It took precisely one morning for Nemireth to grow bored.

Karos had been as good as his word and the army of guards who had shared the room with her had gone. Of course, that meant there was now no one for her to glare at, the one form of entertainment available to her. Her room, she discovered by morning's light, was functional and perfectly comfortable but also devoid of any distractions and its few novelties wore thin quickly. A few times she convinced herself that she was healed and attempted to leave the bed, only for a stabbing pain in her ribs to shake that particular fantasy from her mind and force her to accept sitting on the edge of the bed as a compromise. Even that felt like she had gone toe-to-toe with a balrog. Time itself seemed to leave her, the days dragging with only mealtimes and the odd visitor interrupting the monotony of her new routine.

Outside the window, her only portal to the rest of the world, she could hear the city as it went through its day. The sellers were still announcing their wares, the children were still playing in the streets and conversation seemed as buzzing and lively as it had been upon her arrival. What was being done to prepare the city for the inevitable siege? Trapped in her room as she was, the Princess could not tell and that was not contributing to her mood.

Karos appeared not long after breakfast was served, helmet tucked under his arm. He said nothing upon seeing her up and out of bed but his expression could have told a story on its own.

"Relax, Captain. I won't be leading the army into battle quite yet." She rolled her shoulders and winced at the stiffness, "How go the preparations?"

"Lord Denethor makes no move. He has yet to leave his palace or to pass any orders to the garrison. Captain Faramir has been leading out bands of rangers to scout Osgiliath and disrupt the enemy but they have fortified the city. It will not fall without assault from a sizeable army."

"I don't suppose we have one to hand?"

"We do not."

"It was worth asking. What is Gandalf doing?"

"He lit the beacon atop the city, a call for aid to Rohan."

"Rohan?" She straightened up, ignoring the pinching pain, "Théoden rides to us?"

"No one can know for sure. The beacons are lit but Rohan may not answer."

"They will answer," She nodded fiercely, "I am sure of it."

"Be that as it may, the enemy will undoubtedly attack before any reinforcements arrive."

"Our army?"

"Too far away to be of assistance. There has been a great deal of rain to the west and it slows their progress."

"So, we're on our own," Nemireth exhaled deeply. Why should this battle be any different? She doubted an army of elves would arrive from the ether to aid them this time, "Has there been a call to arms within the city?"

"No such call has come from the White Tower."

She scowled. Even now, when things were at their worst, Denethor refused to make even the most basic of preparations for the city's defence, "Then can you put the word out, Karos? We need as many blades as we can get. If anyone challenges you, say Faramir asked it of you."

"Yes, your highness," He went to leave.

"Oh, and Karos!" She stopped him in his tracks, hesitating only briefly, with thoughts of Helms Deep in her mind, "No one too young."

"Of course," He bowed his head and with that, disappeared. That once again left the Princess in her own company which she was finding wholly unappealing. There were a few books on a shelf across the room and though it was an effort worthy of the Valar, she did manage to retrieve them, hobbling like an old crone both coming and going. Her effort was rewarded with a tome on the great merchant families of Minas Tirith past, which it took less than a page for Nemireth to discard, and another which seemed to be a carpenters' manual. Was this some form of torture, she wondered, designed to drive the guests of the Steward to madness so they could not pass judgement on his actions or lack thereof?

The one bright spot was Pippin, who had made it his mission to spend as much time with the Princess as possible. Fortunately, his duties did not seem to overly occupy his time and so the hobbit was able to spend most afternoons keeping her company.

That was how she found herself sat on the edge of her bed and listening as Pippin eagerly retold the tale of the beacons with all the relish of an explorer recounting his journey.

"Once I was at the top," He said, pacing back and forth, helping himself to the tasteless lunch she had been brought and then abandoned, "I was sure the guards would see me. One was sitting facing the beacon, our eyes even met!"

"What happened?" Nemireth leant in, eager for details.

"Well, I thought he would say something, and I did the only I could. I waved to him."

"You waved at him?" She mimicked the motion, "Just like that?"

"Well I was atop a pile of oil-soaked kindling atop a mountain, so it was more like this," He waved but in a frantic, wide-eyed manner that brought forth a burst of giggles from Nemireth. Even the pain in her side could not stop her, though she had to stoop a little to mitigate the pain.

"My lady?" Pippin's smile dropped instantly as he leant in with concern in his voice, "Sorry, I did not mean to hurt you."

