Author's Note: Hello and welcome to Chapter Twenty-One of the "Price of Pity". Finally, Aniror meets her end in this one. I did not give her an easy death, nor a glorious one, but I think her passing reflects who she was in life, wretched. I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, MerryKK, Lady Anck-su-namun, acacia59601, rubic-cube, Chibi-kaz, Empress Guinevere Sparrow, blueoctober, and Awen1923. To Chibi-kaz, the scene you suggested I actually already have written and it will appear in the next chapter. As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.
Chapter Twenty-One The Gates of Minas Tirith
Eowyn pulled the coverlets over her knees and slid into bed. Faramir did likewise, his head coming to rest on the pillow beside her.
"Have you decided?" she asked after he had settled himself. Faramir stared at the ceiling with vacant eyes and made no reply for many a long moment.
"No, I must sleep on it."
Eowyn rolled onto her side and faced him. "He is your son, Faramir. There is no reason for you to part with him."
"I know," Faramir said quickly. "But it is not a decision meant to be rushed. There are times, small moments mind you, when I wonder if Miresgal would indeed be better off amongst his own kind."
"Then happy he should be here, in Minas Tirith, dwelling with his fellow Gondorians," Eowyn said and it was a struggle for her to speak so. Without Miresgal, she dared to hope that Faramir might live a quiet life with her. But in her heart, Eowyn knew he could not stand to be separated from his son and she would never seek to sunder them.
Faramir folded his arms behind his back. "That child is an Elf, his mother reborn. I do not think he is content in the company of Men."
Eowyn did not respond. Her mind raced ahead, burdened by guilt and sharp jealousy. She had never been a jealous woman, excluding the occasions when her brother rode off to war and left in Edoras. Yet this was a different manner of jealousy, born out of fear rather than want. She worried that Faramir still loved Aniror and that knowing the Elf had loved him as well would drive him to the utmost sorrow.
Eowyn glanced at her husband and saw that he had already fallen asleep. She pulled the blankets up to her neck to guard against the cold. The shutters rattled as they strained against the wind. And in the gray space between sleep and wakefulness, she thought the sound reminded her of battering rams and stones striking strong walls…
March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith
Screams. The streets were filled with screams. Aniror dashed from the Citadel, her light Elven feet making nary a sound on the cobblestones. But her heart, oh her heart pounded within her breast, keeping in time with the eerie beat of the enemy's drums.
She heard them, yes, she heard them. Woodland ears picked apart individual sounds, guttural cries, the readying of catapults and the crack of bone beneath a well-aimed missile.
Mordor stood at the gates of Minas Tirith.
And oh, if she only had a dozen or so of her fellow Lothlorien guards. Little difference it would make, but perhaps then her fear might abate and she could stand against her doom.
The white towers and spires of the city shuddered as a fresh volley of black stones smashed into the walls. Frightened women raced by her, their children in their arms. Aniror's stomach clenched and bile threatened to rise up into her mouth. Her own child lay within the Citadel. Without a thought, she stretched out her arm and pulled a fallen woman to her feet. The woman gasped, terrified by the foreign armor Aniror wore, gold against the silver of Gondor. But then she noticed the Elven face beneath the helm and clung to Aniror's arm.
"The city will fall," she cried.
Aniror pushed her away. "Up to the higher levels! Go!"
The woman obeyed. Aniror raced down the winding, white lane, glancing only once over her shoulder at the Tower of Ecthelion.
Faramir…
A shower of shattered stones stopped her and she threw herself into a doorway, her arms over her head.
The shadow-laden sky was rent with a screech. Nazgul. Aniror beat her ears with her hands, panicked for a brief moment. The streets were alive with terror and her limbs suddenly went weak. She slumped against the door.
A strange longing for Lorien rushed over her. Aniror thought of the safety of the mellyrn trees and the ancient protection of Caras Galadhon. In this place, she felt no such safety. No, she was trapped between stone and shadow, death and doom. She would never see her homeland again.
Aniror fell to her knees, tears branding her cheeks with sorrow. She could not fight, she could not…
"Hurry men, to the walls! To the walls!"
Mithrandir cantered by on his Rohan-bred horse. Aniror shot to her feet, one steady hand finding her sword hilt. She must fight.
"Fair Elbereth!" she cried and flew back into the streets. Following the heavy footsteps of Gondor's guards, she made her way to the walls, wading through rocks and crumpled bodies.
Trebuchets whined and wood creaked, flinging missiles over the walls. Aniror mounted the stairs and gazing in-between shoulders, she caught a glimpse of Mordor's army.
A wave of black stained the Pelannor with large siege towers moving ever closer. Aniror leaned upon her sword, her resolve firm, but her heart broken.
She would never see her son or husband again.
Faramir, she almost wished that he would die quickly of his wounds. Let his suffering end before the darkness reached him and swallowed the city whole.
And Miresgal, her precious child. Had he not wings to fly and hasten him from this place. Had he not a way of escape!
Aniror lowered her head. Oh, her beautiful child. And oh, her dear, beloved husband…
Another volley of the enemy's missiles crashed into the walls. The city shook along with its men. Mithrandir alone stood tall. He turned about, his eyes rushing over the line of Gondorian soldiers, stopping last upon Aniror.
"Aniror of Lorien!" he bellowed. "Back to your husband and child! Back to the Citadel!"
Aniror glanced up at him. "My husband is shattered and my child is in peril. I can cower no longer. Who is to defend them if not I?"
Mithrandir studied her face for a quick minute. "Stand your ground," he said and then faced the black sea before them.
Aniror took her place on the wall, ignoring the fear that dropped into her stomach. Siege towers inched closer. She slipped her longbow from off her shoulders and nocked an arrow.
