The serious Lothíriel, princess of Dol Amroth, faces Corsairs, Nazgûl, and a half-mad uncle through the War of the Ring, aided by a barely-remembered friend, strange dreams, her fun-loving brother, and a little bit of luck, and finds that a little bit of laughter can help to dispel the growing darkness.
A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed! They totally made my day :) A special thanks to Lady Demiya's feedback; the addition of dates in this chapter is thanks to her, but thanks to all of you who took the time to review! Major love to you guys.
Kudos to anyone who:
a. Guesses what the meaning of the title is.
b. Knows what the third quote means.
Nostos
-3-
December 3018-January 3019
"Many others of Elrond's household stood in the shadows and watched them go, bidding them farewell with soft voices. There was no laughter, and no song or music. At last they turned away and faded silently into the dusk."
"'Slow should you be to wind that horn again, Boromir,' said Elrond, 'until you stand once more on the borders of your land, and dire need is on you.'
'Maybe,' said Boromir. 'But always have I let my horn cry at setting forth, and though thereafter we may walk in the shadows, I will not go forth as a thief in the night.'"
"Ónen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim."
It was December the twenty-fifth, and the Fellowship left from Rivendell at Dusk. It was said that those of Númenór were blessed with some measure of foresight and that night she dreamed of a haven, but beyond it laid a world of ragged clouds and shadows and bare, hanging tree branches. She fancied that she could make out a face - one she knew very well- but since it was a dream she could not recognize it, and then dimly she heard the sound that was the Horn of Gondor, echoing through the rocks and valleys and mountaintops.
Then Lothíriel awoke to the grey dawn.
The library of Minas Tirith was blissfully warm and by midday she had firmly ensconced herself in a comfortable chair with her newfound friend- a history of Eorl the Young- when someone cleared her throat.
And again.
Finally it dawned on her that someone wished to speak with her, and she looked up. It was a girl, or a young woman, not six months younger than Lothíriel, with a cloud of brown curls, wide blue eyes, and stubborn chin.
"Hello," she said rather blankly.
The girl smiled widely. "Hello," she said, "you must be Lothíriel."
"Yes," she said, "yes, I am," and remembering her manners, she reluctantly set aside her book, rose, and curtsied very slightly.
"I am Kallista," said the girl, beaming, "Amrothos told me I would find you here. Come!"
"What?" she managed, and then girl grasped her arm very firmly and began to tow her outside as though she were a pack mule, keeping up a steady stream of conversation the entire way.
"Thank goodness you're here, because there's no one else who's sensible in the entire city, and with everyone dead or gone or ill, we need the hands. You look so like Amrothos, you know; I would have known who you were even if he hadn't told me what you looked like. He's such a dear, isn't he? But silly, of course."
"Yes?" she said. "Where are we going?"
"The Houses of Healing, of course!"
"The what?"
Kallista smiled cheerfully. "Oh, did Amrothos tell you? That's where I work. Well, not work, because I don't get paid, but I'm told I have the hands of a healer. Isn't that nice?"
"Yes," she said more firmly, "that is very nice. Kallista, why are we going to the Houses of Healing?"
The girl's stride slowed and she turned. "Amrothos said you would love to help, of course."
She rubbed her forehead. "I've never been to a House of Healing before in my life. I think it's best that I not ,"
"Oh, don't be silly! You'll learn. I don't do much, either, just stitch up the wounds and sometimes I help with the amputations, but mostly I change the sheets and bedpans."
"Bedpans?" Amputations?
"I know, it's a little strange at first. But don't worry! You'll get used to it. I did, but it took time."
"Kallista," she said, "is it, well, proper for us to do this?"
"No," the girl said after a moment, her eyes suddenly clouded, "no, I don't suppose it is. Actually I know it isn't. But that doesn't matter, does it?"