"Never apologise," She managed between breaths, "For making someone laugh, Pippin." She straightened up. The pains were getting better, she thought, less of a stab and more of a dull ache which she could live with, especially if for as good a cause as this. "What in the winds possessed you to wave at him?"

"My mother always said to be polite. It just seemed to slip out," He smiled at the thought but it was more wistful, "I suppose it was just a little bit of home, though I'm sure my mother would have something to say about my adventures thus far."

"Nothing but good things, I hope?"

"Oh no, I think all the Shire might have heard her yelling," He flinched at the mere thought of it, "'Why can't you be a proper Took, like your sisters?' is what she would say."

"And what is a proper Took?"

"I was never really sure. What my father does I suppose; look after the farm, attend parties, judge pipeweed competitions, keep everything nice and respectable," He pulled a face at which Nemireth nodded empathically, "Don't upset the apple cart."

"I know that feeling," Nemireth looked out towards Mount Doom and sighed, "When there's an expectation on your shoulders that, no matter how hard you try, you'll never be able to realise."

"You mean…as a princess, my lady?"

She nodded, "Be respectable. Be proper. Advance the family. Get married and make alliances. Don't upset the apple cart. You know what I think, Pippin?"

"What, my lady?"

"I think what you're doing; going to the places you've gone, seeing the things you've seen, doing the things you've done, you're not following the path of the Tooks, you're forging your own."

"Truly?"

"Truly. In time, I think when people speak of a 'Proper Took', they'll be thinking of you."

Pippin beamed at that and gave her a hug in thanks, which she took with only the smallest of inhales, hidden from the hobbit.

Once Pippin was called away to duty and the silence of the room engulfed her again, Nemireth decided she had had enough. A servant was quickly summoned and he returned in short order with her armour. The Princess held it as she might an old friend before strapping it on as easily as one might slip into a dress. It was tugging a little at her sides, making deep breaths difficult but it was

familiar and comfortable, like slipping into a warm bath.

It was almost worth those difficult few steps, stiff and sore as they were, just to see the expressions of the guards beyond the door when she exited and passed them with no more than a nod. They watched her down the corridor, looked to one another and then hurried along to catch up.

"You may remain," She told them without stopping, "I won't need a guard in the city."

"Captain Karos gave strict orders-"

"-did he order you watch me or watch the door?"

The guards looked to one another again with some alarm.

"It is not a trick question. What is your name?"

"Narchon, your highness," He bowed his head, "This is Peldir," He pointed to his younger colleague, whose look might have been more suited to the Lord of Winds himself appearing rather than she.

"Narchon, Peldir," She gave them each a bow, "You may rest knowing I am doing nothing to put myself in harm's way," For the moment, at least, though she did not add that thought, "If you could continue to guard my room, it would be most welcome. If Captain Karos does attempt to reprimand you then…well…" She flashed them her most charming smile, "I am the Captain-Commander, you had to obey my orders."

Narchon and Peldir shared a hesitant look before finally bowing their heads and returning to their posts with a "Yes, your highness."

Now free of a chaperone, the Princess went to work.

First, a visit to the catapults she had seen in such poor repair upon her arrival. It had been only two days yet already they had been transformed. No longer crumbling and broken, the rotten beams had been replaced with shining new oak and the frayed, broken ropes nowhere in sight. The grey-bearded master carpenter was not present which was maybe for the best as she may have kissed him out of sheer joy at their sight.

Many already had teams of men working at them and the one closest drew her attention, for each seemed to have a crown of fierce red hair so uncommon in the city. They were checking the ropes, hammering in nails, and planing down the rough parts of the vast frame. One of the carpenters, with a freckly face and cheeky grin, happened to look up and spot the Princess at which he grinned, "Heads down, boys!" He announced, "The foreman's arrived!"

His call drew the attention of the others to her presence and a laugh went amongst them. The ringleader's grin widened as he bowed his head, "Sorry my lady, but it's not often I have the attention of a beautiful woman."

"If your other skills match your wit, I'm not surprised," Nemireth folded her arms.

The catapult erupted into laughter and hooting, with more than one carpenter reaching down to either clap the ringleader on the shoulder or pounding their fists against the wood before them in approval. For his part, the redheaded man, who looked little more than a boy lost his smile for all of a moment before he too burst out laughing and clapped, "Well played, my lady. You must be that foreign princess?"

"How could you tell?" She asked somewhat sarcastically.

"Not many women around here wear armour, nor have that honied accent," More chuckles and guffaws, "I'm Edenion! These here are my brothers," He then pointed out a half dozen of the redheads with names that she had no hope of remembering, "Cousins," Yet more names and grinning faces, "and First-cousins," And on again. "Just coming over to admire our handiwork?"

