39 – THE LAST DEBATE


On the third day of her recovery, Tíniel made it out of the bed. She tried to move her legs to walk, but the agony was unbearable, and they decided sitting would be enough of a first step. Aragorn carried her the rest of the way to the chair.

He was usually gone during the day, planning the defence of the city and tending to those who were beyond the reach of the other Healers. Tíniel was occupied by the rest of her visitors, who would come in to talk and ask after her recovery.

But in the evenings, he'd return to her, and they'd talk or sit in silence. He shared her bed every night after he realised it helped him sleep. People noticed, Tíniel knew, but nobody spoke out.

Sitting properly upright felt like an achievement, though it was only the smallest of changes. In a rare moment alone, Tíniel closed her eyes and let the warm spring breeze brush over her face. What a time to feel peaceful in, she thought.

A knock at the door snapped her from her reverie, and she looked over to see Éowyn, dressed all in white as usual, with her hair hanging loose and one arm in a sling. A grin spread across her face.

"Hello," Éowyn said cautiously. "How are you?"

"All the better for seeing you," Tíniel replied. "Come in!"

Relief washed over Éowyn's face, and she limped gingerly into the small room. "My, but it's good to see you again," she said. "I was so worried… but I was told not to visit because I was too weak. Today is the first day that I'm really up and about."

"You don't look too broken at all," Tíniel said, and the other woman laughed.

"We can hope so. I think it was you who bore the brunt of the damage."

"Aragorn sewed me up well enough," she said, and her face fell a little. "Though I am yet to even stand without help."

"It will come," Éowyn said earnestly, pulling the other chair over to sit beside her at the window. "Don't despair, Tíniel. You mustn't! You need only have patience."

"Thank goodness for my friends, then," Tíniel said, looking back out at the sky. "Thank goodness for you, and Ingold and Legolas and the hobbits, and Aragorn too…"

Éowyn looked down, and she realised what she'd said. "I am sorry, Éowyn, I didn't mean –"

"No, do not worry yourself on my account." Éowyn looked back up and smiled. "I know I thought myself in love before, but since then, he and I have come to some kind of understanding that it cannot be so."

Tíniel watched her with concern. "I am sorry…"

"Don't be," Éowyn replied breezily. "Besides, even in these past few days…" she paused and shook her head. "I hesitate to tell you, for he too is a man close to your heart. But I long for advice."

"Who is it, then?" Tíniel asked, curiosity eating her up.

"Faramir, the Steward's son," Éowyn confessed, blushing deeply. "He has been confined in the Houses as well."

Tíniel felt the grin creep back onto her face. "Faramir?"

"He's been watching me," Éowyn said in agitation, lowering her voice although there was no one else in the room. "I don't think he realises that I know, but I do."

"That sounds like Faramir," Tíniel said. "About as subtle as a stone through a window."

"But there is something in his eyes when he's looking at me," Éowyn went on, her voice becoming slightly dreamy. "Something I've never seen in any man's eyes before. It's like he sees me, really sees me. And I don't think I have ever been seen like that before."

Tíniel's smile widened. "Oh, Éowyn, you silly girl. This makes me happier than you could know."

She looked up anxiously. "Really?"

"Faramir has been unhappy for a long while now. He has endured loss, pain and grief. To know that he has a chance of finding peace with you… of course it makes me happy. And as for you – you could find no better man to love than Faramir of Minas Tirith."

"I dare not hope too much," Éowyn said, but she was smiling now. "It has only led to sadness before."

"Hope all you like," Tíniel replied. "It's all we have in times like these."

"I can't," she said, turning anguished again. "He seems so serious and wise, and I am practically still a girl! I spend my time sparring and riding and listening to war stories… I'm the least suitable match for someone like him!"

"Wise? Serious?" Tíniel asked incredulously. "Éowyn, I used to struggle to make Faramir have a serious conversation. He used to fill Boromir's saddlebags with rocks every time he was riding somewhere. Once when I asked him to give me directions to the cobbler's, he sent me to a whorehouse instead. Sure, he's sick now, but the real Faramir is lively and funny and kind, and shockingly immature. You're perfect for each other."

Éowyn frowned at the backhanded compliment, but Tíniel could see her hidden smile. "I'm glad you came to Rohan all those years ago," she said fondly. Suddenly, there was another knock at the door, and Legolas came in. Éowyn got to her feet.

"My lord," she said, inclining her head. "I was just leaving."

"Do not leave on my account," Legolas said, but she shook her head.

