This chapter follows shortly after the previous, taking place once the Hidland company has arrived in Dunharrow.
Recommended listening: Klengel, Concerto for 2 Cellos, Op. 45
The path from Firienfeld to Harrowdale down below was a treacherous one, for the company of Dúnedain and Hidlanders could only descend in single file along the steep cliff face, the rock of Starkhorn rising sheer overhead yet plummeting at their feet. As the last of the fighters filed from the greensward, Halbarad took his place at their rear with a glance to Aragorn, who gave him a brief nod and said, "I shall meet you soon down below."
"Yes, captain," replied Halbarad, turning with his mare to follow the long procession. "Come on, lads and lasses, let's hurry it up!" he cried to those ahead. "There will be no supper left by the time we're squared away if you do not get a move on!"
After an arduous descent – made all the more miserable for their misadventures that afternoon – the entire company arrived at great last upon the lower level. An Eorlingas guard came forward to greet them, leading the masses across the clearing, where even now great tables were being arranged for a feast, to a division of tents just within the treeline.
"There is a picket for your horses just to the south," said the guard. "They will be shown the greatest care by our grooms. When you have seen to your horses, you may stow your belongings in these tents as you see fit. Make yourself at home, then come join us in feast!"
"Thank you for your gracious hospitality," said Halbarad, shaking the guard's hand. With a cursory glance, he made a quick calculation and shouted out, "Two to a tent! One of each pair stows both fighters' belongings, the other pickets the horses! On the double, I'm ravenous!"
Even as he unstrapped his own meagre pack from his horse, Halbarad glimpsed Chaya drifting off toward a tent with several other Hidlanders. Catching her by the sleeve, he said, "Not you, milady. Captains are provided their very own quarters."
"But I am no captain," Chaya responded.
"Interesting how you take matter with such a title, and not being addressed as 'milady,'as Truva so vehemently does."
"None in the Hidlands use the term 'milady' with any significance, and so it bothers me not," said Chaya. "I suspect Truva's aversion is a product of her time in the Riddermark. She is a peculiar creature, that one."
"Yes, well, though that may be, her insistence that you assume the role of her second-in-command is in no way peculiar," he said. "Come, I shall picket your horse for you. You needn't see to my belongings, for I have so few."
Halbarad did not await a response before drawing the reins from her unprotesting grasp and leading the horses away. The picket line was submerged in veritable chaos, for scores of Hidlanders crowded about, each struggling to abide by the unfamiliar Eorlingas method of tying their horses off. When at last Halbarad succeeded in entrusting the two mounts into Eorlingas care, he pushed his way back through the throngs, carrying his simple pack.
There, just before the tent he had laid claim to, stood Chaya. She lingered amidst the tumult of Hidlanders and Dúnedain, who in having finished preparations streamed toward the clearing and its massive tables, rubbing their hands in anticipation of the meal that was to come. Halbarad's chest convulsed strangely when her eyes found him emerging from the crowd.
"Why do you dally here and not go to the feast?" asked Chaya when he drew near. "There are surely drinks to be had, if nothing else."
"I wanted to wait— I thought we might go together," said Chaya, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Was it very wrong of me?"
Halbarad laughed, the first full-throated laugh the typically cheerful Dúnadan had given in many a day. "No, no, not at all! Here," he swiftly placed his pack just within the tent, then extended the crook of his arm to Chaya. "Allow me."
She placed her hand upon his elbow, and together they returned to the clearing and took places at a table near the base of the Stair. Already a great number of Eorlingas had gathered, and they welcomed the newly arrived company with warm, inviting spirit and a great many flagons of ale. Halbarad gratefully accepted one from a passing Rider and poured Chaya a mug. Yet even as the merrymakers moved on to greet the converging Hidlanders, who sat a short distance away, a hush settled between the two leaders.
"How are you?" Halbarad asked after a time, eyeing those about to ensure none would overhear. He regarded Chaya carefully, and his intent was clear; it was not merely a pleasant inquiry he made. Though she did not answer straight away, Chaya also did not lower her eyes, allowing Halbarad to observe their hazel color that reflected the sagebrush of her homeland.
