Oh my…
Have you ever seen a battle? Up close and in person, I mean. Movies don't count. If you have, then you know what I'm talking about, but if not…well then, until you get to one, there's not a snowball's chance in hell that you have any idea what I'm talking about.
It's quite…I don't want to say 'terrible' because everyone says that battles are 'terrible' or 'horrible'. They're right, but…just think of it this way. Screams of dying Elves, Men and Orcs echoing, mingling with the sounds of steel on steel, and steel on flesh. Thunder from the hooves of the cavalry, first meeting stony ground and turf, then the quickly growing piles of bodies of the dead and dying. The ground growing dark under the approaching hordes of misshapen, gibbering creatures whose ancestors were the same ancestors as the beautiful people killing them. The stench of rotting flesh that always carries before a horde of Orcs, choking you, making your eyes water. And blood…so much blood, noticeable from even this distance, covering the ground and making everything slick until the ground became mud beneath the feet and hooves of the armies, where horses would get stuck, and then slaughtered by the Orcs.
Worse than all this, perhaps, is the death scream of a horse. Animals have no place in the wars of humans (or Elves, for that matter) and should be left out of it. Those screams, mixing and twining with others from slightly more sentient sources, chilled my heart. Especially since I knew the sort of horses the Elves had.
I looked up at Fiona, and noted that she was quite obviously having several second thoughts about our plan of action, and probably wanted very much to return to our nice, relatively safe, tent. I didn't blame her in the slightest. In fact, if I'd known the direction of the tent from where we were at the moment, I would have been running there at full speed. But I didn't, so I only whimpered and stared at the death and carnage in front of us.
And then suddenly I was angry. Very angry. Pissed off, in fact, so much so that I couldn't think straight and frustration began to be vented.
"Blow that!" I exclaimed. Fiona turned towards me, as did some of the soldiers who were passing by on their way to the front lines.
"What?" she asked incredulously.
"I am not going to stand here and watch Elves die. Or humans, for that matter. I am going to march right down there, find the head bastard of those bloody bunyips and kick the living shit out of him!"
I realized that my voice was getting quite loud, but I didn't care. I was pissed. Not even thinking I'd been ripped off my existence could hold a candle to why I was angry now. I trembled in my armour, but not because I was scared. Not any more. I was too farking pissed to be scared.
Something clicked in Fe's eyes, and I watched some of my anger transfer over to her, and grow. "You're right," she said, teeth clenched. "No more! We are going to kick Sauron's ass once and for all, or I'll…I'll…" she ended with a wordless scream of rage, fists clamped at her side and trembling, as I was, all over.
"Right," I said determinedly. "Lets kick some Orc ass!"
Perhaps you wonder how it was we managed to make it to the battlefield. Well, if you've been talking to Fiona, you know, but…well, when we were talking about it, some time later, I realized that her view was somewhat skewed. For instance, she's convinced that Gilly's more gorgeous than Glorfy! Hah…Gilly is damn hot – blue eyes and dark hair make for drool worthy Elves – but still…Glorfy…Glorfy is Glorfy, and there is no comparison.
I suppose that there are many definitions of what counts towards a 'beautiful' or 'hot' person. Personality, physical appearance, whether or not they behave like a child… Of course, all this is moot when one is watching two highly skilled Elves practice fight. Then 'beautiful' swiftly comes to mean two nearly naked, well-muscled, slightly sweaty Elves, spinning and striking one another so fast that their limbs blur with speed. A deadly dance, but both Elrond and Gil-galad knew it perfectly. I was rather envious.
Of course, my envy had to do with another reason, as there usually is. Why is it that Fiona got to see the object of her affection half naked, while Glorfy stood behind us, watching the fight and entirely clothed? Does this seem fair to you? Yes, Elrond is a hot chunk of Elf, but, really, I just wanted to see Glorfy without his clothes on.
As if you didn't already know that.
Their whirling dance of death continued until Gil-galad glanced up, and then rapidly turned Peacock-show-off and went offensive. Hah…you may think that Elf kings are immune to showing off, but really, all males are show-offs when it comes to impressing the opposite gender. And the ones who insist that they aren't are generally trying to show off the fact that they don't show off. Don't ask me why this is – it's a fact of life that hasn't changed since sexual reproduction became the norm.
