Chapter 90

A Matter of Life and Death

Honestly, I got married so quickly that it might well be called an elopement. I'll immediately grant you the fact that for all my intentions of doing things better than Kate did them, the actual getting married part was something she did in a more proper fashion than I did. At least she got married in a proper ceremony with her friends and newly acquired family in attendance and a small celebration afterwards. I, on the other hand, got married in a grassy field in the Back of Beyond with only a wizard, a king and a soon-to-be king attending. And a horse. Mustn't forget the horse.

The thing that I did pride myself on was therefore not the manner in which it was done, but rather making sure that my family knew what had happened to me as soon as I could get that sorted. I knew they believed me dead and that couldn't not hurt. But it must hurt them so much more than it hurt me. At least I knew that they were still alive, albeit forever out of my reach. Lord knows what they believed had happened to me.

That was where Théodred and the camera came in. It was by no means a fool proof solution, but it was better than nothing. I had of course already sent them a letter from Rivendell, but letters can be faked and my vision of my own funeral had told me exactly how much my nearest and dearest had believed of the contents. So of course one could very well say that video evidence of a wedding could be just as faked, but in this I had high hopes of my brother.

Peter was a walking and talking encyclopaedia of Tolkien trivia. He knew the books by heart and watched all those films with quite frankly alarming regularity. Now I would be the first in line to admit that my memory of these films was sketchy at best, but from what I recalled it appeared that quite a few of the people I met here bore a startling resemblance to how they were portrayed in those films. Given that all the actors who had starred in those films had long since died of old age they'd have something of a job explaining how their lookalikes ended up in footage shot in the present day. I was banking heavily on Peter to point all this out to the rest of my family.

It was a long shot, but it was all I had…

Beth

Once upon a time Beth had dreamed of her own wedding. She had fantasised about a dress, about what the day would be like, who would come to celebrate it with the happy couple. Then Alex and his acute commitment allergy had put paid to that and she had set the dreams aside to face reality.

It was just as well she had given up on such dreams, because her actual wedding looked nothing like what she had envisioned. For starters, she had imagined that she would at least know the date of her own wedding some weeks, if not months, in advance. Of course in this case she had no one but herself to blame for that.

The other expectation that was not met was the dress, because there was absolutely no dress involved. And the clothing that she wore was not white. Most of it hadn't been laundered for some time – she could tell from the smell, but at least she was hardly alone in that – and the hems were stained with mud and grass and probably blood from the battle. She had arrived at the point where she no longer had any idea whose blood was on her clothes.

Not a good sign.

The attendees were another thing her daydreams had not quite got right. The Rohirrim were nearby, which meant that they were in the same grassy field as the bridal party, only just over the nearest hill as to give them all some privacy. The guests numbered exactly two and highborn though they were, they looked exactly as muddy and unkempt as the bride and groom and the wizard whose job it was to say some words that would make Boromir and Beth husband and wife.

Then there was Folca. Beth had not invited him and nor had anyone else. Apparently no one thought to restrain him in any way, so he wandered over the top of the hill until he came to a standstill next to Aragorn. He showed no sighs of leaving, so Beth assumed he was here to stay. Certainly that was the impression he gave, because he took in the scene before him with a bright-eyed interest that no horse should ever have.

Well, this was not what I imagined.

Coming up with the idea of an instant wedding was all good and well, but now that she thought about it, Boromir's otherwise comprehensive overview of life in Gondor had not – yet – extended to the subject of marriage vows. It was most unlike her to remember this when everyone was already in position.

Bloody hell, Andrews, where's your head at lately?

'Right,' she said, biting her lip, suddenly far more nervous than the situation warranted. 'Ehm, I don't actually know what to say.' Wasn't that embarrassing? Were there things she absolutely had to cover and things that shouldn't be said? She really should have thought of this a bit sooner. She could only hope that Théodred hadn't activated the camera yet, because this was just plain awkward.

If Gandalf had an opinion about this, and knowing him as well as she did lately he most certainly did, then he was gracious enough not to utter it. 'You may speak the vows that are customary in your world.'

