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Fandom Fateful encounters - Tales of Middle Earth

Copperfox

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Empty and almost phlegmatic light orbs wandered around the area. Faramir was hurt - deep down. And everyone who knew the young ranger could see that easily.

__
"Father, the council of elders decided for Faramir to go to Imladris, not me", Boromir insisted. The heated argument had dragged on for many moments, though Faramir had mostly stayed quiet. Getting between Boromir and his father wouldn't be the wisest of decisions to make. "You're brother!? I highly doubt the decision of that council. I doubt he'd even make it to Imladris", those hurtful words rolled over Denethors tongue as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Faramir swallowed down his hurt and took a deep breath.
"If not like that, how else can I prove myself of any worth to you?", finally, the younger Stewards voice filled the big throne hall.

__

Denethor was determined to send Boromir towards Imladris, to represent Gondor in the question of the Rings whereabouts. It could have been the chance for Faramir to prove himself, show his father he was just as much of a diplomat and leader as his brother. But the Steward had cut down and crushed all his hopes with a simple, yet loud "no". After arguments, discussions, and more hate-filled words, his older brother had ventured towards the elven realm.
Faramir would have died to get there. For the stories, Mithrandil had told him in his childhood truly sounded astonishing. Boromir didn't care too much about the elves, their lore, and music.

"What should we do about them?", the voice that ripped him out of his thoughts was a mere whisper. It was so low that the brown-haired man himself almost failed to hear. Before his eyes, in the open valley, was a group of wandering people.

From afar the rangers knew these weren't just their fellow Gondorian or even people from Rohan. Those were Easterlings - very certain. Yet Faramir couldn't make out from which part of the east and south. "We will separate their leader from the rest of the group. Cutting its head off will do it", Faramir answered with his deep baritone voice, staying as quiet as possible. The younger brother in the Stewards family tried to spill as little blood as he could. Violence was sadly means to an end in these dire times.

Finding the One Ring and it being brought to Imladris was something bad. All the stories of the old and almost forgotten days about the war and the evil. Even to this day, it haunted his dreams, and he hadn't even been there. What if it would be just like these times? Faramir couldn't even imagine that, and honestly, he didn't want to. But since a few, the number of Easterlings slowly but steadily rose.

With his group of rangers, he moved to follow the group for a while. At some point, he would spot the leader and then try to lure that person away from the group. A great moment for that was when they started building a temporary shelter in a somewhat promising spot.
The stewards' son made a motion with his hand for the rangers to spread out and surround the group. One of his rangers started rustling in rich and outlying shrubbery. It was thick enough to cover the person, giving the impression that maybe one of the mountain lions were hiding there, or other scared animals.

The trick was one of the oldest one could pull off, yet it was almost always successful. When the leader got closer to the shrubbery, Faramir motioned another time. And like that, the ranger emerged from his coverage. "Scream and blade will be the last thing you've tasted", the words sounded like a vow from him, as he held the tip of his sharp sword between the shoulder blades of the supposed leader of the group. He couldn't simply kill that person, for there was valuable information he could miss. "Who are you, to walk so carefree in the lands of your enemy?"


_____####_____


The wide and tall trees of Lothlorien were not her home, yet she strived between them as if she had been there forever. Artafindë though was a mere guest to these realms, even to this continent. After her parents had fallen in war, her grandfather had given her into the care of Gil-Galad in Mithlond. But the last great elven king himself had fallen in the War of the Last Alliance.

The golden-haired grieved long about those losses. Before all these miseries, she had learned to fight and defend herself with a spear and a bow. The golden-haired made to be a good archer and even better fighter in closer combat.
After several years, Mithlond didn't seem like a place to dwell in for much longer. The Vanyar felt lonely and had to face her pain every day. So the elf-maiden departed and went for her own journey across middle-earth with a golden spear and elaborately made bow on her back.
Most places, races, and things were new to the Vanyar.
In Lothlorien though, she had Galadriel. One who was to a part of her own kin, thus the golden-hair, and even related to Artafindë. Maybe there she would find some peace.

During her journey, the female noticed how certain darkness was lingering at almost every corner of the world. Was that the darkness that had claimed her parents and guardian?

As her fine ears picked up a commotion that seemed close by, she was quick to make her way back to Lothlorien's capital, Caras Galadhon. Her green orbs were quick to pick Haldirs silhouette, followed by a rather unusual fellowship. An elf, dwarf, some halflings, and men. Visitors to these realms were rare, such a big company even more!
Artafindë was very curious, so her light feet took her quickly back and upwards the stairs around the trees. Before taking the last few steps, the she-elf halted in her movement. Haldir had just escorted the fellowship to Galadriel and Celeborn. The sensitive elven ears picked up every word, and suddenly also a warning, that was spoken directly into her head.

"These are happenings not made for you to witness, Artafindë.", the soft voice of Galadriel spoke, even when the Lady of Lothlorien wasn't looking at her. Artafindë nodded to herself and made to quickly disappear from the unusual visit.

But she couldn't help it. The curiosity in her was too strong. So in the evening, the golden-haired helped the other maidens prepare supper. Whilst the others brought the food to the halflings, elf, and dwarf, the curious she-elf brought a plate to one of the humans. A dark-haired man, restrained but open towards her kin as it seemed.

Her walking was light-footed, almost as if she was floating over the ground. And just like Galadriel, there was something radiating from her, almost like a glowing. In fact, it was the warm light of Valinor she carried within herself, as she had been born there.

