Part 11

Posted: February 2004
Author: Khylaren

*****

Chapter 11

The wizard pulled his cloak from around his shoulders and rested the end of his staff between his feet. He filled his pipe with quick, efficient movements, and lit it with the end of a long tapered stick that had lain in the fire.

Erin sat on the floor of her room and leaned back against the leg of the chair Elrohir currently occupied. She watched the smoke swirl and wreathe around Gandalf's white hair.

"How are Frodo and Samwise?" the elf asked.

Gandalf pulled the pipe from his mouth and smiled tiredly. "They will both recover from their ordeal," he replied. "Though it was a close call indeed." He shook his head with a soft chuckle. "The strength of hobbits never ceases to amaze me."

"What about Aragorn and the others?" Erin asked anxiously.

"They were well enough when I left them, young lady," Gandalf answered. "I expect they will arrive within the next day or so. Lord Celeborn departed with his Galadhrim for Lothlórien to deal with the troubles there the day I left."

Erin felt a stab of disappointment that she would not see her friends again any time soon.

"Elladan? Melaphríl?" Elrohir's voice trembled slightly with his anxiety.

"Yes, my dear Peredhel. Both will be among those returning here," the wizard said, smiling at the elf. "Now, my friends, I am truly weary. Even my strength is not endless."

"Are you certain you would not prefer the bed?" Elrohir asked. "I am well enough to sleep on a pallet, and no stranger to it."

Gandalf waved him off. "No, Master Elrohir. Do not trouble yourself on my account. I am rather comfortable in front of the fire and this chair will serve nicely." He glanced at Erin, and chuckled at her attempt to stifle a yawn.

"Sorry," she mumbled, rising as well. "Let me grab a blanket for you, Gandalf."

Elrohir followed her into the bedroom and watched her dig through the small chest at the foot of the bed for an extra blanket.

"You should stay in the bed, then," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Erin stood up, holding the blanket in her arms. "No. The couch is fine for me, Elrohir. Really."

He shook his head and frowned. "I have recovered my strength. It does not seem right to take the bed from a lady."

She snorted. "Chivalry is dead in my world, Elrohir. I don't expect you to give the bed up because I'm a woman. And truthfully, the couch is very comfortable. I like watching the fire before I go to sleep." She cocked her head at him and grinned teasingly at him. "Besides, you snore something awful."

Elrohir folded his arms across his chest. "Elves do not snore, lady." His attempt to look affronted was ruined by the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Erin paused as she walked past him and looked up at him. "Then what do the Elves call that funny noise you make when you're sleeping?" she asked innocently, before pushing past him into the main room.

His reply was to shut the door between the main room and the bedroom, making her chuckle softly.

Gandalf had laid his staff aside, leaning it against the wall well within easy reach. His pipe rested loosely in one hand as he watched the flames leap and lick hungrily at the wood in the hearth. He glanced up as Erin laid the blanket across his legs.

"There," she said unnecessarily. "In case you get cold."

She turned and made her way to the couch, pulling the blankets around her and laying her head down on her folded cloak. She felt Gandalf's regard and turned her head to meet his gaze.

"Legolas told me that you found the answers you sought in Lothlórien." He smiled faintly. "Will you speak of what you learned there?"

Erin sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. "You're not too tired?" she asked.

Gandalf shook his head as he refilled his pipe. "No, child. I am not too tired to listen if you are willing." He gestured to the other chair across from him. "Come, sit by the fire."

She rose, trailing her blanket behind her and made her way across the room to the chair. She sat down, curling her legs under her and folding the blanket over her. She watched the first wisps of smoke from Gandalf's pipe as they gently floated across the room.

"I looked into Galadriel's mirror," Erin began. "It showed me things that make sense now, and some that are still a mystery to me. Mostly it showed me visions of things that had either already happened, or were going to happen." She lifted her head and smiled briefly at him. "Like for instance, I saw you carrying Pippin to Minas Tirith on Shadowfax."

Gandalf nodded, taking a mouthful of smoke and blowing it gently. "Yes, what else did the mirror show you?"

"In the end, I saw myself standing on a long road, where two other roads converged. A crossroads. Both roads stretched off into the distance as far as I could see, but I couldn't tell where either of them led. I didn't know what it meant at the time."

