Author's note: From now on, Bridie will be called by her birthname (Annúngil).
"Annúngil"
The name floated from the girl's lips and hovered in the warm autumn air. She whispered the name to herself as she lay in bed, watching the first beams of sun shining in through the window. It sounded so beautiful and romantic, as if it belonged to an elven princess. And the meaning: "west star". Annúngil smiled to herself. She might have known her mother would give her a name that contained the word star.
The bedsheets rustled like fallen leaves as she rolled over onto her back, turning her eyes up to the ceiling and letting her mind wander. Within the first few days of learning about her father, Annúngil had often wondered about him. Wondered what he looked like, what his name was, whether he knew she was still alive, and how he would react if they ever met. Of all the places that it could have happened, Annúngil had not expected to find her father in Rivendell. Naturally, they had spent many hours in the garden catching up on each other's lives. Boromir spoke of his younger brother – and Annúngil's uncle – Faramir, and was deeply saddened by the news of his wife's passing. He admitted that, until recently, he had taken both of them for dead.
"It seems I believed it a little too hard," Boromir laughed humourlessly, his own blue eyes watering. It was not until shortly before Boromir had set out from Minas Tirith that he was finally told the truth by Ioreth, the old healer who had helped his wife and daughter escape from the city. "And I am so very grateful that she did," he said, holding his daughter close to him as if he hundreds of pairs of hands were reaching out to snatch her away.
They had talked well into the night until they grew too tired to continue and promised to meet again the following day. Which would be today. At the realisation, Annúngil leapt out of bed, almost tripping over the covers. A bowl of water and a cloth had been left on the table opposite the bed, and Annúngil washed and dressed, brushed her hair and made her bed, then shot out of the room. As she had hoped, Boromir was already in the library, waiting for her at the foot of the stairs to the balcony. Annúngil scampered down the steps, jumping the last two and launching herself into his open arms.
"The last time I held you like this, you were just a tiny girl. And look at you now," Boromir said as he set her down on the floor.
"I hope I've grown into the woman you hoped I would become," Annúngil said.
Boromir chuckled. "Indeed you have, my little one." The man sighed contentedly as he gazed at his daughter. His pride was evident on his face. "You have grown so beautiful, just like your mother when she was younger. And those bright eyes of yours. It was I who gave you those eyes and thank goodness that was all I gave you; I would never have forgiven myself if you had inherited my big nose!"
Annúngil giggled as Boromir playfully touched the tip of her nose, and blushed. Part of her had feared that Boromir, being a man of noble blood, would hesitate to accept a simple country-bred girl like her as his daughter. She now felt foolish for even considering such a thing.
"I wish Mam and Uncle Faramir could be here with us," Annúngil sighed, sitting down on the stairs.
"So do I," Boromir replied, sitting beside her. "It would be a most joyful reunion. Faramir would be overjoyed to see you alive and well. The two of you were so close, anybody would have thought you were siblings; he absolutely adored you, as did all of the rangers. You were the darling of Henneth Annûn in your infancy."
"Henneth Annûn?" Annúngil repeated curiously.
Boromir grinned. "In the Common Speech, it is known as the Window of the Sunset, or the Window on the West. It is a cave hidden in a cliff behind a waterfall. The rangers of Gondor use it as their refuge, and you and your mother lived there for the first two years of your life. At sunset, when the fading light beats upon it, the waterfall shines like a curtain of jewels and it dazzles your eyes. Would you like to see that?"
This question earned an eager nod from his daughter. The way Boromir had described the place, it sounded to Annúngil as if it were a palace out of a fairy tale.
"Well, someday you shall," Boromir promised her. "And you will also see Minas Tirith, Gondor's capital. Now that truly is a sight to behold! Beautiful and majestic it is, and as tall as a mountain, with many levels. And at the very top is the White Tower of Ecthelion. In the morning sunlight, it glimmers like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the breeze."
He would gladly have spent the entire day in the library with his daughter, telling her of Gondor and its many great cities. Unfortunately, at that moment, one of the elves (whose name, they had learnt, was Lindir) came calling for Boromir.
"Forgive my intrusion," he said with a bow, "but the council is assembling, and Lord Elrond requests your presence."
Boromir sighed and gave his daughter an apologetic look. He promised he would come and find her after the meeting was over, then disappeared down a passage with Lindir. Annúngil was left sitting on her own on the stairs with no idea of what to do. She wasn't used to having so much free time; it was usually occupied by chores. She let her mind wander back to her home in Bree, back to simpler times when she was just Bridie, the innkeeper's daughter. She tried to imagine what she would be doing if she was there now.
As a child, Annúngil would help with the housework, and there was plenty of it: sweeping and scrubbing the floors, making the beds, dusting, cooking, brewing beer, washing and sewing. It was not until she turned fourteen that she was deemed old enough to leave the village unsupervised, then she would be sent out to collect firewood and fetch water. The family would rise before dawn to have breakfast and begin work. In the afternoon, they would set up the tables and chairs in the common room, ready for the night, then serve the guests and tend to their horses from the time they arrived until they either left or went to bed, which usually wasn't until midnight. The fact that this had been Annúngil's life only a few weeks ago seemed almost impossible. It felt more like a year!
