A/N I loved writing this one. But of a long one!
LadyForlong - I'm so glad at least one person picked up on that! Rínior really does toe the line of madness, and holding to the delusion that Elrohir is somehow still his friend is a good example of it. If he hadn't had such painful run in with the Witch-king I wonder if he'd be a little less...crazy. Ah well xD maybe perfect for an AU someday.
Chapter Thirty-Two - Maedeth
Hooves pounded over well worn pebble roads as Maedeth made the last push to the gates of Minas Anor. The White City towered into the red and purple sky. The sun had bathed the Pelennor in light until it sank behind Mount Mindolluin. Now a painting of reds, oranges, and pinks bled into purple and dark blue star studded sky.
She blinked against the wind. Her mount heaved for breath as she pushed him onwards. On her left she heard Elladan keeping pace. Maedeth peered forward. The beautiful black outer wall of the city approached.
Her breath caught in her chest. They were almost to Minas Anor. They were almost to the end of the journey. This journey, at least.
Maedeth shook her head. It would do no good to worry about the return. Hopefully, King Eärnil would act swiftly and they could return with the main force. But at the thought, a chill ran down her spine.
Mithrandir's words echoed in her ears. Time is of the essence. Time is of the essence.
Hoofbeats drowned out the world around her like thunder. But her mind never quieted. What would she say to the southern king? She'd never met him. She'd met those who came before but that was centuries before.
Did Gondor value the same things now as they had back then? Their king had gained the throne through battle prowess. He had proved his worth to the people by winning a war, not by right of blood. Or at least, Arvedui had argued as such. Eärnil shared in the blood of Anarion, though distant. He had every right to be king. The Council named him such.
The Council. Maedeth tried to push it from her mind. It was not just one man she would need to convince. He had final say in all matters, but the Council's opinions weighed heavily in Gondor. She would need to prove her worth to them as well.
Black walls reared up in front of them. She slowed her horse at the gates of the city. A few rays of the sun still shone in the sky as four guards flanked the opening. She thanked the Valar for allowing them to reach Minas Anor before sundown.
"Who seeks entrance to Minas Anor so brashly? The Gates are set to be closed!"
Maedeth watched as a man in a white surcoat with a black tree approached her. He wore it over finely crafted mail and in the gentle breeze, his black cloak fluttered behind him. The sword at his belt contrasted the spears of the gate guards around him. The guards' own armor was black with a white tree. Maedeth recognized him immediately. Or, his station. Warden of the Keys.
"Forgive our haste, my lord." She swung off her horse and approached. Maedeth did not miss the surprise on the faces of the soldiers as they realized, in the dying light of day, that she was a woman. "I am Lady Maedeth, Emissary of King Arvedui of Arthedain the North Kingdom. We have journeyed far through many dangers. I bear a message for King Eärnil that cannot wait!"
Her words rung in the quiet. They echoed off the ancient stones. Maedeth held her breath as she stood on the worn, pebble paved road before the towering gates of the White City.
"I am Curuhael, Warden of the Kings." He nodded his head, though he watched warily as Elladan also dismounted and came to stand beside her. "Your name is known to me, Lady Maedeth, though only from my younger days when I studied the lore of this city. That you arrive now is an ill omen."
She released a long breath. "So I have been told before, Lord Curuhael. Nevertheless, I have come, and I cannot be waylaid even by one as great as the Warden of the Keys. My message is too important."
"Very well. Follow me."
Maedeth allowed herself to breathe again. She looked at Elladan. He nodded with a soft smile, though in the dark the shadows played tricks and for a moment, she thought it was a frown. They took hold of lead ropes and led the horses forward.
The well maintained, gravel roads turned to a paved road of beautiful white stone. As her horse clip-clopped after her, she could not resist falling into memory. Rath Celerdain, it was called. The Lampwrights' Street. In the darkness, the lamps shone forth with a pale golden brilliance. The few civilians of Minas Anor out so late laughed as they walked arm and arm, or watched the entrance of the two half-elves with thinly veiled wonder.
Maedeth loved Rath Celerdain. In her younger years she had enjoyed evening strolls among the people of Gondor, gathering gossip as she sought to understand the woes and wishes of the South Kingdom. They were not so different from their kindred in the North, really. Not in those days, anyway.
Curuhael led them across from the Great Gate towards a beautiful black horse that stood beside two more guards in sable and white. "Mount up. We ride, unless you are not in the hurry you first claimed."
Maedeth did not dignify the slight dig with a response. She merely did as asked. It did not take long to reach the beginning of the green grass lawn beside the road winding up to the Citadel. Her horse would be grateful for it.
They hurried off. Alternating between a gallop and maneuvering at a cantor, Maedeth and Elladan followed Curuhael up the switchbacks. The city sprawled out along them. Perhaps someday she would return and have time to explore it more fully. Even in earlier days most of the time in Minas Anor was spent with the nobles, not galavanting around the city. Hers strolls down Rath Celerdain were a distinct exception.
