Wait for the Sunrise
by Vané Alasse
Chapter Five
Sent for the Wounded
Footsteps approached the place where Falath lay. She could not see their owners, nor did she care to look up so that she might. Whatever was going to happen next would happen, for she had neither the strength nor the will to abate it.
The footsteps clamored around Falath. She was thankful that at least these men were not orcs. Half of her heart hoped they were Gondorian, while the other wished for death. Were they Southern men?
"What's this?" she heard a voice say softly. "A woman?"
Certainly they did not speak as the Haradrim.
"Is she yet alive?" asked a second voice.
Falath began to tremble; she realized they were speaking of her. She only wanted to be left alone.
"Perhaps," said the first man. "I will see. You continue searching."
The man knelt beside Falath and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. She startled.
"Easy there. It will be alright. I'm here to help you."
His touch unnerved her. She began to shiver, wishing to be deserted. The stones beneath her were cold and his hand felt painfully hot.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
Falath did not answer. Was she hurt? Physically she was whole, only her throbbing head and aching muscles ailed her. But these would not long plague her, she knew. Her heart was injured. Emotionally she was wounded nearly to death. It felt as though a spear had pierced her tender frame, and now she lay bleeding on the ground. Yet she would not die from such an infliction. No, that was the worst realization. She would continue to live despite the pain and the loss. The long years of silence spread before her in bitter succession. Would she ever recover?
"Lady?" came his voice.
She opened her eyes. Beyond the screen of tears clinging to her eyelashes she could dimly discern his form.
"My name is Linanor. I am sent from the houses of healing with my comrade, Mellonel, to look for the wounded. Will you come with me?"
His voice was gentle and calm. She brushed the moisture from her eyes to look at him more clearly. He was robbed in grey, and though he wore no armor a sword hung loosely at his side. His eyes were steady and sure, like one who has seen battle, pain, and death, yet fears them not.
"I am not wounded," Falath whispered.
"Nevertheless, I will ask you to come with me, for you are in a battle zone. And I deem you are not fit to escape should danger find you here."
He held out his hand and smiled kindly.
She reached to take it, but quickly pulled back her fingers. His hand looked so similar to the lifeless one lying beside her. Abruptly she began to weep again, and her frame shook violently.
Linanor rubbed her back soothingly. He glanced back and forth between her face and that of the soldier at her side, noticing a striking similarity between them. Then he understood the ailment of the lady.
"Come, can you stand?" he asked presently.
Falath did not feel she could, but with his help she rose to her feet. She swayed; he steadied her.
"Good," he said. "Now try to walk."
Carefully, slowly, she stepped around the armor and weapons scattered over the stones. His arm was sure, and with each little step she regained more of her confidence.
Mellonel approached. "I have found none alive here. It appears the battle was very intense at this point, neither side was willing to retreat or surrender. It seems they—"
Here he was stopped by a gesture from Linanor.
"Yes, thank you, Mellonel," he said. "We have but one charge on this trip, then. I apologize, lady, I do not remember your name."
"Falath" she said softly.
"Ah," said Linanor. "I thought your eyes were especially like the sea. Of course they could not have gone unnoticed."
"Is now the time for a philological discussion?" asked Mellonel.
"No, my friend. You are quite right. We linger in an island of calm only recently forgotten. It will soon see trouble again, as does most of the city. Come, Falath, will you be able to walk?"
"If I must," she replied.
"Good," said Linanor.
They proceeded up the street as speedily as possible. In places smoke wafted thickly, blinding them temporarily. The clouds above glowed red from the fires, and the penetrating blackness pervaded. As they walked Mellonel kept his hand near the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheathe it at any sign of attack. Linanor held Falath's hand and helped her as they progressed.
Falath felt waves of fatigue over-taking her. She was emotionally worn, and she had not enough mental will to ask her body to obey her wishes. She tripped often. The farther they went the more tired she became. Her sense of vision was blurred; she followed Linanor's leading without question and without worry. For she could not worry now. It seemed that all need for it had passed away when Firion had breathed his last. She did not care if she should die, and it seemed most probable to her that her mother and sister were already dead. What a horror it was, she thought, to be alive without a desire to be so. She wished that she could rest in the uncertain oblivion of death. As a gift of the One to man, death began to appear ever more desirable.
