Ch. 1 - Gandalf's Ill News

Smoke hid the rafters of the old inn. It had been a long time since the man had visited it. Almost an age, it seemed. Yet, his table waited for him. ‘Do others fear to sit here?’ he wondered absently. He took a swig from his pint, sat back, and perused the patrons. ‘They all look the same as when I was here last, what twenty years ago?’  Drawing upon his pipe, he placed his feet upon the chair opposite, prepared for a long night.

The one he waited for was one to be – tardy - once in awhile. He laughed to himself knowing that he would be reprimanded severely if he said such a thought aloud. ‘Nay,’ he thought, never severely, for after the biting remark, a smile would break from that beloved bearded face and they both would laugh. ‘I should come here more often; news is frequently faster to find its way to this door than to one of my own.’

A shout roused him. He stood, took two long steps forward, and hugged the wizard tightly. “You have been missed, Mithrandir! Come, sit with me.” He pushed a chair out, waving to the fat barkeep all the while. When his signal was answered, he sat opposite the old man and waited.

The wizard drew out a long pipe, filled the bowl, then lit it. Finally, he sat back in his chair and drew a long puff on it. The man waited patiently. ‘Never rush a wizard,’ he had learned many years ago. His eyes closed almost completely. It looked like the wizard was planning to keep him waiting. Well, he would show him how well he had learned to wait.

Butterbur came over with the wizard’s pint, placed it in front and waited for his tip. The man smiled. Mithrandir just took another two or three puffs and the man was forced to tip the barkeep himself. When Butterbur left them, he sat back again, put his feet up on the table and waited.

“Aragorn, have you brought any of your men with you?” Mithrandir asked quietly.

“I have not. Your message only stated that you needed to see me on a grave matter. I deemed it unnecessary to pull men from their duties.”

“And right you were. This is a task that only you can carry out.”

The wizard was silent for another few moments, fingering his staff. Aragorn knew that nervous gesture meant whatever the reason for his summons, it was indeed grave.

“Can you be ready to travel first thing in the morning?”

“I can. I can travel even now. Though I have not yet supped. Would you like to join me? I have a small parlour reserved for us.”

“Let us go there, then. I have much to tell you; things that others should not hear.”

Butterbur had the table set already and Nob carried in their meal even as they walked towards the room. Aragorn smiled. He liked Butterbur’s new serving lad who always seemed ready and willing to help, yet silent as a tomb. He tipped Nob well and closed the door upon the boy’s retreating back.

Aragorn had discovered that Mithrandir seemed to have adopted some Hobbit habits – especially expecting to eat before discussing anything of import. So they ate and Aragorn kept silent.

At last, Mithrandir sat back and relit his pipe. “I have some grievous news, Aragorn.” He puffed again and thought for a moment. “What was the last news from Gondor or Rohan that you heard?”

“In Rohan – Théoden’s sister was to be wed, rumours tell of Saruman trading for Rohirric horses, and winter hit Helm’s Deep hard.” He scrubbed his chin, tilting his chair onto its back two legs. “The news from Gondor is old. The sad news of Finduilas’ death still rocks that land. I have heard nothing else.”

Mithrandir’s face turned a pale white. “You have heard naught of Denethor?”

“I have heard nothing specific. What news have you heard?”

He stood and strode to the fireplace, his back turned to the man.

“Denethor is dead, Aragorn. Killed by an orc blade.”

Aragorn’s chair crashed forward. He shook his head in dismay. “It cannot be. What battle and where?”

“‘Twas no battle; it was a trap. At least that is the rumour that goes about. Returning from Théodwyn’s troth pledge, he was waylaid on the Great West Road. And all his company.”

Aragorn lowered his head, then brought it up sharply. “Who was in his company? Surely Boromir is not… and the Lady Indis?”

“Arciryas, Master Healer and Indis’ husband, was also killed in the attack along with two full companies of the finest of Gondor’s warriors. Faramir and Boromir, along with Indis, had remained behind in Edoras.”

“I knew and loved Arciryas. He tended me many times during my stay in Ecthelion’s army. He will be missed. My heart grieves for the Lady Indis.”

“It will grieve further when I tell you the rest of my news – and – the reason for my sending for you.”

Maddeningly, the old man relit his pipe. Aragorn stood and stepped towards the window. “You bring news even more terrible than this?”

“I do. Please, sit. This news is indeed dreadful.

Aragorn sat, completely ill at ease, wondering what could be worse 

Ch. 2 - Friends of Gondor

More than a month had passed and still the House of Húrin mourned, not only for Denethor and poor Boromir, but also for its six year old Steward – lying unconsciousness in the Houses of Healing. The City reeled in its grief. Black flags hung from every battlement, horses hooves were socked to quiet their footfalls, children were strictly forbidden by their parents to shout or laugh outdoors, and inns were only kept open until one hour after sun’s set.  None of these things were commanded; the people did them in their grief.

Seeming to recover from the torture he had endured under the usurper’s hand, Faramir had been allowed to attend the entombment of Boromir. Sadly, his little heart could not take the bitter sorrow that engulfed it. He had flung himself upon his brother’s cold body, and was pulled screaming from it. He had collapsed in Indis’ arms and taken to the Houses. He had not awakened.

Exhorted by Ragnhild to rest, Indis would go to her chambers, lie down, and, once she knew her healer was abed, would rise and walk the parapets until dawn. The night watchmen would guard her, but they kept their distance, in diffidence to her sorrow. Her face grew worn and haggard and all who saw her turned in horror and sobbed. Nothing could diminish the memories of that last battle for her. Nothing could ease the shock of Boromir’s death. She would sit on the stone seat in the embrasure and wait for the dawn to come. Her hands still felt sticky from his blood, though she had washed them a hundred times at least.

The fountain’s lip had been cleaned thoroughly, but she knew exactly where he had fallen. She would go to the spot, kneel on the ground beside it, and gently wipe her hands across it. Once, she had found a shard from his tunic, lying in the bottom, and she had screamed his name and swooned. Éomund had rushed to her side, he was ever near, and lifted her gently in his arms. Waking, she struggled; he whispered her name over and over as he carried her to her chambers. Ragnhild had been called; she brought sweet tea and cold compresses. Indis had slept that night. None since had she slept through.

Once the sun rose, she would walk to the Houses and sit at Faramir’s bedside, holding his hand. Théodred stood behind her, face as still as stone. At last, Siriondil would enter the room, examine Faramir, then take Indis by the shoulder and gently lead her from the room. He would bring her to his office and offer her tea, but she would not take it, knowing it contained a sleeping drought. Shaking his head in exasperation, he would send her to her chambers.

The Council had been convened and passed the Regency to her, naming Faramir Steward, but the people of Gondor already called him that in their love for the family and for him. Prince Imrahil dispatched the day-to-day needs of Gondor, waiting for Indis to return and take this task from him. He handled it well, as she knew he would, but he found it distasteful. Every morning when he awoke, the burden of it reminded him of why he was still here in the City, reminded him that his beloved mentor and friend, Denethor, was dead, and that the dear Heir, his nephew Boromir, had also been murdered.

Théoden called a council – not of the White City’s lords, but of those who loved Indis and Faramir. It was very near to the safe room, where those who had striven to protect Boromir and Faramir had launched their fateful attack against the traitors of Minas Tirith. Éomund shuddered as he entered the hall, striding quickly past the door and into the room his king had called him to. Already Baranor stood waiting. He had been newly appointed counselor to the Captain of the Guards of the Citadel. Though he had been retired for nigh unto fifteen years, Minas Tirith had need of him, so he agreed. Gorlim was now counselor to the Captain of the Third Company of the Citadel, while Gildor counseled the Captain of the Steward’s own guard.

“I must return to Edoras,” Théoden said as he walked back and forth in the small room. “I have been gone too long. Denethor’s murderer, the traitor, is still hidden from me. I must discover his identity. We are in danger as long as he is free.”

“I agree, my Lord,” Éomund said. “However, I cannot bear to leave the Lady Indis alone. I ask your permission to stay in Minas Tirith at least another month. Mayhap the little one will awaken in that time.”

“She is not alone; Prince Imrahil remains in the City.” Théoden placed his hand on Éomund’s shoulder, “But I agree that you should stay.” He leaned against the heavy oaken table that dominated the room. “My son will not leave either. I have spoken with Théodred, but his vow to Boromir holds him here.”

“I will guard his back, my King,” Éomund said. “As will Captain Gildor.”

Elfhelm entered the room, his face etched in grief. He stood and waited for his king.

“Are my men ready?” Théoden asked him.

“Aye, my King. The column has assembled and awaits your orders.”

“The bodies of your sons and Grimbold – are they in the likwain?”

“They are, my King.” The man stood stoically before Théoden, but the king’s heart broke for his dear friend.

“Very well. I will be down within the hour. I will say my farewells to the Lady Indis and meet you before noon.”

Elfhelm saluted and left the room.

“He holds his grief well. I do not think I would be so noble if my sons’ bodies were in a likwain following our company. To lose both the same day.”

“They appointed themselves well,” Captain Gildor spoke quietly. “They guarded Boromir and Faramir with their lives. Worthy they are to be called Rohirrim, warriors of the Mark, and friends of Gondor!”

Ch. 3 - An Elvish Reunion of Sorts

“My friend,” Mithrandir said quietly, “Boromir is dead. Traitors abducted him and, when Rohan tried to save him, he was murdered.”

Silence filled the room. A tear trickled down Aragorn’s face, followed by another. “Such a little boy.” His throat constricted and he found it difficult to talk. “He was… twelve? Nay, eleven.”

“Boromir is not our concern, now, Aragorn. There is worse.”

“What could be worse than a boy being killed?” he shouted and sprang from his chair. Walking to the window, he slammed his hand down hard upon the nightstand, shattering it. He bowed his head, put his hand over his eyes and wept bitterly. “If I had stayed in Gondor, mayhap this could have been averted. Perhaps I could have saved Denethor.”

He turned towards the wizard. “He was my friend, though we parted in sorrow and misunderstanding, he was my friend. I would have given my life for him.” He looked long out the window. “He sometimes was jealous of the love Boromir had for me, though I am sure the child never remembered me, once I was gone. Such a lovely child, too. Full of spirit. I had hoped he would be my Steward for many a long year. He had the makings of a fine Steward, Mithrandir.”

“I am sure he did, Aragorn. But you must hear me out. You are needed in Gondor. I carry even more fearsome tidings. Faramir, Denethor’s youngest, has fallen into a death sleep. He saw his brother murdered before him. He woke once, after the foul deed, but has since slipped away.”

Aragorn strode forward, wrapped the remnants of their meal in a napkin from the table, hitched his sword to his side, and ran out of the room.

Mithrandir sighed. ‘Still impetuous after all these years. The boy must learn to control his own needs and consider the consequences of what he does. Night will be here within the hour. I do not like him rushing about in the dark.’ Then he smiled. ‘His eyes are the eyes of the men of Númenor; he will have no trouble seeing!’

Nob had been surprised by the sudden appearance of his master’s boarder. When the man shouted for his horse though, Nob flew to the stables. Butterbur himself gathered the requested supplies and threw them into the saddlebags that the man had thrust at him. He was used to his patrons barking orders at him, but never orders said with such anger and force. He almost told the man to quiet down, but the look in the steel grey eyes was daunting.

Aragorn tore the bags from the innkeeper’s hands and raced for the door. He heard the fat man saying something about him turning into a rogue, but he didn’t care what the innkeeper thought of him. He cared for Denethor’s son!

Nob stood before him, holding the reins. Aragorn stopped his headlong rush. Biting his lip, he smiled. “Please excuse my behavior with your master. An urgent need has arisen. My sorrow cannot excuse my manners.” He tipped the lad well, jumped onto his horse, and tore off down the cobbled street. Nob smiled as he tossed the coin in the air. ‘He’s a right kind gentleman, if you ask me,’ he thought. ‘I’d like to see him again.’ He yelled for the gate to be opened and the southern gate swung back. Aragorn threw a coin at the gatekeeper and rode through.

Three nights later, Aragorn found himself at the base of Weathertop. He camped for the night, pulling out the last of his food from the inn. He would have to hunt tomorrow, a prospect he did not look forward to. Time was too short. Tears stung his eyes again as he collected wood. ‘Would that I could have spoken to Denethor one last time. To have assuaged his fears, to have told him of my love for him and for Gondor. He wiped his right eye with his free hand, trying to stop the tears that fell. ‘I cannot go back. I cannot speak with the Steward again,’ he thought, ‘but I can save his son. I must speak with Elrond first, find what herbs I need, and then head east.’

He fell into a fitful sleep. After only two hours, he awoke, threw the blanket back and stood. The fire was still hot. He made a quick cup of coffee, chewed on a piece of bark, and left. The fire had been doused and the campsite could not be found with a cursory glance.

Rain began to fall and he cursed loudly. At least he could travel the Great East Road. None were about at this hour, none knew his mission, and his Rangers guarded the road. At least nine more days, riding as fast as he could. There were no further inns on this road, nowhere to change mounts, so he pulled up and slowed the horse to a walk. He pulled his pipe from his pocket and filled it. Shaking his head, he laughed quietly. ‘I can not light this thing in the rain.’ He put it back in his pocket, pulled his coat up to cover at least part of his neck, and rode onward.

Nine days later to the hour, he came through the road’s tunnel and faced the long mile before the Bruinen. He could barely hold himself in his saddle; fatigue and hunger had taken their toll. As he rode forward, the sky cleared. The moon shone brightly down upon him and he breathed in the fresh, clean air. While he had been in the Marshes, he thought he would never smell clean air again. His horse jerked and Aragorn almost fell off.

Cursing, he tightened his hold upon the reins and looked about. “What has startled you, lady?” he asked aloud. He saw nothing, but he refused to move further. Turning all around him, he still saw no sign of what had disturbed the horse. By now, his steed had calmed and they moved forward again. The muscles in Aragorn’s thighs burned from trying to keep astride his horse. His head nodded. Again, the horse startled, and this time Aragorn did fall off. Quickly grabbing his horse’s reins, he cast looks at the landscape before him, but the wide-open space between him and the ford was empty. The trees to his right and left seemed undisturbed.

“I’ll have none of this, you silly horse,” he muttered darkly. “I could have broken a leg.”

“Or your neck!” a familiar voice said. Laughter filled the road. “I do not think I have ever seen you fall off a horse, at least not since you came of age.”

Aragorn looked up into the face of his brother. Elrohir put his hand on Estel’s shoulder and laughed again. “You look a sight. Where are you bound?”

Cursing his foulest Elvish curses, Aragorn smiled. “Where else but home!”

Elladan rode from the forest to his left. “You were incredibly easy to track, brother. You have forgotten everything we taught you in such a short time.”

Aragorn swatted him, but missed. “It is good to see you too!”

“Do you need to ride with me?” Elrohir teased. “You can be assured I would not let you fall.”

Elladan burst out laughing. “Or perhaps we need make a cart to carry you in.” He smiled at Elrohir. “We would have to place sides on it so he wouldn’t fall off.”

The Elves broke into hearty laughter while Aragorn cursed again. All in Imladris would know of his fall within hours of their arrival.

“Never mind that!” he said gruffly, mounting and turning his horse towards the bank of the river; he started forward.

“We will give you time to settle before we tell your story to the others,” Elrohir said, still smiling. “Your room is waiting for you and,” he held his nose, “a bath!”

Ch. 4 - Sorrow Untold

The water was cold for this time of year and the boy before him shivered as the water reached his waist. He watched him from the shore, splashing and shrieking at the same time and started laughing himself. He pulled off his tunic and jumped into the river trying to get as close to the other boy as possible. After three or four steps, his foot found no purchase and his breath was stolen from him. He started to sink. Flailing his arms about, he found he had reached the surface. He gulped for air. Another quick breath and he felt himself going under again. He could not bring himself to the top, no matter how hard he pumped his arms and legs. He was going to drown.

A hand grabbed his wrist. He tried to fight the panic and let himself be taken. He closed his eyes, willing himself still. The hand pulled harder. His head broke the surface and he flung his eyes open. The other boy was there, pulling him up and pushing him towards the shore. He took three quick gulps as his heart started to calm. His feet felt the gooey mud of the bottom and settled into it. The other boy laughed, not letting his wrist go, and they staggered to the shore, the mud trying to hold them to the river.

A man waited for them. Waited on the shore. He could not see who it was; the sun was close to setting and blinded him. The boy started to shake. An arm rose in the air, sword blade shining in the sun, and slashed the other boy’s throat. Blood gushed into the Anduin as his rescuer fell into his arms, grey eyes open and blank, mouth agape.

Faramir looked down and screamed. “Boromir! Boromir! No! Please no! Do not leave me, Boromir!”

She held him in her arms, trying to contain the thrashing body. Tears poured from Faramir’s eyes, but he would not wake. He did not hear her. She sobbed between calling his name, “Faramir. ‘Tis I. ‘Tis Indis. All is well. You are safe.” But Faramir never heard, never stopped crying, thrashing and calling out Boromir’s name.

The healer knelt next to the bed, a cup of valerian tea in his hand. Ioreth was trying to spoon a little from the cup into Faramir’s mouth, but the child’s screams prevented most of it from doing any good. At last, after what seemed like an hour, enough of the tea was swallowed to settle the boy. Siriondil tried to lay the boy down, but Indis’ hold would not lessen.

“Indis!” he called quietly. “Indis, he rests. Put him down now. Let the bed comfort him.”

She stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “None can comfort him. None will ever be able to comfort him. He will fade and… and…” She could not speak, could not bring herself to say the words. Her chin quivered. “He will follow Boromir.”

The healer heard her teeth chattering from the anguish that racked her body; he forced a sip of the tea into her. She let herself swallow and then choked on it, realizing what it would do to her. “I cannot sleep. Not now. He needs me.”

“He needs to rest and he will get it now that he has some of the tea in him. I will not ask you to leave the room, but I ask you to sit in this chair, have a few more sips and sleep yourself. You are no good to Faramir in the state you are in now. If you sleep, you will be strong enough to help him when he wakes.”

Théodred stepped forward and knelt at her feet. “I will not leave him. As soon as he stirs, my Lady, I will wake you, I promise.” Tears ran freely down the lad’s face.

Indis looked down at the boy before her, trying to be strong and failing miserably. “I will do as you ask, Prince Théodred. I will trust you.” Her face contorted. “You will wake me?”

“I promise.” He stood and helped her from the bed to the chair. Ioreth brought over the tea while Siriondil examined Faramir.

“He did not hurt himself further?” she asked.

“Nay. He did not. I want to give him a little more of the tea and I want to see you drink some of it too.”

“Only a sip,” she said and took only one. Her head nodded, exhaustion pulling her eyelids closed as Ioreth removed the cup. The healer’s assistant covered her with an extra blanket, gathered the cups, pots, and herbs that the Master Healer was finished with, and quietly left the room.

Siriondil put his arm on Théodred’s shoulder. “I will expect, once the Lady Indis has rested, for you to go to my chambers and rest yourself. The oath will be forsaken if you die,” he said sternly.

Théodred looked at him, startled. “I promise,” he said hesitantly. “It has been some time since I rested. I will do as you ask.” Returning to his post at the end of Faramir’s bed, he crossed his arms again and stood at attention.

The healer smiled sadly at the sight before him. It took all his willpower not to sob himself. Such a broken hideous sight: the little boy, so grief-stricken that he could not function, lay as if dead on the bed; the gentle lady brought down by utter sorrow; and the young lad standing so still, every evidence of a broken heart etched in his too young face. Breathing a prayer to the Valar for surcease, he left the room.

Théodred sighed when the healer departed. Faramir had not had an episode like this in weeks. What could have caused it? He prayed that his friend was waking. Mayhap that is why his dreams, or whatever they were that tormented him, were so vivid. He looked upon the little body that lay before him and sobs shook him again. For Faramir, yes. But also for Boromir. He must find a way to assuage Faramir’s grief; he had promised Boromir he would take care of him. He was failing wretchedly.

A peregrine called. Théodred looked up, startled. It almost sounded like Boromir’s call, when they were in the wilds, hunting. The hawk called again and, this time Faramir stirred. ‘He must think it Boromir too,’ Theodred thought. ‘I must close the shutters. I do not want him thinking Boromir is here. It would break his heart to hope and have that hope dashed.’ Sobs shook him again as he walked to the windows. The sun was at its zenith. ‘Why are the birds about,’ he thought. ‘They should be hiding from the heat of the day.’

Ch. 5 - Brothers United

Once Lord Elrond had been apprised of the situation, he opened his apothecary to his foster-son. Estel and he spent several hours pouring over notes looking for the most effective potions to heal the young Steward. When they finished, they sat back on the stools and were quiet.

At last, Lord Elrond spoke. “When do you plan on leaving?”

“I must be away before sunset. Already I have been here too long. Every day, every moment, draws Faramir closer to death. There is Elf in the blood of the sons of Denethor,” he choked on the name but continued, “The lad could fade.”

“He could. Though I have heard of no such thing happening to a man. But it is possible. You have rested only a few hours.”

“It is all I need. I will away to the kitchens and pack some food, with your leave, and then depart.”

“Which path will you take?”

“I was planning on going past Angrenost. Then, through to Edoras. The Rohirrim will lend me another horse. I will leave yours with them until I can claim it again. Then, on to Minas Tirith.”

“May we ride with you at least to Tharbad?” Estel turned quickly and looked at the sad faces of his brothers. “We would be no bother, we promise.”

He smiled warmly. “I would be most pleased to have your company.”

“Ada?” Elrohir asked.

“You give Estel hope that you can go with him before asking for my permission? I think you are trying to manipulate me,” they smiled at him, “but I agree. It would be best. Though Orc attacks have been few, as of late, I think an escort would be wise. At least until Tharbad.”

Both Elves quietly bowed and backed out of the room, watching as their father laughed at their absurd departure.

“They are good sons, as are you, but I grow weary of their continued antics. None would believe, at times, that either of them has come of age!”

Estel laughed. “They are as dear to me as they are to you, Ada.”

“It is good to hear that title pass your lips again; it has been a long time since you called me ‘Ada.’”

“I have been in the wilds a long time, Ada, and have come to value our relationship deeply. Forgive the headstrong lad that would relegate you to ‘Lord’ when we are alone.”

Elrond stepped down from the stool and unceremoniously hugged Estel. “You are dear to me, my son. Report to me before you go back north.”

“I will, Ada.” Estel returned the hug and strode from the room.

He was quickly grabbed by the shoulder and spun around as he left the apothecary. “When do we leave?” Elladan asked

“Now! We must pack some food.”

“And wine!” Elrohir added.

“And some warm clothes. The mountains dump fresh snow, outside our valley, at least once a week. Rohan will be just as cold.”

“Then let us find such clothing and food and depart this place.”

~*~

Elladan’s words had been farsighted. They had not gone a day from Imladris when snow fell, deep and cold. They had found a small cave, the first night, and quickly lit a fire. Rummaging through their supplies, Elrohir found a small loaf of sunflower bread. He sighed. “I love this bread with a nice flagon of wine.”

Elladan laughed. “You love practically everything with a nice flagon of wine!”

Estel joined his brother’s laughter; then grew quiet.

“I do not understand how the child could be in such a state.”

“Tell us what you know, Estel.”

“His father was murdered; Rohan discovered the treachery; Théoden led a sortie to return the body; Faramir and Boromir were attacked on the road; Théoden moved them with no one’s knowledge; their escort was attacked; Faramir and Boromir were separated; Faramir was tortured and finally rescued; during the rescue of Boromir, Boromir was murdered. Faramir watched.”

“And what part of Faramir’s present state do you not understand, Estel?” Elrohir asked quietly. “I would share something with you that is quite painful, but will perhaps help you understand Faramir’s condition. A very long time ago, in the time span of men, our mother—"

Elladan gasped. “You will not….”

“I will. We have accepted what happened, have done our own grieving, and must help Estel understand grief. His father died before he even knew him. And his mother died in peace in Imladris.”

“But he has seen death and suffering!”

“None of those who held his heart, Elladan. If you do not wish to hear this, then rub down the horses.”

“They have already been rubbed down,” Elladan said testily. “I will stay. But I do not agree.”

Elrohir sighed and turned back to Estel who looked on in surprise. “Our mother went to Lórien to visit relatives. A sizable entourage was sent with her for protection. A large band of Orc, spewing from the mountains, engulfed her party. She was taken. Unspeakable things were done to her, torture and such. It was… It was many days before the deed was discovered. My brother and I were part of the group that found her. Father’s most potent potions and charms could not heal her. Within a very short time, she sailed to Valinor.”

Elladan was sobbing by the fire and Estel looked on, askance.

“Though Elladan and I were already of age, we grieved.” He looked at his brother. “We still grieve. A madness overtook us, Estel, and we left Imladris in search of the Orc who stole our mother. We spent many long centuries killing and killing. Our grief could not be assuaged. Finally, our father took us to task.” He smiled. “He was most persuasive. Finally, we were able to resume some semblance of a normal life. Though we continue to kill Orc when the opportunity arises.”

He paused for a moment. Elladan looked up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “We still miss her and the grief is great,” the elder Elf said. “If not for father’s love, I believe we too would have been lost eventually. Grief can kill, Estel.”

Elrohir nodded. “What can a six year old human do to fight such things as he endured and such sorrow? It is more overwhelming than even our sorrow. If it was in my power, my brother, I would go with you all the way to Minas Tirith, but I fear I would not be welcomed.”

Estel agreed. “Elven fear is rampant in Gondor and in Rohan. Though I bitterly fought such things while I was in Thengel’s service, and Denethor’s.”

“We reach Angrenost in a short time, Estel. Will you visit the wizard before we pass?”

Ch. 6 - Wizards and Such

They passed into Nan Curunír, the valley of the Wizard, paused at the great wall that encompassed the Tower of Orthanc, and marveled at the skill and workmanship of the men of Númenor, the builders of this fortress, then headed south. Upon reaching the gate, they pulled up and held council.

“The White Wizard has been friend to the Elves for many ages, Elrohir, yet I am concerned.” Aragorn kept his voice low as two surly men watched their every move.  “Mithrandir values his council. Even your father holds him in esteem. Why does my heart shrink at the thought of meeting him?” 

“And who are these men who are its doorwardens?” Elladan asked. “They are not men of Gondor nor of Rohan.”

“They seem to be Dunlendings, but I cannot believe that! The men of Gondor had been its chief lodgers before Beren gave the key to the wizard. I do not like the feel of this at all,” Elrohir agreed.

“They are waiting for us to approach,” Aragorn said quietly. “If we delay, it will be considered an affront to the wizard. We will trust father’s judgment and enter.”

He clicked and turned his horse towards the gate. Elladan and Elrohir followed.

“What business do you have here?” the guard asked curtly. “We have no dealings with any but what the master sends. He did not send for you. Be off with you, before I do something unpleasant.”

“We come in the name of Elrond Half-elven, Lord of the Last Homely House East of the Sea. We come for council and for rest.” Aragorn stood in his saddle and glared at the man before him.

The cowardly look of the doorwarden told Aragorn that he would indeed be admitted, if the pathetic creature before him had the pluck to go before the wizard.

At last, bending to Aragorn’s will, the man scowled and turned towards his companion. “You watch this lot. Don’t be letting them get in until I see the master and find out what he wants. I’ll not be taking orders from some grubby Elf-friend.”

Aragorn sat back in his saddle and waited. Neither Elf spoke. Aragorn kept the smile from his lips until the man had gone. Then he turned towards the sons of Elrond.

Elrohir laughed. “Grubby Elf-friend! Did you see the man? He has not bathed in a year at least.”

“I will have you both know that I bathed at least a fortnight ago when we rested near Hollin.”

Now Elladan laughed. “We know, brother. You are not the least bit scruffy. In fact, you look almost clean.”

Aragorn’s wide smile caused them all to laugh whilst the left-behind doorwarden looked on in alarm.

After only a short time, the miserable creature returned, a deep scowl upon his face. “The master bids you enter. I’ll show you where you are allowed to go and where you can put your horses. It’s well past suppertime. You’ll get no food here.”

Aragorn nodded and urged his horse forward. Elladan raised his eyebrow and his brother shrugged. Their hands strayed to the hilts of their swords and stayed there.

~*~

Soft breezes rustled the leaves in the trees; after another moment, quiet settled upon the forest. He walked along, holding his brother’s hand. Neither spoke as birds entertained them with their song and squirrels scampered through uncovered roots. He sighed in happiness. Their father was somewhere ahead, preparing a meal with the fish they had caught. Suddenly, his brother began to whistle; he answered his call. The elder boy put his hand on his little brother’s shoulder.

“You did that well. You have been practicing?” he asked.

The younger blushed at the compliment. “I have, but I still cannot make the alarm sound correctly.”

“That is the most important one, little brother. Listen and watch my lips. Though I must keep the sound quiet lest we affright Adar.” The elder closed his eyes, cupped his hands in front of his mouth, puckered his lips, and gently whistled. 

Watching intently, he failed to notice the sudden silence of the forest. His father’s screams rent the air. His brother turned towards him, a look of pain and horror on his face as his hands fell from his mouth. Blood gushed from his lips and opened forth from a deep cut across his throat.

A man stood before him, sword covered in blood.

“Boromir!” he screamed again and again.

She held him tightly to her. They had learned, over these past few weeks, that binding the lad in cloth helped make the thrashing less violent, prevented further injury, and shortened the length of his terrors. As soon as Théodred saw the telltale signs, he called her and she moved forward, swaddled him, and held him close. She was most grateful that she was in the room just now. It was time for the daymeal and she had been going to spell Théodred so he could rest for a few hours.

Théodred sat on the other side of the bed. She had finally persuaded him not to stand the entire time he guarded his friend’s brother. The boy whispered Faramir’s name and wiped his forehead with a cool, damp cloth. The guard had come in, at their shout, and run for the healer.

Both tenders wept bitterly as they sought to comfort the hysterical boy. But, as always, they only prevented him from harming himself; they could do naught to ease his horror.

“He must be awakening soon?” Théodred asked in consternation. “He cannot continue to endure these terrors, can he?” The look Indis gave him broke his heart. “He cannot endure this!”

“I believe the trance is lifting,” Siriondil replied as he entered the room. “The last time I examined him, his eyes opened for a brief moment, though there was no sign of recognition. I have seen the same look from men wounded in battle.”

Indis looked at her friend’s face and understood that his words were only to reassure Théodred. Faramir was fading.

Ch. 7 - Dreams Abound

She looked about her in amaze. She had not been to the Houses of Healing since… She shook her head. The hedge was trimmed, the banners of the House flew gently in the breeze, and escorts accompanied the few wounded who walked the garden. Why was she surprised? Had not Siriondil been apprentice to Arciryas?  She sat on the stoop by the door. Memories threatened to o’erwhelm her. She had met and fallen in love with Arciryas on this very stoop. She had held Boromir here the day he discovered his mother was dead. So many memories. Now, she came hoping for peace.

Slowly falling to her knees, she leaned her forehead upon her arms and felt the cold of the marble stoop course through her. Tears fell, and again she was amazed. She had cried so often these past weeks that she had thought all her tears were gone, but still they fell at any moment of weakness.

Siriondil stood before her, but she knew he was at a loss as to what to do for her. She scorned all his medicaments. She realized she was being terrible and uncooperative, but her heart ached so… No, Faramir ached so that she could accept no respite for herself. Mayhap if she continued to suffer it would ameliorate some of his suffering. Sobbing again, she let herself be pulled into the comforting arms of the Master Healer as he sat beside her.

“He will not die, Indis, if I have anything to do with it. I will continue to search the archives. There must be an answer there. Please believe me. I will do everything to save him.”

She lifted her face to his and managed a wobbly smile. “I know, dear Siriondil. I watched his mother fade. I see the same pale skin, the fluttering eyelids, the shallow breath and my heart quails. Tell me again that he will live. Please.”

He shook his head and she knew, knew that the Master Healer was at a loss. “There are some tomes my assistant found in one of the lower chambers of the Great Library. I have three healers reading it right now. They will find something, I am sure.”

‘He was sure.’ He said it emphatically to convince himself, of that she was sure. Faramir was dying. She pulled herself up straight, wiped her eyes and smiled. “Of course, Siriondil. I have every confidence in you. I am going to his room now. Please call me if… when you find the cure.” She stood and turned away, then turned back to him. Rising, he blinked as she hugged him. “Thank you.” She moved away, her back straight.

‘I did not fool her at all,’ he thought bitterly. ‘She knows. Was she not Arciryas’ right hand? Did not she help daily in the Houses?’ He shook his head and walked back to his study.

~*~

She had been riding, as was her wont, in the high spring fields of Lossarnach. Her heart had clenched at the pain, but it was not so deep this time. She turned and looked east. The mountain still spewed flame and ash; black clouds covered the sky above it and she wondered if any had patrolled the area recently. She rode slowly back towards the City. She stopped for the night in the beacon hut near Mindolluin. She looked for signs of activity in the hut, but there were none. She wondered, ‘Do none man the beacons any longer?’ She found herself angry. ‘These beacons should be manned and ready at all times.’

Waking before the dawn, she rode hard towards the City. The man who followed her was caught unawares and almost missed her leaving. Hurrying his mount along, he finally caught sight of her. Hanging back as he had been instructed, he paced his horse to hers. She looked back and stopped her horse, waiting for him to catch up to her. He stared at her in surprise when she motioned him forward.

“Who are you and why do you follow me?” she asked testily, anger still coursing through her.

“Baranor, my Lady. I am your escort by Prince Imrahil’s order.”

“Imrahil! Why does he order a Knight of Gondor?”

“He is Regent, under the Steward, Faramir.”

She cringed, tears glistening in her eyes. “Faramir is Steward?”

“Aye, my Lady. These past ten years.”

‘Ten years!’ she thought. ‘Ten years. Where have I been? What have I been doing?’

He sat his horse, quietly waiting for instruction. When none came, he spoke. “Might I suggest that we ride to Minas Tirith? There are those in the City who would be most happy to see you.”

Her heart lightened. Faramir lived. It was she who had been sick: she who had left the City to heal. Faramir lived!

“Indis,” she heard a beloved voice cry, “Indis! Wake up, sister.”

~*~

The sea frothed and churned itself into a light green; swelling, it crashed against the rocks of Dol Amroth.

He stood as still as he could with the wind whipping his hair about. Sometimes it lashed at him and cut his eyes, but he only blinked and watched the horizon. Now and again, he settled his feet harder into the stone below him else he would fall into the storm itself. When he looked to his right or left, he found he was alone. The palace stood behind him; somewhere his grandfather watched. He had disobeyed, coming down here to the quay in the midst of the storm, but he had been drawn and could not leave. The waves were white-capped, crashing down on the rocks below him, but he did not see them. Ever his eyes searched for some sign of the ship that bore his brother towards him.

Tentacles lashed out, twisting and thrashing, coming up from the sea before him. They reached out. No matter how far he ran, they followed him, grasping and stretching and making hideous noises, sucking sounds that terrified him.

The ship appeared. He saw Boromir standing on the gunwale of the ship; then he saw him jump into the ocean. Swimming as hard as he could against the swells, he made no headway. Faramir lost sight of him every now and again, but, always, when Faramir was sure he was lost, his head would bob into sight again.

Faramir still ran, trying to outdistance the horror that was after him, all the while watching for Boromir, wondering if his brother would survive and save him.

At the last, Faramir was caught. He felt the strong tentacles grasp him, pulling him towards the sea. At the same time, he saw Boromir make land and rush towards him. Boromir’s sword shone when lightning rent the skies. He would be safe. Boromir would save him.

He screamed as he saw the man behind his brother. Boromir turned towards the man, shuddered, and turned back to Faramir, his throat cut. Faramir’s scream was cut off as water filled his mouth and then his lungs. The creature had pulled him into the sea.

“Hold him tighter!” Théodred cried. “He hurt himself the last time.” He tried to get another spoonful of tea into Faramir, but the boy would not take it.

The guard held the boy as tightly as he could, but the strength of the thrashing had surprised him. “Run and bring the healer. I cannot hold him long like this.”

Théodred ran.

~*~

The sky was as blue as he had ever seen it. Their little band moved slowly, savoring the smells of the forest, the cries of the birds and beasts, and the gentle speech of the trees. Never had he felt so at peace. His brother rode at his side. Scouts had been sent ahead. Soon they returned with good news. Nothing approached from any side. All was safe.

They stopped and supped, pitched their tents, and made ready for bed. Each kissed her goodnight. She smiled her warm smile and laughed.

“I feel as if I were the child. Now, to bed the both of you. Sleep well, my beloved sons.” She kissed them lightly and shooed them out of her tent.

One slept at one end of the camp; the other slept at the far end. The guards were set. Peace settled on the little hillock.

When the sun arose, he went to her, bringing her sweet tea and biscuits. Smiling, his brother opened the flap. Puzzled, they looked in. She was not there. Perhaps she had taken an early morning walk with her handmaid. They walked back to the fire to begin inquiries. None had seen her. Spotting her maiden walking from the forest, they called out to her. She came towards them smiling.

“My lady seems to be sleeping in this morning. She has not called me.” She winced as one of them pushed her aside and ran towards her mistress’ tent.

“Nana!” he screamed, running from the tent. “Nana! Where are you?”

His brother shouted orders; warriors scattered in earnest search.

He ran and ran. Nothing could stop him. Trees and bushes tried. Rivers swept before him, still he ran, screaming her name. His throat hurt; his chest ached. Still he screamed.

“Elladan! Elladan!”

He opened his eyes. Elrohir and Estel looked down upon him. Sorrow enveloped him and he wept.

Ch. 8 - In The Wizard's Den

“What manner of place is this, Estel? I too had wild dreams. Let us be away from here, and quickly. We do not need the wizard.”

Elladan nodded his agreement, his eyes still haunted by the force of his dream.

“Three days we have waited, my brothers,” Aragorn bemoaned, “and still Curunír delays our audience, makes excuses not to welcome us. It is time we left here. I too have dreamt these last nights, and none were pleasant.”

