Night has fallen and on the hilltop among thick trees the camp lies in conniving silence. Watchmen walk the perimeter of the grounds, unseen, while the wounded lie in well earned rest. There is a thick cloth covering around the woman’s hip, a shimmer of light red in the dark, as her breast heaves in troubled feverish dream. Tuilinneth in her hand clutches the arrowhead, removed from her flesh mere hours earlier. Her sightless eyes recall the tumult of the days behind, the worry, anger and resolve that flooded every unaware thought now turned into images unbidden for.
The memory of death, of wars long gone by, of grief and dread in the face of nature herself is not unfamiliar to her. Growing up in the northern downs, the fields of old Fornost lay ever too close, whisperings of evil deeds spoken about in hushed voices. Warnings to never forsake their watch least they may stir once more weakened men’s hearts. The Dunlands, very much like old Arthedain, spread far and wide, the ancient Kings Road leading steadily southeast. They too had taken it, for a while, leading their horses in each other’s step to leave no sight of their passing. Long already has been the road from Rivendell by boat and horseback, swift and determined. The Kings Road followed after they had freed “Archer”, were glad to successfully let diplomacy speak instead of steel. Then the wolves had prowled upon them in the snowstorm, again fortune with them, proved no hindrance. But yet the burial grounds of the wild folk lay before them.
Tuilinneth stirs, a moan escaping her lips that lets her steed Uailgil prick his ears in caution. He sniffs the air and a calming voice soothes him through the trees with fair words. The fair folk are close, camping further down the hill with Halbarad and his Captains. The steed neighs, retreating to rest knowing his Mistress and friend to be under watchful eyes. In her dream the woman approaches once more the sharp cliffs, looming either side above the path, the whispering past playing tricks on the companies ‘minds. Until they were tricks no more.
The trap closed around them fast. There was too little time to counter and not even Atharann’s loyal companion, the great wolf, could give them an advantage much needed. It was enough for three of them to flee. Just three. The rest were captured and taken away. Treason! She remembered the hot flashing anger inside her. Anger with herself, too. It was her duty to take the rear, be always watchful. What if it was her failing that caused such dire consequence? Had her hunting skills betrayed her? Old anger burning bright at the very sight of injustice, still the remnants of guilt, embers of burnt ashes. Did not the long cold drive it from her? Ah but the imprint stays. The people of Forodwait, the Lossoth taught her if it does burn to let it be the fire to keep her going, until conscious thought and reason interfereth. Both Estenthel and herself took a shot with their javelins in their retreat and the Uruk Captain was left wounded, his wrath danger to their captive Kin. What now? The three escaped sought cover to plan a desperate breakout.
The two women, Estenthel and Tuilinneth perused the wilds for their friends’ horses, fled in blind panic, while Atharann scouted the route of their Kinsmen’s captors. Tumultous day of defeat turned into blackened night. They returned to cover, exhausted but successful and were twice blessed by the old gods’ hands. Atharann too had returned and not alone. They had made good time in their journey from the vale. Tuilinneth once more stirs in her sleep, a curious look on her resting features.
Halbarad’s men fared well in their guard during travel to their Chieftains call (better it seemeth than Tulinneth) and had come upon the Frostwolf in the wilds. Though their call was a need of great haste, the fate of the small company was dire and swiftly considered as important, though their road would not be long the same. Halbarad agreed to assist the three members of the Company of Steel in freeing their own. So did the few of the fair folk present – well aware of the task given to them by the Master of Imladris himself. Again it was advised to parley, though preparations were made to allow a full assault on the lumber camp where the captives were held, should there be no other choice. That night held no sleep and before dawn they set out.
Strange felt Tuilinneth walking side by side with her second Captain in command. Never had they raised their swords or cups together his graceful grave posture betrayed the keen mind and strong heart of their ancestors shining through. As his love for his Chieftain drew him across the lands in determined flight so her feeling of belonging finally to be in the right place at the right time drew her step ever forward. His silent resolve settled upon her and she stood proud facing the insults on their approach. The Uruk had indeed been wounded and now called for the one responsible to step forward and lead the word for the Company. Halbarad nods silently and Tuilinneth moves ahead.
As ever we know in dealing with evil, it cannot be trusted. Whatever words were spoken, they would not persist. Blunt and ugly were the Uruk’s remarks and demands, thoughtful and calculated the woman’s answers. Two of their Kin were brought forward to taunt them, two assumed to be in worse condition. Silently her eyes take note of her surroundings, weigh what is said and shown with what she knows lies hidden, both to her advantage and to their foes’. In his degrading assumption of superiority he calls on her to stand one on one in battle with him to decide upon the fate of the prisoners. She accepts, knowing that this will merely be the first strike in a long morning of battle. So be it. She does not stand alone ever.
Fortune and skill smile upon her every move, shield and sword, many years has it been since first she stood with Goatbeard in the ruins and was taught, it takes not long until the Uruk lies beaten on the ground and as expected betrays his promise his words. The battle is called openly and both sides do not hesitate to enter. Din erupts as Tuilinneth’ eye stays steady on the fleeing Uruk. She is ready to persue him when in the chaos of fighting a stray arrow finds her as mark. She falls to her knees, grimacing as she breaks off the shaft and struggles to continue her chase. Around her the clash of weapons, Maendir striking down foe after foe, the archers from their vantage points above raining arrows, Halbarad felling warg beast and men alike. There it is Atharann’s voice calling her name. He freed the way ahead from above, she stands and strikes down another foe, catching up, catching up with their Kin gathering deeper and deeper into the camp.
In the depth of that camp as in the depth of every willfully evil heart more betrayal awaited, this time her people stood by and watched as the fruit of evil doings cut the throat of its creator. A Dunlending tribe declareth themselves free of purpose in a war not their own. Sadness mingles with curiosity as Tuilinneth shares a few words in conversation with a woman that calls forth the memory of another wild man. She must leave, must rest, cannot allow herself to think. In the morrow her mind will be clearer, fairer, just. Thus the battle ends.
The woman gasps and sits up shaken awake by the intensity of her dreams. The movement too fast pulls muscles in her wound, she winces, then lies back again, heart slowing, looking up into a still dark sky beside a fire burning low. “Rest more, soon the sky will lighten and we as your company must decide on our further path.” The voice, she knows it, but cannot place it, cannot tell from which direction it speaks. How strange that the first encounter with many of her Kin should have been here, in a land long forgotten, upon battlefields old and anew. A steaming broth is brought to her lips, she drinks, eyes already clouded by fever and exhaustion. Now peaceful sleep shall come.
