Chapter 20
Minas Tirith
March 3019
Lothíriel sat beside the fire watching the flames dancing, before turning her attention to the elderly man who sat across from her. She could tell, even though he was sitting down, that he was a tall man, and though he seemed to be no older than eighty or ninety, she had known enough elves to realize that he was far older than his physical body showed. He was watching and studying her with great intensity. Under his scrutiny, she thought back on the events that had brought her to this moment.
At the beginning of her day, as she had departed for the House of Healing, she was stopped by a young messenger who had summoned her to her uncle's home. Amrothos had nodded to her grimly as she made her way back to her home to prepare herself to be scrutinized by Denethor. It hadn't taken long to prepare and she had sighed as she placed the circlet around her head, biting back a quiet gasp as the cold stone set itself against the skin of her forehead. Once everything was in place, she rushed off, anxious to finish her business with Denethor before the chance of an unexpected vision would beset her.
As she made her way to the entrance to the hall, she passed two figures – an elderly man dressed completely in white with an equally white staff and someone who was so short that he could have passed for a child if his face had not been that of a grown man and his feet which were uncovered except for the amount of hair that seemed almost like a fur covering them. For a moment, the elderly man caught her eyes and as he looked at her solemnly, he nodded his head deeply before turning his attention forwards. Lothíriel was still watching them over her shoulder even as her feet propelled her into the hall where her uncle was seated.
"Lothíriel," she turned her attention towards his voice. It was clear, but there was a look in his eyes that seemed to be like gazing into muddy water. She approached his seat more cautiously than she ever had before. He waited until she was directly in front of him before continuing. "You have spent so little time among the people of court, I was beginning to wonder if you were still in the White City." His lips curved upwards into a smile but the strange look remained. "You and your brother will join me for dinner this evening." He nodded, as if to himself.
"I believe that my time here, waiting to be wed to Prince Théodred, has been spent well. Although I was among the court, Amrothos has been helping me pass the time in a way that benefits many others within the city." Lothíriel fought back the urge to bite her lip as Denethor's gaze cooled even further.
"Indeed," he turned his attention away from her and gazed at a nearby wall where, if there had been a window, he would have undoubtedly laid eyes upon the shadows that were approaching. "You know," he began calmly, "perhaps it would be best if you were settled with someone in Gondor rather than being stuck in a glorified house on some plain in the middle of nowhere."
A knot clenched in Lothíriel's stomach." But the contracts have already been drawn up." As soon as the words were out of Lothíriel's mouth, she knew that it was not what Denethor had wanted to hear.
"I had hoped that during your time here in Minas Tirith you would have gained the ability to know when it is not prudent to speak." He waved his hand dismissively. "The contracts will hold no water if what I have heard is true." He began to mumble words under his breath and Lothíriel recognized Boromir's name. His expression briefly turned to one of grief and the knot in her stomach sunk lower. She was about to ask what had happened to her cousin when a vision unexpectedly descended upon her. Unable to clear her mind in time, she fell into unconsciousness immediately.
She sat in a chair in the House of Healing, the sound of wounded men echoing around her. In front of her she saw a man, silhouetted by the light coming from the window behind him, entering the alcove. It wasn't until he moved to check on the warrior on the bed that Lothíriel knew that it was a woman lying there, pale with long blond hair, her eyes closed as she slept in peace.
"My friend," the voice sounded familiar. The man turned back and Lothíriel saw his face and immediately recognized him as Aragorn, who she had met during her time in Rivendell. "Your sister is no longer in any danger." He placed a hand on Lothíriel's shoulder lightly that she only just realized was covered in grimy armor. With that awareness, she concluded that she wasn't in her body, but seeing through the eyes of a man. It was strange that it took her so long to come to that conclusion, but what had felt so familiar suddenly felt so foreign, as if she knew the body but didn't. Aragorn's deep voice pervaded her thoughts, "Go and find your own rest. I will send for you when she awakens."
The man stood stiffly, and followed Aragorn away from the sleeping woman. Not a minute after leaving her side, the strangest thing happened. She saw herself standing against the wall. Her expression was solemn. A feeling of warmth, like a freshly heated bath washed over the man and he watched her until their eyes finally met.
Instantly, her perspective changed and she was in her own body and she found herself staring into eyes that were bluer than the deepest oceans. The same feeling of warmth rushed through her for a moment before the man who seemed to be on the very tip of her memory bowed slightly and turned away.
Lothíriel opened her eyes to discover that she had been transported to her bedroom. How long she had been unconscious, she would never know, but as she sat up, she wondered after the blue-eyed man.
Shortly after awakening, her bedroom door opened slowly and Amrothos' face peered through the doorway. As soon as he made eye contact, he sighed heavily in relief before opening the door fully and entering. Sitting on the edge of her bed, he placed a gentle hand on her forehead.
