(earlier that day)
"Is there a healer available?" the Lord of Ithillien's bright voice echoed through the open cloisters of the palace infirmary. It was a new building, commissioned by the king himself shortly after his coronation and designed to reflect the aesthetics and architecture of his childhood home in stark contrast to the heavy Numenorian architecture of the rest of the city. The annex to the houses of healing on the lower level had been built over the rubble of the upper barracks after the war as hundreds came to the city seeking the legendary talents of King Elessar and his brothers. The woven wooden pillars and sweeping tracery let the breeze flow through while filtering the harsh afternoon sun.
Faramir was dusty from the road from South Ithillien, and he grinned broadly as he saw his wife appear down the corridor. She was wearing a healer's uniform, grey with the white tree emblazoned on her shoulders, and her golden hair was pulled into a tight, braided bun. It occurred to him that her youthful impulse to don a uniform and charge headlong into life-or-death situations was being well nurtured in her new role. Under the gentle tutelage of Elladan Peredhil, she had grown into a well-respected and knowledgeable healer who was currently halfway through a quiet shift.
"My lord," she gasped, "I did not look for your coming." He had been gone for nearly a month, and she stood frozen in shock even as he scooped her face between his hands and kissed her on the mouth.
"My lady," he looked at his wife and was nearly drowned in his love for her, "great haste was required on my mission." He took both of her hands in his own and kissed her again.
"Are you on some secret errand for the king?" she asked when they parted but he was already slinging his pack under one arm and pulling it open, "what's this?" she asked, taking a wrapped leaf package from where it was carefully set atop the rest of his belongings. He bounced lightly in excitement as an answer as he nodded for her to open it.
She pulled loose the twine bow and let the leaf wrapping fall aside, laughing as she revealed the contents. "Westfold shortbread?" she laughed, and the sound of it made the ache in his backside from the long hours of travel worth it.
"I found a press a fortnight hence in the market." He beamed with pride, pointing out the running horses pressed into the tough dough.
"But this recipe is traditionally made with clarified horse butter, and I have heard that your people find such delicacies barbaric!" she experimentally broke a corner off one of the wafers.
"Our elven guests seemed little troubled by it," he raised his eyebrows expectantly as she tasted it, "they seemed to have no problem convincing one of our colts to share his mother's store. I nearly lost a finger on my first attempt." Eowyn laughed in delight at the image of the Lord of Ithillien milking a horse.
"Take care," she warned with a mouthful of buttery pastry, "lest your baking competes with the queen's lembas."
"Does it taste right?" his eyebrows shot up eagerly.
"It's perfect," she leaned in to kiss him and did not mention that the stamp he had used was for Eastfold brown bread, a completely different recipe.
"My lady Eowyn?" Another healer stepped into the corridor. He saw Faramir and bowed apologetically.
"I did not mean to intrude." Faramir bowed to the other healer and turned to his wife, "I will be in the library if you have need of me, my lady." He kissed her hand and turned back towards the wide courtyard where a young sapling stood fair and green in the summer sun.
The Lord of Ithillien acknowledged the salutes of the guards at the fountain with a smile, but he did not go immediately to the library, a level down from the citadel and on the other side of the Amon Tirith. But instead, went to the hall of Isildur and the royal apartments. The guards saluted and opened the doors for him to enter the residence, and as he went, his expression darkened.
"My lord?" he asked the still darkness, blinking as his eyes adjusted from the brilliant sunlight. "my lord Aragorn?"
"The king left with his family some time ago," a voice answered him from the shadows.
"Damrod!" Faramir smiled at his former lieutenant. He had cleaned up nicely in the time since they had served together as rangers. The metropolitan life seemed to suit him, and he had blossomed into the role of managing the king's household while his steward ruled Ithillien. Damrod wore a tailored uniform, sable velvet embroidered with silver thread, and had his beard trimmed neatly. "You seem to be doing well for yourself." The two men embraced. Damrod cringed as his commander's dusty mail left marks on his uniform.
"yes, sir." Damrod awkwardly returned his embrace.
"I have a sealed message for the king," Faramir informed him, brushing the pale marks on his friend's chest.
"He will return ere long." Damrod assured him, "Or you may leave the message with me."
"Nay," Faramir shook his head, "this is news that I must deliver by hand," he paced across the hallway. "Where has he gone?"
"With the whole family down to the market, my lord said that he was going to talk to a dwarf smith about forging the boy a sword," Damrod said.
"They could be there for hours." Faramir frowned.
"Yes, sir." Damrod nodded.
With a defeated sigh, he turned and opened the door to the large parlor. The windows were open, and the hearth was cool.