Lothíriel met her gaze and tried to explain that yes, propriety was very important, especially for a princess of Dol Amroth, but found that she couldn't, for Kallista's eyes were wide and pleading. "No," she said. "I guess not."
Kallista's answering smile was tremulous. "I'm so glad- no one else thinks so. Oh! Let's go find Ioreth." She squeezed Lothíriel's hand tightly.
The Houses of Healings were set behind lawns and a canopy of trees, but in the winter the leaves had fallen, leaving the branches brown and empty. She shivered a little bit and wrapped her cloak around her more tightly.
"I forgot to ask," she said, "how did you meet my brother?"
"Oh! He didn't tell you?"
"No-,"
"Taregon is my older brother," said Kallista, "and I helped to care for Amrothos last year when he had his accident."
She felt a little heavy, thinking of his accident, but she said, "You must know him well, then."
"Yes, of course!" Kallista laughed as though she had said something very funny.
"Are you," she paused, "and Amrothos, well, courting?"
This only made Kallista laugh even harder. "Oh, Lothíriel, Amrothos didn't say you were so funny!"
She opened her mouth to demand an answer, for she had no intention of being funny, but then they were inside one of the Houses. Instantly Kallista seemed to grow taller and she said, "An apron, Lothíriel- take it!"
An older woman said, "Kallista, come with me-," and Lothíriel followed them both, feeling rather useless and taken aback by the crowd. The House was a place of peace yes, for it smelled slightly sweet, as of herbs, but she could taste the sweat and blood in the air. She heard muffled cries and in the room the healer took them to, a young boy laid in a bed, his sobs faded to hiccoughs. He was young, barely ten years old, and his face was like a pale oval moon.
Then she looked at his arm and her stomach began to roll. It was crushed- mangled beyond belief, and she had to look away for a moment.
"We've given him something for the pain," Kallista explained in a low voice, "and something to dim his mind."
"What will you-," and then she saw the knife the healer wielded.
I'm going to be sick, she thought, I'm going to be sick.
"Bandages," said Kallista.
The boy's eyes were foggy and she thought, please let him sleep.
"Hold him," said the healer very curtly, pushing hair out of her face. She was cleaning the blade. Kallista readied the bandages and then bent over the boy.
"We tie off the vein," she said, "hand me that thread-,"
She did. "Why?"
"So it won't hemorrhage."
Blood, she thought dizzily. She could smell it in the room; she could taste it. She wanted to faint, though she had never fainted before in her life; she wanted to close her eyes and turn away, but she saw the grim determination in Kallista's face, the pain in the boy's, even though he was unconscious. The healer raised the knife.
She would not faint. She clenched her hands so hard that her nails dug into the skin and had to avert her eyes. The boy was twitching, and she found herself dropping to her knees, clenching his hand in hers. "Shh," she whispered, though he was not even conscious, "shh." She did not particularly like children and had very little experience with him, but at that moment she wanted to wrap him in her arms and take away his pain.
But she couldn't.
She steeled herself to look as the healer continued to cut. The boy's face only faintly registered the pain, but he twitched. She brought her weight to bear across his chest.
"Hold him still," ordered the healer.
She didn't answer.
Kallista was helping to sew a flap of skin over the shorn bone, and when she tied off the heavy thread, Lothíriel felt a sudden rush of heat.
The healer looked at her sharply. "If you're going to vomit, do it out the window. That arm needs to stay clean."
"I won't," she managed to say, "be sick."
Her eyes softened and she smiled a little, wiping her hands on a clean white towel. The cloth came away stained with blood, though Kallista had tied off the vein. "No. I don't think you will be."
Lothíriel raised her head. She was the princess of Dol Amroth and she would not be sick. She gathered herself and got to her feet. "I'll take the cloths to the kitchen?"
"Down the hall," said Kallista, pointing.
It was warm in the kitchen where mammoth kettles of water boiled on the stoves, and the steam hit her full in the face. A woman said, pushing grey hair away from her sweaty face, said, "Scrub those."
