DISCLAIMER: It is called fanfiction for a reason, so just sit back, relax, and read… no questions asked.
CHAPTER 4: THERE AND BACK AGAIN
Let books be your table, and you shall be full of delights. Let them be your mattress, and you shall sleep peaceful nights.(*1)
After the heady delights of Yule, the advent of the coming year was marked by very few in Edoras. Only Cressida made mention of its passing, and even then she couldn't say much because that might lead to a lot of explaining. Up 'til now, she had managed to avoid or brush off the more prying questions. Fortunately, the townspeople seemed content to live and let live.
Of course it was ironic that Cressida's foreknowledge seemed to make the days pass by very slowly, even though it was only a mere matter of weeks. Aided by the thawing of the weather, Cressida had been making it her habit to wander through the market in the general direction of Meduseld. Just in case. Thus, when the town gossips spoke of one of the Mearas, an old man in white, a dark-haired man, an Elf, and a Dwarf, she was right on hand and made her way to the town-gates, where a small crowd had gathered. Mostly, people seemed to be there to admire Shadowfax, and even Cressida's miniscule knowledge of horses told her that this creature was exquisite. She, however, was waiting on another event.
The wait was not a long one, for the great, double-doors at the front of the Golden Hall opened. There came the sounds of scuffling and shouting, and then the betrayer of Rohan was hurled ignominiously down the steps. This initial group was quickly by another larger one made up mostly of Riders, but was headed by a man dressed in plump furs. He was tall and pale-haired with a wide band of gold encircling his brow. It was Théoden; the growing crowd began to buzz as it sighted him.
The Worm was allowed to run. Cressida gave a small smirk when their eyes briefly met.
"Hail, Théoden-King!"
Everyone kneeled in reverence.
XXX
According to Wilfrith, the Worm's influence had left the running of Rohirric lands in a terrible state, so Théoden was pitched headlong into sorting things out. Rohan had long been assailed by both Orcs and the Hillmen of Dunland, causing a steady trickle of refugees to arrive at Edoras. The King, his personal Guard, and many other Riders had swiftly travelled to the Fords of Isen, where Erkenbrand was said to be battling Orcs, but they only found the army to be scattered to the four winds. They returned dispirited at not being able to help defend their kinsmen and women. A private counsel was swiftly called.
The very next day orders for the complete evacuation of Edoras were issued. Even though Cressida had known of such a course, her mind was still in a whirl as she tried to decide what to take with her. The War of the Ring seemed a lot less adventurous and exciting when you were caught at the sharp end of it.
She eventually decided upon blankets, a small change of clothes, and personal toiletries. She did, however, have two large items that were immediately packed: her prized leather-bound tomes filled with neat versions of all her stories. She could carry one and surely Mistress Hild could find room in their cart for the other. It was hoped these stories would fill people with hope in the dark days to come.
Everyone was quiet as the column left the city, led by the King and surrounded by Riders. Most people had never made such a long journey before and all were worried by what would happen to their families and homes. There was the odd snatch of chatter as the day wore on, but people mainly kept themselves to themselves. The only significant stop was to water the horses and to hand around bread and fruit.
Théoden, his Riders, and their new friends kept a sharp look out. Legolas kept a little in front of the column and so was able to warn them of the approaching attack by Orcs and Wargs. While the King led the Riders into battle, his niece led the civilians away from it. They were sitting ducks really, but Cressida kept her thoughts to herself. She knew they would reach Helm's Deep safely, even if it meant many brave men losing their lives.
The calculations of war were swiftly showing themselves in a new light.
XXX
"Helm's Deep!"
Upon hearing this, Cressida jumped down from the cart and ran to the head of the column.
The flat, grey floor of the valley stretched before them, the surrounding hills eventually coming together to a point where the Hornburg had been built many years before. Shielding her eyes against the sun, Cressida could just make out the snaking causeway that ran up to the entrance. There was the great tower that housed Helm Hammerhand's horn, the long Deeping Wall, and the Deeping Stream which would soon become both a source of life and of death.
Cressida was only dimly aware of the others passing her until a hand landed on her shoulder. It was the Lady Éowyn.
"I've heard so much about Helm's Deep, that to finally see it in real life … is an odd feeling. The fate of so many is about to be decided. I never thought I'd live to see such a day." Unconsciously, Cressida felt for Tinkerbell below her bodice.
"War has a way of clarifying people's thoughts. Now the time has come for the Éolingas to stand up and take their chance. But … to die in battle … what a glorious thing."
They looked at each other and – just briefly – something seemed to pass between them, some kind of understanding, but Éowyn was called away, leaving Cressida to re-join the many other anonymous faces within the column.
Things had been so quiet on the walk from Edoras that the buzz of voices greeting them from behind the wooden gates seemed almost surreal. People were milling all around, so Cressida and Elfleda settled themselves into a corner and started to tell stories, but even their words couldn't stem the tide of dark rumours. Many villages had already been attacked; everyone was tense and scared.
