Leonille held the silver dagger in her hand. Leonith was asleep safely, and Leonille was all packed and dressed. This was all that remained. Leonille was horrified at herself for abhorring this so much. Just one little cut and it would be all over. It wouldn't even hurt, for god's sake. Don't be so vain, she told herself, and slashed
Her hair floated out of the window like a brown mist. She shook her head an examined herself in the mirror. With her new haircut, men's clothing, and lack of makeup, she could pass as a boy. If she smudged a little dirt around her face she could pass as someone well-shaven. Still, she was too easily recognizable as herself. She had many friends and relatives in that army and she didn't doubt that she'd run into them at one point or another. And besides, her father had been quite famous in life, and his children weren't exactly unknown.
She un-stoppered the small bottle and walked into the bathroom. It was a strange concoction that the man at the store had called bleach. He'd told her that it could change one's hair color. She wasn't exactly sure how or to what color, but with a different tint of hair she wouldn't be recognized at all.
Leonille wet her hair and then poured the bleach in it. She massaged it around so it covered every single strand and waited a few minutes. Then she washed it out again thoroughly, like the man had told her, and dried it. When she looked in the mirror, she nearly gaped. Her hair was several shades lighter than it had been: an odd pale dirty blonde. It hung a little above her shoulders, jagged and layered. It didn't look particularly good, but Leonille didn't really care. She could have fooled herself into thinking she was a man.
Only one more thing remained. She picked up a piece of paper and wrote two words on it: the sea. Then, as an afterthought, I'm sorry. She didn't want to torment anyone further, but that added the element of foreshadowing and would make it more likely that they'd be fooled.She impaled the slip on the knife and stabbed it into her pillow. There, that gave it a nice and desperate look.
But would it fool anyone? They would never find her body, they would never have any proof. Just a note in her handwriting, a violent looking knife, and no sign of a struggle. Yes, it would work. She'd been sure to drop hints of her own weakness, of how she wasn't sure she could handle the responsibility of raising her little sister, of how she couldn't get of the deaths of her parents and two brothers.
As she slipped out of the house and towards the bottom level of Minas Tirith, she grimaced. What of Leonith and Deon? They would certainly blame themselves, Deon especially. He would tear himself apart, spouting nonsense about how he'd abandoned her, allowed her fall to madness alone. She was struck with how terribly selfish what she was doing was. Why couldn't she just tell Deon - Deon at least - of her plan? With everything he blamed himself for he could end up committing suicide himself.
Leonille pushed the thought away. Deon was much to level headed for that. He would see the logic that she didn't and stay on to care for Leonith.
Before entering the enlistment office, Leonille made sure to smudge dirt all over her face and other exposed skin. This would hopefully make her look both poorer and more manly, along with ensure that no one recognized her. Then she pushed open the door. At such a late hour, there was only the enlistment officer dozing at his desk, but Leonille had planned for that. She didn't want to be stuck in a crowd of people, have someone bump into her wrong - and have her secret exposed.
"Sir?" she ventured, stepping up to the desk. A single candle was burning down to a stub. "Sir?"
He stirred a little with a grunt and she prodded him with a gloved hand. At her touch he started to consciousness.
"Umphwhat?" the man grumbled.
"I'd like to enlist," Leonille said, ensuring to use her low, boy's voice. The man brushed away a lock of long grey hair and squinted up at her.
"At this hour?"
"This is the only free time I've got," she explained. The officer didn't look happy, but he nodded gruffly and picked up his quill.
"Name," he read.
"Leo," said Leonille. He wrote it down.
"Last name, if you please," he said.
"Don't have one. Parents died when I was a wee thing."
"Alright, then. Age."
"Eighteen," although she was only making herself a year older, she hoped it would help erase any suspicion. He asked her a few more questions, answers to which she mostly made up on the spot.
"Come back tomorrow at the tenth hour," he said once he'd finished. "We'll have an assignment for you. Oh, and one last thing. Are you trained?"
"Yes, I am," Leonille nodded.
"Where did you train?"
"Jenalir trained me, the third level."
"Oh!" he blinked. "You're that Leo?"
"You've heard of me?" Leonille was confused. She was still a trainee, how had someone heard of her? What if it caused her to blow her cover?
