Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not own any of the character, places, names, or anything associated with the works of J.R.R Tolkien or the Lord of the Rings (books or movie, whatever). My characters are Anita, Leila, and Arlandria and that is all.
Towards the End- Within Temptation
Chapter 63: Towards the End
The sun had arced across the sky, unnoticed, and dipped below the horizon to draw out long dark hours of solitude. Anita paid it no mind. Had the sun never returned to the eastern horizon to offer grey light to the early morning hours she probably wouldn't have noticed the difference. She stood in a silent and steady vigil throughout the night, watching as the fight for Osgiliath unfolded before her eyes. The elleth had rooted herself to a place on the wall where she could watch Faramir's fated attempt to regain lost territory, and that is where she had remained. At first she had harbored a smidgen of hope, the small band of men had charged across the field and beyond the completed wall with so much fortitude that she thought perhaps….. But that hope was dashed to pieces with the bursts of fire that lit up the fading light of dusk. The soldiers had been able to stand against Mordor's archers and their foot soldiers, even with a company of far fewer men, but Gondor's soldier were no match for napalm.
Anita had instantly recognized the semi-liquid fire as it was launched from the rubble that had once been Osgiliath, bursting across the plains in a shower of sparks. It was proof of just how deep Saruman's treachery had run before his defeat, that he would bring such a weapon here for the Dark Lords' use. Faramir's men weren't prepared for it, how could they be? As the earth continued to spin the elleth watched Gondor's soldiers be pushed back a little at a time back across the fields until the hastily constructed Rammas Echor was the only thing separating the Men from the beasts of Mordor. The elf felt useless standing there as a spectator, the only support that could be offered to the soldiers below was in spirit. That being the case, since the only thing she could offer the Men was to bear witness to their bravery, Ani made the choice to forego food and rest to remain rooted to the wall. Every cry of pain, every man that lay slain in the grass of Pelennor, the elleth refused to look away from the slaughter before her.
It was stupid. It was senseless. The situation had only been made worse by Ingold's sudden appearance at the gates that morning, having fled from an attack on the road north of the city; overwhelmed by forces of evil, the captain had no choice but to retreat to the city, leaving the only road by which Rohan could arrive blocked by soldiers of Mordor. For the first time in many hours, the black haired elleth turned her eyes from the destruction below and to an uninvolving spot on the wall and turned her thoughts inward. The sight of the storm above her and the death far below brought to mind another night of violence which had been accented by the falling rain. Images of Glorfindel standing alone in the courtyard of Helm's Deep surrounded by orcs just as the doors between them slammed shut…
Ani closed her eyes firmly to quell the rising desire to spill tears that begged to be shed for the friend she had left to die alone. Her slim fingers gripped the wall before her, bits of rock and mortar biting into her fingers and palms hoping the pain would be a strong enough force to hold her tears at bay. Glo should have never been left to such a fate. It was an image that would haunt her for however much time she had left to live, burned on the inside of her eyelids. Anita had accepted that scar as the permanent penance she would pay for not having fought harder to keep her friend and mentor alive, she should have fought harder to save him. Just as she should be doing something to save Faramir; a volatile mixture of fear and pride were working as effective obstacles in preventing her from going and begging Denethor to save his own sons life.
The elleth studied her hands and they continued to grip the wall white-knuckled. Everything she touched or got involved in was made worse by her involvement; her very existence was a curse to anyone that had the misfortune to know her. As desperately as the girl wanted to be the instrument by which Faramir was gifted an extra day of life, she hesitated to speak to Denethor on his son's behave for fear of making the situation worse. Diffidence was a new and unfamiliar sensation to the young elleth, and one personality trait she was pissed at having suddenly developed since the start of the war.
A cry from the fields below drew the elleth's attention from her inner struggle and back to the battle that raged on currently. All across the fields the girl could see bodies strewn about, broken and lifeless. Why was she up here? Why was she hiding from battle behind these stone walls? Glorfindel hadn't sacrificed himself at Helm's Deep so she could repay his gift by hiding behind someone else's soldiers, not when she had trained and practiced daily for years to gain the skill set by which to be the defender not the defended. Anita set her jaw firmly. Everything about her existence had been a mistake, from the moment of conception her life had thrown all those around her into utter chaos…here and now was the opportunity to rectify the situation; Her life in exchange for Faramir's.