"And now, you do?"

Erin nodded. "The Lady sent me back to Edoras. I was there to stop Éowyn from following Elladan on the Paths of the Dead." She shivered slightly, the memory of feeling like someone else was speaking through her leaving her chilled. "When the time came, I was the voice of…" She gestured blindly above her and shrugged. "I guess the Valar? I don't know for certain. All I know is that the words I spoke weren't mine."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he regarded her through the haze of smoke. "Go on, child. What happened after you spoke to Éowyn?"

"I – Éowyn said I fell unconscious and she couldn't wake me. I remember falling, and then suddenly I was sitting in the woods of England, where I had once gotten lost as a little girl." Erin found herself recounting the tale she had told Legolas earlier, and like the elf, Gandalf seemed to accept the story without questioning it. When she reached the point where the man and woman explained to her about her soul, the wizard stiffened in his chair, frowning sharply.

"They told you your fëa was born in the wrong world?" he asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.

Erin nodded, watching his reaction with concern. "Why are you making that face?"

Gandalf drew on his pipe thoughtfully, his eyes shifting to the fire as he blew out a long stream of smoke. "Strange," he muttered softly. "Most strange. I would not have thought the souls of man…"

"There's something else," Erin said slowly. "Something that I forgot."

The wizard's eyes lifted to meet hers and he nodded encouragingly. "Yes?"

She picked at the loose threads at the edge of the blanket and frowned. "I forgot about the dream. I took the path my heart chose and walked along it. I left the forest behind me for grasslands, and there was a river there that ran through it. I stopped and got a drink, and then I lay down on the grass. It was really warm and peaceful there, and I was tired all of a sudden. I fell asleep and dreamed. When I woke up, I was back in Edoras with Éowyn."

"A dream within a dream." Gandalf smiled suddenly. "What was your dream, Erin? Do you recall it?"

Erin nodded again. "Yes. Though I forgot about it until just now. Just now as I was telling you – isn't that weird?" His soft chuckle surprised her. "Well, it is to me," she said, frowning. "It was a dream about my mother. She was tucking me in – I must have been only five or six years old. And I asked her to tell me a bedtime story. Gandalf, she told me a story I've never heard before. I know I'd have remembered it if she'd told me before." Her hands were cold and she held them out towards the fire, rubbing them together slowly. "It was strange."

Gandalf nodded, drawing another mouthful of smoke. He blew three smoke rings, each smaller than the last, and sent them floating across the room. "I will have to consider this, Erin," he said finally. "For I have never heard a tale quite like yours. The souls of mankind do not return to this world once they have passed from it, so it is unlikely then, that yours is a soul that is returning. However, I have not heard that there are other worlds besides this where the Valar hold power."

"It's too bad they didn't stick around long enough for me to get some real answers from them," Erin said with a sigh. "They seemed really big on being cryptic."

"Too much information can be dangerous, Erin," Gandalf replied quietly. "Especially in the hands of the innocent or untrained. And, I have found that even in my own experiences with the greater powers, they are reluctant to reveal everything."

Erin nodded, blinking sleepily at the fire. "It's just weird, but I can live with that. Because they were right in one thing – this world is home to me. I feel like I have finally found what I was missing all my life."

The wizard's eyes narrowed shrewdly at her as he puffed on his pipe. "Oh really?" he said.

She thought about the friends she had made over the months and the closeness of some of them in particular, and nodded. "Yeah. I just wish there was some way I could tell my parents I'm okay." She gave him a weak smile. "I miss them terribly, Gandalf."

"I should imagine that you do," he replied gruffly. "Now, go and get some rest. There is much to be done in the following days to prepare for Aragorn's return."

~ * ~

Erin found herself following the tall wizard through the streets of Minas Tirith on their way to the citadel. She had never been to the upper levels, and could not help but look around curiously as they climbed the winding streets.

The damage on the upper levels was less the higher they climbed. The orc invaders had not penetrated the defenses of the city past the third level, though there was some major damage done by the enemy's catapults on many of the buildings. Still, it was heartening to see that the majority of the damage was already being repaired, and the rubble in the streets cleared away. People went about their daily lives and routine as before, though their conversations were hushed as Gandalf passed them with the strange looking woman in tow.

