Depressed… hobbits gone… and Legolas still gone…
Please R&R - constructive criticism welcome
***
The trip was uneventful, over all. They found a half-dozen orcs skulking around on the roadside, but they were quickly – and bloodily – dealt with. Faramir's men were well skilled in the arts of war, Mithmír judged, and were faithful to the death to their beloved leader.
When they slept that night her bedroll was beside Faramir's, but at a modest distance, in the centre of all the other men's for protection from the horrors that may wander nearby. Faramir wouldn't hear of her taking a watch that night, and so she slept, and was glad for it, despite her words. In secret and silence, when she was asleep, some of Faramir's men watched her in wonder; for even as in the way of the Elves, she slept with her eyes open, so she might always see the stars.
And then the Darkness fell. It was the twelfth of March by Mithmír's reckoning. She awoke that morn and instantly cried out. Faramir sprang to her side, and taking her hand in his, nodded at her sadly.
'Night is here,' he whispered quietly. 'The sun shall not be revealed to us again unless we win this War.' He helped her up to a sitting position, and embraced her till her shivers stopped. When he lent back there was a cheeky twinkle in his eye. 'To think, lady, you of all people are afraid of the dark…'
She stifled her laughter and playfully lashed out, pushing him over. 'The dark doesn't make me afraid, Faramir,' she said calmly. 'It's what causes it that does - the dark power of Mordor.'
He got up slowly, and nodded. 'That fear can never be scoffed at, Lady,' he said evenly. 'We have to go on though, but at least it will be away from our fears.'
'And maybe into new ones,' she said cryptically, but would not explain the comment however much Faramir asked.
And ride they did, as fast as they could, and the hooves of the horses were hastened by the almost tangible fear of the growing shadow behind them.
By the next morning the darkness was so deep that Faramir awoke her with a lamp in his hand. Her elf eyes had little trouble seeing, but the men alikened it to deep dusk. This time, however, she did not cry out, but rather rolled over wearily, and silently mouthed a prayer to the Valar for strength.
'We need speed,' Faramir told her over breakfast. 'I sense trouble growing; and a fear is weighing on my heart. If we do not reach the White City soon, I fear my courage shall fail.'
'You underestimate your courage, Faramir,' Mithmír replied in a voice quieted so the conversation was kept private from the breakfasting men about them. 'But I agree that speed is needed. You must see, however, that we cannot make decent speed with all these men.' She gestured about her. 'We should continue, but only with your fastest riders.' She shrugged and deftly swallowed a mouthful of water. 'Of course, these are your men, and it is your choice.'
'I agree with you,' Faramir said after a minute's thought. 'Two of my men alone have fast enough horses to keep up with my own; and none to match your Elven stallion, but that cannot be helped. It shall be only four of us who ride on, but it must suffice.'
'It shall,' said Mithmír with conviction that surprised even herself. Later she would regret that sureness.
'The others go to Cair Andros, then,' Faramir sighed. 'It is but a mile or so upstream, they can make the time quickly. We cross here, as best we can, and waste no more time.' He got up decisively. 'I go to order my men. The two who shall accompany us, Roroth and Gerbenel, good men both and skilled riders, shall meet you by the banks of the Anduin in five minutes. Lady,' he said finally, before he left, 'today I ask you to wear your armour fully, not only in part, and to keep your sword and bow at easy reach.' His eyes showed brotherly care and concern, bordering on fear - fear for her, not only himself and his men.
She nodded swiftly. 'I will, Faramir. Worry not for me.'
And then they parted silently, each disappearing into the gloom.
They were already inside the circle of the Rammas Echor when the final twist of fate struck them. They had been riding hard and fast; for the riders Faramir had brought with them were indeed well-skilled in the saddle. Mithmír's whole body ached, and her armour chafed at her skin. She hadn't ridden in full armour for many years now - if ever. Her helmet especially bothered her, as she believed it restricted her vision and hearing. Faramir, however, half-begged, half-ordered for her to keep it on. She did, with reluctance. It was lucky.
She heard it first, despite the confines of the helmet on her pointed ears. She dropped her speed so Faramir could catch her up, and called, 'can you hear that, Faramir? Can you hear the wings?'
'No,' he replied, looking at her oddly. 'Wings of what?'
'I don't know,' she said with a shiver, scouring the sky. Her hands tightened on Brialvastor's mane - she used no reins. 'There are five black specks on the far horizon… Tell me, Faramir, does Gondor ever see eagles above it?'
