The Strangers in Middle Earth
I own nothing but my OC's
Chapter Twenty One
Setting the Stage
My cousin and I slowly walked across the battlefield, inspecting our bloody days work. The dead were strewn about everywhere, severed limbs in piles and the towering forms of the Mumakil laid as fallen titans. Men of Harad and Easterlings who chose to surrender were being disarmed and marched towards Minas Tirith to be thrown in cells. Not many surrendered, maybe only a few hundred out of the tens of thousands who had come for war. The others had either fled or fought to the last man out of their blasphemous devotion to the Dark Lord. The way they looked at us, with such hatred and anger, I had never imagined I could see the like from my fellow man.
'How many did we lose?' I asked Marcus.
'I don't know, only it was far too many.'
'Company together!' Robert shouted across the battlefield and our company gathered around, and I then realised just how many of us had been killed.
Out of the fifty or so men who had ridden, the younger squires had waited away from the battlefield, thirteen of us were missing from the final count. Upon realising this our gazes turned towards the harbour where a lone figure was galloping towards us. Father Harold.
The priest climbed off his horse and walked to stand by Robert.
'Lord Robert, by the Grace of God, victory is ours.'
'Indeed it is, but the cost has been high.'
'We must find the bodies of our men, I will consecrate a burial for them.'
'Very well. Sir Marcus, Sir John, go and find out what's happened to the Baron and the rest of the company in the city.'
'Alright,' Marcus agreed for us.
'Everyone else, find our men.'
We looked towards the city where the reinforcements from the ships were marching forwards to relieve the defenders, and the two of us joined them. We passed the colossal ram, shocked at its size, and then the shattered remains of the gates. The courtyard on the other side was littered with the bodies of men and Orcs, long, sword like splinters of wood from where the barricades were destroyed. Healers were looking over the remains of the men there while a few soldiers were at the bloody business of finishing off any wounded Orcs they found.
'It looks like it was quite a fight,' I said as we passed a cannon, laying discarded on the ground.
'I didn't think these people had cannons,' he answered.
'Look,' I said and picked up a kettle helmet off the ground and showed it to Marcus. 'This is Jason's.'
The strap of the helmet was cut through and blood stained the leather and metal.
'His body isn't here,' he answered me, though I could tell he also feared for our friend.
We continued up the street until we reached another place where bodies were strewn about, including the remains of Trolls. There were also men of Gondor there, dressed in dark livery over their armour. As we passed the remains of the Orcs, my cousins eyes fixed on something and all the colour drained from his face. He ran and then knelt beside a sword wrapped in the long chain of a flail, a claymore.
'My father's,' he said and untangled the sword, picking it up, the blade coated in blood.
'He might be alive,' I told him. 'If he had to leave the sword he'd have good reason.'
A Gondorian officer walking past was scanning the ground with his eyes when he looked up at the two of us and when he saw the tabards we wore his eyes widened.
'You wear the Lord Castallan's livery,' he said.
'Lord Castellan?' Marcus asked him.
'Baron James Harris.'
'Is he alright?' my cousin demanded 'Is my father alright?'
'He was injured in the fighting. He's at the Houses of Healing.'
'Where?' I asked.
The officer looked over his shoulder to a few of his men.
'Please show these men to the Houses of Healing. Now.'
They did so and we eventually made it to the Houses of Healing. Young women aided the wounded as they were treated in as orderly a manner as possible, but everywhere they looked the found injured and dying men, many of them receiving nothing but comfort as they slowly passed on. Once we arrived we told one of the helpers who we were and she at once led us through the place to a room at the back where she left us. Upon arriving I was relieved because sitting on a chair by the door, stripped out of his armour and wearing only basic clothes, stained with sweat and blood, was Richard.
'Brother!' Marcus shouted and my cousin looked up.
Upon seeing his has face was washed with relief and he stood up, embracing his brother and then me.
'You're alright. You're both alright!'
'We heard father was wounded. What happened?'
'A Troll, he was thrown through the air and into a wall. He'd have been killed if Denethor, the Steward, hadn't led some of the Royal Guard to the front and bought time for him to be rescued. He died to get him out of there.'
'How is he?' I asked him.
