"It was soon after Thengel’s return [to Rohan] that Saruman declared himself Lord of Isengard and began to give trouble to Rohan, encroaching on its borders and supporting its enemies." – Appendix A.II: The House of Eorl

1: Arrival in Edoras

Rohan, T.A. 2957:

Dawn stole through the Eastfold, chasing shadows across the heath, bathing the grasslands with welcoming warmth. Shards of sunlight fell upon the distant mountains, their snow-capped peaks glowing preternaturally white as night fled. Anor rose above the Emyn Muil in joyous splendor, her gaze touching first upon Aldburg in the Folde before lighting upon Edoras. She seemingly set the roofs of Meduseld afire in a blaze of golden light with a kiss before turning her gaze to the Westfold and beyond. The world seemed to shout a paean of praise at the Sun’s coming, but the people of the Mark greeted her, as they always did, with benign indifference, too concerned with the doings of the day to pay her any heed.

Down from the road leading to Helm’s Deep rode two Men. Both were tall and dark of hair. Both wore grey-green cloaks pinned with a silver star. The taller of the two rode a grey gelding without a saddle; the other rode a roan. The horses, like their riders were weary with travel, yet proud-spirited. A pack horse followed behind them.

The gatewardens had watched the two riders come out of the night-shadowed West for some time now and wondered, especially at the one riding without a saddle. These were not Dunlendings, yet neither could they be from Mundburg, for all they appeared to favor the looks of the Stanlendings.

"Abidað cuman uncúðe! Hwæt sindon git, láðe oððe léofe? Hú hátton git? Hwæt sindon incer ærende tó Þengel úrum hláforde?" demanded one of the gatewardens as the two riders neared them. He spoke first in the tongue of the Mark and then repeated his words in Westron, for so had Thengel King decreed and only those who spoke also the Common Tongue were given ward-duty at gate and door.

"Stay strangers unknown! Who are you, friend or foe? How are you called? What is your errand to Thengel our lord? You have the look of the Stanlendings about you yet you come not from the East, but the West."

The two riders came to a halt and lighted from their horses. The shorter man answered. "In truth, good sir, we come from the North, though we are distant kin to the people of Gondor. I am Gilhael son of Mallor and this is my cousin Thorongil son of Beren. We seek employment with Thengel King, for we have heard that he welcomes men of arms to his service, and so we have come to offer our swords if he would have them."

The gatewardens glanced at one another before the one who had spoken replied. "It is true what you say. If this be your purpose then you are welcome here. Go to the king’s doorwarden and say to him as you have spoken and he will see to your needs. Your horses you may lodge here in the lower stables."

The man pointed to a low building to the right of the gate. Gilhael thanked him and he and Thorongil led their horses to the stables where those who tended the horses greeted them courteously. They wondered at the man who rode the grey and without a saddle, for he spoke to his horse in a tongue unknown to them and the horse calmly entered one of the stalls on its own. The roan followed.

Once they had seen to their horses, the two men made their way up the steep slope of the main street towards the king’s house. Aragorn looked about him with unabashed interest. His older cousin, who had spent a season or two among the Rohirrim in his own youth, smiled benignly.

"It’s impolite to stare, Cousin," he said softly, speaking in Sindarin.

Aragorn started, then blushed. "Sorry. Is that what I was doing?"

Gilhael laughed lightly. In the weeks of their travel together, he had gotten to know his younger cousin and Chieftain better and found himself both amused and appalled at his own temerity. It was really Aragorn’s fault, for he had insisted that rank was to be ignored. Every time Gilhael addressed Aragorn as "lord" or forgot to call him "Thorongil", Aragorn would make him get off his horse and run while Aragorn ordered Mithfaron into a gallop with Gilhael’s horse, Baranroch, following. After the third such run, usually covering about three miles over the rough terrain of upper Eregion, Gilhael studiously avoided any honorific where his Chieftain was concerned and carefully addressed him as "Cousin".

By the time they had reached the ruins of Tharbad, he had ceased thinking about it, but wondered at times if upon their return to their own people he would have to unlearn everything all over again.

"When were you here last?" Aragorn asked as they climbed a set of well-laid steps. They were now about halfway up the hill and Meduseld shone brightly in the morning sun.

"Twelve years ago, in the time of Fengel," Gilhael frowned slightly. "It was not a happy time and I only stayed a season or two. Fengel was greedy beyond measure and he is not fondly remembered. So hated was he by his own son that Thengel removed himself to Minas Tirith when he came of age and took service with Turgon. He has only recently returned to Rohan with the death of his father."

They reached the crown of the hill where stood a high platform above a green terrace. A bright spring gushed forth from a stone carved in the likeness of a horse’s head. Beneath this was a wide basin from which the water spilled, filling the channels that ran on either side of the steps. Up the green terrace went a stair, high and broad, and on either side of the top most step were stone-hewn seats upon which sat the doorwardens. As they reached the top of the stairs the wardens stood and one of them, a burly man of about forty, greeted them in Westron.

"Hail, strangers. I am Guthmund, doorwarden of Thengel King. What names do you bear and what business do you have in the Riddermark?"

The two Dúnedain bowed and Gilhael spoke.

"Hail, Guthmund. I am Gilhael son of Mallor and this is my cousin, Thorongil son of Beren. We come from the North to seek service with Thengel King if he would have us."

Guthmund eyed the two strangers briefly, taking their measure, before nodding. "Thengel King holds court this day to hear the plaints of his people. Enter then and may you find favor in his eyes, but your weapons you must leave with us. Only those sworn to the king’s service may enter his presence so armed."

Guthmund’s demand was not entirely unexpected and in fact Gilhael had warned Aragorn of the possibility earlier, so they were not loath to surrender their weapons to the doorwarden, at least not the visible ones.

Satisfied, Guthmund led them across a portico, where there were pillars made of mighty trees hewn in the upland forests and carved with interlacing figures gilded and painted. The doors also were of wood, carven in the likeness of many beasts and birds with jeweled eyes and golden claws. Although the doors were closed, they were not barred and Guthmund pushed one of them open enough for the two men to enter before closing it behind them again.

Inside, it seemed dark at first and Aragorn had only an impression of a vast space filled with people milling about. Gradually his eyes adjusted and he saw before him a long and wide hall with mighty pillars richly carved upholding its roof. Bright sunlight fell in shafts from the eastern windows high under the eaves. The floor was paved with stones of many hues. Tapestries adorned the walls and banners hung from the beams. Even on this warm day a clear wood fire burned on the long hearth in the midst of the hall. Beyond the hearth and facing north towards the doors was a dais with three steps and in the middle of the dais was a gilded chair, richly carved and painted. Above the throne hung a green banner with a running white horse — the sigil of the Rohirrim.

People stood between the pillars talking softly in small groups. Those nearest the doors had turned to see who had entered and were surprised to see two of the Stanlendings, but were allowed little time for speculation for at that moment an old man bearing a wood staff stepped in front of the dais and banged upon the floor three times.

"Westu, Thengel, hál!" he cried and the crowd echoed him even as the king of the Mark entered from the east side of the dais.

Thengel was a man of middle years, Aragorn noted, not as tall as some, yet hale and strong of limb. He wore his hair, still yellow like ripened wheat, shoulder length, as Aragorn assumed was the style in Gondor, for all the other men in the hall wore their hair long and braided. However, he was dressed in the style favored by the Rohirrim in a tunic of rich green nubbed wool with interlacing broideries in red and blue and gold thread. He was clean shaven, save for a mustache. No crown adorned his head. Instead, he wore a thin band of white gold.

Behind him came a woman, tall and dark-tressed. Her style of dress was not quite the same as those of the other women in the court and Aragorn assumed that it was what was worn by the women of Gondor, however, the color was the same dark green of her husband’s tunic. Like Thengel, she wore no crown, but covered her head with a thin veil held there by a band of silver.

This then, Aragorn surmised, must be Morwen of Lossarnach in Gondor, whom Thengel had married some fourteen years earlier. She was seventeen years younger than Thengel, younger even than Gilhael, and many had wondered that Morwen’s father had allowed such a match.

Three children followed, two girls and a boy. The oldest was a girl of about twelve summers, while the other girl was probably half that age. The boy looked to be about eight or nine. They all favored their sire in looks, though the older girl had a more slender bearing and her hair was a darker gold, shading into autumn brown, an inheritance from her mother, no doubt.

Thengel took his seat while Morwen stood to his right and just behind. The three children moved to the lowest step of the dais and sat on a bench to their father’s left. Aragorn noted with wry amusement that the two girls kept their brother between them. Already the boy was beginning to fidget and looked decidedly bored. Aragorn shared a knowing smile with Gilhael before turning back to the scene before them.

Ranged around the dais but separate from the crowd were two groups of men. To the left stood the Witan — older men no longer fit for military duty yet still hale of mind and supposedly full of wisdom. To the right stood the king’s thegns, the warriors of the king’s own household. Both groups made up the king’s council of advisors.

Gilhael surreptitiously pointed out one of the men. "There is Hildebrand of the Westfold. He is married to Thengel’s surviving sister, Goldwyn. Thengel appointed him First Marshall of the Mark when he came to the throne."

Aragorn looked the man over. He appeared to be a few years older than Thengel but his braided hair was not yet touched with grey. He was firmly muscled and Aragorn could see in his stance that this was a man used to warfare. He stood on the dais directly to Thengel’s left, cradling a naked sword with its hilt pointed towards the king.

When all were settled, the old man with the staff banged on the floor again. "The court of Thengel King is now open. Let he who would speak to his lord approach and be heard."

Gilhael translated this for Aragorn, for though the older cousin had begun teaching his Chieftain the language of the Mark as they traveled, Aragorn was not yet fluent in that tongue. The Dúnedain held back from the general throng. "Let Thengel’s people have the privilege of addressing their king first," Gilhael had advised his cousin and Aragorn agreed.

Aragorn watched the proceedings with interest while Gilhael quietly translated, though he was becoming familiar enough with the language to understand a word here and a phrase there. He paid particular attention to Thengel’s rulings, comparing them in his mind to his own thoughts of how he would have ruled in a similar situation. Indeed, except for the setting, the problems brought to Thengel were not dissimilar to those brought to Aragorn by his own people.

He was pleased to note that Thengel’s rulings were generally fair, though one or two surprised the young Dúnadan and Gilhael had to explain a peculiarity of Rohirric law that differed markedly from that which governed the Dúnedain, thereby demanding a response other than that which Aragorn would have chosen under similar circumstances. Still, none who came before Thengel left unanswered and even those whose suit had failed appeared satisfied with the king’s decisions.

Occasionally Thengel would consult the Witan or his thegns on a matter and once he spoke quietly to his queen, who whispered her own thoughts. Aragorn noted that some in the hall viewed this with disapproval and he heard one or two muttering darkly to their neighbors, but he could not discern their words.

Twice Thengel asked his children for their opinions on how a particular case should be decided and then carefully explained his decisions to them. The older girl was more attentive than her younger siblings, but Aragorn had the impression that all three children were being gently schooled in the art of rulership by their sire and he was much impressed.

It was nearly midday before the last of the suitors had had their say and Gilhael signaled Aragorn to follow him up the central nave towards the dais. As they approached, others made way for them and Thengel himself rose from his seat to greet them, contrary to the traditions of his people.

"Westu, Thengel, hál!" Gilhael said with a bow and Aragorn copied him.

"Mae govannen, brennyn nîn. Mae govannen a vae tolen na Rohan." Thengel’s Sindarin was flawless, although Aragorn detected a slight slurring of his speech that bespoke of the Gondorian dialect, which differed slightly in pronunciation from that spoken in Imladris and among the Dúnedain of the North.

"Le hannam, hîr aran nîn," Gilhael replied. "I am Gilhael son of Mallor and this is my cousin Thorongil son of Beren."

"But surely you do not come from Gondor," Thengel said, stepping down from the dais. "For though you have the bearing of my wife’s kin, your manner of dress is strange."

"Nay, husband," Morwen replied, joining Thengel. "For they wear the star of Elendil upon their cloaks. I deem they are our northern kinsmen, Rangers of lost Arnor, rather than those of Ithilien with whom you served in your youth."

Gilhael bowed to Morwen with a smile. "You speak truly, my lady. My cousin and I are indeed Dúnedain of the North. We have been given leave by our lord to seek our fortunes in the South for a time."

"Ah, and so you wish to take service with me?" Thengel asked.

"Yes, lord," Aragorn spoke for the first time. "It is our desire to do so if you will."

"Then we will discuss this matter later. Come, you will be our guests for the nooning. I see you carry no weapons."

"Our swords lie with your doorwardens, lord," Aragorn said.

Thengel nodded, then motioned to one of his thegns, a young man not much older than Aragorn. "Hildered, go you and bring the weapons belonging to the lords Gilhael and Thorongil," he ordered, reverting to Westron. The thegn bowed and left.

Then the king turned to the old man with the staff, who was apparently his steward. "Gléomer, you may dismiss the court." And without waiting for a reply, Thengel motioned his family and his two guests to follow him out of the hall.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Mundburg: Minas Tirith.

Stanlendings: "Stone-land-people", i.e. Gondorians; cf. Dunlending.

Westu, Thengel, hál!: "May you be healthy, Thengel!"

Witan: Counsellors; from Old English wita: sage, wise man, advisor.

Thegns: Household troops belonging to the king, usually on a rotating basis; pronounced, and often spelled in Modern English, ‘thanes’.

Mae govannen, brennyn nîn. Mae govannen a vae tolen na Rohan: (Sindarin) "Well met, my lords. Well met and well come to Rohan".

Le Hannam, hîr aran nîn: (Sindarin) "We (exclusive) thank you, my lord king".

A Note on the Description of Edoras: Much of the description of Edoras and Meduseld comes primarily from The Two Towers, Book III, Chapter 6, "The King of the Golden Hall", with some adaptations from the Lord of the Rings movies. However, the description of the portico leading to Meduseld is taken from The Reader’s Companion, page 400.

A Note on Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon): The words of the Gatewarden in Rohirric to Aragorn and Gilhael are adapted from Tolkien’s original speech for this scene in The Two Towers, found in HoME, vol. VII, The Treason of Isengard, pp. 442-443. Translation of this passage provided by Christopher Tolkien in a note, page 449. I have modified the text slightly to reflect the dual form of the second person since the Gatewarden is addressing two and only two people.

Normally _æ_ as in "ærende" would be long, but as I cannot put an acute accent over the diphthong, the accent is ignored whenever this diphthong appears. Hopefully, any reader versed in Anglo-Saxon will not take me to task overmuch for any errors in spelling or grammar I might make. It’s been thirty years since I’ve had to work my way through Sweet’s Anglo-Saxon Reader, so give me a break. *grin*

A Note on Rohirric Names: Many readers will no doubt recognize various names given to my original characters that are taken from Tolkien. This is not to imply that they are these characters but rather that such names are commonly given (even passed down from one generation to the next), much the way John or Mary are common names in our own culture. Most of the Rohirric characters encountered in the Lord of the Rings are, at this point in time, either young children or not yet born.

2: Running the Gauntlet

Beyond the door on the east side of the dais, Aragorn and Gilhael found themselves in a small anteroom where apparently Thengel and his family took their ease before and after court. There were two other doors, one opposite the door they had just entered, the other to their right, presumably leading to the royal apartments and other parts of the king’s house. The parlor was sparsely but comfortably appointed with a trestle table and cushioned chairs. Servants were busy placing salvers and dishes piled high with viands on a sideboard as they entered.

A quiet word from Morwen sent the servants out and the royal family and their two guests were soon alone to fend for themselves. Thengel breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at his guests ruefully.

"I’ve been back in Rohan for four years and I am still not used to it."

Aragorn found himself grinning in sympathy and Gilhael laughed outright and said, "Eall is earfoðlic eorþan ríce."

It sounded like a quote to Aragorn’s untrained ear.

Thengel laughed. "You speak the tongue of the Rohirrim well, Lord Gilhael."

The older Dúnadan nodded. "I spent a season or two among the people of the Westfold many years ago, my lord king. My cousin" — here he nodded to Aragorn — "having heard my tales decided to spend some time among your people, to learn their ways and their language. I agreed to accompany him."

That, at least, was the story the two Dúnedain had concocted on their journey south.

"You are kin, then?"

"Yes, lord," Gilhael answered. "Thorongil is my father’s brother’s son. We are descended from Celebrindor who was the fifth king of Arthedain after Arnor was divided into three kingdoms."

"Then you are of royal blood," Thengel stated, but Aragorn shook his head.

"Nay, lord. The royal line of Arnor is reckoned through Arvedui Last-King and his son, Aranarth. My kinsman and I are of noble blood, but we are not royal."

"Our lord gave us leave to come south for a time to follow our own fortunes."

Thengel looked upon the Dúnedain shrewdly. For his part, Aragorn met the king’s gaze calmly. "So you wish to ride with my éored?"

"It is my desire, lord," Aragorn answered with a slight bow to his head.

Thengel nodded. "Then we will see. I..."

"Ada," said a small plaintive voice. "Nana says to come eat."

Thengel looked down at his youngest child tugging on his tunic and smiled. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to my younger daughter, Théodhild."

Aragorn and Gilhael bowed to the child clinging to her father, causing the girl to blush and hide her face in Thengel’s tunic. Thengel laughed and patted her head.

"Now that won’t do, my dear. Come, show these gentlemen your curtsey as nana taught you."

Théodhild turned back to her father’s guests and with a shy smile gave a tremulous curtsey before hiding her face once more in her father’s tunic. The three men smiled indulgently.

"Come," Thengel gestured. "Let me introduce you to the rest of my family."

With that, Thengel scooped his daughter into his arms and strode to where his wife stood patiently, waiting with the other two children.

"My other daughter, Théodfrid, and my son and heir, Théoden. Children, this is Lord Gilhael and Lord Thorongil. They are Dúnedain from the North."

Théodfrid curtsied to the two men with studied grace and Aragorn could see that she was in the first bloom of young womanhood. Théoden bowed with the awkwardness of any boy his age and flashed an impish grin at the two men. Aragorn found himself smiling back even as he gave his own bow to the boy.

