Perhaps it was simply because I was older, or perhaps it was only that I was sick with worry, but that trip from Dol Amroth had never seemed so long and arduous. Dínen and Caliniel did not seem to notice, but then they were both young, and had never been so far from home. They chattered excitedly between themselves and with any others in the wain who would join in. I listened with half an ear, and did not interfere; I was too preoccupied with what might have happened to my husband and son. Mag had said they were recovering safely, but that did not mean they had not been badly injured.

I was appalled at the destruction which seemed to stretch for miles in every direction. Farm houses had been destroyed, fields burned and trees felled. Mounds of rubble dotted the landscape right up to the gates of the White City. I was not sure how any of it could be put right again, and it filled me with sadness.

Finally we reached the City proper, and gratefully piled out of the wain with our scant belongings. We had only brought what was absolutely necessary – we were not here to socialize, but to care for our family. "Now I know that you two want to see everything," I said, as the girls stared, wide-eyed, at the hustle and bustle around them, "but I have no intention of letting you wander the City on your own, is that clear? It is too large, and there are too many ways in which you could lose yourself."

"Yes, Mother," from Caliniel; Dínen was momentarily distracted by a laughing group of passing Rohirrim, then she added her assent.

I could not fault her eye, but right now, we needed to make our way to the Houses of Healing. "Stay very close to me," I bade, "I would not lose you amongst this crow – "

"Nanny?"

I jumped as if pinched; no-one had called me that in years, except in letters. I turned toward the voice, and nearly fell over in surprise. "Mag?"

She had not changed a bit to my eyes. "You came!” she exclaimed delightedly, sweeping me into a hug. "I told them that you'd be here as soon as you could! And these must be your daughters?” she said, turning toward my girls, who were watching curiously.

"Yes, this is Dínen and Caliniel,” I said, flustered by the welcome surprise. “But how could you know we were arriving today?”

"Well, of course I couldn't know," Mag laughed, "with all these people in and out all day long? No, dear, I'm supposed to meet a woman with some kind of fresh seafood– I've yet to see her, though. If she sold it to the House of Silk instead of me …" she broke off, looking at me closely. "Listen to me jabbering on! You poor dears look exhausted! Why don't you come up with me, for a cup of tea and a sit down?"

"We haven't even been to the Houses yet –" I said, trying to gather my thoughts, “but Mag, you are well? I can not believe how the City looks….I did not think it would be this bad!"

"Well, we've been worse off, that's certainly the truth," Mag nodded, waving her hands as if the crumbled stone on the first level was nothing more than a little dust to be swept away. "Things are much better now than they were. I was sure you would be coming, just not at this moment, and yet here you are! Do you have a place to stay?"

I was aware that Dínen and Caliniel were looking at me oddly; I supposed they were not used to seeing me so scattered. "No, we've made no arrangements, but I am sure we'll not be the only family members sleeping on cots in the Houses - I can not thank you enough for sending me word, Mag!" I said, suddenly feeling less weighed down, faced with Mag's cheerful nature. "I was so worried and all we were hearing was how terrible things were, and so many strange rumours…"

"They're doing much better than they were, tis very true," Mag said with a reassuring smile. “We’ll get you up there first thing so you can see for yourself. And don't worry yourself about rumours - you know how people like to talk. But we've had some strange things happen here, oh yes. Elves! And a dwarf! Wizards and a halfling, can you imagine, who went to the Shadow Land and cast down the Dark One with just his servant to help him! Amazing times."

I did not know what Halflings were, but we could not stand here in the middle of the street while I asked Mag all the questions I had. I could ask just one more, though, and so I moved a bit closer to her; I did not want the girls to hear. "What of Faramir, Mag? What on earth did you mean?"

“Faramir?" Mag repeated, and suddenly there was a strange veiled look on her face that I had never seen before. “Well, much better than we'd -- but we'll speak of that later, not here on the street where any gossip or ruffian could hear." That did not put me at my ease one bit, but I knew that she would speak no more of it, and moreover, she was right. "What have you got in that basket, boy?" Mag had spotted a young man holding a sea grass basket, the top of which was moving suspiciously.