"I feel safe here, in these woods and amongst these people," she said at great last, her gaze falling to the pewter tankard that grew warm in her clutch. Halbarad took in her swollen knuckles and crooked digits, the scars that patterned the back of her hands, extending as far as her face: that of a warrior.
"It has been a great many years since last I believed myself safe," Chaya continued, "And the idea of security became unfamiliar to me long ago. I do not dislike the feeling; I only wish my brother were here to experience it, and I do not believe that is a sentiment with which I shall ever grow unfamiliar."
"I, too, lost a brother once," said Halbarad, his voice falling to no more than a whisper. Chaya's eyes snapped up to study his face, though it was he who now looked away. "A brother by blood, not of the sword; though in all fairness to lose a Dúnadan is no less devastating. He was seven years my senior, strong and dependable – a natural leader, and for that he was greatly beloved by my mother, and by Aragorn.
"It was during an ill-fated raid against an orc-hold in the Ettenmoors that he was lost, many years ago." His eyes closed and he fell quiet then. Chaya reached out her hand, and Halbarad turned his palms up so that he might clasp her fingers in his.
"You needn't share if you do not wish to," said Chaya.
"I have always considered myself an imperfect replacement; for there was no comparison to the brave and goodhearted nature of my brother – Haldon was his name," continued Halbarad, undeterred by her words. "It was he who had led the raid, and he who sacrificed himself to secure the safe retreat of those under his command. I cannot keep at bay the uncertainty that plagues me each time Aragorn entrusts me with—"
He cleared his throat, then reconsidered, for it had not been his intent to detract from Chaya's own grief. "It would be false of me to suggest the passing of those we love ever grows less painful. In my experience, it does not; perhaps only less pressing. Yet each new day brings a new opportunity to honor them with memories of our love."
Halbarad glanced up only to see that a tear crept down her cheek. He gently withdrew one hand from Chaya's to brush it away, only to quickly find her grasp again and entangle their fingers once more. A shiver darted up his spine when she brushed her thumb along the heel of his palm.
"Thank you," she murmured. "How odd is it that we gain comfort through shared sorrow." A faint glimmer of a smile crossed her lips, only to be reflected upon Halbarad's own countenance.
Even as they fell silent once more, Aragorn and the Marshal Éomer descended from the Stair of the Hold. "Am I to understand this is the man himself, bold and brave – he who is indispensable to the Dúnedain of the North?" exclaimed the Eorlingas leader, extending his hand to Halbarad as he approached.
"Halbarad, at your service, my lord," he said, leaping to his feet and shaking the offered hand, "Though if that is the way in which I have been described, then certainly you are mistaken, and it is not I whom you seek."
"Come, there is little need for such modesty," said Éomer. "Aragorn speaks nothing but praise in your name."
"I am certain it is nevertheless an overestimation of my capabilities, my lord," Halbarad replied. "And might I introduce Chaya of the Hidlanders – surely a figure more worthy of your esteem."
"My deepest, most heartfelt sympathies," said the Marshal to Chaya. "Aragorn has told me of all that transpired in your escape from the Hidlands, and it seems to me that each of you is equally as stouthearted and remarkable as your leader, who came into our ranks in much a similar way."
"Éomer himself led the campaign that happened upon Truva," Aragorn explained. Halbarad glanced briefly to Chaya, and saw the pain that flickered there, though he was not alone and Éomer was quick to explain:
"It is with regret to this very day that we were not able to effect a full-scale rescue, but we were few in number and the Hidlanders far too many, and our task had already been set before us as it was. We might have returned with a larger force had our lands not been under constant assault from the Dunlendings, yet we scarcely kept them at bay as it was."
"I would not fault you, even were that not the case," said Chaya, though an uncomfortable silence nevertheless followed. The four sat about the table, glancing uncertainly from one to another, when a shout came from the Hidlanders, whose numbers at their own table had grown significantly.
"Ai-oi, Chaya!" called Blackbramble. "Come have a round with us!"
Chaya looked to her companions, and Éomer was quick to wave her off. "Never you mind us stodgy functionaries," he said. "Tonight is to be an enjoyable evening, not one spent in the company of those you as yet have little accord with."
"Thank you, my lord," said Chaya, rising abruptly to join the Hidlanders. Halbarad gazed after her, amazed at the resilience of the entire company as they caroused about, though his attention was soon directed back to his two companions.
