Thanks for the reviews! Great to have Amanda back! Sorry about all the spelling mistakes. Spelling is definitely not one of my best skills.

I haven't updated for a while now (mostly because of fanficiton.net's update) but from now on I should update about once a day.

Please read, enjoy, and review.

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They travelled on for a while more, Mithmír talking to the hobbits now as they were close enough. She was engaged in a conversation with Sam about the best way to eat eggs – much to the evident amusement of their guards – when suddenly she heard a twig crack to the north of them.

'Mabatirith,' Be careful. She said in Elvish, which was rather pointless, but at the time it was her first reaction. Her basest instincts were all in Elvish. She thought for barely a second and then said, 'Lord Faramir! Are any of your men to the direct north of us, maybe five or six hundred metres?' There was an urgency in her voice.

'No,' he said in quick reply. 'Why?' Meanwhile he motioned for his men to form defensive positions, and to draw their weapons.

There was no time for her to reply. The Southronds jumped from the bushes with the grace of cats but the power of rampaging bulls. She couldn't see it, but she could hear every sound and the sounds and smells told her every detail of the scene; nearly as well as if she were seeing it. The two men were down in a volley of arrows, but their purpose was clear: with no regard for personal safety, their first move was toward Frodo. One drew a pipe to his lips and blew hard: out flew a dart, faster moving than any human eye could see. Faramir had seconds before given the order to protect the hobbits with their lives, but even though his men rushed to obey, they were too slow.

Mithmír, however, was not. She could hear the dart; her half-elf hearing enough to do her that service. She also believed that, for that one time, Manwë himself helped her. With only the merest hint of a pause, she stepped in front of where she judged Frodo to be.

The Men and hobbits saw her fall as swiftly as the Southronds. She hit the ground with a dull thud, and just over her right hip there was a bloody tear in the fabric of her clothes - at the height of a hobbit neck. Her skin paled quickly, and they could hear her breathing become harder, as well as see her chest move rapidly up and down. For a second, no one did anything. Then Frodo called,

'What has happened? Who has fallen?' And Sam echoed his call, but added, 'it's not her, is it? The lady hasn't fallen?'

Faramir's voice was harsh, tense. 'You, you and you: you are all fast runners, are you not? Then we are not too far from the camp. Run thence and bring back a stretcher! Hurry, this brave woman's life depends on the speed of your feet!' Meanwhile he dropped to the ground beside the fallen maiden, and quickly rearranged her so she lay comfortably. Her breathing was painfully, audibly shallow; her chest heaved with every effort to draw breath. 'Remove the blindfold, for the sake of the Gods!' He called in exasperation. It was done so instantly. Her eyes were hard closed, their dark, emotional depths hidden. Her skin was paling fast, and her lips lost their colour.

'Poison,' gasped Faramir. 'The Southronds have been educated in the art of poison-making! This is far more serious than their normal sleep-inducing berries or the like. We have not long, then, to save her. Which of you knows the most of healing?' He asked his men.

One lean, young man raised his hand. His hair was ginger, and little curls protruded from under his helm. 'I, Lord Faramir. I am the most advanced healer here.'

'Then in the name of Gondor,' said Faramir hoarsely, 'run to the camp and prepare whatever you need to heal this maid. Go, go!'

With a nod the young man, barely older than a boy, sprinted off after the men who had gone to fetch a stretcher.

'Poison?' Gasped Sam. 'Did you hear that, Mr Frodo? Did you hear?'

'Of course, Sam!' Replied Frodo urgently. 'Lord Faramir, we beg of you, tell us what has occurred or else remove these blindfolds!'

Faramir replied in a shout, getting angry. 'Nothing, do you hear me? There is no time for me to tell you, unless you want to lose her forever. Do you understand?'

'Yes,' said Frodo with remarkable calm. 'Yes, Lord, we do. Save her, if you can, and we shall forever praise your name.' His voice was deceptively quiet as he tried to hide his emotion.

Faramir nodded, and laid his hand on the woman's brow: she was icy cold already. He pulled off his travelling-cape, revealing shining silver armour, and wrapped it firmly around her. He grasped her hands, and looked at them for a second before putting them in the pockets of her cape: they were perfectly shaped, but showed the signs of long years in the wild. This lady intrigued him. He wanted to know all he could of her; for surely the tale of so wonderfully brave a maiden must be a story worth hearing.

Finally the stretcher-bearers came back. All the men but Frodo and Sam's guard helped lift the lady carefully on, their hands gentle and reverent; for a great respect for her had been born in them after witnessing her brave deed. Then two of the strongest rangers lifted the stretcher high above the ground, and moved in a quick jog away, trying to keep their passenger as still and as undisturbed as possible, despite the ruts and slopes of the road. Faramir ran beside them; and the hobbits gasped in shock as they were none-too-gently slung over shoulders which were, in their estimation, high above the ground.

'Sorry, little hobbit lords,' apologised Sam's bearer, 'but unless you wish to be left behind with possibly more Southronds about, you must allow yourself to be carried so.' Frodo agreed, and even Sam said it would 'have to do' – but he squirmed around a lot on the way.

Haze, mist, wetness on her face. Water? She struggled to remember just what water was, and how it felt: but she lost the image, and she was too tired to chase after it. Her limbs were heavy. She was dimly aware of being carried, back in some other place, but a voice was whispering so tantalisingly in her ear: 'it is much easier to stay here, isn't it, lady? You are happy here, in the land of your dreams. See, we can bring all your friends and family here to meet you… Why struggle back to the place where they are all sundered by wide miles, and you can never be perfectly happy?' And the faces of her loved ones flashed past her eyes. She nearly accepted it, but no, the faces were wrong, the visages merely masks. She lashed out feebly. 'No! It's not true! Let go of me! Let me back there!' The voice became angry, and pain tore at every inch of her body. 'You will stay! You are ours now! You either stay, believe our illusions, and be happy; or be forced to stay and never accept, and live in pain.' 'No, no no!' She screamed. 'I will never, I will never…' But her eyes were drooping, her limbs growing heavy, and she was rising, or falling, but she couldn't tell which… 'If this is death,' she thought, 'it is not as bad as I thought it would be…'