A/N: Hello my dear readers. I know it has been a long, long, long while since I updated this story. However, I can't rid myself of the plot lines I've made for Mine, all those years ago, and so I decided that this story needs a finish. A proper one.
I will work on this story until it's finished. I've also noticed quite some mistakes in previous chapters, so I'll try to work on those as well, as to put up a complete finished story.
To everyone that has been reading this story, in the past and in the present, I thank you for your loyalty and interest. It's been greatly appreciated and partly the reason/ motivation for me to finally continue with this story. We're gonna pick up right where we left it!
- I do not own Lord of the Rings, nor its characters or places. I only created Mÿne.
As always, I hope you'll enjoy it!
Mÿne sighed as she looked at herself in the spotless mirror in her room. The sound of chain mail filled the room as she turned around again, to look at her own back. If she'd thought the pieces of armor she'd scraped together at the Hornburg were heavy, she was quite mistaken. It seemed this set weighed even more. And so Mÿne figured she would wear it now, every day, until the day of battle. Just to get used to its weight and movement, before it was too late.
Blue fabric was showing underneath silver metallic rings and boiled leather. Surprisingly, the armor Faramir had gifted her, had fit her well. It had been quite the hassle to put on, but now that she was wearing it, she felt like a proper soldier. At least, she looked the part. Moving her fingers into her hair, she quickly braided it, rounding it up on the back of her head, like she'd done at Helm's Deep. She tightened it with a blue ribbon, matching the garment underneath her plates of steel.
A knock on the door made her jump up for a moment, as she soon looked into the face of the same servant girl that had escorted her to Faramir's chambers for dinner, last night.
"Milady, Lord Faramir is here to see you." she said as she sidestepped, only to make room for Faramir.
It seemed he had to do a double take, since he didn't move in the doorway. He kept staring at her with big eyes, like he'd seen a ghost of the past.
"What do you think?" Mÿne asked him as she stood up properly and spread her arms, to show him the armor.
"It's...amazing. It seems it fits you well, like it was made for you." he mused as she approached her.
He made a circle around her and observed the armor, making sure he caught sight of every binding and plate. Finally he approached her and pointed to the faulds of her armor.
"They're tied wrong." he commented, before he put out his hands, "May I?"
Mÿne shrugged before she nodded, allowing him to meddle with the binding that tied her faulds to the cuirass. She tried to keep herself standing but he was quite rough with it.
"Have you ever put on an armor before? By yourself?" he asked her as he redid the bindings.
"Never." she said, "At Helm's Deep, I wore an old chain mail and leather on top."
"That's no armor." he said, with a light chuckle.
From the mirror, she could watch him work. His fingers were nimble and fast, as he tied the faulds to their respective places, tighter than she had. A concentrated expression was plastered to his face, as he moved his fingers against the steel plates. She could tell that he was experienced with putting on armor. His fingers seemed to move on their own accord and he didn't even had to look as much as she had in the beginning.
"It would be best not to untie those anymore. They'll keep the faulds in their place for some time now… Maybe ask an armorer to do it for you, if you must." he said, and she knew it was with a little jest. The small grin on his lips told her so.
"It would be best." she agreed, though she had to laugh a little.
Faramir stepped back and looked at her again. She knew he was observing the armor he'd just fixed, but she couldn't deny the feeling that his sharp eyes were looking at something different entirely. Or rather, maybe it was how they looked. There was a certain...softness to them, as if he was looking at something precious.
Of course, she couldn't blame him. After all, this armor had been his late mother's. She could only understand that there were memories and feelings attached to it. She'd have the same if she still had belongings of her parents.
"It suits you." he concluded as his eyes looked into hers directly.
"Thank you. I still don't know what I did to earn this, but I will look after it carefully." she said as she took her own words to heart.
"Forgive me for asking, but is there a particular reason you're here? Did you want something from me?" she asked as she turned to the mirror again.
