Entering the broken gate of Minas Tirith Arwen was
immediately reminded of Minas Sul after one of its
several sackings. There were Women tending to the
wounded under a monumental fountain in the middle of
the gate square, while tired Men doggedly cleared up
the rubble around them. Dead Orcs, Wargs, and Stone
Trolls lay tidied into black heaps, and a miasma of
burned stone, wood and flesh hung over all.

   But the true resemblance to long suffering Minas
Sul lay not in any of these depressing reminders of
destruction but rather in the determined spirt
radiated from the people dispite the ruin around them.
Barahir was right; these Gondorim had the same courage
as their cousins of the North. Or could this baffling
resilience in the face of disaster be a trait
belonging to all Men, not just to the Dunedain of
Arnor?

    A slight Woman with whisps of dark hair escaping
from tightly coiled braids and dressed in an
incongrously cheerful scarlet gown left the little
field hospital and came to meet the Rohirric cortege,
a look of concern darkening her face.

   "Welcome, Men of Rohan." she said formally. "what
burden do you bear?"

   "Theoden King." the lead Rider answered, as he had
answered Ceorl. "He is dead but Eomer King now rides
in the battle."

   The Woman moved past the escort to look on the dead
King's face, bowed her head and said "Mighty was the
fallen and meet was his ending." solemnly, as if it
were some customary formula. Then she turned to call
over her shoulder: "Faelivrin!"

   Another Woman detached herself from the group
around the fountain and looked expectantly at the Lady
in scarlet. "Find Ellevain and Vanawen." the latter
directed. "They should be in their houses seeing to
the wounded and children sheltering there. Bring them
to the Citadel." She continued, squinting up at, the
Rider: "Theoden's own sisters will tend him with all
necessary rites."

   The Man bowed his head and Arwen saw tears of
relief on his face. Clearly this mattered, though she
didn't know why. And she'd thought she'd learned how
to be a Woman! How many other things were there that
she didn't know and would she ever master them all?

   The Gondorian Lady's eyes went to the second bier.
"But surely this is a Woman!"

   "This is Eowyn, sister of Eomer." said the Rider.

   The Woman looked back up at him in amazement. "I
knew she was a shieldmaiden, but I never thought
Theoden would bring her to battle so far from your own
fields!"

   "Nor did he knowingly." the Man told her sadly. "We
knew naught of her riding till this hour, and greatly
do we rue it."

   "She is not dead but sorely wounded," Arwen put in
quickly, "she needs aid and at once."

   The Woman looked at her and her yellow eyes went
wide. Arwen too felt a shock of recognition; not of
who this stranger was, but what. And it confused her
immensely.

   Again the Lady raised her voice in command "Dame
Berethil!"

   The Woman who answered was tall and dark and grey
eyed. As she bent over Eowyn, Arwen's bewilderment was
complete. The line of Anarion had supposedly ended a
thousand years before, yet if these Women of Eldarin
blood were not Anarieni then what were they?

   "She needs more help than I can give her here."
Berethil announced. "Come, we must bear her to the
Houses of Healing."

   As Eowyn was carried away the Woman in scarlet
turned to Arwen. "I am Idril, daughter of Narcil, Lady
of Gondor." she said formally.

   "I am Arwen -" for a moment she didn't know what to
add, she was no longer Elrond's daughter of Rivendell,
then she remembered Ellemir's title and Gilraen's,
which was now also hers. "Lady of the Dunedain of the
North."

   Idril's eyes widened again, then turned to look
beyond the broken gate. "So...it is Isildur's Heir who
is come." she murmured, half to herself. She glanced
back at Arwen, noticing for the first time the Men
behind her and what they carried. A look of alarm
flashed over her face. "Say not that this is your
Lord!"

   "No," Arwen assured her quickly, "it is my uncle,
Halbarad Isildurion."

   Idril moved to look down at his face, and something
very like recognition dawned upon her own. "Then he is
kin to me too." she said at last, sadly. "He and King
Theoden shall lie together in the Hall of the King
that all Minas Tirith may pay them reverence and
thanks."
****

   Theoden's sisters were tall and dark haired like
the Dunedain but greeted the Riders bearing their
brother's body in the tongue of the Rohirrim. They had
with them several Women servants carrying water and
rich hangings for the bier and a counterpane of gold
cloth.

