Hi guys,
I realize it's been years since I've written anything for this story, but lately I reread it and it felt wrong to leave it incomplete. It wouldn't do it justice. So, I decided to pick up the story again and try to give it a satisfying end, and myself peace of mind.
If you're still there, waiting for the so much needed update, I thank you. For your loyalty and for your patience. And if you're new to this story, or you have forgotten it entirely, welcome (back) and thank you for reading!
I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you again.
- I do not own the Lord of the Rings, only Mÿne.
For a little while, she'd enjoyed the company of her friends again. The sheer feeling of seeing them again filled her with joy, and with hope. She'd survived yet another battle. And even though they'd paid for it dearly, with many lives, Minas Tirith was still standing. Sauron's forces hadn't been strong enough to break it's will, and the power of the alliance between Men. The union between Gondor and Rohan, as weak as it might've seemed, still existed. Words were not meaningless. Promises were kept.
But there was not much time to dwell on that. As the sun started to show itself more and more, and the sounds of those who'd chased after the fleeing enemy finally died down, it became time to search for the survivors among the dead. Letting her hand slip from Legolas' hold, they gave each other a soft look, before they each broke apart and started to search in a different direction.
So much death. The Fields of Pelennor were littered with bodies and wounded soldiers, both Men and Orc. As Mÿne walked the fields, and gazed upon the dead, she had to admit that she counted her blessings, and would do so every other night. If things had gone more awry, she could've been one of them.
Her green orbs followed the different corpses until her eyes stopped at the familiar body of King Théoden. His red-golden hair plastered on his face, expression blank, and barely visible from underneath his horse, who'd seem to have fallen on top of him. Rohan soldiers surrounded him, in silence. Grave expressions lined their faces as they paid their respect to their fallen King. Mÿne stood and watched the display for a moment before the Rohan men started to clear the scene, starting with the King's horse. Rolling it aside, they lifted the broken body of the Rohan King onto a carrier, with as much respect as they could show in this situation. King Théoden was no more. A strange form of sadness took hold of her as the Rohan men carried the carrier away. Her gaze lingered on his lifeless body, disappearing into the White City. In life he had been so stubborn, strict, yet powerful and just. Now he seemed so meaningless and silent, his usually red cheeks an awful shade of pale.
A sudden heart-wrenching cry sounded over the remnants of the battlefield, and Mÿne had to hold onto her heart as the sound overtook her. Turning towards the sounds, she was in time to see from whom it had come. Éomer, leader of the Rohirrim, dropped his helmet and fell down, next to a body on the bloody grass, not too far away from her. Long blonde hair pooled from between his arms as he held a person, crying loudly and looking at his friends for help. Eyes wide with panic and despair, as he started to rock the body in his arms from right to left. The look in his eyes made Mÿne's heart shrunk and twisted in a painful way. It was only when she gazed upon the face of the person in his arms that her blood froze in her veins and fear clouded her mind.
The woman's face, although dirty, was still unmistakably that of the shield-maiden of Rohan, daughter of Kings and her friend: Éowyn. Her body was weak and her limbs hung aside her, showing red marks and linings on her arm. Her eyes were closed and her the rosy hue that usually showed on her cheeks had gone and changed to a shade of the pales whites Mÿne had ever seen.
Mÿne's hands started to tremble and she felt her feet move on her own. Slowly, as if she couldn't believe it, her feet moved forward. Afraid to gaze upon her dead friend. Afraid to confront herself with yet another lifeless friend and companion. From the back of her mind Faramir's words mocked her: another life she hadn't protected. She felt something brush past her and Aragorn took the lead, stepping in front of her. He joined a distraught Éomer as he too knelt down. On his face Mÿne could see he asked himself the same question that she too had on her mind. How did Eowyn slip into Rohan's forces unnoticed? How had she met her end here? How had all of this been possible?
"She is still breathing," Aragorn muttered as Mÿne too finally dared to get closer. "Shallow and faint, but there might be hope for her yet."
Mÿne could not believe her ears. She inhaled sharply as she looked from Aragorn to Éomer. There was no time to waste.
"Can you help her?" Éomer gasped eagerly, his wet eyes pleading greatly.