"Jenalir is my step brother," the man said. "When we met, once, he complained for nearly an hour about how early and often you come to the training grounds. Said he wanted to get some sleep."
"Oh," She frowned. "Tell him I'm sorry, will you?"
"I shall," he nodded. "Now move along, boy. I'd like to get some sleep, if that's at all possible."
Leonille nodded and backed out of the office. She'd have to find an inn to stay in. Going back to the house would be pointless and dangerous and stupid. She soon found one called the Cawing Crow and rented a room there. She had quite a bit of gold with her. She wouldn't have to starve.
The inn room was small and cozy. She dropped her things and went to sleep immediately, barely bothering to remove her boots. It was late, and she was tired. And according to her brother's horror stories about the army, she could count on being pretty sleep deprived.
The next morning, Leonille hung around in the room until the very last possible minute. She didn't want to be out and about where one of her friends or acquaintances or family members could spot her. It would take around ten minutes to get to the enlistment office, so she left with fifteen minutes to spare. Once there, her heart plummeted. So much for staying in areas where she could be as alone as possible. It was jam packed with men laughing nervously and women and children sobbing and hugging their husbands and fathers. Leonille gulped and stepped gingerly up to the desk.
"Leo, right? I remember you," said the man. She nodded. "Right, this batch, including you, will be heading over to Osgiliath to assist the soldiers there. Do you have all your things with you?"
Leonille nodded and indicated her pack. Inside was a few changes of clothes, a sewing kit, a canteen of water, some products necessary for females, a sleeping skin, a snack or two, and her mother's old pearl necklace.
"Right," the man said gruffly. "You'll be departing in an hour. Go into the back and find a uniform and a better sword," he indicated her cheap, low-quality one. "And say any good-byes you need to. Never know when you'll be coming back. If you come back."
Well, that was cheerful. She nodded and stepped briskly through the door behind him. There were rows of soldier's uniforms and weapons on the wall, just waiting to be taken. Her breath caught as she ran her fingers across the smooth leather of the vests. They were plain and brown, unlike the ones belonging to Deon and Faramir and… well, the one that had belonged to Boromir. Those were stamped with the silver, leafless tree that stood in front of the Steward's hall. Of course she wouldn't have one of those. She was merely a foot soldier.
"Fancy, aren't they?" came a voice. She jumped and turned around. A dark boy looking around twenty years of age stepped out from behind a barrel of spears. He was very dark, actually. Not only was he clad in all black, but his skin was pale brown, like a walnut. She was pleased to find that he was shorter than her. His eyes were brown, a rarity among a blue-eyed people. A Harad? The men of the south were allied with Mordor, though! What was one doing here? "I'm Talin."
"Leo," she said. "Are you headed towards Osgiliath as well, then?"
"Yes," he nodded and swung the sword he'd selected around a little. It was empty in the back room apart from the two of them. The others must still be out there, kissing the lasses they were leaving behind and patting their children on the head. It made her a bit nervous, being alone with a Harad, but if her was here, and enlisting in the army, than he must have been safe.
Leonille picked out a uniform. It was a bit big because all the ones her size had already been claimed, but she would have to sew it to make it fit in a way that made her look more manly anyways. She then moved to the rack of swords. This took her a little longer. She would depend on the sword for her life, and she didn't want to choose the wrong one. Finally, she stuck a relatively short, light one in her belt. She liked the feel of the soft black leather of the hilt.
"That's nearly a knife," Talin observed, slinging his uniform over his shoulder. "Don't you want something with a bit more heft?"
"I'm told my abilities lie more in my agility than my strength," Leonille shrugged. Talin looked doubtful, but didn't pester her.
She slipped into the changing room and into a stall to quickly adjust her uniform. She had a mere forty minutes or so, and with all the hurrying she kept stabbing her fingers with the needle. Finally she was satisfied enough to change into it. She stepped out from the stall and looked down at herself. Without a mirror she couldn't quite tell, but it seemed to her that she looked quite like a proper boy.
"Ah, there you are," said Talin as she slipped into the main room. "I was beginning to worry you'd ducked out."
"I would never!" she said.
