Author's Notes: See previous disclaimers. The OCs and OLs (original locations) are mine, the rest belongs to Tolkien. Some romance in this chapter, but nothing sexual, so we're out of the woods as far as that's concerned.
Responses to reviewers:
Dragon-of-the-north: There are many reasons this story is called what it is, the last of which will come in the tale's last sentence. As for Caldrion, he clearly wasn't himself for the first part of that chapter, but there may have been other factors in play (once again, the question arises of who's pulling the strings here and how many beings think they're in control). He was probably calling on the Valar collectively, but I'll leave it to your imagination. I will say that she literally is the woman in his dreams (as per Chapter VII).
Lady LeBeau: Don't worry, Caldrion's indiscretion was merely a one-shot (though necessary for where the plot will be going). And not all men's hearts are so easily corrupted, I'll have you know. Just those controlled by authors who've read too many Arthurian legends.
TreeHugger: I got goosebumps reading your review simply because it proved that I had successfully conveyed what I had hoped to. Your comments about no man being an island and the consequences of our actions were dead on, especially given that the primary reason for the affair in that chapter was because it has repercussions at the end of the tale. And, for the record, the prophecy predates the rest of the chapter; I'd written it but it took me some time to figure out the larger context for it.
Wings of the Storm, Chapter X- To Have and to Hold
[Since my father's additions to the story resulted in the fall of one of the protagonists, redemption is in order. Unlike his fairly detailed retelling of the fall, however, the redemption was only told briefly and, to my ears, unsatisfactorily. As a consequence, all but a few sentences in the first part of this chapter are my own rather than his, as I have attempted to remedy that lack of detail.]
Caldrion never knew from whence he had gotten the strength to approach her. How did a victim normally react when her attacker approached and, in addition to apologizing, expressed a desire to get to know her better? Catrilas had done about what Caldrion expected. She was initially tentative and dubious of his motivations, but she did not reject him, perhaps out of fear of what would happen to her or the children if she did. Though the prevailing morality of Graldor's kingdom meant that there was little concern that she would be shunned as 'damaged goods,' the fact that Caldrion was a ranking figure in the Army made her afraid that, if she refused his attempts to offer her kindness and protection, he might bring her or her niece and nephew further harm. Unlike Caldrion, she did not have pleasant, recurring dreams about him, dreams in which he was her husband. If she did have dreams about him, they could only have been nightmares.
Partly as penance, and partly out of fear that his emotions would again overcome his reason, Caldrion spent the remainder of the campaign in that first orc village, seeing as best he could to the hurts and needs of the poor folk who until recently had been slaves. He refused to partake in the skirmishes with those orcs who had remained behind in the smaller settlements, guarding their captives, but instead labored to tender kindness to those who had lately known only pain or at best indifference. During that time, he had struggled to take advantage of situations in which he could talk to her without coming across as stalking her. He needed to find a way to apologize to her, but he also still had hope that she could learn to look past his initial evil deed and see him as he really was.
If Caldrion was driven by guilt and a love for which there was no rational explanation, Catrilas stayed around him for purely practical reasons. Having come through her captivity relatively unscathed and being more knowledgeable in herbs and other medicinal arts than he was, she began assisting his attempts to aid the others, and as they worked together it became progressively easier to talk. Before long, Caldrion was telling her things that he had never fully expressed to anyone in Aratur: his ongoing struggle for respect and recognition from his seniors back home, his close friendship with and ongoing concern for Graldor, and especially his ongoing attempts to come to terms with the power that had awakened in him. He did not, however, discuss the night they had met. On an intellectual level, he knew how painful it would be for her to talk about it, but on an emotional level he was still completely overwhelmed with guilt and knew he would break down if the fact that he was a rapist was mentioned.
