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It was almost noon when I woke again, the sun shining so brightly through my window it nearly blinded me when I drew the curtains back for the second time that day.

I - along with every other person not on their deathbed, Haradrim or Gondorian, had watched the army leave before the dawn. In a strange way the sight was fascinating, the thundering of the horses' hooves surely even reaching the pinnacle of the Tower of Ecthelion, thousand upon thousands of men strong. I had never witnessed such a thing before, even though the lone Mûmak plodding along bravely at the front provided a hint of familiarity. I'd tried to spot Malbeth among the masses of men, but it was difficult to even make out the king and his banners and heralds at the vanguard, there were so many. And so they left, waving to loved ones, cheering one another on with desperate bravery.

And then they were gone, and I went back to bed.

I presumed, as I trudged back to my tiny little bedroom, that I would not be able to sleep, from sorrow and worry and over-tiredness - but in reality, I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow and slept for some hours.

It was a beautiful day, the sun shone and a gentle breeze blew. Nobody could have guessed that only several hours ago it was dreary and miserable, the drizzle not keeping you from going out but wet enough to soak your hair and face, and hide your tears.

Automatically, I went to my stall, but realised there was no point, really. The streets were deserted, apart from the odd person going determinedly about their daily chores as if relying on the soothing monotony of everyday life to distract them from thinking. So I went back to the Court of Tarondor, sat down on the uncomfortable well overlooking the Great Gates, and waited.

And waited.

The gates were closed, unusually enough. At this time of the day they were always open, though I was usually not around to verify that fact. Although the square was huge, it seemed very lonely and enclosed with the huge barrier seperating the city from the vast expanse of roads and fields. The few guards that had remained lined the battlements, and though I could not hear their hushed conversation, I could see their tense backs leaning to the other's as they exchanged murmurs.

I had much to think about. There had been Easterlings in Minas Tirith.... Easterlings, and dangerous, fanatical ones at that.... they had taken the most loved, guarded girl in the city from her bed with apparent ease. We had been told it was safe, they were dead, but worrying was something to pass the time.

I was just settling down for a long meditative think when I heard a shout from the battlements. The horns blew suddenly, almost deafening me, and the gates began to creak open.

I frowned. That had been quick....

People began to appear, from door- and alleyways, looking as confused as I felt. But then a woman came dashing down the street, dress billowing out behind her and hair unravelling as she ran. I jumped to my feet as I recognised Lady Túrien - of course, she would have seen approaching riders from high up at the King's House - and she didn't wait for the gates to be fully open before she pounced on the first rider. Behind him rode a standard-bearer with the banner of Ithilien.

The man dismounted, and spoke to her. By then, many people had begun to crowd the square and the surrounding streets, and a buzz of anxious talk began. I couldn't see anything anymore, everyone was so tall - and though I tried to push my way through, that didn't work either. All I saw was the tall banner of Ithilien over the many heads - and I thought I heard someone cry out.

I realised there was no point pushing my way through the crowds, so I went back to Amira's place so I could be miserable in peace.

Fairly quickly though the place started filling again, with Haradrim women who'd overheard this and that. One woman claimed she saw Túrien run from the square, hiding her face in her shawl. A woman I recognised as the one who lived next door to Amira was sure someone had told her the Mûmak Gïdjls had been overwhelmed by the sheer force of the Easterling army, which I privately thought was a rather far-fetched rumour. Another said - with a trembling, high pitched voice - that all our men had been killed, the Gondorian army had lost the battle and Minas Ithil was now overrun by Easterlings. There was an outcry at this, but I was beginning to think people were starting to lose their heads and most of these rumours were either mistranslated or exaggerated. Whatever it was, there was no peace, and the atmosphere in the large kitchen was so tense and filled with emotions that I couldn't stand it anymore.

I sneaked away again, and went to my stall, to find some peace and quiet so that I could properly think. I didn't realise a little figure followed me from the house.

"Hey, Jeddah?"

"Oh, hello, Aro," I sighed, patting my lap. He came around and jumped up, fiddling with an edge of material that hung over the wooden counter of my stall.

"Jeddah, what is going on? Mother is acting so strangely - she is holding Safina close all the time, not just when she cries, and is looking very sad. Aman is trying to get her to eat something, but she just closes her eyes and shakes her head. And where did Father and the other men go?"

I ran my fingers through Aro's curly black hair. "To be honest, Aro, I'm almost as confused as you are. It all happened so fast...."

"But Mother is sad, and Mother is never sad. I think I'm sad too."

"Don't be sad, Aro. The Golden Serpent only knows.... many brave men may have died today, but your father is probably safe and well, coming home as we speak. They had a huge Mûmak bull at their advantage, after all. Or he might not." As the poor little boy looked at me, horrified, I hastened to eat my words, paraphrasing the rumours by quite a lot. "But I am sure he will return.... I am sure that all our men will return, and all will be well."

"Do you promise, Jeddah?"

I hesitated.

"All we can do, Aro, is take our mind off things. Look, over there are your friends - those children that are always so friendly to you and your brother. Why don't you ask if you can play with them?" Aro sighed, but obediently hopped off my lap and padded over to the gaggle of children sitting cross-legged in the middle of the street. I heard him ask, stammering slightly as he tried to find the right Westron words, if he could play with them. To my satisfaction, they welcomed him easily, and he had soon forgotten about our conversation, so I hoped.

