34 – THE SIEGE OF MINAS TIRITH

The next few days were fraught with tension. Tíniel dreamed no more, and with every day that passed, stories of the pirate fleet coming for the City increased.

"Don't think about what you cannot change," Tcharum had urged when she confided her fears that the Grey Company's mission had failed. "We can only focus on the battle that is coming to us."

He was right, of course, but it didn't stop her worrying.

Faramir was still gone, and all news coming from Osgiliath was bad. Word had it that Faramir had lost a quarter of his men there, though he still lived – for now. And Ingold had left with a party of men for Rohan on Denethor's orders.

"He all but told us to command them to come to our aid," Ingold confided in her quietly, the night before he left. "He bade us command them when we should be crawling before them, begging them."

"They intended to come when I left," she reasoned. "They still might."

"Why would they?" he said despairingly. "They have enemies marching from the North into their own lands, and Minas Tirith is about to become a death trap. No, there is no help coming from Rohan."

Still, he left the next morning under the darkness of the invisible dawn.

Tíniel threw herself into the organisation of her tribe. The mothers gathered supplies for the potential siege and built extra bows and arrows. The variag were organised into units that would work better in the layout of Minas Tirith and the Pelennor fields.

The plan was for the Maruvikh archers – about four hundred of them – to fire from the walls while the siege lasted. If – and when – the walls were breached, four units would stay in the city to try to minimise the enemy's penetration. Another two units would exit through the main gates on horseback and take the battle to the fields, and the last five units would follow on foot.

The mothers and children would be taken up higher into the City, but they were armed to the teeth in case every other layer of defence was overcome.

She was overseeing the distribution of weapons when Anita came to visit. There was a long line of Khandi men and women going out the door, and they all gave her strange looks when she squeezed past them into the building. She was wearing her grey Healer's dress, and that combined with her pale skin made her stick out like a sore thumb.

"Hello," she said, eying the line.

"Hello Anita!" Tíniel returned, handing a sharpened mithiri to the fresh-faced soldier before her.

"Khuma Khondye," he said to her, and exited out the door. The next variag stepped up.

"I just wanted to see how you were faring," Anita said.

"Well enough," Tíniel replied, beckoning to Petakh to take over from her. She stepped to the side and brushed off her hands. "How go things in the higher circles?"

"It's chaos," Anita sighed. "The Houses are in pandemonium. We're not going to have enough room, let alone enough beds. We have barely enough Healers as it is, since most of the women left with the wagons. I don't know what to do. We don't even have a clear idea of what scale we're looking at."

"There might be thousands, Anita," Tíniel said grimly.

Anita shook her head bleakly. "We have not the room. We have nowhere near the space we're going to need."

"The gardens," Tíniel exclaimed, the idea coming to her suddenly. "Put stretchers in the gardens for the less wounded. They're attached to the Houses, aren't they?"

"Yes!" Anita agreed, excited. "I'll have them clear the space as soon as I return. Ioreth will have kittens, but the others will see the need."

"Ioreth didn't leave with the others?" Tíniel asked sympathetically.

"No," Anita sighed. "Ironic, I know, since she is the biggest liability in Gondor."

Tíniel tried to hide her snort. "That's cruel."

"But true, I'm afraid. She claims that she stays to watch over her niece, who is a better Healer than her by any measure. But everyone knows she stayed because she was afraid of missing out on the gossip."

"At least Ioreth hasn't changed," Tíniel grinned. "Listen, I'll pull every healer I have from my ranks and send them up to help you. That should suffice to scandalise Ioreth."

"I should think so!" Anita replied. "But your people don't speak the common tongue. Will it not pose difficulties?"

"I'll send Petakh with them," Tíniel said, nodding at the woman dispensing weapons a few yards away. "She understands enough Westron, and she is pregnant so she cannot fight."

"Very well," Anita said. "It will be a great help. Send them up as soon as the siege begins."

"It will be done,' Tíniel agreed, and for a few seconds they watched the line progress in silence. Every now and then, one of the soldiers would glance up at the roof. Some shifted nervously.

"Are they alright?" Anita asked, frowning.

Tíniel smiled slightly. "They don't like being inside," she said. "They are used to being under light wooden beams and animal skins, nothing more."

