Lossarnach and its northern villages were scattered across the green plain. The land was renowned for its fertility and the succulent fruits that the soils produced yearly, not to mention the fields of wildflowers that bloomed during the spring and summer. It was possible to see for miles on a clear day, over fields of wheat to orchards, and sometimes even the highest point of Minas Tirith could be seen rising up on the horizon. Though on this day, the sky was shrouded in a blanket of thick grey clouds.
The cavalcade passed through the largest of the villages where the road cut through an orchard of trees with budding flowers, however, some had already produced fruit as well. Belegorn reached up in the saddle of his horse and pulled down one of the red fruits. Its skin was tough, yet his dagger cut through it with ease to reveal an interior with hundreds of deep red arils to be consumed. Aeardis had never tasted something so sweet in her life. She had taken a keen liking to Belegorn and the way he spoke about both the land and people that bore him in the highest praise. If the people of Minas Tirith were all like him she supposed she'd never wish to leave.
A sentry-guard rode forth to meet the procession bearing the sigil of the land, three red roses on a white field. The girl had missed his name but he knew Belegorn well and her father too. He offered his lord's home as a place to rest and feast but Ohtar insisted that the traveling party push onward to Minas Tirith. None challenged his authority and they rode to the eastern edges of the province.
It seemed that nothing could dull the beauty and goodness of Lossarnach but looming in the east was a range of dark mountains where the sky shifted from grey to a shade of red unlike any that could be found in a sunset or rise. Unnatural was the only word that Aeardis could think to describe the place. Ohtar already sensed the question forming on the tip of his daughter's tongue when her gaze was drawn to the Land of Shadow and back to him. "That is Mordor, Aeardis. A great evil dwells there."
Her father had spoken of the evil before on stormy nights when she was younger and wished to hear stories of brave heroes, fair maidens, and faraway places. "Sauron," she whispered the Dark Lord's name as if it were a forbidden curse. Ohtar nodded with a solemn expression, saying no more and Aeardis was left to wonder what other evils dwelled in the Black Land. Her mind ran away with her as if often did when she tried to imagine something new and unknown. While traversing the Great Sea she had tried to imagine the great island of Númenor as more than just a barren mountain and pictured what the White City could possibly look like.
For her young years and large imagination she could have never imagined a city like Minas Tirith, they passed through the Rammas Echor and she looked upon the White City for the first time. Minas Tirith shone like a fleeting star in the shadow of Mordor. The city had been hewn from the mountain and stood tall and shining with high white walls and a foreboding Great Gate made of iron and steel. Aeardis doubted that any army could ever breach those walls or tear down such a strongly crafted gate. Hinges and chains creaked and groaned as it was opened.
The lowest level was filled with barracks, armories, and blacksmiths. It wasn't until the third level that there appeared to be any civilians in the streets. Ohtar spoke little while they rode through the city, only pointing out buildings of great importance and answering the few questions that his daughter posed, most of which had been answered by Belegorn until he parted ways at the fourth level of the city. He spurred his horse forward, Osric and Cadarn trailed behind though they would not enter the Citadel until the Steward or Ohtar bid them to do so.
A guard at the Tower Hall intercepted Ohtar and his daughter, though he did not delay them any longer upon recognizing the man. Hador was his name and he led them to the doors of the private chambers of Ecthelion. The room was filled with what minuscule sunlight could creep through the clouds and numerous candles that surrounded the perimeter, dripping wax into the holders and even the floor.
The man they had come to see was white of hair and frail, yet still, an air of strength surrounded him. He smiled through dry and cracked lips at the announcement of their arrival and set aside the book he had been reading. Aeardis could not imagine that he and her father were close in age despite claiming the steward as a longtime friend and trusted ally. He was much older than her father by what looked to be two decades at least. Ohtar knelt beside the man's resting bed and took his hand. "Ecthelion, we came as swiftly as possible."
The old Steward's eyes widened as he took in his friend's near ageless face. "It is good to see you well, Ohtar," his voice was an airy whisper. There was a strange smell in the air and for a moment, the girl wondered if it was the scent of death, though it appeared that she had been the only one to take notice of it. She hid behind her father's cloak, only just peering around the edge to catch odd glimpses of Ecthelion smiling or wearing a pensive and pained expression.
"This is Aeardis," she shied away from the introduction. Ohtar pushed her forward, only a bit until she found her own courage to meet the Steward's kindhearted gaze.