She did, even cringing from the blood, because a princess of Dol Amroth did not flinch. She had sat at her mother's bedside while she coughed up great mouthfuls of blood; surely this was no different.
Kallista found her there, and for a moment Lothíriel didn't recognize her friend because her face was smeared with blood.
"Lothíriel," she said, her face somber, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- well, overwhelm you."
She concentrated on the soap in her hands, scrubbing the blood from the cloth. Her hands were bright red from the hot water. "It's all right." She pressed her lips together.
Kallista's hand was gentle on her shoulder. "Let's go. You need some air, I think."
She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Yes. All right."
They took off their aprons and outside, she knelt in the wet grass, ignoring the wet patches seeping into her knees. The sun felt very cold and she relished the taste of sweet, clean air.
"I'm sorry," she said, keeping her words even, "I didn't mean to-,"
"I forget that not everyone has a head for blood," said Kallista. She arranged herself onto the grass beside Lothíriel. "Forgive me?"
"Yes, of course," she said, nodding. "It was- interesting."
"Would you like me to take you back home?"
"No," she said, "I can find my way."
Kallista's face did not register any emotion. "All right." She held out a hand. "It was very nice to meet you, Lothíriel. May I call on you sometime?"
Absently she noticed that the other girl had neglected to use her title, but she did not mind. "Of course," she said, "but I will see you here tomorrow morning," thinking wistfully of the warm library, the stacks of books to be read. But she could not forget the little boy's white face.
Kallista smiled. "I will see you then."
"What happened to him?"
"A cart rolled over his arm. It was too crushed to keep."
She nodded again, pressing her face into her knees. "Well," she said, and pushed herself to her feet. Suddenly the world seemed very cold and unkind.
"Lothíriel," said Kallista, and then she smiled. "Thank you."
In. Out. Back. Tight. She found the steady pull of the needle through the cloth helped to still her mind; it settled her thoughts on the design. Today it was a seagull swooping over the waves, and though her stitches were neat, they did not have her mother's creativity. Her mother had loved to sew and her tapestries hung about the palace in Dol Amroth: she had embroidered the story of Beren and Lúthien Tinúviel, of Helm Hammerhand, of Idril Celebrindal, of Eärendil the Mariner. Lothíriel had never been able to capture her spirit, her talent for catching the breath of a legend in her thread.
"My lady," said the maid, "a visitor for you."
She glanced down at her embroidery hoop, slid the needle into the cloth, and set it aside. Amrothos was gone, as usual; he was normally out, though she didn't know what he was doing. "Who is it?" she asked.
"Me," said a voice.
"Erchirion!" She ran to fling herself at her brother, then remembering it was indecorous, stopped a foot away.
He laughed and grabbed her tightly, swinging her about the room as though she were a girl. His arms were strong and she wondered how she could have worried for him when he was so vibrant and whole. "Too old to hug me?" he teased.
"No!" she said. "But it's not proper."
"Hang propriety! Is there anyone here to see?"
"No," she said and smiled, taking a step back to survey him. He was mud-splattered and smelled of horse and sweat, but he was beaming. "Why-,"
"Father sent me. I'm only staying the night, and then I'm riding to Osgiliath. Let's not talk military matters, though. Where's our brother?"
"Out," she said, "I don't know where."
"Very well, then. I'm stared. Where's that maid of yours?"
She rang the bell; the maid curtsied and returned with ale and cakes. Erchirion wolfed one down; usually he had much better manners, but as he explained between mouthfuls, he hadn't eaten since that morning, and that was only journey bread. "Tell me," he said, "how do you find Minas Tirith?"
She wondered how much to tell him, but this was Erchirion, the most understanding of all her brothers, and his grey eyes invited her confidence. "Uncle Denethor," she began and felt as though he was watching her, somehow, "is- he frightens me."
"Yes," said Erchirion thoughtfully, "do you see him often?"
