The days flew by while preparations were made for the return to Minas Tirith, and many were growing restless. It had been weeks since the battle, and most minor hurts were healed, and those that had gone further into Mordor had returned. Every day was spent planning logistics for traveling back, and the situation in the city upon Aragorn taking the crown. Faramir, the new Steward of Gondor, was still recovering, and thus stayed in the city, but sent word with messengers who had traveled with the halfling Meriadoc.
Daeril's restlessness was made even worse by the inevitable journey by ship. They would sail out from Cair Andros, on the ships from Dol Amroth, arriving at the Quays of Harlond once more. She wanted to ride all the way back, to avoid being on the boats, but the road was a longer route and it made her look weak. If she couldn't handle a boat ride, how could she ever be taken seriously as one of the King's men? Especially as a woman.
"Rocky, please just go on," Daeril muttered to the gelding, walking down the dock to their ship. "We have been through much worse. We're going home now."
His ears were forward, eyes focused on the great ships ahead and everyone milling about. He lifted his legs over-dramatically as they crossed the dock, snorting at everyone they passed. It didn't help that she had not been able ride him while recovering, and then everything became busy... he had too much energy for his own good. They got to the ramp, this one wider than the one on the Corsair vessels, and far more welcoming. Daeril walked forward, determined to get on the boat without Rocky putting her in the water. Rocky hesitated, momentarily, and then followed. Daeril didn't release her breath until he was in the bowels of the ship, safely tied in the narrow stalls. She bid him a quick thanks for not making a scene, and returned topside.
"He seems to be doing better," Daenir remarked, joining her at the rail.
"The real test is getting off the ship," She ran her hand absently over the smooth wooden rail. "How far is it from here?"
"Not far. We should reach Osgiliath in the evening."
The sailing was smooth, and although Daeril felt somewhat ill, she did not spend the trip hanging over the side of the ship. There was something to be said for the great ships of Dol Amroth, they barely rocked in the current. In the last of evening, they reached the city of Osgiliath, the ruins a stark reminder of how much of a toll the war had taken on this land. Men were manning the port, catching lines as the ships pulled in to the docks.
Daeril waited until the ship had mostly cleared out, those on foot disembarking, and slipped down to the lower level to fetch her mount. Elrohir walked up the ramp leading Roheryn, but stopped when he saw Daeril.
"Daeril, take him. You don't want to go down there."
"What is wrong?" She took Roheryn's lead, confused.
"Just go, I will find you."
Roheryn was professional in everything he did, and walked off the ship with no fuss. Daeril spotted Legolas leading his horse Arod, and caught up with him. The elf nodded to her.
"Roheryn appears to have fared better than some of the others," Legolas said.
"What happened?"
"A stallion got loose and picked a fight. There were some injuries."
"I knew I should have stayed with them." Daeril felt immensely guilty.
"It is not your fault, these things happen."
The elf and ranger reached the stables, handing the horses off to the stablemen. It was the first time in a very long time that the horses would sleep in an actual stall, and although the city had seen better days, the accommodations for the horses were quite welcoming. Daeril felt herself longing for the stables of Imladris, and her dear mentor Ladrochan.
As Daeril made to leave the stable yard, Aragorn entered leading Rocky. Her horse was limping, badly. She ran to him, panic setting in. She had promised Rocky safety, and he trusted her, and now he was hurt. Everything they had worked for was going to be ruined, and he would never trust her again. Flesh was hanging from his chest below a gaping wound, blood making his fur dark all the way down his right front leg.
"Daeril, I can help him but he needs to stay calm. You are not helping in this state."
She backed away, trying to composed herself. She had been terribly wounded and barely batted an eye... but her horse she had grown very found of, and seeing him bleeding and in obvious pain was too much.
"What can I do?" She more ordered than asked.
Aragorn turned his grey eyes to her own, and she feared he would send her away.
"Go to the stable master. Ask for needle and thread. And Valerian root."
She hurried to find the stable master, knowing that Aragorn had more important things to do than to help her poor horse, and wanting to stop Rocky's pain as fast as possible. Finally she found someone who knew where things were, and returned to Aragorn with thick thread, a needle which she managed to stick herself with, and the root he had asked for.
"Aragorn, I can see to the horse," Elrohir held Rocky's lead now, as Aragorn washed the wound on his chest. "You must be busy."
"No," Aragorn snapped. "Daeril has served me faithfully, I can spare a moment to heal her horse."
Daeril approached, having overheard them and had to stifle a grin. This was what would make King Elessar a great one, his love for his people and even horses, and selflessness were not lost upon his status.
"I have what you asked for," Daeril presented her findings.
