Chapter 33 - Lovesickness and other ailments
Elanor yanked the bedsheets around her body and exhaled sharply. Rolling over for what felt like the millionth time, she buried her face in the pillow and attempted to find a more comfortable resting place. Eyes pinched shut, she forced herself to breath regularly and steadied her thoughts—to no avail.
With a sigh which was more like a groan, she kicked off the sheet and sat upon the edge of the mattress.
The curtains at the window were open, and the stars glinted faintly in the heavens. It was the middle of the night, and Elanor was yet to enter the unconscious bliss of sleep. Her mind was irrepressibly busy, caught in the bittersweet agony of wanting to dwell on thoughts of the day and desperately needing rest.
Mind you, she smiled slightly, not all the thoughts are unpleasant.
It seemed as if a battle raged within; gut-wrenching worry for those who rode to war, and the all-encompassing bliss of knowing that she loved Glorfindel and those feelings were returned. Woven throughout this were various other thoughts which scattered in every imaginable direction, leaving her mind buzzing as if she'd had several short macchiatos in sequence.
He loves me… he's riding to battle tomorrow and he could die, but he loves me… and I love him… gosh, so much has happened, and so much can still happen! Mum and dad and Georgia… and Tim… what would they all think now? Would he be disappointed in me? How could I… but it's been what, six months? Wouldn't you… gosh, six months here… and it's been battle after battle the whole time. So much danger, so much death… and Glorfindel always in the middle, always at risk. What would I do now, if he were to… he loves me! I can't believe… how do I even begin to explain this whole quandary… to tell Legolas and Aragorn and the twins… Elrond… and Eärendur!
Elanor stopped short.
Yesterday had hurried past in an utter blur; her brief hours with Glorfindel within the gardens had been overshadowed by a sense of imminence breathing down her collar. They had spoken of many things, and yet after she had kissed him tearfully goodbye she realised there were a hundred others she had wanted to bring up.
And probably Eärendur should've been fairly high on the list…
She had barely spared a second's thought for the young Dúnedain Ranger who had confessed his feelings for her at Dunharrow. It caused her no small amount of guilt that she had not even inquired after him. Legolas had informed her of Halbarad's death, but she had been so preoccupied with other things that it had not occurred to her to consider Eärendur's fate. Dunharrow felt like weeks ago, rather than just days. The battle on the Pelennor Fields was still jarringly real, but this collection of other thoughts and feelings, at the very least, served to crowd out her horrific visions of dead men and beasts.
Standing, Elanor moved to the window. Darkness blotted out her already-limited view of the garden, but she scarcely noticed.
He loves me, came the perpetual chant, like a sweet song of triumph.
It's not like I asked for his love. He's like, the Legolas of the books… the handsome one, the skilled one, and for some reason he picked me. I never was into the Legolas… well, this Legolas is awesome… but when the other girls were crushing on him, I was way more of an Aragorn person. Except that would be like stealing my sister's guy, now. No, not Aragorn. Still, I never would've even expected Glorfindel to… and I can't get why…
She leaned against the windowsill, one hand cradling her chin.
Why does he love me?
You never asked him.
But I will—next time.
If there is a next time…
Do you have to ruin every thought?
Face it, it's a distinct possibility.
Yeah, but I'd rather not dwell on that possibility all the time. I love him, but I also love Legolas and the twins, and I would hate to see any of them die. Aragorn, too; even just for Arwen's sake! Or Éomer. Éowyn could not bear to lose her brother as well. There's so much possibility for disaster.
Better pray Eru spares them then.
You think that'll work?
It's gotten you this far.
That was true. She had been carried along in a rush of good fortune. Her very survival on the battlefield was miraculous—though after the positive results which stemmed from her petitions to Eru, she was more inclined to think it the God's mercy. Had even one thing gone awry, had Fundanár spooked and she gone down…
She shuddered as the death-cries of the Rohirrim added themselves to her internal cacophony.
