Caranwyn's Tale: In Defence of Middle Earth

No erotica in this chapter, sorry, but an important one for the girls nonetheless.

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Motivating Speech

Caranwyn fidgeted quietly, looking over her formal armour and resisting the urge to resettle and straighten the already neat and orderly attire.  She glanced at Russellwen, beside her, who grinned back nervously.  They were standing amongst several other boys, clad in equally formal equipment, outside the seventh and final gate of the City, below the final ascent to the High Court, the Citadel, and the court of the fountain.  In front of the gates, in the sombre black and silver livery of the citadel, the guards stood, the tree and stars shining out bright on their surcoats.  They watched the collection of young adults with small smiles, no doubt remembering a time when they, too, had stood thus.

Even so, this was an unusual event; not in the living memory of the city had so many stood or been summoned for formal swearing at once.  As nervous and excited as they all were, though, Caranwyn couldn’t keep out the thought that the event was not as joyous as it ought to be.  Normally the swearing of a soldier was a major event in their young lives, a cause for ceremony and celebration, where the young adult could feel special and privileged, as well as becoming part of a much greater whole, and it wasn’t as though all of these things weren’t true today; they were, but today’s ceremonies had more behind them than simply giving due to those who were ready.  The feeling in the air was that it must be now, or possibly never, and that alone was enough to dampen her exuberance, even if only slightly.

There was the sound of a bell, and the gates were pulled open, revealing the final climb.  A single guard of the citadel stood on the other side, hands formally behind his back.  His face was smooth and formal, but his eyes twinkled with a hidden smile.

“Andarion, son of Arlanion, step forward.”  When a young man stepped up the guard continued, looking at him directly.  “Today is your day, and now is your time.  Your lord awaits.”  Andarion walked through the gate with the guard and they closed again behind them.  After a few moments the silence faded back into the hushed shuffling and fidgeting of excitement once again.

Nothing happened for many minutes while the cluster of young adults waited until, at last, the doors were drawn open and Andarion re-emerged, smiling, with an air of barely contained pride.  The same guard who had called him forward earlier spoke again once they were through the gate.

“Andarion, proud son of Gondor.  Depart now and take this day in rest and ease, for tomorrow your duty shall begin.”  He saluted the young man, hand over chest, and Andarion returned the gesture, nodding to him as well.  He turned to leave, waving to the others as he went.  Still standing at the gate, the guard waited a moment before calling the next name, repeating the formal words of the ceremony.  Caranwyn shuddered for a moment to think of how many times the poor man would need to go through the speech today.  Even so, his smile never wavered as the morning wore on and the gathering of young soldiers gradually dwindled.

They were called formally one at a time, or in groups of two, but Caranwyn noticed that her place in the otherwise alphabetical order was skipped over.  She exchanged a puzzled glance with her sister, but waited patiently as the procession continued nonetheless.  It wasn’t long before they were the only two who remained outside the gate.  With a crack they opened again and the guard reappeared with his latest charge.  Just as before he addressed the boy with a salute and bade him to depart and rest, before turning his eyes towards the girls.  He inclined his head to them slightly, eyes shut for a moment, before lifting his face and beginning the formal words again with a small smile.

“Russellwen and Caranwyn, Daughters of Thalanen, step forward.  Today is your day, and now is your time.  You lord awaits.”

The sisters exchanged a last excited glance with each other before walking forward through the gate with their guide.  The guard set a slow pace as they stepped out across the courtyard, smooth and well-tended white paving clicking quietly beneath their feet.  He spoke to them as they walked, the words still formal and ceremonious.

“Young,” again, as before, Caranwyn heard the almost imperceptible hesitation in the man’s voice as he used the less common word, “daughters of Gondor, you walk now to the council of our Lord, Steward of the High King of Gondor.  Honour has taught you the deference you must show, but recall also the pride of your heritage and show noble bearing in his presence.”  The girls kept the slow pace in silence, heeding the words without sign.  There was silence for another few moments and Caranwyn let her eyes move about the courtyard as they walked towards the Citadel.  Halfway across the space, their guide stopped again and the girls halted with him.

