Reminder:: I do not hold ownership of the recognizable traits of Tolkien lore.

This is going to be a little nutty, but hang in there! Was this ever normal though? n_n'

High school is over for me! I suppose it's strange, but I don't think it has sunk in yet. In the meantime, I'll write like crazy to get this finished before the end of June. =)

Chapter Forty :: Flight to the North

Their silhouettes. Sometimes one. Sometimes the other. Sometimes both. Sometimes everyone. They linger with shadowed minds among bright colors in balloons, blossoming flowers, and Hallmark cards. Their world is sterilized in a mixture of anesthetic fumes. My heart keeps the monitor constant.

They hold my hand. They play music. They watch my favorite shows. They tell me stories about their day. What I have missed. The days. The months. The birthdays. And suddenly the holidays have come and gone and my presents go unopened for the sixth, seventh, eighth time in a row.

When will I wake?

Here I was nineteen years old, running like mad down the broken city. My ears popped with the change in altitude and my head felt dizzy. No one bothered to stop me – people moved in and out of the levels with the dead and wounded like ants. I was just another with a mission of my own.

And then my feet touched grass.

It took me a moment to revel in the feel, the smell, the sensation of being on the ground. The closest I had come had been hours ago at the Gate, but grass! When had I last been outside – truly outside? The day I buried Huan. It had been too long.

The sense of detachment vanished and I was one again. It caused me to stop in my tracks and look about me, trying desperately to concentrate on my objective while clinging to something that is a part of me somewhere.

I let it go.

A cluster of white tents grouped just outside the city's white walls catch my wandering eye. Soldiers of Gondor and Rohan alike meandered in and out of the rows. If they would be anywhere – it would be there.

I boldly entered the largest white tent I found and reeled backwards. Men and taller, more beautiful men started to pour out from the exit. I didn't know there would be such an audience…

"Lady Finwen!" The vaguely familiar voice said, apparently startled.

I looked up. "Prince Imrahil! I did not recognize you."

"Neither had I. What is a lady of the court doing about the camps? Should you not be by my nephew's side?" He questioned with his grey eyes. His mouth had hardened since I saw him last – he was almost grim, but the blood in his veins stayed true and he was as fair as those who had left the tent before him.

"I have…" My tongue stopped. For some reason, his sentences weren't sinking in as quickly as they used to. What was wrong with my head? It felt like I had been kicked by a horse – ever since I saw that… thing at the Gate. It was like the Prince of Dol Amroth had a thick accent or he was speaking a different dialect entirely. And I wanted to answer him in an informal, familiar way. What was wrong with me?

The Prince caught my mental off-balance and saw me staring past him. He was reluctant to leave without his question answered and me alone, but some greater duty called him away. I pushed the flap of the tent back and stepped inside.

The first person my eyes rested on was the White Wizard Mithrandir. He appeared to be as tranquil as ever with his slight domineering essence. Still – I felt sour when I saw him. He was good, this I knew, but his face would forever remind me of Denethor's death. Nothing would change that.

The second person was… plain. At first. He appeared to be a man dressed darkly, his hair slightly unkempt, and his facial features nothing short of average. But there was a certain something… I could not name. The way he sat and held his head and shoulders – it wasn't arrogant or officious like the Lord Denethor, but it was regal and intent in its own subtle way. This man spoke to be a man of many talents – practical, kind, and strong. I could see him cloaked in robes lined with ermine, but he could roll his sleeves to his elbows and heal the wounded, too.

He caught my stare.

Mithrandir answered for the both of us. "Ah, the young Lady Finwen. The late steward's adopted heiress. What commands you hence?"

I blinked. I knew better than to ask questions, but I felt uncomfortable that this was the 'king' I had heard so much about. The man with the mud-splattered boots and sheathed sword at his hip was here to replace Denethor. It sounded ridiculous but for the first impression he made on me without a word or even a look…

I opened my mouth and found my voice lost. The tent was empty but for the three of us – I almost wished the others back. For all I knew, I believed to be standing in front of the two most powerful beings in this Middle-Earth. My heart pounded dangerously and my feet threatened to flee, but for the growing image of my dream. It was ludicrous to come to such people with tales of dreams, but… Her eyes. Made of stars. Shimmering and bright as she danced through the sky to the North. I felt I knew her voice though she never made a sound…

This is your chance to live again…

I blurt it out. "The eagles!"

The two looked to each other and then back at me, waiting for me to elaborate. Mithrandir saw how shaken I was and beckoned me forward. I left the walls of the tent and stood before them – still at a safe distance I felt.

"I… was called." I re-worded 'I had a dream.' I didn't want to make a fool of myself… "You need the eagles."

"The eagles?" Mithrandir asked. He stroked his white beard with thought. "How much do you know, Finwen?"

The man spoke for the first time. His voice didn't mock me, to my surprise, as he read my face like an open book. "She knows of more than she imagined."

I gulped, clenching my hands tightly together. "There's going to be a battle… I don't know where, exactly, but… you need the eagles for… victory."

"There's more of a Took in this one than I thought…" I couldn't blame Mithrandir – I would be skeptical, too. I had to place my authority somehow. To prove my story was genuine.

