9. My heart in your hands

I lay helpless on the ground for several minutes, unable to focus on a coherent thought. At last I pushed myself up to a sitting position and felt cautiously at my injured upper arm.

It was an open wound. My exploring fingertips encountered something hard – pointy – and a wave of nausea rolled over me; the pain was excruciating and I heard my own voice, faint and far away, screaming… Darkness seemed to rise up from the ground to engulf me, and for a while I knew nothing more.

When I came to myself, I was lying on my back, and the first stars were visible against a pale evening sky. The cool inner voice that had saved my life already today spoke again, soft and urgent. Get up, it said. You have to go, and quickly. Get up!

I lay still, imagining myself marching up the winding road to the Houses of Healing, through the five circles of the city, my arm ripped open, my robe in tatters, caked in my own blood and in blood which was – not my own. I would never manage it, never.

But the voice was adamant. You will manage it. You must! Get up!

It took several attempts, falling back to the ground gasping and, after a moment, trying again, but at last I stood on my feet. My legs trembled miserably, but they did not fold under me. Awkwardly, with one hand, I dragged the damp, wrinkled cloak around myself and managed to close a few of the clasps. Then I turned toward the destroyed gate and began to walk, my steps wavering and unsure.

"Help me…" I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice. "Help me… I cannot… help me…"

And then I heard hoofbeats, the sound dull on the soft ground. I turned around, blinking in disbelief.

It was only a single horseman, carrying a small torch. I waited silently, and when he got near I knew who it was. I tried to call to him, but no sound came out of my mouth; even so he turned his head, and our eyes met.

"Damrod!" I said hoarsely. And even now, in such a moment, I could feel my face relax into a wide smile. He smiled back, surprised, and then he was beside me.

"Noerwen! What are you doing here -- this is no place for you! Come, get up, and I'll take you back to the Houses of Healing." He reached for me, but I didn't move. The sudden burst of exhilaration was gone and I was horribly aware of my misery, my nakedness under the skimpy protection of my ruined cloak. His eyes narrowed and his smile faded away.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't mount so easily," I said. "I' m hurt, Damrod."

"Hurt?" His voice was sharp with concern. "What…"

"My arm." With my good hand I fumbled the pleats of my cloak away from my wound. "It's broken."

Quick as thought he was out of the saddle; he pushed the base of the torch into the soft ground and helped me to sit down. Then, very carefully, he took hold of my arm and turned it to the light. His hands were gentle, but even so the pain brought tears to my eyes and I clenched my teeth, not to cry out.

"That has an evil look," he said quietly, and I was thankful for his matter-of-fact tone of voice. "How did it happen?"

"I… I just came down here, only a little while ago, and I was actually on my way back… and then I was attacked from behind. The… the man tried to stab me, and he… we… there was rather a wild skirmish. I got hold of the knife and.. . I killed him."

"Where?"

"Over there." I pointed vaguely. "Not far; a few metres, perhaps."

He shot a sharp glance at me, laying his hand on my shoulder briefly. Then he pulled the torch out of the ground and went a few steps into the darkness. I could see him bend down and examine something on the ground, before he turned around and returned. His face was hard.

"A Southron, with beard and braids? And you cut his throat?"

I nodded. The memory made me choke; crude hands feeling my body and then blood, a horrible rain of blood that sprayed all over me as he died…

"I could lift you into the saddle, and lead the horse," he said hesitatingly, and I saw that he was avoiding my gaze. He knew. It was obvious, of course: my ripped garments, and the state of the Southron's clothes. My face burned with shame, and of a sudden the very fact that I was ashamed of what had nearly been done to me, filled me with rage. I lifted my chin and met his eyes, the hand of my uninjured arm clenched into a fist.

"No, he did not rape me!" The words were bitter as gall in my mouth, and I spat them out savagely. "That's what you want to know, isn't it? It's what he had in mind, naturally – he tore the clothes off my body and it was a near thing, but fortunately he forgot his knife. I had it in my hand before he remembered it again, and I used it! And may Iluvatar help me, for I have never killed a human being before in my entire life…"

I swallowed hard.

"And now I will see his face before my eyes every night when I close my eyes to sleep, and the very thought makes me sick." My voice failed, and it was my turn to look away.

