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Chapter Forty-one
Serafina would have liked nothing more than to pause before the door. Just for a moment. She wanted that moment to regain composure, to assess what it was she might want to say, to plan the best way to handle the situation, even to run her fingers through her limp mattered hair so that she didn't feel so much like a scarecrow in front of a goddess. But she had no time.
The poor stable boy she had jumped and ordered to take her to Lady Serrah could decide to break his word at any moment. She suspected it might take him an hour or so to gain the courage. From the look in his eyes Serafina knew she must have look extremely deranged as she held her knife to his throat, giving him strict instructions to do as she asked without a word to another soul - and it had worked in her favour.
So the moment she was shown the door she did not hesitate. Instead she pushed it open and walked boldly through, slamming it behind her as if she were a great warrior, as proud and arrogant as Boromir.
But it was the wrong move. The image of him stopped her in her tracks. Boromir - she had barely spared him a thought. Was it truly only that morning that Legolas had brutally told her that he was dead along with Aragorn? True Aragorn had survived, but Boromir? Could it indeed be true? A whirlwind of feelings rose up in her, from relief to distress and even despair. It was accompanied by a strange emptiness that she couldn't understand.
Mentally she slapped herself. She was standing mid step a foot from the doorway. She lifted her gaze from the floor and locked eyes with deep forest green ones. She could tell that Serrah had seen her falter. She'd shown weakness, and from the look in Serrah's eyes she hadn't missed it. Gritting her teeth she forced herself to focus on what she had come here to do.
Serrah was sitting demurely on a very heavy looking, elaborately carved and upholstered chair. The green velvet of the chair cushions was the same colour as her eyes. The overall effect was staggering. She looked incredibly beautiful in the well lit, elaborately decorated bed chamber. It wasn't until she shook herself that she noticed the cuffs on her wrists looped through the arm of the chair.
"Is there something you wanted?" Serrah asked innocently.
The ridiculousness of the question, coupled with her tone of voice and Serafina's emotional state was too much for the young woman to handle. Serafina walked purposefully towards the older woman, drawing her knife. Violently she pulled the woman's hair back and pressed the blade against her throat.
"Don't play your game with me!" she growled through gritted teeth, her face mere inches from the woman.
Serrah was silent for a moment, but no trace of terror or fear for her life ever crossed her face. Then she started to laugh. It was a musical sound, not unpleasant to the ears, but cunning.
Serafina was so taken aback that she actually took a few steps away from the woman, releasing her from her threat.
"Daughter," she began, still laughing, "Do you really think I haven't had a knife to my throat enough times to call a bluff when I see one?"
Serafina's resolve wavered. But she grasped at it and held on, clawing at it desperately. Serrah seemed to have given up her innocent facade and sat haughty and indifferent before her.
"So it's true? I am your daughter," she asked, planting her feet more firmly.
"I suppose it must be. It is true that I was pregnant in Minas Tirith, in prison, like you said," she answered with a nonchalance that disgusted Serafina. "Not that I expected any daughter of mine to look like this - but I can't deny that under the filth there is a resemblance."
"Does my appearance bother you? I suppose cleanliness is more necessary when you spend your life being looked after by men whose beds you share."
"Men like to look after me," she answered with a shrug and a twisted smile. Suddenly she let out another musical laugh, "I should have guessed it was you. Serafina - I suppose that was Garth, was it? And Arnudor, was that revenge?"
Serafina's scowl deepened, straightening her back she took a step forward. "Yes, Arnudor was revenge," she lied. "Who is Garth?"
Serrah raised an eyebrow at the younger woman, "Don't forget that I know the story of Serafina, the thief child of Gondor. I know what role Garth had to play in getting the little murderer out of prison."
"How do you know?" Serafina demanded.
"That is irrelevant. What isn't irrelevant is your name. I had assumed Garth was tangled up in your plight because of your name. Until today I hadn't entertained the idea that your name is because of Garth."
"I don't understand.
Serrah sighed, "I presumed Garth would be drawn to a child whose name so closely resembled mine. Now I see it must have been him that gave it to you."
"You knew him?"
"So he didn't tell you of me?"
"No." Serafina answered shortly.
Serrah laughed at that revelation. Fed up with the conversation, Serafina turned it to a much more pressing issue.
"So did you know?"
"Did I know what?" she asked, the ghost of her mirth still played across her lips and glinted in her eyes.
"That I was to be drowned?"
Serrah's face turned to stone. It was a moment before she answered, she didn't look Serafina in the eyes. "I never wanted children," she admitted. There was something off in her voice. It crossed Serafina's mind that this was the first glimpse of the real Serrah she'd seen. The open rejection branded her chest like she'd seen farmers brand cattle's rear and she was thoroughly unprepared for what Serrah said next. "Garth did. How did he get you?"
