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Trust To Hope

Chapter 13: Chapter Twelve

by Novedhelion

Trust To Hope - Chapter Twelve
Author: Novedhelion
Type: FP Het
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Pairing: Éomer/Lothíriel aka Anhuil
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Advice on matters of the heart...
Beta: Riyallyn
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, no money to be made...yada,yada, yada.... It’s a mixture of movieverse and book canon...If PJ can make the Mouth of Sauron disappear, I can put a princess in the Houses of Healing....

Anglo Saxon (Rohirric) and Sindarin translations at the bottom - I know it’s not perfect. I am still learning. Hats off to Shawn R. McKee for the translation of the Song of the Mounds of Mundberg and permission to use it! Ic þe þancas do! Other translations are my attempt own attempt...

The character of Eolindë is borrowed from my friend Saelind, with her permission. You can read her story, The Dare, on this site, at this link.

http://www.openscrolls.net/fanfic/authors.php?what=1&no=636&sid=dd4ead3f69dbfe876e3b6ad22020f543


******************
Chapter Twelve
******************


“Love is everything you never knew you always wanted.”
Unknown

*******************************************

Minas Tirith
16 Gwaeron, 3019 T.A.
***************************

Closing the door behind her, Anhuil leaned on it momentarily. Pulling Éomer’s cloak from her shoulders, she hugged it against her, then hung it carefully over hers on the hook. With a deep breath, she went back to work.

Entering a room with a stack of bandages, the princess approached the healer kneeling by one bed. The man in the other bed moaned softly, calling out what seemed to be a name. “Here are the bandages you requested,” Anhuil said softly, laying them on the small table between the beds.

Ladwyn nodded her thanks, working intently to clean a wound on the unconscious patient in front of her. The man behind moaned again, louder this time.

“Is he hurt badly?” the princess inquired, gesturing toward the other patient.

Ladwyn looked up sadly. “Aye,” she answered. “The wound is too grievous. He is calling for his wife, who I’m certain is with the other women and children in Lossanarch.” Both women watched him silently, turning his head from side to side, moaning occasionally.

“There is nothing to be done?” the princess asked her again.

“Nay, I should say he has not much time left,” Ladwyn replied.

“May I speak to him?”

The healer turned again to look up at the princess. “Aye. If there is naught else we can do, then at least he shall not die alone, if you are up to it.”

Anhuil nodded. Were it her father or brother, or Valar forbid, Éomer, she would hope someone would do the same.

Steeling herself, she went to the bedside and knelt beside him. “Maya,” he called out again softly. Taking his bloodied hand in hers, the princess squeezed his gently.

“Maya, is that you? I cannot see you...”

“No, my lord, I am sorry,” the princess told him. “I am not - “

“Maya,” he said softly, a weak smile crossing his face. “I knew you would come.”

The princess glanced helplessly at the healer. “He thinks I am his wife,” she said quietly.

The healer shrugged and went back to her patient. “Do what you can,” she advised softly.

“Maya, I am not long in this world. Already I cannot see you, my beloved, but I feel your hand in mine,” he spoke haltingly.

“Do not speak of it, my lord,” Anhuil answered him.

“No, Maya,” he choked out the words. “I must. Tell...tell Bram how proud I am of him.”

“I will, my lord,” she said softly.

“Tell him...his papa loved him...” Anhuil squeezed his hand. “Maya...”

“I am here,” she whispered, blinking back her own tears.

“My sword...where is my sword?”

“He is asking for his sword,” the princess whispered to Ladwyn.

“At the foot of the bed, dear,” the healer answered quietly.

“Here it is,” Anhuil told him. Drawing it from the sheath, she placed the hilt in his hand.

Gripping it with one hand, he held hers tightly with the other. “I love you, my darling Maya. Know that my last thoughts as I go to my kindred are of you, my love,” he said softly, the last words fading into a whisper. The tight grip on the princess’s hand loosed abruptly, his breathing stilled.

Anhuil sat for a few moments, trying to gather splintered emotions. He was dead. How many more had died with the same thoughts, of their loved ones? How many more would still die from the wounds received? Gently releasing his hand and placing it on his breast, she pulled the coverlet up over his face and turned to Ladwyn.

