Finally she heard footsteps. Several pairs by the sound of them. Oh great, she thought, more people to argue with. She decided not to bother standing to greet them, although Éomer did, but instead continued to eat the bread, so that when Aragorn, Mithrandir and the other man who'd been with them in the small group outside appeared she had her mouth full.
"Hi," she mumbled through the bread, trying to swallow it quickly. She did so, but it got caught in her throat, so she tried to wash it down with a mouthful of the wine; but the wine was stronger than she was expecting, and she spluttered and managed very impressively to shoot red wine at the white robe Mithrandir wore. She covered her mouth in horror; they might be idiots playing a stupid game, but this guy still looked important – or at least he had done until she'd ruined his white coat.
"I'm so sorry," she said, jumping up and looking round for something to wipe it with. "I can't believe I just did that!" She looked at him with a panicked expression, then realised two things; firstly, his bright eyes were twinkling as if he found something incredibly amusing but was trying not to laugh, and secondly, that the wine had disappeared from his robe. She looked closer, frowning, then shook her head. "Sorry, I thought… never mind…"
"My lady, welcome to the city of Minas Tirith," said Aragorn with a slight bow – she could have sworn there was a grin at the corners of his mouth too – "I hear that Hereláf found you by the city gates earlier this afternoon and that he and Déorbrand are worried that you are unwell?"
"Yes, though I haven't a clue why, I'm perfectly fine, and they've spent the whole afternoon telling me that this really is a city called Minas Tirith and that I'm the one who's mad – they're the ones who're acting out some stupid play!" Helen stopped herself suddenly, realising that she probably did sound slightly mad – although they were obviously loving this winding her up. "I'm sorry, but really, I'm not actually supposed to believe it am I? Come on, you all have ordinary lives and you're just having a laugh – at my expense at the moment, which I am not happy about – and I'd really really appreciate it if you'd give it a break." But they didn't seem to be laughing anymore; rather they seemed worried.
"Gandalf," began Aragorn quietly, turning to Mithrandir.
"Ha! I gotcha!" cried Helen triumphantly, "Earlier you called him Mithrandir, so you're obviously getting your own game confused! You can't pull this one off anymore, so give it up!" But nobody seemed likely to give it up; their faces grew more concerned if anything.
"Child," smiled Mithrandir-Gandalf, "I have many names; Mithrandir and Gandalf are only two. I have been called the Grey Pilgrim, the White Rider, and even Láthspell – ill news. But you, I perceive, have heard none of them, which leads me to believe that you are not of this world. Tell me; does the name Middle-Earth mean anything to you?"
"Are you crazy? It's you lot that don't seem to be 'of this world', is it really so difficult to show me how to get out of this insane set-up? It's a great gimmick, I'll give you that, but really, don't you think it's time to give up?"
"Very well; come with me," said Gandalf gently, "And I will show you what I mean." He led her out of the building to the end of the courtyard. "Look out, and tell me what you see." Helen reluctantly looked over the wall, and gasped. Before her were open grasslands, those immediately before the city littered with tents, with orchards and farms dotted around; and in the distance she could see what looked like another city, set on a river which she could only just see, obscured as it was by a wall that seemed to run right around the city she stood in, reaching right back to the mountains into which the city was built.
"But that's impossible," she whispered in disbelief, "There was a motorway… there aren't even any proper roads… how did this happen?"
"As I said, my dear child," Gandalf said, still in the same gentle tone, "You are not of this world. I know not how you came here, and it is clear to me that you do not either, but you have come from some other place; perhaps the Valar have brought you here for some hidden purpose, or perhaps you or one of us has something important to learn. Perhaps you have simply been brought here for a holiday; but I fear you will not be able to return to your homeland for some time." Helen just shook her head blankly.
"I must be dreaming. This cannot be real. I must be dreaming…" she repeated the words over and over under her breath, closing her eyes, and didn't notice when Gandalf quietly moved away.
Finally she opened her eyes. If she was dreaming, then she ought to be able to wake herself up surely? The thought tried to rise in her that she'd never yet had a dream where she'd actively wanted to wake up, but she ignored it and looked around. All she needed was something to hurt her dream-self, then she'd be shocked into consciousness, without doing any harm to her real self, because her real self was still tucked up in bed and it probably wasn't even her birthday yet. And of course she'd wake up, because when she had nightmares she always woke up just before she got hurt. Right. Yes. A stone.
Helen picked up the sharp stone that lay on the floor next to her feet and gripped it hard, gritting her teeth. She glanced back across the courtyard, but nobody seemed to be around. Very deliberately she cut into the back of her arm with the stone – and immediately cried out in pain and disbelief. It hurt, and it was bleeding. Why hadn't she woken up? This wasn't fair, it wasn't right. Tears pricked her eyes; she turned around and leant against the wall, dropping the stone and automatically trying to stop the blood as she sank to the floor, holding her t-shirt against the cut. Perplexed and more than a little scared, she let the tears flow freely. What on earth was she going to do? More to the point, what was going on anyway? Logic told her two completely different things; first, realistically it was impossible that this place had been built overnight as she'd thought, but secondly, it was even more impossible that it was real and that she'd managed to stumble on another world. So the dream analogy seemed to be the only one that could make sense, but she couldn't wake up, and everything in it seemed so solid and real and continuous, and she was fully aware of everything, so how could it be a dream?
Gandalf came back and touched her shoulder lightly.
"Come with me, my dear," he said kindly, "We shall go and see what the healers can do about that graze you seem to have acquired. Perhaps, too, you could tell me something of where you come from?"
In a daze, Helen let him help her up; she was surprised by how strong he seemed, considering that he looked older than anyone she'd ever seen; older, yes, some small part of her mind mused, but somehow a lot younger too.
Gandalf held her good arm and supported her as they walked; she was dimly aware that they were leaving the pretty courtyard and going downhill again, but she was too caught up in her confused thoughts to take much notice. But soon they entered a house filled with a strange sweet smell, and she suddenly felt much calmer and somehow refreshed.
"What's that smell?" she asked, mystified. "I've never smelt anything like it." Gandalf smiled as he led her to a cushioned chair.
"That is athelas, a plant much admired by the Elves for its healing virtues. It has been only lately reintroduced to the Houses of Healing here in Minas Tirith, for Aragorn has himself great skills in such arts, learnt from the Elves."
"Elves?" Helen said sceptically, then shook her head. "Oh never mind, I'll ask later." Somehow she didn't want to ruin the peaceful feeling that seemed to have settled over her.
"And I am sure you will hear much of them; indeed, you may even be so lucky as to meet one. Now I shall go and fetch one of the healers; most are enjoying the celebrations of course, but I am sure someone will be here. I would do it myself, but I think I might receive some admonitions from the more vocal amongst them." With a smile he disappeared, and Helen was left alone again; but this time she just sat and enjoyed the soft feel of the chair and the gentle aroma that filled the room.
Crecy – Thanks for the review! I hope this is updated quick enough ;-)
Southern Gaelic – Wow, I'm honoured! Glad you like it!