As the
light of false dawn filled the morning sky, Miranda and the Hobbits were
already sitting on the ponies, eating bread and grumbling. By daybreak, the
entire company was well on it's way to Minas Tirith. Though they rode hard, it
still took nearly a fortnight to reach the White City. For the most part,
Miranda and the Hobbits kept to themselves, as the Elves and Aragorn had grown
short-tempered with doubt and worry.
As
they neared the gates, Pippin straightened in his saddle, eyes brightening at
the sight of the city. It was here that he had faced his worst fears, here that
he'd come of age.
Merry thought of his ride to Minas
Tirith, his first sight of the towering stone archways. He had scarce paid them
notice, so great was his worry. Over and over he imagined Pippin, so small, so
lost amid the great walls and heavy feet of men. Aragorn felt a slight
lessening of his woe, as he gazed again upon his home. As they rode closer
though, his spirits fell again. When he'd last left this city, he thought to
return with his bride at his side.
Behind
them rode Legolas, his heart filled with a nameless longing that he had not
felt this past year. The last time he had ridden this road, he had glimpsed
Ithilien. Ithilien, the beautiful, mystical land of his forefathers. Ithilien,
where the rivers ran faster, the grass was greener and the air sweeter than any
he had yet seen. Ithilien, now a charred, ruinous mess of a land devoid of life
and hope. Legolas knew well the stories of his youth, and to see what had
become of it broke his heart.
Miranda
shivered in her cloak as the heavy mist that had hung in the air all day
solidified into rainfall. A distant flash of lightening illuminated the rapidly
darkening sky, giving her a glint of enormous stone towers and intimidating
battlements. She had never felt quite so insignificant as she did now.
The
guards recognized Aragorn immediately, and as the group rode into the city,
trumpets sounded, heralding the arrival of the king. Though there were folk
come out to watch the small procession, there was little talk and no cheering.
Unlike the joyous goodbye that rang in his ears as he left, the atmosphere now
was wary and watchful. Elrond's sharp eyes caught surreptitious movement as
humans made strange signs as they caught sight of the Elves.
For
her part, Miranda was inundated with new sensations. The first thing she
noticed was the smell. Animals, waste, hay, garbage, mud, and sweat rose like
heavy veil around her. As they reached the keep, she caught sight of a woman
standing on the landing above them, watching their progress toward the
entrance. As they neared the woman, she appeared frozen. She was very
beautiful, smooth and sharp, like a blade. Her long blond hair fell down her
back in waves, but she was still as stone until Aragorn and Legolas dismounted
before her. Then her face broke into smile and she went to them, allowing them
to bow over her hand. Miranda felt the first twinges of jealousy as she watched
Legolas bow and kiss the woman's hand. She was suddenly aware that she had not
bathed in over a fortnight; she was dirty and bloody and also smelled of horse.
As the woman turned to the rest, her face, if it was possible, became even more
radiant.
"Master
Meriadoc!" As Miranda looked on in amazement, Merry dismounted quickly and ran
to the woman, bowing low, then reaching high as the woman embraced him. Her eyes swept over the rest, and Miranda
waited for the look, the swift glance that would size her up, judge her less
beautiful and therefore unthreatening and unimportant. She'd become very
familiar with this look after years in London. The woman's gaze came to rest on
Miranda however, and a puzzled smile lit her face briefly.
"But
you all must be cold and hungry. Come inside, and we shall make introductions
by the fire." Turning, she caught Merry's hand in her own and spoke in a low
voice as they followed her inside and up a wide flight of stone steps. They
passed through a heavy wooden door three men wide and two feet thick.
The
room inside was surprisingly cozy. The tall windows were covered with thick
drapes, but sconces along the walls and candelabras hanging from the ceiling,
lightened the hall warmly. An enormous fireplace, tall enough for a man to walk
into, crackled cheerily, while beneath their feet were sweet-smelling rushes.
At a long table near the fire sat a blond man, his head resting on his hands,
in a pose of great weariness. His face brightened as he caught sight of the
woman, and even more as he saw whom she brought.
"My
liege," he said, bowing his head. The relief was evident in his voice. Aragorn
acknowledged the homage with a regal bow of his head, then grasped the man's
shoulders in a firm embrace.
"It
is good to see you, my friend." Aragorn's words seemed to inspire the man and
he stood straighter, looking round at the strange group that filled the hall.
His eyes lit on Legolas and he smiled, but when they found Elrond, the smile
dissipated and he turned to Aragorn, concern evident in his eyes.