"And this is my beloved wife and mother of my children, Morwen."

The two men bowed deeply to the dark-haired woman, who acknowledged them with a nod and a smile.

"Let us not stand on ceremony, my lords, else this fine repast will go to waste," she said, her voice deep, but not manly. Her accent was not as broad as Thengel’s and there was a lilt to it that differed from what Aragorn was used to hearing among the Dúnedain.

As they turned towards the food-laden table, the door opened and Hildered entered, bearing the weapons of the Dúnedain. Behind him came another young man so like to the first that Aragorn suspected they were twins. The two young men bowed.

"Here are the weapons, Uncle," Hildered said with a smile, speaking in Westron, as he handed the weapons to their owners.

"Good, good." Thengel replied and proceeded to introduce the newcomers. "My sister-sons, Hildered and Hilderic. Their father is Hildebrand of Hildegrimsdale in the Westfold. He acts as my First Marshal of the Mark."

"And Father has asked us to remind you, Uncle, that he prefers to be home tending his horses," Hilderic said with a laugh that was echoed by his twin. Aragorn noticed that for all that the two looked alike, Hilderic was a half hand shorter than his brother and his eyes a deeper shade of blue.

Thengel merely shook his head. This appeared to be an old argument or perhaps even an old family joke, if it had been going on for the last four years since Thengel had become king. The king smiled indulgently at his nephews. "Well as long as you are here, you might as well join us."

They needed no further encouragement and soon they were all eating. Thengel informed his nephews that he was accepting the service of the two Dúnedain and instructed Hilderic to provide them with whatever they needed.

"I have a mind to assign you to Hilderic’s éored," Thengel explained. "Hildered, as his father’s heir, is needed here, but Hilderic commands the muster of the Westfold. There have been troubling rumors from there of late and I would have your thoughts of what you may have seen along your route."

Gilhael nodded in acknowledgement. "We noticed signs of unrest while traveling through Dunland and the people of the Westfold eyed us with suspicion. Indeed, except in one instance, they generally treated us with little courtesy even when they could see we were no spies of the Dunlendings."

"That saddens and angers me," Thengel said with a frown. "Ever have my people cherished guest rights and the laws of hospitality. That they would disregard them speaks ill of the times."

At this point Morwen interjected, quietly suggesting that the topic of conversation change for the children’s sake. She spoke softly but firmly and Thengel, Aragorn noticed wryly to himself, had the intelligence to know when to follow one of his wife’s suggestions. She then proceeded to ask Aragorn and Gilhael about their families.

"My father’s name is Beren," Aragorn replied. "My mother is named Region."

"That means "Holly", doesn’t it?" Théodfrid asked shyly.

Aragorn nodded with a smile.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Théoden then asked.

"I have two brothers, both older than I," Aragorn answered and Gilhael had to hide a smile. His Uncle Beren was in fact the father of three daughters and Gilhael thought how surprised his uncle would be to find that his Chieftain had given him three sons as well, two of them among the Firstborn.

"You’re lucky," the youngster said with a martyred sigh and his two sisters scowled at him with equal disdain.

The men laughed and Thengel ruffled his son’s hair. Morwen smiled indulgently and turned to Aragorn. "Théoden will be turning nine next week."

"Ada is going to give me a horse," the boy said excitedly, momentarily forgetting his burden of being surrounded by female siblings.

Morwen frowned slightly. "That is news to me, husband. Perhaps we should hold judgment on this, for I do not think Théoden is quite old enough yet."

"But nana!" Théoden protested.

"Hush, child. Not in front of guests," his father admonished. "We will speak of this later." This last was addressed to his wife who merely nodded.

A strained silence ensued. Théoden frowned and there were tears in his eyes. Aragorn smiled at the æðeling in sympathy.

"When I was about your age, I wanted a horse of my own as well," he said quietly. "Ada was willing but nana was not. In fact, it was the first time I ever saw my nana defy my ada with regards to my upbringing." He paused, remembering, and chuckled. "I was so upset that I declared that if I couldn’t have a horse for my birthday I didn’t want a birthday at all."

"What happened?" the boy asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

Aragorn smiled widely. "My brothers, who are somewhat older than I, began arguing over who would get my other presents if I didn’t want them. I was so upset at the idea that they would get my presents that I relented and told everyone that I would have a birthday after all, with or without a horse."

The adults all laughed at that and even the children, including Théoden, snickered. Gilhael sat there pretending that he had already heard this story on numerous occasions at family gatherings, all the while wondering at this rare glimpse of family life in Imladris. He remembered his Aunt Gilraen and was shocked at the idea of that refined lady defying anyone about anything, never mind the immortal Lord of Imladris. It amused him to remember that his Chieftain’s "somewhat older brothers" had seen three thousand years of history already and the image of them arguing over their younger brother’s presents like a couple of squabbling elflings was just too funny, and quite typical of the two. Gilhael remembered some of the patrols he had been on with the sons of Elrond and could well imagine what they were like when at home.

When the laughter had died down Thengel said, "I will have my First Marshal test your skills in weapons and horses tomorrow. Today, you may spend in familiarizing yourself with Edoras. Hilderic will be your guide. Perhaps you will do us the honor of dining with us tonight."

Aragorn and Gilhael rose and bowed. "The honor is all ours, Thengel King," Aragorn said.

****

Hilderic led the two Dúnedain through the door to the main hall, explaining the history of Meduseld and the building of Edoras, much of which the Dúnedain already knew, but pretended otherwise, for the young man was obviously very proud of his history and eager to show off his knowledge to these two strangers.

"It is a very well-built city," Aragorn said at one point as they stood outside the gates, taking in the surrounding view of open plain and mountains. "The Eorlingas have much to be proud of."

Hilderic nearly beamed with pride at the praise. "I know little of your people, lords," the young man said shyly. "Are your cities as beautiful as Edoras?"

Gilhael glanced at Aragorn who raised an eyebrow before turning back to Hilderic. "Most of our cities lie now in ruins, for ever has the Enemy sought to destroy us. Our people are few and most live in small villages, such as can be found in the Westfold. Only one city remains, a fortress named Fornost, and that cannot compare with Edoras in beauty, though it is far older."

Hilderic frowned, staring out into the distance. "I think that’s very sad."

Aragorn placed a hand on the Rohir’s shoulder. "It is the way it is," he said softly. "But we Dúnedain live in the hope that someday it will be different and that the royal city of Annúminas will be rebuilt. That hope is sometimes the only thing that has sustained us over the long centuries."

Hilderic stared at the two men and Gilhael nodded in confirmation, though he was looking at his royal cousin. That is not our only hope, Aragorn, he thought to himself as the three made their way back into the city. Your returning to us was a hope unlooked for, a hope we thought long dead.

****

The next morning Hilderic and his twin came for the Dúnedain to take them to where their father, Hildebrand, awaited them. Aragorn and Gilhael had met the man the night before at dinner. It had been a private affair with only Thengel and his immediate family, including Hildebrand and his sons, present. Their mother, Goldwyn, remained in the family steading in the Westfold overseeing their estate. When Thengel had informed Hildebrand of his decision to accept the two men’s services and wanted Hildebrand to test their mettle, the First Marshal of the Mark had looked somewhat skeptically at them. He could see that the older cousin was a seasoned warrior and the fact that he had ridden with the Rohirrim some years before made him more acceptable to the older man’s eyes, but Thorongil was something else altogether. He looked young, younger than his own sons, though there was something in his eyes that belied that and Hildebrand had not known what to make of him. Thus, when the two Northerners had come to him the next morning, he was still of two minds about them.

"Let us see what you can do," he said simply and ordered them to horse. Gilhael had brought his horse with him to the place outside the city where Hildebrand would test them, but Aragorn had not, merely smiling when Hilderic and Hildered had questioned him about it.

Hildebrand looked at the younger Dúnadan with some annoyance. "Where is your horse, Lord Thorongil? Surely even one of the Dúnedain is capable of bringing his horse with him when there is need."

Others of the king’s household, standing about to see their First Marshal test these foreigners, snickered and made crude remarks in their own language at the young man’s expense.

Aragorn merely smiled. "Indeed, lord." Without looking around he gave a piercing whistle in a pattern unknown to the Rohirrim. At first, nothing happened, and then a neigh was heard and Mithfaron came galloping towards his beloved master. When Aragorn had visited him earlier at the stable he had told the horse his plans. Gilhael, saddling Baranroch, had merely smiled, well used to his Chieftain’s elvish way with his horse.

Now the great grey came to a halt before his rider and Aragorn reached up and stroked him on the forehead, speaking softly in Sindarin. Hildebrand cleared his throat to get Aragorn’s attention.

"I think you forgot your saddle, young man," he said somewhat dryly, now feeling more amused than annoyed.

"Mithfaron does not suffer one gladly, lord," Aragorn said softly. "Please, let us get on with it."

Hildebrand stared at the Dúnedain for a few minutes before shrugging. "Very well. I have decided only one test of skill will do. See those targets?" He pointed to a series of posts crudely carved in the shapes of men with some padded material around their "chest". A red heart was painted on them. They were spaced out across the field. Some were on the other side of a shallow stream that ran behind the tor on which Edoras sat before joining the Snowbourne further west. The targets were set so that not all of them were facing the same way. A rider would have to weave back and forth to find each target’s heart. "Race your horses between the targets hitting each one with an arrow. Fear not the stream, for it is shallow here and safe for a horse to ford without mishap. Run between the two posts on either bank and you will have no trouble crossing. Who will go first?"

The Dúnedain glanced at each other and with a subtle nod from Aragorn, Gilhael mounted up, nocking his first arrow. He did not fear this test, for indeed, he had often done such an exercise when he was with the Rohirrim before and had made a point of keeping up his practice whenever his duties as a Ranger permitted. Lord Halberen had been impressed enough by Gilhael’s skills as a horse bowman that he had sent him to Imladris to train among the elves for a summer. He had not seen Aragorn then for "Estel" had been on an extended camping trip with his brothers, a reward for having successfully completed a series of hunting and tracking exercises designed to test the young boy’s burgeoning skills.

Aragorn watched as his cousin ran the course, confident of Gilhael’s skill. The older Dúnedain did not disappoint and he completed the course, piercing the heart, or very near to it, of most of the targets. In fact, a close examination found that he had missed only two targets completely. The Rohirrim shouted their approval and even Hildebrand nodded in satisfaction as Gilhael returned to the starting point.

"I can’t believe I missed those two targets," he said with a grimace as he dismounted. "And they weren’t even the most difficult ones."

Hildebrand shook his head and answered before Aragorn could say a word. "That was remarkable riding, my lord. Few among the Rohirrim could do as well." Then he turned to Aragorn with a skeptical eye. "Now it is your turn, my young lord."

Aragorn nodded and, taking up his bow, leaped lightly upon Mithfaron, speaking to him softly in Sindarin. Only Gilhael knew that his Chieftain was explaining to the horse the exact course they were to take and what he planned to do.

Hildered, standing by his father, gave a laugh that had a taunting ring to it. "Whatever are you doing, my lord? The day is wasting away and you just sit there."

If Aragorn was offended he gave no sign. Instead he merely smiled down at the young man. "I was merely explaining to Mithfaron what was required of us. It helps if you have your horse’s permission to ride him in a certain manner."

Hildered blushed at the gentle rebuke and the other Rohirrim laughed good-naturedly. Then, without warning, Aragorn shouted.

"Noro lim, Mithfaron, noro lim!"

The horse gave a loud snort and bunching up his muscles moved gracefully into a gallop. All watched as the young Dúnedain ran the course even more swiftly than had his cousin. His shots were true and none missed their intended target. At the moment horse and rider forded the stream all gasped as Aragorn leaned forward and in a single fluid motion stood upon the horse’s back and began shooting at the rest of the targets. Mithfaron never slowed. Indeed, if anything, the elven horse galloped faster. Here, Aragorn’s skill was not as great. Three arrows found their targets, though off-center to the hearts, but that was of no consequence. Had they been against real men, the shots would have been just as fatal.

When the last arrow was spent, Aragorn returned to sitting his horse, bringing him back to the starting point. There were no cheers this time, only stunned silence. Hildebrand had to consciously remember to close his mouth and tell his sons to do the same. Only Gilhael affected a nonchalant stance and raised an eyebrow as Aragorn approached.

"You’ve not been practicing, Cousin. Your brothers would be very disappointed at your performance here."

Aragorn, for his part, merely laughed. "Indeed. They would take great pleasure, separately and jointly, in berating me for my sloppiness. I fear my recent injuries made me clumsy."

"Cl-clumsy?" Hilderic stammered, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"Injuries?" his twin said almost at the same time.

Aragorn climbed off Mithfaron’s back with as much grace as he had mounted him, patting the horse affectionately, and nodded. "Yes. Last year I was injured during a boar hunt and it took a long time for me to heal."

"Injured how and how come you to learn such skill with horse and bow?"

All turned to see Thengel striding towards them, flinging back the hood of his cloak. He had come down to watch the test but had remained hidden behind his cloak, not wanting to cause a distraction. He had been impressed by Gilhael’s skill with horse and bow but Thorongil’s ride had left him feeling somewhat dizzy. He had never seen such a display of horsemanship before.

Aragorn bowed. "My lord king."

"You have not answered my questions, Lord Thorongil," Thengel said somewhat sharply.

Aragorn, for his part, did not flinch at the king’s tone but stood straight and proud. "The boar fell on me," he said simply and the men standing there stared at him in wonder.

"All four hundred pounds of him," Gilhael said with an ironic twist of a smile and not a few there winced at the image those words conveyed.

Thengel blanched at the thought. "It is a marvel that you are even alive then, young man. Now tell me how you come by such skill as you have demonstrated here."

Gilhael, however, was the one to answer. "It is customary, my lord king, for certain of our young men who show exceptional skill, to be sent to Imladris to be trained by the Elves. So did my cousin here when he was still a youngster, for he showed great promise and the Elves were quick to exploit it and refine it."

Now all looked at the younger Dúnadan with not a little awe, for though Imladris was but a rumor to most of the Rohirrim, still they knew that the Firstborn yet dwelt in Middle-earth. That here stood one in their midst who had been elf-trained was something they had not expected to see.

Thengel glanced briefly at Hildebrand, who gave his king an almost imperceptible nod, before speaking again. "Well, my lord Thorongil, it seems you and your cousin will do after all. Welcome to the éored."

At that the rest of the Rohirrim cheered and rushed to congratulate the two Dúnedain. Aragorn found himself grinning and even the more taciturn Gilhael laughed as men began pounding them on their backs. Mithfaron eyed the humans with equine disdain, shaking his head in disgust at the two-legs dancing about him, but he never left his beloved master’s side.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Eall is earfoðlic eorþan ríce: "All is hardship in the earthly kingdom", The Wanderer, line 106.

Éored: a troop of Riders of Rohan, usually consisting of 120 men, including the captain. Anglo-Saxon meaning "cavalry, band, troop". While the normal meaning of this word would imply that all 120 men are riding as a group, I sometimes use it more generally to mean "some number of riders belonging to the éored who are riding as a group". When Thengel, for instance, rides informally he is accompanied by members of his personal éored who are thegns, or household retainers of noble birth, but not necessarily by the entire éored.

Ada: (Sindarin) Papa; hypocoristic form of adar: father.

Nana: (Sindarin) Mama; hypocoristic form of naneth: mother.

Æðeling: Prince and heir to the throne.

Eorlingas: The People of Eorl, who led the Rohirrim to the aid of Cirion and Gondor at the Battle of the Celebrant Fields, T.A. 2510.

Noro lim: (Sindarin) Run swift.

3: Pitfalls of Ignorance

The euphoria lasted for precisely two days. During that time, Aragorn and Gilhael were royally feted by the Rohirrim and both men were introduced to the éored with whom they would spend their time. Hilderic, at twenty-seven, was not considered too young to lead the troop and was held in great respect. Aragorn found that most of the men spoke something of Westron, though one or two of the older retainers either did not or would not speak any tongue but that of the Mark.

During the next two days Aragorn learned something of his duties and what was expected of him.

"We will be traveling to the Westfold and into the northern part of the Westmark before the summer’s end," Hilderic told him and Gilhael as the three men sat in the main hall of Meduseld, sipping ale at one of the trestle tables. "Our wise ones claim this winter will be especially harsh and it is important that the harvest is properly gathered and stored away. The recent incursions of the Dunlendings makes it necessary for us to stage a longer than usual patrol through the area. Look you."

The young Rohir pulled out a rough map showing the western part of Rohan from a tube that he had brought with him. Aragorn thought of the elegantly made maps in his adar’s library, the great detail of geography and topography that six thousand years of living had made possible. Yet, this map, crude though it was in comparison, was sufficiently detailed for Aragorn to see immediately what the primary problem would be.

"The villages are well separated from one another," Aragorn remarked, pointing to the various markings that indicated their locations. "It will be difficult to maintain a proper patrol unless you split the éored."

Hilderic looked at Aragorn in surprise. "You realized the problem as soon as you looked at the map."

Aragorn gave the young man a smile. "It is one of my duties among the Dúnedain to recognize such things. The elves of Imladris taught me more than how to ride bareback and shoot with precision, Hilderic."

"I guess so," the Rohir dubiously stated, then shook his head. "Well, anyway, that will be our problem. And splitting the éored will not work, either."

Aragorn stared thoughtfully at the map. "What is this place here?" he asked, pointing to a dot nestled within the White Mountains to the east of Helm’s Deep.

"Hildegrimsdale, the seat of my family’s holdings," Hilderic answered. "Why?"

"How large is it?" Aragorn asked.

Hilderic shrugged. "It’s the largest holding in the Westfold, except for Erkengar’s." He pointed to another holding further west beyond Helm’s Deep. "Erkengar is a doughty warrior and until last year he held the Westfold for Uncle, but he was felled by a Dunlending spear and his legs no longer carry him. Yet, he is wily and knows well the ways of the Westfold and the White Mountains. Father relies on him still for his knowledge."

