II. The White City

            I remembered waking up during the time the young Man carried me on horseback to the White City. Though I was not awake enough to move or open my eyes, I was awake enough to hear things: the Man’s worried comments about me under his breath, his steed’s gait and breathing.

            The second time I was barely conscious, I heard different noises: various murmurs, laughter, hooves colliding with cobblestone flooring. We had to have made it to the White City—surely a place in the middle of nowhere would not randomly have cobblestone lying along the ground.

            I went under again but was roused when I felt different sensations and heard different things again: being in someone’s arms, hearing a pair of feet run towards me, the young Man’s rapid, frantic explanation as to what happened. If I had had enough strength to open my eyes and see where I was, I would have gladly done so.

            Sadly, those were the last things I remembered hearing before I was pulled under again.

*     *     *

            Silence met me when I began to be conscious once again. I breathed mutely and felt myself lying on my back, on something comfortable for a change. I was puzzled. What was I lying on? I twitched my fingers to feel around me, feeling a soft fabric…silk? With some effort, I popped my eyes open only to be met with a ceiling.

            I stared at it, trying to get my mind working normally again. I wondered how I was still alive at this point. What had happened during my blackout periods?

            I weakly lifted my head to see that I was in a small room that was big enough to house one person. Curious, I slowly inched myself up into a sitting position. I looked at the clothes that covered me. My ragged, dirty outfit had been stripped off me and replaced with a soft off-white gown. I rubbed the back of my neck, wincing as my fingers brushed the spots that they had grabbed.

            “I can assure you, my lady, she is recovering, though not as well as we would like or hope,” came a voice from down the hall. I jumped, afraid to squeak.

            “Well, she is recovering, and that is all that matters,” a soft voice replied. “He was smart in bringing her here. It has been how long since she was brought here?”

            “Three days.” I had been out for three days? What did I miss? “Really, my lady, you do not need to be here. We can take care of her just fine.”

            “I know you can, but she is one of my kind. When she wakes, she will most likely be frightened and not want to talk to anyone. She will probably not trust you, or anyone for that matter.”

“If you say this, then why do you want to see her?”

“I can communicate with her in our native tongue to assure her that she is in a safe place.”

            “If you say so. Her room is right there.”

            I wrung my hands nervously as I heard faint steps cross to the open threshold in my room. I swallowed as soon as she entered.

            She was beautiful, with her raven hair falling behind her down to her back. Her pale lavender dress hid her feet. Her grey eyes were soft and warm, trying to make me feel safe. I wanted to feel protected, but I was in a foreign place with an Elf I didn’t know. How could I feel secure when I knew nothing?

            The Elf smiled cordially at me. I felt like I should return it, but I could not.

            “You do not need to be afraid,” she said in our native tongue. “You are safe here.”

            “How can I know that for sure?” I replied warily.

            “You are still alive, are you not? We have not harmed you.” She crossed to my bed. “What is your name?”

            “Nimalia,” I said, changing languages. “It is odd to hear my name be spoken by anyone, including myself.”

            “Why?”

            “I would rather not discuss that.” I looked away.

            “I understand.”

            “What is yours?” I shifted my eyes back to the Elf.

            “Arwen,” she replied. She carefully sat herself at the end of my bed.

            “Where am I exactly?”

            “You are in Minas Tirith, in the land of Gondor.”

            “Gondor…”

            “You act as though you have never heard the name.”

            I blushed. “I have not. I am no expert when it comes to what land is where and what cities lay within them. Tell me, do you know how I got here?”

            “A young Man brought you here; the healers brought you in here to examine you. Word reached my husband and me, and we were told what happened to you. You were near death, Nimalia, when he brought you to us.”

            “Forgive me, but where exactly is here?”

            “You are in the Houses of Healing, in the care of some of the most trusted healers known to Gondor.” She smiled thinly. “When you did not wake after your arrival, we had lost hope that you would ever do so again. Yet, here you are three days later, looking improved.”

            “And where is the Man now, who brought me here?”

