A/N: Good Afternoon!
It's been nearly a month! And it has been a long month of Writers' block, not so much for this chapter, but for the following two which I am still struggling over. So, I thought I would post this one, and agonise over the others when I need to!
To the Thanks - to: Faervel Silvertongue, xummy10, BR BlackRose, AbigailPeters, James1996, DancingShadow82, nanlb and Toujours-Pur-XXX for following! Welcome to the story, and I hope you are enjoying it!
Thank you aswell to: xummy10, AbigailPeters, James1996, Akin to Wonder, nanlb and ARavensShadow for favouriting!
A Big massive thank you to: Elves are awesome - you are a constant reviewer, and so I thank you (yet again) for all of your lovely reviews!
to Ailith-Kansas, you are also another constant reviewer and I thank you. I have always hated how Denethor treats Faramir in both the books and the films, and I hope I managed to capture Denethor's character well enough for you. As all stories must, this one will have an ending, however long it takes me to get my writers' block to go away.
to the Guest Reviewer: I know it has taken me a while, but here is the update!
and to AbigailPeters: Thank you for your interest in the story. I hope the rest of it lives up to your expectations!
This story has finally hit the 30,000 hits mark, and I am so overwhelmed by the positive response I have had for Ailith. So thank you to everyone who reads, follows, favourites and reviews. Thank you!
On with the show!
xYruniwyliox
Chapter Thirty-Four: We will burn together, witch.
"Enough!" Ailith commanded, as her hand came harshly palm-flat against the solid wood of the table. Denethor looked at her, hardly surprised at her outburst. Faramir had just vacated the room and Ailith's blood had boiled with rage.
"Surely, my Lord," she spat out his title narrowing her harsh gaze on his aged face, "you cannot mean those vile things you just said to your last remaining son!" she chastised. Denethor leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.
"He loves you so much, and you cast him aside like your soiled laundry! He is doing any and everything he can to earn your respect, and this! THIS is how you repay him?! By sending him and his men out on a suicide mission! The masses of Mordor are approaching and you think now is the time to send out a small faction of your men against the might of Mordor!"
He still said nothing. His gaze had turned steely now, and Ailith stood, her chair scraping back noisily against the marble of the floor. "I cannot wait for my brother's return. Not even you could deny him entry to this city. And he is coming, Steward," she spat, anger coursing through her veins. "The Return of the King is both inevitable and swift. How sad it must be for your line to end with just you!" she seethed, before wheeling around in a bustle of skirts and storming from the room. She raced to her rooms and changed into her breeches and tunic, before fleeing her rooms, in search of the White Wizard.
She found him, above the palace on the wall. Gazing out at the plains and in the distance – Osgiliath.
"He has left then?" she asked quietly. Gandalf nodded solemnly. "As stubborn as his brother, that one." Gandalf smiled sadly. Ailith nodded. "How is Théoden?" he asked. Ailith turned a curious gaze on him. "How could I possibly know that?" she asked him. Gandalf smirked a little. "Perhaps it is time to test your gift whilst you are awake?" he suggested. Ailith nodded once, and stood in a soldier's stance, feet a shoulder-width apart and arms clasped together behind her back as she focused. Her vision blurred somewhat as flashes of another field flew before her eyes.
White tents lined along the field flashed in her sight, while an armoured figure marched along the main aisle. His unprotected head shone with a grizzly mane of golden hair and beard obscuring his face whilst others flocked to and from him.
"Grimbold how many!" he called.
"I bring 500 from the Westfold my Lord." Replied Grimbold confidently. The King nodded and turned to the next man.
"We have 300 more from Fenmarch, Théoden King!" called a soldier. He turned to the third man and stopped. "Where are the riders from Snowbourn?" he asked. "None have come, my Lord."
The King schooled his expression to a mask of indifference, but not before those in front of him saw the disappointment in his face. He turned to the last man on his right and spoke softly.
"Six thousand spears, less than half of what I hoped for." He said.
"Six thousand spears will not be enough to break the lines of Mordor." Estel said, running a hand through his shaggy mane of unkempt onyx locks.