The man from the desk gave a long lecture and explained quite a bit to them, which bored Leonille. She already knew all the standard procedures from her Da and older brother. Then he gave a little inspirational speech about how good they were, joining up before the draft. Something about how brave that made them. Finally, the group of twenty or so men marched down to the city's stables. That was another thing the army supplied for new recruits: horses. Leonille chose a spotted grey mare. She didn't much like horses, and they didn't much like her. In fact, she could barely ride at all. When she was younger, she would try, but would generally end up being bucked off and landing face-first in a variety of vile substances.
They trotted down the streets of Minas Tirith. People, probably mostly family and friends of the leaving men, gathered around the curbs, shouting praise and farewells. Leonille, hidden beneath her helmet, secretly pretended they were saying those things for her benefit, even though she knew it was ridiculous.
The road to Osgiliath was flat, grassy, and criss-crossed with small streams. Their commanding officer was Captain Belan, a merry man who looked a bit plump for the fact that he spent his days fighting orcs. As they went, he told many stories of his conquests, and led in common soldier songs. Talin and Leonille lagged in the back, not joining in the singing. Leonille worried her girl voice would give her away in song, and Talin claimed he was a horrible singer. Grateful for that idea of an excuse, Leonille dittoed it.
She learned that Talin wasn't, in fact, a Haradrim. His grandparents had been born in Harad, but his father had been conceived in Osgiliath and his mother was from Minis Tirith, through and through. She found it strange that a Gondorian would marry a Haradrim, but she didn't dwell on it. Talin was as much of an oddity in this army as she was, and it couldn't hurt to make some friends, even if they were directly descended from the enemy.
It didn't take long to get to Osgiliath. In fact, it had only just gotten dark when they reached the city. Captain Belan, as it turned out, was leader of all the forces stationed in Osgiliath. He wasn't merely someone to come pick them up and bring them there, but their captain himself. He led the newcomers to a crumbling old amphitheater made of white stone and told them to claim any part of it to sleep in. Leonille sought out a small area behind the seats and set up her little living area there. She wanted to be out of the way. If she stayed out in the open, her secret would be revealed the first time she changed clothes.
As she set up her sleeping skin, she marveled at the brilliance of the city. It was large, obviously, because it had once been Gondor's capitol. Now it was a ruin, but tall spires and other amazing architecture still survived. The moonlight seemed to make the white building material glow, giving the city a cold and beautiful aura.
Her musing was cut short by a shuffle in the shadows. She squinted and cursed herself for not bringing a candle.
"Who's there?" she demanded. A figure stepped out, hands raised as if saying, I'm innocent. "Talin? You do enjoy skulking around in shadows, do you not?"
He looked at her curiously. "What an odd way to say it. Yes, I believe I do," he said. She realized then that she could hear a faint Harad accent in the way he spoke, and a little of something else. She wondered why she hadn't noticed it before. It was probably because the accent gave him an uppity way of speaking, not like the gruff way all the other men yelled at each other. It reminded her of herself.
That was it. She had to remember to speak more like other men. She'd thought she'd known how men spoke from her father and brothers, but she'd been mistaking. Peasant men spoke much differently than noble ones. Talin was looking at her funnily because of the manner in which she'd accused him of skulking. Like that of a rich, well-educated person, it was peppered with unnecessary words. A normal soldier would have cut those out, and probably sworn at him for good measure. She would have to remember to do that.
No, 'she'd have to remember that'. There, that was better.
"You're one sneaky little twitch, aren't you?" she quipped. That sounded mighty common. He shrugged. Mighty. A common word, as well. But thinking like a commoner certainly couldn't hurt.
"I suppose."
"Are you camping here?" she asked.
"Unless you have any objections," he said. YES, screamed every intelligent bone in her body.
"No," she shrugged. It was risky, she knew, and she'd have to be quick and private when changing, but there was no way to reject him without arousing suspicion. "Go ahead."
He gave her a quick nod and began to set up his own sleeping skin.
The next morning at the crack of dawn, the soldiers all gathered in full armor in front of Captain Belan. He barked an order or two and the ones who had already been there left immediately to get breakfast. Then the captain addressed the newcomers.
"I trust you've all gotten to know each other at least a little bit?" there was a general murmur of ascent, but the captain wasn't satisfied. "Is there anyone who mistrusts their judge of the rest of the soldiers here?"
No one stepped up.