"Visits to this elven realm are rare, as much as the formation of the company that came here", she carefully neared the man, offering him the plate of food. Her eyes spoke volumes of her interest. Everything new was something she had to learn and pick up it seemed. Between all the suffering and grieving she had gone through in earlier years, that maybe was the only thing keeping her content with the life she had chosen.
 
The lands of the West were colder than those of the East, a fact many of those Rayna’s party were not accustomed to, nor expecting. It was tolerable enough, but the complaints in rhûnic still came and went as they moved beyond the Lossarnach, a land they did not know the name of, only recognized it for how close it was to Minas Tirith and Osgiliath.

They could not rest there.

They could not rest anywhere near there, lest they be found out by their own for traitors, though so far, Rayna had managed conversation with those few they ran into, and explained away their actions with pretty lies about being a scouting party.

It was near the Serni river, up towards the White Mountains, that the group found respite among a forest, where they set up camp and started to take stock of what remained to them, and what they needed.

“We need to do it quickly,” it was Jahar, her brother, who spoke in rhûnic, a man of 26 years who had darker skin than most, and multiple wiry scars along his back and arms. He kept his black hair long, and pulled back into a ponytail.

“How do you suggest it? Just march up to the white city and demand an audience?” Another, Yulfin, questioned, “They will shoot us. They will not care we have a woman in attendance, they will kill her just as well – and do that first, if she is so lucky,” he had his arms crossed defensively over his chest, as others in the camp moved about setting up tents and making space to cook.

“We cannot march to the white city, that would be suicide,” Rayna agreed, but shook her head, “Give me time to think, I will determine some way to approach.”

Yulfin grumbled, but in the end, they would break in agreement and return to setting up camp. The sounds of rustling nearby moved not Rayna, but her brother, Jahar, in the direction of it, prepared to strike at it, be it food or predator. He had some suspicions of it being otherwise, not unused to such tricks himself, but nonetheless he was still caught by it, and he felt the blade press into his back, and heard words in a language he knew to be westron, but did not understand.

It was good that whoever it was, was talking, though.

“I do not understand.” Yet his words were in rhûnic. He dropped the sword he was carrying, however, as some small sign he wouldn’t mean to fight. He didn’t know if this stranger spoke his tongue, but he could hope. And if not – he could hope the gesture might buy him time to get things figured out.

It seemed they were found…just not on their own terms. He tried not to tense, or clench his fists in anger.

~***~

The elven realms were not so foreign to Aragorn, although Lothlórien itself was not so familiar to him as Rivendell, he had still been there in times before and walked amongst these woods, and these people. He did not know their faces so well, not so well as to wander and find someone with which to speak of the thoughts that weighed on his mind, now that Gandalf had passed. All around them, songs of Gandalf’s legacy hummed in the air, and Aragorn did not blame them for singing so.

He was only glad he understood the words, unlike some of his companions.

He had wandered from them a little, recalling the beauty of Lothlórien, and reminding himself they were fighting for things such as this to be preserved. Even without Gandalf, they had to continue, although his heart swelled with sorrow for the loss of him. He knew his heart did not ache so much as Frodo Baggins, and he ought to find time for the young hobbit as well, but he needed to be with his own thoughts for a time.

He needed to remember there was still hope in this world, and in their endeavor. Galadriel and Celeborn had not been as encouraging on that matter as possible, but they had not detoured them, either. There was hope, yes – it was just frail, troubled by the events that had brought them here, troubled by Saruman’s fall to Sauron, and by much more that they could not yet perceive.

‘All because of Isildur.’

It was why he had to see this to the end.

It was his legacy that began this, and so he would be a part of its end.

He was taken from such troubled thoughts by the approach of an elven maiden who shone like Galadriel herself, her skin shimmering in the moonlight, hair like threads of gold. He greeted her with a smile, gentle and encouraging, and an inclination of his head. He did not know her by sight, but took the meal she had to offer, “Thank you,” he said, and finally sought a white bench to sit, so he could eat.

He did not move there immediately, but said first, “So many have told us on our arrival into your woods. We will be gone soon. Trouble follows us, and we would not bring Lothlórien into it,” although all would be involved if they failed, and trouble may reach Lothlórien regardless. He moved then to sit.

He could see the curiosity in her gaze, and added, “Is it the company that surprises you, or the dwarf?” He knew Gimli was not receiving a warm reception overall, and he wondered if she was yet aware of such in their company.

Certainly, she knew at least a bit about what brought them, if not everything.

The songs of Gandalf at least told her that he did not lie about the trouble that followed after them.
 
Of course, that person would not answer his question in westron. Faramir cursed himself for the lack of knowledge when it came to other languages. Aside from westron, he was fluent in Sindarin, but nothing else. Those two languages certainly didn't sound anything like the one of the east. Maybe he could grasp one or two words in the black speech, that was about it.

The fact that the young man did not fight back was something that rather surprising for the ranger. So far all of the Easterlings they had come across did put great effort and pride into their fight against Gondors forces. Mostly because they were driven by the dark lord himself. So the gesture of the falling weapon and open hands made him furrow his brows. Was that a trick to turn that ambush around?

Now that the young man stood before him, he had to make a quick decision. Would he separate him and take him with them to keep captive, or would it be wiser to make him show them their group?
"Go", Faramir ordered simply. The less words spoke, the better it was probably. Misunderstandings would only make the situation tense and maybe even daunting.