As soon as Aragorn’s words left his mouth, a knock sounded on their chamber’s door. The man standing before them was definitely a Dunlending. Aragorn noted the surly smile. A shiver ran down his back.

“You will follow me. The master will see you now.”

They walked for quite some distance, over bridges that traversed depths without end, down myriad corridors, and up stairways interminable. Aragorn wondered if they would exit on the very top of the edifice. The man stopped before a huge door and waited.

After a few moments, Elladan asked, “Might it help to knock?”

The man never moved.

At last, the doors parted, opening onto an almost empty cavernous room. At the far end, a chair, more like a throne, stood upon a raised dais. The wizard, his white robes flowing about him, sat in silence.

Their escort motioned them forward, then turned and left. The doors closed soundlessly behind them. Elrohir raised an eyebrow. Aragorn smiled and moved forward, the Elves on either side of him.

The wizard’s eyes were closed, but as they approached, he opened them. For a moment, they appeared cold and calculating. Aragorn knew caution was needed. He steeled his mind, using the techniques Elrond had taught him years ago. Bowing, he introduced himself. Some sense made him use his Ranger’s name. He introduced Elrohir and Elladan, who bowed slightly.

The wizard smiled, but once again, Aragorn was disturbed by the feel of that smile.

“Welcome to Isengard, sons of Elrond Half-elven. Long has it been since your father graced my halls. The last meeting of the White Council, I believe. That was many years ago.” And the frown that accompanied this statement, though ringed with honey, left no doubt as to the wizard’s displeasure at the slight.

Elrohir, angered that the wizard did not acknowledge Aragorn, said simply, “Longer still since your eminence has graced the halls of the Last Homely House.”

The wizard’s brow shot up, then his face returned to the cold mask that had greeted them. “The sons of the master of Imladris now travel with beggars?” His voice, a purr, held disdain.

Elladan spoke before Elrohir could stop him. “He is a Ranger, not a beggar, and a friend to our father and all Elves.”

“All Elves?” The mocking tone in his voice only exacerbated Elladan’s anger, but Elrohir stepped forward.

“The Ranger escorts us to the Fords of Isen. Some of our people are meeting us there, however, we will not be returning this way. We did not wish to pass without greeting the head of the White Council and offering good wishes from Lord Elrond.”

~*~

Théodred sat in the buttery of the Third Guard. Targon sat next to him. Both boys held honeyed bread in their hands, but neither ate.

“I should have kept him with me, not listened to the others. He was safe here,” the cook’s apprentice whispered.

“Sometimes when we listen to the adults, it seems things go from bad to worse. I felt the same way. We should have stayed on the mountain and waited for my father.” Théodred pulled worriedly at his lip.

“Sometimes, no matter what we do, things will go awry.”

Both boys looked up, then stood quickly as Éomund entered the room. His towering presence filled the small chamber; the boys stepped back. Targon dropped his bread.

“It is bitter medicine we swallow these days. Sit. I would speak with you both.”

After they had settled and Éomund had lathered a large chunk of bread with honey, he bit into it and chewed. Targon took a quick sideways glance at Théodred, but the boy from Rohan just watched his uncle.

“Foresight has not been given to me, nor, I think, to either of you. Hindsight is dangerous. It breeds fear, discontent, guilt.” Éomund looked around for something to drink.

Targon noted and ran to the kettle, quickly bringing back a large mug of sweetened tea.

Once the lad sat, Éomund thanked him and continued. “A wise friend once told me that should ‘ave’s, could ‘ave’s are useless for a warrior. And,” he smiled at Targon, “probably for a cook’s apprentice, too.”

Targon smiled.

“I should have put in more thyme does not mean the lamb is spoiled. I should have stood there in battle and my comrade might be alive today. Do you see what I mean? No matter what we do, bad things can happen. Bad things do happen. What we deem wise today might prove to be folly tomorrow. But we cannot live our lives being worried at every step, at every decision. If I had not been wounded, I might have been able to save Boromir, but I was wounded and nothing will change that. If you, Targon, had kept Boromir here in the buttery, Amandil’s men would probably have been found him anyway. Better he was found by friends and reunited, if only briefly, with those he loved. If you, Théodred, had stood at his side with sword in hand, perhaps you would have taken the blow meant for Boromir and he would live. None of that happened. And so we must be content with the choices we made, even in the heat of battle or the heat of the oven,” Targon’s smiled had broadened, “and know that Boromir died as he wished, in battle.” Tears glistened in the warrior’s eyes. “All those raised as warriors hope for death in battle. He is content. He is with his father.”

Tears fell from Théodred and Targon’s eyes as Éomund spoke the last. ‘It us true,’ Théodred knew. How often they had battled in play and always, when one of them fell, the other gave a great war whoop, acknowledging that a warrior had fallen in honour. How many times did not his father say how glorious it was for one of the Riddermark to die in battle? Sniffling a few times, he turned towards his uncle.

“So Boromir is with his father? And his grandfather?”

“That is what I believe. Can you imagine, Théodred, how wonderful it was for him to open his eyes and see his father before him, waiting with open arms?” 

“And his mother,” Targon added.

Éomund smiled. “And his mother.”

Théodred sat for a moment, his brow furrowed. “I will see my mother when I die?”

Sadly, Éomund nodded. “You will see her, at last.”

“Do you think she will be happy to see me, Uncle?”

Éomund stood and walked across to where Théodred sat. “She will probably have made you a new tunic or a horse-hair ornament for your helmet. She will be very happy to see you.”

Théodred stood. “But what of Faramir? Would Boromir leave him alone? Even with battle glory offered to him?

“He did, Théodred. He disobeyed and went into the fray. He did not have armour nor a sword that fit him when he charged. He chose.” He put up his hand to stop the furious protests he saw coming. “True. He tried to save Indis, thinking she would be killed, but there were others about her who could have stepped in and saved her, others who were closer. His heart called him to battle. And so he followed his heart.” He sat between the two. “It does not mean he loved Faramir any less, but sometimes, battle lust o’ertakes even a grown and seasoned warrior. This was Boromir’s first battle. I am not surprised at his response.”

Théodred leaned his head against his uncle’s side and sighed. “Then the others, the adults, should have known better and kept him away from the battle.”

Éomund gave a strangled laugh. “You speak foolishly, my dearest nephew. Boromir was ever ready to join any fray and ever hard to control. How many times have you and he been in trouble? How many times have you done things you knew were not quite right, but did them any way because it was an adventure? Siriondil did not have children. He did not know how quickly Boromir could move and what passion flowed in our friend’s blood. Boromir is at peace. Let it go.”

Théodred suddenly put his arms around Éomund’s waist and hugged with all the strength in him. He sobbed quietly but would not let go. Éomund’s arms held him tightly. Targon put his hand on the lad’s shoulder.

“Faramir will live, Théodred, and your oath will have been fulfilled. You have been a good friend to Boromir - and to Faramir.”

Ch. 9 - 'Twould Seem Folly

“This is folly. You cannot do this. Do you not know that there is still danger? Éomund,” she almost shrieked in her hysteria, “please tell her this is folly!”

Éomund looked disconcerted. “I agree with you, Listöwel, this seems folly. Yet, the boy is fading; Siriondil has done all in his power to heal him, and still the child fades. It is time for drastic actions. What Indis plans is dangerous, but I will be with her.”

She stared at him and in her fury cut him deeply. “You were with Boromir and he is dead!” Tears streamed down her face. She would do anything not to hurt this man, but she needed him to talk sense into Indis and if she had to hurt him, then she must.

He bowed his head. Taking in a deep breath, he raised his eyes to her, tear and pain filled.  “You do well to remind me, though I doubt that I will ever forget the truth you speak. Would you have Faramir dead also?”

“He will be dead if she continues this course. These are only rumours; there is no fact behind them. There is no healer in the north! Faramir will not be able to survive the trip, never the mind its total futility.”

Indis sighed and continued packing. “I wish you both would not speak of me as if I were not here.”

Listöwel stomped across the room and stood next to her friend, stopping her from stuffing another garment into the little bag. “You are not here; at least you are not here in your right mind. This is the most foolish thing you have ever done, and you have done quite a few foolish things in the time we have known each other!”

Smiling, Indis pulled her friend to her and hugged her tightly. “And you have always accompanied me. Is that what you wish, my dearest sister-friend, to accompany me on this journey?”

Listöwel’s breath hitched. “You would even consider traveling without me?”

Indis sighed again. “I would not ask you to accompany me. Our last… adventure did not end well. I do not think this one will either. Listöwel, I know you think this folly, but I must do something. Faramir will die. Even now, it may be too late. I must find help for him. Legends of old speak of a healer in the north and I have decided to find him. You cannot change my mind. I have spoken with Siriondil, and though he wishes me to have hope, I have found it is lost. Éomund has agreed to accompany me. I cannot ask you to.”

“You do not have to ask,” Listöwel’s chin trembled. “My bag is packed already. Packed it last night. And my sword is sharpened.”

Smiling, Indis hugged her friend. “Then would you please take mine to the smithy and have it honed?  Also, my dirk? I must meet with Prince Imrahil. I have not yet told him of my decision.”

~*~

Motioning them to two chairs that seemed to suddenly appear, the wizard sat. Aragorn smiled and pushed the two Elves towards the chairs, then stood quietly behind them.

“I wish to speak of Imladris and your father.” The honeyed tone of the voice unsettled Aragorn even further. “Have your patrols been encountering more Orc than usual? Have their been more goblins about? What is the strength of the Elves in the valley?”

His eyebrow arched up. Aragorn was stunned by the questions.

The wizard, as if he had heard Aragorn’s unspoken mistrust, turned towards him with a deep scowl, then turned back again to the brothers. “As head of the White Council, I deem it important for me to know these details. Would you,” and here his voice turned low, “keep them from me?”

They sat for five hours, listening to the wizard’s questions, trying to answer them with as little detail as possible, yet giving him their respect, for their father’s sake.

At last, he rose. “I thank you for attending me. I have much business before me, more than you can surmise, so I must say farewell, for the time being. I hope, when you pass this way again, that you will remember your duty to those higher than you. You have been most helpful this day.”

His smile chilled all three to the bone. Bowing as he left the chambers, they waited for but a moment; then rushed towards the opposite door. These opened as they approached and they found the Dunlending waiting for them on the other side. He turned and they followed. Retracing their footsteps, they found themselves at their own chamber door. He motioned to them, and they realized he expected them to pack and leave this very instant.

Elladan stomped into the room, flinging clothes about him, while he ranted in Elvish about the ancestry of the wizard. Elrohir followed him in and quickly stuffed his pack, turning back to the door within moments. Aragorn did the same, patting Elladan on the back in sympathy, and then helping him gather his things from where they had landed. They walked through the door, heads held high and were immediately ushered to the entrance of the wizard’s fortress. Their horses stood before them, Aragorn’s saddled and ready, but the three mounts looked gaunter than they had when they had entered the halls of Angrenost.

“Let us be away from here as quickly as possible,” Aragorn said and touched his heel to his horse’s flank. His brothers followed.

~*~

The sky grew brighter as Anor peaked over the mountains; so blue was it that it made her wince in pain-filled delight. Nothing was more beautiful than sunrise over Gondor. She would miss it. She did not believe she would ever return to her City. The quest she was leading her friends on was dangerous, foolhardy, and probably doomed, but she had to do something for Faramir. She could not leave him lying in his bed, thrashing and screaming. The dreams, or whatever they were, were becoming worse and more frequent. Siriondil could do naught. Turning her back upon the only sight that ever healed her, she walked resolutely towards the Citadel

He stood and greeted her and her heart lifted in thanks. When he made as if to bow to her, she stopped him. “You are now Steward, if not in name, in purpose. Do not bow to me, my Prince.”

He smiled and motioned for her to sit in the Chair, but she shook her head and sat on the steps. Another smile graced his face; then he sat beside her. When she did not speak, he took her hand in his. “What deed can I do to bring a smile to your face, dearest Indis? You cannot remain in this state of mourning, no matter the cause. I remember your laughter, when I was a child. I miss it. Would you not grace this hall with a small smile at least?”

She leaned heavily against him. “The only smile I have is hidden in my heart, but it is because of you and your loyalty to your sister’s chosen people. You are a prince in more than name, dearest Imrahil. Gondor is forever in your debt.” She took a deep breath. “I cannot thank you enough for taking over the duties of state whilst I have cared for your nephew. I have more to ask, so much more that I am frightened to ask it.”

His smile faded and an eyebrow arched. “Never be frightened of me, dearest Indis. I am your servant and the servant of Gondor.”

“It is only because I know that, Imrahil, know that your heart is bequeathed to Gondor and her people that I can ask this of you.”

“Ask anything, my sweet Indis, and it will be done, if I am able.”

“I am taking Faramir north. I have heard of a healer in the hills near the Misty Mountains.” At his look of surprise, she put her hand over his mouth and continued. “Faramir is fading. Siriondil can do no more for him. He will die, Imrahil, and I cannot allow that. I must take some action to prevent his death. You understand, do you not my dearest Prince?”

He stood and walked towards the high windows that encircled the Great Hall. She had to stifle a gasp. He leaned against the window the same way Denethor would. Tears fell. As he turned to speak, he noted her tears and quickly strode towards her. Kneeling at her feet, he said, “You must do what you must do. If your heart leads you to this, then you have my blessing. I will stay in Minas Tirith until you return.” He took her hands. “You will return, will you not?”

“If it is in my power, I will return.”

“How many companies will you need?”

“I am… I do not wish to take a large contingent, Imrahil. There are still enemies about who would welcome the chance to kill Faramir… and me. We will leave in the night – as soon as it is possible – with none knowing but you, Siriondil, who has decided to accompany me, Éomund, Listöwel, and Théodred.” She saw the look of startled surprise in his eyes and continued. “Théodred will not leave Faramir’s side. His oath weighs heavy on the lad. Nothing I can say, nay, nothing even his father could say, would sway him from keeping his word to Boromir. Therefore, against my own better judgment, I will take him.”

“I cannot let you go with such a poor guard. I will not let you go with no warrior but Éomund. I cannot even believe he would agree to this!”

“He has no say in this.”

 “I have men who chafed at their forced retirement from Gondor’s service. Though I have placed them in areas of need, your need is greater. I will send Gildor, Gorlim, and Baranor with you. Though older in years, the blood of Númenor flows through them. They have strength enough, and wisdom, to protect you. If you do not accept them, I will bar the gate and you will not leave.”

His voice had risen, firm and strong, and she knew she could not gainsay him.

Ch. 10 - Lies and Deceit

They camped for the night, pulling cloaks about them to protect against the fierce winds of Rohan. The horses had been loosed and a fire started. Both Elves smiled as their brother lit his pipe.

“I do not know where he picked up this odious habit, Elrohir. Do you?”

“Seems to me ‘twas from some maiden in that town of Bree. I recall him taking her to his…” A sharp hiss from Aragorn stopped the elder Elf from continuing. 

“Seems to me he is uncomfortable when that incident is brought up.” A quick duck saved Elladan from a thrown stone.

“Not uncomfortable, brother. Mortified.” And the elder had to roll to the right ere a lighted log from the fire passed too close to his left side.

A grumble from Aragorn did nothing to sway his brothers from a full frontal attack. Foolishly, he had not expected it, thinking they were content with their jibes, but he had been wrong. He found himself with his head pushed into the snow, one Elf sitting on his back, the other on his legs. He fought furiously to free himself, but quickly gave up the effort. A full éored of Rohirrim could not dislodge two Elves bent thus on subjugating their brother!

After a moment, peals of laughter rang through the folds of the valley as both brothers let their erstwhile victim regain his freedom. They moved back quickly as he grabbed a burning log from the fire and held it in front of him. Swishing it back and forth, he kept them at bay, wondering if they had more mischief planned for him. His thoughts turned dark; they were attacking him. Orc perhaps; he struggled to see in this ill-fated darkness.

Both Elves stepped back, hands held in front of them in gestures of peace. Their smiles had vanished at the look of determination on Aragorn’s face. “Be at peace, brother!” Elladan cried. “‘Twas a jest, no more.”

Aragorn shook his head but kept the log whooshing from side to side.

“Brother!” Elrohir commanded.

Aragorn’s scowl grew deeper as he advanced upon them. The log came dangerously close and Elrohir once again cried aloud. “Estel!”

Elladan tripped and fell and Aragorn pressed forward, his eyes wild, his arm still shoving the weapon in front of him. Elrohir, beside himself with fear, attacked, pushing his brother backwards and stripping him of the bludgeon. He gave a swift look towards Elladan to make sure he was safe, then sat on Aragorn’s chest. A quick gasp left his lips as he looked into eyes that were not his brother’s. As Aragorn struggled, Elrohir began to speak slowly and quietly, using his father’s tongue and words of succor. Elladan sat, stunned and silent.

~*~

A servant had died in the early evening. Much to her chagrin, Indis realized this was a blessing from the Valar. All in the Citadel knew of the death for the servant was much loved. The likwain had arrived. The body would be taken from the City into the fields of Pelennor and buried near the man’s ancestral home. But the corpse would not be in the cart, Faramir would as would Indis, Listöwel and Théodred. The others would ride ahead, ostensibly sent on an errand by Prince Imrahil.

As they climbed into the cart, Indis’ heart fell. Fervently, she prayed to the Valar to not make this cart a true likwain, carrying the dead body of Faramir back to the White City. Listöwel saw her hesitation and held her hand as she settled into the transport. Siriondil placed Faramir on Indis’ lap, passed his healing kit to Théodred, kissed Indis gently and left them. He would ride with Baranor and company until they rendezvoused at the North Gate.

The likwain made its way down through the levels to the Great Gate. There, an emissary of Prince Imrahil’s sang the parting song in Isildur’s Square and the cart moved onto the Pelennor. Indis breathed a sigh of relief.

“You believe there are still those who wish Faramir dead?” Listöwel asked in grief.

Indis looked at the little body in her arms and cried. “I do,” she whispered hoarsely. “I do.”

“Will we ever be free?”

Théodred stirred in his sleep, the first he had had since the decision to leave Minas Tirith had been made, and Indis looked at him in pain. “He has grown so, in such a short time. When we left Edoras, he had seemed a child. Now, he bears the face of a man.”  Her thoughts went to Boromir. “My beloved nephew would look the same, with the sorrow that we have endured of late.”  Then, she held her finger over her mouth in silent warning. “‘Tis not the time to be speaking of such things. We know not what Faramir can hear. We go in hope, Listöwel. We must, else we die.”

“Will you leave…?” Listöwel began, thought better of her next words and grew silent. Leaning over, she took her friend’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Faramir will be safe with us.  No untoward event will take me again by surprise, Indis. I will die before I let him be harmed.”

Indis’ eyes grew dark. “As will I, my friend, as will I.”

The cart rumbled along, carrying its four passengers into the night.

Ch. 11 - A Fell Darkness

His head hurt. He could not understand it. Elrohir was sitting on his chest. He blinked once, twice, then tried to move, but his brother held him firmly on the ground. He tried to lift his hand to rub his forehead; the pain was intense. “What are you doing?” he asked incredulously.

“Aragorn?” Elrohir still held him down.

“Elrohir, what are you doing? Why are you sitting on me? Let me up, my head aches fiercely.”

Elladan touched his brother’s shoulder and shook his head in warning. Elrohir nodded.

“Who is Arwen?”

Aragorn looked at him in disbelief. “What are you asking? You know perfectly well who Arwen is. What has come over you two?” His grey eyes startled wider. “Elrohir. Are you all right? Elladan. What makes you fear me? Has the wizard done something to the two of you?” He put his hand on Elrohir’s arm and winced as his brother flinched. “Are you afraid of me? What lies has the wizard woven in your mind? It is I, your brother, Estel.”

“Are you Estel?” Elrohir asked quietly, whispering the question, hoping it was indeed Estel lying before him.

“I am Estel, your brother. And you are Elrohir, my brother. We are more than kin; we are of the same heart. Elrohir. Please speak to me as brother, as friend. You frighten me.”

Elrohir took Aragorn’s chin in his hand and looked deeply into his brother’s eyes. Then, letting go, he raised himself from Aragorn’s chest and stood away. Elladan looked closely; after that, he offered a hand. Aragorn grasped it and rose. Each stepped away from the other and all three, standing in the warm glow of the fire, waited expectantly – for what? None knew. An owl screeched in a tree nearby. Still they stood.

Aragorn, at last, rubbed his face with both hands as if laving it; then ran them through his hair. “We seem to be out of sorts tonight. You have some miruvor, do you not, Elrohir? Perhaps now would be a good time to partake of some?”

Elrohir sat on a little mound in front of the fire and drew a flask from his tunic. “I think that is a welcome suggestion. You too, Elladan. Let us share some of this and wash away whatever evil has come upon us.”

Elladan sat too and Aragorn joined them. After passing the flask back to Elrohir, Aragorn asked, “Would you now tell me why you attacked me?”

Elrohir looked into the fire while Elladan looked in amaze at Estel. At last, Elrohir spoke. “Our father greatly depends upon the wizards, all three. He has much respect for them. I have been taught to value their counsel. Until today, I was prepared to obey our father. Mithrandir has always been friend to Elves,” he raised his hand to ward off Estel’s obvious impatience. “Galadriel herself trusts the Grey Pilgrim explicitly. Was he not with the White Council when they drove the Necromancer from Dol Guldur?”

He bowed his head for a moment. “Something happened while we were with Curunír. I do not know what, but some power flowed from the wizard towards us.” He took a deep breath. “Towards you, Estel.”

Aragorn looked at the fire, brow furrowed. “Are you sure,” he asked quietly, “that something did not happen to you. I was not the one sitting on my brother’s chest, holding him down.” He looked towards Elladan. “And I was not the one holding my brother’s legs.”

“You remember nothing?” Elladan asked in amaze.

“What is there to remember? First, you were taunting me as we did as children, the next, you were attacking… Nay. It was Orc. Orc were attacking…” He shook his head, held his hand to his forehead and groaned. “The Orc?” He stood swiftly, turning towards Elrohir. Elladan stood also, quickly putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Aragorn did not notice. “Where are the Orc? Have we killed them all?”

“Peace, Estel. They are dead.” Elrohir quickly looked at Elladan, who wisely said naught. “Sit, brother, and we will tell you all.”

“Why do I not remember?” Aragorn asked before sitting. Elladan, once again, sat next to him.

“Close your eyes for a moment, brother. Take a breath and listen to me without question. You trust me, do you not, Estel?” When his brother nodded the affirmative, Elrohir continued. “What I tell you next is the truth, for Elladan and I both saw and heard the same things. You do not remember because… Estel, you must trust me!”

Aragorn looked up into his brother’s eyes. Noting the anguish in them, he stood. Elladan’s eyes widened in concern, but he did not stand. Aragorn moved towards Elrohir. Still Elladan watched. Aragorn sat at Elrohir’s feet.

“It grieves me to see you thus. To think that you believe I do not trust you.”

“Nay. The words I must speak next are difficult and will cause you pain, Estel. I must know that you will listen, without interruption, and believe that what I say, even though it may seem the most fantastic tale you have ever heard, that you believe that it is true.”

“I swear, my brother, on the grave of my mother, that I will listen and believe. Does that comfort you?”

Elrohir’s eyes grew moist. He leaned forward and touched Aragorn’s shoulder. “Aye. That comforts me, Estel.” Sitting back again, he began.

“When we were with the wizard, I thought he focused his attention upon Elladan and I, leaving you forgotten. I wish that it had been so. While he was speaking with us, his mind must have been focused on you. You never stirred while he spoke and I gave you great credit for not being perturbed or insulted. Estel,” he bent forward and watched his brother’s eyes. “You were being attacked by the wizard. Unbeknownst to us.”

Aragorn did not move; his eyes fixed on his brother.

“The wizard’s words are filled with cunning. While we sat mesmerized, he focused his speech on you, telling you lies, filling you with fear. I am sorry, my brother. I believe it is so,” and he paused for a moment, “because you attacked Elladan and I, calling us Orc. We had to overcome you forcibly, else you would have hurt yourself or one of us.”

“Lord Elrond must be told immediately,” Aragorn said through clenched teeth. Then he turned to Elladan. “Vaguely do I remember wielding some weapon, I hope it was not my sword, and waving it at you. Forgive me.”

“There is naught to forgive.” Elladan had stepped towards them. “My concern was with you. I was afraid we had lost you forever.”

Aragorn stirred and the face he lifted to Elrohir was pain-filled. “How do we know that you have not lost me? How do we know that the fit, or whatever it was, will not assail me again? I bid you leave me. I am not fit to be with at this time.” He stood and walked away, out towards the plains of Rohan, his arms wrapped tightly about his chest.

They heard great sobs coming from him.

~*~

The likwain traveled far onto the Pelennor. At last it stopped, well away from any farms or settlements. Another wagon drew near, driven by Gorlim. The patrol had swung around, in the night, and met at the appointed spot. Quickly and quietly, they removed the body from the wagon, wrapped tightly in blankets to keep any foul disease within; then, Indis and Listöwel moved into the wagon. Baranor picked up the sleeping Théodred and placed him on the wagon’s blanketed floor while Gorlim placed Faramir in Indis’ arms.

Another soldier drove the likwain off towards the servant’s final resting place and the band of now very weary travelers moved towards the North Gate. It was imperative that they reach it before daybreak, so the pace set was hard and fast. Indis clung to Faramir, placing cushions all around him to protect him from the jostling cart.

By this time, Listöwel’s head drooped. Indis sobbed as she looked at the three about her. How she wished she could have left them all behind, in the safety of Minas Tirith, and just taken Faramir herself. Again, they were on a road filled with danger and the outcome was less than certain. In fact, in Indis’ deepest thoughts, she had lost hope. As they passed through the North Gate, a darkness fell over her and she slept, assailed by wild dreams of men attacking, along with Orc and fell beasts.

A hand touched her and she screamed.

Ch. 12 - Trials

"Hush, Indis. Fear not. 'Tis I, Baranor. We are stopping at the Grey Wood. 'Tis almost morning and we thought 'twould be safer to travel by night."

"Are we already through the North Gate? Did they not stop us and search the wagon?"

Baranor chuckled. "If you had Gorlim and Gildor facing you in the livery of the Steward's own Guard would you not open the gate? Never fear," he said quickly as he saw indignation in those startling grey eyes, "the sentries are not at fault. Prince Imrahil wrote orders for our group to pass. The guard did their duty."

"And it is almost morning?"

"Aye. In less than an hour the sun will rise. We should be in the wood by then. I considered stopping at the fortress at Amon Dîn, but thought better of it."

Indis smiled. "We did the same on the trip here. Thought better of many things. But none seemed to help in the end." Her voice trailed off and Baranor stood silent.

"How is the Lord Faramir?"

She took the boy's hand in hers and rubbed it lightly. "The same. His eyes open once in awhile and I have hope. But they see nothing."

"Is it some malady or some trickery?"

"I know not. Is Siriondil with us?"

"Aye. He joined us at the North Gate. It is much to Ragnhild's dismay that he is here and not she. He would not let her join us. Some illusion that life goes on must be kept in the City, he said. She will remain Faramir's nurse for all to see." He smiled. "She is a good one for deceit, I will give you that."

"What mean you by that?" The tone of Indis' voice caused the smile on Baranor's face to fade.

"I meant no disrespect for your counselor, Lady Indis. All fear her. If she tells them something, none has the temerity to question it. She is curt and efficient. When she tells them she is taking care of Faramir, all will believe it. She also has Ioreth as ally. The woman might talk a man's head off, but she does not say anything." He smiled. "I like that woman."

She heaved a sigh and touched the Captain's hand. "Forgive me. I slept hardly at all this night and when I did my dreams were not pleasant."

"My Lady. You are Regent to the Steward. I beg forgiveness from you."

"Let us not have words over this. Let us reach the wood quickly and camp. The jolting of this wagon can do naught to help Faramir's condition."

Baranor saluted and left the wagon. She heard the creak of leather as he mounted and shortly afterwards the cart moved. She lay back and tried to sleep, but it eluded her.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Surprised to think it might be Baranor once again, she looked closely into the dark of their wagon. Théodred stared back at her. She drew in her breath. 'What have we said? Were there things spoken of that the boy should not have heard?' She quickly wracked her brain, trying to remember.

"You spend too much time trying to hide things from me," the boy said quietly. "I am old enough to have seen one I love murdered before my very eyes. I am old enough to have taken vows and kept them. I am old enough to gain some respect at least."

~*~

Elrohir stood and glared at anything that his eyes lit upon. Elladan stood back until his brother's anger subsided. After only a moment, Elrohir turned to him. "Estel is correct." Elladan opened his mouth to speak, but Elrohir silenced him with a sign. He turned and walked towards Aragorn.

"Estel. You speak wisely. You have since you began training with us so very long ago. You rode in silence, learned your lessons well, and became a great warrior for the Elves of the Last Homely House and then a great Ranger for all of Middle-earth. No man surpasses you in wisdom. Your words carry such great weight."

Aragorn still had his back to him, not answering, not even showing any sign that he listened to his elder brother.

"If you would but look at the situation we face. You seemed for but a few moments to be under a spell of some kind. Whether the wizard is to blame or not is a question we need not answer now. What we need answer, Estel, is whether or not we all," and he emphasized all by putting his hand on Aragorn's shoulder, "whether we all have been enchanted?"

Elrohir sighed. Elladan had joined them and grimaced at how much Elrohir's sigh sounded like their father's.

Aragorn turned in surprise. "You seem to know who you are, what you are about. How can you believe you are afflicted as well?"

"Estel, you seemed just as clear-minded as Elladan and I until the fit took you. Who is to say the same thing will not happen to us? I said you were under attack because I saw the fruits of that attack in your response to us. Am I so proud to think that the spell that was laid upon you could not also be laid upon me?"

He took Aragorn by both arms and looked him in the eye. "We cannot return to Imladris until we discover if all of us have been affected, how long the spell lasts, and whether it even can be lifted. These are questions that must be answered before we go any further."

Elladan muttered, "Can we even go on with our quest? How can we help the young boy if we attack each other?"

Aragorn moaned and fell to his knees. "I must help him. I must."

Ch. 13 - Beasts in the Night

She tried to hide her smile from the boy. He had earned her respect, but the seriousness with which he spoke reminded her that he was but thirteen and caught in the angst that ran rampant in a boy in his teens. Yet, she could not help but remember all that this particular lad had been through. Catching her upper lip between her teeth, she felt her eyes moisten.

"We are traveling at night, for the moment," she began. "We will stop in the Grey Wood."

"I heard all that," he interrupted. "What are the plans for Faramir? Where are we taking him? Why did we leave Minas Tirith?" His face turned into a deep scowl as he reeled off question after question. "If you are planning on leaving me at Edoras or Aldburg you had best think again. I will not renounce my vow!" His voice had slowly risen in pitch; his youth betrayed by his voice as it broke in a squeak.

"Be still, Théodred," she whispered. "These are not questions to be asked while Faramir lies thus between us. When we finally stop, we will leave Faramir in Listöwel's hands, find some secluded place, and I promise, I will tell you my plans, though, in truth, I have not even discerned exactly what I am doing or where we are headed. Will this suffice for now?"

Théodred nodded and Indis was suddenly aware that morning was nigh; she could see the lad clearly. "Thank you. I meant no disrespect, Prince Théodred. Yet I know not what Faramir is able to hear, and I would keep all discord from him. I know that is your wish too." Again, the lad bobbed his head up and down; Indis smiled. "Would you join us when we break the fast this morning?"

He shook his head. "I will keep my watch over Faramir. It is better if I stay with him in the morning. He seems restless, as if he knows the day has begun and he is left behind." He swallowed and she noted the sorrow in the boy's eyes.

"Very well. I will give an account of all we discuss when we meet."

He lay back down and she waited for the wagon to stop.  They had entered the woods but a short time before.  Winter had fully hit the Grey Wood, snow covering the floor, not hampered even by the thick foliage above them. At that very moment, the baying of wolves was heard. Théodred clambered to the front of the wagon, climbed next to the driver, and pulled his sword. Indis shook Listöwel awake. She heard hoof beats as their escort drew close to the cart.

~*~

"We will continue south in the morning," Elrohir stated quietly. "This is a fell winter; it seems as if the elements conspire against us.  If we go by way of Tharbad, we should find human habitations. We can replenish our supplies and discern our path while we have a roof over our heads."

"Nay. I think we should forego following the Snowbourn and cut straight across the Mark, head directly for Edoras. There is no need to speak with anyone. Our path is clear. We must reach Edoras as quickly as possible, procure new mounts, then I must be off to Minas Tirith." Aragorn's voice was strong and his own; Elladan smiled.

"I believe Estel is in some bit of haste."

"Indeed. I concur, brother." Elrohir turned in pity towards Aragorn. "We will continue to ride with you a little further. The snows make it difficult for hunter to find game." He held up his hand, smiling. "I do not mean you, brother, for I know your skills. Did not Elladan and I teach you them! But," and his voice grew serious, "hunters of a different sort, four legged beasts in need of flesh. We must be wary."

Elladan smiled - more brilliant than the snow. "Do you remember Master Baggins would sing the song the warg's sang when they attacked the Dwarves and him?"

'Bake and toast 'em, fry and roast 'em

till beards blaze, and eyes glaze;

till hair smells and skins crack,

fat melts, and bones black

in cinders lie

beneath the sky!'*

Elladan smiled as he finished the song.

Aragorn stood in amaze. "I had not heard that song. He had performed other songs in Elrond's hall, but that one I do not remember.  It is rather gruesome, is it not?"

"Here, in this desolate place, it does seem that way, but any song, sung in our father's home, carries naught but joy with it." Elrohir laughed. "I remember how our feet tapped in rhythm to the song. Bilbo delights in sharing these things."

"He does," Aragorn whispered. "Hobbits delight in much for they see further than most; they see the simple and are pleased by it.  Like clouds and soap bubbles and rushing water."

Elladan sighed. "It would be pleasant to be seated in the hall now, with harp and song about us. If the snows continue, we may have to content ourselves with mice over the spit."

"A feast for our welcoming home is what I envision.  My mouth waters as I think of the bounty that we might have when we return." Elrohir looked longingly down at the fire, visions of the last feast flooding his memory.

"The song of the owl, the scurry of the mouse, and the grunt of the doe as she calls her babes to her are enough song for me this night. I tire and will sleep now." Aragorn lay down, pulled a cover about him and was soon sleeping soundly.

Elrohir frowned. "He gave me a fright, Elladan," he whispered.  He turned to his brother. "I spoke the truth. We, too, might be susceptible to the wiles of the wizard. Keep watch."

"I will, my brother. I will."

They settled for the night, eyes slits in stilled faces; no need for sentries for vigilance was ever nigh.

*song from The Hobbit, JRRT

Ch. 14 - Songs to Heal the Heart

"There is no cause for alarm, my Lady," Baranor called through the cart’s flap. "It is wolves only and they are in the Drúadan Forest. We will camp here for the day. Would you join us as we break the fast?"

Indis pulled back the flap and nodded. He held his hand out and she accepted it, stepping onto the rear step then jumping down. Listöwel followed. The two women walked hand in hand to the fire that blazed. The smell of coffee and rabbit filled the air. Someone had been hunting; thankfully, it was not the wolves.

"Who do we have to thank for this fine repast?" Indis laughed. "Fit for the halls of Denethor have you made it."

"Gorlim made the coffee. The chuckbox is full and we shall eat well, if naught happens to disturb our plans."

She smiled. "Naught always happens. But I am most grateful for the coffee."

"And the rabbit?" Listöwel asked.

"That was the duty of Gildor. And I sliced the potatoes."

Gildor bowed before them and then turned back to the heavily laden spit. Three young rabbits, still pink, roasted above the fire.

She rinsed her hands and sat by the fire. The others sat around her. "Let us not discuss what we are about until after we have broken our fast. The food smells wonderful and I would give us a moment’s peace."

Gildor turned the spit and hummed. The song was an old ballad of Ulmo and of his love of Númenor and the sea. The song was as old as Gondor itself and all knew it well. Even the children would sing it in the mornings.

Watching the clouds slide across the sky, Indis could imagine the great sea lord sending droplets of water into the sky thus creating the white puffs that skimmed across the mountains before her. She joined her voice with Gildor’s.

"Shield me, secure me,

Shelter me from harm.

Encircle me; protect me.

Take me in your arms.

Ulmo, Lord of Waters, make me yours.

I stand upon the sea and look towards Westernesse.

Lost so very, very long ago.

My heart cries out to stand again on Westernesse

And hear your lapping laughter on her shores.

Shield me, secure me.

Shelter me from harm.

Encircle me; protect me.

Take me in your arms.

Ulmo, Lord of Waters, make me yours.

The woodland and the lowlands, the marshes and the bogs

The hills and plains, and Meneltarma’s peak.

The seagulls call from bay to bay and o’er the great sea’s swells

And rivers flowing swiftly to her shores.

Shield me, secure me.

Shelter me from harm.

Encircle me; protect me.

Take me in your arms.

Ulmo, Lord of Waters, make me yours.

"Boromir!" The cry ripped the silence that followed the song’s plea. Indis ran to the wagon and climbed in. Faramir lay quiet. She looked at Théodred in wonder.

"I do not know what happened. It was not the way it always has been. He opened his eyes for a moment and cried out. But it was not pain, my Lady Indis. It seemed more sadness this time." Théodred burst into tears.

"Hush. Do not fear, Théodred. Perhaps it is a sign that he is healing. Take heart, my young prince."

~*~

The night was not restful. At least, not for Aragorn. He tossed and turned in his sleep. Elrohir had lain close by and noted the quickened breathing, the thrashing. Once, he put his hand upon Aragorn’s arm and the touch seemed to calm his brother. Elladan lay nearby, sorrow in his eyes.

"Do you feel any different?" Aragorn suddenly said. His eyes were wide open though the night was not yet done.

Elrohir knew why he asked. "I do not," he said quietly, his brow furrowing. "Do you?"

