Once the decision had been made, Minas Tirith became a flurry of constant activity. No longer was Gondor in slumber, allowed to sleep beneath the watch of the Stewards but alive with activity under the gaze of their king. Already the working of stone and wood had become a familiar companion within the walls as the wounds of the battle were tended but now it was joined by the roar of furnaces and forges. They worked day and night, churning out armour and weapons while all about the streets people bustled. Mules and horses protested as they pulled carts loaded down with the mundane minutiae of an army marching to war; tents, pots, loaves of hard bread, biscuits in crates, barrel upon barrel of wine, vinegar and water, spare clothing, nails, hammers. These were the things that no bard would lower himself to speak of but without which the great battles they sang of would not exist.
The Fellowship saw very little of each other in the days that followed. Their attention was constantly being drawn to different parts of the city as tasks required their supervision or assistance. For Nemireth, it was exhausting and ever changing. One moment she could be trying to track down an assignment of spears needed for a new company or easing an argument between merchants and the king's servants over the price of their dried meats. As fraught and as stressful as those days were, she welcomed the distractions. Each day she found the pain in her side was lessening; her stride was becoming less and less limp like. For all the burden he had taken on, for all the challenges that now lay ahead of him, Aragorn did not shirk a single one of his duties. Each day he cleaned out and changed the bandages that wrapped around Nemireth's waist and each day she felt her strength return. Whatever he was doing, it was nothing short of a miracle.
Alas, there was only so much that even the healing skill of the King could do to help her in certain aspects. It was for that reason that she was awake and dressed just as the sun crested the horizon, the sky streaked pink and purple, the air still crisp and clear. The training area on which she stood was still shrouded in long and jaded shadows through which her own passed as easily as water over a stone.
"I must repeat my belief that this is foolish, your highness."
"Duly noted, Captain." She took a step and worked her arms while Karos glared. The pinching at her shoulders was most annoying and brought forth a frown. A mere week ago she would have worn this armour as easily as the finest of silks but now it felt as heavy and ungainly as when she had first put it on all those years ago. Not a good start to the morning, "I will have to wear it again some time so it may as well be now."
She caught him glance to Éowyn, who was standing alongside a smoking Gimli. The lady of Rohan kept her council but there was the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.
"How do I look?" She spread her arms for both lady and dwarf to see.
Éowyn's smile widened, Gimli merely snorted past his pipe.
"What?" Nemireth felt a sudden surge of paranoia. Was there a strap undone? In haste and tiredness had she left some part of her armour behind? Was there a mark from breakfast on her cheek? "What is it?"
"I can understand what he sees in you."
Nemireth giggled though she could feel the slightest burning in her cheeks, "I don't know what you mean."
"Of course you do," Éowyn gave her that knowing look and Nemireth felt any resolve quickly begin to falter, "It's hardly a secret, is it? He practically carried you through the entire city. People are talking."
"People are always talking…"
"Not I," Gimli huffed, "Waste of time, gossip. Slows the senses, dulls the wit."
"But Gimli, I heard you speaking down by the gates of Nemireth and Legolas?" Éowyn glanced at Nemireth and winked.
"Ah, that explains much." Nemireth saw the other woman's smile grow yet wider, "Does it hasten beard growth also?"
"What? I…well…yes I was…but…" As Gimli fell over his reply, the two could hold back their laugher no further and though the dwarf spluttered and frowned, his amusement shone through in his eyes, "I have more pressing matters than to be teased by two princesses!"
"Yes of course," Nemireth spoke as seriously as she could manage, "The gate crews shall be looking an update," Éowyn's laugh cut across her and seeing her friend so happy brought forth unbidden giggles from the Princess. They were laughing more at one another than anything, but it felt good and though her stomach ached, Nemireth did not wish it to end even as Gimli strode off, pipe smoke trailing behind him.
At last, their laughter subsided and Nemireth caught Éowyn's eye, "I hear talk as well, and not all of it from Gimli."
"Oh yes?"
"I hear talk that you and the young captain of Gondor have been spending a lot of time together."