You'd think a self-proclaimed Tolkien nut would know what the name of Gilly's spear was, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember. Whatever it was, Gilly had used it quite expertly to disarm Elrond, and the ring surrounding the pair had to step back when the sword flung through the air and landed some distance away. I watched it arc with some interest before my eyes returned to the hot and sweaty and half naked Elves.
After a moment of rest – and after some other Elf brought them some water – the pair strode towards us, exuding the sort of male confidence that sends women's heads around the bend and puts their knickers in a twist. Or causes them to take said knickers off. Either way, I was in heaven.
What scared me about that, really, was what Gilly was going to think when he finally got Fe's knickers off, and realized what they looked like. That thought nearly made me snigger, but I suppressed it. Mostly because I remembered what I had found at the bottom of my bag…
I glanced up at Fiona…she was looking as though she was going to fall to the ground at any moment in a dead faint, or, at least, flood the place with drool. I didn't blame her in the slightest, although I did wish that it'd been Glorfy rather than Elrond. Really, though – I'm not complaining. I'll take getting a good look at half naked Elves any day, no matter which ones they are. To this end, I grinned at Elrond. He looked suddenly uncomfortable and called for his shirt. Damn.
Fiona had more luck. Gilly was still only clad in those wonderfully tight britches of his. Peacock feathers – spread! "You seem to be more comfortable in the garb of Elves, Anórmír," the king said in that silky voice of his. I grinned as I watched Fiona squirm. This was entertaining, if nothing else. She kept glancing up from the ground to stare at his chest. It was a very nice chest.
"Thank you, my lord," Fe replied.
"Lord Gildor," Gilly continued, "as I am sure you have both gathered, is to be your instructor in the art of swordplay. I understand he wishes to see what skill you have, if any, with a blade."
"Oh bloody hell!" I muttered. What, was he going to make us fight one another? It would be about evenly matched, skill wise, although – as you know – Fiona is a great deal taller than me. Then again…I can duck. I noticed Gilly's eyes flicker to me and wondered for a moment how much effort it had taken to move those grey beauties off Fiona. I shrugged slightly, and looked down at the sword in my hand. It was light, almost like the knives that we'd fought off the Orcs with a couple of nights ago, but I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do with it, how to hold it, or how to avoid getting sliced open by Fiona's. But I swallowed my apprehension. First of all, it was pointless; second, this could be a great deal of fun.
"Captain Dúmassë, Sergeant Lichmé," Gildor ordered. The two men stepped forward as I tried – nearly unsuccessfully – not to snigger again. Lichmé? What the hell was it with these Númenórean bastards naming their kids things like Dumbass and Lick-me? Or was this just my dirty mind coming up with stupid things again? Probably.
Either way, the apprehension was back. Both men were about six foot five, both of them heavily muscled, covered in armour, and both had a look of smarmy arrogance on their features that made me want to smack them with a brick. Maybe the broad side of the blade in my hand would work better. Perhaps. Whatever. I was rather…okay, fine, I was farking frightened, and hoping to all things sacred that I would be allowed to use what little Karate I do remember to help out where I lacked in sword skill.
I studied our new opponents, wondering why we couldn't have been pitted against Elves who didn't already hate us for one reason or another. Well, I knew that Dúmassë didn't like us much, for reasons you already know, but I didn't know who Lick-me was, or what he might have against us. I vaguely recognized him as being someone who was always in the background whenever Dumbass was near, but I'd never really paid much attention to him, nor cared who he was, until I noticed that he'd singled me out. I knew this because he was staring at me in a way that made me both uncomfortable and unreasonably angry. He was leering. I don't like leers, especially when sent in my direction. I actually avoid using them whenever possible. They smack of seedy minds. My mind's just dirty.
Gilly stood aside and left Fiona and I to our collective doom. I was not amused. What the hell is this king guy on?
"Even if we loose," Fiona muttered, "I won't care so long as we wipe those smarmy grins of their ugly faces."
"Deal," I muttered back as I looked up at her briefly before looking back across the ring of spectators to the two bastards whose asses we were going to kick – or die trying. Nodding to myself, I promised silently that if Fiona got hurt, there was going to be a great deal of hell to pay.
Eyes narrowed, I strode quickly up to Lick-me, readied the sword in my hand in what I hoped was the right way, and then grinned at him.
