Harmindon's Finest

Chapter 26 - The Aftermath

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Rojiheen, a woman who just lost her eldest son at the Battle of Minas Ithil, still agreed in her grief to look after Aman, Aro and Safina while Amira dashed to the carriages of supplies setting out for the Vale of the Moon to beg for a ride. In a way, she was as strong and loyal as the men who had sacrificed their lives for freedom from oppression and discrimination.

I'd sat on the uncomfortable well for hours, well into the night, waiting for Malbeth, even though I knew the army wouldn't return for a long while yet.

All of a sudden, I felt sure Malbeth wouldn't return and a wave of dread and fear washed over me. I had to know.

It was early morning two days after Túrien had told everyone the outcome of the battle. My stall had entirely been neglected, and I had spent all my time sitting on the well, waiting and feeling the despair flow through my body. And Malbeth was not the only thing I had to think about - the Easterlings had reminded me of something, of the story Grandmother had told my father, that shadowy evening before I'd left for Minas Tirith. Suddenly I was afraid - more afraid than ever in my life. I had to do something before I went completely mad.

"Boys!" I called, popping my head through the door of Rohijeen's house.

Aman and Aro appeared almost at once, faces and hands grubby and dusty from days of not being washed. They smiled when they saw me, and came close when I beckoned them.

"What do you say, boys, will we go and visit your father in Minas Ithil?"

They looked at each other, and shouted with excitement, Aro flinging his skinny arms arlund my waist. "We're going to see Father! We're going to see Father!"

I grinned. "Fetch Safina then. Put on some fresh clothes quickly, and wash your hands and faces! Meet me by the Great Gates in five minutes." While they scampered off to get ready, I told Rohijeen where I was taking them. She nodded gratefully and without a word. After a brief moment of hesitation I put an arm around her shoulders, as a small comfort. She nodded gratefully, unable to say anything much, and when I left, I noticed a tear trace down her wrinkled old cheek.

As promised, the three children were waiting for me in the Court of Tarondor.

"How will we get there?" Aman wanted to know, as I took Safina - crowing with excitement - and held her on my hip, arranging my shawl over my hair.

I'd thought of that. Steward Faramir had sent many carts of supplies to the citizens whose homes had been destroyed, and these had all left days ago, but now that the initial shock had passed, people were beginning to clear the destruction. Teams of horses and soldiers could only do so much, and civilians - mainly friends and relatives of those affected - were heading to the Vale of the Moon to lend a hand. And sure enough - we hitched a ride on a cart full of women who spent the entire three-hour journey complaining loudly about the slow horses and gossiping to each other. It was not easy, but the boys amused themselves by the thought of seeing their parents again, while I played peekaboo with Safina.

It had almost been a year since we'd arrived at Minas Tirith, and since then we had not been outside the gates, let alone as far as Minas Ithil. I had no idea what to expect - a smaller version of Minas Tirith, perhaps - but when we finally arrived, I was completely proven wrong.

Even the noisy women fell silent as we approached the still-smoking remains of the city. The houses were built from white stone, the same as Minas Tirith, and there were walls seperating areas of the city in circles (though only two of them), like Minas Tirith - but as far as I could see the resemblance ended there. It was nestled in a valley between large mountains, and would have been quite picturesque had it not obviously been subject to a raging battle only days ago. Large areas of the wall were torn down, much of the temporary thatch on the newer houses was still smouldering and the smoke had settled on the houses, giving the walls an unsightly grey hue. Entire buildings had been torn down, and rubble and stone scattered the streets, which small groups of people were trying to clear. The boys shrieked at the sight of three absolutely enormous Mûmakil standing by the broken wall, swaying gently - one trumpeted mournfully as we approached, causing our raucous companions to cling nervously to each other - and I knew they protected the body of the fallen Gïdjls. I wondered for a moment how they'd got there so fast, but then I remembered their size and extraordinary speed and agility.