31 — THE PASSING OF THE GREY COMPANY
The smoke from Borund's pyre was still spiralling lazily into the sky when they began their march the next day. Tíniel kept her head high despite her heavy heart; hundreds of people had sung for him, their voices winding together in mournful harmonies where just the day before they had been wild and joyful.
May the gods carry you gently…
Wake up, she told herself. There was no time for grief. She had to forget her dead. Trying to take her mind off the events of the night before, she glanced behind her. The bamyë was setting a good pace, the strong helping the weak along. She saw two young women wheeling one of the elders along in a wheelbarrow they'd been lent by someone in Edoras.
The great, winding train of people was flanked by variag for protection, and at its head was a strange group of people. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had agreed to march with them. Mugura was chattering eagerly to a bemused Legolas while Gimli tried and failed to discuss the finer points of axemanship with Petakh.
Tíniel, Tcharum and Aragorn walked together in silence through the day. Every now and then, Tcharum would dash the tears from his eyes. The third time he did it, the day was drawing to a close. Tíniel caught his hand in hers and held it tightly.
"Sorry," he said, and she shook her head.
"You're allowed to cry."
"I don't want to. But I keep thinking of him. How I failed him."
"Me too," she said. She fought the choking thickness that was making its way up her throat. "But we must be strong. If we fail, there is nobody left, and we cannot abandon our tribe."
"Tcharand bamyë," he sniffed.
"And tcharand khopyë," she finished for him, squeezing his hand. "We will save our grief for later. Then we can cry together."
He took a deep breath and nodded firmly. "I think I will go check the scouts," he said. "I'll be back." Tíniel nodded. She knew it didn't need to be done, but she let him go.
"Is he… alright?" Aragorn asked, glancing at Tcharum's retreating back.
"He is as you would expect," she said neutrally. "So am I. Can we speak of something different?"
"Of course." He hesitated. "What… what do you want to talk about?"
She frowned. "I don't know. What do we usually talk about?"
He blinked. "I think – I think we usually talk about how we're going to stay alive."
Her mouth quirked upward. "I mean, talk when we're not in a life-or-death situation."
"We don't, really."
"Don't what?"
"Talk. We don't talk about anything, because we are always trying to stay alive, or avoid each other, or… you know."
"Oh," she said. "How strange."
There was a beat of silence, and he couldn't help but smile. "We have a chance now," he said. "Tell me about your family."
"Alright," she said, and thought for a moment. "I suppose I must begin with my father."
"He was the chief of your tribe before you, was he not?"
"He was. He was a good Khondyë, but a harsh man. His name was Rovekh, and he was rarely kind to me." She saw Aragorn frown, and she shrugged. "I think it is because I killed my mother. Tcharum he loved dearly."
"You did not kill your mother."
"A grieving man will search for something to blame," she said. "For my father, that was me."
"What was your mother's name?" Aragorn asked.
"Her name was Mavaru," Tíniel replied softly. "I like to imagine that she looked like me. I imagine her gentle, and kind, and quick to laughter. The elders tell me she was a good fighter."
"If her daughter is anything to judge by, I believe it."
She smiled. "She watches over us now. My father too." She looked up at the sky. "I hope you have forgiven me, Vadrë," she said into the air. "I loved you well, though I never said it." She looked back down again. Some part of her felt lighter, and she sighed.
"What of your brother then?" Aragorn asked.
"Tcharum is the best man I know. He is loyal beyond reckoning, brave, good. I always was envious of him when we were younger."
"Is he married?"
"No. He had a betrothed, but she died when she was a little child in one of Gondor's raids. And since then, he never…" she shrugged.
"But if neither of you marry, the bloodline will end," he said, puzzled.
Tiniel paused, then shrugged again. "If there remains a world to live in once all of this is over, then perhaps one of us will wed. But we hardly need think of it now."
He hummed in agreement and she smiled. "How odd speak of such small things with you!"
He gave a half-smile back. "I like it."
"Me too. Tell me about your family."
"Well. My mother and father watch over us as do yours. I am an only child, with no brothers or sisters save those I adopted."
"Elladan and Elrohir," she remembered. "Strange brothers to have, especially for a mortal man."
"Strange can be good," he said, and she smiled.