Glorfindel…
So many questions had gone unanswered, chief amongst them the unspoken difficulty of Elanor's mortality. She knew enough of the Elves to understand that Glorfindel's love for a human was at once both beautiful and agonising. The thought that he would outlive her and be forced to watch her age and die was one she had not considered until she watched his proud form retreating from the gardens the day before. It was as if the full impact of his confession walloped her like a mallet; he could give her nothing more precious than his love.
Her stomach felt warm at the thought.
It had been so long since she had been held by a lover that Elanor found herself rendered helpless by Glorfindel's gentle caresses. They had walked and talked in the garden as long as time permitted, his arm ever about her waist or holding her hand. The extended proximity with him had left her flushed and smiling—something she had not felt since…
She sighed heavily.
Thinking on Tim at this time was unavoidable. She had reconciled herself to the fact that her childhood sweetheart was irrevocably lost to her, but it did nothing to lessen the pain. They had not parted on poor terms, but very much in love with one another. It was still difficult to acknowledge that they were no longer together.
It's like I've had to… break up with him mentally. Tell myself we'd split till I no longer automatically referred to him as my boyfriend. And Glorfindel is… he's great, but Tim was too. I can't forget him. I won't forget him.
That's all well and good—but you're here now. This is your new world, your new life. Would you give up Glorfindel for the sake of living with Tim's memory? came a startling clear thought.
No.
Good. He may be a book character, but Glorfindel is a gem. You'd be completely out of your mind not to devote yourself to him.
Elanor smiled at that, the image of the golden-haired Elf drifting before her eyes. He was wholly delightful, and it had taken far too long for her to realise it. Memories of Tim had fended off romantic thoughts at first, followed by an unshakable premonition that he regarded her as a sister. It was like being doused in icy water to be reminded of how she had spoken to him in a way that convinced him likewise—and how very wrong she had been.
Thank Eru he said something anyway!
A gust of wind swept through her open window, cutting through Elanor's nightgown and causing her arms to erupt in goosebumps. Shivering, she tugged the shutters closed and returned to her bed. The bedding was in a horrible tangle, but she climbed beneath it regardless. Curling up on her left side, Elanor studied the opposite wall in the dim light. She felt glaringly awake, and knew there was little hope of sleep for the rest of the night.
Meanwhile, the wind surged about the Houses of Healing. It was the same wind which blew through the city and the plains below, ruffling the banner of the Prince of Dol Amroth and the cloaks of the Guard of the Citadel. It rushed downwards, shrieking through archways and along cobblestoned streets until it reached the wreckage of the main gate. Out it swept, flinging itself at the tents of the soldiers encampment with fiendish delight. It spared none, and happily ruffled the tent of a golden-haired Elf along with the others.
This particular Elf lay sleepless upon his pallet. His face was smooth and solemn as he stared upwards at the ceiling; his eyes, however, sparkled despite the gloom. Within them one might observe the deep currents of grief and weariness. Yet overwhelming both of these was a profound and inexplicable joy. As he lay there, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards slightly. His thoughts dwelt upon a woman far above, also struggling in search of slumber in a room in the Houses of Healing.
As dawn broke over the city, Elanor rose from her bed. Her eyes were shadow-rimmed but bright, and her stomach was still all aflutter. She could not disregard the knowledge that her friends, foster-brothers and lover were riding to battle that morning; neither could she prevent the seeping warmth and delightful restlessness caused by thoughts of said lover. The joy which Glorfindel's confession had caused made her feel like a girl, full of childish excitement, and had not dissipated despite a sleepless night.
Eru, let him come back!
Unwilling to wake the servants at such an uncivilised hour, Elanor began the laborious task of fastening her own garments and donning a dress provided by Ioreth; this one was deepest blue, almost black, but trimmed with silver. The contrasting colours resonated with her mood.
Pulling her hair back, Elanor plaited it deftly and fastened it with a black ribbon. After pulling on her shoes, she silently quitted her room and crept to the edge of the gardens, overlooking the plains below.
She could see the men beginning to mobilise, the regular soldiers gathering themselves into a semblance of order. The breeze buffeted her as she squinted down upon them, chilling her despite the generous layers of clothing and making her wish for the cloak she had forgotten.
