- - IMPORTANT STORY INFORMATION - -

THIS FIC IS THE REWRITTEN VERSION OF 'DEMADILUVE'.

A few things I want to make clear about the fanfic:

1. The story disregards Yashahime (the InuYasha anime sequel).

2. The fic follows along with Peter Jackson's LOTR film trilogy, not the books.

The following DISCLAIMER will be said once, and only once, and will pertain to the entirety of this fanfiction: I do not own InuYasha or Lord of the Rings. They belong to their rightful owner. This is all just for funzies.

Updates will happen every Thursday until we've caught up to the most recently finished chapter (at time of posting the Prologue, that'll be chapter 18).

If you notice any grammatical errors, please let me know. I don't have a beta reader.

Now, on with the story.

- - PART ONE : ASHES TO EMBERS - -

- - DENETHOR - -

It was a peaceful afternoon in Minas Tirith. It had been snowing since early morning, and the vigil of white flakes had persisted throughout the day. High up in the White Tower of Ecthelion, the Steward rose from his desk and strode to the tower's primary window. With the great city below and the expanse of the land beyond all laid out beneath him, it was, without question, an empowering view.

Something moved in the grounds far below, and it tugged Denethor's gaze down to the snowy courtyard. 'What's this now?' The movement continued, and his stare intensified. The wisps of winter licked eagerly at the Steward's pale skin as he stretched his neck outward.

He then watched his eldest son ride past the White Tree with the other members of his patrol following close behind. A look of perplexity shot across the Steward's face. A petite figure was seated in front of Boromir in his saddle. Long inky hair and offensive red trousers were all else Denethor could gather before the entire party disappeared into the stables. The Steward let out a clouded huff, "Let's see what this is all about."

Down the stairs and corridors he went until at last he reached the stables. Upon arriving, he frowned. All was quiet save for the customary sounds of the equines.

A lanky stable boy walked out from one of the stalls grasping a water bucket. It looked like a barrel in his small arms. As his eyes landed on Denethor, the youth went rigid for an instant before bowing out of reflex, the water spilling out across the floor.

"I should dock your days wages for your idiocy!" Denethor hollered.

Some of the horses whinnied at the outburst. The boy snapped upright, now wet below the knees. "I apologize, my Lord!" He exclaimed earnestly. He was so nervous his grip on the bucket had him white knuckled.

"Tell me where my son has gone." Denethor demanded.

The lad answered hurriedly, "The Houses of Healing. He found a woman outside the city, and she was unconscious. That's all I know."

The Steward nodded, "Very well." Denethor turned to go, but the boy's voice caused him to pause.

"Milord," nervousness crackled in the youth's words, "m-my wages?"

Denethor turned his steely gaze back around, "You may recover half. To ensure you learn your lesson, you must finish your day's work without delay." The whisper of relief on the youth's face was instantaneously replaced with agony, as his feet already numb from the icy water. Without another word the Steward strode off, leaving the boy to his own devices.

- - BOROMIR - -

Just as Boromir closed the door to the room, his father appeared at the far end of the corridor. 'Why am I not surprised,' He sighed, finding himself somehow even more exhausted than before.

Denethor brought the crispness of the outdoors with him. Snow was still sprinkled across his dark hair and robes. "Bringing strange folk into the city now, are we?" The older man exclaimed.

"I couldn't just leave her there to die."

"So it was a woman." Denethor's words were thick with salacious undertones.

Boromir's teeth ground against one another repugnantly, 'Why he makes such comments is beyond me.'

"What have you discovered about this mystery woman?" Denethor inquired.

"Nothing so far. She is still unconscious."

"How painfully boring."

His brow twitched, "What were you expecting?"

"Something more exciting would've been a good start. I spent the day reviewing petitions with Tursil." Denethor walked to one of the windows, staring up at the persistent snowflakes.

"So your day was dull then?"

"Painfully."

"You know he means well."

Denethor gave a flat look that reflected uninhibited annoyance. He made a motion to speak, but another voice broke out from down the corridor. The Steward grimaced, for it was none other than the clerk himself scuttling towards them.

"My Lord!" Tursil exclaimed, plodding towards them with a stack of scrolls under his arm. The little man was surprisingly swift despite his squatty stature.