I stood up straighter. "It's true! I… She came to me in a vision." They mercifully didn't interrupt me. "She was… I cannot describe her – my words are an ill justice to her might and beauty. She was the stars in the sky. This woman led me north – she's telling me to fetch her eagles. Well, somehow I know they are not hers – they must be her husband's."

Their faces were unreadable. I continued, a bit more desperately. "Please let me go – I can do this!"

"Do what?" Mithrandir asked. "Where do you wish to go?"

"North." I answered lamely. "For… the eagles…"

"I'm afraid your request is closer to a sentence." The kingly man answered. "You cannot travel north alone, Lady Finwen—"

I never took myself to be indignant. Cheeky enough to argue kings. But suddenly I had opened my Pandora's box of emotions and the first to come out was anger. "I'm not lying! It's the truth! I must go to the North – you need the eagles! Mithrandir," I said, turning my focus to him. "you have not known me long to judge me well. If I was lying, what would you lose? Just a nobody without a memory – this is my purpose! I know now… I must do this. Please."

My feet didn't give them the chance to answer. I started backing away.

"Finwen!" Mithrandir's voice called me back.

I kept walking, but as I parted the tent, I said: "Look for me. They will come."

I ran.

The Houses of Healing were teeming with the nurses left behind to help and men carting in their broken friends. It was hard to believe these once quiet halls were my home. For a short time…

I suddenly ached to see Ioreth, but I figured she was too busy. In reality, I was too busy. I couldn't let myself fail now that I've gotten this far – and I didn't have time to spare.

The sunlight shimmered across the white stone steps through the windows, the rays of light dancing on my quick feet. I threw my head back, my hair twirling behind me and I saw a streak of blonde locks flying in the wind high above. A woman in white, not a few years older than myself, stood staring out at the horizon. Her eyes were focused on the carnage that was slowly being picked through in the fields. She held her arm – only now did I realize the sling. Her face was pale with grief and fatigue. She saw me staring up at her, but by the time she looked down, I had disappeared.

The warm cup steamed from my hands as I neared the door, careful not to spill. I peered in from around the corner – by the unsuspicious questions I asked, I should have been given directions to the right room…

At first, I feared he was asleep and I had woken him. But he blinked his eyes and sighed, deep in thought. He was facing the window, propped up comfortably with pillows on a small bed. He turned to face me.

"Finwen. I was hoping you would come."

I gave Faramir a small smile and stepped into the room. Seeing him motionless reminded me of the pyre and I shuddered. The same thing was on both our minds, looming as the white elephant in the room. We had only become acquainted through Denethor, really… Now he was gone.

He saw me lingering and motioned me forward. "Do I scare you?"

My smile was genuine this time as I came and sat on the end of his bed. It was the most informal atmosphere I had ever had around the Lord Faramir. Well… actually, wasn't he the steward now? Or wasn't he? Did we even need one anymore? If we had a king now? I hated politics. They were such a mess…

"How are you?" I asked.

"Alive." Faramir nodded. "And you?"

"Still here." I answered the same. I bit my lip and remembered the cup of tea. "I have something to tell you."

"Oh?"

"First – have some tea. I don't know why I'm still holding this…" I presented the cup to him.

"Thank you." Faramir held it and took a light sip. He grimaced. "Strong."

"Rather." I nodded. "I made it myself – it's supposed to help."

"Then it's good." Faramir said and took a second sip, longer than the first.

I smiled and began. I didn't have much time now and I told him so. "I haven't much time, but I wanted you to know that I had a dream. I know what you think – probably the same as Mithrandir and the man with the long sword…"

"You mean you met the Lord Aragorn?"

"That's his name." I stated and nodded. "I suppose it fits him well. But yes – I've told them my story. Though I'm afraid I was terrified and my purpose didn't come out right."

"What was your dream, Finwen?" He asked, stifling a yawn.

"Sorry – I digress." I shook my head. "There was a woman in the sky in my dream – she wants me to go to the North."

He waited, so I went on.

"And I plan to."

This startled him, but his eyes drooped. "You believe your dream was real? Finwen, you cannot go alone—"

"Aragorn and Mithrandir told me much the same, but I intend to. I can travel faster alone." I said. "Besides, there's nothing you can do now to stop me."

He placed the empty cup on the small table at his bedside, rubbing his temples and yawning again. "The tea…"

I nodded and smiled. "Ioreth taught me more than you know – I've had some practice with herbs. I wanted to say good-bye though. I couldn't… just leave without…"

I stood, patting down my skirts. Faramir realized now that I was wearing my winter robes – much too heavy for the season but good for a tough journey. They were blue with thick white fur. At some point, they were a gift from the Lord Denethor. I believe they were in my wardrobe of my new room when I received it as a gift…

"Finwen, wait…!"

I took a pillow from him so he had to lie down. He was much too weak from his recent fever and the drugged tea. Faramir closed his eyes and rested his head sideways. I gave him a careful kiss on the forehead and took the cup – my evidence – with me. "I hope I come back for you."

I left the Houses and made for the stables.

