DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Lord of the Rings" (books or movies) or "Avatar: The Last Airbender" or "Harry Potter" or "The Chronicles of Narnia" or any other book and/or movie I happen to mention
AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's been forever, I know, but this is a pretty long chapter, even though it is a bit of a filler. Enjoy and please review!
P.S. If you haven't read "The Games We Play", and you don't intend to, here's a little back story about Jasmine. Jasmine has been a servant all of her life, and was born into a family of servants. Her mother was the hand maiden to Fire Lady Ursa, and thus had very strong ties in the palace. When she was five and Zuko was six, she was given to him as a playmate. What started as just a weak bond between servant and master sprouted into a strong, and vast friendship. This relationship was often made a bit complicated by the fact that Jasmine's father was the leader of the Fire Nation Resistance, and she was often sent on little info. gathering missions for him, forcing Zuko along. He never told her secret, and carried it to the grave with him. When Zuko was thirteen, and challenged to an Agni Kai by Fire Lord Ozai, Jasmine defended him, and almost put the Fire Lord on his back, but was defeated by trickery and deceit. As punishment, she was banished along with Zuko. Three years later is where our story begins.
CHAPTER 25: Hot Child in the City
The ride to Minas Tirith was hard and exhausting. Jasmine was sore after the first day, but they could not stop for long. Jasmine followed Gandalf's instructions, riding in a south east direction, following the Great West Road. During the day they often had to stop and hide, for Nazgul circled the area like hawks. There weren't many of them, but Jasmine knew that not even Nightwing could outrun a fell beast. On the second day she stopped at a lone house on a hill just outside of the Firien Wood. The dangerous looking men who habitated the strange place were wary of her until she mentioned one of Gandalf's more widely known names: Mithrandir. They weren't exactly friendly after that, but they didn't point weapons in her direction anymore. They gave her food and shelter, and a place to sleep besides the back of a horse, and in the morning she was off.
Living on a bite of lembas a day, and a sore butt, Jasmine was looking more and more forward to arriving in Minas Tirith with every passing hour. And more forward to seeing Zuko again. Especially at night, when the true chill of winter hit her hard, she longed for his warmth. Shivering on Nightwing's back, she wished for his arms around her, for his voice in her ear. She felt stupid for falling so hard in the middle of a war, but she regretted nothing. Being with him was the happiest thing that had ever happened to her.
As the sun rose on the third day, Jasmine found herself looking on the White City of Minas Tirith.
It was absolutely breathtaking, like someplace out of a dream or a dream of a dream. The city was all made of white stone that the sun caught with every turn of the light. It was built into a cliff face, eight levels traveling higher and higher until it ended at a great tower and a citadel that shone brightly even from where Jasmine stood. The semi-circular shaped city was split practically down the middle by a thrusting pier of rock, causing the city to look more like a mountain.
But, closer than Jasmine could have ever imagined stood Mordor. It was dark and radiated a constant ora of death and decay, sheltered by mountains that only allowed the fires of Mount Doom to show. Somewhere in that was Frodo and Sam. Jasmine wanted to cry just thinking about the two Hobbits wandering in such a place. How Minas Tirith could have stood this long in its shadow baffled her.
Jasmine rode to the first set of enormous, finely engraved gates, looking up at the barricades above it.
"State your name and business in the city!" shouted a guard down at her.
"My name is Jasmine, daughter of Roso, member of the Company of the Ring that set out from Rivendell! I have come at Mithrandir's bidding!"
There was a pause, probably the guards measuring the truth of Jasmine's words, before there was a resounding echo of, "Open the Gate!"
The metal hinges groaned as the gate slowly opened before her. The city was even more magnificent inside the gate. At the entrance of the first level was a large stature of a man on horseback, his face proud and stern and ancient. This city was old. Older than even Ba Sing Se.
A soldier approached her, dressed in full plate mail, the image of a wilting tree on his chest.
"Has Mithrandir arrived already?" she asked, breathing heavily.
"Yes, my Lady. Not fifteen minutes passed, and rode directly to the Citadel on the eighth level."
Jasmine looked up at the towering city, and groaned inwardly. Great. More riding.
-8-8-
Jasmine arrived at the top level, and was near collapsing. Gandalf and Pippin stood at the door to the Citadel, looking rather pleased to see her.
"Ah, Jasmine. Just in time." said Gandalf in the matter-of-fact tone of voice that he favored.
"I certainly hope so." she said, her voice coming out raspy and lacking in strength. She dismounted with unsteady feet, her legs numb from lack of use. Slowly but steadily, she approached the wizard and Hobbit.
The courtyard of the Citadel was also made of white stone, with a finely trimmed lawn surrounding a small fountain and a white, leaf-less tree. Four men in ornate armor stood facing away from the tree, unmoving. They guarded the dying tree like they guarded the heart of the city itself. As she walked past them, they didn't even register her presence. Didn't blink. Didn't twitch. She wasn't even sure if they were even breathing.
"What's with them?" she asked once she stood directly in front of Gandalf.
"I shall explain the guards later, but now subtly is needed." answered the wizard. "Lord Denethor is the Steward of Gondor, a caretaker of the throne, and Boromir's father. To give him news of his beloved son's death would be most unwise." Jasmine and Pippin both nodded in understanding. "And do not mention Frodo. Or the Ring." More nods. "And say nothing of Aragorn either." Gandalf turned to enter the Citadel before he stopped once again. "In fact, it would be better if neither of you spoke at all. Especially you, Peregrin Took."
Pippin hung his head a bit, but nodded in affirmation all the same.
The doors to the great hall opened, and Jasmine was instantly knocked back by the pure grandeur of the space. It was truly a hall of kings. Everything was clean and masterful, the windows were deep and lined each side of the hall. Columns made of black marble the size of Ents also lined the hall, given the room an ever more majestic look than the initial impression. The ceiling was high and arched, going on forever, it seemed. As they walked down the long expanse of the hall, Jasmine noticed vaguely that there were no tapestries or hangings lining the walls, much different from the Golden Hall of Edoras. Instead, in between each pillar was a tall marble statue of a passed king of Gondor. They were beautiful and carved to be life-like in every aspect, but they were cold. Imitations of life were all they were. At the very end of the hall was a raised dais with many steps leading to a white marble throne. Behind the throne, carved into the wall, was the image of a bare tree crowned with seven stars, the sigil of Gondor. Suspended above the white throne was the image of a golden crown. Everything was there. The throne. The crown. No king.
