The next morning, the three Gondorians headed back home. Ellesar lead the horse while the other two rode. Along the way, Isolde noticed that Eldarion kept one arm wound tightly around her waist, as though he was afraid she should fall. Normally, this would bother her, as she would see it as a lack of faith in her riding abilities, but she leaned into him a bit, deciding she didn't really mind that much. None of them talked for the majority of the trip. They were all too tired and lost in their thoughts. Isolde did break the silence at one point.
"I never did thank you," she said. Ellesar turned to her. He nodded and there seemed to be an understanding between them. That was the end of it. As they reached the end of the forest and stepped into the field, the Gondorian lookout spotted them. The horns sounded and a short while later a couple guards rode out to meet them, bringing along an extra horse for their king. When they reached the stables, they found Faramir waiting for them. After helping her dismount, Faramir embraced her tightly. Isolde cringed a bit as she was reminded of her injury, but returned the warm hug.
Isolde was brought to her chambers, where her wrist was treated. Eldarion, Ellesar and Faramir sat outside of her chambers, trying to ignore her muted screams. A while later, Lady Arwen and two other healers allowed Faramir to see her. Faramir was greatly distraught to find that despite her change of clothes and recently washed hair, Isolde still looked sickly and dispiriting. Her face was pale and covered with sweat. Behind her faint smile, there was a troubled grimace. Faramir took her good hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. She returned the gesture before falling asleep. The herbs the healers had given her were taking affect, and while he wished she would speak, he was grateful for her comfort. He gazed at her other arm, following the trails of bandages that were wrapped around her waist and over her wrist, covering the wooden splint and binding it to her midsection, just beneath her chest. Faramir began to realize what others soon would. Her damaged arm was the very same she wielded swords with. She would never be able to fight as well as she used to again.
Over the next couple of days, Isolde was back on her feet and wandering the halls and courtyards again. She had started wearing a light cloak to cover her wound, as if to protect it from the prying eyes and gossiping lips of servants. As she rested beneath a tree in one of the gardens to read a book, Merry and Pippin walked up.
"Milady, may we join you?" said Pippin. Isolde looked up to his tentative yet sincere smile. She saw no pity in either of their faces. And she was grateful, for she had grown tired of all the sympathetic stares she had been receiving.
"Of course," she said pleasantly as they sat. "Come to tell me more stories?"
"Actually," Pippin started, "We came to check up on you. You haven't been quite yourself since…," he said, his eyes downcast.
"What he is trying to say is," Merry interrupted, "we just want you to know that you shouldn't be ashamed of your injury. Rather, you should be proud of it. Not many escape the Nazgûl; especially when they are targeted and completely unarmed. Believe me; I know what they are like. I was there when the Witch-king was destroyed. I was there with-,"
"My mother," Isolde whispered.
"Yes," he said softly. She saw his face fall as he thought of her. She smiled softly and turned to him.
"Tell me the story," she said. He looked up in surprise.
"Pardon my forwardness, but haven't you heard this story 100 times? I wouldn't want to bore you,"
"I can stand to hear it again. Tell me the story. Please," She pleaded, placing her hand on his. Merry smiled and Pippin got ready to take a nap.
Sorry guys, I know this chapter was a bit slow. But I promise that more action is not far behind. I just wanted to take this time to thank those that have been reviewing my story. This is my first fanfiction and I love getting feedback. For the rest, I would love to hear your thoughts on the story. Thanks again!