Serafina couldn't take her eyes off the woman in front of her, "He found me in the bulrushes, that's what he told me".
A noise at the door was the only warning she had. Instinct took over and she darted to hide behind the opening door. A man walked in and asked Serrah if there was anything she needed, he would be guarding her for the night. Serrah answered him demurely and smiled. Serafina couldn't stay any longer. With a final glance over her shoulder she fled the room.
Running through the busy halls of the Hornburg, Serafina knew she was completely lost. She contemplated going back to her armoury and hiding like a coward. She slowed to a walk, then stopped, looking for something to show her the way back to her makeshift cell. People moving around her cursed her for blocking the thoroughfare, she ignored them. Would she go back to her cell? She could even chain herself up and pretend nothing had ever happened, pretend she had been left there like a naughty dog put outside for jumping on the furniture. It was very tempting.
A strong, commanding voice broke through her thoughts, but it was not a man's voice. Éowyn stood calling instructions out to various people as they passed. Serafina didn't stay long enough to hear her words, instead she raced for the nearest doorway and disappeared behind it, not wanting to risk Éowyn's eyes falling on her.
The door shut with a bang and Serafina leant against it, letting her head connect with the cool solid wood. The action made a dull thunk. Could it be possible that Garth was her father? Was that what Serrah meant? She cursed herself out loud for her apparent inability to keep her head clear when dealing with her mother.
Someone cleared their throat behind her.
Wheeling around with her eyes wide she wished she'd stayed in the corridor and risked Éowyn's eyes. Gimli met her eyes with an amused look, Legolas kept his face impassive but Aragorn was furious. Her eyes flicked to the door behind her - could she make it out and disappear in the crowded corridors before they would catch her?
Her hand snaked to the door handle but Aragorn was quicker. He crossed the room in two strides and put a large hand on the door, preventing her from leaving. She felt like a mouse caught in a trap, with only herself to blame. She waited for his stern reprimand but it didn't come. He stood over her, looming. Never was she more aware of his physical presence. She could practically feel the tension in his muscles, and with her eyes cast down as they were she saw his fists balled tightly.
"Well, it's good to see you lass," a gruff voice said from across the room, clearly trying to break the icy air. She saw a sharp movement of yellow and green and assumed Legolas gave him a look to silence him. A deep exhale followed, along with the clinking of chain mail; Gimli sat down. That didn't instil her with confidence.
Serafina tried to look inside herself, was she really going to bow to Aragorn's annoyance? Had Serrah affected her so deeply that she had lost all sense of self? A wave of defiance ran through her and her back straightened; it would take more than Serrah to break her. A new fire burning in her eyes, she raised her head to meet Aragorn's gaze. It crossed her mind that she had never seen him quite so angry. His grey eyes looked like terrible storm clouds and his jaw was set firm. He towered over her. Was this the same man who's kisses she had smiled into? A heated blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks as she remembered what she had done during that kiss and how it had led to her freedom. She swallowed and took a deep breath, evidently he was not about to break the silence and she wasn't about to wait forever.
"Hello Aragorn," she said with best attempt at an aloof, detached voice. She thought she heard a groan escape Legolas, but she couldn't decide if it was frustration or exasperation. She didn't dare take her eyes off Aragorn, but he didn't seem inclined to answers. Serafina raised her eyebrows at him in a challenge, again his face remained a stony mask of disapproval. They stood that way for another minute before it obviously became too much for Legolas.
A scathing flow of elvish burst forth from Legolas' lips. After a moment Aragorn released Serafina from his gaze and turned to the elf. She thought she heard her name mentioned in his rant, and Arwen's, but he was speaking too fast to be sure. He did however, gesture to her, but mainly his tone was admonishing and it was directed entirely at Aragorn. Eventually he stopped, intonation rising on his last words. Serafina and Gimli turned their heads instinctively to Aragorn, waiting for his answer.
When Aragorn spoke his tone was humble and considered, but he met Legolas' eyes unerringly. The reply was surprisingly short, perhaps only a fragment of a sentence but the elf was satisfied. Legolas walked towards Serafina and placed a kiss on her brow.
"Take care my friend, it will be a long night," he said. Trying to play down her bafflement at first his rant then his actions, she watched him place a hand on Aragorn's shoulder before embracing him as a brother and leaving the room.
Gimli barely nodded at them before running after the elf.
