"He passed on during the night," a herald had come while Ohtar and his daughter broke their fast on a hearty brown bread and fruit preserves. Her father nodded solemnly and Aeardis looked at the armored man with wide eyes. "Denethor is to be named steward on the morrow and Ecthelion honored today."
The course of the day changed drastically at those words. Aeardis wore black from head to toe for the first time in her life. She did not like the veil that shrouded her face but it was expected of the women in the realm to wear such pieces when in mourning. The girl followed her father, never straying far from his side. Dark clouds began gathering above. Before midday the rain had begun, washing over the city like tears.
The Citadel had been opened to the commons, throughout the day people from all levels of the city and the closest villages came to mourn the loss of their beloved steward, Ecthelion. Witnessing such sadness in the wake of death was foreign for Aeardis even though she had come into the world by taking the life of another. Many of those who lived in the village outside of the castle on Tol Eressëa were elves or still had the blood of Númenor flowing through their veins. Truly the only encounter with death the girl had at such an age was when the bird she had found with a broken wing was too weak to be nursed back to health. The gull had died in her hands and she had cried for hours at her failure.
Across the throne room was Boromir and Faramir, each with downcast and lachrymose eyes. She could not help but grieve with them despite only being in their company for not even a week. They had been kind to her and that was something she could never forget. Yet their kindness had been met with the harsh reminder of mortality and neither of the brothers so much as looked in her direction that day.
The late Steward of Gondor was carried on the shoulders of four Fountain Guards out of the Tower Hall and into the Houses of the Dead. Denethor, Finduilas, and their sons followed behind the procession as the sorrowful cry of a lone trumpet echoed off the white stone and across the land. The city mourned, the realm wept.
Aeardis and her father stood in the rain with the many others. There were no whispers, no songs, or tales. There was only solemn silence.
It was late when those who had been bid to remain reentered the warmth of the throne room. There were no more than a hundred people, all of them silent and somber, soaked to the bone. One of the Fountain Guards came forth announcing himself as Elboron. He was the most senior of those who stood watch over the White Tree. He removed his helmet and rose with a scroll clasped tightly within his gloved hand, the seal of the Steward had not yet been broken. "The last wishes of the late Ecthelion the II shall be read in the sight of his family, loyal counselors, and close friends."
Many of the requests were trivial in Aeardis's mind, some grim in nature as the talk of battle was mentioned. While still others were arrangements for trade and the dissemination of information in internal and foreign affairs. She did not understand why her father was needed at his hearing until the last request came.
Elboron turned his eyes toward the place where Ohtar sat with his small daughter at his side, the court followed the man's gaze. He looked back down at the scroll and began reading. "Ecthelion wishes that Ohtar son of Rirosdaer be named chief adviser to his son, Denethor."
If Ohtar was shocked at the request then there was nothing about his expression that hinted at anything but an unwavering calmness. Aeardis looked up at her father, her murky green eyes pleading that he decline so that they could return home. They did not belong so far from the sea. Her father's countenance was that of stone, there was nothing that could be dispelled to anyone of his inner thoughts.
The old warrior stood but swiftly took a knee and crossed his right arm over his chest, speaking with a lowered head to all those of the court, "If that is Ecthelion's wish then I will see it done and do so with the best of my ability." Whispers swept through the hall and he said no more.
Ohtar lifted Aeardis into his arms and strode out of the Tower Hall. She was silent until placed on the rumpled sheets of the bed that was only supposed to be temporary. The girl almost started crying, "What about home, papa?"
Silence hung between. Her bottom lip trembled in her effort not to shed a tear. "You said we would go home," she stammered. Ohtar took a seat next to her, drawing his daughter into his arms.
"Aeardis, please understand that I could not say no," he began, "saying no would have brought dishonor on myself and my friend." Honor and loyalty were two things that governed nearly all his actions. She understood but still was not happy that her place by the sea had been taken from her so easily.
She glanced up at Ohtar after a moment, curiosity in her eyes and a question forming on her lips, "Why do they call you that?" Aeardis asked, but her father only looked down at her with an inquisitive brow raised. "The Sword of Twilight," she paused and glanced down at the blade he wore on his hip, she knew its name and it was not Twilight, but Seregruth. "What does it mean?"
A deep set resignation came over Ohtar's face, he supposed he knew the day would come when she would ask. A child's curiosity knew no bounds, but Aeardis had been filled with questions since she could speak. "Many years ago I fought alongside a man named Thorongil. He and I were kin in many ways and so I met Ecthelion through my service to Gondor. Thorongil moved on to serve Rohan and I remained here," Ohtar glanced at flickering bedside candle and continued.