"Noerwen, I am so sorry." Damrod's voice was soft. "I would hold you in front of me in the saddle, only… perhaps you would rather not have a man touch you. That is why I thought you might want to ride alone."

I stared at him. His eyes were full of sorrow and pity, and the tears welled up in my own eyes. I forced back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm me and made myself smile. Not much of a smile, perhaps, wry and trembling, but it was the best I could manage.

"I would be very grateful for your support, for I am truly in need of it right now" I said. My voice sounded strange, high and thin.

Then he was beside me, lifting me effortlessly into the saddle and mounting behind me, cautious not to jar my wounded arm. The horse began walking slowly, and we rode through what remained of the city gate. Soon we had left most of the corpses behind and the foul stench faded a little, but I could still smell blood and smoke and the bitter aftertaste of death on his battered chain mail, and even on my own body.

The smell of war.

I felt oddly tranquil and the pain in my arm was only a dull throb, as long as I didn't move it. But my left breast hurt badly and an image flashed before my inner eye: a hard face with greedy eyes looming over me, a hard, unloving hand digging into the sensitive flesh with all its might… I searched for the arm that loosely encircled my waist and found another hand. It turned and closed around my icy fingers, warm and comforting, and the image faded away.

By the time we reached the Houses of Healing, I had sunk into a daze. Vaguely I heard voices raised near me, sounding frightened and shocked, but very far away. I felt myself lifted down from the horse and carried; the clean, fresh scent of the herb garden reached my nostrils and I inhaled gratefully, and then I was lying on a bed in one of the surgery rooms. As if it had been waiting for me, the pain returned, shooting through my whole body. I whimpered and my eyes flew open. There were candles everywhere, and Oroher leaned over me, pale and frowning; close on my other side Ioreth stood with her lips pressed tight together, swabbing at the open laceration on my arm.

The warden saw that I was conscious once more; gently he pushed my damp and tousled hair out of my face. "Oh, child." His voice was sad. "That this should happen to you –! If only you had stayed up here where you were safe…"

"It was my fault," said Ioreth, unusually terse. "I should have stopped her from going."

Then she was silent. She laid a clean cloth over the wound, and then she went over to a little table, returning with a pottery mug in her hand. She slid a supporting arm under my shoulders, and with difficulty I raised my head and drank from the mug she held to my lips. The liquid was sweet and thick, a syrup that smelled piercingly of poppy seed.

"To ease the pain," she explained, her eyes lowered. "We still have to set the bone, and that will hurt."

"Don't reproach yourself," I said. The syrup had left my tongue feeling numb, and my voice sounded hoarse and murmurous in my ears. "You would have had to tie me up to keep me from going, Ioreth."

A little smile curled her lips. "Probably," she admitted.

They waited a few minutes to give the poppy syrup time to take effect. I could feel how the drug began to confuse my senses, but still I noticed that Oroher slipped out of the room. Ioreth pulled back the covers from the upper part of my body and started dabbing a warm, fragrant ointment over my injured breast, her hand very gentle. She caught my eye and smiled.

"Not so bad, love," she said cheerfully. "Only a few bruises and scratches. You'll soon be good as new." But the smile didn't reach her eyes, and again she compressed her lips. "I wish I hadn't let you go. I'm so terribly sorry."

I wanted to reassure her again, but dizziness closed around me in a white mist and the words slid away, slippery as the ointment whose spicy fragrance filled my nostrils. Vaguely I knew that Oroher had returned and together they worked on me, bandaging the open laceration that, mercifully, I was hardly aware of anymore. I sank into a soft emptiness and the world became silent.

vvvvv

He was coming after me. My feet clung to the ground as if I had been caught in a swamp, sticky, sucking at my ankles – in a moment he would have me. And this time he would press the knife against my throat and would not let it drop, this time he would do everything he wanted to me, and this time he would kill… a merciless hand clawed at my shoulder…

…and I rocketed up in my bed, panting and streaming with sweat. My left arm felt as if it were on fire and I could hear my own breath, rasping and choking.

"Child?"

I looked around in confusion and discovered Ioreth, stretched out on a narrow cot beside my bed. During the battle we had installed dozens of these cots in the sickrooms, to give us some rest as we watched over our patients. Candles burned in a silver holder on a table nearby, and Ioreth took up a cloth and gently washed my face. The cloth was warm and moist, smelling faintly of mint.