"More will come." The King said, although he did not look convinced. Aragorn shook his head and pointed to the vast army laid out before them. "Every hour lost hastens Gondor's defeat. We have until dawn then we must ride."
Ailith blinked, coming back to the present and looked to Gandalf. He was studying her intently. She pushed her hair from her face. "They come with nearly seven thousand men, but they mean to wait until dawn to ride. I fear it is up to us to hold the City until they arrive." She said. Gandalf nodded and turned to her.
"That must have been tiring, please rest until this evening. I will need you out to watch the walls tonight." He said. Ailith nodded and retired to her chambers to she walked the halls of the citadel, an echo brought her crashing back into reality. She was being followed, and the followers weren't being stealthy. That could mean either of three things:
Either the follower was a friend and didn't mind being known, or they were imbecilic, or they wanted her to feel nervous. She quickened her pace, and the first option was ruled out when no one called for her to stop, but the footsteps quickened to match hers. A gauntlet covered hand caught her elbow and wheeled her around to face them before slamming her back against the wall.
"Lady Ailith of Rivendell, you are suspected of treason against the Lord Steward, and he has requested you remain in your chambers until this matter has been sorted." A guard said. She glared at him, and realised she had been too outspoken. Her thoughts whirred through her head as she attempted to sort through escapes and skirmish scenarios, but the best option was to listen, for now, and be docile, and break out at a later date.
She was marched back to her chambers and she listened, after they had locked her in her rooms, as the guard barked for at least four men to remain outside her rooms until they were told otherwise. She sighed and slumped into a chair by the window and closed her eyes, pressing her forehead on the glass. She focused on what had just happened and allowed the scene to replay before her eyes repeatedly, hoping that her focus on the White Wizard would allow him to glimpse what had just happened to her.
As the afternoon faded into the night, and the night into the dawn and finally, dawn into the crisp bright morning, Ailith listened. She sat completely still, her face pressed calmly against the window, only the tips of her ears twitching as she strained to hear. A mere hour after her imprisonment, Mithrandir had arrived and attempted to free her, but to no avail. She had since taken to sitting at the window and and assessing the drop to the balcony below.
Enough for many bruises, but no broken bones.
She sat there, listening to the grumbles of the guards who had wanted to be anywhere than there, and listened to the two that had fallen asleep. She heard passing footsteps, and then a clank of armour on the ground outside her door. Ailith was instantly on her feet, her hair swaying waywardly around her neck and shoulders. Hastily, she tied it into a braid and wrapped it around her head tightly, ready for when she would need her helm. She pinned it in place, armed herself and readied herself for the intruder. The door opened slowly. "My Lady?" a voice called. Ailith blinked, confused. "Eradan?" she wondered aloud.
"Aye my Lady. The City needs you. The White Wizard sent for me to free you. You must change and be ready." He stated. He seemed completely different to his arrogant former self, and Ailith remained guarded. "Shut the door, and I will be with you shortly." She demanded. He nodded once and removed himself. Within moments, Ailith was dressed in her tunic and breeches, pulling the ties to her boots, and ensuring her armour was tied correctly. Her blades were strapped to her back and her bow was in hand. She opened the door and slipped out.
"What has happened?" she asked him.
"The Wizard allowed a single person to enter the gates not an hour past, my Lady." Ailith nodded, and then her eyes widened. Immediately, Eradan had been seized by the neck and firmly placed against the nearest wall.
"Captain Faramir took a small battalion of men to Osgiliath yesterday. A Single person has returned?" she demanded, impatiently. He nodded, eyes wide at the strength the once docile looking elleth possessed. "Who was it?" she growled.
"C-Captain Faramir…" he stammered. Ailith narrowed her gaze, her blood boiling in anger. "Was he injured?" she demanded. Again, Eradan nodded, his dark hair flopping against his forehead. "Has his father seen him yet?" she demanded. Again, a nod. Ailith cursed in Sindarin. No longer the ladylike, demure figure she had presented herself as, now her fighting instincts had taken over.