He had been about to go on, but there was a cry from behind them. They both whirled to see Tcharum galloping at full tilt toward them.
"Tchakhura!" he cried, reigning in the horse as he reached them. "Riders, approaching from behind! They are gaining quickly and will be upon us in minutes!"
She swore under her breath. "How many?"
"The scouts counted at least thirty. They are fully armed."
"Northmen or orcs?"
"They are men, but we have never seen their dress before."
She nodded quickly, trying to think. "Get me a horse!" She called. "Prepare to fight, but do not attack. I must try to speak with them first." Quickly, she turned to Aragorn. "Riders, men, approaching from our rear. Come with me."
She galloped to the back of the train, Aragorn and Tcharum hot on her heels. Just as they arrived, the riders did too. The last rays of the setting sun showed that they wore grey, hooded cloaks, fastened at the shoulder with a silver pin in the shape of a star.
Tíniel dismounted and showed her palms as a sign of peace, breathing hard from the ride. One among them, perhaps their leader, dismounted too. They walked toward each other, then stopped ten paces apart.
"Who are you to ride freely through Rohan?" she asked him warily.
"Rohan?" he said. His voice was deep, and his accent Northern. "That is glad news indeed. We have ridden hard for many days, seeking this place. But we expected to find Riders, not a band of Haradrim!"
"And you have found neither," she replied drily. "I am Tchakhura Khondyë, chief of this tribe – this Khandi tribe. And still you have not answered my question."
He bowed slightly. "Forgive me lady. I am weary. My name is Halbarad Dúnadan, a Ranger of the North. My company and I seek our comrade named Aragorn, for we heard he was in Rohan."
"And you have found him!" Aragorn cried from behind Tíniel, hastily dismounting, running over and embracing the Ranger. "How glad I am to see you, Halbarad! Of all the joys…" he turned back to face her. "All is well. Better than well! These men are my kin from the North." He looked back at Halbarad, who had removed his hood. "How many are you?"
"I brought with me thirty men, which was all I could gather at short notice," Halbarad replied. "Well – twenty-nine men and my sister, who will never be left behind."
Tíniel looked up and saw a tall woman astride her horse behind Halbarad. She grinned at them, and Aragorn smiled back. "Hello, Dessa."
"Well met, Aragorn," she said. "Never fear; I am as good as three men. And we have brought Elladan and Elrohir too."
Two tall figures dismounted gracefully and made their way forward too. They spoke to Aragorn in what Tíniel recognised as an Elvish tongue. After a moment, Elrohir – she thought – turned toward her.
"Well met again, princess," he said. "I see you have found some of what you lost."
She glanced back at her thousands of people, and the rows of variag quietly posed for combat behind her. "You could say that," she replied wryly. Then she turned to Tcharum. "Tell them to stand down. These are friends of Aragorn's, no danger to us."
He nodded. "I will order camp made here tonight. We have marched long and hard enough, and the sun has set."
"Good." She turned back to the Elf, who was watching her with one corner of his mouth turned up. "We will make camp now," she said, now in Westron. "Come to my tent; there we can speak in more comfort, and with food."
She thanked the gods that her patchi was high-roofed and spacious, for otherwise it would have been a cramped meeting. Petakh and Tcharum sat on cushions at her left, Petakh whispering translations into Tcharum's ear as the others talked. Legolas and Gimli were at her left, and opposite her were Aragorn, Elladan, Elrohir, Halbarad and his sister Dessa. One of the fire-tenders had come with Khandi spiced flatbreads, and Tíniel watched with faint amusement as the men tasted them gingerly.
"We were summoned here," Halbarad was saying, "though we know not by who."
"I sent no summons your way except wistful thoughts," Aragorn said. "Who might have sent it?"
"Gandalf sent it, no doubt," Gimli said. "There is much to read in that book, and we've all only seen a few pages."
"Nay; the Lady Galadriel," Legolas countered. "Does she not read hearts and desires from afar?"
"Ah, you have it, Legolas!" Gimli agreed excitedly. "Why did we not wish for some of our own kinsfolk then?"
The Ranger and the two other Elves watched the exchange bewilderedly.
"A strange friendship, yes," Aragorn said. "But I have found it is best not to ask questions. Did you bring any tidings from the North?"
