Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's character or places.
Ariaelle of Imladris is a character of my own making. I do not intend to
make money from this piece of writing. If any character or place in this
writing is somehow related to those of real life, it is purely
coincidental.
Author's note: Hey, this is my first piece of fanfiction I've ever written. I hope it's okay to your tastes. I'd like to thank my sister for her encouragement and for getting me started on 'Red Dawn'. I'd like to dedicate this story to J.R.R. Tolkien, who wrote the Lord of the Rings and inspired me to write more. And I would also like to dedicate this story partly to David Wenham, who's portrayal of Faramir in New Line's Lord of the Rings was awesome and got my mind set. Also, if anyone could drop a review, it would be very much appreciated.
Red Dawn
By: Ariaelle
I followed Father to the mess hall. He'd just been informed that there was a "meeting" with all the other soldiers and guardsmen of Minas Tirith. I knew it wasn't so. From the winks and other hints that the messenger had given my Father while he delivered the message, it was enough to say that tonight would be spent drinking and laughing. My brother would have come, but he'd wanted to tend to his mount. Apparently, it had a rock stuck in its hoof and the stable boy wasn't sure how to get it out. I didn't drink ale or beer. I'd never liked the taste. I didn't even know why I came. Maybe it was to show that I wasn't the same as all the other girls. Maybe it was to show my differences. And yet, what differences were there to show?
Father didn't want me to go. 'There were too many men,' he had said. I'd said that I would be fine and he just sighed. He didn't really care about me, I knew. I mean, I'd always wanted to learn how to ride, and fight with the bow and blade, like any other lad. But after my brother was born, my father took no more notice of me. He might have taught me if my brother never existed. But it wasn't so, and I ended up trying to push a needle through cloth. I couldn't sew and I couldn't cook anything worth singing of. I spent my days studying Elvish, Westron and Numenorean. Occasionally, Lord Elrond would summon me to teach some of his healing skills. I already missed Imladris. There, it was so peaceful, so calm.
As I entered the mess hall, I was instantly bewildered. The only light came from various candles and lamps on the walls and tables. And there were so many soldiers. All had a similarity to Father. All were so broad and tall.so Gondorian, I thought at the time.
I felt a little uncomfortable around so many of them, like father had said, and I tried to avoid the many eyes on me as we entered the room. My father broke into smiles and hearty laughs. He spoke to many of the men, who I guessed were his friends. Most of them looked at me, smiled kindly, or winked, or did other things that made me blush. I was fortunate that there were no bright lights, which would show my embarrassment.
As my father went on into the crowded room, I began to feel tired. The heat and the smell of so many bodies in such a small space gave me a headache. The soldiers had obviously been drinking; the ale barrels on the side were still dripping with excess liquid. I blinked and looked around. I noticed the paintings on the side of the hall. Stopping in my tracks, I observed one, which hung from a pillar. It depicted the city of Osgiliath. The colors were beautiful, blending into each other. The banner of the White Tree elegantly fluttered in the breeze. The buildings were like those of Minas Tirith, only they had no circle floors.
I turned back and to my horror, my father was nowhere to be seen. I pushed past a group of soldiers who grinned drunkenly at me. It was so hot. Suddenly all the men seemed to look the same. I pushed past some more soldiers and whirled around. Where was he? Where was my father?
Turning my head, I kept going into my previous direction. I scanned the tables to my left and right, running as I did.
The emblem of the White Tree. It seemed so close. I collided hard with someone. I stumbled back, a look of surprise on my face. The young man looked down at me. I breathed slowly, and met his eyes. I could see the puzzlement on his face.
"I'm sorry, sir. I was just.hurrying past, and I didn't see you." I said. The man had short, wavy, light brown hair. His eyes were a bright blue with gentle shades of gray. They reminded me of the sea.
"It's quite all right." He said quietly. His voice was smooth and quiet, yet not soft unless he meant it to be. "Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No, sir, I'm not. Thank you though." I said, rubbing my wrist unconsciously. I'd pulled the muscle while riding here.
"Would you like to sit down?" he asked, pointing to a table near the corner. It was away from the crowd and seemed quiet.
I consented, "It's very kind of you, sir." It's a little odd for a soldier to ask a lady to sit.very odd, I thought.
His blue-gray eyes lightened and he smiled a little, "I haven't seen you around before." He strode over the chair quicker than I did and pulled it out for me.
I blushed, "Err.Thank you, sir. I'm from Rivendell."