"I can, but we need to act swiftly. Waiting will only let the poison fester and spread..." Aragorn said, as he wiped the strands of hair from Éowyn's face with care.
Mÿne quickly asked some Gondorian men to bring out another carrier. They came and Eowyn was moved to the House of Healing, Éomer following after them in a steady pace. He didn't lose her from his sight for even a moment. And something told Mÿne that he would stay with her until she was tended to.
More and more carriers and wounded started to make their way back into the city. Those who were wounded were brought to the House of Healing, and those who had left this world already, to another place. Where, Mÿne did not know, nor did she want to. She felt the need to follow after her friends, back into the city, now that they'd found Éowyn in such a state. A worried feeling took master of her and it was hard to focus on anything else now. So they left the moving of the bodies and the wounded to those who still had willpower for it, she herself could not bring up the courage anymore. Following after Aragorn, they met up with Gandalf, Gimli and Legolas again, underneath the great battering ram Grond, made out of steel and wood. Glancing up, Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas marveled at its structure for a moment. It towered above them and put them in its shade, that seemed awfully cool now.
From beside her, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Mÿne looked up, to see Aragorn's face. His expression was lined with worry, but she could tell from the small squeeze he gave her shoulder that there was something else… relief, Mÿne thought eventually.
Aragorn released her shoulder and was the first one, with Gimli, to step into the White City – his City, if he'd choose it. Following him as she'd done for years, she fell into line with him, feeling tired suddenly. As she glanced at those around them cleaning up the first level, she could still not believe that they had made it. Fingers felt at her hand, and she glanced up to see Legolas' piercing blue eyes. They were calm, but lined with hesitation as well.
"You need to rest.", he told her in a calm voice, but even she could taste the worry in it.
"I will rest when I can. First I want to see Éowyn. I want to help. However I can and is desired of me.", she said, and she suspected that Legolas would fight her on that, just like had before. But he didn't. He stayed silent and gave her hand a small squeeze in something she hadn't expected...understanding.
As they arrived at the upper level, Aragorn and Mÿne hurried towards the building she hadn't been to before, but what contained the Houses of Healing. The wounded and the sick were laid onto small make-shift beds of hay and linen, although they were far too many. People clad in gray and white moved between them carefully, making people drink liquids and changing the linen that had been used to bind their wounds.
It took a moment for them to find the carrier that had taken Éowyn, but they soon had found her, Éomer on guard as he sat next to her, looking extremely worried. As they walked over to them, Mÿne had to try her best to avoid stepping on anyone, so much people had been brought in.
"Have the healers come to examine her?" she asked as she too took up position around Éowyn.
Éomer shook his head. He looked like he was about to burst into tears again, "They have, but they lack the skill. It is a wound that is too difficult to heal. She won't make it through the night..."
He looked at Aragorn, a very small flinter of hope in his eyes, "But you said there was still hope..."
Aragorn nodded in silence as he too knelt down and reached out for Éowyn's arm. With care he lifted the fabric of her sleeve, revealing her pale arm and the red lines that seemed to have engraved themselves in it. Even though the wound seemed shallow, it looked menacing all the same. The red lines gave off a shade that Mÿne deemed unnatural, and they clawed high up Éowyn's arm.
"The healers are right, it is a very difficult wound to heal. But if you know how, and with patience, she might be saved.", Aragorn said hopeful, "Mÿne, you know what I need. Tell the healmasters to bring me a clean bowl, cloth and the necessary herbs. I am sure they have a garden growing them. Athelas will grow anywhere, if you know where to look."
"I know where to look.", Mÿne said, remembering the weeds he'd used on Frodo when he had been stabbed on Wheathertop. Getting up, she ran down the steps towards the closest healmaster and spoke to him. With a grave nod, he'd make sure Aragon would get clean water, a bowl and cloth. The herbs however, she had to pick herself. The healmaster was far too busy tending to the wounded to go picking them. He pointed her towards a small planted garden, visible between the white arches of stone in the Houses of Healing, where the light shone as bright as gold, now that the sun was setting.