The dizzying effect of the poppy syrup had faded and my mind was clear; unfortunately, the pain had also returned.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. My voice was hardly above a whisper; I was so very tired…

"Looking after you, love. And from time to time I step outside and reassure that anxious warrior out there that indeed you are still alive."

"The anxious… Damrod? Is he still here?"

"He refused to leave." There was a knowing smile in her tired eyes. "If it was permitted, he would sleep by your bed with his sword in hand, to protect you. If I have ever seen a man so enamored –!"

I twisted uncomfortably in the rumpled sheets. "Please… may I see him? Perhaps I can persuade him to go back to the quarters of the guardsmen."

Ioreth eyed me doubtfully.

"I am not sure that is suitable, child…"

"Ioreth." I sighed, clenching my teeth when my arm protested against my impatient shrug. "What do you expect from a man who would defend my virtue with his naked blade, as you say? That he would knock you down with the hilt and then throw himself upon me?"

In spite of herself she giggled. "Well, all right. I'll bring him in."

I sank back into the pillows and closed my eyes, remembering how Damrod had held me in the saddle before him, my body leaning back against his chest, all the long way up the road. My hand had searched for his and he had taken it, held it firmly, until the moment when he gave me into the care of the healers.

And he was still here.

The door opened quietly and I opened my eyes. Damrod came in, hesitating, with Ioreth following on his heels. He had cleaned up, I noticed – his hair was combed and he wore a clean, dark green vest over a white shirt with flowing sleeves and black breeches that seemed to be made of buckskin. My eyes followed his legs down to a pair of soft leather boots, well polished, before I looked into his face and smiled.

"What are you doing here? I am safe and sound, believe me. And you must sleep! You have only just come from battle…" And you go to another one… The thought came uninvited and I pushed it aside fiercely. "Have you eaten something?"

This gracious lady here…" he half bowed in Ioreth's direction, and she smiled and ducked her head bashfully. "She has taken care for my corporal well-being. I am fine, but how are you, Noerwen?"

"Middling," I said dryly. "And I've had pleasanter dreams."

Before Damrod could answer, Ioreth suddenly gave an audible yawn. She covered her mouth with her hand, embarrassed, but I could see how exhausted she was. And no wonder – she'd had even less sleep than I had, these past two days.

Damrod's thoughts clearly moved in the same direction. "Perhaps you should take some rest, Ioreth?" he said. "I could stay with Noerwen, if she has no objection – and if the rules of the Houses permit."

To my surprise, Ioreth said nothing more about decency or propriety, and five minutes later we were alone in the room. Damrod settled into a chair by the table, and the candlelight shimmered on his dark hair and caught sparks of gold in his eyes. He raised his head and saw me watching him, and once again I could not hold back my smile.

"How did you manage that?" I wanted to know. "I asked Ioreth to call you in with the avowed purpose of sending you back to your quarters for some rest, and instead here you are with me! And to speak truth, I am glad of it. Come, don't sit there; lie down on the cot. Maybe you can get at least a little sleep."

He hesitated, but only briefly. Then he blew out the candles, and a moment later I heard the leather straps of the cot creaking softly as he stretched out beside me.

His voice came out of the darkness. "Good night, Noerwen. Don't be afraid – anyone who wants to hurt you, will first have to get past me."

"I know," I said softly. And I really did know. Impulsively I reached out with my good hand and – perhaps by accident – found his waiting for me. It was as warm and comforting as the first time, and I held to it with a sense of relief and peacefulness. And then I fell asleep.

When I awoke, the first grey light of dawn was coming in through the pointed arch of the window. Daylight… by that much, at least, the power of the Dark Lord was beaten back. I turned cautiously onto my side and regarded the man who slept tranquilly at my side.

The night's repose had smoothed out the lines of strain in his face. It was a handsome face with good features, but… it was not only that, it held a beauty that was more than finely sculpted bones and an elegant swoop of the eyebrows, more than the shape and colour of his eyes. Examining him at my leasure as he slept, I began to realize how deeply his face drew me to him.