Denethor grumbled at the oncoming nuisance, "I told that old fool it could wait. That blasted village will not perish if I sign their papers tomorrow." Denethor then stomped back down the corridor, already shouting at the aged clerk as he went.

Boromir sighed, 'How Tursil manages father is a mystery.' He watched them from afar, enjoying the moment's peace at his father's distraction.

The youth was pulled from his idleness at the sound of a metallic 'click'. He turned and saw the healer slip from the room. Her obscenely frizzled hair brushed the door frame as she stepped into the corridor and quietly closed the door behind her. Despite her haggardness, her words were soft, "To be clear: you'd been on patrol when you found her?"

"Yes, just outside the city wall." Boromir answered.

"And there were no others with her?" The healer inquired, leaning against her cane.

"None."

"Were there any signs others may have been with her?"

He shook his head.

"And there was nothing else with her? No parcels, belongings?"

"Nothing."

The healer rolled her fingers across the top of her hand as they sat perched on her cane. Her eyes bore into the floor, thinking deeply. The stone reflected the brightness of the snow as it continued to persist beyond the walls.

"Is something the matter?" Boromir inquired.

"I will be frank: To have traveled alone in this weather with no more than the clothes on her back is nothing short of a miracle. It is honestly peculiar that she is even alive."

They were interrupted from a voice shouting from down the hall, "Boromir!" Denethor yelled. He was hastily making his way back to them with Tursil on the tail of his cloak. At this point, the healer drifted back through the arch of the doorway, intent on either checking in on her patient, avoiding the Steward, or most likely, both.

"Is something wrong father?" The young man asked.

Denethor nodded, his face unable to conceal its grimness. The Steward moistened his lips as he spoke, "A village has been destroyed: set aflame and burned clear to the ground."

"What? How did this happen?" Boromir stared back and forth between his father and the clerk, seeking answers.

Tursil pushed his half-moon shaped glasses back up his bulgy nose, "I can't rightly say, but Young Master Faramir came across the village while on patrol this morning. He said it must've happened within the last day or so, for what little was left of the place was still smoldering. But there were no survivors or corpses. Only ashes."

The Steward then strode back to the window, having already heard the full story. His hands fell clenched behind his back in contemplation. His unease was apparent.

'This makes no sense.' Boromir's brow creased. 'Wildmen or Orcs could do something like this, but not a single corpse? This is unheard of.'

"There was one thing Young Master Faramir salvaged." Tursil then reached into his pocket and pulled out a large string of beads. He let them tumble from his meaty fingers and into Boromir's open palm.

Boromir eyed the necklace curiously. The majority of it consisted of marblesque purple beads, with their uniformity evenly segmented with larger curved white beads. He thumbed one of the pale hooks. 'These remind me of a bone. A dulled claw even...'

There was a sudden 'thud' from the end of the corridor. All three men looked to see Faramir shaking off his shoulder, having clearly just run into the corner of the wall in haste. Despite the collision, he righted himself and continued in his run before swiftly skidding to a stop in front of them.

Like his brother, Faramir was adorned in light armor from his recent patrol. His cheeks were flushed and his light brown hair was damp from melted snow. His breath came in light pants as he grasped his knees to catch his breath.

Boromir smiled. Denethor grimaced. The wind quietly rattled at the window.

Denethor rounded about with a prominent sneer, "Must you always make such an entrance?" He chided coarsely.

"Forgive me father," Faramir said breathily, hands still grasping his knees. The youth looked to the clerk. "I was in a hurry to find Tursil because I had not yet finished telling him the whole story."

The clerk's ears turned a deep pink, "Please accept my deepest apologies Young Master! I should not have run off so hastily."

The 19-year-old smiled sincerely as he stood, still somewhat winded. "It's quite alright Tursil." He laid a gentle hand on the old man's shoulder in reassurance. "I'd be excited too if I had heard such a tale."

"Out with it boy!" Denethor snapped irately.

"Give him a moment, father." Boromir defended. "He is out of breath after all." Denethor grunted, his scowl persisting.

Faramir sent his brother a whisper of a smile to which Boromir then stood tall and spoke, "I trust Tursil has told you of the village and the necklace?" His audience nodded. "Excellent."

He then moved a few wet pieces of hair out of his face and continued, "After the necklace was found, we searched the rest of the village and its perimeter for any other clues. Our efforts were rewarded when we came across a set of tracks. And they were leaving the village."

