It was a slow, laborious process, attempting to clean up the aftermath of the attack on Minas Ithil. Eldarion could not help but find it ironic that it could take so much time and effort to build up a city...only to have it all fair near destroyed overnight. The battering rams, ballistas, and catapults of the Easterlings had smashed parapets, crushed walls, and toppled buildings. Broken stones, splintered wood, and all assortment of rubble filled the streets, and every which way a person turned it seemed there was some new debris to trip over. A fine film of white dust floated stubbornly in the air for nearly four days after the siege, only settling out completely after a brief evening rainstorm.
So much of the progress which Elboron and Eruthiawen and their folk had made on remaking Minas Ithil had been lost. The people of the Vale were undaunted though. Fewer lives than one might guess had been lost in the siege, largely thanks to Elboron's quick action in bringing all civilians inside the citadel. Eruthiawen was already hard at work on designs to reconstruct the damaged portions of the city, taking into account structural losses which could not be fully salvaged. The Lady of the Vale worked over blueprints and sketches from dawn till dusk, Barahir nestled securely in the crook of her arm and Mistress Eidith begging her to please go and lie down every once in a while.
Meanwhile, there was more than enough for everyone to do down in the city. Women and children worked at gathering up the smaller pieces of rubble and depositing them into a growing quarry pile in the main square. As much as could be reused by the stonemasons would be, and the rest would be ground down for repairing the road through the vale. The men and strong youths meanwhile were tasked with reinforcing those structures which could be preserved, and safely collapsing those which could not. Eldarion and his men were tasked with bringing down one such building; an apothecary which had lost two out of four walls and now stood lilting at a dangerous angle into the street. Under the guidance of a pair of master carpenters and stonemasons, they were in the process of removing as much of the remaining structure as possible before taking sledgehammers to the far side of the foundation.
Crowbar in hand, Eldarion levered the final corner of a window sill out from its cracked stone setting. Glass was expensive, and so salvaging intact windows was a must. Malbeth and two others were ready, and together the four of them managed to get the thing out without breaking any of the twelve panes. Moving carefully in unison, they carried the window across the street and handed it off to women with canvas tarps who would see their delicate package safely wrapped.
"Ahhhh...for being so thin and pretty, glass has no right to weigh as much as it does," groaned Hallas as he straightened up.
"Could be worse," Malbeth, ever the optimist, pointed out. "We could be with Ohtar and King Aragorn trying to drag the rubble from the bridge out of the stream."
Imagining that damp, frustrating work - even with the help of teams of horses and tow-ropes - made Eldarion somewhat less inclined to groan when he looked back to the apothecary and counted at least six windows still remaining in the wreck. Repairing the main bridge into Minas Tirith was a task which took fairly high priority; until some manner of replacement could be fashioned, getting in and out of the city involved either picking one's way across half-submerged pieces of the old bridge...or floating across on a makeshift ferry.
With so much to do and so little time for anything but eating and sleeping at the end of each work-packed day, Eldarion had yet to speak more than ten words to Galieth. It was not entirely by design; there just always seemed to be other people about whenever the two of them came face-to-face. Eldarion had tried to ask her for a moment in private yesterday evening, but even after she had agreed that moment had simply failed to present itself. What Eldarion intended to say to Galieth, he still was not entirely sure. He had been so off-kilter following the events of The Black House, the memory of the days immediately after was beginning to blur into something of a hazy dream. Eldarion remembered the relief he had felt at weeping in Galieth's arms; only after that had the world begun to feel 'real' to him again. He also remembered the soft, almost desperate whisper of her voice when she told him that she loved him. If nothing else, as his father had said, he owed Galieth his honesty after such an encounter. What his honest feelings about her were though...
He was stalling. Realizing as much brought Eldarion a sudden burst of determination. Jogging to catch up to Malbeth, he caught the other man by the arm to get his attention.
"Can you replace me for a minute, Malbeth? There is something that I must do."