Aragorn put his hands to his forehead and rubbed vigorously. "I do not and that frightens me. I did not feel any different before the – let us call it a fit – before that struck me. I do not want it to happen again."

Elladan smiled. "We are ready, if it does, Estel. Do not be concerned. We will protect you and not let you harm either of us. I promise."

Aragorn sighed and stood up. "I wish to travel. Dawn is near; the sky colours slightly. Would you mind?"

"Nay. Let us start a fire, make some food, and we can be on our way before morning fully breaks."

"Please," Aragorn said quietly.

"Now?" Elladan asked.

"Aye. I cannot eat. I must be away. I need to know we are at least making some headway." He shook his head. "You must think me weak."

"Weak-headed to suggest such a thing," Elrohir smiled to take the sting from his words. "We have seen you at your worst, Estel, and this was not it."

Aragorn smiled. "You promised not to mention that incident again." The smile became more brilliant. "If father ever heard…"

"I will say no more, brother. Except perhaps that you think too little of yourself. I believe, if it had been any other man, the wizard’s damage would be irreversible. I do not think that now. My hope is that, as we travel further from his influence, we will all be safer."

"I hope that too. I behave like a fool. Let us eat and then be on our way."

Elladan moved towards the fire and poured the tea. Elrohir broke a loaf of their bread into three pieces and lathered them with honey. Estel saddled his horse. When all was prepared, Elrohir called him and he joined them.

"We should reach Edoras in four days if the snows do not hamper us."

Aragorn stood up, his bread in hand. "We can eat this, mounted and traveling."

Elladan sighed. "If you wish, Estel, we will go." He rolled his blanket, poured handfuls of snow upon the embers, and then stirred them until they stopped hissing. He laid another small layer of snow over the top. "There! We are ready."

Ch. 15 - A Prince's Fury

Fury whipped through him like fire. Never had he been so angry. He noted his hands shook; yet he tried to hide their weakness. The man before him had publicly proclaimed that he had helped Amandil usurp the Rod. His words were honeyed, and those on the Council who did not know the facts would certainly not understand what the Lord of Lamedon had just said, but Imrahil knew. His only wish now was to fly from the Chair and flail the man, nay, strangle him with his own hands. Ragnhild stood and walked forward. She must have seen the anger in his face, for she stepped between the man and the Steward’s Chair.

"My Lord Prince," she bowed to Imrahil, "Lord Ohtar and his son have not returned to Lamedon because of their love for Gondor. Lord Ohtar himself told me that he deemed it his duty to stay here in Minas Tirith until Lord Faramir is able to assume his duties as Ruling Steward. His son, Angbor, bids you let him stay instead, so that his father may return to their land and continue to govern it."

Imrahil looked sideways at Indis’ counselor. ‘What is she saying? Does she seriously consider that I will let the man leave Minas Tirith, especially after the confession he has just made?’

He cleared his throat and stood. "My Lord Ohtar. Your concern for Gondor is exemplary. You would leave your own fiefdom in the hands of others and lend your counsels to us? I am most grateful. However, before I accept your son’s kind offer, I must consider Gondor’s needs. Perhaps we might meet tomorrow morning and discuss this further?"

Ohtar smiled and bowed. "Lamedon has always been friend to the Stewards. I will stay another night, as will my son. The ninth hour would be acceptable?"

"It would. I would bid you meet me here in the Great Hall."

Both men of Lamedon bowed and left.

Imrahil stood, dismissed those who were left, and forcefully took Ragnhild’s arm, leading her from the Great Hall into his study. When he had closed the door behind them, he stepped towards her, upending a small table in the process. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently, but inexorably forced her to sit. He pulled a chair and sat next to her.

"Where is your mind, woman! Did you not hear what that man said?" and he pointed towards the Great Hall in exasperation and fury.

"There are others who were part of this, my Lord Prince," Ragnhild said quietly. "Ohtar was a fool to say what he did just now, but it is to our benefit. Do you not think that his accomplices are now much afraid? None who know what has happened cannot help but see that his words were incriminating. Those who worked with him will try to contact him, I think, or will try to murder him to protect themselves. We must send spies to follow him. We must discover who, besides Ohtar and Amandil, were involved in this. Not the common soldiers, for they foolishly obeyed the council. But those lords of Gondor, those knights even, who for pride, or power, or money, decided to become enmeshed in this deed."

She shook and he regretted his anger. "I speak in frustration. We have one of Boromir’s murderers in our very hands and you would ask me to allow him his freedom?"

"Only for a time, my Lord Prince. I do not believe you should allow him to leave the City yet." She held up her hand to stop him. "Yet. I say yet because we must assuage any fears that his accomplices might have. We must flush them out. And, I believe the way to do that is to watch him. They will come out as ants to honey."

"Arantar," Imrahil called and a Swan Knight opened the door and stepped into the room, bowed and waited.

"I have a small task for you, befitting your cunning nature." Imrahil smiled, as did the soldier.

~*~

She kicked as hard as she could. The wolf only yelped, its vicious mouth still growing closer. She could not find her sword and for that, she swore. There were at least fifteen wolves that she had seen; she wondered how many more hid behind the trees. The pack had crossed from the Drúadan Forest to the Grey Wood during the day. Unusual. Their howling had started as soon as dusk fell, as soon as the little band had started to pack for the continuation of their trip.

Finally, the wolf overcame her kicking heels and lunged for her face. She flung her hands up and felt the hot breath on her arms. She reached out one hand and pushed against its massive jaw, her right hand still searched frantically for her sword. Instead, she felt the cold steel of a dirk lying under Faramir’s body. She grabbed it, held on for dear life, and stabbed it deep into the wolf’s heart. It cried aloud, slobber dropping from its mouth, then fell on top of her. She pushed if off and scrambled for her sword.

She could still hear the battle outside the wagon and knew she was desperately needed; however, she thanked the Valar for her decision to change clothes before they began the night’s trek, else none would have been with Faramir when the wolf had jumped into the wagon. Théodred would be horrified to learn that, during one of the few moments he had left Faramir alone, his charge had been in grievous danger.

"Ah!" she cried aloud as her hand felt the familiar leather pommel. She quickly unsheathed her sword, finished pulling her riding tunic over her head, and stepped out of the cart and onto the step.

In the faint dusking glow, she could see four wolves slain on the ground. Along with hers, that meant there were at least ten left.

Théodred was closest to the wagon and looked up as she stepped out, then went back to defending himself from another wolf that threatened to enter the wagon. It died quickly.

She jumped down and turned to help him, but at that moment, another wolf, one of the smaller females, left her mate alone in his attack upon Gildor and faced Indis. As it made its leap, Indis stabbed. The wolf fell.

Listöwel gave a great cry as the wolf she was battling finally fell under her blade.

Only seven left to slay. Gorlim and Siriondil stood back to back, lunging at three wolves that assailed them. Gorlim’s face was deeply scratched and blood flowed freely from Siriondil’s left hand. Both men continued fighting until all three wolves lay dead at their feet.

Four left now. Each wolf was consigned to each Gondorian. Indis looked about the broken camp. They were all dead save these four. But one looked viciously at her, hints of evil in its eyes. She imagined it smiled; she must have. The wolf lunged again at the body that lay under its great paws.

Gorlim screamed and attacked. The beast was dead in a moment, but its damage was done. Gildor lay wounded, eyes closed, blood spewing from a gash on his temple.

Siriondil, after slaying his own beast, ran to the fallen warrior’s side. "Be still, my Lord," the healer whispered. "The beasts are all dead. You did your duty; now you must rest." He motioned to Gorlim for his kit and the man ran to the trunk lashed to the side of the wagon, pulled out the healer’s kit and brought it to his side.

In the meantime, Listöwel brought hot water from the fire and Indis ran for bandages. She saw Théodred enter the wagon and was glad. Faramir would be safe, for the moment.

Just as she moved towards the injured soldier, Gorlim stood, his eyes frantic. "Where is Baranor?" he cried.

She looked about her but there was no sign of the captain. She handed the bandages to Listöwel and joined Gorlim in his search. Moving dead carcasses aside, they hoped to find their comrade, but there was no sign of him in their camp.

"Look for footprints leading into the woods," Gorlim instructed and Indis moved to the perimeter of their camp. All she found were the prints of the wolves as they came from the forest. She heard a cry, "Baranor!" and ran past the wagon and the horses.

But no – there was only one horse left standing. The other lay fallen; its throat ravaged. Behind the horse’s withers, she espied Gorlim, kneeling in the snow. He cradled something in his hands.

Ch. 16 - Difficult Decisions

She saw the pale white of Baranor’s face and knelt by his side. Looking into Gorlim’s eyes, she saw there was no hope. The soldier laid his hands over Baranor’s eyes and closed them. She wept bitterly.

At last, she laid her head back upon Gorlim’s chest. He held her for a moment then helped her stand. They walked back towards Siriondil. Gildor’s eyes asked for hope, but she had none to give. He closed his own eyes in loss.

Listöwel stood and pulled Indis aside. “Gildor needs help. Siriondil has done all that is possible, here in the field, but Gildor needs more.” She had her own thoughts, her own course of possible action, but she respected and trusted Indis. She would wait until she was asked for her opinion.

“Again, we come to hard choices, do we not, my sister-friend?”

“We do, Indis. You will make the right one.”

She motioned for Gorlim to join them, and then sat before the fire. “The garrison of Amon Dîn is near. Siriondil and Listöwel will take Gildor to the fort, along with Baranor’s body. Gorlim, Théodred and I will wait here for Siriondil and Listöwel to return.” She shook her head. “I cannot abide this waiting when my very heart screams for speed, but we cannot go alone, the three of us.” She turned to Gorlim, “Or can we?”

“It would seem foolhardy, my Lady. Faramir has had no attacks since we started out. Mayhap we could wait a day.”

“It has only been one day and two nights, Gorlim. The attacks are not daily. Tomorrow may find him weaker.”

They sat in silence. Siriondil joined them. “We must be away immediately, if we are to save Gildor’s life,” the healer said quietly. He was wrapping his own hand with bandages. Listöwel clucked and helped him. He looked at Indis. “I know you wish to continue. I do not think it a wise course.”

“You did not think it a wise course before we left,” Indis said crossly. She sighed. “I know you only think of our safety, but I have given up any thought of that. I only deem Faramir’s welfare to be paramount. He will not recover sitting here by the side of the road waiting for you to return. I have made up my mind. We are going ahead.” She stood up and they stood with her.

“Théodred!” she called and the boy stepped out of the wagon. She motioned for him to join them. “Siriondil and Listöwel. You will take Gildor to Amon Dîn. Taking Baranor’s body with you will slow you down. Gorlim, we will burn Baranor here in the clearing. We cannot bury him for the ground is frozen, but we will build a pyre for him.” Théodred choked; she put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Listöwel, you will ride with Siriondil. Gildor will ride his own horse. We will hitch Baranor’s horse to the wagon.”

She looked about her at the grim faces. “I wish there was another way. Siriondil, when you reach Amon Dîn look for Durahil. I believe he was made captain of the garrison at Amon Dîn. He can be trusted. If he is there, ask him to send help. But only someone he trusts. Tell him we are continuing westward, but will now use the Great West Road. I would prefer to keep to the hills, but winter has hit this area hard and more hungry beasts will be about. Hopefully, they will avoid the road.”

Siriondil stood. “I cannot say I approve this plan, my Lady, but I will obey. I will prepare Gildor for the journey.”

Théodred stood. “I will hitch Baranor’s horse to the wagon.”

Gorlim took a shovel from the wagon and began to chip into the hard ground, trying to dig the base for the pyre. Turning towards Indis, he said, “There is not enough dried wood for a pyre, my Lady. I believe we must try to dig a shallow grave.”

She looked at him in horror. If they did not burn Baranor, the wolves would dig up the shallow grave and desecrate the warrior’s remains. There was nothing she could do. She nodded, turned and climbed into the wagon. She took Faramir’s hand in hers and sobbed.

~*~

To say that he was surprised was an understatement. The young lad before him stood still, waiting for Imrahil’s response. The Prince was dumbfounded.

“I have not spoken clearly enough, my Lord?” the boy wondered.

“Would you say again before the Lady Ragnhild what you just told me?”

“Aye, my Lord.” The boy waited as Imrahil sent an aide to fetch Ragnhild. She was usually in the Houses at this time of day. She should be along shortly. He motioned for a chair and then, when it was placed before him, he motioned for the boy to sit.

“You are how old?”

“I am almost sixteen, my Lord. I have been esquire for Lord Aglahad since I was fourteen.” The boy blushed, not sure if he should go on.

Imrahil noted and motioned for him to continue.

“Lord Aglahad is captain of the garrison at Edhellond. Your father stationed him there immediately after I became his esquire. I have not been to Lamedon nor to my father’s house since I was twelve.”

Imrahil smiled. ‘So the boy is saying he knows naught of the intrigues of his father!’

“Let me say, my Lord, that I love my father dearly. He is… sometimes he finds himself frustrated with the state of Lamedon and its vulnerability to attack.”

‘And now the boy makes excuses for his father.’

“He is a good man,” the boy said plaintively. “He can be swayed by other’s words. Words that he deems wise for our land. He sometimes forgets we are of Gondor.”

‘More excuses,’ Imrahil grimaced.

“There is naught to say more for my father. Know that once he was a great man. Well-respected.” Tears glistened in the lad’s eyes and Imrahil took pity.

“Fathers are difficult to deal with,” he said quietly. The look of hope in the boy’s eyes was disturbing. Ohtar had committed treason – no matter his reasons, he had committed treason. And punishment for treason was death. Imrahil stood from the Chair, walked down the few steps, and looked towards the windows. The light of the afternoon sun shone through and it lifted his heart a little.

‘I should not be the one having to make this decision. Yet, I must. Ah! Ragnhild at last,’ he thought as she walked into the Hall.

He waited until she stood directly before him. “I believe we had best retire to my study. This is a difficult time. Lord Ohtar’s son has come to me with some disturbing news. I would share it with you, but in a more private setting.” He turned towards the foyer; the boy and Ragnhild followed.

A guard opened the study door, let them pass inside, and then stepped inside himself. He would not allow his Prince to be alone with a stranger, even though the stranger was but a mere lad.

“Please sit, Lady Ragnhild.” He went behind the massive oak desk that once was Denethor’s, Steward of Gondor, and sat. His hands rubbed along the smooth top. The motion brought back many memories of Denethor. He had spent time here, studying with the Steward, playing ‘Kings and Stewards,’ listening to stories with Boromir and Faramir of ancient times. He had loved this study, this desk. Now, it bespoke sorrow and loss. He swallowed and looked at the lad before him.

Ch. 17 - Ripples

“Would you please repeat what you told me in the Great Hall?”

“My father was approached by Lord Amandil two summers ago, Lady Ragnhild, during the feast of Loëndë. I was not privy to that conversation as I had been esquired out to Prince Adrahil the summer before. My sister, Gilmith…” He smiled shyly at Ragnhild, “is an eaves dropper. They met in Calembel in my father’s home. A Lord Dagnir, from Tarnost, was there also. They spoke long into the night of Lord Denethor. At times, Gilmith fell asleep and missed some of what was said, but she wrote to me immediately afterwards. They spoke of replacing Lord Denethor,” the boy’s face coloured, “with someone else, someone who upheld their own views of what was good for Gondor.”

Tears began to flow as the boy realized the consequences of his words. “There was no talk of murder, at that time, but later, last summer, Lord Amandil came again, along with Lord Dagnir, and spoke of how they would wrest the Rod from the Steward.” His chin shook.

“I am at fault myself, my Lord. My Lady, I should have brought this knowledge to Lord Denethor immediately. I could not decide what to do. I had hoped that my father would see the wrong of what they planned, would tell Lord Amandil that he wanted no part of the treachery, but father never did. I waited and waited for a missive from Gilmith saying that father had changed his mind, but the missive never came.” The boy gulped loudly. “I am turning myself over to your judgment, my Prince. I should have done something and now it is too late.”

Ragnhild silently wept. But for the word of a boy, Denethor and Boromir would yet live.

“Were there any others involved, that you know of?” Prince Imrahil asked quietly, trying to settle his stomach at the wretched news.

“Nay, my Lord. There were only two meetings that I know of and only three lords were involved. There may have been more in Minas Tirith itself, but father never took Gilmith with him when he visited the City.”

“It took great courage to come to me with this information. Late does it come, but better late than never. Your father and Lord Dagnir cannot be allowed to continue. They will breed dissension and treachery; they are entrapped by it.”

He stood up and walked towards the guard. Nodding, the man left. Imrahil turned around. “Lord Aglahad has reported your progress to Prince Adrahil. He has been most impressed." He paused and looked long at the lad. "I must hold your father here in Minas Tirith until the Lady Indis returns. You may return to your duties in Edhellond.”

The boy looked haggard. “I cannot leave my father here alone. I have no elder brother and our land lies without a leader. Yet, I cannot return.”

“Prince Adrahil will govern your land in your father’s stead. I have sent an errand-rider to Dol Amroth. Someone loyal to Gondor will…”

“My father is loyal!” the boy cried. “He is loyal to Gondor. He was misled. He believed the action they took was for Gondor.”

Ragnhild stood. “I have seen great wisdom in your words, Angbor. But now, you speak folly. Your father cannot use Gondor’s weal as an excuse for what he has done. There is a council in Gondor. Your father was part of it. He had every opportunity to bring his concerns to the council.”

“But Lord Denethor will not listen to anyone!” the lad shouted. “That is what I have heard.”

“Hush, boy!” Imrahil spoke sharply. “The Steward was my great friend and mentor. You know not what you speak. Keep your tongue until you have seen and heard with your own eyes and ears!” Bitterly, he walked away from the boy, anger still smoldering in his heart.

Angbor stood tall. “Mayhap I spoke hastily. I do not… I did not know Lord Denethor. I only know what I have heard.” He took a shaking breath. “Things I have heard from your own father!”

Imrahil stopped his pacing. He looked towards Ragnhild and saw that she remembered their discussions about the feud between Denethor and Adrahil. He took a breath and turned towards the boy.

“Your training has not yet taught you wisdom, though you have certainly learned courage. One must take the words one hears and sift them, strain them until the dross is purged and steel has appeared.”

He sat down on the chair next to Angbor. “Your loyalty to your father is misplaced, I am sorry to say. You are of an age to be able to discern for yourself what is right and what is wrong. Is it right to forcibly take something from a man who has been rightfully titled? Is it right to murder someone because they do not share your views? Is it right to destroy a kingdom for your own personal gains? That is what Lord Amandil did and he dragged your father with him. There is no excuse for what Lord Amandil has done. And there is no excuse for your father. He committed treachery, treason and murder.”

He laid his hand upon the boy’s arm and felt the slight tremble. “When we start something, it is like throwing a pebble into water. The pebble’s first splash is noisy, but short-lived. In this instance, the pebble’s wake, the waves that flowed from its splash, continues on.

“Lord Denethor was murdered. But the treachery did not stop there. The young Lord Boromir was murdered also, along with men from Rohan and Gondor. Stout, doughty men that Gondor can ill afford to lose. And now, Gondor is weakened by your father’s actions. We have no Steward. Lord Faramir, if you do not know, is held in some stupor, some daydream from which he cannot awaken. Because of your father, Belfalas, which I know you love, is also weakened, for I am here and unable to do my duty to my father and my land. Lamedon is also weakened.

‘The Dark Lord is sitting in his stronghold and laughing at us. Aye, Angbor, laughing at us. And plotting ways to use this treachery to attack and destroy all that we love.”

Angbor silently began to weep.

Imrahil continued his reproof. “I do not expect you to agree with me. Will that turn your heart to murder?”

Angbor’s eyes opened wide. His mouth formed an ‘o’ and he sobbed, “I would not murder you, my Prince!”

“I trust you, Angbor. It is not my duty to pass judgment on your father. At least, not at this time. He will stay here in Minas Tirith until the Lady Indis returns. She is Regent now, until Lord Faramir recovers. I am just her humble servant.”

He stood and raised Angbor with him. “Will you also serve, Angbor?”

Ch. 18 - Rohirric Remedy

“The snows are deep across this plain. If we turn in a more westerly direction, perhaps the drifts will lessen?” Elladan knew what Aragorn would say before the words had even left his mouth, but he deemed it wise to at least broach the subject of a detour.

“Perhaps if you sent your horses back to Imladris and left me and mine to trudge through these drifts… It is at times like this when my ancestry as a man galls me. To be able to walk upon the drifts instead of through them would hasten our journey!”

Elrohir smiled. “You, Estel, are at least able to ride a horse as well as any Elf I know. We will not sway from our course, Elladan,” he said to his brother. “The drifts should lighten once we round that bend on our left. The land, if I remember correctly, is filled with tall grasslands, but the unseasonable cold will have crushed them. It should be flat riding, with only a pause for a drift now and again. Your estimate appears to be correct, Estel. We should reach Edoras in three days time. I know you do not like the delay, but we must protect our mounts.”

Aragorn squinted into the setting sun, willing the leagues to pass by while time stood still.

They had not brought wood with them and could find only small twigs and branches from frozen bushes on the plains of Rohan, but it fazed neither Elf. However, Elrohir was beginning to be concerned for Aragorn. They had ridden a full day’s ride with nary a stop. True, the gait had been slow so as not to tire the horses, but Aragorn would need rest and warmth soon.

“Are their caves or some such cover anywhere in this direction?” the younger Elf asked.

“None that I know of, though I have not been in the Mark for at least twenty years. After I left Gondor, I turned south, then eastward. I came back to Rivendell through Nanduhirion. There are plenty of caves there, some even built by the Dwarves.” Aragorn gave a low chuckle. “We cannot, of course, turn in that direction.” He pulled up and looked towards his left, then southward. “I believe we have passed into the West Emnet. That is a good sign.”

“The sun sets. It is time to rest our horses. Estel,” Elrohir stopped in confusion and dismounted. “I am concerned, brother. It is bitter cold and you have only the clothes on your back to warm you. I think it time we asked our mounts to share their warmth.”

Aragorn swung himself off his own horse; his need was to press onward, it was just sunset, but he knew their mounts needed rest. Finally, bending low, he picked up his animal’s hooves and checked for snowballs. There were none. Then, he removed the saddle. Once they finished their meal, Aragorn went to his horse, pulled on its reins, and whispered to it. At once, the horse lay down. Aragorn lay as close to his steed as possible. Elrohir and Elladan did the same, though more for their horses’ comfort than their own. Twice they awoke in the night to let the horses stand and stretch.

Morning was nigh when they finally stirred. Holding the bit in his hands, Aragorn tried to infuse it with some warmth, rubbing it furiously before fitting it in his mount’s mouth; then he saddled it. As he rubbed the horse’s withers, he spoke words of encouragement. The mare turned its head and nuzzled him. He smiled. He had never understood the love of these great animals for a mere man, but he was grateful.

They each swallowed a drop or two of miruvor, ate some dried meat, and quickly mounted. Only two more days, Aragorn chanted silently, only two more days to Edoras. There, he hoped to find some further news. Some hope-filled news.

The Westemnet lay cold and barren before them. The winter indeed was harsh. Once in awhile, they were able to snare rabbits, which they ate near raw. Fire was hard to come by in this wilderness; quickly made, it was quickly consumed.

Singing was out of the question; their breath froze as soon as they opened their mouths, but Aragorn had to laugh as the low hum of Elven tunes emanated from Elladan. His brother could not stop the song in his heart from flowing forth. It was the song of Ëarendil. Remembrance of the words made him shiver, for were they not of ice and cold? Now he remembered them - From gnashing of the Narrow Ice where shadow lies on frozen hills.*  Was it as cold there for the Elves on the Narrow Ice as it was here on these unprotected plains?

The day passed and long into the night they road. He could smell Edoras. Though both Elladan and Elrohir told him it was his imagination, he could smell Edoras. The smell of horse was strong there; never had he seen so many horses in one garrison.

“Look!” Elrohir cried. “There is smoke to the west of us. I see buildings. What suppose you this means?”

“Breeding paddocks!” Aragorn shouted in delight. “I knew I smelt horse. It is a breeding paddock for the men of the Mark. I had forgotten.” He spurred his horse into a gallop; Elladan and Elrohir followed.

~*~

“How could you let her leave with such a small contingent?” Éomund strode across the Great Hall, the spear in his hand flashing every few seconds as the sun, peering through the windows, caught it. His anger sparked near as brightly.

Imrahil waited for him to approach the Chair, waited for the anger to subside, waited for the Captain of Rohan to recover his comportment. He noted wryly that the Guard allowed the man to bring his spear into the Great Hall.

“I did not let her do anything, my Lord Captain. You know the Lady; she does not let anyone tell her what to do. You know yourself that even the Lord Denethor could not order her about. Do you think that I, a lowly Prince of Dol Amroth, could sway the Lady once she had made up her mind.”

Éomund stopped. His lips pursed in a fine line and he took a few deep breaths. “I would expect you to do something.”

“Come with me to my study. They are only gone a few days. You will be able to catch up with them. Indis had planned on using the Great West Road once they were past Eilenach.”

The two men, one blonde and one raven-haired, left the Hall. The servants scrambled to prepare the study. Wine was put into carafes, the fire was stoked, and candles were lit. The guard opened the door; then stood back.

“I am shamed by my outburst, Prince Imrahil,” Éomund said as soon as they entered the room. “If I had been here, the outcome would have been the same. Indis is a strong-willed woman; none can stop her once she has made up her mind.”

“She only wanted to take a few with her; I threatened to bar the gates if she would not accept Gorlim, Gildor and Baranor. With grace, she accepted.”

Éomund burst into laughter. “With grace? I doubt that highly.”

Imrahil laughed himself. “If you would take a few more of Gondor’s finest with you when you follow her, I would be most grateful. Once you are on the road, she cannot turn them back.” He sat and poured a glass for himself and the Rohir.

Taking the glass from the Prince, Éomund said, “What precipitated the sudden departure? I thought I had at least a week’s time before she was going to leave.”

“A servant died. A likwain was being sent with the body to the Pelennor. She deemed it a perfect ruse to hide the transport of Faramir from the City. Our custom is to bury the dead as soon as possible. It seemed a perfect time to leave. She left this note for you.” He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a folded, sealed piece of parchment and handed it to Éomund.

The Rohir sat back, took a sip of wine, and opened the note.

‘My dearest Éomund, friend of my heart and friend of my brother, brother-in-arms during the last dreadful battle,

‘I implore your forgiveness at our sudden departure. Know that in my heart, I wanted you with me, for your protection, your wisdom, but most particularly, your friendship. I did not do this on purpose, please believe me. But matters were taken out of my hands; I had to depart when I did.

‘My hope is that you will follow. I do not think I have the courage nor the strength to do this alone. But I cannot ask this of you. The way is dangerous; perhaps more dangerous than our previous journey together. If you do not follow, I will understand. For what it is worth, I hope to see you again soon. You have been more than kind to me during Gondor’s time of woe, during my time of sorrow. If you decide to return to Rohan, please give Théoden King my regards,

‘Your friend, Indis, Lady of Gondor’

He held the note before him, tears glistening in his eyes. “She is a doughty lady whom I have grown to have great respect for.” He smiled a small smile and looked up at Imrahil. “Do not tell her I ranted a little at her stubbourness?”

Imrahil smiled. “I will not, Captain. When will you leave?”

“As soon as I can pack and be off. Do you have any suggestions as to whom I should take with me?”

“Unfortunately, there are none here who I can offer to you, but the Captain of Amon Dîn has courage and his loyalty to Lord Denethor was complete. Go to Amon Dîn first, take these orders with you to a Captain Durahil, and he will follow you, along with whomever he chooses. I think that is the wisest course.”

“Are you safe here, my Lord?” Éomund asked quietly. “I do not wish to leave you in jeopardy.”

“I have many captains of Gondor about me whom I trust. And the traitors are even now being made known to me. I have already arrested two. More, unfortunately, will follow. But do not concern yourself about Gondor. Go to my aunt and protect her and Faramir. See if you can find this healer from the north. Then bring them back to me safely, so that I may return to Belfalas and my father.”

~*~*~*~

I usually save author's notes to the end - but the bit with the horses caused quite a stir at a group I belong to - After much discussion by those who know horses better than I, it was discerned that a horse will lie down on the ground for about three hours at a time. Their handler must be strong-willed though to help them with this feat. (Now - who could be stronger-willed than our three intrepid Elves/man?) They do sleep. Horses that is. Also, I have them taking a break and letting the horses stand for short stretches during the night. Hope that eases everyone's minds.

Ch. 19 - Ice and Snow

The ground gave way suddenly and Aragorn felt his horse slipping from under him. As quickly as he could he slid off the horse, trying vainly to hit the ground standing. Yet, there was no ground. He was sinking into freezing cold water. Flailing about, trying desperately to stay afloat, he found he could not. His clothes dragged him further into the depths of the water; it was up to his neck and finally covered his face. He had but one moment to take a breath and then…

“Estel!” he faintly heard Elrohir scream. As the cold pervaded his body, he began to gasp and struggle for air. Still, try as he might, he could not surface. He knew he was drowning. Dimly, he wondered where his mount was and if the poor beast still lived. His eyes were closed; that surprised him. He opened them and discovered darkness, a darkness so complete that it took what little breath he had away. He stripped his cloak off and let it drop. Now he knew which way was up. He kicked off his boots and, sadly, clawed at the belt that held his sword and scabbard, released the buckle and let them fall. Taking off his tunic, he kicked furiously, his arms desperately reaching for the surface. His hands were growing numb; he only had a moment left.

Another hand touched his, he was sure of it! His head broke water and he gasped for air. “Estel!” he heard the call again, this time even fainter. He knew he had only to grasp the hand, but he did not think he had feeling enough in his own hands to do something that simple. The dilemma was solved for him; whatever hand was upon his, roughly grasped his own and pulled hard. Slowly, too slowly, he was pulled from the water, then dragged across – ice? He began to shiver uncontrollably. The hand pulled him even further away from his tomb.

“Run to the paddock and get help!” Elrohir screamed. Elladan ran.

Elrohir quickly stripped Aragorn of all his clothing, and began to rub the man's arms and legs. After but moments, he took off his own cloak, tunic, and leggings. He dressed Aragorn and then pulled him tightly towards him. Sitting on the ground with only his undergarment on, he wrapped his arms around his brother's torso and held tight, whispering quietly into his brother's ear. "Do not leave me, Estel. Do not go. I am here. I will help you. Please," he said louder as the shivering stopped. "No!" he whispered furiously for the shivering was the body's defense against the cold. "Fight, Estel. You must fight. Hold on."

~*~

“It is an Elf, my Lord! Running through the snow!”

The surprise in the man’s voice echoed the thought in Erkenbrand’s.  ‘What is an Elf doing in the Riddermark and why?’ he asked himself. The company stood at attention, hands on weapons and stance ready for battle. An Elf running alone meant danger. He strode forward to meet this apparition.

“Halt! You are trespassing upon the Riddermark. Be gone else I must perforce take you to my lord.”

“Help!” Elladan cried as loudly as he could. “We must have help.”

Erkenbrand stood stunned. ‘Something is amiss. Elves do not ask for help.’ He put his hand to the pommel of his sword and stood straighter.

“What manner of help need you?” he called back.

“We found a man fallen into a lake. We have rescued him, but he needs warmth and dry clothes. Please,” Elladan begged as he came near the camp, “please help us.”

“Mount and go with him!” Erkenbrand shouted and motioned to three men standing behind him. The men quickly mounted; one grabbed Elladan’s arm and helped him swing up behind him; they urged their horses into a gallop that took them in the direction that the Elf had come.

“Get a fire ready and some warm clothes,” Erkenbrand commanded. “And some mulled mead.”

The stallions raced across the snow; bred for such travel, they flew like the wind. Holding loosely to the man before him, Elladan reveled in the beauty of these horses. In less than half an hour he espied Elrohir and Aragorn.

“There! There!” he screamed to the man and pointed ahead of them.

The man shouted to his companions and pulled ahead of them. Quickly closing the gap between the Elves and the men of the Mark, he pulled up sharply. Elladan jumped from the horse before it had even stopped.

 He knelt next to his brother, quickly took his tunic off and wrapped it around Elrohir, then took Aragorn's bitter cold hand in his own. "He lives?"

Elrohir nodded. The men had reached them by this time and dismounted. Throwing a blanket to Elrohir, the men stood back, not sure what to say or do. Elrohir wrapped Aragorn in the blanket, stood and looked at Elladan.

"Will you pass him to me, Elladan?" He gave the limp body to his brother.

Jumping, half-naked, upon the largest stallion, he bent low and Elladan gently lifted his brother up into Elrohir's waiting arms. One of the men made as if to stop them when their leader pulled his arm back.

Pulling the reins and turning the horse westward, he slapped the flank of the horse. "Noro lim!" he shouted. "Noro lim!" The horse took off in a rush.

~*~

“I cannot spare Gorlim. I dare not go forward with only Théodred,” she told Listöwel quietly. “My dearest sister-friend,” she almost sobbed, “I would not send you away so lightly protected, but I must.”

Listöwel held her friend close. “I knew the dangers, dearest Indis, when I forced myself upon you and this journey. My heart will be with you as we ride eastward. I know,” she paused and swallowed, “I know you think you are doing only the best for Faramir. I will trust you, as always.”

Indis found her chin shaking as unshed tears fought to spill. “I know you trust me. Your friendship and trust have always succoured me. Faramir will die. I am certain of that, as is Siriondil. I know it seems folly to be out here, in the wild, taking him to a legend that may not exist, but I must do it. Even if my own life is forfeit. That others have shed their blood for their Steward is horrid to think upon, but their devotion to Faramir is the same as mine. They,” she stopped. “Baranor knew the risks.”

“As do we all, Indis. Be strong. I will not stay at the fortress, but will find the captain and return to you as soon as possible. Please, I know this is foolish to even ask, but please be careful. You are all I have left.” She threw her arms about Indis, hugged her tightly, then mounted her horse.

Siriondil sat with the unconscious Gildor before him. He clicked and the horse started forward. Waving, Listöwel followed.

“We may never see them again, Théodred.” She turned towards the boy standing next to her. “We go forward now, westward. You have kept your promise almost to the death of Faramir. I will no longer hide anything from you. He will die, and soon. Would you not leave us when the road we travel turns northward? We will stay on the Great West Road.  When we reach the garrison at the Mering Stream, your people will be there; they will accompany you in your return to your home. Your oath will have been fulfilled.”

He looked at her and the amazement in his eyes did not surprise her. “Leave you and Gorlim alone? I cannot do that, my Lady, even if I had no oath to bear. I know Faramir is close to death. I have witnessed battle wounds before. I stay because I love him. If I may suggest something?”

“Of course.”

“Why do we not travel towards Edoras? We can ask my father to send men with us. He will do that. He dearly loved the Steward and will do anything for his son.”

“Théodred. Every hour we spend traveling in the wrong direction is another hour taken away from Faramir’s life. I cannot do that. Perhaps, if you wished to ride to Edoras for help when we turn north…”

He held up his hand to stop her. “Do not offer that path again, my Lady. I will not leave his side, not until we bury him in the halls of his fathers.”

His gaze was unyielding. She shivered; then entered the wagon. Théodred stepped onto the wagon seat and took the reins in his hands. Gorlim rode beside them. They headed westward.

Ch. 20 - Ally or Enemy

“There is something curious here, Captain. They speak as if this man is a stranger, yet there deportment speaks of deep concern. You know the adage, ‘Never trust an Elf;’ I do not trust these.”

Erkenbrand nodded in agreement. “We will not turn our backs upon them in their need, but we will watch them, and closely.” He walked towards the little hut where the travelers had been put up. Moving the entrance cloth aside, he bent and stepped inside. Both Elves looked up in surprise. “I am sorry. Perhaps you expected me to announce myself?”

Elladan bristled, but Elrohir’s eyes sparkled. “It is at your mercy that we are here. You are most welcome - and without announcement.”

Erkenbrand smiled broadly. “My men are… fearful of you. It is not often that we meet those of your kind. You have an ill feeling about you. At least to their eyes. I - now I see differently. I see, perhaps, allies? Would you say that also?”

“Allies indeed. For do we not battle the same creatures? Orcs and other such carrion are the enemy of Elves; I have heard they are your enemy too?”

“Aye. And other things. May I sit?”

Elladan stood, motioned for the captain to take his seat, and stood behind Elrohir.

Erkenbrand sat and looked with a practiced eye at the man who lay motionless upon the cot. “I have offered you my leech and yet you have not used him.” His eyebrow arched imperceptibly. “Do you not trust me?”

Again, Elladan’s sharp intake of breath caused the man to smile. Elrohir nudged his brother in the side. “As much as you trust us, my Lord.”

Erkenbrand laughed loudly. “So – we are even. Trust is a very hard thing in these times. Those who once were friends find themselves watching the other with fear. Yet, it is not wise to fear an ally.”

“It is not wise to trust completely.”

“I fear that is our problem,” Erkenbrand said, brow furrowed. “It is part of the enemy’s plan, I think, to keep allies at each other’s throats. His work is less taxing. May I speak plainly?”

Elrohir looked deeply at the man, willing himself to understand him. “It would be better for us both if you did.”

“Then I will tell you this. You have trespassed on the Riddermark. My king deems death a fitting punishment for such a breach. It is left to the Marshals’ and the Captains’ judgment to decide the fate of one accused of such a crime. I already have made my decision. You will be allowed to leave once your friend recovers.” He held up a hand as Elladan stepped forward. “Aye! I say friend. For my eyes are not blind, nor my heart. I can feel your distress at that man’s state.” He looked towards Aragorn. “He is not someone you found on the plains. He is more unto you than – ah, a brother? I cannot believe that. But your concern for him passes beyond friendship. Who is he? And who are you? I have told you my name!”

