Chapter 13

Nemir and Morfindir strolled through the streets, the party fading into darkness as they traveled into the night. A cold breeze carrying the smell of salt from the ocean caressed her face and she inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of home. The urge to rush to the source overwhelmed her, followed by the sound of crashing waves invading her ears. The gleaming light of the silver moon drew her eye as it peeked from behind a cloud. Dazed she released his arm and walked toward it.

"Nemir?" Morfindir called out to her as he followed, "Nemir! Are you well?"

His voice cut through the storm and she suddenly stopped, returning to her senses and observing the distance she had unknowingly traveled. She slowly returned to his side, pulling against an unseen force inside her knowing the slightest weakness would yank her back like a rag doll. "Talk to me" she asked gripping his arm, " I need a distraction."

"What's wrong?" he tried to search her face.

"The ocean calls to me; the song is deafening," she gritted her teeth, forcing one foot in front of the other.

He tightened his hold on her arm, "Capt. Bereon asked me about your mother."

"How did this come about?" she asked, her brow creased.

"He asked why I never mentioned your elvish heritage," he stared straight ahead bracing for a reaction.

"How did you respond?"

"I told him you were half-elven and that your mother was an elven maiden who appeared one day with your father," he explained.

"A Peredhel…" she considered the story for a moment, " Clever. Did he accept your story?"

"I believe so. You're not upset?"

"No, I'm greatful. I wish you weren't placed in a position where you had to lie for me, especially to your superior. I was naive to hope that none would question my appearance," she sighed, "I think it best if I adopt your story, but only if confronted."

"I told him you were sensitive about the subject so I doubt he will approach it again," he commented.

"That's a relief," she chuckled bitterly, "Barely a week has passed since I left home, and I'm already labeled as an "other".

"You shine too brightly not be noticed," he placed his free hand over hers as the headed toward The Dark Crab.

Sunlight peeked through the cracks in her small window. Nemir groanedhj as she struggled to lift her body from the bed but decided against it and collapsed back onto the mattress. Her whole body ached and felt drained of all strength as she lounged in the bed. The pounding in her head returned and she drew the blanket over her eyes to block the incoming light, resolving to stay in the bed for as long as possible. She drifted in and out of a restless sleep for most of the afternoon, only managing to shuffle down stairs for food before bringing it back to her room. Her dreams were plagued with visions of waves washing upon the shore, cries of gulls, her body sinking into depths, and tracks of white foam left on the sand. As the sun traveled below the horizon, the pain in her head transformed into the pounding of waves against rocks and the noise blocked out all other thought. Desperate for air, she rushed to the window and forced the shutters open, extending her head out the opening.

The sky had deepened to a rich purple and deep blue; she could see a glimpse of the moon's silver halo at the top of the city wall. It would be full tonight and the glow called to her, guiding her like the tide out to sea. The small, sensable part of her knew she needed to wait till the streets grew quieter, but she could no longer resist her need. The strain it was placing on her body was unbearable. The docks provided the only access point inside the city walls. They should deserted after dark, but she would need to find an area to secure her items. She wanted to avoid walking through the streets nude if someone stole her unprotected bag.. She removed her shift, and wrapped a simple dress around her, tying the sash at her waist before collecting a satchel and her knife belt. Unable to wait any longer as the crashing within her head intensified, she strolled out into the dark streets, humming a tune as mist cloaked around her.

The entrance to the wharf was guarded by a tall metal gate, but she nimbly scurried up the bars and landed silently on the other side. Clinging to the darkness, she observed the area searching for motion. All was still, the only sound coming from water lapping at the hulls of boats. She approached the nearest dock, and grasping the top of a large post, lowered herself down. Using her legs to hold her body in place, she removed her dress and stuffed it in the bag along with her knives before securing it under the dock. Releasing her grip, she dove backward into the black depths. As the water enveloped her body, the pain and fatigue of the last two days instantly dissolved and she transformed. She stayed submerged until she traveled farther out into the bay and past the seawall. The moon reflected on the rolling surface of the water, scattering the image into constantly shifting shards. She felt complete peace for the first time since leaving home, cutting through the water with powerful flips of her fin. She frolicked for several hours, but knew she must eventually return before people started to wake.

