***Random Note: just to remind everyone out there that I do NOT own LOTR, or any characters that I haven't created (use your common sense) and so don't sue me.***
Excuse the bad Sindarin. Just for anyone interested - [looks accusingly at dizzy izzy and satiana in particular] - Legolas is not in the next chapter BUT HE IS IN THE ONE AFTER THAT. So look out chapter 26, 'cos here comes Legolas! Yay!
Please read and review. More reviews = more Legolas (blatant bribe I know, but hey, it might just work)
Enjoy!
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She woke again many hours later; and it may have been night, or it may have been day, but she could not tell, and little difference it would make to know, or so it seemed to her. For a while she sat on the edge of the kingly bed she occupied and cried, wondering at Faramir's words, and where he might be now. She did not blame him, in her heart, but she wished she had stayed by his side, protecting him to the last. For surely, the last had come, unless some great help had been sent out to them.
When her eyes were dry and her mood more composed, she washed quickly in the water provided, and then dressed. The clothes laid out suited not her person at all, for it was a lady's gown and sash. She instead took the liberty of searching the chests about her - she did not care whether she was found out - and withdrew a stout pair of breeches and a tunic; wandering clothes such as she was used to wearing. She put them on quickly, and was delighted - and dismayed - to find that they smelled of Faramir: his odd scent which was a mix of books, horses and sweat; a musk that was not unpleasant but reassuring. She held the fabric up to her nose and breathed deeply. 'Ias reviale, Faramir?' She said on the exhale softly. Where do you wander, Faramir?
There was a knock on the chamber door. She spun around quickly. When nothing more happened, she found her tongue and said in a wavering voice, 'enter.' The person to come in was no less that Gandalf himself, who was leaning on his staff as if weary. He smiled kindly, and the walked slowly over to a chair by the fire, on which he sat. He looked at her oddly for a good long while, and then said, 'so this is the maid that Faramir called his sister!'
She nodded, feeling very awkward. She didn't know if she was meant to reply. She felt it wasn't a question. Gandalf thoughtfully withdrew a pipe and some weed, and lit it, before putting it to his lips and puffing merrily. Mithmír crinkled her nose. Smoke did not appeal to Elves the same way as it did to Men and Hobbits. That was one way in which they were similar to the dwarves.
'You are half-elven, as he said.'
Again, it was not a question. She shuffled around a little, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
'And of the line of the Rangers of the North, I have been told.' He stared at her for a while again, and then suddenly his face broke into a wide smile. 'All true, all true, of course. And so you are indeed a very high and mighty lady. For all your choice in dress.'
She blushed furiously.
'Do not be ashamed. There is no cause for embarrassment.'
'Where is Faramir?' She said finally.
The wizard stared at her for a while more. 'He is alive, if that is what you mean to ask me by your roundabout question. He was struck by a dart from a Southrond. Luckily, the Prince Imrahil and myself brought him to safety. He is asleep now, and still grievously ill, but his father is with him.'
It struck Mithmír an odd twist of fate that Faramir should be poisoned by exactly the same thing as herself many days ago in Ithilien. Her mind strayed towards the hobbits. 'May I see him?'
Gandalf paused for a long while, and blew a few perfect smoke-rings. He finally turned his intense, dark eyes to her. 'No. Not yet. But I swore I should keep you safe, and I shall stay by that promise. My first tactic to keep you from the battle was to only lay out a woman's clothes for you. But,' he chortled merrily and his bright eyes twinkled; 'I see that didn't stop you in the least.'
'Neither shall anything else you try,' she said boldly, holding her head high. 'I shall fight for my country!'
'Indeed, indeed,' agreed Gandalf. It put her off balance a bit. She had been expecting a fight. 'I'll hold you back no longer. You have proved your worth in the fight already, and I think you can take care of yourself. But I do ask you to use only your bow, where it is possible, and to be safe.'
'Of course,' she nodded. 'Anything to be allowed to fight.'
'Good good,' said Gandalf. 'My other duty is to lead you to where you may find not only food but your armour and weapons. From there, some soldier or other shall lead you to the Walls, where you may do your fill of fighting, if you so wish.'
'I do so wish,' she said surely.
He chuckled again, before removing his pipe from his mouth. 'Then follow me now.' And so she did.
When she was all kitted up and well-fed, a messenger boy was summoned to her side and Gandalf left, promising to see how Faramir was and tell her later. As the boy led her through the empty streets, past deserted homes and shops, she wondered at how odd it was to finally see the city of her ancestors, and so herself. Even the lack of women and children could not make the beauty of these streets and houses seem less in her eyes.
'Why are you here?' She asked the boy finally. He looked at her oddly for a while, pale eyes flicking often to her pointed ears, and when he at last replied it was without a trace of fear or doubt.
'My mother left with my two sisters, and my baby brother, for the safe places. I was meant to go with them, but I hid. They couldn't find me, and they had to go. When I finally went to my father, an armourer, he could not send me away.' He shrugged. 'I'm thirteen in two days, lady warrior. I'm nearly a man. So I'll help to defend my people's city.'
It was said in such a plain, open way that it struck some chord deep inside Mithmír. This boy was not unlike herself. To the Elves she must seem like him, a mere child wanting to "play" at war. She smiled kindly, and patted his back. 'That's a high ambition for someone your age. Stick to it. But take care of yourself. War isn't all of what they tell in stories.'
'Elves are different from the stories, too,' the boy replied quickly but not rudely. He looked at her in wonder. 'More like us than I thought they'd be.'
'I'm only half-elf, so that might explain it,' Mithmír said in explanation. 'Real elves are just like the stories - all the good stories, anyway.' She smiled inwardly as she remembered her three best Elven friends: Anoniel, Tirathnavir, and Haldir, who were all so far away now… 'Maybe you'll meet one some day.'
'Maybe.' He replied with a happy grin. 'I want to. One day I'm going to be the best warrior in all of Middle-Earth, and I'll be King of Gondor, too, and all the Elves and Dwarves will come to see me…' His face lit up with joy at his dreams. 'That will be great.'
'Maybe,' she replied dreamily, but her thoughts were on Aragorn whom she missed greatly. Finally she laughed, and broke into a light jog. 'Come on! Hurry up! I want to get to the Walls!'
The boy, obviously eager also, smiled and laughed out loud, before running after her with all the enthusiasm of the young.
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Well we're getting there! Not too long till Legolas. LOL!
Annaicuru