The herb garden was an oddly peaceful place, Mÿne found. As the healmasters, soldiers and folk busied themselves inside the Houses of Healing, the herb garden was only tended by the older healmasters; very old ladies clad in gray and blue. Their backs were bend from tending the garden, and their wrinkly faces looked at Mÿne silently before they tended to their business again: rolling leaves flat against stone, making ointments and watering the plants. Mÿne walked around the neatly kept herb garden, and eyed the different plants, searching for the Athelas.
It grew in the shadow, next to a beautiful decorated pillar of marble, in a tray made of stone. Next to Lungwort and other plants Mÿne recognized from the forests she'd wandered in. Twisting her fingers around the strands of the weed, Mÿne plucked it, as much as she thought Aragorn would need.
It was then, that she noted the feeling of being watched. Looking behind her, at the elderly women working in the herb garden, she saw that they were solely focused on their task. They didn't seem to mind her one glance. But as Mÿne turned her gaze upwards, to the tower looking out on the herb garden, made out of white stone, she caught the person gazing at her in one of the windows. Gray eyes, and a faced lined with red curls. Faramir, dressed in white linens, quickly stepped back into the shades of the room and Mÿne could see him no more. Her eyes lingered on the, now empty, window and waited for him to reappear. But he did not. And with no more time to spare, Mÿne hurried back inside the Houses of Healing.
It seemed Éowyn would respond well to Aragorn's treatment of her wounds. Within hours of him cleaning her arm and using the herbs Mÿne had given them, over and over, she'd started to breathe deeper and clearer. Aragorn and Éomer had stayed by her side as she regained her life's strength, but Mÿne, tired from fighting and waiting, had fallen asleep against the white marble wall. When she woke, she found herself back in her own bed, in the guest building.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she stood from the comfortable bed, and looked at the view outside. The sun was out and gave everything a nice golden glow. A bird flew past the balcony, and Mÿne could hear the last notes of its song, before it faded in the distance. Now that she stood so silently in her chamber, it almost seemed that the battle hadn't happened, and that this was just another beautiful morning like any other.
Looking in the mirror above the washing bowl, Mÿne noted the dark circles under her eyes. She was wearing the dark blue undershirt and black trousers that belonged with the armor Faramir had gifted her. The steel parts of the armor itself, were neatly sprawled out on a nearby table. Her loose hair fell past her shoulders and flowed after her as Mÿne walked towards the door and into the hallway. She wondered who had brought her to her room, her last memory being at Éowyn's side.
She could see nobody in the hallway, and as she made her way to the dining hall she shared with Gandalf and Pippin, she discovered the latter hurried at the table that had been stalled out with leftovers from what she supposed had been breakfast, or even lunch. There was cheese, and bread, and fruit and small parts of chicken or pheasant.
"Pippin!" she said, surprised to see him.
"Mÿne, you're awake! It's so good to see you. How are you feeling?" he asked her as he put the plate with bread, cheese and fruit down.
"I feel good, I suppose. Though, now that I gaze upon all this food, I suddenly feel hungry." she admitted, "I think I missed dinner, and breakfast. And so did you, by the looks of it. Unless this is your second serving…"
Pippin laughed a little but shook his head. Surprised at the motion, Mÿne looked at him. Pippin would never deny an extra serving of food. Their travels together had shown her as much. Of all four hobbits, Pippin could eat the most.
"As much as I would love to, this plate is not mine. It is for Merry, who I found on the battlefield! Is that not odd, Mÿne? He rode together with the Rohan army. Luck would have it so that I found him! And now I'm looking after him. He's too tired to walk, so if he can't come to the food, the food must come to him, don't you think? Come, bring some food to eat and I'll take you to him. It would do him well to see the face of a friend!" Pippin said, as he quickly loaded more pheasant onto the plate and grabbed a mug of ale with his other hand.
Surprised at the news, Mÿne looked at Pippin. She followed him around the table, taking some of the leftovers and walked after him as he led her back towards the hallway. She was amazed at the endurance of Hobbits. Even though they were so small, they had so much courage and bravery. She wondered how Merry had convinced the Rohan army to take him with them. Even though they were brave, Hobbits were too small and vulnerable for a battlefield. Merry must've had a silver tongue, she decided.
As Pippin walked in front, he opened the door to a room that looked towards the mountain. It was cool and peaceful inside, and white linen curtains swayed in the breeze. A second bed had been placed in this room, no doubt at Pippin's request.