She fetched her bag as she climbed up the post and back onto the dock. She quickly wrapped the garment around her body, the fabric sticking to her damp skin. Securing the knives to her waist, she dashed back to the still quiet streets. She didn't feel like stealth was necessary at this point, so she walked openly on the cobblestone path back to her room. As she passed through a secluded pathway, she caught the sound of steps following behind her. She continued forward without changing her pace, but cautiously grasped the hilt of Lachiel .

Up ahead a tall figure stepped out from behind a corner. "Pretty, young girls shouldn't walk alone at night. There are unsavory characters on these streets," his voice was raspy and clothing ragged.

"I am not without protection" she said drawing her long knives from their sheaths.

"You see that Angolon?" his chuckle sent a shiver down her back, "This kitty has claws. You best put those away before you cut yourself. I would hate to see a flaw on that creamy skin."

The footsteps behind her quickened and grew louder. She angled her head slightly to see another man approaching carrying a large club. Trying to take advantage of the distraction, the tall man rushed her. She easily avoided the attack with a side step, and using his momentum against him, she sent him tumbling to the ground with a kick to his back.

"Bitch!" he growled his eyes burning with furry.

Nemir grinned and bounced on her toes preparing for retribution, "I did warn you."

"Get her," he ordered his accomplice. The man with the club rushed at her swinging the weapon wildly. she dodged the first two attacks before blocking the third with one blade and slicing his chest with Eglossien. "Ahhh" he yelled in pain and surprise as a line of red spread diagonally across his grungy shirt. The wound wasn't deep but still hindered his movements. A pair of strong arms engulfed her from behind, pinning her arms against her body.

"You'll pay for that," her nose caught the stench of alcohol and decay as his hot breath caressed her neck.

"I doubt it," she snapped, releasing the energy stored beneath her skin and administering a powerful electrical shock to the attacker. He howled in pain and she could feel his body convulse against hers, before he collapsed to the ground. She turned to face Angolon who stared down at his accomplice his eyes wide in fear. "Witch!" he accused.

In the distance, she could hear the clinking of armor and swords approaching. "Help! This way! Quickly!" she called returning her weapons to her hips. Four city guards rushed in and she directed them toward the two men with a wave of her arm, "These men attacked me." Spotting the reinforcements, Angolon hastily sprinted away leaving his accomplice behind.

"Follow that man," ordered a soldier, "I'll restrain this one." Three men in uniform rushed past her, and she took satisfaction in knowing her attacker wouldn't get far, especially with the wound she inflicted. The remaining man straddled the unconscious ruffian and bound his arms.

"Are you injured?" he asked standing and turning toward her. "You!" he exclaimed.

"My luck insists on failing me tonight," she said dryly as she recognized the surprised face of Lord Boromir.

"A little appreciation seems to be in order," he challenged motioning to the prisoner.

"Thank you for providing the rope," she offered.

"What possessed you to be out at this time of night, alone?" he said with an exhausted sigh as he observed her damp hair and dress, "Midnight bathing?"

"My activities don't concern you," she said coldly.

Before he could respond, they were interrupted by a commotion as the fugitive was dragged back. He struggled against his restraints and dug his heels into the cobble stone, but the soldiers forced him along.

"I'm innocent!" he protested, "That girl attacked us. She killed Fin just by touching him. She's a witch!".

"How do you wish to respond to these accusations?" Boromir asked dryly, clearly not believing the man's ludicrous claims.

"I believe someone is too ashamed to admit he was defeated by a woman, and he's not dead," she nudged the prisoner with her foot and he released a groan."Just unconscious. He'll wake with a headache that's all."