Always grin at your opponent. It scares the living shit out of them, seeing someone so much smaller than them with a maniacal grin plastered across their face, one that just screams 'you'd better get me committed before I hurt someone'. Scares them even more when you've got a sword. I saw a sliver of apprehension sneak into Lick-me's eyes. Perfect.
Without so much as a greeting the bastard lunged. Thank Jebebus for those lightning quick Elvish reflexes that came along with the ears! The arse nearly skewered me that time. I couldn't let that happen again.
I heard Dúmassë call Fe something, but the only word I caught over the ringing steel was 'wench'. This only served to increase my anger. How dare that…!
"Bugger that!" I yelled aloud. The tip of Lichmé's sword scraped across the back of my right hand. Blood welled out of the cut and the air stung it. I knew that I'd come dangerously close to loosing the tendons and all working use of my hand for the rest of my life. "You damn bloody farking bastard! I'm going to - " the words that followed aren't my best. I'll not bore you with them, but they were quite…spirited, as Glorfy once put it later. In other words, I swore my ass off. With each curse I attacked the smarmy jerk-off, hoping to repay him for the bloodletting.
By pure luck I deflected Lick-me's next blow, and added a kick to his exposed midsection in much the same way as I had to that Orc a couple of nights ago. Kicking armour hurts, but I didn't have time to worry about that. This guy was fast, and I was severely annoyed.
Fe's mocking laughter drifted over and I took heart. She wasn't hurt yet. I was really gunning for some blood, either from Lick-me or his dumbass of a counterpart, so I couldn't look around, but I was glad she was still intact and likely kicking the Captain's tender arse. Strangely enough, I think the grin on my face widened. The reason for this thought is that Lick-me's face suddenly registered a great deal more fear. It had to be the grin. There was no way that anything else I was doing – besides fighting back – would have been scary enough.
What was the point of this? I mean honestly. Pitting two very untrained females, who had only just found out that they were Elves, against two very large, very trained, and very arrogant human males? Did this make sense to anyone else? Apparently so, because Gilly wasn't trying to stop the 'practice run'. Everyone looked quite amused, actually. Amused! They probably thought we were going to be pushovers. Hah! I'd show them!
I don't know how I did it. To tell you the truth, what I remember after my vow to show them that I at least wasn't going to be a push over consists of a few blurry images and then Glorfy telling me that I could stop now. At that point I looked down and found a rather frightened Lick-me beneath me, his face inches from mine. My teeth were barred, maniacal grin still – somehow – in place. I realized that I had his hair in my hand, and my other fist was raised to deliver a huge blow to the face that would have knocked him out.
"Minaimîr," Glorfy called again. "Come back, Minaimîr. It's over now."
I looked up at Glorfy with surprise, dropped Lick-me's head back down to the ground and lowered my raised fist, wondering just how the hell I'd managed to get like this. I stood and stumbled over to where I'd dropped my sword, picking the magnificent weapon up from the ground and brushing dirt off the blade.
I looked over at Fiona just in time to watch her land a blow to Dumbass' head that caused him to crumple. I stared in shock – and vowed that I was never ever going to piss her off – before raising my eyebrow when she looked over at me.
I looked down at the fallen Captain Dúmassë as Fe walked stiffly over to me, and then shrugged. "I never liked him anyway," I said to my twin before giving her a high-five. "Good job!"
Gildor came over, looking rather distressed. "Was that really necessary?" I guess he meant the blow to the temple by Fiona. It had been a nice blow, but I was somewhat worried that the Captain hadn't gotten up again. Blows to the temple could be quite dangerous. I glanced over and noticed that some of his men were lifting him up and carrying him off somewhere, Lick-me limping behind.
"Well, yes, I believe it was," Fiona said. My eyes widened slightly at the amount of sarcasm that dripped from her words. I reinforced my promise to never get on her bad side. "You wanted to know how good we were with a sword. The first time I picked a sword up was two days ago, so as you saw, I have very little skill with it. I did wish to make sure you knew however, that I was not totally defenceless and can hold my own, if necessary."
Gildor looked thoughtful. "We will work on that," he began, but got no further. Trumpets, their sound golden, blasted about the camp. It was a call to arms, which Elrond punctuated with his own shouts of "Orcs are coming! Take your positions!"
Everyone erupted into chaos, and Fe and I were left standing there, looking rather bemused, and more than a little unsure of what the hell we were supposed to do next.