The Houses were far too high to distinguish any singular figures, but Elanor could observe a small detachment near the head of the column. Somewhere down there was Glorfindel, not to mention the collection of others who were dear to her heart.
Elanor was determined she would not cry.
It took far too long for her liking; the sun had made it's bold entrance by the entire army was assembled and ready to march. As they began to gather themselves for this desperate venture, Elanor heard footsteps approaching from behind and turned hurriedly. Expecting to see a stern Ioreth, she was delighted to discover Merry's childlike form.
"Lady Elanor; I did not expect you to be here," he said, a wistful smile upon his face.
"Nor I you, Merry," she replied, returning to her view of the scene below. Merry came to stand at her right elbow, his hands grasping the lip of the wall to gain a better vantage point.
For some minutes they stood in mutually accepted silence, watching the shifting mass of men. The sun glinted upon their armour, and the six-thousand warriors were an impressive sight to behold.
And yet absolutely nothing to rival the power of Sauron…
At length a horn sounded, echoing proudly across the fields and through Minas Tirith. Elanor gripped the wall with white hands as several horns answered the first.
Then they began to march.
Biting her lip, Elanor turned away. What would be, would be, and she could change nothing. Still, the sight of the departing army made her want to weep.
How hopeless a cause must it seem to those men! For they don't even have the brief measure of hope that I have… Eru, protect them!
Refusing to allow herself the comfort of tears, Elanor paused and turned. Merry still lingered at the wall, and she knew that he felt fear and despair no less keenly than herself. He had endured the same torment as Éowyn, and in her scattered state she had forgotten him as shamefully as Eärendur. Berating herself for her negligence of the young hobbit, Elanor moved to stand beside him. He did not look at her, his eyes fixated upon the departing forces.
"Merry?" she said, softly.
The hobbit was silent for a moment, before his liquid brown eyes turned to her face.
"Pippin went with them," said Merry, in a voice just as low. His shoulders shook slightly. "I have seen more than my share of battle, but it is just too bad to see him scurrying off on an adventure while I'm stuck here! We've been separated far too long; I worry about him, you know. He's always been far too inclined towards mischief. And now… now he's a member of the Steward's guard, and riding to war with the rest of them. They wouldn't let me go; I asked them, but they said I ought to rest. I feel as if I'm missing an arm or a leg, with Pip away. And yet—goodness, I was glad not to go after all. It's all such a tangle, Lady Elanor. It's awful cowardice, but I was half-relieved that Gandalf said no!"
Elanor could've kicked herself for abandoning him so badly. Unable to find words, she gently placed one hand upon his shoulder. Struggling to think of something to say, she sighed.
"I'm very sorry, Merry."
"It is not your fault," he replied. "You have many loved ones risking themselves too, after all."
And how beloved you do not even begin to imagine…
"Yes… do not call yourself a coward, Merry; you fought bravely, and were far more the hero than I. Why, you aided Lady Éowyn in slaying the Witch-king! All I did was remain on the fringe, and stayed safely out of harm's way. You are very courageous, Merry."
Merry's face remained impassive, and his words were dispirited. "I suppose so."
Seeing that he continued to stare longingly at the armies below, Elanor squeezed his shoulder and braved frank speech.
"Come on; there's no use looking after them like that. It shan't bring them back, and you'll only make yourself more miserable. I'm very hungry. Will you come with me to find breakfast? And then you might visit Lady Éowyn with me. I'm sure she'd be happy to see you."
It was an attempt to convince herself as much as Merry, and Elanor hoped it was more helpful to the hobbit. The words sounded awfully hollow to her own ears.
Merry received the speech in silence, but afterwards he turned to her and smiled slightly.
"I believe you understand very well, Lady Elanor."
"It is a difficult time for all of us."
"Still," the hobbit said, his eyes showing traces of their old sparkle, "there's no point in missing breakfast just because there's a war on." He held out a hand for Elanor to grasp. The sweet and unassuming gesture caused a lump to form in her throat, so she nodded mutely and took it.
Hand in hand, the woman and hobbit passed through the gardens and went indoors in search of their morning meal.