"Of course, Captain. We can handle the rest of the windows without any trouble." Malbeth looked Eldarion over from head to toe, covered in stone dust and wearing work-worn clothes as he was. "I would say you look dashing, but lying to my liege lord is hardly good form."
Eldarion's eyebrows shot up. "Dashing?"
Malbeth shrugged innocently. "I may only be a year your senior, but I know the look when a man is thinking of a woman. You'd hardly be the first to take a chance in love after a near-brush with death." With a wave, he summoned another man over to take Eldarion's place on the window crew. "Go on, we have things managed here. "
"...Thank you, Malbeth."
Eldarion was nearly halfway across the street - taking care to stay outside the barriers which had been put in place before the apothecary was collapsed - when Malbeth called after him.
"Good luck to you, Captain!"
Several heads turned curiously at Malbeth's call, and Eldarion had to beat a rather hasty retreat, his ears warm. Looking down, he realized that he could indeed stand to be tidied up at least a little bit. There was a bucket of rainwater sitting on a barrel at the next corner, and Eldarion took a moment to stop and at least wash his hands and face. If he recalled correctly, Galieth and Almárëa were helping the women clear rubble from the outermost circle. Following the streets past crews of soldiers and citizens alike, Eldarion tried to be inconspicuous. Many still noticed and recognized him though, and many raised voices and hands in greeting.
There was certainly the most damage in the Circle of Twilight, and it was difficult to imagine finding a single person amidst all the disarray. Work crews buzzed this way and that like little clusters of honeybees, all bent to the task of repairing their hive. Eldarion was beginning to wonder if perhaps it wouldn't be better to just wait until later that evening to speak to Galieth when a familiar, long plait of raven-black hair caught the corner of his eye.
Galieth was at the end of a side-street, kneeling to sweep up dust and rocks into a near-full basket. Other women were similarly engaged nearby, although Eldarion did not see Almárëa. A knotted kerchief kept Galieth's hair back off her face, and she wore a wide apron and simple smock with the sleeves rolled back. Simple garb for honest work, and it suited her. Tipping her pebble-filled tray into the basket, Galieth clapped the dust from her hands before straightening up. She had not yet noticed Eldarion, two blocks away on the main thoroughfare as he was.
If he could survive Serthîk and The Black House, he could survive the fluttering nest of butterflies inside his chest. Closing the distance between them with long, straight strides, Eldarion walked right up to Galieth in front of all the other women working in the street.
"May I have a word?"
"...Of course, Your Majesty."
Once, Galieth might have startled to have Eldarion suddenly materialize in front of her. A pink bloom rose in her cheeks, but her expression remained blank - almost studiously so - as she dipped in a quick curtsy. Stray strands of coal black hair escaped from her braid to stick to the sides of her neck and face, leaving streaks in the light coat of dust powdering her skin. Bringing down ruined buildings was hard work, but neither did Eldarion envy the women and children their endless back-breaking labour.
Eldarion hesitated, unsure exactly where to begin. So much of what he was feeling was difficult to put into words. Galieth waited patiently at first, but when the silence between them began to lengthen, she bit her lip uncertainly. Then, unable to bear the tension anymore, she began to speak herself...just as Eldarion finally found his tongue.
"I am not-"
"There is-"
"Oh! My apologies..."
"No no, go on! Please!"
A small huff of breath escaped Galieth in what might have been a soft chuckle. She looked down, fiddling with her hands. She may not have been a classical beauty, Eldarion thought, but the straight, aquiline features, the dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks, and the callouses on her palms - evidence of a huntresses' bowstring - spoke to the Dúnedain blood within him. There was something else now too. When Galieth looked up, she met Eldarion's gaze straight on, unflinching and with great dignity. Gone too was the bashful stuttering which Eldarion had come to associate with conversations between the two of them. Her voice instead came soft, yes, and laden with unspoken emotion, but also with understanding. This was the voice that Eldarion remembered from the aftermath of The Black House, asking him if he was alright with such infinite gentleness that his inner defenses had utterly given way.
