Reminder:: I do not own anything. Except Finwen. I might claim her yet. =3
So I'm still trying to squeeze in thirty chapters before Christmas. If I can, I think I'm a hero. xD Although I highly doubt it, I'm going to at least try. I want to keep the quality though, so if comes to a crunch, than I'd rather pass my deadline than throw out a bunch of crap. Capiche? =3
Warning! This chapter's weird! In time, you'll see that it's necessary, though, so bear through the drama llamas. x3
Let's see how good you are at interpreting dreams~.
Chapter Twenty-Five :: Shadow in the Houses
A woman is leaning over me. Her face is kind, but it is worn from years of motherhood. Right now, her eyes are frantic, but reassuring. This woman is a symbol of hope and comfort and hurt.
Her long blonde hair tickles my nose and I twitch. I cannot reach up to push her hair away. It's starting to bother me. My arm feels like a rock, so I try to move my head away instead. I cannot move my neck.
I start to cry from the frustration. I scrunch my nose and the woman recognizes the reaction. Absent mindedly pushing her hair back behind her ear, she smiles and tears spill out from her eyes. She starts yelling, but it's so hard to hear… There's just a steady thrum in my mind. White lights blind me for an instant and I squirm to get away, not remembering that I can close my eyes. All I know is that my nose still itches.
The scene changes, but my body is still unresponsive. Now I am lying flat on my back staring at a cloudy sky. The numbness is starting to wear away and I sit up and look around. The first thing I do is scratch my nose, and then I see that the land around me is very plain. Long over the horizon is a dark line, probably a forest? I cannot see anything of worth.
The ground underneath me pounds. Only now do I realize I'm wearing a plain white dress and it's very cold. I have no sleeves, so I hug my arms. I stand and look to the West where a large, steady line of creatures are racing towards my location. I can tell they are on horseback.
I wait impatiently for them to arrive as I shiver in the freezing wind that has picked up. My hair whips around my face and I feel like cutting it off – it's annoying me. The horsemen approach and their armor is clear to me first: they all bear the White Tree. Gondor. These are friends.
The riders are close enough for me to hear and see them clearly and be slightly afraid they will not stop. They are determined. Spears are out and aimed straight ahead of the line. They do not see me.
I shout to them, but it is too late. They cannot hear me. They will surely over take me. I am done.
A group of orcs have been approaching from the East unbeknownst to me. I was so concerned with the soldiers, I had not seen them coming at me from behind. I turn around just as the two armies collide with me in the middle.
I stand stupidly for awhile before I decide I need to get out of the way. Men are thrown from their horses and orcs are skewered on long spears of wood. I have suddenly gone deaf, for I cannot hear the clashing metal or the screams and howls of pain. I duck miraculously out of the way of a runaway sword stroke and effortlessly dodge a thrown spear. This battle is not mine. Therefore, I am not involved. I simply walk through the warfare and exit the battlefield without a scratch. No one has seen me or cares. Again, this is not my war.
Suddenly, I can recognize Faramir. He is riding a staggering horse far from the battle. The horse suddenly collapses and Faramir goes down with it. The horse is obviously dead: it has been run to death. Faramir lies on the ground, looking the same way. He does not have armor. Why does he not have armor like all the other men? Where is his sword? All he has is a heavy tunic and chainmail, weighing him to the ground, with the White Tree mockingly sewn onto the front.
I start to run to him. I have to help! The dead grass beneath my feet becomes faster and soon I realize I am not running faster, but the ground is. Faramir is getting farther and farther away, and I cannot reach him in time. He's going to die! He's going to die!
There is fire now and it forces me to stop running. I fall to the ground, coughing from the smoke that is engulfing me. I hear wedding bells tolling, but now I am sure they are for a funeral. They must be for my funeral.
I must leave. I must escape. All of this is too horrible. In my mind, I know if I run, I am not going to change anything, but my heart wants to flee. These images are terrifying and I do not want to see them anymore. I want to start over again. A new house. A new life. A new world…
Mordred was staring at his sword again. He loves it a little too dearly, some may say, but really, he could not imagine using it. Sure, ever since he was a boy, Mordred had dreamed of slaying fictitious orcs in the streets with his wooden replica, but this was so different. Now he may have to. If the war ever comes home.
"Mordred, are you listening? God, man, put that bloody sword away. You treat it kinder than a woman!" Benold teased, slapping Mordred on the shoulder. He walked nonchalantly over to a stool across the room where Tristed stood staring out the window. They were on duty again in one of the many towers, filling in the routine.
Benold cleared his throat and let out a cough for good measure. Breaking the silence the other two men created, he laughed. "Mordred! Toss me some of that leftover bread from Yule."
Without a word, Mordred tossed the bag over to his friend. Benold dug through it and chose a small roll. He observed it, testing its freshness by squeezing and prodding it. He finally bit into it and wrinkled his nose. "Hard." He said between bites. "Wouldn't hurt anyone if we could get some fresh bread, eh?"
"Only those who have left with all of it." Tristed replied. "Enjoy your sour bread, good friend. I think they'll need it more than us."
Benold nodded. They all secretly wished they could be one of the men in Captain Faramir's company, but the city needed to be guarded as well. Still, Faramir was so loved.
Things became quiet again and Tristed returned to the window. The three friends sat idly for awhile, but they were restless enough to notice Tristed's intake of breath.
"What is it?" Benold asked, already rising.
Tristed leaned out the window, seemingly trying to be sure in what he saw. "It's a girl!"
"A girl? Haven't you got one of those? Taur-something?" Benold asked with a hint of irritability or jealousy possibly in his tone.