"Where are we going?" Erin asked, jogging to catch up with the wizard.

He glanced down at her and smiled briefly.

"Faramir has returned to the citadel to assume his duty as Steward until Aragorn returns. Prince Imrahil left good men to keep the city stable during the absence of the Steward, but there are things that only Faramir has the authority to do in the King's absence. He will need our help," Gandalf replied.

Erin's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Me? What can I do?" She'd fallen behind again and scurried to catch up with him.

"You are an educated woman, are you not? You have skills that would be of use, I think," the wizard answered, his eyes twinkling with humor. "I also think you would be glad to have something useful to do besides playing cards with Éowyn and wasting the day."

She nodded. "Yeah. If you think I'll be of some use, I'd love to help him."

The corner of Gandalf's mouth twitched as he looked down at her. "I am certain he will appreciate your help," he said quietly.

~ * ~

Faramir looked up from his work as they entered the room, relief written plainly in his dark blue eyes.

"Mithrandir, glad I am to see you," he said quietly. He noted Erin's presence at the wizard's side and his eyebrows rose slightly, though he gave her a brief and welcome smile.

Gandalf leaned on his staff and looked down at Faramir. "How are you faring?" he asked gently.

Faramir ran a hand through his hair, the result making him look frazzled and unkempt. "Everywhere I turn, I meet with opposition," he said bitterly. "My father's advisors are loyal to him even after death. They refuse to accept my word that Aragorn is Isildur's heir. They give me no aid in what must be done."

Gandalf nodded. "What can I do to help?"

"Prince Imrahil's man took care of what he could, but there was too much for him to handle alone." He shook his head, gesturing to a stack of parchment on his desk. "It is all disorganized chaos. I do not have time to sit and sort through it all – other things require my attention as well. Since my late father's advisors will not help me, it falls upon my shoulders to tally the dead, make recompense to the families of the fallen, to make a count of our stores, to order repairs and new construction." He put his hands on his hips and looked down at the desk, biting his lip. "It is a bit overwhelming," he finished, managing a wry smile.

"Will you take an old wizard's council?" Gandalf asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Faramir sighed and nodded. "Gladly."

"I have brought Erin with me to help, but even with us to help you, it will not be enough. Are there any left in the city that you would trust, who are loyal to you?" Gandalf asked.

"Yes," Faramir said. "Yes, I know several who were wounded in the battle, but who are well enough now to help." He glanced at Erin. "My apologies, but what can you do?"

Erin looked at Gandalf, but the wizard simply smiled at her. She turned back to Faramir and shrugged. "I'm a scholar in my land. I've studied and learned a lot of things. I'm willing to do whatever I can to help. Even if it's just filing and sorting."

Faramir looked pleasantly surprised. "Well, I am certain you will be of use, then," he agreed. "Tell me, do you think you can put these in some semblance of order?" He gestured to the stack of parchment once more.

She made her way across the room and looked down at the papers in question. The writing on them was tiny, but neatly done, and, to her surprise, understandable. The top paper was a report on the latest shipment of grain. At the bottom of it was a date.

"I think so," she said finally, looking up at him. She was startled to realize he had moved closer, and took an involuntary step back. "I will certainly try," she managed.

He smiled at her, and she felt the warmth of it down to her toes.

Get a grip, girl, she admonished herself silently, trying not to blush under his regard.

"I will leave you to it, then," he said softly, before turning to leave with Gandalf.

Erin watched him go and sighed, before sitting down behind the desk and beginning her work.

~ * ~

A shadow crossed the desk as she finished placing the order for more cotton in its appropriate pile and she looked up in surprise.

Faramir looked down at her with a faint smile. "It is late, lady. You have worked enough for this day. Surely you must be hungry."

Erin glanced at the window behind her and blinked. The sun was well on its way to setting, and the sky had gone a soft, purple. She had been so engrossed in her work; she hadn't even noticed the passage of time.

"I didn't realize it was getting late," she said ruefully. "I just finished. I think you'll find things a little easier." She gathered the different stacks together into one large stack and handed them to him. "They are in order by date as well as by subject matter. I put all the orders for food and supplies in one pile, and the requests in another, and so forth."

