Thanks Lift the Wings for your review!
Who Betrayed Who?
The next morning, Drifter once again took advantage of a bath being readily available and dressed herself in a dark green, shin-high travel-style dress with long, flowing sleeves which contrasted the plainness of the gown's skirt. The neckline was somewhat low, but not enough to be revealing or enough to show the rings at the end of the chord on her neck. Gently picking up her sword from the bed, the woman unsheathed it and fingered the inscription: "Anoron tuulo' i' mori en' 'ksh (Dawn from the dark of evil)." Sheathing the weapon, Drifter strapped the belt to her trim waist, not caring if Elrond would disapprove of a sword being worn in his home. Traveling to the main city, Drifter wandered though the halls until she found herself confronted by Elrond himself.
"Even you should know that a sword is not necessary here, Minuialwen."
"One," the woman replied with a straight face, "you know that I don't like it when people address me by my elvish name, and two, you know that this is not just any sword." Neither the seasoned elf leader, nor the golden-haired ranger could keep their faces straight any longer. "It has been too long, Elrond!" she finished, lightly running to the elf and hugging him.
"Yes, it has," Elrond agreed continuing Drifter's walk with her, "…I suppose you still don't want me to use your real name?"
"No, the time is not right. You may call me Falathiel, old friend. It's the name I went by during my extensive travels before becoming a ranger once again."
"Yes, about your travels. Where exactly did you disappear to for all these years?"
Turning to go down a set of stairs, Drifter replied,
"I went many places, enough to lead whoever bears the Ring after tomorrow to Mount Doom."
"So you also believe that the Ring needs to be taken back and destroyed?"
"Yes, there is no other choice. If it stayed here or went anywhere else, it would seduce and destroy those around it."
"With that knowledge, you would still travel to Mount Doom with it?"
"If I were you, I would be the last person to choose for actually carrying the Ring. I'm too vulnerable to hold it for long. I only saw it in Frodo's hand on Weathertop and I still felt its pull…but yes, what must be done must be done. We cannot risk anything else."
"You have learned much, Falathiel…and have gone through much."
"Yes, but I will be happy once more when my fiancé returns today with the Mirkwood party."
Elrond looked troubled and was about to say something, but, instead, walked away, leaving Drifter standing in the middle of a garden alone. Following a few more hours of wandering around, the woman eventually meandered to a second story section with no one else around where she could easily see the east gate, and sat down on the bench, leaning on the railing.
"What are you looking for?" Frodo suddenly asked behind her, sitting down on the bench.
"Not what, but who," she corrected. "The representatives of Mirkwood will be coming soon and the one I love will most likely be among them."
"Do you mind if I wait with you?"
"Not at all, dear hobbit."
Drifter gently pulled her hair back, but let it envelop her ears once again after she realized what she was doing, but not before Frodo saw her ears.
"You're an elf!" he exclaimed.
"Shh," the woman quieted him. "Only a quarter, so I only have a few elven traits, immortality not among them. My mother was half elf. You must not tell anyone!"
"Well, why not? I'm sure that it would gain respect for you around here."
"You do not understand, Frodo. Questions would arise as to my true identity if I revealed that now…questions that I am not prepared to answer. You must understand."
"Go on."
"What?"
"Well…if I'm going to keep a secret about you like that, than you might as well tell me the rest," the hobbit stated.
"Very well, Ring-bearer."
--
Fifteen minutes later, three Mirkwood elves rode into the gate, causing Drifter to sit up, alert. As she was about to arise and run down the stairs, she saw a brown-haired elf-maiden run up to the group's leader and tightly embrace him before kissing him on the cheek. The ranger's hand resting on her sword tightened on the hilt as the male elf responded in kind to the maiden's actions. It was then that she realized that the maiden was, in fact, Miluiel.
"Is he among them?" Frodo asked with innocent curiosity.
"Umm…" Drifter stuttered for a moment before once again hardening. "No, my fiancé is not among them."
At this, the woman stalked away to the bridge. Removing the silver ring from the cord, she suspended her hand over the water, ready to drop the ring. Moments went by, but her hand was still holding the ring. Finally, Drifter walked to the nearby bench, sat down, and rocked herself back and forth, tears flowing down her cheeks and her hand clinging to the ring like a life-line.
"I can't do it," she whispered to herself. She felt miserable, betrayed, angry, confused. She had faithfully denied every man that had wooed her over the years when she could have settled down and had a family. He, on the other hand, had fallen in love with someone else, a chattery twit none the less. Only a few seconds later, the tears stopped and Drifter ran to her house, where she scrubbed her face with cold water until all evidence of her crying was gone. What would people think if they saw that she had been weeping? Over a traitorous lover of all things! If he didn't want her any more, then fine.
Standing, the woman walked over to the mirror. No one would even think that she had cried for a second. Smiling at the thought, Drifter smoothly walked straight to Elrond's quarters, specifically the office part of it. Just as she predicted, the elf leader was standing in his office talking with Gandalf.
-Perfect! Now, I don't have to have this conversation twice-
"Falathiel! What are you doing here?" the lord questioned as the woman entered.