They turned sometimes from their path to circumnavigate burning buildings. When the noise of clashing swords was heard they again moved aside. Despite their preparedness for a battle if it became unavoidable, Linanor and Mellonel did not desire to be caught unnecessarily.
At last the wall of the third city circle rose before them. Tall and smooth was its flank, with no footholds for climbing. Its summit was high and its sides invincible. No sound could be heard in the immediate area, but from the distance the sound of shouting and fighting was carried by the stinging wind.
Linanor peered around the edge of the last house on the street. Nothing moved. There was nothing in sight save a crawling mist and a muddy trickle of water passing before their feet.
A whistle rose near Falath and she started in surprise. Turning her head sharply to Linanor she saw him whistle again. Mellonel perceived the confusion on her face and smiled at her comfortingly, as if to say all was well. The whistle echoed softly on the air and then floated away. A tense stillness fell on the group, and Falath shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She felt strangely nervous of standing and not moving. Her heart fluttered aimlessly in her chest and her fingers twitched with anxiousness.
A soft tapping noise fell to their ears from above. Once Falath heard it, and then a second time. Now a slithering sound followed. Linanor smiled and pointed to the wall. Looking carefully through the mist Falath saw a grey rope sliding from the top of the wall and wending its way down to them. Each time the end hit the wall it emitted a gentle slap. Very soon it hung only a few feet from the ground.
Cautiously and quickly Linanor walked to grasp the rope. Motioning for Falath to join him he skillfully tied the rope's end into a wide loop. He slipped it over Falath head and helped her to sit in it as if it were a swing. He silently showed her how to place her hands over the knot and pressing his hands over hers explained she much grasp firmly.
"Ready?" he whispered.
She shook her head.
"No fear," he replied. "Hold tightly and you will arrive safely at the top." Then he jerked the rope slightly and backed away.
Falath inhaled quickly as she was lifted from the ground. Her feet dangled and became icy cold as the blood rushed to the vital areas of her body. She pressed her forehead against the knot. Her neck ached and the rope was tight beneath her. The palms of her hands became sweaty, for a fear of falling grew steadily as she rose. The rope swung around unexpectedly and caused her knee to crash against the wall. A gasp of pain escaped her lips and her hands slipped.
"Hold on!" came a voice from above.
Despite her fright she obeyed. The coarse rope scratched her palms and planted tiny splinters in her skin. She held her breath.
Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Falath glanced up. The face of a young citadel guard smiled at her. She had reached the top.
"Take my hand," he said.
She tried to let go but found she could not. He did not hesitate, but with the aid of another soldier took her wrists and lifted her over the top of the wall. She shrunk against the white paving stones, glad to feel the solid ground beneath her once again.
The guard tossed the rope over and soon began pulling. Mellonel appeared over the edge. Linanor quickly followed.
Linanor looked at the guard and thanked him.
"So you have made it back alive again?" the guard asked playfully. "Hasten to the houses of healing, for they are in need of your presence."
Linanor nodded and helped Falath rise to her feet. Then they continued on their way.
Once a fair distance from the wall they paused to rest. Falath sank against a cool, brick wall. Here eyes closed and she tried to breathe normally. Twice she nearly fell asleep, but was wakened by a gentle tap on her shoulder.
Linanor smiled. "Should you like to be carried?"
Falath coughed and weakly responded that she would rather walk.
"Do we take her all the way?" asked Mellonel.
"Can we leave her here?" replied Linanor.
"I suppose not. Let us go."
They set off again. Now inside the safety of a secured level of Minas Tirith they no longer traveled with caution. Half way to the fourth gate Falath stumbled and did not have the strength to rise again. Linanor did not ask this time, but gathered her into his arms and carried her.
Falath thought she was dreaming. She relaxed entirely, lying limp in his grasp. He supported her and carried her higher and higher into the city. The rhythmical pulse of his heartbeat calmed her, and every anxiety fled.
In less than an hour they arrived at the houses of healing. Linanor laid Falath down on a blanket beneath a window, for all the beds were taken. Then he and Mellonel hurried to their duties. Falath fell fast asleep on the ground, thankful for a place to rest from movement and to find peace in slumber. The pain of loss and the fear of war were forgotten in quiet sleep.
by Vané Alasse
Chapter Five
Sent for the Wounded
Footsteps approached the place where Falath lay. She could not see their owners, nor did she care to look up so that she might. Whatever was going to happen next would happen, for she had neither the strength nor the will to abate it.
