Chapter 14
Minas Tirith felt like a shell, horses and men alike departing its walls and leaving precious few behind. Although a contingency of men remained to protect the city the immensity of the army in its formation marching across the devastated Pelennor Fields felt like an enormous loss. The calvary and foot soldiers moved into the eastern distance until they were mere specks, glinting in the daylight as they passed beyond the Rammas Echor. Lothíriel was intentional in avoiding the balconies in the Healing ward, though she heard of the progress from others. She had more than enough to consume her morning, intentionally denying her thoughts to drift to sorrow. Éowyn had woken briefly when the company was just beyond the great wall of Minas Tirith but fell quickly into a restless sleep. Lothíriel dreaded the moment she truly awoke and was given tidings.
It was well past midday when she was taking a moment of respite to finish off the fruit tart from breakfast, the sweetness tasting misplaced in her grim sadness. Stepping into one wide corridor between the general healing ward and that of the nobility, the woman paused in her unenthused consumption of the pastry, catching sight of someone walking to the balcony. Recognizing Merry, Lothíriel adjusted her path and caught up to him with a few well-timed strides, finishing off the tart and brushing any crumbs from her gown.
"Hail, Merry," she called as he turned. Worry replaced her salutation as she beheld his tear-streaked face; his expression mirrored her own private mourning. Although no one in the city seemed particularly high spirited she was caught off guard by the immensity of sadness written on his face.
"My Lady," he mumbled, forcing a faint smile. She fell in step with him as he walked to a narrow eastern balcony. Though the host was well beyond the fields a hazy cloud of dust wavered in the far distance, denoting their progress. Resting his hands on the high marble surface Merry tipped up on his toes to view the scene. "Just when I'd thought we'd not lose one another again…" His voice was strained from weeping. Standing beside him the woman looked at the Hobbit, dark brows furrowed with concern.
"It is a bitter parting," she agreed, sensing there was something she was not understanding about his grief. Following his gaze east Lothíriel swallowed the pain of her own farewells earlier that day, grateful the company was well beyond any visual identification.
"One I should not be bearing," he muttered, his tone shifting to resentment. She looked back to him, allowing the confusion to show plainly. He glanced at her and sighed. "I would have gone with them."
"You are not lacking in courage," Lothíriel replied carefully, not fully grasping the gravity.
"Only title, it seems."
"I'm sorry?"
"Pip went. Dear, sweet Pippin. He rode out with my friends to defend the free folk and I am relegated to…" He sniffed, breaking his gaze to look down.
"I confess I do not understand why that should be the case."
"He is a sworn member of the City Guard. His responsibility could not be denied. And yet mine… what I would give to be beside them." Merry dropped his hands from the balcony and stepped away, turning his back on the eastern sky as Lothíriel followed him into the narrow room that opened to the corridor.
"I wish you'd been given that opportunity." Lothíriel put in after a moment, the Hobbit's attention drawn as she glanced back at the balcony before sitting on a bench near the door. Merry came to stand close, their faces now eye level. "Though I am grateful to have a friend here."
"I'm glad of it too," though his tone and expression did not align with that statement. His face darkened as he looked east again. "Yet, it is shameful that I am left here…" his voice was sharp but once the words were spoken he softened, gaze jumping back to her as he held his hands up. "Forgive me, my Lady. I don't mean to imply…"
"It is well, Merry," she soothed with a smile. "I take no offense. It does feel like we've been left to wallow and wait. I was aggrieved to say farewell to my kin and know not if I'll see them smile again. Or indeed see them at all."
She fell silent, looking away from the Hobbit as the memory of her sendoffs came unbidden. She'd been so meticulous in staving them off and now they rushed over her as a dam might break. Taking a shaky breath the woman mustered her strength to turn the subject for both their sakes. Grey eyes met his when she felt a hand lay atop hers on her knee, Merry smiling through his own tears. She smiled back and placed her other hand over his.
"We'll be each other's strength," he said quietly.
"I'll no doubt be calling on yours in short order," she replied as they released hands and she sat up straighter. "The Lady Éowyn should be waking soon. I dread the moment she learns of the Host departing."
"The decision was kept from her?"
"It was deemed wiser."
"Well of course it was," he put in with a smirk. "Leave it to us to tell the Lady once they're all safe beyond her wrath."
"And what a wrath it will be," Lothíriel murmured dryly before standing. "I really ought to check in on her, but I tarry, to my own disgrace."
"Would you have me accompany you to her awakening?"
"Perhaps," she replied thoughtfully as they passed beyond the chamber into the wide hallway, their footsteps muted by the long rug. "For now I shall re-dress her wounds and give care to her condition. But I may yet call for you."
"Then swiftly I shall be at her bedside. Until that time I'll make myself useful and not linger in grief. It would not be the desires of those who left that we should languish in it."
They bid each other adieu and parted ways, Merry in the direction of the of main sick bay and Lothíriel retracing her steps to Lady Éowyn's chambers. Her mood was buoyed by this interchange and the knowledge that she was not alone in the grief. Merry would not doubt be a source of comfort and consideration in these long days. As she continued down the hall the entrance belonging to Rohan's shieldmaiden opened quickly, Ioreth flying from the room to shut the door firmly. Catching sight of Lothíriel she beckoned the younger woman over as she put distance between herself and the chamber.
"Mercy, my Lady," she mumbled as they met one another in the vestibule well away from Éowyn's room. "The Lady has awoken and is in a terrible state! I daresay the letter from the King put her in a lather. I shudder to think of its contents!"
"I can sit with her," Lothíriel replied as Ioreth grasped her forearms. It was the first time she'd seen the older healer out of sorts, her expression haggard and eyes anxious.
