Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

It was finished; but not really. The battle may have been won, but the war was far from over. We had time, though, to recuperate; to gather our strength just as Sauron was no doubt doing behind the Black Gates. I walked between Gimli and Aragorn as we travelled amongst the corpses. The last of the enemy force were dead or dying. The army of the dead appeared before us, slowly at first, and then in excruciating detail. You could see every decaying bit of flesh and every exposed bone and every strand of brittle hair.

“Release us.” The King of the dead commanded, face to face with Aragorn. It was unnerving, knowing that our moment of alliance had come and pass.

“Bad idea.” Gimli whispered to Aragorn. “Very handy in a tight spot, these lads. Despite the fact they’re dead.”

“You gave us your word!” There was an aching moment of silence before Aragorn bowed his head.

“I hold your oaths fulfilled. Go, be at peace.”

A faint smile worked its way onto the features of the deceased king before he exhaled. The army of the dead began to disintegrate, the wind sweeping their souls away on a current. I could not fathom what an existence between worlds for hundreds of years must have been like, but it was finally over. Aragorn turned and smiled at someone behind me. I turned to see Gandalf bowing slightly, and beside him was Pippin. I didn’t bother trying to control myself, running forward and crashing onto my bruised and bloodied knees and pulling the hobbit into my arms.

“Peregrin Took, you brave little hobbit!” When I pulled away there were tears in my eyes, but not because of the creature before me. Rather, it was his choice of clothing. The small Gondorian guard uniform; it was unmistakeable. The tears at the seams, the boot polish stains, this had been Faramir’s.

“Will you help me, Vanya?” He asked, looking up at me. “I need to find Merry. I promised that I’d find him in the end.”

“Of course, Master Took. Guard of the Citadel.” I smiled, getting to my feet and nodding to Gandalf as we set off to search the field. It was a hard task; so many lay wounded that would need tending to. The healers of Gondor were already trickling down into the field, satchels of herbs bouncing off their hips as they rushed to salvage what lives they could.

I did what I could along the way, pulling out arrows and stopping bleeding wounds. It was comforting, in a way, knowing that all of my friends had been with me throughout the battle. There was no one to search for, no one to bury my heart with. I was among the luck. How many fathers, brothers, and sons had been lost today?

The blonde hair caught my eye, much longer than any other warrior of the Rohirrim. My heart sank as I rushed to the body’s side, turning over Eowyn. Pulling her mouth close to my ear, I sighed in relief at the sound of her breathing. I tried to shake her awake, studying her for any fatal wounds but finding only damage to her left arm. I tugged at the armor and gasped at the sight of the bruising. It was a horrific wound and I had no idea what weapon could have caused it. But then I recalled the crumple of fabric: had Eowyn actually killed the Witch-King of Angmar?

It was Éomer’s screaming that brought me back to the present. He barreled towards me, collapsing at his sister’s side as I explained that she was, in fact, alive. I screamed for Aragorn, again and again until he came running up to me, eyes falling from me to the girl I passed over to Éomer.

“You have to heal her, Aragorn. You know the ways of Elrond better than any here. You must!” I cried out, unwilling to let Eowyn be a casualty of this war. I cringed as Éomer released a fresh set of wails at the sight of his fallen uncle: the king of Rohan, dead. Aragorn nodded, motioning for Éomer to follow him. They set off and Legolas came to my side.

“Merry!” I spun to find Pippin running towards an orc. He pushed the body, unveiling a hobbit.

“I knew you’d find me, Pip.” Merry said quietly, blood dripping from his mouth. I tried to remain calm, to remember that he didn’t die here. Merry died years from now, an old hobbit who smoked one pipe too many. I held onto the vision of his wife, his child. He would make it through this. “Are you going to leave me?”

“No, Merry.” Pippin promised. “I’m going to look after you.”

Legolas came to their side as Pippin wrapped a cloak around his fallen friend. The elf picked up Merry and I ushered Pippin forward, leading the way to the houses of healing. It was a long walk up to the sixth circle of the city, but when we got there the place was already full. Gandalf was on his way out and pointed us in the direction of Aragorn. We were let in and I found a child-sized cot for Merry to be put on.

The hobbit was immediately tended to by one of the healers, and I backed away a few paces to give the healer and Pippin some space. It broke my heart, and I could only imagine the pain Pippin was going through. Merry was as good as a brother to him, and to see him lying there with no knowledge of whether he would live or die would be tearing him apart.

“Pippin, come here.” I said quietly, pulling the hobbit away from his friend. The worry was etched into his face as I knelt before him. “Merry will be just fine, Peregrin.”

“But what if he—”

“You misunderstand me.” I pushed on, taking a breath before putting my hands on either side of his face and diving deep into my memory for the vision of Merry I’d seen so long ago. I released it into Pippin’s mind, dropping my hands and watching as the silver faded from his eyes. “He will live for many years to come.”

