Thanks for all the reviews! I'm trying to improve the spelling. Please R&R and mention if I'm making any headway! Thanks!
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Her goodbye to the hobbits was not tearful, but had just as much sadness involved. She grieved to see two such brave men go off to what reason told her was sure death. She embraced each of them hard and long, and whispered Elven words of luck in their ears. 'Take care of yourselves for my sake at least,' she said hoarsely, her eyes wet with with-held tears. 'And Sam, look after yourself as well as your master!'
'Don't worry, lady, I'll look after Mister Frodo, you'll see,' Sam sniffed.
She finally stood up, and she looked brave and glorious, but her hand, as it waved, shook against the outline of the rising sun. 'We shall meet again, hobbits,' she said, and her voice was bold, loud and wise. 'Whether it be here on Middle Earth, or upon the shores of the Undying Lands, or at the very End of all before Ilúvatar, we shall meet again.' And then she mounted her elven horse; who was tall and proud, and whom she had summoned early that morning from his wanders far away in Minas Tirith. Her dark hair was moving in the breeze about her head, and the sun glinted off the light armour she had taken from her pack. 'Remember me,' she called, 'remember Mithmír Rochiwen, the grey-stone, the maid of horses.' And then she called out something in Elvish, which only Frodo understood, though he later told Sam:
'Dû thia morn an i gwaith ai nedh ten achas cuinar, dan nainnas minuil a amdir uin melui methen.' The night looks dark to those who in its thrall live, but there is always a dawn and a chance of fairer ending.
And then she was off, her horse moving fluidly as water, cantering away after Faramir and his men, who had left an hour before.
'I hate goodbyes,' was Sam's teary statement.
'Fear not, though,' Frodo replied dreamily, 'for she speaks true. In the end, we shall all meet again.'
She rode fast, and reached Faramir and his men before the sun was high up. To their evident amazement her horse was barely tired, though his flanks had a sheen of sweat upon them. The half-elf herself was panting a little from the hard ride, and her hood was up – to hide her tears, but they were not to know that.
Faramir had been turning around in the saddle to see if she was coming for the last half-hour. It was on one such turn that he saw her, a black form of horse and rider in the distance. He raised a long arm in greeting, and shouted, 'the Lady comes to join us!' His men, turning also, added their shouts eagerly to his. The elf had been taken as a kind of lucky sign, a good omen that such a powerful creature of legend and old stories should be riding with them to war. Faramir hadn't put down the rumours of Elves' strange powers: anything that kept up his men's moral was worth preserving.
She galloped up within a second, and in a graceful yet purposeful movement swept back her hood, and shook her head to let her hair flow loose. 'You ride fast… for a Man and a man,' she jested with a wry smile on her face. The tears had been swept away, and there was no sign to say that they had ever been.
Faramir spurred his horse forward to kiss her cheek in greeting. 'Aye, but we cannot all match she-elves in everything!'
She laughed happily, shaking the shadow off her heart as she did so. The hobbits' destiny was their own now. She could not save all who she loved any longer. She slowed the pace of her elven horse to match Faramir's. 'Where do we head, Lord?' She asked finally, and quietly so only he heard it.
'I am Faramir, not Lord, to you, my friend,' corrected the man in mock anger. 'We head for Minas Tirith, the city of my father, the twenty-sixth Steward, Lord Denethor.' He frowned in sorrow. 'I think he shall not be glad to see me.'
Her inquisitive spirit alerted, Mithmír cocked her head in interest. 'Why?' She asked unashamedly.
He looked at her, and the pain in his eyes was immense, but accepted. 'Because he ever loved Boromir more than me, and now Boromir is lost to us all.'
She bowed her head, and bit her lip for her impertinence. 'I am sorry, Faramir,' she said softly. 'It was not my place to ask such things.'
'I am glad you did before any other,' he said, and patted her hand kindly. 'I am comfortable telling you these things, Mithmír. You understand. Maybe it is the Elven blood in you, or maybe it is just you, Mithmír herself… I don't know.' He shrugged casually, but his bright eyes looked at her steadily for her reaction.
'Recently I have not even known who the real Mithmír is,' sighed the half-elf wearily. 'I have been acting as if in a dream. I do not know what I want anymore. I do not know whether I am Elf, or Man, or either. I do not know where I am meant to be, where I shall fit in. And who can tell me?' Her eyes begged him, but he shook his head.
'Not I, Lady, not I.' His smile was caring, compassionate. 'Maybe, somewhere along the line of this War of the Ring – for surely there shall be war – we shall both find our true place, our true purpose.'
'Humans have no fore-planned "purpose",' said Mithmír thoughtfully. 'Ilúvatar only plans the lives of Elves. A Human's gift is to chose.'
'And to die,' muttered Faramir as if pained. He looked up at her suddenly. 'Will you die, Lady?'
She looked puzzled. She had asked herself this question a lot recently. 'Yes… or… I think so,' she said slowly. 'My mother renounced her immortality to live with my father; however, she still may leave on Elven boats across the sea, if she so wishes. And I am ageing at the speed of Men.' She giggled. 'Mind you, I might just stop growing, as suddenly as that,' she snapped her fingers, 'and become immortal in the wink of an eye!'
Faramir laughed with her. 'Then we face death together, Lady, and one of my men's tales is proved false. They said elves were immortal and invulnerable.'
'They are not,' she replied knowledgeably. 'Immortal, yes, but Elves can die in battle. Or,' she paused for a while, 'of a broken heart.' She looked odd for a while, but soon cheered up. 'Mind you, they are often re-incarnated after that, it is said; or sometimes merely pass into the Halls of the Valar beyond the Sundering Sea. We – I mean, they never pass totally the confines of this world, unlike Men. It has always puzzled Elves as to where Men go when they die.'
'Well, I know the answer to that as well as you,' replied Faramir conversationally. 'But I hope there's good ale and fresh food before a warm fire, and with promise of a soft bed, wherever it is!'
She laughed. 'I should toast to that, friend!'
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Ahh, the joys of platonic love in a story. Makes things much easier!
Hope you're enjoying it! Please review!