"What kind of tracks were they?" Boromir asked with an excited gleam in his eyes.

Faramir's frown continued to lessen as Boromir worked to lighten the mood. "They were clearly human. Small and narrow, so I'd say they belonged to either a young adult or small woman."

"That's excellent news!" Tursil looked positively jovial. "Now if we could just find this person and ask them exactly what happened—"

"But that's just it," Faramir interjected, "I think she's already here." His audience looked on in bewilderment. "We had nearly lost the tracks, but we came to their end just outside the city. And brother, I heard you'd found a fainted woman while out on patrol." Faramir looked to Boromir, whose eyes were now wide in realization.

Boromir spoke, finishing off his brother's story. "So you believe that the woman in there," he gestured to the door behind him, "is the one who escaped from the village?"

"Precisely."

"It's certainly possible," Tursil agreed, "that village is barely a day's walk from here."

"For once, you have actually been of use, Faramir." Though Denethor's lips turned upwards, it was not in a comforting manner. The Steward then turned to his eldest son, "Question her when she wakes, and keep me informed on the situation. Tursil, I am quite exhausted by your presence. The remaining papers can wait until tomorrow. Now, I am quite famished so I'm off to dinner. Goodbye." Without another word, Denethor sauntered back down the corridor, his black robes billowing out behind him in a manner only a man such as himselfcould possess.

As soon as the Steward was out of sight the three remaining men sighed in unplanned unison. Tursil cleared his throat and adjusted the papers under his arm, "I suppose I should return these then. Until later, Young Masters." The clerk then nodded towards the two brothers before heading back down the corridor, his old shoes tapping on the floor as he went.

Their eyes followed the clerk until he disappeared around the corner. Neither spoke until the sound of his shoes had faded from their ears. The siblings then looked to one another, both of their expressions suddenly drained.

"What a day this has been." Boromir exclaimed, running a hand through his blonde hair.

"Agreed." Faramir conceded. What little smile he had quickly withered away.

Boromir placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Do not despair. Father is right: you did excellent today. Had you not put the pieces together, this would all still be a mystery." His encouragement fell on dejected ears. Boromir then shook Faramir's shoulder lightly, forcing him to look him in the eye. "Do not be discouraged. One day this unreasonable shroud in father's mind will be lifted. In the meantime, I will always be here for you. Remember that."

To this, Faramir relaxed. "Thank you." His words were quiet but earnest.

"There's no need for thanks." Boromir then tussled Faramir's damp hair, the action accompanied by a grin that only an older sibling could possess.

The younger yelped and swatted at Boromir's hand, jumping away at the playful assault. They laughed, the day's tension finally beginning to die away. They both took a moment to look outside. The snow was falling a bit harder than before, and the sky had darkened considerably.

"There was something I didn't mention earlier. When I said I saw the tracks leaving the village, I meant it. But I found it strange that her footprints were the only ones. Why was she not pursued? Surely someone would have noticed her flee."

"I suppose we will have to ask her. I'll see if she's awake." Boromir then turned towards the door, but Faramir's gloved hand caught hold of his wrist.

"Even if she is awake, she will be weak. Let her rest in peace." Faramir said.

Boromir shot the door a glance but then sighed, letting his hand drop away, "You are right. By the way, Tursil said he ran into you on your way back from patrol. Where did you even cross paths?"

"Outside the stables," Faramir answered. A smile suddenly spread across his face as he recalled the encounter. "By the time I showed him the beads he was so riled up that he sprinted off with them to find father. I hadn't even finished the story, let alone bring in my horse."

Boromir laughed heartily, shaking his head at the old clerk's antics. "Speaking of which, what do you suppose we should do with this?" He said, gesturing to the beads that were still draped between his fingers.

"You keep it. When she wakes, ask her if she knows anything about it. Seeing as how both of them are the only things that survived this ordeal, I'd be curious to see if they are connected."

"A wise idea." Boromir then pocketed the necklace.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be going. Unlike you, I have not had time to change, and I am now quite cold and clammy." Boromir chuckled as he watched Faramir turn and head back down the hall. Boromir was glad to hear him whistling a lively tune as he went.

