Chapter 1
"Hurry, sir, it is urgent!" The cry of the herald was heard through the barren country town of Misath, from the old farmer's barn to the cottages of the Eastriver Square. But even farther away, in the modest castle of Hedranth, is where the courier's message was sent.
"Camron? A crier is here, a crier!" The Lady of Hedranth, Lady Carolan, called to her son, sixteen-year-old Sir Camron of Eredluin. The young knight came down in brown breeches and a white shirt, with only a dagger attached to the simple belt. He removed it in a sign of peace and well-being to the stranger, and welcomed him.
"May I ask to what I owe this honor?" It was an honor: the messenger came from the royal city of Gondor. The messenger asked them both to come in the sitting chamber, which was filled with warm yellows and light blues, which were the colors of Misath and the mountain country of Eredluin.
The messenger looked around cautiously. "Are there any other knights in the house? Your father, perhaps?"
Both mother and son looked at their feet. Camron had the blond, wavy hair of his mother, as well as her pale skin. His mother's eyes were brown, and Camron's were a light as the sky blue. "No, no. My father is not in the house, nor will he venture in Middle-Earth again," whispered the young man.
The messenger took the hint and nodded. "I'm sorry. After the war, we lost so many. May I ask when?"
Carolan replied softly and proudly, "In the first revolt against the Dark Lord, lad. Much before your time, or even before that of Aragorn's. He fought beside Elendil, Elrond, and Isildur. He was a mortal man, and shared man's weakness." Tears building up crushed the disdain in her voice. Tears that flowed too much in her life.
"We have word that a gathering of Orcs, goblins, and slaves of Mordor, may the names be cursed, are planning an attack of Middle-Earth. Although their number is considerably less since the days of the Dark Lord Sauron, they have a number that we may not even begin to comprehend. They choose a time of great care, for Middle-Earth is in a building process, and many a man, elf, and dwarf, now working side-by-side, are bending their backs to refurbish the streets and cities after the final attacks. Gondor especially, is being threatened, and anywhere else where the great fighters reside. Even these mountains, even the Shire in the North, are in enormous danger. We need your help, Sir Camron." As the messenger ended his dissertation, Camron ventured a question.
"How can this be? The Ring was destroyed by Frodo with the Nine Fingers, son of Drogo, accompanied by Samwise Gamgee, son of Hamfast. Everyone in Middle-Earth and beyond knows. If Sauron is dead, the Orcs and goblins must be, too, correct? All the evil in Mordor, every evil creature, should be dead, or at least gone, now that Sauron is gone, right?"
The herald answered, "A very logical assumption. However, Sauron did not create evil, he merely harbored it. The Orcs are their own level of devilry, and ruled by Sauron. He did not create them. Perhaps the worst part of this attack, and why it is so dangerous, is who the leader is."
Carolan, fearful, asked, "Who is it?"
"Saruman."
Several days later, Camron was in full armor, on his large white gelding, Malgalod, which is Elvish for "White Knight." The crier had mustered all of the men and boys in Misath that he could find. Most wore simple leather jerkins and breeches; with a sword that was so old that it was probably made in the First Age. Camron had an intricate tempered blade with an emerald hilt set in mithril. Her Elven mother knew many dwarves, although that was not common. Her childhood was spent very near Moria, for she was a Ghaladrim and lived in Lothlorien. This sword was made by the dwarf Gloin, father of Gimli and Balin.
The knight was put next to Gaerin, the messenger from Gondor. Camron was one of the few in their small group with battle experience and proper training, so he was placed as a leader. Most of the boys, about twelve- years-old, were singing and chanting, excited to be going to a battle. Camron was thinking about his mother when they departed.
