Chapter Twenty-Three - Healing Of Heart And Soul

Dídauar, having returned Faramir to the Houses at luncheon meal, remained outside in the gardens, meandering around the varying flower and herb boarders which were a patchwork of colours. After wandering for about half-an-hour, she came across Culas who had been sitting beneath an oak sapling, simply gazing at the newly budding trees and flowers, each unopened blossom holding the promise of spring and new life.

"Culas," breathed the Dúnadan with a mixture of relief and joy upon seen her youngest kinsman alive and reasonably healthy. Culas turned his head and gave his Captain a wan smile at the whisper of his name but he did not offer her his usual enthusiastic welcome, immediately telling Dídauar that something was the matter.

"Can you tell me?" she asked gently as she sat down.

"Spring is the wrong season for war," said Culas. Dídauar cocked her head.

"Is there a right season for war?" she asked. Culas shook his head.

"But the winter is more suitable," he replied. "Everything else dies back, it is easier to bear another death. Spring? 'tis the season for new life and yesterday…… How do you do it Shadow? How can you continually throw yourself into battle? How do you remain sane after watching comrade after comrade, friend after friend, fall before you?"

"By not fixating on the dead," replied Dídauar. "I mourn them, remember them as they were before their spirit fled and try to continue with life without their presence."

"You never sought retribution?" asked Culas.

"On several occasions," replied Dídauar with a mirthless laugh. "It took Cempa's death to make me realise that I was running down the wrong path.

"After every death I witnessed, and especially Eadwig's murder, I sought revenge. There is no other way to describe it. I set out with the cold-blooded intention to kill, or at least physically harm, the perpetrator. It wasn't until I held Cempa as his died that I realised that I had not been honouring the memory of the fallen. It was anger, more than grief, that took hold of me and being embittered by the fact that the Valar had saw fit to take yet another person from my life, I quickly lost sight of what the fallen had taught me, what they had worked and died for, and became little better than the ones who had killed them in the first place."

"Is that why you never touched the Dunlendings when we were in Rohan?" said Culas. Dídauar looked a little startled. Culas hadn't been at Helm's Deep to see her fight so how did he know that she only attacked the Orcs?

"Tarondor muttered quite a lot," explained the youth. "Something about you becoming soft-hearted."

"Why am I not surprised?" muttered Dídauar. "But in answer to your question, with the exception of Orcs, every warrior I slay has a family, whether it's parents, siblings, lover, spouse, children. Knowing what it is like to lose such to battle, I would never inflict that pain on another by seeking vengeance for the action on a battle field.

"The twins will be less than impressed if they find out I said this but, I do not wish death upon the Haradrim that killed Halbarad, nor the archers who perpetuated Pethurin's fall or the Easterling that stabbed Herion. It was a battle, they all knew what they were heading towards and just as we believe it is our duty to follow orders and kill the followers of Sauron, they believe that we are the enemy and it is their duty to kill us. The line between good and evil is very shaky and which side you stand depends on another's perception."

"Any more talk like that I will have you arrested for treason," sneered a stranger's voice behind them. Dídauar and Culas turned and were greeted by a man of similar age to Boromir. He was dressed in crush-velvet robes that were deep wine-red in colour, the cuffs and collar decorated with intricate gold stitching which signified nobility. A sword hung at his waist as did a small dagger, a blood ruby set in the hilt.

"And who are you?" asked Dídauar standing up.

"Lord Carnir," said the man. "Lieutenant of Lebennin and member of the Council of Gondor."

"Very well, Lord Carnir, I am Dídauar of the Dúnedain. Pray tell how speaking ones mind is an act of treason, especially when no individual is threatened, whether directly or indirectly?"

"You were inciting a change in allegiances," replied Carnir.

"I was?" questioned Dídauar and Culas saw that she was undecided between looking shocked or laughing. "I'm afraid you miss understood what you heard, not that it was a conversation for your ears."

"You were telling of how we are the same as the servants of the Dark Lord," said Carnir.

"Lieutenant, do you need air to breathe? Water to drink? Food to eat? Do you bleed when you are cut? Do you die if you are badly injured? Do you carry love for your family? Can you feel lust, fear, anger, grief? I know for a fact that the Easterlings and Haradrim do. We are all the same, the only difference is which side of the Anduin we have our camps set up!" replied Dídauar.

