"At Last," by Jennifer Lee and Ellbee

Disclaimer: We don't own Lord of the Rings or any of the characters brought to life by J.R.R. Tolkien, we're only having a bit of fun.

Note: This is a sequel to Eternally, a story Ellbee and I wrote just about a year ago. Like "Eternally," it is a mixture of book- and movieverse. For example, since Peter Jackson saw fit to leave the Houses of Healing on the cutting room floor, we have dragged them forcibly into our story. The part of Legolas is still played by Orlando Bloom, thank heavens. Thanks for reading!

Chapter One

"No, do not bother with that, leave it. There is no room."

The voice filtered down the hall to Isobel, along with all the other noise of hurried packing; brisk footsteps on the stone floors, the endless questions from the children, the soft sobs of the serving girl as she carried out baskets and bags to the waiting wagon.

Isobel looked dully out onto the restless city. All along this normally quiet street, people were moving briskly, loading clothes and food and a few precious possessions into carts and wagons. Several small children seemed to think it all a fine game, but the eyes of their elders were serious and worried.

This was wrong, she could not help but think. She should not be leaving Minas Tirith. But for the life of her she could not understand what made her feel this way.

Perhaps it was because she had only just arrived. The men of Gondor had seen her safely to the city only a few weeks ago. She had had no place to stay, but Saeldir, one of the men of Boromir's company, had taken her to his home. His wife had been surprised to see her, but had treated her kindly, and given her the use of a small bedroom that had belonged to her eldest daughter, now married. Isobel had barely time to thank Saeldir before he was off, for he was a guard of the Citadel and the city was preparing for war.

Uncomfortable as she was to once again be so dependent on others, she had settled in fairly well, helping Arvess, Saeldir's wife, as well as she could in running her household and minding the children. But now they were leaving.

At first only a few families left. Then a few more, and a few more, until nearly every day they were saying goodbye to someone, helping them pack carts and tie knots. Arvess, though, had seemed unwilling to leave, and Isobel had found herself hoping that they would not leave the city as so many had already. But as rumors grew of the coming war, Arvess began to fear for the safety of her children. Small battles had already been fought on the outskirts of the land surrounding the city, and they all could sense darkness coming closer and closer. Isobel could not blame Arvess for being afraid. But she herself had no children, no family to see to, so there was nothing to compel her to flee. Then finally yesterday, the blow fell.

"Isobel!" Arvess's voice floated from the front room, down the short corridor to Isobel's room. "Are you nearly packed?"

She blinked, jolted out of her reverie. "Yes, nearly!" she called back, wincing a little at the obvious lie. Nearly finished? She had not even begun, so lost in her thoughts, the desperate, nagging feeling that she should not be going anywhere. If only she could understand the feeling, know what pulled so insistently at her heart, begging her to stay.

But time was running out. The order was to evacuate the city by midday. All citizens were to be well clear of the area by nightfall, and so she had no time. Isobel yanked the coverlet off her bed and spread it on the floor, then she turned to her trunk, heaving the lid open. Inside were her things: clothing and items given to her in Rivendell, as well as some slightly heavier dresses lent to her by Arvess.

She sighed at the task ahead. Everything she needed was already in there, already packed. But the trunks were too large, too heavy. Space was at a premium in the small cart that carried Saeldir and Arvess's family, and so the trunks must be left behind.

She scooped out an armload of belongings, dresses and headscarves, underthings and stockings, and turned to drop them onto the floor in the center of the blanket. The garments thumped softly to the blanket, but a soft ting sounded also, attracting her attention. Her gaze dropped to the floor and swept to the right, easily picking out the source of the sound. A small silver amulet, wrought in the shape of twisting leaves, lay just on the edge of the blanket, glimmering dimly in the early morning light. The sight of it made her catch her breath, and her chest closed tightly, heralding the beginning of tears.

Legolas had given it to her. The morning he had left Rivendell with the Fellowship he had awoken her just after dawn, and pressed the smooth silver into her sleep-warmed hand. He had not said a word as he had done so; he had simply drawn her into his arms and laid his lips against her temple in a soft kiss. Their goodbyes had been private; only a couple of hours later she looked her last upon him in the courtyard as he left with the others. In the days after he had left, she had studied every groove and whorl in the silver, examined every tiny facet of the green stone in the center of it. She wondered on its origin, its meaning, but the more she thought on it, the less important it had come to be. He had given her a token, something tangible to remind her of their love when chances were that she would never see his face again in this lifetime.