After all, it had been a slight coincidence that he'd come to her chambers. Or rather, maybe the maid had told him that she was fitting the armor. Her eyes glanced to the side, to the dark haired servant girl, who had her eyes cast downwards.
Faramir didn't seem too eager to answer her question. He just stood at the doorway and laughed at her, his reddish curls framing his face.
"I just wanted to see you. As the son of the steward, I don't want my guests to be short of anything. After all, I'm still your host." he said before he slipped through the doorway again, the dark haired maid following him swiftly.
Mÿne came to the conclusion that Faramir might be lonely. After all, he'd spend his youth in Minas Tirith, with his friends, soldiers and brother. And it seemed that one by one, they'd fallen. She could understand the sadness that it could bring. His father didn't seem too welcoming to his, now only, son either. Every time Faramir exited his father's chambers, Mÿne found him looking more and more grave and sullen.
"What is your the Steward, your father, like?" Mÿne asked him one night, as she put away the bones of a chicken leg she'd been gnawing on earlier.
Faramir looked at her over the brim of his cup and sighed. It seemed he wasn't too happy to talk about this subject, but Mÿne was eager. She wanted to know just what the Steward was like. After all, their last meeting hadn't went well, and she suspected that Denethor had something up his sleeve.
"You've met him, you know what he's like." Faramir said as he plopped a small tomato in his mouth and chewed on it.
"Yes, I met him, once. Is he always that...stern?" she asked him as she took a gulp of ale.
Faramir's eyes averted themselves from her, to the wooden table of the inn they'd found themselves in. Supposedly it was the best inn in town, with the best food. Faramir had told her that 'the food of our chambers are good, but nothing in comparison to the warm hospitality of the Slim Arrow Inn'. And so they'd gathered Gandalf and Pippin for a night out.
"Father doesn't like strangers. He has an exceptional dislike for Mithrandir, it seems." Faramir said as he signaled the innkeeper to refill their drinks, "I think it's because he lost control. He keeps himself to his tower all day. He refuses to see anyone, besides me, and even if he summons me, it's to give orders. Most of the time impossible ones."
"Impossible?" Mÿne asked as she leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
"He's too focused on us, as knights and rangers. He trusts no one, thinks no one will help us if we ask it." Faramir explained.
"So..what will happen when Rohan answers the call?" Mÿne asked, referring to the lighting of the beacons, "From what I have seen, Denethor won't likely give a warm welcome."
Especially not since Aragorn would probably travel with King Theoden, and Denethor had made clear how he thought about the heir of Gondor. Theoden would deliver Aragorn right to his doorstep, and Denethor would have to make way for the King, his rule ending. No, she didn't think Denethor would really love that.
"My father won't welcome King Theoden, not with open arms. However, when Minas Tirith is on the brink of falling, he might." Faramir said as he put his knife into a piece of boar, "If there's still a Minas Tirith to safe by then..."
A heavy silence fell over them as Faramir's words sunk down on each of them. She watched as Pippin started to look more pale, and Gandalf's expression turned to a gray one. A shade she'd never seen before, but after all, he was a wizard.
They returned to Gandalf chambers in the evening, minus Faramir. He had told them that he had been summoned again by his father. Mÿne felt a weird sense of pity, like Faramir didn't had a will of his own, but to serve his father. Even so desperately...was he making up for the loss of Boromir, filling in for his spot? She feared that was a pit of loss that had no end, it was a folly thing to do, but Faramir did it nonetheless.
She poured Gandalf some wine as he stood out on the balcony, with Pippin. Night had fallen and had covered the lands before them in a dark shroud. There was no moon out today, no stars either. It was just...dark. Dark clouds gathered in the back of the lands. Mÿne could only guess what they were, but she did know that it was not good.
Gandalf gradually took the cup of wine from Mÿne, the smoke of his pipe caught in his lungs. She gave him a reassuring smile as he calmed down and took a sip. Next to her, Pippin walked to the wall of the balcony and leaned on it.