But, at the foot of the throne of the king, slouched over in a lesser throne of black marble, was the man that Jasmine assumed to be Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Jasmine couldn't tell much about the man since he was buried under so many layers of expensive fur and silks and velvets. Hopefully when they were closer, she would be able to get a good look at the the man who was Boromir's father.
There was no sound but the echo of Gandalf's staff on the hard floor as the three made their way closer and closer to the throne. The silence was slightly unnerving for Jasmine. There was no one in the hall, no one. Jasmine would rather be met with unfriendly eyes than no eyes at all.
Finally, they arrived about five feet in front of Denethor's throne. The man sat so still, that one would think that he was entirely unaware of their presence. Also, now that they were closer, Jasmine noticed that the man was cradling something in his hands, like one would a small child. He seemed in a state of grief.
"Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion," Gandalf said, finally breaking the tense silence. "Lord and Stewart of Gondor. I come with tidings in this dark hour, and with counsel."
Then, from beneath the dark robes, a voice once proud, but bent and broken with corruption spoke up. "Perhaps you have come to explain this."
Denethor sat up, and the item he was cradling was revealed. It was an ivory horn, split directly down the middle. Even in its ragged and disfigured state, Jasmine instantly recognized it. It was one of those things she would never forget. The last time she saw that horn it was hanging from Boromir's hip as she fell into the darkness of Khazad Doom. She heard Pippin gasp next to her. The last time he had seen that horn was seconds before Boromir died.
"Perhaps you have come to tell me why my son is dead."
Denthor rose his head, and Jasmine got a good look at the man. Her first thought was how could this man who was dead inside ever father a person so full of life like Boromir. His skin was so pale that it was practically transparent, his eyes were dark, fathomless holes that lead to nowhere. His hair was silver-grey and long, hanging across his face like a veil. His bone structure was that traditional, noble, Gondorian look that Jasmine had seen in Gondor, but the shadows cast by his sunken in skin reminded her more of a Wraith than a substitute king.
"Boromir died defending us, my kinsman and me."
Pippin's voice was such a shock that Jasmine almost didn't register it. She inwardly sighed. Thank you, Pippin.
"I stood beside him, as he blew that horn. He fell defending us from many foes." said the Hobbit as he moved in front of Gandalf, dropping to his knee.
"I offer you my service, such as it is, in payment for this debt." Jasmine heard Gandalf mumbled something next to her which could roughly translate to, "Oh Agni, please no."
Denethor's permanent scowl deepened even more than possible, and when he spoke again, his voice was like the shadow of death itself.
"This is my first command to you. How did you escape, and yet he did not, so mighty a man as he was."
Jasmine silently prayed that Pippin would for once not answer that question literally.
"The mightiest man may be slain by one arrow. But Boromir was pierced by many."
Judging by the look on both Gandalf and Denethor's faces, that was not the proper answer.
"Get up." Gandalf commanded gruffly, tapping Pippin on the back with his staff, quickly moving to salvage the odd situation. "My lord, there will be a time to grieve for Boromir. But it is not now. War is coming."
"Boromir would not want you to grieve for him when the city he loved so much is in danger." said Jasmine, stepping forward. Denethor's harsh gaze was suddenly turned on her.
That's right. She wasn't in Rohan anymore. She was a woman, a foreign woman, in another man's court. She should probably should have just turned around and walked back to Edoras for all the good it was doing her.
"You were not addressed, woman." he practically spat in her direction.
"Forgive me, my lord." said Jasmine with a slight bow, instinctively falling back into her submissive, servant decorum. "My name is Jasmine, daughter of Roso, member of the..."
"Yes, I am aware of who you are, foreigner." Denethor's eyes then turned back to Gandalf. "Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. With your left hand, you would use me as a shield against Mordor, and with your right you would seek to supplant me. I know who rides with Theoden of Rohan. Oh, yes. Word has reached my ears of this Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
"There is no time for these suspicions, my lord!" Gandalf's voice vibrated with rising annoyance. "The enemy is on your doorstep. As steward, you are charged with the defense of this city. Where are Gondor's armies? You still have friends. You are not alone in this fight. Send word to Theoden of Rohan. Light the beacons."
Considering the circumstances, Jasmine thought that Gandalf was being pretty calm. If she was faced with a complete tyrant like Denethor, she would not be nearly so composed.
Denethor's scowl slowly turned up into a a sinister smirk.
"You think you are wise, Mithrandir, but for all your subtitles, you have no wisdom. I tell you now, I will not bow to the Ranger from the North, last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship."
Jasmine outwardly bristled at that. An insult to Aragorn might as well has been an insult to her. Gandalf seemed equally put off.
"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king, steward!"
Denethor suddenly stood, seeming to lurch forward like some enraged, rabid beast.
"The rule of Gondor is mine! And no other's!"
Jasmine could only stare at the man before her. This was the reason that Gondor had become the long-running joke of Middle-earth. Men like this, so utterly weighed down by the imitation of power that they mistook it for true nobility - were given charge over Men. Aragorn was needed now more than ever.
Gandalf stood for a moment, staring with intense eyes at Lord Denethor, searching maybe for some glimmer of hope, some small trace of nobility that would lead Minas Tirith through the maelstrom that was heading towards them. But what he saw must not have been satisfactory, for with a deep sigh, the wizard turned and hurried out of the hall. Jasmine and Pippin could do nothing else but follow.
As Jasmine prepared to exit through those intimidating doors that had seen so much, she turned to see Denethor once again hunched over in his pretend throne, clutching Boromir's horn to his chest, the image of a man who was far too broken to ever be put back together.
-8-8-
"All has turned to vain ambition!" Gandalf raved when they were finally free of the silent hall. Jasmine was far too relieved to be out in the open again.
"He would even use his grief as a cloak!"
"It is sad to think that such a place has been handed over to people like that." Jasmine said solemnly, the doors closing soundly behind her.
Gandalf stopped, looking out over the fields of Pelennor, Mordor staring them in the face.
"A thousand years this city has stood. Now, at the whim of a madman, it will fall. And the White Tree, the tree of the King, will never bloom again."
The three passed said tree, and still, the men guarded it.
"Why do they still guard it?" asked Pippin, voicing Jasmine's thoughts, as well. As Gandalf spoke, they walked down the long walkway that thrust out of the mountain, towards the pinnacle.
"They guard it because they have hope. A faint and fading hope that one day it will flower. That a king will come and this city will be as it once was, before it fell into decay. The old wisdom borne out of the West was forsaken. Kings made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living, and counted the names of their descent dearer than the names of their sons. Childless lords sat in aged halls, musing on heraldry, or in high, cold towers asking questions of the stars. And so the people of Gondor fell into ruin. The line of kings failed. The White Tree withered. The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."
