A/N: Filler, I guess. Thank you to my awesome reviewers Jaybat, Starlightwalking and Just Me for all your support! Just me- to answer your question, yes Daeril is older than Éowyn. At the time of the war of the ring, Éowyn is 23, and Daeril is 28. Hope to have more soon, have a great holiday everyone!
In the week that followed the coronation, there were many visitors to the King. Ambassadors came from the wildmen, from the Haradrim and the Easterlings to discuss peace and diplomacy now that Sauron was no more. Aragorn, King Elessar, was kept constantly busy with his new duties. The Grey Company found themselves lending aid where it was needed, some helping to rebuild, some filling in as Guards in the citadel. There was talk of heading back to the North, but nobody was in a hurry to leave, and the King seemed to be waiting for something and loathe to have anyone leave.
Éomer King left on the eighth of May, the Rohirrim, Lady Éowyn and the Sons of Elrond riding with him. Eomer would return to bear Théoden's body back to Rohan, but for the time being he would go back to assume leadership in Edoras. Daeril considered riding with them, at the invitation of Aldrych (who was still trying to match her and his son, to no avail), but had other matters to see to.
"I wish to go to Osgiliath," Daeril announced to Daenir some days later. She had wanted to make the journey well before, but kept being pulled in all directions by her kin and King.
"Why?" Daenir asked, picking at a piece of bread.
"My horse is still there, I would like to have him back."
"He was injured, it would not be wise to ride him back here so soon."
"I can stay there with him. I am not needed here."
Daenir pondered her request for a few moments, brow furrowed.
"I give you leave to go," He said. "If you do not go alone. I cannot be spared, so you best find someone."
"I can handle going alone, Daenir." Daeril argued.
"It's not that I doubt your ability to take care of yourself. I do not trust every man in Osgiliath, nor here, to be honorable."
Daeril realized what he was alluding to, and somewhat agreed.
"Very well, I will find an escort."
Once finished breakfast with Daenir, Daeril set out to find anyone willing to go with her to Osgiliath. It was a short trip, merely four hours on a fast horse, but who would wish to stay if need be? Her cousins were nowhere to be found, and Hador was too busy. Tracking down her kinsmen was much harder than initially thought, and even as she rode into the city on Arraben she realized she was probably not going to be making the trip anytime soon. When even Thannor could not be spared, and she grew tired of searching, she gave up and rode back out of the city. She rode right past the ranger's camp, and onward to the road to Osgiliath.
"At least Daenir knows where we're going, old girl." Daeril spoke to the mare, patting her neck.
Daeril reached the main gate of Osgiliath in the early afternoon, riding up the bridge with her hood drawn up. Hopefully any ill intention-ed men would think her to be one of the male Dunedain and leave her well alone. The guards let her pass, the silver star on her cloak enough of an identifier for passage it seemed. The stable was bustling with activity, with huge work horses going in and out, rotating through tasks of pulling heavy stonework for the city repairs. Daeril tied Arraben to a post, ensuring she receive hay and water, then set out to find Rocky. She found him in the same stall they had left him in. He turned to her, sniffing at her, then nuzzling his muzzle into the folds of her cloak.
"I am pleased to see you too, good sir!" She spoke to the horse, kissing his whiskered muzzle.
To Daeril's relief, Rocky's chest was healing, but his knee and hock were puffed with swelling. Any hope of riding back with him that day quickly dwindled. She put his halter on, and led him out into the stable yard.
"Careful with that one, lad!" Someone warned.
"It's quite alright, he is mine." She replied, forgetting that her voice would give her away.
"My apologies, mi'lady, I did not recognize you." The stable-master was an older man, and from her brief interaction with him before she thought him to be very kind. "He's lashed out at a few of us. Just watch yourself."
She smiled at the man, and continued on leading Rocky. He was calm, and despite all the commotion in the city, did not spook at anything. Daeril almost thought she had taken the wrong horse when Rocky crossed over a drawbridge with no fuss at all. They walked out until they were in open grass, away from the noise of construction. Rocky grazed happily, while Daeril sat in the grass watching with a loose grip on his lead. It was a perfect spring afternoon, and she could almost imagine herself back in Imladris if she ignored the ugly ruins behind her and tuned out the sound of hammers on stone.
She stretched out her legs, leaning back to look up at the clear blue sky, watching a pair of gulls circling above. Her leg, despite the wound being nearly healed, was sore from the ride to Osgiliath, and she tried to stretch out the tight muscles as she sat there. The back wound itched constantly, but she had learned how to ignore it since rubbing up against every surface to scratch it wasn't very becoming of a lady, nor a warrior. Altogether she found herself coming back from the horrors of war much the same person, albeit missing her own lands terribly. There was so much history and incredible sights in Gondor, but it was so stoic and cold compared to Imladris and the rest of Arnor. She missed the drunk locals of Bree, and her own people, and especially the stables of Imladris. When would she be able to go back?
"What are you doing here, Lady Daeril?" An accusing voice, albeit a friendly one, startled her from her revelry.