"My lord...you need not say anything. I apologize for the timing of what I said; you were in a vulnerable state, and I allowed my own feelings to outweigh yours." Galieth lifted her chin, and the cloudy sunlight overhead caught the sparkle of an unshed teardrop clinging to her lashes. "I spoke the truth when I told you that I love you, Eldarion, son of Aragorn, and to that I hold. My heart holds no sway over yours though...you owe me nothing."
Eldarion was taken aback. No doubt taking his silence as confirmation, Galieth looked away to gaze at the disheveled city around them.
"It is enough for me to see you whole and restored, after all that has fallen the House of Telcontar these past days. I am pledged to your sisters' service, and so gladly I will remain here in Gondor until all has been put back to rights. Once Minas Ithil is restored though, I will beg Queen Arwen and Princess Almárëa for their leave to return to Annúminas. My heart yearns for the clear waters and whispering pines of the north, and no doubt my brothers will be missing me. Besides..." Galieth flashed Eldarion a bittersweet smile. "I have always found myself best suited to the company of wild things."
Bending down, Galieth took hold of her basket of rubble. With a strength that defied her narrow frame, she hefted the basket up to balance against one hip. Galieth bowed her head to Eldarion...then turned away, making her way back toward the main road with the weight of her heavy burden. She walked tall though, and she did not look back.
Oblivious to the stares of the other women in the street, Eldarion stood watching Galieth walk away from him. For some reason, it was the sight of her leaving that revealed Eldarion's own heart to himself. If he knew nothing else, he knew that he did not want Galieth to go. And so, casting doubt and delay aside once and for all, Eldarion ran after her.
"Galieth...wait!"
Slowed as she was by her basket of stones, he caught up to Galieth in a matter of seconds. When she turned to look back, there was confusion in her face, but also hope, however fleeting and unspoken.
"I..." It occurred to Eldarion then that it was he, not Galieth, who lacked all finesse in the language of the heart. "Galieth...I have no skill in such matters as these. An elk or a bear from the woods of Annúminas would probably be far better at making their intentions known, in fact. Or at least, less likely to make a muddle of things...like I'm doing right now... The truth is that I'm not like Sufyan, or Elboron, or my father, to whom the art of romance seems to come as easily as breathing. I just..." Eldarion cast about desperately, looking for something meaningful which he might say or do to convey the emotions which surged about inside him. "Will you not stay, Galieth? Please? You make me feel..." Finally, the words he had been looking for all along came to him, like the first green of spring emerging from a field of snow. "You make me feel like I'm enough, just as I am."
"...And am I enough for you, Eldarion? Just as I am?" Galieth asked, very quietly, blinking rapidly even as a single tear escaped to paint a track through the dust on her cheek.
"Si ar'ui." (Now and always)
Galieth began to cry, but her tears were not of sorrow. Standing there, in the middle of the street surrounded by dust and debris and curious eyes, Eldarion and Galieth beheld one another not for what the world saw them to be, but for who they really were. Then, Eldarion noticed that the shaking in Galieth's arms was not just because she herself was trembling, but because of the weight of the stones in her basket.
"May I carry that for you?" he asked.
With a half-choked laugh, Galieth nodded, passing over her heavy burden to Eldarion's waiting hands. The sudden weight of the basket nearly made Eldarion stagger, and Galieth had to catch him by the elbow before he fell over.
"I may have over-filled it..." she admitted sheepishly.
With some fumbling and renegotiation, Eldarion and Galieth tried again, this time each gripping a handle with the basket carried between them. Together, they set out down the street, stealing sideways glances at one another and reveling in the discovery of what might yet be. Between them no vows nor promises of undying love had been spoken, and this somehow made their hearts even lighter still. There was only the happiness of shared company and the promise of tomorrow's unknown, to be discovered together for good or ill. And so the two of them joined the throng of humanity bustling throughout Minas Ithil's streets; one young couple - walking side-by-side among many - in a wide, wide world.
