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Chapter Forty-two
Serafina hadn't stopped praying, but it wasn't just the sunrise she was praying for.
The battle had descended quickly, like a storm that had been threatening and suddenly erupted with all the fury of the heavens. Healer Galen was a hard woman; after Éomer left she strode to Serafina and asked her if she had any knowledge of war or healing. Serafina shook her head.
"Very well," healer Galen had said, "there are two things you need to understand very quickly. Firstly; there are going to be more injuries than we have supplies and healers to take care of. Yes?"
Serafina nodded.
"Secondly; we want to keep as many of our men alive as possible. Do you understand what triage means?"
"Save who can be saved?" She suggested, feeling unsure.
"Essentially. We have no choice but to divide the men into two groups; the ones we can save, and the ones we can't."
Serafina shivered thinking of the harsh words. She couldn't deny the logic, but the situation was horrifying.
She tried to commit to memory everything Galen had said but there was too much to remember it all. She would have to decide if the men were too far gone to be saved or not. If she made a wrong decision and the man survived the night, then there would be one more survivor. If not, then not.
As soon as the first man had been carried into the hallway, all sense of self had faded. He was carried up a ramp to the corridor that spilt off down to a courtyard below and led to the battlements. He had a deep gash across his right arm and shoulder. Galen barked instructions to put him on one of the stretchers, then proceeded to shout things at one of the other girls, a pretty blonde who she presumed was about her age. She'd watched dumbfounded as the girl jumped into action and ripped the clothes from the man's torso. Suddenly Galen started digging her fingers into the gash. The man shouted in agony and surprise but the girl who had stripped him of his bloodied shirt held him down firmly so that he couldn't move.
Serafina felt her legs shake underneath her and her eyes widened. Quickly she looked away and took some deep steadying breaths. She would be of no use if she collapsed, so she grabbed the wall and forced herself to observe. Galen looked like she was wiping the area with something. It looked like it stung. Before long she was sewing his skin together with a barbaric looking needle. The blonde girl picked up a gauze bandage and handed it to Galen. Galen shook her head, "we'll need every last scrap of that. This one won't loose much blood. Leave it."
After that it wasn't long until the corridor was chaotic and Serafina was called into action. She held men down for the healers as they remove arrows, cross bow bolts, hooks and other bits of weapons from their wounds. She cut clothing away hastily with her dagger. So far it had been mostly straightforward.
When a man carried up something very red, black and brown Serafina's night changed. Galen barked at the man to put it down against the wall next to a dead man. She watched as the man lay the bundle out, only then did Serafina recognise it as a man. She looked on in horror, realising that he was suffering some kind of burn. But the burn covered his entire body.
Her eyes darted about the room, looking for the person who would be attending him. She knew he would not receive any medicine, but she was sure someone would at least have time to make him comfortable. But everywhere she looked people were preoccupied.
Serafina looked around again, this time not for someone to help the burnt man, but for someone to call her away. Nobody did. Desperately she searched for something that needed her attention, she found nothing. She began walking away, as if someone had called her name. A whisper crept into her ears though, as she walked and the voice of a ghost accused her; I wish I were as callous as you. Serafina stopped in her tracks. Boromir. A crazed thought passed through her mind that he might forever haunt her. I would have gone back for him, I am no coward, she had replied. Even her memories mocked her.
Shuddering and unsure she turned on the spot and looked at the blackened man. Somehow he was charred and black, but red and raw and bloody at the same time. It was a terrible sight. One step at a time she walked over to the man until she stood by his side. He had no hair and his scalp was peeling. The only thing that wasn't red or black were his eyes. They were a vivid blue, and they were watching her.
Serafina sank to the floor, she could not take her eyes away from him. Sitting very still she noticed he was shaking slightly, but he did noting else but look at her.
Serafina tore her eyes from his to look him over, desperately searching for some clue as to how to help him. All she could see was bloody blackened skin. Suddenly she registered her sense of smell. Her stomach heaved. But she did not move.
