Chapter Seventeen:

When Holly awoke, she was confused by the ceiling above her head.

"You are awake," a familiar voice said, and slowly, Holly managed to turn her head to the side, biting back a groan at her muscles' protests. She had been unconscious for quite some time, she thought, feeling the stiffness of her body.

To her surprise, the Lady Eowyn of Rohan sat in a chair by her bedside, a weighty volume on her lap, but she was far changed from the woman Holly had left behind in Dunharrow.

"First, your servant, Kreacher, is well. He has asked to assist in the keeping of this house, and his request was granted." Eowyn set aside the tome and gently helped Holly to sit up, arranging the pillows behind her to provide optimal support. "Here, drink," she murmured, pressing a cup gently into Holly's hands, helping her curl her fingers around it. "It will restore you. Thirty days and one have passed since you collapsed on the Pelennor."

Carefully, Holly swallowed, trying to pace herself. The water was cool, and laced with some sort of herbal draught. It would strengthen her, she decided after a moment. More importantly, it would not make her sleep.

Once she had finished the cup, she let it rest in her lap, hands curled around it. "What of the Enemy?" she asked, half afraid to hear the answer. "And my lord Aragorn?"

"The Enemy has been defeated, some twenty-one days thence," Eowyn hastened to assure her. "King Elessar has made camp at the Fields of Cormallen with the host of the West, which he commands with the Prince of Dol Amroth and Eomer King. We expect their return to the city by the first day of May, and the coronation of the High King will take place before the city gates."

It is finished then. Holly closed her eyes as her fingers tightened around the cup. She had no right to feel bereaved when all that her sworn people had hoped for and worked for have come to fruition. Yet she felt a sense of loss nonetheless, and hated herself for it.

"There must be much rejoicing in the city," she said after she felt more in control. "The Enemy destroyed, and the King returned to his people."

Eowyn smiled, and Holly realized that it was a far more genuine smile than she had ever seen the woman wear. "There is much rejoicing indeed, though there is also much grief at the losses we have suffered."

Seeing a sheen of wetness in the other woman's eyes, Holly thought back through what Eowyn had said, and cautiously reached out a hand to rest on Eowyn's knee, the closest she could reach without falling over. "I grieve with you over the loss of Theoden King," she murmured. "May he sit with pride in the halls of his fathers, for there is no doubt of his valor. I assume we are in Minas Tirith?"

"You are in the House of Healing," Eowyn said after a moment, composed once more, though there was still grief in her eyes. "I am told that you were carried here by the dunedain when the host prepared to move out."

"How did you come to be here my lady?" Holly asked, but there was movement at the door, and a tall man with a strong resemblance to Boromir entered.

"Still keeping vigil as you study my lady?" he said, voice light and teasing, only to draw up short when he realized Holly was sitting upright. "I apologize my lady, I did not know you had awakened."

"It is a relatively new development," she managed to choke out after a moment of silence, words fighting for space around the lump in her throat. "Do I have the pleasure of meeting Faramir, brother of Boromir of Gondor?"

"You do, my lady," he said, bowing politely. "But I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

"I am Thuri, who rides with the dunedain, and who set out from Imladris, from Rivendell, with your brother and several others," Holly managed what bow she could from her seated position, Eowyn steadying her gently as she wobbled to lean back against the pillows. "He bid me to tell you were the better of the two sons of Denethor, and that you would have succeeded where he failed, but I do not believe him. Boromir of Gondor and I did not get along at the start, but I was proud to ride into battle with him, and his death grieved me."

Faramir looked like a deer in the headlights, but Holly couldn't stop, the words pouring out of her. She hated giving messages to the surviving family, hated it with a burning passion, and it was all the more difficult when she had been close to the victim. "Boromir was a good man, who fell under the sway of a tool of the Enemy's malice. His fault was not of his own making, it played on his desire to protect his people and this city. When he came to himself, he instantly regretted, and immediately swore his life into the service of my king. Together we rode with my king to Helm's Deep, and it was there Boromir fell, protecting my king with his last breath."

The man looked at her, still wide eyed, but there was grief etched into his face. Holly regretted dumping so much onto him at once, but she felt a weight she hadn't realized was there being lifted from her shoulders. Faramir bowed once, movements precise and practiced despite the play of emotions across his face and in his shoulders, and left the room in silence.

