Chapter 41 – “In Some Corner Of A Foreign Field”

Once back at the fire, Halladan made a beeline for Faelon. He let him know that he had broached the subject of Penny coming to stay with them and that she had readily agreed to it. Faelon’s reaction was immediate. He loudly declared that it only proved that Penny clearly had the good sense and character he had always suspected she did.

“After all, who in their right mind would not choose to live with the Wild Rangers of the North?”

He winked and laughed.

Before Penny could protest, he was instantly on his feet, insisting that all the Dunedain there join him in a toast to their ‘newly adopted charge.’ As the rich basses and baritones echoed Faelon’s words round the fire, Penny found she was blushing furiously into her cup, though she could not help grinning all the same as Halladan nudged her. She looked up to find him beaming at her, holding his cup out towards her momentarily before he drank also.

Arvain had said he would not be overlong at the Meduseld, and they waited some time for him, Faelon taking the opportunity to, frankly, bewilder and bemuse Penny with descriptions of family life, how much his wife would like her, the layout of the countryside near where they lived, till even Halladan laughingly pleaded with him to stop.

Faelon, still smiling broadly, apologised and started on a lengthy song instead which, it transpired, was a very ancient and famous one amongst the Dunedain (given several others round the fire joined in at parts). It told the tale of the heroic deeds of Aranarth, the first Chieftain of the Dunedain, who had faced the armies of the Witchking himself and avenged the destruction of his father’s kingdom. It seemed he had been something of a legend in his own lifetime.

“Though nothing compared to Aragorn, of course,” Halladan added in a murmur to Penny.

Penny did not doubt for a second that it was very likely a trait to be found in most of the Dunedain to a greater or lesser extent, not just the royal line. She said as much but Halladan merely shrugged in a suitably vague and non-committal way, murmuring how she might be right, it was hard for him to say, that all but confirmed her suspicions. But then the elves at Imladris had told her that much and, after all, they would know given how close a contact they had with them all, let alone having had the heir apparent fostered amongst them for fifteen generations.

At last, when Faelon had finished his ballad and there was still no sign of Arvain, Halladan said it might be wise to find Aragorn and Elrond to tell them of her decision before Aragorn retired for the night and went back up to the Meduseld. Faelon said he would send Arvain on to find them if he returned before they got back.

The mood around the elvish fire when Penny and Halladan got there was a strange one and both of them instinctively held back a little at first. There was no singing, no laughter, though everyone seemed amiable enough, chatting quietly in small groups. Even so, anyone who knew elves could sense things were not as they would normally be.

Penny spotted Elrond and Aragorn seated together on the far side of the gathering. A few others were with them, Gandalf for one, as well as Erestor, Glorfindel and Elrohir, all seated on throws and blankets laid out on the grass, sipping wine from ornate cups that glinted and gleamed in the firelight.

Penny touched Halladan’s arm to get his attention so as to point them out, but he had already seen them, was already moving off towards them. He smiled down at her, nodding his head, and led the way through the crowd of subdued elves.

Aragorn saw them coming long before they reached him. His face broke into a warm smile and he watched them approach with an expectant, interested air. Soon others had noticed what he was looking at, and both Glorfindel and Elrohir called out to them since it was clear they were heading their way.

“Ah, Halladan, Pen-ii, a pleasure to see you both,” Elrond said graciously as they finally reached them. “Please, do join us.”

Halladan murmured his thanks, bowing his head both to him and to Aragorn.

“We have no wish to intrude. I simply thought it best Pen-ii come and discuss her decision with you sooner rather than later, that was all.”

Penny had wondered if ‘decision’ would be enough explanation, but apparently it was since Aragorn and Elrond exchanged a glance and Gandalf raised an eyebrow. Elrohir suddenly turned to Erestor to ask him something and Glorfindel started discussing something or other with a few of the Gondorian nobles who had accompanied Aragorn – discreet and diplomatic to an ellon.

“Discuss?” Gandalf said quietly. “Surely her mind is already made up, no?”

Penny looked at him, surprised, but it was Halladan who responded.

“Well, yes, but...”

Since Halladan had hesitated momentarily Penny continued for him.

“I would welcome your opinion and any advice that…”

Elrond was on his feet even before she had finished speaking, smiling kindly as he gestured towards the nearby tents.

“Shall we retire to my tent?”

Elrond did not wait for a reply, merely led on down the wide path made by two rows of tents till they reached the one he shared with Glorfindel, Erestor and his sons, Halladan and Aragorn falling into step behind him, and Gandalf hanging back slightly to walk with Penny. When they reached the tent, Halladan stepped ahead of them all, holding the door flap open for them to pass through, even insisting on ushering Penny ahead of him.

“Well, now,” Elrond once they had entered. “Make yourselves comfortable. Halladan, Pen-ii, will you have some wine?”