OoOoO
"It seems you were right after all, Almárëa."
Turning away from watching the street where Eldarion and Galieth had stood, Almárëa leaned back against the door jamb and smiled.
"You had doubts?"
Similarly leaning against the other side of the shoemakers's doorstep, clad in rough work clothes, Elfwine folded his arms and tossed his head toward the women rushing to and fro, exclaiming to one another over what they had just seen. By nightfall the rumors of the prince and the lady-in-waiting would be flying thick and fast.
"Not in you, O All-Knowing One. But Eldarion did have me wondering for a while there. He's always been so passive when it comes to women, even when we took him out drinking for his coming-of-age. Once you decided he and Galieth were a match though, I should have known it was only a matter of time."
Taking a bite of one of the apples which Elfwine had 'borrowed' from the tower kitchens, Almárëa chewed thoughtfully for a minute before answering.
"Contrary to popular belief, I am not 'all-knowing'...nor do I have the power to bend the world and everyone in it to my will."
Elfwine chuckled. "No, but that Foresight of yours does tilt life's playing field to your advantage a fair bit."
Almárëa wrinkled her nose. "An advantage which only remains so long as people do not know about it. So I'll thank you to keep that knowledge between us, Elfwine. Well..." Almárëa paused to correct herself. "Between us and my parents, of course."
With the utmost gravity, Elfwine held up one hand and laid the other over his heart. "My lips are sealed."
There was still something gnawing at Elfwine though, if his habitual gnawing at the corner of his mustache was any sign. Almárëa let him keep his thoughts unspoken for a little while longer before finally cocking an eyebrow at him.
"I can hear you thinking all the way from here, Elfwine."
Elfwine flashed a good-natured wince, but the slightly tense set of his shoulders did not relax. He cleared his throat, no doubt an only half-successful attempt to cover the apprehension in his voice.
"Does your Foresight show you if Dagmar's curse will hold any sway? Will the Third Line of the House of Eorl end with me?"
"I am afraid I cannot command what I see," said Almárëa gently. "My visions are more like dreams than a palantír or Galadriel's Mirror; they come unbidden and show only glimpses of what may come to pass...or not."
"But have you seen anything of the future of Rohan?" Elfwine pressed.
"...Yes."
"What then?? Come now Almárëa, must you torment me so?!"
Almárëa slipped out of the door frame and out onto the street, brushing the dust off her apron and tossing her braid. The king of Rohan took off after her in hot pursuit, all but hanging off of the princess's every step.
"Almárëa?!?"
Almárëa laughed. "Sometimes words are just words. Part of Dagmar's curse may yet hold a grain of truth, but I do not think your line will end with you, Elfwine. My advice to you is to simply forget about it."
"Easy enough advice for a youngest daughter!" groaned Elfwine, even as he caught the end of Almárëa's apron string and pulled open the knot. Suddenly, a change of mood took him, and he looked down at Almárëa's playful scowl thoughtfully. "When did it come to pass that you became both friend and advisor to me? In all my boyhood memories, I have always remembered you as Eldarion's child-sister."
There was a wistful note to Almárëa's reply. "Perhaps since everyone else has gone ahead along the road of life, leaving us behind as the youngest to make do with each others' company." Her face twisted in an impish smirk. "And O what a hardship that has been!"
"Pah! I'm not 'left behind'!" Elfwine exclaimed with a laugh. "I'm exactly where I ought to be."
"And so you are, mellon-nin," said Almárëa to herself as she rejoined the women with their baskets of rubble, while Elfwine left with a wave for the city gate. "So you are."
OoOoO
Elfwine was just passing under the main gates of Minas Ithil - there to seek Aragorn and the others who were working to restore the bridge - when the ground began to tremble faintly underfoot.
