Hello! I'm beginning a LOTR ROTK fanfic, featuring my signature character, Goldleaf. I'm posting the start on here - a second extract will come soon! Kind comments are much appreciated! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it

Copyrighted by Goldy(I love LOTR)Inc

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Eleniel looked up, hearing the gentle tap on the door. Sighing, she got to her feet, crossing the room. Her baby daughter whimpered in her small wooden cot, and Eleniel looked over her shoulder. “Ssh. I’ll only be a moment.” This seemed to comfort the child, and she piped down, kicking her small chubby legs underneath her blanket.
Eleniel opened the door. Framed in the doorway stood a young woman of about twenty-one, clad in a weather-worn blue travelling dress, which was stained with dried blood and caked with mud at the hem. Her face, streaked with sweat and dirt, was framed by stringy strands of dark blonde hair which looked as if it had not been washed in months. The girl gave a wry smile.
“I’m sorry to bother you. But I was told that I might be given a room here in the houses of healing, should it be allowed. There is no room in the Steward’s court for me.”
Eleniel frowned at her. “What do you want a room here for?” she queried. The question came out like a harsh demand, more suspicious than Eleniel had intended.
“I’ve just arrived in Minas Tirith. I came from Ithilien. I would be happy to give up any room which might be bestowed upon me here to someone who has been sick or injured – when the time arises,” the girl replied. The hint that war was coming could not be missed. “I do not expect I would be here much, anyway.”
Eleniel sighed. “Very well. Come in.” She ushered the girl into the room, closing the door behind her. If she did not take pity on her, who would? She took the measure of her new guest with a sweep of her blue eyes. “You look dreadful.”
The girl laughed. “That’s what two years in the wild will do to you.” She gazed around the room with eyes a brighter blue than Eleniel’s. The walls were white, and the room was plainly furnished, leading out onto a balcony upon which twined many plants, probably herbs of healing.
Eleniel raised her eyebrows. “Two years in the wild?” she repeated. “You look too young to live the life of a vagabond.”
The girl turned back towards her. “Perhaps so. But I had little choice.” She paused. “You are very kind to let me stay here. I appreciate that I will probably be a burden on you.”
“What is your name?” Eleniel looked at her curiously. The girl’s accent was Gondorian. But what had she been doing in Ithilien? The forest was abandoned, and no one but the rangers of Ithilien and Haradrim walked those paths. Eleniel wanted to know how she had come to be there, but she knew that she could not ask outright without sounding rude.
“Goldleaf,” the girl replied. “And yours?”
“Goldleaf? That’s an unusual name, for sure,” Eleniel said. “Mine is Eleniel. Now.” She folded her arms. “We can’t have you going about in your present state around here. You’d scare the patients. Let me see if I can find you a new gown.”
Surprised, Goldleaf watched as Eleniel crossed the room towards a chest of drawers. When her hostess came back, she was carrying in her arms a piece of folded, glacial white cloth. “Go through there.” Eleniel pointed towards a door which led into an adjacent room. “You can get changed and clean yourself up too.”
Hesitantly, Goldleaf took the gown from Eleniel. “Thank you.” She turned and walked into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Eleniel gave a faint smile and turned towards the cot of her child.
“There now. She doesn’t seem so bad, does she?” she queried her little daughter, who gurgled, now quite as ease, with a broad, toothless smile.