That was our signal to go. "All right -- you are still in the Citadel kitchen, are you not? Once I've made certain that Durvain and Hinaur are well-tended, shall I come and see you? If you're not too busy feeding guests and keeping the scullery maids in hand? "

"Are you Mag the cook?" the boy was saying as he tried to hold down the wiggling basketlid. "I was told to put this basket in your hands, and none other's."

Mag let out a whoop. "I'll take it, whatever it is! Nanny, you and your girls go on up to see your husband, and I'll sort something out about a place for you to stay. I've got to get these – " she peeked in the basket – "Turtles! lovely turtles! tended to. Yes, I'll be in the kitchen, where else would I be? You still like scones, I hope?"

"Yes, yes, " I laughed, "and I've never learned to make scones nearly as delicious as yours, Mag. And please don't go to any trouble - if you can not find room for us, we'll find something." Impulsively, I hugged her again, basket of turtles and all, and she chuckled. "I am so pleased to see you! Come now, girls – "

I took Caliniel’s hand, and gave Dínen a gentle nudge with my hip; she tore her eyes away from watching passers-by to start walking again, and we began to make our way up to the sixth level.

 As startled as I had been to run into Mag at the City gates, it was nothing compared to my shock when I found my brother Pilimór loitering in one of the corridors in the Houses of Healing – I had not known that he had taken part in the any land battles, as he was first and foremost a sailor. Yet here he was, with a broken arm, fading bruises, and a wide smile. Caliniel and Dinen were overjoyed, for Pilimór was one of their favourite uncles.

“I did not fight on the Pelennor nor at the Gate,” he agreed, “I had all the battle I could wish on the Anduin and in Pelagir Port. But I knew that our family had ridden with the Prince; I much wanted to discover what toll this war had taken on us without waiting for word through official channels, so I came the White City.”

I stopped dead in my tracks at the expression on his face. “Who has fallen?” I asked, throat suddenly tight.

“Mellonar and Inthenin,” Pilimór said gently, but with no hesitation. “And though I am sure it will soothe you not, know that they fought bravely, and were together at the end.”

I sat on one of the benches which lined the corridor, feeling as if I had been slapped. I had never lost a member of my family, and now, to lose two at once was staggering. Oh, who was going to bring this dreadful news to my parents? I did not want to be the one to do it.

Pilimór sat next to me, and let me lean on his shoulder til I could weep no more. “I know this is a great blow,” he said quietly, and I could now see the lines of sorrow in his face, for he and Mellonar had been very dear to one another, “but Talagan lives, and did not take a scratch. And your husband and son are alive, sister. I have visited them every day; they are mending as well as can be expected, and that is a great blessing.“

“I suppose you are right,” I said, wiping my eyes. Only now did I noticed that the girls were sitting on a bench across the corridor. Caliniel had her head in Dínen’s lap, and both were almost asleep. “Pilimór, please, you have seen them – tell me what wounds they took?”

Durvain, he said, had broken his leg in several places; the healers had been afraid they would not be able to set it properly, yet they had done their best. Although he would walk again, he would have a severe limp for the rest of his life. Hinaur had broken one of his shoulders and was spending much time asleep under the influence of pain-killing herbs; worse, he had lost an eye.

I was glad Pilimór was here to comfort me; though he was often at sea, and did not visit as much as I would like, we had always been close and his presence gave me strength. “Come now,” he said, squeezing my shoulders, “you have traveled a very long way, and I am sure that you are eager to see your menfolk, are you not?”

“You are a part of my menfolk,” I said, managing a faint smile, “and it’s glad I am to see you safe, brother mine.” I hugged him fiercely, being careful of his broken arm, and he held me tightly for a moment.

“I will sit here and rest and keep an eye on my nieces for as long as you need me to,“ Pilimór said, and when I glanced back at my daughters, I saw they were well and truly asleep. “Go, satisfy yourself that Durvain and Hinaur are well – they are just down the corridor.”