Elrohir sat still. The wind whipped along outside causing the entrance cloth to blow in and out. His breath mimicked the blowing cloth, in and out, in and out. After a moment’s hesitation, he put his hand on Erkenbrand’s knee. “I am called Elrohir and this is my brother Elladan. We come from Imladris. I believe you call it Rivendell. This man is a close friend of ours, brother-warrior. We have fought with him for many long years. You know the friendship of warriors; I can see it in your eyes. His name is Strider.”

“Why are you in the Mark?”

“You do not mince words, Erkenbrand of the Mark,” and Elrohir’s gentle laugh filled the tent. “We have a friend who is near death on the eastern borders of your land. We go to him to give aid, if we can. He is dear to us.”

Erkenbrand shook his head. “Never had I thought Elves would befriend men, for things are strained since last man and Elf fought together. Never had I thought Elves would go to such lengths to help a man.” He shook his head in dismay.” I cannot give you permission to travel across the Mark. I cannot.”

~*~

Éomund rode as hard and as fast as his horse would take him. He stopped for fresh mounts at Amon Dîn, Nardol, and then planned on stopping at the garrison of Erelas. If he had not found them by that time, then he knew he had failed. He rode through the night always staying upon the road. None questioned him at the various garrisons, for was he not newly wed to Théoden King's sister and messenger of Rohan. The orders he carried were signed by Prince Imrahil himself, stating that all aid should be given to him, and fresh horses supplied to him.

It was now five days since Indis had left Minas Tirith. He must find them soon. They could only have made about three leagues a day what with the slowness of the cart. He should be upon them. But where were they? He scanned the horizon. There! There in the distance. They were on the road! He hurried his mount faster, hoping the beast would not falter. It was still a fair distance to Erelas. He had planned on changing horses there.

As he approached, he noted only one horse riding beside the wagon. ‘What has happened? Are all inside the cart? Have some been injured by some happenstance?’

~*~

The low moan startled him. He turned from the Rohir and took Aragorn's hand.

"Estel," he whispered.

Elladan moved closer, placing himself between Erkenbrand and the cot.

Graciously, the Rohir saluted and left them.

"Rumin? Is she all right?"

"She was not able to escape the water, Estel. We tried, but our focus was on saving you."

"We are with the Rohirrim?"

"We are. Their captain, Erkenbrand, gave us shelter. How do you feel?"

"My fingers and toes tingle and I feel colder than I have ever felt, but I am alive." He smiled. "In fact, I am better than alive," his eyes sparkled, "I am free."

Elladan stepped nearer the cot. "What mean you, Estel?"

Aragorn tried to sit up, but both brothers gently pushed him back down. Elladan ran for another blanket, folded it and propped it under his brother's head.

Looking long at each of those he so dearly loved, he said, "There was a presence in my mind that I did not know was there, did not feel until it was gone."

"A presence?" Elladan asked.

"It was the wizard, as far as I can tell. The cold, the shock, something freed me. I no longer can feel that presence. I am free." He leaned back and smiled broadly. “We may now continue our journey."

Elrohir smiled. "I see it in your eyes, Estel. They are clear and bright. More like unto the eyes of my brother than I have seen in days."

"I am sorry to have put you through this."

Elrohir laughed warmly. "You put us through nothing. Did not your nose find these wonderful accommodations?"

Aragorn laughed, then sobered. "How has the captain treated you?"

"He is very young, but has wisdom. I like him and would spend time with him, if we were able. I know that is not possible, but mayhap in the future our paths will meet again." Elrohir smiled again. "However, the challenge will be to either sneak away from this camp with stolen horses, or leave the Riddermark completely."

At Aragorn's quizzical look, Elrohir said, "It is time for you to rest. I have some miruvor. Drink it and sleep."

Ch. 21 - Spies

They were past the garrison at Nardol when the blizzard struck. Certain they would have been seen if they kept upon the open road, Indis was relieved when the storm hit.

They found the cave they had stayed in on their way from Edoras back to Minas Tirith. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. It was such a short time ago. So much had happened since that time. If only she could stop time, go back to this cave on that day, and hide here forever! Her world had crumbled - to be able to start over again. To have Boromir alive and Faramir well. She settled Faramir in heavy blankets as Gorlim started a small fire. Then, she hid in a corner of the cave and succumbed to grief.

At last, Gorlim joined her. "I cannot see you suffer alone, my Lady. Will you lean on me, just for a moment? I would tell you that you are not alone in your sorrow." The soldier's eyes were kind as he sat next to her. "I would not presume to, but I cannot sit idle by and let you suffer alone."

She looked towards Théodred and Faramir. The Rohir lay next to the Gondorian. When last they were here, it was Boromir who had slept with his hand around Faramir’s shoulders. She wept bitterly.

Gorlim touched her knee; she turned and flung her arms about him, sobbing frantically. He held her and his sorrow deepened. He remembered her when she would sit next to Ecthelion at the Council meetings. Strong and wise, he had oft thought how blessed Arciryas was, to be wed to such a woman. When it was his turn, he would stand as guard, watching over the attendees, listening to Denethor, whom he greatly admired, and watching Indis. He took in a quick breath. It was useless to even dwell on such times. The customs of Gondor were set in the stone of Aulë long before his eldest ancestor was born.

Her sobs quieted and he, looking down upon her, smiled. She slept. The silence of the cave was complete. What little fire they had had was slowly waning. He did not want to move; she slept so peacefully, but he must stoke the fire. A sound caught his attention. Without hesitation, he placed his hand over her mouth and gently shook her. “Something is outside.”

Her eyes widened in understanding; they both stood, swords drawn.

~*~

Imrahil paced across the study. ‘There are days,’ he thought ruefully, ‘when I wish I were back home.’ He stopped and motioned to the guard. “Arantar. Tell the Lady Ragnhild that I wish to speak with her.” The guard saluted and left. ‘If only I had not sent Éomund to Pelargir. I knew Indis wanted to leave as soon as possible. Now they are separated when I wanted his full strength with her. But who could have known the woman would set out so quickly!’

Ragnhild entered the room and he smiled. “Thank you for your promptness, my Lady.”

“You have only to call, my Lord, you know that. Is there aught I might do for you?”

“I need to send someone to Calembel and Tarnost.” He smiled. “Since you are so well versed in long journeys in times of desperate need, I thought I might send you.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Would this have anything to do with spying, my Prince?”

“I had sent Arantar and Éomund to Pelargir to discover if treachery had spread to that land. They found none. Éomund has returned. He took but a moment’s rest and has followed Indis. However, I surmise that there is marked disloyalty in the city of Calembel. Ohtar’s perfidy has probably spread. I must send someone to Tarnost and Calembel to assess the damage. Would you go? I would not send you alone, of course. Arantar would accompany you along with a company or two of my men.”

She smiled. “If I go in Arantar’s company, I will find nothing wrong. A gaggle of soldiers wandering about the city would be most detrimental to your cause. But,” and here her smile widened, “if I may go in disguise, as a displaced healer, I could ascertain the extent of the treason.”

He laughed. “You are truly a worthy councilor for our Lady Indis. When will you leave and who will you take with you?”

“I have made friends with a few of the healers; there is one there who is quite able to help with defense as well as deceit. And there is a certain cook’s apprentice who showed himself well during the…” Her eyes clouded in sadness. “during Boromir’s captivity. His name is Targon. He is most intelligent and would be a great help to me, I am sure. Though he fancies himself a cook.”

“How did… Oh! Is he the one who slipped the key to Éomund in the dungeons?”

“Aye! And the one who found and rescued Boromir from the hands of that snake, Amandil. The lad thinks on his feet and that is what will be needed on this adventure.”

“Very well. Take these two with you, but also, find a soldier or two from the Third Guard. I cannot leave you traveling alone. Once you reach these cities, enter separately and then stay at the same inn. Do not do anything unwise, Ragnhild. If I lose you, Indis will never forgive me.”

She laughed, bowed and left. Hurrying towards the buttery, she weighed her options. ‘Should I take a horse? Nay! Only the rich travel by horse. Well, a nag. I could take a nag. Nay! A cart with a nag pulling it. That way I can take my medical bag and a few medicaments. Must look the part, I suppose.’ She almost clapped her hands in delight; she had been stifled, sitting her in the City, waiting, waiting, waiting. ‘I can serve my Lady,’ she thought with glee, ‘in a way that she does not even suspect. Life is good!’

Ch. 22 - Suspended

Aragorn lay quietly on the cot, listening to the imperceptible breathing of his brothers. Both, he knew, slept but lightly. Their breath betrayed their open eyes. He smiled thinking how disconcerting it must be to the Rohirrim to think Elves never slept.

Furrowing his brow, he thought upon their mission and how long it had taken them to get this far – and still so far to go. Faramir could be dead before Aragorn was only partially through his journey. ‘This will not do,’ he thought. ‘And yet, I have no sway over the eagles to demand passage with one of them. And, gauging from Elrohir’s statement, we will get no further help from the men of the Mark.’

“You are supposed to be sleeping,” Elrohir’s deep voice interrupted his thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

“I am quite well and ready to be on our way, but I gather that will not be such an easy thing to do?”

“You gather correctly,” Elrohir laughed softly. Elladan still slept. “There is some sort of decree out of Meduseld that prohibits any but Rohirrim from traversing the Mark. We are not Rohirrim.”

Aragorn laughed too. “No, we are not.” He bit his lip. “Somehow we must be away from here without their knowledge. I will put no man’s life in jeopardy.”

“I was afraid of that. What do you have planned?”

“The Rohirrim are difficult to trick. You and Elladan never meant to ride with me to Minas Tirith. Now would be the perfect time to part. You could create a diversion and, during it, I could take a mount and ride away. It would be sometime before I am discovered, I would venture to think. Erkenbrand does not know I heal quickly and am fit to run.”

“I have given second thought to our parting, Estel, and have deemed it unwise to separate at least for a little longer. I do not like this plan.”

Aragorn looked at his brother in surprise. “But the plan had been for us to part when we reached the Mark. What makes you want to continue? What has changed your mind?”

“The evil of the wizard, I suppose. I am not certain. A foreboding lingers in my mind. The foreboding itself could be another ‘gift’ of the wizard, but I think not.” He put his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “I wish to accompany you a little further, if I may?”

Aragorn smiled. “You are most welcome. Journeying through this terrain alone is not very appealing. Unfortunately, that means my plan for a diversion will not work. Elladan will not stay without you.”

“No, he will not,” Elrohir said quietly. “So – we need a new plan.”

“What for?” Elladan stood and stretched. “I heard my name.”

“I have decided to continue on this quest with Estel. What are your plans?”

“I will go with you,” Elladan laughed gently. “We have started together; we should end together, do you not think?”

~*~

The snow obliterated the road for a moment, and in that moment, Éomund lost sight of them. He swore loudly and urged his horse forward. After an hour’s ride, he knew he had missed them. They must have stopped somewhere and found shelter. He cursed himself quietly. ‘The cave. They have found the cave and entered it.’ He backtracked for a quarter of an hour and then found the telltale cairn of Gondor that marked the road’s forking. He took the left fork and headed north. Within moments, he saw the cart and the horse tethered to it.

When he entered the cave, he was met with swords to his throat. “I am friend,” he said quietly and was immediately embraced till his breath almost left him. “Did you think so lightly of me that I would not follow?” he asked Indis gently.

She hugged him tighter as tears fell. Shuddering, she pulled back. “You are such a welcome sight. But – where are Listöwel and Captain Durahil?

“Captain Durahil was away on patrol when I passed through Amon Dîn. I know nothing of either. Were they to meet me? I had no missive. Why are you traveling with only Captain Gorlim? Where are the others?”

“Baranor is dead.” Her face hardened at the thought. “Gildor has been mortally wounded. Listöwel and Siriondil, upon my orders, took him to Amon Dîn. They were supposed to gather a few men to them and rejoin us at Nardol. We have not made it that far yet, as you can see.” Her good humour had returned upon seeing her friend.

 “I can well see. I left Amon Dîn two days ago. I saw no sign of Listöwel nor Siriondil. I did not know who to trust, so I procured another mount and left.” He took her hand in his. “Should they have been there by then?”

“I do not think so. They will know enough to wait for the captain. How did you know of him?”

“Prince Imrahil suggested him. He is most concerned for your welfare.”

“And how does he fare?”

Éomund grinned. “He is in the midst of sending out spies and seems to be quiet happy with that. I think he likes a mystery.” His grin left him. “Though the reason for the search is terrible to consider.”

She leaned against him. “We must be away soon. Does it seem that the storm has lessoned?”

“It has. There was a break a short time ago. That is how I discovered I had missed you. I think another hour or two and we should be able to continue. Are we going to Edoras?”

“Nay. Though that was my first thought. I wanted to return Théodred to his father.” She shrugged. “He will follow us, if I did that, even against his father’s wishes. The oath sits heavy upon him.” She stood and walked to the little fire, poured three cups of tea and walked back to Éomund. Handing the two men their cups, she took a sip herself then sat. “We will turn north at the Mering Stream. Head towards Fangorn Forest. I only know the healer is said to live in the North.” Smiling, she said quietly, “The North is a very large place.”

Ch. 23 - Danger Lies Ahead

“Erkenbrand is the key,” Elrohir whispered. “Take him with us and they will not follow, fearing for his safety. If somehow I can persuade him that he will be released as soon as we reach the borders of Gondor…”

“Do you not think his men will be upon our heels as soon as we turn our backs?” Aragorn asked, appalled at the suggestion of kidnapping, the taking of a hostage. His brother must have gone mad!

Elladan stood silent, peeking through the entrance cloth to guard their speech. He too wondered at Elrohir’s plan, but thought it better to hear him out before he decided his brother had truly lost his mind!

“Listen to me, Estel. He has visited this tent many times since we were brought here. We have spoken often while you lay asleep, healing. I tell you, I trust this man. There is a goodness about him. Besides, if we escape with horses, he will bear the punishment. I cannot let that happen. I will not be able to persuade him to come with us willingly, but once we are gone from here, I believe I can persuade him to try not to flee. He has shown great wisdom and honour in his speech.”

Aragorn lay back on the cot, his hand covering his eyes. He knew the Rohirrim to be a wise and honourable people, but duty came first. Erkenbrand’s sense of duty would not allow them to escape. But perhaps his sense of honour would allow him to accept his fate once they brought him with them, allow him to travel with them without their having to fear treachery.

“How do we do this?”

“When next he comes to visit, you will feign a relapse. He will send for his leech. The leech will enter and examine you. When he does, I will draw my knife, the one hidden in my boot, and, unbeknownst to the leech, close in on Erkenbrand and whisper that we will harm the leech if the captain does not cooperate.”

“You would not!” Elladan turned in surprise.

“Of course I would not! Erkenbrand will not know that. His duty to his men will make him acquiesce. Then, he and I will walk quietly to the stables, take two horses and bring them to the back of this tent. You, in the meantime, will get well and the leech will leave. I will signal when we are at the back of the tent; you lift the flap and sneak out, and we will walk the horses out of this paddock and be free.”

Aragorn shook his head. “There are so many possibilities for disaster in your plan, I have lost count of them!”

“What is the worst that can happen? We are discovered and taken to Edoras.”

“Nay! We are shot by a Rohirric archer!”

“I do not think so. The plains of Rohan are very dark, Estel. There will be little or no moon this night. They will give us our choice tomorrow – go back to Imladris or be taken to Edoras as prisoners. This is our moment.” Elrohir stood before them, hands held outstretched, offering them a way to continue their quest.

“Estel,” Elladan spoke softly. “It is not good to threaten another just man, but if you desire to save Faramir, we must do something drastic.”

“We have no supplies,” Aragorn said simply.

“We do not, but I will see what I can find when we reach the stables. At least, fodder for the horses. I would take a pack animal too, but it would only slow us down.”

“Why only two…?”

“Sh!” Elladan said and walked to his brother’s side. Aragorn saw the gleam in his eye and lay back, beginning to moan piteously. His stomach truly had turned sour at the thought of what they were about to attempt.

~*~

They had traveled four days now and Ragnhild was sure she would never walk again. The pitch and sway of the rickety cart bruised her very bones. Thankfully, they were just outside Tarnost, the small city in the hills of the same name. They would soon begin the harder part of the journey, the part full of deceit and lies. She was grateful Targon was with her. The lad had proved a marvelous cook. She had never eaten so well in all her life. Somehow, if ever she returned to Rohan, she would steal the lad and take him with her!

None knew her on the south side of the White Mountains; none knew the cook’s apprentice. They should have no trouble with their ruse, posing as a healer and her assistants. But they would need to quickly endear themselves to the gentry of the land, the lords of Tarnost, for that is where the treason lay, in the nobles. ‘Nobles!’ she thought derisively. ‘Nobles who attack young children and…’ She stifled a sob.

Targon heard the sound and looked at her, wide-eyed. “There is naught to fear, lad,” she said quietly. “Aerin,” she called, and the apprentice healer looked up from the bed of the cart. “Tell Targon we have naught to fear.”

The healer’s apprentice looked at Ragnhild, her eyes as wide as the cook’s apprentice. Ragnhild laughed loudly. “With such confidence, I could rule all of Gondor and Rohan besides!”

She pulled the cart up and looked behind her. Balan and Baran rode forward. “It is time to part. Wait for an hour, then follow us into town. We will find lodging on the main street. You will see the cart parked in front, if possible, and know that we are in that inn. If there is a problem, I will have Targon sit on the steps in front of the establishment that we will stay in.”

They bowed their heads, pulled back upon their horses’ reins and waited for her to start forward.

She shook her head. ‘How did I ever get two brothers again? ‘Tis not a good omen. The last two that went with an entourage I was involved with died. Not a good omen indeed.”

Ch. 24 - Trust Repaired

‘It is not wise to trust completely,’ he remembered Elrohir telling him Erkenbrand’s words. ‘Well, the Horse Lord will have learned that he was right,’ Aragorn thought regretfully.

He saw the knife slip into Elrohir’s hand, saw the surprise on Erkenbrand’s face as the blade touched his throat, saw the whispered words, and felt a great sadness. The leech clucked over him repeatedly asking, ‘Does this hurt? Does that hurt?’ And all the while, Aragorn played his part.

Erkenbrand watched silently as Elladan pulled his own knife and walked towards the leech. The Rohir’s eyes grew wide; he immediately stopped the struggle that he had begun. Elrohir put his finger to his mouth to order silence, then walked backwards out of the hut pulling the captain with him. Elladan watched in silence.

At last, the leech offered a warm cup of mead to Aragorn. “Drink this slowly, son. Your insides need to be as warm as your outside. That is why your stomach is roiling. You will feel better in the morning. Sleep now,” he said kindly. Surprised, he wiped away the tear from Aragorn’s cheek. “Is the pain so bad?” he asked in concern.

Aragorn shook his head. “Nay,” he whispered. “Thank you. I feel much better.”

The man patted Aragorn’s shoulder gently. “I promise, you will feel better on the morrow.” Then he packed his little bag of medicaments and walked out of the hut.

Elladan sat heavily in a chair in the corner; he could not meet Aragorn’s eyes.

Aragorn lay quietly trying to justify what had just happened. The men of the Mark were brave and he cherished their friendship and their courage. It felt so wrong to be deceiving them like this.

Elladan sat on the chair twirling the knife in his hand. The sun was close to setting and he was growing concerned. Elrohir had not yet returned.

Finally, the back flap moved as if someone were hitting it lightly. Elladan stood and ran to it. Lifting the flap, Elrohir stepped inside, the captain behind him. “It took longer than I thought,” the Elf said exasperatedly. “There was no fodder for the horses in their stalls and there was no food for us. After a little gentle persuasion, the captain showed me their supply tent. The horses are ready and packed. Where is the leech?”

“He left as soon as he was done,” Aragorn said. He stood and walked to Erkenbrand’s side. “He is a good man. Forgive us.”

Erkenbrand snarled. “I will not.”

Elrohir turned from the captain and took Aragorn by the arm. “Are you well enough to travel?”

“I am. Let us be off now. I would have us away so that we may send this man back to his own people as quickly as possible.” He turned towards Erkenbrand again. “It is your own king who places us in this impossible situation. We must help our friend. He is a young boy.” Aragorn’s eyes lit with understanding. “You were never told who we go to save?”

Erkenbrand just sneered. “No matter who it is, you defy my king’s decree!”

“Come here!” He pulled the captain down onto the cot and sat next to him.

“Estel, we do not have time for this,” Elladan hissed. “If someone sees the horses tethered at the back of this tent, they will raise the alarm.”

“I cannot leave without this man understanding. Captain Erkenbrand – we go to help the Steward of Gondor, Faramir, of the House of Húrin.”

Erkenbrand stood in amaze. “What say you? You know of Faramir’s illness?”

“We do. Mithrandir brought me the news weeks ago. We have come all the way from Imladris to help the boy. Will you not help us?”

“It is still against my king’s law, but I will do it. Though I be sentenced to death, I will help you. Still, I will not allow my men to be part of this. They cannot be punished for my actions. We will play false and say that you are indeed taking me against my will; they will be protected by that.”

“Do any of your men read?,” Aragorn asked. At Erkenbrand’s nod, he stood and grabbed parchment and wrote, ‘We are taking your captain as a hostage. Do not follow us, else he die.’ He used a knife to stab the note onto the table. “That should protect them and might keep them from following us. At least for a time. Come, now, we must be away. Night is here and time is not our ally.”

~*~

The inn was clean and had room for both parties. They did not speak to each other, but Ragnhild left a message with Targon to give to their guard telling them of their room location and to meet them once the sun set.

After they had cleaned the road’s dirt from them, Ragnhild and Aerin walked to the town’s square. Tarnost was small and Ragnhild was surprised that anyone from here had become a member of Gondor’s Council. There was a building near the center of the square that flew the flag of Gondor on its roof. Ragnhild decided this must be where the ruling body for the town had their meetings.

She walked in with her head bowed. There was not much activity in the one-room building, just an old man sitting on a chair, leaning haphazardly against the wall.

”Who ya lookin’ for?” he asked.

”I wondered if you might have need of a healer, here in Tarnost? I’m from the city, but there isn’t much need there, what with the Houses of Healing and all.”

”Not good enough for them, huh?” The man laughed sourly. “They think they’re better than the rest of us, up there in their White City.”

”I noticed that. Hard to get work if you don’t accept the Steward’s ways,” she said circumspectly. “I’m sure lots of folk think that here?”

”Not all. The common folk think that the Steward can do no wrong, but there are a few lords here who know the real score.”

”I would prefer to work, of course, for the lords of your town. Might you have a name or two of those who are more prone to our position that might hire a healer?”

”I do. Of course, there’s Lord Dagnir and then his son too has his own house, that’s Lord Minastir.  I only know them two who are outright for Tarnost and not Minas Tirith, but you’ll find them agreeable to help with other names. The Steward don’t give us much notice here in the wilds.” He laughed an unpleasant laugh.

She joined him. “I can’t thank you enough. We’ve had hardly any work since leaving the city and our purses are thin. Where is Lord Dagnir’s house located?”

He walked her towards the door and pointed to a large, ornate home not but a few paces away.  A huge fountain graced its outer courtyard and pillars lined its entrance. Ragnhild threw a stern glance towards Aerin, who, she noted, was stifling laughter.

“I thank you again, sir. We’re staying at the Tarnost Hills Inn. If we may be of service, just ask for Ragnhild.” She bowed and walked away, pulling Aerin with her.

“You will get us both killed,” she whispered furiously, but the anger that should have been in her response was overcome by the laughter that fell from her own lips. “Never have I seen such an ornate house, except on the Sixth Level. I cannot believe the people accept this lord and his high and mighty ways without a little scorn.”

Ch. 25 - Risks Taken

“Two horses are not enough. If we plan on riding to Mundburg, we cannot have two men astride a horse. The beasts will not last and I would rather die than harm one of our horses. Give me but a moment,” Erkenbrand begged. “I will return to the stables and saddle two more.”

“There is no time,” Elladan hissed. “The horses you brought have been standing there at least ten minutes. We will be discovered.”

“Then let me raise the alarm. I will say you have escaped and I will lead my men towards the west whilst you turn east. Give us but half an hour, then leave. Hide the horses in here. None will look, once I have called my men together. We will saddle and depart.”

Elrohir stepped forward. “Would you trust us in this manner?”

Erkenbrand bowed his head. “I would not. But now you must trust me. I see no other path for you. E’en though Théoden King loves Faramir, it does not negate our law. I help you and I will be punished. Sometimes, obedience to a King’s decree is o’erridden by the decree of the heart. If you can help that boy to get well, then I must disobey my King and obey my heart. I have nothing to offer as proof for your trust. You must obey your heart.”

“We will wait until the camp is emptied. Then we will leave.”

“I will feign injury and return to the camp. When the leech is finished with me, I will saddle another horse, pack enough supplies for a long journey, and meet you. You pick the spot.”

“You cannot come with us. Such action is foolhardy. Leading the men away could be explained. They do not have to know we were not gone. But if you do this,” Aragorn said quietly, “you risk death.”

Erkenbrand snorted. “I risk death every day. But please let me accompany you to help the boy. I have a son myself.”

Aragorn put his hand on Erkenbrand’s shoulder. “If you do this, you will truly help. I cannot thank you enough.”

“I do not do it for thanks; I do it for the Mark.”

“Then be off with you,” Elrohir said. “We will bring the horses in. When the noise of your departure dims, we will leave here. We will travel exactly three hours east, following Eärendil. We will wait for you there.”

“I will be there an hour after you arrive.”

“Vala spede,” Aragorn whispered.

Erkenbrand’s eyes widened, but he said naught. Bowing low, he left them.

~*~

They went to the back of the house and knocked. A young girl answered and, when Ragnhild saw her, her mouth dropped open. She knew this girl’s mother, had helped birth this child that stood before her.

“Ragnhild!” the girl cried in delight and wrapped her arms around the leech’s neck. “To have someone from home here, someone I know and love!”

“Hush, Forleaswyn. Do you have a moment? Would you come outside where we may speak in private?” She sighed in exasperation. “Will you pretend not to know me?”

The girl lifted her eyes in surprise and nodded. She took them into the garden on the side of the house and motioned for them to sit.

“Your master,” Ragnhild asked. “What is he like?”

“Cruel, always ready with a snarl and a sharp word. But he does not beat us. No one can please him.”

“Why are you here, then and where is your mother?”

“When father died, an uncle wrote and said he had work for mother here with free board. We came and the uncle died soon after. We had nothing. Mother runs Lord Dagnir’s household and I cook. But I hate it. I love flowers. I want to be here, here in this garden. See the work it needs. But there is no one in Tarnost that will work for him. Only those destitute or his personal guard.”

“Would he hire another cook?”

“Oh! I think so. He is not happy with my Rohirric ways and spices. Do you know someone?” Her eyes widened. “But why are you here? What has happened in Meduseld?”

“I have always trusted your mother. Is she at home?” Ragnhild ignored the girl’s questions.

“Aye. I’ll bring her here.” She turned and ran for the house.

Aerin asked, “Will she not tell her master about us?”

“I hope not. I am perhaps putting too much trust in people. But I trusted this woman long before I was old. The man at the town center was full of himself and his tongue was loose. He will only remember his own importance, when this song is sung.”

“Will it be sung, Ragnhild?”

“Aye. It will be and we will have a part in it. Here comes my friend now!” She strode forward and warmly hugged the woman, who looked every bit mother to young Forleaswyn. “Hathawyn, it is good to see you. I have oft wondered how you fared, but I did not know you left the Mark. I am sorry life has not treated you well.”

“But it has – for are you not here now and Tarnost has become a friendlier place because of your presence. But you do not come here to visit?”

“Nay. Aerin, take Forleaswyn and let her show you the flowers.”

The girls smiled and left. Hathawyn turned to Ragnhild. “It is serious?”

“It is. There has been treachery – plotted in this very house. Prince Imrahil sent me to discover the depths of it. Does it poison all of Tarnost.”

“Prince Imrahil himself?”

“I cannot tell you all now. But I must take employment here, if I can, to listen and to learn.”

“They will not take you, but your assistant. I could easily use a scullery girl. If only you were a cook!”

“I have a boy with me who is a cook’s apprentice for the Steward’s own men. Would they hire him?”

“They would and gladly. The master makes no bones about the meals my child makes. She would be sought after in the Mark. But as for here – they put up with her because of me.”

“Both young ones are smart and close-mouthed. If you might say a word on their behalf? But all must believe we are outcasts from Mundberg.”

“But what will you do? My master pays hardly enough to keep a body alive.”

“I hope that our mission will be swift as this is only the first part. I will let it be known around the town that I am a healer, a leech. Folk will come to me, I hope. Besides, we need little enough to live on and I have some coin from Prince Imrahil.”

“The young ones will live here in the back rooms. They will have to share with two or more to a bed, but they will be fed.”

“I need their ears open and yours too, if you deem it not too dangerous. My companions, though young, have vowed to serve Gondor in this way.”

“Will the Mark benefit?”

“Deeply. Upon this lies the stability of Gondor. Théoden King himself sent me to help Mundburg and the Steward.”

“Then you have my heart in this also. Where are you staying?”

“The Tarnost Hills Inn.”

“Then go there now. Leave Aerin. I will bring her in and introduce her. Then, send over the boy as quickly as possible. I will say they came together. Since they both have the look of Gondor about them, there will be no questions.”

Ch. 26 - Division and Doggerel

“The storm seems to have abated,” Éomund whispered. Indis nodded her head, pulled her cover back, stood and stretched. He smiled. “You were comfortable?”

She smiled. “It is good to have you with us. I have not slept well since we left Minas Tirith.”

“Gorlim is steadfast and strong. I am sure you were well-protected with him.”

“We were… We are... I have come to value your friendship and council,” she said simply.

“I thank you, Lady Indis.” He bowed his head for a moment. “I would wish that our last journey together had ended better. Yet, I hold great hope for this journey. I too have heard of a healer in the north.”

“There are such rumours in the Mark?”

“Aye. But the journey is long, Indis. We must turn north when we leave Edoras. The direction we seek is west of the Misty Mountains.”

“That far?” she gasped.

“That far. But we will change horses in Edoras and make good time.”

”We cannot go to Edoras. We must turn north at the Mering Stream.”

He paused before answering. “I understand your need for haste, Indis, but we need more supplies and fresh horses if ever we are to reach our goal.”

“Horses and supplies will be useless if Faramir is dead!” she hissed. “There are horses there, Rohirric horses at the garrison, bred to travel these snowy plains.”

Théodred stirred. Éomund took her arm and walked her towards the front of the cave. “Either way, my dear friend, Faramir will be dead. You know it; I see it in your eyes. Would you have the whole company die too?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Council. I said I missed your council. I do not!” She turned viciously upon him. “Take your nephew and go to Edoras. I will not! I will starve, freeze to death, before I take Faramir to Edoras. Aye! He will die! But I will do everything in my power to find this healer quickly. Even if I meet him with a corpse on my hands!”

He took her arms and held her tightly. Teeth clenched, he whispered, “Faramir will not be the only corpse with this folly you plan. Do you call me coward? Do you say I fear death? I do not fear death; I fear haste and rash judgment. Faramir need not die without comfort. In Edoras, he will have comfort. He will die amongst friends.”

“I could have stayed in Minas Tirith and let him die in his own bed amongst his kin!”

She pulled herself away and strode towards the front of the cave. The snow had indeed stopped. She called to Gorlim, who had been watering the horses. “We leave in an hour.” She turned back to Éomund. “Stay with us or leave, it matters not. I go north.”

~*~

“Strider,” the whispered name came across the blackness of the plains. Aragorn lifted his head.

“There!” Elrohir said, pointing towards the west. “It is Erkenbrand.”

“Hail, Erkenbrand,” Aragorn called aloud. “You are most welcome. And you bring another horse!”

“And supplies as I had promised. I saw the note you left folded on the cot. It was kind of you. I used your knife and skewered it to the table. My men will now be furious, but helpless, and your name will be used as a curse.”

Aragorn smiled. “I could not let you bear the burden. Now they will think we came back to the camp and stole you away, sick and all. Your bravery will be sung in the tents of your men tonight.” He strode forward and hugged the dismounted Rohir.

“I brought salted meat. We are too close to my camp to light a fire.”

“We are warmed well because of your hospitality. One night without a fire is no hardship. The meat, however, is most appreciated.”

Elrohir whispered in Aragorn’s ear. The Ranger turned towards Erkenbrand. “I have a confession to make, Captain. My name is Estel. My brothers did not know, were unsure of… They gave you a false name. I am sorry. But we must be off; we can eat as we ride. Elrohir hears hooves headed this way.”

Erkenbrand looked with surprise at the Elf. “You can hear them? I cannot. They must be miles away.”

Elrohir smiled. “The Valar have blessed us with a few gifts.”

“Come,” Aragorn mounted and held Erkenbrand’s horse. “Towards the Mering Stream. We will not go that far south, but turn halfway there, to the east.”

Elladan mounted, turned his horse and began to hum to himself. Aragorn smiled for the thousandth time. “What song now, dear brother?”

“Ah – one you do not know, Estel. One I composed myself, with the help of Bilbo Baggins, this past winter. It sings of hidden waterfalls and fair maidens. I blushed at some of the words that the Hobbit suggested.” He began laughing at the remembrance and started to choke.

“Sh! Please. Chortling will give away our position.” And Aragorn laughed in spite of himself.

Erkenbrand’s brow furrowed. “Hobbit? What manner of song is a Hobbit? I have not heard of such.”

Aragorn looked sternly at Elladan.

“A Hobbit is a cinquain type of poetry,*” Elladan fluidly lied. “It is poetry taught to the youngest Elves. Very simple. Let me make one up for you, Captain Erkenbrand. Now, let me see…. First a noun. That is easy enough - Captain. Then the description. Another easy task – Wise while wary. Oh! I like that. Next is an action. He protects and forgives.”

Aragorn smiled at him. “He does indeed, Elladan. And we thank you, Captain for forgiving our rash actions, our subterfuge.”

“Uh-hmmm,” Elladan cleared his throat. “I am not finished. Now, a feeling. And fills us with feelings of shame. Does that satisfy you, Estel? Last – a synonym of captain. Commander! That does it. Here you are, Captain Erkenbrand. A Hobbit Cinquain for you.

Captain

Wise while wary

He protects and forgives

And fills us with feelings of shame

Commander.”

Elrohir clapped quietly. “Excellent Hobbit Cinquain. The best I have ever heard.” He bowed his head, keeping his laughter as much to himself as he could.

~*~

*I went to Shadow.Poetry.com and looked for something that sounded Elvish – up popped a cinquain…now doesn’t that sound like fun! According to ShadowPoetry “Cinquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines.  Another form, sometimes used by school teachers to teach grammar, is as follows:  Line 1: Noun    Line 2: Description of Noun     Line 3: Action     Line 4: Feeling or Effect     Line 5: Synonym of the initial noun.

Ch. 27 - A New Ally

“Keep still, Listöwel. Please!” Siriondil spoke through clenched teeth. “We must wait a little longer. I will not go up to the garrison at night. They will shoot first and ask questions later.”

“I understand,” she whispered back, “but Gildor is barely breathing. I am afraid any delay will kill him.”

“Please be quiet. We may all die with arrows in our throats. We…”

“Halt!” The shout from atop the garrison’s walls echoed through the valley and her heart clenched with fear at the command held within it. “You are in the land of Gondor. Speak. What is the password?”

“By all the Valar, I have no idea,” Listöwel moaned. “Do you?”

Siriondil shook his head. “We are friends of the Steward,” he shouted. “We bring a wounded captain of Gondor with us. Is Captain Durahil here?”

The gate opened. A small contingent of warriors rode out on horses and quickly surrounded them. One of the men jumped off his horse, dragged a torch forward, and looked long and hard at Siriondil. “You are the Master Healer of Gondor!” His voice shook in amaze.

“I am. And my traveling companion is Lady Indis’ handmaiden. But more importantly, we are in the company of Captain Gildor, late of the Steward’s Own Guard. We need help. He is badly wounded.”

The man bowed to Listöwel and turned towards his men. “Come and help Captain Gildor. And you,” he pointed to one of the youngest of his warriors, “take the Lady Listöwel to my quarters.”

~*~

She settled herself on a chair near the fire, holding her hands out to garner as much warmth as possible. Her shoes had been unceremoniously kicked off and her feet lay very near the hearth. She closed her eyes for a moment and tears gathered in their corners. ‘Where is Indis now? Is Faramir still alive? What of Théodred? And where, oh where is Éomund?’

“My Lady.”

Startled, she looked up. Who would call her ‘lady?’

“My name is Captain Durahil. A missive addressed to me was received two days ago from Prince Imrahil; it told me that Éomund, Marshal of the Mark, might call for my aid. In the missive, the prince stated that Marshal Éomund was traveling with your party. Is that true?”

“Nay. He was not, Captain. Though…” She did not know what to tell the man.

“The prince has placed a great amount of trust in me. May I show you the missive? Mayhap it will help you decide to speak.”

She blushed and took the letter from his outstretched hand. Tears sprang quickly as she read the letter. After finishing, she looked up. “The Lady Indis and Steward Faramir are traveling, as the prince states, westward. Master Healer Siriondil, three captains of Gondor and myself accompanied her; all left Minas Tirith at the same time. Éomund was to be part of our company, but something happened while he was away on a mission for the prince, and the Lady Indis decided she could not wait for his return. We were also accompanied by Théoden King’s son, Théodred.” She cleared her throat.

“Forgive me. You must be tired and hungry.” He called orders out the door, then walked to the fire, took the kettle off and proceeded to a table nearby. Quickly pouring hot water into a pot, he brought out cups, offered her tea, and waited for her to continue.

“Wolves attacked and we lost Captain Baranor. Indis asked us to bring Captain Gildor here for help. She, along with Captain Gorlim and Prince Théodred continued on alone. She asked me to ask you….”

“I am going to join her. Prince Imrahil has asked me to,” the Captain said. “I have already picked two men whom I trust. They will accompany me. We will leave at first light. They are taking the Great West Road?”