It lay facedown on the blanket now, its green stone hidden from view. And it sight of it lying thus, as if tossed to the ground and forgotten, compelled her. It was familiar now; more familiar than it had ever been. Her breath came a little faster, and she blinked hard as her vision swam a little. "Lily," she breathed. A memory stirred, and she knew immediately that the memory was not her own, but that of Lily. The woman she had been, hundred of lifetimes ago. The first woman Legolas had ever loved. But the memory was not happy. She blinked again, and saw a wooded glen, a small creek. And Legolas in front of her, his expression anguished.

"No!"

She had turned to go, to leave him for good, but his voice had made her stop. "Please, you are not making this easy—"

"You would break the vow we made to one another! That should not be an easy task! I will not let you go!"

She turned slowly around to face him, and was startled to see him standing directly before her. "Please." She felt her voice break, and she took a shaking breath. Her resolve nearly crumbled when he reached for her, his hands grasping her shoulders. "This was never meant to be. Please release me."

"No!" His voice was hard, angry, almost but not quite covering his pain. His fingers tightened on her and he gave her a little shake. "No, I do not release you." He pulled her closer, and she turned her head to avoid his lips, his frantic kisses.

With a sob she wrenched herself out of his grasp, backing up a step or two as he came toward her. "No!" she cried. She could hardly bear to look at him, though she was half-blinded by her tears. Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out the jewel he had given her all those years ago, holding it out to him without looking at it, or him. "Here, I return this to you."

"No," he said in a harsh whisper.

"Take it."

She hazarded a glance at his face, and was immediately sorry she had. His features were twisted in confusion and sorrow and anger; he simply shook his head dumbly at her. For a moment she wavered. He loved her, did he not? And she loved him, had loved him almost since that moment he had knelt before her and smiled gently as she cowered in the forest. Perhaps leaving him was a mistake. Perhaps…

She squeezed her eyes closed and clamped her teeth together. No. She was growing older with each passing day, while he remained forever unchanged. Soon enough she would be withered and weak with age, and he would look on her with disgust. He would wish he had given his heart to one of his own people, and he would bitterly regret his vow. She could not endure the slow decay of his love for her. It was better to end it now, quickly. Opening her hand, she let the ornament fall from her hand. It caught the sun briefly as it tumbled and then fell face down in the dirt. She turned away once more...

Isobel blinked hard, and she was once again in her small bedroom in Minas Tirith. She stared down at the silver amulet, lying face down on the floor. It had been Lily's, she realized. It looked like an overlooked, forgotten thing, just as it had looked when Lily had dropped it into the dirt all those years ago. She had left Legolas then, abandoned him. And now, in fleeing Minas Tirith, Isobel was doing the same.

Now she understood the nagging feeling, the certainty that she should stay.

She scooped up the amulet and went to the window. She could not see past the houses in this street, but she knew what lay beyond them to the east: Mordor. A darkness seemed always to hang over those mountains, like a storm that hovers but does not break. That was where Legolas was going; he could be there even now. The sight of those mountains, and the thought of him there, terrified her daily, but at that moment his courage inspired hers. She wanted to stay, to face her end bravely, as he certainly did. Lily had abandoned him once. She would not see the same thing happen to him again.

But what could she do?

"Are you ready, my dear?" Isobel whirled at the voice, to see Arvess standing in her doorway, looking harried. The older woman looked at Isobel, and her face relaxed in a kind smile; she seemed to understand Isobel's reluctance. "There's no help for it, I am afraid," she said with a rueful shake of her head. "We must go. We will be safe with my sister in Lebennin."

Isobel nodded. "I know. It is only that..." Her voice choked off, and she shook her head. She held the amulet tighter, and the edges of little silver leaves dug into her palm. "I know." Her voice was small.

"No use crying over what cannot be changed." Arvess joined Isobel by the window, looking out onto the busy scene. Clucking her tongue against her teeth, she said, "By nightfall there will be no one left in the city but soldiers and healers. Pity." She turned away and stepped briskly to the hall. "Bring your bag, my dear, we must leave very soon," she called back to Isobel as she went on about her business.

Isobel stared after Arvess long after she had left the room, her eyes seeing nothing. Her heart raced as plans and possibilities spun through her mind. Arvess probably had no idea, but she had solved all of Isobel's problems. Her frozen expression turned into a long, slow smile, and she turned back to the window. She looked toward the east once more, in the direction of the blackness that lingered over Mordor.