Éowyn's smile slipped a little and she looked away, "I was going to tell you…well I was going to ask…"
"Éowyn," Nemireth put a hand on her shoulder, biting her lip, "You're free to do as you wish. There's nothing you need ask of me."
"I wasn't sure how you would react after…" A pained look crossed her features and Nemireth knew well who she mentioned because a similar wave of grief passed over her at the mere suggestion, "I didn't want to hurt you."
"Éowyn," Nemireth forced a smile for she did not want her own sorrow to cloud her words, "It's okay. He would have wanted you to be happy, with him or otherwise. You and Faramir are a good match. I know he's proud of you."
"As I know he is of you," They embraced and held the hug for as long as they could before at long last, they parted, hurriedly wiping away tears.
"So, any chance of a rematch?" Nemireth spread her arms invitingly.
Éowyn shook her head and laughed, "You may be willing to defy a king's will, but I am not."
"Where's the fun in being royalty if you can't be a little rebellious now and then?" Nemireth grinned, "So you accept then I am the better fighter?"
Her eyes widened and there came a gasp of disbelief, "I accept no such thing!"
"It sounds like you do."
"I do not! Give me a few more weeks and I'll prove it!"
"Very well, then we shall see," Nemireth laughed, grinning at the indignant look she'd drawn from Éowyn before focusing her attention to where a servant sat waiting, "Let's try this then."
The man approached and in his hands was a long sword in its scabbard. She took hold of the handle, feeling her fingers form so easily around it and with the easiest of tugs she pulled it free. For the longest time she just looked at it, studying every edge, every flat, every divot, scratch, and pockmark. She could see where some of the notches had gone too deep to be polished out, catching and glinting in the morning light. What had caused those, she wondered. Was it an uruk-hai blade? An orc's axe? A Southron's spear? Just having it in her hand again was a strange feeling, euphoric almost, like a missing part of her had just joined to make her whole again. This weapon had saved her at the Ford of Isen, at Helm's Deep, at Osgiliath and here in Minas Tirith. To those who knew not of such things it was little more than a flattened iron bar with a wooden handle but to her, it was as close a friend as she could ever have.
With a deep breath to steady herself, she began to swing, working her way through the exercises she had learned on the sun-beaten grounds of Minas Luin. Those days were distant and yet so intense in her mind, the memories of the aches, the pains, the sweat running from every pore. One day it would be worth it, she remembered being told, one day you will give thanks for this suffering. The motions came smoothly, one after another; parry left, parry right, overhead cut right, then left, parry over shoulder, right then left, thrust and step, parry and step. All the while she moved, a step left or right, a double forward or back, changing her direction again and again. Each time she was faster. The confidence grew within her. This was a dance she had been learning all her life. It was a dance that had saved her time and time again. This was who she was, this was who she was born to be.
A stabbing pain ran up her body and into her fingers, drawing forth a sharp gasp. She could not help but bend over at the sensation in her side, as if the spear had been thrust through her armour once again. She held her hand over that spot, red hot beneath her breastplate while the other held her weapon with trembling fingers.
"Your highness!" Karos was the first to her, covering the distance in what felt like a single bound.
"I'm okay Karos," She forced herself to breath and to straighten, though the effort brought tears to her eyes, "I just overdid it a little."
Karos clicked his fingers and the same servant came forth. The Captain pried Nemireth's blade from her fingers with a softness she would not have expected of him and returned it to its scabbard before sending the servant off with Nemireth's eyes watching all the way.
"Karos, I wasn't-"
"I think that is sufficient for now," The Captain was giving her that look and at once all resistance drained away. How did he do it? How with one look could a man just take charge like that?, "No great work is done in a single stroke."
"Fine," She knew better than to argue, working her aching shoulder instead, "How was my form?"
"As polished as it always has been, your highness, but the movements," Karos frowned, "I do not recall teaching you that."
"You didn't," She allowed herself a wistful smile, "'It's not that I am fast, it's that you are slow'. A dear friend told me that once. He taught me how to fight in Middle Earth."
"He must have been an excellent warrior."
"Yes, yes he was." She looked up to the White Tower and let it hold her gaze.
We saved the White City, my friend. I hope you'd be proud of us all…
In the distance, a horn blew, deep and melodious.
