Pushing her strange thoughts of the future aside she bends down and collects her basket of freshly picked herbs and walks softly across the rich earth to her home. The soil barely crumbles beneath her bare feet that move lightly across the earth. Pushing the wooden door open she hears the murmurs of conversation from somewhere inside the house, she cannot detect the deeper tones of her brother and father presumes they must still be at the forges. She sets down her basket upon a smooth marble surface and is walking out of the door to join her mother and sister in their conversation when she sees a figure walking towards the house. Nothing stops the small fluttering feeling she feels inside, no matter how hard she tries to quell it, no matter how she knows it is wrong.
He loves you not
She tells herself
He is above you
She tries to forget it
He is a Prince
She thinks and knows
He is married
She hates the thought.
"Healer," the words he speaks are warm, almost as if his fiery spirit is reflected in all he does, though she knows this is nothing…only politeness.
"My lord," she lowers her head respectfully, it is better if she does not look at him anyway.
"As you will know my wife is expecting our firstborn, I have come for herbs that will ease the pain, many have spoke of your skills above others," he says simply, she notices the small smile upon his face and quickly turns to the shelves and cupboards searching for the herbs.
He chose you above other healers…
Do not be so foolish, you simply have the most knowledge of childbearing and birthing.
Like always she quashes her wild dreaming and focuses on the reality of her situation. Dreaming will get her no where.
Handing over the herbs with few words and simple instructions she now wishes for him to be gone, so her legs may feel stable again, so her mind may again be clear. And soon he is gone; a retreating figure along the pathway.
She closes the door shut and leans against the strong wood, she knows she must stop dreaming. Feeling frustrated she walks quickly from the room her mind desperately wondering When shall it be my turn? When shall there be someone?
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.