Pushing away from the wall Ani squared her shoulders and walked confidently to the Citadel, the conviction of her decision propelling her every footstep. Whatever it took, whatever she had to say to the Steward to make him see the error in leaving those men outside the wall, whatever amount of pride she had to sacrifice, she was willing to do so. The city around her was heavy with silence; smothering the stone walls and making the city feel as bleak at its current conundrum. There was no movement, no sign of life, as though the clouds that had built overhead over the past few days had snuffed out the life of the once vibrant metropolis. Even the Citadel, which normally boasted constant life as people and servants went about their daily chores was eerily quiet. Anita hoped this meant that everyone was at home enjoying their last few days together with loved ones, for in her own humble opinion that was ideally how the end of the world should be faced.
Stepping up to the large ornate doors, the elleth paused to calm her tingling nerves and focus her mind to the singular task at hand; pacifying Denethor. First she was going to have to make a grand apology for the "heartless bastard" remark from the day before, then undoubtedly she would have to gratify his ego through flattery and pretending to offer the Steward all the esteem he left his station earned him. With a small forceful sigh, Ani threw her pride to the wind and entered the Tower of the Steward.
If the city outside was quiet, then the hall she slid into was a tomb. The lanterns hadn't been tended and were burned nearly to the end of the wick, casting long deep shadows around the throne room. There were no handmaidens or pages to greet her, no one to direct her to where Denethor might be. Slowly and decisively the girl stepped into the faintly lit room, listening intently for any signs of life. A bit of movement off to her right drew her in the direction of the room where she and Denethor had that tense breakfast meeting, a morning that now felt like lifetimes ago as opposed to a few days. Leaning heavily against the wall, staring blankly out a window onto the fields, Anita found Denethor. This room was slightly better attended as there were fresh tapers burning on the table, so she could see the man's haggard appearance with ease. Having not given her any indication he was aware of her presence, Anita took a moment to study the gentleman before her. Denethor's countenance gave the impression of aging a decade simply overnight; it could have been a trick of the light, but his wrinkles were more pronounced, his hair thinning and lusterless, dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. The steward was an odd amalgamation of contradictions; how strange it was to directly condemn a son to death and then lose sleep over that decision.
A soft sound drew her attention sharply to the wall next to the open archway she walked through. Sitting of the floor, his back propped against the wall as though it were the only thing holding him upright, was Pippin. The poor Hobbit didn't look to be in any better condition than Denethor, but Ani knew that Pip had respected and even liked Faramir from the moment he met the young captain, so it came as no surprise that Faramir's plight upset the young man sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. Pip blinked slowly as he looked up at the elf, it was obvious that he had been up all night tending to the Steward. Carefully Ani knelt next to him, "Go get some sleep Pippin," She said quietly, "We all need to keep up our strength." His boyish face contorted, making it clear he intended to argue with her to stay at his post; the elleth gently laid a hand on his knee and shook her head, quashing any opportunity to contend. It was clear that he was too tired to fight, it was also clear that deep down he didn't really want to fight. With a resigned slump of his shoulders, the small man stood up unsteadily and headed in the direction of the House. It was true that Ani worried about Pippin having enough rest, but mostly she hadn't wanted him to know what she was planning to do.
Straightening up she turned to Denethor, who couldn't possibly still be ignorant to her presence. They remained in silence for an extended moment, tension filling up the room. After years living in Rivendell Anita had watched the social dance of proper manners and protocol, she had seen it enough to emulate it in near precision. It may have stuck her the wrong way every time she had to do it, but she was able to do it none the less.
"Come to inform me of the state of my kingdom?" The sudden break in the stillness of the room gave the elf a start at the sound of the Steward's question. "Have you come to tell me that I am surrounded by enemies, cut off from my allies, with an army that dwindles in size even as we speak?" Anita opened her mouth to answer him but was cut off before a syllable left her mouth. "Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? For if you do not come to tell me that we are surely overthrown, why do you come here?" The older man sneered and turned to look at her, his visage strikingly gaunt in the flickering light.
This time he waited for a response, and Anita had to carefully choose her words and play the part that would most appease the man before her. "Milord, I came to beg your grace. I fear I misspoke the other day, I called into question your judgement and it is not my place to question how you see fit to govern your people." Admittedly, she was laying it on really thick in the flattery department, practically choking on how sickly sweet she was trying to keep her demeanor.
"An unforeseen apology? What is it that you seek from me?"