The two days following passed with excruciating slowness for Elanor. She attempted to busy herself as much as possible, spending time by Éowyn's bedside or in conversation with Merry. Both were pleasant companions, but pervading all the pleasant interactions was the unvoiced fear of what might befall their companions. It lingered like an unpleasant aroma, tainting otherwise-enjoyable activities.
Over the city of Gondor doubt and great dread hung like a cloud. Fair weather and clear sun seemed but a mockery to men whose days held little hope, and who looked each morning for news of doom. Their lord was dead and burned, dead lay the King of Rohan in their citadel, and the new king that had come to them in the night was gone again to a war with powers too dark and terrible for any might or valour to conquer. And no news came. After the host left Morgul Vale and took the northward road beneath the shadow of the mountains no messenger had returned nor any rumour of what was passing in the brooding East. The lack of information set Elanor's teeth on edge; added to this was her bewilderment over Boromir's fate, and an inability to do anything without the patronage of the high-ranking men of her acquaintance.
I wouldn't say that Middle Earth is horribly sexist… but to be a man right now would be awesome…
On the morning of the 20th of March, Elanor dressed once more with the aid of the serving women and made her way to Éowyn's room, where she had been accustomed to breakfasting. As she was bidden to enter, she saw her friend had quitted the bed and stood at the centre of a cluster of extremely distressed maids.
"Éowyn! You are supposed to rest for another week yet!" cried Elanor, seeing that the woman had brooked no refusal and left the serving women at a complete loss of how to proceed.
"I am healed," she said, "healed at least in body, save my left arm only, and that is at ease. I must find some occupation, Elanor, or I shall grow ill once more!"
This should not surprise you…
Elanor shrugged internally. "Come and speak with the Warden, at least. He shall advise you."
This appeared to calm the servants somewhat, for they continued to do as Éowyn had asked, providing her with raiment and helping secure her arm comfortably. After a few moments she was suitably dressed, and Elanor smiled at the other women.
"Thankyou," she said, taking Éowyn's uninjured arm and leading her outwards.
Elanor had spoken with the Warden several times, and found him to be a pleasant individual. He was easy to discover, and his harried face was stricken with amazement to see the Rohirric woman dressed and stirring abroad.
"Sir," she said, after Elanor had explained a little, "I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth."
"Lady," he answered, "you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend you with especial care. You should not have risen from your bed for seven days yet, or so I was bidden. I beg you to go back."
"As I have spoken to Lady Elanor, I am well enough. To be confined to my bed any longer shall do me more harm than good. Are there no tidings of war? The women can tell me nothing."
"There are no tidings," said the Warden, "save that the Lords have ridden to Morgul Vale; and men say that the new captain out of the North is their chief. A great lord is that, and a healer; and it is a thing passing strange to me that the healing hand should also wield the sword. It is not thus in Gondor now, though once it was so, if old tales be true. But for long years we healers have only sought to patch the rents made by the men of swords. Though we should still have enough to do without them: the world is full enough of hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them."
"It needs but one foe to breed a war, not two, Master Warden," answered Éowyn. "And those who have not swords can still die upon them. Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies? And it is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter."
The Warden looked at her. Tall she stood there, her eyes bright in her white face, her right hand clenched as she turned and gazed out of his window that opened to the East. He sighed and shook his head. After a pause she turned to him again. Elanor felt profoundly sorry for him; whenever she had spoken to him before, he had worn a similar expression of exhaustion and harassment. It had half put her of a mind to offer her aid, but she had swiftly dismissed the notion; she did not feel equal to dealing with those injured in battle. Her stomach had never been strong enough to view even the least of wounds.
Still, she felt as if she were more of a hinderance within the hospital than a help, as she was not in the least in need of care. Instead, she took up a room and the time of the staff. She would have begged leave to be quartered elsewhere, save she knew no one and did not want to leave Merry and Éowyn.
After a moment, the latter spoke again.
"Is there no deed to do?" Éowyn said. "Who commands in this City?"