"Good," Aragorn tore off a piece of the root, handing it back to Daeril. "Feed this to him, it should help to calm him. I cannot sew the wound if he decides to rear up."
Rocky sniffed at the root apprehensively, but then ate it off of Daeril's palm. He snorted, looking for more treats. Aragorn finished cleaning the gash while they waited for the root to take effect. By the time he had finished, Rocky's head began to droop. Elrohir passed the lead off to Daeril, called away by Elladan. Daeril watched Aragorn's handiwork, folding the flap of skin back into place, and slowly stitching it with practiced grace. When he finished, it was far less ugly to look at.
"Walk him over there, then trot back." Aragorn ordered.
She walked forward, her now complacent horse following after. He moved gingerly, but did not limp as severely as before. Once she brought him out far enough to turn around, she clucked to him and ran beside him as he trotted back. Aragorn watched him move, then ran a hand down each of his legs when he stopped.
"Will he be alright?"
"He may be a bit lame for a while, but he will recover. It's best if he is on stall rest for a time."
"I have to leave him here? In Osgiliath?"
"I am afraid so. We will find you another mount for the time being. I need all of you by my side when we come to the City."
The host stayed in Osgiliath for a day, arriving at the Pelennor Fields the next evening, where they set up camp for one more night. All last preparations were completed, and in the morning the host headed for the city.
Daeril rode Arraben, her brother's grey mare, as Daenir had bought a war-steed off of one of the Rohirrim. Daenir had never looked more proud as he strode next to them on his massive red stallion. Daeril was saddened by the absence of her Rocky, but had to push all feelings aside- they were so close to the fulfillment of years and years of waiting for the most important moment of their lives.
The company dismounted on the road to the front gate, leaving the horses as they continued to the city in procession. Aragorn walked foremost, flanked by Gandalf, Prince Imrahil, and the four hobbits. The Dunedain followed. Daeril tried to focus on Aragorn, and not on the crowd that was gathered in front of the gates, but they walked right into the midst of the soldiers of Gondor and the citizens, until Aragorn came to a halt before the (still broken) gate. A single trumpet sounded, and silence came upon all. Two men came forward, flanked by four of the Tower Guard bearing a black and silver casket
Daeril had to catch her breath when she saw the man who now knelt before Aragorn, thinking him to be Boromir for one hopeful moment. It could only be his brother, Faramir.
"The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office." Holding a white rod out to Aragorn.
"That office is not ended, and it shall be thine and thy heirs' as long as my line shall last," Aragorn spoke, handing Faramir back the rod. "Do now thy office!"
Faramir stood before all, speaking loud and clear.
"Men of Gondor hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! one has come to claim the kingship again at last. Here is Aragorn son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Númenor. Shall he be king and enter into the City and dwell there?"
The cries of approval were deafening.
"Men of Gondor, the loremasters tell that it was the custom of old that the king should receive the crown from his father ere he died; or if that might not be, that he should go alone and take it from the hands of his father in the tomb where he was laid. But since things must now be done otherwise, using the authority of the Steward, I have today brought hither from Rath Dínen the crown of Eärnur the last king, whose days passed in the time of our longfathers of old."
The guards brought forth the casket, out of which Faramir drew a white winged crown. Aragorn took it from him, raising it high.
"Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!" He handed the crown back to Faramir, a move nobody expected. "By the labour and valour of many I have come into my inheritance. In token of this I would have the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me, and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will; for he has been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory."
Gandalf and Frodo the halfling went forward, and taking the crown from Faramir, Frodo passed it off to Gandalf. Aragorn knelt, and Gandalf placed the crown upon his head.
"Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!" Spoke Gandalf.
Tears threatened to fall from Daeril's eyes as she beheld her Chieftain, finally wearing the crown he had worked his whole life to earn. He had always been a king in her eye, but the man that stood before them now was so different from the ranger she had known all her life. He was now Elessar, the king of the reunited kingdom.
"Behold the king!" Faramir cried.
Trumpets sounded, and music and voices of joy and celebration filled the air as they entered the city. The streets were laden with flowers, a stark contrast to the still heavily damaged city that surrounded them. The celebration continued through the whole day, and Daeril found herself overwhelmed with all the people she was being introduced to, and the crowds and the noise. Maybe nobody would notice if she slipped out and made a run for it, but then there was the problem of finding her way through the city now that they were in the citadel, so far from the main gate.
Her salvation came in the form of Prince Imrahil, escorting a figure she nearly did not recognize, draped in an expensive looking white gown and her golden hair flowing in the light breeze. She bowed to the prince, but could not take her eyes off the Lady Eowyn, how different and happy she now looked.
