Chapter Text
Amongst the giant boulders of one of the many rocky outcroppings scattered along the plains of Rohan, Sigeryd carefully made her way along the pathway that time and weather had carved into the stone. Her sharp gaze carefully searched for any patches of soil amongst the rocks where the herb she was hunting might grow. She hated having to come so far afield from her village during these days of unrest, but this was the only area she had ever found the potent feversbane in, and her supplies were dreadfully low.
Guilt racked her for not checking her stores sooner, and fear cramped her belly the longer she searched without finding any green plants hidden amongst the stones. Dread began to creep in, and she feared that the early frosts might have already wiped out the remaining plants for the season. How could she have been so foolish?!
Her mother would never have been so careless to wait so late in the season to check her medicines, but then to be fair, she would have designated that chore to Sigeryd, while she busied herself caring for patients. However, due to her mother’s untimely death, this year Sigeryd was on her own as a healer for the first time. While she had managed caring for the sick and injured in her village, clearly some of the other responsibilities had slipped past her.
Pausing amidst the tall rocks, she leaned wearily against the stone before unhooking the water skin from her belt and taking a sip. Her mind raced, frantically searching her memory for ways she might be able to make the feversbane she had left stretch until the next growing season, but she could think of no blends that would come close to the needed potency.
While other weaker herbs worked well enough on sickness or wound fevers from clean blades, wounds made by orc weapons rarely responded to anything else. And of late, almost all wounds she had been called to tend had been made by orcs, or Dunlendings which weren’t much better honestly.
Sighing, she returned her water skin to her belt and pressed onward through the field of boulders. The biting chill of the wind made her pull her shawl more tightly about her head and neck, before tucking the ends into her belt to keep it secure. Casting a cautious eye to the sky, she judged that she could continue searching for another two to three candle marks before she would need to turn back for the long walk home. Cursing the shortening days and colder weather that made this journey even more treacherous she quickened her steps, determined to keep searching till the last possible moment.
Suddenly a tinge of green caught her eye, and a wave of abject relief flooded her veins as she spotted a patch of feversbane partially sheltered by a shelf of rock that must have protected it from the cold frost. The pocket of green amidst the bleak landscape beaconed, and she rushed forward eagerly. Kneeling down she began to trim the plant nearest her with her belt knife. Careful not to take too much from any one plant, she slowly filled the leather satchel at her waist. The fuller her satchel grew, the more the weight of her dread and worry eased away.
Leaning back on her heels to rest for a moment, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, tucking some loose strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes back under her shawl. Surveying her work she debated about attempting to transplant an entire plant once more. Whenever she and her mother had tried to move a plant from here to their village before it had never taken root, but perhaps if she took it right before it was ready to go dormant for the winter that would make a difference?
Removing her belt pouches and satchel she examined them to see if she had enough room to fit a small plant, but with the other herbs she had gathered earlier in the day as she searched for the feversbane, she was left with very little space. Given how much sod she would have to cut to avoid nicking the roots, she decided that harvesting the herb itself and filling her packs to the brim was the best choice.
After all, they had attempted to move this plant many times with no success, and she needed as much medicine as possible to get through the winter. She hoped desperately that when the passes closed with snow the orc raids would halt, at least for a time. However, it had been rumored that warg riders were seen about recently, and that could mean they would be able to reach further than they had in earlier years.
That’s the last thing we need, Sigeryd thought grimly. Warg bites on top of foul orc wounds? I’ll run out of feversbane in less than a moon cycle if that happens. Though, if indeed warg riders find the village, there likely wouldn’t be anyone left for me to treat.
Forcefully shoving that thought aside, she returned to the task at hand, and harvested as much of the herb as she could possibly fit into her bags. Fortunately for her village, their only orc battles had been with stray scouts, and that mostly with the men out tending the herds of their horses, sheep and goats.
The remote location of their village within a small rocky pass made it of little interest to raiding Dunlendings that were more interested in the open plains. They had only had one real battle with them this past summer, and despite most of the young able bodied men being off training to be in the king’s éoreds, they had been able to defend themselves well enough for the wild men to decide they weren’t worth bothering with for so little gain.
When she could at last fit no more feversbane into her satchel, Sigeryd wiped the knife blade clean on her skirts before sheathing it once more at her waist, and pushing reluctantly to her feet. Her muscles protested the long day of hiking through difficult terrain, and she dreaded the thought of the long walk home.