Taking what felt like her hundredth deep breath that night, she dragged her eyes back to his and moved the corners of her mouth upwards. She knew it wasn't convincing and she knew it wasn't enough, but it was all she had. His eyes looked less crazed for a moment and a wash of agony passed over his face, but somehow he managed to mimic her pitiful smile.
She looked for his hands, intending to hold them to offer any comfort she could. Amazingly his hand closest to her was not as maimed as the rest of his body. Gently and very slowly she took his hand in both of hers and wrapped her fingers around it. He didn't flinch away, although she supposed the contact on his skin must have been painful. Instead he squeezed back firmly.
Serafina cleared her throat and attempted another smile for her patient.
"My name is Serafina," she attempted to say, but it came out as a horse whisper. Still he seemed to understand and opened his mouth to reply.
A terrible croaking cough was all that escaped his lips and Serafina tried not to look afraid of the sound. Instead she asked, "Would you like some water?"
He nodded in answer. She made to stand but he wouldn't let go of her hands. "I will come back," she said, "I promise."
He gave her a searching look, his blue eyes searing into hers and let go of her hand.
Serafina fled his side quickly. Running to the nearest pail of water she nearly collided with others like her on missions to help their patients. She filled a large bowl full of water and turned around to return when an idea struck her. Setting the bowl down she went to the stores of bandages, linens and cloth. She looked over them for a moment finally selecting a large sheet and a small towel and draping them over her shoulder. Collecting the bowl, she made her way back to her patient.
She took great care to lift the bowl to his lips with steady hands, she held it so tight she was worried it might snap but it held its form. Once she though he had had enough she spread the sheet over his blackened body, pulling it up to his waist and took her place by his side. He might feel the burns, the pain, and he would die from it. But he did not have to spend the remainder of his life looking at it.
They didn't speak, she wasn't sure if either of them could. Serafina just sat at his side holding his hand and dabbing his brow with the damp cloth as if that alone would save him.
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She looked up from the nameless man's blackened face as another young man stumbled in almost doubled over. With a last squeeze of his hand and a grim smile she raced over to the man, praying this one could survive.
"What is it?" she asked. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she put an arm around his waist to help him along. She settled him against a wall and crouch beside him.
As she looked at the young man's face and her heart sank. It was Asteard. Serafina closed her eyes momentarily and prayed for strength. When she looked back at him he was already watching her, his bright blue eyes were steady. She couldn't bring herself to speak.
Violent coughs racked Asteard's body.
"Galen?!" she called desperately, lifting a shaking hand to his face, she tucked a lock of sweaty blonde hair behind his ear. He just kept looking at her. "Galen?!" she screeched louder.
"What is it girl?" came Galen's voice from behind her.
"I know this man," she said turning her head to look up at her imploringly.
Galen pursed her lips and cast an eye over the man before kneeling down on the other side of him. Gently and methodically she felt his chest, moving from one side to the other, no more than an inch at a time. Serafina clasped her shaking hands together. She had not been prepared for this.
Galen stood and took a step away. Serafina followed casting a worried look back at Asteard.
"I'm sorry girl," said Galen, addressing her directly, "I can't do anything for him."
Serafina looked sharply at Galen, "Surely you can do something?"
"His ribs are crushed, on both sides. As far as I can guess from the blood frothing from his mouth, they have pierced his lungs. He'll likely drown in his own blood in a matter of minutes."
Serafina's eyes bulged. She brought her shaking hands to her head and ran her fingers through her hair in desperation.
"Stay with him," said Galen. "We all hope not to die alone, he'll be lucky to die beside a friend."
Galen walked away promptly. Serafina sank slowly back to Asteard's side feeling completely inadequate and shaken by her inability to get a handle on the situation.
Asteard just kept looking at her.
After a moment she stretched out a shaking, blood-stained hand and grasped one of his. To her surprise he squeezed back.
"I am sorry," she whispered to him, her eyes brimming with tears.
Asteard shook his head lightly, but the movement sent him into another coughing fit. Serafina bit her lip and wiped the fresh foamy blood from his lips and chin.
"You got out," he managed, looking at her wrists.
Serafina forced a watery smile. "Don't tell Éomer," she whispered trying out a wink.
