The first breath hurt.

That was the first thought Nemireth remembered. Taking a deep breath and wincing at the sharpness that went through her ribs. It was followed almost immediately by a thumping pain between her temples, as if a troll were attempting to break his way through the front of her skull. She dared not turn over as the aches and pains ran up and down her body. At this point she was getting used to them. Maybe she could just sleep on a little bit longer. Wherever she had fallen it was so wonderfully soft.

"My Lady? Gandalf! Gandalf, I think she's waking up!"

"So she is, and not before time."

The Princess slowly opened her eyes only to squeeze them shut again against the intensity that faced her. Only after a few more blinks did she dare to look around. She was in a…bed? It felt like she was floating it was so soft beneath her, the pillow just visible to either side of her vision. Where was she? Her right fingers clenched together tightly, ignoring the stinging that went through her knuckles as she clasped for a sword that wasn't there. Where was it? Where was her armour? She felt naked without it.

Her men…

She shot up just as a great weight landed on the edge. Before she knew it, tiny hobbit arms had thrown themselves around and pulled her into a tight hug.

"We were so worried about you, my lady!" Pippin was practically giddy with excitement. Nemireth could only respond with a pained wheeze.

"Now, now, young Took," Gandalf clucked from his chair at the foot of the bed and tending to his pipe, "Let the poor Princess breath."

"Oh! Sorry," He backed away as if he had been burned with a sheepish look, eyes downcast but as ever with Pippin, that negativity did not stay for long and his smile was so infectious, "But it's so good to see you awake! We thought you lost until Gandalf requested riders check the banks of the river!"

"Yes indeed," Gandalf puffed on his pipe, now gazing out of an open window that Nemireth only now noticed was there. All she could see from the bed was Mount Doom, making its unwelcome presence felt by spewing fire and ash high into the sky, "And it was good fortune they found you when they did. I fear your Captain was about ready to tear Osgiliath brick from brick with his bare hands."

The wizard rolled his eyes to the door with amusement and Nemireth could only blink in surprise. Aenorean King's Guard stood shoulder to shoulder from wall to wall, spears in hand and shields at their sides. There had to be more than a dozen in the room with them.

Gandalf chuckled at her expression; "Just wait until you see the guards in the hall. Your room is the most secure realm in all Middle Earth." He took another puff.

"Amman lemens sí?" Nemireth asked of the Lochía, the officer in command, the strap at his shoulder betraying his station. Her throat was dry, her voice weak and raspy. A simple question; was this necessary?

"Achía Karos dalasé, Brethil." He replied politely and she rolled her eyes. Of course, Karos would have the entire King's Guard outside her chambers. She was surprised the entire army wasn't here.

"e-narnaran mí athan?" Even if they gave them a few moments of peace, waiting out in the hall so she could speak with Pippin and Gandalf without being under their gaze, that would be enough.

"Achía Karos o-thalionis." Karos had been insistent, there was even less surprise at that statement. She felt for the poor man and considered her next response, sure it would reach the ears of the Captain before too long.

"If Gandalf wants me dead, I doubt very much you could do anything to stop it," She spoke in the common tongue, for she knew he would have some understanding, giving him her most persuasive smile she could manage, "Please Lochía? I will call when we are done."

The wizard raised his eyebrows at the mention of his name and shook his head, returning his attention to his pipe which it seemed was not puffing to his satisfaction.

The Officer hesitated but only for a moment before he gave a curt nod and with a single word, the small army that were her personal guard stamped from the room. As they opened the door, she spied yet more men in the hall beyond and she groaned, looking to the ceiling. Had he truly assigned the entire guard to protect her?

"Ow," The Princess felt her face, "Should it hurt to smile like that?"

Pippin shook his head, clucking his tongue; "The way the Healers talked, I thought it would be far worse!"

"Worse? Worse how?" She felt at her nose and her ears, her cheeks and along her jaw anxiously, "Am I missing anything?"

"You might as well have been with how they were talking. I thought Captain Karos was going to kill them, he was so cross."

Nemireth slumped back into the bed with a deep sigh, hands massaging her temples and contented that she remained in one piece. Her expression grew dark; "The garrison from Osgiliath…how many retreated?"

Pippin's smile slipped and he turned to look out at the city. Gandalf continued to work on his pipe but his shoulders sagged ever so slightly, words slow and mournful; "There were many casualties."