Taking a step back, Faramir lowered the sword so that it pointed on the ground. He would not do any harm if the other didn't as well. In worst cases, Faramir had the rest of his rangers move to action if something was to happen. With his sword he now motioned back the way he came. Hopefully, it was enough to show the other that he was supposed to walk back there - with Faramir following him. If the blue-eyed man was lucky, one in this group was able to at least understand a little of westron.

He had questions that needed answers. Not only why the easterlings suddenly came more often through Lossarnach and Gondor - but also why this certain group was wandering around.

_____####_____


The songs of Gandalf did not go unnoticed by her. Though, Artafindë did not know the wizard all too much, given the fact she had never come across him or any of the others. But the maiden could certainly understand if someone's heart weighed heavily due to the loss of someone.

Whilst the man sat down on one of the white banks, Artafindë stayed unmoved and listened to his words. Even though the matters of their travel and the words exchanged by them and Galadriel and Celeborn shouldn't be of her interest, the female had picked up a few bit of it. They carried the one ring with them - the one that had been lost for centuries before. If such darkness would ever reach Lothlorien, all its beauty would be lost. Even though the danger couldn't be denied, there was an urge within the Vanyar to know more. Maybe even to follow such journey.

"The dwarf is certainly something unusual to see", she admitted with a faint smile upon her lips. Having stayed very secluded from the rest of the world for much of her life, the golden-haired didn't know much about the feud between dwarves and elves. "Though I have to admit that the sight of the halflings is something much more surprising for my eyes", undoubtedly those beings didn't carry any weight on their shoulders from ages before. They rather seemed untouched by all the events the world had to endure, something almost innocent and childlike.

For a moment, silence came over her. Listening yet again to another verse of the songs for Gandalf the Istari. "Where will the journey take you and your group next, if I may ask?", undoubtedly she was one of the more curious elves around. Maybe that was due to her secluded life before and the many years just spend with her kin.

During their bit of conversation, Artafindë noticed how different the two men behaved and acted. The one in front of her was calm and it seemed he knew the way of the elves already. The other who had withdrawn himself seemed worried, even tense by the presence of the elves. "You've wandered the realms of elves before, haven't you?"
 
Jahar was not killed.

He felt the blade leave his back and heard a harsh command. When he looked back to see who had apprehended him, he was gesturing the way that Jahar had come from. He hesitated to move, and glanced down momentarily at his own blade, before deciding to leave it. Rayna wanted to come to them in peace.

Now they were found, he would have to trust that Rayna knew more about their ways than he did – than any of them did – and that he wouldn’t be leading this man to kill all of them, or undo their work in venturing this way. He gave a single nod, uncertain if it was a universal gesture in the moment, before turning and leading the way back towards the camp.

It was not far, thankfully, but his arrival caused quite the stir as the lighter man had followed him there, and had his sword drawn – even if it was not at his back any longer. Thankfully, he had no need to call for Rayna. The commotion and sudden fall of silence had been signal enough for her to leave off tending to her horse, and step forward amongst the group.

“He speaks westron, don’t know what he wants,” Jahar gruffed to her, and then, pointed to her so that the man behind him would know to whom he spoke – and to whom he could speak, as well.

The dark-haired woman lifted her worried gaze from Jahar, to the man behind him, concern knitting her brows together, but she spoke, all the same, in westron, “My brother says you speak westron – I beg your understanding, none of them but I speak your tongue,” her accent was still obvious, the r’s rolling, and the ‘th’ sound gliding together a bit, “My name is Rayna, and we come from the Rhûn in the east. We do not come to cause harm to you or yours.” The opposite, but she did not know if this was the man to speak of such things to.

~***~

Hobbits were something of an oddity outside of their homes, too. Aragorn knew this, but nonetheless found himself a little surprised it was the hobbits who were stranger than the dwarf in elven lands, and it showed in the slight raise of his dark brows as he took in what she had to say with regards to her curiosities. He would not fault her for it, he could not say he’d seen many hobbits in places like Rivendell either.

He assumed they were more welcome than dwarves, though.

Actually, he knew that.

As the maiden assessed, he was more familiar with their ways than the others in their party, save, of course, Legolas, the Prince. “I do not know where next our journey will immediately take us,” Aragorn confessed. He knew the ways to Mordor were plentiful, and he suspected the next steps would be on foot. He would likely soon be discussing the path with the others, particularly Boromir who knew the lands ahead better than anyone else, having lived there more recently, “but our journey will end in Mordor.”

That was the place they had to arrive at, the place they had to go, in order to end the ring and put an end to the reign of terror that was Sauron. Only then, could they all come together and begin to heal their world after so many wars and battles had been fought.

He fell silent, too, after speaking that dread name, and began to eat the meal that had been brought to hm, looking up once more only when she began to speak of his presence here. A wry smile curved his lips, “I was raised in Rivendell,” he said, realizing he had yet to introduce himself, “My name is Aragorn, although many in Rivendell called me Estel,” to help mask who he was from the eyes of Sauron. He knew they had gone a good job.

Word of his life, of any heirs of Isildur, still came as a surprise to the wider world. That there could yet be a king to Gondor was something not even the Stewards wanted to consider, it seemed. He had hardly decided if he truly wanted to take up that mantle one day, and still thought to shun it even now, although the idea of duty grew heavier in his mind, the more he observed Frodo bearing the burden of the ring. “I have been here in Lothlórien before, though only for a year.”
 
The tall grown man was a little relieved when the outlander moved towards the camp. That was something to start working from, as they weren't completely hostile. Faramir expected the mood to shift as it did, so he was quick to gather his composure.