"I do not rightly know," the Warden answered. "Such things are not my care. There is a marshal over the Riders of Rohan; and the Lord Húrin, I am told, commands the men of Gondor. But the Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City."
"Where can I find him?"
"In this house, lady. He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know—"
"Will you not bring me to him? Then you will know."
Elanor bit back a protest. She was sorely tempted to refute Éowyn's demands to save the Warden a great deal of trouble. Yet something silenced her, for she knew that her friend was about to meet her future husband. Still rather amazed at Éowyn's boldness, she followed the Warden through various corridors until they emerged into a secluded part of the gardens. She had never ventured to this quarter, which explained how she had not met Lord Faramir thus far.
I wonder what he will be like in real life…
After a moment, they spied a tall man with dark hair walking upon the grass. At the Warden's call he turned, and caught sight of the two women who followed him.
"My lord," said the Warden, "here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan, and with her Lady Elanor. Both rode with the king, and Lady Éowyn was sorely hurt, and dwells now in my keeping. But she is not content, and she wishes to speak to the Steward of the City."
"Do not misunderstand him, lord," said Éowyn. "It is not lack of care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer, for those who desire to be healed. But I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged. I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and battle still goes on."
At a sign from Faramir, the Warden bowed and departed. The man surveyed them both, scanning Elanor briefly before resting upon her friend.
"What would you have me do, lady?" said Faramir. "I also am a prisoner of the healers." He looked at her, and knowing from the books that he was a man whom pity deeply stirred, Elanor could see that Éowyn's loveliness amid her grief would pierce his heart. She could see the grave tenderness in his eyes; yet Éowyn, bred among men of war, could hardly fail to see that here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.
"What do you wish?" he said again. "If it lies in my power, I will do it."
"I would have you command this Warden, and bid him let me go," she said; but though her words were still proud, Elanor saw her falter slightly.
She will not wish Faramir, both stern and gentle, to think her like a wayward child…
"I myself am in the Warden's keeping," answered Faramir. "Nor have I yet taken up my authority in the City. But had I done so, I should still listen to his counsel, and should not cross his will in matters of his craft, unless in some great need."
So he also thinks Boromir's dead… I wonder what's happened to him…
"But I do not desire healing," she Éowyn, her voice firm and cool. "I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace."
"It is too late, lady, to follow the Captains, even if you had the strength," said Faramir. "But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling. You will be better prepared to face it in your own manner, if while there is still time you do as the Healer commanded. You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting."
Elanor watched the woman to her right, brow furrowed with concern. Éowyn had lightened somewhat since Elanor had met her, but there was still a long way to go.
Éowyn did not answer, but as Faramir looked at her it seemed to Elanor that something in her softened, as though a bitter frost were yielding at the first faint presage of spring. A tear sprang in her eye and fell down her cheek, like a glistening rain-drop. Her proud head drooped a little. Then quietly, more as if speaking to herself than to him: "But the healers would have me lie abed seven days yet," she said. "And my window does not look eastward." Her voice was now that of a maiden
young and sad.
Faramir smiled, though his heart was filled with pity. "Your window does not look eastward?" he said. "That can be amended. In this I will command the Warden. If you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall look east, whither all our hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at whiles with me."
Then she raised her head and looked him in the eyes again; and a colour came in her pale face. "How should I ease your care, my lord?" she said. "And I do not desire the speech of living men."
"Would you have my plain answer?" he said.
"I would."
Elanor glanced downwards, feeling as if she were an intruder in this moment.
"Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful. It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back."
"Alas, not me, lord!" she said. "Shadow lies on me still. Look not to me for healing! I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle. Lady Elanor is more kindly than I. But I thank you for this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber. I will walk abroad by the grace of the Steward of the City." And she did him a curtsey and turned back towards the house.
Wondering what to do, Elanor also curtseyed and made to follow her.
"Wait," said Faramir, in a soft voice. Elanor paused, for Éowyn did not seem to hear the man. Hoping he had truly addressed her, she turned to face him.
"Yes, my lord?"
The man looking down at her was so akin to Boromir that she could scarcely believe they were not twins. Their features were very similar, yet there was something softer in Faramir's face which appealed to her more than his elder brother.
