This is just a VERY short New Years Gift, to let you know I'm still here and writing. I hope to follow up with a real chapter shortly. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed, and happy new year!
The night was at its deepest, and the white stone of the city glowed an evil orange under the light of a blood-red moon. Somewhere, in the lower levels, a bell tolled, its sonorant echo rolling through the city like low and far-off thunder.
Ioreth shuffled through the silent halls of the Houses, stooping occasionally to brush a hand across the cheek of a sleeping soldier. Her old bones seemed to ache deep inside her, protesting the hard life of the healer, and she wished nothing more for herself than a night of sleep uninterrupted. Long, late hours of labor were the venue of the young, but there were no young here in the city. Now there were only the old, the hurt, the dead.
Ioreth quietly pushed open the door to the Steward's hold. The room was dark, only dimly lit by a guttering fire in the hearth. Ioreth bent to stoke the coals, squinting as the fire blazed into new life. She turned, wiping her hands across the back of her skirt, then stopped short.
The Steward Faramir was sleeping quietly in the bed, his face soft and slack. His color had improved, and the heat in his cheeks had dimmed to a rosy glow. His breath came even and deep. Lady Eowyn was drowsing in a chair next to the bed, her head tucked against the curve of Faramir's throat, and her fingers were entwined with his. Peace was on her face.
Ioreth's weary face smoothed into a smile, and a swell of good will rose in her breast, for these two lonely souls seemed now whole, together in the dead of a long night.