Looking up at the overcast sky, she judged it to be already well past midday, and it would definitely be a near run thing to make it back before dusk. Checking to be sure all her belt pouches and the precious satchel were fastened securely to her belt, she turned and headed back down the path towards home.
Fortunately her return journey was made a bit easier by the fact that it was downhill now, though that did come with its own peril due to the somewhat treacherous footing amongst the rocks. Several times she felt loose pebbles shifting beneath her feet just in time to keep herself from a nasty fall, so her pace was not nearly as swift as she had hoped. When at last she reached the foot of the hillside, her head jerked up in alarm as the pained whinny of a horse pierced the quiet.
Becoming suddenly aware of sounds of battle, that had apparently been muffled by the columns of stone surrounding her on the slopes, Sigeryd darted to the cover of a nearby boulder. Fear flooded her veins as the shouts of men mixed with the snarls and horrid squeals of orcs grew louder. Glancing about frantically she searched for a better hiding place. Then she spotted it, a mere dozen or so paces away, a low flat slab of rock with a hollowed out area under it. It looked to be deep enough that hopefully she could avoid detection if she were very still and quiet, and regardless, it was far better than cowering behind a boulder out in the open.
Crouching low she ran to the stone slab, dropping to her knees she quickly crawled under the overhang, ignoring the pain caused by the loose shale covering the ground. Heart thundering in her chest she paused and let her eyes adjust to the darkness, glancing about to be sure her hiding place was free of any other occupants. Finding nothing but dirt, moss, and loose stones surrounding her, she turned back to the entrance.
Peering out to see if the battle had become visible from this vantage, she hoped desperately that she hadn’t been spotted. Relief flooded her as she observed the empty grassy plain visible from her location. Thank the Mearas, she had managed to make it to relative safety unobserved.
That relief was short lived however, as within the next heartbeat several horses and riders came galloping into view. It was immediately obvious they were in a bad way, with two horses running riderless next to their fellows, one with blood trailing from slashes in its rump, and the other with blood staining its saddle.
One Rohirrim warrior had pulled another rider up pillion across his saddle, and yet another was slumped in his saddle with an arrow protruding from his shoulder. The two warriors that appeared unhurt held spears at the ready, but all seemed focused primarily on fleeing, which led her to believe the enemy force must be much larger.
When she caught sight of their pursuers her heart plummeted. She had never seen wargs in person, only heard stories of their size and viciousness. Unfortunately the tales had not been exaggerated. A foul bastardized version of the large wolves that still roamed the plains, these beasts had oversized heads, and large misshapen bodies that were nonetheless powerful enough to chase down the flagging mounts of the Rohirrim. Bloody foam dripped from their gaping maws as they raced after their prey.
The horses were giving their all but several were injured, and had obviously been galloping for some time. Then it happened, the horse with the fallen warrior across his saddle stumbled, sending his own rider as well as the injured man crashing to the ground.
With vicious howls of victory the pack of Wargs surged toward the fallen men and horse. Sigeryd watched the two spearmen hesitate when they realized what had happened, then as one wheel their mounts back to defend their fallen comrades. She wanted to cry out in despair, as there was no way two lone men could possibly take on that pack of wargs.
The riderless horses galloped past her stone shelter, pulling her attention from the battle to the remaining injured rider that was racing straight towards her. It appeared he was barely clinging to the saddle at this point, and as the horse reached her position the rider slipped sideways which yanked the reins roughly.
Startled, the horse turned into the pressure and veered closer to her hiding spot instead of racing past like the other horses. That was all it took to send the warrior crashing to the shale covered ground, a mere arms length from her. The horse shied away, continuing his run but now heading towards the path Sigeryd had used earlier to go up into the rocks.
Sigeryd only hesitated for a moment, glancing to see that the wargs and orcs were still occupied with the warriors valiantly fighting a losing battle. She quickly crawled forward, reaching out into the open to grasp the warrior by his armor to drag him to the relative safety underneath the stone slab. Grasping at his armor, she struggled to get a firm hold, until her fingers dug into the crevices of the hardened leather plates overlaying the chain mail on his shoulder.
Pulling as hard as she could yielded only a scant few inches of movement, and her breaths came raggedly as she fought down panic. All it would take was one orc looking up from their kill for all to be lost, but she refused to just leave this man lying defenseless awaiting their cruelty.