Aragorn walked a few steps away from her. Serafina somehow felt as though the tables had turned - this time it was him that needed to give the explanation. She steadied herself with a deep breath and stood straighter, ready for whatever it was he would say.
Eventually the man turned back to face her. He passed a hand over his face and exhaled loudly, readying himself too, apparently.
"Serafina, I have not the time to talk this through with you, nor is this the place. But we cannot deceive ourselves any longer," he paused looking for some sign of acknowledgement from her. She stared at him, face impassive. He sighed, but eventually continued, "You were right the other night - this was a mistake. A mistake I should have prevented long ago. You are so young, so vital - at times it is intoxicating, other times it is infuriating. My heart belongs to another. Try as I have, I cannot set her aside so easily. Legolas asked me if it would be enough, knowing that I could never give you what I could give to Arwen. He asked if it was fair to you, for you to always be second in my heart. He asked if I had considered what our future would look like together; would you ever accept me as a husband…" his voice trailed off.
She thought she had prepared herself for all possibilities; she hadn't even battered an eyelid at the mention of Arwen, but she choked at his last word. Husband?! Whatever it was she felt, nothing could have prepared her for the shock of that word. Her visions for the future were limited - and they certainly did not contain a husband. But besides her shock at his words, his meaning could not be plainer - he was done with her.
For what Serafina hoped would be the last time that day her insides were hollowing out. As if the centre of her chest was folding in on itself swallowing everything inside her. Emptiness was filling her. She hadn't expected much from Serrah, but to be rejected by both her and Aragorn in a day was more than she new how to manage. She looked away from his eyes focusing on a point on the wall behind his head.
"But there is more than that," he continued, "You are so young -"
"Yes you said that," she cut in, her voice strangely even. But even as she spoke she felt a flood of anger and spite fill the void within her.
"I feel as though I need to be constantly looking out for you,"
"I am perfectly able to look after myself! I never asked for your protection!" she hissed at him, meeting his eyes again with renewed vigour.
"Yet I bestowed it on you anyway," he reflected, ever calm. "I wanted to protect you, to shield you from a dangerous world," he smiled at her lightly, "now I begin to wonder if it isn't the world that needs protection from you."
She didn't smile at his joke.
They both jumped as the door opened on them. Éomer's head appeared, upon seeing Aragorn he walked into the room. Serafina stayed motionless. Éomer looked between them and cleared his throat loudly.
"Aragorn, the men go to their stations…" he said.
Aragorn nodded, "I will come," he answered, moving towards the door.
"Serafina? I thought I gave Asteard orders to -" Éomer began.
"You did," she said curtly, cutting him off.
"But you're here," he stated.
"I picked the locks," she said, meeting his eyes boldly, deliberately avoiding Aragorn's.
"With what?" asked Aragorn, but she heard the disappointment in his voice.
She could not stand it anymore. She bit back an insane urge to hiss at him like a feral cat, but it did not prevent her nose from turning up and confirming what he already knew with only a snarl as she pulled out the two pins she had pick-pocketed from his belt.
"When?" he asked, but it wasn't a question, it was a prompt to encourage her to seal her own fate and reinforce his earlier sentiments.
"When do you think?" she asked, green eyes flashing, she wanted to hurt him, "You had something I needed, so I took it."
Aragorn looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. When he spoke it was just above a whisper, "Any way you could,"
She jutted out her chin, "Yes, any way I could,"
Aragorn made for the door. He opened it sharply, but before leaving he turned back to look at Serafina, "I was wrong; your stubbornness, your…" he looked for the word, "vitality," he spat, "it's not just intoxicating, it's toxic."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Serafina stood very, very still. And slowly, ever so slowly the word settled on her like a feather settling on snow. Toxic. Never had she though Aragorn capable of such cruel words. Toxic. She was toxic. Could she have said equally cruel things to him? Certainly, in fact she probably had. But Aragorn?! A grim thought bubbled into her mind; yes she was toxic - she had poisoned Aragorn. She was toxic, and she was spreading.
She closed her eyes. If she hadn't been so eager to escape Éowyn's notice, would she have escaped this? Her chin slowly sank. Éowyn… the name niggled in her mind. Éomer!
Instantly her eyes snapped open and she looked at the horse lord. She opened her mouth to make a joke about a lover's quarrel but it stuck in her throat and she choked the words down.
Éomer walked towards her slowly, but there was no apprehension in his gaze.
"Chin up," he commanded. She lifted her chin at his request but the gesture felt empty. "The day is not over yet. Surely you won't let a little lover's quarrel affect you so?"
A lump rose in Serafina's throat. She glared at him as best she could behind her watery eyes. She could not fathom how he deemed it appropriate to make fun of her at a time like this!