"You gave us quite a scare." Satisfied that all was well with his sister, he removed his hand and kissed her forehead gently.
"That hasn't happened in quite a while." Lothíriel laughed quietly, though she could feel a blush coming on. "I hope I didn't take you away from anything too important." Moving the blankets away, she stood and made her way towards the nearby fire. Finding a chair, she looked back at Amrothos and caught a strange expression on his face. "What is it?"
"I'm afraid I have some bad news." He began quietly. "Our cousin, Boromir is dead. I was surprised when I found that Faramir and Uncle Denethor had already known for some days, but it is likely that they never found the time with all of their duties." Although Lothíriel felt sadness at the news, something in her had expected it when she had watched her cousin depart on his horse, so long ago. "Did he not mention it to you when you went to him?"
She shook her head, "He declared a sudden distaste of my pending marriage to Prince Théodred. He went so far as to declare that I should find someone here who is of Gondorian decent. He also summoned the two of us to dinner this very evening."
"He decided to allow you to rest. Your collapse in front of him was very unexpected news for me. It hasn't happened in years. Are you unwell?" She sighed as Amrothos put a gentle hand on her forehead and indicated to the circlet laying on the nightstand beside her.
"I don't know why or how, but when that white stone touches my skin, I receive no warning before a vision comes. Normally, I have been able to clear my mind as it comes, but while Uncle Denethor was speaking, I did not have the chance." She looked down at her hands that were folded together in her lap.
"I see that you have been having a difficult time of it," he embraced her, "I should have noticed it before now given your obvious aversion to the accessory." He let go of her and stood up quickly, casting a glance towards the open doorway. "There is someone here who wishes to speak to you as soon as you are able to entertain company. Do you feel up to it?"
Lothíriel nodded before throwing the blankets off of her. "Let me change and I will be down shortly." As if on cue, Lothíriel's maid stepped through, smiling politely to both siblings. Amrothos patted Lothíriel's shoulder before making his way out.
"Is everything alright?" The elder's deep voice seemed to have a strange echo and Lothíriel started, being pulled away from her recollections.
"I apologize," she smiled sheepishly, "today has been quite an exciting day and I was simply reflecting on its events."
"I see." He leaned back in his chair, an idle hand running over his long white beard. "Now, I know who you are, but that is only by chance as I recognized the white stone you wore over your mind's eye this very day."
"How would you recognize it rather than me?" A sudden thought struck her, "Did you have a part in making it?" He smiled at her knowingly.
"Indeed I did. Lord Denethor approached me about easing your troubled state and regrettably I referred him to one who took advantage of your vulnerabilities." He cleared his throat, "My name, or at least, one of my names, is Gandalf. I was once the grey wizard, but no longer for I am the white wizard as the Wizard Saruman should have been."
Hearing both the names of the wizards raised the memory when Denethor presented the circlet to her the first time. "You're the reason I have that wretched thing?" Her brow knitted as he nodded.
"If I may, could I see it?" Lothíriel was in such a state of shock she rang for a servant before even thinking about it. Once the servant returned with it, Lothíriel placed it in Gandalf's hands.
"That has been nothing but trouble since the moment it was given to me. Not only is it unbearable to wear because of the jewel, but I would have a vision without any warning!" She stood and paced, allowing the frustration of how powerless she had felt fill her up. "I had to constantly keep my mind clear or else I would collapse just as I had when I was a child!" She was warming to her subject when Gandalf reached out and gently took hold of her arm. A sense of calm amid her anger bloomed and remained when he let go of her arm. She once again took her seat.
"I can see it clearly," he muttered to himself as he studied the white stone, "and it is a wonder that I never caught it before." Connecting his eyes with Lothíriel, he smiled sadly. "When Saruman entered into the agreement with your uncle to forge this circlet, he had already aligned himself with Sauron. As such, he saw an opportunity with you that was too good to pass up." He sighed, his fingers playing at the edges of the silver. "This stone is laced with a spell that allows any vision you have whilst it is touching you to be sent directly to Saruman so that he might see what you see. To be able to get away with this, he set in motion something in the spell that took away your body's ability to restrain a vision as your training with Lord Elrond taught you." He cast it into the fire and whispered something under his breath and the white stone cracked and turned to dust within the fire. "It was a thing of evil created under the pretense of good."
Lothíriel felt a wave of relief as she saw the stone no longer existed but then a thought struck her. "One of my first visions while touching the stone was of a successful battle between my future husband, Prince Théodred of Rohan and orcs at a ford. Was Saruman able to use anything from that."
The look of sadness answered her immediately but still, the confirmation wasn't complete until Gandalf opened his mouth. "Théodred, son of Théoden was killed in an orc ambush on February 25th at the fords of Isen."