I was twenty-five years old, and contrary to the social norms of my own world, there had been few men in my life. A few fleeting encounters had never gone beyond a few kisses and, once or twice, some trifling endearments. My difficult relationship with my father had taught me some bitter truths: people close to your heart could hurt you badly, could let you down completely when you most needed them. And so for many years I had formed few friendships, and had fended off any attempts at romance. That had bought me safety, but I had been very much alone.

Now suddenly I was here, surrounded by the men and women of an utterly different, shockingly strange world – but I felt myself on solid ground, and for the first time I understood what an awesome thing that was. In my own world I would have remained distant, distrustful, but in Middle Earth I found friends easily. I had never wanted to be a healer, but here in Minas Tirith everthing I had learned during my unwilling study of medicine came back to me, as if it had only been waiting, in some mysterious corner of my mind, for the chance to use it to benefit those who needed it.

And here also was this man, the greatest surprise of all. A gentle, loving friend, and yet a warrior – his determination to defend me with his body and his life was no empty promise, and that realization quite literally took my breath away. It was incomprehensible that I should have earned such selfless devotion.

"Damrod," I whispered. He sighed and stirred, opened his eyes and saw me leaning over him. He lay still, instantly wide awake, but his face pensive and calm; I could feel his breath on my cheek. Slowly he raised one hand and cupped the back of my head gently. I leaned into the touch and saw my reflection mirrored in the grey eyes.

I kissed him.

He tasted of wood smoke and of sleep. I could feel his lips relaxing under mine in a surprised smile, and he made no attempt to move away, but neither did he embrace me. I understood that he was afraid of giving me pain, and a warm, glowing fire filled my heart and body. I had no free hand to touch him as I longed to in this moment, but I could show him in another way, how much I cared…

I pressed my lips against his, then backed off a little. I felt his hand sliding down my spine, making me shiver, and something deep inside me took over, throwing away all inhibition. I searched once more for his lips, driven by a hunger that surprised me even as I yielded to it. His mouth opened under mine and for a dizzy, delightful moment our tongues touched. His sigh whispered past my ear and he buried his hand in my hair, hanging over his face like a curtain. I raised my head and took a deep breath, and then I kissed him again, deeply and full of desire. I heard my own voice, a soft moan of enchantment deep in my throat, and his hand caressed my shoulder and then wandered further… The sheet and blankets had slipped down, and I wore only a sleeveless shirt with a loose neckline. His hand slid under my shirt, cupping my right breast, and then it moved over to the other side, tender, exploring –

"Ahhhh – don't!"

I winced, jerking away, and nearly fell off the bed. I bit back my cry of pain and it was a few moments before I regained my composure. I looked timidly at Damrod, and the sight was deflating: he sat perfectly still, his face blank and his eyes downcast.

"Damrod…"

He looked up, blushing fiercely. "I am sorry, Noerwen." His voice was grim. "What an incredible lout I am! To touch you… as if you were my own… after what happened to you…" He looked away. "That was unforgivable."

He got up. "I had better leave," he said. "Forgive me if you can. I will not bother you anymore."

Suddenly I understood. Of course! He couldn't be expected to know –

"Damrod, stop!" He stood still, his hand already on the doorknob. "You did not do anything unforgivable – may I remind you who kissed who first? You are tender and wonderful and I am not angry. Of course I am not angry!"

He looked around at me, his face full of doubt. I gazed into his face, some part of my mind listening incredulously to the echo of my own voice. Was I seriously declaring my love to this man?

Of course I was! I loved him, it was as simple as that. I loved him! Never in my life had anything been so perfectly clear.

"I winced because that breast is injured! That – that brute dug his mailed fist into it and now it's all black and blue and covered with bruises – if it weren't for that, do you think I would have let you go?"

A light began to shine in his eyes, but I kept on talking, my hands folded in my lap like a schoolgirl reciting a piece of poetry.

"Before you came in, I was dreaming about him… he was hunting me like a wild animal and in the end he caught me, I was helpless in his hands and I knew that this time I would not escape…

"If you leave now, that dream will come back over and over, every time I try to sleep. It terrifies me…" His face blurred as my eyes filled with tears. "I don't want you to go away, Damrod," I said softly. "I want you to touch me again as if I were yours, for I am. If you want me to be, I am."

I closed my eyes. He did not say anything, and for an awful moment I feared that I had gone too far, I had misunderstood his actions. Perhaps it had been nothing more than the momentary lust of a warrior too long without a woman. And I would be rejected once again, like an unwanted, inappropriate gift.