"My Lady Éowyn, this is Daeril of the Dunedain. I do not know If you have met."
"Well met, my lady," Daeril greeted with a slight bow of her head. Éowyn returned the nod.
"I did not know a woman traveled with the Dunedain," Éowyn's face looked both thrilled and suspicious.
"There were two of us, my lady. I supposed I looked quite like a man when we came to Dunharrow, we had been traveling for quite a long time."
Both the prince and Éowyn laughed.
"I will leave you two to talk," Prince Imrahil said, clasping Daeril on the shoulder and then slipping away.
"Come, let us walk. It is far too noisy out here."
The two young women left the courtyard, Éowyn leading the way. She was constantly bombarded by well-wishers as they walked, and Daeril overheard some congratulatory remarks. Finally they reached a quiet stairway, which led up onto a deserted lookout point on the walls. They stood looking out over the Pelennor, the blue sky and green grass gently blowing in the wind so much more serene than it had been just over a month prior. Both had fought on that field, neither knowing the other was there.
"I heard what you did at the Battle of the Pelennor. That was very brave."
"Brave? Nay, it was my duty. I should have gone with your company into the Dwimoberg, but Lord... King, Aragorn forbid me."
Daeril remembered it clearly, Éowyn begging Aragorn to let her come, to prove her worth. She had pitied her then, but she did not pity her now.
"It was a journey I do not wish upon anyone," Daeril said quietly. "Had Aragorn not been leading us, I believe we would have died of fear itself on that path."
Daeril studied Éowyn's face, her stern gaze set far out beyond the field below them. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but did not speak. She knew the girl had some infatuation with Aragorn, but he very clearly rejected her in the nicest way possible. She was so young, especially compared to him, and he already had Lady Arwen in his heart, and could love no other. Of course he was handsome, and lordly, and everyone who knew him loved him.
"Are you the woman..." Éowyn paused, as if pondering how to deliver what she was about to ask. "Whom Aragorn loves?"
Daeril had to stop the laughter that threatened to spill forth from her quivering lips. She was the last person in all of the land who she would ever think could be mistaken for Aragorn's lover.
"Well, I would hope that he loves me, as I am family." Daeril laughed. "But I am not she."
"I am sorry, I just... wanted to know."
"It is fine, my lady."
Éowyn seemed to warm up more to her, and laughed.
"It should not bother me anymore. I have found one whom I love, and he loves me. That is all that matters. But tell me, how are you of relation to the king?"
"Distantly. My mother was his cousin. Her brother, my uncle, was a great man. He perished on the Pelennor."
"I am sorry," Eowyn said. "I lost my uncle in the battle as well."
"Yes, King Théoden fought bravely. I wish that I could have met him. If he was anything like you and your brother, I am sure I would have liked him."
There was silence once again, and they could hear sounds of celebration in the streets below them. The sun was just starting to set, and a pink glow overtook the distant clouds. The warm air and the late sunset gave promise of a beautiful summer to come, and Daeril couldn't help but feel happy, more so than she had in a long time.
"Do you have anyone, Lady Daeril? Are you married?"
"No... I had someone, but he is gone now. He died half a year ago, slain by Nazgûl."
Éowyn looked shocked, and embarrassed for asking, but Daeril smiled at her.
"It helps to say it, out loud. I think I refused to believe it, for a while, but it happened. His death has been avenged a thousand fold, and I hope he is at peace. I am at peace with it, now."
"What was his name?"
"Faeron. Son of Fuirchon."
They were interrupted by Daenir, appearing with none other than Faramir.
"There you are, my love," Faramir kissed Éowyn's hand.
Daeril's heart skipped a beat seeing Faramir again, how much he looked like Boromir.
"Lord Faramir, this is Daeril, my sister."
Faramir's eyes lit up.
"I am honored to finally meet you," Faramir said. "Your brother here has told me much about you."
"Likewise, my lord."
"Daenir tells me you were a friend to Boromir."
"Yes, we met in Imladris. We talked much in the months he was there."
"I am glad he had a friend in such a strange land."
"And I am glad to have known him."
It was not until late in the evening, nearly midnight, that Daeril returned to camp on the Pelennor with some of her kinsmen. The city was still under construction, leaving very little lodging for anyone save those most important people, and she would not have wanted to stay in stone walls anyway. As she lay in her bedroll she almost felt that the whole day had been a dream, and she would soon wake. Aragorn was king... King Elessar. The war was over. Good had prevailed over evil. Now where did she go from here?
A/N: Sorry for the absence, I have been finishing up my last class for my degree, but am done now! As always, thanks for reading and I hope you are all enjoying the holiday season!