It had taken the small company over a month to get the Princess of Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith. Lothíriel's condition had worsened since she had initially woken from the darkness, and the only hope to figuring out what truly ailed her lay in the Houses of Healing. It was a long way away, the houses, and with Osgiliath being divided between Sauron's forces and the might of Gondor, taking ships to reach a halfway point was not an option. They would not chance the waters, not after the attempted corsair attack that had rendered the Princess grievously injured and her fiance dead. Taking a large contingent to Minas Tirith was also dangerous; they did not need to draw unnecessary attention to themselves and risk an attack in the open. So three guards had been assigned to the Princess and her companion, and they had set out on the 21st of November with the hopes of reaching the capital by the same time the next month. They carried no banners or heralds, and their clothing was that of simple folk. It was the hopes of those who arranged the travels that they would not look like easy targets, and they could easily achieve their plans that way.
Things never go as planned, though.
Because of Lothíriel's ever worsening condition, the travel was very much stop and go. The seizures were random, her body ached, and the wounds refused to heal properly. Thankfully one of the guards had enough training to help Avariel take care of Lothíriel, to tend to the wounds and ease her through the most frightening of the seizures and nausea. Their intended arrival time had come and passed, and one of the guards has been sent ahead once they had reached a point where they were a week away from the capital. Word needed to be given to the healers, to prepare them for the Princess' arrival. As the month of January came, the small group finally arrived at the gates, and with the passwords given the small group made their way to the sixth circle and the Princess was greeted by healers who were waiting to take her into their care.
It had taken a week, but a healer had finally found the cause of the Princess' inability to heal and removed the problem. It had taken another week for Lothíriel to be able to feel like she was actually going to live, and a month for her to be well enough to get out of bed. Because of the leg wound she had received, and her general inability to walk since she had first slipped into darkness in the beginning of October, it was a slow process with walking, and she had been relegated to using a cane since she could not yet put her full weight upon her leg. There were still aches and pains, and she had known it would trouble her for some time since the poison had spent too long in her system, but she refused to let it get her down. Her path to full recovery changed, though, when Minas Tirith was under siege.
Since her body was not yet fully healed, the Princess had been one of the few of those left in Minas Tirith in the Houses of Healing (of course, she had also begged to be left behind, to be able to help where she could). As the city was emptied of women and children unable to fight, she had watched in silent fear, wondering what the darkness that gathered so near at hand would bring. She did not expect for things to go as they did, though.
The battle had been harrowing on the Healers, to say the least. Screams and cries of monsters and men alike had resounded throughout the city, and the destruction was hard to handle. No healer left the Houses, and each feared that if the creatures broke through, if the forces of the Dark Lord found their way into the inner workings of the city, their fates would be as dire as the men who now died on the field protecting them. Faramir had been brought in at some point, and for a time Lothíriel had been left to tend to him, but other of those who were wounded and dying were brought and she had chores to do. Because of her slow-going gait, the healers only required she clean wounds that would need bandaging for those who were not too severely injured and apply the needed salve to them before bandaging them up. Any other wounds, grievous or otherwise, would require a hand more skilled than her own, and she was glad to have something to do, to get her mind off of the things. The pain the healers said would soon subside had come back in full force, but she could not tell if it was true pain or the fear of her mind attempting to trudge up dark memories she had buried deep.
There had been a shift, though, a change in the battle, and soon word spread through the halls that the enemy host had been defeated. Comfort spread through the Princess, and for a time the Houses were full to the brim with soldiers being tended to, those less grievously injured in a more common area where the Princess and a few novice healers tended to their injuries. At some point she had garnered snippets of tales from the soldiers, had learned that the Rohirrim had been the turning tide for the men of Gondor and even a woman of Rohan had been injured on the field. That explained the commotion she had heard as they brought in the body of a Rohirrim soldier, but the soldiers then spoke of another battle to come, the final fight they would now march to to face the Dark Lord and defeat him once and for all.
Why was war so complicated?
The wait had been difficult for all left behind. If the Men of Gondor and Rohan were unable to defeat the Dark Lord...then...then there would be no hope. The darkness lifted though, after a time, and news finally reached Minas Tirith of the defeat of the Dark Lord. Lothíriel felt some of the darkness lift from her heart then as well, and she was pleased to hear the host had returned and set up camp upon the Cormallen field.
And so news began to spread as people returned to Minas Tirith and the tale found its way to the city, of the Hobbits who had saved them and destroyed the ring of power. It was all so fascinating, these war stories and tales of little people from a land called the Shire, and after the entire host had been gathered for some time, Lothíriel had finally made her way down to the field with two of the guards that had escorted her to the city those months ago. She had visited with her father and brothers, glad to see they were alive and know Dol Amroth was safe, but then she sought out another group, two she had heard were with the soon-to-be-crowned King of Gondor. Her first stop was among the Men of the West, the Rangers who had accompanied the soon-to-be King of Gondor into this battle. She had a sneaking suspicion the Twins would be with them, if only because she had known they had traveled with them for some time when she was younger. Finding them was not too hard: many of the men of Gondor were quick to point out their part of the camp, and so the Princess slowly made her way to the tents, dressed more plainly than usual and still relying heavily on her cane as she walked.
As she approached the tents, she spoke up then loudly, hoping to gain the Twins' attention if they were near. Her guard stayed only a few steps behind her, allowing the Princess to conduct her business as she wished. "Mae govannen, Men of the West. I am looking for someone who may be in your company...well, two people. Half-elves actually." She looked around then, hoping to spot them. No doubt she looked quite different now, still worn thin from her wounds, but the spark of the mischievous child they had met all those years ago was still in her eyes...just hidden now.
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The Tower of the Guard is the capital city and primary stronghold of Gondor, where many kings and stewards have ruled the land from her Citadel.