“He is gone, Ladwyn,” she managed, her voice cracking slightly.

The healer stood and faced her. “What you did was honorable, Anhuil,” she told her.

“I did nothing honorable,” the princess said, disgusted. “The man thought I was his wife. I lied to him.”

Ladwyn placed her hands on her shoulders. “What you did was allow the man to die in peace. He has been calling for his wife all night. He was in tremendous pain, girl, and yet he refused to give in until he could have his say with his loved ones. You allowed him to let go. You can pass his message on to his wife, and know that you helped at least one soldier die with some dignity and grace. You have a gift, if not for healing bodies at least for healing spirits. Do not discount that as dishonorable.”

Anhuil nodded, brushing back her tears.

“Now, why do you not put that gift of yours to use? There are others here who would benefit from your compassion.”

With a last glance back at the man on the cot, the princess stepped into the hall and down to the next room.

She continued visiting patients most of the day, holding hands, listening to tales. Some of the patients would not recover, despite the best efforts of the healers. “It is all part of the pattern the Valar weave,” Ioreth had told her. “You must not take to heart the ones you cannot save. It is their time.”

The princess had peeked on Éowyn, amazed at the White Lady’s resilience. She had spoken to her, briefly, when bringing her a bowl of broth to sip, but had not stayed long. She did discover that unlike her brother, his fair sister had beautiful sparkling pale blue-grey eyes. They did, however, share the same mischievous smile.

Late in the afternoon she ducked into the room where her cousin sat in bed, lamenting his situation.

“I should not be here,” he complained. “I have duties to be attending to. My men need me, and here I sit with naught but a scratch on the shoulder. I should be -“

“Faramir, you were near death when they brought you here,” his cousin chided gently. “You will be released soon enough to attend your duties. The Warden sees no reason you cannot be up and about in a few days.”

“A few days?” the ranger exclaimed.

“Gently, cousin, or he may see fit to keep you longer, just to soften your attitude,” the princess reprimanded with a smile.

Faramir laughed softly. “What are you doing here, Ani?”

“That, dear cousin, is a tale that would be entirely too long in telling for today. Suffice it to say that most likely when I do see Ada I will be deserving of the most austere tongue lashing I have received since we got into his wine cellar that last summer you and Boromir visited us,” she responded with a light laugh.

Faramir laughed as well, taking her hand in his. “I am glad you are here, Ani. Familiar faces are always heartening, but seeing my kin truly lightens my spirit.”

The princess smiled, squeezing his hand in return. “I must be about my duties here, Faramir. Please do not mention to Ioreth who I am. I am afraid if she knew, she would not allow me to stay.”

The ranger cocked his head to one side. “Do you believe she has not recognized you? I fear you give her too little credit. But as you wish, I will remain silent on the matter.”

“I will come and see you tomorrow, cousin. Hodo vae, cousin.” Releasing his hand, she stood and walked to the door, stepping quietly into the corridor.

Other healers moved in and out of rooms, up and down the hallway. Anhuil noticed one who seemed much younger than the rest, younger than even she was. Her long blonde hair pulled back from her face, moved about purposefully, as one who knew what needed to be done and did it. As she passed the princess in the hall, she glanced up, seemingly as surprised as the princess to find another young woman among the healers. She smiled briefly; her grey eyes tired, and nodded a quick greeting as she hurried off into another patient’s room.

Anhuil watched her disappear into a room. Leaning on a wall, she impatiently blew her hair from her eyes. Ioreth stepped into the hallway and ambled to where the princess stood. “May I have a word, girl?” she asked, motioning to the door that led outside.

The princess followed her, stepping out into the cool midday air, breathing deeply. The smell of smoke was still heavy in the breeze, but the city was unusually quiet. The women and children that had been evacuated had yet to return, and most of the soldiers were at their posts.

“The Warden has asked me to thank you for your assistance these last days,” Ioreth told her.

“I fear I was not much help to you, knowing as little as I do about healing,” the princess admitted.