"Steward Denethor of Gondor perished during the battle," Eowyn said after the silence lingered for a beat too long. "Faramir has taken up his father's role, despite having recently risen from his own bed in this house. It is not spoken of openly, but I gather that Denethor lost himself to despair and sought a quick end for both himself and his badly wounded son. Gandalf and Merry's friend were able to rescue Faramir, but not his father."

"When you next see him, please apologize for my thoughtless timing," Holly said, closing her eyes in shame. "I did not mean to add to his grief."

"News of Boromir's death came to Minas Tirith with the Rohirrim," Eowyn replied, her voice steady, but sad. "I assume my brother, or my lord Aragorn spoke of it to my lord."

For a moment, Holly saw Eowyn in a white dress that sparkled in the sun, a silver circlet on her brow and radiant joy in her face. "I am glad that you have found happiness with him," she murmured, leaning back into her pillow, the flash of vision tiring her. "If he is anything like his brother, he is a good man."

"We have not told my brother yet," the woman hurried to say.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Holly felt weary once more, though she knew she'd slept for thirty-one days. "Honestly, I need to sleep more."

"The healers wanted you to eat," Eowyn rose hurriedly. "Do not sleep until I return, they have had quite an ordeal getting enough food into you to keep you alive."

Reluctantly, Holly prised her eyes open to see the hem of Eowyn's dress disappearing through the doorway. With nothing better to do, she looked around the room, taking it in for the first time since she'd awakened.

She was in a private room, but it had a wide window looking out into pleasant gardens where Holly could hear other people talking quietly. The linens were crisp and white, and there was a faint smell of herbs that transcended time and space, always a feature of any infirmary she'd ever been in. A wave of homesickness swept over her as she saw the old stone of the walls; they reminded her of Esteldin, of Tinnudir, of Annuminas.

Though, she had to admit, these stones were much better maintained than the stone walls of her northern homes. Gondor had clearly not suffered the same hardships as her northern sister, thought given the amount of movement Holly could hear in the building and its gardens, she suspected that she had hardships of her own.

Eowyn returned, wrapped in an apron, a tray with a bowl of soup in her hands. Kreacher followed on her heels, nearly hidden by her skirt, but Holly had to hide a smile as she saw his dark scowl. No doubt he felt that the woman had taken his task.

"They wish you to eat all of this," Eowyn carefully set the tray down on Holly's lap, fluffing the pillows as she helped Holly readjust. "Then you may sleep, if you so wish."

"Kreacher made sure they gave Mistress what Mistress likes," the house elf said, coming over to the opposite side of the bed and pointing at the tray. "Kreacher also made certain that Mistress had her bender tea."

Looking, Holly found the gently steaming mug and smiled. "Thank you Kreacher," she said, reaching out to rest her hand on his. "Did you suffer any ill effects? I'm sorry, I didn't expect to lose control like that."

"Kreacher slept for many days, that's all," he shrugged, seeming unbothered. "Kreacher is well."

"I hear you're helping here?" Holly picked up the spoon, having to focus to get her fingers to hold it steady as she transferred soup from the bowl to her mouth. She stopped, studied the bowl, and then decided against skipping the spoon and trying to drink from the bowl directly. That would probably cause her to spill the bowl down her front.

"Master of the House said Kreacher could help," the house elf looked viciously proud. "Master Daervunn left instructions for if Kreacher woke before Mistress."

"Good," she said, for lack of anything else to say. If she didn't know better, she could pretend that Halbarad was still alive, that Daervunn had been acting as his second just as always, but she still felt the aching hole in her chest that his death had ripped into her.

Suddenly, she didn't want the weight of the tray in her lap. It reminded her too much of holding his body. Yet she held herself together long enough to finish the soup and drink the tea, and then Holly shoved the tray into Kreacher's hands, her own hands trembling with the weight.

That's going to take some time to rebuild, she thought, grouchy about the amount of reconditioning she'd have to undergo. It was a welcome diversion to the memory of Halbarad's death, and Eowyn seemed to sense her mood, repeating back what a healer must have told her about Holly's recovery. Holly listened to about half of it, knowing that while the healers were right about having to recondition herself, they didn't have the full story. Now that she was awake, and she started eating regular food, whatever strange healing kept her alive would kick in, and Holly would be up on her feet and capable of riding within a week, though not much more.

