Author's Note: It's been a long time, I know. The GREs caused this to be delayed, but expect the next section to be coming sooner! As always, enjoy, and please leave comments :)

Chapter 10: Restless (Lothìriel POV)

It had been seven days since the dark army of Mordor lay siege to the White City. It had been seven days since my uncle's death. It had been five days since the riders of Rohan saved us. It had been five days since we found our King. It had been two days since the King lead his host to the Black Gates of Mordor.

It had been two days since the entire city had been placed under my rule.

My days had been long, my nights longer still. My every word was taken with utmost consideration, consideration I had neither expected nor desired, yet I could not deny that I had been ready for a role such as this my entire life. An entire city, with guards and soldiers and refugees and people from a foreign land...and of my ability to govern, I was not afraid.

My cousin still dwelt in the houses, though he would be soon released. No word had come, nothing to tell us if the host was safe. Nothing. Every hour, a new link was forged in my stomach, adding to the chain that seemed to coil inside me. When the advisors left, it became a heavy weight in my stomach, threatening to drag me down into a pit of fear and anxiety.

It was night on the third day, and the moon still shone brightly on the Pelennor. I had been restless and unable to sleep. My tired steps brought me here, to the low wall above the city. As a child I had been told to stay away from the point, for fear of falling to my death. Often I had looked at that space with fear, at the gap between the two walls, and felt my body chill. Now, instead, I leaned against it, looking down.

It was then I realized I had nothing more to fear.

Campfires dotted across the fields, their smoke mingling with smoldering ash from funeral pyres on the outer edges. The scent of incense, burnt with the bodies, reached my nostrils. At this height, I could see all that lay before me, and all that I would control. Battle scarred earth. Battled scarred people.

The Citadel was in shambles. Refugees – men, women, children, people of the court, people of the town – were returning slowly, hesitating, demanding security that could be provided in smaller and smaller amounts. A massive number of Gondor's men lay wounded or dead. There was a horde of Rohan in the fields, setting up camp. Messengers traveled back and forth with plans, kind words, questions. Something was always happening, not all of it due to me.

My uncle's advisors listened to me cautiously as I spoke of my plans to keep the city safe until Faramir assumed control. When I expressed interest of visiting the armory, and the food stores, they paid more attention. I toured the damaged battlements, observing where the critical weaknesses were and writing them down so Faramir would know upon his return. I knew he would likewise walk my same steps, but I also knew that, like me, he would appreciate my effort to inform him.

I reassigned troops, had a protective barrier placed over the gate and set up a ration system. Neighbors shared with those who lost homes or loved ones. The Houses administered to the sick. Everything seemed to be going well.

But every moment that I was not in front of the advisors, I seemed to become a different person. I was no longer called upon to govern, and so I wandered the Citadel, and the home of my uncle – my cousin's future home. I paced, and I avoided the two servants, mother and daughter, who had stayed. Every book I opened seemed impossible to read. Left alone, my mind was constantly working, constantly thinking and trying to process everything that had happened.

The only problem was, of course, that nothing like this had happened to me – to anyone – before. There was no category to place it under; no way to mend a life quickly after it seemed to have been ripped apart. At my worst moments, I could not breathe without feeling like I would unravel, slowly and surely, into a heap on the floor. Were it not for the immediate needs of Minas Tirith, I would have wilted before the cold. Nightmares haunted my dreams, phantoms of the past haunted my days. I was lost in a place bigger than I remembered, in a role I never expected.

Unwelcome thoughts surfaced where I least expected them. A shadow in the hall made me remember my cousin Boromir. A chance glance at a knight that had stayed to protect me made me think of Kel.

That was a heap I did not wish to unravel. My father did not push me towards eligible men – instead, they seemed to be inexplicably drawn on their own. Kel was the latest in a series of Knights that seemed to wish to know me better. And like all the Knights before him, the feeling was not mutual.

I bit my lip as I gazed towards Osgilliath, the smoke still rising days after the siege. If the Host succeeded at the Black Gate, then Middle Earth would be saved. Knights would return, some carrying great honor. They would vie for my hand, and unlike before, my father might actually encourage them.

Or it might be the King of Gondor he would encourage. A marriage between the two largest cities in Gondor would be advantageous and uniting. But King Elessar was much older than me, and though he seemed a great man, I was not interested. I had also heard that Éomer's sister had desired him, and a marriage between Gondor and Rohan would be more convenient politically, now that Rohan had come to our aid.

Marriage. Yet another thing that I did not want to think about at the moment, and something that continued to fill my uneasy mind.

I watched the clouds passing over the moon cast shadows on the fields. I had walked out on the fields but once, to observe the funeral of a Rohirrim marshal who had fallen. I felt I owed it to Éomer. He had lost so much here that it was the least I could do to honor him and his people.

Éomer. I could see his dark eyes lit up in the moonlight. I could read much in their depths – compassion, sympathy, sorrow. There were more thoughts there, thoughts that I dare not wonder the origin of. I chose not to dare. I did not think myself worthy to know a King's mind.

I could still feel his skin against my lips.

The feeling of him, close to me, did not seem to leave me even as he rode out onto the field towards the Black Gate. Even now, I could breathe in and smell his sweet, musky scent that seemed both foreign and natural to me. And that surprised me.

I drew my shawl tighter, chilled by the wind. When I thought of Éomer, I thought of Éowyn. I had gone to visit her yesterday, soon after the army left the city gates. She had stood on the battlement, a small, frail-looking figure dressed in white.

But she is not frail, I told myself. She slay the foul Witchking while you cowered inside these very walls.

