Desperate Cry

After they had eaten, they resumed their search for the two hobbits, and entered Fangorn again, breathing in with fear the stale air that, it seemed, had not been moved by a fresh breeze for eons. Then they came upon an old man, of unknown identity, and Elfhild did not understand their enmity at first until she realised this was perhaps the head of the coucil of the Great Wizards, Saruman, whom it was believed had stolen their horses in the dead of night. She had heard vague tales of the might of the ancient wizards and stayed behind, keeping a safe distance and eyeing the stranger with caution.

To all their surprise the old man greeted them with benign words, calling them ‘friends’ and inviting them into a conversation. She was shocked to see Legolas aiming an arrow at the old man and Gimli gripping his axe firmly as though he would jump the old man and hack him to pieces. But at a dramatic gesture of the old man bow arroarrow and axe were dropped to the ground. As the man, grey of beard and hair, sat himself down the three companions quickly grabbed their weapons again, and slowly approached. Keeping the three hunters and a good deal of trees between herself and the suspected old man, Elfhild could not make out all that was said, but her ears clearly got the word ‘hobbits’ when he hinted of their whereabouts.

The dwarf uttered threatening words, calling him Saruman, the corrupted former leader of the great Wizards, but the old man revealed himself to them all and the others clearly recognised him as their friend, leader of their company and thought dead. They marveled at his change and spoke with him a great deal of their own fate and inquired about the two hobbits’. More was said, but Aragorn quickly sent Elfhild away, which seemed rather scrutenous and insulting but realisation of a dark secrecy dawned when she heard the words ‘Mordor’ and ‘Black Tower’ as she walked away, out of hearing range. She had not been treated thus, sent away like a small child when the grown-ups had important things to discuss, since her early childhood and the temptation to sneek back and gain knowledge of what they spoke was indeed great, but she obeyed, obeyed for one reason only. The look in Aragorns eyes; not the look of an annoyed elder sending an ignorant child away, but the look of someone wanting to protect her from great harm.

He gestured to her to come back after a while and when she did, she heard mention of the name Galadriel, and she recognised this as the name of the so-called Elf Witch of the Golden Woods, and all seemed to take delight and comfort in the messages Gandalf passed from her to them, but the dwarf was besides himself with joy, singing and then humming to himself as they resumed their trek. Delight was even greater when the two horses, given them by the proud Eomer, came galopping back, running swiftly after a great grey stallion, the most splendid the Rohirrim Elfhild had ever laid eyes on. Gandalf mounted this fair beast, Legolas and Gimli climbed atop Arod and Elfhild took her old place behind Aragorn. When she put her hands on his sides and hips, so as not to fall off, it felt different somehow, a new tension between them, although she wasn’t sure if it was just on her side.

Thus they rode straight for Edoras, the capital of Rohan, the only real city the country had. They were a free people that longed for and needed free air to breath and space and roamed best in the beautiful rocky landscape, each household separate and a small village onto itself. Short after the new days dawn, following a brief few hours of rest, came within sight the great dark walls of Emyn Muil to their far left, then before them, grassy valleys and a silvery stream; beyond this, she knew, lay Edoras and the golden hall of Meduseld.

When they were allowed entrance to the city, Elfhild beheld it through a golden haze of her own tears, and recognised, with love, familiar buildings and squares. Aragorn felt her tremble behind him and understood. She took a deep sigh and felt the burden of terror and unmourned grief slide off her shoulders like a dark cloak lifting. When she saw a familiar face she burst into laughter and tears all in one. “Eoheld!”, she called. “Eoheld!”

The woman turned and her eyes widened when she recognised her. “Well, if it isn’t little Elfhild! It’s been an eternity since last I saw you! Who is this man you have ensnared, or are there no wedding plans yet?”

Elfhild laughed at the beloved non-stop babble of her late aunt’s nurse and trusted friend. She slid-fell off the horse and into Eohelds arms, who never stopped talking. “Why, last time I saw you you were five years old! However did you fare since then?”

“Oh, Eoheld, Eoheld”, Elfhild laughed and pressed her to her.

Happy were her days after her return to Edoras. She told Eoheld, who had nursed her ill aunt untill the fatal disease finally claimed her fathers dear and only sister, of her fathers and brothers demise. Elfhilds father, her three brothers and herself had often visited with the sickly but kind lady, and a warm friendship of appreciation and mutual care and sorrow grew, deepening when the old woman finally died and they found comfort in each others arms. Elfhild stayed a while in Edoras, in Eohelds house, before she returned to her fathers house. She spent many happy hours, chatting with Eoheld, visiting her at work in the House of Healing, and all seemed free of worry. Indeed all the city seemed to share her merriment with their hopeful and cheerful talk of the king, revived and free of ill advice.

