Chapter Eight - The Whisper of War
"Dídauar would you stop pacing!" exclaimed Halbarad, grabbing hold of Dídauar's arm and literally forcing her to sit down. "We can't leave for another four days at least, so will you please calm down!"
It was three days after Dídauar and the Elven twins had departed Imladris to inform Halbarad that she was returning to Rohan. Halbarad had immediately told them, that under no circumstances were the three going to Rohan alone. He had insisted that they wait until the next patrol groups were due back from rotation. He halved the number due to leave and together with those returning thirty warriors could be spared from the defence of the north, especially when Elladan relayed that Glorfindel had promised that the Elves would guard the land around Imladris as well as the Valley itself. Of course the Dúnedain returning from patrol needed time to recover strength before being thrust headlong into a situation that no one had a clear picture of. For now, it was a case of sit and wait and it was driving Dídauar insane.
"I know what is going to happen. I know where it is going to happen, how it is going to happen and who it is going to happen to. What I don't know is when it is going to happen," said Dídauar as she fidgeted with the edge of the map on the table.
"And your pacing is not going to speed that answer in its coming," replied Halbarad, staying her hands before she damaged the parchment. "It is very likely that you will never know that until after the fact. I'm sorry Dídauar but you have to accept that you will never see Théodred and Boromir in this world again."
"Not with a fight," said Dídauar vehemently.
"Go and help Culas with the supplies," ordered Halbarad as she began to pace again. Dídauar looked apologetically at her cousin, fully aware that was driving the older man to distraction but she could help it. Her heart demanded that she act while her mind was telling her that she had to wait for the others. Nodding, she turned on her heel a final time and stalked across the settlement to where Culas was separating food into bundles for travel.
Once they had left the Stronghold, Dídauar lost track of time as she sought to reach the Isen and Théodred before he fell. She knew she was pushing the horses and the men that were accompanying her to their limits but no one said anything. They all knew that she was very protective of who she called her own, and was extremely driven when one such individual was in danger. The younger ones, particularly Arahael, Tarcil, Culas and Nemír, knew exactly how maternal Dídauar was when she chose to be.
In total, from when Dídauar had left Imladris for the second time, it took twenty-seven days for the company to reach Rohan, during which time they had discovered yet another path that the Wolves had taken, come under numerous attacks by Orcs and wild-men and Dídauar had yet another vision. This time, Dídauar was granted the opportunity to see the faces of those who were to fall. Previously, Dídauar had been relatively unaffected after a vision, regardless of how violent it was (if one ignored the fact that she was usually exhausted for a few hours and prone to shaking long after she fell asleep) but this time she cried out in pain and terror. The rest of their company temporarily forgotten, Elrohir and Halbarad sought to calm Dídauar who emerged from her vision in tears. In between cursing the Valar and Sauron, Elrohir held his foster-sister as her heart finally acknowledged that Théodred and Boromir would die.
"They don't know," she sobbed, gripping tightly to Elrohir's tunic. "He didn't tell them!" Unexpected Elrohir growled causing Halbarad to look up.
"Do I want to know?" he asked.
"My Father was supposed to tell the Fellowship that Boromir was in danger," replied Elrohir. "Evidentially, he hasn't and Kalya is suffering for it."
"He what?" demanded Halbarad. "Why would he keep that a secret? Does he what rid of that man so desperately? I know he wasn't overly keen to see him in the Fellowship."
"He wouldn't do that," replied Elrohir. "Especially to someone who Kalya cares about."
"Then why?" demanded Halbarad. Dídauar was ever the warrior and was rarely caught having the breakdown she was now. Even around Aragorn she would attempt to hide her distress. To say Halbarad was concerned would be a serious understatement.
"Wrong Elf?" tried Elrohir. "Adar would have spoken to the Lady Galadriel rather than Estel. Maybe they spoke too late?"
It was Dídauar who responded. "Speed is a key factor in the Quest, they will most likely have travelled by river. It only takes four days to travel from Lothlórien to Sarn Gebir by boat. I told him almost a month ago, there was no chance of him missing the Fellowship. If Adar told Galadriel then she is the broken link."
"But why?" repeated Halbarad. "Middle Earth needs every warrior it possibly can to survive this War. Why risk the loss of the leader of a nations military?"
"May be this is just something that can't be changed," said Elrohir. Dídauar made to leap out of his arms like a gazelle but the Elf held her fast.
"No," he said, taking her hands and twining them with his, crossed them across her chest. "You will be of no use to anyone if you are injured or killed. Wait till light."
Over the coming days, Dídauar pushed her company hard, determined to reach Rohan but upon their arrival at the Isen, she knew it had all been in vein. The scouts that had been sent ahead had reported a large army of Orcs, Wildmen and Uruk-Hai massed along the sides of the Isen and numerous bodies of Men despoiled by the creatures. Though they had not followed the trail that far, the scouts had speculated that the source of the army was Isengard, the tracks and army position lending themselves to such an assumption, since virtually nothing of the Enemy was to be found after the last soldier was passed on the way to the Sea.
Carefully the company made their way towards the Isen's banks, leading their horses rather than riding them. With every mile they covered, and every slain Rohirric soldier they encountered, Dídauar's temper rose. Her people watched in concern as their Captain withdrew her affection and had it replaced by a mask of bitterness and anger. By the time they reached the banks of the Isen, having been caught in a couple of skirmishes with Orcs and Uruk-Hai, the Dídauar of Eriador they knew was all but gone.