"Long past are the days when you did the same," Anita replied, shaking her head wryly. Then her frown returned. "Do all the tribes dress the same in Khand?"

Tíniel paused. "No, not exactly. We would be able to tell if someone was Maruvikh or not. Why do you ask?"

Anita chewed on her bottom lip. "I heard that the Enemy has recruited more Khandi forces into his army."

"I heard the same," Tíniel said, still unsure of what Anita was getting at.

"Well, how will our army know the difference between your people and Khandi enemies on the battlefield?"

Tíniel froze, her mind racing. It was an excellent point, and one she hadn't considered before. "Vorukhi," she swore under her breath. "What can we do?"

Anita's brow creased, and Tíniel knew her friend was deep in thought. "Do other tribes cover their faces as yours sometimes does?"

"Yes, and they certainly will during battle."

"What colour will the cloth be?"

"Red, mostly," Tíniel said. "The Kheviag tribe will wear dull orange, if they come. But how does this help us?"

"Could your soldiers fight without them?"

Tíniel hesitated, but shook her head. "It would be like a knight of Gondor fighting naked," she said. "It could be done, but that doesn't mean it is in any way comfortable – for him, or for his enemy."

"Then we shall have some made that are of a different colour," Anita said. "Tarlas the old cloth merchant has left with the wagons. Do you fancy breaking into his shop?"

It was a lot easier to do than Tíniel had anticipated. There was an open window around the back.

"You don't think he'll have taken all his wares with him?" she asked as they climbed through into the dark, dusty room.

"Not at all," Anita replied. "Have you ever seen one of his rolls of cloth? They're enormous, and too to be piled up in their tens on a wagon."

They found a trapdoor that led down underneath the building, and that's where they found them.

"By the stars," Tíniel whispered in awe. "They're massive."

There were tens of rolls of cloth leaning against the wall, each of them nearly double her height.

"This one will do nicely, I think," Anita said, fingering a bolt dyed dark blue. "Blue for Minas Tirith."

"Now to get it out," Tíniel said grimly.

Hirgon of the Guard found them a little while later, trying to lug the enormous roll of fabric back down to the Khandi headquarters.

"Ah, my lady?" he said awkwardly.

"Hirgon!" Tíniel returned breathlessly, accidentally dropping her end of the roll. "Is everything alright?"

"No," he said, his tone suddenly urgent as though he'd remembered his errand. "The command at Osgiliath, they're… retreating. We're going to send out a sortie, and we'd be grateful if you'd join us."

Tíniel's heart dropped and she snapped to attention. "My riders can be ready in minutes," she said. "Meet me there!"

Hirgon bowed quickly and turned to leave, but then Tíniel frowned. Something didn't feel right.

"Hirgon!" He whirled back to face her at the sound of his name. "Did the Steward order this?"

Hirgon hesitated, glancing up to the Tower of Ecthelion in the distance. Strange lights had been flashing in its window all day, and she feared the palantír had something to do with it.

"No, Tíniel," he admitted. "It was the lord Imrahil who told me to go find you. I am sorry, but there is little time to delay." He turned and disappeared into the gloom.

Tíniel paused for a moment, looking after him. Riding out to rescue the Osgiliath forces could be a dangerous political move if Denethor hadn't ordered it. But then she shook her head. Imrahil was with her. And more importantly, Faramir was out there. And he needed her help.

"Sorry Anita!" she cried, and sprinted after Hirgon.

Anita looked back balefully at the bolt of cloth that was probably twice her own weight.

"I don't know why I put up with it," she said to it. It didn't reply, and mournfully, she began to drag it by herself.

Tíniel pelted down the streets, shouting the passwords at the Guards so that they could open the gates before she was even there. She slammed into the building where they'd been quartered. Petakh was handing out the last of the weapons.

"Riders!" she yelled in Khandi, drawing the attention of everyone present. "With me, to battle! Archers, to the walls!"

Instantly, there was a flurry of activity. Petakh was at her side in a moment.

"Let me ride, Khondyë," she said urgently.

Tíniel shook her head. "Law is law, Petakh," she replied. "Command the archers at the walls. Do not let them shoot unless the shots are clear."

Petakh looked as though she wanted to argue, but she only saluted.

