I'm your toy, twentieth century boy
Jun. 29th, 2004 06:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fan_eluneWell. Have not been updating too regularly, have I? That's all ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
greenie_breizh's fault, really. She's keeping me far too happy. And when we're not exchanging cookie recipes, I've had to write. I'm proud to say both birthday fics were done on time! Granted has been posted and liked by Marion, so yay! Harshness, cold and deceit has been beta'ed and is ready to be posted on D-day.
On the English front: I'll be living in Grappenhall next year, a village not far from Warrington and Manchester. I got an e-mail from a German assistant I will be living with. I'll be working at Lynn High School. We attended a couple days' meeting in Besancon to prepare us for next year, it was most informative. I cannot wait to be there.
This weekend I left my flat for good. I won't miss the place so much as the people, though Nancy is a much finer city, in my opinion, than Reims. Still, it's good to be back here and see the family a bit. Will be leaving on the sixth of July to go to Rennes withgreenie_breizh (she'll be leaving on the second). Have got my Sarkgasm t-shirt at last! Which makes me think I should write a small something about the last Alias episode. And HP3. And the end of Angel.
The Alias finale
So very badly written. Imho. A very bad structure, plot twists that make no sense and serve no purpose besides getting Vaughn there (a punctured lung? who cares!) or setting up bad, cheap suspense (is Marshall dead? Is Vaughn dead? What exactly is this Sydney Bristow project?). A Sark that seems as good at this game as someone fresh out of the CIA training camps. Oh, and I was wondering, do the writers have a bet going about how many season finales they can end with Sark being imprisonned, and still get him back and not-executed the next year?
On the good side, I very much like the lighting of the Vaughn/Sark scene in the interrogatory room. It will do for some very nice screen caps. As for the scene itself, it was delightfully dark, in a barely bearable way. I was quite tense while watching it. The actual killing of Lauren was rather anti-climatic and very cheap, just like Katya's betrayal. Cheap, cheap, cheap.
Oh, and lots of Weiss goodness! I really do hope they end up developping him more.
HP3
I liked the gloominess. I hated the pathetic attempts at humour. I think that sums it up pretty well. The movie was badly-balanced. Also, can Daniel Radcliffe still not act, or was it the directing that sucked? I really liked his "teen anger" scene at the Dursleys, especially when he kicked into some piece of furniture, that rang so true, but - the scene where he's crying under the Invisibility Cloack? Followed by a bout of anger? I did not believe in that at all. Even Emma, who usually does a pretty convincing job by my standards (or probably just compared to Rupert and Daniel), did not always ring true. And she could not punch someone to save her life.
As for the book-lover in me, grrr. Yes, Gary Oldman played Sirius perfectly. He just doesn't look like he's supposed to. Let's not even mention Remus, or the "werewolf". Why did they overdo Peter so? What was up with Draco being such a wuss? Why are all the wizarding kids dressed in Muggle clothes? Why can't they get a Butterbeer? The Marauders who? And while we're at it, Ginny who? Quidditch? You need more than two Beaters and a Seeker to play that game? The house cup? What?
I think the acting was a true problem in that movie. Not only with the three main kids. I like Michael Gambon, but that was not Dumbledore, it was a washed-out Gandalf. Even Allan Rickman seemed to not be as good as usual. Gary Oldman, again, was spot-on, and he might have been the only one. Emma Thompson, whom I usually adore, quite disappointed me.
There were a few good points, though. Again, Gary Oldman. Buckbeak - I adored Buckbeak. Harry's voice. The twins!! Oh my. I didn't have a clue, back when I started loving them, that they would turn out to be such eye candy. Also, Draco in a very physical way, since they quite ruined his character for me - well, he was good in that first scene with Hagrid's lesson. Oh, and I like Neville's looks, too. The Dementors looked wicked, but I didn't much like the effects that accompanied their arrival for Harry in the Hogwarts Express. I liked the new sets, too.
The movie was not altogether bad. It's just that, on the whole, it was more frustrating than anything else. So much potential in the book, so little on screen.
Have just checked out imdb for GoF and OotP - at least Jason Isaacs signed up for the both of them, yay! However, no mention of Narcissa for GoF. Or of Viktor. I am quite afraid we'll just skkip the Quidditch World Cup. The mere idea of doing that book in one movie is rather nonsensical to start with, imho. Oh well.
Angel
It does feel rather rushed. "Damn, we're being cancelled. We'll have to wrap it up real quick!" Let me not mention David's acting skills. Let me just rejoice for an instant with the memory of Angel's "I want you" to Lindsey. Which makes me think that Lindsey's death got to me much more than Wesley's. Probably because Wesley's was rather obvious. He's no Willow. Sending him against that guy on his own was sending him to his death. I don't know when it happened exactly, but I think that at some point along the season, I lost the connection I had to Wes. It saddens me. But back to the point, Lindsey's death scene really got to me. Probably because I've always loved Lindsey's character so, and no matter that I didn't recognise him in this fifth season, to some degree in that finale he was more himself than at any other point during the season. Besides, it was mostly because of Lorne. I love what they did with Lorne over the season. Another "guy" I wanna cuddle.
Connor was great. I like how Angel seemed semi-surprised (as much of an emotion as can show on his face, anyway) when Connor told him he remembered. Yes, Angel needed it spelled out. *sigh* But the kid was great. Loved the hair, too, on a very superficial note. Marcus was disappointing - our first sight of him would make one think that he was not one for idle chatter when he had a goal to achieve. So, again, they used the "let's have the bad guy talk too much so the good guy can win" trick. It didn't fit him, in my opinion, and it was so very clichéd. Adam did an amazing job, as always, though. Kudos to Adam!
I liked the end in itself, the fact that it stopped *before* the battle. It leaves things so very open, and yet we know that they are ready to die for this. It's somehow much more powerful than actually seeing them die (or being rescued by a small army of Slayers led by Andrew, as I like to think).
And so, here is the first of the birthday fics. Written for Marion, aka samwise_gamgee_fan. Set after Buffy's season seven and during the War of the Ring.
Granted
When fighting, Faith liked to think of herself as poetry in motion. If there was one thing she was good at, it was Slaying, and she enjoyed taking it to whole new levels. It used to be "just fun," in her early years. Now, it was art. It was a matter of smoothness and grace, of bending just the right way and striking out at just the right time, of dodging just barely and of staking without breaking the movement.
It was now seven years since she had been Called. Of course, she had had time to perfect Slaying into making it an art. And, predictably, she was now bored.
"I wouldn't mind," punch, drop, "if you guys tried a little harder," stake, dust. A spin, right in time to flip backwards, kicking one in the chin in passing. Three of them encircling her, and the fight was unfair for them. "Yo, guys, seriously," another kick to the head, a roll and a stake through the back, dust, "make an effort. For me?" A dodge and a smile, a punch and a stake, dust, "I really wish that," a somersault and an extended leg just in time to propel the last one forward, "I got a real battle for a change." Sidestep and stake, dust. "Really."
She dusted her clothes with a sigh. Yep. Things were boring. She had left Cleveland behind a few months before, after it had appeared that there were more than enough well-trained Slayers to take care of the Hellmouth. The cemeteries were getting too crowded to her liking. Robin had decided to stay and they had parted in good terms, which was a first for Faith. Usually, she parted in no terms at all. But the two of them had actually stayed buddies. He was her first true friend. She even called regularly to give him news and check up on the Council, ready to go back if some apocalypse or other required as many Slayers as possible.
But ultimately, her little tour of the States was not better than Cleveland. She had just wanted something against the restlessness. It had been a far shot, but worth the try.
Yep. A real battle once in a while wouldn't be unwelcome.
In the shadows of a mausoleum, a heavily-ridged face grinned. The vengeance demon, like most of her colleagues, had been reassigned from vengeance cases to the ever-growing Slayer situation. There were far too many to maintain the balance, and everyone's efforts were bent upon ridding them of as many of those Chosen Ones as possible. This was a golden opportunity Faith had just presented her. There would be one less Slayer in this world, and the demon would probably get a promotion for it. D'Hoffryn might even invite her to one of his renowned dinner parties, with the cream of the demon world.
"Granted."
Faith stopped on her way out of the cemetery, her sixth sense suddenly all tingly. It figured she wouldn't have dusted all the vamps. Please let it not be a fledgling, she prayed to the PTBs. A master vampire would be welcome. Or even better, a real dangerous demon with some brains to go with their strength. She turned around and oofed in shock as one of the ugliest demons she'd ever seen tackled her to the surprisingly hard ground. Pain lanced up her elbow but she lost no time and headbutted the demon, disarmed it and used its own sword to cut its throat, rolling it off her before too much blood got on her. Not much of a battle either.