Jasmine had heard similar stories concerning the Fire Nation from her father. How the Fire Lords became blinded by the promise of power, so blinded that they forgot their purpose in the world. However, there was always hope. That was why the Earth Kingdom fought, and the Water Tribes, and the Resistance. Hope that the Fire Nation could be the great, peaceful nation it once was again.
At the pinnacle of the walk way, Mordor appeared even closer. The mountain peaks were utterly dark, the fires of Mount Doom showing from the other side. Dark clouds rolled out from behind rocks, the sharp rumble of thunder reaching even their ears. Yet, there was something...unnatural about the thunder, about the clouds. It seemed far too menacing, like it was intentionally meant to inspire fear.
"Mordor." whispered Pippin, his eyes on the intimidating horizon.
"Yes. There it lies." responded Gandalf. "This city has ever dwelt in the sight of its shadow."
"A storm is brewing." said Jasmine as she watched the heavy clouds with wary eyes.
"This is not the weather of the world. This is a device of Sauron's making. A broil of flame he sends ahead of his host. The Orcs of Mordor have no love of daylight, so he covers the face of the sun to ease their passing along the road to war."
"Like the Uruks of Isengard?" Jasmine asked. "Half of their defeat came with the day light."
"Yes, very much like Uruk-hai. However, unlike the darkness of the night that surrenders to day, this darkness will not fade. When the Shadow of Mordor reaches this city...it will begin."
For a moment, they stood in silence, Gandalf's words hanging heavily on them all. Those clouds were already close enough. It would not be long, now. Not long at all.
"Well," said Pippin with a sigh. "Minas Tirith. Very impressive. Where to next?" Pippin turned to away from the Citadel, but he didn't get far.
"Oh, it is too late for that, Peregrin." said Gandalf in a voice made heavy by the weight of the world. "There is no leaving this city. Help must come to us."
A strong gust of wind came in from the mountains, wrapping around Jasmine's head, tossing her hair into her face. She knew that she would make a stand in Minas Tirith. She just prayed that Theoden got there in time. That Zuko got there in time.
-888-
Jasmine could not remember feeling so worn and weathered, like a leather boot. The dirt of hard travel clung to her body, and she desperately was in need of a bed.
Since she was a guest of Gandalf's, and Gandalf was as good as a king in Minas Tirith, they were given noble rooms on the sixth tire of the city, as close to the Steward and the King's quarters as possible.
Jasmine had not been in a building of royal standard in a long time, but she remembered how things worked. The white marble was very different from black granite, but the atmosphere was the same. After being directed through a maze of hallways and passages and many rooms that had very similar looking doors, she made it to what she hoped was her room.
When she opened the door, she found that the room was rather beautiful. It was clean and white, with a large window that looked out over Pelennor Fields. It included a large bed, a desk, two chairs, and a small table. Compared to two days on horseback, it was heavenly.
Also, her new room came with a thin, young girl with crimson hair, wearing a simple grey dress. Her eyes were in a constant state of submission, her posture making her seem constantly small. Jasmine recognized such a uniform easily. A servant. This suddenly became very awkward.
When her eyes landed on Jasmine, the girl bowed stiffly at the waist, her hand clasped in front of her. She couldn't have been more than fifteen - Jasmine's age, actually. Okay, this was very awkward.
"Lady Jasmine," said the girl with a slight accent she could not pinpoint. "My name is Ceola. I will be attending you while you are in Minas Tirith."
Jasmine tried to swallow, but she found her throat to be rather dry.
"Um...thank you, Ceola, but I really don't need an attendant while I'm here."
"You are a guest of the Steward, my lady." said Ceola in that soft voice of hers. "It would be unfitting for you to be unattended."
"No, really, I know that you have other things to do, I don't want to be on your daily list."
"My lady. I appreciate your kindness, but I'm afraid there is no getting rid of me."
Jasmine opened her mouth to argue, but she was far too tired. Perhaps after she had taken a nap, she would be more prepared.
"I guess not." Jasmine sighed deeply, closing the door behind her. "But, if we're going to do this, please don't call me 'my lady'. Jasmine is fine, I promise you."
Ceola seemed rather shocked by that. Certainly, no one ever disputed being called by a higher title. It was unheard of.
"V-very well my la - Jasmine, I mean." she stuttered, obviously uncomfortable. "Is there anything I may do for you?"
Jasmine sat down on the edge of the bed, and almost fell directly asleep. It felt so nice being on a mattress again. She looked down at her skirt and actually flinched when she realized how dirty she was. She couldn't believe she came before Lord Denethor looking such a mess. He probably thought she was some kind of mannerless savage.
"Um, actually, there is." said Jasmine, looking up at Ceola. "Could you maybe find a spare dress somewhere, my clothes are so filthy..."
"Of course, my lady - "
"Jasmine."
"Jasmine, I mean. Shall I have your clothes washed in the mean time?"
"Oh, I can do it myself if you just point me in the direction of..."
"Nonsense, my lady. You have been riding for nearly three days. You deserve to rest."
Jasmine didn't know how it happened, but she suddenly found herself in a thin chemise, tucked into the divinely soft bed, her traveling clothes folded neatly in Ceola's arms. Either the girl was good, or Jasmine was beyond exhausted. Those pillows really were very soft.
"I will have new attire laid out for you. Send for me through one of the guards outside if you have any need."
"Thank you, Ceola." Jasmine whispered sleepily, the world becoming a foggy haze.
"Of course, my lady. Sleep well." said Ceola before Jasmine heard the door close.
"Jasmine.", Jasmine whispered, before the seductive call of sleep enveloped her.
-888-
Jasmine woke from a dreamless sleep not six hours after she arrived. As soon as her eyes opened, she berated herself for waking. The bed was absolutely marvelous, so soft and large. She struggled to put herself back to sleep, but it was impossible. She was undoutably awake.
With a groan, she pulled herself up, her body feeling heavy, yet well rested. She instantly noticed a new dress laid out on the edge of her bed, an outfit more beautiful than she expected. It was simple in design, but rich in fabric. The base was a navy blue with white sleeves, simple design made from something close to silk, with white sleeves made from a lighter material, that flared out at the elbow. There was lacing up the sleeves, allowing for easy change in length, and a wide, white satin belt that Jasmine could loosely tie around her middle. It was an absolutely beautiful dress that was loose enough to move around in, yet designed in such a way that it would be fit for Gondor's court. Jasmine grinned as she looked herself over in the full length mirror in the corner of her room. Ceola did well.
