Seeds of the White Tree

Chapter 43 - A Growing Sense of Dread

In all the days since Galieth had been living amidst the House of Telcontar, never had she seen Gondor's royal family so unsettled. There had been a brief moment of joyful relief when, earlier, Aragorn had returned from the Sages' Tier with both Almárëa and Eldarion safely at his side. Everyone's happiness was short-lived though when they heard of the impending attack on Minas Ithil. Ever since, the whole of Minas Tirith had been akin to an overturned anthill. Although there were always soldiers on guard throughout each level of the city, calling up the whole of Gondor's army was no small task. Between the rapidly building sense of urgency and the lingering terror of the previous night, the mood in the Citadel was decidedly tense.

To make matters worse, there was something wrong with Eldarion. Ever since his return from the Sages' Tier, he walked about like one in a daze. Aragorn, Ohtar, and Malbeth were all of the sudden curiously protective of his every move, and either the king or one of his lieutenants were within eye-shot of Eldarion at all times. Eldarion, although apparently determined to fulfill his role as Captain of Gondor, still allowed Ohtar and Malbeth to suggest nearly as many orders as he himself gave. Galieth had also noticed how he kept anxiously pulling down the cuffs of his sleeves beneath his bracers. Having personally cleaned and wrapped the nasty welts on Almárëa's wrists, Galieth could only imagine that Eldarion was trying to hide similar marks.

There was no time to tend to him though. Aragorn had prevented Arwen from asking Eldarion for details of what had happened; a gentle touch on the shoulder and a shake of the head stemming the inevitable flow of questions from a concerned mother. "Dartha," Aragorn had murmured in Sindarin, of which Galieth knew enough to hear "Wait". The look of understanding mingled with soul-deep pain on Arwen's face still troubled Galieth even hours later.

Arwen was a queen of both great strength and endurance though. She went about with just as much urgency as her husband, making arrangements for the city to be prepared in case the Easterling army forced the country folk to seek safety in Minas Tirith. Food stores would need to be readied, temporary housing found, and order maintained. Also, in the event Faramir did not arrive from Ithilien in time before the army marched at sundown, Arwen would be required to assume the rule of the city. It was entirely likely that she would have to do so anyways; Galieth could hardly imagine that the Prince of Ithilien would willingly remain behind while his only son was in such obvious peril. And if - even more likely - the famed Lady Éowyn rode to Minas Ithil alongside her husband...so much the worse for the Easterlings.

Túrien and Sufyan were likewise in turmoil. Sufyan and the handful of Haradrim that had accompanied them from Harmindon were doing everything they could to transform the decorative howdah in which Gïdjls carried them into a proper 'war seat' or kursiyaşer, as Sufyan called it. The tiered perch did not look very fiercesome or protective yet, with its embroidered canopy and flimsy rope rails. The Haradrim were doing their best to wrap the howdah in thick canvas though, to repel arrows and other attacks from the ground.

"We don't have any ochre to paint Gïdjls with," moaned Túrien when they stood at the edge of the Citadel, overlooking where the young Mûmak was being prepared on the field below. This struck Galieth as a rather odd thing to be worrying about at such a time, and the expression on her face must have said as much. Túrien shifted a squirming Myriam from one hip to the other and scowled disapprovingly. "It's not for show. The war paint obscures the Mûmakil's features, making it harder for enemies on the ground to shoot at their eyes."

"Forgive me, Your Highness," said Galieth, chastened.

"No...don't apologize. You did not know." Túrien chewed her lip; not for the first time today if the anxious bite-marks marring her bottom lip were any proof. "Sufyan will not let me ride with him to Minas Ithil."