Chapter 5

"How did you end up here?"

I was brushing Éowyn's long fair hair, very thick and glossy. I rather enjoyed the job, though I suspected I pulled it none too gently a couple of times, making her wince.

"I followed my uncle to battle," she said quietly, sighing.

"Your uncle was Théoden of Rohan, right?"

"Right."

Her voice was emotionless.

I finished brushing and asked her, "Would you like me to braid it for you? It will come all tangled if it stays loose while you are in bed. It happened once to me, as a child, and my brothers volunteered to help me. Nightmare, that is what it was."

"How many of them do you have?" she asked, turning her head slightly to look at me.

"Three," I said, somewhat sourly.

She shook with soundless laughter.

"How very funny," I grumbled, giving her hair a tug.

"Aw!" she screamed. "That is not fair, Thíri! I am disadvantaged here!"

"Good," I said vengefully, starting to braid the long golden tresses.

When I finished, there were two neat long braids lying on her shoulders. Somehow, they gave her a very youthful and vulnerable look, and I wondered what trick of fate had brought this girl to the thick of the battle. A million questions fluttered on the tip of my tongue, but I checked them. She was obviously distressed to think of her injuries and that which caused them, so I decided to leave the matter be, for a while.

However, it was she who mentioned it first.

"I left my country in disguise of a Rider," she said. "I did not desire to stay behind and wait for doom… so I rode forth to battle, and then, when the Witch King attacked my uncle, I first slew his mount and then, with the help of my little friend Merry, I slew him too."

I gaped at her matter-of-fact tone. "You mean… the Witch King of Angmar?"

"Actually, I did not ask him about his realm," she snorted. "I do not remember it very clearly… just the stench of that beast, and how the blood poured forth when I hewed off its head, and how he struck me with his mace… I think I ducked several times, and then it fell upon my shield and shattered it. The healers say I was fortunate, for the bone in my forearm cracked, but stayed in place."

"What happened to your right arm, then?" I breathed, awed by the revelation.

She shrugged. "I do not know. They say it is deadly for anyone to strike a Nazgûl, and I drove my sword right into his helm… at least I think so. And then it was cold… everything…"

She shuddered, and I drew the coverlets about her shoulders. She was very pale, even for her complexion, which was a lot fairer than that of the ladies of Gondor. I longed to hear more, but the memories seemed to be too hard on her.

"Would you like anything? To eat, or to drink… or perhaps I should try and find your brother?" I rather hoped that she would not choose the last option, for I felt no inclination to face her brother again. Who knows what mood he might be in?

She smiled at me. "No, thank you, Thíri, I am fine. I would like to see my brother, but he most likely is with other commanders, so I do not think he would want to be bothered."

"And I would not want to be the one to bother him," I said in mock fright.

"He is not that bad when I behave properly," she said. "You might come to like him."

"I do," I admitted. "But he is too…" I trailed off in search of a word, and failed to find one. But at that moment the door opened, and in came two healers.

One of them, Maelnor, nodded his greetings and said, "Lothíriel, you are needed at the kitchens, and then go straight to the Warden. He wanted a word with you when you are free. We shall take care of the Lady Éowyn."

When I was already running along the hallway, another thought struck me. Why is it that no one ever tries to call me 'my lady'? It is quite different with Éowyn.

Must be the hospitality thing, I decided.

It was quite late in the evening when I managed to reach Faramir's room. To my great delight, he was sitting propped up against the pillows, a book in his hands.

"Cousin!" I exclaimed. "You look wonderful. How is your shoulder?"

"Much better. Stings a little when I move my arm, but that is a healing pain, not the throbbing which might signal the infection."

I sat next to him onto the bed, resting my aching back on his pillows, and recounted my earlier adventures. Not once did he interrupt me, just listened very intently, a warm smile on his lips.

"You are beginning to enjoy it, are you not, Thíri?" he said when I finished. "Your duties here, I mean."

I kicked my foot up into the air. "I would not say 'enjoy', cousin. I simply do not mind them as much as I did before. And the Warden seems much kinder to me. Guess what, today he even told me he was quite pleased to have me here and that he would tell Father how good I was…"

Faramir laughed. "You are a child, Thíri. Do you always have to prove the world that you are good? We all love you as you are."

"I know." I kissed him. "But the people here… Faramir, many of the ladies who come to help were raised just as I was, in noble families, with kind parents, many are married. But still, they are different from me. You know," I turned to face him, "one of the nursemaids, everyone calls her Miri, lost her husband a year ago, and then her twin boys were affected by the Black Breath and died. She is only a year older than me, and her hair is already greying. Éowyn and her brother lost their entire family, and…and you, too…" I finished in a whisper, lowering my head.

"Thíri…" he sighed softly, his hand touching my hair. I jerked away impatiently. "That so many people suffered does not mean you have to sacrifice yourself to them. Be glad you have your own family beside you. Torturing yourself will not bring them back."

"I am not torturing myself," I snapped. "I just want to be of use. I want to help, too. I could not sit at home and read or play or embroider while my father and my brothers are fighting. Waiting is hard, Faramir, so hard… So I managed to persuade father to bring me here. You may call me foolish, but I at times I am sure that nothing ill can befall them if I am near."

