JANE THE ELEVENTH

In which

our favourite misplaced mortal

meets the Lady of the Light and

Boromir continues being lovelorn

as is his wont

"No more dreaming like a girl so in love, no more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world," Blinding, Florence and the Machine

Galadriel observed the human child. It had been many centuries since she her eyes had been upon one of the edain, apart from Aragorn, of course, but he didn't quite count, being one of the Dunedain and the object of her only granddaughter's affection. And this one was a girl.

Elrond had spoken about her. He had said that she seemed to have some foreknowledge; that she way she behaved towards the Fellowship whilst in Imladris was as if she already knew them. Yet she possessed no special powers and was "quite ordinary".

Galadriel did not think she was ordinary in the slightest, however, but then Elrond was more familiar with the human race than she. This girl was not from Arda, she thought, but where was she from? Perhaps it did not matter. She was here now.

She was going to wake up soon, Galadriel saw; the girl they called Jane was stirring. She had been recovering for thirteen days now and since the Fellowship had arrived in her woods ten days ago the man from Gondor had not left her side. Until, of course, Galadriel had walked through the door of the talan and then he had fled, very reluctantly, to wait on the steps outside, where if Galadriel pricked her ears, he was pacing and muttering to himself.

Galadriel enjoyed terrifying the mortals.

Boromir did make her heart feel heavy; his sorrow and guilt was tangible, even to someone who didn't have her powers of insight and they weighed him down. She hoped that his love of the girl would lift him out of despair, but she was very worried that it wouldn't, that actually it would make him worse. Unrequited love was very dangerous, as she knew.

Jane's feelings were much more complicated and tangled; she could barely understand them. And it did not help that her thoughts were in a language Galadriel had never heard before, although she could tell that it had a common root with the language the Rohirrim now spoke. Galadriel felt certain that Jane would be the one to save Boromir from temptation…or conversely tip him right over the edge.

Galadriel had been in her hanging garden, enjoying some wine with her handmaidens, when she had felt a deep level of shock and bafflement in the healer tending to the mortal girl. Rising wordlessly, her handmaidens watched as she glided out the hanging garden and to the west side of the city where the healing talans were. They weren't terribly concerned though; their lady had a tendency to wander about looking dazed and speaking with her mind. They were used to her eccentricities and so carried on drinking wine and gossiping.

When she arrived at Jane's talan, she found Valandil swearing in Sindarin and a slightly hysterical mortal man pacing, who took one look at her and ran out the door.

"My Lady," said Valandil. "I…am lost for words," he said. Galadriel smiled at him.

"Proof, my dear healer, that miracles do happen," she replied. Valandil had a reputation for talking too much, and mostly about himself.

"I don't know where she is!" he said, dazed, looking down at the pale human in the bed in front of him. "This has never happened before."

"Indeed," said the Lady of the Light.

"I have been a healer for over three thousand years," he continued. "And never has part of a patient's soul…disappeared…before."

"It is most unusual," she agreed.

"I do not know what to do; I do not know if this is some kind of sorcery or if this is normal for mortals wherever this strange one is from. She should have woken up days ago, but she has been slowly becoming more drained and now this. It could be a reaction to the pain, or the poison, or perhaps some of the medicine-" he turned to Galadriel. "I did not poison her! I know you know I do not care for humans, because they are dirty and carry diseases, but I swear-"

"Peace, Valandil son of Carandil," she said. "You may leave now," she took a seat next to Jane.

Valandil hesitated. "Will she recover?" he asked.

"Have you become fond of her?" asked Galadriel, a twinkling in her eye. "For you know, you may not keep her as a pet."

Valandil almost scowled but remembered himself just in time. "No, I do not want her dying on me. I have not had a fatality for three hundred years. I would not have a mortal blacken my reputation."

"If I recall correctly, the last patient you had that died was a cat that wandered into the forest which died of old age," said the Lady of the Light, lightly.

Valandil chose to ignore this. "What am I to tell the male one? He is very insistent. Pushy, even," he complained, not relishing the thought of Boromir harassing him for information.

Galadriel thought for a second. "Tell him all will be well," she said. And Valandil bowed and left the talan, leaving his leader alone with the strange mortal.

"Valandil has more bark than bite," she told Jane's unconscious state. "He is a very sympathetic elf and is greatly upset when his patients are in pain, whether they are immortal, mortal or feline. He feels as if he has failed them. He means no harm," she continued.

And then Galadriel waited until Jane returned to her body.

Jane was sleeping on a comfy bed. It was great, she was happy. It was that great feeling of being on cool, fresh sheets and being exactly between warm and snugly. This was great, she thought, heaven, actually, after that stupid lumpy bedroll. You get used to it, I suppose. Nothing could be worse than sleeping up that bloody mountain.

Why was I up a mountain, she wondered. Doesn't sound like something I'd do. Oh yeah, it was because of the quest to destroy the ring. Thank god that's all over and now I can concentrate on bed.

Something niggled in her brain. I've forgotten something. My taxes? Something to do with a boyfriend?

It hit her like a train.

And her eyes flew open and she sat up.

She was in a wooden room, beautifully simple and clean, sparse but it reminded her of a spa or a hospital. There was a floral scent in the air.