"I will not speak to you of the deeds that were done to garner that title while you are still so young, for I do not which to recall them as of now." The tone of her father's voice frightened her but she would not allow that fear to surface. Aeardis knew that she had grown too large to curl up in her father's lap, however, it did not stop her. In this strange city, she felt very small.
"It was here I met your mother." He had told her that before, but never the story behind their meeting or what she even looked like. "She was a healer, only a novice, I went to the Houses of Healing and, in truth, she did more harm than good but I kept going back to her. The longer I stayed the more I did not wish to leave her and so when the time came to return to Tol Eressëa, I asked for her hand in marriage and she said yes."
Aeardis liked the idea of her mother being a healer. She liked balance, and it seemed fitting for a warrior to love a healer.
"What did she look like?" Her father paled, if only the slightest bit, at the question. There were many ways he could describe the gentle beauty, Ioreth, but he chose a simpler explanation. He picked up a silver looking-glass and held it in front of his daughter, "You need only look in a mirror, Aeardis." Her hair was soaked and hung in stringy clumps rather than its natural waves. Her eyes were the color of a stormy sea, blue and green and dangerous.
Ohtar brushed his fingers through her hair, kissing her temple, in that action alone she seemed to forget any troubles that plagued her young heart. "We will stay here for as long as it seems that Denethor needs my assistance. Your lessons with Osric will continue as they did at home."
Neliel, a young serving girl, knocked softly on the wall outside of Aeardis's chambers, in her arms were towels and a small linen gown. The day had been long and now the night had begun. Ohtar slipped from his daughter's grasp and kissed her forehead, as he did every night since she could remember. "Papa?"
He turned at the entrance to her chambers with a soft smile, "Yes, nemir?"
"Gi melin, " she whispered in all her childlike innocence and sincerity. His smile grew wider, "and I you, lellig."
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Finduilas stumbled across the young girl in the early morning as she was making her way down the halls, a thick book clutched to her chest. She saw a reflection of herself in Aeardis and it worried her to think that this child could begin to fade in her intense longing for the sea. Her heart ached for a motherless child, too. Aeardis paused at seeing Finduilas, unsure if she should curtsy or speak any formalities, but her worry faded as soon as the woman smiled.
"Do you like gardening?" She asked. Aeardis nodded. "Would you like to help me in my rose garden?" The girl's smile was answer enough. She followed Finduilas through a maze of halls, still holding onto her book.
At the edge of the royal chambers was a patch of grass and dirt twice as large as that of the Fountain Court. There were roses of three different colors, red, yellow, and pure white. Scattered among them were sprigs of lavender and blooming lilies. The gardens Aeardis had helped the cook and healer tend to before were not meant for ornamentation but for food and medicinal qualities. Her books had told her that tended to flower gardens would not be much different.
In a small stone chest, a pair of shears were hidden with aprons and gloves. She passed Aeardis the gloves that Boromir had once worn when he helped her in the garden before Denethor named such an activity unfit for a future warrior. Her voice was small as she said her thanks, taking the gloves.
The girl needed little instruction and as Finduilas trimmed back the roses that had begun to wilt, she picked them up and placed them in a little pile and except for those that could be used in a bouquet. Time passed quickly without either of them saying a word.
When they both reached for the same trimmed rose Finduilas drew her hand back quickly and the girl lifted the deep red rose to her nose, inhaling the light floral scent. "I come from the sea, too," the fair lady admitted suddenly. Aeardis's expression had grown curious. "Dol Amroth is by the sea," she explained.
"Do you miss it?" the girl's voice had grown meek.
"I do. A part of me will always desire to look from my window and see the waves breaking upon the rocks below and hear the seabirds singing," Finduilas sighed, it was filled with a type of longing that had grown steadfast since her time in Minas Tirith. She glanced at the girl and saw that her expression had come to hold an unimaginable amount of dolor for one who had not even lived a decade.
Lady Finduilas reached forward and took Aeardis's hand within hers, "But my dear," she paused and looked into the girl's eyes only to catch glimpse of the sea which she missed so much, "my dear, it is not so dreadful here." The corners of Aeardis's lips tugged upward in a small, innocent smile. She could not help but wonder if this was what it was like to have a mother.
Translations:
Nemir - Water Jewel
Gi melin - I love you
Lellig - My daughter