Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

At the stable door, I reached out to push it but it was pulled open by another. Aragorn stood before me, looking from Feredir to me with slight confusion. He stared at me, wordlessly asking why I was leaving and what had happened. I did not wish to make the process any harder than it already would be. I tried to push past him but he moved in front of me, blocking any hopes I had at escaping silently.

I could not meet his eyes. This ranger, this long lost king who was running just as I was. The accidental captor of my heart took steps closer, shutting the door behind with caution: as if too loud a sound would startle me like a horse plagued by one too many wars. He stopped a foot before me, hesitating a moment before addressing me.

“My lady,” He began, but pausing as if to rethink his words. And then, in a far gentler tone. “Vanya. What has happened?”

“I…I do not belong here, my lord. My place is elsewhere.”

“Why are you saying this?” He questioned, his approaching steps forcing tears from me. I stayed silent, eyes glued to the hay-covered floor. I squeezed my eyes shut as his hands enveloped mine, holding them between us. “Your place is here.”

I took in a deep breath, freeing my hands from his and finally looking up at him. Hesitating, I brought my hands up to his face. Brushing his hair out of the way, I lay my hands on his cheeks and closed my eyes. From within me I drew the vision that was so greatly disturbing me and I let it pass through my fingers and into his mind. For a brief moment his eyes were silver, like mine, and as the vision faded, the silver gave way to a familiar grey-blue. I pulled away as soon as the great eye began to burn me.

“I tried to look into Sauron’s future, but instead he showed me mine.” I said at last. “My place is not here, Lord Aragorn. I meet my end before the Black Gates, and so to the Black Gates I must go.” I moved to go past him but he stopped me once more, cupping my face in his rough hands.

“No.” He said strongly. He brought his lips to mine, sending my heart into a frenzy as I stumbled backwards against the wall for support. One of his hands slid down to my back as mine gently reached up around his neck. “Your place is here.”

I stared at him for moment, finally understanding he meant here, at his side. I pulled him close, resting my face on his shoulder as I continued to cry. “I have no courage, Aragorn. What strength I had…what hope there was, it is lost in me…” He pulled away but kept me in his grasp, resting his forehead against mine.

“You have more courage and strength in your heart than most soldiers, Vanya.” He cooed quietly. “We are all of us run out of hope. But whatever business Gandalf has in Gondor, he is sure to give us some.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. Sighing, I broke away from Aragorn and led Feredir back to his stall. I placed a kiss on his nose before gathering all of my things and walking along side Aragorn back to Meduseld. For the first time I realized it was dark and wondered how long I had been out in that field, flying through the lake of silver.

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It was an odd sensation indeed, to feel like a fugitive in a place meant for safety. The desire to flee still had not left me, despite Aragorn’s words. It had been three days since Gandalf’s departure, and if all had gone as it should the wizard and hobbit were in the White City. With each passing hour I felt my heart cling more and more to the memory of the place. How the walls looked from the perspective of a child, how simple smells and sights could mean the world once you’d lost them, but most of all how quickly I would give my life for its preservation. I knew not whether to be proud or frightened at this notion, for my thoughts now matched those of a soldier.

I supposed war made corpses of us all.

A sudden wind came from the west, pushing my hair back in a fury and bringing me out of my thoughts. My eyes were cast downwards at the ground far beneath my feet. I sat atop the outer wall of Edoras, my feet swinging absently as I tried to determine how high up I was. The tree behind me was easy enough to climb up, and was far enough from Meduseld that I would find solace here.

It was the most human urge, the oldest desire. The yearning to jump. So close to the edge, knowing the ground at the bottom was solid, unchanging. It could not be burned away nor rained out of existence. To jump, but not to die. The urge was to fall, the feeling of falling; because for those brief moments you had control over your lack of control. You were flying, bound not by the land but the sky. The clouds would be mountains and the rain, lakes. Time would be on your side. On my side; for just as long as I needed…

Abandoning the thoughts, I descended the old tree and dropped onto the grassy plain. Tightening my belt and tying up my hair I walked back to the stables to give Feredir some much needed attention. There were a few other men in the stables that looked up at my entrance and soon after went back to their business. Slipping into the horse’s stall, I greeted him by placing a kiss on his forehead.