"And what are our positions?" Fiona asked.
"Do we even have positions?" I wondered and shrugged, trying very hard to ignore the double meaning of 'positions' as it pertained to Elves. "Who knows? Either way, I've noticed that in war things get jumbled and confused anyway, so we might as well join in." Just then I spotted Glorfy running across the camp and grinned widely, thinking he made quite the sight. I was quite surprised to find Fe grinning back.
"I normally wouldn't like this, but…I'm feeling rather peevish at the moment. And we could use the practice."
Eyebrow raised, I agreed. "What's gotten into you?"
She shrugged. "Couldn't say."
"Was it that insult about being a 'wench'? I know that it'd made me angry, and it hadn't even been directed at me. Or PMS? But then, do Elves even get PMS? And is it monthly?
"No, seriously!" I added, as Fiona stared at me, shock evident on her features. "Think of it. Immortal creatures that, from the look of things, don't breed all that often because of length of existence…what use would they have for menstruating once a month? To us, that'd be like being on the cycle for every day of the year! It would be madness, and every elf-maiden out there would be in a state of permanent annoyance because of it. Eru has to have come up with a better set up than that for the female Elves. Either way…it lays out some pretty nice prospects for us. Maybe they follow the Moon, but the entire lunar tide cycle, which is 19 years long. That said, what would the –"
"Rhiannon!" Fiona snapped me out of my tirade.
"What?"
"Battle? Orcs? Great amounts of bloody death and carnage coming our way?"
"Oh. Right."
We headed off towards the other side of the camp, where a battle had already begun, looking for something to do that would be useful.
We ended up in a tent. This was mostly because Glorfy, that drool worthy Elf that he is – especially in armour…hot damn! – found us again and told us to keep out of the battle, because we weren't prepared to 'join the battalion' or whatever it was that he said. I'm not sure because I wasn't listening, but instead was trying to memorize exactly where the buckles of his armour were for future purposes. And wishing I had a camera. Glorfy in full battle armour makes a damn wonderful sight.
Still, despite my Elf drooling, I put up a fuss. "But you need everyone you can get!" The Alliance might need all the people they could get, but he only needed one person to take his clothes off…hee hee! Sorry…just, if you'd seen him…
Glorfy frowned suddenly, looking down at my side. "Minaimîr, you are bleeding," he said concernedly, grabbing my right hand and holding it up. I noticed he bypassed my fuss entirely. Not that I cared too much, mind.
"It's not so bad," I managed, although I think my knees were about to give out. He was touching me! He was touching me! Glorfy wrapped a cloth around the cut on the back of my hand and then continued with the argument, although I would have very much rather to stay in that moment. "I – we need you alive." Was that just me, or did he start to say 'I need you alive' rather than 'we'? Dare I hope? Well, he hadn't let go of my hand yet…it was still firmly entrenched between those lovely hands of his. Should I take this to mean something, or is this wishful thinking? Thoughts for later… "Now remove yourself to the tent in which you applied your armour."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Fe stopped me.
"Don't, Rhiannon. He's right." She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me off to the tent. I was reluctantly forced to retrieve my hand, although I'd been quite happy right where I was. I was happy to note, however, that Glorfy had followed us to make sure that was where we were actually going.
When we reached the tent, I stopped intent on making as much of a fuss as I could (and secretly hoping that Glorfy would drag me in, although, don't tell Fiona that. Hee hee!). Fe stepped around me and went in, playing the part of Miss Obedience. This fuss was not because I really wanted to hang my life by a thread over a horde of charging Orcs, but really…actually, come to think of it, I didn't have a good reason (unless you count Glorfy being outside and in the mood for some hand holding). My lack of a good reason was partially why we were now in the tent, and not being hacked to bits by Orcs.
And by 'fuss' I mean 'didn't protest in the slightest as he looked me in the eye and told me to get in the tent.' Just in case you were worried. I can't help it…those eyes…so blue…
"You can't do it, can you?" Fiona asked, exasperated, when the flap closed behind me.
"What?" I didn't know what she was talking about and was still somewhat shook up by staring into Glorfy's eyes just now…so wonderfully blue…
"Think straight when around Glorfindel," she elaborated.
"You can't think straight around Gilly," I retorted, not seeing how this had anything to do with our current predicament. If Gilly had told her to get in the damn tent, she would have run and dived.