"An enjoyable evening," mused Aragorn, his voice low. "Perhaps one of our last, for the foreseeable future."
Halbarad scrutinized his captain; he knew that tone far too well. "You mean for us to depart anon."
"Depart?" exclaimed Éomer. "Anon? What talk is this?"
"I have not yet spoken of it yet with your father, yet it was as we all feared: Elrond will grant us no succour. Those in the north perch upon the precipice of their own conflict, or otherwise are unwilling to engage in strife they believe themselves to have no part in. Many pass into the West, even now."
Éomer cursed under his breath in the gruff manner of the Rohirrim. "And so they would bring great suffering down upon us, then abandon us in our greatest hour of need? And you simply walked away when this was the answer he gave?"
"Had I argued with my dying breath, still Elrond would not see fit to alter his decision. He did, however, offer a word of counsel."
"And what counsel might that be?"
"To call upon the Men of the White Mountains."
"No!" exclaimed Éomer, the fierceness of his objection startling Halbarad, though Aragorn appeared as unperturbed as ever. "You cannot! My father will not hear of it, and right he would be to ignore such an absurd notion."
"I fear we have no alternative," said Aragorn. "The Grey Company has long been prepared to undertake this journey, ere we even departed Rivendell. We shall set out at first light tomorrow – Théoden King willing."
"It is certain death!"
"We need more men, Éomer," Aragorn insisted, his voice low. "Black waves will soon come crashing from the lands of Mordor, and we shall all be swept away if we lack strength enough to stem its tides. For that, we need men. As many as we can muster."
Éomer sat back, subdued by the quiet ferocity of Aragorn's entreaty. In the short silence that followed, he reached for a flagon and filled each warrior's mug with ale.
"In the end, it is not I you shall have to convince," he said at last. "I will see to it that you have an audience with Théoden King this evening, following the feast, but in the meantime let us drink! And celebrate our reunification – however brief it might be – with the promise of drawing blades together in the conflict that is sure to come!"
Halbarad took mug in hand, and from his very first sip the world about him grew foggy, gradually devolving into a hazy but joyous occasion. He found himself making increasingly conspicuous glances toward the Hidland table, where Chaya seemed to have regained some small spark, for though it was not the accustomed wreath that had so often graced her countenance, still a wan smile played upon her lips.
Nor was Halbarad the only one to make such overtures; he noted with bemusement that Aragorn, too, frequently cast his gaze upon the same table, though he was engaged in deep conversation with Théoden King's sister-daughter. An uncharacteristic hesitancy plagued the Ranger chieftain, however, and Halbarad wondered what it was that gave him pause.
The feast wore on; riotous laughter and pleasant conversation, music and first meetings all streaked together, mingling indistinguishably into a single cheery atmosphere as the night grew ever deeper. Halbarad knew not when he had retired, yet suddenly early dawn light was filtering into his tent as Aragorn chided him from the entrance.
"Rouse yourself!" said the captain, as loud as he might without disturbing the Hidlanders who camped nearby. "Make your way to Firienfeld and the Dimholt Road as soon as you may – be quick about it."
Astounded by his own indolence, Halbarad sprang to his feet and darted from his tent as Aragorn strode off to wake the other Dunedain, many of whom were in a similarly lethargic state. This was some strange effect of the Eorlingas ale, certainly, to render the stately Rangers so entirely drowsy!
Halbarad dashed to the river Snowbourn with the intent to wash quickly, for he had not yet had the opportunity to do so, and there was no saying when such an opportunity would come again. Yet no sooner had he concluded his task than he turned to find that Chaya had appeared behind him. Halbarad gave a start, for he had not heard her approach, though he quickly recovered and flashed a smile. "Good morn! What bids you wake so early?"
"I could not sleep," said Chaya. "Why do all the Dúnedain rush about and cause such a commotion? Whither do you go?"
"As ever, we follow Aragorn wherever he may lead," Halbarad replied. The slight frown upon Chaya's face indicated she was unsatisfied with this answer. "We leave this very hour, to journey through the southern lands of Gondor and gather those to our cause who would see to join it." He conveniently failed to detail the dangers of the path they were to take.