'The healer, he said, he said,' fighting back tears, 'he said he'll live but, but he's going to have to take his arm off.'
'They can't cut his arm off!' Marcus shouted at Richard.
'They have to,' Richard then started crying.
I hadn't seen Richard cry since we were boys, and now he wept as if he was a newborn. I embraced my cousin, trying to comfort him, but it was for no good. At around that time there was a commotion as Lady Eowyn was brought to the Houses by Eomer and Aragorn, and the healers ordered that anyone not injured, or a healer was to leave. With some reluctance we did so and once outside we went back down the city to tell Robert what had happened. Before we'd even gone a few paces though, we were joined by another man.
'I thought you were dead,' Richard said to Jason.
I was shocked by his appearance. Stitches were holding his face wounds shut, and an eye path covered where his eye once sat. He was pale, only making the terrible amount of dried blood covering most of his face more obvious.
'It will take a lot more than a lost eye to finish me off. The same can't be said for some of the others.'
'How many?' I asked him.
'Six were killed here, just as many when Osgiliath fell a few days ago.'
'A dozen, and thirteen of us were killed outside of the city.'
'Twenty five of us gone in this land, we lost seventeen in Rohan,' Marcus listed off our dead. 'Forty two dead, almost half of the company has died since we joined this war.'
'We lost Oswald,' Jason added. 'I'm going to miss that minstrel. We lost Tom Fendrel too.'
Learning of the loss of Oswald was a bitter blow for us, he had kept us well entertained in our travels, blowing on his pipe merrily. Now he was gone. Thomas Fendrel dead as well. He had become the leader of our archers and he was a man of no small amount of skill. With him gone, my thoughts went out to Mathew wherever he was.
Once back outside the city we easily found Harold where some of the new arrivals had started digging a grave for us, at Harold's request. We told Robert about my uncle and he looked very worried indeed.
'It's no secret I disagreed with your father,' he said to Marcus, 'but by God we need him.'
My eyes panned across the field of the dead when I saw a familiar form hunched on the ground, sobbing. My heart sank and I ran towards him, I ran to Cenric, holding his fathers body, a broken spear head in his chest. Cerdic was dead, fallen in battle with so many other noble heroes.
'I'm sorry Cenric,' I told him, but he ignored me, holding his father even tighter.
…
That night I and the rest of our company stood by the open grave for our fallen brothers, the bodies of our men wrapped in blankets, as the group of grave diggers stood nearby with their spades. Father Harold stood by the grave side, reciting prayers for those who died. When he was finished speaking in Latin he looked at us again with sorrowful eyes.
'This day has been a dark one, a day of blood and war. Yet, even now, as we are surrounded by death, we are as much surrounded by life. A king has returned to this land, and his return heralds the end of this war. Our brothers, our friends, did not die for nothing, but they fell in service of the most honourable cause in all of history. Take comfort in this, that now they walk in paradise. They have found their peace.'
He then nodded at the grave diggers who began to fill in the pit, our comrades being covered by soil until only a small burial mound was left. Afterwards, Marcus and Edmund walked up to the top of the slight mound and planted a wooden cross made from planks salvaged from a siege tower. We bowed to the cross before turning to leave, walking towards the barracks given to my uncle and the men he had brought to the city.
Our meal that night was a solemn affair, a basic stew and bread, and no one was in much mood for talking. There was no music, now that Oswald was gone, and my uncle was still at the Houses of Healing. Of his condition we had no word for most of the day, though Father Harold had gone to see him and, after praying for him before our meal, he assured us he was recovering. We went to bed that night, I was sharing a room with Jason, but I couldn't sleep, in part because of Jason's snoring which didn't sound too different from a herd of stampeding horses. My thoughts were with Cenric, the last time I'd seen him he had been at the Rohirric camp, still mourning his father. I was much younger than him when my father died, only eleven or twelve, I can't remember exactly. To be honest, at times I found it hard to remember what he looked like, aside from the missing finger on his left hand, a wound from the Battle of Northampton although my uncle had often said I was his image.
What about Sunniva? It would be a while before she would even learn of the death of her father. I wasn't sure what I would say to her.
At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I remember being shaken awake. Opening my eyes I was looking up at Richard who was holding a candle.