"Is that you, Pip? Did you bring something to eat? I don't mind what it is, anything is better than stale bread or stew!" Merry said, until he saw Mÿne. His smile broadened and Mÿne couldn't help but smile herself.
"I brought food, and company!" Pippin said happily.
They sat and ate together, the three of them. Merry told Mÿne how he had come to Minas Tirith's aid with the Rohan army, though none was willing to take him with at first. There was one rider who took him along, in secret, and together they had entered the fray. He told them about the great charge, the Mûmakils, and how he got separated from his fellow rider. Pippin in turn told Mÿne about everything that had happened on the upper level during the battle. Of his tasks as a Guard of the Citadel, and how Denethor tried to burn himself with Faramir in a last act of despair and finally fell to his doom. And lastly Mÿne told them her version of the battle. They sure all had quite the adventure, though not together. But they were lucky they had found each other again after it, and in relatively good health too.
She decided to visit Éowyn in the morning of the next day. According to Éomer, her brother, she'd been doing fairly well and was slowly walking around more. A visit would surely do her well, Mÿne was convinced.
Entering the House of Healing, Mÿne asked after Éowyn and was quickly pointed down a white stone corridor. It surprised her how empty it was, now that the wounded had healed and send off back home. Only those in need of more rest and careful supervision were left at the Houses of Healing, in rooms as white as the stone mountain itself. Her footsteps echoed against the walls as she walked the corridor, turning to the right and knocking on a heavy door.
"Enter."
Mÿne entered the room, that bade in sunlight through white linen curtains. Éowyn sat at a wooden desk, at the window, one bandaged hand propped under her chin. She looked bored, and strangely also sad. But still so beautiful, as a breeze swept through her long golden hair and the sun kissed her pale face. She smiled a little when she caught sight of Mÿne.
"Now there's a surprise." Éowyn said, as she turned in her chair and greeted her.
"Éowyn…" Mÿne said, smiling too. Stepping forward, the two women hugged shortly, but careful of Éowyn's wounds.
"How good to see you, my friend. Tell me, how are you feeling? Are the healmasters taking good care of you?" Mÿne asked as she pulled away from Éowyn and looked her over.
Éowyn nodded, and sat back in her chair.
"They have. Even though I still feel faint, they're expecting me to make a good recovery in time." Éowyn said. A silence fell between them for a moment, before Éowyn looked up at Mÿne.
"The healmasters told me the strangest thing." she started, her eyes turning into ones of wonder, "Even though they are very skilled and knowledgeable people, they were unable to treat me. If it was not for the care of lord Aragorn, I might have succumbed to my wounds not very long after I was found. I remember naught of it, of course, only snippets and pieces which I deemed as dreams..."
"It was Aragorn, milady." Mÿne confirmed. After all she had been there when Aragorn had cleansed Éowyn's wound. And though she had fallen asleep in the end, Mÿne knew quite certain that Aragorn had saved Éowyn. Had Éomer found her any later, her chances would have been very slim. Mÿne even suspected that it would've been too late.
The shield-maiden of Rohan smiled in confusion and sadness. She plucked on the edges of the linen that were wrapped tightly around her wounded arm. Mÿne looked at Éowyn, not understanding. She hadn't known what to expect, but Mÿne thought Éowyn would at least seem happier to be alive, to have been saved. Right now, she gave the impression it had been better to be left on the battlefield.
"Will it ever end? The Evil, the violence, the Dead… I fear that I might soon be all alone. My uncle has passed, following after his son and my father, and mother. It's just me and my brother now, and if the War does not stop, I fear I will lose him too." Éowyn admitted, "And then I'll truly be alone in a cold, cruel world. A world without sunlight and where flowers won't bloom. A world of Death and sadness. I don't want to live in such a world. A world without hope, and where we live scattered in fear and sorrow."
What dark thoughts, Mÿne concluded. She had no words to comfort Éowyn. Men and Elves had been fighting Evil for so long, sometimes she too wondered if it was an endless battle, with so many lives lost. Only now could she see how lonely and sad Éowyn really was. Maybe that was the reason she had rode with her uncle's army, in a desperate attempt to make a difference – or find peace if they couldn't. Mÿne really wanted to ask her about it, but could not find it in her heart to do so. Éowyn was in no shape to answer the questions she might have. Her mind seemed fragile, and confused.