Aragorn nodded, thinking all the while. "Then the éored you lead once belonged to Erkengar."

Hilderic nodded, looking somewhat chagrined. "I did not ask for it and it should have gone to Erkengar’s son, Erkenhelm, but..."

"But the same ambush that paralyzed Erkengar took his son’s life and his grandson, Erkenscyld, is yet a child."

All turned to see Hildebrand striding down the hall towards them. The three men rose and gave the First Marshal of the Mark respectful bows. Hildebrand gave them appraising looks. "Thus it fell to me and to my sons to guard the King and the Westfold."

Aragorn nodded, still musing. Gilhael recognized the look, having seen it on his Chieftain’s face often enough, usually just as said Chieftain was about to propose the most outlandish scheme affecting the patrols, schemes that seemed to work, though the Valar only knew how.

"What are you thinking about Cousin?" he asked and the two Rohirrim suddenly took notice of the Dúnadan’s expression.

"Something Prince Legolas told me when I was visiting Mirkwood."

"And who’s this Prince you speak of?" Hilderic asked in surprise. The forest of Mirkwood had an ominous reputation even among the Rohirrim.

"Hmm? Oh, Legolas is heir to the throne of Ardh Eryndor, the Woodland Realm of the Elven King, Thranduil."

Both Rohirrim stared at the young Dúnadan who mentioned elven kings and princes with such nonchalance and they saw what they had not seen before — the light of stars in Aragorn’s eyes. Hildebrand was the first to recover. "What did this... prince say?"

Aragorn focused his gaze on the older man and shook his head. "Something about the elven patrols and how they guard the distant villages from the depredations of Dol Guldur."

The other three men shivered at the name, so evil was its reputation, even here in Rohan. Aragorn shook his head. "I am not sure it would work here. I need to think on it some more. See the lay of the land myself before I offer my thoughts as a solution to your problem of maintaining a viable presence in the Westfold."

Hildebrand nodded, stroking his beard. "Then, go with my son to the Westfold and see what needs seeing, then tell us your thoughts."

Aragorn gave the First Marshal a bow, then turned to Hilderic. "When do we leave?"

"Three days from now."

****

But Aragorn was doomed not to leave with the éored with Hilderic. Later that afternoon he was wandering through the corrals where the horses of the Rohirrim were exercised, admiring both riders and horses. He had already given Mithfaron his run and was relaxing, leaning against a post.

Two of the Rohirrim came up to him, one taller than the other. Aragorn recognized neither one. The taller of the two spoke to Aragorn in rapid Rohirric and he was wishing Gilhael were there to translate. The man pointed to some horses and Aragorn thought he recognized the words ‘mearas’ and ‘eoh’ but otherwise the man’s words were incomprehensible to him.

"Ic sprece yfele... þin tunge. Þu spreceð... Westdæltunge?" Aragorn stumbled over the words, struggling to remember them, and hoped he had not mangled them too much.

The two men grinned and the taller one jabbered at him some more in Rohirric. Whether he could not or would not speak Westron, Aragorn did not know. The man pointed to the horses in the corral, obviously asking some sort of question. Aragorn could only guess that he was being asked his opinion of the horses.

He silently curse Gilhael for not being there, though it was not his cousin’s fault. Hildebrand had requested Gilhael’s company to talk of his days riding among the Rohirrim under Erkengar. Aragorn grimaced slightly as he tried to dredge up a suitable sentence in praise of the horses.

"Ic deme... þa Mearas sind... uh... um... unfæge," he said, proud that he had been able to say something praiseworthy. The two men stared at him in shock and Aragorn was a little late in seeing the punch from the taller man. His head went back and he crashed against the railings, the breath knocked out of him.

Before he could respond he felt hands grab him and there was much shouting and confusion and he found himself being pummelled brutally by several men. He did his best to cover his soft spots and protect his head, but his ears were ringing and he felt a rib crack. Then he was being picked up and dragged away by men still shouting. He was not sure where they were taking him but he was in too much pain to care. Eventually, they brought him to a low building, threw open the door and pushed him in. He fell several feet down a flight of stairs. His last conscious sight was of the door above him being shut, the sound of a bolt loud and clear.

He was alone in the dark with no idea why.

****

How long he remained there he did not know though he suspected it was all night. He lost consciousness at one point and so had no idea how much time had passed. He could see nothing and spent a long time stumbling about on his hands and knees trying to find the stairs. He appeared to be in some sort of cold cellar, for the air was cool. Eventually, the cold began to creep into his bones and he started shivering. He finally found the bottom step, but trying to climb the stairs proved too much for his strength and he collapsed against them and passed out again.

The sound of voices and the drawing of the bolt woke him and he opened his eyes just in time to close them again against the brightness that assailed him. Booted feet came down the steps and then hands pulled him up. He hissed against the pain.

"Carefully, Cousin," Gilhael said softly in his ear. "Let me help you."

"Gilhael? H-how did you find me?" Aragorn asked in wonder.

"Long story. Come, Thengel is waiting. You’ve been called to trial."

"Trial? Wh-what... why? Gilhael, what is going on?"

By now they had reached the top steps and Gilhael helped Aragorn over the threshold. Other hands grabbed him and Aragorn saw that Hilderic was there, looking angry, but whether at him or something else, he could not guess.

"Is there time to clean him up?" Gilhael asked the young Rohir and Hilderic shook his head.

"Nay, it is best we take him directly to my Uncle’s court."

It was slow going for Aragorn was in considerable pain and his eyes refused to focus on anything for very long. The climb up the terrace was excruciating but at last they made it and then they were inside the hall, walking towards Thengel who sat in regal silence on his throne. Around him Aragorn could see several warriors including the two who had accosted him the day before. He flinched slightly at the sight of them and Gilhael gave his arm a squeeze.

Thengel took one look at the Dúnadan and ordered a chair for him and Aragorn sank gratefully into it, still unsure what was happening or why. Then Thengel began speaking in Rohirric and Hilderic translated softly for Aragorn.

"What is his crime, Grimbold?" Thengel asked and Aragorn was not surprised to see the man from yesterday step forward.

"He insulted the Mearas, Thengel King, and therefore, he insulted you." Grimbold sounded suitably affronted but there was a hint of smugness that did not go unnoticed by the king.

"And how did he come to insult anyone, Grimbold son of Háma?" Thengel asked coldly. "Lord Thorongil is gently bred and would never willingly offer insult to anyone."

Here, the man was less sure of his standing and muttered something that Hilderic did not catch. Apparently, neither did Thengel, for he turned his attention to Aragorn and spoke in Sindarin, while Gilhael translated for the Rohirrim.

"Tell me what happened, Lord Thorongil."

Aragorn took a shallow breath, trying to remain focused. "I was admiring the horses and riders when... when this man and another approached me and began speaking to me in the tongue of your people. I asked if they understood Westron but they denied it and insisted on speaking to me in Rohirric. I did not understand what they were saying but guessed they wanted my opinion of the horses in the corral. I thought I was giving them praise but then... Grimbold attacked me and...."

Thengel held up his hand. "Do you remember what you said, young man?"

Now Aragorn hesitated, fearing the king’s wrath if he were to repeat what was obviously not words of praise. He swallowed nervously. "Ic deme þa Mearas sind unfæge," he muttered, mentally cringing, and reddening with embarrassment.

There was a collective gasp from the onlookers and even Hilderic looked appalled. Gilhael gave his cousin a pained look and rolled his eyes. Only Thengel remained unmoved.

"What did you think you were saying, son?" Thengel’s voice was gentle and there was a hint of humor in it that heartened Aragorn.

"I thought I was saying that the Mearas were undying... I mean, their line would never die out in Middle-earth." He paused and took another breath, feeling faintly ill. "Th-that’s not what I said, is it?"

"No, son, it isn’t." Thengel’s tone was still gentle and a small smile graced his lips. "What you said was that the Mearas were loathsome to you."

Aragorn felt the blood rush from his head and the room started to do a slow spin. "B-but that’s not what I meant to say! I swear to you, my lord, I meant no insult...I would never..."

Thengel rose from his chair and went to Aragorn, placing his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. "Peace, Thorongil. I do not lay any blame upon you. Your error is understandable and others would have taken your ignorance of our language into account and would have simply corrected you. You used the word ‘unfæge’ when you meant to say ‘unfægere’. A slight difference in pronunciation, a major difference in meaning."

"I am sorry, my lord," Aragorn said in remorse. "I never meant to cause any trouble."

"I know that, young man," Thengel said, clapping him on the shoulder, "but such errors cannot always be easily overlooked or ignored."

He stared down at the Dúnadan who sat in obvious misery, both from shame at his gaffe and pain from the beating he had received. "Hilderic, take our young guest to the healers, see that he is well tended. I will think on a suitable punishment for you later." This last was directed at Aragorn, who nodded miserably but said nothing as Gilhael and Hilderic helped him up.

As they were leaving the hall he heard Thengel speak to the one called Grimbold in Westron. "I know you understand more than you let on, Grimbold son of Háma. I will not tolerate such actions from you or anyone else. You are more at fault in this than young Thorongil and I hold you to the greater blame. You will start learning to speak the Westron tongue and show me that you are proficient in it by Yule or you will be stripped of your rank and removed from the éored."

Aragorn indicated to Gilhael and Hilderic that he wished to stop and the three of them paused to look back at the tableau before the throne. They saw Grimbold standing there pale and sweating before Thengel’s rage, all the more terrible for it being so quietly spoken.

"And one more thing, Grimbold," Thengel said. "Lord Thorongil is a guest under my roof. When you attacked him, you attacked me. I will demand a suitable wergild for the insult against our person. I will consult my Witan and let you know what the amount will be."

If Grimbold had looked pale before, he went absolutely white now, his lips compressed into a thin blue line of barely concealed rage, but he knew better than to contradict Thengel and only bowed in acknowledgment of his king’s will.

"Let me be clear on this," Thengel said, speaking so all could hear. "Lord Thorongil and Lord Gilhael are under my protection. Harm them at your peril." There was a steely tone in Thengel’s voice that had even Aragorn shivering in sympathy. He made a mental note to himself never to do anything to bring Thengel’s wrath down upon him. That seemed to be the end of the court and in a matter of minutes Aragorn was being led to the healers who began to minister to him.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Ardh Eryndor: (Sindarin) Woodland Realm; Thranduil’s kingdom.

Ic sprece yfele þin tunge. Þu spreceð Westdæltunge?: "I speak badly your tongue. Do you speak (3^rd person singular verb conjugation with 2^nd person personal pronoun) Westron?" Obviously, Aragorn’s command of Rohirric at this point is not good. What he should have said was Ic sprece nealles gearwe þin tunge. Þu sprecest Westdæltunge? "I speak not at all well your tongue. Do you speak (2^nd person singular verb conjugation) Westron?". Westdæltunge, literally means ‘west-quarter language’.

Ic deme þa Mearas sind unfæge: "I judge the Mearas are loathsome." This is what Aragorn said; what he meant to say was Ic deme þa Mearas unfægere beon: "I judge the Mearas to be fated not to die," i.e., their line will never die out in Middle-earth. Mearas is the Anglo-Saxon nominative plural of mearh, meaning ‘horse, steed’ and is from this word that we get our modern English word ‘mare’. Tolkien used it as a proper name for the horses of Valinor and thus I use it here. Eoh, of course, is yet another word for ‘horse’.

Wergild: Compensation paid for injury done to another or when one person dies at the hands of another. As a guest under Thengel’s roof, any insult or injury done to Aragorn would be considered an insult or injury done to Thengel, who could demand a wergild as atonement for the crime. The amount of money paid would depend on the gravity of the injury and the social status of the victim. Under Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) law, no one has a higher wergild than the king of the land, including foreign rulers.

Historical note: Erkengar’s (OC) young grandson, Erkenscyld (OC) (scyld = shield) will become the father of Erkenbrand (CC), who, as Lord of the Westfold, will play a prominent role in the defense of Rohan during the War of the Ring. Erkenbrand would later become Marshal of the Westmark.

4: Punishment

When Hilderic and Gilhael left two days later it was without Aragorn, who was still in too much pain to move far from his bed. Gilhael came to say good-bye, obviously distressed at being forced to leave his Chieftain behind.

"I cannot refuse to leave without making things worse for us... for you," he said to Aragorn as he sat on a stool in the room where Aragorn was being housed until his injuries had healed.

Aragorn nodded. "I know and I do not want you to do anything to jeopardize your standing among the Rohirrim. I’ll be fine, Cousin."

Gilhael continued to look pensive and sighed. "I just wish I knew what kind of punishment Thengel has in store for you."

Aragorn gave his own sigh, sounding somewhat worried. "So do I."

****

"Punishments should always fit the crime," Thengel said gravely two days later.

By now Aragorn’s injuries had healed enough that the healers reluctantly allowed him to rise from his bed. Aragorn did his best to keep the amusement from his face when Léofwine, the chief healer, announced that he was free to leave them. Thengel had ordered Aragorn to meet him in the throne hall and from there the two made their way to the king’s private apartments, walking down a dark passage.

"I know your cousin has been teaching you Rohirric," the king said, "and you have a fair command of it even in the short amount of time in which you have been learning it." He gave Aragorn a deprecating smile. "Far better than I had of Sindarin, I can tell you. Some of my gaffes had Turgon and his court in stitches for days on end, so I know what you’re going through."

He stopped and gave Aragorn a grave look that made the younger man slightly nervous. "For that reason, I’ve decided on a suitable punishment. My children, when I told them, were quite amused... and impressed." Thengel gave the young Dúnadan a wink and his smile reassured him. Whatever the punishment, it would not be shameful.

Thengel continued walking and Aragorn followed him into a small sunlit room and suddenly wondered if ‘shameful’ was too weak a word. It was a schoolroom and it was occupied. There were five children, three of them Thengel’s. The other two were a boy and a girl near enough alike in looks that Aragorn suspected they were siblings. They appeared to be about the same age as Théoden. There was an older man with a kind face, obviously their tutor. He was about Thengel’s age and looked to be a warrior by his bearing. Aragorn noticed, though, that he stood with a cane in one hand and suspected the man had suffered an injury that now kept him from riding with the Rohirrim. As soon as Thengel entered the room, all the children rose and gave him their obeisance. Their tutor did the same. Thengel smiled.

"Be seated children," he said, speaking in Westron, and then turned his attention to the tutor. "Gléomund, here is your new pupil, Earntungol."

It took a moment for Aragorn to realize that Thengel meant him. ‘Earntungol’ was obviously a Rohirric rendering of Thorongil. It would take getting used to.

"M-my lord?" Aragorn addressed the king, not entirely sure what was going on. He noticed Théoden and Théodhild were sniggering softly and started to blush.

The king gave him a sympathetic smile. "I’ve decided you are a danger to me and my kingdom, Thorongil. Therefore, I have no choice but to banish you... to this schoolroom. Here you will remain until you have mastered my people’s tongue. Gléomund speaks Westron so he will be able to instruct you."

"And I will endeavor to make the process as painless as possible, my lord," Gléomund said with a bow and a glint of humor in his eyes.

Thengel gave the tutor a wry smile. "Not too painless, my friend. It is, after all, supposed to be a punishment."

This was too much for the children, who started giggling. The other boy said something in Rohirric that Aragorn didn’t catch but that set the other children howling with glee. Thengel merely rolled his eyes and Gléomund gave the children his best glower, not that it did any good.

"You will be in good company, young man," Thengel said. "My own children have been somewhat neglectful of their language studies." He glowered at Théoden in particular. Aragorn noticed though that none of the children seemed particularly repentant and realized that Thengel was a doting father and his children adored him.

Aragorn sighed at the amused looks on the faces of the children and tutor and turned to Thengel. "Wouldn’t a flogging be a more appropriate punishment, my lord?"

Thengel laughed, clapping Aragorn on the shoulder. "More appropriate, perhaps, but not nearly as much fun. You will report here each morning after breaking your fast. When your lessons are over, seek out Hildebrand and he will assign you some light duties until your injuries are completely healed." He turned to Gléomund. "Teach him well."

Gléomund bowed. "I can do nothing less, my liege."

Thengel nodded, gave the children a smile, and left. Gléomund gestured to the bench where Théoden and the other boy sat. "Why don’t you sit with Théoden and Elfgar, Earntungol. You may share their slate for now."

Remembering his days being tutored by Erestor, Glorfindel and half the elves of Imladris, Aragorn gave the man a respectful bow. "Yes, Master," he said, then he sat down next to Théoden. Or tried to. The bench was built for children in mind and his legs were too long. Finally he ended up sitting on the floor, his long legs sticking out into the middle of the room.

The children all screamed with laughter and Gléomund’s eyes were bright with unconcealed mirth at the sight. Aragorn simply put his head in his hands and hoped that no one in Imladris would ever find out.

****

In retrospect, it could have been worse. Gléomund turned out to be a sympathetic teacher who corrected his students, including Aragorn, gently and with much encouragement. The children were enthusiastic learners and all of them eagerly vied for the right to ‘help’ Earntungol with his lessons. The two other children in the room were Elfgar, age nine, and his sister Elfhild, who was a year younger. They were the children of Elfhelm of Eastfold and Hildegard, Hildebrand’s daughter.

The first day’s lesson was spent in learning to write the letters of the language, somewhat different in form from the Sindarin and Quenya Aragorn was used to, though there were obvious similarities. The Rohirrim were distantly related to the House of Hador, one of the three Houses of the Edain who had fought beside the Noldorin kings of Beleriand all those long millennia ago and their written script was based on the tengwar of the Elves.

The lesson did not last long, though Gléomund assured Aragorn that future lessons would last half the morning. "Thengel King wishes you to be proficient in the language before harvest time," Gléomund told him as he was leaving the schoolroom for the day. "He still has a mind for you to join Lord Hilderic’s éored, but not until you can handle our language as well as you handle your horse."

Hildebrand, when he was found, was also sympathetic. "As punishments go, young man, it is not so bad, is it? And there is no shame in it."

