Daughter of the highest (LOTR fanfic)

Chapter 7

I mounted Shadowfax, seated in front of Gandalf, and we rode up many levels until we reached the houses of healing.

We dismounted outside the door, and Gandalf hurriedly walked in, me right behind him.

On the far side of the room, opposite to where I brought Earneth the day before, lay Lord Faramir on his bed, with a throng of healers surrounding him.

As soon as Gandalf and I came near most of them moved to other patients, but still casting looks at the young lord.

"Can you heal him?" Mithrandir asked me hopefully.

I took a moment to examine his wounds, which were not very fatal, but the black poison that they left were indeed so. They were not beyond my skill, but I dare not touch him, considering my present state.

"û, Mithrandir." [No Gandalf] I said avoiding eye contact. "Amin hiraetha." [ I'm sorry] I kept my gaze down and began to walk to the door.

"Why can you not?" He questioned with a suspicious look. I ignored his change of language. I think he wanted everyone to hear and know what we were saying, forcing the truth out of me.

"Can you wizards just accept a no without question?!" I retorted rather too loudly.

Gandalf gave a wry smile. "Apparently not."

"He is in need of a powerful healing spell, of which I cannot give without providing him further injury." I said simply, and began to walk out for the second time.

He grabbed my wrist roughly, turning me around, before whispering in my ear, "Do exactly as I say."

In that moment I could see fear in his grey eyes. Fear for me, fear for Gondor, or fear for Middle Earth; I could not tell.

I just nodded, for I could not find the proper words to respond with.

When we were just outside the door he again whispered in my ear, "I know what hunts you."

Then, I knew, that my eyes were also filled with fear, solely from the fact that I didn't know what he was talking about.

*******

I was in my room that day, waiting.

I knew there was going to be a great battle, for even now I could see the blackness of cloud cover spilling from Mordor out onto the Pelonor Fields, paving the path for legions.

But I could not fight, nor speak of anything to anyone, for Gandalf gave me three simple rules that will ensure my survival:

Don't leave the guesthouse

Don't use any form of power

Don't get caught by the Black Hunter

Pretty simple I guess, but following those rules would make for the most boring days of my entire life.

All I could do was wait.

Wait for battle, wait for danger, and wait for adventure was all I could do.

I busied myself with reading an old book about the histories of the first and second age. It felt odd, reading about tales, war, and loss that was now in books when there were people like me who witnessed these years firsthand.

I closed the book shut and found my daggers on the dresser and noticed they were dull.

So I spent the next hour or so sharpening them, while murmuring old poems from my childhood in the ancient language of Quenya.

I heard a light knock on the door, and I could tell it was the innkeeper.

I quickly put one of my twin daggers away, but kept one in my hand, just in case.