Yet when the veil of grief and sorrow had just been lifted, a new threat presented itself: word spread of a great army of orcs, sent by Saruman, who had once been their ally, coming for Edoras. The king decided they would seek refuge in Helm’s Deep, that had kept them safe many a time in wars of ages past. And so she and Eoheld packed a few supplies and clothes and joined with the exodus that followed the king’s command.

Naturally this new concern pressed on her mind, the threat of orcs and the dangerous journey that lay ahead, yet it seemed to weigh not half as heavily on her mind as the grief of her father and brothers deaths had, just days ago and she found she could bear thinking about it, concidering possibilities and risks and yet forge a smile, more easily than the others, who were all gravely distressed. For a whole day hers was the only laughter to be heard.

In hind sight Elfhild forgave Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli for their hostile approach of the then unknown old, hooded man in Fangorn Forest. Yes, she had heard tell of the might of the Istari, but could not conceive of these mysterious beings ever putting their famed conjuring to any practical use. This changed radically and her breath seized when she first saw the gruesome beings, creatures of dand and vile magic no doubt, descend the hills all around them. They resembled wolves, yet they were the size of a large pony with a hideous pair of jaws full of sharp teeth; perhaps they had been breeded from wolves, beasts that could be a true pest, but beasts of nature nonetheless. She quickly gathered Eoheld to her, as the brave Eowyn directed them to the best possible position. She left Eohild in relative safety in the middle of the hiding women and children and then slowly made her way to the edge of the tightly-packed mass. Here she climbed atop a rock and planted her feet with refound determination before she grabbed her bow and arrows. When the first arrow flew, a pair of amazed grey eyes followed its course and seemed flabbergasted when it landed in a Wargs hairy paw. As it tripped and fell, Eowyn looked where it had come from and Elfhild looked back at her with the fearless pride she had missed since the orcs’ attack on her fathers house and she rejoiced in it, taking careful aim at the running creatures and bringing down a handful of them. She did not boast of her kills when it was over, but her shoulders and back were straighter than anyone else’s.

All were greatly relieved when they finally reached Helm’s Deep, in fewer numbers. When the soldiers came to collect all men and boys big enough to wield a sword, she did her best to sneek through but was recognised for what she was and sent back. Then she tried to get her hands on one of the helmets they were dealing out, but found they had all been taken. yed yed yet relieved at the same time, she took her place among the women and children in the strongholds deepest caves. Above, unknown noises could be heard and after some time it became clear battle had ensued. She sat down, arms around her knees, unhappy to miss one of the greatest battles of modern Middle Earth, but accepted her place and vowed to protect the surrounding women, children and old men with her life should the Uruk-hai break through. he dhe door was breached, but then the king rode out with Aragorn and none of the orcs got inside. Her heart blazed with pride as she saw the King ride out proudly, fearlessly, and part of her spirit flew with him. The tide turned for the Rohirrim, the orcs were defeated and Elfhild never got her chance of valour and couregeous deeds, yet she felt pleased and took renewed pride in her people and King.

When the battle was over and the dead had been buried (or burned) the women and children of Rohan left for their respective homes, be this Edoras or the Westfold or any other part of the once-again free land of the Eorlingas. Elfhild went in search for her former companions, and found Aragorn in council with the King. She waited and when they were finished talking, she approached Aragorn and rejoiced in his smile as he held her by the shoulders.

“I offer you my thanks again, my lord”, she said, a bit shy now and her skin tingled where his hands lay. “Were it not for your kindness, I would most surely have perished shortly after my kin.”

He smiled. “Many have come to me today to thank me for deeds both great and small”, he replied. “Yet it is in one’s own hand to direct one’s faith.”

She smiled at him, still feeling the attraction pulling her near him as she puzzled at his words. With sadness in her heart and a little regret she watched him leave, with the King and most of his soldiers, to the aid of the threatened Minas Tirith. With admiration and pride she watched the passing Theoden King, all his soldiers that could be spared and Eomer, the Kings nephew and only heir. Handsome and fierce and proud he seemed to her, a stout and loyal soldier of Rohan and a worthy heir to the throne, one day.

Now the object of her attention noticed the staring eyes, and turned to look her way. She blushed at his intensive gaze and lowered her eyes.