"Rivendell?" he said, "I thought your dress looked to be elven made." I blushed again and nodded.
"What is your name?" he asked, "From what I know, there have been no visitors from Rivendell."
"Ariaelle of Imladris." I said, "My father's name is Mariol. He's a guardsman here. I'm a half-elf. My mother." I stopped for a moment and felt his blue eyes on me, "My mother was an elf and my father from Gondor."
"I see." He murmured. I was still rubbing my wrist because it hurt. But I did it under the table so that the man wouldn't see. I stretched my legs and they hit his. My head shot up and his eyes met mine again. He was still smiling a little.
"Sorry." I said quickly. He shifted his chair a little so that his legs pointed away from mine. I was free to stretch again. Giving him a small smile, I took up the space. I rubbed my hurting wrist again. The movement of my shoulders attracted his attention.
"Are you alright?" he asked curiously. As if on cue, my finger touched a tender spot and I winced.
"Oh.well.my wrist hurts a little. That's all." I said. Did this man see everything?
"May I see?" he asked sincerely.
I blinked and blinked again. Slowly, I nodded. He moved his hands near my wrist and paused, "Can I touch your wrist?"
I was astounded by his question. This man obviously had courtesy and consideration as his prime traits. I nodded again and felt his fingertips gently prodding my wrist. My elvish dress had sleeves that were not really sleeves. The cloth covered my upper arm but, before the elbow, it split. The effect was a like a cape when the wearer walked. I felt odd, having his hands examine my naked arm.
But his hands were gentle and they eliminated a lot of the tension in my wrist. Then he paused again. "If I'm right," he said to me. "It should hurt there." He pointed to near my pulse.
"You can try," I said.
He looked at me and pushed the spot gently. The result was my drawing a very quick and sharp breath. I shot him a brief glance.
"How did you do that?" I asked, surprised, cocking my head to one side. A common soldier skilled in the arts of healing?
"I talk to the healers sometimes. I learn simple things like those."
"Oh." I said dumbly. I wasn't usually like this. I think it was because of the man's calm expression.
"Haven't you learned that from Lord Elrond in Imladris?" he asked.
"Oh, yes." I said, "I just.can't heal myself yet. I can heal others though." I admitted. And how did he know Lord Elrond had taught me?
"I see." He murmured, "What can you do?"
"Um.I can heal external wounds and bleeding, though severe bleeding makes me tired." He nodded understandingly. "I can also heal fractures and broken bones.severe ones are difficult. I can clean wounds and heal.err.basic sicknesses."
"That's quite a bit." I blushed once again.
"Oh well.you found where it hurt," I complimented him.
"But you said that you could not yet heal yourself, so there is nothing to say." He said softly. My wrist tightened and the muscle hurt. I flinched.
"Can you make it go away?" I asked.
"The pain? Maybe, but it would have to hurt before it got better. You should keep talking while I work on it." he said.
He moved his fingers again to my wrist. His fingertips massaged the places near the focus of the pain. My expression was blank. I just watched, because I had nothing to say. It felt good. His warm hands on my wrist evoked dangerous feelings.
Easy on, I thought. You don't even know his name. He's just another soldier that you bumped into. Hopefully, Father can make friends with him.
"Do you shoot as well as Mariol?" he asked me, carrying out the conversation.
"Well.I wanted to, but he never taught me." I said distastefully.
"Oh, really?" he said, "You wanted to learn how to fight?"
I nodded, "Yes, I've always wanted to, but Father doesn't think that I should learn how. I end up reading and writing instead. Perhaps I'll be a scholar and not a Ranger."
"There are no female Rangers." He said quietly, his fingers stopping their movement.
"Oh really? How do you know?" I asked curiously.
He sighed, "I am Faramir, second son of Denethor, Lord and Steward of Gondor. I command the Rangers of Ithilien."
There was a long silence between us. I was still staring at him. Suddenly I stood up; my chair luckily did not tip over, but scraped back loudly against the floor. My eyes went wide and my wrist was no longer in his gentle hands.
"My lord." I stammered, "Forgive me, I did not know who you were. I thought you were only a common soldier." I made a hasty bow and when I straightened, I realised that I should have curtseyed. I swallowed hard.