Though the bench did not look comfortable, I did not want to wake the girls, so I left them – and our meager baggage - in my brother’s care.

Though his face lit up with joy when he saw me and his welcoming embrace was so tight I could scarcely breath, Durvain was not at all surprised that we had come to Minas Tirith. “If I had to guess,” he said with a grin, “I would imagine that your Mag sent you word, did she not? I remember how she used to know everything that went on in the City! And I cannot imagine that you would be content to sit and wait to hear what had become of us.”

I laughed, a little giddy with relief to at last be able to reassure myself that my husband and son were indeed alive and well. “Yes, she did,” I admitted, taking his hand in mine. “And I am grateful, for I was so worried for the two of you.”

I cast a glance at Hinaur, who was indeed fast asleep, on a cot next to his father. His face was still darkly bruised, even this long after the battle; one eye was well-bandaged and a long scar marred his handsome face. He was also encased in some very odd contraption that kept his shoulder immobilized and was, Durvain assured me, very unpleasant when he was awake. The healers did not want him to move any more than necessary and Hinaur was not the type of young man who liked to keep still; I could well imagine how he would rebel at forced inaction.

I reached over and brushed my son’s hair away from his pale face. He looked so young; I remembered how proud he had been, to ride off to battle with his father, and how reluctant I had been to let him go. “Let him go” – I had not “let him” go; he was a man full-grown and I had been given no say in the matter.

Durvain squeezed my hand gently. “He will be fine, love,” he said softly. “He is alive, and in that we are more fortunate than many other parents.”

“You have the right of it,” I nodded, “and I am more fortunate than many other wives.” I knew it was true, but it did not make it any easier to see my strong husband bedridden, unable to walk on his own, or to see my lively son lying so still.

Durvain and I talked quietly for a bit; of the girls, of home, of the long, very different trips we had each had to Minas Tirith. He clutched at my hand when he spoke of the chaos of battle and his terror when he had seen Hinaur struck down, but he did not seem to want to speak of his fears in detail, and I did not press him. He would tell me more when, and if, he needed to.

After a time, Pilimór delivered the girls to us – they were sleepy-eyed but happy to see their father, and he was much cheered by their appearance. However, it was not long before Caliniel and Dínen were yawning again, and soon they were curled up on an empty bed, sleeping soundly.

Durvain surveyed our children as I made sure they were all well-covered and as comfortable as I could make them without disturbance. “ ‘Tis very homelike now,” he said with a smile, “but you are not planning on sleeping here in the Houses? I have missed you all, but it will not be comfortable, you may trust me in this.”

“Mag said that she would try to find a little corner for us,” I said, rubbing my eyes and stretching my back. Weariness was starting to take its toll. “I should go to the kitchen and see if she had any luck – if anyone could find three empty beds in this City, I am sure it will be Mag.” Durvain chuckled, and then I remembered. “Oh! I must ask her what happened to Faramir as well – she said the strangest thing in the note she …Durvain?” I trailed off, for he was looking at me with startled eyes. “What is it?”

“You…have not heard about Lord Faramir?” He looked apprehensive, sympathetic, and extremely reluctant.

“I have heard nothing but rumours so wild none of them can possibly be true,” I replied, suddenly uneasy for no reason I could name. “Durvain? What happened to Faramir? What have I not heard?”

His jaw tightened, and then he let out a long sigh. “Sit down, love.”

Supper was finished and cleared away, the kitchen finally quiet. I had set aside a tureen of soup, warm scones in a napkin-lined basket, a bit of cheese and sausage, and was just getting the teapot when Nanny came storming in, her face like a thundercloud. What on earth --

“Mag.” She was so angry she was shaking. “What is this about Faramir?”

I should have known, I should have expected that she would have heard something - and did I not all but promise to tell her the sorry tale? But that did not make things any easier now that the time had come. I set the teapot aside, and went for the brandy instead.

“What have you heard?” I asked. “What did Durvain tell you?”