"I do not recognise that horn," Éowyn frowned, approaching slowly.
Nemireth's heart was beating against her ribcage, "I do." She whispered before a call came down from the walls.
"Horsemen! Horsemen approach!"
Nemireth rushed for the walls with Karos in pursuit. No amount of pain in her side, no heaviness of limb or thought could slow her nor dampen her joy.
Aeanor had come at last!
Already crowds had began to gather along the wall, soldiers and civilians alike but they parted swiftly as the princess made her way through their number until she could see over the battlements. The sight that confronted her brought a gasp of joy from dried lips.
There were indeed horsemen riding across the fields of Pelennor, coming from the west. The tips of their long spears catching the sun as they rode in lose formation along the road. Behind them and hidden in a shroud of dust kicked up by their marching were men, stretching back as far as the eye could see. She could hear the drums, the familiar beat of the march, as recognisable as her own heartbeat. Blue banners fluttered high above them, catching the wind and blowing amongst their cloaks. As they grew closer, she could hear their voices, carrying through the air as clearly as the cry of a giant.
"Cotto, en minas, me harné, gellui!"
"Cotto, en minas, me harné, gellui!"
"Enemies of the city," She whispered to herself, "We are soldiers, triumphant…"
"Hanaren?" One voice called in challenge to be met by a deafening "Anun!" in reply.
The chant grew louder, the voices bolder as they approached. Even the horn could barely make itself heard over their roars;
"Taithmain rena en il uireb!
Avab dregad o il rachas!
Taithmain rena en il uireb!
Thandmain pothad na il rachas!"
"Cotto, en minas, me harné, gellui!"
"Cotto, en minas, me harné, gellui!"
Nemireth made for the gates, able to hear the Ellayan singing even from within the city itself;
"Aaaarathoooornen! Aaaarathoooornen! Oh Aaaarathoooornen!"
My King. Oh My King. Her father…
"Cotto, en minas, me harné, gellui!"
"Cotto, en minas, me harné, gellui!"
Gimli had done a fine job of the gates and it was with some effort that they were opened, with more needed to keep the streets clear from the crowds that now thronged it. There were so many people pressed together, straining to see over the tops of one another while yet others packed every window to catch a glimpse of their reinforcements.
First through where the horsemen whose long hair whipped behind them. They sat atop great beasts, nearly as tall again as Nemireth, the greats steads of the Emerald plains. The men who rode them wore no uniform nor armour but carried so many weapons as to be nearly comical, spears, bows, swords, axes, daggers, darts. No part of them was without a blade of some kind. They looked upon their new abode and the gathered crowds with a guarded watchfulness.
"Ellayan riders," Nemireth mentioned to Éowyn who had now caught up, "Warriors of the plains. There are no better horsemen in all Ellayador."
The Lady of Rohan narrowed her eyes at their presence.
Next through came rank upon rank of soldier dressed in heavy armour with broad oval shields and spears resting on their shoulders. Though they were inside the city, their chanting did not abate;
"Cotto, en minas, me harné, gellui!"
"Cotto, en minas, me harné, gellui!"
"Tirmain an ell Brethil!" The booming voice from behind made her flinch and it took a skipped beat to realise it was that of Karos, oozing the authority of an officer of the King, "Tirmain an ell Brethil!"
The crowds were looking now for the new source of noise and the Princess felt herself shrink a little from their gaze. That was not the greatest reaction however as, like some string had been tugged, the heads of every soldier snapped in her direction as they passed, spears held aloft,
"Ai ani Brethil! Ai ani Brethil!" Now enclosed within the city, their cries bounced off the walls until it sounded like a host passed that could have put the great kingdoms of old to shame.
Éowyn had taken a step back in alarm, "What are they saying?"
Nemireth sighed, trying to keep some heat from her cheeks; "Karos demanded they recognise me…so now they hail my name as they pass."
"That's…quite an honour…"
"It was entirely unnecessary. Thank you for that, Captain"
"These are men of your father, your highness. Your men. It is proper they pay their respects as in Aeanor."