When Goldleaf came back she was wearing the white gown Eleniel had given her, her old blue one folded up in her arms. She had washed her hair and her face; she combed her fingers through her wet hair, which, now clean, took on a new golden hue which before had been dulled by grease. Her skin now washed, Eleniel could see that she was actually quite a beautiful girl; her features were delicate, and her skin pale. Such a change was this that Eleniel was taken aback.
“Why! You look lovely!” she exclaimed. “Here. Let me get you a mirror.” She gave Goldleaf a square piece of glass framed by white-painted wood. Goldleaf’s hands folded around the edges, looking at her reflection as if it was that of a stranger.
She saw in the glass the girl that she had once been, before she had had to abandon her old life for one of make-shift houses, scavenging, and sleepless nights on the forest floor.
She gave the mirror back to Eleniel. “I have not had a change of clothes for a long time; yet alone chances to wash my hair and face.” Her tone had a numb edge. She glanced across the room, spotting the sheathed sword propped up against the wall, and a Gondorian helmet resting beside it.
“Whose are those?” she asked Eleniel.
Eleniel paused. She took a deep breath, and her smile vanished, her face shuttering down, the friendly expression replaced by one of guardedness. “My husband’s.” She paused again. “He’s dead.”
“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry…”
“Don’t be.” Eleniel shook her head. “It’s not your fault. He fell in Ithilien, two days ago. A ranger brought me his sword and helmet. To remember him. As if that would make up for him not being here, his daughter barely six months old!”
Her words rushed out in a blurt, thickened by tears, which she hastily wiped away. Goldleaf looked on, longing to say something comforting, but words utterly escaping her.
Eleniel pushed back her long, dark red hair, her fingers tensed and knotted, as if she wanted to rip great chunks of the shimmering copper strands out of her head. She glanced at Goldleaf, hands falling to her sides. “I’m sorry.”
“No… it’s alright. I understand.”
“Do you?” Eleniel’s tone veered close to sharpness.
“More than you know.” Goldleaf said no more. She did not want to tell Eleniel of her own loss, the very reason why she was here in the first place. To avenge the death of one she had loved, in what little way she could. A sheathed sword was folded under her arm; Eleniel had not noticed it before, but it had been strapped to a belt round her waist when she had been wearing the blue dress.
Eleniel noticed the sword now. “What do you carry that for?”
“To use it,” Goldleaf replied. Eleniel frowned.
“You can bear arms?” she said, incredulously. “That’s completely unheard of. What use is a woman on the battlefield?”
“Plenty of use, when she can wield a blade,” Goldleaf said. “And I was trained as a child to do so. Unusual, perhaps, but all those who fear death by a blade must surely carry one themselves, to outweigh that fear.”
“You are a strange girl, Goldleaf. Perhaps the strangest I have ever met. Do you really wish to fight? I do not think it would be allowed.”
“I cannot be stopped from doing so if I wish. One more blade lessens the chance of Gondor’s defeat. And Minas Anor needs every sword she can get.” Goldleaf’s gaze did not waver.
Eleniel frowned, completely astonished. “Do you think we can win this war?” she said. There was something stubborn about Goldleaf, and Eleniel sensed that though her faith in her country had taken many hits, it had never faded. Eleniel’s own faith in Gondor had reached breaking point when the news of her husband’s death had been brought to her.
“If we have enough belief. If we have enough faith.” Goldleaf’s words surprisingly echoed Eleniel’s thoughts. “We cannot so easily give up hope. Even in darkness, there must be some light. We must not doom ourselves to our own defeat by lack of self-belief.”

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~~Siggy by Lembas~~

Here is the second extract!