Jasmine slowly exited her room, looking up and down the ancient white halls. Just as Ceola had said, there were two silent guards stationed outside of her door. She wasn't sure if that was proper guest treatment...or a more elaborate type of prison.
"Um...would either of you be able to direct me to the stables?" It was her duty to make sure Nightwing was settled in.
She was almost surprised when one of them answered.
"Yes, my lady. On the sixth level, following the horse emblems on the walls, you will be lead right to them."
"Oh." she answered with a smile. "Thank you."
For such a serious group of people, they were awfully nice.
-8-8-
Walking through the city of Minas Tirith was like walking through some kind of spirit city. The people moved like shadows through the white streets, like ghosts of ghosts. There seemed to be more of a silence in this city than in any other place Jasmine had visited during her time in Middle-earth. But, not a happy peace that filled her heart with calm, but a foreboding peace. Like the entire city had already signed its own death certificate, and were preparing themselves for the afterlife. Jasmine's steps quickened.
The stables of Minas Tirith were almost as grand as the stables of Edoras. The clean, sophisticated style that the rest of the city had adopted was translated in the home of the steeds. Elegant and bright, it was beautiful. But cold.
Jasmine instantly spotted Nightwing - the black, brazen stallion just shone with attitude - but she also spotted Pippin speaking with Shadowfax, who occupied the stable next to Nightwing. There was a soldier with him, dressed in black and white, with a handsome face and head full of shining hair.
"Oh, Jasmine! It's good to see you up, and looking quite beautiful, I must say." said Pippin when he spotted Jasmine coming towards them.
"Why, thank you Pippin. A few hours on an actual mattress does miracles. I was just coming to check on Nightwing." Jasmine gestured towards the Meras, who was currently neighing and stomping with vigor at the sight of his rider.
"You ride that stallion, my Lady?" asked the soldier, an utterly baffled look on his face. Jasmine only shrugged.
"You wouldn't be surprised how many times I've gotten that reaction. I'm Jasmine, by the way."
"Yes, I am very familiar with the stories of you, Lady Jasmine. The stallion rider, the victor of death, the beautiful lady of white fire." The man's eyes shone slightly, and the a girlish blush crept up Jasmine's neck. "Yes, your name is quite infamous here." The soldier bowed low, his white cape flaring out dramatically behind him.
"I am Beregond, son of Baranor, of the City Guard, at your service."
"Beregond is enlightening in regards to my duties as member of the Guard!" Pippin said, practically bursting with excitement, like the eager young pupil he was.
"Well, do you mind if I join you on your tour?" asked Jasmine. "I know Gandalf is very busy doing...well, whatever it is Gandalf does when he disappears. I would wander the city on my own, but in a place like this, I'd be lost for months."
"It would be an absolute honor, my Lady." said Beregond, face beaming.
-8-8-
So, Beregond lead them throughout the city, showing the store rooms and posts that the Guard used. It truly was an amazing city, full of secret doors and stairwells that lead to more secret doors. A city of mystery and grace, not so different from Ba Sing Se. The people treated with constant kindness and awe, like she was some kind of legend come to life. Apparently, she was widely known as the Lady of White Fire. Jasmine had no idea that their little quest had spread so far. She had gone from being an obscure foreigner to a hero of legend, and she had to admit, that it was growing on her.
The sun was making its steady way into the west when Beregond ended their tour. They sat on a long bench built into stone, looking as the sunlight washed over the great fields of Pelennor. Mordor stared right back at them, the thunder it created rumbling in the distance, shaking the earth. It turned a beautiful scene into an anthem for death instantly.
"What can I see there? Is it another city?" asked Pippin, pointing east. Jasmine focused her sight on where Pippin was pointing, and did actually see a great collection of buildings and bridges built almost over the Anduin. But, there was no life in that city. It was ruined, only inhabited by ghosts. Even from that distance, a lost cause was obvious to Jasmine.
"It was a city once." Beregond's voice was like one great sigh as he spoke. "The chief city of Gonodr, Minas Tirith was only a fortress. Now it is the ruin of Osgiliath that our enemies burned and over-ran. Yet, even now, Captain Faramir -
"Boromir's brother?" asked Pippin and Jasmine simultaneously
"The very same - and the few forces that remain under him defend the city."
"But, why do they defend the city if it's overrun?" asked Pippin, his eyes wide with innocence. Beregond struggled to not say the words allowed, but Jasmine did not hold such strong allegiances.
"Denethor. He does not favor Faramir, does he?"
"There have been rumors that the late Captain Boromir was highly favored by Lord Denethor. But those are only rumors." Jasmine snickered.
"Well, you know what they say about rumors."
Jasmine continued to stare out over the fields that grew dark as dusk approached. Yet, her eyes always strayed on Mordor. Even now, the great, dark essence that shone from the land grew, as did the anxiety in her heart.
-8-8-
The night descended, and an even more profound hush swept over the city. For a place so large and populated, there was little to no activity. The Minas Tirith that Hayward had described to her was close to nothing but a memory now.
Jasmine could not sleep in the strange, lonely, intimidatingly large room, so she instead set up camp in Gandalf's room with Pippin. Before leaving them, Beregond had given Pippin a short sword, armor, helm, and finery bearing the sigil of Gondor. It was actually quite a nice uniform, almost royal, in Jasmine's opinion.
Gandalf stood at the balcony of his quarters, a pike out of the corner of his mouth, staring pensively out towards Mordor. Jasmine occasionally heard him mumble something incoherent, but otherwise it was like they were not even there.
"This is all very nice." said Pippin as he stared oddly at his newly given sword. "But, I am sure it is just a...ceremonial position. They don't actually expect me to do any fighting. Do they?"
"You are a servant of the Steward now." said Gandalf, his back still turned. "You are going to have to do what you're told. Servant of the Citadel."
In the midst of Gandalf's grumbling, the tabacoo had gone in the wrong way, causing the old wizard to cough heavily. Without so much as a second thought, Jasmine poured a cup of water from a pitcher provided in the room.
Jasmine laid a soft hand on Gandalf's back, causing him to jump at her touch. She did not say a word, just smiled, and presented him with the cup. He smiled in return, and squeezed her should in his much larger hand. When people are trapped on the top of a mountain for hours, they form pretty strong bonds.
Pippin came to join them at the balcony, even though he had to stand a bit straighter to see over the railing.
"It's so quiet." he whispered, as if his voice alone would shatter the silence.
"It is the deep breath before the plunge." said Gandalf.
Jasmine tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, saying, "It won't be long now, will it?"
"No, my dear. Not long at all."
