I looked out over the wall. The wind, cool on my face carrying news from the east, at once despairing and hopeful. The wind knew that to the east lay our salvation or our doom. I stood beside the garden wall of the Houses of Healing in the great city of Minas Tirith, and I had never felt so powerless. I laughed at the injustice of it, unable to do anything but watch and wait.
I was a Shieldmaiden of the Mark, a daughter of Eorl! Strong and hard as steel, forged by Wormtongue's creeping malice and the corruption of Meduseld. I had slain the Witch King, and I had felt the black breath, fully prepared to meet my forebears. Yet, here I stood, looking eastward from the garden.
I am tired. Tired of the fussing and tutting of these well-meaning but insufferable healers! I desired to be free from their care, to find the glory I had sought on the fields of the Pelennor, out of this stone cage of a city!
I am as strong and able as any man, and yet better, for the weakness of my sex had made me stronger. I wished to ride out in my brother's Eodred once more as Dernhelm and prove my worth, seek my immortality. I had ridden out looking for death, but it was not my only prize. I had reasoned that if I could not have my freedom through him who I loved, I would have a life unending in the songs of my people.
I looked over the wall once more; saw the fury of Mordor, my mind made, my resolve firm. I would seek out the Warden of these houses and demand leave to seek my immortality.
I would consent to a cage no longer!