Catrilas, fortunately, seemed no more inclined to talk about it than he was. Instead, he heard the highlights of her recent experiences. She did not know much about her family's origins, except that neither her parents nor grandparents could remember a time living somewhere besides their little homestead in the downs to the north. Being small and out of the way, the only hostile visitors they had were in small enough troops as to be easily disposed of. Not so the band that attacked them a couple months prior. The orcs had killed all the men in fairly short order and then rounded up the others, mercilessly slaughtering them all except Catrilas, her sister, and her sister's children, who they led back to this fairly sizeable orc settlement. None of them had been harmed for the first several days of their stationary captivity, until Ashlug had arrived and conclusively determined which of the sisters was the mother. Fleorie was deemed expendable, but Ashlug announced that Catrilas was the one with the "higher purpose." She was not to be touched or forced to work, but neither was she to be given an opportunity to escape and, even on the day of her liberation, she did not get that chance.
Fleorie was put to work in short order, cooking for her captors among other things, with her children held as hostages for her good behavior. That had not proved a sufficient deterrent, however, because she had attempted to escape at the first opportunity. It was only with great difficulty that the orcs brought her back, bruised and bleeding from several wounds (though, in fairness, none of those who recaptured her looked like they would feel particularly good the next morning either). The orcs had decided to kill her son, Teorand, out of spite, but Catrilas somehow got her hands on a knife and threatened to kill herself if Teorand or his older sister Eoscla were harmed. Ashlug had come, and managed to break the impasse by personally guaranteeing the safety of the children if Catrilas surrendered the knife. When another orc objected, Ashlug had merely replied that "When the time comes for her to fulfill her purpose, the children will be dealt with." Following that ominous statement, Catrilas hesitated, but Ashlug had merely strode up to her and taken the knife from her hand before walking out. The other orcs followed, dragging Fleorie behind them. Based on the nature of the screams Catrilas heard that night and the fact that she had not seen her sister since, she assumed that Fleorie had been tortured and killed. She cried much after that, both for the loss of her last surviving adult relative and because she blamed herself for not asking for her sister's safety as well.
Despite her fears about orc reprisals against the children, however, Eoscla and Teorand had not been harmed. Though cruel, the orcs, or at least this Ashlug, had proved honorable. Which was more than she could say for her liberator, at least initially. Catrilas had caught him off guard and was angrily elucidating what she felt that night. Listening to her talk about what he had done was more painful than anything else Caldrion had ever experienced. She vented her tears and shame at him and, hearing about the degree to which he had hurt and shamed her only increased the oppressive sense of guilt he felt, especially considering that there was no way he could respond, because everything she said was true and he had no excuse. The fact that he had done such an awful thing behind which there was no reason whatsoever continued to haunt him. Especially after her outburst, he cried himself to sleep almost every night, tears for the lovely woman he had violated, and tears for that unforgivable sin he had committed.
It was on one such night that she walked into the hut he had claimed for his own. Why she had come, he would never find out, because the first thing she did was ask him why he was weeping. Caldrion could not remember what he had answered, but he must have told her the truth because she came over to him, put her hand on his shoulder and, looking him in the eye, told him that she had forgiven him. "If I hadn't forgiven you, I would have killed you the other day." He had only continued weeping, saying that his actions, so abhorrent to the Valar, were unworthy of her forgiveness. And then she asked him directly, "Was it true, as Sirgo said, that you had no such experience before that night?" Something in her blue eyes made it apparent that more than Sirgo's credibility was riding on his answer. He nodded, adding "And I wish I could take it back. My first time should have been with the love I feel for the loveliest woman I've ever met, not the evil lust I subjected her to."
At that point, she did something for which he was forever grateful but could never understand. She hugged him tightly, as though he were a hurt child, began stroking his hair, and told him, "Nevertheless, I forgive you. You are not the same man who raped me. No amount of tears can change what is behind us, just as no amount of tears can undo my stupid failure to ask for my sister's safety as well. We have new lives before us, which we cannot live in the past. I forgive you; can you forgive yourself?"