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The day passed fairly quickly, swiftly turning into late afternoon, then early evening, before fading to night. Eleniel had given Goldleaf a small room which looked off a balcony, giving her a view of the river. She stood there now, the long sleeves of her white dress fluttering in the night breeze, trying to catch a better glimpse of Osgiliath.
Her old home. The place she had lived in and loved for nineteen years, happy with her family. Old memories came back to her in the darkness; voices she had not heard in what seemed an age of the earth. They belonged to her parents. Her sister.
“Goldleaf, put that sword down! We’re supposed to be going to the market!”
“No one is ever going to let you on a battlefield…”
“Goldleaf!”
“Goldleaf…”
She blinked, tears springing to her eyes. She brushed them away bitterly. It hurt to remember; it was so acutely painful she could hardly bear to. She would never see them again, let alone hear their voices. That was why, on that fateful day two years ago, she could not stay there. She could not stay in the house when the people she had lived in it with were gone. It would have been like living with the ghost of a life; and she would not have accepted pity from her neighbours, which she was sure would have been offered all too gladly. No. Ithilien had been her choice. She had gone, alone, miserable, grieving, into the forest, away from the cities of Gondor.
Why had the battle happened? Why had the orcs come? They were sent into Osgiliath on a day where there was no army, and too few soldiers to protect the citizens of the city. They had been sent to kill the families, kill the children. It was cowardice indeed that they should fight in such a manner, but what else could be expected from such monsters? Taking a deep breath, Goldleaf remembered more. Her sister, Silverleaf, pushing her aside against the wall of their house.
“You can’t fight them, Goldleaf. There are too many of them.” Her elder sister’s voice was hurried and sharp with fear. Goldleaf struggled, her arm still in Silverleaf’s tight grip.
“Let me go!” she protested.
“They’d kill you! You foolish, stupid girl, listen for once in your life. They’d kill you.” Silverleaf glared at her, frantic with worry, tugging at her arm again. She pulled her round the back of the house, as the screams and clash of metal grew louder, coming towards them.
“I have to… I have to…” Goldleaf’s voice took on a shrill edge. “Mother and father are out there! You know father never carries a sword, and mother…” she tried one more time to pull away from her sister, but Silverleaf was too strong.
“I’m not letting you go out there to die.” Silverleaf’s blue-grey gaze met Goldleaf’s bright blue with a stern insistence. “Listen to me. You have so much to live for, don’t you see? Do you want to meet your end by an orc’s blade?”
“What would it matter.” Goldleaf shrugged resignedly. Her fist was clenched so tight round her sword-hilt that her knuckles had turned white. “What would it matter now?”
Silverleaf knew what she spoke of. She drew her into a hug. Strands of Goldleaf’s bright golden hair brushed against Silverleaf’s paler blonde locks. “If he truly willed it, he would have stayed with you. He wouldn’t have let you go.”
Goldleaf sheathed her sword and flung her arms round her sister, tears born of fear and heartbreak trickling down her cheeks. She hugged her back tightly, trying to block out the sound of death round the corner. “You don’t understand. He had to. He had to, it was for me…”
Goldleaf pushed away the memory abruptly. She did not want to remember anymore of that day. She was back on the balcony, far away from her sister. She gazed out into the night, trying to make out the pale white buildings of her old home.
Then, hearing the quiet footstep on the balcony behind her, she turned, seeing Eleniel. She had a white shawl thrown around her shoulders and her dark red hair was plaited back. She did not look as if she had been sleeping; rather, as if she had dressed herself for bed and then given up on the hope that she would get any rest.
“Eleniel.” Goldleaf gave a small smile. “Why are you up?”
“Why are you up?” Eleniel retorted. “I heard you walking around.” She paused, then shook her head with a rueful smile. “To be honest, I could not sleep. Knowing that there was someone else up equally sleepless, I had to come and find them.”
Goldleaf laughed. “I never get much sleep,” she admitted. “Sometimes I walk around to try and make myself tired, but it doesn’t often work. So I came out here.”
“What were you looking at?” Eleniel asked. She stepped closer to the edge of the balcony to stand beside Goldleaf.
“Osgiliath.” Goldleaf’s reply came quietly. “I used to live there.” Eleniel glanced at her. This was what she had not known before, what Goldleaf had not told her.
“Why did you leave?” Eleniel’s tone was just as quiet, and she asked the question carefully. Goldleaf looked at her. She sighed. She had never talked about it to anyone, she had never had anyone to talk to it about.
“There was a battle. One morning, a, a… surprise attack, if you like. An ambush on the defenseless of Osgiliath.” Her tone wobbled a little. Eleniel remained silent as she listened. “My family, they… they… I had to leave. There was nothing to stay for.”
Eleniel’s arm came round Goldleaf’s shoulders. She gently hugged her to her. “I understand.” She paused. “Did you truly have no one to look after you? To stay with?”
“I could have stayed with my neighbours, but I could not bear to. They would be too sympathetic, too understanding. Every day spent there would just be spent remembering.” Goldleaf struggled to control her voice again, to make it firm and emotionless.
She wondered what he would have done if he had known. If she had been able to tell him of what had happened. If he had not turned her away. Maybe then it would have been different. But it was too late to wonder. He, the one it hurt too much to name, was dead. His death was only very recently known to her; it had, after all, been two years since last she had seen his face, heard his beloved voice. She should have expected something to change since then. But she had not expected such a big, such a final change.
She still loved him. She had loved him all this time, even in the moment when he had told her that they could not be together, she had loved him. Perhaps all the more. There had been so much standing in their way. His family. His position in life, his duty, which he could not swerve from, no matter what. In his life there could be no room for love, for simplicity. He was destined for a higher place. But it had not been about any of that. He had said goodbye for her. Because of all of this, he could never give her the life he knew she deserved. A happy life, a simple life.
She had understood it. Even though she had cried. Even though she had screamed at him, yelled at him to try and change his mind, frantic with grief. There could have been no other way, not for them. She could hear his voice in her head as if it had been yesterday…
“You deserve more than I can give you. In my heart I know you deserve more, though believe it, no one could love you more than I do now.”
Boromir.
The name uttered itself in her head, almost shocking her. She blinked away her tears and looked at Eleniel, drawn back from her memories. Eleniel looked back, frowning.
“Are you alright, Goldleaf?”
“Fine.” Goldleaf nodded, smiling stubbornly. “I’m fine.”

