Mithiniel softly knocked at the ornate door leading to her father's rooms.
He would not want to be disturbed, she was sure. Her father, Gil-galad
Elven King, and Elendil King of Gondor had amassed a great army to fight
against the dark lord Sauron. They were currently in Imladris, at the house
of the Lord Elrond. From Lindon she had accompanied her father, but now she
feared that she would be left behind again in Imladris while her father's
army made the march toward the final battle with Sauron.
She herself saw no reason why she could not go. Her sword and healing skills could be said to be equal to that of an elf with many more years of experience. Although she knew that many elves did not approve of her love of sword fighting and archery, she did not mind them. Her father himself had taught her many of the skills that she possessed. He had never tried to dissuade or hinder her, believing that she knew what was best for her. And for that, Mithiniel had done her best to excel in them, so as to not let her father down, to show the Elves what she could do, and had so far succeeded.
Her father's army would be leaving soon. She longed to accompany them, to fight at the side of her father. Now, she would beg him to let her go. Her father drew the door back. There was no going back now.
Gil-galad sighed. Papers and maps were strewn over his desk, and some had even fallen to the floor. "What is it, daughter?" he asked, with a bit of tiredness and exasperation in his voice.
"Father," Mithiniel spoke quietly at first, but her voice became steadier as she went on. "Will you not let me march to the battlefield with you?"
The tiredness left Gil-galad's face as it stiffened. "No, Mithiniel. If we both perish, who will lead the remaining Elves?" "The Lord Elrond, father." Mithiniel replied, and raised her chin stubbornly.
"He will be my herald in the battlefield."
"Then the Lady Galadriel! Father, there is no excuse for me to not be at your side! I can handle both bow and sword with skill and I have the gift of healing! Please!"
Yearning and pleading showed themselves on her face. Her father saw in her eyes her yearn and her stubbornness, and turned away so Mithiniel would not see the pain in his face.
"Very well," he sighed. "I will allow you, but you must stay at the very back, at the edge of the armies, when the time comes. And you are not to unsheathe your sword unless there is great need to. Use only your bow and your herbs." Mithiniel's eyes sparkled with joy and gladness.
"Thank you, Father. You will not regret your decision." she said, her voice quavering. Mithiniel hurriedly went out of the room as her father looked after her, a mixture of pride and hopelessness on his face.
She herself saw no reason why she could not go. Her sword and healing skills could be said to be equal to that of an elf with many more years of experience. Although she knew that many elves did not approve of her love of sword fighting and archery, she did not mind them. Her father himself had taught her many of the skills that she possessed. He had never tried to dissuade or hinder her, believing that she knew what was best for her. And for that, Mithiniel had done her best to excel in them, so as to not let her father down, to show the Elves what she could do, and had so far succeeded.
Her father's army would be leaving soon. She longed to accompany them, to fight at the side of her father. Now, she would beg him to let her go. Her father drew the door back. There was no going back now.
Gil-galad sighed. Papers and maps were strewn over his desk, and some had even fallen to the floor. "What is it, daughter?" he asked, with a bit of tiredness and exasperation in his voice.
"Father," Mithiniel spoke quietly at first, but her voice became steadier as she went on. "Will you not let me march to the battlefield with you?"
The tiredness left Gil-galad's face as it stiffened. "No, Mithiniel. If we both perish, who will lead the remaining Elves?" "The Lord Elrond, father." Mithiniel replied, and raised her chin stubbornly.
"He will be my herald in the battlefield."
"Then the Lady Galadriel! Father, there is no excuse for me to not be at your side! I can handle both bow and sword with skill and I have the gift of healing! Please!"
Yearning and pleading showed themselves on her face. Her father saw in her eyes her yearn and her stubbornness, and turned away so Mithiniel would not see the pain in his face.
"Very well," he sighed. "I will allow you, but you must stay at the very back, at the edge of the armies, when the time comes. And you are not to unsheathe your sword unless there is great need to. Use only your bow and your herbs." Mithiniel's eyes sparkled with joy and gladness.
"Thank you, Father. You will not regret your decision." she said, her voice quavering. Mithiniel hurriedly went out of the room as her father looked after her, a mixture of pride and hopelessness on his face.