"Hmm," he frowned deeply, comprehending her meaning, "Yes, I'll admit it might be too soon for jokes. My apologies. So, little prisoner, what am I to do with you now that you're free?"
Defeated, Serafina pulled her cuffs from her belt-pouch. She held them up to him. Éomer's eyes danced between her wrists and the cuffs.
"I think not," he said, pulling them out of her hands. "Come. If you are not to be put in a cage, I will put you to use!" With that he walked out the door. Serafina tried to stand a little straighter and followed him. Hopefully the night would pass quickly.
He lead her through winding corridors of dark grey stone. They were eerily empty compared to how they had been minutes before. Occasionally they passed someone running in this direction or that. The air became cooler the further they went and the smell of rain assailed her. Serafina took a deep breath, tasting the sweet cold promise it brought. They rounded into a long corridor that was actually a very long balcony of sorts, Éomer stopped and went to speak to a hard looking woman with wind beaten skin and sun bleached hair. Serafina cast a glance about the room; makeshift cots and stretchers lined both the solid wall of the keep and the chest high stone wall that half enclosed the side facing out to the battlements. Pillars running along the balcony wall held a roof above them. Out into the night she could see thousands of black shapes marching towards them. The sea of dark shapes was smattered with the odd bight spark of flaming torches. Forgetting herself she went to the edge and looked down at the battlements, it was not difficult to see that the men of Rohan were ridiculously outnumbered - there were at least three times as many of the enemy than of the Rohirrim.
Before long Éomer joined her and looked down at the impending battle.
"Healer Galen has accepted my offer of your assistance,"
"What do you mean?" she asked absent-mindedly wondering if she could see any of those she knew out on the battlements.
"Many of her usual assistants are needed in the caves, some are too frightened to be of any use," he answered darkly. But his grim tone was lost on Serafina. As her eye scanned the scene before her, she tried desperately to forget the bitter words that had past between herself and Aragorn. But it was no use. Her despair was slowly giving way to exhaustion and no small amount of self pity.
"I don't understand," she said in a defeated voice, looking at him for the first time.
"You are to assist Healer Galen here in triage. She has only a small team, and an extra pair of hands to care for the injured and dying will be of great assistance," his tone was final. It was very clear to Serafina that he expected no argument.
"You're joking," she said flatly.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" he asked her. She had to admit that he most certainly did not; his dark brown eyes were steely and his expression was incredibly stern.
"I cannot do this!" Panic began to rise - she felt it pumping through her.
"Why? You are still standing. There are boys out there, barely more that half your age with pitchforks for pikes and swords as blunt as butter knives! And they do not question their duty,"
She let go of the wall and faced him, shaking with fury, and fear. "But this is not my duty!" she screeched at him.
"Then maybe you should redefine your place in this world," he said in his dark, deep voice.
Serafina breathed in the rain and felt her resolve failing. As quickly as her rage had ignited it had disappeared, like a spark from a fire, burning bright and then gone. How could she make him see how broken she felt? True, he was a stranger but he had seen enough of her over the pas few days to understand what she had been through.
"Look at me," she whispered desperately.
Could he not see that she was exhausted to her soul? She could barely keep herself standing, let alone expend her energy caring for others.
"I see you," he said seriously, as if he had heard her thoughts. His voice was firm and not uncaring but it was hard as stone, "And I see your world crumbling around you. But we fight for the walls of the keep - so that they may not fall, so that our people remain safe, if only for a little while longer. We fight for the sunrise, because there may be a day soon when the sun does not rise and the sky turns black though it is not night. We fight in the hope that this is not the last battle! That we might see an end to these desperate times!"
Serafina looked at him, she had the feeling that she was downing in a sea of despair and the Marshall was throwing her a lifeline, but he could not pull her out, she had to save herself. It would be easier to drown, easier to stop, easier to give in. To hope, to fight - it would be difficult, it would be dirty, it held no guarantee of success. But in his face she saw grit, determination and a refusal to bow to the hopeless circumstances.
"Will you help us?" he asked her. His tone was not desperate, but it was deeply grave. "The people of Rohan are proud, we will stand tall and firm. We will fight to the bitter end - for ourselves and for you."
Something tugged at her heart; tonight, for one night she could belong to something bigger than herself. She looked over her shoulder at the stern faced woman. It was true, she stood straight, and though her face was grim it was not defeated. Turning back to the Marshall she lifted her chin and straightened her spine.
"I will help you," she declared, her voice firm and her eyes as grave as his.
He nodded at her, but did not smile. "Pray for a sunrise," he said and without another look he left her standing in the windy corridor.
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