Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Although I am now the owner of a particularly good replication of Mjolnir, if I do say so myself, which I made for Halloween. It now sits atop my fridge, looking awesome.

A/N: This story has been on hiatus for far too long. I think a few more chapters should (finally) wrap it up, though. Hugs to all!

If any mistakes (spelling, grammar...suckage) are present, please let me know. Thank you!

'It's still too early

To believe.'

~Tite Kubo

"Is there something you require?"

Rem nearly uttered an undignified yelp upon hearing the unexpected voice, belatedly noticing the guards stationed outside her door. The man on her right was the one who had spoken. It took her a moment to reply, not having expected men armed to the teeth just outside her chambers.

"Oh….uh….just a glass of water….I guess." She cringed. That hadn't sounded at all convincing, and she knew it.

"There is a pitcher within your chambers," he returned steadily. She sighed, annoyed at being caught out. The truth was, she was merely feeling antsy, and felt a walk might cure a bit of her insomnia.

"Look, can't I just—"

"It is best that you stay within, Lady Rembrance." She snorted, patently disturbed that she was effectively being held under lock and key. Never mind how nice her prison or jailors.

"It's 'Rem.'" She muttered waspishly, slamming the door behind her. She stomped further into the room, wondering if Gandalf or Pippin were being housed together. Their chambers were adjacent to her own, though not easily accessible. It would seem Denethor did not wish for them to meet away from watchful eyes; likely to prevent them from plotting behind the Lord Steward's back. After the affirmation of being guarded, not to mention their particularly cold reception from before, it was obvious that they were not welcome. Let alone trusted.

As if keenly aware of her musings, a figure silhouetted by the starlight on the balcony made itself known. Rem felt her pulse quicken in panic, but quickly relaxed once she recognized her silhouetted companions. Smiling, she gestured for Gandalf and Pippin to sit, the latter declining initially. The Hobbit stood, biting his lip, before hesitantly taking a seat.

"Good to see you! I could use some company!" She said warmly. It wasn't really clear how her comrades had managed to sneak into her chambers, but at the moment she didn't really feel like questioning it. She was just glad not to be alone.

"I fear that is not all we bring you." Gandalf searched through his robes, bringing out his pipe, blue eyes not seeking her own. Rem furrowed her brows. Shit. This can't bode well. Pippin immediately avoided her gaze.

"…What happened." The wizard didn't reply, having managed to light his pipe and puff at it slowly. He might have looked content had she not recognized the telltale lines of worry at the corners of his eyes and mouth; a façade of forced calm. Pippin answered for her.

"I was…I was tryin' to nip out the kitchens—" Of course he would.

"Aren't you under guard?" She cut it, unable to help herself. He nodded his affirmation, apparently not thinking much of it.

"They were easy enough to slip by. Don't notice much, ya see…" It was palpable that Gandalf was now deliberately hiding a smile. Hobbits certainly were clever, to remain unseen. Even Rem could admit her jealously to that. He plowed on, discomfort painted over his normally cheerful features. "anyhow…I passed by a chamber where Lord Denethor was chewin' up someone….Sayin' he ought to…well…court you…" Rem stared at him blankly.

"Court….me? What…?" Pippin shook his head, roughly pushing back his hair as he fought for the right words. He didn't want to offend her.

"Well…okay, he didn't really use that wordin'…..He said….he ought to seduce you. See what you knew. How useful you could be." Fuck. This REALLY doesn't bode well.

"Denethor knows about me." She said dully. Gandalf nodded, taking up where Pippin left off. The Hobbit was gazing outside, uncomfortable with the news he had inadvertently acquired by accident.

"It would appear he has some resources, and knows something of which he thinks to make use of. That being you."

"No shit. He has a fucking palantír." Gandalf narrowed his eyes for a moment, while she gesticulated, "Don't give me that look. I know you had your suspicions. It was a forgone conclusion on your part, and I'm only confirming it." So save it. I don't need a lecture. He nodded, slowly, still somewhat disapproving all the same that she would reveal seemingly forbidden information. She sighed, flopping back upon the divan facing the only two people she felt she could trust. At least while within the confines of Gondor.

"…Well…that's grim." She glanced over at Pippin, who looked determined to avoid eye contact. Apparently there was more to it than that. He was hiding something. "What else did you overhear?" He spared her a look after glancing at Gandalf, as if wishing for a way out of this. Sighing, he squirmed as he related the rest.

"…I…I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But it didn't sound right. I mean—to say they ought to….anyway. I lingered to try and figure out who he was talking to." He shook his head unhappily, "Lord Denethor was raving. He was calm at first, but the person he was talking to replied that he found the whole business distasteful, as well as dishonorable. To treat you like that." He nodded, agreeing with the sentiment.

"Anyway…that set him off. He started saying that he understood the 'truth' of the matter, and that you weren't really tied to anyone. Not many folks seem to accept the Elvish custom. What without witness' an' all. But it's obvious Lord Denethor knows you're married. Your brother probably let it slip, besides…" he was rambling now. But Rem didn't care. She had noticed that not many folks were as accepting of the vows she had exchanged with the Prince of Mirkwood. Though they were legitimate, even if they were of Elvish Law.

