THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE WONDERFUL REVIEWS! All of you guys are so incredible [big grin] :) Reading back over the last chapter (chapter 4), I can now completely agree with one point: I am going to have a problem making Legolas and Mithmír's marriage (if it does happen) better than that!
This chapter takes place a little after the last: Mithmír and Legolas are departing from Edoras in Rohan (where they came for the funeral of Théoden) with the Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, Lord Elrond and their party of elves, the hobbits, Gimli, and Aragorn. Many however are to stay behind in the fair halls of Edoras: Arwen, Éowyn, Éomer and, to Mithmír's dismay, Faramir; who would not leave the lady Éowyn so soon after their marriage. In the chapter, Mithmír is taking her leave of Faramir, not forever, but for all too long.
Hope you enjoy it and please review!
***
Mithmír and Faramir had wordlessly met at the stables early that morning; and neither commented on the other's tear-stained face. They had saddled their horses quickly, with all the ease of a life-time riding, and then galloped away from Edoras. All the while not a single word passed between them.
When they were well out of sight from the halls of the town, sheltered among the pinnacles of rock and heath-land, they slowed the paces of their horses as one, and began to turn the beasts' heads in the wide circle which should eventually bring them back to the capital of the Mark. It was a windy, overcast day, rare in late summer, but due to become all the more common soon enough as autumn gripped Middle Earth. Mithmír was already dressed in her traveling-clothes: old, comfortable boots well-worn and broken into the hardships of a ranger's life; a tunic of green and brown that, though it had seen better days, was warm and well-fitting; and a long hooded cloak of grey. Her bow and quiver were strapped to her stead's saddle, as was Celebdîn (both in easy reach, as she had made sure) and her daggers were at her belt as usual; they being the only things small enough not to get in the way when she rode – her bow could also be worn on her back, but she found it uncomfortable. She and the brown stallion blended into the rugged landscape almost perfectly; and indeed her beloved Brialvastor moved as nimbly as a mountain-goat over the rough terrain. She had the hood of the cloak down, despite the harsh and biting wind which made her cheeks flush red; and her dark hair, neatly plaited at the sides as was now normal, was whipped out violently by the wind. She turned her head to Faramir slowly, as if afraid by what she might see.
'It's not goodbye for long, Faramir, nín gwador [my brother]' she said softly, trying to smile but finding that her facial muscles seemed to be frozen by the cold. She knew Faramir, who had been taught by Gandalf in his youth, was learned and knew enough of the Sindarin tongue to understand much more complex phrases than a few words; but she found that he replied quicker and easier in Common.
'It shall feel like many ages, however,' he said, turning his emotional eyes to her. 'Time always goes slower when you are not near me; not near enough to see each day, if we so wish.'
Mithmír stroked Brialvastor's neck thoughtfully, his familiar feel the only thing that seemed never to change in her life. 'When I return, Faramir, it shall be forever. We shall live so close…!'
'No, Mithmír, it shall not be forever,' he said grimly. She looked up at him, puzzled, and he continued, 'for you are a wild thing indeed: you shall always have the wanderlust in you, however elven you become: you shall always feel the need to simply ride away from time to time.' He smiled almost sadly, with a slowness that did not fit him. 'You shall always come back, but nevertheless I must miss you. I need a sister, as well as a wife.'
Mithmír managed a laugh. It bounced off the rock-faces and was grasped by the wind, which flung it away into the dell to their left. 'Yes, Faramir, I still have the flame-spirit in me, but I shall always come back to you.'