Faramir thumbed through the stack of parchment and then set them down on his desk. "You have my thanks, lady," he said honestly. "I could have done it myself, but it would have taken time I did not truly have."

She shrugged, a little embarrassed by his thanks. "It was no problem for me," she said. "I actually enjoyed doing it." Her stomach chose that moment to growl noisily and she looked up at him in chagrin. "I need to eat, apparently. Breakfast was ages ago."

"Come, then," he said, smiling. "I will escort you safely back to your place or residence so that you may eat. I would not have you fainting at my feet from hunger."

Erin chuckled. It wouldn't be hunger I'd faint from, she thought wistfully, and sighed.

~ * ~

The days passed as they waited for Aragorn and the others to return. Erin would rise and dress, visit briefly with Éowyn, and then make the trip to the citadel to help Faramir. Elrohir occasionally accompanied her, and lent his help as well. She was surprised to learn that the elf warrior had clerical skills.

"I spent many years under the tutelage of Lord Erestor, my father's chief councilor. He taught me much," he replied simply.

"Good," Erin grinned, handing him a stack of parchments. "Then you'll know what to do with these."

He lifted an eyebrow at her but took them from her, settling his lean frame behind the desk.

Faramir and Gandalf would stop in occasionally to either add to their load or take stock of what had been accomplished. Erin could not suppress the thrill she felt each time she saw the handsome man – but hoped she wasn't too obvious with her chattering and smiles. He did not act as if her behavior was odd, however, and always treated her kindly. He was polite verbally, but his smiles, she noticed, were warmer, his looks a little more lingering than before.

There was something else she noticed during her daily visits to the citadel. Faramir touched her – often. They were always gentle touches, never inappropriate, but they were frequent. He would lay his hand on her arm when speaking to her, or take her hand to guide her from one place to another. Once he even brushed her neck with his fingertips, claiming that she had something there that needed brushing away.

Each touch, each lingering smile, gave Erin hope. She couldn't ignore her own feelings about the man – each day that passed, each moment spent in his company, made her fall all the harder. It also made her realize what had been lacking between her an Éomer, and why she had never quite let herself fall for him: some indefinable and unexplainable spark of recognition, deep inside her. Éomer had been all the things she should have wanted – handsome, noble, brave, and kind, and his kisses had made her melt. But she hadn't felt the connection between them – not the way she had felt it almost the very moment she laid her eyes on Faramir's face; almost tangible, like an alarm ringing in her head.

The only bad thing was, while she was slowly but surely falling for the handsome Captain of Gondor, she really wasn't sure if he felt that way about her. Other than his touches and smiles, he gave no hint of his own feelings other than respect and friendship.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

On the fourth day, just as Erin finished writing a drafted response to a letter from the head of the furrier's guild, a familiar shadow crossed the desk where she was working.

She smiled without looking up. "Did you need something, my Lord?" she asked, neatly printing Faramir's name at the bottom and the date. He would sign it later, if there weren't any changes. It still felt weird to say ‘my lord', but after a long talk with Éowyn one morning, she felt it was high time she got used to using respectful titles – until she was told otherwise. Faramir always called her ‘lady' and never used her name. If he were going to call her lady, she'd return the favor.

"I was hoping to distract you from your work for a moment," Faramir said quietly. "There is something I think you should see."

Erin blew on the paper to dry the ink before setting it carefully aside. Looking up, she smiled at him. "Sure. I just finished anyway."

He shook his head and smiled warmly. "You have been a gift these past few days, lady. I want you to know how much I appreciate all that you have done."

She blushed, and busied herself by cleaning up her mess. "It's nothing. Honestly, I'm just glad I have something to do besides sit around. And helping you is a good thing."

"Indeed," he murmured, and she was aware of his eyes on her as she finished straightening the desk. "Come," he said, offering his hand. "You will want to see this."

Erin took his hand, acknowledging the fluttering in her stomach at his warm touch with an inward sigh. It was funny – if she was in her world, she would have asked him for his phone number and for a date. In this world – well, things were definitely different. Women just weren't that forward – not if they didn't want to get the wrong sort of reputation.

