My second attempt at Lord of the Rings fics. The first was a song fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I just use 'em. Enjoy.

There was silence among the group as they left the White City. None of them were extremely dense. Well, there was Arabeth, but she was nobility. No one talked bad about nobility. But the point being made was the women of Gondor knew what it meant to be evacuated from their city. War was coming. Not just a small ragtag group of bandits or the like. No; this was something completely different. By evacuating the women and children, the men had almost admitted that there was a chance the walls of Minas Tirith would fall. And all, except for the oblivious Arabeth, were silent, thinking about husbands, friends, their own children perhaps. Arabeth was not. She was thinking about her favorite cloak she had to leave behind. A truly grievous loss to the band of women and children leaving the City.

Or not.

One woman, Dienar, was thinking of the family she had been forced to abandon to the soldiers. Her husband of these past twenty years who never thought he would see the day Minas Tirith would be in danger. Her hotheaded sons who would likely get themselves killed in a fight with their own comrades over a trivial matter before ever seeing battle. Oh but she could only dream! To spare them that horror! And her daughter. Her daughter – her gem! – who would have been here now but for her stubborn will to remain and heal the wounded. If she could spare them, any of them, the pain they would face she would. But alas! She was to old to help at the House of Healing and of the wrong gender to fight for Minas Tirith. So she would content herself with worrying over a family she would probably never see in its entirety again.

She was secretly jealous of all the women in the group who had children with them. They would have someone there to stay with them once the fight was over. They would not have lost everyone. And Dienar felt guilty for such thoughts, for they too had something to lose, if nothing more than their home and the home of their forefathers. She watched a little girl, no more than seven sit silently by her mother's side. The girl was Sedegal, who Dienar's youngest son had played with before the White City had called for even young boys to fight. Sedegal remembered Denieth, the boy, and had been disappointed when he had stopped coming around to play. She had asked her mother why he stayed away and her mother had just told her he was too busy to play. But Sedegal knew there was more to it than that. She was young but not young enough to be blind to the tension building in the City. Many of the boys she had seen around earlier had started becoming scarcer. She was forced to stay inside and mind her stitching – a truly awful pastime in her opinion. But she did, not out of any desire to do so, but instead in hopes that obeying her mother's wishes would bring some order to her newly disrupted life. Her father was joining the soldiers to defend the City. Defend against what? she wanted to ask. But instead she minded her stitching and watched the world continue to change. That is, she did until her mother told her frantically to pack up some clothes and be quick about it. They were leaving their home. But Papa? she'd asked. Is he coming? For he wasn't to be seen. But her mother had not answered. And Sedegal knew again that there was something amiss. And now where was she? Miles from home with her mother and baby brother and countless numbers of people just like her.

And why? She still did not know. And her mother would not say. Because how do you tell a child they will not see their father again? wondered Sedegal's mother. Heldgar looked down at the top of her child's head. At least she knew of her father. But what of her brother? He will never know him. Listen to me! I talk as if his fate is already decided. I mustn't. I mustn't lose all hope! He will survive. And I will live even if he does not. I will live and care for my children as I always have done, hoping that when I too will die, I shall be with him again for ever. And then, Tharamith will know his father and Sedagal will ride on his shoulders, reaching for the stars like she always has, and we will be a family again. Like before he had learned of the danger the City was in. When my greatest problems were keeping Sedegal out of the mud piles she so often rolled in and instead seating her in front of her stitching or deciding what to eat for supper. Which reminds me of the bird I was going to cook for dinner tonight. Oh well. Hopefully there will be something for us here. Not that Lady Arabeth has to even worry about such trivial things as food, not with the twenty servants she brought and the grand coach she rides in. She is probably is eating roast pheasant with a side of glazed steamed carrots at this exact moment.

And enjoying it greatly, even though the thought of her cloak still bothered her. She had meant to place it with her more treasured belongings, such as her necklace that had once belonged to one of the Ladies of Gondor. That, fortunately, was now safely tucked away in a box that one of her faithful servants carried, but the thought that it might become damaged or possibly even lost on such a harsh journey as this vexed her. Arabeth took another bite of her pheasant. It was meant to be her lunch for today while she dined with the Steward's nephew, Haraleth, but instead she was dining alone. She had, of course, demanded it be brought along with her as the last bit of civilization outside the city walls. Women like Arabeth did not often taste the air outside of the walls of their own homes. City air was all they were adapted for. And Arabeth was quite content that way. So to compensate for the "primitive" living conditions she would be forced under, she had brought all of her elegant gowns made by only the most expensive tailors in all of Gondor. And of course her carriage for traveling. But not her cloak. And that was what had caused her to lose her appetite. The worry that maybe something might happen to it. The White City would never fall, but what if, while she was away on this silly trip, some no good peasant just strolled in and took it? Her cloak. And what if one of these women stole something from her in the night? How could she expect to feel safe with all these common folk hanging about her? It was truly pathetic that someone of her nobility had to share the same air as them. She cared for no one past the Third Gate, and even then she was particular.

But she did miss Haraleth. He was a nice lunch companion. She had even begun to fancy him. I hope he does not come to much injury during this battle or war that seems to be going on. And in this one thought, Arabeth had proven wrong all the women who had the misfortune to travel with her. Arabeth did realize that this trip into the "wilderness", as she so charmingly thought of it as, was not just because. There was a danger that had driven them out of the city, and into the company of each other.

And the unity of thought this fact brought to the minds of all allowed the beings on this trip to grieve as one. Whether it was for husband, brother, son, and yes, even cloaks.

Ah…the power of the keyboard…my mind is going, don't mind me. Did you like?