It was quiet. That much she noticed. The sun set as they reached the third circle, but even before she had seen few people. She squirmed on her horse as they crossed through the gate to the Fifth Circle. Too much like Fornost, really.
Though, not quite as barren. A small group of young women laughed together as they sat on an open green lawn with books now closed around them. As they entered the Fifth Circle, the women looked up in surprise.
It did not take long to reach the Sixth Circle. Near to the gate stood the Upper Stables. Curuhael dismounted.
"We ride no further," he said. "From here we walk, and show due respect to those who come before us."
Their horses were taken by young stable hands. Maedeth whispered a word of thanks to the red roan who had borne her so swiftly across the Pelennor. When she turned away, she bumped into Elladan. He had become her shadow in the darkness in Minas Anor.
"Apologies," he said.
Maedeth shook her head. No apology was needed. Words stuck in her throat that she would've spoken to assure him as they began to follow Curuhael through the Sixth Circle. Beautiful gardens featured flowers both open and closed, some blossoms seeking sunlight and others basking in the full moon.
The small gate to the Citadel of Minas Anor stops closer than the gates of the other cities. It faced east, like the Great Gate. Fewer than half a dozen could walk abreast in the tunnel ramp to the Seventh Circle.
A gust of wind hit her in the face as they came out onto the Seventh Circle. Gone were the typical soldiers of Gondor, replaced by the Citadel Guard at every corner and door frame. In addition to the surcoat of soldiers of Gondor they wore helms of glittering Mithril, carven wings of birds at either side. Maedeth felt her breath catch at their beauty in the moonlight.
But her eyes quickly fell on the centerpiece of the courtyard. At the center of a small lawn with four large, curved white stone benches towered a beautiful tree. The White Tree. Maedeth smiled. Still as breathtaking as ever. At least this had not changed.
Bark as white as snow, leaves the color of dark emeralds on top and shining silver below, it echoed in a memory that was not her own the beauty of Telperion. What book she'd read that so perfectly described that Elder tree, she wasn't sure. But there was no doubt in her mind that the White Tree of Minas Anor had come from that great lineage.
"Wait here," Curuhael said. "I will seek out the King. Either he will come, or you will wait for the morning."
She thanked him. Maedeth watched as the Warden of the Keys disappeared into the massive doors of the Tower of Ecthelion. As another gust of wind hit her face, she ducked away. The first chill of autumn descended on them.
But with the wind came a scent Maedeth had forgotten with the centuries. Hints of peaches, jasmine, and flowering daffodils wove an intricate dance between floral and fruit. Once upon a time, Maedeth had bathed herself in the soaps of Gondor. The wife of King Eldacar had gifted it to her when she visited at the close of the Kin-strife. Proof that in Gondor not all civility and peace had burned, she had said. Some goodness remained.
A hand touched her arm. Maedeth opened her eyes, back in the present. Some goodness remained, now as it had then. She turned to Elladan. He watched her with a furrowed brow but as her attention turned to him, he forced himself to smile.
"We should sit," Maedeth said, voice low. There was no point in standing at the edge of the green lawn. Who knew how long they would wait for the king. "The guards of the Citadel will do nothing to hinder us so long as we respect the tree."
She walked forward. As her mud caked riding boots touched the green grass, somehow the pain in her legs lessened. No guard stopped her from approaching a bench beneath the sprawling branches of the great tree.
Maedeth sat. The white stone, chilled by the winds high up in the city, offered her a cool balm both to her injured body from months of travel but also to her anxious thoughts. She focused on the chill beneath her palms as she layed them flat to either side of her.
Moments later, Elladan joined her. He took off his sword, laying it in its sheath up against the bench. They had no need of it now. At least, she hoped not. He took up a vigil on her right, sitting close enough that he blocked some of the wind.
What would she say to the king? What should she not say? Already she decided to leave out all mention of Rínior's name. If Curuhael knew of her name from their lore masters, a simple ambassador of the North Kingdom, likely they would know the Hero of the North. Maedeth would not allow her brother to kill the relationship between the North and South. He had done enough damage already.
So much. Her heart raced. Maedeth found it difficult to breathe. The world began to spin as pain filled her chest. She felt tears pricking at her eyes. Tiniel was dying. Mírien hated herself. Rínior destroyed the armies. Arthedain fell closer to ruin each day. She ran a hand through her matted hair. It stuck. She pulled and yanked to get it out. And every attempt she had made to secure them aid had failed.
She failed.
She couldn't fail this one.
Warm fingers interlocked with hers. Elladan gently pried her hand away from her messy hair and held it tight. He didn't say anything. But Maedeth watch, eyes wide, as he moved their joined hands down towards the cold bench. Her heart slowed. But her face warmed.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He smiled. It faltered a moment later as he turned away, back to the tree in front of them. "Any time. There is not a single doubt in my mind that you will complete this mission, Maedeth. It may be your hardest task yet, but you are more than a match for it."
She gripped his hand tighter. In a sea of chaos, he offered stability. Her heart pounded again. The world closed in until it was only them. His presence intoxicated her like wine.
"Thank you," she said again.