As soon as Faramir was out of sight, Boromir reached for the door. 'There's no harm checking in on things.' He turned the knob and for an instant, the dimness of the room spilled out from the doorway, casting muted shadows across the snow-brightened floor. He then slipped inside, shutting the door behind him with an almost inaudible 'click'.

"Ow!" He yelped, having been greeted with a whack to the skull. His hands flew up to his head, already certain a lump was growing on his skull.

"Stupid!" The healer whispered harshly as her twisted can made its way back to the floor. "I could hear you fluently through the walls. She needs sleep and your ruckus will wake her." She tapped her cane resolutely on the stone floor, "She doesn't have any injuries, but the cold did a number on her. I've given her a tonic. It's on the table." Her cane nearly whacked him for a second time as she used it to gesture across the room. "She will need to take it every couple hours or so. For now, she must be kept warm and allowed to sleep. Also…" Boromir had shut out the woman's voice, his eyes fixed on the figure in the bed in mounting curiosity.

She jabbed at him with a boney finger, dragging him back to reality. "She must eat when she wakes. She's thinner than I am, and I can barely stomach anything nowadays."

"I will make sure everything is taken care of. Should her condition worsen, you will be the first to know." Boromir assured.

The old woman smiled and grabbed one of his hands, giving it a light pat. "Good, good. Now, I must be off. Time is of the essence when you are as old as I." She then tightened the ratty gray scarf around her neck and turned to go. At her leave, Boromir's gaze once again turned back towards the bed as the door swung to a near close behind him.

"Oh, one last thing," Boromir nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around to see the healer's frazzled hair pop back into the room. Even though the dimness, he could see a Cheshire grin had cracked its way across her face. "I have seen a number of creatures in my time, but never one as odd as her. She is neither Human, Elf, nor Orc or Halfling."

"But then what—"

She cut him off, having anticipated his question. "We'll have to ask her when she wakes." Without another word, the healer dipped out of the room, leaving the young man to chew on her final words.

Boromir waited, his eyes still trained on the door. The room's faint light flickered. The quiet remained steady, and he could not hear anything beyond the door. He then leaned heavily against the wall, running a hand across his face as he glanced across the room.

The space was overrun with shadows, for it was not blessed with any sort of window. Instead, it was lit by a withered sconce and an aged candle that sat in its chamberwick on the rickety bedside table. The aforementioned bottle of tonic was beside it as well. There was a chamber pot beside it, and a chair in one of the corners.

Fortunately, the chair looked sturdy enough to serve its purpose. He pressed off the wall and walked the few paces it took to cross the room. The woman's unique clothes sat neatly folded on the chair. Boromir lifted them carefully and set them at the foot of the bed. The woman was so small in stature that there was no risk of her kicking the clothes onto the floor. He lifted the chair quietly, setting it down at the head of the bed with care. The chair creaked as he settled into it.

'She is quite beautiful.' He mused, finally being able to take in her appearance now that the urgency of the situation had subsided.

Her hair was raven black and it spilled in gentle waving locks onto the pillow. Her bangs were cropped and they just barely brushed against her eyelashes. 'I wonder what color her eyes are.' He wondered idly, taking in her unique heart shaped face. Though she still looked pale, her expression was peaceful.

As if sensing his gaze, she stirred, causing the thick blankets to shift. For that brief instant, Boromir held his breath. To his disappointment she stilled, her head having lolled over to the side, now facing him directly, still asleep.

Boromir leaned forward, putting an elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm. A small pout curled at his lip, his expression similar to that of a dejected child. 'I still don't understand what she was talking about. If she is neither Human, Orc, or any creature in between then—Oh."

He could see them now. Her ears were pointed.

'But she said she wasn't an Elf! Though she is foreign. Perhaps she is a different sort of Elf?' He huffed as an infinitesimal number of similar thoughts ran rampant across his mind.

The blankets rustled again. His distracted gaze returned to the woman.

He was not prepared for her to be staring at him.

Boromir was awestruck, 'I've never seen such eyes.' Her sclera were black as pitch, and her irises a gray-blue that mimicked an early spring sky. He noticed her jaw clench and the pace of her breath quicken. Her pupils began to expand. She was on the verge of panic.