"I don't want to be in a battle." said Pippin suddenly. "But waiting for one I cannot escape is even worse."
Jasmine knew the feeling well. In the Fire Nation, growing up, everyday was a potential battle. Her father could leave on a mission for the Resistance and never come back at any time. Her family was constantly in danger of being discovered and executed, always having to hide and sneak and whisper. The anxiety grew even worse with the revelation of the Avatar. She never knew who they would be fighting next, who they would be running from next. The peace that she and Zuko knew in the Shire was truly the most peace they had known in their lives. And now she found herself right back in the thick of it. Just as Haldir said.
"Was there ever any hope, Gandalf? For Frodo and Sam?" asked Pippin with his eyes on Mordor. Gandalf sighed deeply, inhaling a puff of tobacco.
"Only a fool's hope."
"Well, it is a good thing we are a band of fools." Jasmine smiled, and turned to look at her two companions. It had been said, before they departed Rivendell, that the Company was a fool's mission, made up of nothing but fools. Technically speaking, a fool's hope was the only hope they had.
"Our enemy is ready. His full strength is gathered. Even though there is activity throughout Middle-earth- beyond the Inland Sea, north in Mirkwood, and beyond - it is here that the hammer stroke will fall hardest. Not only Orcs, but legions of Haradrim from the South, mercenaries from the coast. All will answer Mordor's call. This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. If the garrison at Osgiliath falls, the last defense of this city will be gone."
"Well. We have the White Wizard." said Pippin in the cheeriest voice he could manage. "That has to count for something."
Instead of the confidant pride that Jasmine knew Pippin was hoping to see, instead Gandalf seemed to sink even deeper into his foreboding.
"Sauron has yet to reveal his deadliest weapon. The one who will lead Mordor's armies. The lord of the Nazgul, the greatest of the nine. The one they say no living Man can kill. The Witchking of Angmar."
Just hearing the name, Jasmine felt an intense chill cover her entire body.
"You've met him before. He stabbed Frodo at Weathertop. And I believe you had an encounter with him, as well, Jasmine."
"My shoulder still doesn't move like it did before." Yes, Jasmine remembered.
Suddenly, from the depths of Mordor, a blinding green light shot into the sky. A blood-chilling scream came up with it, and the city shook from the intensity. Jasmine stepped back from the balcony, seeing but not believing. She faintly remembered seeing a similar light before months ago on the frigid waters of the South Pole. But this light was different. The change that it signaled was certainly for the worst.
The fear in her heart was like none she had ever felt. She clutched her chest, hoping to grasp the darkness that was there, but the pain could not be moved. In the light of this amazing power and evil, she was numb. Tears ran unhindered down her face, called forth by a will not her own. This was it. Mordor was on the move.
"We have come to it at last." said Gandalf, his face cold as stone. "The great battle of our time. The board has been set. The pieces are moving."
-888-
The morning started early, for Gandalf has a plan. If Denethor wasn't going to protect his own city, Gandalf would do it for him.
The sun was making its ascent when Jasmine and Pippin gathered around Gandalf in an obscure ally in the city.
"It appears that if a chance does not present itself, we must take it for ourselves." said Gandalf in a hushed voice. "Peregrin Took, my lad, there is a task now to be done. A chance for the folk of the Shire to once again prove their worth."
Gandalf turned and stared up at the rocky cliff off that housed the Beacon of Minas Tirith. Based on what she had been told, Jasmine knew that this beacon was one of many that were in close enough proximity to each other that one was lit, another would be lit immediately after. The line ended outside of Edoras, a call for aid between the great kingdoms of Men. It was there hope that when Theoden saw the beacons, he would come to the aid of Gondor. Or, at least, that was the plan.
"Is it really necessary for Pippin to climb...well, up there?" asked Jasmine. Just looking up that high made her head spin. "I can try to aim for the beacon with my firebending."
Shaking his head firmly, Gandalf said, "No. A display of firebending that large would attract too much attention. If you miss, we will be detained before you could make a second attempt. No, with the methods we have at our disposal, this is the only way."
Gandalf knelt down to where he was face-to-face with Pippin. He squeezed the young Hobbit's shoulder in his large hand, his face utterly serious.
"You must not fail me."
Pippin's eyes reflected that same seriousness. He give his head it quick nod before disappearing down the streets of Minas Tirith, towards the beacon.
"All we can do now is wait, and hope, my dear." said Gandalf as he watched Pippin vanish. Jasmine instead kept her eyes on the beacon, praying that this plan came through for all of their sakes.
-8-8-
Watching Pippin climb the cliffside towards the beacon was the most nerve wracking thing Jasmine had ever seen. She and Gandalf were supposed to be acting subtle and unsuspecting in order to not draw attention to Pippin's secret mission, but she could just not turn her eyes away. Hobbits were apparently amazing climbers, because Pippin's feet never strayed, and he never faltered. After only a few minutes of climbing, he was already beginning to climb onto the dais that housed the beacon.
Gandalf whistled quickly, alerting her that a group of soldiers were approaching. They both ducked their heads - looking more suspicious than subtle, in her opinion - and once the soldiers passed, they raised their heads again. Now, Pippin was standing fully on the tall haystack that made up the beacon.
Jasmine had to strain her eyes, but she could still make out the Hobbit reaching up on his toes, reaching for the lamp that stayed constantly lit. Soon, the rope snapped, causing the canister of oil to fall onto the haystack. Pippin quickly took the lamp, and threw it onto the oiled beacon, and it instantly caught light.
Jasmine forwent all subtlety and shrieked with happiness, jumping lightly on the balls of her feet. Gandalf wasn't as "bouncy" about his joy at the success of the mission, but there was a smile on his face that Jasmine had not seen since before Moria.
As the fire continued to spread, the fire became more pronounced, causing people to take notice. Jasmine followed Gandalf as he raced to the closest wall where he could get a clear view of the beacon and the mountain range that framed it.
Suddenly, Jasmine saw a lone flame erupt on one of the white peaks.
"Amon Din..." Gandalf whispered, as if he were counting the beacons as they set ablaze.
"The beacon! The beacon of Amon Din is lit!" shouted one of soldiers posted on the wall. Immediately, the walls were full of people as they watched the almost beautiful procession. On and on they went, covering the mountain with small, glorious bursts of light.
Gandalf sighed deeply, the strong winds rustling his white robes. "Hope is rekindled."
Yes, hope was set ablaze again, thought Jasmine. But just as the beacons would bring aid, they would bring Zuko closer to her.