"The Healers will have my hide if I stay," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "It's back to bed with me! Until we meet again."

Tíniel adjusted herself gingerly on the bed, and took a drink from the flask beside it. watching Legolas while she did. He paced to the window and looked out, but after a moment, his fists clenched, and he went to the chair and sat. Then he quickly stood again.

Tíniel put the flask back on the bedside table, beginning to feel worried. "Why did you come to see me, Legolas?"

He looked up slowly and smiled his usual smile, but she could see something else beneath it too. "Because you are my friend, princess."

"Legolas."

His eyes flicked downwards. "Need I have a reason?"

"Legolas, what is wrong?"

He looked up again. Tíniel had been with him through battles, had grieved with him and laughed with him, but she had never seen such anguish as she saw written on his face then.

"After the Paths of the Dead," he said quietly, "We travelled to Pelargir. You know it?"

"Yes, on the Anduin," she said.

"It is where we intercepted the black fleet, with the army of the dead behind us."

"Aragorn said none of the Grey Company even had to raise a blade."

A corner of his mouth twitched upward. "It is true. Fighting ghosts are something I never wish to see again, though."

There was silence for a moment, and she waited patiently for him to continue.

"I saw gulls," he said at last, his voice trembling barely noticeably. "Have you ever seen a gull, Tíniel?"

"I lived at sea for many months," she answered cautiously, her worry growing. "I saw many."

"What strange birds, to travel so far inland, so far from their home," he said, with a joyless smile. "And now I must leave."

Tíniel sat there, confused and at a loss for what to say. She took his hand in hers. "Leave? Leave this room? Or leave Minas Tirith?"

"Leave Middle-earth," he replied in a rush, looking down at their joined hands.

Tíniel drew in a sharp breath, finally understanding. "The sea-longing," she said. "It has caught you."

"I cannot tell you how it feels," he whispered, his voice more uneven than she'd ever heard it before. "Any peace I ever had is gone, gone far away. Every waking moment is restless agony, and every time I try to sleep, I dream…"

He put his head down and hid his face in the bedsheets. Tíniel looked down at him pityingly, almost certain that there could be nothing that she could say that would make it better.

"All I know is that I shall never be happy here again," he said, his voice slightly muffled.

"You might," she countered weakly. "The feeling is new for you, perhaps it will fade after a while…"

"No. It gets stronger by the day," he said miserably, looking up. "It is like a dagger in my side that I know will stay until I have left. It is like my soul is being held over a fire, but the flames will not be quenched until I go. And every moment that I choose to stay, the torture goes on…" He shook his head. "It is a longing – nay, a yearning that is without end. I wish even to see the ocean, just to taste the salt on the air… but then it will become unbearable."

Tíniel frowned suddenly. "Legolas, do you remember on the Anduin when I asked you about Remuil, the Elf I had met long ago?"

He blinked. "I do."

"He was the captain of the Haedannen. He lived on the sea, and he once spoke to me of feeling drawn to it… but how did he withstand it? Why did he not simply sail into the West?"

"I cannot imagine why he would not go," he said quietly. "To be at sea and know you are so close… it would be purest agony."

"Legolas, I am so sorry," she said sincerely. "I can't imagine what you must feel."

"And I am sorry for laying my burden on you," he said, tightening his grip on her hand slightly. "Aragorn has enough on his shoulders. And Gimli… he would not understand. It fell to you, princess."

"Well," she said, smiling faintly. "My ears are open whenever you need them. And Legolas – Middle-earth will always be brighter when you are in it."

A shadow of his old serenity passed over his face. "And I shall mourn to leave you behind, one day," he said, but then he shook his head. "But perhaps it will not come to that. The worst of this war is yet to come, I fear. I heard there is to be a council of the captains today."

Tíniel sat up straight, ignoring the spike of pain in her back. "What?"

"A council of the captains," he repeated, "to determine our next move."

"But I am a captain of my army," she said angrily. "Why was I not told?"

"Oh dear," Legolas said, releasing her hand and getting to his feet. He looked distinctly uneasy, and Tíniel soon discovered why. There was a loud knock at the door, and an angry looking Aragorn stormed in, followed by a chuckling Gandalf.

"Hello," said Legolas awkwardly. "I was just leaving. Goodbye."

Aragorn's scowl deepened. "What have you done, Legolas?"

"There was a council of captains and you failed to tell me?" Tíniel asked Aragorn, her voice dangerously calm.

"The council has not yet passed," Gandalf said without batting an eyelid. "But it shall, and very soon!"