'Not since long before I was born!' He replied, and a fear grew in his voice. 'The hobbits told me of terrors that are winged, however…' He took a hand from the reins and pointed to the dots which were now just visible to human eyes. The other men had seen it too. 'Tell me - how big are these things?'
'Smaller than dragon, larger than eagle,' Mithmír said, and her belly clenched into a knot of worry. 'Black and sinuous, with spikes on wings and jowl and paw…' She shuddered, and her eyes on Faramir were wide. 'And riders are astride them!'
'Then the hobbits' tales are true indeed, and may haunt us yet!' Faramir half-shouted. He turned his horse around with vicious suddenness, and stopped till the two men caught up. Mithmír followed suit. The fear she felt now was even greater than that outside the Black Gates, and this one was getting closer…
'Ride!' Faramir shouted as loud as he could, and the sound was muffled by the darkness. 'Ride if you ever want to see the light again!' The two men took his words to heart, and kicked their horses hard. The beasts broke into a gallop, and with a call for her to follow Faramir joined their retreat, but Mithmír knew they were too slow. The black riders, the Nazgûl, were far fleeter on their winged horrors than man on mortal horse. Despite herself she felt tears of frustration and fear wet her cheeks. It was hopeless, these men would die… Choking on her sorrow, urging herself to be brave, Mithmír rode after them, calling to Brialvastor,
'Noro lim, noro lim!' The words echoed in her mind, they seemed to have great importance, but she could not know that another elven rider had called those words in his fear, before the Bruinen. 'Tulu enni, Brialvastor celegroch!' Save me, Brialvastor the swift steed!
She soon caught up with the men, who were frenzied with fear, and whose horses were already starting to become disobedient with blind terror. Faramir alone remained in control of his mare, but his attempts to help his friends were futile. Mithmír called to Faramir's horse in Elvish, and it sprang away after her and Brialvastor, leaving Faramir unable to help his men. He turned on her, and his anger was white hot. 'Why do you not let me save them, Mithmír? Would you have innocent men die?'
'I would not have a man who is a brother to me die!' Cried Mithmír, her voice strong despite her anguish and tears. 'Do not die for them, Faramir! Their doom is decied while as of yet you still have a chance! Do not leave me alone to grieve!'
'My place is with my men, Elf!' He shouted back, turning his horses head. The beast obeyed finally. 'I must die with them if need demands it! Fly from here while you can, and wait not for the weary!' And he galloped back to try to quiet the panicking beasts and riders.
Mithmír pulled Brialvastor to an instant stop, and looked back out to the plain, where the deadly riders on their foul creatures of nightmares swooped down repeatedly on the men. Her heart was being torn in two. She had always called herself brave, even thought she was, but now she felt true fear, and it nearly made her sick. She saw the courage of Faramir, a mere Man, and it made her feel guilty. She would not leave her friend here to die; no more than she would leave Tirathnavir, Haldir or Anoniel to a similar fate. Futile as it was, she would do her part in helping him.
Her legs were as heavy iron when she kicked Brialvastor on, urging him to turn back. His speed was that of the wind, but she already felt half-dead in the saddle. The fear of the beasts gripped her mind in a terrible embrace, trying to make her give up… She gritted her teeth, tasting the salt of tears as they reached her mouth.
When she passed Faramir, who was having little success with his men, their eyes met. His went wide and she heard him, above the wind roaring past, shout wildly, 'turn back, Elf!' but she merely shook her head firmly, and rode on. He looked after her in anguish, but in a second turned back to his duty, though it weighed heavily on his heart and mind.
She rode far past them, and fast. One of the Black Riders saw her go, as she had hoped, and its beast gave an evil shriek as it swooped to follow her. She felt her heart pounding so violently she almost imagined the beast and its rider could hear it beating in her chest… She begged Brialvastor to run, faster than he ever had, but she knew he could find no more energy within himself, or not enough to outpace this terrible foe… It was gaining behind her, the wing beats getting closer, and the rider was crying in the foul language of Mordor. She wanted to give in, to let death come, take the easy way out… But the warrior part of her rebelled at that, and kept her going.
She never saw the two men fall, nor Faramir be saved by Gandalf the White, whom she thought to have fallen. She was too sick and wild with fear to notice that her pursuer, with an unnatural cry of frustration, left the chase. She was acting on one of any living thing's most natural instincts: flight.
When she finally got to the first ruined stone house of Osgiliath, she fell from the saddle in a dead faint.