'My father's awake,' he whispered. 'He wants to see us.'
At once I was up and got dressed, pulling on a cloak over my clothes. It was early in the morning, the sun hadn't yet come up, and the streets were empty aside from the guards who were on patrol. A few Orcs had managed to hide in the cellars and sewers of the city and were still being hunted down. My cousins and I rode up to the Houses of Healing and we were then led to one of the rooms by the gardens. While we went through the gardens I looked to the East where, in the darkness, I could see the fires of Mount Doom roaring. I knew that though we had won an incredible victory, the war was still not won.
Anyway, we reached my uncle's room where a pair of the Royal Guard stood outside. They allowed us in where I found a well-ordered room where my uncle was sitting up in bed, dressed in a night shirt. His hair had been combed and a servant stood by the bed with a razor, helping my uncle shave the stubble which had developed since he was injured. My uncle looked pale but not weak, not at all, and his eyes held their usual determination. Sitting in a chair by my uncle was Father Harold.
'My sons,' he said when he saw my cousins, 'my nephew,' he said when I entered behind the other two, his tone holding me in the same regard as Richard and Marcus.
'How do you feel?' Marcus asked him.
'I feel like a Troll tossed my through the air,' he answered. 'I also feel like my leg's been broken and my arms been cut off. My healers though, they tell me that I will recover, but above all I'm starving.'
'I could send to the kitchens for some food,' I offered.
'I've already asked them,' Father Harold told us.
'And I'm looking forward to it. The cooks say it's something called a full Shire breakfast. I think Pippin told them how to make it.'
He seemed to be in good spirits, all things considered, and we sat down on chairs around his bed while the servant finished his work, leaving a moment later.
'Now he's gone, we need to talk. Richard, I've never been prouder to call you my son. You fought with such courage when all hope looked to be gone and we won. Thank you for standing with me.'
'I was doing my duty father,' he answered with a smile.
'No, you did more than your duty. Marcus, John, thank you both for coming and for fighting. I almost wish I was out there with you.'
'We wished we were with you,' was my cousins answer.
'It was such a terrible fight my son, I'm glad you weren't and I wish Richard didn't have to be in such danger. John, I understand that you fought bravely as well, and that you have gotten rather close to Lady Sunniva.'
I felt my face redden there while Richard laughed.
'Thank you, uncle.'
'Now, we have a lot to discuss. I understand that Lord Aragorn has decided to claim his throne, and since he brought so many reinforcements to the city, we can safely say he will find no opposition from anyone.'
'Agreed,' I added. 'Perhaps a king in this country will actually give them the motivation to take the fight to Mordor.'
'It wasn't a lack of fighting spirit, John,' he stopped me. 'Gondor's people are so few and its armies so small that they could never attack Mordor, just hold the walls. Still, perhaps this boost to their fighting spirits will be enough to help us win this war.'
A knock came from the door and I opened to see who it was, a young woman was out there carrying a tray with a covered plate.
'The Lord Castellan's food,' she explained, and I let her in.
She set up the tray on my uncle's lap, he sat up fully, and when the plate was uncovered, I saw a very good looking meal of sausages, bacon, two fried eggs, mushrooms, toasted bread and a strange looking thing which I later learned was called a tomato. My uncle reached for his knife and fork, only to then look at the stump of his elbow where his left arm used to be and sighed.
'Let me help,' said Richard and he took the knife and fork, cutting the toast, sausages and bacon while my uncle looked on, slightly deflated.
'Thank you, son,' he said quietly and began to eat his food. 'Now, when everyone's awake later, I want everyone who fought in our company and isn't a knight gathered together. They'll all be knighted.'
'Are you sure, father?' asked Marcus. 'I don't think Lord Robert or a few of the others will approve.'
'To be honest I don't care what they think. Our men have earned it, and there's another matter. I think we need to accept that return to England might be impossible, and that Middle Earth is now our home.'
'Father,' said Richard, 'we can't just accept that I'll never see mother again.'
'She's a smart woman, and she has family in Ireland who'll protect her. We lost Widford before and we survived.'