Standing now tall behind the man who now talked to a female, the white tree of Gondor was resplendent on his leather jerkin, easily giving away to which part of the realm he belonged. With careful eyes he watched them talk. Any sudden change in their facial expression wouldn't go unnoticed, and Faramir would be quick as to make the other rangers step forward.

When the dark-haired female began to speak to him, he was surprised about her westron. It was better than he had expected it to be, even though there was a strong accent in it. The ranger listened and nodded ever so slightly. "You ventured far from your homeland", the stewards' son began and paused for a moment, eyes swiftly moving over the rest of the group. "Your kind has proven more than once to not be trustworthy. Why should we let you move freely?", he directly asked now. His voice remained unchanged, even though it was a little dry and rasp, it still showed some authority.

Even if he had learned a lot from his brother, he still was nothing compared to him. At least, that's what Faramir thought about himself. He wasn't as much of a leader as his brother was, even if he tried hard. Especially in front of outlanders, it was important to give off such a vibe. He couldn't risk it for them to think he was weak. That would most likely result in an attack.

Still he was wondering. Why did they travel so far and in such a considerably small group? Even going so far as to not being hostile towards Faramir. And if that all wasn't enough, having a woman as spokesperson was unusual. But maybe that was also a tactic, as to seem more harmless than they were.

_____####_____

When the man mentioned Mordor, it was as if her blood froze. A cold shudder ran over her body. Though the fact of the ring being here was already known, hearing what she had guessed was something different.

"Mordor?", she then echoed and for a moment it was as if the singing died out. That journey was destined to be tough, if not life-threatening. But those words weren't what any of them needed right now, as that was all too obvious. All those obstacles to be overcome by such a small group? "A quite long journey lays ahead then. When will you depart?", her voice was almost sounding silent.

Maybe following them on their path would do their group some good. Show that the journey wouldn't be as harsh as it seemed. What an abstruse thing to think, one might say. But Artafindë was different from the rest of her kin, her past already showed that.

But now that the dark-haired male spoke about his origins, the golden-haired came to sit on a bench next to his. As he revealed his identity and introduced himself, the elf looked in wonder. "You are the heir to Eärendil and Elendil", even when she had not gotten all the stories and tales from the other parts of middle earth, some things were familiar to her. His lineage was maybe the reason he did this journey in the first place, to repair something that has been broken.

"I am Artafindë Ingwioniel", she introduced herself in return. Her name was Quenya, a part of the Elvish language that rarely ever got spoken outside of Aman. Gil-Galad had also taught her that the Vanyar were a mostly unknown kind of elves east of Valinor and Aman in general. Her kin had chosen to live very secludedly from the rest of the world, and very closely with the Valar instead. Thus it came, that the warm light of those lands and deities radiated from them more than from any other elves. "I have been raised in Valinor, before my grandfather Ingwë send me into the care of Gil-Galad", she further said, so that they both had shared equal parts of information.
 
Rayna listened as the other spoke, carefully translating his words over in her mind as she did so. The pause may have been a little long, for she was not accustomed to communicating in westron as often, but nonetheless, she found her words after the consideration was given to them. Her tone was notably touched with hesitance, this time.

“We do not ask that you grant us free passage,” her people might be upset with that, nonetheless, passage across the realm was never what they wanted. They were not running, “We have come to speak with the leadership here, the steward of Gondor at best, but we will treat with others. We have left the Rhûn not with hatred in our hearts, but love, and grief, for what has transpired under Mordor’s reign.”

She pursed her lips together a moment, considering, “We have information to offer on Mordor. We want to help restore unity between men, East and West.” And she would not have the information shared with the enemy. The enemy knew it, of course – but the enemy need not know what was to be shared, lest they make changes to the plan.

Perhaps they were too late with their information, perhaps it was already known, and yet she hoped they could still be of aid. “We are willing to be…,” she frowned, the word not quite coming to her, “herded? Moved?” she shook her head, again uncertain, but nonetheless, continued, “to where we need to be in this transitory time, to be watched, if it will ease hearts.”

~***~

It was not unexpected that Mordor would silence her for a moment, and leave her in surprise. It was a dark place, with a dark legacy. If it could ever be anything more, was yet to be seen, though Aragorn had to hold out hope for a brighter future for those lands, too. They were so close to Gondor, after all. They deserved another chance at life, and light. They deserved to be a beacon of hope, the way the White Tree was.

She introduced herself, after acknowledging his legacy. His lips took on a bit of a half-smile at it, not surprised, but not needing to hear his legacy repeated in such awed tones. Particularly when he had done aught to claim it, to live it. He shifted his posture a bit so there was plenty of room for Artafindë upon the bench with him, inclining his head respectfully.

“You have chosen an interesting time to venture among us,” he noted, wondering if she planned to sail back one day soon. He knew his friend, Arwen, would be leaving one day. He was happy for her, but saddened for his own loss of her companionship in his life. She had been ever at his side for so long, and he had expected to see her until the day he died.

“I do not know when we will depart from here, Artafindë,” he said, “I suspect it will be soon, we are not welcome here long,” lest they bring the darkness here. They had to move on. They had taken their time to recover, “There is much ahead, the longer we delay, the worse things will be,” yet he retained that soft, slightly tired, smile.

He would hope to leave on the morrow, but Boromir and the others needed rest, and Boromir was being a staunch proponent for the hobbits. It was good to see him so. “Why did your grandfather send you here, Lady Artafindë?” He inquired, wondering what purpose may have been assigned to her visit, if any at all.