Faramir was watching me closely. He obviously had realised that I'd bowed like a boy and not curtseyed like a girl. But his eyes were warm and welcoming. His smile had faded. I don't think that he liked the fact that I'd grabbed my wrist away from him. From what Lord Elrond had said, it hurt when a healer was healing and the patient stops the chain of concentration. It had happened once to me, when I had tried to heal a servant boy's cut. He'd jerked away and it was as though he'd hit me. I couldn't finish healing him.
"Sit down, Lady Ariaelle," he said finally. I looked up to see his eyes and they looked tired. He must have been concentrating very hard. I felt so guilty. I'd caused the son of the Steward pain because he told me who he really was. And yet, I couldn't really blame myself. I didn't know he was so important. I couldn't really have done anything about it.
"I'm sorry, my lord." I mumbled and he gave me a smile.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I broke your concentration, my lord."
"That's alright." He sighed. "Will you sit down now?"
"My lord." I murmured and took my seat. Compared to before, I was now sitting extremely straight with my eyes downcast. I made no move to let him finish on my wrist. I didn't speak. I was rubbing my wrist again. It stung where his healing had been cut off.
"Now, Lady, would you please speak to me like you did? Before you really knew who I was?" Faramir asked gently.
"As you wish, my lord." I said.
"Please don't call me that." He sniffed. "May I finish my work?"
"Err.yes." I said awkwardly, "But...sir.doesn't it hurt?"
"What?"
"Your.mind." I murmured, "It must have hurt when I pulled away."
He nodded, "Yes, it did.and it still does." I looked absolutely horrified that I'd hurt him so, "But it's alright, like I said."
"Can I fix it?" I asked. He looked at me closely, "It would make me feel.less.unhappy." I mumbled in reply.
He blinked, "No, I'll see a healer later." My mouth opened a little, as I was about to say that I was a healer too. But it seemed to me like I sounded like a child.
It couldn't have really gotten any worse. I'd bumped into him and then he'd told me to sit down. I'd kicked him, by accident, and he moved away so I could have the space. He tried to heal me and I hurt him back. I'd offered to help him and he declined. What kind of a person was this? Was it because he didn't want me to cause trouble? Was it because he thought girls could do nothing? I didn't understand any of it.
I heard something. My ears pricked. There were rushing footsteps coming to the door nearest us. The opposite door, to which I came from, I remembered.
"Someone's coming." I said softly. He turned around to see the door, which I was staring at. A wave of comprehension washed over him.
"Not him." he muttered.
Author's note: Hey, this is my first piece of fanfiction I've ever written. I hope it's okay to your tastes. I'd like to thank my sister for her encouragement and for getting me started on 'Red Dawn'. I'd like to dedicate this story to J.R.R. Tolkien, who wrote the Lord of the Rings and inspired me to write more. And I would also like to dedicate this story partly to David Wenham, who's portrayal of Faramir in New Line's Lord of the Rings was awesome and got my mind set. Also, if anyone could drop a review, it would be very much appreciated.
Red Dawn
By: Ariaelle
I followed Father to the mess hall. He'd just been informed that there was a "meeting" with all the other soldiers and guardsmen of Minas Tirith. I knew it wasn't so. From the winks and other hints that the messenger had given my Father while he delivered the message, it was enough to say that tonight would be spent drinking and laughing. My brother would have come, but he'd wanted to tend to his mount. Apparently, it had a rock stuck in its hoof and the stable boy wasn't sure how to get it out. I didn't drink ale or beer. I'd never liked the taste. I didn't even know why I came. Maybe it was to show that I wasn't the same as all the other girls. Maybe it was to show my differences. And yet, what differences were there to show?
Father didn't want me to go. 'There were too many men,' he had said. I'd said that I would be fine and he just sighed. He didn't really care about me, I knew. I mean, I'd always wanted to learn how to ride, and fight with the bow and blade, like any other lad. But after my brother was born, my father took no more notice of me. He might have taught me if my brother never existed. But it wasn't so, and I ended up trying to push a needle through cloth. I couldn't sew and I couldn't cook anything worth singing of. I spent my days studying Elvish, Westron and Numenorean. Occasionally, Lord Elrond would summon me to teach some of his healing skills. I already missed Imladris. There, it was so peaceful, so calm.
As I entered the mess hall, I was instantly bewildered. The only light came from various candles and lamps on the walls and tables. And there were so many soldiers. All had a similarity to Father. All were so broad and tall.so Gondorian, I thought at the time.