"Listen here and you had better listen well, you are about to redeem your father's respect in my eyes." She bit out. Eradan nodded, standing up straight as the elleth barked orders at him. "Good. Now take me to see Faramir. I saw his brother die, I will not allow him the same courtesy." She steeled herself, and placed a hand on one of her blades as they quickly made their way to the infirmary. She pulled the soldier into an alcove when they heard a grief stricken Denethor approaching. As the wails of the broken man passed into the next corridor, Ailith dragged him onwards.
"Fool! He has taken to seeing his only living son injured to realise what a brute he was being to him!" she hissed. Eradan, wisely remained silent. She approached the Captains' rooms, and entered stealthily. Luckily, he was alone. Ailith approached the bed.
His hair was plastered to his sweating forehead, his breaths coming out in rattling pants, and being drawn in again in agonising gasps. His eyes stared glassily at the ceiling, seeing out-of-focus demons and nothing at the same time. His once tall, lithe and strong body now trembled, resembling that of a weeping child. Ailith approached the bed slowly, her nose scrunching slightly at the stench of his putrid wound.
"He needs a healer..." she whispered. "Why is no one attending to him?" she wondered, placing a gently palm against his scorching forehead. Eyeing the contents of the room she began speeding around, collecting ingredients for a poultice for the wound on his stomach, as she ordered Eradan to slice open his tunic. She had managed to bring his temperature down somewhat and was tying the bandage around his waist as Eradan pulled his tunic over his head, when the door opened and Denethor entered. His eyes flashed with ire and he raised a shaking hand to point at her.
"YOU!" he bellowed. "You are full of Witchcraft! You foresaw this, and decided not to tell me, and then you lectured me in my own home! Heathen! GUARDS!" he bellowed, and Ailith was brought to her knees before him. She motioned to Eradan to stay with Faramir, as the man had inched towards her.
"You will burn for this, witch." He spat. "You have committed treason!" Ailith sighed and slumped. "As an elf of the Realm of Rivendell, I am above the charges of Gondor." She spoke strongly. "I committed no crime. I knew Faramir was injured, and as a healer of the Last Homely House, I decided to be of assistance. What I do not understand, My Lord," Ailith spat, "Is why your dying son has been left unattended, for his wounds to fester."
Denethor shook his head. "You will not bewitch me! I KNOW MY SON IS DEAD!" he bellowed, and Ailith's eyes widened as realisation struck her as hard as any foe. Denethor had her dragged from the room, but not before she began screeching in earnest, as loudly and vehemently as a fell beast.
"I tell you Denethor! He is NOT dead! He is merely injured! You must look at him! He blinks! He breaths and murmurs and gasps and cries out for his father! He lives! Do not make a mistake now! Not when he needs you the most!"
Denethor stopped and wheeled around, backhanding her with a cruel slap to the face, the bejewelled rings on his fingers splitting her cheek and her lip. Ailith spat out a mouthful of blood and glared hatefully at the man.
"We will all burn together, Witch." He hissed. "My son and I will join with our forefathers, and this method of burial will send you straight to the gates of Morgoth." He seethed. Ailith shook her head.
"Then you are not only killing me, and yourself, but you are single-handedly destroying the last roots of your own house, Denethor." She spat back at him. He commenced his marching to the burial crypt of the Kings on the top level of the city, where he had her lashed to the stand to tightly she began to lose feeling to her arms. "When I return, you will perish in the flames. I will prepare my son's body alone, allowing you time to think upon your sorcery." He spat upon her face then and left the outhouse in a whirl of dark fur-trimmed robes, hair the colour of iron, and a heart full of hatred.
Ailith struggled against her bonds, but to no avail. She called out loudly until her throat was hoarse, but after an hour, gave up. Her elven hearing had picked up on the sound of marching and drums and screaming in the distance, and a surge of anger busrt forth within her.
She struggled again and again, until the creaking of the enormous double-doors opening caused her heart to sink. There, on a stretched, laid out in his burial pose, with his arms at his middle, was Faramir, borne by his fellow Soldiers of Gondor, led by Denethor, whose scowl was as hate-filled as any of the foes she had once battled in her long life. Ailith closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, hoping that something, anything, would help them now.