Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

The past few days had been just like the end of the battle. Those not tending to the dead or dying were out clearing the city and already starting repairs where the walls had been breached. All of the horses were taken to help heave the heavier things out of the city, and from the piles at the main gates a system was worked out to take the debris to the side of the mountain.

I had spent the majority of my time back in the city with Faramir, leaving when he fell asleep to help out where I could. It was desperately obvious how much I was overcompensating, refusing to let him do anything for himself so I felt as though I was helping in some way. He was healing quickly, and spending a fair bit of time with Eowyn (who was also finding her strength returning).

We had talked one night when I was helping to dress her wound and she told me the story of what had happened on the battle field: how Merry helped her kill the undead Witch King of Angmar. She also recounted King Théoden’s final moments, how he had died in her arms. I held her while she cried, reassuring her that not only would she make a wonderful queen, but that crying was not to be mistaken as a sign of weakness.

When she was well enough to move her arm and get around on her own, I returned her sword that I found on the battle field. The company of Rohan had set up their tents on the cleared fields of Pelennor and that was where her father’s body was lying, awaiting the time for the funeral the King deserved.

On the fifth morning I stood on the balcony of Faramir’s quarters, wrapping my arms around my body at the cold wind. The sun was rising, casting an orange glow over the smoke still rising from fading fires and occasionally blocking the sight of the dead bodies. In the distance the city of Osgiliath stood, the last defence standing between the Black Gates and the White City. It would be reclaimed when we eventually found our way to Mordor.

Warmth found me and I turned to find Faramir draping a blanket over my shoulders. He smiled before taking my hand and looking over the field with me. It was terrifying, what the desire of power could cause. How the mere spirit of something could lead to such uncontained hate and destruction.

“When the King takes his place on the throne, this city will once again be the jewel of middle earth. We will reclaim all the lands of Mordor in the name of Gondor and restore them to their former beauty.”

I laid my head on his shoulder, sighing. My precious Faramir, no mother to quell his father’s rage, no way out of his brother’s shadow (even after his brother was gone), and still he had hope. All he wanted was the best for the people not only of Gondor, but all of middle earth. I wondered what things may have been like if he had been steward instead of his father. When Aragorn was king there would be no better steward than Faramir, of that I was certain; no veelathan blood was needed to see that much.

It was so strange, being back in the city. Despite the battle scars, it felt like the place hadn’t changed since I left. Stone was enduring, the city was built to last. It did not grow or age like a living thing, but it had the heart of one. The people here all treated one another like family, and I had even found the lady who lived beside my father’s home and looked after me when he was called away to the guard. She was old now, but she had led me into her home and handed over what possessions she had kept from my home in the unlikely event of my return.

They were mostly things of my parents: my mother’s dresses, my father’s spare weapons, a portrait of the two of them on their wedding day; small things. I had taken them all and Faramir insisted I keep my things with him. The dresses that had been my mother’s fit me perfectly, and my heart sank when I looked at her wedding dress. These were things that I had refused to think about, and I insisted on focusing on the scene before me.

“I wanted to bring you with me.” I said quietly, straightening up and turning to face Faramir. “When I left. I wanted you and Boromir to come.”

“He never said—”

“I never told him.” I explained, looking down. “He would have said yes, if I’d asked. You both would have. It would have been the most selfish act…Your places were here, in the city.”

He was quiet for a while, tightening his grip on my hand. “We looked for you. Whenever our father was busy we would slip out of the city and ride off looking for you.”

“I was probably half-way to Rivendell.” I remarked lightly in an attempt to curb the aching in my chest.

“After the third month Boromir told me you’d died.” He said gravely, eyebrows furrowing at the memory. “It was only him trying to help, but it gave me horrid nightmares…I never thought I would see you again.”

“I am here now, Faramir.” I smiled weakly, turning to face him and holding both of his hands. “My brave captain of Gondor.”

He smiled, frowning for a moment before pulling me into his arms. I could only imagine what was going through his mind, if he was trying to get as much out of me as possible in case I left again. When I left again. This thought only made me hold on tighter and I prayed that things were different. I prayed that I had not gone meddling with this gift I never wanted and that I was blissfully ignorant to whatever events unfolded in the future.

There was a knock on the door and Faramir went to answer it. I trailed behind him, setting the blanket on his bed. Legolas came in and explained that Gandalf was calling a meeting. I went to follow the elf but Faramir was staying still. Looking at him with confusion, he indulged me in an explanation.

“I have had enough of battle plans to last me a lifetime.”

I nodded, bidding him farewell and following after Legolas. I silently slipped my hand into his, sighing at the fury of thoughts rushing through my head. He led the way up to the King’s hall without a word. I was thankful for his presence as we walked inside the one place I had steered clear of since my return. The throne lay empty and I saw Aragorn glancing at it from the corner of his eye when we first entered. It seemed I was not the only one plagued with disconcerting thoughts.

“Sauron has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping.” Gandalf explained as Legolas and I stood at Aragorn’s side.

“Let him stay there. Let him rot!” Gimli said, seated comfortably at the throne of the steward with a smoking pipe in his mouth. Seeing the place where Denethor had always been carelessly claimed by Gimli made me glad Faramir had not come. He may have been unkind, he may have been bitter and full of sorrow after the death of his wife, but he was still the steward. He was still Faramir’s father. “Why should we care?”