For now though, she would sleep and let her body recover. More than that, she wasn't ready to think about.

Seven days after her first waking, Holly slowly made her way down to the stables where the horses that had survived the Pelennor but not been ridden out to the Black Gates resided. Nor was there, one of only a few horses in the expansive stables. Gently, he nudged her with his nose as she reached out to rest her hand on his neck. Whoever had been caring for him had done a good job; not a hair was out of place. Still, she retrieved a brush from her saddlebags, which had been in her sickroom when she woke, and ran it carefully over his coat.

Bending over to pick out and inspect his hooves had nearly been too much, but she was careful and moved slowly, and Nor held steady, allowing her to lean against him.

"You going to be ready to go home soon?" she murmured, putting his brushes away and playing with his mane. Her tack sat nearby, spotless and well tended, so there was no need to worry about any repairs.

Nor nudged her again, and she leaned against the wall of his stall and smiled, but it took effort. She had seen the Ring as far as she could, aided and protected Aragorn, just as her oath required. In her things had been a note, signed by her king and witnessed by Daervunn, freeing her from all of the extras that she, Halbarad, and Gilraen had written into her loyalty oaths in the hopes that she could help keep him alive. Now she was just another Ranger, sworn into the service of the High King and the Northern Kingdom.

You don't belong here, she told herself as she made her way back to the House of Healing. Your place is in the north, preparing his kingdom for his return.

Stridently, she drowned out the voice in her head that told her that she was running away.

Daervunn stood behind his king as the coronation proceeded, but his mind was far from the man before him, currently being crowned by Gandalf as the hobbit ringbearer stood nearby. The few dunedain whom he had left in the houses of healing stood with, yet slightly apart from, the Gondorian nobles, and he suspected they would join the remaining members of the Grey Company once the coronation was concluded.

Yet, there was one figure missing that he had expected to see, and it concerned him.

Thuri stood not with the dunedain, nor with the Lady Eowyn and the Rohirrim. He supposed that she might yet be in the House of Healing, still unable to leave her bed for the coronation, but he had never known her to miss something as significant as this. Besides, there was a tension in the Lady Eowyn that he suspected had something to do with his missing companion.

After the coronation, as Aragorn walked the streets of Minas Tirith and the people applauded him, Daervunn contrived to walk alongside the Lady Eowyn as she joined their retinue, having embraced her brother and led the Rohirrim in to join their fellows.

"I know why you have sought me out," the lady said, her face composed, but her voice tight. "I do not know where she is."

"She has disappeared?" he asked, keeping the shock from his face, in case Aragorn was paying enough attention to him to catch the words despite the roar of the crowds.

"Thuri woke fifteen days ago, and was walking within a week, beyond the expectations of any of the healers who attended her," Lady Eowyn said softly, glancing aside to smile at her brother, who had turned to look at them. "When I went to fetch her this morn, her bed was empty and neatly made, all of her things removed from the room. The hostlers at the sixth circle stable say that her horse is no longer there as well."

"Then she has left by choice then." Daervunn felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. What had made Thuri leave?

"There was a letter." A folded piece of paper appeared from Eowyn's loose sleeves, and Daervunn tucked it carefully into his belt pouch. "I did not look; it was addressed to you."

"Thank you, my lady."

When he reached the quarters allotted to him, an entire suite of rooms with a bedroom, privy, and study just for him, it was far past nightfall. Once Aragorn had reached the throne, the lords of Gondor had presented themselves to him, swearing their fealty to the High King. Daervunn had stood off to the side, a tangible representation of the northern kingdom, and he had watched each of the nobles as they came forward.

He and Halbarad, and Thuri when they were all together in the same place, had occasionally speculated about what would happen if Aragorn reclaimed his forefathers' throne. Thuri had, oddly enough, focused on speculating about the nobility of Gondor.

"Those in power tend to resist changes," she said as they sat in Halbarad's quarters, lounging on his bed since Halbarad and Daervunn had claimed the chairs. "Gondorian nobility has had nearly a thousand years to accustom themselves to an empty throne. The Stewards have ruled in absentia, and as such, my lord would be best suited taking in the lay of the land before announcing himself."