Then the enormity of what had happened struck her. This wasn't the cemetery. This was a battlefield, and everywhere around her people and demons were fighting to the death. It even looked like she was on the battlements of a fucking castle! Below her, on a wide plain, herds of the ass-ugly demons were massing and pushing forward, climbing up ladders.
The mother of all explosions shook the very rampart she was standing on and she fell to her knees, hands going instinctively over her ears. She watched with wide eyes as stones and men fell back, blown as they had been by the explosion. There was now a huge gap in the wall, and the beasts were all rushing forward to get in.
"Fuck."
Then she snapped out of it. This was what she had wanted, after all. A real battle. She picked up the weird sword she had taken from the demon and set forth in the battle, using all the skills her years as a Slayer had taught her. The fact that some of the other fighters battling the demons had pointy ears completely escaped her attention.
When Haldir first noticed her, he wondered if it was possible the Rohirrim had sent their women into battle after all. He sliced through the neck of an Uruk, keeping an eye on her slim figure, and only just missed being run through by another as he watched her jump over one of them to skewer it from behind. She was handling one of the Uruk's own swords, too, a weapon that should have been far too heavy for someone of her build. Haldir came back to his own fight just in time to sidestep the coming blow and slew the Uruk-hai from behind.
He was forced to pay more attention to his surroundings and less to the small figure of a woman who seemed to be killing the Uruk-hai almost effortlessly. The few glimpses he did catch of her from time to time served in quelling his fear for her life. If anyone were going to survive this battle, it was her. Seldom had he seen such graceful, skilled warriors in action; only the most accomplished of his own kind could dream of rivalling with her fluid deadliness and the implacable strength that seemed to underline her every move.
He eventually lost sight of her and stopped trying to locate her as a new swarm of Uruk-hai rushed their failing defences. A few long minutes later, when he heard Aragorn shout for them to retreat to the keep, he relayed the order without disapproval.
The pain to his arm came as a surprise and he slew the Uruk that had slashed him almost instinctively, taken up in the alarming discovery that he might not live to see the next Age after all. He turned around when he heard a grunt that sounded much too close to him for his safety, only to watch the corpse of the Uruk that would have brought its blade down on him drop to the ground.
His eyes locked for the shortest moment with those of his saviour, and he was not surprised at the age he read in them, an age belied by her outward appearance.
She did not seem to take him in, immediately whirling away to attack another one of the beasts. Haldir followed her example after a second, clutching his wounded arm to him and forcing his new awareness of his mortality down. There was a stalemate of sorts during a few minutes, but despite their best efforts, the Uruk-hai were slowly and inexorably pushing them back towards the keep.
Haldir was about to enter the keep when he caught sight of her again, a few feet into the swarm of Uruk-hai, hacking away at them with the same fluidity. Elves and Rohirrim were retreating, but she was holding her ground and did not seem in a haste to follow the orders. Exceedingly deadly that she might be, she would not hold much longer once every one else was back in the keep, and Haldir ran back towards her, slaughtering as he went.
He had been fighting by her side for a few minutes when he found enough breath to yell at her, "Did you not hear the order to retreat?" Not many could manage to yell in an arrogant and haughty manner, even less so when fighting for their lives, but Haldir was part of those skilled few.
She only cast him a dismissive glance and muttered something to herself in a language he did not understand.
Haldir flexed his wounded arm tentatively and found that, even though moving it hurt infinitely, it had lost none of its capacity. He gritted his teeth and secured it around the woman's waist, pulling her backward. She was surprised and her elbow flew into his face, catching him in the cheekbone. He cursed and snapped at her to stop her nonsense and come with him, all the while still fighting off Uruk-hai.
She seemed to realise what he meant at last and nodded at him, retreating slowly to the keep. The doors were closed and barricaded after them. Haldir leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. He brought a hand to his cheekbone and was relieved to find that it was not broken.
He only realised she was standing in front of him when she spoke a few words in that odd language of hers, gesturing vaguely to his face. All of her weight rested on one of her hips and her body language, not to mention the look on her face, spoke of casualness. Then she broke into a grin and said a few more words, looking rather excited. Her look reminded him of that Rúmil wore when there were celebrations at Caras Galadhon.
The thought roused his concern for his brothers. Were they well? Many of his kin had fallen tonight, he had seen the battlements strewn with their bodies.
As if on cue, Rúmil appeared at his side. "Who is your friend, muindor?" he asked in Sindarin.
"Where is Orophin?" was all Haldir answered, careful to keep his tone even.
"Putting what little healing skills he has into practice." A shadow crossed Rúmil's usually light features. "Many have passed on to the Halls of Waiting, but we three were... lucky. Who is your friend?" he repeated, eyes alighting on the woman.
Haldir looked back at her. She was watching them with raised eyebrows, her face a picture of awe. He truly looked at her for the first time, high forehead and big brown eyes with blue pigment colouring her lids, full lips rendered darker by red pigment, long wavy brown hair, no armour to better protect her and garments that puzzled him – close-fitting breeches of a rough, dark material, high-heeled shoes that should not have been practical at all for fighting, an even-closer-fitting red piece of cloth leaving her throat more than visible under a jacket of the same material as the breeches.
Haldir ignored his body's reaction to her and was about to tell his brother that he did not have the slightest clue when Aragorn stepped up to them and addressed her in Westron. "Indeed, we are all most curious to know who you are." The man's tone was not outright demanding, but there was a current of steel underlying his words.
The woman looked at him with a slight frown and casually blabbered out something in her language. Surely, if anyone could understand her, it would be Aragorn. His travels as a Ranger had taken him to many uncharted territories. But his frown only grew after she spoke, and he glanced at Haldir as if to ask if he understood her. Haldir simply shook his head.
The woman rolled her eyes and pointed at herself. "Faith." She then proceeded to mime punching something, pointed at herself again, and raised two thumbs up.
Haldir wondered whether she was not simply out of her mind.
"Take her to the caves with the other women," Théoden ordered as he mounted his horse. "We have a stand to make."
Haldir stepped in between her and the King. "She is a most skilled warrior and would not go amiss when we ride out."
"I will not have a woman fight with us, let alone one I know nothing about."
"Even one who could take any of your men down without much of an effort?" Haldir enquired with an arched eyebrow. He turned up his nose. "Though she might have more trouble with an Elf."
"Haldir is right, my lord," Aragorn then pressed. "I have seen her skill."
Théoden made a dismissive wave of his hand. "Very well. I care not."
Haldir turned back to her and nodded towards the horses. She spread her hands in ignorance, shrugging with a saddened pout. He frowned, extended his arm towards her. "You can ride with me."
She watched him for a few seconds, then headed for the horses. Haldir mounted first, and then Rúmil helped her settle behind Haldir. One of her arms closed around his waist; she still held the Uruk sword in her other hand.
Rúmil repeated the word she had seemed to say was her name, Faith, to draw her attention, and traded her the weapon against a long Elvish sword that Haldir recognised as that of Nimred, a close friend of his brother.
"A weapon more befitting of you," Rúmil told her with one of his dazzling smiles.
Haldir raised enquiring eyebrows at his brother, nodding towards the sword. Surely Rúmil would not appear so light-hearted if anything had happened to Nimred.
Rúmil shook his head. "He is wounded, but Orophin assured me he would pull through. He needs but a few hours' rest."
There was no time to discuss it further, for Théoden ordered the doors open and Rúmil barely had time to mount that they were riding out into the horde of Uruk-hai. The beasts' surprise and the advantage of being mounted enabled them to ride their way into the plain in front of the battlements. All through the battle, her arm stayed clenched around Haldir's waist, her hand gripping his armour. A few times he heard her talk to herself out loud, as when Mithrandir brought reinforcement.
He grew alarmed when he felt her suddenly leave his side, having already grow accustomed to her body in his back and the counterweight of her arm around him, but as he turned around on his mount he found her safely hacking away at Uruk-hai. Of course it was naught but an illusion; not even her could be safe in such a battle.
The Uruk-hai soon acknowledged their defeat and scattered, making for a forest that had not stood there a short while earlier. Mithrandir ordered them all to stay back and Haldir watched in awe as the sound of stampeding, grunting Uruk-hai were progressively, sinisterly quelled.
Orders were soon given to gather the dead and bury them, and Haldir let his eyes roam over the survivors to find her. She was wiping Nimred's blade on a rag of black cloth she had probably torn from an Uruk's garment. He strode up to her, hearing as he passed them by Aragorn telling Mithrandir about her.
"You are unharmed," he told her, despite knowing that she could not understand him. It was not his even tone that was going to clue her in on what he might be saying.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she looked up at him and grinned again. She was such a peculiar creature, so thrilled at having taken part in a most bloody battle. She spoke again, as casually as ever. Was there anything that she would approach in a not casual way? Her eyes acquired a particular twinkle as she let them quite significantly roam over Haldir's body. His own eyes were again drawn to the tight red cloth following so closely the swell of her breasts.