I can do that. She had not got married herself, but she had been to weddings of friends and family. She had been bridesmaid at Mary's wedding. She remembered how this was supposed to go.

Now that the moment was here she almost regretted it. Her hands were sweaty and her stomach was tied into knots. It was just as well she hadn't eaten yet, because it might all have come out the wrong way again. And she shouldn't be this nervous, because she knew the words she was supposed to say and that was all that she reasonably could do wrong here.

Boromir took her hands in his, which helped. He certainly didn't feel the same nerves she did and his hands were warm and steadying. Beth forced herself to take a deep breath and meet his eyes.

He smiled.

Some distance away the camera gave the little bleep it always did when someone pressed the button to record.

This is happening.

Oh, dear Lord, this is really happening.

Boromir was not nearly as wound up as she was. He really wanted this. So did Beth, but not without reservations.

Oh, really, Andrews? And what would those be?

Like it or not, she sealed her fate here today, or that was what it felt like anyway. She knew it was not like that, that her course had been more or less set since the day that Gandalf took her and this, this wedding, was only a confirmation of that fact. No, it wasn't so much confirmation as it was acceptance.

I chose this.

The nerves melted away and she managed an actual smile and an almost chuckle at just how absurd this situation was. Here she was, prim and proper Beth, getting married in a field in the middle of nowhere to a man she had firmly believed was entirely fictional a year ago. She wondered if Kate could see her now and if she would laugh.

Beth suspected she would.

Gandalf spoke, but there wasn't a whole lot of stuff to get through, which made sense, because they only had the lunchbreak to get this done. It looked more and more like an elopement and if it hadn't been for their witnesses, it might as well have been.

Boromir made his vows first: 'I, Boromir, son of Denethor, take Elizabeth Andrews as my wife. I vow to love and protect you, from this day forwards.'

It was short and simple, but it covered all the basics. His vow on the riverbank had been the same. There was no excess of words with him and it kept taking her by surprise, because her impression of Middle Earth had always been a very wordy one. Of course, that could just be Tolkien's writing.

In comparison the vows that she knew sounded long-winded and perhaps somewhat silly, but she powered through them all the same. For a moment she wondered if she should not just copy Boromir and wriggle out of it that way, but she threw that idea overboard when it occurred to her that there was no way in hell that she was going to be the protector in this relationship. Gandalf had told her to use the words that she knew and those would make it binding. So she spoke the words about for better or for worse and hoped to high heaven that they did not sound completely ridiculous to local ears.

It seemed that they did not. Beth didn't look at Aragorn and Théodred. She didn't look at Gandalf either. Instead she kept her eyes fixed on the man she was marrying. And there were no objections from him. Quite the contrary, his eyes lit up in almost wonder and joy. He wanted this and unlike her, it was plain on his face for all to see.

Damn all these bloody reservations to the deepest circle of hell. She wished she could do this without restraints and regrets. She wished that she wasn't so damn hopeless at all things emotional and she wished she didn't have so many other things to think about so that she could just throw open her heart and allow herself to feel.

It had been so long since she had done that.

But feel it she did. It was, as always these days, mixed up in the grief of saying goodbye to the life she'd known and the regret of never seeing them again. It had become entangled with the fear of the war and the far too real possibility of losing him so soon after she had found him. But she did feel. And she did want.

And maybe that is enough for now.

Gandalf pronounced that every condition had been met and that they were now husband and wife and if the husband felt so inclined, he could kiss his wife.

The husband was so inclined.

His lips were gentle, but she tasted a passion there that she hadn't before. It was a bit of a promise, because of course the words weren't all there was to marriage. Beth was acquainted with that bit well enough; she had been in a relationship before. Her body responded with tingling and butterflies in all the right places. It did not require one bit of rational thought, which was probably just as well.

It was done. She had set this in motion and now she was a married woman. The thought seemed a little foreign to her still. She did not feel any different. But she slipped her hand in Boromir's and the world subtly steadied a little.

I am not going to be alone from now on. He'll be here.

The camera made the familiar bleep that signified that the recording was stopped. Théodred had done his bit.