Aragorn had to agree, for once the lessons began in earnest he felt less embarrassed. Indeed, as the days and weeks went on, he began to look forward to his daily ‘punishment’. True to his word and Thengel’s command, Gléomund was a thorough taskmaster and was not afraid to reprimand the Dúnadan if he suspected Aragorn was being less than sterling in his attempts to master Rohirric.

Almost immediately, those around him took pains to speak Rohirric as simply as possible, correcting him when he made an error and often laughing at the unintended humor such errors inevitably evoked. Of Grimbold or the other man, he saw no sign, much to his relief, nor did he inquire as to their whereabouts. Best to leave sleeping orcs where they lie, he decided.

Once his ribs healed and he was no longer limping, Aragorn fell into a routine of rising before dawn to give Mithfaron a work out before taking breakfast with Hildebrand and his family. Somewhere along the way the First Marshal of the Mark, his oldest son and his daughter's family had adopted him and Aragorn welcomed their obvious concern for his welfare.

After breakfast, there were lessons and after lessons Aragorn would report to the First Marshal who recognized the Dúnadan’s uncanny ability to see the entire picture where most men saw only bits and pieces and sought to exploit it for the benefit of Rohan.

"The Elves of Imladris taught me to see things from a different perspective," Aragorn said when Hildebrand commented on this particular skill. They were with Thengel at the time, and the king and his marshal were explaining the ways of the Rohirrim to the young Dúnadan. "They see things from the perspective of millennia. The Master of Imladris has witnessed three ages and I met some Elves living under Lord Elrond’s roof who remember the Two Trees."

Thengel had to explain the reference to the Trees to Hildebrand, but when the marshal understood its significance he gave Aragorn a strange look. "It must have been unnerving, living with such ancient beings."

Aragorn smiled wistfully. "I was just young enough not to care. They were my friends, some of them almost like brothers to me, and they taught me much."

The summer was fading into autumn when Thengel decided to visit the schoolroom to see how the young Dúnadan was faring. He had noticed a marked improvement in the lad’s skill with Rohirric, though he was by no means proficient or even fluent. Still his errors were no longer as grave as the one that had forced Thengel to respond as he had. Several of his Witan had thought the king too lenient and would have pressed for a harsher sentence. The insult to the Mearas, however unintentional, was too grave to be fully ignored. In the end, though, all bowed to the wisdom of the king, for even the most reluctant to forgive Aragorn could see that the young man was studiously attempting to make amends by learning Rohirric as well as possible, as quickly as possible.

Walking softly so the children were not alerted to his presence, Thengel stood at the doorway of the schoolroom so that only Gléomund could see him. The tutor gave no outward sign that he knew the king was there, so that even Aragorn, engrossed in trying to decipher the poem Gléomund had given him to translate was unaware of the royal visitor. Aragorn was no longer seated on the floor, but in a chair that had been found for him and was now beside Gléomund’s desk. The children, Thengel noticed, were busy with their own lessons.

"Try that line again, Earntungol," Gléomund said. "You are mistranslating ‘Hwær cwóm’."

Aragorn scowled but did as he was bid. "Hwær cwóm maerg? What has come of the horse? Hwær cwóm mago? What has come of the man... no, kinsman."

"Nay, Thorongil," Thengel said as he left the doorway. "You are still mistranslating." Everyone rose as the king entered and Thengel gestured for the children to resume their seats. Aragorn and Gléomund remained standing. "‘Hwær cwóm’ has a similar construction to the Sindarin ‘man sad bannen’."

Aragorn’s eyes lit up in comprehension and he nodded. "Thank you my lord. I fear I am not very good at this yet."

"But Gléomund assures me that you are doing quite well," Thengel said. "He is quite pleased with your progress, as am I."

Aragorn could not help but straighten with pride at the king’s word. Chieftain of the Dúnedain he might be, but he was still young enough to appreciate the sincere interest of those older than he. He bowed again to the king.

"I think you are sufficiently versed in Rohirric not to be a danger to me and my kingdom, young man. I hereby release you from your punishment."

The children, especially Théoden and Elfgar, cheered, the two boys rushing to hug the Dúnadan.

"Thank you, my lord," Aragorn said as he attempted to keep his balance, for the boys were now joined by the three girls.

Over the past several weeks the children had informally adopted Aragorn as an older brother and were often seen in his company when his duties did not take him elsewhere. He was infinitely patient with them and took the time to answer any questions they might have. They were, of course, particularly fascinated with any stories he might tell of the Elves and, naturally enough, horses.

These children of Rohan, who had been riding since before they could walk, were in awe of Mithfaron, who, recognizing these small two-legs as foals, treated them with the equivalent of equine paternalism. Their greatest treat was when Aragorn lifted them up onto Mithfaron and allowed them to ride the great grey. Mithfaron, of course, took it all in his stride and refused to be goaded into anything more than a light canter (by Aragorn’s orders), no matter how loudly the children yelled "Noro lim!" (the only Sindarin little Elfhild knew).

Thengel smiled indulgently at the children trying to congratulate their ‘brother’. "I think it would be wise, though, if you continued your studies as much as possible until you leave for the Westfold."

"And when will that be, my lord?" Aragorn asked, relieved beyond measure that he would soon be joining Gilhael. He had not realized until his cousin had left how much he had relied on the older Dúnadan for companionship and as a link to his home and his people.

"Soon," Thengel said warmly. "Though I suspect for you, not soon enough, hey?"

Aragorn blushed at that and nodded. Thengel and Gléomund exchanged knowing looks, both of them grinning at the younger man still trying to keep his balance while all five children were hanging off him, Elfhild having gone so far as to wrap her arms around his neck, happily choking him in her enthusiasm.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Hwær cwóm mearg? Hwær cwóm mago?: From The Wanderer, line 92a. Usually translated as "Where has the horse gone? Where the rider?" Mago more properly means ‘youth/young man’ or sometimes ‘kinsman’ and also ‘warrior’. However, since the horse and the youth appear in the same half-line, ‘rider’ is usually inferred. That is, at least, the way Tolkien translated this poem. He has Aragorn say these same lines in translation (see Chapter 6 of The Two Towers.)

Man sad bannen: (Sindarin) Given by Thengel as an equivalent to the Rohirric hwær cwóm, this literally means "What place (has) gone".

Note: Elfhild will eventually grow up to become Théoden’s wife and the mother of Théodred. Her brother, Elfgar (OC) will become the father of Elfhelm, one of Théoden’s marshals with whom Éowyn (as Dernhelm) and Merry ride to the Siege of Minas Tirith.

5: Change of Plans

‘Soon’ turned out to be much later than either Aragorn or Thengel intended. Two days after Thengel released Aragorn from the schoolroom, a messenger came from Aldburg, the ancient seat of the Kings of Rohan in the Folde.

"And how does my lady mother?" Thengel asked the messenger as he sat in court. Aragorn was there, standing beside Hildered among the thegns.

"Well, Thengel King," the young man answered as he handed him a message tube. "Éolind Cyninge sends you her greetings and well wishes."

"No doubt," Thengel said sardonically. Aragorn cast an enquiring look at Hildered, not understanding Thengel’s tone, but the young warrior merely shrugged and Aragorn had to be content with that. Thengel thanked the messenger and ordered that he be given food and drink and a place to rest. "I may have a message of my own to send back with you," he told the man.

With that, Thengel dismissed the court, retiring with his wife and children while Aragorn followed Hildered to the corrals where they would check on the horses.

"I take it that there’s some tension between your uncle and your grandmother," Aragorn asked diffidently as they made their way down the steep street to the gates.

Hildered gave the Dúnadan a startled look and then blushed. "Of course, forgive me. I’d forgotten you wouldn’t know." He stopped, giving a sigh. "Grandmother never forgave Uncle for ‘running away’ as she put it."

"Running... Oh, I see. You mean when your uncle went to Mundburg."

Hildered nodded. "She apparently felt that he betrayed Rohan with his leaving. She even opposed his return to take up the Kingship. Still does, for all I know."

Aragorn stared at nothing in particular, thinking. "How many others among your nobles think the same?"

Hildered gave the Dúnadan a shrewd look. "You’re thinking there will be those who seek to depose Uncle and put... who? Grandfather sired no other sons, and my brother and I are loyal to our uncle."

"I know that Kingship among the Rohirrim does not always descend from father to son but still remains within the royal family," Aragorn stated, remembering his history lessons in Imladris. "Were there no other contenders to your uncle’s throne at the time of his return?"

Hildered shook his head. "None of whom I am aware. The only person who could have qualified would be Fréawine son of Léodláf and he renounced any claim to the throne... or so he said."

"Who is he?"

Hildered shrugged somewhat dismissively. "He would be my second cousin, the grandson of my great-aunt Fréawyn who married Herubrand of Brandingsdale in the Eastfold. He’s about ten years younger than Uncle."

The two young men continued walking towards the corral. Aragorn remained deep in thought but soon forgot about the conversation as he helped the Rohirrim with their horses.

Later, after the evening meal, Thengel summoned Aragorn to his study. Aragorn found the king alone, sitting before his desk and staring at the message tube from Aldburg. Thengel looked up when Aragorn knocked and smiled, gesturing him to enter and take a seat. He poured some wine from a decanter sitting on his desk and handed it to the Dúnadan.

"I want to tell you a story," Thengel said without preamble and Aragorn nodded, indicating his readiness to listen. Thengel sat back and stared blankly at the message tube for a moment before looking up.

"My father was not well-liked," he began quietly and the pain of that admission was evident to Aragorn, though he kept his expression neutral. "Greedy beyond avarice he was, with a temper that knew no bounds. There were some who thought to remove him from the throne, to set up his sister-son, Léodláf, who was the son of my aunt Fréawyn and her husband Herubrand of Brandingsdale in the Eastfold."

"Hildered mentioned him," Aragorn said quietly. Thengel raised an eyebrow and the Dúnadan explained. "I noticed there was some... tension at the mention of Queen Éolind at court."

"Ah, yes, of course, and you would not have understood," Thengel’s expression cleared. "Well, I had just reached my majority when Léodláf attempted his coup." He looked at Aragorn and his eyes were cold as ice. "It failed," he said baldly, then sighed, taking a sip of the wine.

"Léodláf died, leaving behind an eleven-year-old son named Fréawine. At the time, my aunt Fréawyn still lived, though she survived her only child by only two years. Her husband, Herubrand, was already dead, thank the Valar, for he was ever an honorable man and would have been appalled at what had happened. However much he may have detested my father personally it would never have occurred to him to revolt against his rule."

Aragorn nodded his understanding. "It is a rare man of great courage to stand by one to whom oaths have been given when such a man proves unworthy of that trust."

Thengel nodded. "Herubrand deserved better... we all did."

"What happened to the boy?"

Thengel gave Aragorn a penetrating glance. "Father ordered him blinded, thereby making him ineligible to rule the Rohirrim."

Aragorn went perfectly still and the shock he felt must have been evident in his face, for Thengel nodded grimly. "Like I said, my father had a nasty temper that knew no bounds."

"But a child..."

Thengel raised a hand. "Fear not. The thought that anyone would do such a thing to one innocent of any wrongdoing sickened many, including myself. Father was not only greedy but stupid as well. I devised a scheme whereby I begged the ‘honor’ of performing the deed and Father agreed, though he insisted on watching."

He shook his head at the memory. "I hated my father then." He took another sip of wine before resuming his tale. "I spoke to the boy the night before the blinding was to take place and told him my plan. Poor child, he was so frightened and his one real fear was, being blind he would never be able to ride again."

Aragorn found himself standing without any conscious thought of doing so, walking to the embrasure to stare out into the warm night, the images Thengel’s story brought to his mind too sickening to endure. He was surprised to find himself shaking. Thengel rose quietly and put a comforting hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

"Fréawine was trying to be very brave and I was most impressed by him. He agreed to follow my lead in all things, trusting me, his older cousin, to protect him. Do you know, he even gave me his oath that night? I should have refused it. I was not the king and he was not of age, but I would not deny him whatever comfort he found in taking that oath. He has always been loyal to me."

Aragorn turned around. "How did you do it?"

Thengel actually smiled. "Ah, well, I had decided that the boy would be blinded by means of a hot iron rod rather than having his eyes plucked out as is customary, especially among the Dunlendings, which is from where I think Father got the idea." He turned back to his chair and Aragorn followed. "I made sure that only those loyal to me were present. Father was there, but he kept his distance at my request." He gave Aragorn a thin smile. "All part of my plan, you see, and Father was just... squeamish enough to agree. Anyway, Fréawine put on a very convincing act. His screams were quite realistic."

They both sat and Thengel poured them more wine before continuing. "Afterwards I spirited him and his mother away to Brandingsdale where they were allowed to live in peace, Father having decreed himself satisfied that all threats to his rule had been eliminated." His eyes grew dark and his tone was as cold as the snows of the White Mountains. "He conveniently forgot about me."

Aragorn felt a shiver run down his spine as he looked upon the King of Rohan and realized that Thengel was very dangerous in his own way.

Thengel gave the younger man a thin smile. "I left for Minas Tirith soon afterwards, vowing never to return. It was the only way I could see to remove myself from... the temptation of overthrowing my own father."

"Fengel never suspected he had been a victim of a ruse?" Aragorn asked.

Thengel shook his head. "Like I said, my father was stupid as well as greedy. He was happy enough to believe me and satisfied to have confiscated all of Léodláf’s holdings. Brandingsdale he left alone and when my aunt died he ‘graciously’ permitted Fréawine and his mother Elfrid to continue living on the steading, convinced that the boy was no threat to him."

Aragorn furrowed his brow, trying to understand. "But surely the boy could not have continued playing blind. Did no one betray him to Fengel?"

Thengel’s smile was more genuine this time. "I made sure that all who resided at Brandingsdale were loyal to me... and to Herubrand."

"Ah, of course," Aragorn smiled, now understanding. "In memory of an honorable man they would do all to protect his grandson."

"Exactly. Over the years I kept in contact with the boy. I would have preferred bringing him to Minas Tirith with me but his mother would not hold to the idea. He did travel to Gondor later on but his love was for Brandingsdale and he eventually returned. When my father died and I came back he was the first person who hailed me as king and we renewed our oaths to one another before all, much to everyone’s amazement." Thengel chuckled at the memory and Aragorn smiled.

"Yet, your mother, so I am told, opposed your taking the crown," Aragorn said.

Thengel sighed. "Which brings me to the reason why I asked you here tonight. I needs must go to Aldburg and I want you to accompany me."

"Of course, my lord. May I ask why?" Aragorn straightened somewhat as if he were one of his own lieutenants receiving his orders.

"I want eyes other than mine to see what I no longer see, and ears other than mine to hear what I no longer hear. My mother is elderly, but she is not dead, and alive she can still be dangerous. Her age prevents me from doing anything more than banishing her to Aldburg. Will you come?"

Aragorn stood and gave the king a respectful bow. "My lord, I am yours to command in all things save where my honor is threatened. You need not ask."

"Yet I do, Thorongil son of Beren, for I know how you long to join your cousin in the Westfold and now I will take you even further from him for an indeterminate time."

"Then I will come," Aragorn said and gave Thengel a bright smile. "My cousin can wait."

Thengel laughed. "We leave tomorrow."

****

Aldburg lay southeast of Edoras nestled in a fold of the White Mountains. It was no great distance and Thengel did not ride fast, taking the time to point out certain features of the Folde to Aragorn as they rode together. The grasslands were turning brown with the heat of the summer and soon they would be dying out altogether. While the climate was generally milder than in the north, the mountains brought heavy snows at times and the wind could be brutal, especially at night. Soon the Mearas would be leading the herds north and east across the Entwash into the Wold where the grasses remained fresh and plentiful even in the winter.

As they rode along the royal road, badly in need of repair, Aragorn watched the foothills march before him with the mountains looming above. There was a dark and ominous look to them and Thengel assured him that few ventured into the mountains themselves.

"We have foresters and huntsmen and those who must guard the watchtowers," Thengel said as they rode along, "but most of our people prefer the open steppes. We need to feel the wind in our faces as we ride. Ever have the Rohirrim been a people who value freedom. The open fields give us that; the mountains do not."

Aldburg was a full day’s ride from Edoras. At one point they left the road leading to Minas Tirith and headed straight towards the mountains. There was a rough track that led to Aldburg, but generally the éored that rode with the king and Aragorn eschewed it for the open land on either side. The way started to steepen as they headed into the foothills and Thengel called a halt, meaning to stop early for the night.

"I do not wish to arrive in Aldburg at night," he explained to Aragorn. "Best to approach it in full daylight, and not necessarily because of the treacherousness of the road."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that but made no comment, removing his bedroll from Mithfaron’s back and seeing to his horse’s needs before helping to set up tents. The sky was ablaze with stars by the time the cooks had finished making the evening meal and all sat around the various fires and ate, speaking softly, occasionally cracking a joke or singing a song, but otherwise remaining sober. Watches were set and Aragorn found himself assigned the last watch of the night, so he did not linger at the fire but sought his tent, wishing to have as much sleep as possible.

Long practice woke him about a half an hour before his watch was due to begin. He wrapped himself in his cloak against the bitterness of the night, for a cold wind blew out of the east. He made his way to the latrines to relieve himself and then sought the single campfire that still burned where he found someone sitting. It was Thengel, sipping from a metal mug.

"My lord," Aragorn said in a whisper, giving the king a bow, "forgive me. I did not mean to disturb you."

Thengel looked up and smiled. "You are not disturbing me, son. You go on watch soon?"

"Yes, lord."

Thengel nodded then looked away to his right and called out softly. "Grammund. Lord Thorongil is excused from the watch this night. I wish to speak with him."

Aragorn saw a man step out of the shadows. He recognized the king’s personal guard and leader of the éored, who bowed to the king. "As you say, Thengel King." The guard gave the Dúnadan a penetrating look and a brief smile. Grammund was by nature taciturn but was nonetheless friendly towards the Ranger and Aragorn smiled back. Then the guard stepped back into the shadows to take up his own watch. Thengel motioned for Aragorn to sit and gestured to the fire.

"There is another mug. Help yourself to some tea. It is rather bitter by now, but it is hot and will warm your bones."