Aragorn and Mithrandir's arrival snapped him out of it, and he hoped he was not as easy to read as he feared. The wizard's brow was frowned as he spoke a few words to her in one language after another. She watched him curiously at first, but quickly seemed to get bored and stopped it with a hand on his arm and a few words of her own. She then looked demandingly at Haldir.
Mithrandir turned to him. "It seems that she has taken a liking to you, Haldir."
"Can you understand her?" he hopefully asked, despite knowing the answer.
The Istar shook his head. "What do you know of her coming here?"
"Naught. I spotted her first while she was slaughtering Uruk after Uruk. I know naught of her, the way she came to be here, or the reasons behind her presence."
Aragorn and Mithrandir both still looked highly suspicious, but the Istar finally relented. "She has seemed to be naught but an asset so far. If she is willing to fight with us, we cannot afford to turn her down. But I would not accept her unconditionally. Would you watch over her?"
Haldir could not help raising his eyebrows in surprise. "I do not know that I am the most qualified for this mission, Mithrandir."
"Ever were you successful in watching over the borders of Lórien," Mithrandir countered with his usual good-natured gruffness. "She does seem to favour you, does she not?"
Haldir glanced at her; she had lost patience with following a conversation she could not understand a word of and had plopped herself down on the body of an Uruk, studying closely the sword she had wielded through the battle. She clearly approved of its design. The Elf looked back at the wizard and the Dúnadan. "Ay, I shall watch over her."
Mithrandir nodded with a tight smile and made to go, stopping at the last moment. "Oh, does she have a name?"
"Faith."
Haldir watched her look up upon hearing her name. She held his look for a moment, while Aragorn and Mithrandir walked away without a word, then stood up and wiped at the back of her breeches as if to dust them. She flattened a hand on her throat and again said her own name, before pointing at him with raised eyebrows. She wanted his name.
"Haldir."
She repeated it rather clumsily, seeming to have particular difficulty with the rolling 'r' and the exact texture of the 'l'. Haldir silently berated himself for not being irritated at the peculiar way she pronounced his name. What foolishness was this? He turned his nose up on her and repeated his name with the right pronunciation. She laughed at him and said it again in that imperfect way, a challenge shining in her eyes.
"Thank you," she clumsily said in Sindarin as Orophin finished dressing her wound.
The Elf rose, acknowledging her thanks, if not her gratitude, with a nod. In fact, she had been adamant that he should not tend to her, but Orophin knew to be as stubborn as Haldir himself. She had finally sighed and let him apply balms and bandages in silence. The Marchwarden felt a hint of guilt for the wound that she had taken, before burying it under some irritation at her. It was hardly his fault that she had been unable to control her horse. She had insisted on riding on her own in the morning, after all. He had endeavoured to make her see reason, but how did you bring your point across when the one that ought to be convinced could not understand a word of what you were saying?
Of course the few basic riding principles he had tried to engrain in her over the last few days would not be enough for her to ride on her own. But she too could be a most stubborn creature, and Haldir had been weary of arguing and had decided she might as well ride on her own and get thrown off her mount if she so wished. What was it to him?
She had done better than he had thought she would, until they neared the Gate of course. Her horse took fright, as did all of its congeners, only she was unable to calm it down. She was thrown off and received a long gash along her forearm as she fell on a sharp rock, while her horse ran away.
As it was, she stood up and shrugged on her jacket. Haldir had noted with mounting annoyance that many a gaze had been directed at her bosom as soon as she had taken it off for Orophin to tend to her wound. It was to be expected, and yet it rankled him.
Aragorn signalled they should move on and Haldir whispered a few more soothing words to his mount as they entered, one after the other, the Gate. He remained behind as much as he could, the last of Elves and Men to enter, and as he looked back he saw her and Gimli exchange a daring, complicit look, then walk in together. The relationship of sorts that she had developed with the Dwarf was an odd one, as was everything about her. Gimli did not understand a word of what she said either, but they had reached an agreement of some kind. A look here when either of them made a remark, a snort there at someone's expense or a grunt at another's; they seemed to be on a certain level of understanding. That, too, annoyed Haldir.
At one point something on the left of their path glittered and Aragorn came closer, giving his own torch to Elladan that the twin might light him as he crouched down in front of a man's body, naught but bones under his mail and hauberk. His belt and helm had glittered as they passed, for they were gilded. Haldir approached steadily closer, no more afraid of this than of the whole place; as Legolas and his brothers, the ghosts of Men held no dominion over him.
She had knelt next to Aragorn, and when Haldir looked at her eyes he saw there reflected a temptation and a hunger that frightened him. She raised a hand towards the gold, but Gimli beat the Elf to it and laid his own on her arm, bringing it down.
"No, lass," the Dwarf grumbled with a shake of his head. "In any other cave I would have been the first to run to the gleam of the gold. Not here. Let it lie."
She seemed to see something in him that brought her back to her senses, for she stood back up, nodding, and stepped away from the remains of the man. Aragorn spoke his assent, then challenged out loud the ghosts of Men held in this place to meet him at the Stone of Erech. The challenge was followed by utter silence, such silence as even Haldir's Elvish hearing deemed complete. Then a blast of chill hair blew through the caves and put out the torches, that could not be lit again. They walked on and Haldir again walked at the hind, where she was trudging alongside Gimli. Not for the first time, he wondered whether Mithrandir had chosen his words purposefully when he had asked Haldir to watch over her. While the Elf had then seen in the words nothing more than the necessity to keep an eye on her, ignorant as they were of her origins, nature or purpose, it seemed that he was also meant to look after her. He would not be content otherwise.
After a few more hours of traipsing through the dark caves, the company finally walked out into the open air. They mounted again, Gimli with Legolas and her with Haldir, and broke into a gallop to reach the Stone of Erech ere the day was over. The dead were following close on their heels, and they frightened many an inhabitant of the land they crossed.
The shadows of the night were dark indeed when they reached the Stone of Erech. There Aragorn blew the silver horn Elrohir presented him and called forth the Dead to honour their Oath at last, and be set free once they helped them free the land around Pelargir from all servants of Sauron. The Dead did not answer but with silence and the company set down for the night.
Haldir saw the uneasiness of the men. Dúnedain they might be, but those ghosts unsettled them in a way the Elf could not quite grasp. Gimli the Dwarf fared little better, holding an animated conversation with Legolas to belie his anxiety. She had rolled herself in a blanket and was sitting but a few feet from the Stone, as if to put as much distance as possible between her and the ghosts.
Orophin stepped up next to Haldir, face as unreadable as ever. "You were never one to take your duty lightly, muindor."
"There is darkness in her," was his only answer.
"Ay. Darkness of past deeds, but darkness of emotions, too. Guilt, and a great sorrow, though she would not have us see it."
Haldir looked back at her hunched form and saw that her shoulders were shaking.
Faith rolled herself up in a blanket and edged close to the big oval stone. She purposefully avoided looking at the lands around them, and it wasn't just a question of her tingling sixth sense. Sure, those ghosts would have made anybody's skin crawl, but she had seen worse things in her time. Namely herself, for starters. They reminded her a bit too clearly of a period of her life she liked not to think about too much. Their coldness and their deadness brought back memories of what she had done, of where she had been headed.
The looming thought that she might be stuck in this place forever did not help.
Each hour, each day spent here increased the feeling. She had not thought much about it at first, convinced that whatever had brought her here to help with that battle would bring her back eventually. But as time wore on, she felt less and less sure of that. And the prospect of being stuck here was not a happy one.
She drew her legs to herself and lay her forehead on her knees. The posture was unlike her, but she was not feeling much like herself. There were shadows everywhere she looked, and neither staying in place nor moving forward looked like the way to avoid them. She missed Robin horribly, she realised with alarm. There was a part of her that could not but acknowledge that. She was longing to hear him reassure her in that calm, soothing voice of his. Even when she only had him on the phone she could guess when he smiled, the devilish smile that, indeed, made him prettier than her. There were also the many unresolved issues she had left behind her. She would never have admitted to it if she had still been in her world, but a part of her had never let go of the hope that Buffy and she could make things right between them again.
She was exhausted in all possible ways, she thought in her defence when she realised she was crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks to end on her denim-clad knees. She had been dropped into a whole other world, in the middle of a war for what she could make out, nobody trusted her – not like that was new – and she could not make herself understood by any of them.
She started when a hand was laid on her arm. She looked up into a pair of blue eyes that were, for once, warm though guarded. She wondered again what those pointy-eared guys were, to sometimes have such age reflected in their looks. She wiped away at her tears and frowned defensively. "What?"
Haldir did not say anything, displaying uncharacteristic hesitation instead. His expression seemed to flutter between his usual arrogant and snotty mask, and one of concern and sympathy that she had not seen on him before. The latter eventually won out. It made him painfully beautiful, an echo of the raging emotions within Faith's chest and a mirror of her suffering. She could not hold back her tears any longer.