Elrond had brought his cup with him, as had Aragorn and Gandalf, and was gesturing to a wine sac and set of clay cups set on a small chest to one side of the tent. Halladan thanked him, gesturing for Penny to sit and handing her his stick while he fetched them a cup of wine each. That he could walk occasionally without needing a support, if only for very brief periods, showed how much he was improving (albeit slowly).

At the insistence of Eomer that every comfort be provided for those few who, in other circumstances, might have stayed in the city, chairs had been brought down from the Meduseld as well as a few rugs, cushions and the like to furnish some of the tents. There were currently only two chairs in Elrond’s tent, however. Elrond seemed content to stand, so Gandalf took one, leaving the other for Aragorn. Halladan and Penny perched side by side on a bedroll lying on top of a fresh pile of straw. Given the small stack of books beside it, Penny assumed it was Erestor’s.

“So you have come to a decision at last, Pen-ii?” It was Elrond who spoke. “Good. I am glad.” The smile he gave her was genuinely warm. “I realise it has been hard for you, for… various reasons.”

Penny looked down into her cup.

“Come, that is all in the past, Pen-ii, is it not?”

She forced herself to look at him and smile. He returned it.

“So, tell us. What have you decided?”

Penny and Halladan exchanged a glance.

“Well, I… that is to say, Halladan… um…”

“Faelon, Arvain and myself have suggested that Pen-ii come and stay with us, with the Dunedain.”

There was a pause. While Elrond had initially seemed somewhat surprised, he now looked pleased as well as possibly a little intrigued. Gandalf seemed to be smiling to himself, looking down into his cup and nodding as if he had somehow known or guessed this might be the case. Aragorn, however, was openly smiling at the pair of them.

“Truly? And you have agreed, Pen-ii?”

She nodded.

His smile broadened and he laughed.

“Well, then I shall feel no slight at your not wishing to stay in Gondor,” he said, though in a tone that made it clear he would have felt no slight whatever her decision. “Not when you have chosen Arnor and my own kinsmen.”

“I think it is an excellent decision,” Gandalf agreed. “I know Halbarad was thinking along those lines himself, was he not?”

He looked at Aragorn as he said this, and Aragorn nodded.

“Indeed, though I do not think he had considered it in much detail, or made a final decision. He wanted to discuss it further with myself and…”

He trailed off, gesturing towards Elrond, the unspoken implication of his words being that such a thing would not have been possible till after the War, a war that Halbarad had known he would not survive.

There was a brief moment when no one spoke, during which Penny was aware Elrond had still said nothing, but before she could direct a question to him specifically asking for his opinion, Halladan coughed and broke the silence.

“I would request, Lord Elrond, that, if you would agree, Pen-ii stays with you at Imladris for a little while first of all. Just until we have had time to prepare things for her, indeed we have yet to fully consider what arrangements will be needed, but there is time enough to discuss all that as we journey north. I have no idea how long it might be before we will be able to have things ready but no more than a few months I would hope. Perhaps once the worst of winter is passed.”

“But of course.” Elrond inclined his head slightly. “I was about to suggest the same thing. After all, I suspect that, had you not made such a suggestion, Pen-ii would have chosen to stay with us in Imladris indefinitely, would you not, Pen-ii?”

“Yes, Lord Elrond.” Penny glanced apologetically in Aragorn’s direction. “It is not that Gondor is not a magnificent place, and the people noble, it is just…”

Aragorn held up a hand. “I quite understand, Pen-ii. Arwen suspected that would be your choice. It has not been easy for you in Minas Tirith. I know that.”

Gandalf chuckled. “I do believe Erestor warned you, did he not, Pen-ii? That, for all you might have worried how best to go about things in elvish company, it was as nothing to the social structures of mortal society and Gondorian society especially?”

Aragorn raised an amused eyebrow at him.

“Oh, come now, Estel,” Elrond insisted. “Even you yourself said as much after you had first travelled there.”

“You did, you know,” murmured Gandalf with a smirk.

Aragorn made a face that showed he conceded the point, but only because he was being forced to.

“It is not only that, though that is a large part of it,” Penny continued. “All the damage from the War was… well, something of a shock, as you all know.”

“That is understandable,” Elrond said quietly. “It was not easy for you, both for the very particular reasons related to your situation and that you are unused to such things.”

“It has not been easy even for those who are more used to such things,” Aragorn muttered. For a moment he and Halladan caught each other’s eye, though they said nothing.

“Exactly. I also…” Penny hesitated, glancing at Halladan before continuing. “Well, there were other considerations, that is all. I thank you, King Elessar, for your generous hospitality, and much as I would dearly wish to stay in your company and the Queen’s, I feel I might be better suited to life in the North.”

“You are most welcome, Pen-ii, and I quite agree. Be it with the elves or with the Dunedain, I do indeed think life in the North will suit you well.”

“Other considerations?” Elrond seemed curious. “Such as?”