Aragorn complied and the two sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping their tea, each lost in their own thoughts. Aragorn was reminded of the patrols he had been on and suddenly wondered how his own men were faring. His brothers had promised to join the patrols and even Glorfindel had said that the elven warriors who scouted the lands around Imladris would join with the Dúnedain who watched over their people living in the Angle. It was heartening to know that his elven family cared enough for his people to help them out during his absence.

"What are you thinking about, young man?" Thengel suddenly asked, speaking low so as not to disturb the rest of those sleeping nearby. "Your eyes stare at the fire but see it not, or perhaps see another fire in another time and place."

Aragorn nodded. "I was thinking of my brothers, lord, and wondering how they fared."

"This is your first time away from your family." It was not a question.

Aragorn blushed somewhat. "Is it that obvious?"

Thengel smiled knowingly. "Obvious? No, but long years away from my own home and people have made me more aware of the feelings of those who are strangers in strange lands. I felt so lost in Minas Tirith, and as welcoming and as kind as Turgon was, I could not find any happiness there. It was not until he sent me to Ithilien that I began to feel at home among the Standlendings." He paused and took a sip from his mug. "Ithilien saved my life... and my sanity."

"May I ask, lord," Aragorn ventured, "why did you wish to speak to me?"

Thengel gave a brief glance around, then he leaned closer to the Dúnadan, his voice even lower than before. "Listen to me very carefully, young man. When we come to Aldburg I want you to tread with caution. As you are obviously not one of the Rohirrim you will be closely watched. Pretend that you understand nothing of our language. I will speak to you only in Sindarin. You may address others in Westron at need. Grammund knows my mind on this and will alert the men not to speak to you other than in Westron."

Aragorn gave the king a startled glance and his surprise was obvious. Thengel nodded and continued. "If others believe you do not understand their language they will be free to speak before you without hesitation. In this wise, you might learn much that will be of benefit to me."

"You wish me to spy for you, my lord?" Aragorn asked, looking troubled, for the idea did not sit well with him.

Thengel shook his head. "Nay, lad, nothing so crass. But if, as you are innocently strolling through the streets, gawking at the sights as any stranger would," here Aragorn snorted in amusement and Thengel smiled, "others might speak around you, believing themselves safe. It’s possible you might hear a thing or two that would interest me."

"I see." Aragorn looked down at his mug for a moment. "If it be your command, lord, that I act the innocent fool, then I will do so, little though I like the idea."

"I appreciate your candor, son, and your obedience. I regret that I must even put you in such a precarious position."

Aragorn nodded and then flashed a wicked grin at the king. "I almost prefer being thrown into a den of orcs without a sword."

Thengel laughed softly. "Me too."

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Cyninge: Queen.

A Note on Thengel’s Family Tree: Except in rare instances, only males are mentioned by name in the description of the Kings of Rohan in Appendix A. Daughters are inferred by such phrases as: "Thengel was the third child and only son of Fengel". Thus, the existence of daughters is canonical, only the names that I have given them and any progeny they may have had are not. The same goes for their dates of births and deaths.

For the purposes of this story, Thengel has only one surviving sister, Goldwyn, who is the mother of the twins Hildered and Hilderic and one daughter, Hildegard, who is married to Elfhelm of the Eastfold. They have two children, Elfgar and Elfhild. Thengel’s mother, Éolind, still lives. There is also a cousin, Fréawine of Brandingsdale, who is ten years younger than Thengel.

Under Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) law, kingship does not necessarily descend automatically from father to son. The Witan can declare any male of the royal household as king, though there is the added twist that the Mearas must also approve of the selection. Theoretically, then, the following males could have been considered eligible for the kingship if Thengel’s suit had been denied: Fréawine, Hildered and Hilderic. Théoden and Elfgar could also have been considered but as they are not yet of age, it is unlikely that any would have advanced their claim.

The descriptions of Fengel’s greed and Thengel removing himself to Minas Tirith as soon as he reached his majority are canonical. The attempted coup and its aftermath as the reason for his leaving Rohan is not.

Note on Fréawine’s ‘blinding’: Blinding by use of hot irons would not leave scars as the irons would be held in front of the eyes while the eyelids were held back or taped back in some manner so the victim would not be able to close his eyes. Irons would be replaced as they cooled until the optic nerve had been completely burned out.

6: Bones of Prophecy

Warning: A tale is told to Aragorn that is rather gruesome and some readers might find it disturbing. The tale is not in itself true, but it is believed by many in Rohan to be true.

****

Aldburg was older than Edoras, having originally been the capital of the country under Eorl the Young. It was also smaller, barely a village. It sat within a fold of the land against the foothills with the mountains overshadowing it. Its outer walls were made of wood and there was only one gate that stood open, as was custom, with the dawn.

Thengel arrived an hour after the nooning and his coming was unlooked for, for Thengel refused to allow his mother’s messenger to ride ahead, much to the man’s dismay. So it was that the guards at the gate were taken by surprise at the sight of the king’s éored riding towards them, the king’s standard — a white horse upon a green field — flapping in the afternoon breeze. Men scrambled onto the walls of the palisade and horns were sounded, to be answered by the horn blown by Grammund, riding beside his lord. The éored slowed before the gate and the gate-keepers saluted.

"Westu, Thengel Cyning, hál!" one of them said and Thengel nodded, giving the man a smile.

"Greetings, Éowulf," Thengel said as he dismounted and gave the man a fierce hug. "Glad I am to see you again."

"No more glad than I, lord, to look upon your countenance once more," the younger man exclaimed with a laugh. "But why did you not send word, my king? Or has the message gone astray in these darkening times?"

"Nay, good Éowulf," Thengel replied. "Neither message nor messenger went astray, for I sent none. I decided to pay my mother a surprise visit."

"Then it is you who will be surprised, lord," Éowulf said, now looking nervous and uncertain.

Thengel stared at the younger Rohir with consternation. "What mean you, my friend? Has aught happened to my mother since she sent me her messenger?"

"Nay, lord," Éowulf said, looking uncomfortable. "Éolind Cyninge is not here, is all I meant. She left yestermorn."

Thengel frowned. "Where went she then? She has not my leave to depart from Aldburg."

"I know not, lord," the gate-guard said unhappily. "You had best speak to Erkenbard."

Thengel nodded, reining in his rising anger, for in truth Éowulf was not at fault. "I will do that, my friend." He turned to his men and gave orders for the éored to disperse to the barracks to rest. "Thorongil, come with me," he said, speaking in Sindarin. Grammund followed the king as well, and Thengel did not deny him, indeed, it would have been impossible to do so. As one of Thengel’s two personal guards (the other was Éoward), it was his responsibility to remain beside his king at all times when on duty.

Aragorn dismounted and spoke softly to Mithfaron who followed the éored. The other men were well used to the Dúnadan’s strange ways with animals by now and accepted (with some reluctance on the part of many) that his horse would not be touched by any save his master.

Thengel began striding through the one street which Aldburg could boast, wending its way up a small incline to where the royal residence stood. It was, Aragorn saw, much smaller and not as ornate as Meduseld, yet it was easily the largest building in the town. Aragorn could see that Aldburg was a thriving community. The people were well clothed and the markets were busy. Those who were about in the midafternoon recognized their king and gave him brief bows and greetings, which Thengel returned with warmth. Many stared at the young dark-haired Dúnadan, assuming him to be a Standlending from Mundburg. The presence of a scion of the sea-kings of old was rare enough in these days to cause the common folk to pause and wonder. Aragorn ignored the stares, or tried to.

Thengel cast him a sidewise glance and smiled. "They are good people, Thorongil. They are just not used to seeing other than their own amongst them."

"I know, lord," Aragorn replied quietly, remembering to speak in Sindarin. "Perhaps a day will come when the children of Rohan and the children of Gondor will play together and none will think it strange."

Thengel nodded. "It will be as the Valar will, my son, but it is a good dream nonetheless and I pray that that day will be soon. Ah, here we are." Thengel paused and the two other men stopped. He gave Grammund a knowing look and the retainer nodded almost imperceptibly. Then the king turned to Aragorn. "Erkenbard is my mother’s seneschal, but more importantly, he is my spymaster here in Aldburg. If aught happens and you cannot find me or Grammund, come to Erkenbard."

Aragorn nodded but said nothing and then the three of them were entering the royal residence where a man of middle years stood waiting for them. He was easily the tallest man among the Rohirrim Aragorn had seen, though he was still several inches shorter than Aragorn himself. His fair hair was braided and his beard and mustaches were full. His eyes were bright with humor and wit and he spoke to Thengel as if to a brother or cousin.

"Your lady mother has flown the coop, gilda," Erkenbard said without preamble and with a wry smile.

"And you did not attempt to stop her, nýdmæg?" Thengel countered with no little heat.

Erkenbard did not flinch, but held up his hand. "Peace, Cousin. She has flown, but not far and I hold yet the jess."

Thengel raised an eyebrow at that. "Indeed. Then you had best tell me what has chanced here. I enjoy a hunt as well as the next man, Erkenbard, but I do not fancy hunting for my mother."

"Come, then, Highness," the seneschal said with a brief bow. "Let us find a flagon of ale and I will tell all."

The king’s residence here in Aldburg was not dissimilar in design to Meduseld. There was a central hall with a large firepit in the center. A small dais against one wall held a single chair of bog oak ornately carved with figures of horses. On the back was a carved depiction of Eorl the Young riding to the rescue of Cirion of Gondor during the fateful battle of the Field of Celebrant, nearly five hundred years earlier. Erkenbard led the king past the throne to another door that led to the royal quarters. Down one hall and then another he led them until they reached a small room that was obviously the seneschal’s own chamber.

Papers were strewn about and Erkenbard took several minutes attempting to straighten the mess with an embarrassed half-muttered apology, which Thengel dismissed with a wave of a hand and a smile. "Peace, Erkenbard. Truly it is of no import. We will sit on the floor if need be rather than disturb the order of your demesne. No doubt you have everything where you can easily find it and I would be loath to be the one who makes you go hunting needlessly."

Erkenbard gave the king a sour grin. "Now you mock me, my lord."

"Nay, good my cousin, I would never dare, for you know all my secrets," Thengel said with a laugh and Erkenbard allowed himself a wider smile as he handed his master a flagon of ale, which Thengel accepted before he sat in the chair that the seneschal offered him. Grammund stood by the door on duty while Aragorn found a seat in the embrasure, thus allowing him the chance to look out the window to the town below. Up til then the king and the seneschal had spoken in Rohirric, but now Thengel switched to Westron.

"Thorongil speaks not our tongue, Erkenbard, so we will do him the courtesy of speaking in Westron instead."

Erkenbard bowed to the king and then to Aragorn. "As you wish, Thengel King. But I know somewhat of Sindarin as well. Would it not be more prudent to speak in that language instead."

"More prudent, yes," Thengel agreed with a nod, "but that will leave Grammund out and he must needs hear what is said. I would weary of having to translate later and will save myself the need."

"Then Westron it is."

"So tell me, oh huntsmaster, where has my mother flown, who has not my permission to leave Aldburg?"

"She has taken herself to Dúnælfenedale."

"What?" Thengel stood up in surprise. "What in the name of Béma is she doing there?"

Aragorn gave them a puzzled look. "Dúnælfenedale? Where is that?"

Thengel turned to the Dúnadan. "It is a small steading that lies four leagues from here, closer to the mountains, hence its name. The place has a sinister history."

"How so, my lord?" Aragorn asked, clearly confused. The steading’s name — ‘Mountain-Elf’s dale’ — was in itself interesting, though he pretended ignorance of its meaning. He knew that many Elves fleeing Lórien from the depredations of Durin's Bane let loose in Moria had fled southward over the Ered Nimrais to seek the grey ships of Edhellond and wondered what tales from that time had inspired the naming of this particular dale.

It was Erkenbard who answered. "In the time of Folcwine, Dúnælfenedale was a prosperous steading for all that it lay near the mountains, for the land is not very arable, though sheep like it. At that time, Folcwine’s wife, Grimhild, was abiding here in Aldburg, for she was with child and the children of the king are oft times born in Aldburg, the ancient seat of our people."

"My grandmother was pregnant with my father, in fact," Thengel interrupted with a cold look.

Erkenbard nodded and continued. "One day, a bone-thrower came to Aldburg and threw the bones for Grimhild at her insistence, wishing to know the future for her unborn child...."

"What does fate have in store for my child?" Grimhild demanded of the wizened hag who crouched before her. "Do I bear another son for my lord?"

The hag threw the bones and gave the queen a piercing look that Grimhild found difficult to return. The old woman was cloaked in rags and her grey hair hung in straggling locks, dirty and unkempt. Her eyes were unclouded, though, and a dark blue like a mountain tarn, deep and fathomless. Grimhild did not like looking in them.

The bone-thrower stared at the bones for a moment and then looked up and gave the queen a near toothless smile that was not pleasant to see and Grimhild shivered in spite of herself. "The bones reveal all, lady," she said in a screeching voice, dry as leather. "Here they say that the child thou bearest will be a son, to replace the ones who shall die."

"What?" Grimhild rose from her seat in disbelief. "What mean you, hag? My Lifgetwinnan are strong and hale, having reached their twelfth year. How will they die and when?"

"The bones say not, lady," the old woman answered. "They say only that this one who even now grows large in thy belly will replace the two whose hearts beat as one. It is just as well, for which will rule and which will follow elsewise? Nay, better they die and there be no contention for the crown, heh?"

The old hag gave a shrieking laugh and Grimhild went white. "Why should I sacrifice my beloved twins to one yet unborn? Folcred will rule for he is firstborn. Fastred loves his brother too much to give him grief and will follow him willingly."

"Follow him to death, will he or nill he," the hag replied coldly. "The bones do not lie, lady. The child thou bearest will supplant his brothers."

Grimhild sat stiffly and thought deeply for a time. Finally she said, "If this be the fate of my children, I will not stand in the way of their destinies. Tell me, grandmother, how best I can assure my unborn son will be great in the annals of our people."

The old woman threw the bones again and looked up. "The son of his father is not the son of his mother. Go thou to the Elf’s hold in the mountains. There is a spring whose waters are said to have been bespelled by the Ælfcynn. Drink thou from this spring and thy son will know greatness. Have a care to come there only when the moon is full."

It was no difficulty to ascertain the location of the Elf’s hold, for Dúnælfenedale was well-known and the legends surrounding it the source of great amusement in the telling of them in nursery and hall. Grimhild dismissed the old woman and set about determining the next full moon, which would be in one week’s time. Thus, she made her arrangements, telling her husband that she wished to visit her sister in Brandingsdale and have the babe there. Folcwine was loath to let her go, but she was adamant and in truth the time of her confinement was not yet upon her, though it would be soon.

So, she went, but not to Brandingsdale, which lay to the east, but towards the mountains, telling her escort that she wished to visit the steading at Dúnælfenedale first. The escort was loath to allow this but Grimhild had long been queen and knew well how to cow those who lived on sufferance of her whims, for she was haughty and even cruel in the use of her servants, though Folcwine knew this not.

They reached the steading and the queen demanded of its people shelter for the night. "For I am weary and I would have rest."

Those of the steading had no choice and thus were forced to provide sustenance for the queen and her escort. As they supped, Grimhild enquired after the spring. "For I have heard tales of this wondrous spring and desire to drink from it this night," she said and the lord of the steading, one Elfnoth, looked upon her in dismay.

"My lady, I beg thee not to seek this spring which doth indeed flow nearby, for the Fair Folk will come this night and dance upon the green and it is not seemly for Mortals to look upon their countenances."

Grimhild gave Elfnoth an imperious look. "I am queen of Rohan. What care I for these sorcerous sprites who dare to come without permission of my lord to abide here? I wish to see this spring for myself."

"Then thou must needs seek it alone, lady, for I will not escort thee there," Elfnoth replied coldly. "None of my household will. The Fair Folk forbid it and we will not gainsay them."

Then Grimhild was wroth and, picking up a knife, grabbed Elfnoth’s young son, a lad of seven, and held the knife to his throat. "Lead me to the spring, ceorl, or your son’s blood will water the ground."

Elfnoth paled at that but would not yield. "Slay my son, lady, if thou wilt. Better he die than betray oaths ancient and binding unto my household since the days of Eorl. Better we all die."

"Then die you shall," said the queen and with that she cut the boy’s throat to the horror of all. At once those of the steading sought to take up arms but Grimhild’s escort slew them first, seeking to protect their queen as was their duty, little though they liked it. Only two survived the slaughter, a babe and his sister who fled to the spring and hid there.

Grimhild then went forth and ordered her men to find the spring, which one did in due time. By now it was full dark and the stars were shining remorselessly upon the blood-stained steading and the moon had risen, full and bright. Grimhild ordered her men away from the spring and went alone to sip from its waters. There was none else about the spring which sat in a dell surrounded by mountain holly and oak. The queen knelt to drink and suddenly the light of the moon darkened even as she took her first sip. Looking up, she beheld a dire sight: the moon was blood-red and standing nearby was one who shone with a silvery light.

Terrible in its awful beauty was the countenance of the one who stood there, cold and unforgiving. His eyes were dark yet flamed with fire that pierced her to the very core of her being and she trembled before one whom she thought must be an Elf-lord.

"Thou hast committed murder this night, child of Eorl," the Being said, his voice as cold as ice from the mountains. "And this deed was unlawful, whether of Middangeard or not of Middangeard. Thou hast sought for thy unborn son greatness, but he will know only ignominy and thou shalt be remembered not in the annals of thy people."

Then the Elf-lord, if such he be, was gone and the moon was no longer stained. Grimhild stared about in fear and then the pangs of childbirth came upon her, though it was betimes for her laying in, and she fled back to the steading to where her maid awaited her. The men, meanwhile, had set fire to the steading to hide all evidence of their deeds.

Grimhild gave birth to her son, whom she named Fengel. When morning came she rode away from Dúnælfenedale, swearing her escort to secrecy. Dúnælfenedale remained empty and haunted from that day hence....