And then two quick steps brought him to my side; he sat down on the edge of the bed and his arms closed around me.

"Noerwen," he said. "Noerwen!" His voice was breathless and full of awe, and he caressed my hair and my cheeks and kissed the tears from my face.

vvvvv

When Ioreth returned a quarter of an hour later, I was lying in bed, properly covered up, and Damrod was sitting at the table. Her gaze wandered over the pair of us, but whatever she thought, she kept it to herself. I'll always be grateful to her for that. Damrod bid us farewell with perfect courtesy, giving me a sly smile behind her back, and then he was gone.

Ioreth had brought my breakfast on a tray and I ate a little. I didn't have much appetite, between the after-effects of the poppy syrup and my musings over the scene that had just taken place.

What had I done?

He was a wonderful man, there was no question about that. And he loved me; never before had I been so sure of anything. And I loved him! Remembering his face, his eyes, the touch of his hand – I felt oddly, pleasurably dizzy, and the blood seemed to sing in my veins. I was filled with warmth, smiling in spite of myself.

Even so – what had I done?

What if I disappeared, between one moment and the next? What if I let the kiss lead to something more, and in the end he was left with empty hands? And beyond that, the last battle still lay ahead. I had no doubt that he would fight; Damrod was not a man to shrink from danger, particularly when he felt the defense of the city to be his duty. He may fall, I thought. He is a brave man; it is only too likely…

As I reached that point in my ruminations, mercifully Ioreth came in to take away the breakfast tray.

"When am I allowed to go out again?" I asked.

She shot me a glance of disbelief. "Out? Where are you wanting to go, love? Take a walk? Clear the battlefield?"

"I just need some fresh air." My voice sounded whiney; I bit my lip and strove for a friendly, casual tone. "I haven't seen the sun for nearly a week. Could I at least walk in the garden, do you think?"

"I am not sure you can walk at all, love."

"But why? There's nothing wrong with my legs!"

There was a knock on the door and Ioreth gave a sigh of relief. "Come in!"

The door opened slightly and Mardil's tousled grey mop of hair came in sight. He peeked in cautiously, and when he saw Ioreth the friendly expression on his old face grew wary, almost alarmed.

"Mardil!" I exclaimed, very much pleased.

Ioreth eyed the old herb master without favor. "Ah. Lost the hypericum, have you, and come to ask the only human being in Minas Tirith who can sort out your mess?"

Mardil came in, closing the door behind him. "There is no mess anymore, my dear Ioreth, thanks to Noerwen," he said. "How are you, child?"

"I'm fine so long as I don't move my arm." I smiled at him. "I'd love a mug of peppermint tea from your supplies, though."

"Better I take care of that," Ioreth said resolutely. "By the time Mardil carries the peppermint into the kitchen, he will have forgotten what he intended to do with it."

She whirled out and the door slammed behind her. I gazed after her in perplexity. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, child." Mardil drew the chair over to the bed and sat down. "I've known Ioreth for more than forty years. We came here at more or less the same time, and she was…" He paused for a moment, blinking. "She was a handsome young woman – vivid – and she talked as much then as she does now. Well, perhaps a little less!" He looked at me from the corner of his eye, ironically. "I liked her, you know, very much, but even then I was a bit of a misfit. And forgetful, I'm afraid. Several times we had planned to do something or other together, and I forgot…" He sighed. "Well, she probably was not very interested anyway…"

I stared at him, trying to digest this astonishing information.

"But you were interested, Mardil, is that it?" I asked finally.

"Yes, I suppose I was." His eyes were soft, remembering, and a little smile crooked his mouth. "She was quite lovely, like a bonny small bird. But I don't suppose she really wanted an absent-minded dreamer, more accomplished with old tales and herbal recipes than the wishes and expectations of women. She went off one day and married a good man, and they were happy together. A few years ago he died, and then she came back to us… only to find that I was still here, and hadn't changed one iota. Since then I am from time to time the target of her… uh… jokes."

He got up, looking down at me. "I must go back downstairs. I've mixed up a few new remedies against wound pain and fever – they are even bottled already! I only need to put the labels on." He smiled.

"I wish I could help," I said sorrowfully.