"Where is Tcharum?" Tíniel yelled.

"Here!" her brother shouted back, wading through the swarming crowd of people. "What happened?" he asked when he reached her. "Is it time?"

"Not yet," she replied. "But we're sending out a rescue party. Come with me?"

"Of course," he said, winding his vadi around his head and over his mouth and nose. "Time for an orc hunt!"

Tcharum oversaw the muster of Khandi forces while Tíniel went up to the Gate, where Imrahil was waiting. He was a tall, broad man, whose dark hair was greying at the temples. He exuded an aura of self-possessed authority.

He bowed, his hand on his chest. "Well met, Tchakhura of Khand," he said.

She saluted in the Khandi fashion. "Same to you, Prince."

"I fear there is little time for pleasantries now," he said. "They are retreating from Osgiliath, but they are being pursued by orcs and Southrons."

"I have two hundred riders ready to go as soon as you like," she said, her tone abrupt and business-like. "Will you ride with us?"

There was a shadow of approval in Imrahil's stern eyes. "Of course," he replied. But his slight smile faded when he glanced out over the plain. Tíniel followed his gaze and clenched her jaw.

Retreat was too strong a word for the sight before her. It was a rout, a disorganised shambles. Horses galloped in terrified disorder, and the forces spread in a jagged line of retreat across the plain. The scene was made only more terrible by the army that followed swift on their heels.

Tíniel wrapped Borund's vadi around her face, and Imrahil donned his helm.

"Let us ride," he said grimly.

When the Gates finally began to swing open, Tíniel's horse was champing at the bit.

"Your people take the orcs," she said to Imrahil, who was mounted beside her. "Mine will take the Southrons."

He nodded shortly in agreement, his grip tightening on the reigns as the gates swung wide open.

"See you on the other side," he said, flipping down his visor.

"Gods be good," she replied, and drew her curved sword with a loud cry. There was a deafening shriek of metal behind her as her riders did the same.

"Forward!" she shouted, and kicked her horse into a gallop.

It had been a long time since she'd fought on horseback. She raced across the plain, Tcharum beside her and her variag behind her, her face covered by the red cloth of her vadi. Her eyes narrowed and she swerved to the left to avoid the first of the retreating troops.

It was then a matter of seconds before she was in the midst of the enemy. Most of them were Haradrim of Near Harad, and they fought just as she had expected. Their spears were effective weapons in the charge, but they were unwieldy in close quarters. That was when her mithiri came in handy.

With a fierce cry, she batted aside a spear pointed right at her chest and slashed at the mounted warrior. Her blade opened his neck, but she didn't wait to see him fall. Again and again her sword rose and fell, most times finding its mark.

It wasn't until a dart whistled by her ear that she realised she'd gone too deep.

"Fall back!" she shouted, trying to be heard over the deafening sounds of people fighting and dying. "Maruvikh, with me! Fall back!"

She wheeled her horse and another dart whizzed by her shoulder. She galloped back, taking out a wayward orc on the way.

"Khondyë, why do we retreat?" someone bellowed from her left. It was Vagura, his face streaked with blood and the battle-craze in his eyes.

"Makwa darts!" she shouted back. "They have makwa darts! Fall back, now!"

That was enough to put fear into the Khandi and galvanise them enough to urge their horses faster. Tíniel stood in her stirrups, turning back to make sure none had been left behind…

And she saw him. He was on foot, fighting desperately with a Haradi Captain. His movements were sluggish, exhausted. He was bleeding. He was barely holding his own. But at the last moment, he cut the Captain down.

"Faramir!" Tíniel cried, and he looked up to find the source of the call. Their eyes met, and for a moment his face filled with hope.

And then it hit him.

Tíniel cursed and galloped back toward him. She was almost there when an orc planted an axe in her horse's neck. She fell hard on her shoulder, but she tossed her sword over to her left hand and plunged it into the orc's stomach, slashing to free it and spraying herself with hot blood.

"Tíniel!" came a gasp, and she turned to see Faramir, white faced with a makwa dart protruding from his stomach.

"You're alright," she said, pulling his arm over her shoulder to prop him up. With her free hand she yanked the dart out and tossed it aside, ignoring his cry of agony.

