Chapter: 27, "Many Unfortunate Events"
Word Count: 1,939
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, all rights go to J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson.
Beforehand Notes: I had published this chapter earlier today at 1,393 words, then wrote what would be a seperate chapter. However, I liked the way I ended the part of the chapter, yet it was only 600 or so words. So I added it to this chapter, edited it, and thought it would do better like this anyways. The first part is "The Tale of the Olive Branch", or the original chapter, and the second part may as well be called "They're All Dead"... mwahahahah.
Also, The Tale of the Olive Branch featured in here is an original story by me. I made it for the specific purpose of this story, mirroring the relationship between Ruth's family and Faramir's family. There's no other reason it's here besides that. Arnon is a name I came up with, but Ivris was a name that's supposedly elvish. I don't know, I generally got lazy and knew Gondorian names were elvish names (or alike to) so that's what I came up with. I don't think Arnon or the nice guard's coming back to the story any time soon either. He's kind of like Ruth's personal shrink. I've rambled to much; read the story!
- Many Unfortunate Events -
"I am steward of the house of Anárion. Thus have I walked, and thus now I will sleep."
Once upon a time there was a queen and her two sons.
"Gondor is lost. There is no hope for men. Why do the fools fly? Better to die sooner than late. For die we must."
The first son was strong and well trained, the second studious and yet still worthy of a sword.
"No tomb for Denethor and Faramir. No long slow sleep of death embalmed. We shall burn like the heathen kings of old. Bring wood and oil."
The queen's kingdom was to be sunken in a great flood, as the prophecy foretold. And so the first son went and built a dam.
"The house of his spirit crumbles." Denethor held Faramir's head, "He is burning. Already burning."
But this lessened fish, and the bears of the woods were hungry. They terrorized the town and ate its settlers, along with the crops. And so the first son snapped their necks and gutted their spleens.
"He's not dead. He's not dead!" Pippin shouted, pulling wood away from the pyre. "No! No! He's not dead." Denethor pulled Pippin away.
"Farewell Peregrin son of Paladin."
"No! No!"
"I release you from my service." Denethor threw Pippin from the doorway. "Go now and die and what way seems best to you."
Shortly after, as the animals died of hunger and what remained of the crops withered from thirst, the first brother went and killed the remaining animals, giving its food to the village. It did not last long, and the first brother ran out of ideas.
"Pour on oil!" Denethor shouts. He takes notice of my presence. "What are you doing here? Be gone! This is a private ceremony!"
"I was hoping to perhaps tell you a story as you rest." I mutter in a futile attempt to stall him.
"Speak, woman! I cannot hear you."
"Have you heard the tale of the olive branch?" I asked him, raising my voice to an audible volume.
The second brother, who had been doing business with another island, lost his map on the journey home, also losing his way. He landed on an island filled with olive trees, and a voice spoke to him.
"I have no time for your silly words," Denethor scoffed. "And if you have nothing else, do kindly leave my presence."
"I believe you'd find it quite relatable." I said, squeezing my eyes shut and remembering Annabelle's story.
"Bring these to your starving kingdom…"
"I believe you a fool and a child," Denethor said to me. "Lock in her the dungeons!" He barked to the guards, who perhaps seemed uneasy to quickly arrest a friend of Gandalf. "She is not to see this ceremony."
Not wishing to disobey whatever fate it was, the second brother picked a branch and got back on his boat, faithful it would bring him home.
Finally someone gently took my arm. "Do not struggle," the guard whispered. I would have struggled, had it been the Ruth of two months ago. I would have fought that guard until I was bound and gagged. But I was a different Ruth. I let him lead me to whatever fate he felt worth his time.
When he landed on his home, he ignored the blazing fires and angry crops-men, instead going to a dry patch of land and gently laying the branch there. To the delight and surprise of all, trees flourished in all farms and forests, bearing rich olives to eat. The queen congratulated her son, and chastised the first for not thinking of it.
He led me towards the dungeons, and placed me in an empty cell, away from all others. He locked it, and gave me the key.
"Stay protected behind these walls, behind these bars." He told me. "And when the battle is over, I shall retrieve you. If I do not make it, let yourself out when you find it right."
"Stay safe," I said to the kind gaurd.
"I cannot guarantee that, my lady." He said, walking back to the fight.
And so is told the tale of the olive branch.
xXx
"You're quite young to be in prison," a voice said from across my cell. It was a boy with messy black hair and an impish grin. He wasn't prison material, I could tell, but who was I to judge?
"You're quite young yourself," I replied to him, leaning forwards into the bars.
"Wasn't my fault," the boy cursed. "They tricked me, and then let the guards have a go at me."
"Why?" I asked. "Who are they? And what wasn't your fault?"
"His death." Well, that shut me up.
"I-" What? Was sorry? "I shouldn't have pried." I finished lamely.
"Nah," he bitterly laughed. "They're probably out getting their comeuppance, and Ivris never was one for war. Probably living it up in the Halls of Mandos, unless his fate was already decided."
"How did he die?" I asked gently, expecting retaliation for my careless words.
"It was a dark night," the boy said. "That's important to know, or else you might think me stupid." I nodded. "So it was a dark night, and I was working for this not-so-good group. Someone grabbed my shoulder, and I thought it might have been a guard. So I drove a knife through his chest… and killed him."