He often wondered why one would choose to leave, and join the troubles here.
 
"How very unusual", Faramir emphasized on Raynas words and observed the group again. But usual information was something they could need. Actually - they were desperate for such valuables.

But the captain could still not fully trust them and their offer. It all was too strangely for Faramir to blindly just believe that. So he whistled, and suddenly all of the other rangers emerged from their hiding spots. Soon the group was surrounded by thirty, if not more.

"Fetter them. We will guide them back to Minas Tirith and bring them to the steward", he ordered his fellow rangers and watched them all doing as he told. Faramir wasn't the most comfortable when it came to shouting commands, but after Boromir left it was upon him. The fate of his group was bound to his words and decisions. Something that obviously weighed heavy on his shoulders.

Not because he couldn't take responsibility or lacked the tactical mind. But rather because his own father told him many times how unfit he was for such positions. Words heard often enough would be proven to be true.

With the outlanders' wrists now tied with ropes, they made their way back. A temporary camp where all their horses were was close by and the way to Minas Tirith would be a little while to walk. Being slowed down by their new prisoners meant they would only arrive in the evening - but that was still better than walking through the pitch-black night.

After the long march, they finally reached the main gates of Minas Tirith. Once Faramir got into sight of the guardians' eyes, they immediately opened the gate without any questions. With a loud creak, the gate soon after fell shut behind them. "Bring them into the cells. The only one staying is the one who answers to the name of Rayna. Bring her to me", he said when he got down from his horse.

And soon enough he found himself walking up the winding paths of the city, with Rayna walking close by. "Speak your cause as quickly as you can. The Steward is no man for long debates. Though I highly doubt he will listen in the first place...", the last sentence was a mere but bitter sigh that left Faramir. He couldn't hide it most of the times how the relationship between him and Gondors Steward was. It was bad - beyond repair probably.

Reaching the spacious place in front of the citadel, they passed the withering white tree and soon entering the empty and cold main hall. The high throne was vacant, but the smaller and less noble-looking seat next to it had Denethor sit on it.

"And whom do you bring upon my feet, son?", the older man said, noticeably indignantly with the one Faramir brought. "She is one of the Easterlings, claiming of having useful information against the forces of Mordor"

_____####_____


It was only understandable that they would depart soon. Not only because the road ahead was dark and full of terror, but also because the one ring would bring unspeakable darkness to this place if it lingered too long. The female could certainly well understand why Galadriel, even in possession of one of the elven rings, would still not want that to happen. Too much was at risk. But the fair-skinned elf also made a mental note, as to being up when they would depart, in order to accompany them for a while.

"My father led the Vanyar of Valinor into the War of Wrath, where Morgoth was slain and Eärendil sacrificed his life to banish the evil. I was very young when they left me in my grandfather's care for the time being. But when neither of them returned after many years, it was obvious what happened to them", whilst telling that story, she paused for a moment, debating whether or not to tell. It was a story that a lot found sad. And while it was that, Artafindë already had a thousand years to overcome her grief and pain, and pity was not needed. "My kin lives very secluded from all that is happening in Aman and east of it. My grandfather thought it would be wise for me to know how the world is moving elsewhere. For that I may return one day", Artafindë looked up, green hues looking past the tree crowns where starlight would shine through them. Though the one who cared for her, the last high-king of the Noldor in middle-earth, fell in the war of the last alliance.

"Even when the world is full of peril and darkness, there is still something in it that is fair and worth to be protected", the female elf mirrored that soft smile he had offered her before. She was very certain about her words - for there had always been a light in the darkness that would drive the evil out. And with Eärendil heir, maybe men would be strong enough to fight for their freedom as elves did once before their number dwindled due to the wars.
 
Rayna had to quickly translate what was happening, as she was given no time to do so, or to explain it to her people. There was definitely irritation for that, among her people, but also within Rayna herself. She felt a spike of insecurity, and considered fighting, or running, however fleeting a thought it was before she was bound herself, and brought along with these strange men, to the White City.

They weren’t harmed, at least.

That was more than they could have expected in plenty of other circumstances. As many others were pulled away, led towards cells, Rayna was separated from her people and found herself once more alongside the man whom she had spoken with earlier, hands still bound in front of her.

They walked the winding path through Gondor in silence for much of their trip, as she was caught by the sights. She sought the white tree, and saw it soon enough, with narry a bloom on it. It looked dead, more than anything. She felt some twinge of pity for the tree, though was broken from thinking much as Faramir finally spoke again, advising her to be direct in speaking to the Steward.

There was no time to ask why.

There was no time to even question the bitterness, or ask strategy of how to approach, for soon they were stepping into the building, and brought before the Steward himself. ‘Son?’ So he was heir to Gondor, then? Well, that had to mean something, if he may listen where his father didn’t. Still, she was certainly not encouraged on seeing him.

How did she even address him? By what title? “Lord Steward, I bring word that the wizard Saruman has joined forces with Sauron, and is preparing an army to bring to bear against your lands, to trap you between Isengard and Mordor.”

~***~

It seemed tragedy had touched the life of Artafindë while she was young, though what was young by an elven standard, let alone one so old as her, was likely up for debate. Still, Aragorn listened, familiar enough with talk of Morgoth and the War of Wrath. How could he not? Eärendil bore Elrond, a man much like a father to him. He was also tied to Aragorn, though far more distantly.