"You have certainly done a good job," That brought nods and more grins from the crew, "She looks ready to fight."

"Any time you need her, day or night, she's ready to dance. Much like me!" Another cheeky grin.

"Oh good, you'll be the first I fire over the wall."

More laughter, more pounding fists, Edenion blushed a little but took the ribbing of his family in good humour, "Really though, we heard what happened in Osgiliath, how you got those boys back. That was an amazing thing." Nods and murmurs of agreement went through the group.

"It was nothing," She waved it away, trying hard to push from her mind the memories of the dead man she had awoken to, staring at her, how Madril's head had bounced when the Gothmog took it, the sound it made as it hit the cobbled street…

She was going to be sick.

"Are you boys ready for a fight?" She asked instead, forcing some joviality into her voice.

"Ready and eager!" Edenion nodded, "With the White Rider and you on our side, how can we lose?"

He believed it, she could see it in his eyes that every word the young carpenter spoke he meant but behind, she could see different in those faces. Some looked away, others out towards Mordor or down at their feet. There was hope, but it was a rare thing no matter how much the city tried to press on with daily life.

"We won't," Nemireth replied, "And when we win, the drinks are on me."

A cheer was their reply and as she departed, all she could hear from that crew was chanting, driven by Edenion as a band was driven by its conductor, "Princess! Princess! Princess!"

The brief trip had taken it out of her and with light fading, there was little more to do than to return to her room with a nod and knowing smile to both Narchon and Peldir who still watched the empty chambers. Even when night covered the city however, the Princess found no sleep, her thoughts haunted by the images of Madril, of the dead man on the street, of the bodies strewn half-sunken in mud before the Deeping Wall. No matter how hard she tried, they would not leave her.

So it was before dawn broke that she arose, scaring the life out of the poor servant who had been bringing her breakfast and did not expect the door to open in his face. She took the bread from the tray but left the porridge as she ventured into the city, stopping briefly at the archives to grab a parchment.

At long last, the gates had been sealed and only now did she see the thick beams and chains that crisscrossed the door, fortifying and steeling it. The Princess gave it little time, instead prowling around the courtyard immediately before them, a large space with tall buildings on three sides and a statue of a mounted warrior dominating the centre. Streets led off to either side and then the main avenue which rose gently in a zigzag. There were few people at this time of day so she was able to concentrate, first checking the parchment and then her surroundings.

"They told me you were here, but I had to see for myself," Faramir leant against one of the buildings, arms folded in evident amusement, "Is this some Aeanorean cultural quirk that escapes me?"

She ignored him at first, instead standing with her back against the gates and scanning left to right, as if seeking a particularly well-hidden treasure.

"Dare I ask what you're doing?"

"Planning."

"Planning?"

She was now looking up at the walls, tall and thick but lacking in guard towers for most of their length. There was a gap between the city and the walls but it had evidently shrunk over the years as more and more dwellings filled the space between the two, "Tell me, if you were an orc just through the gate, where would you go?"

"An orc?" He raised an eyebrow, "No army has ever breached the gates of Minas Tirith."

"Well, they said the same of the Deeping Wall, so you'll forgive me if I don't treat that statement with the finality it deserves."

He laughed, then strode over to join her, back to the gate, "If I were an orc," He looked left and right, "I wouldn't go straight up the main road. There'll be too many defenders, too much of a block. I would go into the smaller streets and try to get around them."

"That's what I thought," At last she showed him the parchment, a street map of the lower city, "We need to block off any street that leads to the main road, or we'll be too easily flanked."

Faramir hummed in thought, "I will see it done."

"We can leave some openings for the men who'll be manning the walls to retreat," She pointed to a few choice areas, "But they will need to be fortified, and every man needs to know this route."

"The captains can pass it through the ranks."

"And we should begin evacuating the lowest level. Having civilians is just going to complicate things."

He nodded in agreement but otherwise took a moment, "My lady…are you alright?"

"I'm fine," The sharpness of her reply likely betrayed otherwise but she did not especially care, "Why?"

"Damrod told me of what happened in Osgiliath…it cannot have been easy."

"No harder than trying to defend a city with no men," She snapped, only to be filled with immediate regret at his expression, "I'm sorry, that was unfair."

"No, it was accurate." The fair-haired captain of Gondor sighed, "We could never hold the city, it was more to buy as much time as we could."