“Healing is as much about the heart as it is knowledge of tending wounds, my dear. Most of us do not have time to hold the hands of the sick and dying and listen as they speak last words. That this duty fell to you is not surprising to me, as you have ever had a way with folk.”

The old woman studied her, waiting for a reaction to what she had said. The princess simply stared at her, open mouthed.

“Did you not think I knew who you were, Princess? Did you think me such a blind old woman I would not remember all the times you dragged your bleeding brothers and cousins to my doorstep after some childhood mishap?”

“I am sorry, Ioreth, I never meant to try to deceive you. I just thought that-“

“You thought that if I knew you were Imrahil’s daughter that I would not allow you to help. Well, girl, if Mithrandir thought it important to send you to me rather than tell you to hide your head under a bed in the Citadel, then who am I to argue?”

The princess sighed her relief. “Thank you, Ioreth, for allowing me to help. I would have felt so useless confined to the Citadel.” She looked up toward the White Tower, gasping in surprise.

The silver swan ship on a field of blue sea blew in the breeze above the Tower. “That is the banner of Dol Amroth,” she stammered.

“Yes, girl. Your father has been appointed temporary regent over this city until your cousin is well enough to take his position as Steward.”

“My father is at the Citadel?”

“Yes, Lothíriel. Did you not know?”

“Ioreth, I...I have not seen Ada in several weeks. I...left home, just before all of this began. Over a month ago.” She stared up at the flag, flapping in the breeze.

“Whatever for, girl?”

Turning back to the older woman, she leveled her gaze at her. “He arranged my marriage.”

“This is not uncommon, Lothíriel. You know that.”

“I do, Ioreth, but this man...he is not who Ada thinks he is. He is...he is...”

“He is not your soldier of Rohan, is he?” Ioreth leaned on the stone pillar at the corner of the door.

Anhuil shook her head slowly.

Ioreth nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Go and talk to your father, girl. From what I remember of the prince, he is a reasonable man.”

“He is going to be so angry with me,” she muttered, half to herself.

“Considering the circumstances, my dear, I think he will be more pleased that you are alive. Go, now. Gather your things and go.”

They stepped back inside, Anhuil collecting her weapon and cloak, folding the cloak Éomer had left her over her arm.

“Tell Faramir I will check on him tomorrow,” she called out as she moved toward the door.

“I shall,” Ioreth answered.

“And if Éomer should return, Ioreth, please do not tell him where I am. This is complicated enough. I promise I will explain it all to him when I next see him.”

“Fair enough, girl. Now go.”

“Hannon le, Ioreth.”

“Glassen, Your Highness.”

Bounding up the hill toward the gate, Anhuil slipped into a side entrance of the Citadel, and made her way to her chambers. If she had to face her father, she’d best do it cleaned up and properly dressed. The Valar help her if she showed up in a ratty, bloodied tunic and trousers.

After a quick bath, she slipped into a gown. Her curls had not yet grown out, and could only be braided back from the sides. A cursory glance in the mirror confirmed what she already knew. The Prince of Dol Amroth would not be at all pleased with his daughter’s appearance.

That would be the least of her worries.

********

Imrahil sat in a small antechamber, reading a missive from one of the couriers. A servant approached, bowing humbly.

“Your Highness,” he said quietly, “there is someone here to see you.”

“Oh?” Imrahil looked up, rolling the scroll and laying it on his lap. “And who might that be?”

“Ada?” Her soft voice echoed in the quiet room.

Imrahil stared, the small figure near the door standing perfectly still. The servant slipped out as she entered.

“Ada? It is me,” she called out, walking slowly toward him.

The prince stood, staring in disbelief. The scroll fell from his lap. “Lothíriel? Is it truly you?”

Quickening her pace, she nearly ran to him, throwing herself into his arms. Imrahil embraced her tightly. “Hannon i Valar, girl. I thought...”

“Naethen, Ada,” she choked.

“Gods, Lothíriel. I have been beside myself!”

She looked up at her father. “I thought you would be angry with me.”

“I was,” he said, nodding. “I was irate when I discovered you had left.” The princess lowered her gaze. “I had no idea you would react in such a manner to my arranging your marriage.”