After a few seconds' immobility, Haldir puller her to him to offer her what comfort he could by his silent presence. Both would have heartily denied it, but it was cuddled against Haldir that Faith silently cried herself to sleep that night.
Faith leaned forward on the balcony, looking down at the white city below. She was vaguely aware of the presence of the guard that was tailing her, somewhere in the hallway. She was used to him by now. Him or another; still, now that the war was over, they did not completely trust her, at least not enough to let her roam through the White Tower on her own. Her position was an odd one; she was respected for her role in the battles she had taken part in, and yet not trusted. Aragorn and his companions liked her, she was pretty sure, but they did not let that cloud their judgement regarding everything they did not know about her.
Aragorn was a pretty decent guy.
Which was why he deserved that beautiful elleth he had just married. The celebrations were still going on downstairs, and would probably carry on until dawn. Faith had considered getting wasted, but had stopped drinking before she crossed a line she could not come back from. She had spent the feast tucked between Gimli and a guy she did not know and had proceeded to get bored out of her mind.
The bases of Sindarin Rúmil had managed to drill into her skull were of no help to follow the conversations at the table; they were probably in Westron and Rúmil hardly spoke it himself. Since he had been the only one to have the time and will to bother trying to make her able to communicate with others, she knew all in all five words in Westron: thanks, goodbye, hello, kill, and fight. The basics, right?
She had lost hope to go back home. Her heart tightened again at the thought of Robin. Rúmil reminded her of him, sometimes. He was so patient with her, when she clearly wasn't cut for all that intellectual stuff and was a very slow learner. He was patient, gentle, and amusing. As pretty as Robin, too, in a very different way; they all were, those edhel.
She let her gaze sweep from the city's lower levels to the land beyond, the Pelennor where they had fought not so long ago. The ground still bore marks of the battle. She wondered whether they would let her go away on her own, if she wanted to. Not that she did. She would not know where to go. In fact, she did not know what the fuck she was supposed to do at all, now that the war was over.
"She walked off on her own," Rúmil told Haldir as Orophin and he walked up to him.
The Marchwarden remained impassive, not willing to admit that he had indeed been looking for her in the crowd.
"Has she expressed what she wanted to do with herself now?" Orophin asked nonchalantly.
Orophin did nonchalantly about as well as Haldir did light-heartedly. The Marchwarden stared evenly at his two brothers as Rúmil answered, apparently oblivious to his elder brother's scrutiny: "Not a word. I think she is confused and unable to choose a path. She might not even know of her options."
"I thought it would be obvious she were to stay in Minas Tirith," Haldir remarked evenly, still studying them.
Rúmil frowned. "I am loth to be parted from her." Haldir did his best to ignore the knot in his chest at the thought that Rúmil might have such ties with her. His brother's face cleared of any line to gain an innocent look. "Furthermore, she can stumble her way through some basic Sindarin sentences, but knows five words of Westron at most. We could not expect her to reside in a Mannish city, could we?"
Haldir remained silent at that, and Orophin stepped in, aiming at a surprised tone. "Do you mean to say you would want her to travel back with us to Lothlórien?"
"You are a sadly poor actor, muindor," Haldir told him with exasperation. "I do admit that I would not feel at ease, leaving her behind. Have you suggested to her that she might come with us?"
Rúmil shook his head, a smirk playing on his thin lips. "I rather thought to leave you the honour. Our lady earlier confided in me that neither she nor her husband would see any objection to her presence in their realm, and that they trusted one exceptional Marchwarden to take care of her."
Haldir looked at one face, then the other. They were so proud of themselves that he felt like grabbing one head to slam it against the other. He was always wary that his brothers should see through him, for it always led them to push him to do the things he ought to, but would not do. Or was that would, but ought not to do?
He raised an eyebrow at them in a challenging manner. "Very well. I shall go and have a word with her."
He left before they had the time to say anything to him and was indicated the direction she had taken by one of the guards on duty at the entrance of the room. He found her soon enough and dismissed the guard Elessar had set on her. She turned to him as he approached, and once again he was struck by her appearance. She had not let them dress her in a gown, not even for Elessar's wedding with the lady Undómiel, but wore the same kind of clothes as she had upon her arrival. These had been cut and sewn especially for her by the best seamstresses of the White City, modelled after what she had managed to explain and sketch. The material was not that which she favoured for her breeches, for they did not have such in Arda, but it was as close as they could get. The ones she had on were dark blue and followed her every curve, and the dark piece of cloth that tried to cover her upper body was as unsuccessful at it as her original top had been. It left the whole of her arms uncovered, as well as her throat, and attracted the eye to the swell of her breasts. Again, his body reacted to her despite his better judgement, and he forced himself to look up into her face with irritation. He did not like to be so out of control.
Her big eyes were shining with something he could not quite name, or did not dare to. He forced himself to speak past the exasperating tightness in his throat, slowly in hope that she would understand him: "Rúmil told me that you had no plans for your future."
She frowned, tilting her head to the side. "Plans?" she awkwardly repeated.
Haldir took a few steps closer to her. "What you will do now."
Her face cleared in understanding for an instant, clouded again the next. The glint had disappeared from her eyes and her whole posture spoke of unease. Her gaze wandered to a tapestry on the wall. Her accent was still thick and unlike any other he had ever heard as she spoke one of the sentences she knew best. "I do not know."
He made his sentence as simple as he could for her to understand, resenting the fact that it got closer to the raw truth of the matter than he was comfortable with. "Rúmil, Orophin and I thought that you could come back with us to Lothlórien."
He studied her face even more closely as she frowned, clearly trying to ascertain what he had said. "Come back with you? To your land?"
"Ay."
"Why?"
The question surprised him. Why? Did she not realise the honour that she was shown? "Whyever not?"
"Why?" she stubbornly insisted. "What is in your land for me?"
"Friends," Haldir replied earnestly. "Rúmil has grown quite attached to you," he hastened to clarify. "Beauty, too. You have not seen true beauty until you have seen the city of Caras Galadhon."
She stared at him in silence for a few seconds and he slowly retreated behind his impassive mask, uneasy at being truly seen by her. "Beauty?" she finally asked with a small helpless shake of her head.
Haldir could not help the corner of his lips to lift in the shadow of a smile. "Ay. None could teach you the true meaning of the word until you came to see Lothlórien."
She smiled back hesitantly, and yet her eyes were shining again. Beautiful. He could have taught her the word by holding up a mirror to her face. Her long hair fell in lascivious waves around her face and his fingers had softly stroked one of the strands before he could hold himself back. He froze his hand and looked back up in her eyes with surprise at his own actions, to find her looking at him with unmistakable desire.
Her voice, although dropped, rang with challenge. "You ask me come with you?"
He let his hand linger an instant longer on her hair, brushing his fingertips along her collar bone, then snatched it back. She stepped forward before he could do the contrary, head tilted up toward his. Her eyes were fixed on his, her lips slightly parted, her breath blowing warmly against his skin. Her hands slid up to his nape and brought his face down toward hers, stopping with their lips a hair's breadth away.
She waited for him to close the gap. He had only just entertained the thought of pulling back that he complied, pressing his lips on hers in a kiss as soft as it was demanding. The moment passed and their tongues met in an almost violent show of longing and fervour. Their bodies pressed close, leaving nothing to the imagination as Haldir's hands naturally found their way to her waist and pulled her even closer. It seemed as though there would always be too much space between them.
Her own hands roamed over his body, from his nape down his muscular back, on the broad expanse of his chest, all the while their tongues probed and stroked, licked and twirled. Her hands settled on his chest and pushed slightly, just enough to break the kiss. They were both breathing heavily, eyes glazed over, skins on fire.
"I come to your land, ay."
She slid her hands down his chest as if to delay the moment of separation and stepped back, meaning to go.
Their eyes had still not strayed the ones from the others. She made to walk past him.
Haldir caught her wrists.
Still they held each other's gaze, for what seemed a time both too short and too long.
Slowly, they moved to stand in each other's arms.
~~ fin ~~
greenie_breizh's fault, really. She's keeping me far too happy. And when we're not exchanging cookie recipes, I've had to write. I'm proud to say both birthday fics were done on time! Granted has been posted and liked by Marion, so yay! Harshness, cold and deceit has been beta'ed and is ready to be posted on D-day. On the English front: I'll be living in Grappenhall next year, a village not far from Warrington and Manchester. I got an e-mail from a German assistant I will be living with. I'll be working at Lynn High School. We attended a couple days' meeting in Besancon to prepare us for next year, it was most informative. I cannot wait to be there.