I had no memories of that time. It had been in 1459 just after the Battle of Ludford where the Lancastrian's won a victory and many of the Yorkists had to flee England. Marcus had been just a year old at the time when my uncle, his wife and Marcus fled with Richard of York to Ireland while my parents got a ship to Calais where I was born a few months later. My father and my uncle fought in separate parts of the country and wouldn't see each other until just before they smashed the Lancastrian's at Towton.
'Either way,' he continued, 'by fighting so well, and by my leadership of this city, we have made a name for ourselves in Middle Earth. Father,' he nodded to the priest to whom he must have been discussing matters with before we arrived.
'The dreams I have had my entire life, they led me on a path towards Pelargir and then to here. They led me on a path towards seeing the King of Gondor grant peace to an army of phantoms. My path has led me to this world, and it is in this world I will remain. This world is pure, though evil inhabits it, there is also goodness, and it is untouched by the corruption which has eaten away the heart of the church in Rome. As Simon-Peter served as the rock upon which the old church was built, I shall be the rock for a new church in Middle Earth whose light shall spread out from Minas Tirith so that all may live together in peace in the eyes of the Lord.'
The three of us heard all of this and we looked at him with some surprise, though I wasn't as surprised since he had confided in me a few days earlier. As usual, Marcus spoke first.
'Why? The church has been fine the way it was.'
'You are wrong. The church has been failing in its duties for years. Please understand, almost every parish priest in his church has been a good and honourable man doing his duties, but the bishops, the archbishops and the cardinals, the Pope himself, have become corrupted by power and wealth. We follow the teachings of the Lord, but He is greater than you and I who are but men. We are flawed, it is the nature of men to be flawed, to only try and imitate His perfect majesty. Over the years, the church has been corrupted and now I have a chance to make things right. Everything I have done, all the losses I have suffered, they have been to shape me for this duty.'
'Father,' I said to him, 'I have thought about what you told me at the encampment. I think you may be right, and I trust that you will do what's best for us all.'
'Thank you for your confidence. Richard?'
'I'll just do what my father says,' he said with a shrug which earned a smile from my uncle.
'There will be a meeting at midday,' my uncle explained the next issue. 'It will be to decide our next move in the way, and I've been invited to attend. Our fates may well be decided there.'
…
Not long after the sun had risen my cousins and I left his room and we decided to find somewhere to get breakfast. However, as the three of us walked through the gardens, I was surprised to see a familiar face.
'Sunniva?' I asked, shocked to see her at Minas Tirith.
'John. I heard your uncle was injured,' she said, her face saddened and a slight tinge of red in her eyes left by crying.
'I'm sorry Sunniva, about your father.'
'Thank you.'
'But what are you doing here?'
'We'll see you later John,' Marcus told me and my two cousins left us.
'It's a bit of a long story. After you all left we couldn't find Lady Eowyn anywhere. We assumed she'd gone riding so the rest of the camp followers decided to pack up. After a few hours and she hadn't come back we got worried, and I decided to check her tent in case she left a note or something. There wasn't a note and then I found her armour and her sword were missing. After that it wasn't hard to work out what she'd done and by then it was already night time. Most of us decided to return to Edoras but a few soldiers who were meant to stay as guards agreed to ride to Theoden and tell what Eowyn had done, and I went with them. I am meant to be her hand maid after all.'
'Surely a small group would have been able to catch up with us.'
'You'd have thought so, but we kept running into brigands on the roads picking up pieces of kit the army dropped as it went along, so we had to go off road. We only got here two hours ago. I arrived to find Eowyn alive but wounded, and my father gone.'
'I am truly sorry.'
'I just, I just don't know what we'll do without him. Cenric's clever enough to run the farm, but he's still younger than me.'
'Has your new king agreed to let him keep the land?'
'By law he has to, I'm not worried about that. It's just, he's gone. My father's gone.'
I wrapped my arms around Sunniva and held her close as she began to cry yet again. For a while she did so until at last, she stepped away and slowly walked towards the edge of the garden, looking towards Mordor.
'John, I've made my choice. Where is Father Harold? I want to be baptised now.'
'You're sure?' I asked her.
'Yes, I'm sure. After seeing so many dead in those fields and yet our people won, I know now that God is on our side.'
'Harold is with my uncle. I can go and ask for him if you want.'
'Please, I don't want to interrupt him. I'll go and find him when he's free. I have to go to Lady Eowyn's room for when she wakes up.'