He turned to face the tree, white and sad, where it stood by the fountain that formed the feature of the courtyard.

“Daughters of Gondor, you stand now in the Court of the Fountain, where once the White Tree grew.  It stands as it always has: a reminder of our history, and our hope; our pride and our duty.  It stands now barren, a sign of a line sundered, and yet it remains, ever watchful to our hope for its restoration, and the coming again of the High King.  Hold in your hearts due respect and humility as you stand here, and feel in your spirits that hope, and that pride.”  The looked on for a moment and Caranwyn watched the water from the fountain playing over white, barren branches.  A sense of deep, almost overpowering sadness welled up in her as she watched, and she averted her eyes again, head lowered, blinking.  She heard Russellwen sniff very quietly beside her.  Their guide looked across at them, still smiling.

“Unless I miss my guess, you both feel it, do you not?  It is a good sign, for not all do.  Come.”  He led them onwards again, towards the Citadel itself in silence again.  They stopped outside the doors to the tower, door-wardens standing proudly to either side, and their guard stood away from them.

“You stand now upon the threshold of your lives as adults, and must walk forward by your own courage.”  He paused for a moment, lowering his gaze briefly before looking up again.  “We have a moment here, where space is given to dispense with ceremony and formality; you stand ready to take a big step into a new life, if you have any fears, concerns or questions, speak them now and lift their weight from your shoulders.”

The sisters looked to each other for a moment before Caranwyn spoke, hesitant at first.

“It is an unusual day.  Many of us were not due to be called yet, and fear still lingers in the City.  Has it been hard to walk with so many in a single morning, like this?”  At this, the guard smiled warmly.

“It has been a joy, daughter of Thalanen, truly.”  He paused, his face serious again.  “Though you see more clearly than many, it is true.  The City is in need, and dark times lie before us, but do not let such things worry you this day.  Today is a time of joy, for all.”  He smiled again and looked to Russellwen.  “And you,” here he opened his mouth, but stopped, bowing his head slightly.  “My apologies; I did not think to ask which name belongs to whom; you both look as twins to my eyes.”  Russellwen smothered a giggle, reducing it to a small smirk.

“We are.  I am Russellwen.”

“My thanks then.  So, Russellwen, have you any concerns or questions?”  The girl looked thoughtful for a moment, biting one corner of her lip.

“I am worried because soon our fates will be at the whim of those assigning us.  I do not wish to be parted from my sister, but our duties may soon demand it, sooner than I am prepared for.”  At this, their guide nodded slowly.

“An understandable worry.  Let me offer you this then, to lighten your heart.  Our Lord Denethor is both deeply wise and more discerning than any man in this city.  I am certain that he will not give you duties that are unsuitable to you; both of you.”  They were both silent for another moment and the guard looked between them.

“Are you ready to continue?”  They nodded and he raised one hand to his chest in salute to them.  “Walk forward then, daughters of Gondor.  Seek out our Lord and share audience with him, by your own courage and will.  I shall await your return here.”

As he spoke, the door-wardens drew the large wooden doors open for them and the twins stepped through.  As the doors closed behind them, they both looked around at the long, featureless passageway, then continued along it in step.  Subtly disguised along either side of the passageway, almost hidden amongst the columns, smaller doors led away to other parts of the citadel, but they were all firmly shut now, leaving only the direct path forward, towards the audience hall. 

Neither of them spoke as they walked, though Caranwyn could tell that her sister was thinking many of the same thoughts.  Most soldiers of the White City only met the Steward in a personal audience once in their life, unless they were a captain of the City, or otherwise in his council, and this was that moment, approaching.  Many came away from the experience inspired, or profoundly affected in some way, and she wondered how they would fair.

They reached the final door between the corridor and the audience chamber, they stopped, looking up at the impressive feature, formed entirely of polished and reinforced metal rather than wood.  Caranwyn looked across at her sister.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”  They reached out to knock firmly on the door together.