“I can scarce believe what he said! I know they are giving him herbs for pain, but he seemed so lucid as he spoke. Yet the tale he told me...” She was pacing like a wild thing, wringing her hands. I had never seen her so overwrought. “Mag, he said – he said that Denethor had tried to burn Faramir alive! You know I did not particularly care for Lord Denethor, but I can not believe such a thing!

 I don't understand how such a ridiculous rumour could have.....Mag?”

To even hear the words describing the horrible events of that night made my heart pound; I could scarcely breathe. Fighting to control myself, I reached for the brandy, carefully pouring two tumblers full, hoping she would not notice the trembling of my hands. I had to be strong to tell her, as I had promised.

“What Durvain told you ... what he told you is true. Lord Denethor went mad with despair, those last days, and sought to end his life, and Faramir's with him.”

Nanny's mouth dropped open. She looked, for a moment, like a fish; I pushed the brandy towards her and she surprised me by taking a long, slow swallow. “Tell me everything, Mag.”

I took a sip, letting the heartening warmth wash over me before I spoke. “There were so few of us left. Why did we not see the Lord Denethor was going mad? Perhaps we were all going mad as well. There were some who said that he sat night and day in his tower, never sleeping, wrestling with the Dark One by means of sorcery, keeping us all alive by the strength of his will.”

“Sorcery? I heard something about a wizard; did he have anything at all to do with this?”

“No, no, it was the wizard, Mithrandir, and the halfling, Pippin, who saved Faramir's life. Lord Denethor took the halfling to be his page – we thought he was a prince, but he was not, merely a chieftain's son, from their land far to the north. Pippin called for servants at my lord’s orders, but only a few would come – all the rest had run away. Do you remember Raengur the groom? He was one of the ones to carry the litter. He sat for days afterward, drinking and telling anyone who would listen that he was merely following his lord's command, as he always had. Raengur loved Faramir, but how were we to keep faith, when our lord had lost his? Perhaps he believed Lord Denethor, that it would be better to die quick than slow, thinking it would be a mercy to Faramir. Who is to say?” I almost gasped, wondering suddenly what had become of Raengur – it had been weeks since anyone had seen him. Reviled and shunned, had he left the City? Or was he lying low somewhere, sick at heart, or worse?

“A mercy? A mercy to set him afire while he was still alive? What fool would think that? Had they taken him to the healers, were they certain that Faramir was near death with no hope?” Nanny was shouting and weeping all at once. “How could any of this be? Even beset by madness, how could Lord Denethor seek to ... murder, his son, his only son?”

“He would not call for the healers.” I felt for a moment like a scribe, reading from an ancient text; it was so much less painful than to try to remember it all as it was. “Faramir was leading the last of the retreat from Osgiliath, when he was struck down by one of the Nazgul, riding from the sky on a fell beast. From the moment they brought him in, his father stayed by his side. They had had harsh words, or so I've heard, before he left; now the Lord Denethor could not bear to be parted from him, and had him brought up to the Tower.”

Nanny stopped her pacing, just for a moment, and fixed a hard glare on me. “Why would his own father and men of the household, men who had known him for many years, think that death by fire would be easier? Tell me, Mag!”

I took a long swig of brandy, feeling the heat of Nanny's fury. “The fighting had been going on for hours. Everywhere was screaming, and smoke, the horrible shrieking of the fell beasts, the siege machines pounding endlessly. We had no one to turn to. Who among us could go to him and say 'Your son must go to the healers, now, my lord', with any sort of authority?

“If you were not here, you cannot imagine what it was like. What power decides who will live, and who will die? I crossed that courtyard a half-dozen times that day, but it was Donal the cobbler’s nephew, one of our messenger boys, that was snatched up by a fell beast before my very eyes. I knew he was afraid, we all were, but when I finished writing the note to the Healers, he grabbed it and was gone like a bird. They found his body down on the second level. They would not have known it was him, but for the fine boots he wore.” I squeezed my eyes shut against the image of the freckle-faced boy, so proud of those boots – 'I can run faster than anyone in these! I'll be your best messenger!' he had said, that first day; and so he always was.