Chapter 2
"Lena! Come, dear! We need kingsfoil. Seems to be the miracle herb since His Highness healed the Steward Faramir and Lady Eowyn. And of course, young Meriadoc. Couldn't've been more'n ten, according to my reckoning. Please run to the herb-room, and quickly!" The healer-lady Ioreth had an apprentice. When the Elves came, they brought a maiden, well behind the rest of the crowd, leading a palomino mare. She came unnoticed with the Queen Arwen, known to some as a maid, to others as a tagalong. In truth, she was neither. To Arwen, she was more of a sister. To Ioreth, she was much needed help. Lena rushed to the in-door garden, or the herb-room, which stored all the herbs, fresh and dried, that the House of Healing in Gondor needed. Kingsfoil, once scarce in the residence, was now found by the bushel. Lena grabbed some from a pile, and inhaled the unusual aroma. A mix between roses, lavender, and sage, it seemed to her.
Lerena, or Lena, was sometimes called beautiful, but never by herself. She was fifteen, almost sixteen, in May. She was medium-short, at five feet, four inches. Her hair was a light auburn, and curly. She wore it braided back, down to her waist. Wisps of hair settled around her face. Her eyes were like the ocean, sometimes green, sometimes blue, and sometimes grey. She was thin, with a small nose and a full mouth. Although her build was petite, she was strong and powerful, when she needed to be. She was teased growing up, because she was part Hobbit. Her height and her hair came from her Hobbit-side, yet she received no other traits from them. Now, those who knew of her history felt honored, because in some way or other, she could be related to Frodo of the Nine Fingers who overthrew Middle- Earth's greatest enemy.
Though in Gondor, her thoughts rarely wandered to what happened before she arrived. She was quite busy helping Ioreth, and occasionally visiting Arwen. She felt like a third-wheel, always in the way, always under foot. Arwen, now a married Queen, rarely had the time or interest to visit with her childhood friend. They had known each other for centuries, because Lena was part Elf, and was immortal. It was awkward times like this when Lena would rush to the Healing House, and help the kind and bossy Ioreth and her kin.
"Lena, the kingsfoil! Hurry!"
I am hurrying, Ioreth! Lena was easily frustrated with this demanding healer-lady. Lena clearly did not have the skills to learn the healing art, and she found it irritating. When Lena delivered the kingsfoil, of course Ioreth's cousin had a demand. The cousin from Lebennin was a very kind and timid woman named Marilee. She would ask softly for something, and her voice was so mesmerizing that one would want to make her smile and would do anything to please her. A simple smile from the lady was a reward, yet Lena was no longer spellbound and repeatedly got angry with her.
"Yes'm, Lady Marilee?" Lena asked as gently as she could.
The woman asked politely, "Would you have time to find me some thyme for my room? How I love the scent! I know Ioreth wouldn't mind. If you can't, I would--"
"That would be just fine, Marilee! I would be delighted to, when Ioreth dismisses me." And Marilee smiled, so Lena was instantly gladdened. I say just send Lady Marilee into every healing room. She works miracles with a simple smile! The bitterness of the wounded and Ioreth were temporarily forgotten.
"Mistress Ioreth? May I be dismissed?" Lena asked. Her patient, a man with a heavy fever and a head wound, seemed much better.
"His fever broke!" Ioreth said. To the soldier, she said, "You're doing much better, Elsanir. You should be able to leave here soon."
Lena stood there, unsure what to do. She lifted her long white skirt and blue healer dress to tap her foot.
"Lena, you have the rest of the evening to yourself. It's a beautiful day, enjoy the weather." Ioreth seemed to be in a good mood with the soldier's quick recovery. Only days before, he was almost lost.
Lena walked out in the bright sun. She gave the thyme to Marilee, and then changed into her elvish summer dress. It was lavender, and very light and flowy. There was a thin, white slip underneath, and a gold sash around her waist. The drapey sleeves were tied with ribbon to her elbows. She wore black boots instead of slippers, and they held a dagger. One could never be too careful in Middle-Earth nowadays, she thought.
Lena never really got to explore the city. First, of course, she went to Arwen.
"Hello, Lady!" Lena greeted the Queen casually. Arwen was in her room, looking out the window. Arwen, hearing her friend, turned to greet the Elf.
"Hello, Lena. Since when do you call me 'Lady'? It has always been Arwen, to you."