Aragorn stared at Erkenbard and Thengel in amazement. "Surely that tale cannot be true, my lord. And if your grandmother’s escort was sworn to secrecy, how is it the tale is known?"

Thengel grimaced and gave a short laugh. "The daughter of the steading who survived the slaughter of course."

"Was there truly a slaughter, then?" Aragorn asked in some confusion.

"Oh yes," Erkenbrand said, his eyes lit with dark amusement. "Though it is doubtful the deed was done by any of the Rohirrim, nor did the slaughter occur in Folcwine’s day, but in the days of his father, Folca. Orcs most likely did the deed and the two who survived were found by the éored that pursued them."

Thengel shifted in his chair. "My father was greatly hated. It stands to reason that stories would arise to explain his... evil. Many remembered the destruction of Dúnælfenedale, though the reason for it had been forgotten. My grandmother, it appears, was also not well-liked, for she was high-tempered and cruel at times." He gave the Dúnadan a wry look. "I suspect that as my father’s depredations continued, this particular story began making the rounds of taverns and steadings alike."

"And the Elf-lord?" Aragorn asked skeptically.

Thengel shrugged. "An interesting twist to the story, think you not?"

Aragorn looked thoughtful and wondered at the truth of the tale but came to no conclusions. He looked up at the two men sitting there sipping their ale. "What has all this have to do with Queen Éolind going there?"

Thengel’s expression darkened and his voice grew cold. "That is what I intend to find out."

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Westu, Thengel Cyning, hál!: "May you be healthy, Thengel King".

Gilda: (masculine) Member of a brotherhood of related persons. Erkenbard has been a member of Thengel’s household since the king’s return to Rohan.

Nýdmæg: (masculine) Cousin, near kinsman, blood-relation. In this case, Erkenbard son of Erkenwulf is related to Thengel as a distant cousin through his father’s mother’s family. Thengel calling him this rather than the more formal and impersonal gilda shows how he views their relationship. The feminine counterpart would be nýdmæge.

Jess: A short strap fastened around the leg of a hawk or other bird used in falconry, to which a leash may be fastened.

Lifgetwinnan: Twins (masculine plural). Folcred and Fastred were the twin sons (born 2858) of Folcwine. They both died on the Pelennor in a battle between Gondor and Harad in 2885.

Ælfcynn: Elf-kind, elven race.

Ceorl: a freeman of the lowest class and therefore the word is an insult to Elfnoth who was a thegn and thus considered noble. Elfnoth means "Elf-courage". Ceorl is pronounced "churl". 

Middangeard: Middle-earth.

Note: Folcwine lived from 2830-2903. Fengel was born in 2870. Folcwine’s wife’s name and the events surrounding Fengel’s birth are non-canonical. The story Erkenbard relates to Aragorn is obviously untrue and an example of folklore that has entered into the consciousness of the people to explain why Fengel was so unlike his forebears in temperament.

7: Dúnælfenedale

Thengel gave his spymaster a piercing look. "Well, Cousin, have you an explanation that will satisfy me? I gave not my leave for the queen to depart from Aldburg. Why then has she defied me and why did you not stop her?"

If Erkenbard was discomfited by the king’s tone, he gave no sign. "You gave Éolind into my keeping, Thengel," the man said quietly. "You wished to know what she was up to. Well, the only way that was going to happen was to let her think she was unfettered."

Thengel frowned. "I do not recall..."

"Allow me to refresh your memory, then," Erkenbard said somewhat shortly. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at the man’s tone and he noticed that Grammund had stiffened and was giving the spymaster a sour look. Thengel, for his part, merely sat there waiting for the explanation he had demanded.

Erkenbard took a deep breath, as if to recollect himself and when he spoke again it was in a milder tone, though the longer he spoke the angrier he became. "Your exact words, Thengel King, were, ‘Give her enough rope whereby she may hang herself’. I took that as an approbation that I was to do whatever necessary to see that the conspiracy against you that we both believe exists was quelled. I can only do that if I know if there is indeed a conspiracy, who leads it and what they plan. Your lady mother is at the heart of all this. Keeping her imprisoned in Aldburg does me or you no good. When Éolind declared that she wished to travel, I gave her my blessing and made bloody sure that half her escort was in my pay."

Thengel raised an eyebrow and one side of his mouth quirked in amusement. "Only half?"

"It’s been a lean month," Erkenbard quipped, his expression sour.

Thengel laughed outright at that and the tension in the air lightened. He stood up and clapped a hand on Erkenbard’s shoulder. "You are, of course, correct, my friend, and I apologize. So, tell me, why Dúnælfenedale? That place has been deserted for over a hundred years, since the days of my great-grandsire, Folca."

"A convenient place for a meeting of conspirators, though," Erkenbard said with a slight shrug.

"And who does she go to meet, heh?" Thengel asked with a sigh. "Her missive to me was rather intriguing, which is why I came here."

Now Erkenbard smiled. "Rather, it was my missive to you, Thengel King."

"Yours?" Thengel gave the spymaster a surprised look. Erkenbard nodded.

"A rather clever forgery, don’t you think? I do so enjoy my work."

Aragorn let out a surprised snort at the man’s tone and the other three men looked at him with various degrees of amusement. The Dúnadan raised a hand in apology. "Forgive me, Thengel King, but your... spymaster is very amusing."

"Yes, he is," Thengel said, giving them a deep smile. "and I vacillated between making him my spymaster or my jester when I first came to the throne." There were chuckles all around and Erkenbard reddened with embarrassment, though he was mollified when Thengel gave him a brief hug.

"May I ask, my lord," Aragorn said to Erkenbard, "why you felt it necessary to forge a letter purported to have been from the queen to her son?"

Erkenbard nodded. "It was the only way I knew to get my royal cousin out of Edoras."

"Well, you succeeded," Thengel said, taking a pull from the flagon as he sat again. "Now what do you want me to do?"

Erkenbard stared at Thengel for a moment then straightened and gave his king a respectful bow. "Forgive me, Thengel King, I meant no disrespect. The last time I attempted to bring you here, your response was to go to the Westfold for an extended visit. I feared the only way to lure you to Aldburg was through that missive I sent you purporting to be from your mother."

Now it was Thengel’s turn to look chagrined. "I, too, apologize, Cousin. I have put you in an untenable position and I reward you by ignoring you. Forgive me. Tell me what you hope I can do here that I could not do in Edoras?"

"You can frighten the conspirators into making their move too soon and too quickly," Erkenbard replied. "Your presence here in Aldburg will hopefully do that. This farce has been going on for too long for my taste. I for one would like to see this done. I miss my family, you know."

Thengel rose and took Erkenbard by the shoulders and gave him a hug and then kissed him on the cheeks, liege lord to liegeman. "You are a good man and, even more, a good vassal, Erkenbard son of Erkenwulf."

Aragorn stirred. "Have you something in mind, Lord Erkenbard?"

Erkenbard gave the Dúnadan an appraising look. "Why, my Lord Thorongil? Do you have a thought to share with us?"

Thengel turned to Aragorn with an approving look. "Speak son of Beren that we may know your thoughts, for I deem you have a plan that might be of benefit to us."

Aragorn nodded reluctantly. "It is only a glimmer of an idea, but I wonder if we cannot take advantage of that tale you told me. I wonder if the Elves might not lend us a hand."

Now all three men stared at the young Ranger and Aragorn reddened somewhat under their regard, but otherwise held his ground. Finally, Thengel spoke.

"Say on, Thorongil. Let us hear your thoughts."

****

"You should be able to reach the steading before the sun sets if you leave now," Erkenbard said later after they had listened to Aragorn’s plan and had approved it with modifications. "Are you sure about this?"

Aragorn gave the older man a smile. "Not really, but I did spend much of my youth in Imladris and learned much of the ways of the Elves. I do not look elvish, true, but like many of my people, the blood of the Firstborn runs through my veins. It might just be enough."

Thengel clapped him on the shoulder. "We will pray to Lord Béma that it is, son. Go now and here is Wídfara, who will lead you hence." The king motioned for one of the men of his éored to come forward. Wídfara was a year or two younger than Aragorn and they were already friends. The young Rohir bowed to Thengel and gave Aragorn a cheery smile, which the Dúnadan returned.

"You know well the way to Dúnælfensdale, Wídfara?" Aragorn asked.

"Indeed, Lord Earntungol," the young man replied. "For I grew up in one of the neighboring dales and know well the area in which we travel."

"That is well, my friend," Aragorn said. "Let us hence, for I would fain arrive ere Arien returns to the Mansions of the Night."

The young Rohir gave his Ranger friend a strange look at his words, but otherwise made no comment. Instead, he nodded, gave Thengel another bow, and leapt upon his horse while Aragorn did the same with Mithfaron.

As they were leaving, Erkenbard stayed Aragorn for a moment. "The moon will be full tonight, a most propitious sign, I deem. Take care you are not discovered in its light. I would not wish to have to retrieve your body, or that of young Wídfara."

Aragorn nodded and then he and Wídfara were outside the walls of Aldburg, making their way to an Elf-haunted dale.

****

They rode swiftly, but not at the expense of their horses, yet it was well before the sunset when they arrived at the head of the dale. Wídfara turned to his companion as they slowed the horses to a walk.

"The steading, itself, is another league up the valley. It is in ruins and nothing has been built. I do not know where the queen and her entourage will have camped, but I suspect that it will be in the clearing where stood the steading. It’s really the only flat piece of land in the entire dale."

"How can we get around them to reach the spring unseen?" Aragorn asked.

Wídfara took a moment to think. "About half a league up we can leave the horses in a small dell that is hidden from the road here. There is a shallow stream that runs through it and plenty of vegetation so our horses will not lack for anything while we are gone. There is a sheep track that I can take you on that will lead up into the hills surrounding us and thereby I can bring you back down behind the spring. We might even be able to see their encampment at some point for we will be high enough to see down into the dale."

Aragorn nodded. "Lead on then good Wídfara. Let us reach this spring before Tilion sails forth and Ithil rises."

"You speak strangely, Earntungol," Wídfara said as they continued on their way. "Who are Tilion and Ithil?"

Aragorn smiled. "Tilion is the Maia who steers the moon, which the Elves call Ithil, just as Arien is the Maia who governs the sun, which they call Anor."

"What strange notions they have about the sun and moon," the younger man said with a smile, but Aragorn did not return his smile this time. Instead he gave the Rohir a steady glance.

"I have met some who dwell in the house of Elrond in Imladris who remember when Ithil first rose in the sky, who remember a time when Middle-earth was illumined only by the stars, when neither sun nor moon bathed these mortal lands with their light."

Wídfara stared at Aragorn, his eyes wide with wonder. "Forgive me. I meant no disrespect," he said contritely.

Aragorn nodded his acceptance of the lad’s apology but otherwise did not speak. Soon the two of them were making their way off the track that was the only road into the dale, and finding themselves in a hidden dell, well screened by alder and pine, where a rill ran through it. Aragorn looked about and grinned. "A good place for the horses. You have done well, Wídfara."

The younger man looked pleased at the Dúnadan’s praise, never thinking it odd that this stranger who was the very newest member of the éored would speak to him as a commander to his lieutenant. They secured the horses and soon were taking the sheep track up through the hills. By now the sun was nearly gone and the way was dark under the trees but they dared not light any torches.

"I have walked these hills since I was a child, lord," Wídfara whispered at one point. "Stay close and I will not lead you astray."

Nor did he. At one point they reached a spot where the trees fell away and they found themselves on a cliff looking down into the valley. All was dark save for a single pinpoint of light flickering in the middle distance. Wídfara pointed and whispered, "There. That’s about where the steading once stood."

"You guessed correctly, then," Aragorn whispered back. "Come. Ithil rises soon and we must needs reach the spring before that."

So they went on. Wídfara had not the woodscraft that Aragorn possessed, yet he had the advantage of familiarity with the land and so he did well enough. The Rohir was amazed at how silently the Ranger moved through the bracken and at times lost track of him in the dark. Soon, though, he led them downwards out of the hills to the valley. Aragorn heard the sound of the spring bubbling before he saw it. Now the campfire was visible to them and they could see the movement of men, shadows against the flickering light.

"Here is the spring, lord," Wídfara whispered. "What do you plan?"

"Get you back into the trees and remain hid," Aragorn said, taking a pack off his back that he had brought with him. In it was all that he hoped he would need to pull off the ruse he had planned with Thengel and Erkenbard. "Take this pack with you."

"Is there nothing I can do to help, lord?" the younger man asked sadly.

"You have helped more than you realize, my friend. Thengel King will be well pleased with you when I tell him how diligently you led me here. Now go and be ready to flee if it goes ill with me. Make your way back to Aldburg and warn Thengel."

"But..."

"Nay, my friend, do not dispute me in this," Aragorn countered. "I will not have you die on my account and it is Thengel’s wish that one of us lives to return with news."

Wídfara reluctantly nodded and Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder before sending him back into the trees to wait and watch. Aragorn, meantime, took the paraphernalia that he had removed from the pack and laid them out. They had had a time finding some of the objects, but he was sure he could make it work. Hopefully the people around the campfire would be awed enough not to try to come any closer and so see that all was a sham.

The moon was rising and the light bathed the dale with its silvery glow. Aragorn stole a look at the fabled spring, marveling at its beauty under moonlight, the peace and serenity it held for him and wondered at the dark history that stained its waters. Without conscious thought Aragorn began singing softly one of the many hymns to Elbereth that he had heard all his life as he continued with his preparations. Then he heard voices coming near and quietly melted away into the brush to hide and wait. He needed the moon to be higher in the sky before he could effect his plan. Three people approached the spring; two of them were men. The third was an old woman walking with a cane, her hand on the elbow of one of the men.

"Here, my lords," the woman said, sounding somewhat breathless. "Here we may take our ease away from the eyes and ears of our retainers. I trust not the men who rode with me, for I fear my seneschal may have set spies amongst them."

"Then may I suggest, dear lady," said one of the men gruffly, "that you rid yourself of your seneschal and find someone else to fill that role, someone more amenable to your will."

The woman (Aragorn could only assume this was the old king’s widow, Éolind) snorted in an unladylike fashion and made to sit on a spur of rock. "Easier said than done, my lord, seeing as how Erkenbard is in my son’s pay. But enough of my domestic problems... we are here to plot treason. Let us get on with it."

The two men shuffled nervously at the queen’s words before one of them spoke. "A harsh word. I prefer to think we are placing the right man on the throne of Rohan. Thengel should never have been allowed back from Gondor."

"In that we are agreed," Éolind said coldly. "Son though he be, I ever thought him weak and unfit for rule, especially when he fled to Turgon’s court like some child playing truant from the schoolroom. Fréawine should have been king instead."

"Fréawine should have been blind," the second man said with a sound of disgust. "Why would you have him on the throne before your own son, my queen?"

"I cannot control my son," was all Éolind would say. The two men remained silent for a time.

Aragorn, listening not far away, glanced upward at the moon, judging its height and wondering if he should carry out his plan now or wait a bit to hear more. He wondered about Fréawine. Thengel had seemed sure of the man’s loyalty, yet here was Éolind thinking that she could manipulate the lord of Brandingsdale to her cause. He strained to hear what else was being said but at that moment something entirely unexpected happened.

Aragorn never heard the person approach. The first thing he knew a hand was on his shoulder and then another was covering his mouth and he was being dragged silently back. His initial shock and surprise was followed by absolute wonder and he stilled his struggles as he was pulled upright, so that he was leaning against his attacker’s chest and the voice that whispered in his ear was low and melodious, speaking in Sindarin.

"Make no sound, Mortal, and you will suffer no harm." Aragorn nodded and the Elf, for so he was, released his hand over Aragorn’s mouth but retained his hold on the young man so that he was still in the Elf’s embrace. The Elf brushed his hand through Aragorn’s hair, the intimacy of the gesture surprising the Dúnadan. "Now, Estel, suppose you tell me what you do here in the Ered Nimrais instead of being safely ensconced in Imladris where you belong."

"Th-thandir?" Aragorn said in a breathless whisper, knowing the Elf would hear him. He felt, rather than heard, a soft chuckle come from the Elf and then another whisper in his ear.

"Walk quietly backwards. Do not fear. I will guide you." With that Thandir, still keeping his hold on the Mortal, began walking backwards and Aragorn followed, not having any choice in the matter. He did however step as quietly as possible. Soon they were away from the spring and the three conspirators sitting oblivious to all around them. When they were completely out of sight from the spring Thandir let go his hold on Aragorn and turned him around. Aragorn saw the immortal standing there with a huge grin on his face.

"Thandir, what are you doing here?" Aragorn asked, still whispering.

The Elf shook his head and put a finger to his lips and then without further comment calmly lifted Aragorn up into the trees where other hands grabbed him and helped him onto a branch and then he was standing on a talan surrounded by several Elves, some of whom he recognized from Imladris, though others were unknown to him. By their dress he could see that they were Wood Elves. Thandir joined him shortly and gave the Mortal a fierce hug.

"What do you here Estel? Has Lord Elrond finally released you from his leading strings to let the fledgling go?" The Elf smiled and many of the others chuckled in amusement.

"I’ve been let go these six years, Thandir," Aragorn said somewhat shortly, not pleased at being teased. "I have been the Chieftain of the Dúnedain since I turned twenty and now I live among the Rohirrim with my cousin, Gilhael, to learn the ways of other Men whom I may someday have to meet as King of Gondor."

There was an uncomfortable silence and Thandir stared at the young Man in surprise, then he bowed and said somewhat contritely, "Forgive me, Isildurchil. When last I saw you, you were still pestering your brothers to take you on patrol."

Aragorn smiled thinly. "And I’ve been on patrol with my brothers since I turned fifteen, Thandir. I am no longer a child, even by your standards, I would hope. Now, what have you done with my companion?"

"You mean the Rohir child who even now sleeps in another talan?" Thandir asked, amusement back in his voice. "Fear not. No harm has come to him."

"I’m glad to hear that. Now do me a favor and wake him and bring him to me."