I felt a little uncomfortable around so many of them, like father had said, and I tried to avoid the many eyes on me as we entered the room. My father broke into smiles and hearty laughs. He spoke to many of the men, who I guessed were his friends. Most of them looked at me, smiled kindly, or winked, or did other things that made me blush. I was fortunate that there were no bright lights, which would show my embarrassment.
As my father went on into the crowded room, I began to feel tired. The heat and the smell of so many bodies in such a small space gave me a headache. The soldiers had obviously been drinking; the ale barrels on the side were still dripping with excess liquid. I blinked and looked around. I noticed the paintings on the side of the hall. Stopping in my tracks, I observed one, which hung from a pillar. It depicted the city of Osgiliath. The colors were beautiful, blending into each other. The banner of the White Tree elegantly fluttered in the breeze. The buildings were like those of Minas Tirith, only they had no circle floors.
I turned back and to my horror, my father was nowhere to be seen. I pushed past a group of soldiers who grinned drunkenly at me. It was so hot. Suddenly all the men seemed to look the same. I pushed past some more soldiers and whirled around. Where was he? Where was my father?
Turning my head, I kept going into my previous direction. I scanned the tables to my left and right, running as I did.
The emblem of the White Tree. It seemed so close. I collided hard with someone. I stumbled back, a look of surprise on my face. The young man looked down at me. I breathed slowly, and met his eyes. I could see the puzzlement on his face.
"I'm sorry, sir. I was just.hurrying past, and I didn't see you." I said. The man had short, wavy, light brown hair. His eyes were a bright blue with gentle shades of gray. They reminded me of the sea.
"It's quite all right." He said quietly. His voice was smooth and quiet, yet not soft unless he meant it to be. "Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No, sir, I'm not. Thank you though." I said, rubbing my wrist unconsciously. I'd pulled the muscle while riding here.
"Would you like to sit down?" he asked, pointing to a table near the corner. It was away from the crowd and seemed quiet.
I consented, "It's very kind of you, sir." It's a little odd for a soldier to ask a lady to sit.very odd, I thought.
His blue-gray eyes lightened and he smiled a little, "I haven't seen you around before." He strode over the chair quicker than I did and pulled it out for me.
I blushed, "Err.Thank you, sir. I'm from Rivendell."
"Rivendell?" he said, "I thought your dress looked to be elven made." I blushed again and nodded.
"What is your name?" he asked, "From what I know, there have been no visitors from Rivendell."
"Ariaelle of Imladris." I said, "My father's name is Mariol. He's a guardsman here. I'm a half-elf. My mother." I stopped for a moment and felt his blue eyes on me, "My mother was an elf and my father from Gondor."
"I see." He murmured. I was still rubbing my wrist because it hurt. But I did it under the table so that the man wouldn't see. I stretched my legs and they hit his. My head shot up and his eyes met mine again. He was still smiling a little.
"Sorry." I said quickly. He shifted his chair a little so that his legs pointed away from mine. I was free to stretch again. Giving him a small smile, I took up the space. I rubbed my hurting wrist again. The movement of my shoulders attracted his attention.
"Are you alright?" he asked curiously. As if on cue, my finger touched a tender spot and I winced.
"Oh.well.my wrist hurts a little. That's all." I said. Did this man see everything?
"May I see?" he asked sincerely.
I blinked and blinked again. Slowly, I nodded. He moved his hands near my wrist and paused, "Can I touch your wrist?"
I was astounded by his question. This man obviously had courtesy and consideration as his prime traits. I nodded again and felt his fingertips gently prodding my wrist. My elvish dress had sleeves that were not really sleeves. The cloth covered my upper arm but, before the elbow, it split. The effect was a like a cape when the wearer walked. I felt odd, having his hands examine my naked arm.
But his hands were gentle and they eliminated a lot of the tension in my wrist. Then he paused again. "If I'm right," he said to me. "It should hurt there." He pointed to near my pulse.
"You can try," I said.
He looked at me and pushed the spot gently. The result was my drawing a very quick and sharp breath. I shot him a brief glance.
"How did you do that?" I asked, surprised, cocking my head to one side. A common soldier skilled in the arts of healing?
"I talk to the healers sometimes. I learn simple things like those."
"Oh." I said dumbly. I wasn't usually like this. I think it was because of the man's calm expression.
"Haven't you learned that from Lord Elrond in Imladris?" he asked.
"Oh, yes." I said, "I just.can't heal myself yet. I can heal others though." I admitted. And how did he know Lord Elrond had taught me?