"You need to rest, milady." Mÿne said, shaking her head and trying to guide Éowyn back to her bedside. Willingly, Éowyn sat down at her bed and laid on its white linen sheets. Doubtful she looked at Mÿne with her clear eyes.
"Will you not stay? Please? Just for a little while..." Éowyn asked Mÿne. Silently, Mÿne nodded and sat in the chair Éowyn had occupied shortly before her, watching the shield-maiden as she drifted off to sleep. Only then did she leave her side, for she had someone else to visit…
Closing the door behind her, the sound of heavy wood collided with the white stone wall.
From across the room, Faramir looked at her with an expression Mÿne could only mark as guilt. He sat on the side of his bed, his bandaged arms slightly on his knees as he broke his gaze with her. It pained her to see him guilt-ridden like and embarrassed like this. As if she was not supposed to be there. As if her sheer presence hurt him deeply, even though he was her friend.
"Faramir…" Mÿne started, as she slowly approached him. "...Pippin told me what happened. Are you well?"
For a moment silence fell between them. Mÿne felt uncomfortable, and decided to pour the both of them a cup of wine, from the table at the window. Holding out his cup to him, Faramir took it, but with reluctance. He still refused to look at her.
"We won the battle…It took many lives, and we have a lot of wounded. But the city still stands… Rohan came, I'm not sure if we'd won without their strength..." Mÿne said, unsure what to say to him. Why was he acting like this? Before his departure, they'd been good friends! What had changed so much that he couldn't even stand to look at her?!
And suddenly she knew. Even though she had suspected that the alcohol had taken him that evening and he had been saying nonsense, she now knew that he hadn't. He had been honest with her at that moment, about everything.
"Faramir…"
"My apologies, Mÿne." Faramir finally said, as he put his still full cup of wine on the bedside table. His voice was soft yet raw, as if he was in great pain.
"I have been unfair to you, in many ways. I have spoken words I should not have, and made you sad- ...don't deny it. I have seen it in your eyes on the day of my departure. I have probably made you fearful of me, and rightfully so. I am ashamed of myself, and of my behavior. And yet here you are, asking after my health, informing me of your victory. I am a weak person, Mÿne, and I ask for your forgiveness. Even though I don't deserve it." he said, and he look at her at last.
His eyes were honest, full of embarrassment and guilt, but she also caught a lining of hope somewhere. As she'd listened to his words, Mÿne found that she felt lighter suddenly. As if a looming feeling had been made free.
"I forgive you, Faramir." Mÿne said, and she smiled a little.
She stayed the rest of the afternoon, talking with him. They changed their wines for water – Faramir telling her that he'd 'lost the taste for it' – and she told him of the battle of Minas Tirith. Of the Mûmakil, and Grond. Of their last stand at the second gate and the Rohan army at the Fields of Pelennor. Of the Witch-King and its terrible magic.
Faramir proved to be a good listener. He asked the right questions and became silent when he needed to.
"I feel glad, Mÿne, now that you have come to see me. I can look at the world, renewed. There's a burden lifted from my shoulders, in more ways than one." Faramir said.
Mÿne just smiled. Even though she could still feel the remnants of discomfort between them, she was delighted that he seemed more like himself. And since his father was not around anymore to ask the impossible of him, she suspected he'd stay that way eventually, after the grieving. After all, he had become the last of his house.
"Did he come?" Faramir finally asked, as he looked at her, "The Elf you love so much?"
"He did." Mÿne said, ignoring the flash of pain in his eyes as she confirmed it.
"I wish you well, and all fortune." Faramir said, and he smiled through his agony at her.
"And now, I must rest. Even though the healmasters expect me to be better soon, it wouldn't do staying up too much. I am still tired and need my rest, so that I might join all of you soon." he concluded.
Mÿne nodded in silence and stood from the chair she'd pulled up on his bedside. With a quick goodbye she left his room at the House of Healing. In a way she felt lighter, better. But she couldn't shake the look in his eyes whenever he glanced her way – so in pain, and turmoil. She suspected it would take time for that to fade.