Later that day the old men, women and children left, most of tfor for Edoras, protected by one company of Riders, although this proved unnecessary, when all the orcs they encountered along the way were dead. A small smile of grim satisfaction stole over her face when she saw that some of the corpses had been gnawed, by Wargs perhaps, ravens, or wolves. This image partially replaced the horror of seeing her kin laying scattered, slain and maimed, on the blood stained grass.

When the whole company had reached Edoras in safety, and it was clear that orcs were not in the Kings City, nor in its proximity, the protective eored left them to themselves and turned to join the rest of the Riders of the Mark, who were heading for Minas Tirith to strenghten their ranks.

Elfhild and Eoheld found the little house still safely tucked against the city’s wall, seeming to lean on it, and tried to get on with their life. But Eoheld, good nurse or rather healer that she was, could not simply sit still while she knew she was needed – or would be needed soon – elsewhere. Just two days after their arrival they left again, on the trail of the Riders, for Minas Tirith, Eoheld to help in the Houses of Healing and Elfhild simply went with her, perhaps searching for some valour and chance of courageous deeds after all, but certainly as a guard for Eoheld, who knew all of sword-inflicted wounds but little of sword wielding. True to her habit, which was like a second nature, she could hardly be still for longer than a few moments, but to Elfhild was was like a pleasant background music, reassuring and comforting. When they camped at night, and Eoheld went to sleep and Elfhild stood guard, Eohelds lips were moving in her sleep and Elfhild had difficulty containing bursts of laughter, when the thought came to her that she must be babbling in her dreams aswell. An hour before sunrise, sleep overcame Elfhild as she was sitting leaning back against a tree. Her dreams were filled with sharp blades, cries and a pair of capturing brown eyes in a helmed face. She awoke, startled by something, a bird’s cry perhaps, feeling hot and slightly feverish with a blush to her cheeks that caused embarassing questions pertaining to her dreams by Eoheld.

That sunset they reached the White City and whereas Edoras had impressed her as a girl and had impressed her still as a mature woman, Minas Tirith was of an entirely different ilk. She had never seen a city this immense, this beautiful, this… full. Everywhere there were people running, either soldiers and captains or healers and nurses. They quickly headed for the famed Houses of Healing, where Eoheld received a surprised but very warm welcome by one of the healing women there, who went by the name of Ioreth, another unstoppable babblemouth it seemed. When they both stopped talking for two seconds, Elfhild seized her chance and quickly asked: “Ioreth, I accompanied Eoheld here but I also possess some healing skills. Could I help out here as well and make myself useful?”

“Why, you most certainly can, young miss!”, came the quick reply. “Heaven knows we could use all the hands we can get, but you know something, that’s exactly what I heard good captain Faramir say just the other day. Just report to the chief caretaker over there, that’s him, and ask him where he might use a couple of good hands.”

So it was said and thus it was done, and Elfhild, once appointed to a diversity of tasks, found herself so busy that she forgot to have lunch and then she forgot to go home until Eoheld came back from Ioreths house, who was putting in amazing hours, to fetch her well after nightfall. Now that she finally interrupted her duties she noticed how tired and hungry she was and agreed, thankful that Eoheld had come back for her, because she did not know where Ioreth’s house was and surely would’ve lost her way. She went to Ioreth’s little house, supported by Eoheld, had a small supper and fell asleep before she couldresdress, lying straight across the bed with her boots half unlaced.

The next day flew by as swiftly as the first, only now Elfhild kept an eye on the time, remembering to eat this time, and they went home at an appropiate hour. On their third day in Minas Tirith they had only just begun their work in the Houses of Healing, when they heard of alarms and the outer wall, the Rammas Echor, that stretched around Gondor’s borders, had fallen. Wounded soldiers started to poor into the Houses, survivors (as they soon learned) of the lost forts along the Road that led into the White City. Elfhild assisted the healers and nurses, and learnt a great deal just by keeping her ears open. The soldiers were pessimistic; their enemies’ numbers were far greater than their own. Looking out the windows, Elfhild en Eoheld could see for themselves the chaotic approach of wounded and scattered compagnies as theye fle fleeing home.