"Before the snow melted." Lothíriel's sadness overwhelmed her as she thought about it. "It's because Saruman knew that they would be vulnerable before the snow had melted." A heavy weight pressed on her chest as the realization came full circle. It was her fault he was dead. If she had only refused to wear the circlet, or refused the match with Théodred, he might still be alive, and surely, his blood would not be on her hands as it was now.
"My dear," Gandalf's quiet voice seemed to be a single line of light within Lothíriel's darkness, "there are things that happen within our lives that are sad and regrettable even, but death is not the end, and certainly there is a plan that we can not ever fully know. You have been graced with the gift to peer beyond the veil and see what may happen in the future, for no one, not even I, can accurately predict what is to come and when each time." He stood and gazed at her kindly. "I can see you have much to ponder. I hope that we can meet again soon and speak more."
Lothíriel hardly heard him exit but sat and stared into the fire solemnly wondering what other visions would never come to pass. Perhaps the happiness she had seen would never come to pass either. Now there was no contract to keep her uncle from setting up a more convenient marriage to some noble within the city, and surely he would be bitterly angry when he discovered the circlet she had worn had been destroyed, even if it was not what he had truly asked for in the beginning. As time went on, the stillness of the room seemed to be pervaded with a strange pounding she couldn't place. It was like a distant echo behind her. She did her best to ignore it but as more time passed, the more persistent it became until finally, Amrothos burst through the door.
"Sister," he was breathless, "prepare yourself at once for a long and arduous series of days in the House of Healing for the armies of Mordor are coming!"
Lothíriel worked in a fog, never noticing how much time had passed nor how many broken men and women she tended to. Each time she saw one of them, she pictured the man she had agreed to marry, broken, cold and dead, because of her, and the guilt burrowed its way further into her heart.
Horns sounded across the plains and someone outside shouted, "Rohan is here! They have come to Gondor's aid!" Lothíriel couldn't bring herself to look out the window, her guilt shrouding her in shadow. She continued to work doggedly, hardly noticing the passage of time along with the cries of war and death just outside the city's walls. The only thing to bring her out of the fog was the sound of what sounded to be a scream, but not by any man or woman that lived.
The scream seemed to resonate within her, echoing through her very blood and bones. She felt herself shaking as it eventually faded away into nothingness, but the memory of it remained, and she wondered if it would ever truly fade. She saw Amrothos across the room and stood, carrying a basket of clean linens. He was attending to a man who had taken a blow to the head. When she arrived at his side, he cast a glance at her before nodding, a look of gratitude on his face. After wrapping and giving the man some herbs to ease the pain, Amrothos led Lothíriel to a stool.
"Please don't tell me you've not taken a single moment to rest." He wiped wet blood off his fingers on the apron of his healer's garb. "You look about ready to collapse at any moment." He dipped the corner of a cloth in a nearby bowl of water and gently wiped her face. "Stay here and I will fetch you a piece of bread and some water. Until you have taken a short recess, you won't attend to anyone else."
"But –" Lothíriel started but Amrothos cut her off with his hand.
"I will hear nothing but your consent. You will cause more harm than good if you can no longer keep yourself standing." He waited for Lothíriel to nod before turning and rushing about.
From where Lothíriel sat, she could see out onto the plains where the fighting was taking place. At some point she had not noticed, the mûmakil had arrived and on their backs was the army of Harad. The black serpent against the red flags were clear, even from the distance. The warriors of Rohan faced them valiantly and Lothíriel watched in horror as many of them were trampled by the giant creatures. She tore her eyes away just as Amrothos approached, the promised nourishment in hand.
She ate silently, mourning the loss of so many good men before forcing her mind back onto the injured before her. After minutes, she finished the water and bread and stood, somewhat restored and reentered the fray.
The battle, that had seemed would go on unending, had finished. Many of the healers and soldiers had been sent below to retrieve the wounded among the fallen and return them to the city. Warrior after warrior, soldier after soldier were brought in. Quickly, they were examined and those who had been deemed wounded too greatly were sent to Lothíriel and the other healers who were less skilled as they spoke with the dying men.
Eventually, there was a lull and Lothíriel found herself staring out to the plains once again. No longer were there men and orcs clashing like ants far below, but a still, smoking, length that expanded, dotting the landscape with bodies made equal in death. As she thought of death, she wondered after Théodred's own demise. She wondered what would have happened had she never had her visions. Although she knew she had not consciously brought about his doom, she still felt responsible all the same. Her eyes took in the scattered flags marked in the colors of Rohan. The bold greens, reds and golds seemed to call out to her and a feeling of familiarity overcame her. The strangest feeling of warmth seemed to fill her body along with the desire to change the course of her eyes.
Instantly, she saw him. Across from the room, a man stood in red leather armor. When she saw his eyes, there was no doubt. She was looking at the blue-eyed man.
