As Far As The Heart Can See

Chapter 1
“Dreams and Caves”

The young woman whimpered in her sleep, tears ran down her cheeks. She was struggling against invisible bonds, clutching the old and wrinkled hands which held a just as old book.
“No, Halian. No, no,” she cried desperately. The healer smiled at her sadly.
“In time, you will understand, Ósle.” His hands left hers’, leaving the book in the process and she was pulled backward, away from him.
“Halian,” she called and sat up, breathing hard. Sweat covered her face and body, had already drenched her thin night shift.
It had been a dream. Taking several deep breaths, Ósle closed her eyes shaking her head. It couldn’t go on like this.
Three days had passed since she arrived at Helm’s Deep, along with the other villagers. Four since she left Halian to his doom.
Ósle had struggled, had cried and demanded to stay with him if he wouldn’t go with her. But in the end, Beda and Halian had made sure that she left with almost everyone else; leaving the few who would not part from their home to the orcs.
Oh Halian. Fresh tears threatened to fall but she blinked them away. Instead one hand automatically went up to her throat and to the pendant of the necklace, clutching it tightly. The other reached underneath the small pillow resting on the book. Was he still alive?
Deep in her heart Ósle knew he wasn’t; knew that his last wish had been granted: to die where he had been born almost 70 years ago. She hoped that he had found his eternal freedom.
Getting up from the mattress, she changed into a clean night dress, put on a cloak and silently left the small room not wanting to wake Asthryd.

It was not yet midnight, she gathered. Many were still awake, lingering in the hallways; seeing to what chores could still be done.
Upon entering the main hall, she felt at once that something must have happened. It was busier than usual at that time of night. Much busier.
Many kitchen maids and lads were running back and forth, distributing food and drink. On a second look, she noticed many riders gathered in the hall. There were so many as she had never seen before. Wanting to know what was going on, Ósle stopped one of the maids.
“The King has come,” the young girl answered before taking off to the kitchen again.
The King here? That had to be good news, hadn’t it?
A hand on her shoulder made her turn and she came face to face with Beda.
“Ósle, Leof sends me. You are to accompany the already wounded into the caves right now, along with all the women and children.”
“But…,” The hand the older Rohír held up silenced her.
“No buts. There is no time. It is the King’s order. Go now. I will find Asthryd.”
Nodding still confused, Ósle set off toward the healing wing. Several soldiers carrying stretchers met her along the way and when she entered only three beds were still occupied. Releasing a deep breath, she quickly took up a satchel and collected everything she might need.

The last two wounded were being carried out, only a small boy remained who stood up on his bed.
“I’m left all alone,” he said quietly. Ósle couldn’t help but smile, slung the strap of the satchel over her head and went to his side.
“Then we should go and find the others shouldn’t we?” The boy nodded and Ósle gathered him into her arms, along with the blanket. She left the healing wing, went down a corridor and out of the Hornburg.
The sight that met her made her freeze on the spot for several moments. Soldiers crowded the pathways; guarded the wall and gate. Were they preparing for battle?
Someone brushed passed her, almost making her loose her footing and she quickly followed the thinning stream of people down the back of the Hornburg and along a path into the caves.
Many had already set up camp, resembling something of a home. Once more it hit her just how lucky their village had been to have had warning. Most of those here hadn’t, had lost all of their belongings.
Suppressing the overwhelming sense of sadness, Ósle picked her way through the many people eventually finding Asthryd and Beda. They had directed the wounded to be moved into one of the many alcoves to provide as much peace and quiet as possible.
She sat the small boy down who at once spotted his father. Thanking her, he ran over to him and Ósle went to speak with Beda and Asthryd but left them their privacy to say good-bye. Beda would go with several other men to guard the entrance to the caves, acting as the last defence.