"I will never be the same as those savages!" hissed Carnir.

"If you use the blades that hang at your waist to maim and kill, you are exactly like those 'savages'," said Dídauar sharply. Carnir looked highly insulted. Straightening his robes unnecessarily, he drew him self up to his full height of 5ft 10inches and attempted to intimidate Dídauar. Dídauar being at least an inch taller, the effect was lost but it didn't stop the man trying.

"I shall speak to the Steward about your behaviour and words," he said.

"Go ahead," said Dídauar with sarcastic enthusiasm. "He is visiting my brother with King Éomer. They will most likely be in the tent with the banner of the King flying above its door."

Culas had to hide his smile as the colour drained from Carnir's face but the Gondorian maintained a majority of his composure and turned on his heel, his robe billowing out with the move, and marched away to the stables.

"Thank you," said Culas with a small smile.

"What for?" asked Dídauar a little bemused.

"For putting things into perspective," said the youth. "While I cannot forgive the ones who have stolen our people, I understand that the fallen would not want me to exact vengeance in their name."

"No one is asking you to forgive, Culas," said Dídauar. "But do not let your anger fester. You are right, the fallen, especially Halbarad, would not wish for you to shed more needless blood in their name. Instead, stay alive, be grateful for each new day under the Sun their sacrifice has granted you, and you will do them more honour than if you delivered another soul to the Eternal Halls before its time. Now, could you tell me which room Arahael is in?"

TTEOARTTEOAR

The atmosphere in Arahael's room was sombre to say the least. Arahael lay prone on a bed beneath a wide arch window, covered by a crisp cotton sheet and a light feather down, Tarcil curled catlike at the bottom of the bed. The elder of the twins lay watching his brother with an eagle sharp gaze, not even the slightest of moves going unnoticed. Culas lingered in the doorway while Dídauar crossed to the bed and rested a hand on Tarcil's shoulder. The smoke-eyed twin jumped at the touch but quickly recovered himself and pulled Dídauar into a tight embrace.

"How are you?" asked Dídauar, pulling away slightly to take in her cousin's bedraggled appearance.

"I have had better days," replied Tarcil, brushing his cheek against the palm that caressed his skin as Dídauar swept hair for in front of his face.

"I imagine you have," said Dídauar sympathetically. "But he is healing so there is hope yet."

"I will have to take your word on that for I cannot see it," said Tarcil. "How am I supposed to tell him that we are the commanders now? That Father is dead?"

"It is likely he already knows," said Culas quietly. Tarcil swung his head in the direction of the teenager. "We found……they were together when……"

Dídauar raised her arm to Culas, a gesture that was gladly accepted. It appeared that Culas was still struggling to cope with the aftershock of a major battle. For Dídauar, battle and carnage was something that had haunted her dreams for the last seventy years and even the twins had more experience, though not by much. Culas however had only recently started to join patrols and had never witnessed, let alone experienced something on the scale that was Pelennor.

"I'm sorry," whispered the youth, gazing at his new commander. Tarcil shook his head but it was Arahael that answered.

"You've done nothing wrong," he murmured. His three kinsman turned to face him and Arahael smiled weakly at them.

"Hey," said Tarcil, crawling up the bed to settle beside his twin. Arahael lifted his arm to brush at Tarcil's cheek, similar to a kitten greeting a fellow littermate.

"You haven't been sleeping," he chastised.

"I couldn't," replied Tarcil, nuzzling into the hand. "You scared me."

"Not intentionally," murmured Arahael. Keeping his hand raised to Tarcil's face, Arahael turned to face Dídauar and Culas.

"Thank you," he said, his gaze fixed on Culas. Culas cocked his head, completely confused as to why Arahael was thanking him. The last time he had been in contact with Arahael he had caused him pain, a necessary pain, but such rational was not sitting easily with Culas at the moment. The Dúnedain were a close-knit community and with their numbers declining at an even faster rate in recent years, each one of them – young and old; woman, child and warrior – held to an unspoken promise never to harm one of their own. Culas obviously felt that he had gone against the hidden vow.

"You saved my life," expanded Arahael.