I sat back again, leaning against my stall and watching Aro and the Gondorian children, hoping against all hope that what I'd said to Aro was true. I liked to think I was sensible enough now not to believe in rumours, but if truly all the men, including Sufyan, were dead....

Aro suddenly jumped to his feet. "Ramyahani!" He cried, suddenly excited.

I looked up, as did everyone else along the road. Sure enough, there she was, striding along confidently with little Myriam wriggling in her harness that Túrien had slung over her shoulders. The little girl was fidgeting with a teething bracelet, and Túrien herself held her head high, but there was a certain stiffness to her shoulders that made me want to run to her and beg for more truthful news than mere rumours.

"I wish you a good morning, ramyahani!" I called out, as if we were back home in the market square in Harmindon, holding my hand to my face and then out respectfully.

"Good morning, Jeddah," Túrien replied shakily, attempting a smile.

I stepped around my stall and watched her carefully, trying not to phrase my question too insensitively - I had never seen her this obviously distraught. "Lady Túrien, is it true what they're saying? Is the chieftain's son dead?"

So much for trying not to be insensitive.

Túrien shook her head emphatically. "No, it is not true. Sufyan lives but his wounds are grave - I go to join him in Minas Ithil with my mother and sister at midday."

"And his Mûmak?"

Túrien shook her head. "Gïdjls was lost. I have sent for a Bone Mother.... hopefully one can be found in Harondor who will be willing to make the journey here."

"I weep for your loss, Ramyahani. Gïdjls was so young, what a fine bull he would have become," I rattled off some condolences automatically. I swallowed, trying to force myself to ask my next question. "The drivers, were they lost too?"

"They were, all save one. Qufar I'm told survived, and remains by Sufyan's side."

I closed my eyes, and nodded. It felt like I had been hit over the head - they had all been so kind and brave. I remembered Peros and the others, always ready for a conversation, eager to pass on stories and help me arrange my stall when he passed by in the morning. And Qufar.... suddenly I wanted nothing more than to take to my heels, run to poor Amira and tell her her husband was safe. But I couldn't leave Túrien now.

I looked over at little Myriam, my vision blurred and lips trembling, but I still managed to smile. "Young Myriam grows quickly, and bright."

"She has Sufyan's eyes," Túrien said absentmindedly.

"She does."

Silence for a while, as Myriam tangled her fingers into Túrien's hair gleefully. Túrien suddenly looked up. "Jeddah, can you do something for me?"

"Of course," I nodded, curious.

"Can you put a stop to the rumours, which seem to be flying far faster than the truth?" She raised her voice suddenly, and addressed the small crowd that had gathered in Common Tongue. I groaned internally, concentrated hard so I would understand. "The chieftain's son is not dead, although his Mûmak and all but one of his drivers are. The threat of Rhun has ended, Minas Ithil has been retaken, and the queen and I go to be with King Aragorn and the rest of our family in the Vale. If fate allows, we shall all return together to Minas Ithil very soon."

That didn't satisfy the crowd, though.

"And what of Princess Almárëa, and Prince Eldarion? I heard they were kidnapped by Easterlings," someone called from the back of the crowd.

"No, you heard wrong! I heard that the princess was kidnapped, but the prince rescued her by fighting off twenty Easterlings at once!"

"Twenty? Don't be a fool man, I was told it was twenty-five, no less!"

I felt bad for poor Túrien, who was looking from one face to another, staring with disbelief and growing anger at everyone. She took an audible breath. 

"There was a plot, but it has been thwarted. Prince Eldarion and Princess Almárëa are both alive and well, as you will see for yourselves when we return from Minas Ithil. In our absence, Lord Faramir will see to the governing of the city."

The crowd continued to call out, confused and still afraid, and I could see Túrien was about to lose her temper when another shout came from the guard on the city wall. A loud horn blew, drowning out the crowd - but it was not the horn of Gondor. It was different, stronger and lower.

"Riders of Rohan, with the king's banner before them!" The guard shouted down.

"Elfwine?" Túrien frowned. Then she pulled herself together, as the crowd dispersed to watch the entrance of the King of Rohan. Before she followed them, she turned to me. "You will spread the truth about Minas Ithil to the other Haradrim in the White City?"

"I will," I nodded, and watched her run - more carefully than before with Myriam swinging on her back. 

•●•●•●•

Back at Amira's, loud chatter filled the room still. Amira herself stood by the fireplace. Like Túrien, she looked on the verge of anger, trembling silently as she hugged little Safina to her chest, who had in the meantime fallen asleep. I felt so bad for her that I cried out, drowning out everyone's voices -

"Everyone just be quiet! I have news from the ramyahani herself!"

Of course, that brought dead silence straight away.

"The chieftain's son is not dead, but lies gravely wounded in the Vale of the Moon. Qufar is still alive." From the fireplace came a sound that resembled a mouse with a sore throat, but I ignored Amira for now as I was now being bombarded with questions from all sides.

"What of the Mumak Gidjls?"

"What about my husband, is he alive?"

"My son?"

"What became of the other men? The drivers?"

I suddenly wished that of all the things Túrien had asked of me, it was not this. "The Mumak Gidjls was killed, and a Bone Mother has been sent for from Harondor. And as.... as for the others...." I shook my head.

So for the second time that day, I found myself fleeing Amira's kitchen, drowning out pained cries and trying very hard not to cover my ears. Again, I found myself at the well, automatically arranging my shawl into a cushion as I sat down and watched the crowd disperse, and waited.

And waited.

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