Not to mention, Sauron carried on Morgoth’s legacy.

There were prophecies still tied to Morgoth.

“You do have my sympathies for not having a longer time with your parents, no matter how long it may have been,” for certainly it had been a while since Morgoth walked the earth and dared threaten it. “I know what it is to grow without parents, and though not so many years of experience, still I wish I could have known mine better.” He would never have that opportunity, nor would she, though he had moved beyond it, as well.

He would still miss those parents, and mourn what could have been, but it did not impact him. “There is much good still in this world. Much worth protecting,” he agreed, “Have you seen much beyond Lothlórien, Lady Artafindë?” He inquired, wondering on that. It wouldn’t do her much good to stay her time here, when she was sent to see what was out there.
 
Denethor looked unchanged. His grouchy expression was still faced towards the female from Rhun, before it slightly shifted and focused on his son. The news that even Saruman betrayed the free people of middle-earth was something that bothered Faramir greatly. Ever since he had been young, he had trusted the wizards, though especially Mithrandir. What if he had done the same? And how should Gondor be able to defend itself from two forces?

"And?", Denethor said, his voice mirroring what his face already said. That simple word was enough to catch the Stewards son by surprise now. "Father, don't yo.." - "I do not care. Our list of allies has run thin for decades, why should it surprise me that one of those foul wizards betrayed us?", Denethor interrupted his son, his face speaking volumes. The older man wouldn't have any of the talking back Faramir was prepared to give.

"You bring the enemy to our doorstep and expect me to listen to whatever this girl has to say? I thought better of you, Faramir.", harsh words, even for the one who was already used to them. The brown-haired was at a loss for words. How could his father not even listen fully? What purpose would it serve the woman from Rhun to lie at them? "Let these forces come. Gondor will defend itself like it always has done before. For all I know, you could be a spy sent by Saruman or any other wizard that creeps the ground of middle-earth", Faramir knew these words were not only final, but the sign to be dismissed. The ranger should have known this attempt would be vain after all, his father wouldn't change - only if Boromir was around to insist differently.

"If it was Boromir who would have asked for you to listen, you would have" - "Boromir does know better than you, Faramir. He would not have come to my door with an obscure person like her", the Steward said liverish and his eyes grew darker upon the other two. "Return to your position. Push her out of the city gates, she is outlawed"

With these final words, Faramir knew it was better to step out of his sight than try to get the point across. In the end, no one would know how Denethors decision about the female and Faramir would keep her from being outlawed. Something inside the tall grown man told him that Rayna was speaking the truth. Otherwise, why would she and her group go on the dangerous way and try to warn a rivaled folk? If it would have been another group of rangers, she would have been killed on the spot.

Even though Faramir pushed the dark-haired female out of the throne hall, it wasn't a harsh or disrespectful pushing. "I should have known better", he said when the big wooden doors closed behind them as they had stepped outside. The fresh air was much of a relief for the ranger. Whenever he was close to his father, he felt like taking in poison. "I believe you. Tell me all you know", Faramir said when walking a little, as to get away from the guards of the door.

_____####_____

It was a welcomed feeling, having someone who shared a similar fate. It made one feel less alone with the burning questions about the what if's. Even if it was just the small words of sympathy shared. Before Artafindë could respond to his question, the low laments for Gandalf got interrupted by another voice.

Someone made his own verse, in the common tongue of men, rather than Sindarin. The golden-haired looked over her shoulder. From afar she saw that one of the halflings had gotten up to stand, not taller than a kid. The little verse wasn't as poetic as the ones from the elves, but much filled with memories and love for the fallen companion.

Another faint smile played around her lips before she could return to his question. "I have come from Mithlond and traveled much through Eregion. I came across the halflings for a short while, though I did not dare to get too close, as they seem to be more wonderous than elves could be. And before coming here, I passed through Rivendell.", she explained her journey shortly. It was only a little part she had seen and there was yet much to discover. Another time the feeling of following them crept over her.

"Maybe I will follow your fellowship for a while if you'd let me.", Artafindë finally said and watched Aragorn for a moment. Galadriel would insist on her staying, though there wasn't much the other elf was able to do. Artafindë was strong-headed and once she had made a decision, she would likely follow it through.
 
‘Foul wizards?’ Rayna’s face scrunched in confusion for a moment. She had been under the impression that wizards had a better reputation in the west, that they were trusted here! Was that not true? If not, she’d been led astray by one of those ‘foul wizards’ and likely condemned herself and her followers to death.

Except, Denethor did not order that.

He offered exile instead, and Rayna could not help but think her brother’s assessment of the men in this realm to be somewhat true. ‘Perhaps in Rohan….’ Except before the thought could be completed, she remembered what was happening in Rohan because of Sauron. She did not get far with the thought before the younger heir was moving her towards the door, not roughly, but all the same, she was certainly being led. She had to resist the instinct to pull her arms free of the bindings they were in.

They walked beyond the Steward’s place, and Faramir spoke to her then, expressing belief, and she looked towards him. There was little hope for what his belief meant right then, unless he could find a way to get her safe passage elsewhere – but there was likely nowhere that would listen to the likes of her.

“Saruman is building an army in Isengard, but Gondor is not the first target,” she said softly, “Rohan is, and he has already begun to play his tricks on the king there. Sauron has increased his actions, because he finally knows where the One Ring is, and he is determined to find it this time.”

Which none of them would want to happen. “Even the Nine have been on the move.” Though he may already be aware of that. “Our armies—his armies…were celebrating as they moved for Mordor to reinforce the orcs and add another layer of antagonism to the men of the west.”