Maedeth let go of his hand. She couldn't concentrate on Elladan's closeness and the mission at hand. Duty came before love. It had to come before love, for without duty the world would crumble. She couldn't bear to see how he reacted so she faced the tree.
Footsteps over stone and then grass sounded behind them a few minutes later. Maedeth and Elladan turned their heads. Immediately, they sprang up.
King Eärnil's clean shaven face had a few wrinkles of age and stress, but his dark hair showed no sign of grey. He wore robes of red and black, with trim in shining gold thread. Even beneath the sleeves she could tell he had the muscle of a warrior. Just like King Eldacar. Men who had seen too much of war.
"King Eärnil!" She rounded the bench and curtseyed deeply to him as Elladan followed suit. "A true honor."
"My Warden of the Keys brings me strange news. He speaks a name out of years long past." After a long glance towards the boughs of the White Tree, he turned back to her. "Lady Maedeth, Emissary of Arthedain?"
"Indeed, my king. And this is Lord Elladan, the son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell," she said. "He is my protector."
"Well met. Though I fear this meeting," Eärnil said. "I can see by the tiredness of your eyes that the words you bring me are not those of joy, but of danger. We have had too much danger as of late."
Maedeth did not respond right away. What was there to say? Danger had found all in Middle Earth. She bowed her head. "I am sorry, my king."
"As am I. But that is not what you were ordered to say to me. What are your tidings, my lady?"
"I bring words of kinship, of honor for the South Kingdom but also pleading for aid for the North."
Maedeth took a deep breath. Beneath the boughs of the White Tree, she prayed to the Valar for strength. She begged Lady Elbereth to speak through her, for Lord Manwe to guide her wisdom.
"The Witch-king of Angmar moves to close his noose around Arthedain. We cannot stand alone. We will not survive," she said. "King Arvedui begs you to remember the words you shared upon your coronation: 'I do not forget the loyalty of Arnor, nor deny our kinship, nor wish that the realms of Elendil should be estranged. I will send you aid when you have need, so far as I am able'. Arthedain has been in great need for many years. But she will fall before the end of the next if we do not have aid."
Her words lingered in the courtyard of the Seventh Circle. Beneath the full moon, she did not waver. The moment had come. She would succeed. Elladan had faith in her, so she would have faith in herself. Maedeth watched as Eärnil's face grew grave.
"I remember well those words," he said. "I meant them. The kingdoms should not be divided. We are of one kindred."
"Indeed, Lord. Please. Give us the aid we so desperately need before only one kingdom remains!"
Eärnil ran a hand through his hair. He bit his lip for a moment. "We will send aid, so far as we are able. But I cannot promise it will be enough. The Council will decide what we can spare."
At once great joy and great anxiety filled her chest. Maedeth wanted to leap for the skies and scream thanksgiving to the stars. But more hurdles remained. Aid could come in many forms. It could mean an army. But it could also mean a simple boat to travel down the Anduin, such as Amroth provided. More work remained.
Before she could say more, Maedeth watched the doors to the Tower of Ecthelion swing open. A woman dressed in white and brown, with dark hair flecked grey, clutched a simple but beautiful cloak around her chest. The silver circlet on her head glittered in the moonlight as she approached.
"Queen Íruidis," Maedeth said. She curtseyed again. "It is an honor."
"And who is it that keeps my husband out so late, away from his bed," she asked.
Íruidis stood tall and proud. Beautiful as carven marble, Maedeth felt the strength and intelligence in her sharp gaze. This was a woman who has tended to more than just a homestead with her husband away at war.
"My love. I apologize," Eärnil said. "This is Lady Maedeth, Emissary of King Arvedui of Arthedain. She brings me grave news from the North."
"A single night will not change the fates of Middle Earth when we live so far away," Íruidis said. "Unless it is for the better. Rested minds make clearer choices."
Maedeth swallowed her pride. The queen was right in her own way. But if she had seen the state of Arthedain she would not likely have counseled such prudence. Still, this was her kingdom. Not Maedeth's.
"Of course, my lady." Maedeth bowed her head. "King Eärnil, please rest well. We can speak again in the morning."
"Indeed. I will send Curuhael to you so he may show you to the Guesthouses. Sleep well. We will have more to discuss at first light."
Maedeth held her breath as Íruidis sent her a final, withering glare as her husband turned to leave. She felt the anger like a lance to her heart.
"This Southern Queen has a heart of ice," Elladan muttered. He kept his voice low. "She should not have spoken to you like that."
But Maedeth shook her head. It had stung, but she understood.
"Íruidis does not see an ally in me. She sees an enemy who comes to steal her husband away to war, again. I cannot fault her for her anger."
Elladan didn't respond. As they waited for Curuhael, Maedeth would not sit. She stood beneath the green and silver leaves, trying to bask in the peace of the wind rustling the branches and the sweet smell of Gondor's noble baths.
No, she could not fault Queen Íruidis. Only pain came from war, both for those who fought and those left behind. But their salvation rested on the blade and the axe. And she hoped, she prayed as she stood under the shining constellation Menelvagor, that her words would be enough.
It had to be enough.