'I wish you joy and long life in your marriage, my friends,' he said and he walked to meet them. He clapped Boromir on the shoulder and made a half-bow to Beth before he embraced her. 'I did as you asked,' he continued. 'If your device does what it is supposed to do, it is now all recorded well.'

'Thank you,' she said. From this point onwards she only needed to write a letter to go with that – and oh dear, she really dreaded that – and then it really was all over. No more going home. For now still a tiny bit of her was bound to the place, one thread of obligation still left to tie up. Once she had done that there was nothing to hold her back in any way from throwing herself into this new life entirely.

Secretly she found that more than a little daunting on its own.

Aragorn congratulated them with the kind of expression that could only be described as that cat who got the cream. She knew him as a serious leader, but she had not quite forgotten that he had made more than one passing remark about her apparent attachment to Boromir before any such attachment became an actual thing.

'If you are going to say I told you so, I swear to God I will punch you,' she warned him once the felicitations were out of the way. He had that kind of face.

Aragorn smiled indulgently. 'You must admit that I was right about this,' he said. 'And I wish you joy of it.'

Joy was still in short supply, but the burdens did not feel so heavy just now. It was, Beth reflected, a good day. Helm's Deep was sorted out, Rohan survived, Saruman did not and now she had just got married to someone she… did she dare use the word love yet? There was such a weight in it and it implied that one could not truly do it while holding back.

Was she still holding back?

It was so much more complicated than being with Alex had ever been. With Alex she had floated carelessly from day to day until her pregnancy made it painfully obvious that just because she was sticking her head in the sand did not mean that nothing was wrong. In hindsight, so much about that relationship had been wrong. The only thing Harry had done was stretch the whole thing to breaking point, but eventually something would've had to give sooner or later.

I was too naïve, he was too non-committal. They wanted different things from life. It would not have worked, but Beth reckoned that she had made a choice, so she threw her all at it to make it work, because that was what that choice meant. Alex hadn't felt the same way.

But Boromir was not Alex.

The day turned back into a very ordinary one the moment they joined up again with the other Rohirrim. They never even knew what had gone on. Their King had not told them and they had not asked in turn.

But I am married now, Beth reminded herself. Truth be told it still felt odd, like a new coat that hadn't adjusted itself to her body yet. It would eventually, if she wore it long enough. Eventually it'd feel as though it had never been any other way. She really hoped that was how marriage worked as well.

It wasn't as if she had any real experience in the matter.

Nobody looked twice when Boromir helped her onto Folca to resume the journey. Folca on the other hand gave her the by now familiar long-suffering look of a proud horse resigning himself to the incapable rider. She really needed to go and get some lessons soon. In the meantime she observed the Rohirrim to see if she could pick up some tricks from them. So far, that had not got her far and Folca never let her forget it.

They set off again. Théodred offered her a slightly apologetic look before he monopolised her husband's attention, along with a promise that he would see to it that they had some time together alone once they reached Edoras. Truth be told, Beth would have loved to spend time with Boromir, but this was still wartime. So she put on a brave face and told him that she would hold him to that.

She fell in beside Gandalf.

'Thank you,' she told him and she meant it. 'For doing this,' she clarified. 'God knows what you make of this, but thank you.'

That had not been the most eloquent she had ever been. Bloody hell, Andrews, you're getting sloppy with your words. It had been far too long since she had written anything and she was rusty and hopelessly out of practice, which did not bode well for the letter she would have to write once they reached Edoras.

Gandalf inclined his head. 'You are welcome.'

He did not offer any commentary and normally she might not have asked for it, but her curiosity got the best of her and so she asked: 'Did you know that I would end up doing this?'

He took his time in answering, which she appreciated, because it meant he gave the matter some solid thought first. 'I did not know,' he replied at last. 'But you are not as different from Kate as you would think. Once Thráin drew you into his friendships and his schemes, I wondered.'

Thráin's doing again. 'He sets a lot of things in motion.'

Gandalf was not wrong, Beth reflected. If it hadn't been for Thráin and his stubborn insistence that she help him save his friend, she would have kept her distance from him. Being around someone marked for death was just too awkward. On her own she would never have let herself get close to him. Now that she came to think of it, this whole fake marriage plot had been one of his ideas as well. The more she learned about Thráin, the more she came to realise that he was directly linked to quite a few major changes in this game.