Caldrion sobbed again. If she could forgive him, then all he could do was accept her forgiveness and promise that he would never again lose control of himself like that. He answered her embrace, letting her squeeze out the last of his tears. Holding and being held by her felt so natural that it only gradually occurred to him what was going on. These were indeed strange times if the victim should knowingly and willingly take her attacker in her arms to comfort him. And then he most unexpectedly felt her lips lightly brushing his cheek. He turned to look at her, and the light in her eyes told him the answer before he even asked the question. "Could you fall in love with the man who committed the worst crime possible against you?" She broke eye contact, looked down toward her feet, licked her lips, and met his gaze again. "I think I already have." She leaned toward him, but rather suddenly pulled back. "And that isn't exactly true. You could have killed me." She leaned forward again, and this time their lips met. This was their real first kiss. She had forgiven him, and was treating him as though their first, and decidedly one-sided, intimate experience was forgotten. That kiss, however, was one he would not let himself forget.
[The ceremony that follows is my attempt at a reasonable reconstruction. My father witnessed and related in some detail one particular ceremony that was simultaneously a contemporary human wedding and an ancient elven marriage and, of course, I have first-hand experiences with weddings as well. I have thus tried to guess at the nature of a ceremony that is between the elven and human weddings while also having the simplicity of our modern ceremonies, a simplicity which I imagine would prevail in a society as far removed from the elven sources as this one was.]
Compared to what had come before, the next thing Caldrion had to do was easy. The largest hurdle that remained for him to overcome was his own amazement that Catrilas was amenable to his affections despite the nature of his first encounter with her. Her family had practiced marriage, though the ceremony had consisted only of a short exchange of vows, but she certainly knew what he had meant when he asked her to marry him and had not hesitated in saying yes.
So it was that, not long after the Grand Army of Aratur made its triumphant return thereto, Caldrion and Catrilas stood opposite each other before Graldor's throne, directly in front of which the King stood. The hall was, as on the night that the ring had first come into their lives, full of people and set for a feast.
Graldor opened the ceremony. "Before the Valar and, coincidentally, in the sight of the people, Caldrion and Catrilas have come to exchange vows of marriage. If there are no objections, I would request that they be allowed to do so before we begin our celebration of the Feast of St. Gwindor."
Even though he had known what was coming, Caldrion had to stifle a giggle as the assembled crowd remained silent. There had been no question in Graldor's mind that his friend's wedding merited a feast, but he was unwilling to justify the wedding feast as such because, on the one hand, one of the principals was a rapist (though, thanks to efforts of the King and Sirgo, few knew that the affair was anything more than rumor) and, on the other hand, Graldor himself was, to say the least, not an upstanding example of the lifelong monogamy that Caldrion and Catrilas were advocating by their actions. Hence the canonization of another character from the stories of Graldor's youth.
Satisfied that none were objecting, Graldor nodded. "Good. As I am given to understand," he said while glancing at Caldrion and Sirgo, "the custom of marriage was ordained by the Valar to the Firstborn to both promote singular commitment among partners and to provide a stable environment in which to raise children. In that tradition, I call upon the Valar to sit in judgment of Caldrion and Catrilas as they confess their love and promise to remain faithful to each other. Catrilas?"
Caldrion turned to her, still wondering how the women of the town had made her look even more beautiful than she did ordinarily. He thought her hair had been radiant before, but tonight it shone so brightly that, had he the skill to do so, he could have read by its light. And words failed to describe the white gown they had made for the bride of the town's hero. It was not only more ornate than anything seen in Aratur before then but would probably have sufficed for a fairly well-to-do girl in Numenor. He found it hard to remember that this was not a dream and she was not an angel.
She took a deep breath before beginning her statement. One of the traditions of the nomads with whom Sirgo had lived was that the woman always said her vow first, to hopefully prevent her from being forced into marriage against her will. Graldor thought it would be particularly fitting, and slightly ironic, to use that tradition for this ceremony. "In sight of these witnesses here assembled, I confess that I do love you, Captain Caldrion of Aratur and of Numenor, with all my heart and mind, and I swear to you that I will be faithful to you in body and spirit, to the exclusion of all others. I swear to honor, obey, and cherish you as long as there is breath in my body. I swear that where you are, whether in danger, sorrow, illness, or the boundless joy that I hope to have with you, there will I be. I call upon the Valar to attend my vows and strike me down should I fail to uphold them, now or in the future."