"Do
you think their presence is wise, my lord?" Confounded, Aragorn turned first to
Elrond, then back to Faramir.
"I'm
afraid, I do not understand, friend. What worries you?" Now it was Faramir, who
appeared confused.
"Did
you not read my missive, my lord?" he said, frowning. Aragorn shook his head,
slowly, a cold fear growing in his heart.
"I
received no missive. Your messenger was killed before reaching Imladris. Only a
few words could he whisper with dying breath."
"And
what of the other messages I have sent?" asked Faramir. A faint note of
desperation had appeared in his voice. Aragorn shook his head again.
"No
other messengers came. What unease plagues your heart, Faramir? Why do you fear
our allies of old?" But Faramir ignored Aragorn's questions, struggling with concern
for his lost carriers.
"It
is your people, my lord," said the blond woman. Aragorn turned to her, his
frown softening.
"What
has happened, Eowyn?" Faramir and Eowyn exchanged cryptic looks. "There
is...unrest," she said slowly. "Rumors rumble among the people like thunder.
News of riots in the southern towns, reports of seemingly random Orc attacks
across the land. There is talk of a famine spreading quickly throughout Gondor
and Rohan. The rainy season did not come this year. Gondor needs its king, my
lord, but the people are afraid that – that you–" her voice broke off, and she
stared unhappily at the floor. Before Aragorn could say a word, however, her
eyes flew to his and she added, defiantly, "They fear you have forsaken your
people for the Elves. They believe you mean to let the Elves control us, that
we will be slaves. There is talk that it is they who cause the land to dry up
and turn putrid." Aragorn stood still for a moment, stunned.
"This
has been happening for months?" he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Then why
was I not informed?"
"We've
sent four runners, my king. We thought–" Faramir lost his nerve, but Aragorn
was already nodding in anger.
"You
thought the rumors held true. That I had left my country. That I had forsaken
my people, the ones for whom I fought. The ones for whom I bled." The last
words were uttered so low, the rest strained to hear. Faramir's proud shoulders
slumped, and he looked ashamedly to the ground. Eowyn, however, held her ground
and stared at Aragorn.
"There
have been riots. Riots, here, in Minas Tirith. We trapped, unable to leave the
keep, for fear of being attacked by our own people. Where were you?" Her hands
gripped the back of a chair, knuckles turning white.
"I
did not know." The room was silenced by the regret in Aragorn's voice. "I did
not know." Eowyn nodded once, then turned, and walked to a window. There was
another silence, then Faramir asked,
"If
you received no pleas for your return here, then why have you?" He looked to Aragorn, but it was another who
answered.
"Arwen,
my daughter and Evenstar of her people, and Elessar's bride-to-be, has
disappeared," Elrond said, evenly. His expression remained impassive.
"Kidnapped,"
said Aragorn, roughly, running a hand impatiently over his face. From her left,
Miranda heard a soft intake of breath, and turned to find Eoywn's face ashen,
her hand pressed to her mouth. Her gasp went unnoticed by the others, however.
Faramir appeared stricken, but Aragorn remained silent. He continued rubbing his face, lack of sleep
and worry evident in the deep grooves surrounding his mouth and forehead.
"You have traveled a long distance. If it please you, I suggest we sup and discuss our next move," said Faramir. He had pulled himself together and now stood tall and capable again. Nodding, Aragorn led the way through the door, the Elves, Hobbits and Faramie following.
Miranda looked back and saw that Eowyn remained at the window, her expression sad and angry at the same time. Without knowing the reason, Miranda felt a kinship with this woman. Perhaps it was her sadness, or her feelings of helplessness that Miranda could easily identify with.
**Or maybe because she's the first fellow woman I've seen in over a year.** Walking over to her, Miranda placed a hesitant hand on Eowyn's arm.
"Um, are you—do you want—" Miranda realized she had no clue what to say. She was relieved when Eowyn smiled and said bluntly, "No, stranger. There is naught you might do. But you do keep odd company. May I ask why you, a lone human woman, travel with warriors and Hobbits?" All sadness and anger was gone in a flash, leaving Miranda blinking in surprise. But she was friendly and warm, completely unlike what Miranda had expected.
"It's erm….it's quite a fantastic tale. One you might not really believe, in fact."
Eowyn smiled invitingly, and tucked Miranda's hand into the crook of her arm, leading her down the stairs. They entered the dining hall, where the rest were seated.