"Faramir? Súletal? Samar?" She swallowed heavily. Of course, there would be casualties from such a defeat it was just…there had been no time to think about how bad it could be.

"Lord Faramir made it back to the city in good health as did your mount. Captain Samar…" A pause, "…I am sorry."

A fresh lump came to her throat and the Princess found she could not clear it. She could not speak and so the silence dragged on, allowing the clinking of the guard's armour outside to seep into the room. Even the city was quiet.

"H-how?" She managed at last.

"I cannot say," The Wizard shook his silvery mane, "But many of your men did make it back safely. More perhaps, than we could have hoped for."

"It was amazing, Nemireth!" Pippin leapt up onto her bed once more, grasping for the single shred of joy to return some brevity to the room, "Faramir and his men were riding back to Minas Tirith, the Black Riders swooping down on these…terrible beasts! I thought that surely they must perish for there was no cover in which they could shelter! Then Gandalf and I rode out with Shadowfax and he…he cast a spell of some kind, some powerful magic that saw off the Nazgul. All of them Nemireth!"

"That's wonderful, Pippin," She smiled softly but there was no warmth to it, "Gandalf, I owe you thanks for…well…everything."

"Bah," He waved a gnarled hand, "A simple conjuration to see them off. Nothing more."

"But then we rode back with them and the people atop the walls cheered as we came through the gates! It was incredible, Princess, like we were returning from some great victory of the olden days!"

"If only it could be so. Victories are in short supply in this age."

"Gandalf says there is hope yet! We may-"

The door behind them was thrown open without so much as a knock and with such force that Nemireth flinched beneath her sheets, only to exhale through her nose at the stabbing pain that went down her side. Standing in the doorway, sword at his side and armour gleaming was Captain Karos.

She shrank back in silence, for his expression was as ugly a look as she had ever seen him wear. The anger practically rolled off him in waves, pulsing with every breath like a wounded boar.

"Well," Gandalf's cheery voice cut through the silence, "I think we shall leave the Princess to her rest. Come along now, young Peregrin Took. I have need of your…unique services atop the city."

Pippin allowed himself to be ushered from the room but not without a worried glance over his shoulder to the Princess. Nemireth caught his eye and nodded with a silent; "I'll be fine" leaving her lips. He smiled back and like that, he was gone.

"Gandalf!" She managed to catch his attention and the wizard paused mid-closing the door behind him, looking back into the room at the young Princess; "How did you know to search the banks of the river?"

"Ah now," He allowed himself a little chortle, eyes gleaming with mischief, "That is a question for another time. Rest well, Princess. The city will have need of you yet." He closed the door gently behind him.

Only she and Karos remained.

He did not sit. He did not storm about and shout. He did not throw things or curse her name. He merely stood and watched her as if his rage had frozen him in place. Nemireth found a fresh fear fill her, for this was a rare anger, so intense that she was sure she could feel her skin begin to tingle just from his presence.

"The Healers tell me you have only bruised your ribs," He spoke carefully, as if every word was taking all his control to contain; "And your head shall heal in time. Your glove protected your hand from worse damage, nothing broken."

"Then I was lucky."

"You were damned fool," His reply was as sharp as any orc blade but in that brief flash, he regained control, "You went to that city with a single promise, that you would withdraw if it looked like it would fall."

"There was no time! Karos…the…I…I didn't want to break my word but once the fighting started, I couldn't just leave!"

"Of course you could. Any detachment of Samar's men would have seen you to the edge of the city without hesitation. You could have left at any time in the battle but no. You chose to stay and break your word. You chose to put yourself in danger once again. Well," he took a deep breath; "It will not happen again. As soon as you are well enough, we retreat westwards."

"We will not!" She shot up in the bed and glared at him, "Karos, I have told you before we are not leaving!"

"And it was my mistake that I listened to you then. I will not repeat my error now that the Winds have seen fit to spare me greater punishment. There will be no debate, your majesty. We ride west."

"I made a promise, Karos. I gave my word that Minas Tirith would stand!" She thought of Aragorn, standing on the stables of Edoras, the true King of Gondor, powerless to defend his throne. She couldn't go now, not when he needed her here most.

"As you gave me your word?"

She had no reply to that.

It can't all be for nothing…

She felt the rage brewing in the pit of her stomach, voice rising, "But we are the King's Guard! We can't just run, this city needs every soldier it can get!"

"But you are not a soldier, you are the Princess of Aeanor."