-8-8-
When Pippin made it back to their meeting place in the alley, he was hailed like the hero he was. The tide had suddenly turned in their favor, and if Theoden made it in time with Rohan's host, they stood a chance. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless. To celebrate, Gandalf lead them to a pub and inn on the lowest ring of the city, in the Lampwrights' district. There, they happened to meet Beregond's son, Bergil, who was playing in the streets as they passed. Jasmine had not heard much of children's' laughter since she arrived in Minas Tirith. It was good to see some hint of life on the solemn streets.
"You were brilliant, Pippin, I'm so proud of you." said Jasmine as she nursed a mug of watered-ale.
"Oh, it was nothing really." said Pippin, feigning humility. "Just another desperate effort in the day of the Company."
Jasmine snickered almost bitterly. Wasn't that the truth.
"So, what happens now?" the firebender asked of Gandalf. The wizard leaned back in his chair, smoking his pipe half-heartedly.
"Now, we have no choice but to wait, and hope that Theoden arrives in time. However, the beacon of light we saw last night is like the passing of an hour. We are running out of time. If Mordor arrives at the Great Gates before Rohan, we have no choice but to defend Minas Tirith to the best of our abilities."
"What about Osgiliath?" asked Pippin. "I mean, as long as Osgiliath stands, we have time, right?"
Gandalf groaned, his head shrouded in a cloud of tobacco smoke.
"Osgiliath is a cause that has long been lost. Its fall could come at any time."
A sudden explosion of noise filled the once quiet pub when the door was thrown open and Bergil stood at the threshold, panting heavily.
"Mithrandir, you must come quickly!" The need for swiftness was evident in the young boy's voice.
"What has happened, what is wrong?" asked Gandalf, standing. Jasmine just knew that the boy would say that Mordor was knocking at the gates, and the siege had begun.
"Captain Faramir is retreating from Osgiliath. Nazgul are attacking his men, Mithrandir!"
Gandalf was gone in a flash of white out the door before Jasmine could fully comprehend what was happening. Nazgul attacking so close to Minas Tirith? Now Sauron was taunting them, waving their imminent defeat in their faces. Jasmine shook herself out of her thoughts quickly, returning to the task at hand. White Flame had been proven to work against the fell beasts before, now should prove to be no different.
Jasmine raced out into the street only to find that Gandalf and Pippin had already vanished. There was just no keeping up with that wizard. Instead, she ran to the nearest stairs, taking two at a time to get to the top of the battlements. Gondorians had already begun to gather, pointing and crying out in horror at the morbid sight before them. A small band - maybe one hundred at the most - of mounted riders and soldiers were running full speed across Pelennor while three Nazgul perused. In fact, it wasn't even a pursuit, more of a massacre. The beasts would pick near three men - horses and all - up in their talons, fly a mile into the air, then drop them to their deaths. They didn't stand a chance of making it back to Minas Tirith alive.
"It's the White Rider!" a woman shouted next to her, pointing down towards the Great Gate. Sure enough, Shadowfax was galloping out from the gates bearing Gandalf and Pippin. Jasmine wasn't exactly sure what the wizard had in mind as far as a plan went, but she wasn't about to let him do all the work on her own.
Probably giving the many people around her a fatal heart attack, Jasmine leapt from the wall, and began to free fall. She closed her eyes as she fell, concentrating the firebending within her and the energy around her. When she opened her eyes, the White Flame had consumed her in the form of a firebird.
It had taken Jasmine years to learn how to control the firebird, and she hadn't even discovered the ability until she was ten. It was an accident at first, a spontaneous reaction when she had become too excited. It had scared Zuko near to death when she burst into flame, but the fact that it only lasted for a few seconds, and she did not burn, was even more shocking. With more meditation and tutelage from Iroh, she learned how to find the true potential of her firebird. Now that she had the White Flame, her firebird was large and stable enough to do damage.
Following Gandalf's lead, Jasmine watched as he raised his staff above his head, and a beam of bright light shot forth, piercing through the dark clouds that protected the Nazgul. The fell beasts shrieked and reared back as if they were burned. Jasmine made true that threat and pushed them back, calling out in the voice of a great bird. The fell beasts hissed dangerously at her firebird, but did not attack from fear of the heat of the fire.
The fell beasts hissed at her once again before their riders turned them around back towards the safety of Mordor. Jasmine had managed to keep them at bay that time, but when the true battle came, she knew that all nine would be attacking Minas Tirith at once. She could scare away three, but fight off nine? Now she prayed for Zuko's speedy arrival more than ever.
Jasmine flew over the courtyard inside of the Great Gate which was now full with worn soldiers of Gondor. Instead of the bright plate mail armor that most of the soldiers wore, these dressed in shades of brown and green like Rangers. Also, they all looked as if they had just met death and left with only a hand shake. Which was not that far from the truth.
She spotted Gandalf's white robes instantly, and let the firebird dissipate as she dropped down into the courtyard gracefully. She had been working on her skill, and thankfully she had managed to not let the dress Ceola found for her burn into ash. Many eyes stared at her with wonder and pure awe once her feet were back on the ground, particularly the young man mounted on a brown mare.
When her eyes first glanced over him, she thought she was looking at a younger version of Boromir. They had the same face, almost. Those same noble yet kind eyes, the same precise profile, even the same smile. Yet, he was the younger brother, that was obvious. There were less lines of worry in his brow, and his smile came easier. Where Boromir required much incentive to smile, to Faramir it was like second nature. The darkness behind the smile did not escape Jasmine this time, though. A hunger that when pushed far enough could turn into something dangerous.
"My Lady, that is quite the skill." he said, even his voice similar to Boromir's. "Never in my life have I seen anything like it."
"It has its advantages." she answered with a smile. "Faramir, I assume?" His grin was so bright, she could not help but grin along with him.
"You are correct. And you must be the Lady Jasmine I have heard so much of. Rumors of your beauty do not do you justice." Jasmine let her hair fall across her face, attempting to hide her blush. What was it with these Middle-earth men?
"I wish I could speak more on the pleasantries of the young, the tide of war has turned." The smile immediately vanished from Faramir's face, and his attention turned back to Gandalf. "Mithrandir, they have broken through our defenses. They have taken the bridge and the west bank. Battalions of orcs are crossing the river as we speak."
"It is as the Lord Denethor predicted!" shouted a Tower Guard soldier with long blond hair from within the crowd. "Long has he foreseen this doom!"
"Foreseen and done nothing!" responded Gandalf with enough bite to break stone. He steered Shadowfax's reigns so that the horse faced forward, revealing Pippin seated comfortably in front of Gandalf on the horse. As soon as Faramir's eyes landed on the Hobbit, and air of recognition filled them. Jasmine was not the only one who noticed.