All the tools I needed to groom him were hanging on the wall behind him, and so I gathered all I would need into a bucket. His saddle was propped on a stand, his reins still on his head. I removed them and placed them atop his other things, grabbing the bucket and beckoning him after me. The slow clop-clop of his hooves was a welcome sound, a beat that stretched throughout many of my memories.

Out behind the stables was a water pump. I led Feredir to it, stopping him a few yards away so the mud was not caked into his hooves. Emptying the contents of the bucket onto the ground, I took it to the tap and began to pump the water. It took a few tries before anything came out, but once it started the bucket filled quickly. It was a bit cool, but I did not wish to go inside where the others were to warm it. I hoped Feredir would not mind.

Rolling my sleeves up and tying back my hair, I carried the heavy bucket to Feredir’s side and set it down. Taking the softer of the brushes at my disposal, I dipped it into the water and began to move it in circular movements on the horse’s side. It was very easy for horses to get dirty, and I had neglected my friend for far too long. The stableboys of Edoras had kindly offered to look after Feredir, but I insisted on doing it myself.

Again and again I wet the brush and scrubbed away the dirt and loose hair. My arm was slightly sore—I was so out of practise—but one of the stableboys was kind enough to bring me a large cloth I could use to dry off the horse. Before I could, Feredir shook his head out and splashed me with water. It made me laugh, and the laughter was continued by Merry as he approached me. I nudged back Feredir as I wiped my brow with my arm.

“Would it be alright if I sat with you, my lady?”

“Of course, Merry.” I smiled, picking up the water and dumping the dirty water out before turning it upside down for him to sit on. The hobbit kept to himself since the departure of Pippin, so it was a bit of a relief for him to approach me. Although, I had been acting the same way; only having any enduring conversation with Èowyn.

Once I dried off Feredir I picked up the other brush and began to untangle his mess of a mane and tail. Merry didn’t say much, just sat there swinging his feet back and forth while watching me. Every now and again the horse would whinny at how hard I was brushing. I murmured apologies as the hobbit smiled.

“He does not hesitate to let me know when he is less than content.” I pointed out. From the corner of my eye I watched as his smile slowly faded. His eyes fell downwards and his feet halted. I wondered how greatly he missed his home, if he regretted joining the others in their departure from the shire. I wondered if he felt at fault for not looking after his friends as he should have.

I wondered if in my thoughts I was not alone.

Merry brought an apple from his pocket, approaching the horse slowly until I willed him forward. He raised up his hand as high as he could, and Feredir was quick to smell the treat. Quickly the horse snatched it from the hobbit’s hand, munching through the entire fruit and spraying juice everywhere. After he settled, I took the pick and lifted his hoof up so I could clean out the built up dirt.

Announcing I was finished, Merry got off the bucket and carried it back to the stable with me. I led Feredir back into his stall, placing a kiss on his forehead and taking the bucket from Merry to put it in its proper place. Retreating inside, Merry bade me farewell as I cleaned up. I shook my hair out of its holder and wandered out to a quiet part of the city. I settled down on the steps, admiring the mighty mountains in the distance. Atop one sat a beacon of Amon Din, and my stomach tied in knots at the prospect of it being lit and Théoden not sending help. If he did not, then I would leave this city behind and offer what little strength I had on fields of Pelennor.

No matter how I tried, the vicious thoughts gave me no peace. So much was going wrong for me. There were matters of honour and matters of the heart, questions of love and loss and destiny. I was being pulled in every direction at once. I wanted to stay and leave, I wanted peace and to fight, but far worse was that I wanted Aragorn. So greatly my feelings had grown for him; he was so close and yet shrouded by his past with Arwen and his future with Èowyn. These were noble women, worthy women. By all rights I should not have even entered the question, and here still I stood. Willingly taking the heart with full knowledge of when my doom would come. Did that make me selfish?

It was for this reason I also longed for Boromir; but he stood as a permanent reminder that all things were in fact temporary, no matter how sure one is. Just as the sun could be blocked by the clouds, one who under normal circumstances would never leave your side is snatched from it. I recalled my promise to Faramir as children, that in light of his mother’s absence I would forever care for him. But oh, the imprudence of an eleven year old girl. So full of certainty and delivered wisdom; taking adult’s words for law, for fact.