“They are. But Éomund was to join us and I have seen naught of him.”

“Neither have I. This missive states that he was to stop here first, receive reinforcements, and then go forward. I was away for the last week on a sortie. Orcs attacked further north; I just returned this evening. Let me speak with my men and see if he indeed stopped. Do not be concerned.”

She nodded and he left the room. Once again, fears assailed her. ‘Where is Éomund? He should have been along soon after we left the City. Could the wolves…?’ She hoped not.

Captain Durahil returned within moments along with his esquire who carried bread, cheeses and some dried fruit. “Éomund has been here. He came two nights ago. He it was who carried Prince Imrahil’s missive. He took a fresh horse and some supplies and headed west. He should be with them by now.” The captain took a deep breath. “Sleep here in my quarters. I will order my men to accompany you and Master Siriondil to the City in the morning. I will leave long before you are up and about. Farewell for now, my Lady. Do not fear; we will find the Lady Indis and help her on her mission.”

“You will not farewell me,” she said furiously, rising as she spoke to emphasize her words. “I am the Lady Indis’ handmaiden. I was chosen to be part of her company and I will join you and your men tomorrow morning. As will Master Healer Siriondil. His services are direly needed by Steward Faramir.”

The captain took a step back at her vehemence and held up a hand to stop her. “Forgive me. I did not realize you planned to continue. I would not stop you, my Lady, if that is the will of the Lady Indis.”

“Be assured, Captain, it is!”

“Then rest now. I will inform Master Siriondil. We leave before first light.” He bowed low and he and his esquire left.

~*~

Éomund waited for her anger to subside. They had ridden for more days than he could remember, always hiding in caves during the night, waking at first light to a meager meal and a cold cave, and still she would not relent. Gorlim called a halt. Éomund recognized the cave Gorlim was pointing to. This memory-filled journey was almost beyond endurance. They had laughed and cried and spoke of Boromir as Steward as they sat in this cave on their outward passage. He saw Indis’ grit her teeth and knew she was thinking the same. That trip had a disastrous end; Éomund thought this one would end in even further disaster.

They had passed the garrison at Calenhad and would reach the beacon-tower of Halifirien in another day at best. Gorlim and Éomund left Indis and Théodred in the cave, along with Faramir, unharnessed the draft horses, and returned to the garrison. With Prince Imrahil’s orders, they were able to procure food and fresh mounts along with new draft horses to pull the cart. “At the least,” Éomund told Gorlim, “we will be prepared once we turn from the road.” Gorlim nodded his approval.

By the time they had returned to the cave, Théodred had a fire going and Faramir had been settled, as comfortably as possible. They eagerly divided the fresh food, sat and ate. 

After some time, Éomund turned to Indis. “It will be another two days, with good weather, before we reach the garrison at the Mering Stream. We should have no trouble getting more food and fresh horses.” She nodded but said nothing. He continued.

“The cold is becoming bitter, Lady Indis. I fear for Faramir.”

Her lips were a taut line in her face. The withering glance she threw at him would have chilled a normal man, but Éomund was already chilled to the bone from the cold. Also, he had endured his own grandmother’s same look many a time. ‘Seems shield-maidens and women of Gondor have much in common,’ he mused as he watched her. ‘Stout hearts and anger.’ He smiled to himself and saw she noted it.

“You would laugh at our situation?” she asked icily.

“I laugh at my fate.”

She raised an eyebrow, the tautness leaving her body. He intrigued her. ‘Good! That will take her mind off this mess for a moment at least.’

“I am remembering something Morwen Steelsheen once said to me.”

Her eyebrow raised. ‘Another good sign. Mayhap her anger is dissipating.’

“What did she say?”

“That if I kept my face like that, in this cold weather, it would likely freeze and I would forever be left with a scowl on my face.” He held his breath.

Fire flamed for a moment in her eyes, then, a smile crinkled at the corners of them and she burst out laughing. “My mother said the same thing too!”

“Forgive me, my Lady. I spoke only in concern when I asked you to turn towards Edoras. I will follow you to the end of this journey, wherever it takes us, but we need warmth and good food. Long have I been stationed in the Eastfold. I trust my men at the Mering. May we not stop there, stay for one night with Faramir in a real bed, eat warm food and refresh ourselves before we turn north?”

She started to speak when she heard the horse’s scream from outside the cave. Instantly, all but Faramir stood with swords in their hands. The smell of Orcs was foul on the air.

Ch. 28 - All Is Lost

Once they neared the River Entwash, having ridden well into the night, Aragorn’s heart became heavy and filled with dread; he pushed them and their horses mercilessly. Elrohir was forced to call a halt.

“Brother. You will kill the horses at this pace. We must stop.”

The look of despair in Aragorn’s eyes almost undid Elrohir’s resolve. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “We cannot continue further this night.”

Aragorn nodded, slid from his mount, groomed it, laid his bedroll on the ground against his saddle, fell wearily upon it and slept immediately. Erkenbrand did the same. Both brothers looked at each other. Passing their flask of miruvor, Elladan sighed. “He will ride till he is dead.”

“He would but we are here and we will see that he does not.”

“How do you intend to stop him, once we are closer to Minas Tirith?”

Elrohir laughed briefly. “I will sit on him if I have to. As I did when he was a child.”

“Do you suppose the boy is still alive?”

“I hope so. With all my heart, I hope so.” Elrohir remembered the little ones who had died needlessly in all the wars against Morgoth and Sauron. “Life can be bitter, my brother. Let us look to saving this one, just this one.”

Elladan’s grim look assured Elrohir that his brother understood.

~*~

Though the riding was still slow in the Mark’s deep snows, they made good time. This morning they had passed over the bridge at the Entwade. They stopped for a quick midday meal in the forest that stood to the west of the river and by evening, they made the Great West Road. The feel of it beneath their horses’ hooves lifted their spirits, if but for a moment. It was only by Erkenbrand’s thorough knowledge of the land before them that their progress had been so swift.

‘Another day,’ Aragorn chanted mindlessly, ‘another day and we will reach the Mering Stream. Then, a straight shot to Minas Tirith.’ He struggled to stay astride his mount. Bending his head, his fingers pushed fiercely the flesh between his eyes, trying desperately to stay awake.

Elladan watched him, raising his eyebrows to Elrohir who nodded. The younger moved his horse next to Aragorn’s. “It is time we slept, Aragorn. Erkenbrand tires.”

Aragorn looked up in astonishment. His eyes widened, “I did not see.” He turned in his saddle and waved to the Rohir. “We will stop, Captain. It is almost dusk. Elladan has spotted one of your lean-to’s ahead. We should reach it within the hour.”

The Ranger bit his lip and Elladan sorrowed for him. To have to stop when his brother’s heart sank with each passing moment… His esteem rose further for this beloved man, this brother of his.

As they reached the shelter, Elrohir put his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “I promise to wake you before Anor rises. We will be at the stream before midday.”

Nodding tiredly, Aragorn dismounted. They settled for the night, sleep overcoming the men in moments, but in the deep of the night, Aragorn’s scream, “All is lost!” rent the night.

Elladan and Elrohir ran to his side. Their brother slept whilst his body thrashed in some hideous nightmare. They held him.

~*~

Éomund swore softly. "We have no way out, but they have only one way in. We have defeated them before in similar situations." He put his hand on Théodred's shoulder, looking long and hard at the lad, judging him quietly. "You will need to be a part of our defenses now. Remember all that I have taught you."

Théodred nodded. His eyes stared back straight and strong into his uncle's. "I am ready." His voice was strong also and Éomund smiled. "Let them come," the Prince of the Mark said.

"Indis?"  Éomund turned towards his friend.

"I am ready too, Éomund. I will stand behind and, if any are unlucky enough to get past you, they will have me to deal with." The sound of many feet crunching the snow at the entranceway gave her pause.  "I am sorry, too, Éomund, for what I said before, for spurning your friendship. You have always been a friend - of Gondor and of me. If I am able to wield my sword half as well as you, we will have victory."

Gorlim stepped to the entrance. "Would it be too much to ask you to move over a bit, Prince Théodred, so that I might share in this victory?" He held the lad's shoulder firmly and gently moved him back a step or two.

They came within moments after that. Two squeezed through and were immediately beheaded by the Captain of Gondor and the Marshal of the Mark, but as soon as their bodies lay upon the cave's floor, another two followed. They died in short order, but while the second was falling, another from behind managed to reach in and slash at Gorlim's arm. The captain almost dropped his sword, but the blow was not enough to overcome instinct and the years of discipline and training that the mighty captain of Gondor had. He cut off the Orc's arm and the creature pulled back, howling in pain.

Éomund dispatched him easily, but his concern for Gorlim caused a momentary lapse in attention, which gave the next Orc the advantage he needed. Slashing down, the Orc knocked the sword from Éomund's hand, then its upward stroke caught Éomund's calf and the Rohir crashed down on both knees. The fall, instead of hindering, helped him, for his sword lay only an inch or two from his hand. He picked it up and shoved it into the beast's stomach. The thing fell against him, allowing another Orc to step through the opening. Éomund did not have time to withdraw his blade and fight the latest attacker.

Gorlim was otherwise occupied with another of the foul creatures. Théodred stepped forward and slashed the oncoming beast's stomach. It fell. Éomund smiled grimly and tried to stand, but another pushed him back down and stabbed at him with a pike. The pike's blow was deflected by Indis' sword. Théodred killed it. Another took its place, shoved through the opening by those behind it. Indis cut off the first one's arm and Éomund chopped at its legs. The creature fell. Its comrades screamed in rage, the sound reverberating through the small cave.

Startled, Théodred turned and felt pain flaming through his shoulder. He looked in surprise behind him and found himself face to face with two intense yellow eyes, staring at him in fury. He drew in a breath, his heart stopped, but the beast fell next to him, hewn down by Gorlim's sword.

The next moment, Gorlim himself fell face forward, a pike sticking out of his chest. Théodred sobbed, tears streaming down his face, but he countered the next attack, the shoulder wound forgotten in the grief and anger that flooded through his young frame. Not one moment of rest was allowed him. The next Orc’s blow landed squarely on his other shoulder. Théodred screamed; his lifeless body was pushed out of the way by another of the enemy.

Indis stepped further forward. There were now three Orcs in the cave itself and she had no idea how many were behind the two who were still struggling to enter the cave's small opening. A sword, slashed against the back of her head, felled her.

Éomund looked on in horror as she fell. All about him, his comrades lay dead. Shaking his head to clear it from the stupor of grief, he slashed at another Orc, but as it fell, it fell towards him. Trying to roll away, he found himself trapped. The breath was pushed out of him and, after a moment's struggle, he knew no more.

Ch. 29 - Death Is Not So Bitter

Aragorn’s eyes flew open. “Help is needed! Now!” He tried to stand up and looked with surprise upon his brothers, holding him down. “What are you about?”

“You were in the throes of a nightmare, Estel. We are trying to prevent injury.” Elrohir tried to impart as much calm upon his brother with his voice as possible.

“Elrohir!” Aragorn sobbed. “They are in the direst of danger. I know not what, but every sinew in my body feels it. We must be off.”

“Dark it is,” said Erkenbrand, “but I know this road like the back of my steed. We can move now, if that is what is needed.”

Aragorn threw him a grateful smile. “Please.”

Elladan stepped forward, helped the captain saddle their horses, and they were on the road again in a matter of minutes. Passing the flask of miruvor around, they each drank, then urged their horses into a gallop, Erkenbrand leading them.

As dawn broke, the landscape that lay before them was desolate. The plains laid before them for miles on end and not a movement was seen.

‘Where are our patrols?’ Erkenbrand thought. ‘We should have seen one or two during our journey across the Mark and at least a dawn patrol here on the Great West Road.’

Aragorn’s thoughts went in the same direction. He looked at Erkenbrand, noted the concern on the captain’s face, and spoke. “Have the Rohirrim changed their patrols? I have not seen any since we have been on the Mark.”

Shaking his head, Erkenbrand scowled. “I have wondered the same, Estel. We should have spotted at least a few by now. I know what signs to look for on the ground also, and have found naught of any passing. This does not forebode well for us nor for my people.”

“Orcs?”

“Aye. It would appear so. Winter brings scarce food for wolves, bears and deer. Orcs will find the same challenge. Our men must be scouring the hills for the beasts. We cannot leave our people undefended against such a foe. They have only pitchforks and shovels to defend themselves. Farmers, mostly,” he said at the puzzled look on Elladan’s face. “Farmers and sheep herders. Brave, but poorly armed.”

“We will be in Gondor’s domain soon, but the problem will be the same for my people.”

Erkenbrand crooked an eyebrow at that. ‘His people?’ He noted Aragorn’s eyes were looking into the distance. ‘I thought this man was from the north.’

Elrohir took in a quick breath. He had hoped, when he heard Aragorn’s words, that the captain would not notice. But he had. Aragorn’s anxiety was great to have let that information slip.

Elladan nodded at his brother’s grimace. “Estel,” he called.

But Aragorn’s thoughts were not on the plains of Rohan.

~*~

“Eat the dead 'un first; we can save t’others fer later. I’m not stayin’ in this cave long. Too close ta the road. An’ them horse lovers will be lookin’ fer us. I told Grodash we’d be seein’ him ‘fore mornin’ an’ we’ve already passed that.” He swore loudly. “Wish you hadn’t killed the horses. Now we’ll have ta carry this lot. But not till night comes. I’m not goin’ out with the snow shinin’ that sun in our eyes. Blind fer life if we do that.”

The others quickly put out the remains of the fire. They would eat their meal cold. It didn’t matter much. And they wanted no smoke to show on the outside so that they could be found.

“Tie their hands up tight b’hind ‘em.”

“We got no rope.”

“We’ll have some in a minute if ye’d use yer mind. Take the dead 'un and rip out his stomach. Them things in there, the long stuff, wipe it off and tie ‘em with that. Once it dries, it shrinks. Ain’t ye never used man gut afore?”

Three beasts joined their leader’s laughter at their comrade’s foolishness.

Éomund listened in horror. As far as he could tell, he had not been found, buried under the body of the Orc he had killed, but he also could not see. He had one spark of hope though; it seemed, from the beasts’ talk that only Gorlim was dead. But why did not he hear any noise from Indis or Théodred? ‘Still out cold,’ he thought sadly. His heart twisted. ‘Better for them if they are. ‘Twould not be good for either to see Gorlim’s gut torn open and riffled for his intestines.’ Too many times Éomund had found the carcasses of their dead men tied with their own insides. He bit his lip to keep a moan of sorrow from escaping.

He kept as still as he could. ‘If they do not see me…’ But then a true horror filled him. Perhaps it was about him that they were speaking and not Gorlim. Perhaps the creatures thought ‘he’ was dead and they were going to disembowel him. Fighting with every ounce of will, he kept his body still.

“Vrogak. This one wakes.”

“Then tie it quick an’ cover its mouth. I don’t want ta’ hear the moanin’ – least, not yet,” and an ugly laugh greeted his words.

‘Who is it?’ Éomund wondered, profound grief filling him, his concern for himself wiped away with the thought of Indis or Théodred waking to the horror that filled the cave. His heart broke; if there was aught he could do to protect them…

“Arrgh,” the one he now recognized as Vrogak scowled. “Not wakin’ – just moanin.’ Would ‘ave liked ta seen the fear as we tied it up.”

“We kin wait, if ya wants us to, or I kin kick it till it wakes.”

“Nah. We’ll play with ‘em later. I wants ta sleep a little ‘fore we move out t’night.”

“I wants ta sleep too an’ I stood guard last night. Not doin’ it again. Make Sguk do it.”

“First we’s gotta tie ‘em up and that means tearin’ that one apart. Then, we eats.”

Éomund heard rustling and loud sounds that he could not decide what they were. Then suddenly, a wet substance flew against his hand. He looked and had to clench his teeth not to retch out loud. Blood and tissue covered his hand. Tears filled his eyes, knowing that there would be no burial for Gorlim. ‘If I live through this,’ Éomund thought, ‘I swear I will avenge the Gondorian’s death.’

“Tough thing this one is. Can’t wait ta eat the female one. She should be tender.”

Éomund bit his lip. How would he ever endure this? But he had decided moments before to remain silent and hidden, hoping that an opportunity would arise to help Indis, Théoden and Faramir. His brow creased. He had heard naught from Faramir since before the attack and wondered if the beasts had killed the unconscious boy. Curses filled his mind laced with frustration and defeat.

“That’s good ‘nuff. Let’s take this stuff and tie ‘em up. I don’t want neither one both’rin’ us while we’re eatin.’”

~*~

“How much further do you think, Captain?”

“Another day. We are unencumbered with cart and a wounded child and making much better time than Indis. Fear not, Lady,” he said with compassion, “We will reach them very soon and you will see all is well with them.”

“I hope so. There are many dangers on the road, many more than I thought.”

“But Marshal Éomund has joined them by now. And Gorlim is one of our best warriors. They will not even have passed the Mering by the time we reach them.” He pulled his horse up. “We will stop at that little stream there, cook our meal, and then be off again.”

“Please,” Listöwel turned towards the captain, “May we not eat as we ride.”

Captain Durahil looked patiently at Listöwel. “The horses must have some rest. We have traveled well over four hours with none. Though the road is hard and firm, the snow tires them.”

She nodded but dropped her shoulders. He saw the despair in them as he dismounted. “Here, my Lady, let me help you.”

“Please,” she said in exasperation. “Do not call me ‘lady.’ I am a handmaiden to the greatest lady in Gondor and would have none look upon me as of any worth.”

“You are of great worth, wife of Amdir,” the soldier said quietly.

She looked down in surprise and let the man help her off her horse. “You knew my Amdir?”

“I served with him many years ago – in Cair Andros. I was only an esquire, but he was kind and doughty.”

“That he was.” A sad smile graced her lips. “He was indeed. Lord Denethor counted him among his dearest friends. And now both gone.” She swallowed hard. “And both missed.”

“Aye, my Lady. Forgive me. What would you have me call you?”

“Listöwel – simply Listöwel, Captain.”

Ch. 30 - Trapped

“Let me ‘ave some o’ that.” The voice came through the fog that encompassed his mind.

‘Who is that?’ Éomund thought wearily. Then his heart stopped and he remembered. Somehow, during the Orcs’ meal, he had drifted into unconsciousness. He had not felt the slash in his calf then, horror having overtaken him at the abuse of Gorlim’s body, but now, pain and fire fed from his leg to his scalp. Clenching his teeth, he found he was still buried under the dead Orc. They had not found him; he had not moaned as he lay helpless. Or, mayhap any moans of his could have been mistaken for those of Indis or Théodred.

He put aside any feelings he might have. He could not think of Indis nor Théodred. He had to make some kind of a plan to get them all out. He had been lucky so far, if one would call having a calf slashed by an Orc blade, buried under a smelly, dead Orc, and listening as a dead friend is butchered and the unwanted parts of his body used to tie up the Prince of the Mark and the Lady of Gondor, luck! He felt a laugh force itself from his gut and squashed it. He could not become hysterical. He could not.

What was he to do? How was he to save Faramir, Indis and Théodred? He closed his eyes for a moment and realized that the grunts and noises from the Orcs had lessened within the last moments. In fact, off in a corner, if his hearing proved right, was an Orc sleeping, the heavy breathing and mind-rending snores of the beast deafening in the confines of the cave. Éomund wondered that he had not noticed the moment he woke up.

“I wants some o’ that wine. Don’t drink it all yerself, ya cur. I found it in their bags. I wants more.”

The speaker must be Skug for Éomund had not heard that voice before. He heard a punch, for nothing could mistake that sound, and then a short scuffle. Next thing he knew, the body of the Orc above him was pushed aside by another body. He froze. But he was not noticed. The Orc that had landed on him stood and attacked the other.

“Stop it!” Vrogak yelled. “Else I beat ye both within an inch of Saruman’s life. You, Skug, it’s yer turn to watch. I’m sleepin’ now.” A moment’s brief pause. “I said,” he heard the menace in Vrogak’s voice, ‘it’s yer turn to watch. Now get to the front o’ this cave and watch!”

He heard muttering, loud and furious, but suddenly the cave was silent as the shuffled footsteps reached the entranceway. He heard a loud thud and realized the Orc had sat. He dared to open his eyes. There was an Orc laying on the floor nearby, its back to him. He watched as the shoulders moved up and down in time with fierce snores. This one was asleep.

Raising his head ever so slowly, slower than he had ever moved in his entire life, he looked for the other Orc. It was lying against the cave wall, far from the entrance. And, judging by its snores, it too slept. If Éomund was right, there were four Orcs left after the battle. Two slept in front of him, one guarded the door, but where was the other?

He tried to move, but his calf flared in pain and he shoved his hand into his mouth to stifle any cry. After a moment to catch his breath, he raised his head again. Looking past the Orc sleeping in the corner, he searched the cave, his heart skipping a beat. Where was Indis? Where was Théodred? And where was Faramir?

A body moved in front of the cave and Éomund quickly closed his eyes. After a few moments when no other sound was heard, he realized that the guard by the entrance was walking, probably to stay awake. Éomund gave it another moment to settle, knowing the creature would disobey and sleep, then turned his eyes back into the cave, frantically looking for his friends and his prince.

At last, in a corner at the very end of the cave, he spotted them. Two lay propped against the wall; the other, Faramir, lay as last he had seen him, covered with blankets on the floor. The Orc lay between him and them. How could he get to them? Should he even try? If he was discovered, he could do nothing to help them.

‘If I can get away, head towards Calenhad, I can bring back help,’ he thought wearily. ‘Nay, the Orc spoke of leaving when night comes. I could not be back in time, even if I could run. This wound will not let me walk without dragging the leg. We are lost.’

~*~

Erkenbrand’s horse faltered, then stumbled and fell. The Rohir swiftly jumped away from the falling animal as he had been taught since a lad. He cried aloud to see his steed lying flat on the road, its eyes wild with pain. He shook his head as he ran towards it, but the beast, in the throws of fear, lashed out with its hooves. He stepped back, trying mightily to calm himself so that he could calm his friend.

Aragorn jumped from his own horse and ran to the injured mare. “Eala! Hláfdige,”Erkenbrand cried and the horse, finally hearing its master’s voice, settled.  He knelt next to her and ran his hand down Hláfdige’s muzzle, tears soaking the fine mane. The leg was broken; the bone protruded through the skin. Aragorn passed Erkenbrand his dirk.“Wes ðu hal, mín leofe fréond,” Erkenbrand whispered and plunged the blade through the heavy, yellow forelock and into his friend’s brain. The horse shuddered twice and died.

Aragorn put his hand on Erkenbrand’s shoulder as the captain sobbed. Elrohir and Elladan dismounted, pain writ across their faces. They stood thus for a long while, giving the Rohir time to grieve. At last, Aragorn moved forward. “You can ride with me.” He offered the man his hand.

Erkenbrand looked up. “I will slow you. We are near to Halifirien. I can stay here and wait for you to send another mount.”

“It is too dangerous as you must know. Orcs are about and in number from what we can discern. We will slow a bit.” The captain looked miserable.

“What could have caused her to stumble?” The captain moved back along the road and soon was cursing loudly. “There are holes dug here – in the middle of the road. It was Orcs – it must have been. To cause deadly injury to our mounts.” Another stream of Rohirric curses rent the air.

Elladan lifted an eyebrow. He had not heard some of those before and wondered at their meaning. Elrohir put his finger to his mouth. “Do not ask. Not now,” he whispered. Elladan nodded.

“We cannot ride without you, Captain. We are deep inside the Mark and should not be here without escort. Thus, the men of the Mark will kill us before asking questions.”

Erkenbrand nodded. “Aye. That is true. Yet, if we go to the beacon-hill we lose much time. Better to ride double than turn away now. The horse I gave you, Estel, is strong. We must be more careful riding the road, now that we know treachery is afoot. I will ride behind you.”

Aragorn nodded, mounted and offered his hand. Erkenbrand joined him and they turned, once again, east. But the sun was near setting and Aragorn’s heart grew heavier still. They would have to stop again, before they reached the Mering, and continue on in the morning.

Ch. 31 - Hope Beyond Hope

‘If I can reach the cave’s entrance,’ Éomund thought frantically, ‘I might be able to pass the guard. I know he sleeps. But time is my enemy. It must be near midday, mayhap even past it. I know not how long I was unconscious.’ He took a steadying breath. ‘I can do naught for my friends like this, nor in this place. I do not even know where my sword is. With this wound, I can barely stand. But I can crawl. If I can make my way out of here and to the road itself, undiscovered, I may flag down a passing caravan, or errand-riders, mayhap even an éored.’

His chin trembled as hysteria tried to overtake him. ‘An éored! You are a fool.’ Again, he clenched his teeth to keep the laughter from exploding from his lips. ‘It is a fool’s hope, but one I must take. I will be killed if I am found and will be of no use to anyone.’ He grit his teeth. ‘I will crawl as far as I may and hope beyond hope that I am found. No one will find us here and my staying will do naught for Indis and Théodred.’ He was close to despair again. He paused for a moment. ‘Faramir will not feel it when their claws…  when they kill him. My people will find Indis and Théodred long before…’ His mind would not go there, could not look at the horror of the torture that the Lady of Gondor would face if he did not succeed. And his Prince. His teeth chattered at the thought of the ‘tender’ meat that the Orcs had spoken of.

‘I must flee now. Once the Orcs leave the cave, my people will be able to track them, knowing the starting point. Our only hope is for me to find help. Somewhere on the plains of my land, someone must be near.’

He looked towards the sleeping Orcs. Neither stirred. ‘But where is the other. I know I heard four. Where is the other? I will hope he was sent ahead, immediately after the battle, to meet with this… Grodash, that was the one they were to meet. Mayhap the other one was sent to Grodash.’ He took a small breath and steeled himself for the pain he knew he would now feel.

Moving imperceptibly, with all the stealth that he had ever learned, he felt the sword’s cut on his calf open. Swearing to himself, he continued on. ‘If the Orcs smell the fresh blood, all hope will vanish.’ He crawled over the body of the dead Orc and breathed a small sigh of relief. Tacky black Orc blood covered his hand. He wiped it on his wound. It would probably become infected but he didn’t care. He needed the coppery scent of human blood to be erased. And foul-smelling Orc blood was best.  He moved again, covering more ground than he had hoped. His body ached and his calf was on fire while sweat poured down his face and into his eyes. He could not take the time to wipe it away. Another few feet and what seemed to be at least an hour and he found himself with a sleeping Orc directly in front of him. And in front of the Orc, the cave entrance!

He stopped for one moment to catch his breath and froze. Behind him, he heard the definite rustle of an Orc moving. Clenching his teeth, fear clutching his heart, he waited.

~*~

“Will they have reached the Mering by now?” Listöwel asked the captain.

“I think not. We should see them soon. They cannot have gone further than Calenhad.”

“Indis is driven. She will make them go as fast as possible, even with a cart.”

Durahil looked at her in amaze. “But the Lord Faramir is sick. She would not push…”

“She is afraid he is near death, that time is running out for him, and she ‘will’ push them.”

“Would not Marshal Éomund counsel slowness?”

“If she would listen to him, but she will not. I know her heart. Even as the wolves attacked us, I knew she was looking beyond the battle to when she could again head west.”

“I have heard of her resolve. I have also heard of her wisdom. Prince Imrahil would not have let her leave Minas Tirith if he did not…’ He stopped for a moment. “The prince believed Faramir dead already?”

“As close as the very gates of Mandos.” Siriondil interjected. “Aye, Captain, he thought it was only hours before Faramir passed. What else could he do if it would save Indis’ reason?”

Durahil lowered his head in sorrow. “I did not know,” he whispered. “If we lose, Indis, who will lead Gondor? Surely the prince wishes to return to Dol Amroth and his own kingdom?”

“I believe Prince Imrahil thought Faramir would be dead before we even left the Pelennor, but the child has an inner strength. Mayhap it is the Elven blood of his mother.”

Durahil’s brow lifted. “I had heard, but did not believe.”

“Prince Imrahil’s family is said to descend from the Elves of Edhellond,” Listöwel said quietly. “There is a grace and peace in Faramir…” She put her hands to her face and sobbed loudly.

“It is time to stop. We have pushed ourselves beyond endurance. And our horses.” He pointed. “The garrison at Calenhad is before us. We will stop there. Hopefully, we will have word of Éomund. I believe Indis is sending him for the supplies. To protect Faramir.” They rode faster and within the hour stood before the garrison’s gates.

After Durahil gave the password, they were admitted. Riding through the gate and into the compound, the captain tried to ask for the captain of the garrison. Soldiers of Gondor, however, quickly swarmed around them, helping Listöwel dismount, and shouting words of greeting to the captain many of them knew. After a few moments, the din of noise settled and Durahil was able to speak. “I am Durahil, captain of the garrison of Amon Din. Is your captain here?”

“Aye,” a few voices shouted. One man stepped from amongst the crowd. “He is in his quarters. Let me take you.” He motioned them forward. “I am Belecthor, esquire to Captain Thoron.”

“Thoron?” Durahil asked. “Is he of Lossarnach?”

“Aye, he is Captain Durahil.”

“I served as esquire under him in Minas Tirith, my first year in the service of Gondor. I have not seen him since.” A smile crossed the man’s face. “I am forever in his debt. He taught me well.”

Ch. 32 - Despair Most Deep

He wanted to cry out; it was Indis’ moan that had awakened the Orc. He recognized her voice immediately. His every thought and every motion wanted desperately to go to her side, protect her from the beast. He waited, waited to see what the Orc did. But her moans ceased and he heard the creature lie back down. ‘How do I leave her here alone? How can I forsake her like this? I…’ He lowered his head in despair. ‘Nothing I can do here will save her or even protect for one moment past the time my head is severed by the Orc. I cannot defend her this way. Our only hope, her only hope is for me to leave, to try somehow to find help, and then – save her and Faramir and Théodred.’

His eyes grew wet; not from the pain in his calf as he began to slither forward once more, but for his friends and the grave danger he was leaving them in. Still, he pushed forward and was soon past the sleeping guard. His body was covered with sweat by now and he knew he would freeze as soon as he passed through the entrance. Blinded by the sun on the snow, he heaved a sigh of relief. It was still day, though the sun was low in the western sky. The Orcs would not leave the cave for at least an hour. He crawled out and, using the entranceway, pulled himself up. The fire that shot through him caused his leg to buckle and, with a loud grunt, he fell. He swore. Biting his lip, he tried again and this time was successful. He stood and stretched, leaning on his good leg.

‘I am only an hour’s ride from Calenhad. If I push myself, I might be able to make it there by midnight. If the leg will hold me. If I do not bleed out and faint. If I am not followed and killed on the spot.’ He dug his fingers into his palms. Hysteria threatened to envelope him again. ‘I am tired and hungry and afraid. It will pass,’ he told himself.

He limped past the dead horses and saw that the cart had been overturned and rummaged through. No use in even looking to see if there might be ought he could use. But something pushed him towards it. Easy enough to get to; at least he didn’t have to climb to get into it. It must have taken him at least twenty minutes to reach the cart. As he moved the last few steps and crawled into it, he heard a noise behind him. ‘The fourth Orc!’ He clenched his teeth, waiting for an arrow in his back.

But nothing came. Still, the sound continued and he chanced a look back. The Orcs were preparing to leave! He ducked further into the cart. ‘Why are they leaving while the sun still shines? What can I do now? They will have even a further start. I cannot leave them now, not Indis nor the boys.’ He stood to shout, to bring them to him, and saw Indis’ face, covered with blood, being carried over the shoulders of the largest. Then, Théodred carried by Sguk. And, Faramir… ‘Nay. Where is Faramir?

The beasts growled as they entered the sun-filled plain. Holding their free hands over their eyes, they trudged north, grumbling and grunting the whole time. Indis and Théodred hung like sacks of flour over their backs. Neither stirred. For that, Éomund was grateful.

His heart gave a lurch. ‘Faramir is dead!’ his heart cried. ‘They did not take him because they… oh by all the Valar, they have eaten him.’ He fell to the ground, sobbing. ‘All for naught.’

~*~

Ragnhild gave orders to Aerin to stay with the woman of Rohan and then bid Hathawyn farewell. Slowly she walked back to the inn. Her mind was awhirl. She had not wanted to put the young ones in harm’s way, at least not without her by their side, but the separation could not be helped. Targon was fourteen and well-versed in Gondor’s weal; Aerin was near sixteen and a veteran of the Houses of Healing. Both children knew to keep their tongues silent. They would be good spies, as Targon himself had well proved in Minas Tirith.

Before she reached the inn, she heard the noise – the sound of an angry crowd. She hurried forward. There before the crowd, on the steps of the inn, stood the brothers, her guards. Their hands were tied and they were being taken away. Her heart caught in her throat. The scene was so reminiscent of the battle at the Fountain in the Citadel that tears sprang to her eyes. She could not, would not lose these men! But what could she do?

Targon stood well behind. She caught his eye and he nodded and began to make his way to her side. She turned towards a man on her right. “What is happening? I am concerned,” she said at his questioning look, “for I have a room at this inn. Are they thieves?”

“Nay! I heard they were traitors. The Lord Dagnir will take care of them. Tarnost is faithful to the Stewards and none will harm them as long as Lord Dagnir rules Tarnost.”

The fervor in the man’s voice made her look at him in surprise.

“You are not from here.” It was not a question.

“Nay. I am from Rohan. But I visited Minas Tirith just a short time ago.”

“Well, you will find none more faithful to Gondor than the lord of Tarnost. He is ever vigilant for traitors.”

“Are there many in Gondor?” But her question was never answered, for at that very moment, a horse, startled by the violence of the crowd, reared up, catching Targon’s head with its hooves. The lad fell forward, knocked senseless.

Ragnhild screamed and ran forward, thoughts of Boromir’s death enveloping her. ‘Not another!’ her heart cried wildly.

“Make way. Please, make way! I am a healer. I can help the lad,” she cried as she pushed and shoved the crowd aside. At last, she reached his body. He lay twisted, but she had not the time to be concerned with his limbs; rather, her attention was drawn to the head wound. It gushed with blood, as all head wounds do. She moved his hair aside. ‘Only a small cut.’ She turned him on his back and pulled his lids up, one at a time. The pupils, in the bright sun, stayed small.

Miserably she shook her head; curses passed her lips. Rohirric curses. She knew none there would know what she said, but she clamped her mouth closed anyhow. Better not to give the angry crowd further cause for alarm – a stranger in their midst. But the crowd seemed bent on harrying their prisoners and paid no mind to her. She lifted her face and saw the man she had spoken with earlier standing at her side.

“The boy has aivotärähdys – Oh! What is it in the common tongue? A concussun. Will you help me? Will you take him to my room? In the inn. I am a healer. I think I can help.”

Ch. 33 - Help Too Late

Aragorn could not endure another moment. He stood, saw Elrohir’s questioning eyes, and shrugged. Quietly, he stepped over the sleeping Rohir. Crouching next to his brother, he smiled wanly.

“I can lie still no longer. I will ride out a little ways, just to do a quick search of the road, see if any are about.” His brow furrowed. “I cannot sleep.”

"I will go with you," Elrohir stated flatly.

"Nay," Aragorn said and his voice was firm. "I know this road and this land almost as well as Erkenbrand. I will not stray from the road. If anything untoward should happen, I promise I will not engage the enemy, nor be drawn into any battle. I will return here and seek your help."

He stared at Elrohir. "I cannot stay here. I will find no rest." His voice held such anguish that Elladan turned.

Elrohir handed him the flask of miruvor. "Take this with you. If you do find the Steward, this should help. If you have not returned by the midnight hour, I will follow and I will thrash you senseless." He smiled and hugged Aragorn roughly. "You are precious to me, brother."

“Whether you want it or no, I will go with you, Estel.” The Elf turned quickly towards Elrohir. “We will only be gone a short time – just to travel the road for an hour or so. My heart, too, bears distress. I feel as if something terrible has happened, or is about to, and the need for help is great.”

Aragorn clasped Elladan’s shoulder, gratitude spilling from his eyes. “We will not look for trouble, Elrohir, but will just patrol. If trouble finds us, we will turn and come back here. Then, we will face it together.”

“So I am left to sit here?”

“Give us an hour and one back, then, I promise, I will come back and rest.”

Elladan smiled and mounted his own horse. Within moments, they were beyond the fire’s light.

Aragorn kept to the road, watching for signs of travel. In a short time, the sun set. He swore quietly. ‘Hard to track in the dark. Yet, if someone comes along, we will hear them.’

They had ridden only a short time when Elladan turned to face Aragorn. “After this, what will you do, Estel?”

Aragorn looked at his brother in surprise. “Return to my Ranger duties.”

“Gondor would be ripe for her king’s return.”

Aragorn pulled his horse up. “What are you saying, Elladan?”

“That a six-year old should not govern your land. That your people need you. That no one would question your reign if you went now, told them who you are, take what is rightfully yours. It is the perfect time. Gondor needs you. And,” Elladan’s voice lowered, “You would have Arwen at your side.”

Aragorn took a long, deep breath. The sound of it scraping past his teeth surprised Elladan. “I spoke out of turn. I am sorry.”

“The same thoughts have run through my mind,” Aragorn said finally. “And I took them seriously, but I think it is the worst time. Gondor reels with pain. Her Steward murdered by Orcs, Boromir killed by his own lords, Faramir under some spell, and Indis trying to keep Gondor together. Can you not imagine the confusion if I came forward?

“Ah, yes. Here I am, out of the north to claim the throne that the Stewards hold belongs to Anárion’s line, but I will take it. Nay, Elladan. Some might accept me because of their fear of being leaderless, but soon, they would wonder and question. Certain lords would plot further treason. If there are those who rebel now, with a Steward in the line of Mardil Veronwë already in place, what is to stop them from rebelling if I try to take the throne now? Kin-strife would wield its ugly head again. I cannot do this.

