Chapter Two
I
have no idea how long I sat on the rock for. It didn't matter, nothing mattered
to me anymore. I could feel myself slipping slowly into the dead zone and I
didn't try to stop myself. Anything was better than this guilt; it wracked my
body like ice. Ice ... my mind cast back to the boat we'd travelled on to get
to England from Ireland. I had contracted
pneumonia and Leith took care of me the whole way. At one point, I was sure I
was going to die. I was so cold that I felt numb...but my body had such a high
fever that it hurt to touch me.
"If you die on me, then by Valar I swear I'll chase you into the next life
and KILL you.." Leith had whispered ferociously into my ear. I
smiled at the memory. I had loved him so much...loved. The word hit me like a physical blow. Loved … as in used to.
Only then did the information truly sink in. He was dead and there was nothing
I could do about it. I closed me eyes, playing memories of us back in my
mind...watching my own silent film.
I wished the cold hands of death would come and take me away right there, right
then. Just take me to wherever the next life is...if there is one. Once again,
I felt myself slipping...but as I fell into the abyss of my mind, Leith's words rung in my
ears. He had loved me more than I would ever know...and he would kill me if I
gave up.
No.
No I wouldn't let myself go. I had to fight; I had to protect the cause.
Because no matter what happens to me, the Good Fight is still more important. I
didn't believe that before, I thought this was a pointless, stupid war and I
hated the world for plunging me into it. But that was before Leith. Before Grace. Before Delos. Before everything.
After I met them, saw the hope in their eyes, I knew that this war was more
important than any one person. The fate of New Middle-Earth was resting on my
shoulders, and my shoulders alone. I chuckled at the utter irony.
Faith Cambell, savoir of the world. Hah. Shit, I'm in trouble.
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I didn't notice the three men approaching me
until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped up and spun around on my heel to
face them, preparing for a fight. I needed to fight, I needed to be able to
stop thinking for a few moments and let out all my frustration. However, it
didn't work out that way.
"We have no fight with you. Please, lower your weapon. We only wanted to
know if you saw our friends last night when you were fighting the Orcs. They
would look like children in your eyes," The dark haired man said, holding
his hand below his hip to indicate height...or lack of it. I frowned ... Orcs?
The word rung a bell but I wasn't quite sure where I'd heard it before. In
fact, everything rung a bell here. It was like I knew what was happening, but I
couldn't quite remember what. I decided it must have been some sort of nickname
for The Followers of Isengard.
"No, sorry. I wish I could help, though I was a little distracted by the
fact that ALL MY PEOPLE WERE MURDERED!!!" I yelled. I knew it was
unnecessary but I needed to release my anger somehow. The men seemed taken
aback, but, to be honest, I didn't give a shit.
"I am sorry for your loss; though now our friends may die as well I
thought you may feel some empathy." The dark haired man said quietly. I
shook myself and mentally scolded myself for being so rude. These guys might be
able to help me.
"No, I'm sorry," I said, dropping my eyes to the floor. "I just ...
sorry. No, I haven't seen them, if I do, I'll tell them you're looking." I
said, wincing slightly when I felt a throb of pain go through my shoulder.
"You are injured." The blond man stated.
"No shit Sherlock." I said before I could stop myself. I smiled
weakly. That was one of Ethan's sayings. Before they could reply though, my
eyes wandered to a sort of bonfire across the field and noticed the bad smell for
the first time. I squinted at it and my frown deepened. It was a bonfire
alright, with bodies burning. I gasped and stumbled backwards, lifting my
trusty gun towards the men's faces. "WHO ARE YOU?" I asked, aware I
was using my drill sergeant voice. I was also aware of the fact that blondie
had his arrows out, and shortie pulled an axe from under his cloak.
"ANSWER ME!" I shouted, pointing my gun at the dark haired man. He
put a hand on blondie's arm and he reluctantly put away his arrows silently.
"Please, calm yourself. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, these are my
companions, Gimli son of Gloin and Legolas Prince of the woodland realms."
Again, the names were strangely familiar. I chose to ignore the nagging feeling
that I knew these people.