"My only goal is to see your kingdom survive this onslaught."
"Because I, as a 'heartless bastard', am incapable of seeing my people through this without the help of an elf?"
Ani clenched her hands tightly enough to leave crescent shaped indentations from her nails in the flesh of her palm; it took every shred of control the girl had to not roll her eyes. She knew that to open her mouth and say what she desperately wanted to, for Denethor to pull his head out from where it was currently and firmly lodged in his ass, would make things worse beyond repair both for the city and for Faramir. That's not what she was here to do, she was here to help…a sentiment that Anita began to chant like a mantra in her head. If Ani wanted Denethor to grant her permission to leave the city and aid Faramir in a retreat then she had to continue to butter the man up. "No sir, a wise and… benevolent…leader such as yourself is totally capable of victory in this battle without my input. However; if in your infinite wisdom you saw it fit to recall Faramir and his men form the field to better protect the CITY, I am offering my sword and skill to aid him." Just because she had to flatter didn't mean she had to be subtle.
Denethor let out a dry and mirthless laugh, "Oh indeed? Single handedly you shall drive back the armies of Mordor? And to think I spent my sons to defend this land when you were here all along."
As he continued to patronize, Anita wondered if it would be the worst thing in the world if she were to allow single orc from Mordor's ranks into the Citadel to rip Denethor's face off. "Obviously I could not stave off an attack by myself. But a great warrior such as you is aware that even a small contingent of men would be enough to cover a retreat since we wouldn't need to engage the enemy extensively."
"You may be heralded as a fine soldier among your own people, but my men would never follow a woman into battle." Denethor said flatly with a small shake of his head. Anita had to suppress a growl of frustration as she reconsidered her tactics, irritated that her gender was deciding the fate of hundreds of people.
"Is your only objection the one you voiced just now?" Anita's head swiveled around at the third voice in the room, her face rigid as she tried to hide the surprise that Gandalf was one of only a few people still capable of sneaking up on her.
Denethor acknowledged the wizard's presence with a glance and a nod, but turned his face back to the window where he could view the chaos on the fields. " Ingold and his men had retreated from the northern road, surrendering the only path by which aid could come to the hands of our enemies. Rohan cannot aid us, it is as I feared all along; we are truly alone in the defense of this city. We will need all our soldiers to fortify our defense. I do indeed desire to recall the men from the fields. But they will not follow her."
"Then if your men will not follow Ani, they will follow me, and I will follow her to aid the retreat." Denethor gave the respected old wizard an incredulous look; Anita was scarcely able to keep her own shock under wraps. Gandalf simplified, "She is both competent and capable."
A moment passed where the Steward weighed his options silently and all Anita and Gandalf could do was suffer the waiting until he gave his answer. The girl was grateful to the wizard for his well-timed appearance, in her heart knowing that the disadvantage of her gender would have pitted Denethor's choices against her; it was only by Gandalf's endorsement that they now had a chance. Finally the Steward caved, "I will have a sortie of horsemen made ready for you within the hour." Denethor paused to mull over a thought before he spoke again. "Bring my son back."
Anita gave a bow and quickly exited the room before the dithering old man could change his mind, her withdraw closely shadowed by Gandalf. Once they had safely made it to the courtyard without Denethor recanting his decision, Anita let out a full-bodied sigh of relief. "That man in wildly bipolar," She stated without prelude, "One day he coldly and maliciously condemns his son to death and the next he is staging a daring rescue."
"I fear that Denethor is becoming...unwell." Gandalf replied slowly.
"Becoming?" The elleth scoffed in reply. "To call him unstable would be an understatement. Thank you for having my back in there, I didn't think I was going to be able to convince him." They stood together in the courtyard talking, Anita biding her time knowing that very soon she was going to be in charge of a small rescue operation and anxiety was starting to rear its ugly head again.
Gandalf nodded in reply to her gratitude. "I was surprised when Pippin told me you were seeking counsel with Denethor this early morning; I came to see for myself. I must say you have taken a particular interest in the plight of the young captain."
Anita looked away from the wise and discerning man before her, but felt no shame in admitting the truth. "I see much of myself in him, many parallels between our lives. There is one exception though; when my life was in danger at Helm's Deep I had someone willing to trade his life for mine, to keep me safe and give me the chance to live and fight another day. Now when it matters, Faramir doesn't have anyone willing to do that for him because fate already stole that person away from him. Faramir does not deserve to die alone and abandoned in the dirt on a whim of his father, he deserves to be here with his people fighting to defend his land and if he gives his life he gives it for a worthy cause…not because of Denethor's madness."