"You could have just said that we had to fight because the Valar sent us," Fiona said. Was she disappointed? Because she didn't get to kill? Dúmassë must have said something really stupid.
"You could have said that too," I pointed out. "Besides – we don't know that," I added. "We just got hit by a farking truck and then ended up here. After, of course, doing the 'light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel' bit."
"It's as good an explanation as any," Fiona replied. I had to admit that she was right. "And the best one we're likely going to get."
"Yeah, but…do you really want to get stuck in a battle?"
"No, not really," she admitted.
"Well then, we can just stay here in this lovely safe tent until someone comes and gets us," I said.
"While Glorfindel and Ereinion are out there with their lives on the edge?"
Well that got my attention! The idea of Glorfy in trouble caused me to start pacing. "We have to go help him!" I exclaimed, heading for the tent flap. "Well, them. Whatever. We still have to help them! They could be dead! Or dying! Or both! Or – "
"Wait," Fiona said, stopping my second tirade of the day. "We have to make sure that he's still not outside."
I sidled up to the flap and peeked out. "No sign of him!" I whispered, but no doubt loudly enough to broadcast to every Elf in hearing distance what it was we were about to do. "But that just means we have to hurry! He could be in danger even now and – "
"Okay," Fiona said exasperatedly, for the third time that day cutting off a tirade of mine. "I know my way around, so I'll go first." I moved back out of the way.
On the way through the camp, Fiona told me all sorts of stuff about who was controlling what and so forth, and where everyone was. I actually managed to listen this time…Anárion and his bunch furthest away, then Isildur's. I guess that's where we were when we took the horses and made a break for it the other day. The lot on the other side of us was Elendil's army, and over there's Círdan's bit, and that bunch away and to the side a bit must have been Oropher's…I felt a great swell of pity for them, considering their proximity to the Dead Marshes. Two thirds of them would die because they were too proud…
"Nice plan," I said when Fiona told me why we were headed in the direction that we were going. "How did you find all this stuff out?"
"Simple," Fiona replied smugly. "While you were off drunk and being looked after by Glorfy, Ereinion gave me a tour of the camp. So I have a good idea where everything is."
I didn't bother to point out that Fe had seemed to start using Gil-galad's real name. First of all, my face was beet red with embarrassment because of what I'd done the day before (I'm still interested to learn how it was I ended up in Glorfy's clothes though), but second of all because we passed the last of the tents and beheld the might of the Last Alliance going against the foes from the Dark Land as they poured out the Morannon.
Oh my…
So that's why we were now running full tilt towards the gathered might of Mordor as they stood before Sauron's Gates. Anger boiled in our blood at the deaths of the Elves and Men and horses. Fear only gave us strength as we ran, side by side, swords raised.
"Minaimîr!" I realized it was Glorfy, but had too much momentum and too much anger to really stop. "Minaimîr! Wait!" He was quite far away.
As one, my twin and I let loose a cry which became – from then on – the battle cry of warrior Elf-maidens. Or so we'd like to think, anyway. In truth, the word that came from our collective minds and throats was one that had never been uttered in Middle-earth before, and if we died in this (if we could, that is), never would again, except in puzzlement.
"BOOBINATOR!"
It was said later – by someone…don't know whom – that we two were the fiercest fighters on the battlefield. What we lacked in skill (and that was a lot) we made up for with sheer audacity. And the grins. One must never forget the maniacal grin when facing any sort of opponent. Of course, we might have scared some people by yelling 'boobinator' (only because the word's so stupid) and then going totally beserkernuts on every Orc we came to, so you never know.
"You are gong to stop this right now!" I bellowed, cleaving away at the disgusting creatures around me. "I said right now! Did you hear me, mister?" He – rather, it – couldn't have. It no longer had a head. "This battle is over! Everyone go home!"
Somehow, even though we were killing the bunyips left, right and centre, they still kept coming at us. And somehow, they surrounded us. So we kept killing them. You'd have thought they would have gotten the hint, but…well, no one said Orcs were particularly intelligent. Kamikaze is the word, I believe.
"She said 'go home', you stupid bunyips!" Fe yelled. "Or so help us, we're going to take the lot of you down!"