"They ought to immediately swear fealty to him," Daervunn had said, stretching to toast his feet by the fire in the grate. Winter had settled in like a thick blanket on Esteldin, and the old keep was drafty. "As soon as he's crowned."

"It's easier in the North," Halbarad said with a shrug. "There are few enough left who can trace their lineage to the old nobility; any northern nobility will likely come from new grants from the king."

"It's the southern nobility you have to worry about," Thuri insisted with a scowl. "Any of our lot who are ennobled, which will be you two and whomever you advise my lord to bestow grants upon, will have years of faithful service behind their claims, and are unlikely to be disloyal now, when all their dreams have come true. Beside, your generation won't be stable enough to pose a threat to the crown, not when there's the remnants of Angmar to mop up, and cities and fiefs to rebuild. Maybe your children, but more likely your grandchildren. The southern nobility will have the money, leverage, and connections to cause trouble, and they're more likely to do that against a king they have no connection to. Especially if the steward is popular."

He could remember very little of the rest of the conversation, since they hadn't dared go into specifics, not with Angmar's shadow growing longer, and whispers of darker things in the east, but he remembered her adamant belief that the first internal challenge to Aragorn's reign would come from the southern lords. So Daervunn watched, and he listened, and he noted the things that were not said.

Several of his men, Calenglad included, were mingled in the great hall, taking note of who spoke with whom, and what was said out of earshot of the king and his steward. Faramir of Gondor, Daervunn was happy to say, seemed to be happy that the king had ascended to the throne, if the brief flash of relief that had crossed his face when Aragorn bid him to remain Steward was any indication. He seemed rather close to the White Lady of Rohan as well, though her brother Eomer seemed not to notice the glances the pair traded across the crowded hall.

There would likely be no trouble from that quarter, but as Daervunn watched, he marked several lords who seemed as if they were only paying lip service to their oaths. They would be ones to watch, but he suspected that nobody had any appetite for regicide so early in the king's reign, especially after the deeds Aragorn had done on the Pelennor and at the Black Gates.

For now, all Daervunn had to do was trust the guardsmen of Minas Tirith, and Faramir's own judgement.

Safe in his bedroom, the door closed, he lit the lamp and opened Thuri's letter. Unsurprisingly, it was brief.

Daervunn,

I'm well enough to leave, and nobody made me, so set aside any well-intentioned plans of rescuing me from foes or from myself.

Now that we've settled that, I'm returning to the north. My king has a kingdom that needs rebuilding, and at the very least I can bear good news. I can better serve him there than in Gondor.

Please do not call me back; I cannot bear to stay.

When you return, I'll be in touch.

Thuri

There was something else there, something she was not telling him, but before he could ponder it, there was a quiet rap at the outer door.

When he opened it, the White Lady of Rohan was there, Faramir behind her.

"She has gone then?" she asked, apparently reading the news in his face.

After they'd settled in the chairs by his fire, Daervunn nodded. "Thuri has returned to the north. She says she cannot bear to stay, and that there is work for her to do in Arnor."

"King Elessar's bride will be arriving soon, will she not?" Eowyn's question made him look at her in surprise, and she quailed, only to gather herself as Faramir gently grasped her hand.

"What does that have to do with Thuri's departure?"

"If it were me," Eowyn began, before clearing her throat. "If it were me, and I had not met my lord Faramir, I could not bear to witness it either."

A thousand thoughts assailed Daervunn at once, and he closed his eyes. He had not seen Thuri pining for Aragorn, she had hidden it well. She and Halbarad had never been more than friends who occasionally sought comfort from each other, and that had ended when Halbarad had become Aragorn's steward in the north. Halbarad had confided in him that neither he nor Thuri had wanted to suggest that anything improper was happening, since he'd effectively become her only commanding officer with Gilraen's death.

"My lady Arwen will be arriving soon," he confirmed. "We have received no message, but her brothers assure me that she would set out from her home when they felt the Black Gates fall."

"I look forward to meeting the woman who captivates King Elessar so completely," Eowyn said, and Daervunn was shocked to realized that she was sincere. It was something he hadn't expected to hear from someone who had just admitted to nursing feelings for Aragorn.

