Chapter 1: Farewell to Ithilien

t was a crime, really, Elwing thought as she raised the trunk lid and gazed at Caladbolg lying there in its cloth swathing. Her father’s sword gleamed in the early morning light like the legendary Narsil of old. She longed to take it out, to wield it once again as she had done in Pelargir after her father had died defending the gates. But she had not yet attained a ranking within Minas Tirith’s military that allowed her to carry a weapon. She was still a trainee, not even a foot soldier yet, and merely a peasant; an orphan taken in by relatives who were farmers in Ithilien. She sighed and shut the trunk lid.
There was little time for wishful thinking this day. She had to report in for duty at the guard tower in Minas Tirith on the fifteenth of every month, and that was only three days away. It would take her nearly two days to even reach the city, and she did not want to be late. Her commander, Onyx_Monk, was rather strict and did not accept excuses. As she was walking out the door, she ran into Kul, her second cousin, who had been out plowing the south field since before the sun had come up. "Why do you do this?" he asked, his hazel eyes dark with concern. "Why can’t you be happy here? You could, you know. Our life is simple, but Ithilien is so beautiful and the people are happy. Mother and Father love you as if you were their own daughter. At the Spring Festival last week, I noticed a few of the young men taking an interest in you. Can’t you just see yourself settling down on your own farm with a husband and a cartload of children?" "No, I cannot," Elwing replied shortly, turning away so that he would not see the tears shining in her eyes. "There was once a time when that was all I dreamed of, but the sea stole those dreams from me." "So what is it that you are seeking to secure?" "I will be a warrior that Minas Tirith can be proud of," she answered vehemently, raising her chin. "There will come a time when all in the realm of Gondor will know my name. I will make Gondor’s enemies pay for the destruction they brought upon Pelargir. The maiden that dreamed of love and family died with her lover in the sea. A warrior woman has been born in her place." Here she smiled ruefully. "Well, not quite yet. About all I’m allowed to do at the moment is clean out the queen’s royal stables with a pitchfork. But I’m working on it." Kul merely sighed as he took a large, brown pouch out from beneath his tunic and presented it to her. "I did not think I would be able to change your mind. The family thinks it is too much for you to be travelling back and forth to Minas Tirith every month. We’d like you to buy a place in the city where you can stay." Elwing undid the drawstring and peered into the pouch, gasping at the amount of gold coins that had been stuffed in it. "How did you come by so much money?" "We sold the north field. It fetched a good price because of the stream running through it." Kul answered matter-a-factly. "I cannot take this." She tried handing the pouch back. "It is too great a gift." "No, we talked about it; Father, Mother, and I." He shook his dark head stubbornly. "Consider it a farewell gift, something to start you out on the road to making your dreams come true."
Elwing was overwhelmed. Too choked up to talk, she merely gave him a tight hug and then ran off to pack. As she left the farm that morning for the very last time, the world looked bright and new. All her possessions were packed in a bag on the back of a very young red-gold dragon, who was doing cartwheels in the air above her head and looking thoroughly disgruntled at being used as a baggage carrier. Caladbolg, still wrapped in cloth, was cradled in her arms. It would be a long time before she could use it, but, at least, she would have it with her. Running with a speed greater than the horses of the Rohirrim, she headed off in the direction of the Tower of Ecthelion, rising like a spike of pearl against the western horizon.

“This is your standard-issued armor,” Onyx_Monk said as they stood in the trainee changing rooms of the Guard Tower. She held up a short chain mail tunic. “All Guard Trainees are required to wear it, even though they’re not approved for combat yet.” Elwing refrained from asking why anyone would be required to wear such a heavy-looking piece of clothing when their only job was to clean the stables and fetch and carry for the Guards. Such a question, however, would be considered insubordinate, and her commander would not appreciate that at all. She took the piece of armor and looked at Onyx_Monk with confusion in her brown eyes. “But how do you put it on?” The commander gave her an incredulous look. “You don’t know how to put a hauberk on?” Once again, the new recruit was reminded of how out-of-place she still was in Minas Tirith and in her new military career. But she would learn, Elwing vowed fiercely to herself. By Eru, she would learn…

Meanwhile, Onyx_Monk was still staring at her, as if trying to figure out what cave she had lived in all her life. The young trainee was saved from further embarrassment by the sudden appearance of a small, Gondorian woman, standing respectfully at attention until Onyx_Monk noticed her. “Yes, what is it?” The commander snapped, turning to her. “If it pleases you, I may be of help.” Her voice was respectful, yet without a waiver. She smiled reassuringly at Elwing, who was shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably and holding her hauberk as if it were a creature that was suddenly going to grow fangs and bite her. “I know how to put a hauberk on,” she gestured at her own chain mail shirt that she was wearing and her eyes flicked to Onyx_Monk. “I could show my fellow trainee how to do it.” Onyx_Monk nodded curtly and walked away, tossing back over her shoulder; “Don’t be long about it.”

