Hello once again to all. This is the much awaited (I hope) sequel to Horns of the North. This story is significantly longer than its predecessor. I hope it is fine. The first chapter may be boring, but more action is to come in the later chapters.

DISCLAIMER: I wish

Journey of Faith

Chapter 1: Victory is a bittersweet feeling

The war was over, for the free peoples of Middle Earth had fought it and won. Yet there were those that wished that they had gone on living in relative peace, for the death toll was catastrophic, Middle Earth were almost on the brink of annihilation. Here in the Houses of Healing, one would feel the slow seeping aura of sorrow and bitterness settle into your very bones. The Houses was crowded with people of all races: Gondorians, Rohirrhim, Dol Amrothians, all of those who had left their lives behind and had stepped forward to defend everyone's freedom. As Nadia moved from room to room, ward to ward, she was struck by the same sense of mixed feelings like a storm in their souls: pain, both physical and mental, for the burden of their bodily wounds and the horrors of the battles that one has to endure is a heavy burden indeed. But where there was pain there was also gladness, for had they not defeated the dark lord Sauron and had toppled his dominion? Sadness bathed her soul each day, for so many due to the evilness of another, but at least they had done their part. Now it was her turn to do hers.

She had volunteered to help in the Houses of Healing once she had seen the numerous wounded come in from the battle. She felt she could not just hover at the backs of the healers like a piece of cumbersome baggage that one just wanted to discard. She joined their ranks; she felt that she must help. Their shifts could last well into the night, or be called up in the middle of slumber to tend to a patient. Her research on healing had not been for nothing either.

"Nadia?" she heard her friend Miriel's questioning voice over the hubbub of the main lobby. Her piercing green eyes were staring fixedly on Nadia. She cursed herself for staying at the window for so long when there was work to be done.

"Miriel, my friend. I trust that you have come to delegate to me another task?" she raised one eyebrow at her friend, waiting for her to say something.

"Come here, I want to ask you something," she said, pulling her along the corridor to a corner where they were not likely to be heard. When they were out of earshot Miriel faced her and asked, "Nadia, is everything all right with you?" Nadia fumed. Why was everyone treating her like a little girl her? She refused to answer and she cried, "please Nadia! Do you not see that we care for you very deeply? You barely eat anything during the day mess, at night you wander around the quarters as a wraith haunting Minas Tirith's walls! I see it; the whole division of healers has seen it too! Tell me now, once and for all, why have you not returned to your family?"

At this Nadia burst out, "do want to know why I never return home, why I never speak of my family? I don't know where they are! I don't know if they are dead, or if they are alive!"

"Then what if they are alive? Why do you not go see them? Why do you not hope?"

"I have learnt long ago never to trust to hope, it may fail you at times!"

"Then at least go down to the lower levels, you cannot stay holed up here forever!" miriel heaved a sigh, saying "Nadia, it is not wrong to hope, let go of your fear! It is what always makes us despair, for we are too afraid to believe in something when we do not want to be let down." Miriel put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

With eyes blazing, Nadia shook it off. She wheeled around to face Miriel, "let us drop the matter. I do not wish to speak of these things anymore." She made as if to depart. When Miriel turned to follow her, she said "leave me! I fear I may hurt you more with the words that I utter." With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off. As an afterthought, Miriel shouted to her down the hallway "Room seventy nine!"

Nadia fumed all the way to room seventy nine. She was angry at Miriel for telling her, she was angry at the whole division of healers for noticing her unrest, but mostly she was angry with herself. Angry that, after countless nights of sleeplessness, she still could not overcome her fear, even though she had heard the Horns of the North. Angry with herself for debating each night in the healer's quarters telling herself to hope and go down into the city to see if her parents were still alive. And with each morning, she awoke with fresh resolve, ready to start the day's work, but when she caught sight of the wounded and the dying, her resolve dissolved. In them she saw her parents, and fear filled her to the core. All thoughts of going down into the city would dissipate, and each day she told herself that tomorrow she would do it. She would pick at her meal in the canteen during the noon-meal; the rest of the day would be spent in a sort of stupor, a trace that she only awoke from when she steeled herself. She had made the mistake of letting her fear getting the better of her. And now she was angry at herself for allowing it.

Bitter salty tears sprang from her grey orbs, falling down her cheeks as a woodland rivulet flows along its path. Letting herself lean against a wall, she softly murmured, "oh valar, what have I done?" the deserted corridor seemed to echo her pain-filled sobs, and a great sadness welled up inside of her, threatening to burst out of her in one great cry. After what seemed like hours of crying her heart out against a pillar, she gathered all the iron will she had in her and steeled herself, like she did on so many nights, when her heart cried out to her mind to stop its mindless madness.