"Can I get you anything while you wait, sir?" Damrod asked as Faramir dropped his bag on the ground and collapsed onto one of the couches.
"Wine." He said simply, opening his satchel and pulling out a scroll cylinder.
"Of course, sir," Damron answered with a smile. Faramir placed the sealed message on the table in front of him. He leaned back heavily, looking through a leaded window where a beam of eastern sunlight painted the dark wooden wall and floor. A moment later, a glass of chilled white wine was placed in front of him, a vintage from his own province.
He thanked Damrod, who bowed and, sensing that he wanted to be left alone, saw himself out. Faramir thought about how he would explain what he had discovered to King Elessar when he returned. He sipped the wine and watched the sunbeams turn to gold and move up the wall. A great drowsiness came over him then, and before he felt himself falling, he noted that he was lying on his side, unable to resist the call of Irmo as he was submerged in a drugged sleep.
"Excuse me, my lord." Came Damrod's voice, but it was now strangely warped as his appearance seemed to shimmer and distort into the form of an old man robed in blue. "but I will take this report on my business to the king." He snatched up the cylinder and carefully lifted Faramir's dusty boots onto the upholstered couch, "you just sleep, sleep, little prince. Your time to serve has not yet come." He petted Faramir's dark curls. Then with a great swirl of his long robes, the shapeshifter morphed again into a flock of magpies which went pouring out of the windows over the city. Cackling and whistling in all the languages of men and beasts.
.
Eowyn was in the garden when the roof of the market collapsed. They had learned from the halflings of many of the medicinal properties of mushrooms and molds, and now there were several decaying logs lying in a shadowed part of the garden which had been injected with spores from the Shire and beyond. Sir Brandybuck had been particularly invested in her research and had claimed in his last letter that the halfling contribution to medicine should be well noted in her publication on the subject. Eowyn laughed as he heard his voice clearly through his neat handwriting. She crouched low to the earth in her bare feet, something that the hobbits insisted was essential for a good mushroom harvest, and used a pair of shears to snip off the biggest fruiting bodies for spore collection and experimentation.
The boom of collapsing masonry came from one level down from the palace infirmary. The sound instantly brought back the memory of the chaos of battle, and in a second, she was on her feet, her shears brandished like a sword, and the mushrooms scattered. She ran, along with every other member of the staff, to the edge of the wall and looked down to see a great plume of dust rising from the chaos that had once been the large covered market. Eowyn stared in horror, the market had been packed with people all day, and she could already see stunned figures covered in dust, staggering out of the ruin.
"Get ready for wounded!" Eowyn barked at her staff, who immediately went to prepare what they would need for what would certainly be more casualties than the regular healing halls could handle. Inside was a well-organized bustle of healers who had themselves experienced battle in their youth. Water, bandages, antiseptic and surgical kits were prepared.
Right on schedule, the first ambulatory victims appeared.
"Lord Elladan told us to come here," the young man coughed, his hair was grey with dust, and he leaned on a woman's shoulder. He was not using one leg, and she had blood on her face and looked dazed.
"Yes, come in." Eowyn urged them, cringing at the blood. Another healer appeared at her side and took the young man's weight as she guided the girl to a bed. There were more injured behind them, and soon the front hall was full of the noisome disorder of triage.
The appearance of the girl with the baby in the midst of it all was enough to make Eowyn pause. She recognized the queen's handmaiden at once, a Haradi girl with dark curls painted white with stone dust. She was holding the princess in her arms, her pointed ear clearly visible above the star-patterned blanket.
"Brekke!" Eowyn looked at her from head to toe, and her look of shock and horror told her all she needed to know.
"no." Eowyn shook her head.
"The king is badly hurt, my lady," she swallowed, "the queen sent me so that you could prepare." Eowyn held her breath for a moment.
"You heard her!" Eowyn snapped at the healers to her left and right, "Have the first surgical bay made ready." She looked at them evenly, silently acknowledging their quality and suitability for the task as they looked at her with trepidation.
" and my lady." Brekke bounced the little princess as she began to fuss, "I was ordered to inform lord Faramir. Has he returned?"
"He is in the library. Go." She sent the girl away even as she spotted the gleaming helms coming over the edge of the stairs. Elladan looked angry as she had never seen him. There was a focused rage in his grey eyes as he carried the bier towards her.
Brekke stopped, holding the baby tight as she started to fuss and whimper. She used one hand to hide the little one's eyes from the sight of her father. For a moment, she considered taking the infant back to the royal apartments, but she did not know who would be there, and she dared not leave the baby alone, so she hefted the child higher on her hip, "Be brave little princess, your father will be well," the handmaiden told her before making the decision that she would not leave her royal charge and heading towards the library to find the lord of Ithillien.