"Some small news from Rivendell," Elladan – probably – said. "Arwen has left for the Undying Lands." Aragorn merely nodded at this, and Elladan continued. "My father sends word. He says to you: Either our hope cometh, or all hope's end. The days are short. If thou art in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead."
Aragorn's face darkened immediately. "I will truly have no choice before I choose that course," he said tightly.
There was a silence, and Tíniel felt her curiosity grow along with her fear for him. What were the Paths of the Dead? But the silence stretched on, and she decided to break it.
"What of your path?" she addressed Halbarad. "Do you follow Aragorn to this place, should he go?"
"My company and I shall go wherever Aragorn commands," Halbarad replied.
"And he should command sooner rather than later, if he is able," Dessa added, looking at Aragorn significantly. "The Enemy marches."
"Very well. If you are willing…" she trailed off, suddenly feeling a chill come over her. It deepened steadily, and with it suddenly blossomed horror and despair. She looked up and saw that she wasn't the only one who felt it.
"Nazgûl," Legolas whispered. Tíniel leapt to her feet and in a few short strides, exited the patchi. She looked about. The darkness of the early night had somehow thickened, and it was cold. She drew in a sharp breath and turned her gaze upward without knowing why.
At that moment, a vast shadow blotted out the starlight. Tíniel fell to her knees, suddenly overcome by excruciating waves of grief and desolation. And then, just like that, it was gone.
"Princess," came a warm voice by her ear. She jerked he head away, breathing hard, but there was no danger. It was Legolas.
"I… I do not know… what happened," she mumbled, trying to regain control of her senses.
"Your grief is too near, and the wraith feeds upon it," he replied gently. "Think no more on the creature. It is gone on its way to Isengard and will not be back for a time."
"Until it finds Orthanc empty and returns to its master," she said, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. "We can stay here no longer. The war is breathing down our necks, and on the road my people are exposed. That, at least, is clear."
As she spoke, the rest of the men filed out of the tent, Petakh and Tcharum at the rear. "I want to move on," she told them in Khandi. "Even if that beast was not looking for us, it saw us. We are in danger. The sooner we get to Minas Tirith, the better."
"No time for sleep then," Tcharum said with only a hint of regret. "Petakh, come. We rouse the bamyë."
They left, and Legolas raised his eyebrows at her in an unspoken question.
"They are waking the tribe," she said. "Though no one has had long enough to sleep. But I will not stay here in the open like a target asking to be hit. The march to Minas Tirith is long, and we shall do it without rest. If any of you are of a mind to come with us, you are welcome."
There was a beat of silence, then she turned to Gimli and Legolas, her eyebrows raised. They both hesitated, their eyes on Aragorn.
"I'm no ranger, princess, but I'll follow wherever Aragorn chooses to go," Gimli said finally. "If he chooses Minas Tirith, then aye, we're with you."
She looked to Aragorn questioningly, but he refused to meet her eye. "I need… I need time," he said slowly, his voice agonised. "I know we do not have much of it, but… give me an hour. Please."
Tíniel frowned slightly. He looked torn; she knew his face well enough to recognise the conflict playing out beneath the mask of calm.
"An hour," she agreed.
It felt like the longest hour of her life. She paced back and forth in front of her patchi, ignoring the concerned looks from her brother and the pointed glances from Legolas and Gimli.
"Is all well with you, princess?" the latter called out.
"All is well with me, yes. But why he would take so long to make a clear-cut decision, I cannot understand."
"Clear cut?" Gimli frowned. "How so? How is this an easy decision for him to make?"
"Because he is choosing between Minas Tirith and the Paths of the Dead!" she paused in her pacing to snap at him. "It is a choice between life and almost certain death! I could have made the choice for him in an instant."
"It is not so simple," Legolas interjected. "You are not the only one who has prophecies made about them, Tchakhura Khondyë." She raised an eyebrow at his near-perfect pronunciation, and he shrugged. "That boy Mugura taught me."
She sighed and resumed her pacing, remembering the shadows in Aragorn's eyes when he'd asked for an hour to decide. "Prophecies are evil," she mumbled. "I wish Gandalf were here. He has come back to life only to leave us alone again."
