Chapter 20

Sleep was harder to come by for the Princess than she anticipated, spending most of the night tossing and turning in the large bed. She convinced herself it was due to the actual mattress and goose-feather pillows; her quarters much more impressive of late. Faramir and Ioreth both were instrumental in persuading – insisting, even, that she sleep in the chambers of her family in the citadel. After weeks in her storeroom she felt swallowed up by the grand apartments provided for the Prince and his children. She reasoned her poor sleep was owed to this change in location rather than the worry that wound its way through her insides.

She was up well before morning light crept into the room, locating the small measure of belongings she'd brought to Minas Tirith in an armoire. Three dresses, shifts, breeches, skirts and the riding habit, none of which had seen the sun since she arrived. She found the riding coat had been cleaned of the grime from their journey, which both pleased and surprised her. It seemed Imrahil had taken care to look after her, even in the midst of a war.

The woman selected a thin blue cloak, a couple shifts, two unadorned helfdaer, a familiar grey kirtle from the Healing House, a pair of riding breechesand a split skirt, folding and setting them on the bed. She withheld one dress to tuck into the pack that would sit upon the saddle, not sure how her other bag would be arranged in the caravan. Donning tan breeches, beige split skirt, stays and a grey blouse, the Princess considered if she ought to dress more appropriate for her station. But long days on the road begged for comfort. She braided her dark hair into two long plaits before wrapping them around the back of her head in a circlet and pinning them in place. Setting the dark green riding habit on the bed next to the items, she released a sigh.

A knock on the door turned her attention from the labor of packing, bidding entrance to her guest. Faramir emerged from the hallway to greet her with a smile. The blue tunic matched the hue of King Elessar's standard, the silver thread of the starched collar glinting in the morning light. He looked regal, the stewardship sitting well upon his mantle.

"Good morrow, Cousin."

"And to you. Am I already late for the leave taking?"

"No," he answered, glancing at the clothes stacked neatly on her bed. "It will be an hour at least before the party is ready to depart the city. But it seems the wains have been packed to burst with provisions, among other items."

"I suspect the Host is much desiring the comforts of home."

"We'll send all we can for them. I do not know how long they will remain camped at the Field."

"Will you come eventually?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted with a slight frown. "I fear there is much to do in the city to prepare for the King. And my heart desires to stay."

"It seems someone else's heart would desire the same."

Faramir said nothing but his neck and cheeks flushed as he turned away from her to look out the long window to the city below. Lothíriel joined him, watching the carts and horses arrange themselves far below, like ants marching across the dirt. As much as she wanted to encourage her cousin to share more about his feelings for the shieldmaiden she held her tongue, knowing it was not her place.

"I have your small company for the journey," the Steward commented, with a glance her direction. She nodded, expression unsurprised at his changing of topics. "I made a discreet inquiry for the position. Three men offered their swords. Gaelen, a fellow of Minas Tirith, who is one of Beregond's men and thus of high esteem. Evandor, one of your father's soldiers remaining in the city."

"Ev and Amrothos are friends," Lothíriel noted with a smile. "I am glad for their protection. Who is the third?"

"Not who I expected, I confess." The Lady of Dol Amroth faced him, brows raised as she waited. She dared not guess, worried she would be disappointed.

"The Lord Elfhelm, a Rider of Rohan. I'm not even sure how he heard of my survey but he came to me late in the eve and requested if a retinue be assembled to escort you that he may take part. I granted him leave, if that is alright."

"Yes," she answered with a slight smile. "That is noble of him. And, I suspect, a good excuse to see his countrymen when we arrive."

"Certainly. But he was clear he would be your protector before all else. It seems you've made good friends in your time here, Cousin."

"In truth they've found me," she replied with an offhand shrug. "But Lord Elfhelm is welcome. You did encourage them to join the procession without pomp or circumstance, yes?"

"Indeed. They were instructed to stay near enough but not attend you as they might in a formal setting. They will be your shadows and will be strategic in their presence, especially when camping overnight."