'Are you sure. I mean, with what happened I'm sure she would understand if you weren't up to working.'
'John, I need something to focus on,' I hadn't expected the harshness of her tone. At once she realised how she sounded and sighed. 'I'm sorry. It's just, a lot has happened.'
'I understand. Till next time.'
'Alright.'
…
I was not a part of what has since become known as the Last Debate, though the discussion is widely known and decided the fate of the world. My uncle, who was sitting in a chair and was holding onto a walking stick, as well as Marcus, Father Harold, Lord Robert, Sir Jason and Edmund, were there as well. Also in attendance was Lord Faramir, his arm in a splint and sling, Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas, Prince Imrahil, King Eomer, the sons of Elrond and, of course, Aragorn. The purpose of the meeting in the throne room was to decide their next move in the war and to finally reveal to my uncle and the rest of the companies leaders the truth of Frodo Baggins and the One Ring.
'So,' Jason said after Gandalf and the others in the Fellowship had told them, 'you decided it was a good idea to send a pair of Hobbits to into a land of fire, ash and smoke, filled to brim with Orcs, to climb up a mountain of fire and throw the Ring into it? We're dead.'
'Don't doubt the Hobbits,' Eomer told him.
'I'm not, but it's a suicide mission. Gandalf, you've sent those Hobbits to their deaths. That's cold.'
'Jason,' my uncle snapped at him. 'That's enough pessimism.'
'It's not pessimism, Baron. It's the truth.'
'I have sent Frodo to his death, I know I have,' Gandalf said, his voice weak. 'Sauron will soon strike again. He has suffered a defeat, but within Mordor he is regrouping.'
'Let him stay,' suggested Gimli. 'It will give us more chances to rebuild our own defences.'
'Ten thousand Orcs now lay between Frodo and Mount Doom,' the wizard answered.
'Surely there must be a way to help them,' my uncle spoke up. 'Is there somewhere we can attack? Something Sauron will have to send troops out to defend.'
'No,' said Imrahil. 'Gondor does not have the strength to launch a campaign against Mordor, nor can we move armies far from home. Umbar is too far to the south, and Mordor itself is surrounded by mountains.'
'There is somewhere we can strike,' Aragorn told Imrahil. 'The Black Gate.'
Upon seeing the surprised and, in some cases, shocked, look on the faces of those gathered there, my uncle needed to know what these gates were.
'What is the Black Gate?' asked Robert.
'The way into Mordor,' answered Faramir. 'It's a narrow pass, sealed off with two, great, fortified gates. They're unassailable.'
'We could never win through strength of arms alone,' said Eomer.
'I know we can't,' Aragorn agreed, 'but what we can do is keep Sauron's eye on us. We march on the Black Gate and Sauron will face us. He still thinks we have the Ring, and he knows I have come forth.'
'I see,' Robert said with a thin smile. 'Sauron will believe we'll have the Ring with us against the Black Gate.'
'Exactly,' said Aragorn. 'He will be blind to all else that moves and empty his lands, mustering his full strength to oppose us.'
'And the Hobbit's will have a clear path through Mordor,' my uncle finished. 'It could work.'
'You have my support,' Eomer volunteered his men.
'And mine,' said Imrahil.
My uncle looked at the rest of the company's leaders who all nodded.
'We will join,' said my uncle. 'Sadly I can't go, I am still recovering from my wounds.'
'I must remain here as well,' said Faramir, 'though with all my heart I wish I could join you.'
'Who shall be placed in command of Minas Tirith?' asked Imrahil. 'I don't like the thought of leaving it unguarded.'
'Reinforcements will be arriving from Pelargir tomorrow,' Aragorn explained to him. 'As for its command, Lord Faramir can begin his role as Steward of Gondor.'
'I am honoured, my king.'
'Would you like any assistance ruling the city?' my uncle offered him.
'I thought you were looking for some rest.'
'I get bored very easily. I think a pair of cripples can look after this place for a while.'
My uncles joke won a few chuckles from the others in the hall.
'Sauron may suspect a trap,' Gandalf cautioned us.
'He will take the bait,' Aragorn answered.