Asteard had another coughing fit, but she thought she could see a smile in his eyes.
She looked at him in disbelief. He had been so alive mere hours ago. She tried to remember their interaction when he had taken her to her to the armoury. She had ignored him. And now he lay before her barely breathing.
"This... is good," he managed.
"Asteard? What do you mean? What is good?" she asked fussing over the lock of hair that kept falling into his eyes.
"You -" he spluttered as some more blood dribbled down his chin. Serafina panicked and wiped furiously at it with her bare hands, as if she could make him better by cleaning him up. He grabbed at her hand and held both of them between his own. "I am… glad... you're here."
"I've been nothing but horrible to you, I-"
"Stop." He croaked, "Doesn't matter." A fistful of blood bubbled out of his mouth and he began to cough again. Her cheeks had deep tracks through the grime as her tears fell heavily, but she tried to help him sit straighter as he coughed. Again she wiped away the blood, her hands were blurry blotches of red in her watery vision. Eventually he settled and leant back against the wall. He looked at her, this time she saw a glint of fear in his eyes.
"Serafina?" he asked, his voice was so shaky and weak that she had to lean closer. "Smile for me,"
She wanted to bury her head in her hands. How could she smile? But Asteard's blue eyes never left hers and as she held his gaze she wondered how she dared deny him anything.
She tried on a weak smile, it trembled and shook on her lips and more tears spilled. Suddenly she cried out an ironic laugh - what a pitiful smile to offer a dead man. She remembered the kind words this man had offered her, she remembered his smiles and patience and forced all of her gratitude onto her face and smiled at him. Her tears ran freely, but her smile was true.
An answering smile tweaked at his bloodied lips and his breathing quickened.
"That -" he tried to say but was interrupted by another trickle of foaming blood. "That's what matters." He breathed out heavily; it was an awful gurgling sound and was accompanied by more bright red foamy blood. She fussed and asked if he wanted to sit up straighter but he didn't answer. She called his name twice before it dawned on her. Raising her head she saw her other patient watching her. His blue eyes were wide with compassion in his blackened face.
Her stomach turned - she barely had enough time to race from Asteard's side and into a deserted corridor before she retched violently. He'd died. Asteard was dead. Just like that.
"Serafina?" someone was calling her name. She simply stood where she was. Would the dying ever stop?
"Serafina?!" came the voice again, this time more urgently.
A face appeared around the corner, "Serafina, come quickly! It's the King's doorward, Hama. We're trying to save him."
She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and looked at the other girl's face. It looked like her own. She followed without a word.
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When the dawn came Serafina felt the weight of the night lift. And as the sun rose hope rose with it, she saw it in the faces of the other girls, and in the wounded, even the dying. As soon as the incessant influx of injured men slowed she took her place back next to her blackened patient, held his hand and waited.
Eventually Galen called her over, instructing her to find the King to seek instruction regarding the dead bodies and inform him of Hama's fate.
She walked the length of the halls as if she were in a dream. Occasionally she stopped a passerby to ask for directions but for the most part her mind was busy replaying the horror scenes from the night, which contrasted starkly with the beauty of the morning.
She came to the doorway. It was very grand, double wooden doors stood before her. She stood there for a moment thinking of nothing then pushed one of the doors open very tentatively.
Inside was a room that opened out onto another balcony, this one had no awning and sunlight spilled into the room making a sharp contrast that her eyes had difficulty adjusting to.
Seven faces turned towards her, six of them she knew. The one she did not was clearly another Rohirrim. Her stomach flipped with delight at the recognition of her friends, she even felt relief knowing that the king and Éomer survived. On some level she registered that Gandalf was there and alive. She didn't question it, there had been too much death. Taking a breath she turned her eyes away from her friends, she had no desire to explain her appearance to Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. They would understand soon enough.
"My Lord," she said addressing Théoden, "Healer Galen sent me to ask what you would have us do with the dead."
Théoden just stared at her. His eyes were wide. Something about it grated her.