"I'm staying, my love," she whispered. An odd sense of joy surged through her. She would not leave with the others. She would remain in Minas Tirith.

Once she determined to do it, staying behind was easier than she had thought.

"Are you certain, then?" Arvess tossed the question over her shoulder while she bundled her youngest child into the wagon. He had only begun to walk a handful of weeks ago, and his exuberance for his new-found talent had made him next to impossible to manage. He squirmed out of his mother's arms, and Isobel darted forward to grasp him just before he tumbled out of the wagon.

"Yes, I am certain," she said, settling the toddler between his sisters. "If war is coming, the Houses of Healing will need any available hands. I would like to be of some use."

Arvess regarded her for a moment, then nodded. "I understand," she said. A small smile touched her lips. "In some ways I envy you," she said quietly. "I would like to stay myself. To leave without Saeldir..." She blinked hard, and her eyes shone.

Isobel pulled the older woman into an embrace. "Your children need you," she whispered. "They need your strength now. Get them to safety. Your husband will come back to you."

Arvess nodded, allowing herself a moment to receive comfort from Isobel, then she straightened and blinked her tears away. She took a deep breath, then another. "Watch over yourself," she said, squeezing Isobel's hand one last time. Isobel nodded, and watched as they departed, the wagon joining the others. She walked to the street and followed the wagon a short way down the road.

She watched it until it turned the corner, then retreated back into the house, dropping her bundle in the corner by the door. She would have to go to the Houses of Healing and offer what poor skills she had. They would allow her to help, would they not? She had no skills at healing, this was true, but she could fetch and carry, and run errands, even wash bandages. Surely they would not turn her away.

Perhaps, she thought, staring out her window once more as the last of the carts creaked past and rolled down the street, perhaps she should wait a little while. Just until the evacuees had left the city. If she had no way to leave, they would have no choice but to let her stay, let her help. Yes, that was a very good plan.

Her mind made up, she scurried up to the upper floor of the house, and then up a small ladder that led to a small attic and out onto the roof. The roof was used more than she would have thought, for storage, and for the children's games; Arvess had told Isobel that they even slept up here on the hottest summer nights. Up here, one had a better view of much of the lower levels of the city, as well as the fields and roads stretching before it. Isobel stood looking toward the south, not toward the darkness beyond the mountains this time, but to the road, now choked with carts and wagons and people on foot, all heading south.

She lost track of time as the seemingly endless line of refugees left the city. Noise in the streets gradually died down as the last of the women and children and old men left, until she felt completely alone. The sun was high in the sky when the stream of people and vehicles began to slow, and finally trickled to a stop.

Shifting her attention, she looked down into the street, the silence and emptiness giving it a strange, ghostly air. In the few weeks she had been here, she had grown accustomed to the sounds of city life. According to Saeldir and Arvess, the city was less crowded than it had been in the past, but to Isobel, used to life on a large farm and small surrounding towns, it seemed busy and bustling and full of life. Now there was only silence, and it chilled her.

The sound of booted feet startled her out of her thoughts and made her flinch. She upbraided herself as a company of guards came into view at the end of the street. She breathed a sigh of relief, but still she slipped into the garret, out of sight of the troops below. They were going house to house, checking to ensure that all had gotten safely out of the city. Isobel bit her lip, feeling uncomfortably as if she were hiding, but unwilling to give explanations. She should go downstairs, so she could be at the door when the soldiers arrived. But her body did not listen to her mind, and so she stood frozen, waiting. She watched from a small window and followed their progress from house to house, and even though she was expecting it, the knock at the door made her jump. She pressed herself against the wall as they entered the house; she could no longer see them, but she could hear them downstairs. She listened to boots clomp through the house, heard the soldiers talking to one another.

"Nothing, sir. Just this one bundle. Appears to be nothing but women's clothing."

"Not enough room on the cart, it seems." The second voice, older than the first, sighed. "Not the first house where things have been left behind. Nor will it be the last."

The soldiers left soon after that, and Isobel drew a long deep breath. That was it, then. No turning back now. She took a tentative step, then another, but her legs shook so that she ended up sinking down to sit on the floor. The reality of what she had just done began to come to her, in small pieces at first, then in one large rush. This was going to be the end. The End. The city would not have been evacuated over a small skirmish. The evil that hung to the east was not an idle threat. Legolas, the hobbits, and the rest had not set out from Rivendell on a lark. Darkness was coming. And it looked as though Minas Tirith may well be the last stand against that darkness.