"You already have," he said. He patted my shoulder and went out, closing the door behind him.

A few minutes later Ioreth came back with the tea. I drank it down, and then I went back to sleep and slept for most of the rest of this March day, while the leaders of the city's defense took counsel together in the Citadel. I woke early in the evening to find a glorious sunset gilding the walls of my small room. A servant brought in a supper tray, and I ate and fell asleep again nearly at once.

Damrod did not come back all day. I missed him, but I did not blame him, that he could not find time to come and visit. Yet I longed to see him at least once more before the army marched out, and finally I decided to send a messenger to him, asking him to come. The messenger would have to be Ioreth, I supposed, and I hardly dared imagine what she would have to say about it.

The next morning I felt much better, and after breakfast Oroher came and changed my bandage. He brought a sling for my arm and told me I could go outside if I wished, even asking Alandel to set a chair for me in the back garden. Ioreth helped me to get dressed (a rather exhausting procedure) and I finally managed to get out, late in the forenoon, leaning on her arm.

A pale March sun lighted the lawn under trees that were tipped with pale green buds, nearly ready to open into little rosettes of leaves. It seemed a long way to the chair; when I reached it, I fell into it with relief. Obviously I was weaker than I had thought. Ioreth took a blanket and wrapped me up as if in a warm cocoon, tucking it around me with gentle care.

I looked up at her. "Ioreth, tell me… what is all this about you and Mardil? He told me some very complimentary things about you, not long ago."

"Mardil?" She bristled. "That old codger? Well, he can spare me the compliments!"

"But why? If I understood him rightly, he liked you very much at one time."

"Him?" She snorted audibly. "He has an odd way of showing it, then!" Her face softened a little. "I have to go back inside, love. I'll bring you something to eat later on, and if you want to go back to bed you only have to call. There is always someone in the garden, who can help you if you need it."

She bustled away, and I smiled secretly as I watched her fo. She had been very interested in Mardil in those days, or I was very much mistaken… probably she still carried a grudge that he had forgotten her more than once in his absent-mindedness. I shifted, lying back comfortably in my chair and savoring the fresh, sweet fragrance of the dewy grass, closing my eyes.

When I opened them again, for a moment I didn't know where I was. The sun was far in the west, laying a patina of golden light across the garden. I blinked, fumbling my good hand out of my cocoon of blankets and wiping my brow. When I turned my head, I was gazing right into Damrod's face, where he sat on the grass beside my chair.

It was a gentle but emphatic blow to my solar plexus. Warmth shot into my limbs and it was a moment before the world stopped whirling around me.

"Hello, Noerwen," he said softly. I wanted to answer him, but found myself literally breathless. I smiled; finally I managed to speak.

"How long have you been here?"

"A few minutes." He laid his hand against my cheek, and I nestled my face into his palm. "The incomparable Ioreth was just here; she brought you something to eat. She said she's been back to look in on you several times, but you were asleep. The tray is here on the ground."

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Don't worry, we are well fed in the dining hall of the Guard." His gaze on me was warm and ardent, like an embrace. "I came back because I had to see you again. I've just been sitting here watching you, and it's been the most peaceful time I've known in all these last months." He paused, then added softly, "You are so beautiful."

I looked at him for a long time before I answered. "You didn't come only for that, did you?" I said at last. "You came to say goodbye. You are marching to the Black Gate tomorrow."

"How—?"

Of course, there was no way I could have know that, not that it mattered in the least. Not now, not here.

"As you said once before, Damrod of Ithilien, there is a lot of talk in the Houses of Healing," I answered lightly. I studied his face, the beautifully shaped grey eyes… his eyelashes were jet black, surprisingly long and tick for a man. The high cheek bones and strong chin, the finely drawn mouth. He had the deep, even tan of a man who spends most of his time out of doors.

"And now what do you expect of me? Am I to send you away once more, kissing you for luck and then pacing back and forth on the battlements of Minas Tirith like a proper damsel? And when you come back, I will garland you with flowers – if you ever come back!"