"There's no more stars." Pippin observed, just as she had, before he dropped a silence. They both looked at Gandalf as Pippin asked the dreaded question.
"Is it time?"
"Yes..." Gandalf answered, as he took another sip of wine, "It is."
Mÿne gulped a little as she looked at the dark clouds in the far distance. She'd wanted they had more time to prepare. She wanted anything but this. What had she been thinking when she offered to come along? The argument with Legolas drifted past in her mind again, and she sat down on a nearby chair.
She missed him. Dearly. At this moment there was nothing more she longed for than to put her hands through his blonde locks of hair, to look into his pale blue eyes and listen to his silk voice, speaking Elvish to her.
Pippin leaned on the wall of the balcony, looking at the view before them. Almost like he enjoyed it, in a painful way.
"...It's so quiet." he mused in a soft voice, like he was afraid to break it.
Mÿne had no other choice to agree. Normally there would be sounds from people in the city, filling the room with its rowdy atmosphere, laughter and wheels, but now there was no laughter. There weren't any sounds at all. It was like everyone had locked themselves into their homes and waited… Mÿne thought it was the same as one was waiting for heavy rain, or a storm.
"It's the deep breath before the plunge." Gandalf said, describing the feeling perfectly.
Pipping sighed again, before he turned away from the wall. His eyes almost showed self-pity and sadness. His voice did the same, when he spoke.
"I don't want to be in a battle. But waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse." he said, as he looked at Mÿne for some support.
Gandalf took up a spot at the parapet, next to Pippin and sighed as he looked at the thunderous storms that ravaged Mordor in the distance. After a small silence, he spoke again.
"Our enemy is ready." he announced, as he kept his gaze on Mordor, "His full strengths gathered... Not only orcs, but men as well: legions from the Haradrim of the South, mercenaries from the coast… All will answer Mordor's call..."
Mÿne looked at Gandalf as he spoke, but remembered her conversation with Faramir, at which he told her about the Mumakîl and the men that lived in the South, in cities that laid in the sands so hot, it was almost impossible to reach them by land. But would you go by water, the mercenaries of Umbar would sink your ship and send you to an early grave.
"It's almost the same situation as Helm's Deep." Mÿne said as she leaned against the white wall of the building, pulling out her pipe from her leather jacket, "Death and destruction is coming for us, and all we can do is sit and wait for it to hit us."
Gandalf seemed to somewhat agree with her. He bit on the end of his own pipe before he lowered it.
"This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Here the hammer stroke will fall the hardest. If the river is taken, the last defense of this city will be gone." he said as he never took his eyes off the distance.
"Osgiliath." Mÿne concluded as she pictured the map in her head.
"Yes, Osgiliath." Gandalf said as he took another swig of wine and placed the cup on the wall of the balcony.
"But...Osgiliath has already been lost. Faramir returned from it, with his last garrison. There is no one left there to uphold it." Mÿne said as she turned to Gandalf.
"Yes, that's true." he said, as the worry in his eyes grew bigger.
It was a sight that made Mÿne feel uneasy. A worried wizard was never good. Just what lay ahead for them that worried Gandalf so much? Yes, this was different than Helm's Deep but Minas Tirith was a different city, with more guards and soldiers. There were more rations here, and a mountain pass to lead the women and children out if need be. The odds were better this time than last.
Nevertheless, Pippin was smiling weakly at them. It seemed this hobbit had a certain optimism that was hard to dodge. His smile made Mÿne smile a little as well, it was contagious.
"But we have the white wizard. That's got to count for something." Pippin said, in an attempt to reassure them,"Right..Gandalf?"
Mÿne looked at Gandalf as well, worry etched on his face like grave scars of the world. His eyes darkened and she knew that there was something he had been hiding from them. Something that might've seemed unimportant, until now.