“I am sorry, Ada. I might have taken it better had I known to expect such a thing, but you had always told me I could marry when I was ready. And then...”

“I realize, Lothíriel, that I was quick to make a decision I should have at least warned you about. Fenwick came out of nowhere with this proposal, and I agreed without your consent.”

“Which you had every right to do, Ada, but...”

“Mardil Fenwick has been most upset at your disappearance, Princess.”

“He cares not for me. He only wants the status of being married to a princess.”

“That is not fair, Lothíriel. The man has been quite distressed since you left. He has not yet left Dol Amroth. He would not even leave to come here when we left for battle, saying he should be there in case his betrothed returned home.”

Anhuil’s brow furrowed. “He stayed in Dol Amroth? He did not come to fight?”

“No,” Imrahil repeated. “He felt at least one should stay behind to await your return.”

The princess was shocked. “He still intends to go through with our marriage?”

Imrahil chuckled. “Did you think to rid yourself of him so easily?”

“I suppose not,” she admitted. “One can always hope,” she said with a smirk.

“I think it best if you were to return to Dol Amroth tomorrow and spend time getting to know your betrothed. Your brother will be going to act as regent while I am here. There are still matters to attend to here in the White City and I must remain.”

“Can I not remain here as well?”

“No, Lothíriel. It is not safe here. Besides, your brother will need your assistance.”

“It is not safe anywhere, Father! Do not forget I have taken care of myself quite well for the last several weeks. I am no child to be sent home when the game gets too rough. Elphir can handle matters - “

“I am not sending Elphir,” Imrahil stated firmly. “I am sending Amrothos.”

Anhuil stepped back, surprised by her father’s declaration. “Amrothos? Why?”

Imrahil drew his lips into a tight line. He was not about to tell his only daughter about their plan to march on the Black Gates of Mordor, and that he truly did not expect to return. “Decisions have been made, Lothíriel. You will not question them.”

Her head snapped around, her eyes narrowed. “Just as in the case of my betrothal?”

Imrahil’s soft grey eyes hardened. “Girl, do not get cheeky with me. This is something I need you to do. Amrothos will need you as well. And Valesa will certainly appreciate your company. She has been much help in running the household but I fear she does not care at all for most matters of the court. Please do as I ask. Prepare whatever things you have with you for departure two days hence. You will ride with your brother to Osgiliath, where the Admiral will meet you. From there you will sail with Merric. I am certain Mardil will be most pleased to see you. Do you understand?”

Anhuil bit her lip, trying desperately to hold her tongue. Leaving Minas Tirith meant leaving any chance of seeing Éomer again. Blinking back the tears that stung her eyes, she held her head high. “I apologize for my impertinence. Yes, Ada. I understand. But what of the battle? Certainly it is not over. The enemy was driven back, yes, but for how long?”

Rolling his eyes, Imrahil silently wished he had a daughter less interested in matters of state. “The leaders of men have held counsel on that matter. “Leave that to us to decide, Lothíriel. Such things are not for a princess to concern herself with.”

“And what should I concern myself with, Ada? I am to sit back and plan my wedding as if nothing is wrong? How will that aid our people should things go ill?”

Imrahil’s grey eyes met his daughter’s deep green, so much like his beloved wife’s had been. So much like her mother, he thought. Not easily distracted once her mind was set. And not one to have her concerns lightly brushed aside. “Your marriage will be postponed until this threat is over,” he told her. “If things indeed go afoul, then the decisions will rest with your brother, Amrothos. I think no more need be said on this subject.” He stepped toward her, his hands on her shoulders as she stood with her arms crossed. “Lothíriel,” he said softly, “I am so grateful you are safe. I want to know all about where you have been and how you came to be here. But this is not the time. There are urgent matters that must be attended to here.”

Anhuil held her father’s gaze. Uncrossing her arms, she fell into his embrace. “I will do as you ask, Ada,” she said resignedly. “I should be happy to see Cam, at least. I am sorry for the grief I have caused you. Goheno nín, saes.”

Imrahil held her tighter. “Ú-moe edaved.” He released her, trying his best to smile. “Now go. The King of the Mark has fallen in battle and I must see to it that he is laid in state with proper honor.” He turned toward the door.

