"There's—" I hesitated, pulling at my sleeves. "An army of orcs and uruk-hai march our way."

Eomer lurched forward in hostility. "Now is not the time for childish pranks—" Eowyn stopped him.

"Continue."

"Less than a day away."

"Is this another vision?" Gandalf inquired, leaning on his white staff.

I paused, looking over to the now confused Eomer. I nodded. "Yes. But I trust them more than I trust myself."

"How many?"

"Less than half a legion. My counting may be off, but I saw 4,000."

Eomer paled, so did his sister. There was only one Eored left, and that was Eomer's. 105 men. Half a legion may not be a lot, but to the population of Helm's Deep—only a little over a thousand—the numbers were overwhelming. If we failed, then children and elderly died. No, everyone would die.

Mithrandir turned to Eomer, "muster anyone who can wield a sword. Prepare for battle."

He turned to me, his eyes narrowing. "How many hours do we have?"

I thought back to the vision, the angle of the sun, and the feel of everything. "17 hours."

He nodded, "Eowyn, escort Lumornel to her chambers." He refocused on me. "I will seek you out once you are properly rested."

"No," the word felt like pushing against a boulder. "I need to inform the others..." Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, Melnare.

"Child, it's high moon, they are resting. Let them have their peace before the storm."

"But—"

Eowyn weaved her arm through mine and guided me out the door before I could continue. The guards stood more rigid as we entered the hallway, as if they expected a reprimand. They got none.

"Thank you for the warning."

I couldn't stop my body from leaning against hers. This latest vision seemed to take my strength.

"You..." words were so hard. "... trust it?"

I felt through the energy, rather than saw, her head nod. "You are the Prophecy-Written." As if that's explanation enough.

I didn't have the energy to argue with her, but I couldn't go to my room. I couldn't.

"Take me to Legolas."

She hesitated, obviously thinking about Mithrandir's orders. But she didn't agree—didn't say anything. Deflated, I let my mind stop. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to think about the battle tomorrow, or about the deaths it would bring. I didn't want to think about—

No, stop.

"Pl—"

"Here we are."

The door was familiar. Legolas.

I couldn't speak, so I nodded my thanks. I set my hand on the door, ready to push myself through—

"Lumornel," Eowyn sternly said. "Don't let us down."

I pushed through the door. Into inky blackness.

"Legolas." I stumbled into the dark room, the soft rug digging between my toes. I could feel myself start sweating again, my breathing quicken. "Legolas."

I heard a shifting somewhere to my right.

"Lumornel?" The gruff voice came from the darkness. I stumbled to it, my legs didn't seem to work right. I couldn't breathe.

My eyes barely adjusted to the dark. And they made out Legolas with his unbound hair tumbling down his bare chest, brown sleep pants covering his legs. I probably should've blushed, but I couldn't think properly.

"Lum, what's wrong? Has something happened?" His elven eyes searched mine, seeing perfectly in the blackness.

"Battle. 4,000 orcs—Legolas—I can't—"

I cut off abruptly. His strong arms wrapped around me, pulling my tighter once he felt my trembling. Nausea twisted my gut. My throat closed.

I gasped for breath as unbidden tears escaped my eyes.

"You're safe, Lumornel. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Legolas—how am I supposed to do it? I can't save them. They're all going to die."

He withdrew, taking my face in his hands. "You're stronger than all of them—"

I shook my head. Not 4,000. Not 4,000. I couldn't save Erlathan or Frodo or Boromir—

"Lumornel, listen to me. You're gifted by the Valar, they brought you here for this. You told us yourself."

Air. It wasn't coming fast enough.

"But Saruman—he-he might be with them."

I'm not ready, I'm not ready to be tortured again. I'm not ready to join Sauron. Not yet. Not yet.

"I won't let him take you."

I moved forward to wrap my arms around him. I needed something to touch, something to lean against. Something to feel safe in.

His arms came around me, holding me tight, thankfully not saying anything until this passed.

When my tears and quick breathing subsided, it left behind only weak muscles and exhaustion.

"They need every able-bodied soldier. Do you want to stay in here?" He started pulling away to leave, but I clutched him tighter.

"The battle won't start until tomorrow."

"Vision?"

I nodded into his chest, finally blushing deep.

We stood there until my weak legs couldn't stand. I moved to the bed, sitting on the edge while shame crept upon me. I hurt Legolas—emotionally. I shouldn't be in here. But Legolas came to sit beside me, watching me inspect my fingers. Small trembles still shook them.

"Can I..." I hid my face, "stay here? For tonight only?" I didn't want to be in my chamber, despite my shame urging me to leave. My heart picked up at the prospect of another vision sweeping through with no one around. I didn't want my head to hurt. I didn't want to be left vulnerable.

But Legolas, being the gentleman he is, would say it isn't proper.

"Of course."

"Thank you," I said, surprised.

Hesitantly, but so exhausted I didn't care, I lay down, resting my head on his pillow. The bed dipped behind me, where Legolas lowered himself down. I didn't speak. I couldn't speak. What if I failed tomorrow? 4,000 orcs—against 1,000. And most of our 'soldiers' don't even know how to parry a sword properly. 4,000 orcs—more than I've ever faced.

I turned to face Legolas. His blue eyes were gray storm clouds in the dark.

"I'm afraid," I whispered to the darkness, balling my fist into the fabric of the bed. Saying it aloud didn't make it go away.

"Av-'osto, im nathlof." He placed his hand over mine.

*********

"A single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities"

             --J.R.R. Tolkien

Av-'osto, im nathlof -- Don't be afraid, I'm here.

... Thoughts?

So... Next chapter... I would very much appreciate it if you'd comment so I know if my writing is getting the feelings out of ya. It's the first time I've written something like that and I'd love feed back. Thanks :)

Whose your favorite side-character? Doesn't matter if it's from book, tv show, or movie.

Mine's Stiles Stilinski from Teen Wolf