"Arwen, I have been calling you 'Lady' since you were married. If I were proper, I'd call you 'Your Highness', or 'My Queen.' You have been preoccupied, and have not noticed it."
Arwen smiled. "So I have been. I am sorry. But, they are coming."
Lena was very puzzled. Perhaps Arwen was too preoccupied. "Who is coming? And, if I may ask, when?"
Arwen sighed. The Queen had a weight on her shoulders. Despite Lena's closeness to the Queen, she had never been close enough to see if the King carried the same heavy stance of worry and stress.
"Lena, Middle-Earth is not through with war. Orcs, goblins, slaves, and other creatures that we cannot even begin to fathom are protesting. The spider-demon of Mordor, Shelob, and Saruman, lead them."
Lena was worried and confused. "Saruman died. How could he lead a battle?"
"His body is gone, yes. But, like Sauron, his spirit lingers. Sauron, however, is now far too weak to ever do damage. Saruman is not. The red hand has awakened, and he will lead them, with the aid of his slave Grima, or Wormtongue."
Lena was even more upset. Everyone knew the stories of Saruman, the wizard who fell under the Eye and unleashed madness.
Seeing her close friend's grave face, Arwen, Queen Evenstar, said softly, "You have never been one to ignore your surroundings; yet, even in a healing house you ignore the war. You have avoided any ground touched by blood, and never look towards the battlefields. As a healer-apprentice, you can no longer walk around the blood. We came after the worst was over, but now it's our turn. You will not fight. The Lady Eowyn fought in secret, and we will ask no maiden to go through what she did, even if we desperately need the aid.
"I am tired. Please return soon, but I need to rest. I have spoken to no one about this, except you. You need to see what you're up against. Please wait outside the Palace for a guide. He will show you what Middle- Earth is leaning on. He will show you the city of Gondor."
Lena nodded and turned to go. "Lena! One more thing. Frodo of the Nine Fingers is returning. I want you to meet your cousin."
* * * * * * *
Lena waited outside the Palace gates for the guide. There were two men talking by the wall. One man seemed to be about six feet, with lightly tanned skin and large fern-green eyes. He had a strong nose and dark brown hair cropped short. The other man seemed to be closer to five feet, eight inches, with wavy blond hair to his ears. He had sky-blue eyes and a thin nose. His skin was very pale. The taller man ignored Lena, and talked animatedly to the blonde. The blonde-haired man, however, kept glancing at her oddly. It made the girl feel very uncomfortable. Guide or no, she thought, this man is frightening.
Consequently, Lena tried to act as if she was very comfortable with her surroundings, and looking for someone. So, mindlessly, she called, "Arwen? Ioreth? Marilee? Where are you? I have been waiting here far too long."
After waiting another ten minutes with the men still there, she muttered to herself, "Fine, then. I'm terribly sorry, Arwen, but, guide or no, I'm leaving!"
Then the tall man jumped over. "Lady Lerena? I am your guide, sent by Her Highness, the Queen Arwen. I am terribly sorry, I was quite captivated by the tales of my--friend, here, a knight from the Northeastern Mountains of Ered--something. I would like to lead you through the city, if I may. One moment, please, is all I ask."
Lena nodded to the guide, wearing the old black and silver garb of a Gondor herald. Lena strolled over to a young sapling in a garden.
The messenger said to the knight, "Yes, Cam, the Queen says I have to act a guide. No more tales! Don't talk to anyone about the ladies in Rivendell before you talk to me! Meet you at the Towerhouse in a few hours!"
The messenger introduced himself as Gaerin. "Yes, Lady, although I am but a messenger, a herald, I have lived in Minas Tirith all my life, and fought my share of battles to protect it."
Lena remembered what Arwen had said, about ignoring the battles. That may be true, but it was not ignorance, nor arrogance.
"How do you do it?"
"How do I do what? Being a messenger is no hardshipâ€""
Lena was slightly annoyed. "How do you stand the fighting? You're facing death, clear and simple, yet you fight anyway. Why? How?"
"Why, that should be obvious, Lady. Is there any place that you love so much, that you'd do anything for it? Or a person, so close to you, that death just doesn't matter? It's love, it's loyalty, and pride."