"We need to get back," she said grimly, not allowing herself to think about the reality of Faramir's plight. "We need to go."

At a painful half-jog, she dragged Faramir across the battlefield. She couldn't move her right arm, and it became abundantly clear that they weren't going to make it. She collapsed onto her knees, the pain starting to set in.

"Tíniel," Faramir gulped. "I cannot… Tíniel, I cannot see. Tíniel!"

She pressed her forehead to his cheek, suddenly exhausted. This wasn't supposed to be how it ended.

"I am here, Faramir," she said. She could see an Easterling approaching and she held her sword ready, saying nothing to Faramir. "I am with you."

"It hurts," he sobbed, hunching over. His voice suddenly sounded very young, and she tried to pull him back upright. The Easterling grinned and whirled his sword, taking his time. He knew she wasn't going anywhere.

But his march was cut short when his head suddenly tumbled off his shoulders.

"It is over!" Imrahil cried from his horse. "The army is safe inside the walls and there is nothing more we can do here! We must go!"

With a monumental effort, Tíniel pulled Faramir to his feet. "Take him!" she shouted, ducking under a rogue swing from a Haradrim. "Take him to Gandalf!"

Imrahil's eyes widened, and he lifted Faramir to sit before him on his enormous horse. "What about you?"

Tíniel gritted her teeth against the pain in her shoulder. "No time," she growled. "Go!"

Imrahil's jaw set and he nodded at her. Then he disappeared into the growing crowd of enemies, back toward the Gate.

Tíniel stood, exhausted, filthy and in terrible pain. Through the haze in her mind, something didn't make sense. Why wasn't she being attacked? Easterlings, Southrons and orcs swarmed about her, howling for the blood of Northmen. Why hadn't they killed her?

Her train of thought was interrupted when someone brushed by her, and her shoulder spiked in pain.

"Death to the khaviga!" came a cry nearby. With an effort, she raised her head to see a Khandi man astride his horse, shouting up to the walls. "Death to Tchakhura Khondye, khaviga to Khand, and all who follow her!"

She looked back down. Her face was covered by a red vadi, and she was dressed as any Khandi soldier would be. They thought she was one of them.

"Not very kind words, if you ask me," came an oddly familiar voice from beside her. Her head jerked up again, and the haze suddenly cleared.

"Akhund?" she breathed.

"Hush, don't give me away," he replied conspiratorially.

Shock overwhelmed her. "By all that is good, what are you doing here?"

"Lots of things," he said, and began listing off his fingers. "First and foremost, sightseeing. It has been many years since I visited Minas Tirith, and I must say, time has not been kind. Secondly," his eyes twinkled, "to see you. I thought I'd left you alone long enough."

She gaped. "But… how did you know where to find me?"

"Everyone in Middle-earth knows where to find you, my dear. You're the talk of the West and the East. Didn't you hear our friend over there shouting insults in the wrong direction?"

She shifted, and a spike of pain from her shoulder made her groan. "Get to your point, Akhund."

"Well, there is a third and relatively important reason for my presence," he admitted. "I have come to fight in the War."

"On the wrong side."

"Let us not argue about sides, my dear. We don't have the time. I am here on the side of the Valar, and fortunately for you at the moment, that means your side."

Someone jostled her from behind, and fiery pain overcame her for a moment. "And where does that get me?" she grunted.

"Back into the city," Akhund said, smiling breezily. "This way, if you please."

He led her on a weaving path through the gathering mass, until they somehow reached the outer wall. Tíniel could barely think straight.

"The Gate is that way," she said, nodding to the left. "And it's already shut. It's too late."

"We're not going to the Gate," Akhund said. "We're going here."

They stopped at a nondescript place at the base of the wall. It towered above them.

"What is here?" Tíniel asked, craning her neck and then moaning when it cause agonising pain.

"I do not know," Akhund said. "Isn't that funny! I don't know why you need to be here; I just know."

At that moment, a rope dropped from above, almost hitting her in the head. Akhund smiled.

"Well, there you go. Wonders never cease. Enjoy the light show, my dear."

"I – what?" Tíniel stared after him, but he had already disappeared into the crowd.

She looked back at the rope before her. The wall was too high for her to see who had dropped it, but it was useless anyway. She wouldn't be able to climb with one arm, and even if she could, she'd be shot down by orcs.