"You knew!" she accused.
"What are you talking about?"
"You knew that he was engaged to another."
Sighing, Elrond looked at Gandalf for help, but the wizard simply continued smoking his pipe.
"Falathiel, I wanted to tell you, but…"
"Just answer me two questions, Elrond. First, can elves forget? I was always taught that they had memories almost as efficient as an Ent."
"It is very difficult to explain, but I will do my best. No elf fully understands it, but we can forget one thing during our time in Middle-Earth. For instance, your previous fiancé probably chose his memory of you. He will always know that he has forgotten something, but will never know what. As another example, I chose the memory of the last battle for Middle-Earth. Before you ask, the only reason I think that is because there is a considerable amount of time missing from that battle when I play it over in my mind. On the other hand, your lover will not know what he chose as other things happened during the time you knew him. Does that satisfy your hunger for knowledge?"
Drifter was sitting down, staring at the wall.
"Why, Elrond? Why would he want to forget me?"
"I notice that you have the tendency to ask the most difficult questions to answer. You did leave him without notice, but no one can actually answer that question for you. He is not yours any more."
"Thank you, Elrond," Drifter quietly said to hide the slight tremor in her voice.
"Are you going to be alright, child?" Gandalf asked, coming out of his silent pondering.
"I'll be alright. I almost forgot him once. There is no reason I cannot do so again."
"What if he comes on the journey?"
"Then I will act as if I have never seen him before. One other question…can he remember?"
"There is a chance he will remember who you are over time," Elrond answered, "but it is incredibly remote. Would you take him back from his new fiancé?"
It seemed hours before the girl finally answered.
"No. I would never forgive myself for hurting Miluiel. Thank you, Elrond, Gandalf," Drifter stated, walking out the door and wandering through Rivendell once again.
(Finally! Boromir)
The Steward's son wandered through the halls of Imladris. It was strange, being in an elvish city and surrounded by elves. He soon found himself in the stables to make sure that the locals had properly cared for his horse, not that he did not trust the elves. He stopped short as he saw a young woman brushing his horse. She was somewhat short for an elf or human, whichever she was. Her hair was curly, nearly reaching her waist, of a light brown color, though the light coming through the open barn door gave it a golden sheen, showing off flecks of red which would have otherwise been unnoticeable. Her oval face was flawless except for the obvious look of sadness and worry with a nose that was not quite as small as the Lady Arwen's but not large enough to blemish her beauty in any way. She couldn't have been more than twenty years old, yet her eyes, like two perfect pools of water framed by long, dark eyelashes, spoke of untold suffering and knowledge as they looked from their downcast position to gaze upon him.
"I am sorry," she said with a voice of a medium-high pitch. "I suppose this is your horse?"
Shaking himself out of his stupor, he responded,
"Do not be sorry. Consider being careful, though. He has a tendency to kick when confronted by new people."
"He is gentle enough with me," the woman replied before stating, "I am Drifter, a Ranger of the North." As Boromir opened his mouth to introduce himself, she interrupted, "I know who you are, Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor. News travels like unwanted weeds here."
"I see. Would you like to take a walk with me, my lady?"
"Please, just call me Drifter, but yes. I have nothing better to do," she answered sadly, taking his offered arm and walking out with him. Though Boromir did not know why, she purposefully directed him away from the nearby bridge as if she was afraid of it. Minutes went by before he finally spoke up.
"You remind me of someone I once knew. In fact, you could be her mirror image, but it was years ago."
"Pray tell," Drifter coaxed, stopping and facing him.
"When I was a child and my mother died, a strange woman came to the White City. She took it upon herself to care for me and my younger brother…"
"Faramir," she finished, confusing Boromir with her extensive knowledge.
"Yes…Faramir. Anyway, I suppose she was my childhood crush. Unfortunately, my father banished her from Gondor for some reason that I have yet to decipher."
"Describe her to me," the woman offered. "Perhaps I know her. I do look very much like my mother, maybe she was the one."
"Well," he answered, "like I said, she looked very much like you. She was kind, understanding, slightly reclusive, fair, and always on edge."
"I cannot think of anyone who is always on edge, not even my mother, but give me time and I will tell you if I remember."
At this, Drifter slightly curtsied and walked off towards a small house separated from the other buildings.
(Drifter)
Collapsing on her bed, Drifter began laughing uncontrollably. All in one day, she had lost her lover and met a rather handsome man who flirted with her seconds after meeting her. The curse of the combination of beauty and secrets baffled her…and she lived in it.
--
As the sun set, Drifter finally left her dwelling to find a certain lookout point in the House of Elrond. She finally reached her destination as she stood looking down at Aragorn and Arwen on the small, hidden bridge. She couldn't resist the urge to sing the song she had made for the two lovers so long ago.
"O môr henion I dhû:
Ely siriar, êl síla.
Ai! Aníron Undómiel.
Tiro! Êl eria e môr.
I 'lîr en êl luitha 'úren.
Ai! Aníron...
(From darkness I understand the night:
dreams flow, a star shines.
Ah! I desire Evenstar.
Look! A star rises out of the darkness.
The song of the star enchants my heart.