Then, a little while later, a certain young man of great importance to the Steward and the people was brought in, severly wounded, perhaps fatally. The doctors tended to his wounds as best they could, but he would not recover, he and the proud and loveowynowyn that lay in a bed nearby. Both lay under the Black Shadow, an illness resulting from battling the dreaded Nazgûl that took the lives of all that had confronted the Ringwraiths, even if all physical wounds had been healed. Eoheld and Ioreth lingered by his bedside, when all his wounds had been tended to and were healing fine, consulting each other and trying to find a way to release him. In despair Ioreth shed bitter tears, for all loved Faramir. [“Woe, if he would die. I wish there were kings in Gondor, like once there weFor For in the old lore it is told: the hands of a king are the hands of a healer. And by this the true king could be recognised.”]

And Gandalf, who stood near but did not seem to recognise Elfhild as she recognised him, spoke of a king returning to Gondor and words of hope. Elfhild paid no mind to quizzical phrases and resumed her work with the potions and dried herbs. A little while later a number of people entered the hall, and Elfhild was amazed when she recognised Aragorn, for indeed it was he, yet there seemed something changed about him, like the moon beginning to shine through a once dense cloud. With interest she regarded him, then hastily directed her attention to the clay and porcelain jars and pots before her, a slight blush to her cheeks when she saw the man who followed Aragorn into the room: Ėomer, Third Marshall of the Riddermark, looking quite splendid, she confirmed to herself as she dared a second glance. Immediately those spellbinding eyes were on her and she quickly looked away as he walked to stand beside his sisters sickbed. He stood there for a while, looking down upon his sister with worry and hope, standing but a few feet away and then he turned to Elfhild to ask her: “Might I ask, did I not see you earlier, inm’s m’s Deep?”

She masked her blushing – propably deep crimson – by not looking at him. Were she to meet his glance, she feared she would not lightly break free of it. “Indeed you did, my lord.”

He was silent for some time, in which her blush faded but her heartbeat remained rather fast and irregular, fluttering like a butterfly in ge. ge. Then he said, “So what are you doing here?”

She turned to answer him this time, not wanting to be impolite, and immediately felt bound by his intensive stare. “I came here with Eoheld, who is a friend of Ioreth, one of the healing women, if you know her.”

A small amused smile passed his lips; she could not help but stare. “I do.”

“I stayed with Eoheld, in her house, and when she left to help here, I came along, since I alsow a w a little of healing.”

He nodded, remained silent for some time but clearly had the intention of speaking some more with her, which she found flattering. Finally he took a deep sigh and asked: “Do you know of anything that might release my sister from the Black Shadow?” He seemed deprived of hope and in great concern and Elfhild instantly wished she could rid him of his sorrow and comfort him.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, no remedy has been found so far.”

In despair he sank down upon a nearby chair, and rested his face in his hands. She sympathised with him greatly, for she knew how much it hurt to lose one’s loved ones, and crouched down beside him, putting a hand on his back and when his powerful shoulders shook, she put an arm around them with her head against his shoulder and a comforting hand against the back of his head when he turned to her and buried his face in her hair and sobbed silently. The crying of a man so powerful and so desperate was heartbreaking and in her empathy, soon she was crying too, holding him tight and rocking slightly, grieving herself for her dead kin while he was grieving over one still alive, yet close to death, aswell as one already deceased. Silently they sobbed together for a while, then he stiffened in her arms, and partially withdrew, still holding her and looking her in the eye, hypnotising her again as hd bed before and it was not until now that she realised the beauty and splendour of the man in her arms. Distressed, but clearly feeling better, he spoke: “Please forgive me my weakness. It has been a long day, full of triumphs and defeats, despair and hope. I did not mean to-“

She put a finger on his open lips. “I beg of you, my lord, do not make apologies for no such thing is needed. The tasks of a healer do not stop at the physical well-being of her patients. I understand your distress” – she had to stop now and swollow back new tears at the memories- “and only wishedsootsoothe you.” She kept her eyes on him, as she could not break free from his gaze, and found it increasingly difficult to hide her adoring glance.

He sat perfectly still, his hands still on her back, his mouth still partly open, his brow furrowed, asif puzzling at something, or forming a question. Then footsteps came closer, of several people, the moment was over and Eomer stood SlowSlowly she got to her feet aswell.

With effort he said: “I thank you for your good cares, my lady.” After making this rather formal statement, making her think he regretted something, he cocked his head and spoke: “And what, may I ask, is your name? So that I can remember it the next time we unexpectedly meet and adress you properly.”

She smiled, humored and relieved. “It is Elfhild, my lord.”

“Elfhild.” He repeated it and seemed to taste the name on his lips, then someone called his name and he answered it and left.