As in Aeanor…she did not know why but those words sent a chill down her spine and suddenly the army that marched through the city did not herald relief but rather a cloying sense of dread. This was not Aeanor…this was Middle Earth. Why did she suddenly feel like she was home, back all those months ago?
"Your Highness," Karos drew her attention back to the column as a man passed through the gate and it drew a groan from the Princess who hurriedly turned away.
"What?" Éowyn was struggling to see over the soldier in front, "What is it?"
"Not what…but who…" was the glowered reply. The man had stopped his horse and dismounted as nimbly as a squirrel climbed a tree in spite of the ornate armour he wore.
Why him? Of all people, why him?
"Is he coming this way?" Nemireth asked.
"He appears to be, your highness."
"If I'm quick, I can get away before he sees me properly."
"Do my ears deceive me?" Éowyn chuckled, "Princess Nemireth, the Hallkeeper of Rohan would rather stare down a troll than talk to this man?"
"Trolls I can handle! But this…" She got no further for the crowd had parted and now there was no further shield between him and her. He had tied up his hair in a long, dark ponytail for the march at least and he had more growth than when she had last seen him but he was still the same man, older than her by some way and with those sharp, blue eyes like those of a hawk.
"Your highness," He knelt before her and grabbed her hand with both of his without so much as a word with a grip she could feel even through her armour, "It is my delight that our paths should cross once again."
She tried to tug her hand free with no success; "Stand, Lord Siriondil, please. We are not in Minas Luin, there's no need for such formality."
"Oh, but there is. How could I lay my eyes upon Nemireth, the fairest maiden in all the lands and not revere her?"
She cleared her throat somewhat awkwardly. "You have been given command of the army?"
"Alas, I have. I heard word of a host gathering for war far across the sea and I thought to myself that this was the most noble of ventures. How could I not hear the call to arms of the King and rally to his side as soon as I was able?"
"Of course," Her scowl deepened, "How many legions do you bring?"
"Three, my highness. The 3rd, the 9th and the 12th. "
Nemireth felt her joy deflate a little further and a quick glance to Karos betrayed a similar reaction. Now was not the time to challenge nor argue the numbers however, for there was little to be done about it now and frankly, the sooner she could end this conversation, the better, "Come, Lord Siriondil, the King awaits us."
"The king?" The Aeanorean stood with a startled expression, "What king?"
"The king of Gondor of course, unless my father has hidden himself in one of the wagons without my knowledge as part of some elaborate ruse."
"There is no king of Gondor. That line is broken."
"No longer is that so. Now come on, doubtless he will wish to brief you on our plans," She went to go but Siriondil did not follow, his brow furrowing.
"What is it?" Nemireth scowled.
"I answer to no king but the Lord of the Blue City and I have not come all this way to follow a stranger dressed in the trinkets of royalty."
"No," She took a step closer, her voice little more than a hiss. The firm expression of the lord slipped, "You have come all this way because I commanded it. Now I command you to follow me and pay greetings to the king of the White Tower. Do I make myself clear?"
"Of course," The man straightened out though his hand rested on the hilt of a blade that could have undoubtedly bought a legion easily, "My loyalty and my life lie with you and our king, my highness."
Nemireth rolled her eyes but nevertheless led Siriondil up through the city and to the White Tower with that fresh feeling of dread growing ever deeper in the pit of her stomach.
AN: It lives!
Sorry that it's been so long since this story has been updated, it's been a bad couple of months for me personally and I've had a lot to look at and think over, so I was not really in the frame of mind to write. I do mean to finish this though! It may take a little longer and updates may be a little more spaced apart but it will be finished!
I just wanted to thank everyone who's read, who's favourited and reviewed. That's been a huge help to me in the past while and it's uplifting to know people are still enjoying Nemireth's journey. Do please keep reviewing and favouriting and liking the story, it helps so much! ^^
A further note, I updated "Chapter 2: An unexpected visitor" to include a reference to Siriondil, as it was a bit of a pull for him to appear here out of nowhere. Hopefully I can build more on their relationship a little more in following chapters!
My respect for Tolkien has only grown exponentially after writing the Aeanorean chants! It's hard enough to write them in my spoken tongue let alone another! Hopefully you guys liked them. :)