Sword and Arrow

Chapter 68

Frodo woke in a room filled with light, light that he felt that he hadn't seen in months. His head spun when he flailed in the soft bed, trying to sit up, but the sweet air was so refreshing that he could not lie back down. As the room came into focus, Frodo frowned at a very familiar face. "Gandalf?"

Gandalf laughed, the old laugh lines etching themselves again. But it wasn't possible - Gandalf had fallen, fallen into fire and shadow. Frodo noticed much had changed about the old wizard - his robes were of white now, and his staff too, and his hair and beard were snow. He did not have his old pointed hat anymore.

Gandalf stood, still laughing, and pounded the door of the room with a stick. It opened and Merry and Pippin came running in. Merry and Pippin! It had been so long since Frodo had seen either of them, so long indeed. In fact, it had been very long since Frodo had seen any face but Sam's.

Merry and Pippin, being Merry and Pippin, jumped on Frodo's bed and enveloped him in a barrage of hugs. Between their arms, Frodo saw Gimli and Legolas come through the open door, and Aragorn and Beruthiel. They all wore finely made clothing - none of the worn and ragged clothes from the journey South.

It is over, Frodo thought as he felt the warm sunlight on his face. We have done it.

🏹👑🗡️

The King's House was quite full now. Aragorn and Beruthiel had given up the largest room to the hobbits, while Legolas and Gimli shared a room on the second floor. Gandalf refused a room, despite their many insistences, and they always found him sleeping in the Steward's chair - or what they thought was sleeping. He always had his eyes open.

The morning was peaceful, at least for the moment, when Beruthiel took her satchel from the hook near the door and quietly slipped out. Not many were awake, but the torch-lighters were doing their rounds, dousing the torches and collecting them from their sconces along the city walls to put in their carts drawn by ponies or donkeys. The street-sweepers were up, sprinkling water on their section of the street and sweeping the dirt from the previous day away. Even after catastrophic events, life went on.

Beruthiel stopped at the bakery just around the corner to buy three pastries, wrapped in brown paper. There weren't many shops in the high circle of the city, but ones that had been established there long, long ago had been operated by the same family for decades and maybe centuries.

"My apologies for the rush, miss," the baker's wife told Beruthiel as she brought a steaming pan from the back. "We aren't used to having customers this early in the morning!"

"It's no problem at all," Beruthiel said with a smile. She had left her cloak behind and was dressed simply in thick brown pants and one of her better shirts. "I'm in no hurry."

"That'll be seven castari, miss," the baker's wife said after a moment as she wrapped the pastries in a piece of thick paper, then tied it around with twine. She set it onto the counter as Beruthiel counted out seven small silver coins from her wallet. The baker's wife counted them again, then swept them into her register with a thank you.

Beruthiel took the package - it was still warm - and waved goodbye to her with a "have a good day!"

With the package of pastries under her arm, Beruthiel strolled - though her stroll was more brisk than most - up the main street to the tall grey building that was the House of Healing. It had been a few weeks since the Battle of Pelennor Fields, as modern historians were now calling it, but a few soldiers were still in the recovery wards, under careful care of Ioreth, the master healer.

"I'm here to see Lady Éowyn," Beruthiel told the tired woman at the front desk. She had the look of one who had not slept all night long.

The woman at the front desk peered at Beruthiel over her wide rectangular spectacles and waved her through. "Ye'll know where ta find her, lass. She'll be a-waiting for ye."