Coming across a Rohirric encampment, which was understandable heavily guarded, Dídauar marched towards the nearest warrior, Halbarad at her side.
'Where is your Captain?' she asked, using a language she had not spoken for nearly thirty years.
'Who are you?' replied the soldier, looking a little startled to hear his only tongue coming from the mouth of a stranger.
'My name is of little consequence, but know that I am a friend of Rohan,' replied Dídauar.
'The same was said of the White Wizard,' replied the Rohirrim, not budging an inch. 'Yet since he extended his hand of friendship, this land has begun to fail.'
'Saruman is a foul traitor and will be made to pay for his betrayal,' snarled Dídauar. 'Where is your Captain?'
'You will have to wait until my relief arrives. I cannot abandon my post and I do not trust you mean no harm,' said the warrior. Dídauar sighed in frustration but knew better than to try and force her way past a Rohirrim on duty.
Two hours later, the guard's relief arrived and after giving the man strict instructions to keep an eye on the company camped just within their sight, he signalled to Halbarad and Dídauar to follow him.
The Dúnedain were led to a moderately sized tent in the middle of the encampment where they were met by two further guards, both of whom were heavily armed. Their 'guide' had a swift word with both men and the tent flaps were drawn back to allow them entrance.
'Forgive me, sir, but there are two strangers here demanding to speak with you,' reported the guard. His Captain glanced up and his eyes widened in amazement when he caught sight of Dídauar.
'They insisted that they were friends of Rohan, yet would not give me names, would you have me disarm them?' asked the guard when his Captain did not verbally respond.
'That is no way to treat an ally,' cautioned the Captain. 'You may leave us.' The man looked a little sceptical but the Captain gave him a stern glare.
'Yes Captain,' he muttered, before ducking back through the flaps, where he could be heard given the pair on the other side orders to be extra vigilant while their Captain was 'entertaining'.
'Captain Faerlain, it has been along time since you have graced Rohan with your presence,' said the Rohirrim, walking forward and holding out a hand.
'Thirty-nine years,' replied Dídauar.
'And you have barely changed,' sighed the man. 'I wish we were all so lucky.' Halbarad cleared his throat, causing Dídauar to start. Halbarad had no grasp of the language of the Rohirrim, so was understandably lost.
"Sorry Halbarad. Grimbold, this is my cousin and second; Halbarad. Halbarad, this is Grimbold, warrior of the Westfold," she said, switching the conversation back to Common Tongue. Grimbold and Halbarad clasped wrists in the classic warrior greeting.
"What brings you back to Rohan?" asked Grimbold.
"War, rumours and dreams," replied Dídauar. "And Théodred."
"Alas that you are too late. The Prince was slain six days ago," said Grimbold. The only betrayal of Dídauar's pain to the words showed in her eyes and only caught if one knew what to look for.
"Where is he?" she asked, swallowing back the lump of emotion that gathered her throat.
"Buried with his fallen men where they fell," replied Grimbold. "Erkenbrand sent word to the King asking for aid."
"Do not count on it arriving swiftly," said Dídauar. "And I regret to say that my men cannot offer it to you either. My brother is abroad in Rohan and I must seek him." Grimbold's demeanour changed at that.
"That is joyous news," he said. "Hope is at last beginning to creep back into Rohan."
"I pray that it is not short lived," said Dídauar. "I wish you luck Grimbold. May fortune shine upon your path."
"And yours as well," said Grimbold briefly gripping Dídauar's forearm, followed by Halbarad's. "I will have the men grant you free passage across the Fords."
"May I beg one favour before we depart?" asked Dídauar. Grimbold gave a weak smile.
"He is buried beneath a mound on the island, surrounded by spears and his banner flies atop," he said. Dídauar gave a curt nod and ducked back out the tent.
An hour later, after Dídauar had paid her respects to the fallen Prince and swearing to defend his country, the Dúnedain crossed the Isen swiftly, leaving behind Grimbold's company on the west bank, followed by Elfhelm's on the eastern shore, and turned north, heading for Edoras.
Dídauar still sent forward scouts, not wishing to be caught unprepared should someone make them out to yet another target, and also to find out the state of the country she had once called home. Most of what was reported involved destruction and death, which served only to force Dídauar further into the shell she was erecting around herself.
"Shadow!" yelled Culas as he and Nemír galloped back to their people as they paused for a brief period. Halbarad glanced up and caught sight of the wild-eyed youths. Dídauar, having been literally dragged away from their companions by Elrohir and forced to engage in body combat so as to release some of her pent up emotions, was presently not available, leaving Halbarad in temporary command.
"What is it?" asked Halbarad, steadying the younger of the two scouts as he flung himself from his horse, almost tripping on the stirrup in his haste.
"Army," gasped Culas. "10,000 strong at least. Heading towards us."
"Oh, things couldn't get any worse!" exclaimed Halbarad.
"The Rohirrim we encountered?" ventured Nemír, knowing full well that the next statement to leave his lips was equally unwelcome. "They were forced to retreat from the west side of the river. Isengard is gaining strength."
"Fantastic!" cheered Halbarad sarcastically. "Elladan! Get the men saddled up and ready to ride while I go and hunt our elusive kin. We have got problems. 10,000 of them."