"This is not the first Halfling to have crossed your path?" asked Gandalf, his eyes drawn tight in concentration. Faramir shook his head.
"No."
Pippin suddenly smiled a true, honest smile that Jasmine had not seen on him sense Hobbiton.
"You've seen Frodo and Sam?"
Faramir nodded.
Jasmine nearly fainted from relief. There had been no hint of Frodo and Sam since Boromir's death, and the Company could only assume that they lived. Now, there was proof that there was hope left. The quest that Elrond gave them in Rivendell was not lost yet.
"Where? When?" asked Gandalf in a hurried flow of words, a wide grin on his face throughout.
"In Ithilien not two days ago. But Gandalf, they're taking to road to the Morgul Vale." Gandalf's smile fell.
"And then the path of Cirith Ungol?"
Faramir nodded solemnly.
Jasmine didn't know what any of that meant, but none of it held a positive tone.
"Faramir, tell me everything."
-8-8-
Gandalf and Faramir had been engaged in conversation for what felt like hours, exchanging information regarding Frodo and the Ring. Thankfully, Frodo was alive and with Sam, but was being lead to Mordor by none other than Gollum. According to Faramir, their road did not appear to be strayed, but no one placed any trust in Gollum. And whatever the Morgul Vale was, it made Gandalf's skin go as white as his beard. Jasmine had wanted to stay and hear more, but Pippin needed help going over his declaration for the Tour Guard ceremony.
Jasmine had helped him dress in his uniform, brushing down his hair the best she could. They then stood outside of the Citadel, Jasmine listening while Pippin recited.
"Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor in..in..." Pippin squinted his eyes, as if that would make the words suddenly appear in his head.
"In peace or war." Jasmine said slowly.
"Right. In peace or war. In living or dying. From this hour henceforth, until my lord release me or death take me." Jasmine glanced over the crumbled piece of paper again, and nodded in approval.
"That's it! Sounds like you're ready."
Pippin didn't look very vigorous, however.
"Ready?" Crestfallen, Pippin sat next to Jasmine on the stone bench that occupied a small notch in the wall. "How could I ever presume to be ready for so large a task. What was I thinking? What service can a Hobbit from the Shire offer such a great lord of Men?"
Jasmine rested an arm around the Hobbit's shoulders, struggling to lighten his downhearted mood with her natural warmth. "Trust me, Pip. As far as this position goes, I think you're overqualified."
"She is right."
They both stood when they saw Faramir walking down the hall towards the Citadel. He had been cleaned up greatly, the mud and blood of battle washed away. He wore a new outfit that was certainly cleaner than what he arrived in, yet it still held the rugged aura of a ranger. He wore a simple wool shit and pants under a long, leather tunic with the white tree of Gondor emblem embossed on the front. In Jasmine's eyes, he certainly did look like a prince.
"It was well done." he said as he approached them in the hall. "Generous deeds should not be checked with cold council. Listen to Lady Jasmine, she knows of what she speaks." Faramir offered her a sideways grin and a wink, warming Jasmine's heart.
"Thank you, Faramir. Finally some wisdom."
"I do not claim to be wise, my lady. Only truthful. Now, you are to join to Tower Guard?" asked Faramir, turning his attention back to Pippin. The Hobbit shrugged, causing his uniform to shit awkwardly on his body.
"I did not think they would find any livery that fit me."
"They once belonged to a boy of the city." said Faramir. "A very foolish one, who wasted many hours slaying dragons instead of attending to his studies."
"This was yours?" Pippin asked in disbelief. Jasmine had said that it looked a little elegant for a Tower Guard.
"Yes, it was mine. My father had it made for me." said the son of Gondor as he pulled down on Pippin's sleeve, straightening the entire outfit.
"Well, I am taller than you were then. Even though I am not likely to grow anymore. Except sideways." This got a giggle out of everyone. Leave it to Pippin to shine light on a bleak situation.
"It never fitted me either. Boromir was always the soldier." Faramir's smile began to fade. "They were so alike, he and my father. Proud. Stubborn, even. But strong."
Jasmine felt that she had heard this speech before, but from a different prince.
"I believe you have strength." she said, smiling. "Of a different kind. And one day, your father will see it, I promise."
Faramir nodded in gratitude for the words, but they didn't seem to quite sink in.
"You are kind, Jasmine. Much too kind to be fighting in a war like this. And too young! Gandalf told me of your quest, yet I do not see why you would not want to stay in Edoras, where it is sure to be safer."
Jasmine could only shrug, having received that question many times as of late.
"I have a difficult time watching the people I love fight when I know I can help. I would have done nothing in Edoras but worry constantly about my friends, wishing that I could be out there with them. And speaking of worrying about friends...Frodo and Sam. When you saw them, how did they look? I mean, were they at least healthy? Did they look like they were eating well?"
Faramir smiled, and rested a hand on her much smaller shoulder, a move that Boromir had often made.
"For two Hobbits traveling to Mordor to destroy a Ring of Power, they looked extremely well."
Jasmine nodded, even though his response wasn't exactly comforting. Judging by the picture she saw in her head after Faramir's description, the image was rather bleak.
The doors to the throne room opened, causing a large echo to ripple down the hall.
"Lord Denethor will hear you now." said the guard who stood at the threshold to Pippin.
The young Hobbit swallowed loudly, and Jasmine could see his anxiousness around him, practically vibrating.
"You're gonna do fine, Pip." Jasmine whispered, using Pippin's nickname for the first time in a very long time. That seemed to take some of the weight off of his shoulders. With a deep sigh - his head held high - Pippin walked into the throne room with Jasmine and Faramir coming in behind him.
-8-8-
Pippin had done surprisingly well when reciting his oath. He hesitated at some parts - mostly in recognition of what exactly he was saying - but he did not falter ever. Even Denethor looked pleased, if that was possible. He looked down at Pippin from his black throne the type of amused smile an adult has on their face when watching a toddler attempt to sing a song, or dance in circles. Jasmine could see the few courtiers and servants that occupied the vast room giggling behind their sleeves like this was all some kind of farce put on for Denethor's entertainment. Pippin was apparently the only one who took his oath seriously.
Now Denethor had turned his wrath on Faramir. Standing before his father, Faramir looked more a boy than a man. Denethor sat a wide table laden with food, speaking to his son in a side-ways, indifferent manner that Jasmine had seen often when Fire Lord Ozai spoke to Zuko. It was the tone of constant disappointment.
"I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outward defenses." said Denethor to his son as he picked a chicken leg from one of the plates presented before him. "Defenses that your brother long held in tact."