A felt a vision taking hold, and if it was about whom I was thinking I was grateful for it. I had yet to fully lose the power which I had unleashed during my encounter with Sauron. This meant that the feeling was much less sporadic as it was gradual. A gentle ease into what would soon be:

A boat coasts quietly along a stretch of water. It is made of hacked branches sewn together with blackened rope. It is full of a host of gruff, stinking Uruks all wielding aged weapons. There is a fleet of identical ships flanking this one, and each emits a few lone creaks. I pass the ship, going forward until I reach a stone city. The bricks are grey and crumbled away in places; scars of an attack.

“My lady?” The voice cuts fluidly through the vision, and an outline of a figure begins to break through the image.

“A moment please, my lord.”

There are many hushed voices here, many feet scurrying and armour clanking together. Soldiers of Gondor. Someone calls to the Captain, and I turn to see an unfamiliar face. Captain Faramir, they beckon. This little boy, grown up point the past of recognition. There are too many, the soldier tells him. We’re outnumbered. And with all the courage, all the bravery his tired face can muster, he tells them they have no choice. The defences have to hold. It is his father’s wish. The boats reach the shores and orcs spill out, running through the maze of what I at last recognize as Osgiliath. A battle cry is released, and weapons clash.

Faramir had one loss too many in his lifetime; I could not let him withstand another. I stood suddenly, suffering from a rush of blood to the head and temporarily forgetting about the ranger, the king who sat before me. I whispered the captain’s name as Aragorn stood, halting my attempt at escaping ere I knew to where my feet were fleeing.

“He needs me.” I said anxiously, fighting against his grasp as the panic took hold of me, deep deep down. “I have to go, I cannot leave him!”

“Vanya,” Aragorn began, forcing me to succumb for the moment and give him my attention. He calmed me for the moment and I explained what I saw. Each moment that passed brought me further and further from the panic I was drowning in, and in time I lowered back down onto the step. I begged his pardon, getting a hold of myself. “There is naught to forgive. You are not alone in your wish to aid Gondor, my lady. But even if Feredir was the swiftest horse and you came by Osgiliath before the attack, you are but one against many. Faramir will not sacrifice the lives of all his men, even if Lord Denethor wishes it to be done. You will see him once more.”

I wanted to argue, I wanted to tell him he did not know Denethor; that he could not fathom the extent of his cruelty as a bitter old man, but I withheld it, for the moment. Instead I offered a weak smile as means of thanks and did not pull away as he wiped the tears falling freely. I turned my attention back towards the landscape, my heart missing a beat as I saw the only thing that could rightly lift my spirits. It almost caused another fit.

“The beacon!” I called, heart racing and eyes wide. Aragorn got to his feet, and after a moment’s hesitation we ran off to Meduseld. The stairs had never seemed a bother until one had to leap upon them as swiftly as possible. When they at long last ended, the guards moved aside and Aragorn burst through the doors. He did not wait for his feet to slow before announcing the urgent news.

“The Beacons of Minas Tirith! The Beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!”

Standing at Aragorn’s side, we waited in agonizing silence as Théoden played host to some internal debate. All eyes in the hall were on him, and I thought I should likely scream if he did not respond quickly. And then, at long last, he answered my prayers.

“And Rohan will answer.” I sighed in relief as he turned to his second in command. “Muster the Rohirrim!” Théoden grabbed his helmet off the throne and carried it in the crook of his arm as we all began to follow him as he exited Meduseld. Éomer, at his side, took heed of all the king’s instructions. “Assemble the army at Dunharrow, as many men as can be found. You have two days. On the third, we ride for Gondor. And war.”

Éomer nodded, disappearing down the stairs as a bell tolled from a tower, signaling the army’s imminent departure. A genuine smile began to spread on my face. Apart from the long journey awaiting me, the battle I would no doubt acquire many wounds in, and taking a step closer to where I would lie forever, I was going home.

I hurried to the stable, squeezing between all the men and horses until I reached Feredir. He was pacing back and forth, knowing what the commotion meant and anxious for release. He did not wish to be left behind. I patted his nose before preparing him, running quickly back into the hall to collect my things and strap them to his back.

Mounting Feredir, I rode him out into the throng of soldiers. Legolas was at my side and we veered off to wait for Gimli to arrive. Merry was mounted on a pony, a look of glee on his face being subdued by the stubbornness of the pony. I signaled for him to use the reins, which resulted in success. Aragorn rode past us, nodding to me as Gimli hobbled up, cursing about one thing or another beneath his breath. I looked out at all these men, these boys that had already survived such turmoil; and again they were willing to risk their lives to save Middle Earth. After all, it was the only home we really had.