'Certainty of death,' started Gimli, 'small chance of success,' and then with a smile, 'what are we waiting for?'
'So when do we leave?' asked Jason.
'Tomorrow morning,' Aragorn answered.
'Good. Gives me enough time properly live for one last night.'
Father Harold was the most obvious in rolling his eyes.
…
That evening, as many members of the company were being knighted by Lord Robert and some of the others, and I was watching on, Father Harold was with Sunniva in the Houses of Healing Gardens. Lady Eowyn was asleep and it gave Sunniva some time to speak with the priest.
'You are sure you are ready?' he asked her.
'Yes. I'm certain and I'm ready to be baptised.'
'In that case, we need to prepare. The army will be leaving tomorrow morning, and I'll be going with them.'
'Why?'
'I feel that it is my duty to be there. Just to be there at the end for good or ill. I believe we may be able to perform the ceremony tomorrow at dawn.'
'Excellent. I've given some thought to my baptismal name as well.'
'What have you chosen?'
'At first I thought Mary was appropriate.'
'It certainly would be.'
'But I decided against it. When we were talking in Edoras you told me about some of the important women of the church, and I remembered one of them. I'd like to take her name at my baptism.'
'Who?'
'Hilda.'
'In honour Saint Hilda of Whitby?'
'From what you told me of the old English people, their names don't sound different to those of Rohan and I love my country and my people. I'd feel better taking a name close to them.'
'I understand my dear. If you wish, we can perform the ceremony in these gardens tomorrow. Is there anyone you wish to be there?'
'Cenric, John, his cousins as well and Baron James if he is feeling up to it.'
'I will invite the English, you can invite your brother. After that, well, I suggest you get some sleep. There will be little peace in the days to come.'
'There's something else,' she said quickly.
'Then tell me my dear.'
'It's my father. What's happened to him?'
He thought for a few moments on how to answer, knowing that she may not like what the old church in Rome would say about it.
'I don't know,' he answered. 'Under the churches laws, only one who has been baptised may enter the Kingdom of God, but I'm not sure.'
'Meaning?'
'When I was a young man, I was a man of war, a man with strong beliefs in everything my priest proclaimed from his pulpit. Over the years I have changed, and I have seen things. I have seen men who prayed for days on end to be lost in a haze of rape and murder hours after leaving church, and yet I once saw a Jew, half blind, missing a hand and wearing only rags, dragging a wounded man out from under a pile of corpses and taking him to a healer even as men spilt blood all around him. I can only say that God knows who his true servants are. Every man who has gone to war has said that God is on his side, only God knows who is truly on his. I believe that your father has found peace, and if he lived his life honourably and did good in this world, he will enter the Kingdom of Heaven.'
He looked back to Sunniva whose expression had become one of relief, knowing that her father was at least safe in his death.
'Thank you. Well, I'm going to say goodnight now.'
'There is one last thing,' Harold said as he reached into his cloak and from within drew out a book, bound in black leather. 'I want you to take care of this while I am gone.'
'What is it?'
'My own personal Bible.'
'Thank you, but I won't be able to read it. You told me yourself that they're written in, what was it, Latin.'
'True, but for a while I worked on a secret project of mine. As far as I know, this is the only Bible written in English, or the Common Tongue as your folk call it.'
Sunniva looked at the book in her hands, realising now what she held.
'How long did it take?'
'To translate and write it, about three years. If I was found out, I may have been declared an enemy of the church.'
'And you trust it to me?'
'We are a bit beyond the reach of the church and the Inquisition here,' he answered. 'Just keep it safe until I return.'
'What if you don't?'
'I trust you to work it out my dear. Goodnight.'
…
The next morning, in a quiet corner of the gardens, Father Harold, dressed as he was at Helm's Deep, was leading the ceremony. Those of us who would be leaving with the army were already in our armour, ready for the journey ahead to the Black Gates.
Sunniva however was wearing a very simple white gown as she knelt before Harold. A small end table had been set up next to Harold, upon which had been placed a wide silver bowl of water and a few small jars of necessary oils (why he had them with him, he explained that sometimes the women who followed an army may give birth and he had to be prepared for a baptism at a moments notice). I looked at Sunniva, kneeling there solemnly, and then I looked at Cenric, standing at the edge of our part of the garden, his sorrow had turned to barely concealed anger. The look on his face was one thirsty for vengeance, and also one of curiosity at what his sister had decided to do. For Sunniva's baptism, Father Harold did have to improvise slightly, as there was no one appropriate to be her godfather so he combined the rites of baptism and confirmation for the ceremony.