I tried to imagine it, but flinched at the thought.
"I didn't know it was Ivris, at least, not at first, I thought it was some poor city guard. But the next day, I went over to his house… and there was some other guards. It was a sort of investigation, you follow? Then the guys I work for came, and asked me for the stuff. I realized that I had killed my… my, uh, best friend." He didn't sound like we was talking about his 'best friend'.
"Are you sure he was just your best friend?" I asked.
"Oh Eru no," he laughed. "I just say it, makes less people run away from me. Anyways, I told them I wouldn't give them what they asked for, and so they told the guards I killed Ivris. I hated myself so much for his death… I just let the guards take me." He huffed, and leaned against the cell wall, now hardly visible. "And now I'm here."
"So you killed your, uh, best friend, and then some jerks you worked for told the cops?" I asked/
"What is a 'cop'?" He asked.
"Nevermind…" I muttered.
"Basically," he sighed. "I doubt you'd understand. I don't suppose an innocent thing like you've killed anything."
I let out a bitter laugh, "I have a key. The guard who brought me gave it to me. I could leave anytime I want, and join the battle. I've experienced a fight, plenty of them, more than I'd like to say I've seen or been in. But the last battle was the first time I'd actually kill anything. I don't want to go out, and take more lives, even if they deserve to die."
"Nothing but the bastards I worked for deserve to die." He snorted, "Or maybe I do. Maybe it's just murderers and idiots who deserve to die."
"What's your name?" I asked, trying to keep it off the subject of, well, suicide.
"Arnon, son of Arnoth," he said. "You?"
"Ruth, just Ruth." I reply. "Tell me, Arnon, son of Arnoth, does death ever get any easier for us murderers and idiots?"
"You feel a lot of pain," Arnon said after a second. "I mean, a lot, it is going tear you to pieces… but then, then it happens again. And it starts all over."
"That's…" I never got to answer what 'that' was, because suddenly the screaming stopped, and I knew that the Battle of Pelennor fields had passed. I inserted the key into the lock, and turned it. I looked over to Arnon's cell, "This key might work."
"No," Arnon shook his head. "There is no justice for murderers but here. I will stay, and you should go. Besides, I'm not a prisoner you want to be caught releasing."
A brave man would have stayed, would have tried. A brave man would have released Arnon the Innocent(ish), and led him off.
I was no brave man.
xXx
After leaving Anron, I went to the House of Healing, where the remaining Fellowship that wasn't being chased by a giant acromantula (along with Éowyn and Faramir and Éomer) were.
I casually walked into the scene, and suddenly all eyes that weren't in a life saving process/struggle fell on me. The elf walked over to me, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, "You're late."
And I fell over laughing, "Good to see you too pretty boy." I commented.
He lost his shock and hugged me, "Saruman-"
"Said I was dead, yada yada, heard it before." I sighed. "Can we all agree that Saruman just sucks at killing helpless fifteen-year-olds?"
"You haven't changed a bit," Legolas said.
"Oh no, I've changed quite a lot. You just haven't seen it yet." I smiled, but inside, I think I was crying. Or dying, it was all the same at that point.
"Stop hogging the lass all to yourself," Gimli huffed, pulling me from the elf.
"Now, Gimli here," I laughed. "He hasn't changed in all but his beard length."
Gimli guffawed and Aragorn smirked, "I think that we've all changed since our last meeting in Edoras. For better or for worse."
"Speaking of last meetings in Edoras," I muttered. "Have you guys seen my friends around? If anything happened to them in battle..."
The room quieted. Immediately I knew something was wrong.
"Guys?" I asked.
"Gwendolyn, Faida, and Maewyn stayed back to protect the women and children when the caves were breached. They were the last to flee into the mountains… but…" Aragorn had not the heart to tell me.
"My mother did not make it," Hayaden said from the doorway. "And neither did Faida. Gwendolyn was the only one of the three to make it out alive."
I didn't cry.
I didn't sob or anything. I just sort of stood there. Part of me refused to believe it, no, all of me. Because even Morgoth wasn't cruel enough to take the two smiling faces of Faida and Maewyn from my life. From anyones life.
I might've gone into more denial, but then they brought his body in. The body on the list of people not allowed to die. Aric.
"Multiple arrows in his chest," one nurse said. "He's... he's passed."
"Rest Aric, son of Aaron."
"You feel a lot of pain," Arnon said after a second. "I mean, a lot, it's going to tear you to pieces… but then, then it happens again. And it starts all over."
I cried that time. Chunky, awkward tears, barreling down my face. Someone hugged me- I think it was the elf, sentimental as heck and all. I was acting hysterical. I didn't care. No, no, I cared plenty. I didn't want to care.
"Make it stop," I asked Legolas. "It hurts. Make it stop." I kept crying. I lost myself then, according to Aragorn. I just kept sobbing and muttering random things. I passed out from exhaustion, having not realized I hadn't slept since Osgiliath. If you were in the healing house that day, you'd have remembered me. The blonde nut who went insane, who cried and cried until it knocked her out. Who, even in her sleep, cried out their names.
"Faida!"
"Aric!"
"Dallin!"
"Mae!"