Penny felt flustered suddenly, but Halladan answered for her.

“I think Pen-ii was a little concerned how much Arvain and myself might want to move to the South.”

Penny looked at him, surprised that he could be quite so frank and open.

“Oh, I am sure Arvain would not have minded,” Aragorn said with a grin. “And the ladies of Gondor certainly would not have objected in the least. Truth be told, I am surprised there was not more wailing and weeping at his parting.”

There were chuckles at that, and even Penny laughed quietly.

“Ah, and speaking of Arvain…” Gandalf murmured.

As he spoke, Penny became aware of voices outside. Just as Arvain could be heard asking if his brother and Penny were inside, Gandalf levered himself out of his chair, crossed over to the tent flap and held it open.

“Come in, my boy! Come in. We are discussing your charge, after all. You should be in here.”

“Thank you, Mithrandir.” Arvain smiled and entered, bowing slightly to Aragorn as he came in. “What is all this? I came back to the fire and Faelon said I should come and seek you out. He would not tell me what it is about, but had a look about him that told me something was up.”

“Pen-ii has agreed to come and live with us, brother, as we discussed.”

Arvain stared at Penny for a moment.

“Truly?” A grin was forming. “You will? Ha! But that is wonderful news!”

He practically threw himself down onto the cot next to her, before pulling her into a hug.

“Care for some wine, Arvain?”

“No, I thank you, Lord Elrond, but wine on top of ale would not be wise.”

“We were just saying how much the ladies of Gondor will miss you,” Aragorn said with a grin on his face.

“Now that there will be little prospect of you returning to Gondor any time soon, that is,” Elrond explained. “Apparently Lady Pen-ii here was concerned as to how much you might want to live there rather than remain in the north.”

“Really?” Arvain looked at Penny in some confusion. “I admit I would have missed home, but I would not have minded overmuch. After all, both kinsmen and King would be there, no?”

Penny forced a smile. “Yes, yes, of course. You are right.”

“I think most of her concern was for me, Arvain,” Halladan said quietly.

Penny was acutely aware of him sitting beside her but just at that moment she could not bring herself to look at him.

“Oh. Oh, I see. Yes, of course.” Arvain seemed subdued suddenly, though he kept giving Penny puzzled glances.

“You must forgive me, Halladan,” said Aragorn softly, “for perhaps having kept you there overlong.”

“Not at all.” Halladan shook his head. “There is no need.”

Penny knew that, as gracious and no doubt sincere as Halladan’s response had been, the sooner he could have left Gondor the better it would have been for him, but she said nothing – it was not her place, and she was still slightly bewildered at this subject being spoken of so freely.

“I have to admit I had not realised it was being in Gondor itself that you also found difficult.”

“Places can hold memories too, Arvain,” Gandalf said quietly, and as he spoke Penny caught his eye.

There was something knowing about his look that made her wonder if perhaps he had not only guessed that Halladan had had a flashback she had witnessed, but had had some insight into the exact nature or circumstances of it.

She had little time to consider it, however, as the conversation quickly turned, no doubt as a concerted effort by all there not to dwell on matters that no doubt made Halladan uncomfortable. They did not stay long after that.

As they were leaving, Elrond called her over to him, his voice low.

“You are most welcome in Imladris. We shall be glad of your company. I know you know that, and I am pleased that you have allowed yourself to come to terms with whatever happened in Minas Tirith…” He held up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “No, no, please. We shall not refer to it again. It is past.” He smiled, taking hold of the top of her arm for a moment. “I am pleased also by Halladan’s suggestion. It is an excellent one. It was something that we had discussed amongst ourselves also as a possibility, and I am glad that both Halladan and Arvain intend to follow their father’s wishes and take on the role of guardian that he himself had considered, indeed pledged himself to take on. It does them great credit, and I know that they will fulfil their duty by you to the best of their ability, which is considerable, and with honour and fidelity. Their father was a good and noble man, one I loved dearly as you know, and they, along with their brother, followed him in that respect, and I love them easily as much as I did Halbarad. It warms my heart to know that they will be the ones to look after you. I have no qualms, no hesitation in handing that responsibility over to them. I know you will settle in well with the Dunedain, and they will be very accepting of you, indeed already are.”

“Thank you, Lord Elrond. It means so much to me to hear you say all this.”

And she did indeed feel a huge sense of relief to hear him talking so positively about her decisions and future situation. She realised that his opinion mattered very greatly to her, perhaps in large part because of their altercation and how even till recently she had feared she had lost his respect forever. She paused for a moment before continuing.

“I will be honest, Lord Elrond, I hesitated a little over Imladris if only because I know that… once you leave…Well, there are so many of you whom I have got to know well who will be going...”