"Is that your handy work?" he asked pointing to the wound on Angolon's chest.

"It is. The wound isn't deep. He'll live."

"Take these two to back to the dungeon," he ordered, "I'll escort the lady back to her home."

"Aye sir!" saluted the guards before lifting the criminal off the ground. .

"That's not necessary" she interjected.

"It's very necessary," he insisted, his voice commanding, "This situation proves that." He offered her his arm, but she ignored it and walked toward the inn forcing him to follow her. "Are you always this difficult?" he asked walking in step with her.

"Difficult? How am I being difficult my Lord?" she continued to face forward as she walked and kept her tone neutral.

"I suspect that if I was on the other end of those knives you carry, I would be in worse shape than those fellows back there," he said a glint of humor still in his eyes. Nemir remained silent.

"Do all bards carry such fine weaponry?" he asked glancing at the blades stored at her waist.

"I can't speak for all, but I'm sure most do. We often travel the streets late at night after the taverns and inns close," she explained finally turning to face him. She hated how his handsome features still triggered a nervous tumble in her stomach.

"May I?" he asked motioning toward the blades.

She nodded, pulling one from its sheath and handed it to him hilt first,"This is Lachiel or Daughter of Fire in the common tongue."

He hefted the weapon in his hand, "The craftsmanship is impeccable. Perfectly balanced. It's beautiful," he said obviously impressed. "How did you come to own such a marvelously blade?"

"My mother gifted them to me before I left. A family heirloom to keep me safe away from home," she said returning it to her belt.

"Well, you've proven that you have some skill," he said, "Did you father teach you?"

"My aunt actually," she couldn't help but smile at his surprised reaction, "My father taught how to play the harp."

"Your family seems to be an interesting one."

"You have no idea," she muttered to herself. They finally approached The Dark Crab. "Your chivalrous obligations have been fulfilled," she turned to face him, " I think I can make it from here."

"Are you sure? Bandits might be hiding under your bed. I can check for you if you like?" he sauntered closer to her.

"And you've obviously taken too many blows to the head," she snapped, slamming the door behind her and rushing up the stairs to her room. Adrinalin and anger caused her hands to tremble as she tried to insert the key into the lock, and it took her several attempts to finally get the door open. Taking a couple calming breaths, she slowly unbuckled her weapons and examined the blades. A smear of blood sat on the edge of Eglossien and she reached for a cleaning cloth. She sat on the edge of her bed staring at the darkening blood, emotions fluctuating between revulsion and exhilaration. She would have to be more careful from now on; she couldn't risk drawing more attention to herself. As for Lord Boromir, she didn't know what to think of him. He clearly wasn't used to women challenging him, which isn't surprising given his position as the future Steward of Gondor. They probably flocked to him, batting eyelashes and drowning him in complements. Her face twisted with disgust and she thanked Ulmo that she wasn't forced to participate in such degrading activities. He did have a nice smile though….

Nemire pushed the large wooden door and walked into the massive library, the smell of parchment welcoming her. She was hoping to find a poem her father taught her many years ago, she wanted to perform it at The Dented Shield the next day, but was having an issue recalling a couple verses.

"Master Ioriston," she greeted the older gentleman who appeared to be sorting scrolls.

"Nemir, I'm glad you've returned. I hope you enjoyed the festival," he said his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

"It was wonderful. Thank you. I was hoping you could help me. Do you have a copy of "Upon the Hearth the Fire Is Red"?" she asked hopefully.

"Mhhhhh," he pondered for a moment, "I'm not certain, but we have a sizable collection of poems you can search through. Do you have a language preference?"

"Common or Sindarin will be acceptable," she said.

"Impressive. The ability to read the elvish languages is a dying skill, and it hurts my heart to think that one day it will be lost," he sighed as he slowly guided her up the stairs to the second level. He led her past several selves toward the center of the floor. "Here we are," he said stopping before a pile of scrolls and small pile of well worn books.