"Alright, who the hell is THAT?" I said, nodding towards the bonfire,
swallowing bile that had gathered in my throat. I had seen a lot of death and
pain in my life, but it still disturbed me. When I was briefly captured back in
Berlin, I was held in the torture chambers.
The screams of my fellow inmates will never leave me.
"Those are Orcs." Gimli said shortly.
"Oh." I said, embarrassed. "Sorry I thought they were..." I
sighed before dropping my gun back onto my lap. Gimli...the name rolled in my
head, uncovering memories before I had time to blink. Gimli. Short. Dwarf. I
shut my eyes, tracing my thoughts back to their source. My memories took me to
my grandparent's house when I was small. They both used to smell like
peppermint and cinnamon...I used to sit on the rug in front of the hearth and
they'd tell me stories. Stories about myths and legends of our
ancestors...tales of dragons and...
It hit me like a tidal wave. These people ... this land ... It was world my
grandmother told me about!! The myths of ancient Middle-Earth. The tales of
elves, wizards and the fight for power. The names flooded my mind. Frodo
Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Gandalf the Grey, Boromir of Gondor, Meriadoc
Brandybuck, Peregrin Took...
The old stories overtook me and I was thrown back into the worlds of fantasy
and legends I had pretended to play in as a small child. But they weren't
legends...because I was here. I was in ancient Middle-Earth. I shook my head,
eyes still clamped shut, ignoring the concerned voices about me. I had to concentrate;
I had to figure this out.
It was impossible, wasn't it?
I argued with myself about the likelihood of the situation. I absently wondered
if maybe this was the dead zone. If I was back in New-castle, zoned out and
this was all an elaborate illusion. It seemed to make a lot more sense than the
idea that I'd...travelled back in time. My shoulder was now becoming a serious
issue, I could barely register the pain it was so terrible ... and that was not
a good sign. When I opened my eyes, the shapes around me were fuzzy and I could
focus on anything, I only saw colours and movement. It scared the hell out of
me. After that I saw grey and then the world turned black.
When I awoke, I was on a horse. Needless to say, it wasn't a pleasant way to
wake up. I yelped and clung to the white horse's neck, shutting my eyes. I felt
a warm hand on my back and I looked around sharply to see an old man with a
long white beard. His eyes were a greyish blue and were wiser than any I had
ever seen. I could barely register who he was, for the pain in my shoulder was
worse than any pain I'd been through before.
And take it from me; I've been through a lot of pain in my life. I closed my
eyes and desperately tried to ignore the galloping horse beneath me. It brought
too many memories back.
Like when we were back in Ireland and we had to fight a
bunch of Clucks to get to the shore so we could be off to England. I had stolen one of
their prized black horses and Grace and I had ridden together through the
battle field shouting out orders and directing the stragglers. We won that day,
and then we set the horse free to graze. I would give anything to be that horse
now. Free of sorrow or duty.
I let myself drift black into unconsciousness to ease the pain and the next
time I awoke, I was being lifted gently off the horse. I opened my eyes and
blinked numbly at my surroundings. We were in the town that I had been travelling
to. Though, it looked more like a memorial service than a town. All the people
were in black and we got nothing but harsh stares.
"You'd get a better welcome in a graveyard..." Gimli muttered. I was too
weak to say anything so I studied the man who was carrying me. It was Legolas,
Prince of Mirkwood. I scolded myself for not realizing before, it was so
obvious. His ears were pointed and his long golden hair was far too clean and
soft to be human. I groaned and tried to lift my head but in the end I let
myself be carried. It was a nice sensation, one I'd never experienced.
I noticed the man who was holding me was speaking,
"This...boy may die, he is a hero of you're people, a slayer of Orcs, do
you not wish him to live?" I frowned for several reasons. The first being
that Legolas had stated I was in a near fatal condition, the second, that he
had referred to me as a boy. Amazingly, even through my pain and grief, this
simple mistake made me utterly furious.
I wasn't beautiful but I sure as hell didn't look like a boy. I limply lifted
my head and attempted to protest, but the effort was far too strenuous so I
settled for an affronted grunt before falling back into the world of blackness.