“Oh, some will stay. Some will follow us later, some not at all. But you are right. Soon enough Imladris will, perhaps, not be quite the same as it is now.” He paused. “But then in truth,” and he looked up as he spoke, his focus over her shoulder to the opposite wall of the tent, “it has been slowly changing for many years now. Long ago much of its light was lost and it has been diminishing ever since.”

Penny wondered what he was referring to, whether the loss he spoke of was that of Celebrian, or if it went further back to the first exodus of elves after The Battle of the Last Alliance, perhaps both. Whatever the case she was not about to ask, and Elrond did not look like he was going to be terribly forthcoming. He smiled, if a little sadly, took her arm, and led her out of the tent into the starlight.

The next morning started with the unexpected arrival of several Rohirrim at the Dunedain fire. Most were those who had fought alongside them in the days of the War, who considered them friends and brothers-in-arms. Apparently hunts were to be had that morning in preparation for the feasting that would be held over the next few days. Would any men there care to join them, if only for a diversion?

Many jumped at the chance. It would be an opportunity to exercise the horses, to take some time away from the strangely quiet and oppressive melancholy of the elves, indeed for the Dunedain to do the sort of thing they loved best – go out in to the wild and track stuff. Arvain and Halladan could hardly bolt down their breakfast quick enough, indeed Arvain actually left the breakfast group with an apple in one hand and a hunk of bread still in his mouth, hurrying after his brother to fetch his pack, his bow and his saddle.

Penny resisted the opportunity to mutter something about ‘typical men’ under her breath, but it really did have that feel about it. She shook her head and chuckled.

“You will have to get used to that sort of thing once you live with the Dunedain,” Frodo said with a smile. “Great trackers and hunters, to a man. You should hear old Bilba on the subject, he is quite the expert… for all he has only ever heard reports of them while sitting in Imladris, of course.” He laughed. “He has a huge respect for them.”

“I know. I remember him telling me as much many times.”

The two fell into quiet conversation as they poured themselves second cups of tea. The hobbits, even though they were housed in Edoras and ate their meals there, still made a point of coming down to the camp quite frequently, and took the opportunity of having tea with Penny of a morning to try and wangle a second breakfast while there (or even a third if they got to the elves’ fire before Naurdir had packed everything away).

There was no sign of Merry that morning, however, and indeed he had rarely been seen since they had arrived in Edoras. Apparently he was spending a lot of time in the Meduseld, standing vigil beside Theoden. The king was lying in state under his cloth of gold on a plinth itself draped in fine brocades and cloth, torches round about him, men-at-arms standing still and silent at each corner. It was quite an impressive sight according to Frodo. He had been in a splendid chamber off the Meduseld hall, but today was due to be moved into the Meduseld itself.

The men of Theoden’s family and his personal guard kept a constant watch over him, and Merry was counted one of these by default: a great honour and a role he was proud to perform. It was also why Eowyn was only to be seen by the guests in the evening, and even then only briefly – most of her time (when she was not in the company of Faramir, that was) was spent in quiet watchfulness over her uncle’s body or else making preparations for the burial the following day and the feasting afterwards.

All day from early morning men continued to work on the barrow, and it grew foot by foot in height with every hour. Most of the stones had all been laid the day before (which had been huge work, but neatly done by a well-organised team of burly Rohirrim); all that had remained to do was to create the ‘roof’ of stones, and continue to dig the ditch, thus slowly covering the stone chamber until a barrow of some considerable size was formed. The turfs of grass and flowers had been cut before they had begun the work of the ditch and stone chamber, and lay in a neat pile to one side, ready to be carpeted over the barrow once it was done. The entrance to the chamber was tall enough that a man could enter, if he stooped a little, perhaps, and wide enough that two men could carry a bier down into the dark room the barrow housed.

Those within the camp were aware, even from first light, that there seemed to be more people coming and going along the path up to the gates than in the past couple of days, and that continued to be the case throughout the day. Many wagons laden with barrels, sacks and produce rolled by, no doubt in preparation for the feast that would start the following evening. On occasion, small groups of men, horsed and in all their finery, rode past the camp and up to the town; clearly they were lords and noblemen from the further reaches of the realm come to pay their last respects to their fallen King.

Above all, however, there was a growing sense of solemnity that even Penny was aware of. Those that passed by might have been talking, or even called an occasional greeting to any they saw at times, but it was all muted. Many fell completely silent the moment they laid eyes on the fresh mound of earth and the men still hard at work on it. Several bowed their heads, or even turned away slightly as if overcome.

As for Penny and the ellith, this day had apparently been declared washing day. It seemed inconceivable that they should wash their clothes (or themselves) on the several days of feasting to come, thus it was today or not at all. The former was easy enough, perhaps, but the latter less so. There had been some debate the previous evening as to where and how the logistics of bathing would take place. The elves, it seemed, refused point blank to even consider using bathing facilities within the city, as had been suggested at first. A wash in a stream or river was considered preferable to ‘a stand-up wash with filthy water in an even filthier hovel’ (as some of the less charitable amongst them had declared). However it had to be pointed out to such ‘nay sayers’ that the large valley in which Edoras was situated was well populated (even if the farmsteads and few villages were spread out somewhat) and that whatever expanse of free space might be found, it would be very open to the public.