"Why do you not take the Hidlanders with you?"
"We must travel with all swiftness, and as yet the Hidlanders are uncomfortable and slow upon their mounts," said Halbarad. He fell silent a moment, his breath caught in his chest, but then some instinct urged him to reach out and take her hands in his. "You will be safe here in Dunharrow – safe as you might be given the circumstances. The Eorlingas are a kindly people, yet do not be deceived by their equable character; they are deadly warriors, through and through."
"I said last night that I feel safe here, but I do not think it was due to the secluded nature of this place, nor the reassuring strength of the Eorlingas," said Chaya, clutching his hands tighter, her eyes downturned. "I believe it was due in large part – or perhaps entirely – to you, and your reassuring presence by my side.
"I ask not that you do not leave, for I know that you must," she continued, "I wish only to express my gratitude for helping me endure when I believed I could not."
Halbarad drew her even closer, until he could nearly feel the flutter of her lashes against his cheek. "Each moment of our parting will seem a crushing eternity to me," he said. "Though our time together has not been long, never have I met one more ferocious or passionate than you."
"Then promise me you will return, and not upon a bier borne by your compatriots."
"I can make no such promise," Halbarad chuckled softly, "For who can predict the fates of the world? Yet I can say that I shall strive with every fraction of my soul to return to you. I know not what lies beyond this life, but I would protect you even in my death if I could."
Chaya turned her face upward then and peered into Halbarad's eyes, hers so very like steel both in color and intensity. He knew that she had little need of his protection – powerful and astute as she was – yet his heart danced with a painful joy in his chest each time he imagined wrapping the tall Hidlander in his arms and fending off the rest of the world. To see her eyes dart across his face, Halbarad suspected she, too, did not entirely object to this idea.
He brought his hand to her chin and brushed his thumb across her sun-darkened skin. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head, drawing ever nearer. He did not rush, for fear he had misjudged, yet his hands trembled with the tension. He felt her uneven breath upon his lips, her racing heart against his chest, and still he hesitated.
He needn't have worried, however, for Chaya closed her eyes and threw her lips upon his, entwining her arms about his neck and pulling him inescapably close – nor did he wish to escape. Even after their lips parted and Chaya buried her face against his shoulder, Halbarad lingered in her embrace, drinking in the faint dawn light and gentle fragrance of pine trees.
He did not wish to go.
"You must go," Chaya whispered, her voice muffled, though whether it was due to his tunic or her tears Halbarad could not tell. "You said you were to depart even this very hour; surely Aragorn awaits you."
"Then let him wait a minute longer," he said, face still buried in the crook of her neck. More time than he had intended elapsed before Halbarad finally released Chaya, though still he could not bring himself to let go of her hands. "I must go."
"I shall bid you and the others farewell upon the Firienfeld," she said. "I will wash, for that was my original purpose in coming here."
"If yours is the last face I see, parting shall be a far sweeter sorrow," said Halbarad, retreating backward along the riverbank, nearly tumbling when his foot caught in a tree root.
"Very well, now go!" laughed Chaya, and at last Halbarad turned and rushed to gather his pack and tack his horse, for the sooner the Grey Company prepared to depart, the sooner Chaya would seek them out to convey a final greeting.
Firienfeld was chaotic despite the early hour, as all the risen Eorlingas had come to say goodbye. Aragorn, desperate to evade further delay, bade the company mount up before Chaya had gained the greensward, much to Halbarad's dismay. Even so, King Théoden employed his best efforts in an attempt to turn them from their path, and it was during this long and tedious exchange that Halbarad spied the Hidlander weaving through the ranks of Eorlingas.
Resolute in spite of the King's appeals, Aragorn at last rode forth at the head of the Dúnedain and their odd Elven and Dwarvish companions. It took great effort for Halbarad to tear his gaze from Chaya when he followed after Aragorn, and even when he looked not upon her, he saw her before his eyes. He turned around but once and held his hand aloft: a final gesture of fellowship and amity between the Grey Company and those they left in the shadow of Dwimoberg.