Just then, not a hundred yards away, there was a small explosion. Tíniel looked back and was almost blinded by a bright light that shone red and orange as the desert sun.

Enjoy the light show, Akhund had told her, and suddenly she knew what to do. She turned back to the wall and wrapped the rope twice around her left hand. She gave a hard tug, and with a jolt, she began to be pulled up.

She would have been doomed if every creature's gaze within a half-mile radius hadn't been drawn to the dazzling lights. She ascended quickly and silently, and when she tumbled over the parapet at the top, she came face to face with another wizard.

"Gandalf?" she said, breathing hard. The pain from her shoulder was so bad that her legs had begun trembling.

"Ah, it's you," he said, his face clearing. "What a pleasant surprise!"

She blinked. "But you… you dropped the rope for me."

"Well, not for you, per say," he said. "I do not know why I dropped the rope. I just knew that it was what needed to happen."

She stared at him, incredulous. "Wizards," she said, shaking her head.

Then he touched her shoulder and she screamed, dropping to her knees.

"Tchakhura!" came Petakh's voice.

"Get her to the Healers," Gandalf said. "Do you understand me?"

"Healers," Petakh repeated in the Common Tongue. "I understand."

"It's dislocated, that's all," Anita said when Petakh and Tíniel at last made it up to the Houses. "Stop being such a baby about it."

"I hate you," Tíniel bit out, and Anita laughed.

"You're going to hate me a lot more in a moment." She turned to Petakh. "Will you help me, friend?"

Tíniel screamed for the second time that night.

Imrahil stood before the Steward of Gondor, Faramir unconscious in his arms. Denethor's face was a mixture of fear and fury, but Imrahil felt little pity for the man.

"What happened?" he hissed.

"Your son is returned, lord," Imrahil replied, "after great deeds."

"After failure, you mean," Denethor all but spat. "Get him out of my sight."

Imrahil fought to keep his temper under control. "He is dying, Denethor. Have you a heart?"

Denethor stood without a word and strode out of the hall. Imrahil closed his eyes, weariness suddenly overcoming him. The end of the world was upon them, and men like Denethor were the ones leading them into it, while men like Faramir paid the price.

"My lord," came an accented voice, and he turned to see the Khandi chief, Tchakhura striding towards him from the main doors. Her arm was in a sling and she was filthy, but otherwise she seemed unharmed.

"My lady," he said. "I feared you were dead."

"Many have done so, and found themselves disappointed," she replied.

His eyes widened. "I didn't mean –"

"A joke, lord," she interrupted gently, and he stared at her for a moment. He'd never met a stranger woman.

But the subject was quickly dropped when her eyes fell on Faramir limp in his arms. Fear radiated from her, and Imrahil sighed.

"I fear he is not long for this world," he said quietly.

She flinched. "There is still a chance," she said, stepping forward and cupping his pale cheek with her good hand. "He was shot by a makwa dart. We can make the antidote."

Imrahil frowned. "Walk with me and explain," he said. She fell into step beside him.

"Then walk quickly," she said. "The Haradrim make a poison from the makwa root, and use it to coat their darts. It acts fast, as you can see," she gestured to Faramir, "and kills effectively. But there is an antidote."

"Then we must get it to him," Imrahil said. But he caught the pained look on Tchakhura's face.

"It is made of the makwa root too," she said. "Only the Haradrim have it."

The beginnings of hope that had sparked in his chest died as soon as they had begun. "So it is hopeless," he said.

She put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks, looking him sternly in the eye. "It is never hopeless, Prince," she said. "Never."

He found himself believing her, this young foreigner whom he would have treated as his enemy in any other situation. "What then?"

"I have sent a spy," she said, leading him onward again. "Someone I trust. He is exiting the City secretly to join the siege outside. He will pose as enemy Khandi and try to get the makwa."

"He won't get caught?" he asked, as they finally turned into the Houses of Healing.

Again, the pain flashed across her face. "I… I pray not," she said, the confident mask slipping back into place. "But the risk is worth it. Some of my warriors were hit as well as Faramir." She glanced down at him again, worry lining her young face. "Gods, I hope he hurries…"

"Tíniel?" came a call. A Healer dressed in grey hurried past the rows of beds towards them.