In the end, tents were set up a mile from Edoras next to a large tributary of the Snowbourn. Buckets, bowls, jugs and a few large tubs were left in each, and communal washing could thus be had with the maximum of discretion but the minimum of disruption.

Of course the Rohirrim were by turns bemused, non-plussed and utterly baffled by it all.

Penny was amused to note that even as the logistics were explained over breakfast, before many of the Dunedain left for hunting in various groups with the Rohirrim, it was clear that many there felt they should also make some sort of effort. There were rumblings to the effect of ‘not bothering with all the fuss and just going for swims in the first decent sized bit of river they encountered while they were out on the hunts as and when the mood took them,’ but in the end many used the facilities set up by the elves on their return from hunting simply because it was easier.

Thus when Faelon, Arvain and Halladan came back to camp in late afternoon, their hair still damp, their clean clothes still clinging to them a little, they found Penny, Mireth and Eleniel sitting on the grass nearby with several blond-haired children running around them and all three females studiously trying not to look in the slightest bit amused by the idea of Dunedain succumbing to elvish bathing mores. The three men let it be known in no uncertain terms that they could stop smirking thank you very much, that even Dunedain felt the need to be clean on occasion.

“Did we say anything?” Penny turned to Mireth. “I do not believe we said a word, did we?”

“Not one word,” Mireth shook her head rather too vigorously.

Eleniel spluttered, and covered her mouth quickly, turning away.

“We heard that!” Arvain called as he headed off towards the row of Dunedain tents.

At which point, Mireth, Penny and Eleniel could not help themselves and just fell about. It was a rare moment of jollity that Penny realised she had missed. Eleniel was, perhaps, not quite as subdued as the rest, if only because she was staying on with Arwen, but Mireth was really not herself, and Penny knew it.

Of course the incident at the washing stoop had not helped.

They had headed up there first thing after breakfast. It was near the top of the hill on Edoras, and Penny had not been the only one to comment on how busy, and yet how quiet, the town seemed. It was a hive of concentrated, if subdued, activity, with the streets busy with carts (and the horseshit hugely multiplied as a consequence), barrow-boys, messengers, women with baskets filled with newly baked things hidden by cloths but smelling quite delicious, all heading towards or hurrying from the Meduseld.

There had been several women of Rohan already at the stoop when they had arrived. Penny had been somewhat taken aback to realise one or two were washing dresses that she recognised as belonging to some of the Gondorian ladies-in-waiting. Indeed, the moment the women saw the ellith arrive, they had protested, in the kindest possible manner, insisting that they do the washing for the ellith. A polite struggle of wills had ensued, with some ellith graciously backing down, and others insisting that they were perfectly used to this sort of work and indeed enjoyed it. At the risk of causing offence, however, since the ladies of Rohan seemed really quite appalled at the idea that fine females such as they should stoop to thrash clothes on the paved slabs, most allowed their dresses to be washed for them. The few ellith that stayed insisted that they help since it was clearly too great a workload for the ladies to deal with even though reinforcements had been sent for the moment the ellith had arrived.

It was all quite a performance. Not least because many of the women and quite a few of the ellith (especially those from Lothlorien) spoke no Westron, so most of the protesting back and forth was done by a few from each side and even then had involved a lot of hand gestures.

Penny had noted that no one batted an eyelid about her washing her own clothes. She had not been quite sure whether to be offended by this or not.

Fairly soon, however, things had settled down, and indeed a rather happy, jovial atmosphere had developed. It always seemed to be the case, whether in Imladris, Lothlorien, Minas Tirith or here in Edoras: the washing-stoop was a place for chatter, gossip, songs and laughter.

Or at least, it was usually. Today was different.

Once or twice the hubbub and gales of giggling had got above a certain level and several windows around the courtyard that contained the stoop had been thrown open and sharp words spoken. Indeed, before long there had come the sound of heavy, booted footsteps and then a man, his expression grim and wearing clothes that even Penny could tell meant he was someone fairly important, had appeared round the corner to basically tell the women off.

He had then turned and bowed graciously to the nearest elleth and explained in Westron with a faintly apologetic, yet firm, tone.

“Please forgive us, but today is a day of mourning. Our fallen King lies in the Great Hall awaiting his time. His family is with him. His lords stand guard around him. Today is not a day for jokes and laughter.”

Then he had bowed once more, turned on his heel and was off.

The ellith had been mortified and instantly apologetic that they had been the cause of any inappropriateness. The women reassured them that they had not been to blame, rather that they, the women, had forgot themselves.