My voice failed and I twisted my head away, feeling sick. All my knowledge of the future, the outcome of this struggle, culled from the books of the Pengolodh, was exactly useless when it came to Damrod's fate. I imagined the professor sitting close to the fireplace with the prince of Ithilien, the wind howling in the chimney, on a winter's day when the Ring War was well over. That was the day I met Frodo of the Nine Fingers, Faramir was saying. I left him behind under the guard of Mablung and Damrod. A pity I cannot introduce you to Damrod: he fell at the Black Gate. Not many died in that battle, but he was one of them and I miss him very much.

The imagined scene was so clear before my eyes that I clenched my teeth. I didn't know, I couldn't know, whether he would survive.

He took my chin in his hand and gently, insistently, turned my face to his. "I don't care much for wreaths of flowers," he said, and with some surprise I noted the smile in his eyes. "I prefer the herbs of Ithilien. When you waited for me at the city gate – after Osgiliath – your robe, your robe, even your hair smelled of rosemary, spicy and strong. Do you remember?"

As if I could ever forget that day!

"What do you want from me?"

"Time." I stared at him openly. "I know I am not the only one – all over the city women are bidding farewell to fathers, husbands, sons… But they all had something already: they had time with these men they love, before they must let them go. We have had no time, Damrod."

"What is it that you want?" he asked softly.

"I must go inside; I am getting chilled. Can you bring me to my room, or must you leave at once?"

"Of course I can," he said. "I asked for leave until tomorrow morning. Then we muster near the city gates, ready to march."

Until tomorrow morning.

We sat gazing into each other's eyes and the silence stretched between us. Then he pulled himself together and helped me out of the chair, supported me with his arm as we walked slowly across the velvet lawn. The sunlight ran like a golden stream among the afternoon shadows on the ground, and his arm was strong, holding me up, his hand warm in mine.

He guided me through empty hallways to my chamber. The only person we met was Alandel, who greeted me pleasantly and shot a curious glance at Damrod. I asked him to tell Oroher and Ioreth that I had gone to bed early, not daring to look at Damrod as I said it, and a moment later we stood before the door of my room.

Damrod laid his hands on my shoulders. „Noerwen..."

I raised my good hand and gently covered his mouth. "Quiet," I said softly. "I love you, Damrod. I love you."

"But what if I… or if you…"

I shook my head, drawing him with me into the room and shutting the door. It had a latch, thankfully, and I fastened it before I turned again to this man I loved.

The bed was freshly made up, and a small basket of fruit and little cakes sat on the nightstand – and something else, which made me pause. A beautiful engraved carafe of red wine and two glasses. Two glasses – that had to have been Ioreth, and I laughed in spite of myself.

"Old bawd…" I murmured, shaking my head. I went to stand by Damrod, close, my mouth by his ear.

"This will be a peculiar night of love," I whispered. "I can't even embrace you properly, and I can't undress myself. You will have to help me."

Suddenly he smiled, his eyes lighting up in the way I so loved. "I have mastered more difficult tasks than that," he said.

And this task he fulfilled carefully, thoroughly. He stripped the loose robe over my head and helped me out of the sleeveless shirt. Sooner than I expected I stood naked before him, and heard his sharp intake of breath when his gaze fell on my injured breast. His eyes narrowed and darkened and his lips tightened.

"I am so sorry," he murmured and then, a little breathless, "Noerwen, are you really sure?"

"Beloved, are you really serious?" I asked.

He chuckled, pulling me into his arms and kissing me. His kiss was deep and hungry, coming to an end only when I drew back to gasp for air. The blood hummed in my ears and my knees grew weak; I took a step back and sank down on the bed. Then I watched as he undressed.

He was very tidy, folding his vest, shirt and breeches carefully on top of my robe on the chair. His chest was smooth with a beautiful, well-defined musculature, his hips slim and his legs long and lean, like those of a well-trained runner.

I didn't know if I was beautiful, but he was. Oh, he was, indeed!

He knelt in front of the bed and leaned over me; I felt his mouth tracing a warm, irresistible line down my neck. I put my good hand on his shoulder, caressing his naked skin for the first time. His flesh was warm and silky under my hand, and then his lips touched the wounded breast, so light and gentle that I hardly felt the touch, except that the pain was suddenly, miraculously gone. He turned his attention to the other breast, his mouth closing around my nipple, soft, urgent… I moaned with pleasure.

Then he came to me, surrounding me with his scent and his warmth, the strength and hardness of him, a stream of tenderness and yearning. I closed my eyes and let myself fall in.