"I'm sorry!" He exclaimed, nearly leaping away from her. In his haste, the chair rocked aggressively and he was unable to save himself from toppling backwards. With a loud 'thud' he slammed against the stone floor. He yelped, now flat on his back, winded. For a brief moment he laid there as the air returned to his lungs. A sound then graced his ears. It was so unexpected that it caused his eyes to snap open.

She laughed. It had been small and quiet but it was, without question, a laugh.

He pulled himself onto his elbows. She was sitting upright, the blankets now in her lap. Their eyes met, and he could see the lingering laughter hanging on her smile. He felt himself lighten at the sight.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to frighten you. And I promise, I'm not here to harm you either." He said as picked himself up off the floor.

"I figured you would have done so by now if you'd meant to." Her voice was light, and a little raspy. She looked around the room. "Where am I?"

"The Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. I found you outside the city earlier this afternoon. It's a bit of a miracle you're alive. You were half buried in snow when I found you."

She cocked her head to the side, "Minas Tirith?"

"The capital city of Gondor."

Though she said nothing, her confused expression deepened. 'She clearly knows very little of this land. Just how far did she travel to get here?' He mused.

He then grabbed the toppled chair and righted it, "Let's start over. My name is Boromir. What's your name?" He sat back down, this time making sure he was an appropriate distance away.

"My name is—" Her words abruptly died and she curled inwards, hands digging deep into her hair as she clutched her skull.

"What's wrong?" He asked, concerned. But as he reached towards her, her eyes shot open and he stopped. To his alarm, the soft gray-blue of her irises had been overrun by the blackness of her sclera, and her eyes were now glowing a deep violet. The shadows in the room expanded hungrily. A voice then passed her lips, though it was clearly not her own. It rattled with malevolent fervor and caused Boromir's hair to stand on end.

"You will never return to the light, for I have bound you to darkness."

Her hair began to lift around her. She uttered a single, tenacious, "No."

This word was enough to cause the shadows to pause in their advance. He watched as her eyes began to flicker from ink black to blue-gray. 'She's trying to fight it.'

But the corrupt voice persisted, "You shall not escape the fate that has been made for you."

"NO!"

As she shouted, a blinding violet light exploded from her hands. It spread over her and into every corner of the room, eradicating the wicked presence instantly. As the light dimmed, he could see that the darkness had receded from her irises. He then also noticed her eyelids flutter as her body went slack.

Boromir shot out of the chair and caught her before she fell off the bed. 'Unconscious yet again.' Moving carefully, he laid her back down and pulled the blankets up over her. He then dropped heavily back down in the chair, running his shaking hands across his face.

'What the hell just happened?' His heart was still pounding. After a few breaths he lifted his gaze. Though she had not moved, her expression was beginning to calm.

He straightened in his seat. The chair creaked in mild protest. Though still shaken, he'd be damned if he wasn't there when she woke up again. He'd already had questions, but now even more so than before. So he made himself comfortable. Crossing his arms, he leaned back in the chair. The glow from the sconce billowed. A hot bead of wax ran down the side of the ever-dwindling candle. The atmosphere of the room had stabilized. All was quiet.

.

"Boromir?"

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his name. He blinked hard, 'I must have dosed off.' He shook his leg, his right foot having fallen asleep.

She was sitting up, her fingers twirling in her lap. Words began to tumble out of her, "I know you won't believe me, but I have no idea what happened. And to be honest, I can't remember what happened before I woke up, and I—I can't…" She paused, biting her lip as her eyes began to shine.

Although he was internally panicking at the presence of her tears, he managed to softly ask, "What's the matter?"

"I can't even remember my name."

In that instant, he was glad she wasn't focused on him because the look on his face was dumbly befuddled. 'She appears out of nowhere, bound to some sort of dark magic, yet has no memory? All of these things must be connected, but we won't get anywhere if she can't remember anything.'

He caught her rubbing her eyes with the back of her sleeve. It was then he noticed that her bed clothes were far too big, for the wrist of the baggy shirt sleeve had dropped to the crook of her elbow.

His expression softened, 'There will be time to talk later.' He slowly reached towards her, making sure to give her time to pull away. Though her sniffles persisted, she didn't flinch as his hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"I have an idea for a new name for you. If you're open to it, that is."

"Oh?" Another, but smaller, sniffle. "What did you have in mind?"

"Calina."

She managed a little smile, her tears lessening, "I like it. What does it mean?"

He smiled back, "Bright."