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~~Siggy by Lembas~~

Here is the third extract of the story! This next part features Aravir; he was created by Nerissa a while ago, and she has kindly allowed me to use him, since we have plotted over his relationship with Goldleaf for a long time!

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The next day followed after another sleepless night. This day everyone in the city seemed nervous; as if they stood on the brink of some unknown doom. There were nervous whispers of what might come, there were many mentions of the name of Faramir, the Steward’s last living son, and when he might come back to the city.
Goldleaf listened to the worried talk of the city people without a word, and made her way back to the houses of healing, where was Eleniel sitting over her child’s cot, watching her go to sleep with a tiny smile. As Goldleaf stepped into the room Eleniel looked up, noting the younger woman’s unreadable expression.
“The city isn’t as cheery as once it was,” she said. “A lot has changed since last you were here.” She rose from the chair beside her daughter’s cot, smoothing her pale grey skirts. Goldleaf nodded.
“I know it,” she said. She paused. “Everyone is speaking of Faramir. They want to know when he will come. They think he is their last hope.”
“So he is!” Eleniel raised her eyebrows. “His father is… well, he’s run mad, if you must know. If he had any sense he’d have a much bigger army. How can we have any hope of winning this war with such a small collection of men?”
Goldleaf crossed the room towards the small wooden table and drew out a seat. Sweeping her white skirts out of the way, she seated herself. “I know. But it is not good to place all our hope on one young man. Strong though he is, the weight might yet break him.”
Eleniel sighed. “If his brother were still alive, then perhaps the situation might not be so grim.”
Goldleaf stiffened immediately and said nothing. She gazed at the table surface. She did not want to talk about him. She did not want to mention his name, the pain would be too great. Eleniel frowned at her.
“Goldleaf? What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.” Goldleaf shook her head. “Nothing, I’m alright.” She did not look at Eleniel, hoping that she would drop the subject of Boromir.
Suddenly, there was a shriek from outside in the corridor. Both women looked up, confused. Eleniel hurried over to the door and wrenched it open. There were people rushing down the hallway, voices high and mingled with hope and nerves.
Eleniel stopped a passing woman. “What is it? What has happened?”
“Captain Faramir has drawn his men from Osgiliath! They cross the Pelennor as we speak…” the woman’s voice was hurried. “We’re going to the courtyard.”
Eleniel glanced back at Goldleaf, who had risen from her seat. “Come. We’re going too.”