And now she was in Minas Tirith. What had she been thinking? What did she hope to accomplish? Hers were not healer's hands, nor could she wield a sword and fight like a warrior. If evil overtook the city she would be hunted down and slain. There would be no mercy for the likes of her.

The garret had grown hot, and her breath came faster in the stuffy, close air. She wrapped her arms around herself and curled her knees under her, fighting for calm. Panic would do nothing for her, she told herself sternly. Yet panic lingered. The sun swam through the sky, and threw long shadows into the garret, but she did not notice. She noticed nothing until she heard the horns.

Her head jerked up at the sound. She scrambled to her feet to look over the rail, all manner of mad thoughts racing through her head. Was this the attack, then? The beginning of the end?

No, it could not be. She could see many people, more than she would have thought were left in the city, gathering around the gates, and there was a ripple of excitement, of anticipation in the air. Curiosity took the place of alarm, and she turned and plunged down the ladder, down the stairs, and out into the street. As she hurried toward the first level of the city she saw more and more people, all heading in the same direction. There was a great throng of folk near the gates and lining the street into the city. She tried to see over the heads of those in the crowd, but she had not a hope. All she knew of what was happening was from snatches of overhead conversation. "Reinforcements!" people cried. "Reinforcements have come."

Her eyes were drawn to two middle-aged women, the only women she had seen this afternoon, climbing the stairs to the top of the wall, and to her surprise the soldiers on guard made no attempt to stop them. She bit her lip and considered for a brief moment, before weaving her way back through the crowd to follow the women. She stayed close enough to look as if she were with them, but not so close that they would notice her or question her. She gave the guard at the wall a grateful smile, and slipped past him to find a vantage point on the wall.

At first she could make out nothing but a cloud of dust, but gradually the cloud parted, revealing a company of marching men, led by a proud, fat, old man on a proud, fat, old horse. Shouts and cheers rose up from the crowds, and Isobel felt her heart swell. These men looked strong and fearless and well armed, and the sight of them gave her hope. They were only the first in a long line of soldiers of every type. Some on foot, bright-eyed archers with long bows; some in gleaming armor, riding haughty horses, carrying long spears and swords; some obviously little more than peasants, taking to hand whatever tools might be used as weapons. Her hope was short-lived, however, for though the gathered people cheered and hailed each new company, Isobel could feel an undercurrent of dissatisfaction, of fear, finally put into muttered words by the guards nearby. "Too few," said one to his companion. "Far too few. It will not be enough."

Finally the new troops had all marched into the city, and the gate was shut behind them with the grinding of gears and a harsh clang. A chill wind blew, and Isobel wrapped her shawl around herself a little tighter. She let her eyes rest, almost unseeing, on the empty road and the now quiet crowd, dispersing through the quickly darkening streets. Even the soldiers had no hope, she now realized. What foolishness had possessed her, why had she stayed? But even as she asked herself this question, she raised her eyes to focus on the forbidding darkness in the east. He was there, somewhere, if he still lived. That was why she had stayed.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she gave a little start as a hand touched her shoulder. It was the guard. "You had better be getting back to the Houses of Healing, maid," he told her. "The sun is setting. It will be a dark night." She cast one more glance to the east, then nodded her thanks. Yes, it would be a very dark night.

As she retraced her steps back up into the city, she wondered what she should do now. She had meant to go to the Houses of Healing this day, to offer whatever poor services she could. But it was already sundown; perhaps she should just wait until tomorrow. Yes, they would probably be at supper by now, she would not like to interrupt the evening meal. This thought led her naturally to consider her own evening meal. She had no food, and Arvess had taken whatever was in the house with her, thinking that Isobel would be taken care of. Perhaps there was a little something left in the larder. Then tomorrow at first light, she would certainly present herself to the healers.

So lost in her own concerns was she that she only vaguely noticed the two boys walking ahead of her. One had gone into a nearby house, but the other stayed in the street, looking around him and up at the houses as if to get his bearings. She had passed him by almost without a glance, but something made her spare another look over her shoulder. The sun was setting quickly, but it was not yet too dark for recognition, and she gasped in surprise and whirled to face him.

"Pippin?"