I should probably thank him for my marriage as well.

'He is a wildcard,' she said, which was true. She gave that a good bit of thought. 'Well, I suppose he would be; he's Kate's son.'

Gandalf chuckled. 'Indeed he is.'

She wondered about that. 'We wouldn't be here without him,' she said. 'I think you were wrong when you said that the quest didn't need someone like him. He may not be one of the little people, but he is exactly what this world needs right now.' He is exactly what his people need right now, too, she thought. Was he not Durin the Seventh? Did Gandalf know about that already?

Either way, he would not hear it from her lips. That was not her secret to tell.

Gandalf nodded. 'I believe you are right, Miss Andrews.'

Beth snorted. 'I don't think I am Miss Andrews anymore.' Not after what had just happened today. And wasn't that slightly worrying?

Thoren

By the time the glow of the strange light subsided the Easterlings were down and his people all yet stood. The wind and light had rushed past him in a way that made his skin tingle and that sent a shiver down his spine. Thoren could almost taste the magic on his tongue. The air was alive with it, crackling with a power so raw and ancient that Thoren almost felt insignificant in its presence.

It did not last long. When the bright glow receded he looked for the source and found her surprisingly close. The Lady Galadriel was dressed all in white and, to his astonishment, barefoot. Yet the blood and mud of the battlefield did not touch her; perhaps it did not dare. Light simmered around her, giving her an otherworldly quality that Thranduil for all his strange ways and haughty mannerisms had never been able to match. She was as something that had walked out of a First Age tale, something so rare that it could not be found in the world today.

But she was here and in one single stroke, she had cleared the battlefield for a hundred yards all around. And yet their own troops still stood; whatever spell she had cast, it had only taken those of hostile intent.

It was an opportunity they could not afford to waste. The rage still sang in his blood and he surged forward with all his people at his back. The lines had long since collapsed into chaos, but there were men and elves with him too. The elves, silent as always, killed with graceful efficiency. The men hacked on their enemies with all the grace and skill of a butcher, but so long as it got the job done, Thoren did not care about the manner in which it was accomplished. He only cared that it was done.

It paid to be smaller in stature than his foes. They had not been trained to take on enemies that were smaller than they were and they paid for that oversight with their lives many times over. A blow that went over his head usually enabled Thoren to duck under their guards and slice their bellies open. It was a nasty way to go, all things told, and the image of Aennen on the ground with just such a wound was still vivid in his mind. But these were his enemies, people who had allied themselves with Sauron the Deceiver. It was not in him now to be merciful to them.

Galadriel had turned the tide of the battle. No more shows of light followed, but fear had been struck into the hearts of the Easterlings. They were not as courageous as they had been at the start of the battle, nor indeed as disciplined. Gaps fell in their lines and soon enough one of them turned tail and ran.

It was always a defining moment in a battle, Thoren knew, though his experience with it was limited. Dwarves never ran. Neither, unfortunately did orcs. Elves as a rule never turned their back on a fight either, because it was dishonourable. But men were the weakest race to walk this world in mind and body both. Fear struck them harder. And it struck them hard now.

As soon as the first man fled, others followed. From that moment onwards it was only a matter of time before the battle dissolved into flight badly concealed as orderly retreat. Thoren had ordered that they would be chased for a while in the unlikely case of a victory. He had never believed that it might actually happen. Yet it did.

He did not join the chase. Fíli and Dwalin took charge of that, which left Thoren to organise his own people too exhausted, too wounded or too dead to take part in the rout. Many had fallen, but not, at first glance, as many as he had expected. His own expectations had been skewed by the fact that he now felt his own loss keenly for the first time. His people had paid for their bravery in blood all the war long, but he had not yet suffered such a loss as Lufur's. It was as though one of the pillars on which he had built his life had fallen away without warning and he had to find his balance anew.

He had not found it yet.

He found Elvaethor crouched down beside Aennen.