A dreamy smile lay on her face as she watched him walk the small distance to Faramirs bedside, where Aragorn stood along with Ioreth, a doctor and a few more people. She also noticed what must be a halfling standing among them, but then all her attention was caught by the loveliest, lightest of scents, like the spring breeze of mountain valleys perhaps, and she breathed it in deeply and delighted in it. And then, to the amazement of all present, she heard the voice of the Stewards son, saying: [“My lord, you have summoned me. I come. What does the king command?”]

People sighed and laughed and cried, overjoyed at his sudden recovery. Then Aragorn took some more of ath athelas-leaves, that were supposed to be useless for healing any serious injury, and ground them and threw them in steaming water, then he wetted a piece of cloth with it and gently brushed it across Eowyns forehead. She heard him speaking words, that sounded like an incantation, and then another miracle followed upon the first: Eowyn awoke to Aragorn’s touch and her brothers desperate calls. Never had Elfhild seen greater joy and relief than when Eomer embraced his sister, she who, he had thought, would surely die like his father had died, and from her place she watched and was fighting back tears.

When the battle for Minas Tirith was over, everyone in the Houses of Healing had plenty to do and both Elfhild and Eoheld as well as all other healing women and doctors Elfhild saw, where working long hours, interrupting their duties only by sleep and occasional eating. It was days before they had a chance to sit down and discuss things that mattered to the City and the world beyond it. Elfhilds breath cought in her throat when she heard that the Leaders of the West had all joined forces and led their soldiers to the very gates of Mordor, to try and overthrow the Black Tower’s might once and for all. Ofcourse this meant both Aragorn and Eomer had gone as leaders and representatives of their respective peoples. Whispers were in the streets of their chances being hopeless. That they were going to their certain deaths.

Suddenly Elfhild felt all the long hours she had worked feverishly bearing down her her. Eoheld, noticing her deadly pale face, worried for a moment she would have to take her collegue as a patient, until Elfhild stumbled reassurances. She did not touch her meal afterwards, however. That day and the next were filled with a terrible dread. Until the afternoon of the day after that, messengers came with tidings of the battle on the field of Cormallen and said that a seemingly impossible quest had been fulfilled, Sauron was defeated

A day later, the trhanthant army returned. Elfhild and Eoheld stood by the window, listening with awe and wonder to the peoples singing in the streets.

“Cuio i Pheriain anann! Aglar’ni Pheriannath!
Daur a Berhael, Conin en Annûn! Eglerio!
Eglerio! A laita te, laita te! Andave laituvalmet!
Cormacolindor, a laita tárienna!”

It was then that the feast began. It went on more or less without any real interruption in thstivstivities, only with new climaxes with the coronation of the new king, none less than the Aragorn she knew, on the first of May and then a euphoric swoon overtook the ciry and reached another pinnacle when the new King wed his Queen, Arwen Evenstar of the Elves.

By now most of the patients had healed and recovered, including Faramir, who now would never be Steward, but was given by the King’s grace the fair lands of Ithilien, to live and rule there with Eowyn as his wife.

Elfhild spent her summer in the White City, often helping Eoheld in the Houses of Healing, something strolling through the streets, or to look at the white tree that had sprung up. As much as she could admire the great buildings and structures, and the incessant stream of people everywhere, she found, as the summer waned, that it was pressing down upon her, the closeness of the walls around her and the multitude of strangers. She longed for the free fields of Rohan, and when she spoke about this to Eoheld, she understood she wanted to go home but said she’d stay in the City herself. With warmth they embraced and said goodbye when Elfhild joined in the back ranks of Eomer’s household, that was leaving Minas Tirith aswell and would provide her with protection as well as the company of her fellow Rohirrim.

When the whole company set out on their journey, Elfhild ran to the front, her packs wobbling awkwardly on her back, to the proud Riders that surrounded the heir to the throne of Rohan, and begged to be let through.

“My king Eomer,”, she panted, trying to keep up with the horses on foot, “my lord, would you mind if I travelled in your company? My heart tires of cities and walls and stone and longs for the free fields.”

“As does mine”, answered Eomer, and it seemed he was forcing back a humored grin. “First of all we go to bury my uncle Theoden properly, besides his son Theodred.” He nodded at her.

“My thanks, lord Marshall”, she smiled. “For letting a useless young woman come along, with no rank or even relatives.”

He threw her a sideward glance; mesmerising her again. “No rank? So you say. But albeit that the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith can use a good pair of hands, the House of Healing doradoras can surely use them too.” His amused grin spread, breaking into a full smile as he rode on, leaving her surprised, and happy, and puzzled.

And completely, totally infatuated.