"Then I shall go," Tíniel said with satisfaction, sinking back into the pillows.

"I think I will go," Legolas muttered uncomfortably. Aragorn shot him a baleful look and turned to Tíniel.

"You are not going, Tíniel," Aragorn snapped. "You can barely stand, let alone walk. You're healing, and to sit through hours of useless talk about what we ought to do will only weaken you."

"Useless talk?" she repeated incredulously.

"The leader of the Maruvikh tribe should be present at a discussion of its future," Gandalf countered. "The longer we put off making this decision, the longer –"

"There are others who can lead the tribe on her behalf," Aragorn bit off. "I will not have days of recovery ruined by a rash decision!"

"I think I had better leave," Legolas announced, but no one listened.

"She is a grown woman, and she can decide for herself," Gandalf said sharply.

"You're only saying that because you know she'll want to go!" Aragorn snapped.

Tíniel cleared her throat delicately, effectively silencing both of them. They looked up at her expectantly, and she sat up as straight as she could manage.

"I have never yet been ordered about by a Northman, and I don't intend to start today," she said shortly. "I will be present at the council."

Gandalf leaned back in satisfaction, and Aragorn went to protest, but she held up a hand to silence them.

"However, I cannot walk to the chambers, and I don't wish to be carried like a child. What do you propose?"

"A wheeling-chair?" Gandalf suggested. "Like a wheelbarrow, but with a chair where the barrow goes. You can be pushed about."

She shrugged reluctantly. "I shall have to farewell my dignity, but if it gets me there, it will have to do."

"Is the argument over?" Legolas asked in confusion.

"I do not approve of this, Tíniel," Aragorn protested. "You might hurt yourself further, push yourself more than you should. This is dangerous."

"Then it is well that I don't require your approval," Tíniel answered sharply. "Does my brother know of the council?"

"Yes, and the soldier named Petakh," Gandalf said.

"Good. And what of Denethor? Is he… in his right mind?"

There was an awful silence, and the three of them shifted uncomfortably. "I haven't said anything to you yet," Aragorn began. "I didn't wish to discuss… such things."

Tíniel's eyes widened. "He is dead?"

"He tried to burn himself, and Faramir, alive," Aragorn said quietly. "Gandalf and Beregond, a soldier of Minas Tirith, were able to save Faramir. But they were too late for Denethor."

"He burned to death, clutching the broken white rod of the Stewards in his hands," Gandalf said. "Taken by his own madness."

"Poor Faramir," she whispered. She couldn't believe that Denethor was gone, and for a moment she wasn't sure if she was happy or sad. Then she remembered how, years ago, he'd imprisoned her to use as a bargaining chip against Khand, and she couldn't muster too much sorrow.

"Perhaps Denethor will be the lucky one soon enough," Gandalf said. "This is far from over, and we may soon find ourselves in a worse fate. Now – if I find you a chair, Tíniel, will you come?"

"I will," she said, and he turned and left briskly, followed by a relieved Legolas. Aragorn crouched beside her.

"You don't have to do this," he said intently. "You're hurt, in pain. I know you think it is your duty, but you don't have to do it."

She smiled and put her hand on his head. "The Enemy isn't going to wait for me to get better," she said. "So neither will I."

He stared up at her searchingly. "I wish you weren't like this," he said. "But it's what I love most about you."

Her smile faded, and her hand slipped down to rest on his shoulder. "This won't last, you know," she said quietly.

His brows creased. "What do you mean?"

"If we were living in peace, we could never be together."

"Yes, we could," he said sharply. "We could."

'If we win this war, Aragorn, you will be King, and I will be Khondyë. There is no way that this could continue. And if we lose… well. We'll be dead."

He closed his eyes briefly, as though he was in pain, and then he opened them again to look directly up at her. "Then let us be together until we win, or we are dead."

She smiled sadly. "I won't complain."

He stood and leaned down to kiss her firmly on the lips. She returned it, using her good arm to pull him closer. There was a knock at the door, and Aragorn pulled back quickly. He stared at her for a moment, breathing deeply, but then turned and opened the door.

"Gandalf," he said. "I've never known you to be so polite as to knock and wait."

"I assure you, my friend," Gandalf said with a faintly disgusted air, "it was more to do with preserving my eyesight than civility. I didn't want to walk in on that." He entered the room, pushing before him a wooden chair with two wagon wheels attached either side.

"A little rough, my dear, but it was the best I could do with such short notice," he said, stopping it just before Tíniel.

"You were gone only a minute or two," she said, frowning.