This weekend I left my flat for good. I won't miss the place so much as the people, though Nancy is a much finer city, in my opinion, than Reims. Still, it's good to be back here and see the family a bit. Will be leaving on the sixth of July to go to Rennes with
greenie_breizh (she'll be leaving on the second). Have got my Sarkgasm t-shirt at last! Which makes me think I should write a small something about the last Alias episode. And HP3. And the end of Angel.The Alias finale
So very badly written. Imho. A very bad structure, plot twists that make no sense and serve no purpose besides getting Vaughn there (a punctured lung? who cares!) or setting up bad, cheap suspense (is Marshall dead? Is Vaughn dead? What exactly is this Sydney Bristow project?). A Sark that seems as good at this game as someone fresh out of the CIA training camps. Oh, and I was wondering, do the writers have a bet going about how many season finales they can end with Sark being imprisonned, and still get him back and not-executed the next year?
On the good side, I very much like the lighting of the Vaughn/Sark scene in the interrogatory room. It will do for some very nice screen caps. As for the scene itself, it was delightfully dark, in a barely bearable way. I was quite tense while watching it. The actual killing of Lauren was rather anti-climatic and very cheap, just like Katya's betrayal. Cheap, cheap, cheap.
Oh, and lots of Weiss goodness! I really do hope they end up developping him more.
HP3
I liked the gloominess. I hated the pathetic attempts at humour. I think that sums it up pretty well. The movie was badly-balanced. Also, can Daniel Radcliffe still not act, or was it the directing that sucked? I really liked his "teen anger" scene at the Dursleys, especially when he kicked into some piece of furniture, that rang so true, but - the scene where he's crying under the Invisibility Cloack? Followed by a bout of anger? I did not believe in that at all. Even Emma, who usually does a pretty convincing job by my standards (or probably just compared to Rupert and Daniel), did not always ring true. And she could not punch someone to save her life.
As for the book-lover in me, grrr. Yes, Gary Oldman played Sirius perfectly. He just doesn't look like he's supposed to. Let's not even mention Remus, or the "werewolf". Why did they overdo Peter so? What was up with Draco being such a wuss? Why are all the wizarding kids dressed in Muggle clothes? Why can't they get a Butterbeer? The Marauders who? And while we're at it, Ginny who? Quidditch? You need more than two Beaters and a Seeker to play that game? The house cup? What?
I think the acting was a true problem in that movie. Not only with the three main kids. I like Michael Gambon, but that was not Dumbledore, it was a washed-out Gandalf. Even Allan Rickman seemed to not be as good as usual. Gary Oldman, again, was spot-on, and he might have been the only one. Emma Thompson, whom I usually adore, quite disappointed me.
There were a few good points, though. Again, Gary Oldman. Buckbeak - I adored Buckbeak. Harry's voice. The twins!! Oh my. I didn't have a clue, back when I started loving them, that they would turn out to be such eye candy. Also, Draco in a very physical way, since they quite ruined his character for me - well, he was good in that first scene with Hagrid's lesson. Oh, and I like Neville's looks, too. The Dementors looked wicked, but I didn't much like the effects that accompanied their arrival for Harry in the Hogwarts Express. I liked the new sets, too.
The movie was not altogether bad. It's just that, on the whole, it was more frustrating than anything else. So much potential in the book, so little on screen.
Have just checked out imdb for GoF and OotP - at least Jason Isaacs signed up for the both of them, yay! However, no mention of Narcissa for GoF. Or of Viktor. I am quite afraid we'll just skkip the Quidditch World Cup. The mere idea of doing that book in one movie is rather nonsensical to start with, imho. Oh well.
Angel
It does feel rather rushed. "Damn, we're being cancelled. We'll have to wrap it up real quick!" Let me not mention David's acting skills. Let me just rejoice for an instant with the memory of Angel's "I want you" to Lindsey. Which makes me think that Lindsey's death got to me much more than Wesley's. Probably because Wesley's was rather obvious. He's no Willow. Sending him against that guy on his own was sending him to his death. I don't know when it happened exactly, but I think that at some point along the season, I lost the connection I had to Wes. It saddens me. But back to the point, Lindsey's death scene really got to me. Probably because I've always loved Lindsey's character so, and no matter that I didn't recognise him in this fifth season, to some degree in that finale he was more himself than at any other point during the season. Besides, it was mostly because of Lorne. I love what they did with Lorne over the season. Another "guy" I wanna cuddle.
Connor was great. I like how Angel seemed semi-surprised (as much of an emotion as can show on his face, anyway) when Connor told him he remembered. Yes, Angel needed it spelled out. *sigh* But the kid was great. Loved the hair, too, on a very superficial note. Marcus was disappointing - our first sight of him would make one think that he was not one for idle chatter when he had a goal to achieve. So, again, they used the "let's have the bad guy talk too much so the good guy can win" trick. It didn't fit him, in my opinion, and it was so very clichéd. Adam did an amazing job, as always, though. Kudos to Adam!
I liked the end in itself, the fact that it stopped *before* the battle. It leaves things so very open, and yet we know that they are ready to die for this. It's somehow much more powerful than actually seeing them die (or being rescued by a small army of Slayers led by Andrew, as I like to think).
And so, here is the first of the birthday fics. Written for Marion, aka samwise_gamgee_fan. Set after Buffy's season seven and during the War of the Ring.
Granted
When fighting, Faith liked to think of herself as poetry in motion. If there was one thing she was good at, it was Slaying, and she enjoyed taking it to whole new levels. It used to be "just fun," in her early years. Now, it was art. It was a matter of smoothness and grace, of bending just the right way and striking out at just the right time, of dodging just barely and of staking without breaking the movement.
It was now seven years since she had been Called. Of course, she had had time to perfect Slaying into making it an art. And, predictably, she was now bored.
"I wouldn't mind," punch, drop, "if you guys tried a little harder," stake, dust. A spin, right in time to flip backwards, kicking one in the chin in passing. Three of them encircling her, and the fight was unfair for them. "Yo, guys, seriously," another kick to the head, a roll and a stake through the back, dust, "make an effort. For me?" A dodge and a smile, a punch and a stake, dust, "I really wish that," a somersault and an extended leg just in time to propel the last one forward, "I got a real battle for a change." Sidestep and stake, dust. "Really."
She dusted her clothes with a sigh. Yep. Things were boring. She had left Cleveland behind a few months before, after it had appeared that there were more than enough well-trained Slayers to take care of the Hellmouth. The cemeteries were getting too crowded to her liking. Robin had decided to stay and they had parted in good terms, which was a first for Faith. Usually, she parted in no terms at all. But the two of them had actually stayed buddies. He was her first true friend. She even called regularly to give him news and check up on the Council, ready to go back if some apocalypse or other required as many Slayers as possible.
But ultimately, her little tour of the States was not better than Cleveland. She had just wanted something against the restlessness. It had been a far shot, but worth the try.
Yep. A real battle once in a while wouldn't be unwelcome.
In the shadows of a mausoleum, a heavily-ridged face grinned. The vengeance demon, like most of her colleagues, had been reassigned from vengeance cases to the ever-growing Slayer situation. There were far too many to maintain the balance, and everyone's efforts were bent upon ridding them of as many of those Chosen Ones as possible. This was a golden opportunity Faith had just presented her. There would be one less Slayer in this world, and the demon would probably get a promotion for it. D'Hoffryn might even invite her to one of his renowned dinner parties, with the cream of the demon world.
"Granted."
Faith stopped on her way out of the cemetery, her sixth sense suddenly all tingly. It figured she wouldn't have dusted all the vamps. Please let it not be a fledgling, she prayed to the PTBs. A master vampire would be welcome. Or even better, a real dangerous demon with some brains to go with their strength. She turned around and oofed in shock as one of the ugliest demons she'd ever seen tackled her to the surprisingly hard ground. Pain lanced up her elbow but she lost no time and headbutted the demon, disarmed it and used its own sword to cut its throat, rolling it off her before too much blood got on her. Not much of a battle either.
Then the enormity of what had happened struck her. This wasn't the cemetery. This was a battlefield, and everywhere around her people and demons were fighting to the death. It even looked like she was on the battlements of a fucking castle! Below her, on a wide plain, herds of the ass-ugly demons were massing and pushing forward, climbing up ladders.
The mother of all explosions shook the very rampart she was standing on and she fell to her knees, hands going instinctively over her ears. She watched with wide eyes as stones and men fell back, blown as they had been by the explosion. There was now a huge gap in the wall, and the beasts were all rushing forward to get in.
"Fuck."
Then she snapped out of it. This was what she had wanted, after all. A real battle. She picked up the weird sword she had taken from the demon and set forth in the battle, using all the skills her years as a Slayer had taught her. The fact that some of the other fighters battling the demons had pointy ears completely escaped her attention.
