Chapter Twelve, Troubled Minds.
Atùvinel rose early, although her sleep had been dreamless, it had been fragmented and light. She now walked along the curtain wall of Minas Tirith. Occasionally she was greeted by the guards but for the most part she was alone with her thoughts. If Agaron could take over the minds of the men her father and brother were commanding, then they were in greater peril than either knew. She had sent another letter to the battlefield, and was expecting a reply to the first later that day. She had omitted the words Mirdain had directed at her alone, and those were the words that repeated themselves in her mind. "You will die, Princess of the cursed lands! You will die in agony and alone!" He wasn't meant to die.
Atùvinel was no fool, she knew the reality of war was that some fathers would become childless and some children would become fatherless. It was a harsh reality where the blood of innocents stained the earth as they fought to save the ones they loved. They went out there searching for glory and honour. There was no glory and little honour in battle. They would die not caring about how many they had slain and forgetting what they fought for. They would die in agony and she would mourn them before covering them up with their own stained blankets.
She had already had to perform that office twice that morning, as two of the wounded men had given up their lives and ties to this world. One had passed away during the night, as Atùvinel slept, but the other had been able to have his friends and family around him as he went to the land of his fathers.
Shaking her head, she struggled to get the morbid thoughts out of her head, instead, in a vain effort to do something, she came to the training fields. As all of the men able to fight were either at their posts defending the city or in the battle, it was deserted. She took her fury out on a target, using a longbow to punch holes through the wicker framework.
When her arm tired of the exercise, she went to Nafalon.
He whickered softly as he saw his mistress coming towards him, along the length of the stables. Murmuring softly, she began to brush him down, combing through his long, luxurious mane and tail before placing a light saddle on his back. She slipped on a pair of riding gloves, then led her horse from the confinement of the court and down the streets of the
city, deep in thought.
She was not able to go far, but Atùvinel found solace in the gentle movement of Nafalon beneath her. But still she found her mind turning to the things she would rather they stayed far away from. She found a cool stream and allowed Nafalon to drink and take his fill of the refreshing water. She too drank a little, and pulled her boots off, then sat down on a rock near the water and let her feet fall into the current. The stream was fast moving and a popular place for fish it seemed. As he sat there, her horse wandered off slightly to graze, the wood she sat in sprang back to life. It had fallen silent when she had arrived and now, as the animals sensed that she would not pose a threat to them, they reappeared. A kingfisher, brilliant blue and gold swooped from a branch to her right, dipping down into the water and emerging triumphant with a fish in its beak. A small deer came from the trees on the opposite back and drank from the water, keeping an eye always on her. Slowly, so as not to startle it, she withdrew her feet from the water and pulled them up close to her body. She shifted her dress so it wouldn't get wet then stared contemplatively into the water.
Atùvinel came to a few realisations that day, as she sat there, that eased the burden on her heart.
She was not solely responsible for every death that came about in the healing rooms. She had been forced to kill that man, it was a mercy stroke he had begged her to give. That was the kind of decision commanders on the battlefield made, knowing that whatever they did, they were sending good men to their deaths. It scared her that she had been able to weigh up the cost of this one man's life against that of her people and had killed him without a second thought.
An owl's call startled her. It was night now, the sun had fallen behind the horizon and she should be back in the city limits. Nafalon seemed to know that as well, and as she stood he walked over and offered his back. Atùvinel smiled and patted him on the nose.
"Very well boy, let's go home."
Atùvinel rose early, although her sleep had been dreamless, it had been fragmented and light. She now walked along the curtain wall of Minas Tirith. Occasionally she was greeted by the guards but for the most part she was alone with her thoughts. If Agaron could take over the minds of the men her father and brother were commanding, then they were in greater peril than either knew. She had sent another letter to the battlefield, and was expecting a reply to the first later that day. She had omitted the words Mirdain had directed at her alone, and those were the words that repeated themselves in her mind. "You will die, Princess of the cursed lands! You will die in agony and alone!" He wasn't meant to die.
Atùvinel was no fool, she knew the reality of war was that some fathers would become childless and some children would become fatherless. It was a harsh reality where the blood of innocents stained the earth as they fought to save the ones they loved. They went out there searching for glory and honour. There was no glory and little honour in battle. They would die not caring about how many they had slain and forgetting what they fought for. They would die in agony and she would mourn them before covering them up with their own stained blankets.
She had already had to perform that office twice that morning, as two of the wounded men had given up their lives and ties to this world. One had passed away during the night, as Atùvinel slept, but the other had been able to have his friends and family around him as he went to the land of his fathers.
Shaking her head, she struggled to get the morbid thoughts out of her head, instead, in a vain effort to do something, she came to the training fields. As all of the men able to fight were either at their posts defending the city or in the battle, it was deserted. She took her fury out on a target, using a longbow to punch holes through the wicker framework.
When her arm tired of the exercise, she went to Nafalon.
He whickered softly as he saw his mistress coming towards him, along the length of the stables. Murmuring softly, she began to brush him down, combing through his long, luxurious mane and tail before placing a light saddle on his back. She slipped on a pair of riding gloves, then led her horse from the confinement of the court and down the streets of the
city, deep in thought.
She was not able to go far, but Atùvinel found solace in the gentle movement of Nafalon beneath her. But still she found her mind turning to the things she would rather they stayed far away from. She found a cool stream and allowed Nafalon to drink and take his fill of the refreshing water. She too drank a little, and pulled her boots off, then sat down on a rock near the water and let her feet fall into the current. The stream was fast moving and a popular place for fish it seemed. As he sat there, her horse wandered off slightly to graze, the wood she sat in sprang back to life. It had fallen silent when she had arrived and now, as the animals sensed that she would not pose a threat to them, they reappeared. A kingfisher, brilliant blue and gold swooped from a branch to her right, dipping down into the water and emerging triumphant with a fish in its beak. A small deer came from the trees on the opposite back and drank from the water, keeping an eye always on her. Slowly, so as not to startle it, she withdrew her feet from the water and pulled them up close to her body. She shifted her dress so it wouldn't get wet then stared contemplatively into the water.
Atùvinel came to a few realisations that day, as she sat there, that eased the burden on her heart.
She was not solely responsible for every death that came about in the healing rooms. She had been forced to kill that man, it was a mercy stroke he had begged her to give. That was the kind of decision commanders on the battlefield made, knowing that whatever they did, they were sending good men to their deaths. It scared her that she had been able to weigh up the cost of this one man's life against that of her people and had killed him without a second thought.
An owl's call startled her. It was night now, the sun had fallen behind the horizon and she should be back in the city limits. Nafalon seemed to know that as well, and as she stood he walked over and offered his back. Atùvinel smiled and patted him on the nose.
"Very well boy, let's go home."