After that the washing had been done in a strange, strained silence, with people talking only in quiet whispers. It also seemed no coincidental accident that one or two older women joined them at that point who seemed to have no washing of their own to do but saw to it to glare firmly at anyone who so much as raised their voice above a murmur.

Penny had it on good authority that that had remained the case throughout the day.

None of it had helped to lighten the already sombre mood in the elvish camp, and at lunch Penny had really missed the company of the Dunedain and of Halladan, Arvain and Faelon in particular.

There was no drinking or socialising in the Meduseld that night. Aside from the fact that Theoden was in there, as the night before the funeral ceremony it was not appropriate. Edoras was in mourning and in preparation for the following day. The guests kept a respectful distance, therefore, and quiet meals were had round campfires followed by a night without songs other than sad ones. It was as if everyone was determined to get ‘in the mood.’

Even the Dunedain were quieter than usual, most sitting in silence round their fire, smoking and taking sips of ale. Penny found her mind wandering and dwelling on things that, with all the aftermath of her explosion with Elrond, worrying about Halladan let alone her decision of where to stay, she had had little time to think about. With the current mood it seemed strangely appropriate, for all it was upsetting.

Indeed, as she felt her emotions beginning to spiral out of control a little, she muttered an excuse and wandered away, not wishing to dissolve into tears in front of others and hoping a little walk might help to calm her, help to clear her head. After all, what was the point of getting upset about it all now?

And yet…

Tomorrow the great and good of Middle-earth would pay their last respects to one of the great Kings of their age, a hero, a fine and noble man. They would say goodbye; they would get ‘closure’ (much as it pained Penny to think of such a term).

And what of those Penny had left behind? What ‘closure’ was there for them?

In Minas Tirith it had dawned on her that she should mourn her family, that she had indeed lost them much as one loses someone who dies. She had had little time to grieve, or to think of doing so, but now, with everyone so quiet, so full of their own thoughts around her, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to think also about what losses she had known.

Yet what actually hurt her most as she had sat at the fire, staring into the bright yellow tongues of flame as if mesmerised, was the sudden thought of her mother, what she must have gone through, must still be going through, how distraught, how worried she must be. That was the moment when Penny had felt she should leave the fire.

Did they think her dead? All sorts of things must have occurred to them. Did they think she was she wandering, lost and bewildered somewhere not knowing who she was or where she lived? Or lying naked and broken in a ditch, victim to some violent horror? She wondered if there had been a TV appeal, a reconstruction on ‘Crimewatch’, her picture on pieces of paper on lamp-posts and in the window of the local newsagents…

“Pen-ii?”

She did not turn. It was Halladan, come to see if she was alright, no doubt, but how could she even begin to express this, when his pain, his loss, his grief was that much worse than anything she would suffer? She just kept staring up at the dark line of the mountains against the stars. She did not even attempt to wipe away the tears falling slowly down her cheeks.

Halladan had hesitated behind her, perhaps sensing he might be interrupting something. He said her name once more, even more quietly, even more gently, and when she still said nothing he walked over to her, standing beside her for a moment looking out to the same line of mountains as she. He glanced sideways at her, taking in her silent sadness.

Then he simply put his arm about her shoulder, pulled her in towards him and said nothing, just held her till her cheeks were dry at last and with a heavy sigh and a murmured thank you she pulled away from him.

He did not ask what had been the matter. Either he realised she did not really want to talk about it, or suspected it was best left alone for the time being. Near enough everyone in the camp was in much the same state that night – lost in their own thoughts, burdened by whatever they might have suffered. It was not a night for being open and sharing. It was a night for quiet introspection, for grieving perhaps, for the simple comfort found in silent company, but nothing more. He simply asked her if she was coming back to the fire for a little while, which she did, letting him slowly walk beside her in silence. After a little while, though, she felt the best thing would be to crash out into unconsciousness, said her goodnights and headed off to her tent.

The following morning as she washed, Penny wondered what the ‘form’ was for funereal wear, not that she had many options available. It became clear, though, as she walked back to her bedroll and took in what the others were wearing, that finery was expected. Not to look gorgeous so much as to show respect. Thus Penny wore the same red dress she had worn at the wedding – it was the best she had – and her new shoes, as hand-made in Rohan. She allowed Mireth to do her hair and felt strangely disappointed when Mireth insisted on using a gold and pearl-encrusted hair tie rather than the basic one Halladan had made. It was understandable enough, perhaps, but Penny had grown quite attached to that hair tie in the couple of days she had been using it. For a brief moment she had even wondered if he would notice and feel slightly put out – a thought that she instantly dismissed as utterly ridiculous for all sorts of reasons.

Breakfast was perhaps the quietest meal yet. Few could help glancing at least once to the barrow, now with the turf laid out all over it, the stone entranceway facing west.