When Haldir first noticed her, he wondered if it was possible the Rohirrim had sent their women into battle after all. He sliced through the neck of an Uruk, keeping an eye on her slim figure, and only just missed being run through by another as he watched her jump over one of them to skewer it from behind. She was handling one of the Uruk's own swords, too, a weapon that should have been far too heavy for someone of her build. Haldir came back to his own fight just in time to sidestep the coming blow and slew the Uruk-hai from behind.
He was forced to pay more attention to his surroundings and less to the small figure of a woman who seemed to be killing the Uruk-hai almost effortlessly. The few glimpses he did catch of her from time to time served in quelling his fear for her life. If anyone were going to survive this battle, it was her. Seldom had he seen such graceful, skilled warriors in action; only the most accomplished of his own kind could dream of rivalling with her fluid deadliness and the implacable strength that seemed to underline her every move.
He eventually lost sight of her and stopped trying to locate her as a new swarm of Uruk-hai rushed their failing defences. A few long minutes later, when he heard Aragorn shout for them to retreat to the keep, he relayed the order without disapproval.
The pain to his arm came as a surprise and he slew the Uruk that had slashed him almost instinctively, taken up in the alarming discovery that he might not live to see the next Age after all. He turned around when he heard a grunt that sounded much too close to him for his safety, only to watch the corpse of the Uruk that would have brought its blade down on him drop to the ground.
His eyes locked for the shortest moment with those of his saviour, and he was not surprised at the age he read in them, an age belied by her outward appearance.
She did not seem to take him in, immediately whirling away to attack another one of the beasts. Haldir followed her example after a second, clutching his wounded arm to him and forcing his new awareness of his mortality down. There was a stalemate of sorts during a few minutes, but despite their best efforts, the Uruk-hai were slowly and inexorably pushing them back towards the keep.
Haldir was about to enter the keep when he caught sight of her again, a few feet into the swarm of Uruk-hai, hacking away at them with the same fluidity. Elves and Rohirrim were retreating, but she was holding her ground and did not seem in a haste to follow the orders. Exceedingly deadly that she might be, she would not hold much longer once every one else was back in the keep, and Haldir ran back towards her, slaughtering as he went.
He had been fighting by her side for a few minutes when he found enough breath to yell at her, "Did you not hear the order to retreat?" Not many could manage to yell in an arrogant and haughty manner, even less so when fighting for their lives, but Haldir was part of those skilled few.
She only cast him a dismissive glance and muttered something to herself in a language he did not understand.
Haldir flexed his wounded arm tentatively and found that, even though moving it hurt infinitely, it had lost none of its capacity. He gritted his teeth and secured it around the woman's waist, pulling her backward. She was surprised and her elbow flew into his face, catching him in the cheekbone. He cursed and snapped at her to stop her nonsense and come with him, all the while still fighting off Uruk-hai.
She seemed to realise what he meant at last and nodded at him, retreating slowly to the keep. The doors were closed and barricaded after them. Haldir leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. He brought a hand to his cheekbone and was relieved to find that it was not broken.
He only realised she was standing in front of him when she spoke a few words in that odd language of hers, gesturing vaguely to his face. All of her weight rested on one of her hips and her body language, not to mention the look on her face, spoke of casualness. Then she broke into a grin and said a few more words, looking rather excited. Her look reminded him of that Rúmil wore when there were celebrations at Caras Galadhon.
The thought roused his concern for his brothers. Were they well? Many of his kin had fallen tonight, he had seen the battlements strewn with their bodies.
As if on cue, Rúmil appeared at his side. "Who is your friend, muindor?" he asked in Sindarin.
"Where is Orophin?" was all Haldir answered, careful to keep his tone even.
"Putting what little healing skills he has into practice." A shadow crossed Rúmil's usually light features. "Many have passed on to the Halls of Waiting, but we three were... lucky. Who is your friend?" he repeated, eyes alighting on the woman.
Haldir looked back at her. She was watching them with raised eyebrows, her face a picture of awe. He truly looked at her for the first time, high forehead and big brown eyes with blue pigment colouring her lids, full lips rendered darker by red pigment, long wavy brown hair, no armour to better protect her and garments that puzzled him – close-fitting breeches of a rough, dark material, high-heeled shoes that should not have been practical at all for fighting, an even-closer-fitting red piece of cloth leaving her throat more than visible under a jacket of the same material as the breeches.
Haldir ignored his body's reaction to her and was about to tell his brother that he did not have the slightest clue when Aragorn stepped up to them and addressed her in Westron. "Indeed, we are all most curious to know who you are." The man's tone was not outright demanding, but there was a current of steel underlying his words.
The woman looked at him with a slight frown and casually blabbered out something in her language. Surely, if anyone could understand her, it would be Aragorn. His travels as a Ranger had taken him to many uncharted territories. But his frown only grew after she spoke, and he glanced at Haldir as if to ask if he understood her. Haldir simply shook his head.
The woman rolled her eyes and pointed at herself. "Faith." She then proceeded to mime punching something, pointed at herself again, and raised two thumbs up.
Haldir wondered whether she was not simply out of her mind.
"Take her to the caves with the other women," Théoden ordered as he mounted his horse. "We have a stand to make."
Haldir stepped in between her and the King. "She is a most skilled warrior and would not go amiss when we ride out."
"I will not have a woman fight with us, let alone one I know nothing about."
"Even one who could take any of your men down without much of an effort?" Haldir enquired with an arched eyebrow. He turned up his nose. "Though she might have more trouble with an Elf."
"Haldir is right, my lord," Aragorn then pressed. "I have seen her skill."
Théoden made a dismissive wave of his hand. "Very well. I care not."
Haldir turned back to her and nodded towards the horses. She spread her hands in ignorance, shrugging with a saddened pout. He frowned, extended his arm towards her. "You can ride with me."
She watched him for a few seconds, then headed for the horses. Haldir mounted first, and then Rúmil helped her settle behind Haldir. One of her arms closed around his waist; she still held the Uruk sword in her other hand.
Rúmil repeated the word she had seemed to say was her name, Faith, to draw her attention, and traded her the weapon against a long Elvish sword that Haldir recognised as that of Nimred, a close friend of his brother.
"A weapon more befitting of you," Rúmil told her with one of his dazzling smiles.
Haldir raised enquiring eyebrows at his brother, nodding towards the sword. Surely Rúmil would not appear so light-hearted if anything had happened to Nimred.
Rúmil shook his head. "He is wounded, but Orophin assured me he would pull through. He needs but a few hours' rest."
There was no time to discuss it further, for Théoden ordered the doors open and Rúmil barely had time to mount that they were riding out into the horde of Uruk-hai. The beasts' surprise and the advantage of being mounted enabled them to ride their way into the plain in front of the battlements. All through the battle, her arm stayed clenched around Haldir's waist, her hand gripping his armour. A few times he heard her talk to herself out loud, as when Mithrandir brought reinforcement.
He grew alarmed when he felt her suddenly leave his side, having already grow accustomed to her body in his back and the counterweight of her arm around him, but as he turned around on his mount he found her safely hacking away at Uruk-hai. Of course it was naught but an illusion; not even her could be safe in such a battle.
The Uruk-hai soon acknowledged their defeat and scattered, making for a forest that had not stood there a short while earlier. Mithrandir ordered them all to stay back and Haldir watched in awe as the sound of stampeding, grunting Uruk-hai were progressively, sinisterly quelled.
Orders were soon given to gather the dead and bury them, and Haldir let his eyes roam over the survivors to find her. She was wiping Nimred's blade on a rag of black cloth she had probably torn from an Uruk's garment. He strode up to her, hearing as he passed them by Aragorn telling Mithrandir about her.
"You are unharmed," he told her, despite knowing that she could not understand him. It was not his even tone that was going to clue her in on what he might be saying.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she looked up at him and grinned again. She was such a peculiar creature, so thrilled at having taken part in a most bloody battle. She spoke again, as casually as ever. Was there anything that she would approach in a not casual way? Her eyes acquired a particular twinkle as she let them quite significantly roam over Haldir's body. His own eyes were again drawn to the tight red cloth following so closely the swell of her breasts.
Aragorn and Mithrandir's arrival snapped him out of it, and he hoped he was not as easy to read as he feared. The wizard's brow was frowned as he spoke a few words to her in one language after another. She watched him curiously at first, but quickly seemed to get bored and stopped it with a hand on his arm and a few words of her own. She then looked demandingly at Haldir.
Mithrandir turned to him. "It seems that she has taken a liking to you, Haldir."
"Can you understand her?" he hopefully asked, despite knowing the answer.
The Istar shook his head. "What do you know of her coming here?"
"Naught. I spotted her first while she was slaughtering Uruk after Uruk. I know naught of her, the way she came to be here, or the reasons behind her presence."
