“I am a soldier of Gondor, and I will act as such. And so I will be judged.” Confident as she had been on the long road south, the heavy wooden doors of the Captain’s office still felt like the gates of judgment. The salt-tinged air of Dol Amroth filled her lungs, a sharp contrast to the pine and damp earth of the Trollshaws she had grown accustomed to. She was finally home.
"You have returned."
Aearien stood in the center of the office, her back straight and her booted feet firmly planted on the polished marble flooring. Her shoulders were held back confidently, her chin sitting high, but inwardly she braced herself.
"I have returned, my Captain," she said, offering a rigid, formal bow to the older man.
Surrounding her in the circular room were various Swan Knights and sub-commanders that served under her father’s command. Her father sat at his massive oak desk, his arms folded. The months she had been gone had not been kind to him; deep lines of exhaustion framed his eyes, and the maps strewn across his desk were weighed down by daggers marking enemy advancements.
And standing just behind him, arms folded with that familiar, haughty posture, was the First Lieutenant. Of course he had to be there. She swallowed dryly, forcing herself to keep her composure. When the Captain spoke again, her sharp grey eyes were drawn back to him.
"You were gone many months, soldier. Why so?" The Captain held his stony gaze with hers, one eyebrow raised curiously. His eyes searched her quickly, professionally, but she could see the frantic sweep of a father checking his child for wounds.
A question she had been dreading. She pressed her lips shut for several moments, gathering her thoughts. She knew the reality of the North would not be understood in this pristine, marble-floored room.
"Well?" The tapping of his fingers against the oak desk echoed in the quiet room.
"You sent me on a mission, sir. And I attempted to fulfill your request to the best of my abilities," she started, her voice steady.
"That is good to hear, Aearien." He leaned forward. "I sent you to find aid, yes. So tell me then, what have you brought with you?"
The silence in the room stretched, thick and suffocating. Aearien kept her chin high, though her heart ached with the truth.
"I have brought nothing." Her voice was quiet, meant only for him.
"Repeat that."
"I have brought nothing," she said, her voice carrying clearly across the stone room this time. "The North is broken, Father. I rode through Rohan and into the wilds of Eriador. I sought the Rangers of Esteldin, our kin. But they fight their own shadows in the ruins of forgotten kingdoms. They have no standing armies. They have no men to spare for Gondor. We are alone."
A heavy silence settled over the maps and the Swan Knights. Then, the First Lieutenant let out a sharp, derisive snort.
"So not only did you spend months wasting precious time playing in the woods like a vagabond, but you failed in your mission," the Lieutenant sneered, stepping out from behind the desk. "A fool’s errand from the start. We told you the Rangers were useless."
Aearien’s eyes narrowed, the hatred she felt for that man boiling in her veins, but before she could even open her mouth to put him in his place, the sound of heavy wood scraping against stone shattered the tension.
Her father was on his feet. He slammed a hand onto the desk, leaning over the maps.
"Watch your tongue, Lieutenant," the Captain’s voice cracked like a whip, vibrating with a lethal authority. The smug look vanished from the younger man's face instantly. "You speak to a soldier of Dol Amroth, and you speak to my daughter. Step back and hold your peace."
The Lieutenant swallowed hard, his face flushing, and took a stiff step backward.
Her father’s chest heaved as he turned his gaze back to Aearien. The anger in his eyes melted into a terrifying, desperate relief. The Captain's mask slipped, revealing the terrified father beneath.
"You are alive," he said, his voice losing its military edge. "That is what matters. But your time in the wilds is over, Aearien. The Corsairs have taken the outer beaches. The shadow is on our doorstep, and I will not lose you to it."
He walked around the desk, standing tall and imposing. "You are done playing the Ranger. You will go to the armory. You will don your plate, take up a heavy blade, and you will assume command of the inner citadel guard. You will stay behind these walls where it is defensible. You will not leave this keep."
It was not a punishment. It was a cage built entirely of grief. He had lost her mother to the coast, and he would not let the sea take his daughter as well. He thought this was a mercy, a way to keep her safe from the horrors he faced every day.
Aearien looked at her father, really looked at him. She saw the trembling in his hands, the desperate fear in his posture. She loved him fiercely for it. But she could not obey.
"No, Father."
The whispers of the surrounding Swan Knights silenced instantly. The Lieutenant folded his arms, looking scandalized, but kept his mouth firmly shut.
"I gave you an order," her father said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, rumbling warning. "You are a soldier of Dol Amroth. Your duty is here, where I can see you."
"My duty is to the people of this city," Aearien replied gently, her voice devoid of anger. She reached up to her shoulders. With a smooth, practiced motion, she unclasped the heavy, silver pin bearing the Swan of Dol Amroth, the emblem of the city guard. She pulled the thick, formal cloak from her shoulders.
She walked slowly to her father’s oak desk and set the folded cloak softly upon the wood. She then drew the gilded Gondorian broadsword from her hip, the heavy, beautiful weapon meant for tight formations and citadel defense, and laid it gently beside the fabric.
"What are you doing?" the Lieutenant hissed, unable to help himself. "You dare throw your arms back at your Captain?"
Aearien did not even look at him. He was a ghost, entirely beneath her notice. She kept her grey eyes locked on her father.
"I love this city," Aearien said, her voice softening. "And I love you. But if we wait inside the citadel until the enemy is at the gates, we have already lost. The heavy guard cannot spot a Corsair scouting party in the dead of night. You need someone on the cliffs."
Her father stared at the sword on his desk, his jaw tight. "Aearien, it is too dangerous..."
"I am a Ranger of the Dúnedain," she interrupted softly, adjusting the leather quiver on her back and letting her hand rest on the hilt of her lighter, coastal dagger. "I will not wait for the dark to come to us. I will meet it on the shores. I will keep the beaches clear so you and our people can sleep peacefully."
She bowed to her father one last time. Not as a subordinate to a Captain, but as a woman who had chosen her own path.
She turned and strode out of the office. The First Lieutenant bristled, looking to the Captain for the order to arrest her, to stop her, to demand she return her remaining weapons.
But her father said nothing. He only watched the doorway long after she was gone, his weathered hand resting gently on the hilt of the sword she had left behind.