"A fantastic tale, you say? I'm sure we all might enjoy a brief escape
from our current situation. Do tell."
"She is Miranda, a human woman who fell from
the sky." Miranda had never heard Legolas use that tone of voice and she looked
at him, to find him gazing intently at her.
"Umm..."
She began blushing, but was saved by Eowyn's startled laugh. "You fell? From
the sky? What jest is this, Master Elf?"
"It
is no jest, but a very remarkable truth. One best told over a meal and a pint,
I'd dare say," Merry said, winking at Miranda.
As servants brought in platters and mugs, Faramir, Eowyn and others
listened in surprise and wonder at the story told, in part, by each of the
travelers. Although there was much
speculation as to how and why Miranda had come, talk turned to Arwen. After hours of heated argument, they came to
a truce and a plan. Aragorn would make a speech before the people of Minas
Tirith, and then go south with Elrond and his sons to find news of Arwen. Faramir would go to various important Gondorian
cities to spread the news of Aragorn's return.
People from Minas Tirith could confirm this. The Hobbits would remain in Minas Tirith, along with Legolas and
Gimli, to assist Eowyn in governing the city.
"You are heroes here. They still song of your bravery. It will help," said Faramir, when the Hobbits and Gimli began protesting at being left behind. Legolas remained silent, however. He found himself quite happy to stay behind. Miranda, obviously, would also be staying in Minas Tirith. No one was quite sure what to do with her now.
As true darkness fell, the intense mood lightened. Though all remained concerned about the massive problems assailing them, they needed release. Faramir and Aragorn sang a mournful song about the fate of two doomed brothers. A number of other songs were played, and Miranda found herself once again, whirled around the dance floor to upbeat fiddles.
Legolas watched Miranda, saw her face flush and listen to her laughter. It had been several weeks since she had laughed. He remembered the last time. He had come from a walk in the forest and found a group of Rivendell Elves watching the courtyard. Miranda and Sam were playing with the dog. She rolled on the ground with it, tugging on a length of rope, ruffling the dog's fur, hugging it and laughing. The other Elves had been appalled by her antics, calling them childish, loud and annoying. Legolas had been wistful, wishing it were he and not Sam with whom she wrestled. But he could not imagine himself being that carefree any more than he could imagine Gimli dressing in Arwen's gowns and singing of his long-lost love.
At the circle of stones, he had meant to comfort her, to offer his friendship. When his lips touched hers, however brief the contact was, it ignited something within him. He had forbade himself to think of her before, knowing how quickly the time would pass ere she left. Now, though… Now she was not leaving.
He glanced up in time to see her twirl by. He mused to himself at how easily she laughed and how resilient she was. He thought of how dull and boring he must seem to her. Suddenly, she dropped breathless onto the bench next to him and smiled invitingly.
"Do you want to dance?" Inside, Miranda was amazed by her own audacity. **You couldn't ask Philip Whitmore to a sixth form do, but you'll ask him?** Legolas looked frightened for a moment and quickly said,
"Thank you, but I do not know these sort of dances—" Miranda felt ridiculous, thinking that the smooth, elegant Elf would want to jump around with her in her best state, let alone now with her red face and sweaty hands.
"Of course, I mean—obviously you wouldn't want—" Feeling stupid, Miranda started to move when Legolas laid a hand on hers. He realized he had offended her somehow and did not want her to leave.
"Perhaps instead you might sing us a song of your people," he said. Gimli, a lover of music, called out in approval, as did others. Even Elrond looked on in interest. Miranda laughed nervously. **Just the way to turn him off completely!**
"I could, but you wouldn't understand the words, anyway, so—" She was cut off as Merry grinned, rather cheekily.
"But Miranda," he said innocently, "We've been working on that song you sang to us in the Shire. The words fit the tune quite well, now. Why don't you sing that?" Miranda glared at Merry and then at the other Hobbits who made encouraging sounds. Realizing there was no way to avoid singing without coming across as needlessly churlish, she gave in. Trying to look calm and at ease, she said,
"This is a song from my . . . people. It's rather silly and sappy, but well….my mother used to sing it to me, and her father sang it to her, and his father sang it to him,
so . . . ."
**Please don't let me make a fool of myself,** she thought. Taking a deep breathe, she sang.
"Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
"And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.
"And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.
"I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me."
Legolas leaned back, smiling slightly. Her voice, though rough and uneven by Elven standards, was low and pleasing to him. It was the end, however, when her voice caught and she embarrassedly swiped at her eyes, that he realized he was falling in love.