Some time later, my eyes flitted open and I found myself lying on a hard wooden
bench. As my eyes focused, I reached for the gun on the table above me,
listening in disbelief at the sound of metal clashing onto the cold stone floor.
I noticed Gimli sitting on top of a thin, pale man and realized with a jolt
that he must be Wormtongue. I struggled to get a clear view of the Throne in
which the King of Rohan, Theoden, sat. I watched open- mouthed as his face
began to look younger and younger and his wizened frame straightened out. I was
vaguely aware that he was speaking, though I was in to much pain to make sense
of it.
After the battle of Belfast I thought I had seen
everything. And I mean everything. Right then I realized with dismay, that I
had seen nothing compared to this.
The tale of Wormtongue's betrayal rung in my ears and I don't know how I
managed to drag myself outside, following King Theoden as he was about to lop
Wormtongue's head off. Right on cue, Aragorn put a hand on Theoden's shoulder.
I remembered that Wormtongue had played a large part in the story and how he
was an ally of Sauron so I did the thing I was trained to do.
I shot him in the head.
"Eil sidoor nablee famount!!" I shouted out of pure habit, before closing
my eyes and letting my tired aching body collapse.
I was reluctant to open my eyes because for the first time in two years, I was
sleeping in a bed. A proper, warm, comfy bed. Suddenly, the thought that maybe
this had all been one horrible nightmare and that I was at home in bed hit me
like a brick wall and I held my breath as I opened my eyes. I bit my lip and
felt unshed tears prick my eyes when I saw that I wasn't in my room.
I was in a large, stone chamber. It had beautiful tapestries at the windows and
there was a roaring fire going in the huge mantel near the queen-sized wooden
bed I was lying in. I noticed in awe that I was lying underneath a pile of furs
and a huge blue quilt that had stories woven into its patchwork.
Believe me, when you've been getting two or three hours of sleep on hard sand
or grass, you take the time to notice the little things.
I jumped when the heavy wooden swung open and I winced at the throb in my
shoulder when I spun around to face it. My 'soldier' instincts kicked in and I
set myself in defence position. I didn't relax when it was a blond- haired
woman who walked in, looking startled.
If I had learnt anything, I had learnt appearances could be very deceiving.
"Please, do not be alarmed, I only wanted to speak with you." She
said softly. I instantly felt a wave of grief wash over me, she sounded so much
like Grace it was uncanny.
"Sorry, sit." I said gruffly, fighting the tears that threatened to
escape and motioning to the edge of the bed. She did so, understandably
hesitant.
"I wanted to thank you." She said, averting her eyes from mine. I frowned;
this was all too much to take in.
"What for?" I asked, not really listening. The reality of the
situation hadn't really sunk in yet. If you could even call it a reality. I had
been transported to ancient Middle-Earth after I failed my mission and got my
entire platoon shot.
Somehow it sounded even more unbelievable when I thought about it in that
context.
"For many things. For killing Wormtongue with your strange weapon and
helping my Father by not making him have to wash the blood from his
hands....Aragorn also told me that you are a slayer of Orcs and that you're
friends died in battle..." She said gently. I snapped my eyes up to her face
and assumed the most expressionless face I could manage.
"Don't mention it." I replied simply. She seemed to get the hint and
she got up and walked back towards the door,
"Please, what is your name good Sir?" I snorted at the 'good sir'
part. The idiots still thought I was a boy. I glanced down at my chest and
realized that it was covered with blankets. I wondered absently if I really was
that ugly.
"Faith." I said shortly. "Yours?" I added out of courtesy.
"Eowyn." She replied before hurrying out of the room. I felt bad at
treating the woman so rudely, if my memory served me, Eowyn wanted to fight and
help. Of course, anyone who wanted to
fight must be ignorant of the horrors that come with it.