Time which Denethor had squandered wallowing in self-pity. That sentence was barely caught on the tip of her tongue, instead she swallowed and sighed, "About Madril…I am sorry."

Faramir's expression was pained and his soft reply laced with sadness, "He died as he had lived, with courage and defiance. I could ask no more of him than was given."

"I saw it happen," She was looking at her feet, guilt welling up inside her, "I was there. I saw it happen and I did nothing. I let him die."

"My lady," Faramir put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, "From what Damrod has told me, it was a miracle you escaped the city at all, much less with who you saved. Please, feel no guilt over Madril. Instead, be thankful for those who returned. Gondor will hold no ill will towards you."

"Thank you," She felt little comfort in his words but accepted the kindness all the same, "I appreciate you saying so. There were…men there, men with masks? I heard them called the Dusk Guard?"

Faramir pulled an ugly expression; "I feared they would be close. They are the men of Umbar, those of Númenorean blood who have fallen into the thrall of the Dark Lord. Their loyalty to him is absolute."

Nemireth frowned, "It was they who broke through my men in Osgiliath."

"They are amongst the dangerous of Mordor's forces. I fear we may face them again soon."

"I look forward to it," The Princess snarled, scrunching the parchment up into her fist, "We'll show them what the King's Guard can do."

"I have no doubt," Faramir nodded with the upmost seriousness, "But they are dangerous opponents. Their poleaxes are heavy; they cut through steel and bone alike with ease. Their discipline is firm, they will stand their ground and wear down those who face them."

"You sound like you admire them."

"I wish nothing more than their demise, but one has to respect their discipline and their courage. To underestimate or undersell them would be our own folly and no one else's."

He was right, of course but she could not admit that. Not to him and certainly not herself, so instead she sighed and looked up to the emotionless stone face that stood watch at the gate; "Who is he?"

Faramir smiled wanly; "That is Elendil, the first High King of Gondor. It is he who founded this city and it is he who guards over it. It is said that the gates will never fall while the High King keeps watch."

"Well, I certainly hope he's paying attention now."

Faramir laughed but the smile quickly faded as if some fresh thought had come to his mind, "My lady," He hesitated, "There is…something I wish to ask, now that we are no longer in immediate danger. I fear it is still not a good time and may never be, but long has it sat in my mind and I must ask, for my own sake."

"I would challenge that we are out of danger, but if I can help then I will, of course."

"Boromir," instantly Nemireth felt herself tense up, defences rising where there had previously been none, "Sam spoke of him, when trying to convince me to let them pass. He mentioned that…Boromir had tried to take the Ring from Frodo, that it had driven him mad with power." Now it was Faramir's turn to look away and he studied the gates as if they were the most interesting thing in all the world. Yet she recognised the pain in his voice, the weight he carried upon his shoulders, "I wish only to ask; is this true?"

In that moment she was back in Lothlorien. She could smell the forest on the wind, hear the rustle of grass beneath her feet. She heard the hymns of the elves as they mourned Gandalf. She saw Boromir stand before her, reared up to his full height like a maddened bear, eyes wild and angry, teeth bared and voice snarling with malice. She felt his fingers around her arm, squeezing until she was sure it would snap beneath his grip. She heard the hatred in every word he said;

"You're no warrior and you're no ruler. You're a sheep, a mewling lamb being led by the nose by those who would do us harm!"

She saw in her mind the fellowship departing from the shores of the golden forest, their paddles splashing gently in the water. Boromir had not turned to face her, nor had he said goodbye. Her blow to his midriff, her attempt to escape had been the last interaction they had ever had…

She felt tears come to her eyes.

"Boromir…" She thought of how he had met his end, how he had fought to the last breath to defend Merry and Pippin both, as they had told it. She thought of him jumping into the fight outside Moria with no thought to his own protection, or how hard he had battled in Balin's tomb, "Boromir lost his way…as did I. The Ring's evil could undo even the strongest of us. That is it's greatest evil. But Boromir never let his love of Gondor, or his city go. He fought for it with everything he had. When things were overwhelming, he did not back down, as I did. He was a great man…and he is missed…" She bowed her head, fighting back the tears.

Faramir took a deep breath and nodded, "Thank you, my lady. It means a great deal to hear you say that."

Before they could go any further, a runner appeared, bowing to them both, "Apologies my lord, my lady, but Lord Denethor wishes to discuss the defence of the city with you."

Nemireth shared a look with Faramir but curiosity got the better of her and so she followed the captain of Gondor towards the White Tower.