Staring after him, the princess covered her mouth with her hand. Éomer’s king, dead. Her father looked back at her quizzically. “What is it, Lothíriel?”

Quickly regaining her composure, she squared her shoulders. “It is just that I did not know the King of the Mark had fallen. I am grieved to hear that any of our allies fell, but it must be disheartening to their soldiers to lose their king.”

Imrahil’s mouth drew into a tight line. “Indeed it is,” he told her. “But the king’s heir will lead them well, I am sure. Come now. You look as though you have not rested in days and there are things I must see to. We will dine together this evening, your brothers will join us. Take some rest now.” He led her gently from the study and into the hall, kissing her on the cheek, and moving off toward the great hall.

********

Minas Tirith
17 Gwaeron, 3019 T.A.
****************************

Anhuil awoke to a grey dawn. The city was still unusually quiet. Rising from the bed she stretched, walking toward the window of her chamber. Shoving open the wooden shutters, she stared out at the darkened sky. A scowl crossed her face. She was beginning to wonder if the sun would ever shine again.

In her chambers, the princess quickly dressed, selecting a clean cotton frock and her boots. She would have preferred the leggings but at least this mode of dress was more akin to what the women in the House of Healing wore. Slipping out of her chamber, she walked quietly down the hall.

As she passed the entrance to the main hall, she peered around the corner. There before the dais had been laid King Théoden, covered with a cloth of gold. His sword lay unsheathed upon the covering and his shield at his feet.

Anhuil watched from a side entrance as a young woman entered from the main door, walking slowly to the front of the bier. Bowing before the king, she began to sing quietly.

We hierdon þara horna on þæm hrindge
beogrum þæm sweorda scinde on þæm suð-cynerice.
Stedas gongdon eodon to þæm morgena.
Wig wæs onælde.
þær Þéoden feoll, Þéngling mihtig,
to his goldselum, and grenum læsum
on þæm Noreð feldum næfre gecierran,
þara hlaford heapa....

Her soft voice trailed off. The princess stood silently, listening to the words she did not understand, but recognized as the language of the Rohirrim. Kneeling before the bier, the young woman bowed again and stood, her shoulders straight. “Hlaford ac Cyningmín, restest nú arlice freod binnan se hus fæders eower.” The girl stood a moment longer, then turned, surprised to see the princess at the door.

Anhuil smiled, recognizing her as the younger woman she had seen in the Houses of Healing. “Who are you?” the girl asked her. “I saw you in the Houses earlier.”

“I am Anhuil,” the princess answered.

The blonde girl looked the princess over appraisingly but with a slight smile, taking in the dark hair and coloring. “You are not of the Éothéod,” she observed.

The princess smiled. “No, I am not. Dol Amroth is my home.”

“A woman of the sea,” she observed, a slight smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Éolindë, I am called, daughter of Telmenir of the Southfold. Do you come to pay respects to our king?”

Nodding, the princess walked slowly to the dais, kneeling before the king, bowing her head in silent prayer. “Tego le i Melian le na mar,” she said softly, before rising to her feet. She turned to Eolindë. “I am not familiar with the customs of Rohan in such matters. I apologize for my ignorance.”

“Do not apologize, my friend,” the young woman responded. “I am equally ignorant of the customs of Gondor. And of the language.”

The two exchanged smiles, walking slowly toward the arched doorway. “It seems we could learn much from each other, Eolindë,” the princess stated as the guards creaked open the heavy doors to allow the women passage. “You are a healer? You are very young.”

“Yes,” Eolindë answered. “My family would have much preferred I choose another path, but this is the one my feet are upon and I will not falter. What about you?”

“I am no healer,” the princess admitted. “I was trying to help where I could. I fear I did little but fold bandages and hold hands.”

“Healers cannot do their duty if they are not supplied with what they need. And touching the dying is often as important as saving lives,” Eolindë said flatly. “It is not always something we healers can do, as our focus is upon the living. Do not discount the gift that the small comfort of a hand to hold is to a dying man.”

“You are wise beyond your years, Eolindë,” Anhuil commented.