The women and children were eventually ordered into the Glittering Caves, whilst all those able to bear arms were sent to the armoury. Cressida hadn't seen Wilfrith since he'd rode away from the column, and it terrified her to think she might never see him again.
XXX
Those in the Caves kept up their spirits by singing and Cressida told more stories, but as the sounds of the battle raged outside, everyone began to get quieter and quieter. It seemed to be one hundred times louder where they were because the noises seemed to reverberate all around them. A sudden explosion had everyone jumping, whilst grit was shaken from the ceiling. No one got any sleep and they all huddled together, hoping for the end.
XXX
Silence.
Then the scraping of the great, wooden doors being pulled open brought everyone to their feet. Éowyn moved to the front, sword held up in readiness. It was Théoden himself. He smiled fondly at his niece and placed his hand over hers.
"Béma has granted us victory!" he declared. (*2)
There was a great cheer and the women began to hug one another. Some made to move passed the King, but he stopped them, suddenly serious.
"We have yet to finish clearing the field. Our brothers lie entangled amongst the filth of Sauron. While I do not forbid you from leaving the Keep, I strongly advise against it, especially if you have young ones with you. If your menfolk have been wounded – or killed – I will of course let you know."
Théoden bowed solemnly and left, closely followed by Éowyn. Taking their cue from this, the women began to venture outside, but most heeded the warning. They began lighting fires and preparing cauldrons full of warming broth, whilst osome gathered linens and medicines, and prepared beds for the wounded. Everyone took turns in caring for the young and elderly. Men were drifting in and out, and there was the occasional outburst as couples were reunited – or someone heard the opposite.
There was Wilfrith, standing in the doorway – he was whole, he was alive! Before Cressida knew what she was doing, she was running across the room, straight into Wilfrith's arms. They held each other for a long time, but when Cressida made to pull away, she found herself still enveloped.
"Leofstan," he croaked.
"Oh, Wilfrith, I'm so sorry."
"It was an Orc attack, when they broke through the gates. They were so vicious…" Wilfrith's voice caught in his throat.
"Hey, hey, you know you've always got me… if you wanted to talk."
Wilfrith pulled back and smiled a watery smile.
"I know. I'm glad."
His hand twitched suddenly, as though he wanted another hug, but his eyes were now focussing on a point behind Cressida. She turned, there was a older woman, who looked a lot like Leofstan. Wilfrith slowly went over. Cressida watched as the woman's face changed to one of anguish. Another woman came hurrying up. There was no need for words; they left the women alone.
Bodies still littered the battleground, but there were the makings of a Dunlending burial mound. Piles of Orc carcasses were already sending a stench into the air, while the dead Rohirrim were slowly being carried back to the Keep. A strange sort of calmness seemed to permeate all around. Cressida and Wilfrith stood for a while on the side-lines, giving each other silent comfort, their hands gently entwined.
XXX
It was a much different atmosphere once everyone was safely back at Edoras, as the whole town turned out to honour the dead. The doors of Meduseld had been thrown open, just as they had in such times of yore. Rich and poor rubbed shoulders together and ate from the same boards. There was a real sense of community – a community that was whole once again. Already, the name of Théoden Ednew (Théoden the Renewed) was being talked of with great pride.
With so many crowded into Meduseld, there was not much room for dancing – unless, that is, you were small enough to fit on top of the tables as Merry and Pippin were. There was lots of singing, though. Some of the ladies were looking scandalised as they heard the lyrics. Even Wilfrith was rubbing his neck in embarrassment; perhaps this was because he guessed that Cressida had guessed that he had been an enthusiastic participant on previous occasions.
"I do apologise, ladies," he stuttered as a particularly 'frisky' tune came to a halt.
"Pfff, I've heard plenty of the like back home," answered Cressida dismissively. "But enlighten me: were those the ordinary lyrics, or the 'Rider' ones?"
"Think you could do better?" Elfnod enquired idly.
"As a matter of fact, I do. I'll bet you I can sing a song with decent lyrics, and it'll still be a hit."
"The stake?"
"Loser buys a round of drinks at The Stag's Rest."
"Suits me."
Cressida had been waiting for this moment. Throughout all their meets at the inn, she had been promising herself that she would contribute a song. She'd even gone so far as to teach the tune to the band so as to have the greatest impact, but she'd never quite had the courage to stand up and sing. Now she rose and went to speak to Mildred, the lead-fiddler, who nodded. As Cressida stood in front of the group, she whispered to herself, 'This is for you, England.'
