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You Can't Remake the Past…

An hour later, Drifter was standing in the same place on the right side of the terrace when Legolas emerged from the Hall and went to the other side, having not noticed her. Knowing that the elf would be able hear her, the woman quietly said,

"Are you becoming so affected by the world of Men that your elvish senses are dulling?"

The elf slightly jumped upon hearing the unexpected statement. As he strode to where Drifter was standing, he replied,

"No, but I think that drink is still affecting me."

"I see…" The girl shifted her weight. Having a conversation with her former fiancé was not how she had planned her night. Then, she realized how to take advantage of the situation. Yanking the chord loose from her neck, she offered the silver ring to Legolas, introducing the subject.

"I believe this is yours. It is the last link to my past with you…the engagement ring you gave to me…" The prince was staring at the reflective loop of metal in his open palm.

"Drifter, I…I'm…" Drifter smiled sadly as Legolas stuttered for the first time since she had met him.

"You have no need to be sorry, Legolas…my disappearance from Imladris all those years ago was our bane. I knew that, but I never realized the magnitude of it. After what I saw in Galadriel's Mirror the first time I traveled there…I saw that you would forget me, fall in love with another, but I refused to believe. Not only that…I knew that I would lose Boromir and Haldir."

"How?"

"I told you…the Mirror." Minutes went by while Legolas continued studying the ring and Drifter looked to the west, wishing for some flicker of hope in that direction, remembering the dream Boromir had spoken of at the Council so long ago, the one in which he had seen the pale light in the west. Finally the elf spoke.

"I still do not understand why I remember nothing of you before our encounter at the Council."

"Neither do I."

"Drifter, I may not remember, but I still…"

"No!" the woman hissed with sudden vehemence. "You do not love me any more, Legolas! Do not ruin the life you have made for yourself because of some flash of emotion. Besides, I would die before hurting Miluiel like that. She loves you more than anything Legolas." Her voice changed from a tone of anger to almost begging. "Please don't hurt her to try chasing after me. You are no longer anything more than a friend and wonderful companion…though you may haunt my dreams forever, we do not belong together." Again, the emotion changed, this time to utter sorrow. "I don't where I belong. The only things that I can be sure of are that my place is not with you and that I must see Aragorn to the throne. After that…" The sadness was overwhelming. Drifter had lost everything. Her parents, lovers, everything…

Again, she collapsed onto her knees, gasping to hold back the tears threatening to fall. When Legolas knelt beside her and made a move to put his arm around her shaking shoulders, she bolted up and ran down the stairs of the Hall, mentally challenging him to follow her, though relieved to find that he did not. Drifter flew into the stable and leapt onto Shadowfax, who seemed to sense her feeling of urgency as he bolted out of the building, through the foolishly still open gate, and towards the never-ending plains in the south.

(Legolas)

The elf wasn't quite sure what to do. He did not know whether he needed to remain in his place or do something to stop Drifter as she fled with Shadowfax into the night. Finally, he settled on walking back to the east-facing part of the terrace with the hood of his cloak up.

--

Some time before dawn, Aragorn came to join him.

"The stars are veiled," Legolas whispered. "Something stirs in the east, a sleepless malice. The Eye of the enemy is moving, again."

"Again?" the Man queried.

"It moved a while ago, but paused just as I felt its presence look to this land."

"Where is Drifter? I looked in her room, but she was nowhere to be found."

"She left some time ago."

"Left? Where? Why?"

"On Shadowfax…I've never seen her so…troubled before. She went south." The two friends were quiet for some time. Clearly, neither one of them knew what to do about their female companion's unexpected disappearance. Suddenly, Legolas felt a presence and turned to Aragorn. "He is here!"

The elf and Man raced to the room where most of the guests were sleeping on the floor and burst in.

"Help him!" Merry called as Pippin rolled around on the floor with the glowing Palantir in his hands.