"It is said all women think so," Faramir said, stroking my hand.

"So," I concluded, "all is well that ends well. The battle is won, and we can return shortly. I do not know how long Father might want to stay here, but I suppose I can linger here at least until you are well."

"That may not be as easy as that, my lady," a voice said from the doorway. We looked there and saw Aragorn, a little cleaner than before, but still unshaven and rather weary-looking.

I blushed to the roots of my hair. I, the daughter to Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, half-lying on the bed beside the new Steward of Gondor; still wet (I had not had any time to change), feet kicking in the air like a baby's… and the King-to-be, the weariness in his eyes slowly giving way to sparkles of laughter.

I sprang to my feet and stood almost to attention. "Apologies, my lord."

He just smiled. "No, my lady, it is I who has to apologise, intruding thus on a private moment. I wanted a word with my lord the Steward, but if you are here, you can hear the news as well. The council of the commanders is over. It has been decided to march to the Black Gates."

He spoke dryly, matter-of-factly, his intent grey eyes on the face of Faramir. The latter inhaled sharply, then nodded. "I expected something of the kind, my lord. When are you to set off?"

"The eighteenth," Aragorn answered.

He turned his gaze to me, saddened. "Forgive me, my lady, for bringing you these sad tidings."

I shook my head, unable to utter a syllable; finally, I said in a hoarse whisper, "But… you cannot win. I have learned something of Mordor while I was here… you will face the whole might of the Dark Lord there, thousands and thousands… you cannot win."

"That we all know," he said gravely. "The march is planned as a distraction, to draw Sauron's attention to us and give Frodo a chance to fulfil his Quest."

I noted absently that he used the name of the Dark Lord, a thing rare in Gondor.

"My father…" I looked at him, not having the courage to finish.

He nodded. "Yes, my lady, he is going with us too."

I lowered my head. My mouth seemed to fill with some sticky substance, and I swallowed with an effort. When I next looked up, they were looking at me, compassion shining in their eyes.

"I remember you wanted a word with Faramir, my lord," I said, my voice almost normal. "I will leave you now."

Their alarmed exclamations boomed simultaneously, "Thíri!" from Faramir and "My lady!" from the other man.

I stopped at the door and managed a weak smile. "I am fine, my lords. And shall be. I leave you to your conversation and bid you good night."

I proceeded to the gardens, walking faster and faster, until at last I was running, heedless of the harsh, cold wind that promptly got through my damp clothing. I ran until I reached the walls, and there collapsed against the stones, shivering more from my emotions than from the cold.

This could not be true. It could not! One battle over, I getting more or less comfortable, my family safe, and now they were sent to the Black Land itself, to perish there!

And I had to stay behind to wait…

Not to hope, to wait. For them to return dead. Or not to return at all. Orcs are known to do horrible things with the bodies of the fallen…

Oh, how I understood Éowyn now. How I longed to ride with the army and perish there with them. I did not want to wait here!

It started to rain. I crouched at the wall, wrapping my arms around myself. I did not want to return. If I could just die here, fall asleep and never awake.

Someone brought me back to alertness with a shake to my shoulder.

I looked up and saw Aragorn.

Silently, he took me in his arms and started to walk towards the Houses. I was too weary to protest, so I just snuggled closer to his broad chest.

"Why did you go after me?" I asked him as he carried me inside.

"Faramir asked me to. He is very concerned about you, my lady. And he is right. Look at yourself, you are all wet! You should not do such foolish things, Lothíriel. Your catching cold will not help anyone."

Yet another man to call me by my name.

He put me down, grabbing my shoulders.

"Have you ever realised, child, that, should your father and brothers perish in the war, you will be the ruler of Dol Amroth?"

I shook my head stubbornly. "Do not want to think about that."

"But you will have to. You must. Now change into some dry things and go to sleep. You will be needed tomorrow, and later, for healing and other things."

He was silent for a moment, then lifted my chin so I could meet his eyes.

"Being noble-born may sometimes be tedious, child, because of all the protocol and foolish limitations imposed by it, but it is also a responsibility that not anyone can bear. I have a feeling that you can, despite all your childish escapades. As can your cousin. As you once told me, it runs in the family."

I smiled involuntarily. I certainly liked the man, liked him for his manner with me. He was much like Faramir. I saw deep trust in his eyes, nothing of benevolent indulgence my own family would give me – he truly believed I was not just a silly girl. And he did not offer me pity of a parental kind; he did not try to comfort me with hugs, and that I appreciated.

You have to be strong, Lothíriel. You have no choice but to be so.

Late that night, I tiptoed to Faramir's room and entered quietly. He was still awake. He turned his head to see who it was, but this time he did not greet me with his usual smile. He held out a hand to me, and I ran to his bed, climbed onto it, and felt his arm wrap tightly around me.

"Hang the propriety, Thíri," he whispered. "Stay here if you want, the bed is big enough."

So I did.

TBC

My sincere thanks to my reviewers! You certainly seem to like my Thiri! Yes, Elenhin, your analysis of her character coincides with my view perfectly. Read on, she still has a long way to go before she is Queen.