This chapter written by Angoliel, as Aerwyn is her character.
Aerwyn property Angoliel, canonical characters property Tolkien estates and other various affiliated enterprises, et cetera, et cetera, I don't own it, blah, blah, blah...
Aerwyn stood at the balcony of her chambers, looking over the city of Dol Amroth unhappily. Prince Imrahil, her uncle, had ordered the Swan Knights to prepare for departure and a journey to aid Minas Tirith. There was an air of concern, anxiety and some hopelessness in the City of Swans. Aerwyn's gray eyes looked out upon a people grim-faced and determined, yet fearful.
Sighing, the Raven of Gondor closed her eyes. She had been told to stay in the city to guard it with Barahir and Lothíriel, should her uncle fall in battle. The tide was coming, and Aerwyn felt as though she were sitting on a sand castle, waiting for the water to wash her away, along with all the work that she and her forbearers had done.
What is the use of guarding something if there is no hope? She thought. If the battle be lost, and the Dark Lord reigns, it would be better to die before he ascends.
Aerwyn's thoughts turned to death. She had encountered it once before, when she was very young. Just before she turned sixteen, she had crossed over the threshold of death and had a vision of the afterlife. In the vision, she saw Finduilas. Aerwyn stifled a sob as she remembered what her mother looked like.
She was dressed in white silk that draped her slender frame so beautifully. Her face was like ivory, her hair soft and dark. Finduilas' eyes were such a lovely shade of blue. They were like sapphire storms that could see your soul and discern your thoughts. Aerwyn had never met her mother, but loved her as only a child could.
In the vision, Finduilas had denied her daughter the joy of spending eternity at her side. She was too young to be admitted to the Halls of Mandos at the time. Oh, how Aerwyn so wanted to go back, to be with her mother once more. Jumping at the feel of a soft touch on her shoulder, the daughter of Denethor turned to see Princess Lothíriel. "
The soldiers will be leaving tonight," her cousin said. Aerwyn did not answer. She turned back to the city in contemplation. After a few moments of silence, the Steward's daughter spoke. "
Fairy, what thinkest thou of death?" The question hung in the air.
"You desire it cousin, that you ask of it?"
"Aye. That I do." There was another long silence.
"Death may come without you going into battle, Aerwyn," Lothíriel whispered. "Why do you desire to die?" Aerwyn's tone was desperate, urgent and full of sorrow.
"Because I desire to walk with one whom I love more than any other. I want to see her again, Lothíriel. And I want to stay with her, this time. I want to go to her, and if death take me there, so be it." Her cousin's voice was thick with tears as Lothíriel embraced her. Aerwyn so desperately wanted to be in Finduilas' arms that she would do anything - even walk into certain death.
"Do I not have your love, Aerwyn? Are you not happy to be with me, your brothers, your father? And if the war is won, who knows if a suitor will come for you?" Lothíriel asked, her own tears threatening to overflow her eyes.
"I...I want to be what I should be, Fairy. I am a fighter...and yet I am commanded not to fight. If a warrior is not allowed to wage war, what use is he?" Lothíriel pursed her lips, embracing her cousin closer. The choice lay before her, though it was not asked of her. Pulling away, Lothíriel's eyes glittered with tears, but a determination lay behind the sorrow.
"You will not be useless, Aerwyn, daughter of Númenor. Though I grieve that I may not see you again, I will help you."
Lothíriel and Barahir bid their father farewell. Barahir had been told to guard the city, and protect the citizens who could not fight. His eyes were hard and bitter, for he would not go with his father into war, though much did he desire it. Lothíriel embraced Imrahil before he mounted his horse. Her heart grew anxious when he looked behind them.
"Where is your cousin?" he asked.
"She is angry, Father; angry and afraid of the outcome of the battle. She rests in her room, and will not come out," Lothíriel said quickly. It was the first time she had ever lied in her life.
Imrahil's eyes grew sad. "I am loath to leave her here. I know that she desires to fight. But it is my duty to protect her as well. Give her my love, daughter," he said. To his men, he shouted, "To Gondor!"
The Prince of Dol Amroth urged his horse on, and the column of men behind him kicked their steeds into action. After a few moments, a soldier passed by Lothíriel and raised a gloved hand to his lips. The princess did the same, and Barahir looked at his sister, who looked after the soldier.
"Have you a secret love I know not about," he asked.
"Bid farewell to an able warrior, brother," Lothíriel said. The soldier was still looking at her, the gray eyes pouring thanks upon her. "She fights for freedom under the banner of the Swan." Barahir's eyes widened and he searched for the soldier, only now understanding.
"No..." he whispered. "I should have gone instead. She will not come back from that battle!" His frightened eyes looked at his sister, and then back at the body of his cousin, riding into the battle to end all battles.
"You underestimate her, Barahir. She a woman, but far more brave than some. Yet pray to the Valar for our victory."
As the knights rode into the White City, singing as they came, Aerwyn looked up to the battlements to see Rhoswen, her dress flapping round her legs in the wind, Denethor at her side. But Boromir is still gone...she thought to her self as she raised her spear in salute to her father, turning her eyes away as Rhoswen caught her gaze. What now becomes of Gondor without him, mightiest of mighty captains?
Erm...shout outs...none to speak of, since this comes in media res...in the middle of things.
BIG, BIG, BIG THANKS to Angoliel, who wrote all of this except for the last paragraph.
Also, big thanks to all of you who are reviewing!