Immortalitui // Faramir 🥀

Chapter Four - Gondor

Word Count: 2,786 words.

Warnings: None. 

Gondor had changed since the last moment Arathiel was there. She wasn't sure exactly how many years it had been, but it was before she fought alongside the dwarves at The Lonely Mountain. Although the walls of the streets and the cobbled ground had become old and brittle, the people hadn't changed. There was a new face in the blacksmith and a different family ran the bakeries, but they were the same. That joyful smile that each of them bore was easily the most beautiful thing about the towering city.

She could remember the day that the first King of Gondor had decided what his kingdom was to be made from. Whether it would be simply cobbled, or the smooth white stone they eventually came to an agreement on. Gently, the elf rest her hand against the stone, running a gentle finger along a small crack in it. There was a time where it was thought to be the strongest material to build from. It saddened her to see it now. To see Gondor now.

"Lady Arathiel," a stern voice interrupted the woman's thoughts.

A Gondorian guard stood before her, back straight and hands behind his back. The typical Gondor blade sat on his weapons belt and two daggers rest in either of his armoured shoes. He also wore a heavy helmet atop his head. There was a time where the soldiers of Gondor had no need to wear armour except when riding into battle. Now, they wore it al all times.

She could feel the pull of Mordor, even from where she stood in the middle of the city. It whispered words to Arathiel, words in a language she had not heard or used in a long time. It was hard to keep a clear head.

"Lady Arathiel?" the Gondorian questioned, earning her attention again. "You are the Lady Arathiel of Rivendell, are you not?"

"Yes," she replied, letting out a small smile for the man. "My apologies, I was distracted by the city. It has changed much since I was here that."

Lady Arathiel of Rivendell. That was a name she hadn't heard in a long time. She hadn't been a Lady of Rivendell for decades.

"If you would please follow me to the steward," he added, moving aside to gesture forward.

"Of course," she agreed politely. Arathiel knew where the castle was and she knew exactly how to get there. Denethor sending an armed guard to direct her towards him wasn't for lack of knowledge, the Steward knew she had been here before. Rather, Arathiel believed he sent the man beside me so that she wouldn't get into trouble. Couldn't have an elf wreaking havoc in his city. Arathiel wondered how often Denethor realised that he was just a Steward, not the King.

The people of Gondor parted ways as they watched an armed guard escort a woman through their streets. The smiles that Arathiel had been so happy to see were gone and now whispers erupted amongst the people. She had to hand it to him. Denethor was a clever man when he put his mind to it.

There was one man that caught her eye as she approached the castle. On the highest level of the city stood the white tree. Arathiel had been there when it was planted. The people had been so proud and yet the world around them was still crumbling. This man sat against its trunk, a book in his hand.

Having been alive for centuries longer than most beings in Middle-Earth, Arathiel thought that she was a good judge of character. A face can tell you a lot about a person. As can the way they stand and the kind of tone they speak with.

She had known that the guard was a loyal man the moment he had addressed her. She knew that he wasn't completely sure in his words from the smaller tone he had used when confirming who she was. The way he had stood, hands behind his back, told her what she already knew. That he was a soldier.