'He saved my life,' he said. Aennen was covered in blood, some black, but most of it his own. Thoren had not thought highly of him in life. He was brave and honourable, but a bit of a fool despite it all. And never in a thousand years could Thoren have conceived the idea that he would give up his own life to save a dwarf. 'He was brave at the last.'

Elvaethor looked up, face unguarded for once. The bone-deep grief and exhaustion were plain for all to see. 'He was too young,' he said. 'Filled with flights of fancy, an innocent in many ways, unfamiliar with the cruelties of this world.' There was anger in his voice as well as sadness.

Thoren could say nothing against it. 'So he was.'

The battlefield was filled with the bodies of folk who had all believed that there were things in this world worth saving. We must do them proud. It was hard enough to comprehend the deaths of so many, but at least if he could find meaning in them, he might come to terms with it. He owed it to them and their sacrifice to ensure that this threat of Sauron was eradicated. What good was it if they had died in vain?

He hesitated, but decided that honesty was, as always, the best way to go and said: 'His last thoughts were for your sister.' It was not his right to withhold the dying words from an elf from his kindred. 'For her safety, I think, although speech was difficult for him. He seemed content to know that she would be looked after.' He had slipped away into death almost immediately after the last word had left Thoren's mouth.

Elvaethor considered this. 'Thank you, my friend.'

'What for?' Thoren demanded. 'I could not prevent his passing.'

'I believe you eased his passing,' Elvaethor countered. 'Do not underestimate the value of such kindness.'

Thoren meant to say that such a kindness, if kindness it was, was the very least he could do for the elf who had given his own life for Thoren's, but something in Elvaethor's tone made him hold his tongue. So he accepted the thanks with a nod of the head and set about taking the still breathing wounded to the healers. His heart yearned to see Lufur's body removed from this place of death to one where he could lay in peace, but the living came first. They had to.

Many he found were almost definitely beyond saving, but he brought them to the healers all the same. The Easterlings he left to their fate. They had come here to kill and this was the price they had paid. Thoren would go some way in proving that he was above them in morals, but this was where he drew the line.

Many of those who stayed behind now followed his example. They were needed, because their wounded were many. So were their dead.

How can we ever recover from this?

He must have spoken aloud, because a voice answered him. 'So long as one dwarf yet walks this earth, recovery is possible,' Tauriel said. 'All it takes is time.'

He admired her optimism. 'Yet my people reproduce slowly,' he pointed out. 'As do yours.'

In times of peace this mattered little, but the way things stood all he could see when he looked at the future was the slow decline of his people until they dwindled away into nothingness. Already they were so much less than they had been an age ago. The Third Age of this world had not been kind to his people. Home after home lost to them and so many had died along the way.

Tauriel pondered this for a moment. 'Slowly, yes,' she said at last. 'But we still reproduce and is there not hope in that?'

'A small hope, as all hopes are now.' They may have won this battle, but another awaited them soon. He did not need to tell Tauriel that they would face the forces of Mordor at a very great disadvantage. They had already fought. They had already lost many of their number. They were already tired. The orcs came fresh to this fight. Then there were the Nazgûl. Part of him rejoiced in knowing that they had come north – every wraith that was here could not also stand in Thráin's way – but the memory of the fear they invoked was still fresh in his mind. He himself could not withstand it easily. The men could not stand before it at all.

Yet stand they must.

'It falls to you and I and every archer we may find to rid our foe of their ghostly generals,' he said. He did not truly believe that they could claim victory if they managed to achieve this feat, but their chances would be much improved and that in itself had to count for something.

'You are not an archer,' Tauriel observed.

'I am not,' Thoren agreed. He knew his way around bow and arrow, though he was far from having a mastery in the art. 'I shall be at your back, guarding you.'

'That is no task for a King.'

'I would be a poor King if I shied away from doing what is needed most.' Men might find such things demeaning and would refuse to perform much needed tasks on the grounds that it was an insult to their dignity. It was what made dealing with them such a trial at times. Dwarves would only count it a stain on their honour to behave in such a fashion. 'I shall watch your back so that your eyes may be on the skies.' Where they were most needed.