Nadia cautiously pushed open the door to room seventy nine. Grey stone walls that you could find all over Mina Tirith greeted her, where a window opened out to the fields below. A table and chair of plain dark wood was pushed against the wall, and there sat a man.

One of the Rohirrhim. She could tell by the long, golden brown locks that fell across his shoulders covered by a light linen shirt. His shoulder was bound in strips of white linen, and his arm was slung in a cast. He was toiling away at the table on something, so engrossed was he in his task that he did not notice her presence till she had cleared her throat.

"Milord?" she asked, a tad uncertain. She had gotten the right room, hadn't she? But she had no time think as soon she found chocolate brown eyes gazing at her in surprise. Obviously he had not known she was here. Her foot crumpled against something. She glanced down. It was a rolled up ball of parchment. It was not the product of an idle mind with nothing to do to free himself from the confines of boredom. Instead, it looked as if the poor parchment was viciously torn off and angrily crumpled into a heap. It was probably done one-handedly, since his other arm was put out of any violent action. Looking at his desk, she soon realized that she was not very far from the truth.

Conscious of the Rohirrhim watching her, she quickly murmured, "You should not waste the parchment so, supplies have been blocked lately." He stared at her incredulously, and then gave a small chuckle, which steadily grew till both of us were laughing quietly.

"I have never before met a healer that gives her opinions so freely. All they do is just come in and tend to me. Most uneventful." He said, with a twinkle in his eyes. He looked no younger than twenty, yet already bore the signs of maturity in his strong, rugged face. Setting her healer's kit down, she began to inspect his shoulder wound. Rolling back the bandage, she struggled not to make a face at the rawness of the wound. Slash type wounds, probably made by a light blow from the sword that was poorly aimed, she thought, as she redressed the wound, taking extra care when wrapping up his bandage.

"You must be new," he concluded, his brown eyes staring at her. She felt her face heat up. How did he know that? Could he tell why she had chosen to stay? His gazed bored into her relentlessly, as if telling her that he knew there was more under the façade that she kept up. She hastily changed the subject.

"How does your arm feel now, is it healing?" she asked while tying up his bandage.

"A little," he admitted. "Only when I exert it." He added.

"Well, in that case, you had better not exert it if you want it to heal. And now I must leave you, I need to attend to my other duties," Nadia stood up to leave.

"Wait! Milady, you have done me a great discourtesy."

Nadia arched her eyebrows, searching for his meaning. He grinned, "You have not given me the honour of knowing your name." she rolled her eyes. Were all the Rohirrhim this courteous? Nevertheless, she said, "Nadia, daughter of Caleb the bookbinder. And you, milord?"

"Aldor," he said. "Aldor Son of Baldwin the minstrel."

He watched her go, his heart stirring in wonder. He pondered the enigma that was her, so young, and so bold! On her face showed the first signs of womanhood, yet he saw in her eyes, heavy with a sorrow or a fear that she was not willing to face. He watched the other healers come and go, they seemed so timid, yet so aloof, and distant… she was different. There was no doubt about that. He had certainly enjoyed her company; he hoped he could see her again to escape the tediousness and the monotony of his four grey walls. He heard the door creak open once again, and soon Nadia's head followed suit.

"I had just remembered. Lord Aldor, it is permitted in this house to roam freely in the gardens, or around the house. You need not always be confined to your room." And as soon as she had come, she left. Aldor grinned to himself. Looking forward to her company indeed.

He turned to his desk once again. As the son of one of the most celebrated minstrels in King Théoden's court he was expected to do the same, to follow in his father's footsteps. He held no grudge; his love for poetry and language only spurred him on to his calling. But now with the King dead, and my being the son of Baldwin the minstrel, it was only my duty to compose a ballad fitting enough for the great who had fallen in battle.

Now Aldor was suffering from what some people may call writer's block. No matter how hard he tried, he could not come up with lines worthy of respecting the dead and gone.

They left their home, ridden fast and far to fight

For freedom of our lands in a far country where

Men live in stone, I cannot understand…

Groaning at his futile attempt which was, to say the least, pathetic, Aldor was about to crumple the paper to the floor when he remembered her words. Supplies have been blocked lately… he almost guiltily put the paper back on my table and turned it over to use the next page. It was strange for him to see a young girl concerned with things of the world. Nevertheless, thinking about her would not help him with his ballad.

Throughout the day his thoughts ran hither and thither across the plains, rushing back like a storm to his beloved Rohan, to the endless plains and the roaring winds. He found himself dreaming about saddling his horse and riding out across the Pelennor fields, just to feel the wind on his face, tousling his hair. He rubbed my scant beard thoughtfully. Maybe he could find a way to persuade the healers to let him out. He had access to the gardens already.