"Anita!" Tchakhura replied, and stepped aside so that the Healer could see what Imrahil carried. When she did, she paled visibly.

"Oh," she said. "Oh no."

Mugura swallowed hard, standing on his toes to see over the milling crowd. Men, orcs and mixtures between were jostling each other, growling and shrieking and shouting. He had never felt more afraid in his life.

He kept his vadi up over his face and prayed that no one would recognise him as an enemy. He had never been more terrified in his life.

"Hey, you!" came a voice behind him, speaking in an Eastern Harad dialect that he thankfully understood. "Are you lost?"

He shook his head and tried to move on, but the man caught his arm and pulled him back.

"Your people are back that way, you know that?"

He nodded, and the man squinted at him in the dark.

"Is it bad that I can't tell if you're a boy or a girl?"

Mugura felt a flash of indignation. "I'm a boy," he said, but terror made his voice come out high and squeaky. He cleared his throat, embarrassed, but he saw the man's white teeth flash in his dark face. A grin, he realised.

"Very well then, boy. What business do you have here?"

Mugura opened his mouth to reply, but he could think of nothing to say. Desperate, his eyes darted around, searching for inspiration. Then they landed on a pouch at the man's waist.

"You are a healer," he blurted out.

The man blinked. "Not a good one. But necessity will make a healer out of a killer."

"I… my brother," Mugura said. "My brother got hit by a makwa dart. In the battle."

The man looked highly sceptical. "How is that even possible? Our aim is always true."

"There was a Khandi tribe fighting with the Northmen," Mugura said. Guilt at his lie stabbed him like a hot knife. "He was mistaken for one of them."

The Haradi man folded his arms over his chest. "I don't believe you."

Mugura swallowed again. "Khandi don't lie," he said, his voice surprisingly steady for someone who wanted to burst into tears.

At this, the man relented. "That's true enough," he said, and reached into his pouch. "It might be too late for your brother, boy. Almost two hours have passed since the battle." He pulled out a small, twisted makwa root and handed it to Mugura. "But where there is life, there is hope. This darkness won't last forever."

Mugura stared at him, wide eyed. Wasn't the man fighting for Mekakhond? Didn't he want the darkness to last forever? But he simply clapped Mugura on the shoulder and turned away.

Anita and two other male Healers that Tíniel didn't know the names of were bent over Faramir's still body. From what she could catch of their hushed murmurs, they had made no progress.

Imrahil sat beside her, his fists clenched on his knees.

"I will watch him, lord," she said quietly. "I know you have much to attend to."

He glanced down at her. "I know you have much to attend to as well," he said.

She clasped and unclasped her hands. "I cannot leave him. He was – is – as a brother to me."

"As was Boromir?"

She glanced up at him, surprised, but he shrugged. "I've heard stories about you, my lady."

"He is your sister-son, yes?" she asked, and he nodded, looking back to Faramir.

"So I will not leave him either." His jaw clenched, and she thought he looked tired. "As you say, there is work to be done. There is a siege gathering as we speak. Darkness and the end of days waits at our doorstep. But I would be there if it is now that Faramir breathes his last."

His voice caught, but Tíniel didn't look at him. She merely watched the faint rising and falling of Faramir's chest as he died.

She felt numb to the hurt. He was going to die, and become merely another name on her list. Mahaya. Boromir. Vadrë. Borund. Aragorn. She had lost and lost and lost.

But there was hope. There always had to be hope. If she stopped hoping, her people would too, and death would only come sooner. She owed it to them to keep going.

"There is hope, lord," she heard herself say hollowly. "There is always hope."

Imrahil gave her a long look, but she was too tired and empty to care what he thought of her.

"Imrahil," he said at last. "You can call me Imrahil."

That shook a little of the misery from her, and she looked up again. "I am called Tíniel in the North," she said.

At that moment, Mugura came hurtling through the door. She leapt to her feet.

"I have it, Khondyë!" he cried. "I have the makwa!"

The siege has begun, and the battle will soon follow! I wanted to do a bit more editing, but we're likely going to get evacuated this weekend so I thought I might as well post while I can!

Please leave a review and tell me what you think! Happy Lunar New Year to you all.

S