   Arwen was glad to have Idril's aid. She had often
helped to prepare her Mortal kin for burial, as many
Kings and Chieftains had died peacefully in Rivendell
and been interred in the Hallow there, but never to
lie in state and had no idea what was fitting.

   But Idril knew, and summoned up all that was
necessary to do Halbarad honor; hangings of black
velvet and silver tissue for the bier, a coverlet of
silver cloth sewn thick with pearls, a banner bearing
Isildur's new moon above the Tree and Stars of Gondor,
and even a knightly honor guard.

   Labor with the hands stills the thoughts and numbs
grief. It was not until all was finished and Arwen
stood back to see the effect that she again felt her
loss and her eyes filled.

   "He was dear to you?" Idril asked gently.

   She nodded, all but blinded. "I have known him from
a child." she answered brokenly. "Oh, my little
Halya!" and buried her face in her hands.

   It was strange how she always remembered the child
more vividly than the Man after they were gone. It had
been the same with Halbarad's ancestors before him.
The lives of Men, even Dunedain, were so swiftly
passed!

   And yet this time was different. Always before she
had mourned her Mortal kin as an Elf and so counted
them lost to her forever, or at least until the end of
the World. But now she was a Woman and knew she would
see Halbarad again, and soon. Not only him but all
those who had gone before from Ailindel, Anoriel and
Arthgon on down(1).

   The thought of leaving Arda and all that she'd
known for she knew not what still frightened her,
perhaps always would, but there was comfort in the
knowledge she would find many she had loved, and who'd
loved her, beyond the Circles of the World.

   Three Men came into the Hall, boots and spurs
ringing on the marble pavement. Arwen lifted up her
head at the sound, recognizing her young Marshal of
the Riders who was now their King. He went directly to
the arms of his aunts. The other two Men approached
Halbarad's bier.

   A look of pain flashed over the face of the darker
of the pair. "Oh no, not my Captain!"

   "You know the Man?" the fair haired knight asked
gently.

   "From the years I spent among the Dunedain of the
North." Hurin answered sadly. "This is Halbarad son of
Barahir, the Dunadan's uncle. I was a member of his
company, and I fear a sore trial to him in my
ineptitude. He said we would meet again. Alas that it
should be like this!"

   He stood beside Halbarad's bier for a long moment,
head bowed, then touched brow, lips and heart in
reverence and turned away. As he did his eyes met
Arwen's and widened. She smiled at him.

   "Arwen Undomiel?" he asked wonderingly. "What are
you doing here, my Lady?"

   "I came with my husband." she said demurely, and
saw his eyes flare still wider with astonishment, then
brighten with laughter. "So you brought him to it at
last! When did this happen?"

   "About six days ago, if I haven't lost count." she
admitted ruefully.

   Hurin broke into a grin. "Tardy again, Dunadan!" he
shook his head. "Well better late than never as they
say." Then, remembering his manners, he turned to
present his companion; "Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth
and chief Noble of Gondor greet your Queen, Arwen
Undomiel, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven and wife to
our Lord Aragorn Dunadan."

   The Prince bowed and Arwen looked at him with
interest; here was another with Elven blood in his
veins, but not Luthien's or even Eldar unless she was
much mistaken. She would have spoken to him but at
that moment Eomer's voice, raised in distress, echoed
through the marble hall.

   "Where is Eowyn? She should be lying here beside
our uncle in no less honor. What have they done with
her?"

   "Eowyn isn't dead, Eomer." Arwen answered him
gently. His eyes turned to her in hope and fear: "She
has been taken to the Houses of Healing." Arwen held
out her hand to him. "Come, we will go to her." 
*****

1. These were the children of Arantar, the fifth King
of Arnor, who were Arwen's childhood playmates. The
elder daughter, Ailindel, was almost of an age with
her. Arthgon was the Sindarin name of King Tarcil of
Arnor (r. 435-515).