For a long moment Thandir merely stared at Aragorn, surprised at the tone of command that he heard. Then he recollected himself and with a soft word sent two of his people away. There was silence in the talan while everyone waited. The Wood Elves stood frowning at the Mortal who apparently had no respect for his elders, especially when they were the Firstborn. The other Elves stood about seemingly calm and unconcerned, though Aragorn knew better. Before things became too uncomfortable there was a rustle of movement and then Wídfara was being lifted into the talan, his eyes wide with fear and wonder, his face white. Aragorn could see he was trembling and not with cold and went to him, speaking quietly in Rohirric.

"Fear not, son of Eorl! These are friends and will not harm you. Come. Sit and let us discover the meaning of this. It seems that Dúnælfenedale is living up to its name in surprising ways."

Aragorn took the younger man’s hand and led him to the middle of the talan where he introduced him, speaking in Westron. "This is Wídfara son of Éonoth of the Rohirrim, cousin-kin to Thengel King. Wídfara, this is Thandir, once of Beleriand that now lies under the Sea, now a scout for my Lord Elrond of Imladris... and my friend."

Wídfara gulped and stared at the Elves standing about him and then gathered his courage to himself and bowed. "Westu, Thandir Ælfhláford, hál!"

The other Elves laughed lightly, causing Wídfara some confusion, wondering what he had said that so amused them. Thandir merely smiled. "No Elf-lord am I, child, but I thank you for your greeting. You may just call me Thandir. Come. let us sit and be at ease. I see there are many tales for the telling."

"Tales that must needs be brief, for we are on a mission for Thengel King and your presence jeopardizes it, and us," Aragorn said as he motioned Wídfara to sit beside him in the center of the talan. Thandir joined him and one of the Wood Elves, who was introduced as Haldir of Lothlórien. The other Elves ranged themselves around the edge of the talan on guard. As they sat, Aragorn spoke to Thandir in Sindarin. "Speak not my true name, my friend, for Wídfara knows me as Thorongil, though he prefers to render it into his own tongue. I will explain later."

Thandir did not change his expression, but merely nodded, then turned to the Rohir, his eyes shining in the moonlight. "Thorongil tells me that your king has taken him and his cousin into his service."

"Th-that is true, lord," Wídfara said, his eyes still wide and his face paler than was its wont. "Earntungol and Tungolfród came to Thengel King in the early summer. Tungolfród rides now with the king’s sister-son, Lord Hilderic, in the Westfold."

"And why are you not riding with your cousin, youngling?" Thandir asked, his curiosity aroused.

"A long story, Thandir," Aragorn sighed. "It is not important. What is is that our quarry slips away from us and our mission for the king fails before it was properly begun."

"Tell me," Thandir said and the force of his words, softly spoken though they were, left no doubt in either Mortal’s mind who was now in charge.

Casting an apologetic glance at Wídfara, Aragorn spoke rapidly in Sindarin, explaining everything and his own plans which he had been about to put into motion before being so rudely interrupted. Thandir laughed lightly at that and even Haldir smiled.

"I think we can do better than that," Thandir said, switching to Westron for Wídfara’s sake. "Show me what you brought." It turned out that the Elves had retrieved all the paraphernalia that Aragorn had brought without the three Mortals by the spring any the wiser. Thandir looked it over as Aragorn explained his intent and was quite impressed, though he refused to let either Mortal see.

"An interesting plan," he said when Aragorn finished. "But it might not have worked. However, I see no difficulty in my playing the role."

"Why you, Thandir of Imladris?" Haldir asked. There was no beligerence in the Wood Elf’s tone, merely curiosity.

Thandir turned to Haldir with a thin smile. "Because I remember the Light of the Two Trees, my friend. I fled Aman under Finrod’s banner and have seen the destruction of Doriath, Nargothrond and all of Beleriand, never mind the depredations of the Second Age under Sauron. In Aman my family is mighty in the counsels of the Aran Golodhrim, but I eschewed all that for the pleasure of sleeping in a talan under the stars of Ennorath."

Wídfara stared at the Elf with a mixture of awe and confusion while the other Elves, Haldir especially, grinned and even Aragorn had a small smile on his face. Never in his life had Wídfara thought to see an Elf. Indeed he believed them to be but tales fit for the nursery. Yet, here he was standing in the trees surrounded by them and his friend Earntungol spoke to them familiarly in their own language. It took some getting used to.

Haldir said something in Sindarin and Thandir replied before turning to Aragorn and speaking in Westron for the Rohir’s benefit. "The moon is nearly at zenith, so it will be best that we do this now. My people tell me your conspirators are yet at the spring. I will do this for you Thorongil. Haldir will lead you to a spot where you and your companion may watch in safety and enjoy the entertainment."

So saying they all left the talan, Wídfara and Aragorn being led by Haldir to a spot not far from where Wídfara had originally secreted himself. They could see Éolind and her two companions but could no longer hear what they said. Clouds suddenly moved before the moon and its light was dimmed, then they moved away and the night became bright again.

Then it suddenly became that much brighter when Thandir, now wrapped in the silvery cloak that Aragorn had brought, stepped silently out from under the trees and moved towards the conspirators, who suddenly realized they were no longer alone. The two men leapt up and drew their swords, which Thandir dismissed with a cold sneer. He stopped a few feet away, his hood thrown back so that his face was visible under the moonlight and there was a silvery glow about him as well. The Mortals looked upon him with awe.

"What do ye here, Mortals? Why trespass ye upon sacred ground?"

"Who are you?" one of the men asked belligerently, though there was a hint of fear in his voice.

Thandir stared at the Man and stepped forward a few more feet. "Have a care Isenbert of Isenbrandingsdale. The Firstborn care little for you and your people. We will not hesitate to destroy you all for this trespass."

Lord Isenbert started at the Elf’s use of his name. Wídfara had recognized both men and had named them and their titles to Thandir, describing them to the Elf so he would know who was who. The other two mortals also gasped at the Elf’s words. Before they could respond any further though, Thandir spoke again, allowing his voice to become as ice, distant and disdainful of the Mortals before him.

"You play a dangerous game, Éolind Éoric’s daughter, wife of Fengel King that was. Remember what happened at this spring and the prophecy of doom cast upon your husband."

"And what would you know of any prophecy, Lord Elf?" Éolind asked querulously.

Thandir took another step forward and smiled. It was all the more frightening as it was not a pleasant smile and the three Mortals quailed somewhat when they saw it. "I was there, child, when Grimhild drank from this spring and went into premature labor. I was there and it was I who spoke the words of doom upon her and her unborn child. You plot treason against your king. A dangerous game."

"What care you what games we Mortals play?" Isenbert snorted.

"When you play them in my presence, I care very much," Thandir said. "Get ye hence, for I will not allow ye to remain. Take ye your men and leave this dale tonight or suffer the consequences. As it is, I have a mind to send unto Thengel King word of this meeting between ye three, Éolind, Isenbert and Léodward of Alorharadsdale. I am sure he will find it quite amusing."

"You are but one Elf and not even armed," Léodward proclaimed with a sneer. "Why should we be the ones to leave?"

Thandir did not appear to give any signal but suddenly elven arrows flew unerringly in the night to land near the three Mortals. Thandir’s smile merely deepened at their reactions of dismay and fear. "Foolish children. You all belong back in the nursery," he said with cold contempt. "Thengel shall hear of this outrage to our peace for it was he who granted us this dale for our own use, though I remember a time when none lived in any of the dales of Rohan and Eorl the Young had yet to build his house in Aldburg."

The three Mortals stared at the Elf with a mixture of dismay and horror and began to back away. "You have until an hour before dawn to remove yourselves from our presence," Thandir said, "or none will live to see the sun rise."

The absolute certainty of his tone and the cool stare of contempt unnerved them as nothing else had and they fled as quickly as they could, calling upon their men to break camp immediately. Had they looked back and if they could have seen it, they would have been surprised at the broad smile on the Elf’s face.

"They have gone, my friends," Thandir said quietly, assured that his people at least would hear him. "Come out and join me by this lovely spring."

Soon Aragorn and Wídfara followed Haldir and some of the other Elves to where Thandir now sat beside the spring idly dipping his hand in its cold waters. He looked up as Aragorn approached. "How was my performance? Do you think it was convincing enough?"

"It convinced me," Aragorn said with a smile. "Did Thengel really give you leave to live here?"

Thandir gave a merry laugh that was nonetheless quiet, though in truth the mortals who were even now breaking camp were making too much noise to hear it. "We are here by no one’s leave, least of all a Mortal king of a rude people who are little better than barbarians."

Wídfara bristled at the Elf’s words and tone, but Aragorn put a warning hand on his arm, never taking his eyes off of the Imladris scout. "They are kin to the Edain who fought and died in the Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad, who gave their life’s blood that you might survive to insult their descendants. Rude they may be, but they are still Eruhîn and worthy of your respect."

Every Elf within hearing gasped at Aragorn’s words. Thandir stared at the Dúnadan who stood revealed to them as a Lord of Men, puissant and wise, with the Light of Stars in his eyes. He noticed suddenly the ring that Aragorn wore and recognized it. With great reverence he stood and gave this child of Lúthien and Beren, of Eärendil and Elwing, a deep bow, hand on his heart. "Your pardon Isildurchil. I crave your forgiveness for impugning the honor of the people of Rohan. I fear I have allowed my arrogance to get the better of me."

"It is not my pardon you should seek, Thandir of Imladris," Aragorn said formally, "but I will accept it upon their behalf. Let us speak no more of it."

Thandir nodded and gave Wídfara a bow, and while it was less deep, it was no less respectful. "I apologize young Wídfara. It has been many centuries since I have last had dealings with the Secondborn."

Wídfara was unsure what he should do and looked to his friend Earntungol who suddenly was more than he seemed to the younger man’s eyes. Aragorn nodded encouragingly and Wídfara turned to the Elf and gave his own bow. "The Standlendings sneer at our rough ways too, my lord. I can hardly fault you for doing likewise, for you are as far above them as they are above us who roam the steppes of the Riddermark."

"Above, perhaps," Thandir remarked with a smile, "but not necessarily better."

"So what exactly are you doing here, my friend?" Aragorn asked, changing the topic of conversation.

"Let us return to the talan," Thandir suggested, "and I will tell you our tale. It will take some time for these Mortals to move out of the dale so you cannot leave just yet. Stay the night and in the morning you may go in safety."

"Our horses..." Wídfara protested.

"Tell us where you left them," Thandir said. "I will send some of my people to watch over them until you are ready to leave."

Wídfara described the dell which, it turned out, was known to the Elves. Thandir sent two of them to see to the horses while he and the other Elves accompanied the two Mortals back to the talan.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Béma: The Rohirric name for the Vala Oromë. The Rohirrim believe that the Mearas were a gift to their ancestors from Oromë, hence their devotion to this particular Vala.

Talan: (Sindarin) A wooden platform in a tree.

Isildurchil: (Sindarin) Isildur’s Heir.

Ælfhláford: Elf-lord.

Aran Golodhrim: (Sindarin) King of the Noldor, who, at this time, is Arafinwë, known also as Finarfin.

Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad: (Sindarin) Battle of Unnumbered Tears. The Edain, led by Húrin, held the rearguard, thereby allowing Turgon, King of Gondolin and now High King of the Noldor-in-Exile with the death of Fingon, to escape with the remnant of the elven army. Of the Mortals who fought beside the Elves at this battle, only Húrin survived, taken prisoner by Morgoth.

Eruhîn: (Sindarin) Children of Eru.

8: Fox and Hounds

They sat in the middle of the talan and Thandir handed out some provisions for the two Mortals to eat while they talked. Aragorn spoke first, wishing to satisfy his curiosity.

"The last I heard, Thandir," he began, "you were in Lórien visiting with your two children. What are you doing here in Rohan?"

"We’ve been tracking orcs across the Wold from Lórien," the scout said. "There was some depredation along the way but these orcs seemed more intent on reaching a particular goal than in marauding through Rohan."

"We followed them here, to this dale," Haldir picked up the tale. "Here we found the telain, mostly rotted away, but one or two, such as this one, still in good condition. We decided to use this dale as our base of operations for we are still hunting the orcs and seeking to find where they go. It may be that they mean to harry the Rohirrim or perhaps cross over the Ered Nimrais to harass the good folk of Dol Amroth. We do not know."

"So Elves truly lived here," Aragorn said with some awe. "Perhaps the story told of this dale is not so far-fetched as I believed."

Haldir nodded. "Yes, Elves dwelt here for a time, though I do not believe within the living memory of the Mortals who now live here. Still, it was a shock to us as well to see these telain and know that our kinfolk dwelt here for a time. I’ve often wondered if Nimrodel...."

He shook his head and gathered his thoughts, casting a wry glance at the two Mortals, one of whom stared back with a knowing look, while the other simply stared in open-mouthed wonder.

Thandir smiled. "Now why don’t you tell me what you’ve gotten me and my people into and why are you not in the Westfold with your cousin?"

"As to that," Aragorn said with a slight grimace, "circumstances prevented me from joining Gilhael, which, in retrospect, is just as well."

Thandir gave the Dúnadan a shrewd look. He noticed that even Wídfara’s expression, which had been open and innocent, was now closed and he wondered just what those circumstances were, but declined to press the matter. Then Aragorn was speaking again.

"I do not know all the particulars, but apparently when Thengel came to the throne there was some contention as to his right to rule in some quarters."

"‘Some quarters’ meaning Éolind," Thandir said. Both Mortals nodded.

"Thengel King decided that it was time to force matters," Aragorn continued, "for the plot, if there is one, and I think there is, has been brewing for four years now. The king wishes to put all plotting to an end, hence, when he learned the queen was coming here where none now live, he became suspicious and decided to allow me to play the ruse in hopes of forcing her hand."

"Well, you will not have long to wait, I deem," Thandir said. "I little like involving myself in the petty affairs of Mortals, but I do admit me that I found this little drama rather amusing. However, what happens from hereon is your affair and none of ours. We hunt orcs, not traitors."

Aragorn bowed his head in acquiescence. "I am grateful that you intervened on our behalf, my friend. I was never sure I could have pulled it off. Perhaps the Valar were looking out for me and sent you to help."

Thandir gave the Mortal a ghost of a smile. "Perhaps. It grows late. Rest you here and in the morning we will escort you back to your horses before we ourselves move on."

Aragorn nodded and thanked the Elf. Soon the two Mortals were sleeping, guarded by the silent Wood Elves of Lórien. Aragorn slept deeply and contentedly; Wídfara had some difficulty at first and tossed and turned until Haldir began softly singing a slow song in the Silvan tongue. Then the young Rohir found it nearly impossible to keep his eyes open.

****

Dawn broke and found Thandir and the Mortals making their way through the dale to where Aragorn and Wídfara’s horses were waiting.

"The queen and her fellow conspirators were gone two hours ago," Thandir said as they made their way down the valley. "My scouts say that Éolind returns even now to Aldburg but the two men move eastward, presumably towards Isenbert’s steading, for did you not say, young Wídfara, that that lord’s holdings lie to the east?"

"Aye, lord," the young man answered. "It pleases me not that Isenbrandingsdale is near to my own father’s steading and that my sire has feasted one at his own table all unwittingly who is, I deem, a hláfordswica."

"But Alorharadsdale lies more to the north, does it not?" Aragorn asked. "So why does Léodward travel east with Isenbert?"

Wídfara shrugged. "I know not, lord, but I like it not."

"Nor do I," Aragorn grimaced. "We needs must reach Thengel before Éolind does."

"That may not be possible," Thandir commented, "or even prudent, Estel. The queen has a good two-hour head start on you and the land is too open for you to travel without being seen. Even if you were to go west rather than north you cannot hope to reach Aldburg before her."

Wídfara looked at the Elf in confusion and turned to Aragorn. "Lord, why does he call you Estel? Is not your name Thorongil?"

"Aye, it is, my friend," Aragorn said with a smile. "The Elves, however, called me Estel when I dwelt with them for a time. It means ‘hope’."

"Why did they call you that?" Wídfara asked, crinkling his nose.

"Because it seemed that every time I tried to impress them with what I had learned from them, one of them invariably would say, with a rather pained look on his fair face, ‘I do hope that was not meant to be taken seriously, O Child of Men’." Aragorn gave the young Rohir a wry smile and said in a confidential manner. "Elves are very hard to please, you know."

Thandir laughed aloud, his eyes bright with amusement. "Too true. We’re never satisfied. But I think in this case you have done quite well, O Child of Men." This last was said somewhat facetiously, but Aragorn detected real respect in the Elf’s words. "My Lord Elrond will be pleased when next I see him and tell him so."

Aragorn bowed his head briefly in acknowledgment and gave the Elf a smile, but did not say anything. Wídfara watched the two walking beside him, sure that there was more to it than what he had been told but knowing it would do him no good to seek for further answers. On reflection, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know them anyway and remained silent for the rest of the trip down the valley.

They reached the horses and were soon giving their farewells to Thandir and the other Elves. "Good hunting, Thandir, my friend," Aragorn said in Sindarin.

"And to you, Estel," Thandir replied. "Watch your back. Treachery is oft a two-edge sword. Take care not to be caught by either edge. Farewell."

Aragorn and Wídfara urged their horses forward and were soon making their way north and west towards Aldburg. When Wídfara chanced to look back, there was no sign of the Elves and he wondered if he’d imagined them, for much like a dream the last few hours had seemed to him.

"I like it not that we will not be in Aldburg before the queen. How else to explain my presence?" Aragorn said as they rode.

Wídfara thought for a moment or two. "There may be a way to reach Aldburg sooner, lord, though it is not an easy route. See you, the queen must take her entourage due north towards the royal road before she can swing westward to Aldburg. It is the route we took to get here. But just beyond this ridge is another way that we can take. It is narrow and steep but cuts across the Folde and will bring us directly behind Aldburg."

"Why did we not take that way to Dúnælfenedale?" Aragorn asked, trying to place the geography of this land in his mind.

"Too dangerous by night, my lord," Wídfara replied, "but not so in the light of day. If there are no unexpected delays we can reach Aldburg before the queen, for even if she rides flat out it will still take her until nearly noon to arrive. We can be there by mid-morning."

"Then let us hence, my friend."