Faramir glanced down at her as they walked up the stairs that led to the courtyard. "You look lovely today, lady," he commented softly.

"Éowyn found me a seamstress," Erin replied, glancing down at her dress with a smile. "I like wearing pants, but sometimes, its nice to wear something pretty." It had been hard to accept the gift from Éowyn – but her friend had insisted, saying, "Just until you get yourself settled into a situation where you can pay your own way. Do you not think it is time you started to dress as a lady?" Éowyn had grinned knowingly at Erin's blush. The dress was simple and comfortable, and the rich brown color of it flattered Erin's pale skin quite nicely.

Faramir led her to the edge of the courtyard, and Erin looked down. She immediately took a step back, swaying dizzily from the immense height of it.

"Are you well?" Faramir asked worriedly.

"Yes, give me a second. I forgot how high up we are," she replied, inching carefully towards the edge once more. She felt his hand tighten on hers and she gave him a grateful smile.

The view of the city below them was impressive, Erin thought. From way up here, the damaged sections looked less damaged than they were. Minas Tirith was beautiful – all white stone, arches and curving roads. In some ways it reminded her of the pictures she had seen of cities in Greece.

"Look there," Faramir's voice caressed her ear, and she absently rubbed at the goose bumps that prickled her arms, caused from the warmth of his breath against her skin.

She looked where he pointed and gasped, her eyes opening wide.

There, in the distant fields below, she could see the colorful banners of Gondor and Rohan, and the glint of sunlight off of armor and shields.

Faramir's hand tightened on hers and she looked at him, grinning in excitement.

The silvery trumpeting sound of the tower horns called out, the sound carrying joyfully on the wind.

"The King has returned."

~ * ~

Erin stood beside Éowyn, feeling a bit overwhelmed as well as awed by her place of honor beside her friend. The rest of the peoples of Gondor, Dol Amroth, and Rohan stood shoulder to shoulder behind them, watching the procession with awed and faint murmurings. Other nobles and people of importance stood with them, and Erin felt like she was an imposter in her borrowed finery.

Two guards of the citadel had passed first, carrying torches with them. They reached the top of the steps and set fire to the metal bowls of oil on either side of the dais. They extinguished their torches then, and took their places, one on each side, standing at attention.

Next came Faramir, looking utterly and heartbreakingly handsome in his armor, the white tree gleaming in the center, his cloak fluttering behind him as he walked. Beside him walked another man Erin knew as the Warden of the Keys, a serious but kind man named Húrin. Together, they carried a large, black case, each holding a handle between them. In Faramir's other hand he carried a long, white rod. The two men took their places at the bottom of the steps and waited.

Erin heard the murmur behind her fall silent as the Dúnedain, dressed in silver and gray, passed them. Tall and regal, their graceful movements reminded her of elves. Behind them, walked Aragorn.

She'd never seen the Ranger cleaned up, and she was quite frankly, amazed at the change she saw in him. Clean-shaven, his long hair bound back elf-style; his face was handsome and noble. He wore black and silver, and even from the distance Erin could see the high quality of the fabric. His cloak, or mantle, she amended, was white and clasped at his throat with a green stone that gleamed in the light of the sun. He wore a slender fillet of silver, with a star in the center of his forehead. He looked every inch a King as he walked by them.

Wow, was all she could think of as he passed by.

Erin couldn't help but smile as she spotted Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pip, all dressed in their finest clothes, walking behind Aragorn in a place of honor. Frodo was still pale in comparison to the other hobbits, but he no longer held the dark shadows beneath his blue eyes.

Gandalf had taken her to see Frodo on the third day, when the hobbit had finally woken from his exhausted slumber. He was terribly thin, and the skin beneath his eyes was gray, but his eyes – oh, his eyes. So pure and wide and beautiful – how they had brightened with joy when they had lit on Gandalf. The merry laughter that had poured forth from the skinny, battered and bruised creature on the bed has surprised her with its strength and lightness. She was honestly in awe of Frodo and of Sam, who had been Frodo's strength when his own had failed. Sam was goodness itself – and he'd hovered protectively over Frodo all during their visit, as if worried his master would over extend himself. Erin listened to Frodo and Sam as they told Gandalf about their journey through Mordor, and she wished she could simply hug them both long enough to take the pain and suffering from their eyes. Gandalf had told her that they both would recover, Sam more so than Frodo. The dark haired hobbit would always carry the weight of the ring with him, along with the pain from the Morgûl blade. He would never go back to the merry, carefree hobbit he had been before. It was the price he had to pay for what needed to be done.