"Yeah!" I continued, taking out another as Fe got hers. These idiots were attacking one at a time! What a lot of dumbarses! If they'd had any sort of sense whatsoever, they would have all mobbed us at once, thereby cutting their losses and gaining two she-Elves, either dead or just badly injured. "Get your sorry asses out of here, you – ow! That bloody hurt! You are so going to pay for that!" One had gotten me on the back of my other hand, so that I now had two scrapes, although the first had stopped bleeding. The cloth that Glorfy had wrapped around my hand was still there, although it was now dark with both my blood and the blood of the Orcs, which is black. I took out the Orc that had gotten the back of my hand before moving on to the next. After a while, I didn't have the heart to yell – all my will was going towards killing Orcs and staying upright. Who would have guessed that fighting can be such tiring work?
Fe and I worked back to back, so there was no chance of any Orcs getting us that way, but we were completely surrounded by them, and I couldn't see a way out. I don't know how many hours we were in that pit of Orcs, but it certainly seemed like forever. My muscles were burning, and the Orcs just kept coming and coming and coming…
"Fiona," I yelled over the noise after a while.
"Yeah?" she yelled back.
"Want to get out of here?"
"Sure! But how?"
"I have no idea! But let's just keep pushing back towards the camp. Maybe we'll get there, one of these days."
We tried this for a small eternity, but didn't seem to be getting anywhere. I wondered again if it was possible for me to die, since I had once already. I was certainly possible for me to get hurt – I had two cuts and a damn bloody lot of bruises to prove that – but nothing had yet killed me, or Fiona, since we'd gotten here, and we'd put ourselves in some pretty dangerous situations.
I vaguely wondered if and where I was going to reincarnate next, or if this was the end of the road, that I only got two chances and then that was it. Darkness and gloominess set in around me – not too sure about Fiona…we never really talked about the battle – and I could feel my will slipping. There were just so many Orcs! How the hell could we possibly kill them all? Even if we managed to kill most of them – just the two of us – it would take nothing short of a divine miracle to get us the hell out of here.
You already know this, but Glorfindel the Golden Haired is a divine miracle. Especially when he comes in riding his gorgeous white horse to save your sorry ass from death by cleaving.
Minras glowed in the gloom, bearing his glowing master. I barely noticed the tears of relief that sprang into my eyes, washing away the blood and gore as they fell. I was about to point him out to Fiona when something slammed hard into the back of my neck and my limbs turned to jelly. In shock, I fell to my knees, barely hearing someone – Fiona, I think – calling out to me, someone else yelling "Minaimîr! Minaimîr!" That had to be Glorfy. I looked up at the shining white figure, so close and yet so far away. As the blood soaked ground grew closer, it brought darkness with it.
I awoke again in this darkness, and then started talking to you, Mr. Shadow-man. So now you know everything before this much, anyway. I still don't know where Fiona is now. The last I remember is the wonderful sight of Glorfindel shining whitely atop his beautiful horse.
Damn it! I wish that I had had the chance to act more like a normal person around him, instead of immediately groping his arse and then acting like a lovesick teenager! And now, unless he happens to appear out of the darkness, it's unlikely I'll ever get to tell him how much I…
Bah. Even if I'm dead, I don't really have that many regrets. I had fun, and a great deal of it. I'll never forget the look on Glorfy's face the day I groped his arse though…hee hee! It was priceless! So no, I have no regrets. Except…well…I never did tell Glorfy how much I loved him.
Yeah, I know. I only knew him for a couple of days, but…damn it…I used to scorn Mary Sues with a passion, but now…now that I'm in one, so help me… I've fallen for an Elf, and fallen hard. I only wish he knew…
It's been a few days, but I might as well fill you in. I've started a journal (Elrond gave me a book with some paper in so that I might be able to transcribe the point of view of my happenings for the histories. We've had several arguments on what I should put in and what I should omit, but it's really all come down to Glorfy looking at me with those eyes of his and my resolve crumbling like an ancient wall). Shortly after my lament for never talking to Glorfy properly, someone lit a candle. I did what anyone sane would do. I screamed.
No, I hadn't been in the dungeons of Barad-dûr. Fiona and I rushed the Morannon, the Dark Gates, not Barad-dûr, so that's one reason. Sorry to have miss informed anyone, but I got the two places confused. Battle's all look the same, and so do dark, ominous buildings that loom over everyone and everything and let Orcs out at you. You'd think little details would have given it away though, like the being on the plain of Dagorlad, rather than Gorgoroth. Or the proximity to the Dead Marshes, which I noted earlier. Just put it down to 'Rhiannon's off in Funland' or something. I'm surprised I made it this far in life. Well, death now. Or whatever.