Rushing over to where Aragorn and Ohtar had been directing a team of horses and their handlers to pull a particularly large piece of bridge from the stream, Elfwine noted that they all had swords close at hand. The threat of danger was not so far past that the warriors in them had let down their guards, apparently. Holding up a hand for silence though, Aragorn forestalled Elfwine's questions with his apparent lack of concern. Instead of calling up the men, he instead knelt to one knee and pressed a hand to the earth.
Thump...thump...thump...
The trembling of the ground took on a regular, measured rhythm, one which even Elfwine began to find familiar. Slowly, the looks of nervous uncertainty on everyone's faces transformed into expectant anticipation.
"Is that...?" Ohtar began to ask.
Aragorn did not even need to answer the question. Every head turned toward the southern edge of the vale. At first, there was only the stillness of the mountains and the rustle of the grass. Then, vast dark shapes appeared, rounding the bend in the Morgai mountains. First one, then a second, then a third; Mûmakil.
All three were mature bull Mûmaks, their sheer size lending weight to the Easterling description of Haradrim as 'mountain riders'. Their footfalls made the stones littering Minas Ithil's streets rattle and jump, and their tusks swung so low as to ruffle the short grass covering the vale beneath them. Gïdjls had often seemed vast to the eyes of Gondor and Rohan, but these creatures made it tragically clear now just how young the fallen Mûmak truly had been.
The call of a horn - somewhat eerie, somewhat sweet - pierced the day, echoing off the hillsides and reaching every ear in Minas Ithil. Upon the back of each Mûmak there rode a tiered howdah, and just barely at a distance dozens of Haradrim figures could be seen. The red serpent of Harad flew from the tops of all three howdahs, as well as the flags of Harmindon and Harondor.
"Our friends are here," said Aragorn.
"Shall I send word to Princess Túrien?" asked Ohtar.
"No need, Ohtar," said Aragorn. "She knows."
And sure enough, Túrien came riding down to the city gates before the Haradrim had even reached the stream. Rope ladders were let down from the howdahs, and an ensemble of Haradrim began climbing down onto the crumbled road before the bridge. Túrien all but flew into Na'Man's waiting arms, and introductions were made for the Bone Mother whom Ramyah Yusannah had sent from Harondor. Na'Man wasted no time in asking to be taken to Sufyan, and the Haradrim were welcomed into Minas Ithil with much gladness from all.
Meanwhile, beyond the city walls, the three Mûmak gathered in a circle around the place where Gïdjls lay. With enormous tenderness for such huge creatures, the Mûmakil brushed their trunks across Gïdjls's ears, face, and tusks. Slowly, in total silence, they began to sway. The three giants kept their vigil all the rest of the day and into the night, only backing away when Na'Man and Túrien came out later to pay their respects. Care for the dead was the work of the Bone Mothers, and it went unspoken between Na'Man and Túrien that, as sorrowful a thing as Gïdjls's death was, they would be forever grateful that Sufyan had no need of such services.
On the morn, they would all meet and discuss how best to deal with Rhûn. That night was one of heartfelt embraces and quiet moments though. Na'Man stayed sitting up beside Sufyan's bedside long after Myriam had fallen asleep on his lap and Túrien had dozed off in a rocking chair. Eruthiawen and Elboron lay awake in their bed, their eyes speaking wordless volumes as they gazed upon each other and little Barahir between them. Almárëa dreamed her secret dreams of futures both certain and uncertain, while across the hall Elfwine slumbered peacefully. Alone together at the long-cleared dinner table, Aragorn and Arwen spoke by candlelight of their hopes and fears for the days ahead. Seated at a writing desk with her night-robe tucked around her, Éowyn wrote to Faramir of all that was happening in Minas Ithil, and read his letters of news from the White City. Beyond the city walls, Legolas wandered the moonlit vale and sang softly to himself in the elvish tongue, all the while missing the company of Gimli so far away at Helm's Deep. Meanwhile, back inside the citadel, Eldarion threw pebbles at Galieth's window, and the two of them found a quiet spot from which to watch shooting stars trace across the night sky.
Their work was not done - and never would be - but for now everyone was where they were meant to be.
OoOoO