The Last Dreamwalker

What It Means To Be A Royal

"You are getting better."

Lessien rose her eyebrows. "I still do not understand how it all works."

"You do not need to understand. The concept is simple, really. You can change anything you wish in your Dreamworld, whereas others cannot. Men dream and are powerless as they sleep. You, on the other hand, are lethal in both reality and Dreamworlds," Gandalf explained.

"I do not feel any stronger," Lessien said slowly.

Gandalf pursed his lips. "But you are. You have mastered Fire in your Dreamworld and you can engage in combat even as you are present in a Dreamworld. You have learned how to be in two separate states of consciousness as well as managed to pull other's consciousnesses into your Dreamworld."

"It has been a busy two weeks," Lessien offered.

"You are too modest," Gandalf explained. "You have done well, girl, and I believe you are ready for what is to come. Now, do you wish to speak of what happened that night a week ago?"

Lessien opened her mouth, considering the night when she had been attacked by those assassins. The night when she had last seen Legolas.

She closed her mouth and shrugged, walking over to the sturdy black stone table that was pressed up against the wall.

Unsheathing her sword, she placed it on the table and then began taking off her pauldrons and breastplate. After taking off all of her armor, she set it out on the table.

Some servant boy would come around and have it delivered back to Lessien's rooms half an hour or so later.

"You spoke to Legolas that night, didn't you?"

"And why would it matter?" Lessien asked absentmindedly as she secured her scabbard around her hips.

"I just was wondering how you were coping," Gandalf said.

"Oh, well, I have spent the past few weeks working myself to death trying to get these concepts, at the same time trying to appease Denethor, who, I might add, is a raging lunatic that wants to bed me. Not to mention, I am destined to die within the next few days. So, yes, I am coping." She said the last word with force, sheathing her sword in an angry, swift movement.

Lessien turned to face Gandalf. She was drenched in sweat and she smelled terrible. It had been quite the training session.

Denethor had allowed Gandalf and Lessien to use the fortress's Room of Arms. The room was an open, simple rectangle. It had white marble floors, walls, and ceilings. Beautiful dark wooden beams supported the ceiling. Windows lined the walls, cut into the marble like slits. It was incredibly light, with dark wood doors on either ends of the room, one leading into the fortress and one leading out into the courtyard.

Gandalf seemed upset.

Lessien furrowed her eyebrows. She wished to avoid any dispute because she and Gandalf had fought too often these past weeks.

"I would love to talk more but I am to meet Denethor within the next hour and he would not find my current wardrobe appeasing," she said tartly and left, her footsteps echoing in the empty room.

-

Half an hour later, Lessien was dressed as a proper lady should be and ready to head for the throne room where she was to meet Denethor.

Pippin was supposed to pledge himself to Denethor today and Lessien was supposed to consult with him about preventing "traumatic damage" with the war to come.

Lessien opened her chamber door, ready to meet Denethor in the Throne Room. She was startled to see Faramir standing there, frozen with his hand up, poised to knock on the door that was now open.