Ah! I desire…)"
Though the woman knew her ringing voice had reached the ears of the couple, she didn't mind that they ignored her as she had done it once before, although Aragorn did not really know who was singing.
"Hello?" a frail voice said behind Drifter.
"Ah," the girl addressed the elderly hobbit just ten feet down the hall, "I suppose you're Bilbo?"
"And you must be…Falathiel. Lord Elrond was kind enough to tell me about you. I may even write a book about you."
"That is very kind, however you couldn't show it to anyone for some time."
"Of course, but tell me, child, who may I further question for my next book of your past, since I will need a freshening of my memory occasionally."
"Well, other than you and Elrond…Gandalf, Miluiel, Frodo, and Arwen in Rivendell, plus a scarce few others around Middle-Earth," the girl replied.
"Arwen is pleasant to chat with and Miluiel is chattery herself, so I will have plenty to go by."
Drifter quietly laughed.
"I am sure that it will be very entertaining. Goodbye for now."
--
An hour later, Drifter was standing in the doorway of the dinner/dance hall, or whatever the elves called it, wearing an ankle-length forest green dress. It was of a soft, comfortable texture and plain in pattern, tight enough not be baggy and show off her figure, but it gracefully hung off her hips. Other features of it were long, flowing sleeves, silver trim on the neckline, which was low enough to show her sun-shy skin, but not so much as to be even remotely revealing, and a black tie around her slim waist. It took great effort to not lift her hand to rest it on the sword that wasn't there, for weapons were not allowed at the feast. It seemed that she was the last arrival as the room was filled with elves, dwarves, hobbits, and Men eating, talking, or dancing.
"So you actually decided to come," Elrond commented, suddenly standing next to her.
"Yes, well," she replied, "it's hard to avoid an invitation offered by you and not be noticed, which is what I am trying to avoid."
"You should eat. There is plenty to go around," the elf offered, almost sounding concerned.
"I'm sorry, but I am not momentarily hungry."
"Is that you or your grief talking, Falathiel?"
"Do not worry for me so much. There is no reason for me to be grieving. I lost him long ago and it is a simple fact that he is not mine anymore."
To Drifter's relief, the elf lord left her to walk to a corner and watch the dancing. The elves were so graceful, a feat she would never fully achieve, though she was perfectly content not being too much like them. Nearly always, elves were either hiding away in their homes dwelling on the world's doom, no offence to Elrond, or leaving Middle-Earth forever. Simple foolishness in Drifter's opinion.
"Would you care to dance, my lady?" Boromir asked her all of sudden.
-I have to stop my mind from wandering off so often! It's going to get me killed one day-
"Sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but dancing was never one of my gifts."
"Neither was it mine…another thing that makes you similar to the woman I knew."
"You talk of her often, Boromir. Clearly, you cared for her very much."
"Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of her."
"Then why are you flattering me when you could be asking about her?"
The question clearly baffled the Gondorian.
"Do you mind taking a walk with me to check on my horse? I noticed that you enjoy it there."
"Have you been following me?"
"Why would I do such a thing?"
"No reason. I will walk with you."
As she turned to go, Drifter's eye caught two couples on the dance floor: Aragorn with Arwen and her former lover with Miluiel.
Finally reaching the barn, Boromir opened the door for her. Stepping into the shadowed building, the ranger reached up her left sleeve as the man reached for his saddlebags. A split second later, she was holding a dagger at his throat.
"What do you want?" she hissed. "You talk of a former love, and yet, here I am being led to a barn in the middle of the night with you sticking your hand in your saddlebags. What is it? A poisoned dart? Some weapon of death that I have not heard of before?" When he continued slipping the hand deeper into the bag, she threateningly pressed the dagger harder on his throat, causing a drop of blood to appear.
"I believe these belong to you, Falathiel," he said, pulling a small package into view and unwrapping it to reveal four daggers identical to the one Drifter was holding.
"You remembered?" she wondered, leaving the man's throat to caress the weapons.
"After all this time, I didn't think you would look the same."
-If I am going to risk it, I need to trust-
"It is in my blood to live long. I am a quarter elf."
"Well, that answers a few questions," Boromir stated, giving her a kind smile. "I loved you since the day I met you, Falathiel. Tell me now, I cannot wait any longer, will you give me a chance?"
"Boromir," Drifter slowly began, "I recently realized that the fiancé I had when I met you loves another. It was really my fault, for the most part, but I still need to take any relationship slowly."
"Then, maybe?"
"Yes, maybe."
They then walked out of the barn, talking as they went.
After Boromir left her, Drifter headed for the bridge. Gandalf could be seen sitting on the bench there and smoking his pipe.
"I suppose you will be traveling with whoever takes the Ring tomorrow also?" she asked, making her way to the seat.
"Oh, Falathiel!" the old wizard exclaimed. "There you are. I'm glad to see that you're doing well."
"Where did you get that name from, Gandalf?"
"Well," he replied, "after what happened two years following your departure, I knew that you were responsible in some way."
"Than it has suited me in more than one way during all these years."
"Indeed, dear girl."
Thanks for reading! Please, please review!