The wizard's eyes pierced her deeply as if judging her words against the very weight of her being, Anita dared not make eye contact for fear the wizard would see the guilt and insecurity that Glorfindel's sacrifice for her evoked and ultimately pushed her to offer the same payment of herself for Faramir. "Ready yourself then, for it is not an easy fight we have before us." Without further delay, the wizard turned himself to the lower level where the soldiers and stables were, and Anita turned to the House to seek out her weaponry.
Glo's sword and her belt laden with throwing knives and a dagger were still in her room where she had left them; each held within it their own scarred memories of Helm's Deep. Anita strapped Glorfindel's sword, now her sword, across her back, fastening the buckles and pulling the leather straps tight, constricting her chest. Around her hips she latched the belt that housed both her dagger and her small collection of throwing knives. Absently she ran her fingers over the four remaining knives lingering in the spot where the missing fifth piece should have been, a piece that could never be recovered, like so many pieces of her life leading up to this day. Ani closed her eyes and took a moment to clear her head of all thoughts that could potentially distract her from the fight she was about to enter. Glorfindel had been thorough in his tutelage of her over their years together, and one point that was always made clear was that distractions were death notes. It was better to halt herself and clear her mind than rush into battles with her convictions and fears drawing her mind away from what was happening around her. She thought of her sister, all the fights and laughter, headaches and heartbreaks, tears and triumphs growing up with her twin. She thought of her mother, learning of the lies she had been brought up in and the struggle her mother had gone through trying to give her girls a life far away from the society of Rivendell. Ani thought of her father Elladan, her uncle and aunt, her grandfather…a family that had tried to see beyond past hurts to raise the bastard children conceived in scandal and despite it all had been warm and welcoming. All those whom she had crossed paths with in this long and perilous journey crossed the elleth's mind next; good people trying to make their way in this world, whose own troubles and tribulations made Anita's seem pitiful at best. She thought of Legolas, the Elven prince who had suddenly and expectantly taken ahold of her heart. Ani remembered not liking the Prince very much at first, thinking him pompous and shallow. A small smile twitched across her lips when she thought back to knocking him on his ass that first day he had taken her beyond the walls of her new home. The relationship she had built with the Prince, however forbidden in its nature it had been , had given her hope to continue on in this new home despite how the world judged her differently. Were it not for the Prince, were it not for the way that Legolas had made her feel less like an alien in her own world, she would not be here fighting for her fellow Man. Lastly, Ani thought of Glorfindel how he had taken her under his wing and taught her a skill and gave her a place among her own people, a controversial place in society, but a place where she fit nonetheless.
The absence of the little knife and the emotions it evoked didn't weigh a heavily as the sword upon her back, a sword she had only come into possession of because of her mentor's demise. Anita had a debt to pay and the conviction that were she to die now it would be paid back in full gave her the strength she needed to push all thoughts of loved ones to the back of her mind and lock them away. Squaring her shoulders, the elf marched out of the room and down to the Sixth Level.
The few soldiers granted her by Denethor were assembling in the stables, most had already been at the ready with the heightened awareness of impending battle that had been growing for the last few days. Anita ignored the confused glances that her arrival earned from some of the older soldiers and the wave of whispers that followed closely behind. The elleth sought out Gandalf, who was preparing Shadowfax for his departure. No sooner had she joined the wizard in the stall than a gritty voice called, "Dark days indeed Mithrandir if we are to ride with ruffled skirts out to battle."
All her patience for ignorance had been eaten up with the Steward and she snapped back, " Perhaps I should have worn an actual ruffled skirt so you would have something to hide behind on the battle field you spineless fool," When her taunt was met with stunned silence from the soldier who had thrown the original insult she continued, "If any of you have a problem with me riding out with you then you are welcome to stay here since I'll not have time to coddle you out on the field." There were no further jibes from the men about her presence, which suited her just fine.
