The Last Chapter

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Much happened over the following two years.

Upon our return from Pelargir I made myself at home in one of the two guest rooms of Lord Medlithor's town house in Minas Tirith, and Miarka took the second - it was quite small, more like a storage room with a bed - but Miarka liked the novelty of having her own bedroom so much, she didn't mind. Of course, when there were visitors or when she had a nightmare she often joined me - more frequently in the beginning, but as she settled in, she grew used to sleeping alone.

There was a lot to celebrate in that time also. Prince Eldarion married the Lady Galieth in the last spring, to celebrations of special magnificence for the whole city. Lady Túrien on one of her biannual visits pulled some strings - and I found myself giving advice in regard to her wedding dress.

A spectator would have laughed at the scene - Lady Galieth, red with embarrassment, being circled by vultures in the form of Princess Eruthiawen, Queen Arwen and a scared little Haradrim seamstress. The funny thing was, they genuinely seemed to appreciate my advice and help, and together we kitted out the future Queen of Gondor in a dress that was - on first glance - very simple, modeled after a form of formal gown from North Gondor that I hadn't seen before, with trailing, lacy sleeves elf-style, tiny silk-covered buttons down the back, a girdle of pure mithril more expensive than the rest of the outfit together, and an outer train that, when removed in the privacy of a little side-room with many tiny hooks and hidden buttons, opened to reveal and identical but much lighter skirt suitable for lively Dúnedain dances. The veil was the final touch, threaded into a dainty circlet of silver, hiding Lady Galieth's hair - not as black as Lady Túrien's, still black but in some lights brown. She - plainer than the womenfolk of her new family - was radiant with happiness on her wedding day, shining like a star.

The fact that I had assisted in the fashioning of the wedding gown of the century did not go unnoticed by the female populace of Minas Tirith. I was utterly swamped in a tidal wave of orders, and more often than not I asked Miarka to look after the stall on days where I sat (often on the balcony of the house, healthier than the darker interior and squinting by candlelight) sewing from dawn till dusk, my fingers pricked like a pin-cushion and my back and neck stiff.

However busy I was, I always made time for a secret project of my own.

My own wedding dress took me over two years to make. Every night I would work on it a little, and hang it carefully in a great walnut wardrobe in coverings of canvas and wool so it would not be attacked by mice or moths. Reluctantly, when Lady Earine suspected what I was doing and begged to give advice, I agreed - and she actually helped me a lot, suggesting this and that, things I had not even thought of. The final product was - like a lot of wedding dresses that year - made after the style of Lady Galieth's, though even simpler. It was an ivory silk, whe most expensive Lady Earine could get her hands on - I was reluctant at first for a white dress, but Lady Earine explained it was tradition, and after a while I decided I liked the idea.

I decided to wait until I was of age in Gondorian tradition to be married. At first, Malbeth wanted to obtain special permission from the King under unusual circumstances but I was so firmly against this idea, Malbeth agreed to wait. My wedding was less than a year away, and I was beginning to grow impatient.

I made my way down to the stables in the First Circle under a sun that shone just as brightly as it had in midsummer. The streets were thronged with people - squires leading horses, carrying piles of lances and saddle-blankets and random pieces of armour, men setting up trestle benches and stacks of wood for bonfires in the market squares, for the celebrations in the evening. Women spread tablecloths, chased after their excited children, and hurried with jugs of apple cider to their cool cellars - but mostly, people were heading in one direction - to the great arena outside the city walls, finished with white stone like the rest of the city, usually silent apart from some knights trining - but today it rang with excited calls and chatter, flags and banners from all over Gondor and Rohan and Dale flying gaily.

It was half past nine on the morning of the Harvest Tournament, and the atmosphere was celebratory indeed.

I escaped the crowds and most of the noise by slipping into the stables by the back door - this was a secret way not many other than inqusitive stable-boys knew about. The long corridor was filled with young lads scurrying about and men generally shouting and carrying things, but the back corridor was silent - all the horses had been taken to the arena. Nobody was about -

- except for a little Haradrim teenager helping herself to some of the apples laid out in sacks in an empty stall. I crept up as silently as possible, and slammed the door open, as hard as I could. My little sister jumped about a foot in the air, choking on her apple.

I laughed so much I had to lean against the side of the stall, and Miarka recovered from her shock.

"Don't do that," she said weakly, poking my shoulder in annoyance.

"Have you not had breakfast?" I giggled, wiping my eyes and snatching the apple core from her hands.

"No! I couldn't eat anything because I was so excited and I thought I might get something in the square, but Malbeth asked me to go over his saddle and now I'm starving."