He shrugged, the ever-present twinkle in his eye. "As I have said many a time, wizards are never late. Now, shall we get you into the chair?"

"I shall do it," said Aragorn, stepping forward again. Gandalf simply raised an eyebrow and allowed him to lift Tíniel gently from one chair onto the other.

"Comfortable?" he asked her.

"I think that would be too much to ask," she said, grimacing a little. "But it will do. Let us go, before we're late."


She felt ridiculous as they pushed her up to the citadel. People stared as she went past, the Khandi saluting, the Gondorians bowing with their hands on their hearts and the Rohirrim dipping their heads. Tíniel held her head high, but felt herself flushing.

"This is new," she muttered so Aragorn and Gandalf could hear her. "My own people, I can understand, but the others…"

"You were quite busy during the battle," Gandalf said, sounding as though he was trying not to laugh. "You killed four hundred orcs with your own sword, you see. They fled before you. The witch-king himself trembled beneath your gaze!"

Tíniel pursed her lips. "That is untrue."

"Rumours spread quickly, Queen of the East," the wizard replied, leading the way up to the doors of the throne room. "And no legend has ever done all of what they were said to have done."

"Well in Khand, we do not tell lies," she said curtly, and they wheeled her inside.

Imrahil, Éomer and Faramir were already there, waiting for them. Imrahil smiled down at her widely.

"My lady Tíniel!" he said warmly. "You are looking distinctly less dead than when I last laid eyes on you."

She couldn't help but return the smile wryly. "I'm glad you made it through, Imrahil. And you too, Éomer. The reinforcements were much appreciated."

"Had to repay you for Helm's Deep," he grinned. "And I hear that you and my sister took down a Nazgul?"

"You'd best not believe everything you hear," she warned. "For less than half of it is true."

"Well I've seen you and Éowyn duelling," he replied, "and the ferocity would strike fear in the very heart of the Captain of Mordor."

"If he even had a heart," Faramir said darkly. He looked her up and down and grinned widely despite the dark shadows beneath his eyes. "Why, you look like an elegant sack of potatoes being wheeled about like this, little sister!"

She rolled her eyes. "And there goes the last of my dignity."

The great doors opened again to admit Halbarad, Elrohir and Elladan, and they made their way up to the others.

"I hope we have not delayed you," said the one she thought was Elladan.

"Not at all," Aragorn said. "But you three are the last, so we may begin."

"Then let us begin!" Gandalf said. "We won a great but costly victory on the fields of the Pelennor. What now?"

"Like you said, it was costly," Aragorn said, his demeanour switching immediately into that of Aragorn the Commander. Tíniel suppressed a smile as he went on. "And the thousands of forces we faced were barely a fraction of what awaits us in Mordor."

"How can you know that?" Imrahil asked with a frown.

"Denethor saw it in his palantír," Gandalf said. "Though Sauron could twist what weaker minds saw in the glass, he could not make it lie, for the palantíri were created for good."

"A palantír has only ever been a bringer of trouble in my experience," Tíniel said, remembering her near hanging in the City of Corsairs. "Now they bring ill news again."

"The point is, there is no victory to be had in arms against Sauron," Aragorn said.

"What are we to do then?" Imrahil said sharply. "Stay here, like children sitting on their sandcastles when the tide is washing in?"

Gandalf inclined his head. "There is no victory to be had in arms, he said. But there may yet be victory by another way."

"What way is left to us?" Elrohir – or perhaps Elladan – asked.

"Frodo and Sam are still on their way to Mount Doom," Aragorn said, determination filling his face. "We would know if the Enemy had the Ring, and he doesn't – not yet. And so long as he doesn't, there is hope that it may yet be destroyed, and undo all of his works with it."

"But Frodo and Sam are beyond our aid now," Tíniel said. "All we can do for them is hope that they are not detected."

"We can do better than hope, my dear," Gandalf said.

Aragorn nodded. "Sauron looks for signs, and we've been giving him plenty. I looked in the palantír when we were in Rohan, so he knows that the heir of Isildur lives, and he fears me. he knows the sword that first stole his treasure from him has been reforged. He has lost the battle for Gondor that he ought to have won, and he lost his captain in the process – courtesy of Tíniel and Éowyn."

"So he is afraid," Éomer said. "What of it? The cornered wolf will often bite all the sooner."

"His Eye is fixed very firmly on us, and on nothing else," Gandalf said triumphantly. "Frodo and Sam will remain undetected so long as we keep the Enemy's attention."