To occupy her mind, she made certain that each injured had made it through the transport without furthering their wounds. With some she redressed the wounds, especially where stitches had been needed.
When she finally was done and sat down next to Asthryd, she estimated it to be around midnight. There was no vice to tell exactly.
“Ósle, this is it,” Asthryd said barely audible. “This is the end. There is no hope.” It hurt her to hear the defeat in her friends’ voice, the bitter acceptance of what might happen.
For a brief moment, Ósle closed her eyes. Deep inside, she agreed with Asthryd. But Halian had taught her to never give up hope.
Taking a deep breath she fixed her friend with a determined stare, put a hand on her arm and shook her head.
“Who are you, Asthryd?”
The older woman’s eyes widened in surprise before her forehead creased in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you of the people you claim to be?”

Asthryd was silent for a while but Ósle could see her think about her words.
The noise of the other villagers echoed in the caves, soft murmur and talk. Yet, several children were laughing, playing their games; oblivious to the threat which was undeniably upon them.
Ósle listened while awaiting Asthryd’s answer but there was no sound from outside. The thick walls of the mountain shielded them, deflecting any sound. Was the battle already under way?

Asthryd’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts and Ósle once more faced her friend.
“I am Asthryd of Westfold,” she said, her voice strong and proud. “A good daughter, wife and mother. And an Eorling.”
“Exactly,” Ósle replied with a smile on her face. “And where would you be if Eorl had given up hope after his father’s death?” And more gently she added: “There is always hope. Even if it is hard to see.”
For the first time in days the older woman smiled. Really smiled which warmed Ósle’s heart. She knew what her friend had to go through. Both of her sons had left the Hornburg with their Èored about a fortnight ago and it was unclear of what had happened to them; if they were still alive. The company they had ridden out with had been scattered several days ago. And there hadn’t been any other news so far.
Alden and Ceredig had become like brothers to Ósle and she worried for them as well. They had grown up together, had played together. And with Alden Ósle had shared her first kiss. A silly smile came to her upon remembering that particular day. It had been on her 14th birthday and neither had liked it much and had decided to just be friends.
On an impulse she drew Asthryd into her arms and hugged her tight.
“They are alright, Asthryd. And we will be too.”
---

It felt as if they had been in the caves forever. There was no sound from outside and no one could be spared to bring news. The waiting they had to endure gnawed at everyone’s nerves. And although it had quieted, the tension and nervousness still grew.
Ósle once again sat next to Asthryd who rested her head on her shoulder, having dozed off to sleep. Most of her patients were asleep as well as most occupants of the caves.
She, too felt her eyes droop more frequently. The low burning torches and fires encouraging sleep even more. It would be so easy to drift off to sleep, escaping the nerve-racking process of waiting. With a sigh her eyes closed and slowly her breathing deepened.
But she was roused from her state of semi-slumber by a low, quiet male voice. Ósle blinked several times and in the dim light of the fires recognized Beda. Her eyes widened fearing the worst. Yet, Beda quickly reassured her that it wasn’t serious.
“Just come with me. And take your satchel,” he told her quietly and gently shifted his wife’s position so that Ósle could get up.
She took the pouch and followed Beda along the path to the front most area of the caves. Many riders stood there, waiting with the men who had been left behind to guard the entrance. Ósle couldn’t help the gasp. What did this mean? Was the battle turning against them that they had had to retreat to the caves?

Drawing a shaky breath, she stayed behind as Beda approached a group of riders.
“My Lord?”
One of the riders turned at his voice, a rather fierce look on his face which softened slightly once he saw it was Beda.
“Have you found her?” he asked and Ósle felt a slight shiver run down her spine.
“I have, my Lord. Òsle?” He motioned for her to come forward which she did. At once the riders eyebrows shot up, his forehead crinkled and his eyes widened, surprise obvious.
Ósle blushed and slightly bowed her head.