"Sauron has yet to show his deadliest servant." Gandalf finally answered, after a heavy sigh, he put his pipe back to his lips as a frown formed itself on his face, "The one who lead Mordor's army in war. The one they say no living man can kill…"
Mÿne found that the hairs on her skin were rising as he spoke. She heard about this leader. Aragorn had sometimes told a story about him… About this evil servant, this dark master.
"...The Witch King of Angmar." Gandalf said as he looked at the circlet of mountains in the distance, that were lined with a red shimmer...Mordor.
"You've met him before." he told them both, as he tore away his gaze to them, "He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop. He is the lord of the Nazgûl. The greatest of the Nine." he concluded, "Minas Morgul is his lair..."
Pippin visibly gulped as Mÿne guessed he was tossed back into his own memory. She remembered how she'd returned to Weathertop with Aragorn that night, when the Hobbits foolishly had made a fire to cook. That night at Weathertop must've been too much for the Hobbits at that point already.
They weren't used to this, to any of this.
"Minas Morgul… That's were Frodo and Sam were headed." Mÿne said as she jumped up and snatched a map from a nearby table. She quickly unfold it before them at the parapet as her gaze sought out the name of Minas Morgul.
Gandalf put a hand on her shoulder, as in attempt to calm her worries, which Mÿne found hard to calm herself.
"We cannot give up hope, my dear." Gandalf said as he added a little squeeze from his hand, "It's the last thing we have now… Abandon it and you will become truly lost."
Mÿne sighed as she tore her eyes from the map and looked into the far distance. Were Frodo and Sam doing alright? She bet they weren't exactly safe, but if they were alive, there was still hope. Rolling up the map, she clenched it in her hand as she inhaled deeply and tried to breathe away the anxiousness that formed in her body.
Suddenly the thunder in the distance, above Mordor, intensified and Mÿne held her breath. Green light poured from inside the circle of mountains, into the sky. It reflected against the dark clouds and Mÿne felt more uncomfortable by the second. Even Gandalf took a step back. Pippin shifted in his spot and looked at Gandalf and Mÿne for reassurance, something Mÿne was happy to give, if she had the courage herself. Her fists trembled and she couldn't keep her eyes from the greenish light beam.
"We come to it at last… The great battle of our time." Gandalf mused, though it was still audible for them to hear, "The board is set...the pieces are moving.."
It was an ominous observation, but Mÿne had to admit that she had nothing to add to it. It was time. Soon the lands would be swarmed with orcs, evil men and other creatures Sauron had found allegiance with.
They watched the green light beam for some time after that, thought the conversations had stopped. Pippin's usual upbeat mood had been tempered to a quiet worried one and it didn't take long before he excused himself to his own chambers.
Not soon after Mÿne did the same, but she could not sleep. Her thoughts were with what was to come, and the green light beam in the distance. She could see it from her chambers, and she felt like it sheer presence was mocking her. She'd tried everything: closing her curtains, both room and bed, burying her head in pillows and sheets… but the light stayed, and so Mÿne stayed awake.
Her long curly hair swayed in the small breeze, her fingernails tapping the wood of the chair impatiently. Just what did Mordor send their way? She figured that, if Sauron was going to obliterate the greatest City of Men, he wasn't going to send mere Men, Orcs and Trolls. No, there was something else. There was a trick up his sleeve.
She was sitting on a chair on the balcony, smoking her pipe and drinking her third cup of wine, as her green eyes met the green beam in Mordor. She felt anxious. She couldn't sleep and food didn't go down as well. The bread a servant boy had brought earlier, had grown stale, and the wine warm. She didn't care. The taste of the wine calmed her, in a weird way.
A knock was on her door, and without her permission, it was opened.
"Faramir." Mÿne said as she turned her head around the stone wall to look at him.
There was something off about him. He was swaying on his legs and his eyes were clouded with something she couldn't define. However, she could tell that something was wrong. His hair was disheveled and the smell of liquor reached her from that distance.
"Faramir, what's wrong?" she asked him as she put her cup and pipe down.