(Drifter)

The woman sat next to a creek at the foot of one of the mountains southwest of Edoras, shivering. Blood belonging to her and the foe she had just encountered was splattered about on the rocks and logs. She was not trembling so much from any wounds she bore, but more from the appearance and words of her enemy. It only happened a few moments before, though Drifter felt as if an eternity had passed as she played the scene over in her mind.

Only ten minutes after leaving, Drifter and her temporary steed had already made it to the borders of Rohan.

"Easy, Shadowfax," she whispered to the horse after he had slowed to a stop in front of a pretty little creek: the perfect place to think in peace. Sliding off of Shadowfax, she turned to the magnificent steed and addressed it, "Please return to Edoras. I will call you if I am in need." After watching the amazing creature trot back into the trees, the woman sat down and closed her eyes. Much of her sorrow and anger began to melt away into the silence, gladly. Before joining the Fellowship, Drifter barely had any contact with very many people, making her used to being alone and actually find it comforting. The lack of civilization around her made the woman realize how unnaturally tense she had been for some time. The foreign noise of pressurized wind caused Drifter to open her eyes in confusion. A huge black shape was descending towards the ground near her. Though it was too dark to distinguish whether or not the thing saw her, she could feel the presence of it watching her like a hawk. An emotion she was not very familiar with crept into her mind as a smaller figure leaped down from the originally noted one: fear.

"My master wishes to see you," the Nazgûl stated. Its voice sent chills down her spine, but she defiantly faced it, with her head high.

-I can't believe I left my sword! Plus my bow!-

"You may tell your master, the pathetic and cowardly Sauron the foolish, that he can send his entire mutated army after me as well as the rest of your friends before I will even consider taking one step closer to Mordor at this moment or any other time."

"You have no need to travel to Mordor," the wraith eerily replied with a hissing laugh. Suddenly, Drifter felt an overwhelming presence, which forced her to her knees as she saw the flaming Eye within her mind.

"You will come to me and Elessar will be vanquished," a haunting voice growled. She somehow knew that it was Sauron's voice she was hearing, but she had never imagined that he could speak to her or anyone.

"No!" she screamed, pushing back at the presence with all of the elvish strength she could muster and forcing herself to stand, though her whole body was wracked with tremors of exhaustion. "What do you want?!" she yelled at the wraith, attempting to cloak her words of any emotion other than anger.

"If you are in the hands of the great Sauron, the heir of Elendil will be…easily persuaded, and his pitiful family will no longer trouble the great lord of the dark. Now," the former Man finalized, pulling his massive sword from its scabbard, "you will come with me."

"You will have to kill me first," Drifter replied, drawing the two daggers from her boots.

"Very well." As the fight commenced, the woman knew that, without her sword, she was hardly a match for the undead phantom she had challenged. She barely blocked a blow from its sword with both of her daggers before she swung her right hand around to slice the creature's side, being quick enough to not be touched by the Black Breath. The Nazgûl screeched in pain and surprise as it momentarily retreated.

"Never underestimate an elvish blade," the girl stated as she raced over to the recovering creature's steed and buried one of her daggers into the flesh of its neck. It roared in annoyance and simply retaliated by twitching its massive neck, throwing Drifter into the creek. Shocked by how quick her enemy's ride had been, she had no time to recover when the wraith stood next to her at full height. Knowing that her foe would not let her just walk away, the woman lashed out with her weapon at the Nazgûl's ankle, spattering more of its blood on the stones. It responded by walking around to creek-facing side of her and kicking her into the air with one of its pointed metal shoes. The impact and pain of the punctured skin and bruised ribs were plenty to knock the air out of Drifter. With blood seeping through her clothes, she weakly stood, flashes of the memory of Boromir's last brave moments going through her mind and giving her strength. After throwing her dagger at the hidden face of her enemy, the woman took the daggers from her belt and furiously lashed out. The Nazgûl, just looking back from knocking the thrown knife aside, didn't have time to tighten the hold on its sword before the ranger cut it off, along with its left hand. As Drifter twisted around for another attack, the wraith drew his secondary weapon and sliced her side. With a grunt of pain, she fell to the ground, but instantly jumped back up, only to receive a cut shoulder. She had had enough. With final resolve, she threw both weapons into the creature's chest. Screaming, the Nazgûl ripped the daggers out its chest and stabbed Drifter in leg prior to racing to his steed and flying off into the night, leaving the woman on her knees, facing the creek.