At their knock, the door was drawn open by unseen hands and the twins stepped out into the wide audience hall.  For a moment their attention to ceremony slipped and they gazed around the room, awestruck.  Well lit and expansive, the room almost seemed to glow as the mid-day light slipped around the smooth, black marble of the columns and reflected off the many-coloured insets that wove and danced across the bright white of the floor.  Though the chamber bore no decoration or frivolity, Caranwyn thought it seemed beautiful in the solemn, cool stone that made up its artistry.  They both remembered themselves a moment later and looked forward again, walking steadily up the length of the room towards the dais.

Though the throne was magnificent, their lord retained his appointed place, seated on a simple black seat upon the lowest step, one hand on the arm rest, holding the rod of his office, the other resting neatly in his lap.  He watched them approach with a knowing eye, and Caranwyn couldn’t help but feel measured, even before any words passed between them.  They halted several feet before Denethor’s seat, and kneeled together.  Russellwen spoke first.

“My lord Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith.  I am Russellwen, daughter of Thalanen, and I come at your summons, and of my own will, to offer my life and my service to you, and to Gondor.”  Beside her, Caranwyn spoke the same formal greeting once she had finished, though they both kept their heads slightly inclined and their eyes lowered.  They heard the Steward shift, sitting more properly upright, and draw a breath.

“Indeed.  Rise then, daughters of Thalanen, and let me have a look at you.”  His eyes watched them as they stood, and Caranwyn felt his gaze peering deeply into her before it flicked away to her sister.  After a moment he spoke again.  “Dark is the time that brings us to such a meeting, though it be no reflection upon either of you.  You are young, both of you, younger still than the age at which I am accustomed to accepting oaths of fealty.  What say you to that?”  His eyes jumped first to Russellwen, who swallowed.

“I— If the times are dark, my lord, then I would say that I am ready and able to serve the White City, and Gondor, regardless of my age, and I would not be denied only by my count of years alone.”  He gave no reaction, but turned his gaze to Caranwyn who met him with a much harder eye. 

“And you?”

“We must accept the necessities that fall upon us, and use the resources that we may.  The times are dark, my lord, but even were they not so, I would wish to stand before you now, because I know that I am ready.  I may be young by years, but I need no more time spent waiting idle and helpless while others fight.  I know that I can be of service to this city, to Gondor, and to the free lands beyond, and I will not be denied.”  Russellwen cast a worried glance at her sister, but Caranwyn didn’t back down or lower her gaze.  The barest hint of a smile brushed the old man’s lips.

“Will not, is it?  We shall see.  Aside your youth, you are also females, and I am not in the practice of accepting oaths of service and fealty from women.  The battlefield where blood is spilled is no place for women, in my mind.  What do you say to this?”  Beside her, Caranwyn felt her sister wince involuntarily, no doubt fearing her reaction as Denethor’s eyes remained where they were, awaiting Caranwyn’s answer.  She clenched her teeth for a moment, though she couldn’t prevent the fierceness of her gaze, or its defiance.

“I would answer much the same, my lord, as to one who questioned my age.  The Enemy will not make consideration for my being a woman, and I may be of much greater good serving as I have trained to for many years.  I may have a woman’s body, but I am as capable or moreso than any who have stood before you already this day.”  She mentally congratulated herself on her restraint.  Denethor’s eyebrows rose slightly and his eyes shifted to Russellwen.  She took a breath.

“My sister spoke as I, too, feel, my lord.  In times of need it would be wasteful to deny our willingness, and though I may not be as skilled or adept at tactics and command as my sister, I am still able-bodied and capable, and have trained for this service.”  He nodded, leaning back in his chair a little more and resting his other hand in his lap as well.

“So I have been told by several of my captains.  Young of years and womanly of form you both are, perhaps, but let it not be said that you are without fire.  In each of you I sense a far greater spirit than the slightness of your forms would suggest.  Very well, let us speak, then, of these capabilities you believe you possess.”  He paused for a moment, then leaned forward on his seat, hands on his knees. 