The footsteps clamored around Falath. She was thankful that at least these men were not orcs. Half of her heart hoped they were Gondorian, while the other wished for death. Were they Southern men?
"What's this?" she heard a voice say softly. "A woman?"
Certainly they did not speak as the Haradrim.
"Is she yet alive?" asked a second voice.
Falath began to tremble; she realized they were speaking of her. She only wanted to be left alone.
"Perhaps," said the first man. "I will see. You continue searching."
The man knelt beside Falath and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. She startled.
"Easy there. It will be alright. I'm here to help you."
His touch unnerved her. She began to shiver, wishing to be deserted. The stones beneath her were cold and his hand felt painfully hot.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
Falath did not answer. Was she hurt? Physically she was whole, only her throbbing head and aching muscles ailed her. But these would not long plague her, she knew. Her heart was injured. Emotionally she was wounded nearly to death. It felt as though a spear had pierced her tender frame, and now she lay bleeding on the ground. Yet she would not die from such an infliction. No, that was the worst realization. She would continue to live despite the pain and the loss. The long years of silence spread before her in bitter succession. Would she ever recover?
"Lady?" came his voice.
She opened her eyes. Beyond the screen of tears clinging to her eyelashes she could dimly discern his form.
"My name is Linanor. I am sent from the houses of healing with my comrade, Mellonel, to look for the wounded. Will you come with me?"
His voice was gentle and calm. She brushed the moisture from her eyes to look at him more clearly. He was robbed in grey, and though he wore no armor a sword hung loosely at his side. His eyes were steady and sure, like one who has seen battle, pain, and death, yet fears them not.
"I am not wounded," Falath whispered.
"Nevertheless, I will ask you to come with me, for you are in a battle zone. And I deem you are not fit to escape should danger find you here."
He held out his hand and smiled kindly.
She reached to take it, but quickly pulled back her fingers. His hand looked so similar to the lifeless one lying beside her. Abruptly she began to weep again, and her frame shook violently.
Linanor rubbed her back soothingly. He glanced back and forth between her face and that of the soldier at her side, noticing a striking similarity between them. Then he understood the ailment of the lady.
"Come, can you stand?" he asked presently.
Falath did not feel she could, but with his help she rose to her feet. She swayed; he steadied her.
"Good," he said. "Now try to walk."
Carefully, slowly, she stepped around the armor and weapons scattered over the stones. His arm was sure, and with each little step she regained more of her confidence.
Mellonel approached. "I have found none alive here. It appears the battle was very intense at this point, neither side was willing to retreat or surrender. It seems they—"
Here he was stopped by a gesture from Linanor.
"Yes, thank you, Mellonel," he said. "We have but one charge on this trip, then. I apologize, lady, I do not remember your name."
"Falath" she said softly.
"Ah," said Linanor. "I thought your eyes were especially like the sea. Of course they could not have gone unnoticed."
"Is now the time for a philological discussion?" asked Mellonel.
"No, my friend. You are quite right. We linger in an island of calm only recently forgotten. It will soon see trouble again, as does most of the city. Come, Falath, will you be able to walk?"
"If I must," she replied.
"Good," said Linanor.
They proceeded up the street as speedily as possible. In places smoke wafted thickly, blinding them temporarily. The clouds above glowed red from the fires, and the penetrating blackness pervaded. As they walked Mellonel kept his hand near the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheathe it at any sign of attack. Linanor held Falath's hand and helped her as they progressed.
Falath felt waves of fatigue over-taking her. She was emotionally worn, and she had not enough mental will to ask her body to obey her wishes. She tripped often. The farther they went the more tired she became. Her sense of vision was blurred; she followed Linanor's leading without question and without worry. For she could not worry now. It seemed that all need for it had passed away when Firion had breathed his last. She did not care if she should die, and it seemed most probable to her that her mother and sister were already dead. What a horror it was, she thought, to be alive without a desire to be so. She wished that she could rest in the uncertain oblivion of death. As a gift of the One to man, death began to appear ever more desirable.