"Only a few times. He's summoned me maybe three times and he talks to me about our aunt."
"Something about him changed when Aunt Findulias died," said Erchirion.
"Do you remember her?"
"No, she died two years before I was born. Elphir was only one. But Father tells me that often."
"And yet Father sent us here!" she said. "I wonder at him. What will happen when Osgiliath falls?"
She wanted him to correct her, tell her if Osgiliath fell, but he did not.
"Isn't Dol Amroth safer?" she asked.
"The Corsairs," he began.
She interrupted, "But there have not been any Corsair attacks yet, have there?"
He was a decent liar, but she saw his start.
She closed her eyes. "There have?"
"Very few," he said, "hardly more than usual. A few attacks on merchant ships. But I wish you would stay here."
Her eyes fell on her embroidery, the seagull and the rising blue-green waves. She tried to imagine watching the black ships on that sea, her beloved water bringing the danger to her home.
"I hate this city," she said and found a few tears trickling down her face. She swiped at them impatiently, but he set aside the wine flagon and held her very gently.
"Oh, shhh," he whispered, "cry, little sister."
She did, sobbing with wild abandon into his shoulder, wondering when she had abandoned her childhood delusions of safety.
That night she dreamt again, this time of a strange shriveled creature who stared at her huge glassy eyes, but she would shrink away from him. Then she felt fire at her back; turning, she saw It, a monster shrouded in flames, heat pressing on her face, roaring, shrieking, and she fled, heart pounding and her mouth dry, running through dark winding caverns, ghostly hands reaching out for her, and she screamed, for she was lost somewhere in the deep belly of the earth, surrounded by flames and darkness and fear, never to escape.
And then she woke, gasping, and threw off the heavy blankets, wiping sweat off her forehead. The house felt very still. She flung a robe across her shoulders and belted the sash about her wait, then left her bedroom to pad through the halls. Maybe a tisane would help her sleep. The halls were still and dark, but rounding a corner she heard soft voices and saw a light glowing underneath a door.
Amrothos.
She recognized her brothers' voices, bare murmurs, and though she should not stoop to eavesdropping, she did anyway, stealing on bare silent feet to listen at the door.
"I will ride," Amrothos was saying.
"You know you cannot," said Erchirion. "Your leg will not hold."
"I care not! I will not be left behind if it comes to war-,"
"Peace, brother. Perhaps it will not. Our uncle does not wish to ride to war."
She heard Amrothos grunt.
"Have you told her?"
"Told who?"
"Lothíriel."
"Oh." A pause. "No."
"Why not?"
"Just as I have not told Elphir. They will not listen to me."
"I cannot speak for Elphir, but Lothíriel loves you very much," said Erchirion's voice very gently, "she will not-,"
"Be ashamed? Disgusted?" Amrothos's voice rose until it was almost maniacal and unconsciously Lothíriel stepped away from the door. She had never heard him speak so, as though he could not control himself. What can you not tell me, she wanted to scream to him. "She will. You know our sister."
"You judge her too harshly."
A shaky laugh. "No, I think not. I love her dearly, but she sees only what is seemly and proper. No, she would not understand, and you know that as well as I!"
"Not all of us are made the same," said Erchirion, "she must understand that. We are family, through thick and thin."
"Yes," said Amrothos, but she knew that voice- he did not believe Erchirion- all the same, I will not tell her."
"And so you will steal off in secret, hiding your true purpose, lying to her, lying to Father, to Elphir. If they love you, they will find a way to understand you."
"No." His voice was steady. "You will not breathe a word to any of them, Erchirion."
She stepped away, suddenly very cold. What could he not tell her? She searched her mind for some shameful secret that she might have stumbled upon, but she could find nothing. But her brother doubted her.
When she went back to sleep, she heard the horn of Gondor echoing through her mind, over and over again.
A/N: Reviews? Please? Again, a huge thanks to those who submitted them already- you made my day!