"He kept insisting that you needed to be watched…to earn your trust and put you to use against the enemy." Rem shoved her hands through her hair, covering her face momentarily as she groaned.

"Shitshitshit…he thinks I'm some sort of seer." Gandalf wrinkled his nose, though whether it was in reaction to her foul language or due to the waning smoke of his pipe, she had no idea. She didn't give much of a rat's ass at the moment.

"Maybe…"Pippin admitted, "but at any rate, Lord Denethor's company got really quiet after a time…especially when accused of being less than Boromir. Almost like, he was…I dunno…actually considering it. Reneging on his word from before— " Rem choked. Fire flickered through her veins, anger and shock roiling within her stomach. The steward's son had seemed so strong within the books; bred of high moral character.

"Faramir?! Lord Denethor was trying to convince his son to…?"

"It would seem," Gandalf smoothly cut in to her tirade, avoiding the potential escalating tantrum, " that you would be manipulated. I thought it best that Peregrin inform you of this latest development, so that you may conduct yourself with caution."

"Are you kidding!?" Rem fumed, "I'm going to fucking kick his ass! He'll be lucky if I don't defenstrate him…" Both companions looked bemused by the prospect, as if they didn't believe she was actually capable of violence. She glared back mutinously.

"Well…the windows are obviously big enough," she muttered sourly, gesturing toward the balcony.

"I would not recommend acting with haste. We are guests here. For now." Translation. That can change. If we don't play that game they'll throw us out. Or lock us up. Shit.

"Fine. I'll play nice," she groused, "just don't expect me to play fair!"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Gandalf demurred, polishing his pipe before placing it back within the recesses of his robes. He arose from his seat, intent on taking his leave. Pippin followed after him, smiling guiltily at Rem. She managed a weak smile, acknowledging that she was grateful for the sheer dumb luck that managed to allow the Hobbit to overhear such a conversation.

"We must take our leave now. I think it would be in the interest of all parties that I impart to Lord Denethor that you are a diplomat on behalf of the Elves of the Woodland Realm. This may serve to shield you from some entanglement of his designs, as you are in fact of royal lineage by marriage, and deserving of some respect. " Rem felt a jolt at the starting revelation. She hadn't even considered that. Sure, she knew Legolas was a prince…but her marriage and resulting status hadn't really sunk in. She'd never bothered to think about it before. He continued as she mulled over this latest mind-fuck.

"I tell you this so that you may comport yourself as expected from here on. We will see you on the 'morrow. Don't do anything rash." Don't do anything stupid. Got it.

"Right. G'night." She replied, distracted. There was a lot she had to think about. Rather than give herself over to such thoughts completely, she arose and sought out ink and parchment. There was work to be done.

The crisp morning air permeated her senses, bringing with it an odd twinge of serenity and balance. Carefully she breathed it in through her nose, only to catch it in her mouth like a flower. A promise. She was tempted to keep it in, but gently released it as her stiff fingers loosened from the taut bowstring. A satisfying thud announced her success in hitting the target.

"Oh, for the love of…." Rem bit her tongue to keep from cursing. Lately, she had been trying to curb her more colorful vocabulary.

She narrowed her eyes in annoyance. It was markedly far from the center, which even now seemed to stare resentfully back at her. Still…at least she had hit the damn thing. Was it from being so out of practice? Or did she really suck so much? How is it that I have managed to NOT be murdered in my sleep by this point?

"So, you are skilled with a bow?" The velvety tone almost made her jump out of her skin.

"Fucking hell—you nearly scared the shit out of me!" So much for her moderate march toward a clean lexicon. Rem glared, blaming the interloper for losing her cool. Faramir looked mildly torn between amusement and disgust.

"Are you always so crude?" She turned away, notching another arrow. Willing her spectator to go away.

"Only on special occasions." The soft crush of earth beneath his feet spoke of his approach. Rem stiffened unwittingly, then tried to force herself to relax.

"This being among them?" He inquired.

Nah, you simply bring out the best in me. Rem swallowed the words, trying to keep her peace. She had no delusions as to why he was really here. He had purposely sought her out. In actual fact, she had been expecting him to do so much sooner. The tension and anxiety of anticipation had taken their toll.

It was because of this she now harbored a bug up her ass, and decided she couldn't trust the steward's son any farther than she could throw him.

She was fed up with the idea of people expecting things from her, simply because of a turn of circumstance. She never asked to be here. She had been sucked into Middle Earth because her father was a cheating douche-canoe that had gotten tangled up with the wrong wizard.

The Valor had then pushed another agenda on her shoulders, not to speak of how torn she felt in fulfilling her role while praying to be reunited with the Elf. The Elf who just so happened to drive her up the wall while simultaneously making her weak in the knees.

"I have heard it told that you spend hours within the library, and pour through ancient texts within the catacombs…writing." She didn't rise to the bait, biting her lip as she strove to ignore him. He pushed on, not to be deterred. "When not immersed in this, you are to be found here…immersed within the study of archery."