"I appreciate it," she said, her hands itching to touch the parchment.

"Take your time," he said with a smile before leaving her.

She approached the collection of papers and gently ran her hand along the surface of the papers and book spines. She finally stopped at a small blue book with gold detailing and cracked leather binding, pulling it free she opened it and scanned the pages. It held a collection of short poems, but none the length she was searching for so she returned it to the shelf and continued her search. She eventually found an armful of promising options, and she carried them to an empty table. Her quest was slightly forgotten, as each page drew her into a different story. A cry of frustration jarred her from her readings, she thought she was the only person in this section, but apparently not. She returned to her page, but another groan came from an area a few shelves away so she stood to investigate. Quietly stepping, she walked toward the noise, peaking around and through the selves. Finally, she spotted him, sitting at table buried under a mountain of papers and tomes, a hint of dark hair peeking over the pile.

"Is all well here?" she asked causing his head to shoot up.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I thought I was alone," he explained obviously embarrassed.

"I know your face" she observed his familiar features with dark hair and grey eyes, "Lord Faramir!" she blurted cursing her luck.

"Do we know each other?" he asked his head tilted with confusion.

"We haven't been formally introduced, but I saw you compete during the festival. You did better than all others your age," she said.

"What a polite way of saying I lost," he replied glumly.

"One can't expect someone of your age to defeat more experienced warriors. You obviously have great skill and went quite far. That is an impressive accomplishment in itself." she tried to explain.

"You clearly haven't met my father," he said, "he will only see my brother's success and ask why I didn't replicated it."

Nemir didn't know how to respond to such a statement without being offensive so she decided to change the subject, "What has you so frustrated?"

"I"m trying to translate this historical text that records the founding of Dol Amroth, but the text is in a form of elvish I am unfamiliar with," he said with a sigh.

"May I see the text? I might be able to help." she offered.

"Yes, please. I'll take whatever help I can get at this point.

She walked around the table and leaned forward to better examine the document, "Are you familiar with Telerin?"

"Telerin?" he repeated confused.

"It's an older dialect used by the Teleri elves who founded Dol Amroth after the destruction of Beleriand. It's closer to Quenya than to the Sindarin now spoken in the city," she explained.

"Well that explains my failure. My Sindarin is adequate, but that is the extent of my knowledge. My father never placed much value in studying elven languages, but I begged my tutor to teach me whenever he could." he said.

" If you can't find a Teleri reference for translating, try using Quenya. It was more commonly spoken and while it won't provide a perfect translation it will provide a solid basis." she smiled.

"You have my eternal thanks. What brings you to the library?" he asked.

"I was searching for a certain poem for my performance tomorrow night. Are you familiar with "Upon the Hearth the Fire Is Red"?"

"I am. It was one of my mother's favorites," his eyes suddenly widened in realization, "You're the bard from the other night!"

"That I am," she admitted sheepishly, "I was wondering if you would remember me."

"That was quite the stunt you pulled with my brother," he said with a smile.

"I wasn't aware of his status at the time. You can imagine my horror when I saw his introduction at the start of the tournament."

"Well I enjoyed it and I'm sure he did as well. He does not shy away from attention, especially when ladies are concerned," he chuckled.

"He certainly is…" she struggled to find a tactful term, "confident."

Her struggling expression caused Faramir to break into hearty laughter, "It seems as if your interactions are not limited to that one night." Nemir shook her head and informed him about her last two meetings with his brother, frustrations included.

"I can see why he left these tales untold, they don't put him in the best light. Try not to judge him too harshly. He's not as arrogant as he pretends to be," he advised.

"I will try to keep an open mind, but he doesn't make it easy. I shall leave you to your studies," she gave him a smile and smile curtsy before turning to leave.

"I appreciate your assistance and I wish you luck on your search," he nodded in farewell before burying himself in parchment. She couldn't help but wonder how two brothers could be so incredibly different as she returned to her table.