"I am a soldier of the King's Guar-"

"Nemireth!" he cut across her and struck her dumb. Not once in all the years he had trained her had he used her name. In the court, it would be an instant demotion and arrest but she could see the desperation in his features and…something more…?

Surely not…Karos knew no fear…

He was leaning against Gandalf's chair, suddenly looking as old as she thought him to be; the years suddenly piling atop of him; "Why can't you see? You are not just another soldier. You never were. You are the heir of Aeanor. You are the last in a line has been unbroken for three thousand years! If you fall then all is lost. For the sake of your people, for the sake of the kingdom, it cannot fail here. Not in Middle Earth, not while I have strength left to prevent it!"

So that was it. She laid back in her pillows but the Princess felt nothing as reality closed in around her, suffocating her, taking her heart in its cold, clammy hands and squeezing the life from it before her.

The last of the line…

After her, there was nothing.

Caldor's line, Othion's line would end if she fell. A line that stretched back to the golden age of Númenor. Caldor the Saviour, Othion the Great, Amathor the Unifier. Their names would be as sand before the waves, washed away to memory.

Aeanor was her responsibility. It had always been her responsibility.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight back the welling emotions within. She thought back to Helms Deep, when she had stood on the wall with Xiphos and looked out at what they thought was their end.

A dull pain cut across her cut. Would it ever stop hurting to think about him? She thought of his words that night.

"Someone who can fight and one day will find she can lead. Someone I believe can rule. Can I fight for that belief? Yes. Can I die for that belief? Absolutely."

He had died for it. And the tears flowed afresh. Karos had heard enough, the argument won, he had turned to go. To give the orders that would see Aeanor abandon Middle Earth.

She thought back to that day in the palace. The first day she had met Gandalf, when her father had thrown off her affection, when she had never felt so alone. She thought of the question he had asked, this giant of a stranger with his funny hat and his strange smell. The question that had stuck with her.

"What sort of queen will I be?" She whispered it, so slight she was not sure Karos had heard it but he turned all the same, frowning. She did not look at him, lost in her memories.

"What sort of queen will I be, Karos?"

"With the will of the Winds, you shall be a living one, your majesty."

"A living queen…" She repeated the words, "A queen who's strong…a queen who's kind…who's cruel or craven…"

"Your Majesty-"

"-a queen you could follow?" Now she turned to look to him, blurred behind her tears, "Would you follow me, Karos? Would you follow your queen to whatever end?"

The Captain was silent.

"I have known you most of my life. I have spent more time with you than with my own father. If I cannot get you to follow me, then how can I be queen?"

"The men follow you, your majesty. They speak of what…of what you did in Osgiliath. They hear rumours of the battles in Rohan…"

"The Hallkeeper…"

He nodded, "The men trust you. If you lead them to the very fires of Mordor, then they will follow."

"But not you?"

"Princess," He sounded urgent, desperate even. For the second time in a single day, Nemireth thought she had seen Captain Karos of the Kings Guard lose that veneer of calm, "I must protect you. Even if it must be from yourself. After Osgiliath I…I can't…"

She took his calloused, wrinkled hand in hers and squeezed. He squeezed back; "I'm not that little girl anymore, Karos. You have to let me stand or fall by my own hand. You have to let go." He squeezed harder at her fingers but she ignored the pain, "Please."

There they sat. The Princess of Aeanor, battered, bruised but not broken and the Captain of the King's Guard, the greatest soldier in all the legions of his majesty's army. They said nothing but the connection was stronger than that of their fingertips. Karos hesitated, the mask of the Captain gone and now only worry etched across his wizened features.

It felt like an eternity before he broke the silence, "And you believe that we must stay?"

She nodded. She had nothing more to give.

He broke the contact and she was left holding nothing but air, cold and alone, "Rest up Princess, we can speak further in the morning?"

"Speak?" her voice cracked.

"Of the city's defences. There is a lot to be done."

Nemireth nodded; "Thank you."

"Your Majesty." With a bow he departed, leaving her with no more than the wind that fluttered at the curtains for company. Gingerly, the Princess rolled over in her bed and brought the sheets up under her chin.

So many memories…so many deaths…

Boromir…

Théodred…

Xiphos…

Her mother…

Now Samar too…

When did it end? When did it stop hurting?

As darkness filled the room, resisted only by a single candle by her bed, the Princess cried, sobbing softly into her pillow until sleep took her.