They turned sometimes from their path to circumnavigate burning buildings. When the noise of clashing swords was heard they again moved aside. Despite their preparedness for a battle if it became unavoidable, Linanor and Mellonel did not desire to be caught unnecessarily.
At last the wall of the third city circle rose before them. Tall and smooth was its flank, with no footholds for climbing. Its summit was high and its sides invincible. No sound could be heard in the immediate area, but from the distance the sound of shouting and fighting was carried by the stinging wind.
Linanor peered around the edge of the last house on the street. Nothing moved. There was nothing in sight save a crawling mist and a muddy trickle of water passing before their feet.
A whistle rose near Falath and she started in surprise. Turning her head sharply to Linanor she saw him whistle again. Mellonel perceived the confusion on her face and smiled at her comfortingly, as if to say all was well. The whistle echoed softly on the air and then floated away. A tense stillness fell on the group, and Falath shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She felt strangely nervous of standing and not moving. Her heart fluttered aimlessly in her chest and her fingers twitched with anxiousness.
A soft tapping noise fell to their ears from above. Once Falath heard it, and then a second time. Now a slithering sound followed. Linanor smiled and pointed to the wall. Looking carefully through the mist Falath saw a grey rope sliding from the top of the wall and wending its way down to them. Each time the end hit the wall it emitted a gentle slap. Very soon it hung only a few feet from the ground.
Cautiously and quickly Linanor walked to grasp the rope. Motioning for Falath to join him he skillfully tied the rope's end into a wide loop. He slipped it over Falath head and helped her to sit in it as if it were a swing. He silently showed her how to place her hands over the knot and pressing his hands over hers explained she much grasp firmly.
"Ready?" he whispered.
She shook her head.
"No fear," he replied. "Hold tightly and you will arrive safely at the top." Then he jerked the rope slightly and backed away.
Falath inhaled quickly as she was lifted from the ground. Her feet dangled and became icy cold as the blood rushed to the vital areas of her body. She pressed her forehead against the knot. Her neck ached and the rope was tight beneath her. The palms of her hands became sweaty, for a fear of falling grew steadily as she rose. The rope swung around unexpectedly and caused her knee to crash against the wall. A gasp of pain escaped her lips and her hands slipped.
"Hold on!" came a voice from above.
Despite her fright she obeyed. The coarse rope scratched her palms and planted tiny splinters in her skin. She held her breath.
Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Falath glanced up. The face of a young citadel guard smiled at her. She had reached the top.
"Take my hand," he said.
She tried to let go but found she could not. He did not hesitate, but with the aid of another soldier took her wrists and lifted her over the top of the wall. She shrunk against the white paving stones, glad to feel the solid ground beneath her once again.
The guard tossed the rope over and soon began pulling. Mellonel appeared over the edge. Linanor quickly followed.
Linanor looked at the guard and thanked him.
"So you have made it back alive again?" the guard asked playfully. "Hasten to the houses of healing, for they are in need of your presence."
Linanor nodded and helped Falath rise to her feet. Then they continued on their way.
Once a fair distance from the wall they paused to rest. Falath sank against a cool, brick wall. Here eyes closed and she tried to breathe normally. Twice she nearly fell asleep, but was wakened by a gentle tap on her shoulder.
Linanor smiled. "Should you like to be carried?"
Falath coughed and weakly responded that she would rather walk.
"Do we take her all the way?" asked Mellonel.
"Can we leave her here?" replied Linanor.
"I suppose not. Let us go."
They set off again. Now inside the safety of a secured level of Minas Tirith they no longer traveled with caution. Half way to the fourth gate Falath stumbled and did not have the strength to rise again. Linanor did not ask this time, but gathered her into his arms and carried her.
Falath thought she was dreaming. She relaxed entirely, lying limp in his grasp. He supported her and carried her higher and higher into the city. The rhythmical pulse of his heartbeat calmed her, and every anxiety fled.
In less than an hour they arrived at the houses of healing. Linanor laid Falath down on a blanket beneath a window, for all the beds were taken. Then he and Mellonel hurried to their duties. Falath fell fast asleep on the ground, thankful for a place to rest from movement and to find peace in slumber. The pain of loss and the fear of war were forgotten in quiet sleep.