Not even the chill, eerie trek through a forest of ominous firs to the Dark Door and the Paths of the Dead beyond could dispel the lovely vision of Caya, and it became a light to Halbarad in the depths of the mountain, the darkest of places. For all its sinister airs, not even that gloomy road could perturb Halbarad, and not even their exit upon the other side brought him more joy than the memory of holding Chaya in his arms.
It was her own undeniable strength that urged Halbarad on as the Gray Company raced along the river Morthond, their mounts' hooves clattering upon the wide stone bridge before they banked eastward across the southern foothills of the Ered Nimrais. There, gleaming upon the crest of a low prominence was the black, polished Stone of Erech, upon which the Oathbreakers had sworn allegiance to Isildur in another age. Not even in the moonlight did the Stone shine so bright as Chaya's eyes when she allowed herself to laugh.
Not even Aragorn's summoning of the Shadow-men could strike fear so thoroughly into Halbarad's heart that he was unable to sleep, as it did the others, for he knew Chaya would grace his dreams in the night. Nor did the Company's frantic race across the lands of southern Gondor – which tested the resilience of the mighty descendents of Numenor to an unprecedented degree – weary him as it ought to have, for he knew that Chaya awaited him upon its conclusion.
Not even when they came upon the banks of the Anduin, just north of Pelargir, and the billowing black sails of the Corsairs' dromund ships came into view did he falter; for when he thought of the bravery with which Chaya had faced the Wolves and the fellbeast, a full fleet of the enemy was insufficient to subdue him.
Not even two days of arduous rowing – only lightly aided by winds off the Bay of Belfalas – could dull Halbarad's ardor, for each time his arms grew fatigued, he recalled how Chaya had overcome her unfamiliarity with horses and ridden the length of the Ered Luin. Soon, soon! With each stroke the Grey Company drew nearer to Harlond, and to the succour of Minas Tirith.
Yet even as the slopes of Mindolluin drew nearer, fear crept into Halbarad's heart. A red haze backlit the hunched spine of the mountain in the distance; perhaps they were too late. Perhaps the Rohirrim were too late. Perhaps the White City burned, and all who strove to defend it had perished! What if he were to be reunited with the one woman who had caused his spirit to frolic more joyfully than the first butterfly of springtime, only to lay her in the earth—!
"Halbarad," whispered a sharp voice just beside his ear. Halbarad glanced up from the oar in his reddened hands, only to find his nose but a hair's breadth from Aragorn's.
"Captain," he said.
"Perhaps you ought to rest," said Aragorn, gently prying Halbarad's fingers from the oar and bidding him rise from the bench. "You row so enthusiastically the balance of the entire ship has been disturbed."
"I am sorry, Aragorn, I—" he struggled to articulate his thoughts, for they had become so jumbled that they were indistinguishable, even to himself. He cast about the rowing deck, where those of the southern fiefdoms who had joined the Grey Company at Pelargir all gazed at him in bemusement.
"I understand," said Aragorn, and he led his friend up the steep staircase and into the fresh air of the main deck. Together they leaned upon the rail, feeling the chill mist upon their faces as the black-sailed fleet cut through the waters of the Anduin. Consumed by their separate thoughts, each warrior gazed off through the thick darkness of night, made close by impenetrable clouds that poured forth from Mordor.
"You say that you understand," said Halbarad after a time. "With all respect, my dear friend, I do not think you do."
Aragorn did not speak as he observed the distant mountains, still so frustratingly far. "There is someone I, too, desire to protect – someone I wish to return to," he said at last, his voice low.
Halbarad started, and in the fiery glow of battle ahead he noted there was no gleam of metal upon Aragorn's mantle; the Star of the Dúnedain was not clasped to his breast. "But you said yourself that the Lady Arwen sailed for the Undying Lands!" he exclaimed. "And it has not been since our departure from Imladris that you bore the Elessar."
"I do not speak of Arwen."
Halbarad contemplated Aragorn's words a moment, thoroughly confused. "Then may I ask of whom you speak?"
"It matters not," said Aragorn, shaking his head slightly. "She will not have me, for she places duty above her own self; and for that I love her all the more."
"What a foolish girl, to refuse the High King of the Dúnedain!"
"Not so foolish as you, to speak such words!" said Aragorn with a smile upon his lips. "Come now, what of your lass? Never have you been one to fuss and bother over anything, let alone a woman."