There was a female elf sitting next to her, observing her calmly. She had wavy blonde hair, an ethereal look and was glowing.

"Jane," it said, melodiously, in Westron. "Welcome of Lothlorien."

No one said anything for a while.

"Thank you," rasped Jane.

"Ah, of course, you would like some water," said the elf, and it stood up, walked over to the little table and poured a glass of water from an impressive silver jug. She handed it to Jane, who took a gulp of water, gratefully. "I have many questions, Jane," the elf informed her. Jane looked at her. She put the empty glass down on the bedside table, her head upon her pillow and pulled the cover over her head.

For the first time in millennia, Galadriel was flummoxed.

"I know you are there, Jane," she said.

"No," said the mortal.

"We have many things to talk about," she continued, uncertainly.

"No," repeated the mortal. Galadriel thought about taking a different approach.

"Perhaps you would like to see your friend Boromir," she asked.

"No!"

How many millennia have I walked this earth, thought Galadriel, how many confidences have I elicited, how many minds have I looked into, how many have looked upon me and felt fear and respect? And now, there is a mortal, barely two decades old, and she is hiding in her bed from me.

These are strange times we live in, she thought. And this girl has no fear of Elves or authority.

"I will wait," said Galadriel.

And she did. Jane drifted back off to sleep for an hour or so then her stomach woke her up. She sat up. "Everyone is not bad?" she asked.

"I will answer your questions if you answer mine," said the Elf, serenely. Jane sighed. Elves were difficult, she thought.

"Fine," she said, crossing her arms grumpily.

"Where are you from?" she asked. Jane didn't know how to answer that one.

"A city called London," she answered. "Everyone is not bad?"

"Everyone is unharmed," confirmed Galadriel. "How large is this city? In what land is it?"

Jane frowned. "I am not good with your numbers. Big. Very big. More than Middle Earth people in it. Can I have eat?"

Galadriel was looking disturbed. "Bigger than Middle Earth?" she asked.

"I'm hungry!" said Jane. "Please shiny Elf lady," she pouted. Galadriel bent her head.

"It is on its way. How came you by your knowledge of Middle Earth?" she asked. Jane frowned. Then shrugged. "Jane, I would know," she said.

"There's a book I read," said Jane. "But I can't say nothing." She looked firmly into the Elf's eyes. "Not good idea."

The Elf looked back at her, and the talan door opened and a handmaiden came in with a tray. Jane's eyes gleamed, there was fruit and vegetables and some sort of dish that steam was rising from. Her stomach rumbled loudly.

"Give!" she cried. Then, "Please elfies," she said contritely. Galadriel raised her eyebrow. The handmaiden laid the tray down and Jane tried very slowly to pick up the cutlery and eat like a lady. But weeks of living off dried and salty meat and Aragorn's stews of death had created a hunger than knew no boundaries and no manners. Some of the food fell on her nightgown. "Whoops!" she said, feeling too weak to properly care. "Well," she said, suddenly exhausted after her heavy meal. "Sleepy time now," and she turned over and promptly fell asleep.

Lady Galadriel had never met anyone so strange.

Meanwhile, Boromir was sitting outside the healing talan, almost unaware of the hundred metre drop on either side of him, the wide trees whispering and the silvery veil over everything. He was thinking about the time he gave his little brother the talk.

"What about love?" asked Faramir, his big grey eyes wide and innocent. Boromir, eighteen and amused, had thought Faramir spent too much time reading poetry.

"The important thing is to not get the woman pregnant," he repeated.

"Yes, yes," said Faramir, "But have you ever been in love, Boromir?"

Boromir had stared at his brother, uncomfortable. "On this subject, little one, I am as ignorant as you."

"But how will I know?" persisted Faramir. Boromir thought of his mother, who wasted away for love of the sea, and his father, who hardened because of the love for his dead wife.

"Because it will hurt," said Boromir.

"Oh," said Faramir, in a small voice. Boromir's heart strings almost broke. He couldn't let Faramir become as cagey as he was, as frightened as he was.

"But…but…it will change you," he continued, uncertainly, "and it will make things clear. I think it must be like the love of your country; you are proud of the one you love and you will protect her at any cost. And that must be a good thing, don't you think, little one?"

Faramir's smile was luminous. "Oh yes, Boromir!" he said, and leapt on top of Boromir to give him a big hug and then ran away.

Boromir had sat thinking for a while, ruminating on his affair with the widow of one of his father's councillors. It seemed tainted now – he knew he didn't love her and never would. He wasn't sure he liked her much, but she was pretty. He wanted what he had just described, someone he was proud of and wanted to protect; someone he loved as much as Faramir, or Gondor. I am not immune to this romantic fey rubbish that occupies Faramir's head, he grumbled, resolving to break it off with her and look for a real match.

That was 22 years ago, he thought. Perhaps Jane wasn't born yet. It made him melancholy and happy at the same time.

He turned, and faced Galadriel's robes. He stood up, awkwardly.

"You may go in now, Boromir of Gondor. She expects you," she said, evenly and mysteriously. He nodded. "Good luck," she whispered and winked at him.

Elves, he thought, are strange. But not as strange as the woman I'm in love with.

I'm back! Please review, lovely people of the fanfiction world. I've missed you. You look nice today.