Elwing lowered her eyes, embarrassed that she had showed herself so incapable in front of her commander, but the other woman merely smiled and took the hauberk out of her hands. “Sometimes you must take our commander with a grain of salt. She was raised in a military family, so she tends to think everyone is born knowing this stuff.” “But what about you?” Elwing asked as the woman helped her into the heavy chain mail tunic and then fastened it with deft fingers. “We’re both trainees, and yet, you seem to know more than me.” “I’ve lived in Minas Tirith all my life and watched the Tower Guard; studied them really because I wanted to be one.” The other trainee shrugged. “So I picked up a lot that way. Where is it you come from?” “Pelargir.” “Oh, the great harbor city.” She smiled. “You may not know much about hauberks, but I bet you could teach us a thing or two about ships and the high seas.”

At the mention of ships and the seas, Elwing’s eyes clouded over with sadness. Her companion saw the change and ducked her head in discomfort. She quickly changed the subject. “By the way, my name is Morwen. As I said, I’ve lived all my life here in Minas Tirith, but my grandfather was actually a Dwarf. I used to go to Khazad dum a lot to visit. The city is beautiful, but the mines hold much that I desire. Sometimes, I feel torn between the two places. I want to be here; yet, I want to be there as well. I am hoping that joining the Tower Guard will put my restlessness to ease.” “I’m Elwing,” The young woman clasped the other’s forearm in the customary sign of friendship among the Guard. “I too seek to put my restlessness to ease.” Together they walked out into the bright sunshine, heading for the stables. “Well, it looks like another day of cleaning stalls and grooming horses for us,” Morwen muttered, sighing. “If truth be told, I’d rather be re-painting the city walls.” Elwing glanced over at her. “Yes, I noticed the color of the walls. I thought they were supposed to be white, like a pearl. Instead, they’re…pink.” “It’s blood, mixed in with the paint.” Morwen’s rather Dwarvish face took on a somber expression. “Only a few months ago, the city was attacked by a large army of Haradrim. Of course, there were soldiers manning the walls, but little did we know that the enemy had a new device in their arsenal; a war machine whose missiles were capable of reaching the top of the walls and the brave warriors defending them. Hundreds fell that day, and their blood ran down the gleaming white walls, staining them It was the price of our freedom. We did win the battle, but only because the Riders of Rohan responded to the red arrow our queen had managed to send to them.
They came from the west and set upon our enemies from behind, and from the Great Gates of Minas Tirith, the forces of the city issued. Caught between the Gondorians and the Rohirrim, the Haradrim were overwhelmed.”

Elwing found herself wishing she had been there. She would have made them fear her father’s sword! “But why have they not re-painted the walls yet?” She asked. “Oh, city officials,” Morwen sighed disgustedly. “They’ve had council meeting after council meeting on it. They can’t come to an agreement on anything. Half of them think the walls should stay, as they are as a testimony to the soldiers that died defending them. Can you imagine that? The other half, of course, want to see our beautiful white walls gleaming like pearls again. So the debate continues…” “But what…” she was interrupted as the deep tolling of a bell suddenly split the air, echoing down every street in Minas Tirith and shattering the peace of the quiet morning. “It’s the bell at the top of the Tower,” Morwen cried. “There’s something wrong.”

Complete chaos reigned in the city. Women were screaming, children were crying, and men were hurrying to take up weapons. Everyone seemed to be shouting orders that no one else was following. There was some kind of commotion at the gates and a loud, fierce roaring suddenly mixed its voice in with that of the bell. Morwen pulled Elwing toward the relative safety of the stables, but the young woman wasn’t about to stay there. She took up her rusty pitchfork, the weapon she could get her hands on, and ran back out into the streets, ignoring Morwen’s frantic pleas to come back. As she neared the gates, she could hear the terrified cry. “It’s the cave troll, Indur Dawndeath! Inform the Queen! Call to arms!” Grasping her pitchfork tightly in her right hand, she hurried forward. Her destiny had been set. For good or for ill, she would defend Minas Tirith this day….

Back