Graldor paused for some seconds, letting the weight of what Catrilas had just sworn sink in, and then turned to Caldrion. "In the sight of the Valar, my Lord Graldor, and the assembled people of Aratur, I, Caldrion of Numenor, confess that I do love you, Fair Lady Catrilas of the Northern Downs, with all of my heart and mind, and I swear that I will be faithful to you in body and spirit, to the exclusion of all others. I swear to honor and cherish you in any and all circumstances. If I should be found unfaithful in my oath to you, may the Valar, through their agent King Graldor, strike off the offending member. I love you more than I do my own life, and where you are, there I will be, if not in body than in spirit."
Graldor was smirking, because Caldrion had not told him of that particular embellishment, but with the vows spoken, he stepped back, allowing Sirgo to come forward. Caldrion and Catrilas each took a step toward the other and clasped hands, which Sirgo put one hand above and the other below. "These vows having been spoken, may the Valar bless this marriage. May Caldrion and Catrilas be given the strength to persevere in their oaths and the patience to live their pledges daily. May their union be made fruitful and happy, and may their days be filled with peace, joy, and love."
Graldor, a grin broadening on his face, proclaimed "In accordance with the promises made today, I declare you duly married husband and wife." Caldrion took another step toward his wife, but she practically leaped into his arms. They kissed quite fervently while townsfolk applauded, some politely and others with a bit more gusto, and parted only as the food began appearing on the tables. "I've been waiting to do that all afternoon," Catrilas stated. Caldrion did not say out loud what he had been waiting all afternoon to do, but he assumed that his face must have betrayed him, because she giggled and said "Later. First we eat."
[After that fairly long diversion, it is now time for me to return to the words of my father and for the story to shift its focus back toward Graldor.]
Two days after the wedding, it was time for a more somber event stemming from that fateful battle day. An earthen mound had been raised along the path leading up to the gates of Aratur, on the edge of the fields where he had trained many of the young warriors to ride. In its hollow, rocks had been stacked to make a bier: the final resting place of Neblis.
Graldor, Caldrion, Sirgo, and Ared, one of his cavalrymen, offered memories of the deceased and expressed their hopes that his spirit would be at peace. After the body was laid in the tomb and sealed in with beams of wood and soil, those who wished, mostly the soldiers and others he had taught, laid little white flowers upon the mound, what would become a living memorial to one of the original members of Aratur, a man respected without exception by those who knew him, at least as far as Caldrion was aware. While the flowers were deposited and the people returned to their homes, the four speakers kept watch; Graldor stood next to the mound, his hands fidgeting with impatience, Ared knelt in reverence, and Sirgo and Caldrion stood some distance away. Between the lingering giddiness over his marriage and his wife's apparently successful attempts to convince her niece and nephew that they could in fact trust and love him, Caldrion was having an extremely difficult time keeping a broad smile off his face.
While telling Sirgo about the latter in the softest tones he could muster, however, Caldrion noticed that the old man seemed rather distracted and disturbed. "What is it?" Sirgo shook his head. "I do not know, and that concerns me. We have killed large numbers of orcs, more than doubled our population with the addition of their former slaves, and are generally in a fairly strong strategic position toward the long-term goal of conquering and settling these plains. And yet I am unable to shake this feeling. I worry that I might be missing something, that Graldor is more important in the scheme of things than we thought, or that his destiny may not be to found an empire on this sea of grass."
Caldrion was silent for a moment. He was unsure what to reply, but was spared the need to do so by Ared who, having allowed the last mourner to lay a flower, had risen to his feet and was now walking back into town. Sirgo began walking that same path and Caldrion, after pausing for a few more breaths of silence, followed. At the edge of the buildings, he turned back and was greeted by a decidedly strange sight.
Graldor had leapt on top of the mound, his arms raised in supplication but his fists clenched, and his gaze turned not to the Valar in the west but rather toward the east. As Caldrion watched, Graldor dropped to his knees, his fists gliding close over the surface of the mound and his nose conspicuously sniffing the air. Caldrion wondered how his King could become so grief-stricken over a death that had happened some weeks past but decided it best not to intervene. Turning back toward the town, he heard Graldor wailing. Or at least he wanted to believe it was wailing. It could have been laughing, in which case it was the most frightening laughter he had ever heard.