As Drifter shook herself to stay conscious, she realized that an hour had passed since those events had occurred. Looking at her leg where the short sword was still lodged, she reached to pull it out, gritting her teeth in agony as the metal was removed. Taking the dagger from her sleeve, the girl pulled the skirt of her dress up to reveal her pale, bloody skin and worked her thin knife into the wound. Though the pain was practically unbearable, she finally managed to coax the sword tip from her leg, tossing it aside as soon as it was in her hand.

"I hate Morgul blades," the girl growled, dragging herself to a nearby log, sitting against it, and ripping a strip of cloth from her sleeve to tie it around her leg and stop the bleeding. She was losing more blood after extracting the piece of metal from her thigh, but, if she had left it there…She shivered at the thought of it reaching her heart and her turning into a wraith. Closing her eyes from pain and fatigue, Drifter faded out of consciousness.

(Aragorn)

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?" the wizard interrogatingly questioned the frightened Pippin on the floor. After a moment, the hobbit whispered,

"Nothing."

"Did you see anything else?"

"Yes…"

"What?"

"I saw Drifter…she was fighting a…a wraith…"

Gandalf instantly turned on the Man and elf.

"Where is Falathiel?" The two friends were stunned.

"Uh, well," Legolas stuttered before Aragorn came to his aid.

"She left some time ago, on Shadowfax, going south. Should we go after her?"

"No," the wizard replied, though he was clearly troubled. "No, we cannot risk it. Falathiel must get herself out of this situation if what Pippin says is happening right now. For all we know, she may be perfectly safe and it may just be wishful thinking of the Enemy."

"But how could Sauron know of Drifter?" Legolas queried.

"She is more than she appears to be. Sauron is probably trying to get his hands on her to manipulate Aragorn." The Man looked up from Pippin upon hearing his. "If the Enemy knows of Falathiel, then he knows that she is friends with his most feared enemy of the moment and will do anything to weaken him. But, you must be strong Aragorn. Though evil has made it difficult for me and any other being of power to see far, I can sense that Falathiel is alive and still in Rohan. Fear not and do not let thoughts of her cloud your mind of what must be done."

(Drifter)

The woman awoke on a soft couch in a dim room. All of her pain was gone, she noticed, as she sat up and looked to the blond-haired, tall maiden standing a few feet away.

"Galadriel?" Drifter guessed as the Lady of Light turned to her. The girl realized that the room was in a tree in Lotholorien. "I suppose I'm still unconscious and wounded in Rohan and you're simply using your power to communicate with me?" The lady kindly smiled.

"You are right, but you cannot give up, Falathiel, for your road does not end here."

"I know, but it will take at least three days for my wounds to heal enough to fight, even with my herbs…I'll be dead by then with the combination of wounds, wet, cold, and lack of food."

"You are strong. Like your mother, you will not let yourself give up without fighting for every last breath. Falathiel, I will see what I can do, but I have the feeling that help will not come to you for a few more days. Stay safe until then. May the blessings of all elves keep you from further harm."

Drifter woke with a slight moan. It was already late morning and the blood on her clothes had dried. She went through her list of priorities while working her way to the creek. First, she would need to clean and bandage her wounds somehow and get water; second, build a shelter; and third, find food. Simple enough, though the injuries would get in her way.

