Disclaimer: Don't own. Only own Menel and Aralya.
Author's Note: In this chapter, Menel is gong to do something a woman should never do: discuss her underclothes with a boy. The only reason for not doing this is that it makes them uncomfortable, for some odd reason (I just told a very nice male friend of mine about my new underclothes. He kind of freaked out. . .)
Gollum: In chapter two, read the question that Aragorn asks Aralya. Objection, leading! (Even though that's your job)
"You see you'd love to run home
But you know you ain't got one"
-The Goo Goo Dolls, Broadway
Alynna Lis Eachann: That's what's called artistic license. Drives the purists nuts. Don't get me wrong, I totally loved Faramir in the books, I even wrote my LAUSD eighth-grade hero essay about him, but still, the movies don't have to be parallel to the books. Legolas actually might make an appearance, but probably not, and not Glorfindel because I hate him and will send Gollum as many forwards as there are Agent Smiths in Matrix Reloaded if she tries to include him.
Lady of Legolas: Um. . .no comment. Gollum's business, not mine.
Judy Greenleaf: Thanks. Who would you tell?
*****
"Menel? Can I come down?" Eldarion called. I was still by the stream, drying off. Quickly I pulled on my underclothes.
"Yes!" I replied.
"Are you. . ." he searched uncomfortably for the right word ". . .dressed?"
"Partially!" I called up to him, hardly caring. I was practically his sister with all the time we spent together, so what if he saw me partially undressed? Faramir acted as though I was a mark of shame, but I had no such marks on my body, though there were many upon my heart. I paused, reflecting on this, my tunic hanging loosely from one hand. Eldarion seemed uncertain and did not come down to the stream, allowing me plenty of time for meditation as I donned my tunic and pants.
"Your parents wanted me to take you to Rohan," Eldarion said as I came back to the campsite--or the remnants of it. "I was thinking about it last night and it is not right. If you wanted to go, that would be one thing, but this. . ." he broke eye contact, and muttered, "is exile."
"It is not!" I shouted angrily. Perhaps my parents were not proud of me, but they would not send me from my home in such a manner. They would not exile me, they would not! Mother would never have it! It was untrue! But then why was I so upset? Because, of course, it was true. I was unwanted, homeless. I sank to my knees and covered my face, unable to bear it. This is what they meant for me, to feel the shame I have made them feel. And, feeling it, I realized that I did not deserve to live. Had Faramir killed me long ago it would not have been his own fault, but mine.
"Menel! Hey, I didn't. . .it's all right," he said gently, awkwardly wrapping his arms around me and rubbing my back. When I stopped crying and finally met his eyes again, he said, "Listen, Menel. I have a plan, but it needs you to work. If you want, though, I will take you to Rohan. I planned to take you to Gondor, that was part of the plan. But--what do you want to do?"
I swallowed hard. "Tell me your plan."
"We go back to Gondor. There we can see if I am right about who your father is, and--"
"Who?"
"What?"
"Who do you think my father is?" I demanded. I didn't know, how was it fair that he knew?
"I think. . .but I am not sure. . .that your father is Aragorn."
I had not planned on going back to Gondor, but what could I say to that? I had to know. "All right. Let's ride." It was about an hour later that I thought to ask him, "How did you know?"
"Servants talk. A lot. If you know how to listen," he explained. "And you asked me what a bastard is. You're a terrible liar."
We reached the outer gates at dusk, then waited until nightfall to sneak back inside. "Why so much secrecy?" I asked quietly, but Eldarion would not answer. We stabled and untacked our horses in silence. "What now?" I asked him.
"Home," he replied. How it was that we made it back to the seventh circle, and up to Eldarion's bedroom, without being observed I shall never know, but we did. Once there, he paused, listening, as though even then we were being watched. "Good. Now, Menel, give me your shirt, or one out of your pack." He had insisted that we carry our packs up to his room, and now I produced a shirt for him. He took it. "And. . .I need to cut your hand."
"What?" I recoiled.
"If I use my own blood, someone will see the laceration. Just. . .hold out your palm and look away," he suggested, I did so, closing my eyes tightly. I could hear the blade sing as he drew it from his sheath, then cut my flesh. "Don't cry out," he commanded, and I bit hard and whimpered. It did not hurt as he cut, but burned afterwards. Eldarion quickly rubbed my blood onto the shirt, then dunked my hand in a bowl of water. "Leave it there for a moment."
"Why? You know it will not heal in water!" I was angry now. He had cut my flesh, ruined my favorite shirt, and would tell me nothing. As I watched he stabbed the shirt, then removed my hand from the bowl and placed the shirt within. He bandaged my hand and apologized.
"If you hear anyone coming, Menel, I ant you to hide, all right?" he asked, getting to his feet.
"All right." I assumed this was so no one would send me back to my mother and Faramir, but then, why the shirt? I received my answer when Eldarion met Aragorn in the hall just outside the door.
"Eldarion? What are you doing here?"