No sooner were the meals being packed away than several Rohirrim appeared in the camp, asking for various nobles to make their way up into Edoras so that they might form part of the processional behind the bier. This included, obviously, Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn, Elladan and Elrohir as well as all the chief advisers and noteworthy elves of both Imladris and Lothlorien. Only ten or so of the most senior Dunedain were to ride behind Aragorn, as well as the most prominent nobles from Gondor. The rest would line the way from the gates of Edoras to the barrow along with many Rohirric warriors.

Penny was not sure why she felt surprised when Faelon, Halladan and Arvain were all included in those to join Aragorn. She knew Halbarad had been very high-ranking and well thought in terms of both character and lineage. It seemed that that had automatically been conferred onto his sons upon his death, a fact that up till now Penny had not really had an opportunity to fully appreciate. She felt faintly proud to know them so well as all three, dressed in the fine tunics they had had made for Aragorn’s wedding, headed off to prepare their horses and make their way up to the Meduseld.

Soon enough after those to join the processional had left, it became clear people were arriving from the surrounding villages and farms. Those in the camp took that as their cue to also start making their way towards the barrow. Most stood in the field below it, thus leaving the way down to it free and also allowing themselves a view of the burial rites once they got underway.

Penny made her way with Mireth and Celebdor and stood with the elves. One Dunadan over breakfast, a little older than Arvain and apparently a second-cousin twice removed of theirs, had suggested she come and stand with the Dunedain during the proceedings. After all, he pointed out, this was a formal occasion and she was now officially one of their number now. He had been gently reminded, however, that those who would line the way would be warriors and all male. Female onlookers were to be amongst the crowds in the field below. The Dunadan seemed a little sheepish at that, both for not having thought of it himself and for possibly having embarrassed Penny, but she had reassured him and headed off to find Mireth.

Slowly men were filing out of the city, all horsed, all in full regalia – helmeted, carrying spear and shield – and beginning to line the way between the gate and the barrow till at last they were two or three horses thick on either side. The Dunedain joined them, again all horsed, and in their finest tunics, all with bows on their backs and swords on their hips.

Then horns sounded from somewhere within the city, most probably from the Meduseld itself. These were answered by others at the city gates, and then by still more from the barrow, and it was only then that Penny, by standing on tiptoes and squinting slightly, could see that two Rohirrim astride huge white stallions were already standing guard on either side of the entranceway to it, horns to their lips.

The horns did not stop immediately, but blew long, low mournful notes, one after the other till they melded into one, long wail that lasted for several minutes. Then everything fell silent. Even the crowd fell into a hushed, reverential quiet.

It took quite some time for the bier to appear. When it did so the silence seemed to become that much more profound, with no movement and no sound other than the faint tramp of the horses’ hooves of those in the processional.

Leading the way, walking on foot, was a man, very simply dressed though with a long dark cloak about his shoulders and carrying a tall staff. He seemed elderly, had a long grey beard and carried himself with a proud dignity that in itself showed he was important, if only within this occasion. Behind him twelve men were carrying the bier, walking slowly. Placed on top of the cloth of gold covering Theoden were his shield, his sword and a spear. Following the bier were a group of women, Eowyn amongst them, all on foot, carrying various items either by hand on else born on cushions or golden platters. Although Penny could not make out every item in detail, it all shone and gleamed enough to make it clear much of it was golden and encrusted with jewels.

Behind them came the processional, all horsed to a man, with Eomer leading, Elfhelm and Erkenbrand on either side of him, and the Riders of the King’s House, the King’s personal guard, following immediately behind. In amongst them was a small figure on a pony, sitting as straight in his saddle as any there. Following the King’s Riders came Gandalf with the rest of the Fellowship, Aragorn, Faramir, Imrahil along with those nobles from Gondor and the Dunedain who had been selected to join them, as well as the group of elves representing their peoples.

As the body of Theoden slowly made its way past the Rohirrim lining the way, each man lowered his spear till it was pointing at the ground. Several had standards, no doubt of their local noble family or region, and these too were lowered. The Dunedain, when the bier reached them, followed the others’ example and bowed their heads one by one.

Still no one spoke.

At long last the bier reached the barrow, and for a time there was a pause as those in the processional either joined the ranks of those lining the way, or else crowded round the barrow itself. The highest ranking officials amongst the guests stayed near to Eomer by the quiet direction of one or two of the Rohirrim. That included the Fellowship, and Penny noted that both Frodo and Sam were in their full ‘princeling outfits,’ just as they had been at the wedding, and Pippin was proudly wearing his dark guard’s tunic.

With some ceremony and slow decorum, Theoden was at last taken into the barrow while a long, low song was sung by a solitary voice somewhere in amongst the King’s Riders. Then once those who had carried the bier had reappeared, one by one those who had followed on foot took into the barrow those items they had carried behind him, starting with Eowyn. Not only was Theoden to be buried with his sword, his shield and his spear but also with jewels, finely wrought daggers, golden jugs of mead and silver bowls of bread to sustain him on his journey into the darkness. It seemed that every region and family of note had sent either their finest item or had had something made that could be included in the barrow.

