Minas Tirith

I will remember this day all my life. No matter how old, how tired I might grow, never will I forget the glory of this day.

This morning I woke up crying. I was shaken by the shame and the guilt of failing to make my heart rejoice in my sister’s wedding day. We had shared the same anguish. Why would I resent it that hers had been relieved?

I had done whatever I could for my sister. I had gone back and forth through the whole city. With so many fallen, a great number of things were sold cheaply, or simply passed from hand to hand. Men’s gear was easier to find, of course, but I came across some useful things; shoes, ribbons, a velvet cap. For a poor family like ours, this was good fortune indeed.

Poor we might be, and yet richly blessed: Our father, our mother and our two brothers walked with my sister today. There are few houses in the city, where a wedding would have been fitting so soon. Our Lord Faramir, he cannot wed yet, for he has to mourn his father and brother. I should have been grateful. My mother gave me no reproach, she tried to comfort me. There are still men returning, she said.

I helped my sister trim her gown and wash her hair. I brushed and braided her shiny tresses. How well I hid my tears I know not. So many nights we had both been lying awake, whispering to each other about our fears. I had done what I could for my sister, but she knew. Why did I fail her so?

At noon we walked along the street towards the house of her bridegroom. I was behind her, so she did not see my face. My eyes were cast down, watching my feet stepping on the cobbles. Even when I heard riders approaching, I did not look up.

But I noticed that the sound of hooves on stone suddenly stopped, and then I heard a voice calling my name and the world stood still. When I raised my eyes, I saw him standing before me, dirty, haggard, with his armour battered and his clothes torn. A more beautiful sight I have never seen.

In an instant, my sister flung her arms around me, and there was no more reason to hide the tears, neither hers nor mine. He waited, patiently, until our sobs had ceased, and then he took my hand. We walked on, my hair flying in the breeze.

It was a modest feast with sparse dainties and humble wine, and one unexpected guest, who wore no wedding clothes. It was merriment so gay, a celebration so rich, it would have been fit for the king himself and his elven queen. Back home, alone now in this chamber, my feet are still dancing. As I untangle the ribbons from my hair, I know I am blessed beyond all measure. Here in the White City of Gondor, at the heart of our realm, a new Age of hope and joy has begun. My wedding day will come.