His voice quivered as he replied, "Lady Menel is dead."
Author's Note: In this chapter, Menel is gong to do something a woman should never do: discuss her underclothes with a boy. The only reason for not doing this is that it makes them uncomfortable, for some odd reason (I just told a very nice male friend of mine about my new underclothes. He kind of freaked out. . .)
Gollum: In chapter two, read the question that Aragorn asks Aralya. Objection, leading! (Even though that's your job)
"You see you'd love to run home
But you know you ain't got one"
-The Goo Goo Dolls, Broadway
Alynna Lis Eachann: That's what's called artistic license. Drives the purists nuts. Don't get me wrong, I totally loved Faramir in the books, I even wrote my LAUSD eighth-grade hero essay about him, but still, the movies don't have to be parallel to the books. Legolas actually might make an appearance, but probably not, and not Glorfindel because I hate him and will send Gollum as many forwards as there are Agent Smiths in Matrix Reloaded if she tries to include him.
Lady of Legolas: Um. . .no comment. Gollum's business, not mine.
Judy Greenleaf: Thanks. Who would you tell?
*****
"Menel? Can I come down?" Eldarion called. I was still by the stream, drying off. Quickly I pulled on my underclothes.
"Yes!" I replied.
"Are you. . ." he searched uncomfortably for the right word ". . .dressed?"
"Partially!" I called up to him, hardly caring. I was practically his sister with all the time we spent together, so what if he saw me partially undressed? Faramir acted as though I was a mark of shame, but I had no such marks on my body, though there were many upon my heart. I paused, reflecting on this, my tunic hanging loosely from one hand. Eldarion seemed uncertain and did not come down to the stream, allowing me plenty of time for meditation as I donned my tunic and pants.
"Your parents wanted me to take you to Rohan," Eldarion said as I came back to the campsite--or the remnants of it. "I was thinking about it last night and it is not right. If you wanted to go, that would be one thing, but this. . ." he broke eye contact, and muttered, "is exile."
"It is not!" I shouted angrily. Perhaps my parents were not proud of me, but they would not send me from my home in such a manner. They would not exile me, they would not! Mother would never have it! It was untrue! But then why was I so upset? Because, of course, it was true. I was unwanted, homeless. I sank to my knees and covered my face, unable to bear it. This is what they meant for me, to feel the shame I have made them feel. And, feeling it, I realized that I did not deserve to live. Had Faramir killed me long ago it would not have been his own fault, but mine.
"Menel! Hey, I didn't. . .it's all right," he said gently, awkwardly wrapping his arms around me and rubbing my back. When I stopped crying and finally met his eyes again, he said, "Listen, Menel. I have a plan, but it needs you to work. If you want, though, I will take you to Rohan. I planned to take you to Gondor, that was part of the plan. But--what do you want to do?"
I swallowed hard. "Tell me your plan."
"We go back to Gondor. There we can see if I am right about who your father is, and--"
"Who?"
"What?"
"Who do you think my father is?" I demanded. I didn't know, how was it fair that he knew?
"I think. . .but I am not sure. . .that your father is Aragorn."
I had not planned on going back to Gondor, but what could I say to that? I had to know. "All right. Let's ride." It was about an hour later that I thought to ask him, "How did you know?"
"Servants talk. A lot. If you know how to listen," he explained. "And you asked me what a bastard is. You're a terrible liar."
We reached the outer gates at dusk, then waited until nightfall to sneak back inside. "Why so much secrecy?" I asked quietly, but Eldarion would not answer. We stabled and untacked our horses in silence. "What now?" I asked him.
"Home," he replied. How it was that we made it back to the seventh circle, and up to Eldarion's bedroom, without being observed I shall never know, but we did. Once there, he paused, listening, as though even then we were being watched. "Good. Now, Menel, give me your shirt, or one out of your pack." He had insisted that we carry our packs up to his room, and now I produced a shirt for him. He took it. "And. . .I need to cut your hand."
"What?" I recoiled.
"If I use my own blood, someone will see the laceration. Just. . .hold out your palm and look away," he suggested, I did so, closing my eyes tightly. I could hear the blade sing as he drew it from his sheath, then cut my flesh. "Don't cry out," he commanded, and I bit hard and whimpered. It did not hurt as he cut, but burned afterwards. Eldarion quickly rubbed my blood onto the shirt, then dunked my hand in a bowl of water. "Leave it there for a moment."
"Why? You know it will not heal in water!" I was angry now. He had cut my flesh, ruined my favorite shirt, and would tell me nothing. As I watched he stabbed the shirt, then removed my hand from the bowl and placed the shirt within. He bandaged my hand and apologized.
"If you hear anyone coming, Menel, I ant you to hide, all right?" he asked, getting to his feet.
"All right." I assumed this was so no one would send me back to my mother and Faramir, but then, why the shirt? I received my answer when Eldarion met Aragorn in the hall just outside the door.
"Eldarion? What are you doing here?"
His voice quivered as he replied, "Lady Menel is dead."