Everyone in attendance was myself, my uncle and my cousins, Cenric and Lady Eowyn, the latter two not taking part in the ceremony.
Because of the time of day, we were still slightly in shadow, but the first stretches of golden light had begun to reach across the sky.
'Sunniva Hilda, daughter of Synnve and Cerdic, the people of Christ welcome you into our fold with great joy. In His name, I claim you for Christ our Saviour by the sign of his cross. I now trace his cross upon your forehead.'
With a small amount of the oil, he marked the cross onto her forehead before he continued.
'My brethren, let us ask our Lord Jesus Christ to look upon Sunniva Hilda, who is to be baptised. By the mystery of your death and resurrection, bathe Sunniva Hilda in your light and grant her new life within the church. Lord hear us.'
'Lord graciously hear us,' we answered, except Cenric.
'Through baptism, make Sunniva Hilda your faithful follower and a witness to your gospel. Lord hear us.'
'Lord graciously hear us.'
'Lead Sunniva Hilda by a holy life to the joys of your kingdom. Lord hear us.'
'Lord graciously hear us.'
'Keep Sunniva Hilda's family always in your love. Lord hear us.'
'Lord graciously hear us.'
'Renew the grace of our baptism in each of us. Lord hear us.'
'Lord graciously hear us.'
'Holy Mary mother of God, Saint John the Baptist, Saint Joseph, Saint Peter, Saint Paul, Saint Andrew, Saint Hilda, pray for us.'
'Pray for us,' we answered.
'All holy men and women.'
'Pray for us.'
'Almighty and every-living God, you sent your only Son into the old world to cast out the power of Satan, spirit of evil, to rescue man from the kingdom of darkness, and bring him into the splendour of your kingdom of light. We pray for this woman, set her free from original sin, make her a temple of your glory and send your Holy Spirit to dwell with her. Through Christ our Lord.'
'Amen.'
'Father, you have called your child, Sunniva Hilda, to this cleansing water that she may share in the faith of your church and have eternal life. By the mystery of this consecrated water, lead her to a new and spiritual birth. Through Christ our Lord.'
'Amen.'
'Sunniva Hilda, do you renounce Satan?'
'I renounce him,' she answered with certainty.
'And all his works?'
'I do renounce them.'
'And all his empty promises?'
'I do.'
'Do you believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth?'
'I do.'
'Do you believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was born of the Virgin Mary, as crucified, died, and was buried, rose from the dead, and is now seated at the right hand of the Father?'
'I do.'
'Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting?'
'I do.'
'This is our faith,' he proclaimed. 'This is the faith of our Christian Brotherhood. Though we are far away from the lands walked by Christ, we are proud to profess it, in Jesus Christ our Lord.'
'Amen.'
'Sunniva Hilda, is it truly your will to be baptised in the faith of the church?'
'It is.'
He reached for the bowl of water and the wide spoon within, pouring it three times over her head.
'Sunniva Hilda, I baptise thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.'
Harold held out his hand and I stepped to him, a white cloak in my hands, and handed it to him. The cloak had been a gift from Lady Eowyn who, after being told by Sunniva what she had agreed to do, offered to pay for it, rather than using the white scarf Harold had managed to get hold of. The cloak was made of white linen with a faint pattern of a rearing horse on its back and at its front a clasp made of silver with a single large garnet.
'Sunniva Hilda, you have become a new creation, and have clothed yourself in Christ. See in this white garment the outward sign of your Christian dignity. With your family and friends to help you by word and example, bring that dignity unstained into the everlasting life of heaven. Please stand.'
She stood up and allowed Harold to place the cloak upon her shoulders, which Sunniva appreciated as the water and the chill of the early morning were not a good combination.
'My dear brethren,' Harold started, 'this woman has been reborn in baptism. She is now called the child of God, for so indeed she is. In holy communion she will share the banquet of Christ's sacrifice, calling God her Father in the midst of the Church. In the name of Sunniva Hilda, in the Spirit of our brotherhood, let us pray together in the words our Lord has given us.'