Come to think of it, Lena thought to herself, I don't have a place like that. I'm very unattached to everything, both places, and people. However, she simply replied, "I just don't understand it, yet."
"The 'how' is even simpler. Although maidens don't know how, you just pick up your bow, your sword, and your shield, and mount your horse. You don't have a choice, and if you're a good citizen, you want to anyway."
Gaerin's remark about women made Lena flinch. "Who says a woman can't fight? Lady Eowyn helped kill that Nazgul monster." See, I do know about fighting, Arwen. I just learn it from the healing houses instead of the actual battle.
"Well, Lady Eowyn was so saddened with her life, that death was a release. She willingly accepted it, and she ended up living. It's ironic, you know. She wanted to die and lived, yet Theoden, who wanted to live, died. Lady Eowyn, who is thankfully now very happy with her life, should not be called ordinary. I would be shocked if another woman could do the same."
Through this time, they had been walking through the city. Instead of telling Lena about it, however, they were in endless debates and conversations. Gaerin was a true, stubborn man of Gondor, and supported it in anything. Pride and loyalty surrounded his entire being.
They were about to walk over to the Gates when Lena saw the view before her. She was seeing the battleground, and she did not enjoy the sight before her: bloodstained, hard-packed dirt, with shards of swords, hilts sticking out from the ground. Bodies, endless bodies of the Enemy could be seen for miles. Shields lay, with the Eye surrounded by red from Mordor, the green and white of Rohan, and the black and silver of Gondor, in piles, separated by their country. Anything belonging to the Enemy, whether they were Southrons, Uruk-hai, or other Mordor beasts, were in a pile surrounded by wood, to be set aflame.
All of a sudden, Lena felt very faint and out of breath. She leaned on a wall, and grasped a crenellation coming from the side of the gate. She looked again at the horrifying landscape below. If this is pride and loyalty, she thought, I want no part in it.
"Gaerin, please, let's leave this place. May the Dark Lord and all who followed him be cursed, whether in life or death!"
"Hurry, sir, it is urgent!" The cry of the herald was heard through the barren country town of Misath, from the old farmer's barn to the cottages of the Eastriver Square. But even farther away, in the modest castle of Hedranth, is where the courier's message was sent.
"Camron? A crier is here, a crier!" The Lady of Hedranth, Lady Carolan, called to her son, sixteen-year-old Sir Camron of Eredluin. The young knight came down in brown breeches and a white shirt, with only a dagger attached to the simple belt. He removed it in a sign of peace and well-being to the stranger, and welcomed him.
"May I ask to what I owe this honor?" It was an honor: the messenger came from the royal city of Gondor. The messenger asked them both to come in the sitting chamber, which was filled with warm yellows and light blues, which were the colors of Misath and the mountain country of Eredluin.
The messenger looked around cautiously. "Are there any other knights in the house? Your father, perhaps?"
Both mother and son looked at their feet. Camron had the blond, wavy hair of his mother, as well as her pale skin. His mother's eyes were brown, and Camron's were a light as the sky blue. "No, no. My father is not in the house, nor will he venture in Middle-Earth again," whispered the young man.
The messenger took the hint and nodded. "I'm sorry. After the war, we lost so many. May I ask when?"
Carolan replied softly and proudly, "In the first revolt against the Dark Lord, lad. Much before your time, or even before that of Aragorn's. He fought beside Elendil, Elrond, and Isildur. He was a mortal man, and shared man's weakness." Tears building up crushed the disdain in her voice. Tears that flowed too much in her life.
"We have word that a gathering of Orcs, goblins, and slaves of Mordor, may the names be cursed, are planning an attack of Middle-Earth. Although their number is considerably less since the days of the Dark Lord Sauron, they have a number that we may not even begin to comprehend. They choose a time of great care, for Middle-Earth is in a building process, and many a man, elf, and dwarf, now working side-by-side, are bending their backs to refurbish the streets and cities after the final attacks. Gondor especially, is being threatened, and anywhere else where the great fighters reside. Even these mountains, even the Shire in the North, are in enormous danger. We need your help, Sir Camron." As the messenger ended his dissertation, Camron ventured a question.