"Alright, then. I suppose I can trust you to assign your own groups. With twenty two new recruits, we should have three groups of four and two groups of five. These groups will be your squads for patrolling, and you will be expected to look after one another in a battle situation," said Captain Belan. "Chop chop, get to it. Breakfast is getting cold!"
Leonille and Talin immediately found each other and wordlessly they agreed to be part of the same group. Then, they each grabbed another who they saw wandering around aimlessly, desperate for a group.
"Good! Now our cook, who you will know as Chef, has mess for you. Go and get to know each other over a meal. Teamwork is essential for any army."
Leonille, Talin, and the two others headed towards the mess hall which was inside what used to be the living room of a large home. They introduced each other over the mess. The two new ones were called Garin and Hafa. Garin was a spindly, wee thing with dark hair and eyes that darted around nervously. Leonille was relieved to see that there were such people in the army. If she acted tougher than him, she would blend in nicely. Hafa was exactly the opposite. He was big, muscular, and rather unintelligent.
He made her nervous. She knew she could probably creamate him in a battle of wits, but if push came to shove he could pummel her into the dust.
Breakfast was disgusting. It was nasty. It was just as she remembered it. Once, a long time ago, she and Leogas had gotten lost in the woods on the way back from going swimming in a lake. After hours of wandering aimlessly, they'd begun to get hungry. Inside one of his pockets they'd found a leftover bar of who knows what, a mixture of oats and vegetables and fruits and slightly rotted meat, and what Leogas's meals usually were during his wilderness training. They'd shared the bar. It was disgusting. It was nasty. It was just like this breakfast.
That was another thing. There had always been the nagging suspicion in the back of Leonille's mind that there was a reason women weren't soldiers, especially not noblewomen. That maybe she was too soft, too weak, that she wouldn't be able to handle it. But so far, in everything she'd done, she could only think that Leogas had gone through something similar (although he would have gotten special treatment), and her father, too. Deon she waved away, he was still alive, and he was probably sitting around a fire butt-cold eating even grosser food right at that moment.
After breakfast, they went and got their assignments. Before letting them go, Belan gave a long-winded speech on safety and what to do if they were to run into trouble. Afterwards, they got the responsibility of patrolling the southernmost border, so they picked up the lunches provided, packed them away, and headed off immediately.
They only had a mile or so of land to patrol and the work quickly got boring and repetitive. Leonille was disappointed. She'd expected more action in the field. More opportunities to prove herself.
"I reckon we should get some practice in," she said after a little while. "Who wants to spar?"
Everyone was relieved for the distraction, and they drew their swords. Leonille and Talin and Garin and Hafa started to swordfight playfully as they danced across the border. As she'd expected, Hafa had the upper hand in his little bout against Garin. With all that strength, it was only because Garin kept jumping out of the way that he wasn't sliced to ribbons by the hulking man.
Talin surprised her, though. He was really quite good with a sword. Too good, in fact. He flourished his sword around and sliced at her in a funny, smooth way. He always held his left hand behind his back, which struck her as odd. He was stronger than her, obviously, and after a while blocking his attacks made her limbs feel heavy and weak. This annoyed her. She didn't enjoy being bested like this by a bleeding commoner – and he was definitely besting her.
Suddenly, Garin let out a strangled little cry. Leonille dropped the tip of her sword into the dirt and looked at him, worried that Hafa had gotten carried away and actually hurt him. But Hafa looked scared, too, and they were both looking in the same direction: between Talin and Leonille. She spun around and her jaw dropped. How had she not noticed the horrid stench? The horrid, familiar stench.
"Orcs," she hissed. Seven of them, standing right there, snarling viciously and drawing their swords. She took a step back and Talin followed. Soon the four of them were side by side, swords drawn menacingly.
"Look what we have here," said one of the orcs, probably the leader. "Four little mice, interrupting our party. I guess we'll have to squash them, eh, boys?"
"Garin," she breathed to the mousy boy next to her. "Go."
"Wha…"
"Just go, Garin. Warn Belan that we have trouble. We'll keep them off you," she snapped. He gulped, nodded, and then turned to run. Talin shot her a look like, what? But she ignored him.
"Oi! One of them's getting away!" said an orc.
"Fah! Let it run!" said the leader. "We'll kill these three and then catch up soon enough."
Leonille stared. They hadn't even attacked yet. How could they afford to be so bloody cocky?