Still, though…the entire time I'd been pouring my heart out to the shadow man/imagination figment, I'd been in Glorfy's tent talking to him! Of all the…! On top of that, the darkness was quite natural, and was caused by the fact that the sun was down. I feel like such a dumbass! Why the hell didn't I just…bah. Never mind.
My throat was dry as all hell by the time I'd finished blathering. I don't know how long I'd been speaking for, but…sweet Jebebus, I'd been talking to Glorfy the whole time! And he didn't seem to find it fit to tell me that I wasn't in a dungeon! That bloody bastard! I did – when I calmed down somewhat – get some sort of satisfaction out of the look on Glorfy's face when I let loose the highest and longest scream I've ever screamed, despite the hoarseness of my voice. He looked like the sound alone would explode his eardrums. But, damn it he scared the living Jebebus out of me! I sat up fast, only to find that I'd had the worst headache ever. Even worse than anything I'd ever woken up with after a long night of binge drinking. My whole head hurt, and the pain spread down my spine and across nerves into my shoulders and back and arms and legs…really, I just hurt all over.
"Do not try to move," Glorfindel spoke with a soothing voice. It was the most calming voice I'd ever heard. My heartbeat was quickly back to normal. "You were struck on the back of the neck, Minaimîr – it is a good thing indeed that you are not dead."
"Glorfy?" Was that croaking sound my voice? Yeech! I hadn't really listened to myself up 'till then.
"Aye, I am here," the Elf answered. I dimly realized that he hadn't even minded the horrible shortening of his name that I'd used.
"It's been you all along?"
"Aye," he answered gravely.
"Shit. Where's Fiona?" I asked suddenly, finding a way to know about my twin. I tried to sit up again, but Glorfy's hand on my shoulder stopped me.
"Anórmír is with the Lord Elrond for healing, Lady, and is alive and well."
I sighed in relief. "Good." Knowing that Fiona was alive and well took a large weight off my chest and I lay back down again, feeling my eyes drift close. "So you heard everything then."
"I did, tithen pen," he replied to my question that was more like a statement. I would have put my head in my hands if it hadn't hurt so farking much to move.
"Bloody farking hell." This was not good. "Then you know everything about how we got here, and those snippets of my past."
"I do now, Lady, because you told me." He did not chide me for lying, but I didn't really care at the time.
I gave a half-hearted laugh. "Great," I said sarcastically. "And what say you now, Golden Hair?" I'm never the best when I'm scared shitless after thinking I'm in the darkest, dankest dungeons on the face of the planet.
He replied in Elvish, so I don't know what he said. "What?" I asked confusedly.
"Sleep, Minaimîr," he said, looking down on me with the fullest smile I'd ever seen him wear. "You need your rest to recover your strength."
I sighed; my eyes were getting heavier. "Glorfy?"
He sighed himself. It might have been the name change. "Yes, Minaimîr?"
"I miss my family." I'm not entirely sure what made me say that, but…well, perhaps it was because I was so tired, and still in 'spill-my-guts' mode.
"I know you do, gwaloth." I have no idea what that word was, but he spoke it with…affection, it seemed. Soft hands pulled covers up to my chin and smoothed them down. They seemed to hesitate near my face, but my eyes were closed now, so I didn't see. I couldn't even try to open them.
"Glorfy?" I mumbled.
"Yes, Lady?"
"I'm sorry I've been so forward." This was definitely 'Rhiannon-spills-her-guts time'! Once I start, it seems, I can't stop.
His reply was again in Elvish. I made up my mind to learn the language as soon as I could. Hopefully I'd have all eternity.
On the very edge of sleep, the soothing sounds of Glorfy's voice speaking once more made it to my ears.
"Do not ever scare me in that way again," he whispered softly. I wanted to answer but my jaw wouldn't move. A hand slipped under the blankets to enclose mine, and another smoothed back the hair from my forehead and began a rhythmic stroking. "Melyanna nîn, minaimîr nîn. Never again."
"I'll try," I finally managed, but only just barely. The last thing I felt as I dropped into a restful sleep was a pair of lips caressing my brow.