'We shall lose each other in the end, though,' he said in a dull, empty voice. Mithmír was shocked: she had not even considered that Faramir might think as much on her new status as an immortal as she did. She didn't reply, her hands gripping Brialvastor's mane tighter, so much so that the blood fled from her knuckles, leaving them white. 'You shall follow your beloved elf over the Sea to the Timeless Halls, and I must pass over a different horizon, to a place of which no tales speak,' he said; and it was as close to jealousy as Mithmír had ever heard in the gentle man. 'Éowyn shall come the same way, of course, as shall our descendants. Through all the generations of our family, Mithmír, our kin shall never be joined in friendship again.' He half-laughed, half-chocked, and his mare put her ears back as she picked up on her rider's emotions. 'Don't think that I don't love Éowyn: she is dearest of all to me. But Mithmír…' he nudged his horse beside Brialvastor, and reached over to take Mithmír's hand in his own. 'I shall miss you so much…'
She was horrified to see a tear fall onto his jacket. Spontaneously she took her feet from the stirrups, said a few Elvish words to Brialvastor (telling him to return to Edoras), and then swung herself over onto Faramir's horse. Reflexively he moved back as far as he could, letting her settle before him on the saddle. Silently, but with the utmost gratefulness for her kind, almost childishly innocent gesture, he wrapped his arms about her battle-toughened body; and she lay back in his arms, sideways in the saddle, curling up into his embrace, laying her head on his shoulder.
'Mín nîn godant,' she whispered lovingly, feeling inexplicably safe in his strong hold: our tears fall together. She then said louder, in the Common tongue, 'I shall miss you also, Faramir, more than words can say…' Absently she fiddled with the collar of his jacket, and wondered how things would have been if she had responded to Faramir's advances that night in Ithilien… Would I have left you for Legolas? Or would we have each pretended to be happy for the other, trying to hold together our breaking hearts as we pined over our true loves? She was glad things were the way they were, with them as brother and sister. She knew it was the right way for them to be. 'You are a part of me, my brother, and when my mother is gone –' she held back a sob – 'you shall be all that remains of my family. I love you Faramir; you were the first man that I truly loved; and if it were not for Legolas and Éowyn we could have been husband and wife in great happiness.'
'I know,' he said, nuzzling his head down onto hers and kissing her forehead softly. 'But they are here, and we are brother and sister; and I regret it not. You were wise indeed to say that I should find a woman better for me – as a wife – than you.'
'I grieve that we must part, Faramir; and I fear what waits for me beyond the Sea; but I must go. I am an Elf, was destined to be so. I cannot remain in the middle of two cultures forever – though granted, I shall always have the spirit of Men inside me. We have many decades more together on Middle Earth yet! And we shall meet again, at the very, absolute End when all peoples shall meet one final time before Ilúvatar. I swear I shall never forget you, nín gwador [my brother], and my descendants –' she tried not to think of the implications of that word – 'will always treasure the memory and tales of Faramir the Brave, Steward of Gondor, and brother of Mithmír Rochiwen.' She smiled bravely, and turned her head back to kiss his chin. In the distance she could see the city of Edoras fast approaching, even at the horse's walking pace. It emphasized how little time she had left to voice all the words in her heart. 'And you shall never be merely a memory to me, Faramir. Somehow a bit of your spirit is in mine, and a bit of mine is in you. We are always together.'
'They should call you Mithmír the Silver-tongued!' Exclaimed Faramir, kissing her again lovingly; hope rising in his heart, and his optimistic nature overriding his grief.
'I merely speak the truth,' she said simply. 'No more, and no less. We must part finally, Faramir, but do not think of that yet. Think of how happy we are now.'
'I love you, my dearest sister-elf,' he said gruffly, a single tear falling to wet her hair.
'And I you, Faramir,' she replied softly, closing her eyes tight, trying to sear this memory into her very soul so it might last for all eternity. 'It shall never really be goodbye between us.'
***
I have gone and depressed myself again. I seem to be incapable of writing without doing that. If it's not this story, it's another one! On the subject of other stories, I have a collection of tales of Mithmír's youth. I'm considering putting them up all as different stories, because the only ones which are finished are the ones chronologically later than most others, i.e. in her teenage years. So here's a question for you readers: does it bother you if I put them up in a very random order?
Please review!