"She looks so much like her," the words were quiet and almost pained. Aeardis could only imagine that they were speaking of her mother. Ohtar could do nothing but nod in agreeance with Ecthelion's words, a lump had formed in his throat when he thought of his dear Ioreth laying on a bed of blood. The silence was disturbed by two small figures running through the room so quickly it seemed as if they had never entered at all if not for the scolding calls of a woman chasing after them. "Boromir! Faramir!" Ecthelion turned his head in the direction that his grandsons had run off in, "Finduilas?"
The woman stopped in her tracks at the hushed mention of her name; she bobbed down into a quick curtsey, a curtain of long black hair fell before her face. "Apologies, my lord, the boys are at it again," she wore a mirthful smile that was contagious. Aeardis looked off in the direction that the boys had gone, though now they were already out of her sight.
"Let them be boys before the wars come," Ecthelion waved his hand dismissively but Finduilas paled at the thought of her sons wading into battle, long had the horror of Mordor been on her mind. The woman lowered her head and dismissed herself. The steward spoke of his two young grandsons, Boromir and Faramir, and that they were hardly a nuisance. He said it did him good to see such liveliness come back into the empty halls of the Citadel.
"Tomorrow we must feast as the Sword of Twilight has returned!" The Steward proclaimed, the sudden increase in his voice had sent him into a fit of coughing. A healer came forward and pushed a cup of tea into the man's hands, she turned to the visitors and spoke with a lowered head, "Hador will see you to your rooms."
By nightfall and supper, Aeardis had properly bathed and wore one of the finer dresses that had been packed away in her trunk. It now seemed a lowly garment in comparison to such a city. She followed Ohtar across the Fountain Court to the Merethrond, where they would be joining the Steward-Heir and his family for supper. It had already been announced that Ecthelion would take the meal in his own chambers. Sentries opened the great wooden doors and shut them once they had entered the hall.
Long banquet tables filled the hall floor, there was a loft above the head table where Aeardis could make out a few abandoned instruments. One end of a table had been set with seven sets of flatware, the main dishes only just being brought out by kitchen maids. "Denethor. Finduilas," Ohtar greeted, his voice held more formality than it did earlier as he spoke with a friend. Only Finduilas smiled.
Denethor turned and beckoned his two boys to come forward, "Come, my sons, we have guests," the two brothers stood in front of their parents, the eldest in front of his father and the younger before his mother, "Boromir, my firstborn, and Faramir." They wore matching tunics of blue velvet that had the White Tree embroidered on them in a silvery-grey thread.
"Aeardis," she stepped out from behind her father and clasped her hands in front of her dress belt, not looking up despite how the two boys smiled at her. Her place was next to Finduilas, across from Boromir.
The meal was civil, permeated by talk of politics and prophecies that bored the children in attendance. Aeardis had not cared much for the pork, even though it had been roasted with fresh butter and sprinkled with herbs, at the first small bite, all she could remember was the acrid salt pork on the ship. It was the fruit and vegetables that she preferred. When there was a moment of silence she caught herself slouching and immediately straightened her back and picked up a brown roll to nibble on.
"Why do you sit and eat like that?" The eldest of the boys had asked the sudden question and at first, she had not believed he was talking to her. The girl looked to her father, unsure if it would be appropriate to respond or perhaps even kick his shin under the table; however, she had to say nothing as Finduilas gave her son a scolding glare. "Boromir, remember your manners! Aeardis has been raised as a lady."
When the table was cleared all three children grew restless in their seats while Denethor and Ohtar continued to discuss mundane topics, not even the talk of battles could keep Boromir interested. "Boys," they both looked up from their plates and at their mother, "I hear that Aeardis is very fond of books, why don't you show her to the library." She looked to her father in question and with his excusing nod, she stood and followed Faramir and Boromir from the feasting hall, back across the fountain court and into a separate part of the Citadel.
"You're very quiet," Boromir mumbled, looking back over his shoulder to the girl that followed behind them in silence. The young Faramir elbowed his brother for such a statement but Aeardis took no offense, she had always favored a meaningful silence rather than pointless conversation. On the tip of her tongue was a phrase that she had heard Osric say before, yet she wondered if it would be suitable to speak in such a way.
"Better to be wise and silent than dumb and loud," Aeardis spoke with unwavering surety and wore a meek kind of smile that did not match the boldness of her words. Boromir scrunched his face up and Faramir's merry laughter filled the halls.