--

By the time night had fallen, Drifter was sitting just inside the trees next to small, crackling fire with a meat-bearing makeshift spit hanging over it. If she continued having such luck with rabbits, she would not go hungry indefinitely. She resisted the urge to scratch at her bandages. With the lack of her bag, Drifter had been forced to rip off part of her dress's skirt, making it the length of her travel dress, and use strips of that for wrapping her injuries. Looking down at the dagger in her hand, the woman scratched off the last bit of wraith blood from the blade. She had only been able to retrieve four of her knives. The other one had left with the Nazgûl, still stuck in the winged creature's neck.

--

(Gandalf)

It had been over a day since their departure from Edoras. Not surprisingly, Shadowfax had brought the wizard and hobbit to Minas Tirith in only a day, when it would have normally taken three. As Gandalf stood on a balcony, smoking his pipe and staring to the east, Pippin was behind him studying the ceremonial articles given to him by Denethor. Shockingly, the steward had known not only of Aragorn, but Falathiel as well.

"So, I imagine this is just a ceremonial position," the halfling stated. "I mean, they don't actually expect me to do any fighting…do they?"

"You're in the service of the steward, now. You'll have to do as you are told, Peregrin Took," the wizard replied as he began coughing from the excess smoke of his pipe. "Ridiculous hobbit! Guard of the Citadel! Oh, thank you," he finished as Pippin handed him a cup of water.

"There's no more stars! Is it time?"

"Yes."

"It's so quiet."

"It's the deep breath before the plunge."

"I don't want to be in a battle. But waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse. Is there any hope, Gandalf, for Frodo and Sam?"

"There never was much hope…just a fool's hope. Our enemy is ready. His full strength's gathered. Not only orcs, but Men as well. Legions of Haradrim from the south, mercenaries from the coast. All will answer Mordor's call. This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Here the hammer stroke will fall hardest. If the river is taken, if the garrison at Osgiliath falls, the last defense of this city will be gone."

"But we have the White Wizard. That's got to count for something. Gandalf?"

"Sauron has yet to show his deadliest servant: the one who will lead Mordor's army in war, the one they say no living man can kill. The Witch King of Angmar…you've met him before. He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop. He is the lord of the Nazgûl. The greatest of the nine. I can only hope that he is not the one you saw in that vision fighting Falathiel."

--

(Drifter)

Three days had passed since her departure from Edoras and Drifter was still waiting for the "help" Galadriel had promised. Her wounds had already started to heal, for the most part, and she was becoming impatient, promising herself that she would begin traveling the next day if Galadriel's promised aid did not come.

As the woman slept, she was suddenly awakened by the sound of hooves on the creek bed rocks. Though she hid behind a tree, the rider turned to her as soon as he had dismounted.

"Galadriel told me that you would be here, so there's no use in hiding, Falathiel." Coming into the open, Drifter smiled.

"So, you finally decided to come, did you now, Lord Elrond?" As she softly laughed in relief, her wounds gave her another wave of pain. She may have been able to remove the piece of the Morgul blade, but eliminating its poisonous effects was completing different. Removing the bandage over the girl's leg and examining it, Elrond noted,

"I'm surprised that you were able to last this long. This wound is not shallow."

"I wrapped it up the best I could, but, even with the healing herbs, it's been slow going."

"I will need some time to heal it. We can probably leave by tomorrow."

"That brings to mind…why are you here? Shouldn't you be heading off to the Grey Havens?" The elf hesitated before walking to his horse and returning with a long, wrapped…something.

"Arwen decided to stay. If she is to live, I must give Men the best chance I can," Elrond replied, revealing a sword.

"Narsil!"

"Actually, Andúril, the Flame of the West, to be precise."

"You reforged it!"

"Yes…Falathiel, are you alright?" Drifter had sat down, staring at her hands.

"I promised to put him on the throne, and now…The reason I'm not with him, helping to put him on the throne is because I ran here, because I couldn't handle my own pathetic problems!"

"Falathiel!" the great leader chided, bending down to the woman. "You cannot dwell on the past. Like you have always said, what's done is done."

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