"Is there something you want to ask me, or are you getting a kick out of doing third-person narration?" She snapped. Fuck…that slipped out. But it was disconcerting to confirm that there were obviously people watching and reporting on her doings. A female companion of a Hobbit and White Wizard encased within the last free city of men on the cusp of war could only be suspect of something.

Faramir at least looked taken aback, and therefore on unequal footing, which somewhat mollified her ego for slipping up.

"I merely wished to enquire…if you have need of anything."

"Nope. I'm good." She answered a bit too quickly. He blinked, not quite familiar with the strangely worded affirmation. She rolled her eyes.

"Look, I'm fine. Thanks. I just hate to remain idle…and I like history…so…I'm just reading and taking notes. To keep busy," she swallowed, changing the subject a bit, praying she had lied convincingly. "And…I miss my husband. He's super into archery, so practicing every once in a while makes me feel close to him, even though…" she trailed off, belatedly realizing with whom she was confiding. She hadn't meant to get so personal. Hastily, she turned and fired another projectile, with the end result of the arrow missing the target entirely because of her distraction.

"Was it from he that you acquired such…skill?" he inquired dryly. He might have been teasing, but it was just as likely that he meant to insult her by it. She managed not to give an acerbic response by fantasizing Legolas kicking his ass as she marched off to retrieve her arrows. Obnoxiously, he kept pace with her, matching her stride.

"I was not aware that you were married." He's either obtuse or an asshole…he's gotta know that Gandalf presented me as a 'diplomat' for fuck's sake. Just ignore him, Rem. Ignore, ignore, ignore…

"Why is it," he mused, "that he is not now here by your side?"

"He had shit to do." She snapped, abruptly switching tactics. Maybe if she was rude enough, he'd grow disgusted with her company.

"Are you always so vulgar?"

"If you don't like it, then leave." She stated flatly. She was in no mood for whatever he was shoveling. She had the impression that he smiled at her then. But she couldn't be sure. She hadn't turned her head to see; she was avidly avoiding eye contact, letting him know that his presence was not wanted.

"What is it you want?" she asked, immediately regretting her question. She felt the gentle insistence of a hand upon her cheek, guiding her face to look at his own.

"Many things," he admitted. She stared.

"Are you kidding me?" His brow knit in confusion, while her hand came up to encase his own. More importantly, taking hold of his thumb. Aragorn had once shown her how to break one, specifically by adding certain pressure at the correct angle.

"You're about to lose a hand," she threatened. Immediately he loosened his hold, withdrawing with alacrity at the tone of her voice; the look in her eye.

"What sort of cheesey one-liner was that, any way? 'I want many things…' What bullshit. Are you insinuating that I'm a 'thing,'?"

"It was more a—" he defended, but was cut off by Rem and her growing tirade.

"If you say 'compliment,' I swear I will knee you in the sac." She was pissed off by a number of things, one of which included being under constant supervision that came in form of an escort. It was bad enough to be under constant surveillance by her estranged brother. It felt ten times worse now that it included an audience.

Being on the archery range at least gave her some semblance of space. Her guards stayed farther back, content to watch her make a fool of herself. Her brother typically did so as well. It was simply her bad luck today that he had chosen to disappear for a time to assuage what he claimed to be his appetite. More likely he had needed a reprieve from her silence. They rarely spoke.

Faramir stepped away, evidently believing her threat.

"Have I committed some unknown sin, Lady Rem? A past transgression that would court your ire?..." She breathed fiercely through her nose, doing her best to calm down.

"I think you know damn well why I'm mad. And 'Court' would certainly be the appropriate word choice." She hissed. He narrowed his eyes, as if noticing her for the first time; assessing her intended meaning. Sizing her up as he carefully chose his next words. The very walls had ears.

"Perhaps…we might discuss this over a meal." She snorted.

"Yeah, actually, I should really wait for my older brother. We're practically inseparable, you see—"

"If you wish for honesty, I would suggest you offer up the same." He murmured quietly, stealthily moving closer. Rem flinched as he reached out a hand, instincts screaming to back away. She tensed, torn between following through on her threat and fleeing.

Nimble fingers caressed past her throat, brushing back a few chocolate locks as he whispered what appeared to be sweet nothings in her hair. To any spectator, it would appear to be so.

"We both crave answers, Lady Rem. I suspect we could both agree to that." Disconcerted, she roughly stepped back, slipping from his grasp like water. She stared at him, his clear blue eyes taking her in. Measuring her as one might any threat…or potential ally.

"Seven o'clock," she found herself croaking, "my chambers. Don't be late." He bowed, turning to watch her go as she stomped away with arrows in tow. She was trying to convince herself that she hadn't just committed a huge mistake. Wouldn't Ansel be thrilled to know that they had a dining companion for the evening.

A/N: Big thanks for all of your patience and encouraging, constructive criticism! Please review, so I can get this done! My sincere apologies for the long delay. Just been distracted, trying to make some memories. Cheers!