"She's more spirited even than one of Mithrandir's fireworks, I'll say that much!" A grin cracked across Halbarad's face. "In truth, I do not believe there is much need for me to dash to her rescue; and indeed any fear of mine would be assuaged a great deal if it were she who watched over me."
Silence fell between the two Dúnedain then, and nothing save the gentle wash of currents over the dromund's hull could be heard. "She awaits you upon the fields of the Pelennor, I am certain of it," murmured Aragorn.
"Would that I had but a fraction of your assurance," replied Halbarad, and together they stared upon the sight of Mindolluin and their approaching doom.
Come daytime, that very sight was upon them as the port of Harlond loomed ahead. Wind caught in the dromunds' sails, hastening their progress, yet even from a distance the battle that raged just beyond the docks caused the hearts of the Grey Company to falter. A clamour of bells could be heard pealing in the city, as could the horns of the Eorlingas that even now faced a press of enemies upon all sides. All was lost; they were too late!
Aragorn was yet undaunted; "Unfurl the standard!" he cried, and from the foremast broke a sable field, upon which glittered the crest of Elendil. The Dúnadan leader then unsheathed his sword and raised it skyward, and in the sunlight that chased away the clouds ahead the blade shone bright and fiery. Even the stern hearts of the Northern Rangers swelled with pride to witness such a magnificent display, yet Halbarad's eagerness was tempered by concern; he scanned the fray for she whom he so desperately wished to lay eyes upon.
There! Gleaming in response to Aragorn's blade was another: that of Éomer, and about him arrayed the leaders of the Eorlingas. Halbarad could distinguish Marshal Elfhelm, and Truva – naturally the hulking figure of Blackbramble could not be overlooked – yet the swarms of Easterlings and Southrons still obscured the hills, eddying this way and that, probing for a weakness to exploit. Halbarad's heart palpitated, frantic, searching; nowhere was Chaya to be seen.
No sooner had the gangplanks been lowered than the enemy forces dispersed, chased away by the realization that the newly arrived reinforcements from the south were not Corsairs, and indeed an army led by the descendent of Elendil himself. The Grey Company flowed from the ships to drive before them the armies of Mordor, many of whom fled in fear, though still a great number turned their assault upon the harbor.
Halbarad stayed hard upon Aragorn's flank, for he knew the Dúnadan chieftain would make directly for the crest of the hill upon which Éomer and the others stood. Despite the ferocity with which they had fought until that point, the Southron and Easterling warriors shied away from the bold figure of Aragorn, shrinking back against their compatriots and fleeing even as he drew nigh. Those who dared attack were quickly repelled.
"Thus we meet again," said Aragorn to Éomer, but Halbarad paid the leaders' reunion little attention. He cast about frantically for Chaya, for no sooner had Aragorn passed through their ranks than the forces of Mordor renewed their assault, and the Hidlanders were once more engaged in the roiling mass of battle. Halbarad slashed with unparalleled ferocity, driven by desperation and a crescendoing fear that he had made an incalculable error in traveling the Paths of the Dead.
Had Aragorn truly needed his support? Why had he not remained behind, an ambassador to the Eorlingas and their Hidland reinforcements? How could he have abandoned his love at such a crucial juncture? Though he had believed Chaya capable of protecting herself, alas! he had been mistaken, and now it was alone that he faced what little might remain of his own fate.
His strength – both of spirit and of arm – waned, and Halbarad found himself descending the hill toward a surging cohort of Southrons. He raised his blade halfheartedly, prepared to accept his doom, though with the determination to take as many with him as he might. His face curled into a snarl, his heart steeled, and he made a sudden and final dash toward his adversaries.
A piercing screech could abruptly be heard from his right, and with a flash of helm and sword the Southrons fell away, intimidated by the force that whirled there. More than one was flipped head over heels, only to be dispatched swiftly once they lay upon the ground, and all others fled in abject terror to behold the desolation of their comrades.
Halbarad stood astounded, gazing wide-eyed upon the scene before him; yet even as the figure rose to her full height, his heart ached with exultation, for beneath her helm was the braided hair of a Hidlander, and soft eyes that belied her fierceness of spirit.