Tauriel inclined her head. 'I shall know myself honoured to have such a friend at my back.' She looked at him. 'Do not despair yet, Thoren. We have the Lady on our side still.'

And it was a greater boon than he had dared to hope for. He had seen what she had done on the field today. Outwardly she appeared serene and peaceful, but today she had called on more power than Thoren had ever seen in his days and he had seen her as she could also be: great and terrible. He would never underestimate this elf in all his days.

'The Enemy will know what transpired here today,' he realised. 'It is for her that they will come.' Galadriel had become to his forces what the Nazgûl were to Sauron's armies: the force of magic and power that could not be fought with swords. Without that, their advantages fell away into nothingness.

Tauriel did not deny that. 'It is her that we must guard.'

He in turn had nothing to argue against that. But that task would fall to others. He intended to ease Galadriel's way by depriving her of a magical foe before it could bring its strength to bear against her.

'It seems foolish that we discuss the time after the war when neither of us knows if we will still be here when that time arrives.' The more he saw the more astonished he became that he was still alive at all. By rights he should have died on that first battlefield. Yet he had not and so he had come to Mirkwood, where he survived the attack of the spiders on Thranduil's palace. Common sense had argued against his survival then too and yet he lived. Today he would have died if not for Aennen.

That reminded him. 'Aennen died in defence of my life today. His thoughts were with you at the last.' He had relayed as much to Elvaethor and while he knew that his friend would pass the message on, it seemed better to do it himself.

Tauriel was silent for a moment. 'Mine were never with him,' she said softly. 'Not in the way he so desperately wished for.'

Thoren had thought Aennen a fool to pine so for one who did not reciprocate his feelings, but his sincerity was not in question. In a way it made the tragedy of his passing all the greater. Aennen had been young still; he would have outgrown this hopeless devotion in time, should he have been fortunate enough to live.

'He seemed content to know that you would be well protected,' Thoren said in the hopes of easing the guilt he read on her face. 'I do not believe he wished for more and it was a promise I gave willingly, for your sake and his. I owe him my life.'

Tauriel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'He saved your life not for your sake, but for mine,' she spoke at last.

They were both silent. He rather thought he knew what she spoke about. Both Duria and Cathy had spoken about it in wary tones and with suspicious glances. He believed that he had turned them away successfully, but their words yet lingered. Reflecting on this, he had come to realise that not at any point had he firmly denied what they accused him of.

In truth, he was not sure that he could.

Tauriel's words made sense in this light, but only if her heart was beginning to feel the same as his. 'Were his motivations founded?' His whole family was cursed with an incurable inability to speak their hearts freely. They could all speak their minds easily enough – and some of them were too good at it all things told – but their hearts were guarded well.

She looked at him. 'Yes, they were.' It was the first time that either of them had put this strange thing between them into words. 'Did you not know?'

He did. Deep down he had known such a thing for quite some time. He had never stopped long enough to acknowledge it. How could he? A million things required his attention. Even if they did not for short spans of time, he could not consider it. It would be unfair to offer anything when he did not expect to see another summer. But Cathy had observed that these days Tauriel went where he did. She did. And he valued her company more than he could put into words. Even deeper down he had to admit that he should not object in the slightest if this somehow became a more permanent arrangement.

'I believe I do,' he said. 'But it seems cruel to speak of this when you and I both know that we may not live to see another week.'

Her eyes widened slightly. 'I did not dare to think that you…'

'Felt the same?' he suggested. Before today he had not acknowledged his own heart, so he could not fault her for being unaware. He had purposefully not examined his own heart at length. And yet, when questioned, he had been unable to deny. A part of him had been aware for quite some time. 'I do.' He looked her in the eye. 'It is unkind to speak of this now, I know.' How could he dare let himself reach for something that might be snatched away in an instant?

Tauriel considered his words. 'It would be harder still to leave those words forever unspoken,' she said. 'It is harder to mourn that which could have been than that which was.' She had thought about it at length, it seemed.

'Would you risk it then?'

'I would.'

He took her hand in his in response and held it tight.


Next time: birthday party and Nazgûl, but not in the same place. Obviously.

Thank you so much for reading. Reviews would be much appreciated.