"We won't let you pass," she checked her posture and raised her sword a little higher. The orcs burst into laughter.
"The wee little human thinks he can beat us!" roared the leader. "Go get 'em, boys!"
The orcs leaped forward, swinging their swords wildly. Hafa, Talin, and Leonille split apart and started fighting back, but the battle was a losing one before it even started. Seven well trained, well-conditioned orcs against three rookies? They were going to die.
"We are going to die," Talin muttered. Odd how he seemed to read her thoughts. There was a cry of pain as an orc slashed Hafa's side and he fell to the ground, whimpering. Make that two rookies. Talin and Leonille found themselves circling around their wounded comrade, blocking furiously. There was a dull thud behind her and she managed to catch a glimpse of Talin sinking towards the ground. Her jaw dropped and she gave a little cry, horrified. That was another one down. That made one girl versus seven full grown slavering beasts from hell.
Thoughts raced a million leagues an hour through Leonille's head. She was not going to die here. Not against seven measly orcs in a silly border skirmish. They would win. She would kill them. For all she knew, one of these was one of the ones that had slaughtered her parents, or her brothers. She would avenge them.
But how? This was going to be a difficult situation to get out of. She glanced around wildly for something, anything to get them out of this mess. Her vision clung to every piece of matter in the environment, until she was struck with a burst of inspiration. It probably wouldn't work, but she couldn't see any other, better options. And besides, why pass up a chance to practice her deceitful tactics?
The next time an orc stabbed at her the right way, she dodged just a hair, letting the blade clip her skin. The blood would hopefully make the charade convincing.
"Gah!" she yelled, and sank down to her knees. She made several wheezing noises and clutched her wound as if she was in great pain, while in reality the shallow scratch only stung a little bit. Alright, a lot, but not so much that she was handicapped, or about to pass out from pain or blood loss or something like that. She let her face land in the dirt and fell motionless. The orcs laughed and swept past her and her comrades. Once their voices were far enough away, she jumped to her feet and followed them at a safe distance. They weren't heading towards the camp, of course – seven against around twenty who were still there? They would be wiped out immediately. Instead, they veered off to the left. What was over there? Nothing she could think of, but she trailed them a little longer, anyways. It wouldn't do to not know what the foul creatures were planning.
One of the orcs pulled out what looked like a water skin and dangled it in front of his face.
"This is really gonna work?" he said. Even in his normal talking voice, it seemed like a snarl.
"Of course," answered the leader. "These idiot soldiers will drop like flies once we finish with this."
Leonille then realized with a horrible sinking feeling what the orcs were planning to do. She had to hurry up and warn the others, or the orcs would poison the water supply and force Gondor out of Osgiliath. She took off at high speed towards the camp. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her feet against the ground and her increasingly heavy breath. Her armor was relatively thin and lacked clanky metal parts, but it was still rapidly heating her body faster than a dress would. But you couldn't run in a dress, or fight in one either, and she was beginning to think that if she ever had to wear one again, she would die.
"Captain! Captain!" she yelled. She'd skipped over the main entrance in favor of scrambling over some boulders to save time. "Come, quick!"
"What is it, man?" Belan scowled and stomped up to her. "There are orcs on territory. If you're interrupting preparations - "
"I know where they're headed!" she gasped, doubling over to catch her breath. She was positive her face was red as a beet. "They're going to poison the wells! Drive us out for need of water!"
"What?" Belan roared. "All hands, head for the wells. Kill those damned creatures!"
There was a hustle of movement and all the soldiers still in camp rushed out and towards the wells, on foot and on horseback, until the only two people remaining were Leonille and Garin. She sat down next to him heavily and rubbed her eyes.
"Good job, Garin," she said. "They were all ready to go, thanks to you."
Garin wrung his hands nervously. "R – right…"
She leaned back against a crumbling pillar.. "You know, Hafa and Talin are still back there. We'd better go rescue them before they bleed out, eh?"
"Aye," he nodded and stood up. They went to fetch their horses, making sure to take Hafa and Talin's as well, and rode down. Talin was already on his feet when they got there, grumbling and rubbing a nice-sized lump on his forehead, while Hafa was moaning and clutching the wound on his side. Leonille helped him up, but nearly dropped him again when she noticed that his cut was barely any deeper than hers – and she'd run halfway across Osgiliath with it!