Nope, this ain't over yet! I'm going to keep writing until it comes to a proper close. Probably will be finished in a couple of chapters or so… but I'm not too sure about that so just keep reading!

CHAPTER 32 : A Tender Moment

Alban watched as Aislin's parents held onto each other, her father practically holding his wife up. He nodded tiredly to Alban. "Thank you, Alban. Thank you."

Alban shook his head. "There's no need to thank me. I'm so, so sorry, sir." He knelt down and took Liana by the shoulders. "Are you all right?"

She said nothing, but nodded quietly. A shiver ran down Alban's spine. She was too quiet. He never thought about it this way before, but he would have felt much better if she had screamed and cried and threw tantrums. But Liana did nothing of that sort. After the initial sobbing, she had just quietened down, and had not said a word since. He supposed that losing so many people dear to her had really taken a huge effect on the child. After all, she was only eight-years-old. It would have hit anyone hard, but she was just a child.

Pippin wandered the ravaged streets of Minas Tirith, in search of Merry. The Rohirrim had said that he was with them, still alive (though they were not exactly sure if he was well), and Gandalf had sent Pippin in search of him. Pippin had been only too glad to take the task; he was eager to see his best friend again.

He found Merry walking (or sleep-walking, he wasn't sure which) in the streets. "Merry!"

Merry snapped out of his slumber and turned to face Pippin. His jaw dropped, as if he had never expected to see Pippin again. "Pippin?"

"Yes, I'm right here. You must have fallen asleep while walking and taken a wrong turn. Come on, I'll take care of you now?"

"Are you going to bury me?" Merry asked in his fogged state of mind.

Pippin laughed. "Of course not, Merry, be sensible! I'm going to take you to the Houses of Healing."

They walked on, Pippin trying to fill Merry in on what had been happening in Minas Tirith through the long battle, but Merry was barely listening, and after awhile Pippin gave up. Poor fellow, he thought, watching his best friend trudge on wearily. He shouldn't even be walking himself. But I can't carry him.

Then a boy ran past, running errands. Pippin called to the boy, and explained their situation, bidding him to run up to the Houses of Healing to let someone know where they were, and that help was needed. Then he let Merry lay his tired head on his lap, and sat waiting for help to come, his friend fast asleep.

Gandalf came along in awhile, obviously in search of Merry and Pippin. Pippin smiled at him, glad that he had come to help. Gandalf carried Merry swiftly up to the Houses of Healing, Pippin following behind.

Pippin hoped that something could be done for Merry. His right arm was icy cold, and could not be used at all. Pippin did not understand how that came about, but he was sure that he would be told later. Right now all that was important was for Merry to get rest, and get cared for.

Faramir lay in the Houses of Healing, burning with fever, but he felt nothing, knew nothing, about that. He found himself looking down on Minas Tirith, beautiful and whole, and knew without looking that he was standing next to the beacon. Laughter caught his attention, and he turned to see Boromir and Aislin, their arms around each other. They looked just as they did all those years ago, before any dreams or wars had plagued their lives, perhaps even before Liana had come to them.

He wanted to join them, to share their jokes and laughter, but as he began to walk towards them, their laughing stopped. Turning to face him, they gave him sweet, tender smiles, then walked away hand in hand, leaving him behind.

He still had a long way to go before he could join them.

Pippin paced the room, his mind crowded with worry. What was wrong with Merry? And Éowyn? And Faramir? Merry and Éowyn were under what the healers called Black Shadow, and nobody knew how to cure that. And Faramir burned with a constant fever that just would not come down, no matter whatever anyone tried. Pippin felt like he was about to jump out of his skin. Couldn't anyone do anything? Or did they just have to wait and watch helplessly as these three heroes faded away?

His thoughts then turned to Liana. In the hours of battle she had completely slipped his mind, but now he wondered how she was. She must have been so frightened, not knowing what was happening, and what would happen.

He looked around. Gandalf was there, looking after Merry, Éowyn and Faramir. It was safe now; the healers were going around to all who needed help. He was not needed here. Quietly, he turned and slipped out, beginning his search for Liana.

He started at the top level, where many had taken refuge during the course of the battle, but she was not there. King Théoden lay in the Steward's hall, before the throne of Gondor, every bit as glorious and honourable as he was when he had been alive. Pippin turned and made his way down, going towards Liana's home.

She was there, sitting by herself at the table. Sobs were heard from one of the rooms. Pippin went up to Liana, and she did not even notice, staring into space as she was. "Liana, what's wrong? What's happened?" he asked.

The child started, then looked at him calmly. "Mother's gone," she said in a hollow voice. "Mother was killed by an Orc."

"How did that happen?" Filled with disbelief, Pippin took a seat opposite Liana. He took her hands and squeezed them, wishing that he could do something to make her feel better.

Slowly, Liana told Pippin everything that had happened. "I shouldn't have gone after you. I should have known that you would be fine. I just wouldn't listen to Mother. I could hear her calling at first, but I didn't listen," she concluded. Tears began to brim in her eyes.

Somehow, seeing her cry made Pippin feel better. Up till then she had been unnaturally calm and composed. Seeing her cry, letting it go, made Pippin feel like it was possible that things could be all right. He moved his chair next to hers and put his arm around her, letting her cry silently. "I'm so sorry, Liana. I didn't even hear you call for me. I was going to look for Gandalf."

"I'm all alone again."

Pippin shook his head. "That's not true, Liana. You still have your grandparents, and they love you. And Faramir."

Liana raised her head, her red-rimmed eyes wide. "Faramir?"

Suddenly it struck Pippin: Liana had no idea that Faramir was still alive. Of course she did not! No one had thought to tell her; perhaps even her grandparents had no idea. "Yes, Faramir is alive. He's the Steward of Gondor now. He was just wounded when he rode out to Osgiliath, not killed. He's in the Houses of Healing now, and I'm sure the healers will find a way to make him better again."

"I want to see him."

"Of course." Pippin looked up at the voice to see Liana's grandfather standing in the doorway. He nodded to Pippin. "Thank you, sir. Thank you for coming to see us with this piece of good news. We needed that, especially Liana. But now I need to ask one more favour of you. Please, bring Liana to the Houses of Healing. I would bring her, but my wife needs me here."

Pippin got off the chair. "I would gladly take your granddaughter up to the Houses of Healing." He paused, not very sure what else to say. "I'm… I'm very sorry for your loss."

Nothing had changed since Pippin left the Houses of Healing. The healers were still bustling about with herbs and bandages, and Gandalf was still hovering over the three. He turned when Pippin and Liana entered Faramir's room, then gave them a small smile. "Well done, Pippin," he remarked, stepping back to let Liana stand by Faramir's bed.

She approached slowly, and then put one small hand on Faramir's heated forehead. She said nothing, but just looked down at his face. Pippin just stood next to Gandalf, watching, this small angelic child bent over the one who was now the Steward of Gondor. It was a moment of tenderness, a moment of quiet in the aftermath of one of the greatest wars Middle-earth had ever seen.