The past is already written.
The ink is dry.
But the future remains unset and the Valar have begun to sing a song anew.
Gondor is a kingless state falling into ruin against the Shadow of Mordor. Doomed to fail and forsaken by Men and...
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AEARDIS hurriedly tied off the front of her dressing gown after the Steward's youngest son came barging through her chamber doors with a piece of parchment in his hand. "Faramir?" The heated flush that had risen to his cheeks at the state of her previous undress had faded, as had any remaining discomfiture.
"We received news from your father, he is set to return to Minas Tirith," he said, passing the scroll to her so that she may read over her father's letter. "It is likely he has already landed on our shores." Indeed, Ohtar would likely have landed on the shores of Middle-Earth by now, a bright smile stretched across her lips.
"Will you ride out with me to meet him?" She did not wish to wait until her father arrived in the White City before they could be reunited again. They had already been parted for three months and now she had numerous questions to ask about the position she had come into.
Faramir glanced down at his boots with a disheartened sigh, "I wish that I could, but I must meet with Madril when he returns from the ranging." Aeardis knew that he would not forsake his duty as a ranger, but perhaps, if she asked sweetly enough, Boromir would go with her. Her sweet pleas worked, or perhaps the young lieutenant wished for a break from both Denethor and the Captain-General's assigned duties. The two set out that day before dusk.
Boromir and Aeardis met the traveling party by the river Anduin not far from the city of Pelargir. Ten riders had set out on cloudy morn from the gates of Minas Tirith, now on the return journey, there was only six. Ohtar was not among those six riders. A hard lump rose in her throat that made it hard to breathe and swallow.
Aeardis pressed her heels into the side of her silver mare and raced toward the group with Boromir close behind. "Cadarn, where is my father?" Her voice was shaking. The solemn expression that the guard wore did nothing to ease the growing sickness she felt. It seemed enough to tell her what had happened.
"An orc ambush, my lady," the longtime friend and household guard spoke with a weariness that she had never heard before, "there were too many." He turned on his mount and glanced back at the flatbed wagon covered with an intricate saddle blanket that bore the sigil of Tol Eressëa.
She slid off her horse, as did Cadarn. "Aeardis," Boromir reached for her but she was already too far away.
Aeardis lifted the blanket that had been laid over the wagon and saw her father lying there with a peaceful expression that could have been mistaken for sleep if not for the arrows that had pierced his torso. At first, there was no despair, only anger, at herself, at the guards who had failed her father and then disbelief set in. When she bit down on her bottom lip, Aeardis could taste the salt of the tears that had slipped down her cheeks and the tinge of blood.
Her gaze had grown hollow and a sickly pallor washed over her countenance. Boromir pulled her back from the wain that carried Ohtar's corpse and tucked her into his side. If orcs were roaming freely in Gondor then they would not be safe in the open, they needed to return to Minas Tirith with haste.