~***~

Aragorn also looked up as the words broke through the elvish, and gave a sad smile to his companion who sung out for Gandalf. ‘Frodo….’ Though it was not as poetic, nonetheless it was heartfelt, speaking of how Frodo and the halflings knew Gandalf. No doubt, men’s verses would also be different, and dwarves. Gandalf had touched many lives, and done many things, before his untimely demise.

Artafindë had been to a few places, at least, and even gotten close to the halflings, though he could not hold in a low chuckle at her comment of not daring to get close. It was odd to him that an elf would find halflings wondrous. They were so akin to men in many ways, just without so much of men’s evil, that Aragorn could not see them in such a light.

They were unique, of course, but too similar to what he knew, without the desire for violence or greed – save, perhaps, greed for no food. He would never hear the end of their appetites. Their stomachs were bottomless, he was certain.

He arched a brow at her request, though.

“This is no pleasure venture,” he said softly, “you have seen the trouble that has lost us Gandalf, and more is ahead of us.” He did not know if she could fight, and they already had four individuals in their party who were rather mediocre at that. A fifth with already dwindling numbers would not be a good idea. “I would not recommend following after us, Lady Artafindë. I do not wish to be the cause of your death, as well.”
 
"Saruman...", Faramir echoed. His expression showed he was deeply thinking. In fact, the betraying of the white wizard was something he had not seen to come. Wasn't he one of their strongest allies so far? Why had he turn his back on them?

The stewards' son remembered the stories of Mithrandir. They came to help, that was their purpose - even if some of the wizards did that differently. Joining forces with Sauron was by far not what he would call help. The reddish-brown locks were messed up by a breeze that was suddenly so cold, Faramir could have sworn it wasn't natural. But it was also the one thing that pulled him back out of his thoughts.

For a moment, his light hues observed Rayna. As if he was to determine once more if she told the truth or not. Quite the contrary actually. He tried to flesh out a plan, but he wouldn't be able to do that alone. "There is no way for any of us two to warn Rohan. If Saruman is already there, it may as well also be lost already. I can't go, I took my brothers' place as captain of the forces. You can't go, because you are an outcast of the enemy", maybe Faramir was a little bit too trusting here. But he came, once more, to the conclusion that there was so much Rayna put at risk - playing a false game would not be worth it.

"Come, we will at least figure a plan how you and your company will at least restock and stay for a night, or maybe more.", he looked around, as if to make sure no one would seem suspicious about his talking to the stranger. Denethor would not spread the news of her being banished any time soon, yet Faramir knew if his father was to walk around the city and spot them, he'd be banished too. "I hope you came here with another plan if talking to Gondors administration would fail?", his voice was a mere murmuring against the wind. Loud enough for Rayna to understand him, but low enough for their conversation staying between them. The streets were still bustling with people.

Gondors citizens seemed carefree - too much for Faramirs liking. They knew how they fought off the armies of the evil and yet they didn't spend a second thought about it. Not that he wanted them to be in a panic, but have a little more regard to their soldiers. But who was he to blame? Their soldiers and army was a shadow of its glory. Most men only joined for the comfort and the money, at least the once guarding the city. And the ones joining him outside the gates were few and dwindling ever since. Walking down the winding paths again, he would bring her to the cells were she could talk with her people.

Though Faramir was unable to free them from there just now, at least they were safe and got food and water regularly. Of course, the cells were no nice bed, nor pretty tavern, but it was better than sleeping outside.

_____####_____


He was reasonable with his words and he couldn't know that Artafindë was a fine fighter, especially with the spear she had inherited from Gil-Galad. Though it was far better not to have to prove that, there would be times where she ultimately would have to.

"The journey ahead of you all is a dark one, of that I am sure", she started and slowly raised herself from the bench. Before speaking further, she turned around to face him like that. "If I was not a fighter, I think I wouldn't have made my way here.", was she really trying to persuade him? If so, the attempt was bad and was probably thought to be of bad manners from an elf. "Forgive me, I did not mean to push", her head sunk a little.

"Maybe you are right. And maybe it would be just wise to conduct you just over the Anduin and travel back then. I would be honored if you granted me that, maybe also to lift the weight and hearts of the halflings", the golden-haired suggested. If she was doing that, her journey would either really go back to her second cousin Galadriel, or she would go on her own to further explore these strange lands.

There was yet much to be seen and to be discovered by her own eyes. Her green hues had seen enough ink on paper that were the maps of this world. Her soul and mind thirsted for more, to see and feel these free lands that yet seemed to be untamed. "I will leave you, to get some rest. It was my pleasure to meet you, Aragorn", and with a faint but respectful bow, the golden-haired elf walked back to her own domicile she had gotten while she stayed.
 
‘That seems like a reason for me to be able to go.’ Rayna did not say that, as Faramir informed them neither could go. She was not yet known as an enemy of Rohan. Yes, many of her characteristics still gave her away as from the East, but perhaps others would hesitate to strike as Faramir did. Perhaps there was some way…and yet it seemed he had other intentions of not letting them go into exile as his father ordered. ‘Are there no messengers to spare?’ Perhaps not, but she would not bring that up.

She was not as accustomed to how things worked here to ask that, not yet anyways, when she was confused now by what Faramir wanted. They walked, and he mused over what she would have done if Gondor would not listen to her. What else was there to do? She would have likely continued on if not killed, and hoped Gondor would see the light before it was too late. If not them, then Rohan, or other civilizations of man.