Aragorn and Mithrandir both still looked highly suspicious, but the Istar finally relented. "She has seemed to be naught but an asset so far. If she is willing to fight with us, we cannot afford to turn her down. But I would not accept her unconditionally. Would you watch over her?"
Haldir could not help raising his eyebrows in surprise. "I do not know that I am the most qualified for this mission, Mithrandir."
"Ever were you successful in watching over the borders of Lórien," Mithrandir countered with his usual good-natured gruffness. "She does seem to favour you, does she not?"
Haldir glanced at her; she had lost patience with following a conversation she could not understand a word of and had plopped herself down on the body of an Uruk, studying closely the sword she had wielded through the battle. She clearly approved of its design. The Elf looked back at the wizard and the Dúnadan. "Ay, I shall watch over her."
Mithrandir nodded with a tight smile and made to go, stopping at the last moment. "Oh, does she have a name?"
"Faith."
Haldir watched her look up upon hearing her name. She held his look for a moment, while Aragorn and Mithrandir walked away without a word, then stood up and wiped at the back of her breeches as if to dust them. She flattened a hand on her throat and again said her own name, before pointing at him with raised eyebrows. She wanted his name.
"Haldir."
She repeated it rather clumsily, seeming to have particular difficulty with the rolling 'r' and the exact texture of the 'l'. Haldir silently berated himself for not being irritated at the peculiar way she pronounced his name. What foolishness was this? He turned his nose up on her and repeated his name with the right pronunciation. She laughed at him and said it again in that imperfect way, a challenge shining in her eyes.
"Thank you," she clumsily said in Sindarin as Orophin finished dressing her wound.
The Elf rose, acknowledging her thanks, if not her gratitude, with a nod. In fact, she had been adamant that he should not tend to her, but Orophin knew to be as stubborn as Haldir himself. She had finally sighed and let him apply balms and bandages in silence. The Marchwarden felt a hint of guilt for the wound that she had taken, before burying it under some irritation at her. It was hardly his fault that she had been unable to control her horse. She had insisted on riding on her own in the morning, after all. He had endeavoured to make her see reason, but how did you bring your point across when the one that ought to be convinced could not understand a word of what you were saying?
Of course the few basic riding principles he had tried to engrain in her over the last few days would not be enough for her to ride on her own. But she too could be a most stubborn creature, and Haldir had been weary of arguing and had decided she might as well ride on her own and get thrown off her mount if she so wished. What was it to him?
She had done better than he had thought she would, until they neared the Gate of course. Her horse took fright, as did all of its congeners, only she was unable to calm it down. She was thrown off and received a long gash along her forearm as she fell on a sharp rock, while her horse ran away.
As it was, she stood up and shrugged on her jacket. Haldir had noted with mounting annoyance that many a gaze had been directed at her bosom as soon as she had taken it off for Orophin to tend to her wound. It was to be expected, and yet it rankled him.
Aragorn signalled they should move on and Haldir whispered a few more soothing words to his mount as they entered, one after the other, the Gate. He remained behind as much as he could, the last of Elves and Men to enter, and as he looked back he saw her and Gimli exchange a daring, complicit look, then walk in together. The relationship of sorts that she had developed with the Dwarf was an odd one, as was everything about her. Gimli did not understand a word of what she said either, but they had reached an agreement of some kind. A look here when either of them made a remark, a snort there at someone's expense or a grunt at another's; they seemed to be on a certain level of understanding. That, too, annoyed Haldir.
At one point something on the left of their path glittered and Aragorn came closer, giving his own torch to Elladan that the twin might light him as he crouched down in front of a man's body, naught but bones under his mail and hauberk. His belt and helm had glittered as they passed, for they were gilded. Haldir approached steadily closer, no more afraid of this than of the whole place; as Legolas and his brothers, the ghosts of Men held no dominion over him.
She had knelt next to Aragorn, and when Haldir looked at her eyes he saw there reflected a temptation and a hunger that frightened him. She raised a hand towards the gold, but Gimli beat the Elf to it and laid his own on her arm, bringing it down.
"No, lass," the Dwarf grumbled with a shake of his head. "In any other cave I would have been the first to run to the gleam of the gold. Not here. Let it lie."
She seemed to see something in him that brought her back to her senses, for she stood back up, nodding, and stepped away from the remains of the man. Aragorn spoke his assent, then challenged out loud the ghosts of Men held in this place to meet him at the Stone of Erech. The challenge was followed by utter silence, such silence as even Haldir's Elvish hearing deemed complete. Then a blast of chill hair blew through the caves and put out the torches, that could not be lit again. They walked on and Haldir again walked at the hind, where she was trudging alongside Gimli. Not for the first time, he wondered whether Mithrandir had chosen his words purposefully when he had asked Haldir to watch over her. While the Elf had then seen in the words nothing more than the necessity to keep an eye on her, ignorant as they were of her origins, nature or purpose, it seemed that he was also meant to look after her. He would not be content otherwise.
After a few more hours of traipsing through the dark caves, the company finally walked out into the open air. They mounted again, Gimli with Legolas and her with Haldir, and broke into a gallop to reach the Stone of Erech ere the day was over. The dead were following close on their heels, and they frightened many an inhabitant of the land they crossed.
The shadows of the night were dark indeed when they reached the Stone of Erech. There Aragorn blew the silver horn Elrohir presented him and called forth the Dead to honour their Oath at last, and be set free once they helped them free the land around Pelargir from all servants of Sauron. The Dead did not answer but with silence and the company set down for the night.
Haldir saw the uneasiness of the men. Dúnedain they might be, but those ghosts unsettled them in a way the Elf could not quite grasp. Gimli the Dwarf fared little better, holding an animated conversation with Legolas to belie his anxiety. She had rolled herself in a blanket and was sitting but a few feet from the Stone, as if to put as much distance as possible between her and the ghosts.
Orophin stepped up next to Haldir, face as unreadable as ever. "You were never one to take your duty lightly, muindor."
"There is darkness in her," was his only answer.
"Ay. Darkness of past deeds, but darkness of emotions, too. Guilt, and a great sorrow, though she would not have us see it."
Haldir looked back at her hunched form and saw that her shoulders were shaking.
Faith rolled herself up in a blanket and edged close to the big oval stone. She purposefully avoided looking at the lands around them, and it wasn't just a question of her tingling sixth sense. Sure, those ghosts would have made anybody's skin crawl, but she had seen worse things in her time. Namely herself, for starters. They reminded her a bit too clearly of a period of her life she liked not to think about too much. Their coldness and their deadness brought back memories of what she had done, of where she had been headed.
The looming thought that she might be stuck in this place forever did not help.
Each hour, each day spent here increased the feeling. She had not thought much about it at first, convinced that whatever had brought her here to help with that battle would bring her back eventually. But as time wore on, she felt less and less sure of that. And the prospect of being stuck here was not a happy one.
She drew her legs to herself and lay her forehead on her knees. The posture was unlike her, but she was not feeling much like herself. There were shadows everywhere she looked, and neither staying in place nor moving forward looked like the way to avoid them. She missed Robin horribly, she realised with alarm. There was a part of her that could not but acknowledge that. She was longing to hear him reassure her in that calm, soothing voice of his. Even when she only had him on the phone she could guess when he smiled, the devilish smile that, indeed, made him prettier than her. There were also the many unresolved issues she had left behind her. She would never have admitted to it if she had still been in her world, but a part of her had never let go of the hope that Buffy and she could make things right between them again.
She was exhausted in all possible ways, she thought in her defence when she realised she was crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks to end on her denim-clad knees. She had been dropped into a whole other world, in the middle of a war for what she could make out, nobody trusted her – not like that was new – and she could not make herself understood by any of them.
She started when a hand was laid on her arm. She looked up into a pair of blue eyes that were, for once, warm though guarded. She wondered again what those pointy-eared guys were, to sometimes have such age reflected in their looks. She wiped away at her tears and frowned defensively. "What?"
Haldir did not say anything, displaying uncharacteristic hesitation instead. His expression seemed to flutter between his usual arrogant and snotty mask, and one of concern and sympathy that she had not seen on him before. The latter eventually won out. It made him painfully beautiful, an echo of the raging emotions within Faith's chest and a mirror of her suffering. She could not hold back her tears any longer.
After a few seconds' immobility, Haldir puller her to him to offer her what comfort he could by his silent presence. Both would have heartily denied it, but it was cuddled against Haldir that Faith silently cried herself to sleep that night.
Faith leaned forward on the balcony, looking down at the white city below. She was vaguely aware of the presence of the guard that was tailing her, somewhere in the hallway. She was used to him by now. Him or another; still, now that the war was over, they did not completely trust her, at least not enough to let her roam through the White Tower on her own. Her position was an odd one; she was respected for her role in the battles she had taken part in, and yet not trusted. Aragorn and his companions liked her, she was pretty sure, but they did not let that cloud their judgement regarding everything they did not know about her.