"But we will not keep it be remaining here," Halbarad said slowly.

"No," Aragorn agreed.

"Then we must march upon the Black Gates," Imrahil said. A weight seemed to settle on the shoulders of everyone present.

"Yes, I think that is the best way," Gandalf said. "This is no longer a war of strength; it is a waiting game. It is a test to see how long we can hold Sauron's attention, and this is the best way. All his signs point to it – if we march the Morannon, he must pay attention."

"Then it is agreed?" Éomer asked half-heartedly. "Though weary and wounded, we go to our deaths at the gate of Mordor?"

"It is agreed," Aragorn said.

"Then Rohan can send one thousand."

"And Dol Amroth will pledge three thousand," Imrahil said grimly.

"I can spare two thousand Gondorian forces, perhaps," Faramir said. "For I would not leave Minas Tirith undefended and have you return to find it pillaged and burning."

"The Maruvikh will give two thousand, at least," Tíniel said.

"That is seven thousand," Aragorn said. "Enough of a challenge for the Enemy, I think."

"So, it is decided," Gandalf said, suddenly sounding weary. "Let us go then, and rest while we may. Notify your troops. We shall leave at dawn."

Aragorn stayed behind to speak with Gandalf and Imrahil, so Éomer wheeled Tíniel through the great hall while Faramir walked beside.

"What a strange building," Éomer said, looking up with distaste at the cold marble statues of the dead kings. "Can you imagine parties here? What a bore. I think the parties in Meduseld would be jollier."

"I've never known festivities to be held in here," Faramir said. "What a thought! Perhaps with the return of the king, there will be an occasion."

Tíniel looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. There would be no return of the king now, she realised. There would be no future for any who marched upon the Morannon. It filled her with an odd, cold sort of calm.

"You are quiet, sister," Faramir said with concern. He'd started calling her his sister again, and it made her smile.

"I am thinking of things that were, and things that will be," she said wryly. "And all the things that will no longer be, once this is all over."

"How very cryptic of you," Éomer said. "You have spent too much time with that Elf."

"We must have faith that they will come back," Faramir told her. "Always have hope."

She looked up at him. "I mean to go with them, Faramir."

He snorted. "Tíniel, you can't even walk."

"If someone puts me on a horse, I'll get there."

"You know you won't, sister. It would be agonising. It would be impossible."

"You ought to stay back," Éomer agreed.

Tíniel simply shook her head. "Nothing anyone can say will change my mind on this," she said quietly.

Faramir's smile faded. Both men seemed to sense that her tone brooked no argument, and they left the hall in silence.


Faramir grew tired halfway back to the Houses of Healing, so he and Tíniel stopped to rest in the gardens for a while. Faramir on a stone bench beside her. A lark landed in the branches of the tree flowering above them and chirped. They both looked up.

"Go away, bird," Faramir said. "Get out while you can." His voice was laden with weariness, and Tíniel looked sidelong at him. His face had taken on a sickly grey pallor.

"You really ought to go back to bed," she said. "You won't be completely free from the poison for a while yet."

"I can hardly get through two hours without fainting like a maiden in love," he said darkly, scuffing his boot on the cobbling stones. "I feel so weak."

"It'll get better," she promised. "That's what I keep being told. Give it a few days."

He sighed. "At least the Houses of Healing are a pleasant enough place to be. Well, when Anita's not breathing down my neck."

She nodded absent-mindedly. "She does have a habit of threatening her patients," she said. "Do you mean to march to Mordor with the others?"

He shook his head, not commenting at the abrupt change of subject. "I would, truly. But in this state… I would only be a burden. I'd slow them down. Besides, there should be someone left in Minas Tirith who knows the ropes."

"Oh!" Tíniel exclaimed. "I forgot that you are the Steward now!"

Faramir smiled slightly, but it was without joy. "Yes, I am the Steward of Gondor," he said.

She tilted her head. "And how does it feel?"

"Heavy," he replied. "Terrifying. Wrong somehow, for it was not meant for me."

"You'll do wonderfully," she said.

"I wish Boromir was here," he said bitterly. "He'd know exactly what to do. He spent his whole life preparing for this, but I spent mine reading The Tragedy of Fëanor and his Sons. Ridiculous."

"Well, it's a good book."

"Not for ruling a kingdom it's not."

"I miss him so much," she said softly. "It's like an ache, and it isn't letting up. You know, today is the twenty-first day since he died."

He looked sideways at her. "It feels longer," he said. "It feels like months and months."