“Because ten thousand orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom.” Gandalf said sternly, staring at the dwarf for a minute before sighing and turning away. “I’ve sent him to his death…”

“No. There’s still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth.” Aragorn said as he took a few steps toward the wizard. “We can give him that.”

“How?” Gimli asked skeptically, ashes from his pipe trickling down into his beard.

“Draw out Sauron’s armies. Empty his lands.” Aragorn explained. He turned to me, an expression on his face that I could not place. “Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate.”

Gimli choked on his pipe and stared wide eyed at this ranger from the north, this son of warriors, this descendant of kings. Aragorn knew about my vision of the Black Gates. Elrond had told me I had my gift for a reason; I wondered if perhaps I was meant to see the vision, meant to share it, so that destiny would be fulfilled and we would go to the Black Gates. Perhaps this all needed to happen so that Frodo could destroy the ring and middle earth could be free.

“We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms.” Éomer said cautiously as Aragorn slowly shook his head.

“Not for ourselves, but we can give Frodo a chance if we keep Sauron’s eye fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves.”

“A diversion.” Legolas nodded, his fingertips subconsciously twitching as if preparing for the battle to come.

“Certainty of death. Small chance of success.” Gimli nodded, huffing out a cloud of smoke. “What are we waiting for?”

“Sauron will suspect a trap.” Gandalf said quietly to Aragorn. “He will not take the bait.”

“Oh, I think he will.” Aragorn said confidently. He had planned this far ahead, telling us all to clear the hall and for Gandalf to leave him with the palantír. He was reluctant at first, knowing full well what the orb had done to Aragorn the last time he’d touched it, but handed the wrapped glass over before we all closed the doors behind us.

The plan was easy enough to understand. We knew the palantír was being used by Sauron to communicate with Saruman, which meant the orb provided a link to the Dark Lord himself. There was one thing Sauron feared next to the destruction of the ring—a thought he, in all likeliness, had yet to even consider—and that was the return of the King.

“Long have you hunted me. Long have I eluded you. No more.”

I had stayed behind while the others dispersed through the city; Éomer rounding up the able bodied of the Rohirrim and Gandalf preparing the men of Gondor. Legolas and Gimli went to help in whichever way they could—although Gimli had made it very clear that if he was to willingly march to the Black Gates to what was most likely his death, he would be helping himself to “A feast of pork and ale and freshly baked bread before I go walking into a Mordor blade.”

My heart was racing as I listened at the door, wondering what Aragorn saw in the palantír. Was it the same glowing eye that I had seen in Edoras? Could he feel the burning flame which surrounded the remaining life force of Sauron?

“Behold the sword of Elendil!”

There were a few moments of silence before the sound of glass hitting the ground and rolling across the floor, followed swiftly by the clanging of metal crashing against stone. I jumped up at the sound, waiting a few more moments before pulling the door open. Aragorn was standing there frozen, eyes glued to the palantír as it came to a stop a few feet to his left. Even when I called him he did not look up at me. This only made me more anxious and I ran up to him, placing my hands on his face and forcing him to meet my eyes.

“What is it, my lord?” I asked quietly, cautiously. “What did you see?”

He looked up at me, his features twisted in a familiar exhibit of fear and disbelief. It was the look he had on his face when I first showed him the vision of what happened to me at the Black Gates. It was the look he had when I gave him Sauron’s vision. It was very possible that in retaliation for Aragorn’s brazen attempt at being the King that Sauron feared the Dark Lord gave him something to fear as well. I dropped my hands, sighing as I picked up the sword of Elendil and held it out for him to take. He absently put it back in its sheath as I wrapped up the palantír and placed it on the steps to the throne. No one would enter here until his return.

I waited for him to lead the way and began to follow, not daring to object as he took my hand in his. He still wore a troubled expression as he entered the tiny quarters he had chosen to reside in, a place meant for someone of no status; meant for a stable girl, like me. He slowly lowered himself onto the bench by the window and gently pulled me down beside him.

We sat quietly for a while and I tried to think of something to say that would take the darkness of death away from us, if only for a moment. Lord Elrond had told me that, no matter what, the visions I had were real. I wondered if perhaps the vision of the child—so clearly a mixture of Aragorn and me—was real in another dimension. A different version of the future where I was a noble and we had met and married. A future that would never happen, but would give me something to hold onto until the very end: and then there was my own future. A bloody end before the Black Gates defending the city I called home and all the people of the world.

They were different lives; of that much I was certain. Maybe if I had never run away I may have lived to see a child, but the path that I had chosen, the path that I was on, I was certain it would end in my death.

“Stay.” He said quietly, pulling me out of my thoughts and tilting my head up to face him. “Stay in the city. Look after the sick and the children. Do not throw your life away so willingly.”

I smiled, resting my fingertips on his cheek and casting down my eyes. “We each have our destiny, Lord Aragorn. One cannot stray when it is an unfavourable path.”

His hand dropped from my face but I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, ignoring the salty taste as my tears found their way to my lips. He sighed heavily as I pulled away.

“Please.” The desperation, so uncharacteristic for him, made my heart heavy. There was nothing I could to, so I kissed him again, placing one hand over his heart and the other behind his neck. He held me, just as anxious to keep me beside him. When I broke away I lay my forehead against his.

“I will follow my King into battle.” I whispered. “To whatever end.”