Rocky sprung to attention, nearly trampling Daeril, who managed to jump to her feet in time to catch him.
"I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you!" Mablung laughed heartily.
Daeril laughed at the extreme reaction of her unpredictable mount.
"No harm done."
Mablung came forward, a hand stretched out towards the horse who stood huffing to calm himself. Rocky sniffed at the ranger's hand, before dropping his guard and allowing him to stroke his neck.
"What is his name?" He asked.
"Rocky," She replied. "Not the noblest of names."
"Names don't matter," He laughed. "He is nice enough looking. Built well."
"You wouldn't have said the same nae sixth months ago. He has come a long way from when I got him."
"You seem to love horses."
"I've grown fond of them as of late. I never was much of a rider, but I do enjoy their company."
She thought she caught a smirk on Mablung's face, but if he did he covered it up quickly.
"Would you care to dine with my men and I tonight? Is your brother here with you?"
"No, I came alone. I really should be getting back to the city before he realizes I am gone."
Mablung ran a hand over the swelling on Rocky's leg.
"You're not getting very far on this horse."
"I came here on another," She said. "I just wanted to check on him. I was hoping he would be ready to lead back."
"It will be dark before you make it halfway there. Stay here for the night, I will ensure no one bothers you."
"I have ridden in darkness and far more dangerous places many times, I will be fine."
"If something were to happen to you riding back alone, your brother will have my head. I insist you stay here. You can leave at first light."
Daeril sighed. It was getting late, and she did not know what wild animals were in these parts at night, so he had a very valid point. Her pride in her own skills was clouding her judgment.
"Very well. I will stay."
The rangers of Ithilien that were in Osgiliath with their Captain Mablung were a lively bunch, and Daeril found herself enjoying their company immensely. There were only 12 of them in Osgiliath, staying close by to Minas Tirith lest Faramir need them. Faramir, now Prince of Ithilien, would be making his way through to Ithilien to establish his home, but when was an unknown. The men were very interested in Daeril's stories, asking much about life in the North and of King Elessar. She told them of growing up in the Angle, patrolling near the Shire, escapades in Bree, and her recent stay in Rivendell. Mostly they were fascinated that a woman had willingly gone into battle more than once, and lived to tell the tale.
It grew quite late, and most of the men had retired for the night. Daeril and Mablung were very much awake, even as the midnight hour crept up on them, and they took to walking along one of the recently reconstructed walls, so they could look out over the city and speak without disturbing anyone's slumber. Mablung told her about his family, growing up in Ithilien. He had joined the rangers at seventeen, and slowly moved up the ranks. Now he was Captain, acting in Faramir's stead as the leader of the Rangers of Ithilien.
"Will you return home, to the North?"
"I would like to, for a time. I left in somewhat of a hurry. Although most of my family is here in Minas Tirith, and we serve the King now. I know not whether he will let me return, or have me remain in his service."
"You do not like Gondor." Mablung stated.
"I like it, it's just... so different than home. I do not feel at home in a city."
"Aye, I feel the same. There's too many people."
They talked until the dim light of dawn crept up around them, and voices started to be heard in the city. It was then that Mablung and Daeril went to the stables, readying Arraben for the return journey.
"I will keep an eye on your Rocky for you," Mablung said, giving Daeril a leg up onto the mare. She could feel his touch linger on her leg for a moment too long, but gave no indication she noticed. "When he is fit to make the journey, I will ensure he is returned to Minas Tirith."
"Thank you, Mablung."
"I much enjoyed your company. Until we meet again. Cuio vae."
Mablung patted the mare on her hip as Daeril walked her forward.
"Novaer."
Daeril rode quickly back towards Minas Tirith, Arraben moving swiftly along the road. The sun was rising as they moved along, a warm pink and lavender glow enveloping the dark clouds on the horizon. Not halfway to the city, the dark clouds had increased, bringing with it an earthy scent that could only mean rain. Within minutes, horse and rider were drenched as the sky opened up, the warm spring rain beating down upon them. Daeril began to laugh, turning her face up to the sky and letting the water run over her. Even as thunder boomed in the distant mountains, she felt unwavering joy.
She could remember a storm much like this one, so many summers ago, when her father stood out in the downpour with her. She had been small, and afraid of the noise and the lightning, but Rýndir had held her up so her feet would not get wet. He had told her that the rain was good, that it made the grass and trees and flowers grow, and washed away everything bad.
The rain cleanses all, he had told her even though she hadn't truly understood, being so young. Sadness, pain, loss- all could be healed by washing it away. Now, as she rode through the storm, she believed him. She let go of Faron, Boromir, Halbarad, and Aeldis. Their deaths were not on her, and she finally let herself believe that. Tears fell from her eyes, immediately mixing with the rain on her face until they were no more. As the storm dwindled, and the sky began to clear to blue, Daeril felt true peace. Perhaps, one day, she could let herself love another as she had Faron. In the calm after the storm, her heart was free.
Cuio vae/Novaer- farewell