"And it's been sixteen days since Borund died," she went on, staring down at the stone path. "And I shall leave here tomorrow, to go and die."

"Stay with me," Faramir said pleadingly. "Stay here, and stay alive for your people, for everyone who follows you."

She shook her head, smiling slightly. "There is nothing to stay for, Faramir. It has come down to deciding how we would like to die. I choose to die in battle, riding to meet my foe."

"There is hope still," he argued. "The captains spoke of a waiting game. The Halflings may yet succeed."

"Faramir, they have the chance of a candle in a thunderstorm. We are done for, and I will go to the Black Gate."

He stared at her, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "Tíniel, I wish you wouldn't say things like that," he said at last. But he had begun swaying a little where he sat, and she smiled.

"Let's get you to bed, Steward. You need it."

He wheeled her out of the gardens and back into the Houses, leaning heavily on the chair. They rattled past rows of beds and stretchers, all full of men. Most were sleeping or unconscious, but others watched their progress. Healers wound their way through the patients.

"Almost there," Faramir said tiredly, but he wasn't able to take another step before they were stopped by a voice that had struck terror into the hearts of many a healing soldier.

"Lord Faramir, did I not tell you seven times yesterday that you were not to be walking about?"

He stopped, wincing. "My sincerest apologies, Anita," he said as she came bustling over, her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. "I, uh, had a meeting."

"Well I hope you told everyone you met that it would be the last one you shall ever attend, because at this rate, it will be!"

Faramir hung his head. "But it was important…"

"This is so typical of you," she scolded him, wiping her hands on her apron. Tíniel saw that she had dark circles underneath her eyes. "You and your brother never gave me a minute of peace, and more often than not undid all my good work!"

"I am sorry," Faramir said pleadingly. "We were just on our way back, and I was going to sleep, I swear."

"Likely story," Anita said, shaking her head. Her eyes drifted down to the wheel-chair and widened immediately. "Tíniel?" she gasped.

Tíniel grinned. "The one and only!"

Anita rushed forward and kissed her several times on the cheeks. "By the stars! By the very stars, I am glad to see you! Although –" Her face lapsed back into the scowl "– you shouldn't be out of bed either, you silly girl." The scowl faded and she smiled again. "I am so sorry I haven't been to see you yet," she said. "I've been beyond busy here, trying to clean up after the battle. But I was thinking of you, every day."

"It is good to see you, my friend," Tíniel said. "And you do Gondor a service by your work. Is your family safe?"

"Aye, both of my boys," she replied with a smile. "Bergil is making a nuisance of himself somewhere, I am sure. And Beregond was stationed in the city during the battle, so he is resting now." Her eyes flicked up to Faramir.

"Beregond is the one that saved my life," he said. "That was your husband?"

"It was," Anita said with some pride. Then her eyes widened. "Tíniel, I have something for you!"

She disappeared for a second and then returned carrying something heavy, wrapped in dark red cloth.

"The palantír!" Tíniel realised, taking it from her. "I had forgotten about it!"

Anita inhaled sharply. "That is a palantír?" she said disbelievingly. "You gave me a palantír to take care of, and you didn't even tell me?"

"Yes," Tíniel said, "and you did admirably."

Anita shook her head, her hands returning to her hips. "It astounds me that you two are in charge of thousands and thousands of people," she said, "when I'm not sure if you could take care of yourselves."

"Well we haven't done wonderfully," Faramir reasoned. "We've somehow manoeuvred ourselves into the middle of a war that could enslave all mankind."

"True," Anita agreed, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards. "Now to bed with both of you. I have things to do."

"Just as you say, my lady," Faramir muttered, and they wheeled onward.


One of the perks of being locked away? You're getting more frequent updates! I hope you're all well and loving life.

I sure am! All my very many characters are coming together in one place, and while it's a lot to juggle, it's loads of fun to create their interactions. Something else that is putting a smile on my dial is a subplot that I've been sitting on since Chapter Three. Where is Remuil, that mysterious, good lookin fella? What terrible past is he hiding from? And what is his true identity?

I've been dropping clues through the entire story, though you might not have noticed, since – let's be honest – that early on, you really didn't care. But it's coming to a point now, and I'm very excited. Go back through the story if you like – I can recommend the pirate ship chapters and the Lothlórien chapters for clues if you want to kill time. And let me know if you have any guesses as to his hidden identity!

Enough out of me, you have lives to live and Netflix to binge. See you next chapter, in which you shall find crying, drink spiking and Harûk flirting with Tcharum. Not even kidding, mate.

S