Though she could feel the old wizard's eyes studying her during the tense exchange, Gandalf did not address her about it directly. He had seen many life-times come and go, ages had passed him by without a second glance, so he knew it would take more than one bold elleth to change the centuries of prejudice that the Men of Gondor held against women and what their considered 'place' in society was. Albeit; if there was one woman capable of planting the seeds of change for those centuries old perceptions, it was Anita. The woman before him adjusted the straps that held the sword across her back, testing her reach to ensure she could easily access the weapon that had only recently become hers. That was why the old man had given her the lead in this venture. Wars were unpredictable, and without Aragorn here to lead the army should anything befall him during this final siege, Gandalf needed to know that he there would be a leader here to defend the city.
"I'll ride with you." She said dismissively, pulling him away from his insights to focus on her statement; one that Ani had surely meant to be innocuous and not draw attention, but had the contrasting effect instead. The old man gave her a dubious look emphasized with a raised eyebrow, forcing the girl before him to quickly create an excuse. " I learned to ride and I learned to wield a sword but I never learned to do both at the same time."
The lie slid from Anita's lips unconvincingly and she couldn't quell the flinch when she heard how obviously transparent the fib was…Mithrandir wasn't persuaded by her story for even a moment. "If you ride with me on Shadowfax then you do not have a means to safely return to the city. This is a retreat," He heavily emphasized the word, " we go only to engage in battle necessary to secure Faramir and his men a safe passage back to the protection of the city. You will be needed not only to lead the men out to the fields but safely return to the city."
Anita didn't make eye contact with Gandalf as she gently patted Shadowfax's neck, "Let me worry about that." She was trying so hard to be apathetic, to hide behind the stoic Elvish façade her people were known for…but she hadn't mastered it quite yet. The old man reached over as the elleth continued to pat the horse's neck and covered her smaller smooth hand with his aged and wrinkled one, stopping her mid motion. Ani looked up at him then steadily holding his blue eyes in her dark gaze as silence swept over the duo. There was something unsettling in the girl's eyes that the wizard saw, something that caused a concerned crease to wrinkle his forehead.
"Any doubts you may have about the course of your life, can only be addressed if you remain alive to address them." Gandalf stated quietly, giving her hand a comforting pat, "You have a family in Rivendell that care greatly for you…"
"People who are burdened by me you mean." Anita snapped cutting off the wizard's sentiment short. She pulled her hand back and turned away from him for a second, and when she turned back there was no longer any attempt to hide behind a mask. Gandalf was taken aback by the flood of raw emotion that filled Anita's eyes, windows into the depths of everything she had been trying desperately to hide and fight alone. So strong was the sudden honest outpouring for the wizard to see that the anguish, the depression, the self-loathing, and sense of hopelessness were very tangible. All too quickly Gandalf pieced together the self-inflicted torture that the elf before him was suffering; the nightmares, the outbursts, the sole driving need to fight and, if necessary, die to seek redemption. "I have been a wretched person Gandalf, "Ani whispered, her voice cracking under the release of all her pent up feelings, "When Glorfindel died, it forced me to look at my life from the perspective of what it had cost people around me. It cost Glo his life. My mere existence cost my parents any chance at happiness they could have had together. I have cost my sister an easy and happy life among our people, her transition into this world only halted by my pig-headedness. My relationship with Legolas could cost him his throne. Whatever I thought my life was worth, I see now that my absence in this world would improve it far better than my presence ever could."
"The worth of your life is not weighed against your perceived mistakes."
"You're right; it's weighed against my deeds and whether they were carried out goodly and justly, something which I am currently trying to rectify." She hissed at him. Before the discussion could go further the elleth stepped back out of the stall to address the soldiers who were readying their steeds. "Complete your preparations," Her commanding voiced filled up to the empty rafters, "Time is short and Faramir's company needs us. We go to cover their retreat only, not to regain lost ground. You give the fatigued men on the field a head start back to the city and then you get the hell out of there." Anita made direct eye contact with the few men that had stopped what they were doing to stand in the aisle as she spoke, asserting her authority and leaving no room to question her directive. She was responsible for their lives and wanted them each to understand their goal, lest they get chopped down trying to fight the whole of Sauron's army singlehandedly.
Gandalf had taken his perch atop Shadowfax before Ani returned to the stall, his eyes burning into with obligation to continue their discussion. However; the elleth returned his stare with a steely gaze of her own and held up a single finger to prevent the wizard from breaching the subject again. Easily pulling herself up to sit behind the older man she gripped a handful of his white robes to steady herself, "If we waste any more time there won't be a need for us to go down there. Let's go."
Gandalf pulled the horse around and led them out the gates of the stables and down the road with the sortie of men following closely behind.