"How can this be? The Ring was destroyed by Frodo with the Nine Fingers, son of Drogo, accompanied by Samwise Gamgee, son of Hamfast. Everyone in Middle-Earth and beyond knows. If Sauron is dead, the Orcs and goblins must be, too, correct? All the evil in Mordor, every evil creature, should be dead, or at least gone, now that Sauron is gone, right?"
The herald answered, "A very logical assumption. However, Sauron did not create evil, he merely harbored it. The Orcs are their own level of devilry, and ruled by Sauron. He did not create them. Perhaps the worst part of this attack, and why it is so dangerous, is who the leader is."
Carolan, fearful, asked, "Who is it?"
"Saruman."
Several days later, Camron was in full armor, on his large white gelding, Malgalod, which is Elvish for "White Knight." The crier had mustered all of the men and boys in Misath that he could find. Most wore simple leather jerkins and breeches; with a sword that was so old that it was probably made in the First Age. Camron had an intricate tempered blade with an emerald hilt set in mithril. Her Elven mother knew many dwarves, although that was not common. Her childhood was spent very near Moria, for she was a Ghaladrim and lived in Lothlorien. This sword was made by the dwarf Gloin, father of Gimli and Balin.
The knight was put next to Gaerin, the messenger from Gondor. Camron was one of the few in their small group with battle experience and proper training, so he was placed as a leader. Most of the boys, about twelve- years-old, were singing and chanting, excited to be going to a battle. Camron was thinking about his mother when they departed.
Chapter 2
"Lena! Come, dear! We need kingsfoil. Seems to be the miracle herb since His Highness healed the Steward Faramir and Lady Eowyn. And of course, young Meriadoc. Couldn't've been more'n ten, according to my reckoning. Please run to the herb-room, and quickly!" The healer-lady Ioreth had an apprentice. When the Elves came, they brought a maiden, well behind the rest of the crowd, leading a palomino mare. She came unnoticed with the Queen Arwen, known to some as a maid, to others as a tagalong. In truth, she was neither. To Arwen, she was more of a sister. To Ioreth, she was much needed help. Lena rushed to the in-door garden, or the herb-room, which stored all the herbs, fresh and dried, that the House of Healing in Gondor needed. Kingsfoil, once scarce in the residence, was now found by the bushel. Lena grabbed some from a pile, and inhaled the unusual aroma. A mix between roses, lavender, and sage, it seemed to her.
Lerena, or Lena, was sometimes called beautiful, but never by herself. She was fifteen, almost sixteen, in May. She was medium-short, at five feet, four inches. Her hair was a light auburn, and curly. She wore it braided back, down to her waist. Wisps of hair settled around her face. Her eyes were like the ocean, sometimes green, sometimes blue, and sometimes grey. She was thin, with a small nose and a full mouth. Although her build was petite, she was strong and powerful, when she needed to be. She was teased growing up, because she was part Hobbit. Her height and her hair came from her Hobbit-side, yet she received no other traits from them. Now, those who knew of her history felt honored, because in some way or other, she could be related to Frodo of the Nine Fingers who overthrew Middle- Earth's greatest enemy.
Though in Gondor, her thoughts rarely wandered to what happened before she arrived. She was quite busy helping Ioreth, and occasionally visiting Arwen. She felt like a third-wheel, always in the way, always under foot. Arwen, now a married Queen, rarely had the time or interest to visit with her childhood friend. They had known each other for centuries, because Lena was part Elf, and was immortal. It was awkward times like this when Lena would rush to the Healing House, and help the kind and bossy Ioreth and her kin.
"Lena, the kingsfoil! Hurry!"
I am hurrying, Ioreth! Lena was easily frustrated with this demanding healer-lady. Lena clearly did not have the skills to learn the healing art, and she found it irritating. When Lena delivered the kingsfoil, of course Ioreth's cousin had a demand. The cousin from Lebennin was a very kind and timid woman named Marilee. She would ask softly for something, and her voice was so mesmerizing that one would want to make her smile and would do anything to please her. A simple smile from the lady was a reward, yet Lena was no longer spellbound and repeatedly got angry with her.