Redoubling her efforts, she ignored the burn in her muscles, as she wedged her boots into the stone trying to get more leverage. With a mighty yank the big man finally started to move, the loose shale seemed to be helping her now as it began to shift under his weight. Nearly sobbing in relief Sigeryd, inched her way backwards keeping the momentum going on her burden as best she could. Muscles shaking with strain she kept pulling even after he was completely under cover, endeavoring to get him as deep into the hollowed out area as possible.
When she could go no farther she forced her cramped fingers to release their death grip on his armor, wincing at the pain from tearing her fingernails on his chain mail. Ignoring her instincts as a healer to immediately asses his wounds, she crawled over him to get back to the entrance, and hopefully hide any tell tale signs of their location. Heart racing she looked out and saw the orcs and warg pack were still in the same place. Yet any sense of relief that they hadn’t given chase to the escaping horses, was erased by horror as she realized why.
The wargs were devouring the fallen horses, and at first she thought the orcs were fighting over looting the possessions of the riders. Until she saw blood and entrails fly, and realized the orcs weren’t fighting over armor or weapons. They were fighting over their corpses.
Sigeryd had heard tales of the vile cruelty that orcs seemed to revel in, and even that they would eat the fallen, but witnessing it for herself was more horrifying than she could have imagined. Seeing them ripping and tearing at the bodies of men, while squealing and fighting amongst one another, made bile rise in her throat. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she forced herself to take slow deep breaths through her nose as she fought back the nausea. Tears pricked at her eyes, yet she refused to give into them either. Turning away from the horrible scene in the valley below, she brought her attention back to task at hand.
Reaching out she pulled the few pieces of stone that were speckled with drops of blood in next to her, then swiped her arm back and forth through the other loose stones to remove any signs of drag marks. Looking around she desperately wished there were larger stones nearby for her to pile up, and at least partially block off the entrance. Alas the best she could do was arranging a few rocks near the opening to hopefully make it look as if nothing, and no one, had been through there recently.
Deciding that she had done all she could, she crawled back to the injured man. Brushing the long tangled strands of his hair out of the way she checked his neck for the strength of his heartbeat. Finding it still strong, she checked what she could of the arrow wound in his shoulder. The cramped space and darkened cave made it difficult to asses it fully, but she could tell the arrow shaft had broken, though thankfully it was still lodged firmly so keeping him from bleeding too much. Tracing down to the base of the bolt with her fingers, she felt his chest to see how much blood was escaping and if she should pack the wound. While it did feel damp, blood wasn’t pooling next to the arrow, so best to just leave it be for now.
Pulling her hand away she held it toward the light at the entrance of the cave to see the color of the blood. In the dim light it appeared slightly darker than usual, which worried her as orc wounds that bled dark blood could mean the weapon had been poisoned. However it was just too dark to tell right now. Setting aside that worry for later, she reached out to check his head for injuries from his fall. She cursed the luck that had found him in battle without his helm when she found the large lump at the back of his head. Sighing she wiped her hands on the hem of her skirt and tried to think of anything else she could do for him. Sadly there really wasn’t anything to be done until she somehow managed to get him back to her village.
Despair gripped Sigeryd as the impossible odds of their situation bore in on her. Even if the orcs didn’t find them, she was still afoot nearly a league from her village with an unconscious man that she might injure further by moving. Her fear rose higher as the awful noise from the orcs grew even louder, it sounded as though they were actually battling one another now. Part of her wanted to crawl back to the entrance to see if she could tell what was happening, but a sudden loud roar from a warg paralyzed her as the thought of the beast scenting them.
With no tasks left to keep her mind busy, she couldn’t help but think of all the horrible stories she’d heard about orc attacks. Especially when they captured a woman. Suddenly it was all just too much. Helplessness and fear finally won, and with it the tears she had held back began to fall. A sob rose in her throat, but she quickly muffled it with her hand, terrified lest the slightest noise betray them.
With her slip in composure, the horrid sounds of the orcs she had been doing her best to block out pressed back in on her. Desperate to block out the noise she clasped her hands over her ears, letting her head rest on the fallen warrior’s breastplate while her tears ran their course. She took what comfort she could in the steady rise and fall of his chest, as her tear swollen eyes closed briefly in exhaustion.
