Thanks so much for all the reviews! It's great to know people are still reading this. In reply to Satiana's comment, I think most sane people would have a cow if a girl chose Faramir over Legolas!

Please R&R, and enjoy!

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'She died brave,' Faramir whispered to himself when he was finally on his own that night in his room. His voice was choking and his face wet with tears of sorrow. 'She didn't die in vain.' He tried to persuade himself it was true… He sobbed loudly again, and beat one hand on the wall futilely. He twisted round so his back was against the hard surface, and dropped to the floor limply. 'I killed her,' he whispered in the agony of his soul. 'If only I had gone with her then…' His eyes didn't see the room about him, his own room he had had as a child, but his vision was haunted with terrible scenes… A brown horse lying, crippled in death, on the empty grasslands of the Pelennor; its rider slumped on the ground beside it, helmet rolled away, arms raised above its head in a futile gesture of defence, gaping wounds in chest and neck, bright silver of armour tarnished with blood… He shuddered, and a worse vision passed before his eyes: Mithmír captured alive, still alive now, but in Minas Morgul, in their fell tower, being tortured… He screamed hoarsely, tried to rub his eyes clear of the terrifying visions of guilt, but they were still there: he could still see her pain, hear bones crack and blood drip to the floor, her screams of anguish… He moaned softly. 'What have I done to you, brave Elf? What terrors must you endure because of me?' He wrapped his arms about himself, and in his sorrow he was a young boy again, being embraced by the mother he missed so much…

She moaned deeply, and her tongue flicked out to moisten her dry lips. Her eyes were too heavy to open, and she was so tired.

'Elf!' A harsh voice cried. She relaxed at it, however. It was human, and spoke in the Common Tongue - not the foul one of Mordor. She sighed a little, and murmured,

'Thank the Valar…' But in a second she cried out fiercely, and despite her weariness her eyes flew open. A spear point dug harshly into her solar plexus. She let out a groan, and tried to raise her hands to protect herself, but they were being held back. Her vision cleared so she could mostly see, but dizzying black spots played chase over her eyes. 'What…?' She asked finally, and grunted again as the point was jabbed a little harder. She was shocked to see her armour had been stripped from her, and she wore only a cloak above her normal clothes - only her helmet remained on. After a few dizzying acrobatics, the black spots finally cleared, and she made out half a dozen men in the livery of Gondor around her. All their swords were drawn. She gulped, and wished she had not regained consciousness.

'Who are you?' Demanded the man with the spear, glowering. Rough hands grabbed her and forced her into a sitting position. She was suddenly and violently sick on the grass beside her. Despite their owners' sounds of revulsion, the hands that pinned her arms to her side, and held her up, didn't loosen their grip. Their revulsion could not be greater than the hate she held for herself at that time. How could she be so weak before these men? Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and as the worst degradation, she was too weak in will and body to hold them back. She sobbed as if her pains could be healed by salt water. Her helmet was roughly jerked off, and then it appeared that the men around her first noticed her sex. There were a few gasps, a few shouts of wonder, but mostly suspicious grumbles - especially at her elven ears, which were all to visible through her hair. She sobbed harder, and her body shook uncontrollably. She wanted to die, to sink sweetly and softly into oblivion, to leave this place of shame and hurt.

'Who are you? Speak, or you'll die on a Gondorian blade,' warned the man with the spear, prodding her stomach again with his spear.

If she wasn't so scared, so filled with sorrow for the fallen Faramir, she would have replied boldly, assertively. But now… 'Mithmír,' she moaned between sobs. 'Half-elf…' She couldn't bring herself to mention Faramir. The pain was too recent, the wounds too fresh.

The cries were of disgust. 'Elves? Kin of the sorceress in the Wood! Evil things, all of them!' 'Probably in league with Sauron…' 'She should be killed now, Captain!'

'Do you work for the Dark Lord?' Asked the man with the spear gruffly, and twisted his weapon a little so it drew blood.

'No!' She screamed in pain. 'No, never…'

'Liar!' Shouted the men. 'Kill her, Captain! She was probably the one who summon the foul things down on Faramir over the plain!'

The man's dark eyes glinted at her coldly from the dark recess of his helmet. 'They may be right, lady.' He sneered the word. 'What true lady wanders on her own through troubled lands? Why, if you were decent -' there was crude laughter in the ranks of men - 'you would be at home with your kin… Isn't that right?'

She blushed. She could feel the bile of hatred, anger and fear rising in her stomach; but overall she was helpless, and the thought horrified her. 'I'm a warrior,' she said creakily.

'Then you admit to being one of Sauron's servants?' The man pounced on her words, seeking to twist their meaning.

'No!' She cried desperately.

'But the evidence goes against you, lady elf.'

She hung her head wearily. She had no more strength to fight. Her ordeal had weakened even her bold spirit too much.

'We won't kill you, yet,' he surprised her by saying. 'I am not of high enough rank to order execution. Luckily, Faramir is alive, even after your attempt to kill him. He arrives here soon. He'll decide what to do to you - but don't count on his mercy overly much. The men he lost on the plain were two of his great friends.'

Mithmír didn't reply. The men were dead? But Faramir lived beyond her wildest hopes… A bit of darkness lifted from her soul. She would live, and fight for it. Maybe not with a sword or bow, but she would not let herself be killed… Anyhow, Faramir would not send the order to kill her. She trusted him deeply. She felt herself being roughly tied into the saddle of a horse - Brialvastor, she realised with no small joy - and the horse being led away. Her hands were bound, she was gagged, and the black spots had come again over her eyes with the exertion. Finally the darkness claimed her, and she saw no more.