Carefully yet certain, she made her way over to him, just as he was to her. Stopping in her tracks, she looked at him wearily as she caught his gaze. There was something about it that made her halt. Besides the cloudiness in them, she could make out something else in those gray orbs. Sadness, pain.
She gave him a moment to gather his thoughts, not sure what to do or say. Silently she took a spot on the bed next to him, hands on her lap as she waited for him to say something. Up close, the stench of liquor was even worse.
Suddenly he spoke again.
"I thought of my brother today." he said.
Ah, so that could explain the stench of alcohol.
"I thought about how he died. How he protected you and your precious fellowship… As noble and brave as he was." he continued, in a slurry way.
"He truly was." she agreed.
"I cannot be my brother. I am not noble, strong or brave, but by everything on this good Earth, Mÿne, I will protect you. In my own way." he said as raised his head a little again.
"What are you talking about, Faramir? I'm not asking you to-"
He forcefully grabbed her by the shoulders and bore his gray eyes into hers. Only now could she define what it was that had clouded them: desperation. Mÿne froze a little by the sudden action, shocked by the fear in his eyes. The same emotion that raged through her own body. The uncertainty of what was to come, it was maddening.
"I love you Mÿne. I have from the first glimpse." Faramir said as he got himself from the bed.
He lowered himself down to a knee as his hands slid from her shoulders to her hands. Roughly he grabbed them and held them close to his chest. His eyes sought out hers, trying to capture them as she tried to pull away. There appeared something in his look again. Hope, even though it was as little as a needle's dab.
Mÿne felt all kinds of things. Flustered, embarrassed, even a little...angered? But her heart belonged to someone else, and as dear as Faramir was to her, she could not give it to him.
"You do not love me." Faramir concluded as he let go of her hands. His voice had fallen to a sullen one, lined with heartbreak, "You love another."
He stood from his knee again and paced the room, breathing heavily as he ran a hand through his hair. His expression turned to an irritable one, the more time passed by. Mÿne didn't know what to do, but she rose from her spot and walked up to him.
"Faramir, as...honored as I am-"
"Who is it!? Is it that Elf you've spoken about earlier? This…Strider?! Was it my brother?!" Faramir yelled suddenly as he tossed everything from a nearby table. Cups, paper scrolls, inkwells, they all clattered on the floor. The inkwell broke into pieces and stained the floor with glass and dark ink.
"Faramir, you're drunk-" Mÿne tried again as she tried to put her hand on his shoulder.
"You have no idea how much I love you Mÿne. How much I want you to be mine..." Faramir said as he took her by surprise and cupped her face with his hands, dangerously gentle, "...and mine alone."
"Faramir, you're scaring me." Mÿne admitted in a trembling voice, "You're a dear friend and I don't-"
Faramir released her and stomped to the door.
"Is that what Boromir was to you as well? Just a dear friend?!"
"I was never in love with Boromir!" Mÿne retorted as she stomped after him, angry now.
Faramir grabbed her by the collar of the blue garments that she still wore, the ones that belonged to the armor. She recoiled as he pulled her close, the collar become more narrow as he did so.
"My brother died because of you! You were to save him and you could not do it!" Faramir spat before he released her, "And now you will be unable to save me as well!"
"Faramir, you're mad! What nonsense are you-" she started as she took a deep breath.
"I hope you will be filled with guilt when you wear that armor, because it will be the last of this house." Faramir said as he pointed at her, before storming off. She tried to run after him, but he had already vanished from the hallway when she entered it.
And so she was left with a terrible feeling…
As predicted, Mÿe had little rest. In the morning she found herself pacing her chambers, clad in the armor Faramir had gifted her. Despite their argument last night, she still wanted to wear it. She tried to tell herself that he had been drunk. That it all had been a strange hallucination from the liquor. Faramir didn't love her, he hadn't accused her of unable to save Boromir, everything was fine.
