Hi! First off I wanna say THANK YOU for reading this—I thought I was all alone!—and please please PLEASE review when you're done. It might help me to actually FINISH something. Oh, and Tolkien's incredible genius is in NO WAY akin to mine, so please don't sue me because I used his characters in my lack of inventiveness! Now, on with the story!
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Help Me Win...
Chapter One~The Hands of a Healer
"Glorfindel—" Airië jerked her arm out of the elder elf's grasp, trying to draw away. He immediately reached out and seized her wrist again, his grip harder than it had been before. She glanced up at him wildly, trying to pry his fingers from her. He wasn't even looking at her.
Fury raged underneath her skin. Who did he think he was? Though a legend and one of the Eldar, she was not going to let him tell her what to do. She stopped moving for a moment, glaring at the eyes he had turned to look forward. Then, without a moment's hesitation, Airië heaved her arm back and slammed him into the wall as hard as she could.
He wasn't quite unfazed, though her action hadn't actually hurt him. Though her strength was not nearly as great as his, she was a far cry from as weak as the elf had assumed. "Glorfindel." She said again, staring at him angrily. His eye level was a mere few inches higher than her own—she had only to lift her heels to make them level.
"What are you doing?" She demanded. He assessed her calmly, though not letting go of her wrist.
"Getting you out of here." He told her, as though it were as reasonable as his leading her to her father's study at his summons. But her father wasn't here right now. Arwen wasn't here right now. Right now, she was Lady of Imladris, and she wanted to stay right where she was.
"I don't need to get out. Imladris is where I need to be." Glorfindel's fingers relaxed, but she didn't jerk her wrist out of them as she had so wanted to seconds before. "I am not a child. It has been long since I was one, even in the reckonings of the elves." Airië's eyes weren't blazing with quite the same light anymore, as well she realized. Anger wasn't going to help anything right now.
"Do you know what is happening out there?" Glorfindel asked, almost incredulously. Airië gazed at him levelly, and she didn't have to open her mouth for him to know the answer.
"I wouldn't leave myself out of it." It was true, the sounds of battle were growing louder by the minute. Orc-screams were mingling with the ancient battle cries of the elves. They were losing. "I wouldn't dare."
"Your father wanted you to. That was why he didn't take you with him."
"I know well enough why he didn't take me with him. Imladris needs to have some defense." Glorfindel stared at her, unmoving. His eyes mocked her, told her she was wrong. She drew in a shuddering breath, trying hard to maintain the smooth exterior that usually came so easily.
"I'm not weak." She told Glorfindel. Trying to reassure herself, Airië repeated the statement, telling herself this time. "I am not weak." The older elf shook his head, neither agreeing with nor denying her words.
"We haven't any time for this." He said. He set off down the hall, stepping slowly and silently, as always. His military garb was different from his usual robes, but Airië had grown accustomed to it. Tears clouded her eyes and her clenched fists trembled. He was right. They hadn't any time for anything. She had to either get out or fight. She stared at her hand, at the indents her fingernails had made.
Glorfindel stopped a few paces away, and half-turned to look over his shoulder. "No, Airië. You are not weak." He rubbed the back of his neck gently, as if justifying this. Perhaps her aggression before had taken some effect on the legendary Glorfindel, mighty and strong though he was. "Nor are you a fighter." He turned away and set off again.
Airië drew in another breath. Though she would regret the decision she had to make for a long, long time—maybe even the rest of her life—she could not deny that her hands were not those of a fighter. Her hands could heal; they could not kill. She had to stay alive and help as she could for as long as she could. She would only die if she went out there.
"Tell my father, if he's still alive." The words were not sooner our of her mouth before the elven-maid was leaping down the stairs towards one of the secret exits of her doomed home. Glorfindel nodded at this, setting out for the battle once again. Rivendell's last defenses parted, one to face the battle at hand, one to fulfill her long-awaited destiny. The battle still raged in the valley below.