"Can you not trust in Aragorn to decide for himself?" Halbarad spoke up from where he was sitting next to his sister, who was sharpening her sword with a whetstone. "He has enough wisdom of his own to do right."
Tíniel strode to the end of her path and whirled to pace back the other way. "Of course I do not trust him to make the right choice," she said angrily. "He will choose what is best for everyone else but him! He will think of every reason to put his own life in danger for someone else before he sees a reason to save himself!"
"So you think he will choose the Paths, then?" Gimli asked quietly.
She nodded tiredly. "Of course he will choose the Paths," she said. "He hesitates now because he is afraid. But fear has never stopped him."
Dessa ran the whetstone down the length of her blade again. "You seem to know very well the workings of Aragorn's mind," she said curiously. "And you seem eager for him to march with you."
Legolas and Gimli suddenly seemed extraordinarily interested in their boots. Tíniel paused in her tracks and cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I travelled with him for a time," she said, trying to make it sound casual and unconcerned. "We have become friends."
Halbarad tugged at his cloak. "Close friends, it seems," he replied, and Tíniel somehow felt that his grey eyes saw straight through her half-truths.
"Tell me of the Paths of the Dead," she said, quickly changing the subject. "Can the living walk such a road and come out unharmed? For I have heard otherwise."
"Since the coming of the Rohirrim, the Paths have been closed to the living," Halbarad answered slowly. "None have taken it, nor even dared to consider it. But in the days of Arvedui, the last king of Fornost, there was a seer named Malbeth."
"The prophecy," she guessed, and he nodded. Dessa began reciting, her voice deep and strangely powerful.
"The Tower trembles; to the tombs of kings
doom approaches. The Dead awaken;
for the hour is come for the oathbreakers.
Who shall call them, the forgotten people?
The heir of him to whom the oath they swore:
He shall pass the door to the Paths of the Dead."
She paused, and her voice went back to normal. "Those were Malbeth's words."
"Dark words indeed," Tíniel said, her dismay growing.
"I hope the forgotten people have not forgotten how to fight," said Gimli, "otherwise I don't see why we should bother disturbing them."
"What was the oath they broke?" Legolas asked.
"To fight against Sauron," came a voice from outside the circle of lantern light, and Aragorn stepped forward. "And if they are to fulfil it, they must fight him now. We may be their last chance." Halbarad, Dessa, Legolas, Gimli and Tcharum got to their feet as he approached them, and Tíniel stopped her pacing.
"It does not follow that they deserve a chance," she pleaded quietly.
His eyes met hers, grim and filled with a mixture of pain and fear. "Everyone deserves a chance," he answered, just as quietly. "And we need every fighter we can get. I will walk the Paths of the Dead."
Gimli sucked in a long breath, and Legolas' eyes flickered. "So be it," the Elf said. "We are with you."
"As is the Grey Company," Halbarad said, sheathing his sword. "Let us leave as soon as may be. The doorway to the Paths is at Dunharrow."
Aragorn nodded slowly. "Then ready the Company. I will come." His eyes alighted on Tíniel again and he sighed. "But I would speak with you before I leave, if you can spare the time," he said.
She inclined her head stiffly toward her patchi, which had not yet been folded away. He followed her inside and they stood opposite each other. She couldn't keep silent for long.
"Why have you chosen such a path, Aragorn?" she said miserably, wringing her hands. "We have spoken several times of hope, but on that road, there is none."
"Perhaps there might be, if I go," he replied gently. "But I didn't come here to be dissuaded. I came to give you this."
From inside his Elvish cloak he drew her dark red vadi, twisted multiple times around something.
"That is mine," she said. "How did you come to –" her breath caught in her throat as she remembered what had been wrapped inside. "The palantír."
"Yes. Gandalf gave it to me when he left with Pippin. And just now, when I went off alone, I looked in it."
Her heart leapt into her throat. "Aragorn, you fool of a man! What in the name of every god persuaded you to be so fantastically stupid that you would –"
"Keep your voice down," he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "The stone belongs to me by right."
"Did you see… him?" she breathed.
Aragorn's jaw tightened. "I did. But more importantly, he saw me. He knows now that Isildur's heir lives still, and the Enemy is not so powerful that he is above fear."
"This will only make him strike sooner."