"No, no! My, she's a good climber…" Tristed remarked, still looking out the window.
Benold reached the window and peered out as well. It took him only a second to see the girl, too. "That looks like the Lady Finwen!"
In an instant, Mordred sheathed his sword and rushed to the window, knocking the other two out of his way. He took one look and ran from the tower.
"Mordred!" Tristed called.
"Don't stop him, lad! Someone's got to help – why not us?"
A little guilty about leaving his post, Tristed decided there was no other option and followed in pursuit.
Luckily enough, the streets were completely empty. The moon was on the wane, but it gave enough light to illuminate the white city. And Finwen.
Tristed and Benold paused for a moment behind Mordred. The street was vacant and very quiet. They looked up.
Finwen was climbing the scaffolding surrounding the Houses of Healing. Not the most intricate gingerbread, it was rather impressive that she had gotten so high. Her balcony was at least ten feet to her left and she was edging along and upwards. By the random movements and long pauses, the three men had to assume she was sleepwalking.
Mordred started to take off his armor and dropped it in the street. "Wait here – catch her if she falls." He said, already starting to run.
"And where do you think you're going?" Tristed called.
"After her course!"
Mordred swiftly ran up the street – it was much easier without all his clanking armor. He reached the door to the Houses and found it locked fast. He knocked impatiently until the Warden appeared with a lantern.
Not giving the man a chance to question, Mordred said urgently: "Which way to Lady Finwen's room? I haven't time!"
"What're you doing here?" Ioreth, tying the last knot on her robe, asked as she wandered down the staircase.
In an effort to explain, Mordred simply decided to say: "Lady Finwen's in trouble."
The Warden allowed him to pass and Ioreth escorted Mordred to Finwen's room. Ioreth, still a little doubtful, opened the door first and checked the room herself to make sure everything was as he said. "She's gone!"
Huan looked delirious, but he was on the balcony staring upwards. The pair ran out onto the balcony and mimicked the dog's view. Ioreth let out a scream, but covered her mouth.
Finwen had somehow made it. She was walking along the side of the stone, hugging the wall, and already approaching the courtyard where the White Tree stood.
Mordred muttered a curse and ran from the room, realizing it would be futile trying to follow her. Ioreth stroked Huan, noticing the change in the old dog and was reluctant to leave him. Still, she could not forget Finwen and hastened from the room after Mordred, at a much more lady-like speed.
Mordred was the first to make it up to the last level of Minas Tirith. Of course, there was some obstacle with the password-keeping guards, but once he pointed out Finwen, they let him by. Benold and Tristed found Ioreth and they helped her pass the guards to catch up with Mordred.
The young guard stared out over the courtyard. The White Tree stood meek and mild in the center where guards still stood by. Just in case. The great doors of the looming White Hall were shut and a soft glow emitted from a tower high above them. He did not see her.
He turned around where the point of the courtyard ended and sky began. Finwen was running along the rail straight for the end where it stopped, staring East where the shadows in the sky were growing longer, even though dawn was approaching.
His stomach doing somersaults, Mordred made a wild dash after her. He needn't fear she would jump – in fact, she stopped just as she reached the end. Mordred stopped as well, confused, and not quite willing to approach her. She seemed a bit unstable after all…
"Finwen!" Ioreth's voice came from the stair. With Benold and Tristed at her heel, the old woman walked briskly towards Mordred and stopped when she took in the situation.
"Lady Finwen?" Mordred tried. Finwen stood erect, staring out over the fields of Pelennor and did not respond. Taking a different approach, he ordered: "Finwen, come down from there!"
Finwen slowly turned around. Wide-eyed with tear tracks down her pale face, she stared at the White Hall, over-looking the group before her. The crescent moon behind her made her look ominous. "All is hopeless… I cannot help him. He will die."
If he wasn't confused before, Mordred was in for a doozy. Because he could not think of anything to say, Ioreth stepped forward, somewhat knowingly. "He will not die, Finwen. You have given up too easily. Come down, child."
Finwen's blank eyes focused on Ioreth and she slowly nodded. "Yes… He does not need me… He will be alright…"
Ioreth opened her arms for the girl and Finwen blinked her eyes. She looked down at Ioreth with full recognition and wrinkled her brow. "Ioreth…?"
Half-dreaming still, Finwen was awake enough to realize where she was. She let out a small wail and let Ioreth pull her down and into a hug. Finwen cried, holding her mother tight.
"I… don't know what to do, Ioreth…! He doesn't need me. He doesn't need me, right? He can't need me!"
"Sh… darling… It's alright." Ioreth stroked her hair. She looked to the three men who stared back at her in shock at what was passing. "Who, dear?"
In a near inaudible whisper, one only Ioreth could barely catch, Finwen breathed: "I cannot marry him… his brother… I… no…"
Head spinning from the drama, Ioreth pat the poor girl's back and hushed her. She asked for the three to kindly escort them back to the Houses – Finwen needed to sleep. Without a word, the guards let Ioreth pass and followed behind her.
In a short breath, Tristed whispered: "Quite a sight! Never took her to be a head case… Always seems so… blissful."
"As did I." Benold agreed. "I always thought the lass was free from cares. Looks like she has too much on her mind, eh, Mordred?"
Mordred did not say anything.
OoC: So that was very strange, I know. I would have simply made her stand on an outcropping or something outside her balcony, but I added the excess of drama in the courtyard because I wanted to give everyone some more hints. Hope it didn't completely ruin everything like I suspect. x_x Anyways, thanks for reading! The next chapter is in the process.