“How may I help, Lord?” she asked knowing that his surprise deepened. It always did when she met someone new.
She saw his hand motion to where he had stood earlier and dared not lift her gaze to his. Instead she turned and saw a short but sturdy man sitting with his back to the wall. Most of his face was hidden by a very bushy beard, which was also covered in blood. As well as his forehead and the front part of his hair on the left.
Within a few strides she reached him and knelt down in front of him.
“What happened?” she asked without thinking and only noticed at his confused look that she must have spoke rohirric.
“Master Gimli does not speak the language of the Mark, Miss,” the rider’s voice sounded from right behind her, an amused tinge to it.
She turned her head, met his gaze and could not help but notice how handsome he was, despite all the grime and blood. Lingering a bit, she took in his beautifully crafted armour, much more intricate than either Ceredig’s or Alden’s.
“Thank you, Lord. I had gathered as much already,” she replied kindly and in Westron at which his eyes widened again. In her mind she berated herself for speaking like that to a high ranking Captain while she turned back to the short man in front of her.
With a smile at him, Ósle repeated the question.

“Orc axe, Miss. Right through the helmet. But really – this is more trouble than it’s worth.” Once more she smiled at him and put a hand on his arm.
“Let me see and decide, Master Gimli. – I…I need some more light.”
Several men at once took the torches from the braces on the wall and went to stand around them. She studied his forehead for a few moments and was interrupted by a presence behind her.
“May I offer my help, Miss?” It was the Captain again, she knew without turning around. Instead she groped in her satchel and retrieved a small wooden bowl.

“Yes, I’ll need clean water,” she told him. With a nod he took the bowl from her hands and turned around. Once again she focused on her patient.
“The helmet served you well, Mater Gimli. The wound is not deep. Yet, it needs to be cleaned and bound to forego it turning worse.”
The dwarf nodded and Òsle took out a small bottle of spirit and two small pieces of linen.
Someone knelt down next to her and held out the bowl, now filled with water.
“As you requested, Miss.”
Her head snapped around and she met the Captain’s eyes. Had he really gone to fetch the water himself? It surprised her that a man of his rank would do so even though there were enough other men he could have delegated the task to.
Not knowing what else to say, she bid him to hold the bowl, dipped one of the clothes into the water and started to clean off the dirt and blood from Gimli’s face.

Once finished, she took up the other cloth, poured some spirit onto it and warned the dwarf that it might sting. At his nod, she applied it to the wound.
“Have you thought of poison, Miss?” the Captain asked, his voice low and serious without any trace of amusement or mockery. She looked at him, nodded.
“I have, my Lord. I do not think the axe was poisoned. It would have worked it’s malice by now.” And turning her gaze back to the dwarf she added: “Even on a hardened warrior like you, Master Gimli.”
He seemed to smile at her which Ósle returned, dropped the cloth, applied a salve and bound the wound with a long strip of linen.
“There, all done. Have it changed in a few days,” she told him and Gimli inclined his head.
“Thank you, Miss,” he replied and stood. “Now I say we chase some more orcs.”
Beside her the Captain nodded and called out to one of his men: “Éothain, leave three dozen as rear guard. All else shall come with us.”

Ósle was busy collecting her equipment when she felt his eyes on her. She felt her cheeks flush becoming aware of how close they really were.
Reluctantly she looked up, found his gaze and almost gasped at the depth of his eyes. His hazel-green one’s held her own, captivating her.
“Who are you?” he asked quietly, startling her. “You speak as own of our own and yet…look nothing like the people of the Mark. Who are you?”

The blush deepened and Ósle averted her eyes. How could she answer something she did not know the answer to herself?
She was saved by one of his men calling for him. The Captain rose to his feet and with another look at her walked over to the assembled riders. After a few hurried commands he led them out of the caves, without a backward glance.
Beda knelt down next to her and helped her put everything back into the satchel. She thanked him with a small smile, still feeling rather flustered and embarrassed after the strange encounter with the Captain. Very grateful, she accepted Beda’s hand to help her to her feet. Rather absentmindedly she nodded when he offered to walk her back, still thinking about him. Who was he? And how could he have affected her so? Making her feel so many things all at one time. And the way he had looked at her…just thinking about it sent a shiver down her spine.

A hand on her shoulder startled her. Coming face to face with Beda, Ósle blushed. What by Béma was wrong with her?
“I will head back to the other men. Take care of yourself and Asthryd,” he said. Ósle nodded and watched him go. Taking a deep breath, she went to check on her charges.

TBC