"My heart is soothed by this. Thank you. I've no doubt my father and brothers will be appreciative of your thoughtfulness on this account."

"I'd not risk your safety. I am eased by the defeat of our common foe. But it would be foolish to think we are without enemies."

Lothíriel said nothing, offering a nod of agreement, though she knew not what enemies Faramir feared. She imagined it was naivete that guided her thoughts but it seemed their victory would, for a time, provide unfettered peace across the lands. She made a note to ask her father if he too worried over the enemies Faramir referred to. With a quick embrace, the cousins bid farewell so the Steward could return to his business and she could finish her preparations.

TTTT

An hour after dawn saw Lothíriel mounted upon her chestnut gelding, twisting back to secure the small pack to the back of the saddle. They stood in line as the procession began to make its way from the city at a slow pace amidst the songs and cheers of the citizens. She tugged the leather tie upward once, ensuring the bundle would not unravel and discard the dress and shift under foot. Her other bag of clothes and medicine kit were tucked carefully into one of the healer's wagons, which she followed on horseback.

A handful of skilled healers and apprentices joined her, most either walking or riding in the wains. Their caravan was moderately sized, bearing cooks, launderesses, smiths, soldiers and the healers to the Host of the King. Some would take the prepared barge to Cair Andros, Faramir had explained, while the rest continued on foot. Excitement buzzed through the group, the expectation of undertaking this brief trip and seeing the frontlines of victory creating an excited atmosphere among the group.

The healer's wagons made up the tail of the wains, the provisions and other items leading the group. There was a contingency of soldiers at the head and rear of the group to ensure safety, with a handful of men riding alongside the carts. It was in this position she noted two of her three guards were situated. Evandor rode well ahead of her beside the horses pulling the first of three medic wagons. Behind her was Gaelen stationed, blending in with the other soldiers of the city, only recognizable from her introduction by Faramir before they left. She shifted in the saddle, her horse following the wagon ahead of them obediently as she scanned the crowd on either side of the procession. She had not yet seen Elfhelm and offhandedly wondered if Faramir had been mistaken.

Facing forward once more, the Lady adjusted the reins as they moved toward the great gate of Minas Tirith. She then beheld the damage wrought by the Witch King's magic, the massive doors bent inward, and a gaping hole slashed through the seemingly impregnable steel and iron. It sent a chill down her spine as they passed beneath the archway, despite the warmth of the sun and elated cries from the crowd. The fields before them also showed the terrible effect of war, the earth torn and fields wrecked by machine and the clash of armies.

Although the songs of the citizens followed them onto the road the music felt displaced in this scene of ruin. No words were spoken as hoof, foot and wheel moved across the Pelennor Fields. As much as she didn't wish to look Lothíriel was unable to tear her gaze from the blood stains and discarded weapons, armor and items of war that littered the ground. They traversed the sometimes imperceptible road leading away from the city, dust spiraling lazily in the morning air as horses snorted and wagons creaked.

Unless she concentrated her gaze upon the gelding's mane before her the woman's eyes were drawn to the scenery, powerless to avoid gaping at the dark stains and still smoking pile of orc corpses piled away from the road. She barely registered the sound of hooves approaching her at a trot as she craned her head to look at the vastness of the fields.

"Hail, Lady," a voice called out just before the other horse was abreast. She turned to see the Captain of the Rohirrim bring his bay mount to a walk beside her. She welcomed him with a smile, appreciative of an interruption from the landscape around them.

"Good morning, my Lord," she greeted him with a cant of her head. "I fear I am much distracted by this scene." She gestured around them, wrinkling her nose as the scent of decay hit them. Elfhelm nodded solemnly, the white-blonde mane atop his helmet flashing in the sunlight.

"One could hardly blame you. It is a difficult sight to take in."

"I am glad for your company," she put in with a smile, focusing on her companion as their horses fell in stride. "Both in this moment and for the duration of our journey."