She took another look in the mirror, tracing the armor with her hands. This time, she made sure everything was tied the right way, and tight enough to last days. She didn't want to be caught off guard. The battle would draw nearer every day.
A hasty knock was on her door, and soon Pippin entered, face pale as the moon. A layer of sweat laid on his brow and she could tell he had been running.
"Pip, what's wrong?" she asked him as she approached him.
"It's Faramir! Denethor is sending him away! We must stop him!" Pippin said before he bolted out of the door again.
Mÿne only had little time to hurry after him. For a Hobbit, he was awfully quick. Though it might've been the new armor that was slowing her down. Her feet stomped ran across the courtyard of stone, before she descended the stairs, where Gandalf waited for them.
"The fool! He's blinded by his brother's shadow! And now-"
"-now he's riding towards his own doom..." Mÿne answered Gandalf's sentence.
They passed groups of people, making their way down as well, to the lower levels. They brought flowers and grave faces, to a crowd that was already blocking the passage to the fifth level. Gandalf and Mÿne did their best to make their way through them, but they wouldn't budge. It seemed they were too caught up in their own situation.
"In here, there's a passage!" Pippin said as he pointed to a smaller side-route that lead them in a maze of white and gray buildings. But it seemed that Pippin knew exactly where he was going, and soon they caught up with a group of riders, fully armor clad, and up front...Faramir.
Banners flapped in the wind as people wept and threw flowers on the stone road towards the gate. They were silent, bowed their heads as the riders passed...it was a funeral.
From this distance, Mÿne could see Faramir's face as gray as ever. He knew what he was doing. He knew and he was going all the same.
"You stubborn fool..." she muttered to herself as she pushed herself through the line of people on the sides.
On the other side, Gandalf pushed himself through the line of people as well, entering the street.
"Faramir!" he called out, "Faramir! Your father's will has turned to madness. Do not throw away your life so rashly."
Mÿne stood still as Gandalf tried to reason with Faramir, but it seemed that Faramir had already given up. He had already given in to his fathers will, already given in to certain death. He ignored his words and seemed to keep on staring into the nothingness his eyes were looking at.
"Faramir, you're mad! Only a fool would do this!" Mÿne said as she stepped onto the streets, "You can't do this."
It was then that Faramir saw her, and gave her the saddest of smiles she'd ever witnessed. His pale eyes softened for a moment. His horse halted, if only for a moment, before he outstretched his hand and put it on her cheek. She had been unprepared for his touch, but grabbed onto his hand all the same. Even if she couldn't return his feelings, she wouldn't let him ride to his demise.
"Where does my allegiance lie if not here? This is the city of the men of Numenor. I will gladly give my life to defend her beauty, her memory...her wisdom." he said as he pulled back the hand on her cheek and gave his horse the spurs to walk again.
Mÿne swallowed hard as she watched his back, and that of the men behind him. How could one man follow his leader so blindly. How could one throw away his life so easily.
"Your father loves you Faramir!" Gandalf called after him.
But Faramir ignored his words, and if he heard them at all, he gave no notion to it. Mÿne watched as he disappeared out of the gate. Her legs pushed her forward and she stomped up the many stairs to the parapet above it. She couldn't walk away from this. She had to see him until the unmistakable end.
Her eyes darted across the fields of Pelennor, the Gondor men lining up their horses before they set in a charge. Only now did she see how few they were, Faramir in the middle. She doubted if she'd ever see him again. Her hands balled themselves into fists, as she tried to control them from shaking. It was not fair. Denethor was sacrificing his only son, and for what? There was nothing to be gained from this, not even if they miraculously won. Sauron would send wave after wave to Osgiliath, until it finally fell. And then the siege would continue, and all had been for naught.
Finally Faramir and his riders disappeared from sight, Osgiliath too far away to see this battle through, but Mÿne knew what the outcome would be. They all knew. And so she slid down the wall and let tears stream over her eyes, guilt washing over her like rough waves, like Faramir had predicted.