Aragorn was a pretty decent guy.
Which was why he deserved that beautiful elleth he had just married. The celebrations were still going on downstairs, and would probably carry on until dawn. Faith had considered getting wasted, but had stopped drinking before she crossed a line she could not come back from. She had spent the feast tucked between Gimli and a guy she did not know and had proceeded to get bored out of her mind.
The bases of Sindarin Rúmil had managed to drill into her skull were of no help to follow the conversations at the table; they were probably in Westron and Rúmil hardly spoke it himself. Since he had been the only one to have the time and will to bother trying to make her able to communicate with others, she knew all in all five words in Westron: thanks, goodbye, hello, kill, and fight. The basics, right?
She had lost hope to go back home. Her heart tightened again at the thought of Robin. Rúmil reminded her of him, sometimes. He was so patient with her, when she clearly wasn't cut for all that intellectual stuff and was a very slow learner. He was patient, gentle, and amusing. As pretty as Robin, too, in a very different way; they all were, those edhel.
She let her gaze sweep from the city's lower levels to the land beyond, the Pelennor where they had fought not so long ago. The ground still bore marks of the battle. She wondered whether they would let her go away on her own, if she wanted to. Not that she did. She would not know where to go. In fact, she did not know what the fuck she was supposed to do at all, now that the war was over.
"She walked off on her own," Rúmil told Haldir as Orophin and he walked up to him.
The Marchwarden remained impassive, not willing to admit that he had indeed been looking for her in the crowd.
"Has she expressed what she wanted to do with herself now?" Orophin asked nonchalantly.
Orophin did nonchalantly about as well as Haldir did light-heartedly. The Marchwarden stared evenly at his two brothers as Rúmil answered, apparently oblivious to his elder brother's scrutiny: "Not a word. I think she is confused and unable to choose a path. She might not even know of her options."
"I thought it would be obvious she were to stay in Minas Tirith," Haldir remarked evenly, still studying them.
Rúmil frowned. "I am loth to be parted from her." Haldir did his best to ignore the knot in his chest at the thought that Rúmil might have such ties with her. His brother's face cleared of any line to gain an innocent look. "Furthermore, she can stumble her way through some basic Sindarin sentences, but knows five words of Westron at most. We could not expect her to reside in a Mannish city, could we?"
Haldir remained silent at that, and Orophin stepped in, aiming at a surprised tone. "Do you mean to say you would want her to travel back with us to Lothlórien?"
"You are a sadly poor actor, muindor," Haldir told him with exasperation. "I do admit that I would not feel at ease, leaving her behind. Have you suggested to her that she might come with us?"
Rúmil shook his head, a smirk playing on his thin lips. "I rather thought to leave you the honour. Our lady earlier confided in me that neither she nor her husband would see any objection to her presence in their realm, and that they trusted one exceptional Marchwarden to take care of her."
Haldir looked at one face, then the other. They were so proud of themselves that he felt like grabbing one head to slam it against the other. He was always wary that his brothers should see through him, for it always led them to push him to do the things he ought to, but would not do. Or was that would, but ought not to do?
He raised an eyebrow at them in a challenging manner. "Very well. I shall go and have a word with her."
He left before they had the time to say anything to him and was indicated the direction she had taken by one of the guards on duty at the entrance of the room. He found her soon enough and dismissed the guard Elessar had set on her. She turned to him as he approached, and once again he was struck by her appearance. She had not let them dress her in a gown, not even for Elessar's wedding with the lady Undómiel, but wore the same kind of clothes as she had upon her arrival. These had been cut and sewn especially for her by the best seamstresses of the White City, modelled after what she had managed to explain and sketch. The material was not that which she favoured for her breeches, for they did not have such in Arda, but it was as close as they could get. The ones she had on were dark blue and followed her every curve, and the dark piece of cloth that tried to cover her upper body was as unsuccessful at it as her original top had been. It left the whole of her arms uncovered, as well as her throat, and attracted the eye to the swell of her breasts. Again, his body reacted to her despite his better judgement, and he forced himself to look up into her face with irritation. He did not like to be so out of control.
Her big eyes were shining with something he could not quite name, or did not dare to. He forced himself to speak past the exasperating tightness in his throat, slowly in hope that she would understand him: "Rúmil told me that you had no plans for your future."
She frowned, tilting her head to the side. "Plans?" she awkwardly repeated.
Haldir took a few steps closer to her. "What you will do now."
Her face cleared in understanding for an instant, clouded again the next. The glint had disappeared from her eyes and her whole posture spoke of unease. Her gaze wandered to a tapestry on the wall. Her accent was still thick and unlike any other he had ever heard as she spoke one of the sentences she knew best. "I do not know."
He made his sentence as simple as he could for her to understand, resenting the fact that it got closer to the raw truth of the matter than he was comfortable with. "Rúmil, Orophin and I thought that you could come back with us to Lothlórien."
He studied her face even more closely as she frowned, clearly trying to ascertain what he had said. "Come back with you? To your land?"
"Ay."
"Why?"
The question surprised him. Why? Did she not realise the honour that she was shown? "Whyever not?"
"Why?" she stubbornly insisted. "What is in your land for me?"
"Friends," Haldir replied earnestly. "Rúmil has grown quite attached to you," he hastened to clarify. "Beauty, too. You have not seen true beauty until you have seen the city of Caras Galadhon."
She stared at him in silence for a few seconds and he slowly retreated behind his impassive mask, uneasy at being truly seen by her. "Beauty?" she finally asked with a small helpless shake of her head.
Haldir could not help the corner of his lips to lift in the shadow of a smile. "Ay. None could teach you the true meaning of the word until you came to see Lothlórien."
She smiled back hesitantly, and yet her eyes were shining again. Beautiful. He could have taught her the word by holding up a mirror to her face. Her long hair fell in lascivious waves around her face and his fingers had softly stroked one of the strands before he could hold himself back. He froze his hand and looked back up in her eyes with surprise at his own actions, to find her looking at him with unmistakable desire.
Her voice, although dropped, rang with challenge. "You ask me come with you?"
He let his hand linger an instant longer on her hair, brushing his fingertips along her collar bone, then snatched it back. She stepped forward before he could do the contrary, head tilted up toward his. Her eyes were fixed on his, her lips slightly parted, her breath blowing warmly against his skin. Her hands slid up to his nape and brought his face down toward hers, stopping with their lips a hair's breadth away.
She waited for him to close the gap. He had only just entertained the thought of pulling back that he complied, pressing his lips on hers in a kiss as soft as it was demanding. The moment passed and their tongues met in an almost violent show of longing and fervour. Their bodies pressed close, leaving nothing to the imagination as Haldir's hands naturally found their way to her waist and pulled her even closer. It seemed as though there would always be too much space between them.
Her own hands roamed over his body, from his nape down his muscular back, on the broad expanse of his chest, all the while their tongues probed and stroked, licked and twirled. Her hands settled on his chest and pushed slightly, just enough to break the kiss. They were both breathing heavily, eyes glazed over, skins on fire.
"I come to your land, ay."
She slid her hands down his chest as if to delay the moment of separation and stepped back, meaning to go.
Their eyes had still not strayed the ones from the others. She made to walk past him.
Haldir caught her wrists.
Still they held each other's gaze, for what seemed a time both too short and too long.
Slowly, they moved to stand in each other's arms.
~~ fin ~~
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-06-29 10:41 am (UTC)It doesn't sound very English-like. But the place seems nice. I mean, there's two pubs. :::wbeg:::
And hey, there's a nice anecdote about the cat carving on the church tower:
"The cat which is carved into the stone work above the west window has attracted much interest, it is thought by some to be a sort of logo for a builder who worked on the church many years ago by the name of Catterall. It has been suggested that its grinning expression may make it the original Cheshire cat and the inspiration for the cat in Lewis Carroll's book "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.""
no subject
Date: 2004-06-30 12:40 pm (UTC)Anyhoo, have friended you back. Love your side graphic, pics of beautiful nummy men. Mmmmm. Okay, some women too, but still.
[wink]
no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 03:34 am (UTC)And yes, they are yummy, aren't they? Though I'll go for men and women alike. ;)
Background
Date: 2004-07-01 02:33 pm (UTC)Now you have to expand a bit your list of Who's Who, 'cause your old entry doing so isn't valid anymore. :-P
I think there may be two or three persons I don't recognize, though I most probably know them. Nice to see Kronos in the bunch. And it's really Kronos, there. *Kronos*, not Val Pelka.
Re: Background
Date: 2004-07-02 08:33 am (UTC)Again, I miss Kronos. Does that make me a psycho? Yes, most likely.
Re: Background
Date: 2004-07-04 06:53 am (UTC)I mean, I'm sure he had some one days.
At least once. A long time ago. Maybe as a toddler.