"Chaya!" he cried, and leapt immediately to embrace the warrior, yet she held her hand up before her to stay him.
"A mere journey of recruitment? Ha!" she cried fiercely. "I asked Truva many a question regarding the Paths of the Dead, and she told me what terrible danger you faced in taking that road! Yet you spoke of no such horrors to me; if you do not die first in battle, I shall kill you with my own hands!"
"Chaya, dearest," implored Halbarad, "I did not wish for you to worry! Come now, give me a kiss!" Yet even as he leaned in, Chaya sidestepped and threw her dagger so that it halted the attack of an opportunistic Easterling, who sought to take advantage of their distraction.
And so the two warriors fought side by side, no longer willing to part for even the briefest of moments. Though they had been separated scarce a week, each determined in their hearts never to allow such things to come to pass again; nor would they, for the rest of their days.
Even as Aragorn and the other lords and leaders rounded up warriors of Mordor that had surrendered, or chased off those that fled, Halbarad and Chaya lingered arm in arm, each supporting the other. Some of the more industrious Gondorians had begun to erect a city of tents just beyond the main gates of Minas Tirith, and together they lent their lingering strength in its construction as the sun began to descend behind the mass of Mindolluin, casting a reddish glow across the land.
Halbarad was soon afforded a tent of his own, for he was, after all, the Elessar's second in command. Already messengers had transported his pack from the dromund ships that still bobbed in the port of Harlond to his new accommodations. A pageboy ushered him within, saying, "It is humble, my lord, but I'm afraid it shall have to do."
"Thank you very much," said Halbarad, dismissing the boy with a wave and sweeping into the dusky tent. There was little save his belongings and a low cot, yet nevertheless he invited Chaya in. She glanced about cautiously, and Halbarad sought to make her more at ease.
"Do you wish to kill me now, as promised?" he asked of her, stripping himself of his armour and exposing his breast for the strike. "I humbly accept my fate, for it was wrong of me to mislead you; never again will I do so for as long as I shall live – whether it be one minute or one lifetime."
Chaya inhaled deeply; the scent of bodies, heady for having exerted themselves to the most extreme reaches of their capabilities, filled the tent. She reached out and took Halbarad by the waist, drawing him close. "Perhaps I might be convinced to overlook this one occurrence."
"How might I thank you for a decision so magnanimous?" he asked with a grin. Chaya leapt up and sent her lips crashing into his. Halbarad wrapped his arms tight about her waist, unwilling to release her until the end of eternity.
"Marry me," she said when at last their lips had parted.
"Beg pardon?" exclaimed Halbarad.
"It is not a common concept in the Hidlands, as most who form partnerships do so out of necessity," Chaya explained. "Yet ever since I left those lands, I have come to understand that there are many kinds of love, beyond that which I keep for Eilif. Among the Eorlingas I have witnessed many pairs – such as Héodis and Éomód – whose relationship forced me to reassess my understanding of affection.
"Yet I was not jealous, for even then I knew in looking upon you that I had found the very being that would never be surpassed in my heart. While it is true that I shall forever owe a fraction of my spirit to my brother, it is you by which I will be maintained, whether you will have me or not."
Halbarad turned his grey eyes upon her, searching her face.
"Will you not speak?" she implored. "Will you give me no answer?"
"Yes, an infinite number of yeses!" Halbarad shouted, and he clutched Chaya to his chest and swung her about the tent, her legs flailing wildly as they laughed together. Halbarad placed her once more upon the ground and lowered his face to hers, kissing her with a gentleness he had not known himself to possess.
"Even so, our trials are far from over," he said quietly, forehead resting upon Chaya's. "Though we reign victorious on this field of battle, Mordor has yet to unleash the full might of its forces upon us, and we are certain to face another challenge before too long."
"I care not," said Chaya. "If I am to die in battle, so shall it be!"
"I do not like to think what would become of me if you were to die in battle," said Halbarad.
"Then do not think of it, and kiss me again!"
Author's note: And thus was the brief lark of Chaya and Halbarad's story! It was something I simply wrote out for a friend, but from here on out all material will relate to the sequel. Next to come is the one-shot of Éomer's coronation, and then the sequel itself. I am approximately three-quarters done, and slowly chipping away at the immense story.