            “He is visiting his family; it was the original intent for his journey here. Do not worry, I told him that I was sure you were thankful for him coming to your aid.”

            “I am.” I shakily laughed.

            “He mentioned that you were wandering alone and that you were acting…wild. He believed you were running from something, or someone.” Arwen raised an eyebrow at me. “Were you?”

            “My lady, I know you must have a lot of questions that I have answers to, but I do not feel up to telling you.” I shook my hair. “If I told you the answers you seek, you would regret hearing them. Take my word for it.”

            “You do not have to address me as ‘my lady’, Nimalia. You can call me my name.”

            “I just thought it would be polite giving you the title since I heard someone call you that earlier. Judging from hearing that, you must be royalty.”

            Arwen nodded. “I am.”

            “You must not make personal visits often, what with your busy schedule,” I murmured thoughtfully.

            “Things have settled down since the War of the Ring ended,” she admitted. “We are in a time of peace now.”

            In your world, maybe, but not in mine. I do not remember a time of peace in my life after they found me. I did not want to say this to Arwen, only because I was afraid of the tone I would use on her, and I did not want to give her more motivation to ask me why I had been alone, running as if my life depended on it.

            “Tell me, Nimalia,” Arwen whispered, “do you remember where you live?”

            I bobbed my head. “Lórien. I have not been home in so long that I barely remember what it looks like.” I shuddered at the harsh truth. Constantly moving with them for years and years made me forget about my home almost entirely—the only thing I remembered about it was its name.

            “Hmm…” Arwen’s eyes narrowed in concentration. I sat there awkwardly in my bed, trying not to watch her think. “What would you say if I told you that you could go home?”

            My eyes lit up. “I could?”

            “Yes.” She grinned. “I know of someone who plans to leave for Lórien within a fortnight. He is here now to catch up with my husband—they are old friends,” she added. “I can introduce you to him, if you want me to. I am sure he would be more than willing to escort you back home.”

            “My la—Arwen,” I corrected myself, “if you could make that happen for me, I would be forever grateful.” My lips tried to conjure up a smile.

            “Then I will see to it that you meet him very soon,” she sang. “Until you leave, you will stay here in Minas Tirith to recover. Maybe when you are feeling better, I can find an open room to house you in.”

            “You mean in a castle?” I stammered.

            “Yes, of course. I am sure the change in scenery would be nice for you, and you would be able to get to know a few people before you leave.” She tried to reach for my hand, but I kept them close to my chest. Arwen looked at me thoughtfully, resting her hand on my bed. “I am trying to make your stay here as comfortable as possible. You look as though you need good treatment.”

            Arwen could not have been more right about that.

            “Listen.” She leaned towards me. “I may not know what your story is, Nimalia, but I can see a troubled soul when looking into one’s eyes. Your eyes have seen many terrible things, though I do not know what they are. Since you are not comfortable talking to me about them, I will not pressure you to tell me. However, whenever you want to talk about it, feel free to send for me. I will be here for you as a listener.”

            All this kindness, I had not received so much in years. I almost broke down crying at Arwen’s proposal. She was arranging me a way home, and she was housing me at the same time, as though I was no burden at all.

            For the first time in a long time, I felt hope, and I felt content.

            “Now,” Arwen said, “if you are hungry, I can send someone to get you food. Would you like that?”

            My stomach growled, answering Arwen’s question for me. She laughed lightly as I blushed.

            As Arwen left my room, I lay back, sighing. I was thankful for so many things right now; a list was forming in my head. I was thankful for that young Man finding me, for pushing to reach Minas Tirith, for him handing me off to safe hands. I was thankful for Arwen’s hospitality and for everything she planned to do for me.

For now, my mind drove away all the bad memories of them and what happened while I was with them. For now, I could focus on the good things that lay ahead for me: more hospitality, an escort home, and a listener should I decide to tell Arwen about my past before leaving.

            Maybe my time for peace had finally arrived. I wanted it to last. 

**Don't worry, my lovely readers, Legolas will appear very soon :) Be patient. I know you all are waiting for him to come into the story. 

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