He nodded to me, relaxing before returning to the hobbit’s side. There was sniffling coming from the far corner and I watched as Aragorn worked on Eowyn, her brother shaking at her side. I walked over to them and sat beside Éomer, taking his hand in both of mine. At the gesture he sat up straighter, trying to erase some of the sadness he no doubt mistook for a sign of weakness. Aragorn soaked a cloth into a bowl of fragrant water with bits of herbs floating at the top before pressing it against her forehead and her injured arm.

“Do you need anything from the healers, my Lord?” I asked. He shook his head, looking me over once and opening his mouth to say something, but the door slammed open and another body was brought in. I promised I would return but went over to help in any way that I could.

The man was lain down in the only available spot and the healers began to fuss over him quickly. As I inched closer my heart jumped—it was a familiar face. At once I asked the healers what the injury or malady was, and they explained which plants and practices they would be performing to heal him. They were things I had learned in Rivendell. I promised the healers that I could take over and they left me to it. Taking a seat beside his body, I lay my hand on his cheek and withheld the tears, the desire to pull him up into my arms and hold him tightly.

“My dear Faramir.” I said quietly, selecting the plants I needed from the pots at his bedside. I worked through the ritual as Lord Elrond had taught me years ago, reminiscing about the days that I practiced on Arwen. The thought made me guilty, made me think of Aragorn and Eowyn and how greatly Faramir resembled Boromir. I pushed these feelings aside, though, for they were long past helpful and it did not do well to dwell on such things.

“My Lady?” One of the healers came up to me as I finished with Faramir, motioning for me to follow. All of the people save Eowyn and Merry had finished their treatment and now needed rest to complete the healing. The woman led me behind a screen and turned to face me immediately. She began to tug at my arms, lifting and inspecting them and the spots they had covered. She clicked her tongue and turned me in a full circle before opening a door to my right and ushering me inside.

It was a woman’s bath house, less than half of the baths actually in use. I faced the lady with confusion as she motioned to all of my wounds. She explained that if I didn’t clean up, stitch up, and treat my wounds they would fester and in all likeliness lead to the severing of limbs. I tried to protest, telling her I needed to get back to Faramir, that I needed to be there when he woke up, but she didn’t listen.

She handed me a clean dress, cloth, and soap to use and left me to it. I looked around nervously, never having been to this place before, and sought out a free bath. There were curtains that closed around for privacy and I quickly settled in, stripping off my weapons and the satchel strapped around my neck before finally peeling off my dirty clothes.

I meant to make it quick, to get in and out as fast as I could in order to return to everyone I cared about, but I hadn’t been in a bath so luxurious since Lothlórien—a time that felt years away. The water was from the city’s spring, a place I’d frequented in my youth, but different flowers had been added to it, either for smell or for some hidden qualities. I stitched up the biggest gash on my arm—although messily—and bandaged it up, lathering on a mixture I was given for my other wounds before putting on the dress I was given. It was a simple thing, light blue in colour with faint golden embroidery around the sleeves and neckline. I piled back on my weapons and belongings before heading back out to the main room.

It was quiet now, save for the gentle snoring or whimpers from some of the wounded. My boots pattered against the stone floor as I made my way back to Faramir’s side, sitting down on the stool and taking his hand in mine. I listened to the sound of his even breathing and remembered all the times I’d played mother to him as a child. Whenever he was sick he would send away his chamber maids and send Boromir to fetch me. I wasn’t nearly as experienced as who he had access to as a son of the Steward, but he didn’t seem to care. I would just crawl into his bed beside him and let him rest his head on my lap. I would sing him lullabies that my father used to sing and stroke his hair and give whatever medicine had been left by the healers. Sometimes he cried, and I could only imagine how much he missed his mother. Even as a child he had some memories of her, before she died. At least I’d been spared such things, all I had known was my father’s care. And when he found a replacement in me, when he’d gotten far too attached and used to my presence, I left. No goodbye, no letter, no promise of return. I just left him.

My heart jumped as he began to stir, and I leaned forward in anticipation. His eyes creaked open and he looked up at me with no recognition in his eyes. I smiled, holding back the tears as I placed my hand on his cheek. I was just a healer to him. He had no idea who I was.

“Faramir? It is me.” I said quietly, my voice cracking. “It is Vanya.”

He opened his eyes wider, looking up and no doubt being confused by the colour of my eyes (after all, they were brown when we had last seen one another); but my features were still the same. He tried to sit up but I gently pushed him back down, shaking my head.

“You must rest.”

“Is…” His voice was dry and weak. “Is this a dream?”

A few tears escaped at his question and I shook my head. “No, Faramir. I will be here when you wake. Sleep.”

His hand clenched mine with familiar desperation, the pressure slowly fading as he gave himself over to the sleep his body so gravely needed. I was frozen at his side until his hand finally slipped from mine, falling limp onto his cot. I put my head in my hands and began to cry, trying my best to stifle the sound. Legolas rose from his spot in the corner and came to my side, placing a hand on my shoulder. I gently shrugged it off, getting up and slipping past him.