She shifted her weight under his gaze. What did the man expect from her? Perhaps he was offended at her appearance and had preferred that she washed the blood off before entering his presence. She grit her teeth and repeated in a cold tone.
"Théoden King, what would you have done with your dead?"
A chuckle broke the silence to her right. "I think a better question is what will we do with the dead orcs?! There's bloody enough of them!" said Gimli.
Théoden turned his eyes to the dwarf and a smile twitched on his face. "And many thanks to you Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn! Victory could not have been ours without you."
"No, the victory truly belongs to Erkenbrand, and his men," Aragorn said nodding to the rohirrim she did not know, "And of course to our own white wizard," he placed hand bracingly on Gandalf's shoulder.
"Victory?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, we won Serafina," said Legolas smiling at her.
"And look at you - smiling and happy with yourselves and your lives!" She spat with sudden outrage.
"Serafina," Aragorn said in a warning voice. She threw him her dirtiest look and he took a visible step backwards.
"I have spent the entire night watching your men die!" she hissed at Théoden, "And here you stand, silent when I ask you a question about the dead, yet jovial about the outcome of the battle! How dare you celebrate when the cost was so dear! Have you no respect for the dead? Does it even concern you that Hama is one of those lying dead in that bloody corridor waiting for you to pay him some mind! All of you make me sick!"
Seven faces stared at her, watching her fuming in silence.
"Éomer get her out of here!" barked Théoden abruptly.
The Marshal wrapped his hand around her upper arm and steered her out of the room.
"Bema," he swore, "Where is Asteard?"
Serafina felt the blood drain out of her face, but the horse lord missed her expression. With more force than necessary her thrust her at the railing. She caught it with her hands but her upper body pitched over edge. The entirety of the keep and the battlegrounds lay in front of her. Éomer joined her at the railing.
"Look at them," he instructed gesturing at the scene below. Serafina glanced at him quickly, he was looking at her intently, and he looked angry. She obliged.
Below her she saw people crying, women hugging men and children, men limping, people searching, screaming, crying, laughing. It was chaos, but she felt her heart tug at the raw emotion being lived before her.
"Do you see that woman there?" he asked pointing to a middle-aged woman holding a young man tightly and crying while she smiled. He had blood, grime and sweat all over him but he was alive. "Can you tell her that the cost was too dear?"
Serafina's eyes snapped up to Éomer's face. He glared at her then pointed over the rail to make her look again at the scene below. "Look! Look at all of the men that live. Can you tell them their lives were not worth it?"
Serafina stiffened at the implication. Through gritted teeth she answered him, "I never said -"
"You never said they weren't worth it?" he asked grasping her arm and pulling her to face him, "Then please, explain to me what it was you were meaning?"
Serafina was so mad she wanted to scratch his eyes out. She answered him with her nose wrinkled in disdain, "Your Uncle would not even acknowledge the dead! He could only focus on his victory,"
"Serafina!" he growled, leaning in closer looking down at her with unbridled fury. "You know nothing of battle. And you know nothing of being a leader, let alone ruling a kingdom! My Uncle, the King of Rohan, led each of those living souls below you to safety. The men who died paid for our lives with theirs - I will not believe their deaths were in vain."
Serafina stared at him only vaguely aware he was still gripping her arm. Someone laughed loudly and she instinctively turned her head to look. A man held a young woman in his arms, her face was buried in his chest but his head was thrown back, laughing openly. The woman took half a step back to see her lover's face and he brought his arms to hold hers as they smiled and whispered together.
A sharp pang of something hit her with the force of a rearing mule. And she fought to keep herself upright. Their position exactly mimicked that of herself and Éomer, however the difference between the two couples was astounding.
She looked back to the man before her. He sighed heavily and frowned at her, but his expression had softened, if only slightly.
"Come," he said releasing her arms from his vice like grip. "I will speak with Galen."
She followed him without speaking. As soon as they entered the corridor stench of death hit her anew. Éomer went directly to Galen, leaving her standing alone.
Utterly exhausted and with nowhere else to go, Serafina took up her post by her nameless patient. They sat in silence, gripping each other's hands. The night would never be over for some.