Eolindë laughed softly. “Only of some things.”

The women walked in silence for a moment. “Eolindë, did you ever meet your king, or any of his kin?”

Halting her steps, the healer looked curiously at the princess. “I have visited Edoras a few times. I was there when my brother swore his oath as a knight of the Mark, and my uncle supplies monscinan to Edoras.”

“Monscinan?”

“I believe your word for it is silith.”

Anhuil giggled slightly. “Silith? The appeal is universal, I see.” Both women laughed softly.

Eolindë continued. “I never met king’s kin, although the Lady Éowyn did inspire me to learn to fight.” Anhuil noticed the sword that hung at her side. “But I am a healer at heart, and I will only fight if necessary.” She strode slowly to the edge of the bridge before the Citadel, leaning her elbows on the stone rail. She paused, taking a deep breath. “Anhuil,” she asked finally, “this may sound a trifle silly, but I have no sister and no other women close to my age with which to speak. May I ask you a question?”

“Certainly you may ask,” the princess answered, “and I will try to answer.”

“What do you know of love?” Anhuil was a bit taken aback at the question. While trying to formulate her response, Eolindë continued. “I thought I was in love with someone, but he did not return my affections.” Nodding sympathetically, she encouraged the girl to continue. “But there is another. Someone close to me. A friend. I think he may have feelings for me.” Her grey eyes stared off into the distance, across the Pelennor.

“You think? Has he kissed you?” Anhuil grinned mischievously.

Eolindë smiled shyly. “Yes.”

“And?”

“It made me feel...tingly and safe, at the same time. But I am afraid.” She turned to face the princess.

“Afraid of what?”

“I do not know,” Eolindë answered. “My father fell fighting with the Rohirrim. My twin brother rode with Faramir to Osgiliath, and was grievously wounded. I have lost so many friends, both Rohirrim and Gondorian. Men I cared for, men I sparred with. I was in the House of Healing, treating the wounded. I have closed the eyes of many to this life. I have seen more death in the past few days than in all my life before. I am afraid to feel, lest I lose another I care for.”

Weighing her answer carefully, Anhuil smiled at the younger woman. “Eolindë, I am no expert on matters of the heart. But I fail to see how being in love with one’s best friend could ever be a mistake. Who better to spend your life with than someone with whom you already have common ground? You cannot let the death of others rob you of your own life, healer or no. I, too, was in the Houses, and held the hands of many of the dying. You cannot allow your fear of the future to rule your present, Eolindë. Do not shun possible happiness in favor of complacency. If love be not reason enough to take a risk, than what is? Do you love him?”

“I do not know,” she answered honestly. “I fear I might. How do I know?”

Anhuil’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “You will know, Eolindë. When he is the first thing you think of when your eyes open at daybreak and the last thing you think of before they close at night, when you find yourself thinking of him at odd times during the day, or when you have a bit of good news and the first person you want to tell is him...you will know.”

“It all seems like such nonsense, when I think about it. I mean, how can I be in love with a man I have known my whole life?”

“Think not with this,” she said, tapping the girl’s forehead. “Think with this.” She lightly tapped the healer’s chest. “Do not try to reason with love, Eolindë. It will defy you at every turn.”

Eolindë chuckled. Anhuil had the feeling it was not something she did often of late. “You sound as if you speak from experience, Anhuil.”

Forcing a smile and swallowing the lump in her throat, the princess raised her gaze to the grey eyes of the healer. “Let us just say that you should count yourself fortunate to be able to make this decision for yourself.”

Eolindë gave her a puzzled look, to which the princess only responded with a silent smile.

“Eolindë! I have searched everwhere for you!” The handsome young man called out, loping up to where the women stood.

“Díor!” Eolindë appeared surprised, but Anhuil could not help but notice the sudden unintentional brightening of her soft grey eyes.

The young man bowed politely to the princess. “Begging your pardon, miss, but Eolindë is needed in the Houses.” He turned back to the healer. “Your brother is awake, and he is asking for you.”

‘Awake? Eored is awake? Herigean Béma!” She turned to Anhuil. “I must go.”