They rushed with the other women down the levels of Minas Tirith to the courtyard of the city. The great doors were pulled open to let in Faramir and his men. The horses clattered into the courtyard, and there were many cries of joy and relief from the onlookers. A rider all in white had also come in with them; he had in front of him what looked like a small boy – he was certainly the right height for one, but it seemed to Goldleaf he looked older.
She recognized in a moment the white rider to be Mithrandir; the wizard was known to the people of Gondor, for he often visited the city to make use of the many historic scrolls and accounts. Goldleaf would have darted forward, but Eleniel’s attention was caught by one of the men who had came in. He was dark-haired and slumped over on his horse; he looked as if he was wounded. Goldleaf desperately wanted to see Mithrandir, but Eleniel was gesturing impatiently to her, that she should come with her to tend to the man.
With once last glance at the wizard as he urgently went forward to speak with Captain Faramir, who looked as if he had been looking for Mithrandir, Goldleaf darted off to follow Eleniel.
“Are you hurt?” Eleniel approached the man. Now that they were closer to him Goldleaf could see that he was not a ranger of Ithilien nor any soldier of Gondor; he was clad in weather-worn dark garb, and carried a longbow, with a quiver strapped to his back, and a sheathed sword at his belt.
Taking a small, ragged breath of air, the man nodded, clutching his wound. “Yes… I think so… I took a blow to the shoulder.” He struggled to dismount from his horse, and Eleniel helped him down.
“I’m a healer. We will take you to the houses of healing, where we can tend to your wound.” Eleniel smiled reassuringly at him. Goldleaf hovered, wondering what to do.
The man nodded. “Thank you.” He caught Goldleaf’s glance. His eyes were dark and narrowed with pain. Trying to gain balance on his feet, he gave a faint smile. Goldleaf returned it hesitantly, and went forward to help him.
She slid an arm under his shoulders to support him. He didn’t seem very steady. “There.” She glanced at him to see if he was in any more pain. He looked back with his faltering smile.
“Thank you. You’re kind,” he said, as Goldleaf helped him along the cobbled road. Eleniel walked beside them, with an approving look. Goldleaf looked as if she might be a good healer.

They helped him up the levels leading to the houses of healing. Once they had reached them, they took him through the main entrance room towards one of the rooms for the patients. There were small beds set out in rows for the wounded or sick; the room was well lit with a balcony, and the scent of herbs hung in the air.
Goldleaf helped the man to sit down on one of the beds. He seemed relieved to take the weight off his feet. Goldleaf stepped back, glancing over at Eleniel, who was fetching a length of cotton.
“What is your name?” Goldleaf asked him, curious. Clutching his shoulder, he looked up.
“Aravir,” he replied.
“You’re not from Gondor?” Goldleaf queried further. She was interested. There was something strange about this man; he seemed to have a faint Gondorian air, yet there was something old about it, distant even.
“No.” He shook his head. “Well… not exactly. My ancestors were. That is the best way I can explain it.”
Eleniel came forward with the cotton and a bag of herbs, and seated herself beside Aravir. Goldleaf frowned.
Aravir smiled at her. Eleniel looked up. “Goldleaf, make yourself useful and fetch me a bowl of water.”
Goldleaf nodded hurriedly and rushed off to obey Eleniel’s request. As she poured water from a ewer into a small clay bowl, she pondered over Aravir’s words. Who was he? Yet there was no time to wonder. They had to treat his wound. She thought of the warmth of his smile and immediately forced herself not to consider it.
She came back with the bowl and stood by Eleniel, waiting to see if there was anything more she could do. Her thoughts turned to the retreat from Osgiliath. What had happened there? Were they so very overwhelmed? It was as everyone had said; war was coming. Goldleaf would be ready.

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~~Siggy by Lembas~~

Finally a Goldomir fic, of sorts. I always knew it was a sad story but this was very moving Goldy dear. I liked it a lot, your writing flows well and I'd like you continue.

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VITAM AETERNO; an original creature roleplay