I glanced down at my cut and sore hand, smiling weakly at the ring on my
finger. Leith had given it to me just before we began fighting. It had
been in his family for generations, and it was the only thing he had left of
them. It was strange to think it was the only thing I had left of him. The
thought finally sunk in and I did something I hadn't done since he had been
killed underneath that stone rock....I cried. I cried for him, for Grace, for
my people, for freedom...and I cried for me. I was the last one left; I was the
only living 'Freedom fighter'.
And this time, I wasn't going to screw things up.
I dragged myself out of the comfortable bed and found my clothes and boots in
the corner. My clothes had been washed. I smiled as I put them on, my face
clean from my salty tears. I ignored my body's protests as I slipped on my
black-regulation t-shirt and pulled on my camouflage jacket. As I was tying up
my laces, I glanced at the identity chip in my wrist. We all had one planted in
us; it glowed red when there wasn't a pulse. Handy little devise when you were
looking for survivors. I sighed as I dragged myself towards the door, my body
tense and on full alert. I was painfully aware that I didn't have my gun, and
without my gun, I felt very uneasy.
When I opened the door I wasn't particularly surprised to find a long narrow
stone corridor with endless doors leading to mysterious rooms. I automatically
made a mental plan of the place, deciding which doors I would hide in if it
came to it.
I noticed a mirror on one of the walls and I stood in front of it excitedly. I
hadn't seen a mirror in...Well, a very long time. I watched my eyes grow wide
when I stared into the reflection. My hair was blacker than I remembered, grown
just past my ears. My dark-blue eyes held a pain and wisdom that I had no idea
I possessed. I touched my bruised face in wonder, and tried to remember if my
lips had always looked so pouty, and if my skin had always been so clear and so
white it almost glowed.
I shook myself and almost laughed at how big-headed I sounded before turning
away. I jumped when I saw Legolas regarding me silently.
"By Valar, why'd you sneak up on me! You made me jump!" I asked,
annoyed and embarrassed at not noticing him beforehand. He seemed slightly
taken aback at my outburst but he carried on looking at me, arms folded neatly
across his chest.
"How do you know of such things?" He asked quietly, seeming slightly
puzzled. All I could blurt out was,
"What?"
"You are a woman and yet you fight. You are a human and yet you can speak
the ancient tongue only spoken by wizards and Elves. You are beautiful, yet you
wear men's clothing and cut you're hair shorter than a warriors. Why?" He
asked. I raised my eyebrows and fought the sudden impulse to laugh manically.
Maybe they weren't all idiots.
"I fight because it is my duty. I speak the 'ancient tongue' because it
was asked of me. I wear 'men's clothes' because I can't very well fight in a
dress and my hair is short because it is easier to keep. Anything else?"
He seemed to miss the sarcasm in my statement and seemed to think for a minute.
"What was the weapon you carried and who made it?" I rolled my eyes.
"It's called a machine gun and my people made it." I replied shortly,
"And speaking of which, where is it?" Legolas looked disapprovingly.
"It," He said spitting out the word like it was an orc, "Is in
safe keeping until it is needed." I nodded, fair enough.
"My turn. Why does everyone else think I'm a man and where is
Gandalf?" I asked, using my most commanding tone. And believe me, ordering
a bunch of children with guns to safety, makes me sound pretty damn commanding.
Legolas motioned for me to follow him and began walking quickly.
"It is not our place to reveal your identity. We do not know what reasons
you have for keeping such a...male persona. The nurses who attended to you are
sworn to secrecy." He said as he led me through countless cold corridors.
I struggled to listen and remember the way at the same time, so in the end, I
gave up trying to map the maze and I followed him, quietly thinking about my
situation and what to do next.
I was pulled out of my thoughts when I found myself walking into a hall … I
recognized it instantly to be the hall in which I had seen Theoden's return. I
noticed Aragorn and Gimli sitting on the bench that I had been lying upon
earlier. Two young children sat in front of the fire, wolfing down food with
Eowyn fussing over them.
"We will go to Helm's deep and hide there. My people will not fight this
war Gandalf." He was saying. I felt a pang of respect for the man, he was
only trying to help his people. He didn't know hundreds would be slaughtered
before they got help.
But I did, and I wasn't going to let that happen. Not this time.