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Hey, you finished! Congrats! Like I said, please review! And if you're confused, that's okay, because you're supposed to be, kinda. I know some people aren't too fond of made-up elves, myself included, but I couldn't help but give it a try. I hope it turns out well. If you review it'll turn out better! ^_^ Chapter Two should be coming soon!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Help Me Win...
Chapter One~The Hands of a Healer
"Glorfindel—" Airië jerked her arm out of the elder elf's grasp, trying to draw away. He immediately reached out and seized her wrist again, his grip harder than it had been before. She glanced up at him wildly, trying to pry his fingers from her. He wasn't even looking at her.
Fury raged underneath her skin. Who did he think he was? Though a legend and one of the Eldar, she was not going to let him tell her what to do. She stopped moving for a moment, glaring at the eyes he had turned to look forward. Then, without a moment's hesitation, Airië heaved her arm back and slammed him into the wall as hard as she could.
He wasn't quite unfazed, though her action hadn't actually hurt him. Though her strength was not nearly as great as his, she was a far cry from as weak as the elf had assumed. "Glorfindel." She said again, staring at him angrily. His eye level was a mere few inches higher than her own—she had only to lift her heels to make them level.
"What are you doing?" She demanded. He assessed her calmly, though not letting go of her wrist.
"Getting you out of here." He told her, as though it were as reasonable as his leading her to her father's study at his summons. But her father wasn't here right now. Arwen wasn't here right now. Right now, she was Lady of Imladris, and she wanted to stay right where she was.
"I don't need to get out. Imladris is where I need to be." Glorfindel's fingers relaxed, but she didn't jerk her wrist out of them as she had so wanted to seconds before. "I am not a child. It has been long since I was one, even in the reckonings of the elves." Airië's eyes weren't blazing with quite the same light anymore, as well she realized. Anger wasn't going to help anything right now.
"Do you know what is happening out there?" Glorfindel asked, almost incredulously. Airië gazed at him levelly, and she didn't have to open her mouth for him to know the answer.
"I wouldn't leave myself out of it." It was true, the sounds of battle were growing louder by the minute. Orc-screams were mingling with the ancient battle cries of the elves. They were losing. "I wouldn't dare."
"Your father wanted you to. That was why he didn't take you with him."
"I know well enough why he didn't take me with him. Imladris needs to have some defense." Glorfindel stared at her, unmoving. His eyes mocked her, told her she was wrong. She drew in a shuddering breath, trying hard to maintain the smooth exterior that usually came so easily.
"I'm not weak." She told Glorfindel. Trying to reassure herself, Airië repeated the statement, telling herself this time. "I am not weak." The older elf shook his head, neither agreeing with nor denying her words.
"We haven't any time for this." He said. He set off down the hall, stepping slowly and silently, as always. His military garb was different from his usual robes, but Airië had grown accustomed to it. Tears clouded her eyes and her clenched fists trembled. He was right. They hadn't any time for anything. She had to either get out or fight. She stared at her hand, at the indents her fingernails had made.
Glorfindel stopped a few paces away, and half-turned to look over his shoulder. "No, Airië. You are not weak." He rubbed the back of his neck gently, as if justifying this. Perhaps her aggression before had taken some effect on the legendary Glorfindel, mighty and strong though he was. "Nor are you a fighter." He turned away and set off again.
Airië drew in another breath. Though she would regret the decision she had to make for a long, long time—maybe even the rest of her life—she could not deny that her hands were not those of a fighter. Her hands could heal; they could not kill. She had to stay alive and help as she could for as long as she could. She would only die if she went out there.
"Tell my father, if he's still alive." The words were not sooner our of her mouth before the elven-maid was leaping down the stairs towards one of the secret exits of her doomed home. Glorfindel nodded at this, setting out for the battle once again. Rivendell's last defenses parted, one to face the battle at hand, one to fulfill her long-awaited destiny. The battle still raged in the valley below.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hey, you finished! Congrats! Like I said, please review! And if you're confused, that's okay, because you're supposed to be, kinda. I know some people aren't too fond of made-up elves, myself included, but I couldn't help but give it a try. I hope it turns out well. If you review it'll turn out better! ^_^ Chapter Two should be coming soon!