"Are you also of Rohan, Lady Elanor?" he inquired, his tone courteous, though his eyes strayed in the direction in which Éowyn had disappeared.
"No, my lord; I come from the North, from Rivendell, the House of Elrond," she replied, lowering her gaze and wondering whether to mention Boromir.
"Imladris!" he cried. "Pray tell me, lady; were you at all acquainted with my brother, Boromir?"
Well that solves that problem…
"Indeed I was, my lord. I spent some measure of time in Lord Boromir's company."
"And are you at all acquainted with his fate, Lady Elanor?"
"I am afraid I am not," she replied, frowning slightly. "One of his other companions said that he departed Parth Galen for Minas Tirith some weeks before, and I know nothing else of what might have befallen him."
"Alas, that you know no more!"
Elanor glanced up then, seeing the fine lines wrought upon the noble man's features. It was so like speaking to Boromir that it was uncanny; save that Faramir's pride was tempered by gentle wisdom, and it pleased her to see that he was so evidently good. Éowyn was to have an excellent husband.
And you shall have Glorfindel! Gosh, I never even thought we might get married!
"I am sorry I am so ill informed," Elanor said. This was accompanied by a barely-suppressed smile, for the notion of wedding the tall Elf was something both bewildering and wonderful.
"Do not apologise, lady, for their is naught that you could do to amend the situation," answered Faramir, smiling slightly at her flushed cheeks. "You may do me one service, however; what may you tell me of the White Lady of Rohan?"
Elanor raised an eyebrow slightly, not anticipating such a question.
"Lady Éowyn, sir?"
"Yes, my lady. Come; let us walk together, and you may tell me aught that you know. For the Warden has told me that you rode with the King, and with the Lady Éowyn at the end."
"Certainly, my lord," Elanor smiled, glad to appease him in some way, and delighted to be able to proclaim the virtues of her friend.
Faramir smiled in return, and offered her his arm. Elanor took it, and they proceeded down a shaded path. He asked her many questions, and though she felt extremely tired and was growing hungry, the distraction was welcome. Everything about Faramir's manner was polite and gentle, and he never made her feel as if he were demanding information; nor did he treat her as a woman to be looked down upon. He seemed happy to discuss Éowyn and Éowyn alone, mercifully disregarding those subjects which caused a stab of worry to pierce Elanor's stomach.
By the sun had reached it's zenith, she was unbearably hungry, and Faramir had exhausted all of his questions concerning the sister of Éomer. Acutely conscious that she had missed breakfast, Elanor could have wept with relief as the Steward of Gondor led her to a table set up beneath a tree.
Faramir smiled and gestured to the meal.
"Will you dine with me, Lady Elanor? For I have neglected you shamefully, speaking only of Lady Éowyn. Let me make amends for my rudeness, in entertaining you throughout the noon meal."
"I would be delighted, Lord Faramir," she replied, taking the seat he offered her. "It has been many months since I shared a meal with a son of Denethor."
"Ah yes," Faramir smiled wryly, "I had quite disregarded your acquaintance with my brother. I must beg pardon once more."
Elanor grinned down at the dish of cherry tomatoes as they began to eat. "Not at all, my lord."
"Pray, tell me of yourself, Lady Elanor. I have heard you hail from Imladris, and that you met Boromir upon your travels. Aside from that, I am utterly ignorant. I beg that you enlighten me," smiled Denethor's younger son, his grey eyes twinkling slightly as he offered the varied dishes to Elanor before he served himself.
She laughed lightly. Faramir was even more kingly and gentlemanlike than David Wenham had appeared. She hoped that she would remain friends with Éowyn, for all seemed on track for her to wed the Steward. He was someone she could see herself being friends with.
"What do you wish to know, my lord?"
Faramir leaned back in his chair and studied her with a half-smile. "I do not desire to appear presumptuous, lady, but it is plain to see that you are no Elf; and yet you dwell amongst the Elves, holding council with their leaders. Oh," he continued, with a laugh, "forgive me. I spoke with Lord Glorfindel of Imladris several days past, when he came to inquire after your health. 'Tis countless years since one of the Eldar entered the White City, yet I could not fail to know when one such individual stood before me."