The city was still reeling from the battle and everywhere corpses were being covered or taken away. It would take days, maybe even weeks to bury all of the dead. Most of the fires had been put out and as the night crawled on the priority, next to respecting the dead and tending to the wounded, was to get every orc, troll, and warg out of the city. It took what manpower was left to accomplish this task, and they would work for days to come to make sure the city was rid of the stench of Mordor.

My feet took me down paths that I should have forgotten, and paths that I was now too big for. The secret places that the sons of Denethor would lead me through and all the hide outs we would claim as our own. Children are children, no matter their blood. I could not stop thinking about Faramir, and although I knew he would be healed in a few days, I also knew there was no possible way now for me to ever do anything to hurt him again. I owed him honesty, I owed him an explanation, but most of all I owed him a repayment of all the years of love and care that I’d taken from him when I had decided to run away. Would I be able to give him all this in what little time I had left?

I wondered what would happen now, if Denethor would relinquish his rule of Gondor to let Aragorn reign as the rightful King. I knew in the end that he would, but I knew not the means for which the end was achieved. The streets were cold yet still the people of Gondor pushed through the night, everyone doing whatever they could to push away the war. The corsairs of Umbar were still in the port when I crossed the fields of Pelennor, some of them ablaze.

A few soldiers were standing before the ships, eyeing them and wondering aloud whether or not Gondor would claim these as spoils of war. With a little care, they could be respectable vessels. The men gave me the look I was so used to getting as I hoisted myself onto the bannister and swung my legs over, feet clunking on the bloodied planks. I retraced my way to the cabin where I’d left what possessions I could not take and found my pack in the place I had left it. Slinging it onto my shoulders, I went back into the city.

When I rounded the corner of the first level I found one more familiar face waiting for me. The sight brought tears to my eyes. Feredir was standing in the very stable I had cared for him in many years ago. He whinnied at the sight of me, trotting forward and nuzzling against my head as I wrapped my arms around his neck. It was a miracle that he had managed to evade whatever enemies he had encountered, worked his way out of the Dimholt road and ran from Dunharrow to Minas Tirith.

“Manen nalyë, Feredir?” The return to the city, the reunion with both Faramir and Feredir, the reuniting of all the Fellowship save Sam and Frodo, it made my heart swell. But I kept reminding myself that it was not yet over. I managed to get him settled back in the stable, promising my return when the time came.

The walk back up to the sixth circle of Minas Tirith was quick and before I knew it I found myself once more on the doorstep to the houses of healing. Taking a deep breath I entered, walking along the path that the moonlight illuminated through the window. I found the room where my friends were, opening it and freezing at the sight of several heads turning to meet me. Faramir was on his feet, arms crossed and one hand resting on his mouth as he turned to face me.

My face screwed up at the tears coming through but I let them fall and took quick steps over to him. He opened his arms and met me just as eagerly. He held me tight and I held him back tighter, burying my face against his shoulder and quietly sobbing. It was as if all the guilt that had built up over the years, all of the sadness and longing for a return home, all of the sadness over Boromir’s sudden death were hitting me all at once. An onslaught of unwelcome but long-overdue emotion. My body began to tremble but I forced myself to regain control.

“My Captain of Gondor.” I mused when I finally pulled away. His grip cemented me from straying too far from his body, as if me moving too far away would lead me to disappear again. I pressed my lips to his forehead and wiped at the tears on his cheeks. “Forgive me, Faramir.”

“You did what you had to.” He dismissed quickly, placing his hands on either side of my face. “Is it true you are the one they call Brennil ned Bellas? The Lady of Strength who fought her way through Fornost and could best a man in battle? The only woman worthy of the Fellowship of the Ring.”

“Soldiers and their tall tales, Faramir.” I smiled none the less, pulling him into my arms once more before steering him back to his cot and instructing him to sit down. He only agreed when I sat down beside him, holding my hand in both of his. “How is your father, Lord Denethor?”

A shadow fell over his face at the mention of this name and I began to worry what I may have wandered into. Faramir lowered his head and it was Pippin, rising from Merry’s side, who spoke.

“He tried to burn Faramir alive during the battle.” I had never heard such anger in the little hobbit’s voice. “He had gone mad with power and the desire for revenge…He fell from the top of the city to his death.”

“I am sorry.” I said quietly. Faramir was quiet for a minute before shaking his head and looking up at me with a smile.

“The battle is over. Your hobbit friends are moving through Mordor as we speak and the king of Gondor has returned. The days of peace are near.”

“You know of Frodo and Sam?” I asked, gripping his hand tighter.

“They passed through Osgiliath with the creature Gollum. He…He is leading them up the path of Cirith Ungol.”

I sighed, nodding. “Frodo and Sam will make it to Mount Doom. They will destroy the ring. I have seen it.”

“Seen it?” He asked, and I realized he knew nothing of my powers.

“My dear Faramir, it seems there is much we have to discuss…”