Oh, Mag. I heard her shocked whisper as though from a thousand leagues away.

“Mormegil was there in the Tower the whole time, waiting outside the door of the chamber, my lord’s faithful hound. When he heard Lord Denethor speaking of wood, and oil, he tried to stop him but Lord Denethor struck him . Can you imagine such a thing? He struck him on the head with the Steward's rod. Hours later Mormegil came stumbling in a daze to my kitchen, the blood already matted in his hair. By then, of course, Lord Denethor was dead.”

"But... if no-one dared say anything or try and stop the Steward, except for poor Mormegil, how does Faramir live?”

“'Twas the halfling's doing, may he be forever blessed. He ran for Mithrandir, and brought him from the thick of battle. Together with Beregond, they broke down the door and dragged Faramir from the pyre. The halfling, small as he is, beat out the flames on Faramir's clothing with his own hands, but it was too late for Lord Denethor. Evil contrived by the Enemy, so Mithrandir said, and so it must be true, for who in his right mind would seek such a death, for himself and his child?” I took another gulp of the fiery liquour, to wash back the choking tears I still had not shed over that night.

“My poor little rabbit.” Nanny whispered. “He did not...he did not see his father's end?” She downed the last of her brandy; good. She needed that strength.

“No, he was not conscious for any of it, poor lamb. They brought him straight to the Houses, where the healers did what they could for his burns and bruises, but it was not until the King came and laid his hands upon him, and breathed into his mouth with healing herbs, that we knew he would be spared. Nanny, it was the most wondrous thing! They say Faramir opened his eyes, and sat right up, and spoke to him!”

“So he is well? He is not....crippled, nor scarred? And the king has returned, you say? I thought that only a wild rumour, thought surely that it could not be true.... “

“It is most wonderfully true. 'The hands of the king are the hands of a healer,' so has Ioreth said, about a thousand times since that day, but for once, she's right. After tending to Faramir, the king went about the city healing the hurt and sick. He had two mighty elf-princes with him, who he called his brothers, but how this could be possible I do not know. He was a Man, our king, and came to my kitchen that very morning, standing in line for hot bread and cheese and a mug of tea, just like any other man. It's very odd; he reminds me of someone, but I can't think of who.” As I had so many times since that morning, I paused; the face and voice and slow, cadenced speech lingering just beyond the edge of my memory. Who...?

Nanny looked confused, and no wonder. “He must be a very strange king indeed, no offense to you, Mag, to come and sit in the kitchen like a common man...but Faramir, he is well? He is...I suppose he is Steward now?” She gasped. “He..does he know? What his father's madness would have done?”

“Prince Imrahil told him, the poor dear; I would not have wanted that sorry task for all gold in Harad. But he is well, neither crippled nor scarred, just a bit of a cough still. We are plying him with lemon and ginger tea until he complains that he is floating on a sea of it. But oh! I have forgotten the best part!”

“Best part? What good could possibly have come of this?” She was skeptical, and I could not blame her, not after all I had just told her.

“Signs and wonders! There was a warrior among the Rohirrim, the one who killed the witch-king with a single blow, have you heard the tale? The one they said no living man can kill. And so....”

“I have heard many things, but I've no idea what to believe as true! I have seen the Rohirrim, though...I believe Dínen is quite taken with those men.” She rolled her eyes, seeming amused at her daughter's distraction. “But please tell me what wonderful thing has come of all this tragedy, Mag, for I cannot imagine what it would be.”

“And so...,” I teased, happy to finally have some cheerful news, after all our tales of woe. “And so, that warrior who killed the witch-king turned out to be a woman! The king's niece, of all things, a shieldmaiden who would not be left behind when all her kin went to war. She killed the witch-king, she and another halfling who was with her! But she was sore hurt, and the king healed her too. She was in the Houses with Faramir, and the two of them have fallen in love; so says Ioreth, great chittering wag-tongue that she is.”