"It might be well you do," she agreed, giving Lothíriel's arms a squeeze before releasing them. "I'd not want to confine her – we both know I couldn't accomplish such an act anyway. But Derufin might be pressed to restrain her in some way."
"I'll speak to her," Lothíriel replied calmingly with a knowing smile. A firm nod was given as Ioreth straightened her cap and adjusted her apron.
"Very good. I'll notify the Warden and he'll –"
"Not yet," the dark-haired woman interjected firmly. "If you please. Allow me to check upon the Lady for a time."
"As you wish," Ioreth answered, though her tone was doubtful. Lothíriel offered her a smile that did not reach her eyes before approaching the door. The older woman lingered a moment longer before walking away. Taking a breath, Lothíriel traversed the rest of the hallway to knock gently before opening the door, peeking her head in.
Éowyn sat upright in the bed, her face flushed and her once braided hair coming undone. A parchment lay open in her hand, fingers clenching the paper tightly. Her sharp gaze caught the healer as she slipped into the chamber, brows knitting in such a likeliness to her brother that Lothíriel had to hide a slight smile.
"They've left me," she spoke flatly, looking at Lothíriel with an expression she couldn't discern. It wasn't even clear if that was a question or a statement.
"They have left," the younger woman confirmed, venturing into the room and sitting in the chair beside the bed. Éowyn's gaze followed her with a darkened expression. One arm lay in the linen sling at what must've been an uncomfortable angle from the way she sat. Resisting the urge to adjust it for the lady, Lothíriel instead sat silently, awaiting Éowyn's words, which came after several moments.
"I ought not to be surprised," she muttered, dropping her gaze to letter. "I just thought… It was ludicrous to expect I'd be permitted rank among the soldiers."
"I do not think your prowess was the reason."
"Then what? Have I not proven myself worthy? Can I not fight beside my kinsmen and King?"
"Surely you can."
"It is just so exhausting." At last she lay back against the pillows, eyes as blue as the sea in winter gazing at the ceiling. "Propriety and expectation. Ever will they fashion the bars of my prison."
"Is that how you perceive this directive, my Lady?"
"You wouldn't understand," Éowyn answered bitterly, looking away from Lothíriel. "Here I thought I might be granted leave to make my own decisions. Like a fucking fool."
Lothíriel bristled, despite being accustomed to crude and coarse language, but made no comment, instead placing her hands in her lap and waiting once more. Rolling her head against the pillow to look at the healer the Lady of Rohan regarded her with a stony gaze. They sat in tense silence until Éowyn eventually sighed, the weight of her emotions and strain of anger causing fatigue.
"I wish to be alone," she murmured finally, averting her eyes and turning so only her profile was visible.
"I will leave," Lothíriel replied quietly, standing. "Myself or the Lady Ioreth will need to check in –"
"Just you." The dark-haired woman stopped, staring at Éowyn who remained still, eyes cast to the long window opposite her bed. "I have not the temperament for the other one. You… or if I must, the Warden."
Lothíriel bowed but said nothing and when it became clear Éowyn was also finished speaking she gathered a few items from the beside table in need of restocking and departed to the door.
"I'll return shortly, my Lady."
The Lady of Rohan was silent so Lothíriel gave another bow before quitting the room, her thoughts racing as she shut the door. Leaning her shoulder against it the healer took a deep breath. It occurred to her that Éowyn had not mentioned her brother's entreaty that she take the hidden path out of the city, should the need arise. The woman was likely so consumed by disappointment and ire that any request made in the letter was either ignored or unread. It would probably be a point of conversation at a later date, and Lothíriel made a mental note to tread carefully with the shieldmaiden in the coming days.
Her thoughts drifted to Éowyn's brother as she took the items to be restocked in the storage alcove on the other side of the level. As much as she'd avoided the memory that followed his leave-taking she smiled to herself to think how his arms had encircled her. By all accounts it was an entirely improper interaction between a lord and lady. She had no chaperone and he… well, he could do as he please with far fewer repercussions as king. But Éomer was a man who seemed unwavering in his duty and honor. Had the Army of the West not been marching to certain doom would he have behaved so boldly? Would she?
Lothíriel could hardly imagine the scenario if he returned – would they pretend no such exchange occurred? Especially once the reality of her title and status were at play. She tried to shake the musing, fearful of letting too much hope override the seeming certainty of their errand. Busy with collecting a set of towels and replenishing the burn salve for the Lady of Rohan the woman reproached herself silently for thinking too far ahead. Éowyn's dismissal gave her time to consider these things and it was proving unhelpful.
The healer made quick work of informing the Warden of Éowyn's wishes and, with hopefully more tact, gave Ioreth leave of tending to her. The older woman seemed relieved with this news, nodding and shaking her head at once.
"Yes, I fear I'm no good to her at the moment. Best she's with you – being of the same age, you two. I can swoop in when some time has gone by, give you a reprieve."
"Thank you," Lothíriel replied as they sat together in the laundering room awaiting the fresh linens for the wards. "I'm content to be at her call for the time being. For as long as she requests my service."
"Aye. But hopefully the Lady won't have you at her bedside all day. You've been asked for by the new Steward twice today." The Princess' gaze caught the other woman's with a jolt, brows raising.
"When?"
"Early. I wager you were off bidding farewell to your menfolk, as you returned looking as forlorn as the rest of 'em. And then just recently, but I begged the young Lord's patience as you attended to another charge – that being the Lady of Rohan, of course."
"It is good then that I may go to him now," Lothíriel decided as she stood. Ioreth looked up at her with a grin.
"Indeed. I expect you'll not want him asking a third time."