“Of course,” the princess agreed. “I was headed there myself to check on a few patients. We can go together.”

“Come on, Eolindë! He is most anxious to see you.” Díor took her hand, pulling her down the street. Anhuil wondered if the smile on the girl’s face was from the good news about her brother, or from the young man holding her hand. With a sigh, she followed them down to the Houses of Healing.

Eolindë and Díor ran ahead to the House. The princess walked along at a leisurely pace, her boot heels clicking on the flagstone paving. Arriving at her destination, she swung open the heavy door and headed for the room where her cousin had lain. She pushed the door open gently, only to discover he was not in the bed. Her heart skipping a beat, she searched the rooms until she located Ioreth.

“Where is my cousin, Ioreth? Where is Faramir?”

A knarled hand was placed on her shoulder. “Rest easy, dear girl. He is well. The Warden allowed him some time up from his bed, and he had chosen to walk in the gardens. You may find him there.”

“Thank you,” she grinned, bolting back out the doors and toward the garden. Rounding a corner in the path, she halted abruptly. Standing in the sun was Faramir, speaking softly with a woman. Anhuil grinned. She could not see the face of the maiden but her hair fell like a cascade of flaxen silk, in loose waves. She did not need to see her to know that it was the Lady Éowyn. Not wishing to interrupt, she slipped back out of the garden and toward the Citadel.

“Anhuil!”

Turning sharply at the sound of her name, the princess came face to face with Eolindë.

“I wanted to thank you, Anhuil. You have given me much to think about.”

“You are welcome, Eolindë. I do hope soon our paths will cross again.”

“You will be at the Houses, will you not?” the young woman asked.

Anhuil shook her head. “I am sorry, Eolindë, but I have been called home to Dol Amroth. I will be leaving on the morrow, at first light.”

“That is sad news,” Eolindë said forlornly. “I had so hoped we could become friends.”

“I believe we have,” the princess answered. The women exchanged smiles.

“I wish I could repay you for the kind words,” Eolindë said.

Anhuil thought for a moment. “Tell me something, Eolindë. How do you say ‘I love you’ in Rohirric?”

“Ic freonde ge,” Eolindë answered. “Why?”

“I was curious. I love languages,” she answered innocently.

“Would that you were going to be here longer, I could teach you much,” the girl told her.

“I will have to take you up on that on my next visit, Healer,” the princess teased. “Take care of your twin. And your soldier.”

“Wes ðu hâl, Anhuil,” the healer said, holding out her hands. “Be thou well.”

“Namarië, mellonmin,” the princess answered in her own language, grasping the girls hands in her own. “Farewell, my friend.”


“Two may talk together under the same roof for many years, yet never really meet; and two others at first speech are old friends."
- Mary Catherwood


Translations (Those not given in the story)

Hannon le - Thank you
Seasamin - my pleasure
Hannon i Valar - Thank the Valar
Naethen - I am sorry
Tinumin - my daughter
Goheno nín, saes - forgive me, please
Ú-moe edaved, Tinumin - There is nothing to forgive, my daughter

(The Song of the Mounds of Mundberg translated in to OE by Shawn R. McKee, used with permission)

We hierdon þara horna on þæm hrindge
beogrum þæm sweorda scinde on þæm suð-cynerice.
Stedas gongdon eodon to þæm morgena.
Wig wæs onælde.
þær Þéoden feoll, Þéngling mihtig,
to his goldselum, and grenum læsum
on þæm Noreð feldum næfre gecierran,
þara hlaford heapa.

We heard of the horns in the hills ringing
the swords shining in the South-kingdom
Steeds went striding to the Stoningland
as wind in the morning. War was kindled.
There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty
to his golden halls and green pastures
in the Northern fields never returning,
high lord of the host.


“Hlaford ac Cyningmín, restest nú arlice freod binnan se hus fæders eower.
My lord and king, rest now honorably in peace in the house of your fathers.

Tego le i Melian le na mar - May the Valar carry you home

monscinan/sillith - contrived words - meaning moonshine

Herigean Bema - Praise Bema!

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Chapter name
Chapter Twelve
Created
06 Feb 2004
Last Edited
06 Feb 2004
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