"That's your own fault, silly girl. Go down and get us some good seats, I'll bring you something to eat." Miarka left, and I followed after helping myself to some apples.

I found Malbeth by the arena, counting his arrows.

"Is poor Caranthor unwell?" I asked, smiling, and he grinned ruefully.

"I'm sorry I asked Miarka to work on a day we promised she could have off, but I was desperate - I spent all my time at the range yesterday, and I quite forgot to do my own work. Caranthor was having at my armour, and I was giving Fleetfoot here another going over - he's as excited as everyone else, and must have spent the night rolling in straw, the state he was in."

I laughed. "Good luck then, and don't let Guthred of Rohan intimidate you. By the rate you've been practising you could outshoot even Legolas of Ithilien."

"I doubt that, very much! But I appreciate your confidence, my petal. It will be an honour to shoot for your hand," he smiled, and lifted my hand to his lips before I went to join Miarka in the stands.

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I found it quite a miracle for the first few minutes of the melee how the cheering crowds managed to distinguish one knight from the other in the fray. I could point out Malbeth, of course, my best purple shawl tied firmly to his upper arm and fluttering madly, but I suspected Miarka, beside herself with glee, was following the crowd and not cheering anyone on specifically.

Quickly, the remaining knights whittled down to only a select few - the King of Rohan and more Rohirrim than the pride of the knights of Gondor could stand - Prince Eldarion, Malbeth and a few others representing Minas Tirith, the King of Dale whom I suspected to mow everyone down like a grass-cutter in the end, the man had strength like an ox - some Swan Knights from Dol Amroth, under the leadership of Lord Amrothos - Lord Elboron alone from Minas Ithil, a handful of Rangers from Ithilien, and - for the first time ever, cheered on by his sons - Qufar, fighting like a cornered dog to score a win for Harmindon. The melee would begin in earnest now - these were the true warriors, not only skilled in the art of war but not disturbed by the crowd, focused and concentrated.

At first, the remaining knights of Gondor joined forces against the Rohirrim, and when they were wiped off the field, turned on each other.

Qufar scored popularity with the crowd by taking on the King of Dale and Lord Elboron together - this did not last long, and he had to be dragged off the field, dazed.

Lord Amrothos led his men against the Rangers and nearly lost an arm to the fierce mace of Bergil of Ithilien.

Malbeth fell to Lord Elboron after a long fight truly amazing to watch, it might have gone on forever had he not stumbled over an uneven clod of earth and landed hard on his back. Miarka and I howled with laughter, and I blew him a consolatory kiss through my mirth.

The last two remaining on the field were the King of Dale and Prince Eldarion. This was the outcome most had expected, but spirits were high and the skill of the two was awesome. Eventually Eldarion was overcome and yielded to the other man's sheer size and strength. So King Hakon claimed his prize, truly deserved - a gauntlet of gold mail, forged by the finest dwarven smithies in the Glittering Caves.

As per usual, the archery started immediately afterwards, so I had not the chance to go and see Malbeth and offer my congratulations and good luck.

The noon sun was bright, and shone fiercely. It caught the glittering helms of many an an archer who would have done well, so many were disqualified quickly than usual.

I had seen Malbeth shoot before, of course. In the weeks leading up to the Tournament he told me about all the finer points of the art of archery until my eyes glazed over. Some black wool stuck carefully to the eyeholes of a helm would absorb any stray ray of sunlight. There was no wind, always good. Always ensure the fletcher uses good quality turkey feathers for the arrows. Re-string your bow every year - it would last longer, but it is better to be safe than have it fray quietly and then snap in your face on a heavy draw. Malbeth had apparently learned this the hard way.

I'd often admired Malbeth's longbow and crossbow both. I could barely hold them in one hand, let alone draw the string back. Now as I watched the man who would soon be my husband gallop past a target, steering his horse with his thighs alone and sending the long arrows deep into the golden heart of the straw target every time, I was so amazed I occasionally forgot to cheer him on.

He had plenty of competition, of course. The Swan Knights of Dol Amroth were the best archers in Gondor, the hunting skills of the men of Ithilien were unrivalled and more often than not a Rohirric archer would win the archery outright.

Eventually Malbeth and one of Lord Amrothos' sons remained. The man from Dol Amroth shot first, the target so far back it would need the strength of a Mûmak to even get the arrow all the way there - nearly all the way at the end of the arena. The bow-hair sang - the audience gasped, riveted to their seats - and a great cheer went up. His arrow hit the target full-on, in the exact centre of the target.