“If Faramir dies, Indis will lead them. She is strong and the people love and respect her. Let Gondor heal, then I will meet with her. She suspects, I think, of my place in Gondor. Her father was no fool. Neither was Denethor. She will prepare our people, over time, to accept my claim. That is the wiser course; I would…”

Elladan held up his hand and immediately, Aragorn stopped speaking. The Elf motioned to a spot ahead of them, but Aragorn saw nothing. Elladan pulled his horse closer to his brother’s, put his finger to his lips, leaned over and whispered, “There is a speck of light ahead of us.”

Aragorn nodded, though he saw nothing, and slid from his horse. Elladan joined him on the ground. The Elf whispered to the horses, then, leaving them, moved slowly forward. Aragorn followed in his footsteps. Swords were drawn with nary a sound.

After a few moments, Aragorn was able to see the light. Silently, they approached it.

Elladan, sensing the smell of Orcs, forgot Aragorn’s promise to Elrohir; all memory vanished but the pain-filled face of his mother. His skin prickled as anger and hatred drove all other thought from him. Clenching his teeth, he swung his sword slowly in an arc, preparing to avenge her once again. He began to shake as battle lust filled his fëa. The predator stepped forward, the Elf left behind. He had become a killing machine again.

Ch. 34 - Homesick

Prince Imrahil's steepled fingers rested against his mouth. Though he knew not what the missive contained, the pursed lips of his prince told Arantar that the news he brought was useful, but disconcerting. He stood at attention, waiting patiently as was his wont. His mind wandered, but only slightly, for he would not allow harm to come to his prince by his dereliction of duty. The small corner of his mind that was allowed to roam looked towards the sea, his sweet wife, and his babies - the fourth on the way. Taking in a small breath at the wonder of it all, he kept at attention. His prince deserved such respect.

He had been gone overlong from his family. The quick call for travel to Minas Tirith should have only been for a few weeks at the most; it was now into its third month. He wondered how his family fared. At least his wife's mother had come to stay with her whilst he was gone. Thankful he was that she was not a busybody, but a steady heart and well-versed in helping others give birth. It put his mind to rest. The babe was due near to the feast of Tuilérë. If they did not leave soon, he would miss it. He clenched his teeth. He had missed the birth of every one of his children; this last, he had promised her, he would not miss. It very much appeared that he had been wrong.

His mind turned to the first birth he had missed. He had been on a ship anchored near the city of Pelargir, a young knight on his first voyage, and very much missing his new bride. The vows he had made kept him from trouble as some of the new recruits reveled in the seamier side of the port city. There indiscretion landed many in the ship’s brig. Because of his ‘devotion’ to duty, he had been immediately raised to lieutenant. He smiled.

His oldest would esquire next year. Arantar's chest puffed out a little at the thought. The lad was already good with a sword; as soon as he grew broader in the chest, his bow skills should rival his sword arm. The lad showed much promise and his fellow officers teased him mercilessly about the apple falling not far from the tree.

Another hour passed. At last, his prince stood. "Arantar." The knight was beside him in an instant. "I would meet with the Council in the morning. Send a scribe to me."

When that duty was dispatched, his prince retired to his rooms and Arantar, upon dismissal, went to the buttery. There, he met some of his fellows; talk about their duty here in Minas Tirith overshadowed every discussion. At last, Arantar could stand it no longer. “I am going to the parapet, look south, and try to at least pretend that the sea is near.” His friends looked up, surprise on their faces. “I am cramped here; the stone of this place is cold; the colours are as drab as a stormy day on the sea.” He shook his head and walked briskly from the room.

As he walked across the Court of the Fountain, he noted a knight of Belfalas standing at the very tip of the parapet. The man - nay, it was a boy - turned towards him. Upon seeing Arantar, the lad stiffened and saluted.

“I do not know you, soldier.” He had not been formally introduced and knew that the lad only knew him as the prince’s second.

“My name is Angbor, my Lord. I am esquire to Aglahad, Captain of the garrison at Edhellond. Prince Imrahil has given me leave to stay in Minas Tirith.” A deep look of consternation filled his face. “My father needed me.”

Arantar took pity on him. “Might I share this spot with you? I am Arantar.”

“Of course, my Lord. And your name is known throughout Belfalas.”

Arantar found himself blushing; he was surprised at his reaction. “I will only encroach for a moment or two. I am expecting to be called back to the prince shortly. So, you are under Aglahad. He is a good soldier. Have you learned much under his tutelage?”

“Oh! Aye, my Lord. He knows so much; I sometimes feel like a farm hand with no experience whatsoever, though,” and the lad looked as if he had disparaged himself, “I am from the city, from Calembel itself.”

Smiling at the thought of Calembel being, in any way, associated with the term ‘city,’ Arantar asked gently, “Your father is a member of the Council, is he not?”

Angbor’s eyes looked pained. “He is… was.”

Again, pity filled Arantar’s eyes. He had been cruel to ask. He had been in the Steward’s chambers when Angbor had confessed his father’s treason. “Now that I know your name, I remember I have heard many reports of your successes in training. Captain Aglahad is a friend. We keep track of each other, though the miles are many that lie between us. He has taken a particular interest in you because of your courage.”

The boy’s eyes filled with tears, but he said nothing, turning towards the Pelennor.

“I would be your friend, if you would have me,” the captain said.

Angbor turned quickly, surprise replacing tears. “My Lord!”

“I know not how long you and I will be here.” His thoughts flew to his own son who would soon be esquire in the prince’s army, and hoped that someone would befriend him.

“It is good to have a friend about. Someone we can trust. Especially in a strange land.” He turned his own face towards the Pelennor. Even though it was still winter, the sight of the homesteads upon it filled his heart with peace. He looked south. “There!” he pointed for Angbor’s benefit. “Can you not see where the sea meets the land?”

Angbor strained mightily. “I cannot, my Lord.”

Arantar heard the deep frustration in the lad’s voice. “Of course you cannot. Neither can I,” Arantar smiled. “But I can imagine. Do it with me, Angbor. Imagine. Cannot you not see the gulls flying low over the marshes that lead out to the Bay? Cannot you hear the waves crashing against the breakwall? Cannot you see the ships sailing out of the harbour heading towards home, towards Dol Amroth?” He knew his voice had hushed and a thrill ran through him as his mind took him away from this great stone-walled city. A tear ran down his face.

“I can see it, my Lord,” the boy said, total trust reflected in his voice.

Ch. 35 - Action Begun

“Sir!” The hissed voice caught his attention; the soldier pulled next to Durahil’s horse and pointed. “Up there, sir.” The last rays of the sun silhouetted three figures moving across the foothills.

Listöwel moved forward. Though she kept her voice low, Durahil could hear the excitement in her voice. “Mayhap it is Indis, Éomund and Théodred. But where could Gorlim be?”

“I think not. They crouch. One, maybe two, carry heavy burdens.” Durahil motioned to his men to dismount. “Take the horses, my Lady, and stay here.” He dismounted himself and led the quarter-company up towards their quarry.

Listöwel made as if to protest, then, decided better. She nodded, took the reins and stood by the side of the road.

Slowly, swords drawn, hunched over and silent as could be, the little band moved forward. Thankfully, their target still had not noticed them. “I believe it is Orcs,” Durahil whispered, loud enough that the seventeen men with him could hear. “We will split up. You,” and he pointed to his second, Dervorin, “Take the northern ridge. There – do you see it?” When the warrior nodded and moved away, Durahil motioned and eight men broke away and followed . He grunted. ‘Well-trained men. And Dervorin, though from the Vale, has already proved himself well.’

They hugged the ground as much as possible. Durahil kept an eye on Dervorin but knew the men were well-led. He would have to speak to…. He pushed the thought away. It mattered not who led Gondor as long as it was someone with enough military experience to keep the land from the Enemy. He saw the lead man of their prey turn and look back. His men immediately stilled their forward progress. They waited. He swore silently. The target began moving faster and Durahil realized they had been seen. He started forward with a loud yell, hoping that Dervorin’s men had not been spotted.

They were close now, as their quarry were slower. At last, Durahil could see that two had bodies slung over their shoulders. He screamed even louder and exhorted his men to speed. At that very moment, Dervorin’s men surprised the Orcs, for Durahil was finally able to see that it was indeed Orcs they chased. The one unburdened turned viciously towards Dervorin and slashed out, missing badly. The beast fell from the force of his miss. Dervorin’s sword quickly cleaved the head from the body.

By this time, Durahil and his own men were upon the beasts. They had dropped their burdens a moment before and turned towards the hills. They were quickly hewn down. Durahil stepped back and took a deep breath. He sent scouts ahead looking north and west, making sure their were no other of the foul creatures present. “My Lord!” The shout pulled him from his thoughts. Dervorin motioned and Durahil made for his second.

He found the man kneeling over one of the bundles that had been tossed so lightly aside. “It is a boy, my Lord.” A sharp hiss. “I believe it is the prince of Rohan!”

Durahil bent down, looked at the white face before him, and cried aloud. “Dead! To be used for food for their journey.”

~*~

“Do you smell that?” Aragorn asked and then, looking upon Elladan, knew the Elf had smelt the same thing. He put his arm on his brother’s, then pulled back as the Elf lunged forward.

“There is a cave,” the Elf hissed. “I will enter first.”

Aragorn shook his head. He had seen, too many times, this look upon his brothers’ faces as they hunted Orcs. He knew better than to question or even to respond. He would not be heard. His only recourse was to obey. He drew his own sword and moved forward, silently following Elladan. It took them less than a quarter hour to reach the cave.

Its mouth stretched open before them. Aragorn cursed. It was only big enough for one to enter at a time. Perfect for a quick slaughter of both of them. He grit his teeth as Elladan entered. He bent his head and entered behind. The entranceway was longer than he had imagined; a dead Orc lay in the way. Elladan easily shoved it aside. ‘Well,’ Aragorn thought, ‘We are still both alive and that is something.’ He continued to follow down the long corridor. Elladan easily outstripped him, running forward with no thought of danger, only anger and hatred roiling through him. Aragorn heard a shout and ran forward, as best he could, crouched over as he was.

As he entered the main cavern, he stopped in alarm. Elladan’s sword was raised in fury, his mind clouded by blood lust. A man lay below it, huddled over a boy. Aragorn screamed, “Elladan! Stop!” But too late; the blade swung down. Aragorn tried to fling himself forward, to put himself between the blade and the man, but he was not fast enough. The blade fell.

Aragorn pulled up short. The blade had missed. Purposefully. His brother’s mind had cleared at the last moment and he had pulled the blade to the left as it fell, cleanly missing the huddled man. Aragorn stepped forward and held his brother in his arms, feeling the spent warrior sway slightly. “It is well. They are safe,” he whispered.

He let go and turned to the huddled figures on the floor. There was no movement. He sighed bitterly. It would have made no difference, he thought sadly, if the blade had connected. Both were dead.

~*~

Ragnhild watched as the stranger picked Targon up and walked towards the inn. “Take him to my room, please,” she said and led the way. The crowd parted, their surliness washed away by the horror of the injury to the lad. One of them opened the inn door. She stepped inside. The innkeeper’s wife stepped forward. A cry of distress, then she took the man’s arm and said, “Come. This is a better room. More light. Bring him in here,” and led the way into a large room off the main parlour. The man followed, then lay the boy on the bed. Ragnhild quickly moved next to the unconscious boy. The woman brought a wet cloth and handed it to her. Ragnhild looked up in gratitude. She laid the cloth over the boy’s forehead, then checked his eyes again.

“My Lady?” the boy whispered, his hand instinctively reaching for his head.

“Sh, Targon. You had a little meeting with a horse and the horse still lives.”

The boy smiled. “I am glad. I wasn’t watching.”

“I noticed. Here, take a sip of this.” Her gratitude to the innkeeper’s wife was now reaching epic proportions as the woman handed her a hot cup of tea. She smelled the willow bark and smiled. “Exactly what I would have used,” she said quietly as she took the tea and pressed the cup to Targon’s lips. “Drink. It will help the pain.”

The boy took a small sip and grimaced. “Tastes terrible.”

Ragnhild laughed. “Have you never had willow bark tea before?”

“Nay. In the kitchens, pain usually comes from burns or cuts. We just slather on some aloe. No time for pain.” He winced as he tried to move.

She held him down. “Rest for a few more moments. The lady of the house has been gracious. I think she will allow you a little time to recover.” She heard the innkeeper’s wife harrumph. ‘I really must learn her name.’

“So you’re a healer?”

“I am, good woman. My name is Ragnhild, though I am sure your husband has told you that. Might I learn your name so that I may thank you properly?”

“Erendis,” the woman said, a hint of challenge in her voice.

“I am most grateful, Erendis, for your kindness.” She turned to Targon. “Can you walk, lad? Would you like to come back to our room?”

The lad slid off the bed and wobbled a little as he stood. “I am ready for a nap, if that is all right.”

“I am sorry. You cannot sleep for at least another few hours. Due to the injury, it would be best if you stayed awake.”

The boy nodded, then held his hand to his head, a soft moan escaping his lips.

“You better take him to your room, quick,” Erendis said. “Else he’ll fall. But I think he’ll be all right now. His colour returns.”

Ragnhild agreed, thanked the woman again, and took Targon’s arm. As they walked out the door, she asked Erendis, “Would you please give this man, I’m sorry, sir,” she turned to the stranger who had helped her and asked him to stay in the common room; that she would return shortly. “I need to thank you properly.”

Once they had entered their room, Ragnhild made Targon sit. "Do you know what happened with our guards, with Balan and Baran?"

"No, Ragnhild. I was in the kitchen when I heard the shouting and noise. I ran to the pub and found them already bound and being led out the door."

She cursed quietly. "I do not know what we will do; how we will rescue them. I must find out the charges against them."

"Mayhap the stranger has an idea. He seems kind enough."

"I cannot leave you here alone. The wound is too fresh."

"Erendis will look after me if you ask her."

Ragnhild smiled. "So you already trust the innkeeper's wife?"

"I do. She gives me cookies and lets me help her in the kitchens. They have the most wonderful pan that folds over and they make these light little pastries, hot with meat in them that you can eat as you walk. She was going to show me how to make them - with floor and water, salt and..."

Ragnhild laughed despite her fears. "You enjoy the kitchen, do you not?"

"I do."

"I have a place I need you to go, once you have rested. Perhaps tomorrow would be soon enough. It is Lord Dagnir's house. I have found an old friend who has agreed to procure you a position there as cook. I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. Aerin is already there. She will be scullery help. Will you do that?"

"Of course." The boy's face lit up. "For Gondor."

"Sh! And yes, of course, for Gondor."

She found Erendis in the hall with her hands full of sheets and towels and such. "Forgive me. I must thank the stranger, but I cannot leave Targon alone."

Erendis smiled. "Of course you must not. I'll go. I need to bring hot water for you for your bath. It is overdue."

Ragnhild had to stifle a laugh. She must smell badly if the woman was ready to throw her in a bath. True, she had not bathed on the road. 'Well, nothing to do for it now, but take the dratted thing.' She walked purposefully towards the pub. As she neared, the noise deafened her. There seemed to be an argument going on and a young noble seemed to be the center of it.

"You are too young to remember the time the Corsairs came up the Ringlo."

"You are a dotard to believe that they could possibly, in their ships, come up the Ringlo. It is a tale. The draft of their boats would cause them to founder. No Corsairs every attacked Tarnost."

"But the Elves said they had. Many ages ago," the first speaker attested.

"Elves! Pah! Who believes what an Elf says."

"Some of us are descended from Elves," another voice spoke up. "So you better watch your tongue, young Minastir. Besides that, the land changes. The river could have run deep enough, back in those times, to allow ships to sail up it."

"I think," the young man blushed, "that perhaps it is you, Hador, that should be watching your tongue!"

"And what will happen to me? Will I end up in your father's dungeons like those visitors?"

The young noble stood up and strode forward. "Better there than with a noose around your neck," the young man spat. “Those men are strangers and acted oddly. They are only going to be questioned.”

Another man held the one named Hador back. "Stop it now, the both of you. None of this will bring the Steward back."

Ragnhild's ears picked up. What were they talking about? She stopped in the doorway, grateful that she arrived in time to hear this conversation.

"Who would want to bring back the Steward?" Another scowled. "What did he ever do for Tarnost? Or for Calembel?"

A soldier stood; his right arm dangled useless at his uniformed side and a scar ran still red and angry across his left eye. "The Stewards of Gondor have kept us safe these many ages. Denethor knew the Enemy well; I fought by his side once in Osgiliath. He was a proud and brave man. And I will kill any man, or boy," he looked with disdain at Minastir, "who would say anything different."

Silence, as much as was possible in such a place, filled the pub. None spoke for many moments. Ragnhild wanted to run over and hug the man; instead, she stood still and waited. She could not believe the foolish, proud son of Dagnir would not speak again. His gall surprised her.

"I am not saying that the Steward was not a good man. I am saying that none of the Stewards ever cared about what happened here in Tarnost. All they cared about, and will still care about if that boy ends up with the Rod, is for Minas Tirith. It is their city that they value, not ours. I am tired of paying taxes and sending our men to die for their city. Send soldiers here to protect us, then I will care about the Stewards!" He flung some coins at the innkeeper and strode out the door, his head held high. A few men followed.

The pub quieted for a few moments and then the place erupted into laughter. "Young foolish peacock!" one of the patrons shouted. "Should be locked away until he's grown into some sense!"

"You best watch your tongue, Galdor. I wouldn't be surprised to find you and Hador missing. You know it happens too often lately." The pub became quiet again at the innkeeper’s words.

"We have fallen very far, my friends," Hador said quietly, "if a man cannot open his mouth without worrying where it will land him."

None spoke further upon the matter and, eventually, talk turned to crops and animal husbandry and such. Ragnhild left the shelter of the doorway and walked forward. Some looked in surprise, but most had recognized her from the afternoon's events.

"How's the little one?" "Is the boy going to recover?" "Is there aught we can do for the little one?" The shouts of concern rang around the room.

Tears filled her eyes at the distress for Targon. She smiled warmly. "I thank you all for your concern. The boy should be up and running errands by morning." They laughed and turned from her, giving her some privacy.

She walked slowly towards the table where the stranger sat. She had noted that he had not joined in the discussion between the noble and the other patrons. He stood and offered her a seat.

The innkeeper brought a flagon over. "Some of our best brew, healer. This should take away the sting of the happenings today. I'm sorry you had to see us at our worst."

She smiled and touched his hand lightly as he passed the drink. "I cannot thank you nor your wife properly. Your kindness..."

"Is the norm for Tarnost. What you saw this afternoon is not us. At least, it was not us in the past. Do not think poorly of us."

"How can I when you treat me so well. And Targon. I think he has fallen in love with your wife."

The innkeeper beamed. "And why not? The lad likes to cook, we noted, and isn't she the best in the land. Tomorrow morning you'll taste her biscuits, then you'll know I speak the truth!" He winked and left her.

“So now you know something about our people.” The stranger sat still.

‘What is he saying,’ she thought quickly. ‘Is he friend?’

“Your men were taken because they were recognized. They should not have come here. The Steward should have sent someone who had not served with Prince Imrahil just two summers ago.”

“You turned them in?” She stood; the heat of her scorn knocked the chair over.

He looked about the pub, noted the interest, and motioned for her to sit. She also noted and cursed herself for reacting so violently.

“I did not turn them in, but someone did.” The man spoke in low tones. “I served with Prince Imrahil myself ten summers ago. Most men of Tarnost do if they do not serve with the Steward. It was never my honour to serve with Denethor, though I much wanted to. None can listen to Hador’s stories without desiring to serve under the Steward. When life has quieted, you should spend time with our most famous soldier. You would enjoy his tales.”

She sat. “Life will not quiet, at least not very soon,” she murmured. “There is no Steward at the moment.”

He sat back, a look of astonishment upon his face. “We heard that Denethor’s son, Boromir, had perished through fever. Does not Faramir now rule?”

She almost choked on the ale she had just attempted to sip. After she caught her breath, she looked at him. “Let us start over again, from the beginning. My name is Ragnhild and I am from the Mark. I have come from Minas Tirith because my skills were not good enough for the Houses. I brought two orphans with me. We are hoping to settle here.”

“And I am Queen Berúthiel.”

She blushed furiously at the scorn in the man’s voice.

"I do not think the boy is dead, Captain."

Durahil kicked the body of the Orc he had slain out of his way and moved to the two bodies laying in the snow. Siriondil knelt next to Théodred; the Master Healer touched the boy’s hands and felt his chest. Durahil knelt next to the boy. Leaning over, he put his cheek towards the boy's lips, not trusting any but his own judgment. A faint breath. He looked up in amaze. "He lives. We must get him to shelter, and quickly. There is a cave, very near here. Let us take him there. Listöwel," he shouted, "the boy lives." Siriondil smiled at the captain’s taking charge of everything, even the healer’s duties.

Durahil quickly stood and ran towards the other body. "Indis!" His fear drove all manner of formality from him. "Indis. It is Durahil. You remember me, sweet lady. You gave my father his first sword. Please, Indis, wake up." He touched her and found, though her body was bitter cold, there was also breath. "Indis, please wake up."

Listöwel had quickly climbed towards him. Falling forward upon her friend's body, she cried aloud, "Indis! Oh, Indis, please be alive. Please, don't leave me. Please." Tears covered her face as she pulled the body towards her own. "She is so cold!" She looked up in fear to the captain.

Siriondil, leaving Théodred in the care of own of the soldiers, had reached Indis by this time and done his own cursory examination. “She is not dead, Listöwel. She is injured. See the back of her dead, the dried blood, but it is not life-threatening. She must be warmed though.”

“We will take them to a cave that I know of,” Durahil interjected. “We will build a fire there; there are supplies in the cave. Blankets and dried foods. Healing supplies, too. They will live; both of them will live, Listöwel. Now, come help me wrap her more warmly."

Again, now that he felt assured of Indis and Théodred’s safety, Siriondil tried to smother the laughter that would flow from his lips. He chided himself; it must be the shock of finally finding them, finding them alive. He would let the captain have sway over the party until they reached the cave, then, he would have to take over for the Valar only knew what the young man would do to try to heal his charges.

A soldier had brought the horses that Listöwel had abandoned in her mad rush to reach her friend. Durahil mounted and the soldier passed the unconscious Indis up to him. Slowly, more slowly than ever the captain wanted, he rode down the mountain’s side and towards the Great West Road, motioning for his men to follow.

Listöwel was seated in front of another soldier only after she had seen to Théodred’s being cared for. “They will be well, my Lady,” the soldier riding with her said as he felt her body shake with sobs. “Captain Durahil is well versed in the healing arts.”

She smiled wanly. “Thank you. Siriondil is with us too. I think he knows a thing or two about battle wounds.”

The soldier shook his head in surprise. “I am sorry, I forgot. We rely so much upon our captain, out here in the wilds; we look to him for all our needs.”

“Siriondil learned his craft as Denethor’s healer whilst he was Captain of Osgiliath.”

“That long?”

She smiled again. “Aye. He was healer for Thengel before that whilst Thengel was Captain of the Horse Guards.”

The man pulled up his horse. “He will be able to treat the wounded well then.”

“Aye.”

~*~

“Estel. You jump too quickly to conclusions. Look, the man might be dead, but I believe he put himself over the other body for heat. Help me move him and see if by this man’s sacrifice the other lives.”

Aragorn quickly helped move the body, but as they did so, a moan escaped the man. “He lives!” Aragorn cried and leaned over the man. “I think this is young Éomund, new husband to Théoden’s sister! And he is alive, Elladan. He is!”

Elladan, however, was paying no attention to the Rohirrim, instead he was busily examining the body that had been laid open before him. “Estel. Look! It is a boy, a very young boy. He lives, but seems to be in some sleep. His eyes,” and he lifted one lid to show Aragorn, “they do not have life in them. He seems to be under some spell.”

“Faramir!” Aragorn moved closer to the boy. “Unless my eyes deceive me, it is Faramir. He has the look of Denethor about him. He truly lives. Oh! Elladan. You speak rightly. A spell covers the lad. So young.” Tears fell as he took the boy in his arms. “What can we do against such as this?”

“We start a fire. You and father spoke for many a long hour before we left Imladris. You know what you must do. What potions and herbs you must use to try to lift this spell. I will care for the man. You heal the boy.”

The surety in Elladan’s voice heartened Aragorn. Elladan strode towards the dwindling fire and threw great logs upon it. There was a pot nearby. He picked it up and went towards the entrance. In a few moments, he was back with the pot laden with snow. He placed it upon a rock that lay next to the fire. The snow would melt quickly for the wood was dry and caught flame easily.

Aragorn took the boy’s hands in his and breathed upon them. They were bitterly cold. ‘First thing to do,’ he thought, ‘is bring the boy’s body heat back. Then, I will attempt to lift this spell.’ He slowly undressed the boy, then took off his own tunic and undershirt. He pulled the boy to him and wrapped them both in his overcoat. The leather was cold, but Elladan would soon have warm cloths ready. He looked over and smiled as he saw his brother cutting up his own shirt and dunking it in the melted snow.

Elladan brought the cloth to him. It was hot and Aragorn had to toss it into the air for a moment before he placed it on the child’s chest. He held his breath. The boy did not stir. He cursed. There should have been some reaction. Elladan brought another cloth to replace the cooling one and Aragorn again laid it upon the child’s chest, gently laving the boy’s skin with it, hoping to take the chill away. The lad still stirred not. "I do not know if it is some spell or... it cannot be!"

"What is it, Estel?"

"Can a boy fade? Nay! 'Tis impossible."

"He comes from the line of Adrahil, does he not. Mayhap some Elven blood courses through his veins?"

“I thought it not possible, but, perhaps you are correct, Elladan. Before you help Éomund, I must have athelas. Will you get more water and make a tea? There are leaves in my…”

“I know where you keep your herbs, Estel. Fear not. I will boil the water and make the tea. The man will need some too.”

The dagger flew past his head and landed with a loud thud in his chair's back, only slightly above his left shoulder. One moment later, before Imrahil even had a chance to react, a loud cry was heard as Arantar's dirk pierced Lord Dagnir's chest. The other Council members threw back their chairs and scurried to cling to the walls in fright. Soldiers quickly drew blades and surrounded their prince. Imrahil heard Arantar curse himself. 'How could I have missed the movement? If not for fate, my prince would be dead.' He nodded to his men, then walked over to the dead lord. Arantar had followed and kicked the body viciously. Another curse, this time loud enough for those close to hear, escaped his lips.

"Clear the room. The meeting is adjourned for now," the Swan Knight said brusquely. Some made as if to protest, but the naked hatred in the warrior's eyes caused the lords to leave their papers and run into the hall.

"My Lord," Arantar fell on one knee. "Forgive me. Send me to the farthest outpost. I have failed you."

Imrahil chuckled. His surprise had lifted as soon as the kick was placed. "We need to initiate a search of all when we are in Council, I see. Do you hear them out there?” They both listened for a moment to the shrill, angry shouts of the lords of the Council as they took umbrage at their treatment by the prince of Belfalas. They could hear every word, every invective, every curse.

"They are stupid, pig-headed descendants of wargs!"

"They are not, Arantar. Most are cousins many times removed. The men of Númenor did not travel far when they settled here from Westernesse."

"Then they have married daughters of Orcs!"

Once again, Imrahil laughed. "If you are finished?"

"My Lord!"

"Good. This is a stroke of luck for us. When I told the Council of Ohtar's treachery, I had not thought that Dagnir would be foolish enough to react with violence. One would think it would have been better had he thrown the weapon at Ohtar instead. He could say he did it in a fit of rage over the treason and take suspicion from himself." Imrahil shook his head. "Obviously, neither of them has the slightest sense. It is now time to place Ohtar under arrest. Will you see to that? I will write the order in my study." He began to leave the room, then turned. "Oh! Would you bring Angbor to me? I would speak with him before he hears the news by other means."

"Aye, my Lord." The warrior followed his prince to Denethor's study. 'Odd, I still call it Denethor's study. Hopefully, it will soon be Faramir's study.' His brow creased as he thought of the little band, struggling for help somewhere on the plains of the Mark. 'Where are they? Did Éomund catch up to them? Is this a fool's errand that Indis is leading them on?' He sat at the heavy oak desk, his hand absently stroking it. He stopped. Too many times he had watched Denethor do the same thing. He remembered how fond Denethor was of this desk, made by Thengel and he many, many years past. He hitched his breath and looked up to Arantar.

"As I said in the Council chambers, this is a stroke of luck for us. We should be able to flush out any who were part of this conspiracy. With Ohtar in the dungeons, someone, hopefully, will kill him. Keep the watch small... but keep a hidden guard. If someone does kill him, I want him followed immediately. Also, watch his food. Who knows how they will attack him. Besides that, keep an eye on the Great Gate. See who leaves Minas Tirith in haste. Look for soldiers and nobles. I do not think the common folk would be anything but pawns for the real traitors."

"I will, my Lord. I ordered him held as soon as the hall cleared."

"Good. Here is the order. Take a contingent with you. I do not trust the man. Then put him in the dungeons. If he asks, I will see him in two days time. Then, bring Angbor to me."

"Aye, my Lord."

The warrior bowed and left. Imrahil stared ahead. Again, his brow creased. 'I have heard nothing from father in over a month. I must send a missive to him. Ascertain that all is well in Dol Amroth.' He put a hand to his forehead and rubbed it. 'I think Arantar is correct. The men of Gondor have slept with Orcs.' 

After only a short time, Arantar stood before him again; the young Swan Knight, Angbor, stood next to him, face shining with sweat, eyes filled with unease. Imrahil motioned Arantar to leave them, then motioned for the lad to sit. The boy looked wildly at Arantar, a silent plea in his eyes that even Imrahil could read, then stiffened and sat.

The door shut. “Esquire Angbor,” Imrahil began, hoping to remind the lad that he was in the service of Belfalas, already a Swan Knight, and in dire need of all the strength he could muster for what Imrahil would now have to tell him. He saw the lad stiffen even further, his shoulders thrown back and his face taut.

“Your father has been arrested as a traitor.” He kept his voice even, as if he were speaking to the boy of the duty roster for the day. “He has been taken to the dungeons and will remain there until Steward Faramir or his Regent, the Lady Indis, decides his fate.”

He cursed silently. ‘This is naught that a lad this age should have to deal with!’

He stood and walked towards the door. “You may stay here in Minas Tirith until the decision is made, you may return to your home in Calembel, or you may return to your duties as a Swan Knight of Dol Amroth. I will support you in whatever you chose.”

“I would return to my duties, if that suites my lord. I have been gone too long. You told me, a short time ago, that you have secured my father’s lands and have an overseer looking after them?”

“I have. A trustworthy man who will return them to you when you decide you are ready. I offer this service in token of my regard for you and the regard your captain holds you.”

“Thank you, my Prince.” The boy rose as if to leave, then turned towards the prince. “May I…” He swallowed hard and Imrahil knew what he needed.

“You may visit your father before you leave. He is in the dungeons, Angbor, but he is being treated well. After all, he is a Lord of Gondor.”

“Thank you.” The boy turned and left.

Arantar entered immediately.  “My Prince.” He waited. Imrahil nodded and he continued. “May I… May I take some time off and… Forgive me. Never mind. I will be outside if you need me.”

“Arantar? What is it?”

“Nothing, my Prince.” He turned, his hand on the latch.

Imrahil walked forward and put his hand on the warrior’s arm. “What troubles you? Has word from home come? Your wife, she is with child. Has she had it?”

“I know not, my Prince. Her mother is with her. She will be fine.” A smile creased his captain’s face. “I have never been home for the births of any of my children. This is not unexpected.”

“Then what is it? Do not tell me nothing. We have been together far too long. You are concerned about something.”

“My Prince. I spoke foolishly. We are in a time of great danger. I would not leave you unguarded for anything.”

“I have other guards, Arantar. Tell me what you need. If it is within my power, I will do it for you.”

“I would take two days, my Prince, just two days and ride a little ways with the esquire, Angbor.”

Imrahil sat, stunned. “Whatever for?”

“He reminds me of my son. He knows his father will be executed. How could he not? The long road home will be fraught with sorrow. He needs a friend.”

“You have four days. That should take you well within the borders of Belfalas. Stay with him. Tell him that it is my wish, if you would. I have rarely met a boy with such courage. It is right that, in his greatest need, he has a friend to help him see that.”

Arantar nodded in agreement. “I will return in eight days, my Prince. And thank you!”

“My Prince?” his new guard stood at the door entrance.

“Galador. I am glad Arantar picked you as his replacement. What is it you require?”

“Thank you, my Prince.” The man blushed at the compliment. “Lord Ohtar wishes to speak with you about his son.”

“I told him I will speak with him in two day’s time.”

“Aye, my Prince.” The man bowed and left.

‘Now why would… I have forgotten! Dagnir has a son!’ He stood in alarm. “Galador!” he shouted. “Send for Arantar. He should be at the stables by now. I need him back here immediately.”

The knight bowed and ran out the door. Within a short time, Arantar appeared before him. “My Prince?” he said breathlessly, holding his side from the stitch in it. He had run as if the very beasts of the Enemy were after him.

“I have a further errand for you. Ragnhild is in Tarnost. She must be told of Dagnir’s death. Lord Dagnir’s son must be arrested, if she believes he is part of the conspiracy. Take three companies with you; I am uncertain of the force you will meet, and arrest Lord Minastir, take their holdings and place them in trust for the Steward, then return to me. Also, take Angbor with you. Once you have accomplished this task, send him to Edhellend. He need not return here with you.”

“Aye, my Lord. I will do as you command.” The soldier hesitated for a moment and Imrahil waited. “If we meet resistance, my Prince, should we fire upon our people?”

“Nay. I am hoping, with such a large force at your back, that there will be no resistance. Use the courtly ways you have learned under my tutelage, Arantar. Keep kin-strife from us. Gondor cannot afford further suffering.”

The Swan Knight nodded, his jaw set. Imrahil heard the whispered words as the warrior left the room. “Not on your watch, my Prince. Not on your watch.”

~*~

“I received a missive from Balan and Baran two hours ago. They asked me to meet them here. I had only arrived when they were arrested. Thankfully, I was not yet involved.”

“Why would they send a message to you? Who are you?” Ragnhild could not keep the doubt from her voice.

“I am a retired knight of Gondor. Borondir is my name. I served under the Lord Denethor twenty years ago. I was maimed in a fight with Orcs and retired to this, my homeland. Balan and Baran were young soldiers under me. We have been friends ever since. Did they not tell you this when you set out on your journey?”

“They did not – and I think I will strangle them both for the omission. They could have saved me much concern. So, do you know why I am here?”

“Nay. But I surmise it has to do with a certain treasonous lord of Tarnost?”

“Dagnir has a reputation?”

“He does. He speaks highly of… he spoke highly of Denethor, but always, he sowed seeds of frustration and anger amongst the nobles here. He spent no time trying to sway the people, for you will find they are fiercely loyal to Gondor. Proud to be Gondorians. And, as you heard in today’s little discussion, proud of their Elven ancestry as well. It has been an uphill battle for Dagnir. But he wields the troops here and he has power as a member of Gondor’s Council. It is difficult to fight him. What are your orders?”

“I am to find how far the treason has spread, ascertain, if I can, who is involved besides Dagnir and Ohtar of Calembel, then report back to Prince Imrahil.”

“Again, you speak of things I do not know. Why is the prince ordering from Minas Tirith? Where is Faramir? He is not dead as well?” There was horror in the man’s face and that, along with his words, assuaged some of Ragnhild’s fears.

“Denethor and many of his men were killed, murdered, as they left the Mark. Young Boromir was also killed, but later, in the city itself by one of the Council. You must have heard that Amandil took the Rod whilst Boromir was still in Edoras? Well, never mind that. Amandil’s men killed Boromir and many others. In the end, Gondor’s forces prevailed; the knights of Gondor, along with Imrahil and Théoden King, overcame the traitor and his men and retook Minas Tirith. I cannot tell all the details now, but Faramir lies as if dead; I know not if he fades or was taken by some spell” She thought it best not to tell of the clandestine journey to save the boy. “Indis, sister to Denethor, was made Regent, while Faramir, even unconscious, was named Steward. During the Steward’s illness, the Lady Indis asked Prince Imrahil to oversee the city, which he agreed to. Hence, my orders from him.”

“That is distressing news you bring, Ragnhild.” The man shook his head and then lowered it. “It was… difficult to hear of Lord Denethor’s death. The tale here about was that Denethor had been killed in an Orc ambush. That Boromir was taken by fever. And that Faramir had taken up the Rod. I did not know they had taken the Rod from the boy. I wish I had been in the City.” She heard a sob and looked up in surprise.

“I would have much liked to deal out justice for the Lord of the Tower Guard, for my Captain-general.”

Ragnhild sat back in her chair, fingering her flagon. “It was not a pretty sight, Borondir. Many brave men died the day we took the Tower back.”

“We? You were there?”

“I was. The women of the Mark do not stand about helplessly. Even leeches learn to wield a sword. The threat of death is always near to hand. It is a heartrending thing to stand and watch a boy cut down.” Her own tears fell in the remembrance. “I will speak of it no more. I have a duty to perform.” She grit her teeth. “I would ask for your help.”

“It is already sworn, for you are the Steward’s swordhand and I will follow you. What can I do?”

“For now, nothing. I am weary from travel and from the events of this day. I will retire now. We must meet on the morrow, but I know not where nor how. I do not want to bring unnecessary attention to either of us by risking exposure.”

“I come here for breakfast every morning. Many of those loyal to Gondor do, old soldiers and such. I will wait for you.”

She nodded, yawned and stood. “Thank you. My heart is much at ease, now that we have talked. I will see you on the morrow.”

~*~

Indis moaned as she felt strong hands around her waist. She immediately stiffened; the action caused intense pain to shoot through her lungs. She cried out.

“I am sorry, my Lady. You will be safe and warm in but moments.”

She did not recognize the voice, but ‘it is not an Orc.’

The voice laughed. “Nay, my Lady. I am Durahil, Captain of Amon Dîn. You have been rescued, due to your friend, Listöwel’s, fervor.”