“Your father, Thalanen, in particular has spoken strongly in your favour.  He is a good, trustworthy man, and not prone to over-embellish, even for kin as close as his own daughters.  Caranwyn, you have been remarked by him, as well as others, for the quickness of your mind and your calmness in conflict.  I have been told you have a gift for assessing and making plans, and a talent for inspiring those around you to follow your lead.  Your father recommends you to becoming a leader of others, and to a Captain’s responsibilities and duties, and though I have no room in this city for another of that position, several others agree with him.  Others have disagreed with this assessment, and voiced desire that you had but been born a son, so that they might support you.  How, then, would you speak for yourself, Caranwyn, daughter of Thalanen?”  Caranwyn took a moment to think, then squared her shoulders.

“If it were my choosing, my lord, I would not speak for myself with any words, but with deeds.  If I am put to it, I would say that the only thing I am lacking for such a duty is real combat experience, which only real combat can provide.”  She paused, hesitating a moment before continuing.  “I would recommend myself for such duty and such responsibility, not out of aspiration, but simply because that is how I believe I can be of the most value and assistance to others who would stand against the Enemy.”  She took a breath, aware of her heart beating swiftly in her chest, while the old man’s eyes seemed to drink in and absorb her words in silence.  When he was sure she was finished, he nodded.

“And so it may well be.”  He shifted his gaze again.  “Of you, Russellwen, different counsel has been offered to me.  I am told you show great affinity for the archer’s practice, but that you have also spent a deal of time training in a duty far more suited to women, that of the healing arts.  Some have suggested that by your oath it would be best to instruct you to dedicate yourself more completely to the houses of healing, knowing that your skill with a weapon will serve you only if ever we are so pressed that even the women be required to take arms.  How then, would you speak for yourself?”  Beside her, Caranwyn felt her sister flinch at Denethor’s words, and her own heart lurched at the prospect.  Russellwen took a moment to collect herself before responding.

“I— I would speak against that course, my lord, if I might.  I have some skill with healing, it is true, but it is not talent or aptitude, as my work with a bow is.  I do not feel that that course would be best.”  Her voice began to sound flustered.  “I wish to fight as well, my lord, and I can do so, if I am allowed to.”

“And yet without healers to tend their hurts even the mightiest of men will fall before their time.  Do not forget this, young lady.”  Russellwen tensed at the term of address.  She opened her mouth to speak further, but Denethor raised one hand, compelling her silence.  “Be calm and do not fear, for I have discerned what it truly is that upsets you about such suggestions, and it is not simply wasted potential.”  Caranwyn felt a jolt of fear grip her despite his words.  Some said that the steward was adept at knowing the thoughts and feelings of those around him, and she worried what it might be that he had perceived.  He was silent for a moment before speaking again.

“If I was not prepared to accept your oaths, then you would not be standing before me now.  The matter of what your duties shall be, however, requires careful consideration.”  He shifted in his seat again, looking tired for the briefest instant before returning his gaze to them.  Caranwyn pondered the realisation that the old man had been scrutinizing and measuring each of the other young soldiers as he was them, all morning.  She watched him, trying to remain calm as she waited for him to pronounce their doom.

“Many of my Captains feel, as I do, that young women such as yourselves should not be placed into the dangers of battles, and yet it would be foolish to ignore or squander your obvious abilities.  What truly vexes both of you, however, is not this, but it is the thought of being separated from one another by your duties, and as much as such attachment may at times be a failing, I sense that you will both be of more use if it is allowed to endure.  I have, then, commands and duties for you both, but I will have your oaths first before I speak them.  Swear now to me, as you came here to do.”

Caranwyn felt her heart race and flutter as she drew her sword alongside her sister and knelt, offering the weapon up to one of the old man’s ready hands.  He took both weapons and turned them over one at a time, so that each girl might place a hand on her own weapon’s pommel.  They spoke the traditional words in unison, Caranwyn almost surprised at the steadiness of her own voice.

“Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the word end.  So say I, Caranwyn, daughter of Thalanen, child of Minas Tirith, and of Gondor.”

“And so do I hear, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord of Gondor, Steward of the High King, and it shall not be forgotten, nor go unrewarded that which is given.”  He released their swords back to them, and both girls re-sheathed the weapons.  “Arise then, soldiers of Gondor, and hear the commands of your lord.”  The girls stood, caught between apprehension and excitement.  There was another moment of silence as Denethor nodded, as much to himself as to them.

“To you, Soldier Caranwyn, I assign the duties and responsibilities of the rank of Captain, and the expectations thereof.  You will be taught the greater pass words of the City, to reflect this.  I have no room at my table for another Captain, however, nor a plenitude of men to place under you.  Listen now to your duties.”  He paused, his eyes moving between them.

“It is needful that we maintain contact with those free lands which we defend, for there is little sense if the shield remains, and all that it stands behind is ravaged.  I would send a contingent westward to this end, but I cannot spare any of my Captains or Generals to lead such a force, nor, indeed, can I spare a force of any sizable note.  This is the task to which I now command you.  You will march west, through the lands of Rohan, and into the province of Eriador, there to lend aid.  You will be permitted a force of no more than eight soldiers to serve under you, soldiers of the City without other special duties.  Choose your men wisely.”  He turned his gaze before either girl could respond.

“Russellwen, you are now a soldier of the City, and will be taught the lesser pass words.  I assign to you no special task beyond normal duties, unless you should be sought by one of my Captains for particular missions.  This will be at their discretion.”  As he finished he leaned back in his chair again, seemingly watching for their reactions.  Caranwyn felt her body relax a tension she hadn’t even been aware of as relief flooded her.  Even so, a thought nagged at her pride and she swallowed, bracing her nerves.

“My lord?”  He raised an eyebrow and nodded slightly.  “I would know your mind in this task, if I may, that I might better understand and perform it.  It seems to my mind that there must be more behind this task for you to deliver it to me so directly.  Were it as simple as you say, would I not receive such an order handed down from another in due course?”  She bit her lip, uncertain whether she had overstepped.  Denethor looked at her, his face serious and unreadable.  After a moment she heard him exhale.

“More to your mission, you say?  And so there is.  A fair question young Captain, though one you could have asked of any of my other generals.  They have already been informed of your mission, when I decided upon your course.  Three days hence, on the fourth, my son sets out on an errand of import and some secrecy.  I am loathe to accept his departure from us in these times, but he has convinced me of the necessity of his journey, and that he must take it.  Your party will be his escort for a ways, though your paths will separate beyond the lands of Rohan.  If you are as quick of mind and perception as I am told, you will understand the full measure of your mission by the time you part ways.”

Silence descended for a moment, and Caranwyn was sure she felt Russellwen sag with relief beside her, glad that her sister’s words hadn’t been deemed out of line.  Denethor seemed to think to himself a while longer, while they waited, then raised his hand in a dismissing gesture.

“That is all.  Go now, each of you, and take your day of rest, but make ready for your departure soon.”  At his words the girls saluted in unison and took a formal step backwards before turning to leave the hall.  The doors closed behind them as they stepped through, back into the Citadel hallway, and as one they let out long sighs.  Caranwyn felt ragged and overwhelmed form the ordeal, overwhelmed by a mass of emotion.  She turned to her sister to embrace the other girl, and found Russellwen’s arms already reaching to encircle her in a tight hug.  They stayed like that for a few more seconds, holding each other fiercely, until Caranwyn released her grip, stepping back enough to hold Russellwen’s hands instead.  The other girl had tears in her eyes, and Caranwyn could feel the tell-tale hot prickling sensation behind her own.  She managed a smile.

“We’d best not linger.  The Citadel guard will be waiting for us.”  She giggled softly here, and Russellwen joined her.  As they walked back down the hall, the sense of harrowed weariness faded from her, leaving behind only the swelling sense of joy and pride.  She reached out to take hold of her sister’s hand, beside her, and felt the other girl squeeze back.

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