Here's forty shillings on the drum
For those who volunteer to come
To 'list and fight the foe today
Over the hills and far away
O'er the hills and o'er the main
Through Rohan and Gondor by the rein
Théoden commands and we obey
Over the hills and far away
When duty calls me I must go
To stand and face another foe
But part of me will always stray
Over the hills and far away
O'er the hills and o'er the main…
If I should fall to rise no more
As many comrades did before
Then ask the fifes and drums to play
Over the hills and far away
O'er the hills and o'er the main…
Then fall in, lads, behind the drum
With colours blazing like the sun
Along the road to come what may
Over the hills and far away
O'er the hills and o'er the main… (*3)
As Cressida was nearing the end, she could hear others joining in with the chorus, and then there was applause as Mildred played the final notes with a flourish. Both made curtseys to the assembled crowd. Elfnod smiled slightly and raised his tankard in salute.
Cressida felt a presence behind her, it was Wilfrith. As the others went back to their drinks, he pulled her outside onto the terrace.
"I think you've made an ally there," he said as they reached the end of the walkway. He cleared his throat.
Cressida could read the intention in his eyes, she felt her heart begin to thump. Perhaps it was time to take control of her own story. Before Wilfrith could bend his head, Cressida was up on tiptoe and had pressed her lips to his. She could feel the surprise this caused, but he was soon reciprocating. The kiss was slow, tender, and a little tremulous. When they parted, Wilfrith grinned.
"It seems my Lady beat me to it. The Royal Gardens are just down there; they're a little overgrown these days, but…"
"Sounds lovely."
Cressida took the proffered arm and began to pull Wilfrith back the way they'd come, this time eliciting a chuckle.
XXX
"I should really ask your father's permission," said Wilfrith as they meandered through borders spilling over with plants.
"Yes, well, my father's a waste of space. You'll be better off asking my moth-"
Cressida was pulled up short. She crossed her arms defensively, not catching Wilfrith's eye, and began fiddling with the silver chain that hung round her neck. It was more visible with the lower neckline of her evening dress. Wilfrith regarded her carefully.
"What is that?" he eventually enquired.
Cressida narrowed her eyes, but reached down and brought her pendant out into the light.
"This is Tinkerbell. She reminds me to have faith and trust."
"You've never said where you come from. I hadn't liked to ask."
It was not a question, but Cressida answered it anyway.
"It's complicated. I don't even know all the details myself, yet here I am. Somehow. Somewhere."
Cressida's little chuckle caught in her throat. Wilfrith sighed and stepped up to her. With two fingers, he brought Cressida's face up to look at his. Then, with a hand gently cupping her cheek, he looked deeply into her eyes.
"Now is not the time for questions. If the rumours are true, we'll be riding for battle again soon. We'll talk when this War is ended."
Cressida nodded mutely. Wilfrith brought her close and kissed the top of her head. He didn't speak, but as he cradled her, he looked out into the night, his mind winging its way to the field of battle.
XXX
Both March and May would be significant months this year, the former for the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and the latter for the coronation of Aragorn, or King Elessar as he would be known. Other than these details, Cressida wasn't really able to gauge when the Riders would begin returning to Edoras. She supposed the ill and injured would arrive first, but she didn't want Wilfrith to be part of this group.
They might not have talked of such things yet, but Cressida was determined to prove her worthiness as a Rohirric wife. Although this would mean learning about household matters the so called 'old-fashioned' way. Hopefully, cooking and cleaning wouldn't be too hard, just a case of using different methods and ingredients. Budgeting wouldn't be an issue either. No, laundry would prove the hardest task to master; having always been used to a washing machine, Cressida knew going back to basics would be tough. Maybe she could ask Mistress Hild for help, and then do some of the chores in exchange for a reduction of rent. The coin she saved could go towards her hopeful future with Wilfrith.
Cressida sighed happily, only for the image of her mother to suddenly blot her mood. This was a time in her life they had discussed so often, complete with all the fairytale details. She began to fiddle with Tinkerbell.
"Oh, Mum… I wish you could be here… I wish I could be with you, but I love him so much. You understand, don't you? All I want is what you and Nkosana have; I want my own fairytale ending. I know now we probably won't see each other again, but please be happy for me."
XXX
Even from up in her room, Cressida could hear the sounds of horses. There was a tangible fission of excitement in the air. She bounded downstairs and walked swiftly across the bar, glancing over at the forest tapestry as she did so. She skidded to halt, hardly believing her eyes. Surely it couldn't… but she'd looked at that tapestry almost every day. How could she not have noticed? But there it was, in full technicolour: the green trees, the golden thatch, the blue door, the brown, twisting path, and the little girl… in the red, hooded cloak… Cressida peered closer. There he was! The grey wolf hiding behind the trees, looking so pale amongst the bark.
Beep.
Cressida shivered slightly, listening to the comforting familiarity of the whinnying horses. Fresh air. Fresh air and sunshine. Yes, that was what she needed. She left the inn and almost immediately caught sight of Captain Cyneweard.