When she turned to look at me, I had attempted to engage her in conversation. But she promptly turned away from me. My entreaties – that I was an acquaintance of her brother, that I was a lady was well – fell on deaf ears. Nothing I could say would tempt her to reply with more than terse comments.

Suddenly the walls seemed to suffocate me. The cries of the Nazgul echoed off the stone walls. It was here that I fought my battle. The faint, acrid smell of blood still tainted the air, and the faces of my patients danced before my eyes. I could feel the heat from my cousin's brow against my hand. I could feel Éomer's hair on my fingertips.

I stumbled out into the fresh air, gasping for breath and begging the cries to stop.

"What are you doing out here?"

I turned to see Merry, cousin of Pippin, standing behind me. I was once again on the Seventh Level. The Houses were not far – but far enough – behind me.

"I could ask you the same," I replied, shaking after being jarred from my memory. "You startled me."

"I couldn't sleep," Merry said, coming closer. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was surprised you were out here."

"I never sleep," I replied. I hadn't meant to sound as terse as I did, so I offered him a weak smile.

"I am sorry," Merry said. "Do you have nightmares as well?"

"Yes," I replied, pulling my shawl closer still and looking out on the fields. "And I don't like talking about them." Upon realizing that I was again sounding much harsher than I meant, I added, "They frighten me when I am sleeping, and when I am awake."

Merry said nothing. He drew closer, looking down on the burnt fields. I remembered that he had also dealt the Witch King a blow. His body, unconscious, was brought into the Houses. I remembered thinking it was a child's body, until I noticed the unusually large feet.

"Tell me something about you that I don't know," I said quietly. "For neither of us wishes to dwell on foul subjects, and I could use some company." And any chance to change the conversation was welcomed by me.

Beaming, Merry looked up at me. "I'm an esquire of Rohan!" he exclaimed. "Or, at least, I was. But I'm not sure anymore."

"Not sure?"

"King Théoden made me an esquire. I'm not sure that King Éomer will do likewise."

"Éomer is a good man – I'm sure he would appreciate your gesture of loyalty," I said, happy to be talking about Éomer again. It pleased me in the familiarity I felt with the topic, though I barely knew him.

I had to admit, however, that I missed him. It was difficult for me to find someone pleasant to talk with, and his absence was felt very strongly.

"I think he is," Merry said, looking off into the distance. "And his sister as well."

"She will not speak to me," I said. "I do not know why. Before he left, Éomer asked that I speak with her, more for his sake than hers. Yet she is unresponsive to my inquiries."

"She does enough speaking with Lord Faramir, my lady, to exhaust herself," Merry said gloomily.

"Oh?" I asked. She spoke to Faramir? Of course, they were in the Houses together...

"She takes walks with him every day." The hobbit sounded jealous as he leaned against the wall.

"We shall take walks, if you wish," I said, hoping to appease him. Merry looked up at me.

"I would like that," he replied, smiling. "I'll be the envy of all the Shire, walking with a beautiful lady."

I smiled a small smile, looking away. I hadn't realized a gesture, meant to appease a sad heart, would uplift as it did.

"What do you worry about?" my hobbit friend asked.

"Worry?"

"You look sad."

"I suppose I am sad. I'm all alone here, Merry. This is a lot more than I thought it would be."

"Are you frightened?"

The question, asked with the childlike intensity of the hobbit, caught me off-guard. I had told myself that I had nothing more to fear. Could I possibly be scared? And then all my fears tumbled out of my mouth.

"Yes," I finally said, my voice a mere whisper. "My father and my brother, are out at the Black Gate. If the Men of the West do not succeed, my other two brothers will be killed fighting evil in the South. My uncle and my cousin are already dead. It will be Faramir and myself, and darkness will not let Minas Tirith out of her grip." I felt wetness on my checks. "I am ashamed because I am selfish. I am scared because my future is still undecided. I am scared because I am afraid my entire life will not be of my own making. I am scared of losing everything."

I closed my eyes. Had I been fighting this all week, and not knowing this was what I truly feared?

"We're all scared. But Aragorn is strong. He will lead us to victory," Merry said quietly.

"Do you miss your home?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Yes. A little. I miss Frodo more."

Frodo. The ringbearer. Oh, the price he must pay to set us all free! I looked down to see tears in Merry's eyes. Like I had with Pippin a few days before, I sat down and held him tightly against me.

All I could do was pray that they all would come home safe. The pieces of their lives were here, in Minas Tirith, or farther away. Daughter or sister or nephew or cousin or friend or lover, we needed them to make us whole.

I visited the Houses the next day, and Éowyn was surprisingly warm towards me. Her questions, delivered in her cold manner, made me suspect that a few well chosen words from a young hobbit made her change her stance towards me. Yet when I left, I was certain she was convinced she would never like me – she would merely tolerate my interference into her life.

My cousin was quickly regaining his strength, and as I told him of my plans for his city while he was ill, he interrupted to tell me about the Lady Éowyn. I could see the love in his eyes, and it touched me enough to allow me to stay in the claustrophobic houses for another hour, as he told me his fears and dreams.

I did not believe I would ever really appreciate the White Lady of Rohan even a fraction of the amount my cousin did, but I resolved to try for his benefit to tolerate her as much as she would tolerate me. I could see Éomer's concern – her cold manner was merely an extension of her sadness. I wondered if she really was as wonderful as Faramir proclaimed. I did not doubt him, yet I would have to see it with my own eyes.

And soon after, the eagles came. And they told us of the fall of Sauron, and the victory of the Men of the West. And the bells rang, and the people cried out in joy.

And my heart wept, for they were all safe. They would come home to me.