Behind the hobbits walked Legolas and Gimli, side by side, both dressed in their finery. Legolas wore a circlet of silver and was dressed in the palest of blue tunics. He caught her eye as they passed and nodded, giving her a faint smile. Behind them, Elladan and Elrohir, also garbed in richly colored robes of green and blue and wearing silver circlets over their sable hair.

She felt a tug on her arm and turned, smiling as Melaphríl came to stand next to her, his eyes following Elrohir as he walked gracefully beside his twin. The fair-haired elf gave her a brief and friendly smile, before turning his attention to the procession once more.

Aragorn had reached the dais and taken the three steps before turning. The crowd around her fell completely silent as Gandalf took his place beside Faramir and Húrin.

Faramir knelt before Aragorn in one, smooth motion, bowing his head respectfully. "The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office," he said, holding out the white rod he had held in his other hand.

Erin watched Aragorn take the white rod from Faramir's hand, before giving it back with a smile. "That office is not ended, and it shall be thine and thy heirs' for as long as my line shall last," he said gravely. He watched as Faramir rose and inclined his head regally. "Do now thy office."

Faramir turned and spoke in a clear, loud voice. "Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! One has come to claim the kingship again at last. Here is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Númenor. Shall he be king and enter into the City and dwell there?"

The resounding "Yes!" shook the stones beneath Erin's feet, and she couldn't help but grin. Her body trembled slightly with excitement. It was all coming to pass as it was supposed to.

"Men of Gondor, the loremasters tell that it was the custom of old that the king should receive the crown from his father ere he died; or if that might not be, that he should go alone and take it from the hands of his father in the tomb where he was laid. But since things must now be done otherwise, using the authority of the Steward, I have today brought hither from Rath Dínen the crown of Eänur the last king, whose days passed in time of our longfathers of old."

Húrin stepped forward with the black case he and Faramir had carried, and Faramir opened it. Reaching inside, he brought out an ancient looking crown. It was shaped similar to the helmets worn by the citadel guards, except that it was more elaborate. It was all white, with wings at either side of it, embellished in pearl and silver. Seven jewels of adament were set in the crown, and upon the summit was set a single jewel – and in the light of day, it shone like a flame.

Aragorn took the crown from Faramir and held it up and spoke, his strong voice carrying easily over the vast crowd assembled.

"Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn'Ambar-metta!"

"Those are the words that Elendil spoke when he came up out of the Sea," Melaphríl said quietly for Erin and Éowyn's benefit, neither understanding the words Aragorn had spoken. "Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide and my heirs, unto the ending of the world."

Then Aragorn did something that surprised Erin, for she had expected him to put the crown on his head. Instead, he gave it back to Faramir.

"By the labor and valor of many I have come into my inheritance. In token of this, I would have the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me, and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will; for he has been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory," Aragorn said.

Erin watched as Frodo came forward and accepted the crown from Faramir. She couldn't hear what the man said to Frodo, but the hobbit smiled briefly, before turning to walk the few paces to Gandalf's side.

Gandalf took the crown from Frodo and bowed his head humbly before the little hobbit. Frodo's cheeks colored at this honor accorded to him, and he backed away, rejoining the other three hobbits.

Aragorn knelt at Gandalf's feet, and the wizard held the crown above him for a moment, before placing it gently and reverently on his head.

"Now come the days of the King," the wizard said, his voice booming out like thunder. "May they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!"

A great, resounding cheer rose from the throats of the people around her when Aragorn rose and turned to face them as their King. Erin added her cheers to theirs, even as her vision blurred with tears.

"Behold the King!" Faramir cried above the noise, and trumpets sounded following his cry. Erin heard a noise and looked up, laughing and crying at the same time.

Above their heads, flapping in the wind, was the black banner with the white tree emblem, with the seven stars sparkling above it.

*****

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