"I hurt you," choked Culas.

"Sometimes you have to hurt someone to save them," said Tarcil, understanding where Culas' juvenile thoughts and understanding was leading him, even more so since he himself had faced a similar conflict a few years previously.

"We've all done it Culas," comforted Dídauar. "But so long as it is done with love then you are forgiven."

"You, Sadorennor, spend far too much time in the company of your mentor," chuckled Gandalf as he arrived. Dídauar canted her head in the wizard's direction.

"Do the words; pot, kettle and black mean anything to you?" she inquired.

"I can assure you, my dear, you have spent more time in the company of the Lord Elrond than I have, despite our long years of friendship," said Gandalf. "Now, I hear you have been upsetting some of the Gondorian council?"

"Merely voicing my opinion. To Culas," shrugged Dídauar. "It is hardly my fault that the Lieutenant didn't like what he heard. How did Imrahil take his accusation of treason?"

"Recited the legal definition of treason and warned him against bringing such serious charges against the King's sister without proper evidence. Hearsay and "he said, she said" arguments do not carry much weight in a court of law," replied Gandalf. "Our young lord was most put out but as a student of the law, had to agree with Imrahil was right. Aragorn then took great pleasure in bodily removing him from his tent."

"A warrior for sixty years and you still have men fighting to protect your honour and virtue," grinned Tarcil.

"It is a waste of breath telling you not to," rejoined Dídauar.

"Lazy," said Arahael. Dídauar shrugged again. Gandalf cleared his throat, not exactly keen on the idea of breaking up the kin, especially since Tarcil was holding Arahael as close as the younger twin's injuries allowed, but duty was still demanding the attention of the hale and healthy.

"Culas, Tarcil, Aragorn would like to speak to you both. I am sorry, but since he is still refusing to enter the city, you will have to leave your kin in the hands of the healers," said the wizard.

As predicted, Tarcil's expression turned mutinous, and that was describing it mildly, at the idea of leaving his bedridden twin. Arahael noticed and cuffed him gently.

"Go," he said when Tarcil turned to look at him. "Even a commander must heed the behest of his King."

"But……"

"I'm not going anywhere," said Arahael gently. "And I will not be alone."

"I will be back as soon as I can," said Tarcil, gripping Arahael's hand tightly in his own. Arahael smiled at him.

"The King calls," he said. "And Culas needs you." Tarcil switched his gaze to the youth standing next to Gandalf and still looking mildly distressed. Gripping Arahael's hand and pressing a kiss to his forehead, Tarcil moved to Culas, wrapping a comforting arm about his shoulders signalling to Gandalf to lead the way to the Dúnedain camp.

Once alone, Arahael held his hand out to Dídauar. Dídauar moved from the foot of the bed to occupy Tarcil's vacated spot, gripping the appendage as she did so.

"I am sorry," Arahael whispered. Dídauar looked startled.

"It is I that should be apologising," she said. Arahael resolutely shook his head.

"You did what you could," he said. "I didn't make that easy for you. I knew you wouldn't harm my father. I knew you did everything to help the others."

"Arahael, all you did was put into words what had been running through my mind since I Grimbold told me of Théodred's fall," insisted Dídauar. "You spoke from love and fear, both of which are justified, and if you hadn't lashed out I would have been more hurt and worried. The truth may be a bitter herb to swallow but is far less harmful than a lie."

"But they trust you," murmured Arahael. "My brother trusts you. My father trusted you. The Rohirrim trust you. I was the only one……the only one who refused to see."

"If you didn't trust me, you wouldn't let me sit here, let alone seek my touch or have followed me into battle," said Dídauar.

"I followed my father to Gondor," protested Arahael.

"But you followed me to Rohan," said Dídauar, brushing the young man's fringe from his eyes. "Even as I descended into despair and carried out one suicidal action after another, you stuck with me. Even though I had done you wrong by hiding my gift from you but not your brother, you continued to ask "how high?" when I said jump. For whatever transgressions you fear you have committed, you are forgiven and I pray that, in time, you can forgive me for mine."

Arahael swallowed around the lump that was gathering in his throat and blinked away the tears that were beginning to blur his vision.

"Thank you," he whispered. Dídauar continued to smile gently and gripped Arahael's hand.