And In The Dawn Save Them

Chapter 23 : Through the Winter

Illustration : IA generated

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The days and weeks stretched on, bringing autumn, and Alcara could not fight her melancholy. She resolved to throw herself wholeheartedly into her work, setting up classes of student healers, showing them how to make remedies and receiving many patients, because like everywhere else, Ithilien had its share of sick and injured people. The healers from Minas Tirith saved her time, but she often replaced them, putting off as long as possible the moment when she would find herself alone in her room at night, replaying untimely images of Éomer. The war must have lasted, because she still hadn't heard from him. She asked herself a thousand questions that made her toss and turn in bed: was he well? Did he ever think of her, or would returning to Rohan make her forget her face and her existence? As for her, would her grief soften with time and distance?

Fortunately, she was often able to visit Arwen, which calmed her and did her good. She could only confide in her, as she had not dared speak to Eowyn about her feelings for her brother. In any case, Eowyn and Faramir were, in a way, prolonging their honeymoon: they were inseparable, as close as Alcara and Éomer were apart. Faramir had not gone to fight in Isengard, as Aragorn had asked him to watch over Minas Tirith and Ithilien in his absence, fearing other isolated groups of enemies on the side of Mordor. Alcara often rode to the White City, where Arwen always received her with patience and affection.

One day, as they strolled through the palace gardens, Arwen occasionally caressing her belly, already well rounded from her pregnancy, Alcara spoke out again:

"Every day feels like an eternity," she sighed. "Everything seems...insipid. How long will it last ?"

Arwen remained silent for a moment, then answered quietly:

"I know what you mean. Aragorn and I have been engaged for a long time. We waited eighty years and the end of the War of the Ring before finally finding each other."

Alcara raised her eyebrows and looked at her, thinking she had misheard: but she had forgotten very quickly that Aragorn and Arwen did not have the same timeline at all, and she refrained from complaining to her afterwards.

But once she was alone, after dark, she wondered why she wasn't as lucky as Arwen or Eowyn: why wasn't it as simple as that? Love at first sight, love that was immediately reciprocated and confessed to the other, marriage, children? And why did she have to fall in love with Éomer? She could have fallen for a servant, a soldier, anyone, but she wasn't a princess, and this situation made her despair and reminded her of her unhappy affair with Legolas. Why wasn't she entitled to the same happiness?

At least she had been given a special gift, which still intrigued her: astonishing powers, but which she had promised not to use in battle. Since Éomer's departure, they had manifested themselves several times, in small ways, as they had in the past: flowers that appeared and disappeared, objects that moved... and Gandalf, who still didn't have the answers...

Excessively frustrated by her situation, she rode longer and longer, earlier and earlier in the morning, despite the rain or the cold; and to finally fall asleep, she put drops of essence of lavender on her pillow, a plant she had discovered in this region of the South.

However, the more or less dramatic events that followed were enough to keep her busy.

First of all, she herself fell ill from riding in the autumn rain, and had to stay in bed for several days, abandoning the House of Healing. She felt guilty, but no longer had the energy to get up in the morning. She had to accept that a young student healer would take care of her and bring her some broth, but she didn't even feel like eating anymore.