"Captain!" she called, waving at him.
"Good day to you, Miss. You are looking well."
"You too, but please tell me: what of Wilfrith? Is he injured?"
The Captain swallowed, not quite managing to look her in the eye.
"Would that he were, Miss. I'm afraid it is to be assumed that Wilfrith lost his life on the battlefield."
Cressida felt the pit of her stomach drop.
"No… he can't… what… what happened?"
"That's the worst of it. We believe he was taken by one of the Fellbeasts. His body has not been recovered."
Beep.
Cressida started to hyperventilate, unable to speak.
"Thank you, Captain Cyneweard, your message, hard as it was, was faithfully delivered. I'll take over now."
Cressida felt herself being enveloped from behind, they were the soft, plump arms of Mistress Hild. She turned into the embrace, still incoherent from shock.
"Why him?" she finally managed to croak.
"Because your mind could no longer support him."
This odd sentence broke through the fog.
"My mind? What are you talking about?"
Mistress Hild took her by the shoulders.
"Open your mind, child, it is time to remember."
In spite of herself, Cressida closed her eyes.
It was dark. It was raining. She… she was driving. There was something in the road. A screech of brakes…
The sound was so clear. It filled Cressida's mind with its horrible, deadly mechanicalness.
Beep.
"Who are you?"
"I am that which helps souls, who are not yet ready, to make their final journey."
"Souls?"
"You are dying, Cressida."
"But it's not my time. I'm… I'm barely twenty."
"I know, pet, it never gets any easier for me."
"Can't you send me back? There must still be time."
"I don't make the rules."
"What about Mum?"
"Nkosana will take care of her; he's a good man."
"I don't want to die." But when Cressida looked at Mistress Hild, she saw her answer reflected in those warm, hazel eyes. "What happens now?"
"The next time you walk into The Stag's Rest will be your last."
"I could refuse to go in."
"Then you would simply fade. Trust me, child, this is the best way."
Cressida's eyes flickered to the inn. Things had changed for her so much in there. She let out a shuddering breath, squared her shoulders, and walked purposefully up to the building, pausing briefly on the threshold.
XXX
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…
The steady rhythm of Cressida's monitors, which had become almost comforting in their familiarity, suddenly went into crash-mode. Ella was on her feet in an instant, screaming for help, but the doctors and nurses were already on their way. She was unceremoniously bundled into the relatives' room.
Once alone, Ella couldn't sit still. She paced frantically. She tried texting Nkosana, but her hands were shaking so much she could only manage four letters: HELP. It couldn't be happening; they'd said there was hope, they'd said. Cressida had been rallying, they'd said she had.
Not like this. Not after everything.
Ella had thought reading to her daughter might help. She knew Cressida would prefer that to idle chit-chat. The Elves and the Shoemaker had come first and then many others, including A Christmas Carol. A logical choice, given the time of year. Yes, Cressida would appreciate the detail.
Melvin didn't. Melvin never would. He'd only visited once. A special leave of absence. Not exactly private, given the looming presence of two security guards. Ella had sort him out. It was a much regretted moment of weakness, for he'd scoffed at sight of the book on her chair.
"Like she's going to hear you."
"The nurses are hopeful she does."
"We both read to her."
Nkosana had stood behind Ella, silently scrutinising Melvin. He of course knew of Ella's past and detested Melvin for it. Maybe it was Nkosana's presence that had persuaded Melvin not to stay for his allotted time. Ella was glad of it. She was glad of Nkosana, too.
Yes, Ella had found her Prince Charming. They'd met through the publishing company which commissioned most of Ella's work. Theirs had been the perfect romance, complete with a white wedding at the English Heritage property Cleeve Abbey. They had had two boys, Hugo and Leo, and Nkosana treated Cressida as though she was his own.
Had treated.
The cold realisation was slowly creeping into Ella's heart. She loved Nkosana and their sons, of course she did, but they could never understand the love and life she and Cressida shared.
The Consultant came in, her face holding a difficult expression. Ella felt her knees give way. It was just her and the Consultant. She felt alone, so completely alone.
THE END
Not every story has a happy ending, but that doesn't mean it's not worth telling.(*4)
*1 Ephrem the Syrian (c.303-373AD).
*2 Béma is synonymous with the Vala Oromë (the Hunter).
*3 Over the Hills and Far Away is a traditional marching-song dating from at least the 17th Century. There have been many different lyrics through the years. The ones used here (slightly adapted!) were written by John Tams for the 90s TV series Sharpe, starring Sean Bean. Seven degrees of separation and all that…
*4 Lucian (c.125-180AD).
All names were sourced from behindthename
Finally, thank you for reading my story. It has been an absolute delight. It may be a while until I publish again – not through a lack of ideas, but simply a lack of time to write them all down. Until then, I bid you adieu.
Rumrum x