Malbeth sat upon his horse, cool as a handful of water straight from the Na'Man ab Jubayr. He pulled at the bow-string, spurred on his horse, and let fly.

Not only did his arrow hit the centre of the target - it split the Swan Knight's arrow in two, the fletching splintering like lumber, turkey feathers flying, burying deep into the straw. The crowd went wild as he removed his helmet and went up to the Royal Box, flushed with pride and satisfaction, shaking his competitor by the hand as he passed by.

The prize was, again, dwarf-made - an arrow of solid gold. Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves, had sponsored the prizes of this year's tournament, and for months every knight of Gondor had coveted them, trained like fury to win in combat, archery or horseback, a golden mail gauntlet, a golden arrow, or a golden lance-tip shaped like the head of a dragon.

I flew into Malbeth's arms as soon as he was relinquished by the crowd, hurrying to get the best places for the midday meal.

"How marvellous you were! Why, that Swan Knight had no chance. Let me look at that." He gave me the Golden Arrow and sat down on the grass, exhausted and laughing.

"My love, everyone had a chance. Fulthain of Rohan would have won the thing - he was on top form today - the sun got in his eyes. The poor fellow was dreadfully disappointed."

"Yet you won it. And well you deserve it too. However did you manage to split his arrow?" I wondered, sitting down next to him and putting my head on his shoulder. We were in a spot shaded by the stands, overlooking the tents where food was being prepared and distributed, the White City looming in the background like a friendly cloud. Malbeth was not entered for the joust, and could relax for the day.

"Jolly well done, my lord!" Caranthor of the curly red hair strode by, leading Fleetfoot by the reins. The poor stallion was still panting, sweating at the flanks - his armour had already been removed.

"If only I knew! Must have just been a bad arrow. You get these sometime - rotten luck for the poor lad."

"You talk of luck, of chance, of fate." I sat up suddenly, and waved the Golden Arrow into the air. "Consider this: you won with skill. You disregard yourself for others, ignore your own skill. My love, you truly deserved this prize."

Malbeth smiled, and pulled me close to him.

"Lunch is served!" Miarka called, hauling three plates of food. "Show me that. I cannot believe you will be my brother one day. It seems too good to be true - all my friends will envy me. Will you teach me how to shoot like that?" She said all in one breath. Malbeth nodded, a twinkle in his eye.

"Nine months hence, your sister will become my wife. Then I will be your brother, Miarka of the curly hair and exciteable nature, and I promise to teach you to shoot with a bow."

I burst out laughing, but Miarka smiled gratefully and flopped onto the ground between us, tucking into her stew.

I remembered this day, years ago now. The tournament was cancelled, and the feast was rather subdued, though the grandeur of the Merethrond never more magnificent to my eyes. Malbeth loved me, and I danced home on cloud nine - only to discover a summons home, Grandmother was dying.

This was different - I could laugh, I could enjoy the peace, I could remember the Battle of Minas Ithil without a stab of fear and guilt.

This was what Mother meant. I remember her face so clearly - wasted and dying, but still beautiful, hope shining in her eyes until the last moment. She hoped for a better future for her children - but I would work for it, make sacrifices no twelve-year-old child should have to make, in order to survive. I would jump into the unknown, make choices that would lead me to this - this peaceful life, this happy life, this life where my children and grandchildren could play in, carefree.

After Miarka skipped away with the empty plates, I turned to Malbeth and leaned against him.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything, my petal." Malbeth opened his eyes and looked into mine, his gaze clear and steadfast, taking no notice of the crowds flocking back to the stadium, ready for the joust.

"The last thing my mother said to me before she died. Live on, she told me. I thought about it after the funeral and decided I would do just that - work for a better life, live on, as she said. But for years and years I didn't even think about it - but now I remember."

Malbeth smiled. "Live on. That's exactly what you did. Your mother would have been so proud of you."

I was silent, trembling. Malbeth saw the how close I was to tears, and jumped to his feet.

"Live on! We will do just that. The Lord and Lady of Erynos, and their descendants, will live by the rule to live on, to live their lives to the fullest, to take every opportunity that comes to make our lives and world a better place for the future. But we can talk about this later - Prince Eldarion will make mincemeat of his opponents to impress the Lady Galieth, and I for one am very much looking forward to it."

So I jumped up too, grateful for the distraction, and followed Malbeth to the gates of the arena. The first tilt was just starting, but I closed my eyes for a moment, and thought of Mother.

Live on, Mother said, and that's exactly what I'll do.

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THE END

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