"Yes'm, Lady Marilee?" Lena asked as gently as she could.
The woman asked politely, "Would you have time to find me some thyme for my room? How I love the scent! I know Ioreth wouldn't mind. If you can't, I would--"
"That would be just fine, Marilee! I would be delighted to, when Ioreth dismisses me." And Marilee smiled, so Lena was instantly gladdened. I say just send Lady Marilee into every healing room. She works miracles with a simple smile! The bitterness of the wounded and Ioreth were temporarily forgotten.
"Mistress Ioreth? May I be dismissed?" Lena asked. Her patient, a man with a heavy fever and a head wound, seemed much better.
"His fever broke!" Ioreth said. To the soldier, she said, "You're doing much better, Elsanir. You should be able to leave here soon."
Lena stood there, unsure what to do. She lifted her long white skirt and blue healer dress to tap her foot.
"Lena, you have the rest of the evening to yourself. It's a beautiful day, enjoy the weather." Ioreth seemed to be in a good mood with the soldier's quick recovery. Only days before, he was almost lost.
Lena walked out in the bright sun. She gave the thyme to Marilee, and then changed into her elvish summer dress. It was lavender, and very light and flowy. There was a thin, white slip underneath, and a gold sash around her waist. The drapey sleeves were tied with ribbon to her elbows. She wore black boots instead of slippers, and they held a dagger. One could never be too careful in Middle-Earth nowadays, she thought.
Lena never really got to explore the city. First, of course, she went to Arwen.
"Hello, Lady!" Lena greeted the Queen casually. Arwen was in her room, looking out the window. Arwen, hearing her friend, turned to greet the Elf.
"Hello, Lena. Since when do you call me 'Lady'? It has always been Arwen, to you."
"Arwen, I have been calling you 'Lady' since you were married. If I were proper, I'd call you 'Your Highness', or 'My Queen.' You have been preoccupied, and have not noticed it."
Arwen smiled. "So I have been. I am sorry. But, they are coming."
Lena was very puzzled. Perhaps Arwen was too preoccupied. "Who is coming? And, if I may ask, when?"
Arwen sighed. The Queen had a weight on her shoulders. Despite Lena's closeness to the Queen, she had never been close enough to see if the King carried the same heavy stance of worry and stress.
"Lena, Middle-Earth is not through with war. Orcs, goblins, slaves, and other creatures that we cannot even begin to fathom are protesting. The spider-demon of Mordor, Shelob, and Saruman, lead them."
Lena was worried and confused. "Saruman died. How could he lead a battle?"
"His body is gone, yes. But, like Sauron, his spirit lingers. Sauron, however, is now far too weak to ever do damage. Saruman is not. The red hand has awakened, and he will lead them, with the aid of his slave Grima, or Wormtongue."
Lena was even more upset. Everyone knew the stories of Saruman, the wizard who fell under the Eye and unleashed madness.
Seeing her close friend's grave face, Arwen, Queen Evenstar, said softly, "You have never been one to ignore your surroundings; yet, even in a healing house you ignore the war. You have avoided any ground touched by blood, and never look towards the battlefields. As a healer-apprentice, you can no longer walk around the blood. We came after the worst was over, but now it's our turn. You will not fight. The Lady Eowyn fought in secret, and we will ask no maiden to go through what she did, even if we desperately need the aid.
"I am tired. Please return soon, but I need to rest. I have spoken to no one about this, except you. You need to see what you're up against. Please wait outside the Palace for a guide. He will show you what Middle- Earth is leaning on. He will show you the city of Gondor."
Lena nodded and turned to go. "Lena! One more thing. Frodo of the Nine Fingers is returning. I want you to meet your cousin."