Alatar was more than ready for a journey. The moment he saw me, he was ecstatic. He kicked and bucked and wouldn't stop until I released him from the confines of his stall. I quickly brushed him well and saddled him. I led him by the reins until we reached the bottom level of Minas Tirith.

When my good black horse touched the Earth, he dug his hooves in the dirt as if to test if it was real. I pulled him along as he enjoyed the feel as I had only an hour before.

We wound our way through the tents and to the battle fields that were once lovely Pelennor. Bodies of the creatures that were orcs were scattered about, still being collected for burning. The bodies of men were all but cleared away and buried or burned respectfully. But I was not prepared for the things I would see amid the death.

The armies of Mordor were more than well equipped – seeing their artillery, towers, and great creatures now, I was shocked we had prevailed. Their great catapults were dismembered and the battering rams were left behind. Great mounds of iron were streaked everywhere – I couldn't even fancy a name for the devices.

What mystified me the most was something that was as if it had escaped a dream. Enormous masses of tough skin and long ivory tusks tied with spiked chain and rope lay lifeless in the high grass. I wanted to call them elephants, but they were monsters. Houses sat upon their backs, now tossed aside, and their feet could easily cover the span of Alatar. I couldn't imagine how our soldiers felt, going into battle against such behemoths.

My hand traced along the thick, wrinkled, and cracked grey skin of one of the oliphaunts. I would not know their name until much later, but I would remember the feel. Like stone. It made me wonder what a rock with warm blood would feel like – when it was alive, I would have known. But their time was gone and mine was running out.

I mounted Alatar, straddling him for a moment as I looked back at Minas Tirith. I hadn't brought much with me – but for some bread I filched from the Steward's cache and a canteen of water. I hoped it would last me long enough, but I could go without if I had to. All else was me, my robes, the boots I wore when I came here, and Linius' bow and quiver on my back. I only had five arrows (salvaged from the wreckage about us), but they were a comfort.

I kissed Alatar's neck and patted the thin fur. He anxiously moved his feet underneath us. "I wish you well, my friend. We've one last journey – and we must go alone. Be swift! I fear we are already too late."

My feet gently spurred his sides and I pulled the reins tight to turn him about. Alatar beat his hooves, a shaky start, and then took off as he was meant to away from the city.

The shadows stretched on the ground underneath us and through the tall grass. It was impossible. Alatar was born for this run – I was born for this ride. We covered seven leagues before the sun disappeared and we still ran. Gondor was almost behind us by midnight.

I hadn't room for thoughts. I was all feel. Logic had abandoned me the moment I awoke from that dream – I couldn't be sure I was awake even now. I was finally listening to myself, making my own decisions. No one was going to tie me down or tell me no. Between the thud of hooves and the chill of the whipping wind, I had found myself and what could be a real purpose for landing in this world that was not my own.

My past was blurred – it may never be clear to me. But some things were just too… wrong. For starters, my name was Sarah. Sarah! It was good to know my name. But that name belonged to a different person. A cockier, snarky person. A person I had grown out of after starting anew. She was an enigma to me, something far off with the rest of my memories, and I actually preferred to leave her there. I didn't know her anymore.

The dialect here was also too strange – I wanted to spit out so many informalities and words I didn't know the meaning of. I wanted to repeatedly use the word 'like' and the phrase 'you know.' These urges were more than difficult to suppress, and I had to assume they were a part of Sarah. I hoped she would leave me be though. I needed to be Finwen now – fearless and fast. So fast…

Stars wheeled overhead and we ran all through the night. Alatar's neck was coated with a cold sweat as the sun peeked over the horizon so I had him rest at a riverbank. I took some bread, filled my canteen, and even dozed off. But our respite did not last. We could not linger – there was a nagging in the back of my mind telling me I was running out of time. If there would be a battle (I didn't even know where it was) it would be soon. I had less than a week to find the eagles.

Alatar and I continued north. Soon, we broke out of our original fatigue of two days of straight riding and found a new rhythm. My horse seemed to sprout wings, flying faster than an arrow. Even the wind seemed to be on our side, blowing strongly behind us, pushing us along. At night, the moon and sister stars would shine bright, lighting our way so we would not need to stop.

For seven days we rode. And then I saw the mountains.

Alatar knew better than I – he navigated expertly up the tight passes, tackling the mountain range head on. The inspiration I had suddenly seemed to blossom in him as well. We were a team in this strange quest of ours.

His hooves clicked noisily as he kept running full speed even up the cliffs and ridges. The sun started to wane, and the impossible ride suddenly became very real. Exhaustion hit the both of us at the same time.

My legs flopped on his sides, my head drooping as I dozed in and out of consciousness. Alatar steadily moved his legs forward with determination, though they shook, threatening to collapse beneath him. The air grew increasingly taught, making it hard to breath at this altitude.

My vision was limited and my mind was steel wool. I blinked my eyes, seeing the ground grow closer.

Alatar stopped.

I slipped from the saddle, feeling my world spin in slow motion. I hadn't even the effort to reach out with my hands, to stop my fall, to grab the horn of the saddle. I fell down to the rock, the bow on my back clattering down next to me.

A great shadow eclipsed the moon.