"When word came to me that the Steward was seeking men to accompany you it was not a question of should but would I be permitted. The Lord Faramir was generous enough to provide me a spot with a man of your country and a soldier of Minas Tirith."

"I am grateful. If I may ask, how did word come to you?"

"Ehm," the young Captain faltered, glancing down at his saddle for a moment before clearing his throat. "The Lady Éowyn."

"Oh!" Lothíriel tilted her head, bemusement upon her face. "I did not know she knew of Faramir's inquiry."

"I believe he told her himself," Elfhelm replied with a glance her direction. "I cannot know for certain. Only that she bore me the summons and we agreed I might leave her company for yours. She was confident in her security and I have left a handful of our people with her in the city."

"That is well," Lothíriel answered.

"The Steward was explicit that we should be close at hand but not crowding your person on the road. Is that your expectation as well?"

"It would certainly make for an easier journey. Perhaps I am unwise in this, but it doesn't seem we have much to fear from enemies attacking us on the road, what with the triumph of the Host."

"It is unlikely," he agreed with a nod. "But I suspect the Steward is equally concerned about your wellbeing within the company."

They fell silent then, Lothíriel left to ponder this statement. She was not ignorant to the evils of men, especially on the road. But it would be bold if not stupid for a man to attempt such behavior in the presence of so many, their destination notwithstanding. But she trusted both her cousin and Elfhelm's wisdom in this, secretly hoping the presence of her trio of protectors was enough to deter any mischief. Besides, she wasn't the only woman in the caravan. Several maids and laundresses newly arrived from the surrounding towns joined the company. Lothíriel suspected their presence also accounted for the carefully selected Gondorian soldiers sprinkled throughout the procession. Faramir was astutely aware of the need for safety beyond just the gentry.

They rode together for the length of the field, the Princess' focus turned from the ravages of battle to her companion as they chatted off and on. It was slow going with so many wagons but Lothíriel found herself glad to be back in the saddle, especially in good company. She and Elfhelm traded stories of riding and discussed the difference between Rohan and Dol Amroth when it came to breaking horses. There was an easiness to their exchange and she felt relieved to have a companion so similar to her brothers in temperament and conversation. Though he did not share much personal information she gathered Elfhelm was married and seemed close to the new King and Éowyn.

"I suspect you are eager to return home," she put in as they neared the Rammas Echor.

"I much desire to look upon the rolling hills of the Folde."

"The Folde?"

"The land of olde in Rohan. The seat of our King and the ancient hall of kings before both sit in that region. Aldburg, from whence Éomer King and the Lady Éowyn hail was my childhood home as well."

"You knew the Lady and King in their youth?"

"Yes, and they knew me well. The King and I shared our boyhood together, along with the son of Théoden King, Béma guide him."

"And your wife?"

"She is of Edoras, the current seat of Kingship. And there she resides, awaiting word."

"I am sorry you have been long from her."

"It will not be so long, I hope. The Lady Éowyn and Éomer King will bear the fallen king's body to the hills so he may rest with his forefathers. It is then we will return and I shall see her and have news of our child."

"Your child?" she caught his gaze with an expectant stare.

"Aye. She was newly pregnant when I departed."

"Elfhelm, that is wonderful! Is this your first child?"

"Yes." He paused, a stricken expression passing across his face. Lothíriel's smile was replaced with concern as she waited. The Captain pressed his lips together before looking at her again. "She lost one some months ago." Another pause. "Forgive me, my Lady. It is not appropriate for me to speak of such things. I have dishonored her and my King."

"Nonsense," Lothíriel answered quickly, brows knitted with concern. "You have not dishonored anyone. I am a healer so sharing such information is perfectly appropriate. This knowledge will stay safe with me."

"I thank you, my Lady."

A/N:

A/N:

Sindarin translation:

Helf – coat

Daer - strong/hardy

This is my version of a Middle Earth cotehardie, which was a dress commonly worn in themiddle ages that translated to "hardy coat".