"Your supposition is quite correct," Elanor laughed, swallowing a mouthful of bread. "He is of the Noldor, and a companion of mine."
Companion?
"Then indeed you have been fortunate, my lady. Few in these times are so blessed."
"I have been most fortunate, indeed," she grinned, thinking to the first time she had spied Boromir through the flowing grass of Cardolan.
Lucky I didn't miss him altogether and die in the middle of Eriador!
"And are your people from the North, Lady Elanor?"
"No, my lord. I hail originally from the south, though not from Gondor; my home is further south even than Dol Amroth, and your other coastal provinces," she said. "It is vastly different to the lands of Middle Earth."
"South of Gondor, you say?" inquired Faramir, raising an eyebrow. "Surely you cannot be from Haradwaith, Lady Elanor, for I hear they are a dark and swarthy race."
"Not Haradwaith; further south even than Harad, upon an island."
"Then you are a great distance from home, my lady."
Elanor smiled as she took up a piece of flavoursome meat. "Indeed, my lord."
"What is the name of your land, Lady Elanor? For I may discover amongst the libraries of Minas Tirith some history of your nation."
"It is called the Queen's Land by my people," she replied, after a pause. It had taken her a moment to recall the lie she had concocted in Rivendell. "It is known by many names, however; in the tongue of my people it is called Australia."
"Australia," frowned Faramir, the word sounding unwieldy in his Gondorian accent. "I shall endeavour to discover news of it, Lady Elanor."
She smiled and waved a dismissive hand. "Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I departed from home some time ago, and have little desire to return. I dwell in Middle-earth, now." And those words taste… less nasty than I thought they would. Besides, who else can claim they're going to marry an Elf?!
Goodness, I hope he wants to get married!
"Do not hesitate to ask if you seek information," Faramir said nevertheless, wiping his stubble-framed lips with a linen napkin. "I should be very pleased to oblige you, my lady." He smiled. "You have been most helpful in my search for tales concerning Lady Éowyn."
Elanor could barely contain the delighted grin which threatened to spill across her features.
"I am always pleased to speak of a friend of mine, Lord Faramir."
Faramir smiled and studied her a moment. "I wish I were acquainted with your lands, Lady Elanor. Few mortals in this age are so blessed as to be permitted to dwell amongst the Elves. You are either inordinately lucky, or a something of a wise-woman of your people."
"I am inclined to think it is the former," countered Elanor, with a wry grin.
"Perhaps," Faramir chuckled, "though I would—"
"Lord Faramir!"
The pair seated at the table jumped slightly as a man dressed in the livery of Gondor flew across the lawn towards them.
"Yes, Barhador?"
The man huffed and panted for a moment before he could speak.
"My Lord Faramir—your brother, Lord Boromir—he has returned."
Faramir leapt to his feet, his face alight with surprise.
"Forgive me Lady Elanor, but you must excuse me," he said, sparing a moment to smile and nod at her.
"My lord—the Lady Elanor was also bidden to come with thee," put in Barhador, seeming rather embarrassed to have intruded.
The son of Denethor frowned in confusion, but seemed so desirous to see Boromir that he did not oppose the idea. He offered his arm to Elanor—also extremely bewildered—who gladly took it and followed Barhador out of the gardens.
It was the first time she had wandered outside the Houses of Healing since the day of the battle, yet Faramir set such a pace that she had no time to admire the sights of Gondor. Barhador led them upwards, and fortunately it was only a small distance to the upper levels of the Citadel where Boromir waited for them.
Despite the rush, Elanor found the courtyard outside the Citadel to be just as magnificent as she could have hoped. There was a painful lack of a white tree, but otherwise the courtyard was impressive beyond words. The Citadel loomed large and white above the paved square, the elegant architecture giving it an air of grace despite it's size. Magnifying all was the exquisite view, even more glorious than the landscape which extended from Dunharrow.