"I see." He murmured, "What can you do?"
"Um.I can heal external wounds and bleeding, though severe bleeding makes me tired." He nodded understandingly. "I can also heal fractures and broken bones.severe ones are difficult. I can clean wounds and heal.err.basic sicknesses."
"That's quite a bit." I blushed once again.
"Oh well.you found where it hurt," I complimented him.
"But you said that you could not yet heal yourself, so there is nothing to say." He said softly. My wrist tightened and the muscle hurt. I flinched.
"Can you make it go away?" I asked.
"The pain? Maybe, but it would have to hurt before it got better. You should keep talking while I work on it." he said.
He moved his fingers again to my wrist. His fingertips massaged the places near the focus of the pain. My expression was blank. I just watched, because I had nothing to say. It felt good. His warm hands on my wrist evoked dangerous feelings.
Easy on, I thought. You don't even know his name. He's just another soldier that you bumped into. Hopefully, Father can make friends with him.
"Do you shoot as well as Mariol?" he asked me, carrying out the conversation.
"Well.I wanted to, but he never taught me." I said distastefully.
"Oh, really?" he said, "You wanted to learn how to fight?"
I nodded, "Yes, I've always wanted to, but Father doesn't think that I should learn how. I end up reading and writing instead. Perhaps I'll be a scholar and not a Ranger."
"There are no female Rangers." He said quietly, his fingers stopping their movement.
"Oh really? How do you know?" I asked curiously.
He sighed, "I am Faramir, second son of Denethor, Lord and Steward of Gondor. I command the Rangers of Ithilien."
There was a long silence between us. I was still staring at him. Suddenly I stood up; my chair luckily did not tip over, but scraped back loudly against the floor. My eyes went wide and my wrist was no longer in his gentle hands.
"My lord." I stammered, "Forgive me, I did not know who you were. I thought you were only a common soldier." I made a hasty bow and when I straightened, I realised that I should have curtseyed. I swallowed hard.
Faramir was watching me closely. He obviously had realised that I'd bowed like a boy and not curtseyed like a girl. But his eyes were warm and welcoming. His smile had faded. I don't think that he liked the fact that I'd grabbed my wrist away from him. From what Lord Elrond had said, it hurt when a healer was healing and the patient stops the chain of concentration. It had happened once to me, when I had tried to heal a servant boy's cut. He'd jerked away and it was as though he'd hit me. I couldn't finish healing him.
"Sit down, Lady Ariaelle," he said finally. I looked up to see his eyes and they looked tired. He must have been concentrating very hard. I felt so guilty. I'd caused the son of the Steward pain because he told me who he really was. And yet, I couldn't really blame myself. I didn't know he was so important. I couldn't really have done anything about it.
"I'm sorry, my lord." I mumbled and he gave me a smile.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I broke your concentration, my lord."
"That's alright." He sighed. "Will you sit down now?"
"My lord." I murmured and took my seat. Compared to before, I was now sitting extremely straight with my eyes downcast. I made no move to let him finish on my wrist. I didn't speak. I was rubbing my wrist again. It stung where his healing had been cut off.
"Now, Lady, would you please speak to me like you did? Before you really knew who I was?" Faramir asked gently.
"As you wish, my lord." I said.
"Please don't call me that." He sniffed. "May I finish my work?"
"Err.yes." I said awkwardly, "But...sir.doesn't it hurt?"
"What?"
"Your.mind." I murmured, "It must have hurt when I pulled away."
He nodded, "Yes, it did.and it still does." I looked absolutely horrified that I'd hurt him so, "But it's alright, like I said."
"Can I fix it?" I asked. He looked at me closely, "It would make me feel.less.unhappy." I mumbled in reply.
He blinked, "No, I'll see a healer later." My mouth opened a little, as I was about to say that I was a healer too. But it seemed to me like I sounded like a child.
It couldn't have really gotten any worse. I'd bumped into him and then he'd told me to sit down. I'd kicked him, by accident, and he moved away so I could have the space. He tried to heal me and I hurt him back. I'd offered to help him and he declined. What kind of a person was this? Was it because he didn't want me to cause trouble? Was it because he thought girls could do nothing? I didn't understand any of it.
I heard something. My ears pricked. There were rushing footsteps coming to the door nearest us. The opposite door, to which I came from, I remembered.
"Someone's coming." I said softly. He turned around to see the door, which I was staring at. A wave of comprehension washed over him.
"Not him." he muttered.