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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A rider came early in the day, blood and filth covered him, marring the White Tree that was on his breastplate, his helmet long gone. Aeardis intercepted the man before he could even enter the Tower Hall to have word with Lord Denethor, "What news has come from Osgiliath?" She asked, all too eager and afraid to hear the answer.
"The final bridge over the Anduin has been destroyed," a tired smile filled with unfathomable relief appeared on the soldier's face and was contagious. "Gondor is safe," he declared. He continued on his way to deliver the message to the Steward.
She stopped a passing sentry, "Have my horse saddled and brought to the Houses of Healing." The man nodded and she fled from the Citadel gates to the next level of the city. When she burst through the doors of the infirmary several of the healers dropped the containers and books that had been in their hands and some of the men jumped from their bed in alarm.
"Lady Aeardis!" Ioreth said in a scolding tone but did not manage to say anything else for fear that the young woman would explode from joy. "I bring glad tidings," anticipation was bubbling up in her voice. "The battle has been won, Gondor is safe and remains strong." The healers did not rejoice as the wounded did, their jobs were still far from over. Even though the battle had been won, there would still be those returning to the city injured. Having spoken her piece, she left, finding an auburn stallion waiting for her, saddled with two packed bags compliments of her handmaiden, Nimmien, who knew how eager she was to see Boromir once again, and an old tattered cloak.
The ride to Osgiliath seemed to take hours, the Pelennor Fields passed in a haze of green, speckled with the occasional patch of wildflowers. Behind her was Lord Denethor's caravan, making haste toward the reclaimed city as while. Cries of victory could be heard on the wind before the ruins came into sight. Men were celebrating with ale and emboldened stories from the battle.
Aeardis slipped from her horse, tying the stallion next to those that belonged to the cavalry, she tied the cloak off beneath her chin and raised the hood, entering through the western gates. Exterior streets were picketed with tents and supplies, the celebration was coming from the city's center.
For a couple of minutes, she was able to pass unnoticed by everyone, though that could not last long. It seemed even the old cloak of a ranger could not disguise her from the men that she had spent long days and nights with while mapping out strategy and discussing plans with Boromir and Faramir. They knew her well. "Lady Aeardis! It is good to see a fair face," it took her a moment to place who had spoken.
She smiled and clasped the armored man on his shoulder, "As it is good to see yours, Ganelon." Aeardis skimmed over the nearby men but did not see Ganelon's brother anywhere near, "How fairs Ulric?"
His smile faded at the mention of his brother, "He was sent to the Houses of Healing this morning, an arrow to the shoulder." Aeardis nodded, understanding his worry, but it was misplaced. Gondor's healers were only rivaled by the elves. "Your brother is in good hands then," she assured him, and Ganelon's smile returned.