Some time later Sigeryd jerked up, confusion at her surroundings had her almost striking her head on the stone ceiling. It was so much darker now! Had she truly fallen asleep? How could she possibly? She had always been able to catch moments of rest at sickbeds whenever she had a chance to close her eyes, but she had never expected to actually fall asleep in such a perilous situation.
Her mind immediately turning to her patient, she reached for his neck struggling to see through the heavy gloom. When her fingers found his heart pulse still strong, and felt the steady rise and fall of his chest she breathed a sigh of relief. His skin did feel overly warm, though with his wound a fever was basically expected. Still, it did worry her that it was setting in so quickly, but then she was unsure how much time had passed at this point.
A sound near the entrance of the cave made her freeze in fear, but then a horses gentle nicker made hope bloom in her chest. Had the rest of this rider’s éored come in search of him and the rest of their fellows? Crawling for the entrance she peered out hopefully, only to be greeted to the sight of a lone horse. Dusk had fallen, but still it was so much brighter than the cave that it took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and realize that it was the fallen warrior’s horse that had ran up the path into the rocks earlier.
Glancing warily down towards the site of the massacre, relief flooded her when she found it deserted. Followed swiftly by grief at the ravaged corpses left behind. An instinctive fear begged her to remain safely hidden, but steeling herself Sigeryd crawled out of her rocky shelter toward the trailing reins of the war horse in front of her. Grasping them firmly but gently so as not to spook the horse, she murmured softly to him and sighed in relief when he turned his head and blew softly into her face.
Wincing at the pull of her cramped muscles she rose to her feet, continuing to murmur soothingly. Stroking his neck lightly she smiled when he nudged his muzzle against her as if asking for a good scratch. Happily complying, Sigeryd scratched under his forelock as he bobbed his head in appreciation.
Her relief at having found a mount to make the trip home easier slowly faded as she turned her mind to the problem of how to get his rider back as well. The horse was obviously a war horse and it would be a struggle for her to get on, but to attempt and lift him? Impossible. And even if she could get him over the saddle, lying facedown with an arrow bolt still in his shoulder would likely kill him. Casting about for any materials to make a semblance of a travois with, her eyes were drawn to the site of the massacre just below.
Dread settled in as she realized that was the only logical place to look. Keeping a firm hold of the horse’s reins she reluctantly began approaching the remains. Taking comfort in the horse’s calm demeanor, since she couldn’t imagine him returning if there were any chance the wargs were still nearby. Deciding to trust in his senses and keep her mind on the problem at hand, she tried to look at the carnage detachedly, searching only for what she could salvage. But she had grossly underestimated the devastation awaiting her.
Sigeryd had never considered herself to have a weak stomach, she had tended all sorts of wounds in her time as a healer, and of course cared for men after battle. Yet nothing could have prepared her for walking onto this battlefield. Men’s bones were tossed here and there, blood and gore coated the ground along with scraps of their armor. When she looked down to find a helm at her feet with a man’s head still inside, she lost the battle with her stomach, and had to turn to the side and wretch.
Wiping her mouth with a trembling hand, she kept a death grip on the horse’s reins with the other. Seeming to feel her distress the horse nudged her gently with his nose. Straightening from her bent over position, she stroked the horse’s neck in silent thanks, then drew upon every last bit of fortitude she had to get this job done before the falling night made it impossible. Struggling to keep her fear at bay, she watched the horse for any sign of danger, knowing that his senses were far better than her own. As a war horse he had likely been made far too used to the aftermath of battle fields, so when he did no more than snort lightly at the bodies surrounding them, Sigeryd took it as a sign that she could focus on her task without worrying about hidden dangers.
Moving towards the savaged remains of the horses, she searched for their saddles amidst the slaughter. Fortunately it seemed as if the wargs had only bitten through the straps so she didn’t have to look far. Looping the reins of her mount through her arm to free her hands, she tugged firmly at the saddle and was rewarded by it coming loose easily. Quickly doing the same with the other two saddles she began looking for the riders spears. The first one she found was broken and her heart plummeted, but luckily she found another one nearby fully intact.
The light was quickly fading as she began looking frantically for the last spear. When she found it sticking out of the only orc corpse she had found, a savage wave of satisfaction came over her. At least one of these foul creatures had met their end this day. Pulling the spear free, Sigeryd wedged the head of the spear between two nearby stones. Putting all her weight behind it she wrenched the pole to the side until a loud crack sounded, and she was able to pull the handle free from the steel head. Repeating the process with the other spear, she was left with two long poles, and three saddles.