She began to wish she hadn't thought so much about her life in Bree, as it had made her feel homesick, not to mention rather guilty. She dreaded to think how Barliman had reacted when he found she had gone, and without even saying goodbye, no less. Did he think she was kidnapped? Or worse, dead? How would she explain everything to him when she returned? If she returned, that is. Longing to distract herself, Annúngil decided to have a look around the house. With luck, perhaps she might run into her friends. This prospect was quickly proven true as Annúngil had barely stepped out of the library when she bumped into Arwen, who was coming down the adjacent corridor, carrying a basket.
"Oh, Bridie, there you are!" Arwen exclaimed. "We missed you at breakfast. Have you been in the library all this time?"
"Aye, I'm afraid so," Annúngil replied sheepishly. "I'm sorry."
"Think nothing of it," the elf maiden said with a smile. "I daresay you must be very hungry, though." At that moment, a deep growl emanated from Annúngil's stomach. "I'll take that as a yes!" Arwen laughed. "Do you like cinnamon buns?"
Annúngil's eyes lit up. "They're my favourite!"
Arwen smiled. "I thought so. It is just as well, then, that I brought these." She reached into the basket and pulled out something wrapped in a silk handkerchief. Annúngil gasped and her jaw dropped when she saw that it was her favourite pastry. "There were some left over from breakfast," Arwen explained, "and I thought it would be a shame to let them go to waste. Would you care to share them?"
Annúngil did not need to be asked twice. Carrying the basket between them, the two women walked through the library and out into the garden where they sat together beneath a tall mallorn-tree and tucked in to the pastries. As Annúngil finished up the last one, she noticed Arwen retrieve a large length of material from the basket, along with a needle and some thread and began to sew.
"What's that?" she questioned.
Arwen smiled. "A standard I am making for Aragorn, or Strider as you call him. I have been working on it for several months and it will soon be finished."
Annúngil leaned a little closer to get a better look. The material was black, and on it was stitched what appeared to be the outline of a tree, and above it was seven stars and a crown, all in white. It reminded Annúngil of the decoration on the vambraces her father wore.
"This is the White Tree of Gondor," Arwen explained, tracing a finger along the threads, "that grows in the Court of the Fountain on the utmost level of Minas Tirith. That tree is now withered, but it is said that when the king returns to the throne it will flower again. These seven stars represent the constellation known as the Valacirca, or the Sickle, which signalled the fall of Morgoth, the first Dark Lord. And this crown is the crown of Gondor. All of these are symbols of the house of Elendil, who was the first king of Gondor."
"But what do the old kings of Gondor have to do with Strider?" Annúngil asked. "I thought he was only a ranger."
"Only a ranger!" Arwen cried, and laughed. "That is exactly what the Rangers of the North are: the descendants of the old kings! That line was broken many years ago, but the time is coming when Aragorn shall restore it and wear the crown."
Annúngil could scarcely believe her ears. "Well, who would have thought it? Old Strider, a king! But, if his true name is Aragorn, why does he go by Strider?"
Arwen shrugged. "The descendants of Elendil have many enemies, and none greater than the Dark Lord, Sauron, who seeks to end their line once and for all. When Aragorn was brought here as a child for safekeeping, my father warned his mother not to call her son by his true name, lest the Dark Lord learn he lived and came for him. At that time, I was living in the land of Lothlorien. I did not return here until Aragorn was twenty years of age, when we first met beneath the trees in the forest of Rivendell, one eve."
The elf maiden sighed and let her work fall to her lap as she gazed wistfully into the distance, her eyes glazing over and her face filling with sorrow and longing. It seemed to Annúngil that there was more to this memory than Arwen was revealing, yet she did not think it wise to pry. "Long years have passed since that day," Arwen all but whispered. "Oh, but for those times when we were younger, and did not have the cares that we have now!"
This seemed a rather odd thing for someone of Arwen's youthful appearance to say and Annúngil told her as much. The elf's smile returned briefly.
"Do not let appearances fool you, mellon nin; I am far older than I look. We elves do not age the same way as you mortals do, nor can we die, unless we are slain in battle. We merely continue to exist. However, the people of my father's house are fortunate enough to have some choice in this matter: we may choose whether to continue living as one of the race of Elves, or to forsake our immortality and live as one of the race of Men."
"What will you choose when the time comes?" asked Annúngil, then wished she hadn't as Arwen's head drooped a little and a tear fell from her eye. It was clear the girl had touched on a sore spot and she apologised.
"That's quite alright," Arwen assured her, hastily wiping her eyes. "My, you are full of questions today, aren't you?" she added with a light laugh. "Well now, I have told you many a tale. Now I think it is your turn. Tell me of your mother and of the village where you grew up."
So Annúngil regaled Arwen with stories of her childhood in Bree as the elf listened, occasionally interrupting to ask a question or make some sort of remark. Annúngil spoke of the Prancing Pony inn and the many guests who visited, and of her frequent walks in the forest. She found it pleasantly therapeutic and quickly forgot how much she missed everybody there. So completely did she fill the next few hours talking of home that when Boromir finally returned, it felt more like a distraction, but she was glad to see him nonetheless.
"Ladies," Boromir greeted them with a smile and a low bow. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Not at all, Lord Boromir," Arwen assured him.
""How did the council go?" asked Annúngil.
Boromir's face fell and he looked down at the ground, as if he had some bad news to share but could not bring himself to say it. Annúngil did not like this at all, and one look at Arwen told her the elf felt the same way.
"What is it?" Annúngil prodded, rising and taking a step towards her father. "What's happened?"
With a sigh, Boromir lifted his head to look into his daughter's eyes. What he said next took Annúngil by surprise and left her speechless.
"I will be leaving soon," he told her. "And…I fear I might not return."