“A woman, on the Pelennor? I had not heard that rumour. And ....but that is wonderful news, indeed! Are they to wed? Have you met this woman? Is she well-suited for him? A woman who would go to battle.....” She shook her head in disbelief; I chuckled, happy to see her a bit more like her old self again.

“I do not believe they are courting formally, poor King Theoden not yet laid in his grave, but I do not doubt they have spoken between the two of them. I've seen the lady, but not met her. If you spend any time in gardens, I'm sure you'll come across one or both of them, wandering about all starry-eyed.”

Nanny began to get a sort of plotting look on her face, just as she always had when she was seeking to be two steps ahead of the boys. “Hmmmm, I'm sure she's the only woman of the Rohirrim in the City, is she not? If she's still in the Houses, surely I'll have the chance to meet her. I do so want to see Faramir, especially after all that you've told me....has he much free time, do you know? I suppose I could simply go to his rooms...it is not as if I do not know these halls like the back of my own hand.”

“Well, he's allowed to work a few hours each day, and the rest he spends in the garden, or reading and studying in his chamber. But you know that he'll be happy to see you again, no matter what! And you can ask him about Lady Éowyn yourself - he was never able to keep anything from you.”

“He has never been very secretive, that is for certain. So he is well enough to do some work...that is good, I suppose, as long as he is not tiring himself out, working when he should not be.”

I laughed. “He is not nine years old any longer, you know, Nanny!”

“True, true....But I am sure that he is working away by lamplight, when he should be resting. So he is to be Steward, or is King ...the King does not plan to use someone else in that station?" She seemed a bit offended at the notion that our new King might push Faramir aside in favour of another man.

“No, he is to be Steward, and his sons after him, so he'd best get to begetting some, shouldn't he?”

Nanny choked, then started to laugh. “I suppose you are right, Mag!”

I was relieved to see that she was calmer now, though I didn’t think that she’d truly lost much of her outrage. I couldn’t blame her. At times Lord Denethor’s tragic demise seemed a bit like a dream; at others it was all too real in my memories. That seemed the way of it with all of those dark days during the Siege, before the return of the King.

“Now,” I said, once again turning my attentions to the tea kettle, “I’ve some lovely scones and a nice soup here – I’m sure you haven’t had a decent meal since leaving Dol Amroth, have you? Where are those daughters of yours? And how are your men faring?”

At last Nanny took a seat at the table, and began telling me of her family, of the losses they’d sustained and of her worries for her husband and son. It was like so many of the conversations we’d had when she lived in Minas Tirith that it almost felt like no time had passed since we’d last had a chat in this kitchen. We talked more of Faramir; of course we could not avoid speaking Boromir, and finally, in my dear friend’s company, I was able to shed some of those tears I had been hoarding. Together we wept bitter tears over his untimely death, and happy tears of shared remembrance of him, until we were weeping and laughing at the same time.

I don’t know how late it was when Nanny finally rose. “I must go see how my daughters are faring; I left them sleeping on an empty bed in the Houses… ”

I threw up my hands in disbelief. “How could I have forgotten! I have a place for you, two big beds in the common room where the maids and wenches sleep. We sent most of them out of the City; they'll be straggling back over the next few weeks, but for now there's plenty of room. Bring your girls tonight, or tomorrow if they're too settled; and anytime they're hungry send them to me. I can probably send something over for your husband and son as well – I don't trust those cooks. Always bland, bland, bland food, clear broth and porridge, when what men need are red meat and ale to build their strength.”

“I will,” she assured me, trying to stifle both a laugh and a yawn at the same time. “Tomorrow, however, I am going to see if I can track that rabbit of mine to his lair. Thank you for everything, Mag,” she said, giving me a quick hug. “I am so glad to see you – and thank you for telling me the truth of what happened to Faramir and Lord Denethor.”

She left, and I set about clearing the remains of her late meal. I wondered what she and Faramir were going to say to one another; I also wondered what Nanny was going to make of the Lady Éowyn. I hoped Faramir would give the lady fair warning before Nanny had a chance to ambush her.