Bending down she searched one of the saddle pouches and was rewarded with a coil of rope. Threading the rope through the stirrups of the loose saddles to make it easier to drag them back to the cave, Sigeryd looped the coil of rope around the war horse’s saddle and let him pull the load for her. Tucking the spear shafts under one arm, she led the horse back up to where she had left the fallen rider.
With nothing nearby she could tie him to, she decided to anchor the horse’s reins around one of the loose saddles, then quickly crawled into the cave. Relieved to find her patient in the same condition as when she had left, she began pulling him towards the opening. As hard as it had been to get him into the cave, it was even harder to get him out since the slope of the ground was working against her this time. Her sore muscles protested viciously as she pulled with everything she had left, inching her way backwards with every tug. When they finally emerged into the open air she paused to catch her breath for a moment.
But not for long, as true darkness was settling in heavily now, and urgency pushed her to rise once more. Trembling with exhaustion, Sigeryd began stripping the saddles of their blankets, using her belt knife to cut away all leather strapping and carry pouches. Digging through one of the pouches she was relieved to find a leather awl, most riders carried for saddle repairs, but now she put it to use punching holes through the large saddle blankets. Lining the blankets up she began threading the cut leather straps through the holes, which would hold the blankets together as well as provide a way to tie the blankets to the spear poles.
Laying the poles out on either side of the blankets, she began lashing them tightly to the edges, then with the smooth ends of the handles pointed towards the horse she lined it up with his saddle and anchored it through the leather carry loops on either side. Once that was done she took the rope she had found and tied it securely to one pole, threaded it around the pommel of the saddle and then ran it back to tie onto the other pole. Walking around the horse slowly she surveyed her work.
The makeshift travois wasn’t much to look at, but it seemed secure to the saddle. Thankfully with the angle of the spear shafts lifting the head of the litter off the ground it should keep the warriors head and arrow wound as protected as possible during the trip back.
Now came the real test. Approaching the horse’s head, she stroked his muzzle gently before loosing the reins from the remains of the saddle at her feet.
“I know this is far beneath a war horse’s dignity, but please allow the offense just this once,” she begged. Then hoping his training had included something that would have him at least somewhat accepting of pulling something behind him, she clucked encouragingly to him as she led him forward.
There was a brief moment where he startled as the litter began to drag behind him, with a snort he threw his head to the side as if trying to see what it was. But with a few murmured words and a calming stroke of her hand on his neck, he soon quieted and consented to pulling the travois in a rough circle stopping next to where she had the injured rider. Again looping the reins around the remnants of one of the saddles, she turned her attention to loading the man onto the litter.
Even being out in the open and able to stand while she attempted to drag him wasn’t much easier than earlier. The man truly was massive, and his armor made him just that much heavier for her tired muscles. Still she managed to get him up onto the blankets slowly but surely. When she had him fully on the frame, she took two remaining leather straps and tied them across his stomach like a belt, securing them to the poles on either side. With her patient secured at last, she let herself sit on the ground next to him for just a moment to rest. She was bone weary, and wished for nothing more than to just lay down next to the big man and go to sleep. But that would no doubt sign his death warrant, so press on she must.
Reaching out to brush the hair back from the warriors face, her fingers met the overly warm skin on his brow, and her heart sank. Wound fevers that set in this soon were always vicious, and often due to poisoned weapons. Resolve flooded her veins, and gave her the jolt of energy she needed to push herself off the ground once more.
Murmuring soft blandishments to the horse, she once again led him forward to see his reaction to the added weight of the sled. When he completely ignored the existence of the litter and proceeded to walk calmly for ten paces by her side, she lavished him with praises before leading him over to a large boulder. Tossing the reins over his head, she stepped up onto the stone, using it as a mounting block. Thankfully the boulder was high enough she could just swing her leg over the saddle bow, since the stirrups were far too long for her.
Settling into the saddle, she tucked her skirts in as tightly as she could around her legs. Partly for warmth, but though the war horse had remained remarkably calm throughout, the last thing she needed would be for a fluttering skirt to drive him to spook after their whole ordeal. Taking one last moment, she checked that her satchel and belt pouches were still safely attached to her belt. Finally satisfied, she clucked her tongue and squeezed her legs to urge her mount off at a steady walk, headed home to her village at last.