All of us who were Christian, now including Sunniva, knelt before Harold, aside from my uncle who, because of his injures, remained sitting in his chair. Together we recited the Lord's Prayer, Sunniva very careful to say it correctly. Once we were done, Harold smiled at Sunniva and then at all of us.
'Sunniva Hilda is now baptised in the name of the Lord. Sadly, this day will not be remembered for this joyous occasion, but as the one where the Army of the West will set out for the final battle to decide the fate of the world. We leave soon, go about your business until then my children. I will be granting the eucharist outside the companies barracks before the army leaves.'
Sunniva stood up and adjusted her cloak slightly, her brother approaching her first.
'I'm still not sure why you wanted to do this, but I'm happy for you either way.'
'Thank you,' they hugged each other for a moment.
We slowly began to leave that part of the gardens, Sunniva and I walking together.
'How do you feel?' I asked her as the sun finally ascended into the sky.
'Very good actually. I think I've done the right thing.'
'You have. The cloak is beautiful on you.'
'Thanks,' she said and held it out around her, doing a spin and laughing. 'I'll pay back Lady Eowyn for it one day.'
'I thought it was a gift.'
'It is, but I don't feel right having her pay for it. I'll make sure she gets its worth back.'
'A woman of honour,' I said before the sad reality ahead. 'We'll be leaving for war soon. If you want time with your brother, go and be with him.'
'He doesn't want to talk, I tried through half the night. He's taken our father's death hard.'
'I know the feeling.'
'John, I'm worried about him. He might try to get revenge for his death by doing something reckless and getting himself killed.'
'I'll keep an eye on him.'
'You better. Just, promise me you won't get yourself killed either.'
'So no heroics?'
'None.'
'No great deeds?'
'Absolutely not.'
The tone of our talk had become very relaxed now as we went through the list of things I was not allowed to do.
'So, just a normal, nice little battle without anything memorable.'
'Exactly. I want you coming back.'
'But what if by pure accident I do something heroic?'
'Then when you come back,' she said and crossed her arms, making an exaggerated thinking face, 'I'll smack you on the head, and then kiss you.'
'I'm tempted to have an accident then. It might just be worth it.'
'I didn't tell you what I'd smack you with.'
'I'll eagerly wait to find out.'
…
After we had communion by the gates, as thousands of men marched past us, most of the company mounted their horses. A few of us though waited a few moments. My cousins went to have a few last words with their father, seeing them off one last time before they went off for war. I however spoke with Sunniva.
'I'll see you again in a few days'
'You better. Remember, no heroics.'
'Or I get smacked in the head.'
'Exactly.'
We shared one last kiss there before I walked towards my horse, only for my uncle to shout me over.
'John!'
I stood with my two cousins before my uncle who gave me one last look.
'Ever since your father died, well, I've done all I can to take care of you. All of you, the three of you, I was always afraid of this day, the day I would send you off to battle and I wouldn't be able to come. I've been lucky to be in good health until,' he looked at the stump at his elbow and sighed. 'God be with you three. I will pray each day until you return.'
He embraced each of us in turn before bidding us to mount our horses and join the Army of the West. After a while, as we approached Osgiliath, I looked over my shoulder to take, what I feared, may be my last look at Minas Tirith. Thinking of Sunniva and my uncle, I turned my gaze east, towards the final battle.
Historical Note: Saint Hilda of Whitby is one of the most important figures in the history of the English Church. She served as the Abbess of Whitby, was a talented administrator for the people under her care and was present at the Synod of Whitby where Roman Style Christianity was accepted for Northumbria.
Review Responses:
Jack Redhawke: Yeah Jason and James are a pretty dangerous pair. With Jason, he's a man whose ability in combat mostly comes from a life of training and skill, combined with a certain level of viciousness and a bit of a death wish. James on the other hand is an exceptionally strong man for reasons I have implied throughout this story. Combine that with training from childhood for leadership and war, the result is that James is a very deadly enemy.
minstrelgirl451: He's alive! He's alive! He's alive, a little battered around, but he's alive. Sorry if I scared you.