"What would you have me do?" The exhaustion in Faramir's voice was enough to break Jasmine's heart.
"I will not yield the river of Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken."
"My Lord, Osgiliath is overrun!" Faramir had to hold back to resist shouting, Jasmine could see. He was trying so hard to be respectful. It was literally a mirror image of a conversation Zuko would have with his father. It was painful to watch.
"Much must be risked in war. Is there a Captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will? Boromir would have not forgotten the need of his people so easily. You allowed the Ring of Power, the greatest weapon in the world, to walk into Mordor in the hands of a witless Halfling! Boromir would not have squandered what fortune gave him."
"In no case would Boromir had brought the Ring to you." Faramir said suddenly. Denethor's eyes turned to him, cold and void of love. Yet, Faramir continued. "He would have stretched out his hand to this thing, and taking it, he would have fallen - "
"Quiet!"
"He would have kept it for his own."
"Stop this!"
"And when he returned...you would not know your son."
Denethor suddenly lurched forward, nearly knocking his table over, and significantly shocking everyone in the room.
"Boromir was loyal to me! Not some wizard's pupil!"
There was a deep silence that rang over the hall. No one knew where to look, what to see, or even if breathing was appropriate. The look on Faramir's face was a cross between shock and sadness. Denethor shock slightly under the strain of standing in so great a rage, and eased back into his seat. His face totally morphed into the indifferent scowl he so favored, and he returned his attention to his food.
"You wish now that our places had exchanged." Faramir whispered. It was not even a question, he gave the statement like it was fact. "That I had died and Boromir had lived?"
Denethor stopped his hands as he reached to pick a cherry tomato from an assortment of vegetables. He did not look in Faramir's direction, but the way he paused gave Jasmine hope that this man was not like Ozai. That he loved his son enough to not eliminate him like this.
But there was no such hope.
Denethor grasped the tomato and popped it in his mouth.
"Yes. I wish that."
Jasmine can see Faramir struggling to blink back tears, trying to hold his composure and not stand completely embarrassed and forlorn.
"Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead."
Denethor only nodded. Faramir was pretty much saying that he would run head first into a suicide mission with men of Gondor, and all his father could do was nod.
Faramir gave a stiff bow at the waist to his father then turned to stalk out of the throne room. He passed Jasmine and did not even spare her a glance. Before he reached the door, however, he turned on a heel and looked directly at his father. The tears were beginning to come freely now.
"If I should return, think better of me, father."
Denethor answered without hesitation, "That would depend on the manner of your return."
Faramir nodded slowly, taking that as the only answer he'd ever be lucky enough to get. A guard opened the door for him, and he walked into the light of the sun. jasmine looked to Denethor, and was disgusted to find that he was utterly absorbed in his food. He had disregarded his son entirely.
The sound of the great door closing forced Jasmine to think of Faramir. He was riding to his death, and he did not deserve this sentence, he did not deserve to be treated like a failure when he was the exact opposite. As Jasmine ran out of the throne room after Faramir, she felt that in another world - if she had been given another chance - she was running after Zuko.
"Faramir!"
Faramir's back was straight and tense as he walked down the same hall that they had entered through. The hall was quiet and empty except for them, yet the tension made it feel like they were in a small space with thousands. When she finally caught up with him, she had to stand in front of him to keep him from ignoring her.
"Faramir, please don't do this! Riding on Osgilath is a suicide mission, you said yourself that it's overrun."
"My loyalty is to my father and my people." he answered in a tense, toneless voice. "Osgiliath was the city that my brother reclaimed. I will not dishonor his memory by letting it fall."
"You are not Boromir!" Jasmine nearly shouted, grasping Boromir's hand in her own. "You are your own person Faramir, not your brother's replacement. Don't let your father kill you just because he is saddened with his own failure!"
"My father is a hero of Minas Tirith." Faramir snapped. "He and his line have protected this city for centuries. I can only trust that whatever his decree, it is the right road for me."
"Even if that road leads to death? Faramir, please. listen to me. The boy - man - I love wasted his life trying to please his father, but it took him so long to realize that there is no pleasing a man who loves no one but himself. Do not be like Zuko. Do not give up your control over your own life, Faramir, I'm begging you! You are too good a man to die like this."
Faramir paused, his head bowed. He inhaled deeply, like he was preparing himself for a grand retort, but he only rose his head to look into her eyes. She saw that Faramir did not want to do this, that he knew it would most likely be his death, but she also saw his love for his country and his family. Spilling blood for them was honorable for him. Jasmine could swear to Agni that she was talking to Zuko, just like she was three years ago on the docks of the Capitol, trying to talk him out of going. It didn't work then. It wasn't working now.
"I must."
Faramir gave a hard pull causing Jasmine to release his hand. His back remained turned towards her as he walked quickly down the hall. Jasmine didn't know why she was crying, but she was fairly close to sobbing. She did not see Faramir walking away, but Zuko. She was once again helpless to save someone she cared about as they willingly walked into the flame. This was all her life had been, since the beginning. She had spent her whole life protecting Zuko even though he was intent on working against the world, against himself. Yet, she protected him. With her life. She protected everyone. And now, none of it mattered.
She forced her back against the nearest wall and slid down into a sitting position, her knees pulled to her chest. The lonely hall echoed her sobs, and shoved them back in her face. The very city mocked her futile attempt at saving the world. She was just a servant girl. What difference could she ever hope to make?
-8-8-
The whole of Minas Tirith had lined the streets to see off the soldiers who went to "reclaim" Osgiliath. Yet, there were no cheers, no songs, no sounds of excitement and victory. Everyone knew that those men were going to die. It was more of a funeral procession than a parade to send of warriors.
Jasmine did not go to the streets, however. She could not bare much more of it, of the madness. Instead, she found solace in the solitude of her room.
"May I get you anything, my lady?" Ceola asked when Jasmine quietly passed her and crawled into bed.
"No thanks, Ceola. I think I'm just gonna take a nap."
"Very well, my lady."
Jasmine thought that Ceola would leave the room, but instead she felt a warm blanket cover her body, up to her shoulders.
"You know, Jasmine," Ceola said suddenly. "My father used to always say that night is always darkest before the dawn. Things will be brighter in the morning, I'm sure of it."
Ceola gave Jasmine's shoulder a tight squeeze before she left the room in silence.
Jasmine wanted to smile - for Ceola - but she just couldn't bring herself to try. Against a tear-stained pillow, Jasmine fell into a troubled sleep while the skies rained blood at the gates of Osgiliath.
AN: Review please!