As they skirted the Great Hall, Faramir exchanged several brief words with Barhador. Then, the soldier bowed and departed. They proceeded in silence then, Faramir's long legs carrying him swiftly across the marble floor. It was so closely reminiscent of Elanor's scurrying along after Boromir when she had first appeared in Middle-earth that she couldn't restrain a grin. Still, she was at a loss as to why Boromir would request her presence specifically.
Surely he'd prefer just his brother when they're reunited… I mean, I wouldn't want a friend of Georgia's coming to see me if I'd been away for ages.
She had no more time to ponder the matter, however, for they had reached the wing of the Citadel which presumably housed the Steward's family. Faramir hesitated before a black door set within the white wall, and turned to Elanor.
"Will you permit me to—"
She nodded emphatically before he had even finished speaking.
"Naturally, Lord Faramir. I shall wait here until you require my presence."
Appearing relieved, the man nodded and entered the room. Elanor allowed her eyes to stray along the corridor, admiring the beautiful marbled floors and snow-white walls. The black and white decor was surprisingly pleasant, though she supposed it would grow tiresome after a certain period.
Good thing I didn't fall for—
The door was thrown abruptly open, and Elanor jerked around to face it. Faramir stood in the doorway, his face grave.
"Will you enter, Lady Elanor?"
With a hesitant smile, Elanor did as he bid, and found herself in a pleasant sitting room. It was full of pleasant light, and tastefully furnished in rich colours that formed a stark contrast with the monotone hallway. In the centre of the room stood Boromir, even more haggard and worn than when Elanor had first encountered him. His travel-worn cloak was now one step above a large rag, and his proud features stern and gaunt with lack of sleep and food.
Nevertheless, he bowed solemnly. "Lady Elanor."
Clasping her skirts, she curtseyed in response. "Lord Boromir."
The elder son of Gondor glanced once to Faramir, who stood nearby in utter confusion. Finally, Boromir sighed and rubbed his chin, upon which a rough beard had begun to form.
"It appears that I have an uncanny knack for collecting lost maidens," he said, a grim smile gracing his features.
Elanor's expression matched Faramir's.
Why does he think I want to deal with a lost maiden?
"Brother, speak plainly," cried Faramir, clearly in anguish and growing impatient with Boromir's peculiar behaviour. "I had presumed you to be dead, and now discover you still live; yet you appear to have endured great pains and troubles, and speak in riddles. Will you not tell the lady of your reasons for summoning her? There is much to attend to, and much I wish to know!"
Boromir chuckled low. "Forgive me, brother; there is much here which I find bewildering myself, and it seems but yesterday I encountered Lady Elanor upon my travels." He turned to her. "I shall detain you no more, my lady, though I believe you may desire to meet this new guest without delay."
Elanor bit her lip to stop her mouth hanging open. Boromir appeared to have lost his wits.
Perhaps he has found an Elf upon the road… but he said "maiden" before… what…
Wordlessly, Boromir moved to another door which led out of the sitting room. Throwing it open, he gestured to someone who waited out of Elanor's line of sight. The figure entered slowly, matted brown hair veiling her features.
"Lady Elanor?" Boromir said, indicating that the new arrival should step forward.
Hearing Elanor's name, the other woman's head jerked up abruptly, her eyes wide with amazement. She was clad in a dirty green dress and her hair was snarled and filthy. Grime smeared her face and she looked frightened and exhausted.
But there was no doubt that it was Georgia.
ULTIMATE PLOT TWIST. :D
So this is something I've been intending to throw in for a long, long time, and was always determined to include. And I've done it. It's not something that I've really seen happening in the "girl dropped in Middle-earth" fics that I've read, but the constant references to Georgia was not without reason.
And now she's in Middle-earth with Elanor.
What do you guys think will happen?
Reviews are (naturally) welcome, and I hope that this chapter meets your expectations. The last one was not entirely satisfactory for me, but I feel slightly better about this one and hope that you all enjoyed it too. :)
Please be honest if you do choose to review; not just concerning the plot itself, but if you notice any mistakes/inaccuracies/poor uses of grammar, please let me know so that I might fix them.
Best wishes, - Finwe.