"She will certainly welcome your friendship." He felt reasonably confident in saying that. The Lady Arwen had ridden out with her brothers a few times, and Daervunn had met her several times in Imladris. Arwen was kind and generous, but he suspected that she would feel lost and bereft in Gondor, knowing that her heart's choice had sundered her from her family. "Her close kindred will soon be sailing, and she knows few people outside Imladris."

"My lady queen is an elf?" Faramir looked shocked. "From the hidden valley?"

"Daughter of Lord Elrond of Imladris, granddaughter of Lady Galadriel, of Lothlorien." Daervunn couldn't help but grin as he saw Faramir making the connections. "My lord is very fond of singing the tale of Beren and Luthien. I believe he will soon reintroduce it to the halls of Minas Tirith."

"Considering that they are his lady's forebearers, I can understand the attraction." Faramir still looked dazed. But he collected himself quickly. "Is there anything that must be prepared for her arrival?"

"I'm certain that if you prepared as if you would for any visiting lady, you will be well enough." Daervunn had seen the Lady Arwen bed down next to the fire like any dunedain, but he had also seen her grace her father's table in a gown beyond anything any woman in Esteldin could dream of. "I suspect that she will be honored by your efforts, regardless of the outcome."

Conversation turned to other things, and Daervunn found himself liking Faramir. Given what he had heard of the man's father, Daervunn couldn't help but be grateful that the son seemed much more amicable. Perhaps they would be able to work well, and bridge the gap between the north and the south that had existed since the days of the Last Alliance.

From the ruined wall that surrounded the Pelennor, Holly watched as the tiny figure of Aragorn Elessar knelt for Gandalf to place the crown upon his brow. Kreacher sat next to her, spindly legs dangling over the edge of the wall while Nor grazed tranquilly below.

"Well, he's done it," she said to Kreacher as the roar of the crowds swelled. "Gondor and Arnor are now reunited under the rule of a single king. It's only taken three thousand years."

"Mistress would see better from the city walls," Kreacher admonished, passing her a flask of tea. "Mistress probably shouldn't be riding."

"I'm going to take the northern route, up to Dale and then through Mirkwood," she reminded him. "The kingdoms sent representatives and they said the route was clear enough of danger. And at this time of year, the High Pass into Imladris should be clear enough for a single rider."

The house elf harrumphed. "Kreacher supposes Mistress knows best."

"From what I heard, the trip down through Dunland was none too easy," she pointed out. The Grey Company by all accounts had faced a fair bit of opposition as they rode through, and Holly wasn't interested in seeing if anyone remained who was willing to challenge one sworn to Gondor and Arnor. "Or were the others pulling my leg?"

Kreacher said nothing, which meant that she was probably right. He also likely suspected that she didn't want to cross paths with the party that was likely going to ride towards Lothlorien on their way to Gondor from Imladris. The High Pass was always an option, but Holly knew it wasn't advised for large parties, and she doubted Elrond would risk his daughter so close to where his wife had been accosted.

The crowds flowed towards the city, and she stood, stretching gently as she rose. "Ready to get riding?" she asked the house elf, tucking the flask of tea into her belt pouch for later. "I'd like to get a fair distance north before we stop for the night."

"Mistress is running away again," the house elf grumbled, as he always did when he wanted her to know what he was thinking, but didn't feel like addressing her directly. "But Kreacher goes with Mistress. How else could Kreacher take care of his mistress?"

Her face burned with embarrassment at how accurate his words were, but she held her tongue. Yes, she was running away from her fruitless pining for a man she could never have. Aragorn loved Arwen beyond measure, and Holly couldn't bear to see them bound together and know that he could not love her in the same manner. One day, when the blush of attraction had faded, she would be able to face her King and Queen, but for now, she would return to the north and do her best to help their people.

After all, a king needed a proper kingdom.

AN: Well, that's a wrap folks. I know the ending may not be as...resolved as some might like, but I set out to write this story with the possibility of sequels in mind. You can think of this as...background? Explanation? for how Holly interacted with the War of the Ring. I'm not sure when I'll start posting any of the sequels, but the first to post will probably be Pivot Point, which is a Holly/Glorfindel pairing. You can find a teaser snippet on my tumblr- I'm rhosinthorn over there as well. I can't make any promises, but I'll try to provide snippets and other interesting bits as it comes together, so keep an eye on my tumblr for those. Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope to see you when I start posting the next part in this tale!