Theoden would be entombed surrounded by gold, fine inlay, cloths of exquisite beauty and much that any king could be proud of.

It was just as the men in the North had done of old, Penny thought, and she wondered how similar a ceremony the Dunedain themselves might still practice or if this was a long-dead ritual they recognised only from legend. It was possible something similar might have been given to Halbarad and she found herself wondering whether he too had been buried with his sword upon his breast, his horse beside him. She made a point to ask someone. She was not sure why, but she felt it was important that she know. She hoped it was the case.

When the last of them had come out of the barrow, Eomer began to speak. He did not turn his horse, but though he faced the barrow the entire time, his voice carried clear in the light breeze. His speech was long and in Rohirric, so Penny only got a vague translation later, but it was clear even then that he spoke of his uncle in terms that were both moving and filled with honour since many amongst the Rohirrim broke down and wept, not even trying to hide their tears.

Once Eomer had finished, the bearded man who had led the funeral procession stepped forward, placing his staff on the still open entrance way and said some low incantation that Penny could not hear but was clearly meant to be an impressive and an important part of the ceremony given the reverent silence that fell. Then he stepped back, nodding his head to four men who stood nearby and now stepped forward to place a huge stone in place to block the entrance.

Only once it was in place did the Riders of the King’s House form a circle about the barrow and start to sing, slowly encircling it all the while. It was a long, slow song, and Penny knew what it was without having to be told, knew it was the last song the King’s minstrel would ever write, that it had been written for this occasion. Men wept openly then once more. No one stopped Merry from dismounting from his saddle and crossing to the barrow, where he knelt by the doorway and sobbed quietly into his hands.

As the men’s voices rose higher, clearer, Penny looked about her and could see she was not the only one touched by all this, that all were visibly moved, even the elves. She had tried to look out for Halladan and the others, but they were on the far side of the barrow and she could not make them out. She only hoped Halladan was not finding this all too emotionally difficult.

At the barrow, many lingered after the men had finished their song at last. Merry had finally got to his feet, even as Pippin had come over to him to comfort him, while others stood at the barrow, heads bowed in prayer or silent contemplation. Gandalf had gone to the doorway and repeated the actions of the bearded man, speaking in a low voice, his mouth close to the stones, as if to Theoden himself. Many of the women were weeping, their voices louder than the song had been; several had to be physically calmed by those around them, clearly overwhelmed by memories of whatever personal loss they had suffered.

As for Penny, as she had listened uncomprehendingly to the men singing, she had found herself overcome at last. She wept, like many there, and not only for Theoden but for them all, for every single one who had fallen, for Halbarad, for Hirvell, for Boromir, and for the countless others who had given everything they had in that last savage push against the darkness. She wept for all she herself had lost, for those she had left behind and for her own personal grief. She wept for all that had been marred in this world, all that it had already lost and still would lose once the elves were gone; she wept for all those left widowed, for all those who had seen their loved ones die in front of them, for those whose lives were shattered and might never recover. She wept for Hiluin and for Halladan, for every man of Rohan who had come home to a burnt-out house, to dead children and a brutalised, butchered wife. She wept for what she knew was still to come, for the hobbits and the scouring of The Shire, for the pain and suffering Elrond would have to bear after bidding his only daughter farewell forever. She wept till she was not even sure why she was weeping anymore.

Aranarth called himself ‘Chieftain’ rather than ‘King’ since he had witnessed the fall of his father’s (King Arvedui of Arthedain) realm to the attacks of the Witchking of Angmar. His father fled north and was lost on board a ship sent by Cirdan to rescue him in the icy northern seas. It is not stated if Aranarth joined the Gondorian Prince Earnur when he marched from Lindon against the Witchking, but it seems both likely and safe to assume so, which is what I have done. Aranarth was the first to foster his son and heir with Elrond (Arahael), an act no doubt borne of the fact of the loss of the Kingdom and the scattered nature of their people – the world was not as safe and their people not as strong as they had been. Arahael then did the same with his firstborn son, and so on through the generations down to Arathorn and Aragorn.

I have tried to base the construction of the barrow and aspects of the burial ritual (though much is, obviously, pure poetic licence) on what is known from archaeological digs here in the UK, both Anglo-Saxon and Norse (ones that were pagan and didn’t involve burning, that is). Not all fit this situation exactly, so this is an amalgam of various points as well as using the similarity of barrow-burials as a practice to that practised of old by the Numenoreans in Arnor (as the hobbits discovered, of course).

As ever my sincere thanks to all who take time out to read this, let alone leave reviews and get in contact. My apologies also for the longer-than-usual delay in getting this chapter done - winter colds have ravaged the household something chronic the last two months.