Here in the houses he was healing fast, or it would not be given its name. he could feel his strength returning to him as quickly as it had left him when he had heard the cry of the winged Nazgul and their hearts had grown mad with terror. Here he now remembered how he had shamefully deserted his liege-lord in the hour of his greatest need, when only Dernhelm remained faithful to the end, for it was the Lady Eowyn under the disguise. Now was a time for healing, a time to forgive myself the unforgivable. But the time had not come for m, not yet. I must linger in sorrow a while longer, as a tribute to my king, for now he was dead.

As I dipped my quill into the ink ready to strike the parchment in a fusion of ink and parchment, I froze, pen poised in the air.

What would Nadia think?

She hurried down the stone corridor, her thoughts disjointed and in a mess. What had made her do that? An act of charity to a bored man, or was it the first signs of a friendship between the two? Anyway, it was still only two hours past the rising of the sun, and the mess hall was almost empty, but she steered clear of that course. She was headed for the gardens.

Plopping herself down on one of the many seats in the beautiful gardens, she began to puzzle her mind over the matter. What both Miriel and the lord Aldor had said struck a nerve inside of her, weakening her resolve to carry out the day's duties. But while Miriel was on the verge of accusing, he was searching. Nadia felt him read her like a book; he could tell so much from only the first page.

Why have you not returned to see your family?

Stop it, she scolded herself angrily. This was not helping at all. Standing up, she went in search of Miriel, wanting to know what her next task was. She also wanted to apologize for the harsh things she had said to her. They surely must have hurt her friend. She found her in her office, compiling some long overdue paper work.

"Nadia," she greeted her with a cordial nod. "What brings you here?"

Facing her steadily, she gathered up her courage and said, "I want to apologize to you for my harsh words and unseemly conduct just now. Milady, please forgive me." Miriel looked confused for a moment, and then chanced a small chuckle. "Nadia, ever the formal one." Standing up, she said to her, "There is no need to apologize. I have forgiven you long ago; I just want you to know that we all care for you. Very deeply too." Spreading her arms wide, she said, "Friends?"

Nadia was incredulous for a moment, then, laughing merrily, she embraced her friend warmly, past sins forgiven in an act of sisterly love. After a while, Miriel asked her, "What was it that you wanted to come see me for?"

Nadia opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Miriel's earlier words still nagged at her. Before she could stop herself, she asked, "May I request the permission to have the day off from my duties? I wish to attend to something, milady." She could already see a smile forming on her friend's lips. Nadia thought with a quiet laugh that she would never hear the end of it.

"Of course you may. I expect you back at the houses on the morrow punctually at the rising of the sun. We still have quite a bit of things to finish here." Nadia turned to go. As she was nearly out the door, she heard her friend call, "And return me that book that you promised me you would repair!" Nadia smiled. Some things never change.

The winds had whirled around her like a storm on the mountaintop, and in the midst of the commotion a soft zephyr gently guided her on my way to the third circle, where her father's shop was situated.

Here the destruction was pretty bad, yet not as bad as the lower levels. Nadia cringed as she walked along the familiar streets which were wrecked and destroyed. She shuddered to think what her house would be like.

Soon her steps slowed, and she contemplated the idea of turning back. But how could she turn back when the end was so near? It was admitting defeat. And she had never taken very well to defeat. So steeling herself once again, like she did on so many other occasions, she took quick resolute steps up to her house.

It was generally better off than the other houses; while the other houses were situated on the main street, hers was a little more to the back.

She breathed an audible sigh of relief.

As the sun reached its zenith did she finally see her home after her stay in the Houses. There was no doubt about it: she undeniably missed it. Her mother's meticulously planted flowers in the front were trampled beyond recognition and the door had been knocked down. Now there was a table in its place. Quietly knocking on the door, she called out, "Father?" when no one answered, she slid past the table and entered the house. With sweeping eyes she took in all that was her home. Every little detail warmed her up inside. She knew that someone was here taking the door as proof. She trod the familiar steps down the hallway, past the kitchen, past the master bedroom, into the small workshop she shared with her father. and to her immense joy, she saw her father sitting at his workbench, as he had done on so many nights before, and the sight warmed her to the very core. She did not shout for joy and leap into her father's arms, instead, she went to her place on the bench beside him, where she had always sat and would sit there for many more years to come. Father and daughter. Together they were a formidable team. He turned to face her, her dear adar, bearing no grudge, only his eyes betraying the slightest bit of pure, indescribable joy.

"Nadia," he said tenderly, dearly, his voice full of paternal pride. "My daughter."

The tears flowed freely now as she embraced her father fiercely, never wanting to let him go, saying over and over, "Never again father, never again." She cried away all the frustration and the pain, the worry and the anxiety. She felt safe again. She never wanted to let this moment go, and the memory of which she would always cherish.

Crying had never felt so good in her life.

I wrote this story in third person, just to try it out. If you don't like it, drop me a review and I will consider what to do.

Erugenel