She tried to open her eyes, but the jolting of what she now recognized as a horse’s movement, wrecked havoc with the pain in the back of her head.

“Lean against me, my Lady. You are cold to the bone. My body will warm you, if you but trust me a little.”

She leaned back and a small sigh escaped her. “Thank you, Captain. Not only warmth, but comfort.” She waited a moment for fear to leave her, then “Théodred?”

“The young prince is alive. He is behind us. Siriondil has him. We are heading for a cave I know of that is but a short distance from here. The Master Healer says you need warmth more than a soldier’s outpost.”

She nodded and the warmth of the captain’s body put her to sleep.

When next she woke, she could feel tension in the captain’s body. She kept her mouth closed; questions spoken aloud, if the enemy was near, could spell disaster.

“My Lady,” she heard the captain whisper, “The cave I intended to take you to seems to be occupied. I am not sure by whom, but I am sending soldiers ahead. If it be Orcs, they will quickly clear them out. Do not fear. You are safe with me.”

She clenched the arm about her waist. “Stop,” she whispered furiously. A thrill of hope ran through her. “There were two others in our party. If this is the same cave we were attacked in, those two might yet live. Tell your men to take care, Captain. Please!”

“Of course.” He motioned and a soldier rode up next to him. He whispered something to the man and the soldier rode off. “They will take care. Now, lean back and rest. There is nothing further you can do.”

Ch. 40 - War

The morning broke colder than Ragnhild had wished. The winds blew down from the mountains; the snow-capped peaks shone in the bright sun. She pulled her blanket closer as she stepped from the bed. A light knock sounded. She looked towards the little alcove where Targon lay. The boy still slept. Quickly, she opened the door, hoping to give the lad an extra hour's sleep. "Erendis," she whispered in greeting and stepped out into the hallway. She closed the door behind her.

"I wanted to ask what you and the boy would like for breakfast? He is better, isn't he?"

"He slept well. I woke him every few hours, to make sure the injury did not worsen. He is sleeping now. I will eat in the Common Room, if I might. The lad needs as much sleep as he can get to help him heal."

"Of course. Would you like one of my boys to sit watch while you eat?"

"Yes, oh yes! Thank you so much."

"Borondir is here. He usually eats with us. It's my biscuits, you know," and a faint blush reached the woman's cheeks. "Now, go ahead with you. I'll take care of Targon and your meal."

Ragnhild went back into the room, quickly dressed and ran down the corridor to the inn's common room. As she entered, she saw Borondir sitting at a corner table with Hador. She sat some ways away. She knew he had seen her, but decided it would be best if they were not seen together so soon after last night's long discussion. Some might wonder and question.

Borondir, it seemed had no such compunction. He stood and strode towards her table. "Ragnhild. It is good to see you again." He spoke loudly. "How is the boy?"

"He still sleeps. He had a quiet night. He should be up and about today. Ready to do his chores. Thank you for your concern."

"Did you hear that, Hador?" The man turned and bellowed to the corner table. "I told you she was a good healer." He turned to her again and chuckled quietly. "Best you close your mouth else the patrons will wonder."

She was immediately angry. The ease with which this man manipulated her infuriated her.

"Would you join us? Hador's wounds are old, but I thought you might be able to prescribe something to ease his pain."

She found herself staring again and forced herself to smile. He helped her up and she walked stiffly to their table.

"Hador, may I introduce Ragnhild, healer of Rohan." He held a chair out for her, one that would put her back to the rest of the room. "Ragnhild," he continued, "this is Hador, proud captain of Gondor, retired these past twelve years."

The soldier stood and bowed as she smiled and nodded; they both sat. Erendis rushed over, her hands and arms full of plates covered with meats and cheeses, potatoes and biscuits covered in gravy, with a huge pot of steaming hot tea. "You are in need of sustenance. I don't think you ate a thing last night," the woman clucked. "I'll not have tales leave these walls saying we starve our patrons."

Ragnhild laughed, gratitude spilling from her. "You are, and have been, too kind!"

She noted the men sat and waited for her to eat. Once she buttered the last biscuit left on her plate, Borondir spoke. "The innkeeper and his wife are with us. You may speak freely."

She looked about and discovered that the room had emptied. The last patron had left while she finished her meal. She turned to Hador instead of replying to Borondir. 'Let the proud captain sit and stew for a moment or two,' she thought wryly. "Are you in pain?"

"Aye," Hador said, "but it is not bad. It was said to allay any suspicions of our meeting."

"I realize that," she said testily, thoroughly disliking the condescending attitude of the two warriors. "But I am a healer and I do have something that might help."

"Forgive two stupid men, Ragnhild. We are used to battling this foe alone. Since the prince sent and trusts you, so do we. Tell us your plan." Borondir leaned forward.

She squirmed at the gentle rebuke. "Nay. It is I that should ask forgiveness. I barge in here expecting all to obey me. In truth, I have only a sketchy plan. I have planted a spy in Dagnir's household and plan to send Targon there today." She answered their unasked question, "As a cook. The boy is quite good. After that, I was just going to wait."

"I think the treason is not deep." Borondir's brow furrowed. "I still cannot believe what you told me last night. I have already appraised Hador of the happenings in Minas Tirith. It seems to me that Dagnir and his son and only a handful of men are traitors. We know their names."

"Why have you done nothing? Do you not have proof?"

"We do. They are proud and think they are above the laws of Gondor. They send missives to each other with impunity. We have intercepted some, made note of their contents, and passed them along to their confederates. They do not know they are under scrutiny. We also have spies in Dagnir's and Minastir's households. I hope ours do not harm yours!"

"So all we need do is arrest them?" she asked incredulously.

"Unfortunately, no. Dagnir controls the army. Without official backing, we would be arrested instead of them."

"I will send a missive to Prince Imrahil. He will send soldiers with orders to have them arrested." She sat back and sighed. "This is proving easier than I thought."

"You will have to wait, though. Lord Dagnir has been called to Minas Tirith for a special Council meeting. I am not sure when he will return."

A commotion in the street interrupted what Ragnhild was about to say. Shouts and wild screams rent the air. The inn emptied. A rider, horse lathered from a long and strenuous ride, jumped off his horse near to the town center after having almost run over half the population. "Where is Lord Minastir?" he cried aloud. A number of fingers pointed to Lord Dagnir's home. The rider threw the reins aside and ran to the house.

A crowd began to assemble in front of their lord's house, but no movement was seen. Ragnhild, Borondir and Hador stood at the back of the group, watching and waiting. At last, Ragnhild could stand it no longer. "Come, let us go to the back, to the servant's quarters. My spy will be able to tell us what has happened."

Borondir looked at her and Ragnhild saw the quirk of a smile on his face. 'All right,' she thought irritably. "Mayhap one of your spies can tell us."

He bowed and held his arm out. She led the way. As they neared the back, she heard loud sobs. She knocked quietly on the door. Forleaswyn answered, eyes red and swollen.

"Oh, Ragnhild. Terrible news from Minas Tirith. Lord Dagnir has been killed; they say he is a traitor. Soldiers are coming here to arrest his son. Lord Minastir is summoning his father's army. There will be war!"

"There will be no such thing, Forleaswyn. Pull yourself together. Where is your mother?"

"She is with the master's wife." The girl sobbed.

"Hush, all will be well. I want you and Aerin to come back with me to the inn. Go to your mother and quietly tell her. She must meet us there, if there is fighting." When the child left them, Ragnhild turned to Borondir and Hador. "We should return to the inn. Warn the warriors that Prince Imrahil sends. They cannot be caught in a trap."

As soon as the two children came out, Borondir took Ragnhild by the arm and gently led them all away. "We will return to the inn, Ragnhild. It is a good plan. Hador," the captain turned, "Call our men. Tell them to meet within the hour."

Hador saluted and left them. Ragnhild's mouth hung open.

Ch. 41 - Healing and Horror

The Elf put his hand firmly on the man’s chest, not letting him sit up as he had obviously hoped. “You are not well. Please. Do not move.”

Éomund looked in amaze; the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He tried to speak.

“Nay. Say naught. I am here to help you.”

‘Elves do not help men. I must be going mad. I must be dead.’ His thoughts roiled through his mind; pain shot through him, until, suddenly, a thought, a name, pierced through everything. “Faramir!” he tried to scream, but only a sob-filled word came out.

“The boy is here, with a friend who is taking care of him. As I am trying to do for you, if you would but stay still.”

Éomund swallowed, but the action caused him to choke. His throat was dry and burnt like fire.

“Water?”

He nodded and the Elf smiled. ‘Mayhap we are making some headway.’ He helped the Rohir partially sit and held the flask up to his lips. “Easy. Not too fast.” The man tried to grab it away from him, but the Elf gently disentangled his fingers. “I have something better for you. Here.” He held the small flask of miruvor to the man’s lips. He saw the hesitation and smiled. “It is a medicament. It will not harm you, but hearten you.”

The man drank, eyes fluttered, and he fell asleep again. Elladan laid him gently down. “He rests now, Estel.” He walked towards his brother. “I am concerned. Elrohir will be anxious. We are well past our time of return.”

“I know,” Aragorn sat, silently holding Faramir to his chest. “Return to him. I will be safe until you bring him here.”

“I do not intend to leave you alone,” the Elf said testily, quirking an eyebrow at Aragorn.

“I am not alone,” the man smiled.

Elladan smiled in return. “Elrohir will find us. The horses are tied out front. He knows we headed east. Do you need aught?”

“Nay. Have you noted the way the boy is bundled? As a babe, swaddled.”

“I did notice and I have no explanation for it.”

“Seems strange.”

“It is not a human custom?”

“In babes, aye. But not boys. I do not understand at all. He lies quietly in my arms with nary a movement. Why would they swaddle him?” He turned and looked again at the little one lying quietly, trustingly in his arms. He began softly singing a lullaby that Finduilas had taught him many years before. His mind wandered to Minas Tirith, to the garden off her chambers, to the gentle sun filtering through the trees, to the exotic smell of transplanted flowers from Dol Amroth that wafted in the sweet summer’s breeze, to the touch of a boy’s hand on his cheek. Tears fell silently. Boromir, beloved child, full of joy, wonder, life and laughter, was dead. His mind reeled as he finally had a moment to open his heart to the grief that he had pushed to the back of his consciousness, the grief that now flooded him, body and spirit. He had placed his focus entirely on the journey to bring healing to Faramir. Now, in the quiet warmth of the cave, he paused and reflected.

Denethor was gone. The blow, when he heard the news, had staggered him. He had so many regrets. Ecthelion had loved him, that he knew, but Denethor had also known that; it caused a great rift in the friendship that they had had. Denethor had rarely spoken to him the last year he had served Gondor. In deference to her husband, Finduilas, who had been friend, had severed all ties, and Aragorn was no longer allowed to visit and hold Boromir. Of all the sorrows that had assailed him in his long life, the loss of the love of these three hurt as much as the loss of his mother.

Now, he had occasion to serve Denethor once more. He would save Faramir; somehow, he would save Faramir. He looked down at the face before him. So much like Denethor himself, same hair, same chin. To have these little eyes open and to see that same steel grey that held so much love, so much pain, so much life. This boy would have Denethor’s eyes, he just knew it. He held the little hand in his and rubbed each finger, then rubbed the boy’s hand. ‘So tiny. Such a little thing. So helpless.’

He felt a small stirring, the first he had felt since taking the boy in his arms hours ago. He called to Elladan. “More tea, Elladan. There is hope.”

Elladan smiled. “Of course there is. Estel is here, is he not?” He brought the tea over, knelt next to Aragorn and watched as the man gently held the cup to the child’s lips. “Ah,” he sighed. “He takes it well this time. I believe you are right, Estel. I believe there is hope.”

Aragorn hoped. “Faramir,” he called gently. He put the cup down; only a few drops had been swallowed, but that was more than previously. He whispered words of healing one more time, holding his hands on the boy’s forehead. “Faramir,” he called again as he lifted the child closer to his own face. “Come back to us, Faramir. Friends are here waiting for you. Come back to us.”

He kissed the lad on the forehead and began to sing again Finduilas’ lullaby. The eyes flickered. He held his breath. Another moment, the stirring had ceased. He began the lullaby again and felt the child move under him. This time, he did not stop singing.

~*~

“Is there any news of my men?” she asked as soon as they reached the inn and stopped on the front stoop.

“They are in the holding room at the town’s hall. At least, that is what we suppose. I have heard no word about them. My concern was the boy. My men will know.”

“Would you please send someone; free them and bring them here?”

“I am afraid it would give our hand away. I would not want Minastir to know there is an organized threat.”

“I understand.” She could not help but cover her eyes for a moment.

“Ragnhild! What is it? Is one of them close to you?” His eyes opened wide. “A husband, perhaps?”

She laughed despite the tears that spilled from her eyes. “Nay, Borondir. How do I say this? When Indis journeyed from Rohan to Gondor, two brothers accompanied her. They died in the fighting. The two being held here are brothers also. It would wound my heart if aught happened to them.”

The soldier’s eyes softened as did his voice. “If it will put you at ease, even in these troubled hours, I will do what I can.”

She put her hand on his arm. “Nay! I cannot let you jeopardize the safety of your men, of our plan, for only two.”

“For only one,” Borondir whispered as he laid his hand upon hers. She found herself shaking.

Calling to one of the men who stood patiently behind them, the retired captain of Gondor spoke quietly. The man saluted and left.

He did not let go of her arm, she noted, as he walked her into the inn. “We have long planned for something such as this to happen, Ragnhild. It is fortunate that you are with us. We indeed need a missive sent to Minas Tirith. We have men, but not enough to wrest control of Tarnost from Dagnir’s army. Please, write the missive as quickly as possible. I will have my swiftest horse saddled and my fastest rider take it to the prince.”

“It will only take me a moment. I will need quill and parchment. I have a seal in my room.”

She stood near a table in the common room and looked about. The inn was filled with men, doughty solemn-faced men. Shaking her head in wonder, she ran to her room. Erendis’ boy was still there and Targon still slept. Concern swept through her; the boy should have awoken by now. Quickly she stepped to the alcove and knelt at his side. She touched his forehead. It was cool. She called his name, but there was no response. She gently shook him. He moaned and she sighed in relief. She lifted his eyelid.

The boy flung his eyes open wide and squirmed away from her. "Oh! It is you.” The boy looked about in confusion. “The sun is up! I should be up myself. I am sorry.”

She smiled fondly. “There is naught to be sorry about, Targon. You needed sleep. The journey was difficult and a head wound is serious. I am glad you are still in bed. Now, I have some things to do.” She paused for a moment. “As soon as you are dressed, come to the common room. Much has happened in a very short time. I want you part of this; you have earned much respect this past month.”

The boy's shy smile lit his face. “I will be along presently. Might… might there be food?”

She laughed. “Aye. And you do not have to cook it yourself. Can you stand on your own?”

He started to sit up and grabbed his head, a soft moan escaped. “I do not feel very good.”

She helped him sit. “What ails you? Is it your head?”

“Aye. It only hurts a little though. It is my stomach.”

Ragnhild hugged him in relief. “Then it is the stomach we must heal and I believe Erendis’ biscuits will help. Here,” and she helped him stand. “Get yourself dressed and this lad will bring you to the common room where a hearty meal awaits you. Now, I must be off. Hurry!”

Turning to the servant, she said, “Please stay with Targon and make sure he makes it safely to the common room.” He nodded and she ran out of the room, seal in hand.

By the time she re-entered the room, it was full to overflowing. Borondir waved, then strode to meet her. “Come into the parlour. Erendis has the supplies you need, along with wax.”

She followed him in and sat at the table. Writing furiously, she finished quickly and set the seal. “Here. The prince will send a company, perhaps more. I hope it is not too late.”

“We will surround the home of Dagnir. His son is there along with his wife. I am sure the head of his army is there as well. They have no idea that we have been preparing for this. Will you lead us?”

She stared at him in surprise. Had she been wrong in thinking he was condescending? “I do not know what to say. I am…” She swallowed hard, remembering that Indis had named her as her Captain-general, though none knew of the station as of yet. She took a deep breath; if she was to be Indis’ commander, then now would be a very good time to start. “I will lead you.”

Borondir stood back and saluted her, then took her hand and led her into the common room. Turning to a man at his left, he whispered something and gave the missive over. The man saluted and ran from the room. Striding into the middle of the room, the soldier called for order. Once it was achieved, Borondir began…

“My friends, men of Gondor. A great evil has befallen our fair city. A traitor dwelt within these walls. This traitor’s actions,” Borondir continued, “have caused the very foundations of Gondor to be weakened.” Shouts and murmurs greeted the announcement.

“Prince Imrahil has sent this warrior,” and Borondir indicated Ragnhild, “As his emissary to discover how deep the treachery is that spreads through Lamedon. Listen to what she says as you would listen to the prince.”

The room grew deathly quiet. As quickly as she could, and with a voice as clear and firm as she could make it, Ragnhild told of the treason of Amandil and his compatriots, naming Ohtar, Dagnir, and Minastir, of the murder of Denethor and Boromir, and finally of the wresting of the Rod from the rightful Steward, Faramir.

Great cries of horror greeted her words. Horror turned to rage. “Kill them all!” many in the crowd shouted.

Ch. 42 – A Secret Revealed

Elladan looked long and hard at his friend, his brother. Ever since Aragorn had returned eight years ago from Lórien, he had been changed. His brother never spoke a word, but there had been harsh words between him and their father. After that, Aragorn had gone north and west for long years. He would return for short visits and, if the twins were home, they would talk long into the night – about serious things, like the Rangers, Morgoth, the village of Bree, Hobbits and their land, and then – there would be silence and Elladan grieved, for he knew his brother was keeping something from them.

As he looked now upon Aragorn, holding ever so gently the little boy, Elladan wondered if it was family. Was Aragorn ready to wed? Was his brother longing for children? Elladan knew that Aragorn loved his sister, Arwen, but also knew that any relationship other than friends was wholly unacceptable to Elrond.

Aragorn looked up at him. His brow furrowed. “What?”

Elladan smiled. “Would you like some water? You’ve been singing for over an hour. I know you are not used to singing. I have heard that your brother Rangers discourage you, when you open your mouth.” He chuckled.

Aragorn smiled back at him. “I am quite parched. Water would be good.” When Elladan returned with the flask, Aragorn continued, “Your reasoning as to why I am asked not to sing is flawed. I embarrass them by the beauty of my voice.”

This time, Elladan saw Aragorn’s shoulders shaking in mirth. “I am mistaken then,” he said genially. He went back to the fire and put more logs on. “I will return in a moment.” He took the small bucket and went through the cave’s entrance.

When he returned, Aragorn noted the little bucket was piled high with snow. The Elf put the bucket on the rock that overhung the fire. Then, he returned to Aragorn’s side. Crouching down, he put his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “Too long have you hidden things from those who love you.”

Aragorn looked at him, quizzically. “I know not of what you speak.”

“You are lonely?”

Aragorn’s eyes lit in understanding. “I am as lonely as any Ranger out in the wild.”

“But you might have found someone?”

“I have.” Aragorn looked into his brother’s eyes and saw hurt there. “The one I love is not allowed. Not yet.”

“Is there aught I might do? Mayhap I could speak with her father. Tell him what a good catch you are.”

Aragorn saw that the Elf’s eyes were serious. “It is not that easy. I have been appointed a task that will take many,” and his brow lifted, “many years.”

“Do you see her often?”

“Not in eight years. Mayhap, when we return Faramir to Minas Tirith, I will visit her. She lives some distance from Imladris.”

Elladan chewed this new piece of information over. “She will wait this long?”

“She has the patience of an Elf.”

Elladan stood up in surprise. “Arwen! You love Arwen more than as sister!”

Aragorn bowed his head and resumed the lullaby. After a few moments, he looked up. “Do you now hate me?”

Elladan sat down next to him. “I believe speaking to the father would be useless.”

Aragorn choked back something between a sob and a laugh.

“We will return through Lórien,” Elladan said firmly. “The road is closer. I want to spend some time, if this meets your approval, with the Marchwarden, Haldir. We have met and fought together. There are things happening that bear discussion.”

He brought tea over and helped Éomund sit. Gently he let a few drops of the tea fall into the Rohir’s mouth. After he was finished, he laid the man gently back down, then walked to Aragorn. “Here. I think you should try again. The boy seems to be resting more comfortably.”

Aragorn took the proffered cup and held it to Faramir’s lips. The boy swallowed a few of the precious drops. Once again, Aragorn put his hand on the child’s heads and whispered the healing words. There was no reaction this time. Aragorn bit his lip. “I do not understand this. My medicaments do not seem to have any affect on whatever holds the boy in thrall.”

“Give it time, Estel. He has responded twice now. Mayhap he sleeps more deeply.” He offered the water flask to Aragorn who took another swallow and gave it back. “I will get more snow.”

Aragorn began to sing once again to Faramir. Smiling, he was gladdened that he had drunk the water. It definitely helped. After many more moments, Aragorn began to be concerned. Elladan had not returned. He grit his teeth and swore softly. He should not have let him go alone. He shook his head. ‘No need to worry. Elrohir has probably found us.’ He started the lullaby where he had left off.

~*~

“There is someone in the cave, Captain. We are not sure how many. They do not appear to be Orcs.”

“The mouth? How is it? Large enough for more than one?”

“Just one, Captain.”

He swore quietly. “Take five men with you. You know the drill. Be careful. They may be friend but we know not.”

“Aye, Captain. We will signal when it is done.”

He waved them off. Indis sat up straighter. “They will watch for your company, Lady Indis. Do not be afraid.”

“Éomund has not recovered full strength to his sword arm from our previous journey, but I do not doubt that he can harm your men. I hope they are careful.”

Durahil smiled. Always, Indis carried such loyalty for the people who served her. He recognized in this moment, as his hand wrapped firmly around her waist, that he loved her. He blushed in shame. She was newly widowed. She was older and higher born than he. He had no right.

She patted his hand. “I have not thanked you for rescuing us.”

“Again, my Lady, I must say that it is because of Listöwel that we arrived when we did. When they came to my garrison, I would have sent her back to Minas Tirith. She like unto bit off my head.”

Indis began to laugh, then quickly gasped.

“A head wound hurts for many days. Even the slightest movement brings pain. Lay back against me whilst we wait for my men to return.”

“Has Théodred woken yet?”

Durahil turned and beckoned to the rider that had Théodred in his care. When the man pulled up next to them, Durahil asked, “How fares the boy?”

“Let him tell you himself,” the warrior smiled.

Indis cried in delight. “Théodred!” She would have lunged for him, but Durahil held her close. “Are you well? What injuries have you?”

“The Master Healer already has determined that I will recover, Indis. And you? How are you?”

“Only a head wound and healing quickly. I can almost ride myself.”

The boy smiled at her bravado. “The same here.” He broke into laughter. Then, suddenly, his eyes pooled with tears. “Faramir is dead?” And at the spoken word, the tears spilled over.

“We do not know, Prince Théodred,” Durahil replied as Indis herself was too overcome to answer. “We know not exactly where they were left. We are taking you to a cave. Mayhap it is the same one that you were captured in. If so, we may find out what has happened to Marshal Éomund and to Steward Faramir. Be not disheartened. They may yet live.”

Ch. 43 - The Battle

“Are these all your men?” Ragnhild asked quietly.

“As many as have come in from the fields and hills nearby,” Borondir looked proudly about him. “I expect more before nightfall.”

“I would wait until your entire strength is here, but I deem it unwise to do so. We will surround the house, as you suggested, that way none can enter or leave, unless in force. I do not think, with the knowledge we have from our spies, that there are more than fifty assembled there.”

“And after that?”

“Where is Dagnir’s army bed?”

“There is a full company in a barracks down the street. We have someone watching it now. They seem not to have noticed the commotion. Probably drunk from last night’s victory – the imprisonment of two lone men.” Borondir snorted in derision. “The others are like my men – they come only when called.”

“That is what I had hoped. We will place a full contingent of men at the gates to the city. All will be barred from entering or leaving. Then, we wait until I receive further orders from Prince Imrahil.”

Borondir called out names; men scurried forward, listened to his words, then ran to their posts. Within moments, the common room was nearly emptied. Only the innkeeper and another two men were left. “These are my captains, if you will,” the Gondorian smiled. “As I said, we have been preparing for this day; hence, a small hierarchy is in place.”

She laughed. “And well it is, dear Captain. I believe you have never left the service of Gondor.”

“None ever do, my Lady. Once in the Steward’s service, especially one such as Denethor, always in the Steward’s service.” He sighed. “Would that I had been with him.”

“Then you would have been dead with him,” she said gently. “What would now happen to Gondor, with this threat in its very Citadel, if you were dead?” She sat at table; Erendis was beside her instantly with tea and biscuits. Borondir joined at her behest. Targon entered and was directed to their table. Ragnhild smiled in delight. “Your colour is better. How does the head feel?”

“It hardly hurts at all.” He looked around expectantly.

Erendis was beside him in a moment with a tray laden with food. “It is time to eat. All of you,” she bid them forcefully. “The Valar only know when your next meal will be.”

Ragnhild nodded her head in agreement. “Thank you, Erendis. You are a treasure.”

Within the hour, a man ran back into the room. “Captain.”

“Ragnhild commands here. Speak your news to her.”

“My Lady,” the man spoke without question. “Lord Dagnir’s house has been surrounded. One servant has escaped. She is waiting outside. I was not sure what to do with her.”

“Her name?”

“It is Hathawyn.”

“Good. Let her come in. Have you heard any news of events at the gate?”

“Nay, my Lady. A report should have been received by now. If I may, I will go and see what has occurred.”

She nodded and he left. Another moment passed and Hathawyn joined them. Ragnhild rose and greeted her with open arms. “I am grateful you escaped. I did not want you there if fighting begins.”

“Is my daughter here?”

“She is. She is in the back with the innkeeper’s wife.” She turned and beckoned to one of Borondir’s captains. “Please, take this woman to the kitchens. See that she has something to eat.”

The man nodded and led Hathawyn away.

“Think you we can hold Dagnir’s men until help comes?” she asked the captain as she retook her seat.

“I do. You have done well. The house and the gate are our biggest concern. How long do you think before the prince responds?”

“If the errand-rider meets no resistance on the road, we should have a response within days. Have we supplies and armour enough?”

He smiled. “We,” and he placed the emphasis on ‘we,’ “should be fine if only days pass before we can act further. You believe Prince Imrahil will agree with our actions?”

“I do. What else could he do? I most sincerely wish we knew the details of Dagnir’s death. It is a puzzle.”

Hoofbeats were heard coming up the road, but this time compared to when the lone rider entered Tarnost, all understood that it was a great band of men entering their city. Ragnhild looked at Borondir in alarm. “How did Dagnir’s men overcome the guard at the gate?”

They ran into the street; Ragnhild was glad she had clapped on her sword when she dressed this morning. Borondir was before her; Targon behind. The square cleared as at least two companies of Gondor’s finest knights rode swiftly through the main street. Ragnhild grinned.

The captain of the company dismounted and strode towards her. He saluted her, then spoke. “Prince Imrahil sends his greetings. I am surprised, but grateful that you are so easy found.”

“How came you to be here, Arantar?”

“Is there somewhere where we may speak without fear?”

She led the way into the inn. Arantar motioned and Angbor joined him. Ragnhild was surprised that Lord Ohtar’s son was with the Swan Knight. Borondir and Targon followed her. Borondir stationed his two captains at the door to bar entry to all.

As they sat, Erendis, ever the hostess, ran forward with mugs of ale and bowls filled with biscuits and jams. The captain looked up in thanks. His smile was enough for the dear innkeeper’s wife. She beamed, curtsied and left them.

Ragnhild let the captain and the boy eat. When they were near to finished and their flagons just being refilled by the innkeeper, she asked. “Again, Arantar, though I am most grateful to see you, how came you to be here?”

“Prince Imrahil was attacked in the Council chambers by Lord Dagnir. The lord was killed before he succeeded in murdering my prince. Lord Ohtar has been imprisoned. Prince Imrahil realized you may be in terrible danger. He sent me to support your efforts here.”

“Did you see my errand-rider in passing?”

“I did, but let him continue on, as his missive was addressed to my prince.”

“Good. At least, Prince Imrahil will know what is happening here. We have surrounded Dagnir’s house. He has, perhaps, fifty men with him. As you saw, the gates are guarded to prevent his army from coming to his aid.” She smiled. “All were to have been barred from entry. I am pleased, though surprised, that the guard let you enter.”

“There were only twenty men at the gate and, though they tried to bar us, when I showed my orders from Prince Imrahil, their captain allowed our passage. What is your command?”

Borondir raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘So,’ he thought, ‘my first impression was correct. She is under Imrahil’s orders. It is right she leads my men.’

“This should be settled quickly. To prevent panic in the people and to keep the conflagration as contained as possible. I will go to Dagnir’s house with your men behind me.” She turned to Borondir. “As much as I admire your men and the deeds you have done so far in this matter, I deem it wise to show that the Steward directly leads the fight against Dagnir’s traitors. Do you not agree?”

“I do, my Lady. You have the Steward’s banner behind you. It will cow his son. Minastir has always been a coward, hiding behind his father and his father’s men. He will be easy to intimidate. He will surrender, if I know him, with nary a sword’s blow.”

“That is what I hope. I do not want kin-strife. These are men of Gondor holed up against us. I would speak with them, show them the error of their thinking, and, except for a few, let them go. It is time.” She turned to Angbor. “I am glad you are with us.” The boy blushed, but stood resolute. “We will take only ten with us, Arantar.” He nodded, she stood and they followed as she walked through the door. Mounting one of the horses, the picked company moved forward.

As they entered the square and stopped before Dagnir’s house, a soldier ran up and whispered to Ragnhild. “They have archers in the windows. Take care,” she said quietly. She rode to the front of the house. Arantar was beside her as was Angbor, carrying the Steward’s banner. Before she had a moment to speak, an arrow flew from an upper window. It pierced Ragnhild’s body. She fell.

Ch. 44 - To The Rescue

Elrohir knelt and shook Erkenbrand. Instantly, the Rohir was awake. “Elladan and Estel have not returned.”

Erkenbrand stood and began to saddle Elrohir’s horse.

The Elf put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “My brothers are able, in most circumstances, to take care of themselves, but a promise is a promise. They have not returned. Will you come with me?”

“Why am I saddling the horse? I am coming, whether you had asked or no.”

Elrohir thanked the man, quickly took down their camp, and quenched what remained of their fire. Then, the Elf climbed up on the horse and offered his hand. The captain took it and hoisted himself behind Elrohir. Erkenbrand looked confused. “Is there a problem?” Elrohir asked.

“When we began this journey, I rode behind Estel. I am unsure how one holds onto an Elf?”

Elrohir, despite his concern, laughed aloud. “The same, Captain, the same.” He felt the Rohir’s arms around his waist and urged the horse forward. They rode at a slow pace. Elrohir kept his eyes on the ground before him, watching for the signs that Aragorn had left. He was grateful that the man left such a trail, though none else would know the significance of the twined pieces of horsehair that lay every few yards upon the snow.

“A light!” he pointed after a few miles had passed.

“Horses! I smell many horses,” Erkenbrand replied. “We best move downwind. Though I think they are not Orcs.”

“There is a smell of Orcs’ blood about,” Elrohir said distractedly.

“Then better we dismount; leave the horses here.”

Elrohir agreed by a nod of his head. As they approached the light on foot, the movement about the cave’s entrance surprised both. They saw the glint of steel on drawn swords and heard the whispers. Elrohir unsheathed his own sword, as did Erkenbrand. “There are too many for us. We wait until they enter the cave, then we strike,” he whispered to his Rohirric companion.

Erkenbrand nodded standing beside his extraordinary friend. “Is Estel in the cave?”

“I believe he is.”

“If we wait, it may be too late.”

“I think they are men of Gondor. Thus does their garb remind me.”

“Gondor? Then they are friends.”

“You forget, Captain. We have heard of treason and treachery. We know not the loyalty of these men before us.”

Erkenbrand hissed. ‘Traitors!’ His mind reeled as he clutched the hilt of his sword.

~*~

Profound silence filled the air before the house. Horror etched its way across the faces of the men of Gondor, both those in the company of Arantar and those in the house itself. The door was thrown open and a woman ran out, followed quickly by the wife of Lord Dagnir.

“Stop!” Hathawyn screamed. “You fools have hit a woman and a countryman of mine. She would not harm any. Ragnhild!” She cried as she ran forward. She was held firmly by Angbor before she could reach the fallen woman.

“Hold. Let my captain examine her.” He spoke quietly, but firmly.

Hathawyn looked at him as if he were mad, then realized he was only a youth. “She is my friend,” she sobbed.

“She will not be harmed by my captain. Let him take a moment.”

She slid in his arms; he held her closer. The lady of the house waited behind them. The men in the house dared not fire again. First, they could not dare hit Minastir’s mother. But secondly, they were soldiers of Gondor. They could not hurt a woman.

The archer was thrown through the upper window, slid off the portico, then landed on the grass. “Slime!” the men who threw him screamed. “Traitor!” those on the square murmured. The man began to sob and writhe on the ground. “I missed. I aimed for their captain. I missed. I missed.” He hid his head between his knees, his hands covering the back of his head as he sobbed.

Arantar had slid off his horse the moment she fell and took her in his arms. His men quickly rode forward and formed a circle of protection around them. As he touched the  embedded arrow, another figure broke through the guard and slid to his knees next to Arantar.

“Let me, please,” his voice broke. Arantar gave the woman over to him.

~*~

Aragorn began to sing to Faramir once again. Smiling, he was glad that he had drunk the water. It definitely helped. After many more moments, Aragorn began to be concerned. Elladan had not returned. He grit his teeth and swore softly. He should not have let him go alone. He shook his head. 'No need to worry. Elrohir has probably found us.' He started the lullaby where he had left off.

~*~

As the men of Gondor neared the cave, Dervorin motioned. “There,” he whispered. “Someone is over to the left.” Three of his men followed his command and moved to intercept the shadow near the cave. It struggled valiantly, but another four joined the fray. In more than a few moments, the prowler was snared and bound. Three lay wounded next to him. Dervorin, not waiting for a report, left two men with the man they captured and another with the wounded. He motioned to the others and they continued towards the cave.

One of the knights turned to his leader. "I hear only one inside. It… it seems he is singing.” Wonder appeared on the knight's face. “It is a lullaby of Dol Amroth!"

 "How know you that?" A soldier sneered.

 "I am descended from the line of Aglahad, a prince of Dol Amroth. I know that song, I tell you!"

 Dervorin listened cautiously. "It could be a trap."

 "Why would someone sing a lullaby to entrap us? A bawdy tavern song would be better."

Their leader nodded. "You speak wisely. Still, be cautious. Draw your swords and follow me." He drew his own sword and bent low, silently entering the cave's mouth. Almost crawling, he passed through the long entranceway. A fire was glowing in the middle of the floor, its light starting to dim. Orcs’ bodies littered the floor. He saw the half-eaten remains of a man and almost retched, but quickly steeled himself. In a far corner, a man lay against the cave's wall, holding a bundle close. He rocked back and forth, his eyes closed.

~*~

She felt the pain first, searing through her body. Once, when first she learned to ride, she had fallen and broken an arm. As a child, she thought no pain could equal that. Now, as she gasped for breath, she realized she had been wrong. With her arm, the pain had been localized. This pain – it engulfed her; she could not breathe and did not know why.

A warmth filled her as an arm encircled her waist. Only once before, early this morning, had she felt this touch, but she recognized it immediately.

“Borondir,” she gasped.

“Hold still, my Lady. I have you.”

She heard the fear in his strangled voice. She tried to open her eyes, to reassure him, but they would not obey her. Another moan escaped her. She wanted to cry in frustration. She did not want him to worry, yet what could he do if she continued to groan so piteously. She bit her lip; swallowing slowly, she forced her eyes open. Tears streamed down his face! Her heart fluttered. ‘This cannot be happening! I cannot die – not with love so close.’ She swallowed again. “Hold me closer,” she whispered.

He picked her up and walked slowly back towards the inn. The pain, as he lifted her, sent her crashing into blackness.

~*~

By now, Aragorn’s concern reached a heightened level as he heard noises from the entrance to the cave. Elladan still had not returned, but Elladan would never make this much noise!  He tried to get up without disturbing the boy, but the cave was suddenly filled with soldiers, all with swords drawn and scowls on their faces. Aragorn raised his hands helplessly. His sword lay next to the fire, useless.

“Thorongil!”

Ch. 45 - In the Arms of Friends

Elrohir watched helplessly as Elladan was overcome. They were too far away to help. Though Elrohir had lunged forward as soon as he saw his brother under attack, Erkenbrand held him back.

“There are seven men at least, and look,” he pointed to the road, “at least another seven waiting to help. We are too far away. We cannot save him.”

The Elf clutched his sword, his heart smoldered with fear and dread. He saw Elladan hew down one after another of his attackers, but soon, his brother fell. He clenched his teeth. He could see Elladan still lived, but in what state?

“Wait, Elrohir. They are leaving. A small guard has been placed on him. It is now our opportunity to overtake them. Give them another moment.”

“But they are headed for the cave. Mayhap, that is where Aragorn has gone. And now he is alone. We cannot wait.”

“If we enter, we will be dead, if they are the traitors you think they are. Let us go to Elladan’s side, rescue him, and then hear what he can tell us about the cave.”

Elrohir sheathed his sword, took rope from their mount, and silently, with Erkenbrand at his side, crept towards the small copse where Elladan was being held. It took them many long moments to cross the plain. Elrohir almost grunted in pleasure as he saw two men lying wounded next to his brother. ‘That it would have been more,’ he growled to himself. ‘Why did he not return to the camp? We could have taken them, even fourteen.’

Stealthily, he crept forward as Erkenbrand left him and rounded the other side; both of them came up behind the two guards at the same time. Elrohir drew his knife, stepped forward, and held the blade to the first guard’s throat, his other hand covering the man’s mouth. Erkenbrand was next to him immediately, holding the other guard in the same fashion while his dirk lay heavy upon that one’s throat.