* * * * * * *
Lena waited outside the Palace gates for the guide. There were two men talking by the wall. One man seemed to be about six feet, with lightly tanned skin and large fern-green eyes. He had a strong nose and dark brown hair cropped short. The other man seemed to be closer to five feet, eight inches, with wavy blond hair to his ears. He had sky-blue eyes and a thin nose. His skin was very pale. The taller man ignored Lena, and talked animatedly to the blonde. The blonde-haired man, however, kept glancing at her oddly. It made the girl feel very uncomfortable. Guide or no, she thought, this man is frightening.
Consequently, Lena tried to act as if she was very comfortable with her surroundings, and looking for someone. So, mindlessly, she called, "Arwen? Ioreth? Marilee? Where are you? I have been waiting here far too long."
After waiting another ten minutes with the men still there, she muttered to herself, "Fine, then. I'm terribly sorry, Arwen, but, guide or no, I'm leaving!"
Then the tall man jumped over. "Lady Lerena? I am your guide, sent by Her Highness, the Queen Arwen. I am terribly sorry, I was quite captivated by the tales of my--friend, here, a knight from the Northeastern Mountains of Ered--something. I would like to lead you through the city, if I may. One moment, please, is all I ask."
Lena nodded to the guide, wearing the old black and silver garb of a Gondor herald. Lena strolled over to a young sapling in a garden.
The messenger said to the knight, "Yes, Cam, the Queen says I have to act a guide. No more tales! Don't talk to anyone about the ladies in Rivendell before you talk to me! Meet you at the Towerhouse in a few hours!"
The messenger introduced himself as Gaerin. "Yes, Lady, although I am but a messenger, a herald, I have lived in Minas Tirith all my life, and fought my share of battles to protect it."
Lena remembered what Arwen had said, about ignoring the battles. That may be true, but it was not ignorance, nor arrogance.
"How do you do it?"
"How do I do what? Being a messenger is no hardshipâ€""
Lena was slightly annoyed. "How do you stand the fighting? You're facing death, clear and simple, yet you fight anyway. Why? How?"
"Why, that should be obvious, Lady. Is there any place that you love so much, that you'd do anything for it? Or a person, so close to you, that death just doesn't matter? It's love, it's loyalty, and pride."
Come to think of it, Lena thought to herself, I don't have a place like that. I'm very unattached to everything, both places, and people. However, she simply replied, "I just don't understand it, yet."
"The 'how' is even simpler. Although maidens don't know how, you just pick up your bow, your sword, and your shield, and mount your horse. You don't have a choice, and if you're a good citizen, you want to anyway."
Gaerin's remark about women made Lena flinch. "Who says a woman can't fight? Lady Eowyn helped kill that Nazgul monster." See, I do know about fighting, Arwen. I just learn it from the healing houses instead of the actual battle.
"Well, Lady Eowyn was so saddened with her life, that death was a release. She willingly accepted it, and she ended up living. It's ironic, you know. She wanted to die and lived, yet Theoden, who wanted to live, died. Lady Eowyn, who is thankfully now very happy with her life, should not be called ordinary. I would be shocked if another woman could do the same."
Through this time, they had been walking through the city. Instead of telling Lena about it, however, they were in endless debates and conversations. Gaerin was a true, stubborn man of Gondor, and supported it in anything. Pride and loyalty surrounded his entire being.
They were about to walk over to the Gates when Lena saw the view before her. She was seeing the battleground, and she did not enjoy the sight before her: bloodstained, hard-packed dirt, with shards of swords, hilts sticking out from the ground. Bodies, endless bodies of the Enemy could be seen for miles. Shields lay, with the Eye surrounded by red from Mordor, the green and white of Rohan, and the black and silver of Gondor, in piles, separated by their country. Anything belonging to the Enemy, whether they were Southrons, Uruk-hai, or other Mordor beasts, were in a pile surrounded by wood, to be set aflame.
All of a sudden, Lena felt very faint and out of breath. She leaned on a wall, and grasped a crenellation coming from the side of the gate. She looked again at the horrifying landscape below. If this is pride and loyalty, she thought, I want no part in it.
"Gaerin, please, let's leave this place. May the Dark Lord and all who followed him be cursed, whether in life or death!"