“If Gondor had not listened and we were left alive, I would have gone to others. I know Gondor is not the only tribe of men here,” just as the rhûnic were not the only Easterlings out there, there were plenty of others. The West had its varieties, as well. “It is not as though I have an army capable of defending your realms and people, only information, and if people do not heed information….”

Then unfortunately, they were lost.

She could not force decisions upon them. She could not take action for them.

The people here seemed happy, though, in spite of what was going on. In spite of how Mordor loomed within sight. It was eerie. “If you do not let us go free, will we not be executed?” She asked him pointedly. “Exile seems far less of a problem.” Even if it meant their parting. She had the lives of all those with her to consider. Her brother among them.

~***~

Aragorn kept an eyebrow arched at the maiden, as she declared herself capable of fighting. He did not know if it was the puffing up of a girl, or the irritation of a woman that looked at him. Elves were a touch more open with allowing their women some freedoms in combat, he knew that Arwen was capable on horseback, and could sneak up on most anyone, but in a straight fight, she was not the best.

Artafindë may be capable, but he also knew how often elves traveled with others on their journeys. Was it her alone, or were others there to help?

He would not question it, of course. He imagined she would sleep off such ideas, or the lady Galadriel would talk sense into her. At least she confirmed that the river Anduin may be open to them. Aragorn had hoped, but had not been certain what the elves might provide them, as far as traveling went.

He was not able to answer whether or not he’d allow her to accompany them, before she bid him good night. He tipped his head to her, face returning to a more neutral, friendly expression, “Good night, Lady Artafindë,” he bid, observing her leave the area before he would finish his meal, continuing to listen to the songs of Gandalf.

When he had finished, he returned to the others and found his bedding for the night. Rest was needed for the journey ahead, and he did at least intend to get that. He rose early with the sun, and awaited the others, not daring to wake them up early. At least here in Lothlórien they could have the luxury of sleeping in a little, in safety.

It would likely be the last time any of them would enjoy that.

Legolas and Boromir were not long in waking, and Legolas set off early to find out about their situation, returning as the others awoke with a smile brimming on his face.

“I don’t see breakfast,” Pippin pointed out as Legolas returned, “Did you find breakfast? Is that why you’re happy?”

“Better,” Legolas said.

“What’s better than breakfast?”

“Come and see,” Legolas said, “gather your things.”

Pippin groaned, but Merry just rolled his eyes at his long-suffering friend and went about helping his friend back on an empty stomach.
 
Faramir was undecided about what to do. Even though his father had just spared Rayna didn't mean he did that with the rest as well. But Faramir had been the only one in the throne room, so word of their exile was less likely to be spread.

When she spoke about just that, he turned around to face her. "Exile? You are merely outlawed - free to be shot at sighed, whenever it pleases someone. If they have a reason or not, they are freed from punishment with that", Faramirs words were harshly spoken. It was obvious that her message had put another weight on his shouders.

Realistically speaking - Gondor stood no chance with three separate forces. If Rohan was already under Saruman's control, even less than before. "It is unlikely that word of the discussion will get through to the guards, as my father usually doesn't order things twice.", it was also more likely for the guards and soldiers to listen to Faramir than his father.

For a moment he thought.
Sending Rohan a message could be already too late. The journey there was also dangerous - news about orcs and wild men pillaging and plundering the lands had made round.
The only safe passage to Rhan would be going south of the White Mountains - but that journey was certainly long, at least 7 days.

"Rohan and Gondor are not on the most friendly terms. Even if you are to warn them, the journey north of the white mountains is one filled with orcs and men who plunder and pillage. The journey south of the white mountains takes at least 7 days. What do you expect me to do now? Let you and your people go, and get killed, maybe? If not by guards then by wild men. And if not coming to either realms, where then? The people of dunland? Who fight with sticks and stones still?", the Stewards son was torn. Any decision he made would be wrong in the eyes of someone, and Faramir couldn't see which one of the decisions would be the right to chose.

"If you do not bring an army, but only a message - was it the safety of exile you search for, far away from the east?"

_____####_____

When the halflings had followed, Legolas had introduced them to Lembas. Little did the elven prince know that Pippin already had 4 pieces of it - yet his stomach was still rumbling.

Whilst Galadriel would bid her farewell to the fellowship, Artafindë had gotten herself ready. The traveling attire of dyed leather in light grey suited her just as well as the dress from the day before. She had made her decision. Lady Galadriel knew about that, yet she hoped her second cousin would turn around at the great waterfalls and return.

With the spear on her back that had once belonged to Gil-Galad, a dagger and a bow, her golden waves made to braids, she already stood at the boats.

"May one of Galadriel's kin be light to your company and let you guide until the waterfalls", Celeborn said when he took Aragorn aside from the rest of the group. Before he spoke further, he looked around to make sure the others wouldn't listen. "Unusual for orcs there are beings who move at daylight at the shores of the Anduin. You are being followed", the Lord of Lorien didn't need to do much for his words to sound serious.

When they had packed and stocked up the boats, the elves stood at the shores, watching the fellowship go. Only now Artafindë felt the presence of the lingering darkness that dangled around Frodos neck. Even when the other halflings were rather light-hearted, it was obvious what the ring did to the remaining one.

The boat in which Artafindë sat was filled with supplies, but also with Sam sat with her. And whenever he asked, the golden-haired would tell him small stories of her kin, as well as listen to the others that traveled along.
 

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