"Yes, but hasty strokes will often go astray," he replied. "We can no longer wait around for him to attack. If we press him… well, then we may have hope. But I did not only see the Enemy when I looked in the stone." He hesitated, rubbing his forehead wearily. She waited for him to go on.
"I saw ships, tens of them, perhaps hundreds, coming up the Anduin from the South. From Umbar."
"Corsairs," she whispered. "They flew black sails?"
"They did. This could be disastrous, Tíniel. A threatening force coming up through South Gondor will divert hundreds of troops, troops we cannot afford to lose."
The realisation dawned on her. "But if you cut through the mountains, take the Paths of the Dead…"
"Exactly."
She shook her head. "It is a fool's hope, a candle in a world of darkness. Even if you come out the other side alive, there will be a hard ride between you and Pelargir."
"It is better than the alternative," he said. "But you are right. There is a chance – a great chance – that I will fail to return, and that the Corsairs will continue through Gondor. You must warn Denethor when you reach Minas Tirith."
She nodded, trying to ignore the fact that they'd both just calmly referenced his likely impending death. "I will."
"And I want you to take this with you," he added, handing her the wrapped seeing-stone. "Do not use it or even touch it. But take it for me, in the faith that I will come back."
She felt a lump rise in her throat, and she tried to speak through it. "I will take it as a promise, then."
"Not as a promise," he said. "Take it as a hope."
She placed the palantír carefully down on one of the cushions. "Funny. Both times I have journeyed to Minas Tirith, I have brought with me a palantír."
"Funny," he replied, his weary face softening as he watched her. They stood in silence for a moment, and Tíniel felt her face warm as his eyes flicked over her. He reached out, and the very tips of his fingers brushed across her cheek, over her chin, and then faintly, so faintly that she almost thought she imagined it, across her lips –
She drew in a sharp breath and stepped back. "Not now," she said quietly, her voice not belying her racing heart. "Please don't do that now. Not after Borund…" she trailed off, but he nodded. She saw a faint flicker of sadness deep in his eyes.
"Khondyë!" came a call from outside, and she sighed in relief.
"I am coming!" she answered in Khandi. "Prepare to leave directly!"
Aragorn gave a wry half-smile. "Ever we are conspired against by the world, it seems," he said. "But we have delayed long enough. Farewell, Tíniel. Goodbye for now."
She nodded somewhat woodenly. "For now," she echoed, and they left the tent.
They set out into the night, one group heading to Dunharrow and the other to Gondor. Their farewells had been short; she smiled when Mugura bade a fond farewell to Legolas, but Tíniel didn't see her brother clasping hands with Aragorn.
"Will we be as well received in Gondor as we were in Rohan?" Tcharum asked, and Tíniel didn't miss the bitter edge to his voice when he said the name of the kingdom that had been the Maruvikh tribe's greatest enemy.
"No," Tíniel said with little doubt. "No, we will not. At best, they will turn us away. At worst, they will openly attack us."
Petakh drew in a breath beside her. "Not good odds."
"No."
"No matter," Tcharum said resolutely. "We will fight Mekakhond from Minas Tirith, or we will fight him from somewhere else. Those are the two ways in which this can end."
Both women regarded him with some surprise. "You do not care that Gondor has routinely raided and unjustly slaughtered our tribespeople since before our birth?" Tíniel asked.
He jutted out his chin, just as she knew she did when she was in thought. "I do care. I care more than I care about most things. But what did Vadrë always say? The enemy of my enemy is my friend."
"Gondor and Mekakhond," Petakh mused. "Which is the enemy, and which the friend?"
Tcharum didn't answer, and they walked on into the night.
Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, joyful holidays to you all! I had my first ever white Christmas, but sadly it was white from smoke rather than snow. Nevertheless – I hope you found something to bring you joy.
Something certainly brought me joy: the fact that The Rómentári now has over two hundred reviews. A million thanks to all of you, for the loveliest gift I could have hoped for!
We might catch a glimpse of the Paths of the Dead next chapter, but here's an early fun fact: Aragorn actually led thirty rangers to the Paths, not only Legolas and Gimli. And unfortunately for them, the River wasn't right in front of them when they got out. And unfortunately for me, there was no mad skull tsunami.
But I won't give too much away before next chapter. Please review! Until then, I remain
Faithfully yours
S