“Speak not a word,” the Elf muttered quietly. “Else I will slit your throat and with nary a backwards glance. Do you understand?”

The other, held by Erkenbrand, also heard the words. Both men nodded their heads. “Good. I should gut you for what you have done to my brother, but I will wait, mayhap he will want to do it himself.” He felt the guard stiffen in terror. Elrohir quickly stuffed the men’s mouths with their own sashes, then tied their hands and bound them to each other.

Erkenbrand knelt next to Elladan. The Elf’s eyes were open, but there was no movement, no flash of recognition. He quickly felt the body, looking for some wound that explained Elladan’s state.

Elrohir, satisfied that both men were tied well and that the wounded still were unconscious, turned his attention to his brother. He knelt and lifted Elladan’s head. “Elladan,” he whispered, running his hand through his brother’s hair and feeling for some wound, though Erkenbrand had told him he had found none.

The Rohir watched in sorrow. ‘Maybe the Elf is dead already.’ Though the body, when he had touched it, was not cold, the captain worried – he did not know if Elves grew cold in death. His lack of knowledge irked him. He knelt quietly next to Elrohir, but kept his eyes on their captives.

“Elladan. Stop teasing me. Speak to me,” Elrohir’s voice broke. “Say you are not hurt.”

There was no sound and Erkenbrand felt tears fall.

The Elf held his brother tighter. “Do not even think to leave me.” The words came out chopped, bitterness filling them. “I said,” he took a long shuddering breath, “do not think to leave me.” A movement. Erkenbrand saw that Elrohir felt it. “Come back to me, brother. I know you hear me. Steel yourself and come back to me.” Another small movement. “Elladan!” the Elf said more loudly. “Wake now!”

~*~

“Stay still, Ragnhild. The arrow is not lodged deep. The soldier, thankfully, had not the skill to draw the bow tight enough to do much damage. Squeeze my hand, when the pain comes."

Ragnhild nodded; Borondir hovered. She would have smiled if the pain was not so intense. She exhaled forcefully as she felt his arms about her. Her cheeks, despite the pain, blushed deeply.

“I know,” he smiled kindly. “The damage feels intense, does it not?”

She nodded.

“Erendis is making a tea that will help the pain. A healer has been sent for.” He froze as her eyes grew round and she struggled to leave his arms. “What?”

“She will trust no one but Aerin.”

She heard Targon’s voice and a tear fell. She tried to nod again, but the pain caused her brow to crease.

Borondir bellowed the apprentice’s name. A young girl ran from the kitchen. “I do not know you.”

“I am an apprentice in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith.”

“Have you treated such a wound?” He showed her Ragnhild’s body, clutched in his arms.

The young woman started as she saw Prince Imrahil’s envoy, wounded; however, she smiled hearteningly. “More times than I care to remember. Erendis! Clear a table in the parlour. You,” she motioned to Borondir, “take her there. Targon, set the kettles to boiling. I must fetch my kit.” Aerin directed. "It is not so bad, Ragnhild. As I told the captain, I have treated such wounds before. It is not deep, nor is it near the lungs. It will hurt, as you know, when I pull it out."

“Nay,” Targon held her arm. “Ragnhild has her own kit in her room. I will fetch it.” He left her without waiting for a reply.

The innkeeper stepped forward. “The fire is always lit and a pot of water is always boiling upon it. I will bring the water to the parlour.”

Borondir nodded, entered the parlour and found a long table, bereft of any adornment, waiting for him. He laid her gently down, whispering into her ear as he did. “All will be well. I have you and will let no other harm you. Trust me.” His eyes sparkled with unshed tears while hers fell.

Ragnhild watched as Aerin prepared the wound; she was offered more tea, which she gratefully swallowed. It took the edge off the pain. Aerin tried to push Borondir away, but he refused to leave. Instead, he moved to Ragnhild's other side and held her hand.

She would have giggled, wanted desperately to giggle, but the pain was never ending. The man’s compassion and... dare she think, love, in his eyes caused her to stifle her mirth. 'Yet,' she wondered, 'how can I be happy when the pain is so intense?' His eyes told her the how and the why of it. 'Will not Indis be surprised!'

Aerin began immediately. Ragnhild was heartened; this girl knew her craft. She bit down on the leather pad they had placed between her lips as the arrow was withdrawn. Her eyes closed; she swooned with the pain.

“She will be fine. It has touched no vital part of her. There has been little loss of blood. Let her rest now,” she said to Borondir. “She will stay here for a little while, then we may move her.”

Borondir nodded curtly, then after whispering words of command to Arantar, he left, his face wild with grief.

Ch. 46 - Friends Reunited

“Thorongil!” He heard the name repeated.

A half-smile lit Aragorn’s face as the owner of the voice moved forward. “Dervorin?”

“'Tis I, Captain. Begging your pardon, but we were wondering where you went off to!”

“'Twas not here, my friend,” Aragorn looked at the men behind Dervorin. “Are these men with you?”

“Aye. And Captain Durahil. Did you know of him?”

“I did not.” His eyes closed wearily.

Dervorin was kneeling by his side instantly. “Are you hurt, Captain?” He motioned to a man who nodded and ran from the cave. “We have a healer with us. I have sent for him.”

“I am not hurt, just weary.”

At that moment, Aragorn reached a hand out, clutched the man’s shoulder in a vice-like grip, and whispered in his ear, “When you were under my command, you were loyal to the Stewards of Gondor. Are you still?”

The man tried to pull back, surprise evident in his face as Aragorn held him close. Aragorn loosed his grip; a deep pain flitted across his face; he closed his eyes.

“Which Steward do you speak of?” the man asked coldly as he jerked away from his former captain.

Aragorn’s eyes opened in surprise. “There is more than one?”

Dervorin stood. “I think it is time to call for my captain.” The stiffness in the man’s back brought a moistness to Aragorn’s eyes. This man had been his own aide many years ago – what eleven years now?  A trusted aide. ‘Now,’ Aragorn wondered, ‘where does his fealty lie?’

He pulled Faramir a little closer. Watching from half-closed eyes, he saw Dervorin turn away from him and speak to his men. Logs were placed on the fire, the Orcs’ bodies were dragged out. As a man moved towards the other body, he cried out in horror. Dervorin moved forward, stared, then turned away. Two soldiers carried the remains away.

Dervorin moved to stand before Aragorn. “Who was that?”

“I do not know,” Aragorn replied. “I found him as you see him when I entered the cave.” He saw the haunted look in the man’s eyes and continued, “He appears to have died defending those who were with him.”

“And who was with him?”

Aragorn did not answer. A moment later, more solders of Gondor entered the cave. One or two he recognized from old campaigns; most, he did not. A young man was last to enter. He took a quick look around, then motioned to Dervorin. They spoke for a few moments, then Dervorin left. The young man strode forward and came to stand before Aragorn.

“I am told you are the great Thorongil?”

The voice was neither cold nor threatening, but Aragorn was hard put to discern what menace, if any, it held. He nodded.

“What have you there?” And he pointed to the body wrapped firmly in blankets.

Aragorn pulled Faramir closer. What could he do or say? He could not give away the boy’s identify until he was certain of the men’s loyalty to Denethor. “A boy, a friend. He has been hurt.”

The captain’s eyebrow rose. “We have a healer with us. He has been sent for. And this man?”

“He was here, as you see him, lying senseless, when I entered the cave.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“I believe he is a Rohir.”

Durahil’s eyebrow lifted again.

“And your name?” Aragorn asked with what strength he could muster.

“I am Durahil, Captain of Amon Dín, Knight in the service of Denethor, Steward of Gondor and Captain-general of the Citadel,” the man challenged.

Aragorn smiled. “And I am, as Dervorin has obviously told you, Thorongil, late in the service of Ecthelion, son of Turgon, Steward of Gondor. I served beside the Lord Denethor and am indebted to him for my life – many times over.”

“As the Lord Denethor was to you!” Dervorin said with fervor. Aragorn smiled as the man stepped back into the cave in time to hear his last words.

“Thorongil!” Another voice called out.

Siriondil stood behind Dervorin, his mouth open and his eyes wide.

Aragorn cried out in joy, “Siriondil!”

The Master Healer of Gondor ran the few steps that separated them and knelt, taking Aragorn’s hand in his. “You have been sorely missed, my captain. Now you return!” His voice broke with emotion. “All of Gondor will rejoice.”

Aragorn’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing. Instead, he pulled Siriondil a little closer. “I know you, friend. I know your heart. I came back to Gondor to help. Next to me lies Éomund, Chief Marshal of the Mark. He has two wounds that need your attention: the one to his head is not grievous, but it must have bled profusely. The other injury is more severe; his calf has a deep slash in it. My companion,” his eyes suddenly looked about wildly. He took a deep breath; Elladan could take care of himself. He pushed thoughts of concern away from him. Éomund must be cared for.

Looking up, he swore to himself. He saw Durahil’s eyes widen when Aragorn claimed a companion was with him. The captain immediately called Dervorin to his side. After a moment’s whispered words, the aide left the cave.

Siriondil smiled at Aragorn’s discomfiture. “These are good men. They are to be trusted. Now, let me look at Éomund.”

Aragorn looked across the cave at Durahil. The captain might be young, but Aragorn noted he was cautious. One of the soldiers brought out cooking utensils and began to prepare a meal. Aragorn leaned back. Faramir had not stirred. Elladan was nowhere to be seen; Aragorn wondered what Elrohir was thinking at this moment. The strain he must be under was great. To have both of his brothers missing and not a word from either. Elladan and he would be soundly chastised, when Elrohir found them!

“Thorongil!”

He almost jumped as he recognized the voice.

“Indis!”

She ran to his side. Sobbing, she held him. He stroked her hair.

“Denethor is dead,” she choked out between sobs. “So is Boromir. And Orcs have killed Faramir.” Her sobs turned into great moans as she shuddered violently against him.

“Nay, Indis,” Aragorn said in the old tongue. “Faramir yet lives. He lies  here in my arms.” He moved the coverlet that hid Faramir’s face and felt her hot tears on his hands as she leaned over, sobbing wildly, and kissed the boy’s forehead in joy.

“He is cool to the touch!” she said in amaze.

“How did this happen, Indis? Who would hurt this little one?”

Durahil interrupted them. “We have salted pork broth here. Take some. It will give you both strength.” He handed a cup to Indis, then one to Aragorn. Stepping back in surprise, he cried out, “Faramir!”

“Aye,” Aragorn said, “it is. I could not tell you.”

“I believe I understand why now,” the captain said graciously.

“Stay with us,” Indis invited the knight. “Captain Thorongil is the greatest friend Lord Denethor ever had. I would that you would be friends. Thorongil,” she turned back to him, “when you return to the City, we will have a feast, we will…”

He held up his hand to stay her. “I wish to hear of my friend and how he died. Tell me what has been happening in Gondor. I know very little.”

“I too would like to hear, if I may,” Durahil said. “Not much is known at the further outposts. Rumours carried most of my knowledge.”

She sat down on Faramir’s left side and took her nephew’s hand in her own. She began to speak, stroking his hand as she told of all that had transpired. When at last she finished, she lay back on the ground, put her arm over her face, and wept bitterly. Aragorn’s eyes, as well as Durahil’s, were also wet. The cave had grown strangely silent as all listened to the tale of treason, treachery and murder.

Ch. 47 - There Is Comfort Here

Elladan’s eyes fluttered open. He put his hand to his head. A soft moan escaped him. Elrohir looked down at him. “Forgive me, brother. I was going to return. Unfortunately, our little brother found a friend.”

Elrohir smiled warmly. “Faramir?”

“Aye. Help me stand.”

He wobbled a little, once his feet were under him, but immediately he strode forward. Elrohir stopped him. “Wait, brother. What happened in the cave?”

“I have no knowledge as to what is happening now, but inside we found Faramir and Éomund of the Mark. Éomund is wounded, but I deem it not serious. Faramir is under some spell. I know not what. Estel has been ministering to him for several hours now. The boy does not respond.”

Erkenbrand cursed roundly. “Are these traitors here who waylaid you? I’ll kill them myself if they are!”

One of the wounded men drew in a sharp breath as he heard the Rohir’s words.

“I know not if they are friend or foe, but Estel is in the cave and we must go to him.”

“We should first decide foe or friend. Otherwise, we must enter with swords drawn. I don’t wish to kill a man without cause,” the Rohirric captain said.

“How do we tell?”

“Ask them!” Erkenbrand said simply. He stooped over, picked up one of the bound guards with one hand, and thrust his face directly into the man’s. “Are you for Denethor or for that other scoundrel?”

Elrohir laughed aloud. “Well put. Now, if he has half a brain, he will know which way he should speak, if only to save his life!”

“If he lies to me,” the warrior growled, “he’ll pay with more than his life. I’ll make him miserable, tear out his tongue and his eyes. I’ll…”

”Stop,” Elrohir laughed again. “Good knight of Gondor, do you swear fealty to Denethor’s son?”

“I do, sir,” the man gulped, “and all with me do the same. We were sent here, by order of Prince Imrahil, to rescue the Lady Indis, sister to Lord Denethor. We found her and rescued her from Orcs. My captain has gone to the cave with her. She was injured and needs to rest before we return to Minas Tirith. That is why, though you fought wildly, we did not kill you. She said there were others traveling with her. That is all I know. I swear it!”

Elrohir turned quickly, sword drawn as he heard someone approaching.

“Stop. I am friend,” a voice said from the darkness. “Friend to Thorongil.”

Elrohir still held his sword ready, but he stayed his hand.

From the darkness, a man stepped forth. “My name is Dervorin. I am a warrior of Gondor, once an aide for Captain Thorongil himself. He is in the cave and being tended to. My captain, Durahil of Amon Dîn, asks that you join us. He has an apology to make to your companion.”

~*~

When she came to, she found herself in her own rooms at the inn. Aerin hovered over her. “It is good to be back from the dead,” she whispered. Her shoulder throbbed, but the lightheadedness that had assailed her was gone. She gave a heavy sigh, then burst into tears.

Aerin sat next to her. “What is the matter? Are you still in pain? I will order more tea.”

“Nay. And Aye. I am in pain, but it is not from the wound.” She sobbed. “I am afraid I have become weak. I have fallen in love with Borondir. His very touch thrills me.”

“Why is that weakness, Ragnhild? Love is beautiful.”

“Love is not when you have duties! I have made oaths.” She shook her head miserably. “I cannot love him; I must leave him and return to Minas Tirith.”

“Mayhap he will come with us?”

She laughed mirthlessly. “Nay. He is needed here. What has happened with Minastir?”

“The captain wants to tell you himself. He is waiting in the hall. Has been all night.”

“It is morning?” She tried to rise but Aerin held her down.

“It is morning. Borondir and Arantar have been busy all night, and now he waits to give report to his commander.” Ragnhild looked at her quizzically. “You, you silly goose!”

She lay back down, closing her eyes to gain control over herself. Suddenly, they opened wide. “How do I look?”

Aerin laughed. “Here.” She gently combed Ragnhild’s hair. “Straighten your bodice. There,” she stood back. “You look perfect.”

Ragnhild smiled. “Thank you and would you leave us, once he enters?”

“Of course,” and this time, Aerin’s laughter could be heard in the hall. She opened the door. “Borondir. You may enter. Please,” she touched his arm, “do not overtax her. She needs her rest.”

He bowed to her and stepped into the room. Aerin closed the door behind her.

“You will return to Minas Tirith, my love,” the man said quietly. “And I, if you will have me, I will go with you.”

~*~

“Elrohir!” Aragorn called as soon as his brother entered the cave. “And Erkenbrand. Well met!”

The men all stopped and stared. The twins smiled warmly, nodded to those in the cave, and walked quickly to sit at Aragorn’s side.

Erkenbrand walked with them until he saw Éomund. “My Lord!” he cried in distress.

“I am recovering under Siriondil’s care,” Éomund said quietly. “Do not be concerned. Sit with me, Captain, and tell me how you aligned yourself with such as these.”

Aragorn turned from the Rohirrim and greeted his brothers warmly. “Now, I am most happy to have you meet the Lady Indis, woman of Gondor, daughter to Ecthelion, and sister to Denethor.”

The Elves stood and bowed. “Much is told of your wisdom, Lady Indis,” Elrohir said quietly.

She blushed. “Thorongil has never been known to keep quiet,” she said with a sparkle in her eye. “I did not support him often, when he would go against my brother. But I loved him nonetheless, as did Denethor before Ecthelion tried to turn one against the other.”

“Did Denethor die thinking I would usurp him, Indis?”

“Nay. I told him that it was Ecthelion who wanted to make you Captain-general. That you declined it. He was content.”

“And Faramir is now Steward?”

“He is. I am Regent until he comes of age. Unless…”

He lowered his head. “I cannot,” he whispered. “You, dearest Indis, of all people in Gondor, know why I cannot. Do not ask it.”

She bit her lip. ‘Of course, kin-strife and worse, I suppose.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears. “It is most gracious of you. Denethor believed you were-"

“Hush,” he whispered. “Whether I am or no, this is not the time. The wound to the heart of Gondor must heal. You will do your duty well, hold the Rod for Faramir, and in due time, who knows?”

“It seems I have done poorly with this duty. I almost lost Faramir and all who traveled with me.”

“Gorlim was a good man, from what I know of him. Baranor will be sorely missed. I served under him at Osgiliath and he under me in Minas Tirith.”

“They were all good men. But tell me this, Thorongil, what have you done to take away the fever that has burned in Faramir these last two months?”

“I have some teas and medicaments that Lord Elrond gave me. They seem to have some effect on the boy.” He watched her yawn. “I think you should have some tea yourself.”

Elladan saw the quick look, filled a cup, and brought it to her. “Here, Lady Indis. Drink this. It will hearten you.”

She looked up in surprise. “Thank you, Lord…” She drank the tea.

“I am Elladan. There is no need for calling me lord and this is my brother Elrohir.”

“I am most grateful for your coming to Gondor’s aid.” She yawned even wider. The Master Healer sat next to her and took her in his arms. “Thank you, Siriondil. I am feeling most weary.” Her eyes closed before she finished the breath.

The twins sat down next to Aragorn. “It is time for rest for us as well.” Elrohir stretched then laid down. Elladan followed his example, a small look of puzzlement on his face. ‘If Elrohir wants us to rest, then rest we will, but I do not understand this.’

Aragorn leaned back against the wall, pulling Faramir closer to him. He began to hum, then quietly sang Finduilas’ lullaby. After a few moments, Indis eyes' opened and her voice joined his in harmony.

“When the night falls and clouds cover the moon,

When the owl calls and your heart hears its tune.

Know I love you

I am right here by your side.

Know I love you

In my heart you will abide.

When the gull calls and the morning breaks anew

You will find me, ever constant ever true.

Nana loves you-"

Another voice joined theirs and Indis choked in surprise and joy. Tears fell.

Faramir’s sweet voice sang softly.

“She is right here by your side

Always loves you

In her heart you will abide.

Precious baby. Precious love. Go to sleep.”

Epilogue

Boromir, my friend,

We met the healer from the North; some say he is the mighty Thorongil returned. I care not what his name is; he was able to heal our Faramir, that is all that concerns me. Your brother is well on the road to recovery and for that I am most grateful. I have tried to fulfill my oath to you, my friend, my brother, by taking as much care as I could of Faramir. I now consider my oath fulfilled, as much as I am able. I have another oath, Boromir, that is even stronger than the oath I made to you - and that is to my people, to my land, and to my father. 

We are finished with this part of our journey. Éomund, Erkenbrand and I are on our way to Edoras. I had hoped to have the company come to my home, to relax and heal without the pressures that are so rife in Minas Tirith. My father would greet all with joy and kindness. Ever was your father friend to those of the Mark; father would have responded in kind. Unfortunately, we have received no notice of the traitor in Meduseld; therefore, Indis deems it wiser to return to Minas Tirith. She will go in force this time; Captain Durahil refuses to let her return without a full escort. I deem that wise. It will be interesting to explain the sudden appearance of Faramir, but the people's joy at his recovery should lessen any questions posed.

I must go to Edoras, Boromir, as heir, and do my duty to my people. I will not, however, forget Faramir, nor be inconstant in my attention to his welfare. However, Indis is with him - and he has his Uncle Imrahil, who is most devoted to him. I am putting aside my own regret at not being able to be next to Faramir for the rest of his life, but understand that, even if you still lived, you would not be able to do that either. Duty calls us to different paths.

The healer from the north has gone - along with his strange companions. Never have I met an Elf. I found the experience - unforgettable. Somehow, I wish our paths crossed more often, for I find them - exciting to be around. I found the man very interesting. He spoke our language, and the language of Gondor, and he spoke with the Elves in their language. I would learn the language of the Elves, if I could. I liked Aragorn very much. You would have too.

My heart is full of sadness, Boromir, for the end of our journey brings to mind the beginning, so long ago when your father was murdered. We shared so much and had such fun in the snow. I will always hold your confidence in me and your love for me close to my heart.  To have had it end the way it did will grieve me all my days. I will never forget you nor your friendship. Not many have the blessing of such a friend.

You will always be with me, my friend, my brother,
Théodred
Son of Théoden King

For a moment, the lad lowered his head and tears fell. After a time, he stood and walked to the camp’s fire. Folding the letter carefully in half, he placed it at the edge of the fire and watched as the flames slowly crept towards it. In an instant, the letter was gone.

Chapter 1 -

1)  Aragorn is not 'all-knowing' - he is still learning. As is Gandalf.

Chapter 2 -

1)      Men might possibly 'fade' - especially those with Elven blood as Faramir is said to have (his ancestry as a grandson of Dol Amroth).

2)     Faramir's long bout of unconsciousness - I attribute it to possible 'fading,' to the hideous grief and horror that he is living with, and to a 'spell' of the enemy.

3)     Théoden's leaving. He knows that, even though Amandil has been found out, someone in the Mark sabotaged that wagon way back in one of the first chapters of My Sword Sings. To leave Edoras unprotected, so to speak, for too long a time, is too dangerous. And, sadly enough, there is nothing he can do for Faramir at this time.

4)     I have absolutely fallen in love with the Rohirrim... due to Eomund's awesome behavior in 'Sings' - now Théodred is quickly growing up.

Chapter 3

1)      His brothers (the Twins) call him Estel, but somewhere in ROTK Aragorn states that, even though he is High King Elessar, he may still be called Aragorn. I thought he must like the name and so use it here. Regarding the Twins and their relationship with Aragorn - From FOTR - Elrond took the place of his father and came to love him as a son of his own.

Chapter 5

1)     I have the Elves and Aragorn riding with saddles; Aragorns's a man who served with the Horse Lords and in the cavalry of Ecthelion. I thought he'd be used to a saddle. The horse he receives from Éomer in TTT has saddle and reins. Glorfindel rode with a big, flashy saddle; so I am letting the Twins have saddles too.

2)     I found it also interesting that Elrohir was able to share and Elladan was not. Grief's manifestations are so different, person to person. I'm hoping some of this will help Ell with his own grief.  And Aragorn, though he has seen death, has not experienced it in the familial sense. Seems to me, with his running all over the Angle, etc., that he and Gilraen did not see each other much. I wonder if she 'blocked' him to protect his heart? LOTR - The Appendixes - is where you will find the tale of what happened to their mother, Celebrian, wife of Lord Elrond.

Chapter 6

1)   I found it fascinating in ROTK that Saruman falls under Sauron's spell almost immediately after he uses the Palantir. In 2989, his treachery was still unknown, but I believe it was there, hiding in the caves and tunnels of Angrenost. Neither Gandalf nor Elrond knew of his treachery until the incident with Gandalf being imprisoned.

Chapter 7

1)   Dreams played such a large part in Tolkien's many tales... It seemed logical and plausible, during this terrible time, that many involved would be assailed so... however, is it the White Wizard or Sauron?

Chapter 8

1)   As for Aragorn - seems wise to keep his identity hidden. A little nuzgul went running through my mind about whether or not the wizard had ever met him or if Gandalf or Elrond had said anything about him at the White Council... but I don't think so. I remember somewhere that it is said that Gandalf and Elrond kept his little tidbit quiet.

Chapter 9

1)      The Great Library of Minas Tirith held a plethora of manuscripts both old and new, from Númenor all the way to modern-day Minas Tirith, of men and elves and others. Denethor was incredibly well-read, as was his son, Faramir. I do not think the tales read by a descendant of 'The Faithful' would be left to gather dust.

2)     That Elrond should be called 'healer' would stem, I think, from the life that he led - battle-hardened, battle-weary, and battle-ready. And one of the most important parts of being battle-ready, no matter what, would be knowing the healing arts. After the thousands of years that he lived, he would be well-versed, I think, and well-known for his skills - all of them.

3)     I like Imrahil - I liked him before, when he saved Faramir in ROTK - and now that I'm writing about him - I like him even more. I really don't hold with the tales that say he and Denethor had bad blood between them... I think the Prince of Dol Amroth respected the Steward... as well as respecting himself... 

4)     The severing of friendship between men and Elves was profound. I think each side 'lost' a part of themselves...To think that legends, such as a healer from the North, still run strong though - as with Galadriel - though her legend seems to be more of her part (or not) in the Elven massacre - could that be what Gondor remembers? And not that she kept and governed Lórien well? Since the Númenóreans were Elf-friends, they might very well have learned of her part in the treachery and feared her... Though Aragorn seems to say otherwise. ('Course - he's prejudiced - the Elleth is his future bride's grandmother!)

5)     Curunír is still considered 'good' by Elrond and Mithrandir. However, I thought it wouldn't be too far out of the realm of imagination, to have Aragorn feel a certain 'unease' around the Wizard. And would Curunír have used his powers against the Ranger - hoping that none would be the wiser for it?

6)     Saruman - I'm still in a quandary as to why on earth Gandalf trusted him... Saruman sure pulled the wool over his eyes... OR Gandalf suspected and was waiting for the Maia to hang himself....

Chapter 10

1)      As for the brothers - how does one protect oneself from a loved one? Knowing that Aragorn would never, ever attack Elladan or Elrohir makes no difference when he is wielding a torch at one of them. Elrohir had to do something to save Elladan YET not harm Aragorn.

2)      I love how Tolkien gave us tiny hints of the power of the Maiar. I am particularly fond of the 'locking spell' that Gandalf used in Moria.

3)      The burial places in Rath Dínen, I believe were for the rich and the kings, stewards, and lords of Gondor. It is said that the place consisted of mansions and domed buildings. The poor and lowly of Gondor, I believe, were buried elsewhere.

Chapter 11

1)      I loved the fact that the lies of Saruman and Sauron were so potent. They reflected Morgoth's - the ultimate liar. The snide little whispers in the ear - unbeknownst to the listener - hideous distortions made to seem real. So many listened. Not only Théoden in LOTR, but also many Elves and Men in the Silmarillion. In fact, when the Edain finally discover the Aftercomers (Men), Morgoth has already filled them with lies.

Chapter 12

1)      I don't think that Aragorn was strong enough, as of yet, to fight the powers of Saruman. Even Gandalf couldn't as the Grey.

Chapter 13

1)   I think one of the hardest things about living in Middle-earth was the giving up of the innocence of the children. Reminds me of battle-torn countries where pictures of little ones, 10-13 years old, wield machines gun. Faramir, Boromir, Théodred, Targon, even Angbor - all with lives that were not 'normal.'

Chapter 15

1)      Did I say how much I like Imrahil!!!

2)      Wolves - Indis is able, for a time to fend off the wolf. I have read of tales where, when a love one is threatened, that a mother has picked up a car and held it up to free her son, or of a mother stepping between a bear and her daughter and saving the child. I believe adrenalin is a very powerful piece of the body's defense works and would allow Indis to have the strength for a moment, to fend off the wolf until she found the dirk.

3)      Beregond is not the same character as that in LOTR - he is much older; might be an uncle or some such.

Chapter 17

1)     Angbor, in LOTR, is the lord of Lamedon; Beregond calls him Fearless. He aided Aragorn wit the Grey Host of the Dead. After Aragorn went further south to stop the Haradric Fleet, he took his force to Minas Tirith to help in its defense. I could NOT sully his name. He will definitely be in the sequel.

Chapter 18

1)      Éomund - here's the quote from the Appendix that I base his characterization on. 'In 2989 Théodwyn married Éomund of Eastfold, the chief Marshal of the Mark. Her son Éomer was born in 2991, and her daughter Éowyn in 2995. At that time Sauron had arisen again, and the shadow of Mordor reached out to Rohan. Orcs began to raid in the eastern regions and slay or steal horses. Others also came down from the Misty Mountains, many being great uruks in the service of Saruman, though it was long before that was suspected. Éomund's chief charge lay in the east marches; and he was a great lover of horses and hater of Orcs. If news came of a raid he would often ride against them in hot anger, unwarily and with few men. Thus it came about that he was slain in 3002; for he pursued a small band to the borders of the Emyn Muil, and was there surprised by a strong force that lay in wait in the rocks.'  I love him to pieces - never had before I started writing this - but he definitely got himself killed!!! Drat... good man to have around when in need.

2)      Someone told me horses never laid down. If they did, it was because they were sick, dying, or were having a foal. Then, I met Jane Abbott in NZ - she told me horses definitely laid down - hence, I used that in the tale. Others agreed and we kind of came up with the three hour rule. LOL

Chapter 19

1)  Drowning in ice water - the body's first response is to gasp. The snow-covered water would be dark. Finding up and down would be near to impossible. As hypothermia progresses, the body ceases shivering (its one defense).

Chapter 20

1)     Aragorn left the inn in Bree in such a hurry that he never gave thought to the repercussions of him meeting Rohirrim and Gondorians. His main focus was on Faramir and healing the boy. His grief at the news of Denethor's death, his self-recriminations for the way they parted, and a host of other things, all conspired to make him forget everything else and go off, 'willy-nilly' as Bilbo would say, without really thinking things through. I'm sure Elrond wondered about this when his son spoke to him in Imladris before he left for the mission.

2)     Some would say that Théodred was way too young to take on a mission such as this - but war made boys men quickly. Rohan was never 'safe' nor was Gondor. Oaths, for both countries, seemed to be incredibly binding, i.e., the Oath of Cirion and Eorl. '"And Cirion said: this oath will last for the remembrance of the glory of the land of the star and of the faith of Elendil the faithful. They shall keep it, those who sit on the thrones in the West, and the One who dwells above all thrones forever." Unfinished Tales

Chapter 21

1)      One of the hardest things I found in the customs of Gondor was the fact that, once married, then widowed, folks rarely ever married again. Difficult for all concerned.

2)     It would be easy to become an itinerant healer. I think that, if you were a healer and did not work in the Houses in Minas Tirith, you ended up doing some illegal stuff to earn a living, or else you just left town, so to speak.

Chapter 23

1)   During Wormtongue's reign, Théoden actually ordered that none be allowed in Rohan without his permission. I do not think the order was backed by the 'pain of death' punishment until Grima despoiled the King's mind. I took this a little further, since Denethor did the same thing at about the same time, and made Theoden's decree happen earlier.

Chapter 24

1)      I don't think it would have been against Elladan and Elrohir's nature to use subterfuge and trickery to free themselves from bondage. Long had they fought against evil. Aragorn's inherent nobility and naiveté, I think, found it difficult. In the end, something had to be done and Aragorn, though even physically impacted by the decision, went along with it. I don't think this was to the detriment of the Elves' character.

2)     Ragnhild was taking some wild chances, but she had lived for quite some time and could, as a leech, read people. I believe she felt the old man in the town hall was so full of himself that he would be too happy to give out as much information as possible, if only to show himself somehow grand and important.

Chapter 26

1)      I found the argument between Éomund and Indis to be incredibly sad and disturbing. How much of it was the effect of Sauron on the land and the peoples of Middle-earth, I cannot say. But I believe that Indis is getting near the end of her rope, that she is beginning to believe that Faramir is dying, and that she cannot allow that to happen, no matter the consequences for others. Perhaps not valid, but a mother's love (and her's is very close to that) knows no bounds.

2)      I went to Shadow.Poetry.com and looked for something that sounded Elvish - up popped a cinquain...now doesn't that sound like fun! According to ShadowPoetry "Cinquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines. Another form, sometimes used by school teachers to teach grammar, is as follows: Line 1: Noun Line 2: Description of Noun Line 3: Action Line 4: Feeling or Effect Line 5: Synonym of the initial noun. The teachers' one does not have a # of syllables, but I stayed close to the orignal one.

Chapter 28

1)      Aragorn is in the same boat as Indis, so to speak. (see chapter 26 note) His love for Denethor and guilt at much of their relationship is pushing him onwards. His focus is solely now on making amends by healing Faramir, again, to the bitter end.

2)     Orcs were known to be in the White Mountains. It seemed only plausible to me that they would be scurrying for food. Unfortunately, they found human food.

Chapter 29

1)  I asked a friend who is a surgeon about the use of a man's intestines to bind him, and she agreed that it is a very good possibility that Orcs could use it in such a manner.

Chapter 32

1)   Though some of Indis' company had not received severe wounds, the cold and loss of blood would definitely account for the lassitude that Éomund found himself assailed by and the lack of consciousness of Indis and Théodred.

Chapter 33

1)   I cannot see Aragorn taking the throne at this time. Too much death, misery and intrigue in the Halls of Gondor. It would have been even worse timing than during the War of the Rings.

Chapter 35

1)      Erendis is the name of a Queen of Numenor. Poor Erendis has mixed feelings about the name she was given. I never did get a chance to go into this further. Drat - sometimes tales take you so far and then leave you!

Chapter 36

1)      I cannot believe that there were not wounded and retired soldiers living in all parts of Gondor. And fiercely patriotic ones at that.

2)      The people of Dol Amroth and the area around Edhellond might possibly have had Elven blood in them also, not just the Swan Prince's family. I think they would be proud of it.

Chapter 42

1)      There is nothing in LOTR that I have found that states when and whom knew of Aragorn's betrothal to Arwen. I just liked the fact that he now chose to share the knowledge with his brother.

Chapter 45

1)      My father's cousin, who crossed from Ohio into Nebraska in a covered wagon at the end of the 19^th century, met a man and wed him three dates later. In the times that Middle-earth were part of, it seems not implausible for love to kindle and be struck quickly so as not to lose it. IMHO. So Ragnhild and Borondir's fire is lit.

Chapter 46

1)      Finding Thorongil again has put Aragorn in a very sticky position. Also, Indis, as Ecthelion's counselor, knew Thorongil well. She probably also knew that Ecthelion might seriously have considered making Thorongil his Captain-general, or even Steward after him. Again, the Kin-strife was the most hideous thing that had ever happened to the Men of Númenor. I believe they would do anything to prevent it from every happening again. Which is why, in LOTR, Aragorn waits before entering the city, waits until he is semi-assured of acceptance by the people.

Epilogue

1)      Some were disheartened when reading this and thought that My Sword Weeps ended too quickly. However, the whole premise of the journey of both parties, Indis' and Aragorn's, was to rescue Faramir. Once the lad awoke, this part of the tale was finished.

THERE WILL BE A SEQUEL....The War of the Ring still occurs and who knows what Faramir, as Steward of Gondor, will do.

Part 1 --
Aragorn - Heir of Isildur, disguised as Ranger, aka Strider, Estel, Thorongil
Mithrandir – Wizard and Maia, aka Gandalf
Barliman Butterbur – Innkeeper in Bree at the Prancing Pony
Nob – Barliman’s assistant

Part 2 --
Ragnhild – Rohirric leech who becomes Indis’ councilor
Indis – Sister to Denethor; aunt to Faramir; Regent of Gondor
Éomund – Marshal; sister-son of Théoden King; uncle to Théodred
Faramir – Steward of Gondor; son of Denethor; nephew to Indis
Théodred – Heir to the throne of Rohan: son of Théoden King
Siriondil – Master Healer in the Houses of Healing
Imrahil – Prince of Dol Amroth; uncle to Faramir; brother-in-law to Indis
Théoden – King of Rohan; father of Théodred
Baranor – Councilor to the Captain to the Guards of the Citadel
Gorlim – Councilor to the Captain of the Third Company of the Citadel
Gildor – Councilor to the Captain of the Steward’s Own Guard
Elfhelm – Second to Théoden King

Part 3 --
Elrohir and Elladan – Twin sons of the Elf Lord, Elrond

Part 4 --
Ioreth – Healer’s helper to Siriondil

Part 5 --
Lord Elrond – Lord of the Last Homely House of the Elves East of the Sea

Part 8 --
Curunír – Wizard of Nan Curunír and Maia
Targon – Cook’s apprentice

Part 9 --
Listöwel – Indis’ best friend

Part 15 --
Ohtar – Lord of Lamedon in the city of Calembel; member of the Council
Angbor – Son of Lord Ohtar; esquire to Aglahad, Captain of Edhellond
Arantar – Second to Prince Imrahil

Part 19 --
Erkenbrand – Captain of the Mark

Part 23 --
Aerin – Healer’s assistant, part of Ragnhild’s entourage
Balan and Baran, brothers, guards to Ragnhild

Part 25 --
Forleaswyn – Daughter of Hathawyn, cook in Lord Dagnir’s house
Hathawyn – Housekeeper for Lord Dagnir

Part 27 --
Captain Durahil of Amon Dîn

Part 29 --
Vrogak – Orc
Sguk - Orc

Part 31 --
Belecthor – Esquire to Captain Thorin of Calenhad

Part 35 --
Dervorin – Second to Captain Durahil
Erendis – Innkeeper’s wife at the Tarnost Hills Inn

Part 36 --
Minastir – Lord of Tarnost; son of Lord Dagnir
Hador and Galdor – Retired captains of Gondor living in Tarnost

Part 38 --
Dagnir – Lord of Tarnost; member of the Council of Gondor

Part 39 --
Galador – Swan Knight under Arantar
Borondir – Retired captain of Gondor living in Tarnost