"Aim for the trolls!" Mithrandir pointed down at the brutish creatures pushing the towers. "Aim for the trolls!"
At once, Aniror understood. She pulled back the bowstring, waited a heartbeat and then loosed an arrow. A troll grunted below. Aniror reached for another arrow, the old intoxication of battle humming in her veins.
Eowyn jolted awake, throwing off the thick coverlets as sweat shined on her skin. Faramir still slept peacefully beside her. His chest rose as he sighed in his sleep and then fell as he exhaled. She watched him for a moment, her legs trembling as though she had dashed across a long distance.
Outside, the wind had fallen. Eowyn leapt to her feet and strode to the window. The shutters were thrown back and before her lay Minas Tirith, still and silent except for the errant howl of a lonely dog. No army battered the gates, no towers crawled close to the walls. The Pelannor lay empty.
She closed the shutters. Back to the bed she stumbled, throwing herself in-between the warm blankets. A dream it had been and no more. She crushed her head against the pillow.
Her eyes closed, but she did not sleep. No, she fought against it. Aniror's face wavered in her mind, fair and fierce and frightening. Eowyn curled her fingers over her eyes. She wished for dawn.
For a long while she lay with the coverlets pulled far up over her chin. And for a long while, she battled treacherous sleep. But in the end, her eyes ached and her body relaxed upon the feather bed. The gentle rhythm of Faramir's soft breathing lulled her mind. Aniror faded from her mind, a shred of evening mist whisked away by a Northern wind.
Eowyn drifted off to sleep.
March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith
The great courtyard was strewn with soldiers standing in firm lines before the gates. Lances at the ready, swords unsheathed, they waited. Aniror stood amongst them.
The Elf glanced up to the sky once and searched for the stars. A dark night had come and no moon shown. Only the wicked light of burning torches pierced the black, along with the cries of the enemy that assaulted the gates.
Aniror lowered her eyes. She had never expected this.
From far off, in a land sweeter than Gondor, she remembered the whisper of the mellyrn and the songs that only the Firstborn knew. Pleasant had the nights been there, mild with delicate breezes and leaves that murmured lullabies.
She remembered the happy chatter of her comrades, the soft jokes and laughter that calmed the mind like heady wine.
And oh she remembered her sister, Faeleth, that bright-faced creature who never seemed to frown. And Haldir, a captain stern and wise. And the Lady, yes, the Lady. She remembered the Lady of the Wood.
Mithrandir was still mounted on his Rohan-bred horse and he trotted along the trembling lines of soldiers.
"You are men of Gondor!" he cried and his voice seemed to reach over the sound of the enemy's battering ram as it shook the gates. "Whatever comes through those gates, you will stand and hold your ground."
Wood splintered and a shrill gasp escaped the mass of waiting soldiers. Fire poked through and ate away at the shattered wood. Aniror's hands began to shake. She slid her fingers over the hilt of her sword, the steel cold and hard beneath her grasp.
Had there been a time when she had lived for battle? Those days were but shadowed memories now, distant and unreachable even in her mind. She wondered briefly what she lived for now and was surprised when the answer came to her mind at once.
For her little son…and for Faramir.
A mortal he was, a simple mortal Man. But of late he had seemed to be so much more to her, a gracious, gallant and loving Man who cared for a creature he should have abandoned long ago.
Aniror wondered if he had ever loved her.
The gates jolted inward, spewing cinders and dust over the courtyard. She took a step back.
The walls of the city seemed to close around her and at once she realized that she stood in her tomb. Sadness dashed over her, making her heart ache below the layers of bone and flesh and armor. So this would be her death. The furious chanting of the enemy shredded her ears. She shut her eyes and tried to reclaim the sweetness of Lothlorien one last time.
Once more, the hell hound battering ram smashed into the gates and they flew open, dangling on their ancient hinges.
Trolls pounded in through the wrecked gates, maces in hand.
Mithrandir cried aloud, some desperate command or plea to keep the guards in place. Lances were raised and several managed to pierce the leathery bellies of the beasts.
But Aniror had no lance, only a sword and longbow. Too late did she think to reach for her bow and a troll was upon her before she could nock an arrow. Instead, she drew her sword, slashing at the thick leg of the creature. Black blood spurted over her hand.
Aniror pulled her blade free. The troll stumbled, but did not fall. She scrambled backwards in a vain effort to avoid the frantic failings of the mace. The very tip caught her jaw.
Pain bloomed before her eyes and in her mind. Aniror staggered wildly, her jawbone shattered.
Help. She tried to cry out, to open her mouth and scream. Blood gushed past her broken lips instead and poured down her throat. Soldiers were moaning, dying. Aniror fell to her knees, her sword beside her, useless.
The wounded troll raised his maze. Aniror forced her murky gaze upward, past the troll, past the flames, past the deep darkness of the night sky.
Stars. There were no stars.
The troll roared and brought down his mace. Upon her side she was struck, the force sending her across the courtyard and into a balcony. Bones buckled and ripped through skin. Blood soaked her head. Aniror fell to the pavement and laid amongst the rubble, the last of her life dripping away.
Eowyn shifted and sat up in bed, her heart thundering in her breast. She looked about the chamber and found it dark and still. Faramir still slumbered beside her. She sighed, pressing her shaking hands to her white face. A dream. It had only been a dream.
Then somewhere in the distance, she heard Miresgal cry.
Author's Note: Well, that's it for Aniror. R.I.P. Hopefully Faramir and Eowyn can now move forward with their relationship. Aniror, however, will be appearing in the next few chapters, not alive of course.
Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. Feedback always makes my day. Chapter Twenty-Two will be up on Monday the 28th.