Wídfara nodded and began to lead them westward. The way proved narrow indeed and steep as well. Oft times they were even forced to dismount and help their horses through narrow defiles or up steep inclines, yet, as slow as their going seemed to Aragorn, Wídfara remained confident that they were making good time.

And so it proved, for the sun was yet an hour or so from the nooning when they at last came out of the hills to see Aldburg sitting on the plain. Aragorn gave Wídfara a smile. "You have done well, Wídfara son of Éonoth. Thengel King will be greatly pleased with your performance in this. Come. Let us hurry. I would fain not to be found outside the walls when Éolind arrives."

They spurred their horses and soon were approaching the front gates of the town. The guards recognized them and let them through without question and in short order they were ensconced with Thengel, Erkenbard and Grammund in the senechal’s study relating their tale and all they had seen and heard concerning the conspiracy. The three men stared at Aragorn in wonder as he told of Thandir and the Elves of Lórien.

"No word has reached my ears of either orcs or Elves traveling through the Wold or the Eastfold," the king said. "It troubles me that such doings go unseen upon my own lands."

Aragorn shook his head. "Be not dismayed, Thengel King. The orcs would have traveled only by night and the Elves as well. If they so wish, elves can hide their movements from Mortals and all anyone would have seen would have been a swift mist moving under starlight."

"Be glad, my Cousin," Erkenbard then said, "that these denizens of Dwimmordene seek to destroy those who threaten our lands and the lands of our allies. Let us leave them to that task in peace and concentrate on our own troubles."

"Rightly spoken, Erkenbard," Grammund said gruffly. "My lord, do we wait for the queen, your mother, to arrive or no?"

Thengel gave them all an appraising look, then shook his head. "No. I do not wish for my mother to know of my presence here, so we must make haste ere she returns. Grammund, gather the éored. We will travel the defile that lies behind Aldburg, for there is another way that leads back to Edoras, though it is a tortuous and treacherous road. Erkenbard, alert the people to speak not of my coming, yet if any seek audience with the queen, mark him, but hinder him not. We would see which way our quarry jumps."

The two men bowed and left to do their lord’s bidding. Thengel turned to Aragorn and Wídfara. "You have done well. Indeed, better than I had hoped. I am well pleased with you both."

"Well, we did have a little help," Aragorn said with a deprecating smile and Thengel laughed.

"Indeed. It helps to have friends in high places, even those who live in the trees."

****

They left Aldburg soon after, making their way to the defile that Aragorn and Wídfara had traveled earlier. There they continued up into the mountains until they came to another split in the fold of the land that went westward. Aragorn had marked it coming through the other way but had not bothered asking where it led. The way was indeed tortuous and oft times treacherous to both man and horse and the going was slow, a snail’s pace that forced them to camp as day gave way to night and Thengel deemed they still had several hours travel before they could reach the plains behind Edoras.

"This defile debouches before Upbourn in Harrowdale," he explained to Aragorn as the men set about making camp. "From there we will ride swiftly to Edoras."

"What will you do with Lords Isenbert and Léodward?" Aragorn asked in curiosity.

"As to that, I know not," Thengel admitted ruefully. "I only have your word, and Wídfara’s, that they were there and plotting with my mother. I need further proof of their duplicity. Betrayal is a heavy charge to lay against any and I would have iron-clad proof of it before I act."

"The hounds have been let loose and the fox is running, or so we can hope," Aragorn said musingly. "Let us hope the fox runs in a direction that benefits the hounds."

"Let us hope indeed," Thengel said and his tone was dark and cold and Aragorn shivered in spite of himself.

****

The next morning Aragorn and the Rohirrim woke to heavy fog that remained thick on the ground throughout the forenoon, making travel even more treacherous than it already was. It was thus almost midday before they reached Upbourn, coming out of the mountains like ghosts, though not silent ones, for the men began singing as soon as they came out of the defile to find the fog was not so thick in the dale. Many in Upbourn hid behind their doors in dread of the troop that had appeared so unexpectedly out of the fog, for Harrowdale had a grim reputation and all feared the ghosts that haunted the road to Dunharrow.

Thengel eschewed stopping along the way and cared little for what fright his appearance might cause his folk, for he was intent on reaching Edoras. So it was that the king returned unlooked for and all were amazed at his appearance, for he had ridden along the Snowbourn to the royal road and thus had approached the city, not from the east, as expected, but from the west. Once in Edoras Thengel ordered certain members of his Witan to assemble, a select few that made up his Inner Council, including Hildebrand and Hildered, as well as Morwen. Grammund came as a matter of course. Three others also joined them, along with Aragorn at the king’s insistence.

"I would have them hear from your own lips what has happened," the king said as the two made their way towards the council chamber. It took some time to explain all to everyone’s satisfaction. Aragorn felt nervous at first, but spoke confidently, having had long practice in holding his own councils with his Dúnedain leaders. None interrupted though Hildered’s mouth hung open when Aragorn got to the part with the Elves and several others stirred uneasily at the thought of denizens of Dwimmordene, as they insisted on calling Lórien, walking upon their land.

"It was not always your land, Lord Beornwine," Aragorn replied softly when the lord of Beorningsdale did voice such sentiments. "Once, it did not even belong to the men of Gondor. Once these lands were the habitation of the Nandor who eventually made their way to Beleriand under Denethor, their lord, ere the rising of the Moon, when all of Middle-earth was illumined only by Elbereth’s stars."

The Men of the Mark stared at the Dúnadan with varying degrees of wonder, for they knew little of the history of others outside of Rohan and thought their own tale of years quite long. Yet, here was one who spoke of Ages uncountable and a Past that stretched into darkness unfathomable to Mortal ken. At last Thengel stirred and gave them all an appraising look.

"As Lord Thandir said, my mother plays a dangerous game," Thengel remarked. "It remains to be seen how dangerous. I have placed my hounds in the field. Let us wait and see which way the fox will run."

****

They did not have long to wait. A week went by and Aragorn was readying himself at last to leave for the Westfold. Thengel had finally given him leave and he was due to go two days hence with a messenger from the king to his Marshal. It was during the morning court where all might come who had a grievance to seek the king’s justice when the unthinkable almost happened.

Aragorn, as usual, stood among the thegns, a darkling shadow amidst the brightness of the Rohirrim around him. He stood next to Hildered with Wídfara, who had recently been elevated to thegnscipe by Thengel, much to the young man’s everlasting delight and surprise. Two men approached the dais where sat Thengel. Morwen, as usual, stood beside him, while his three children sat to the left near where the men stood.

They appeared to be typical farmers or herdsmen to Aragorn’s eye as they began to present their case to Thengel, something about the wording of the landbóc and the actual landefn to which one of the men was entitled. Yet, something niggled in the back of Aragorn’s mind. Something did not sit well with him when he looked upon these two landbegengan. He casually inched his way forward to stand closer to the dais, surreptitiously easing a knife from its hidden holder, for he refused to be weaponless even though he wore not his sword in the hall. Thengel had not yet given him leave to do so.

It was while one of the men attempted to present the actual deed to the king that Aragorn realized what was amiss. All eyes were on the one man holding out the patent to the king who was reaching down to receive it. No one was paying much attention to his neighbor. No one, that is, but Aragorn who suddenly saw the man reach behind him to pull out a knife.

"Ethiro, aran nîn!" Aragorn yelled, even as he whipped his own knife out and threw it unerringly at the man who cried out, dropping his knife as he clutched at his other arm where Aragorn’s knife protruded.

Pandemonium reigned. The man with the patent, quickly dropped the parchment and in one fluid motion grabbed Théodfrid from the bench, his own knife, that had been hidden up his sleeve, to her throat. The child was her father’s daughter, for she did not scream, though she was white-faced with fright. Two of Thengel’s councillors reached over and grabbed the other two children and held them close, out of harm’s way, the one attempting to soothe young Théodhild, who was near screaming with hysterics. Théoden, Aragorn noticed, was as silent as his older sister, his young eyes burning with royal outrage.

Thengel had risen from his seat and Morwen stood white-faced and tight-lipped beside him. The man holding Théodfrid snarled at the king. "Let us go, Thengel King, and your daughter lives." Thengel gave a single nod and the man began backing away, his partner with him, still clutching his arm and cursing. Aragorn was wondering if he could do anything to stop them when all of a sudden the man holding Théodfrid gasped and arched his back. His knife nicked the girl’s throat but did no real harm as he let go his grip on her and slithered to the floor with an arrow in his back.

The other man simply stood there staring in horror at his companion. Théodfrid fell to the floor as well but had the presence of mind to crawl as quickly as she might away from the two men. Now that she was free she allowed herself to break down and began crying, clutching at her neck where blood flowed.

The rest of the court stood in absolute silence, shocked beyond anything they had ever experienced as three Elves quietly walked up the nave, never taking their eyes off the two men. All three were dressed in the grey-green of Lórien, though Aragorn knew they were not Wood Elves but Noldor. All three were armed with bows at the ready. As they came abreast of the two would-be assassins two of the Elves pointed their bows at the man still standing, while the third put his bow behind him and gently reached down and picked Théodfrid up, cradling her as if she were but a toddler. She stopped crying, awed by the presence of the Elf, who walked up to where Aragorn was standing and gave the Dúnadan a huge smile.

"Well Estel, I think I arrived just in time, as usual," the Elf said, speaking in Sindarin.

"Thandir! Why are you here?"

Thandir laughed, his voice merry and full of joy. "Why, Little One, because I wish to be. I need no other reason. Come, let us see to this maiden’s hurt and offer her the comfort of her parents' love."

With that the Elf turned to Thengel and Morwen, who, as shocked as everyone else, had not moved. "Hail, Thengel King. I do believe your daughter is in need of a healer," the Elf said, continuing to speak in Sindarin. Thengel bestirred himself and with an inarticulate cry rushed to his daughter and took her into his own arms.

"I’m all right, ada," the child said. "’Tis just a scratch, truly."

"Let the healers be the judge of that, daughter of mine," murmured Thengel, kissing her on the forehead. Then he turned to Thandir, his expression one of deep gratitude. "Le hannon, hîr nîn. Le hannon ’nin guil en-iell nîn."

Thandir reached out and gently stroked Théodfrid’s hair and gave her a smile. "You are entirely welcome, Thengel King." Then he looked at Aragorn standing next to him and with considered humor spoke in Westron. "Well, Thorongil, aren’t you even going to invite us for lunch?"

Aragorn glanced at Thengel who looked on with amusement, then turned to Thandir and spoke a phrase in Quenya, assured that only the three Noldor would understand. All three of the Firstborn started laughing and the Rohirrim were treated with the sight of Thandir suddenly twirling around in a merry dance, the gemstones in his warrior braids glittering brightly.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Telain: (Sindarin) Plural of talan: a wooden platform in a tree.

Hláfordswica: traitor, literally "lord’s betrayer" [hláford "lord" + swica "deceiver, traitor, betrayer"].

Thegnscipe: Thaneship, the status of thane; also the body of thanes or retainers.

Landbóc: Land-book or written grant of land.

Landefn: The resources of the land, or the measure or proportion of land as defined in the landbóc.

Landbegengan: Plural of landbegenga: peasant, husbandman.

Ethiro, aran nîn!: (Sindarin) Imperative: "Watch out, my king!" [ed "out" + tir- "watch"; cf. ethir "spy" from ed + tirn "out-watcher"; and athol- from ad + tol- "return, come back"].

Le hannon, hîr nîn. Le hannon ’nin guil en-iell nîn: (Sindarin) "Thank you , my lord. Thank you for the life of my daughter".

9: In the Company of Elves

"So why are you here, my friend?" Aragorn asked the Elf after Thandir finished his impromptu dance, laughing all the while. Healers had come and were tending to Théodfrid as well as to the second would-be assassin at Thengel’s orders. The other two Elves never relaxed their guard on the man. Thandir knelt beside the dead man and casually removed the arrow from his back while everyone else looked on.

"We decided to stop at Edoras on the way back to Imladris," the Elf said as he examined the arrow point, using the end of the dead man’s cloak to clean it of blood. He looked up at Aragorn with a smile. "I wanted to be able to tell Lord Elrond how you fared."

"What about the orcs?" Aragorn asked, not really satisfied with the elf’s answer.

Thandir’s expression went cold and unreadable and several people standing near shrank from him. "The orcs are no longer a concern," Thandir finally said, his voice low and menacing.

"That is good to hear," Aragorn replied, evincing disinterest. He’d lived too long in Imladris to be affected by the mood swings of the Firstborn. Thandir stood up and gave the Mortal an appraising look, recognizing the tone, and laughed. It was as if the sun had suddenly returned from behind storm-threatening clouds.

"Yes, indeed. It is good to hear, my children." He spread his arms wide. "Let us therefore rejoice and make merry."

Thengel decided it was time to intervene and stepped forward with a low bow to the Elves. "My thanks again for your timely intervention, Thandir of Imladris. I welcome you and your brethren to Edoras. Remain with us awhile if it pleases you and allow us the opportunity to feast you as is only proper."

Thandir gave Thengel a bow of his own, though, the Rohirrim noticed, not as deep a one as their king had given him. "Your thanks are unnecessary, Thengel King, but welcome, as is the invitation to feasting with your people, for in truth, I grow weary of Celegrýn’s cooking, if you want to dignify it with that word."

"At least I know how to boil water, Thandir, which is more than I can say for you," one of the other Elves said, laughing, though he never relaxed his grip on his bow nor turned his gaze from the man who was being treated for his knife wound. "Even Gilgirion knows that much and you know how incompetent he is around a campfire."

Gilgirion rewarded his fellow Elf’s words by sticking out his tongue and making a rude noise.

The Rohirrim found themselves laughing involuntarily at the banter between the Elves and the air seemed to brighten somewhat and tensions began to ease. The Mortals were still nervous in the presence of the Cyrtenfolc, but willing to accept them in their midst, especially as they saw how their king and the Dúnadan spoke easily with them and welcomed them.

"And here I thought you were practically perfect in every way, Thandir," Aragorn said teasingly. "I don’t think I could bear the shock of learning otherwise."

"Hah!" was that Elf’s only comment, but he came to Aragorn and gave the Mortal a hug, kissing the top of his head. "It’s good to see you again, too, Little One. I’d forgotten how amusing you Mortal children are."

Aragorn made no comment to that, merely smiling indulgently, for he was well used to the ways of the Elves. Thengel then ordered his men to remove the body of the dead man. He stared at the other man, who had remained sullen and silent at the not too gentle treatment of the healers.

"Remove him from my presence," he ordered. "I will deal with him later."

Celegrýn and Gilgirion relaxed their bows and stepped away from the man after one of the Rohirric guards bound his arms and led him away. Thengel then turned to Thandir and his fellow Elves, speaking in Sindarin.

"Come, my friends and be ye welcome unto my home," he said, speaking formally. "Lord Thorongil will take ye to where ye may refresh yourselves. I would fain have ye join me and my family to partake of the noon meal."

"Your words are gracious, Thengel King, and welcome," Thandir said with equal formality. "We accept your kind invitation."

Thengel nodded and dismissed the court. Aragorn motioned for the Elves to follow him but Thengel stopped him with a gesture. His expression was unreadable, though Aragorn detected a hint of amusement in the king’s eyes.

"We will speak later with you, young man, about carrying hidden weapons in our presence."

Aragorn reddened at that but gave the king a respectful bow. "I am yours to command, my lord," he said quietly.

"Yes, you are," the king said dryly and with another gesture dismissed him. As they were leaving, Thandir gave Aragorn an appraising look but otherwise did not speak, for which Aragorn was immensely grateful. Soon the Mortal showed the Elves to a large guest chamber in another part of Meduseld. It contained two beds, but Aragorn assured them another bed would be brought in.

"Here you may rest and refresh yourselves, mellyn nîn. I will escort you to the feasting when you are ready." He made to leave, but Thandir put a hand to his arm.

"Stay awhile, Estel, and give us news of Imladris, for it has been over ten years since last we were there."

So Aragorn sat on one of the beds and told them what they wished to know, including his own tale of taking up the Chieftainship of the Dúnedain, though he said nothing about Arwen. "I did not know how to respond to adar’s revelation at first," he said at one point while the Elves gave him sympathetic glances. "But in time I came to accept what I could not change, though I was reluctant to embrace my destiny wholeheartedly." He paused for a moment, staring at nothing in particular. "I was afraid that by taking up my heritage as Isildur’s Heir I would lose the only family I have ever known, but now I realize that is not the case. Elladan and Elrohir are still my annoying older brothers and Elrond is still my loving adar, and always will be."

Thandir, who was sitting next to Aragorn on the bed, smiled and placed an arm around the Mortal’s shoulders, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I am glad to hear that, Estel, for you do not realize how grateful we all are that you came into their lives... our lives. You saved our souls by your innocent presence and brought life back to Imladris where long had there been a pall of death."

Aragorn looked at Celegrýn and Gilgirion for affirmation of Thandir’s words and they both nodded, their expressions solemn, yet not sad.

****

The Elves stayed for three days, one day longer than they or Aragorn had planned, for Thengel asked them all to remain long enough to witness the trial of the would-be assassin. It was a short affair and quickly done. Rohirric justice was swift and in some ways brutal, but neither Aragorn nor the Elves could find fault in the way Thengel handled the situation.

The man turned out to be one Framhere from somewhere in the Eastfold. Beyond that, they got no other information, not even under torture. Thandir volunteered himself and his companions to try to gain information, but Thengel had politely refused the offer.

"I think we need to keep this within the realm of Mortals, my lords," Thengel said to the Elves. "My people are already uneasy by your presence, for you are but a myth to them and they are afraid. Framhere of the Eastfold may die believing that we are ignorant of his true intent and allegiance but he is forgetting his dead companion."

"And what has the Dead told you, O King of the Mark?" Thandir asked, curious and not at all offended by the Mortal’s refusal of his help. Even Estel looked relieved by that, the Elf had noticed with amusement.

"For one thing, we know who he is and where he comes from and who is his master." This was Hildebrand who had joined them in the discussion about Framhere. "He is one Grimwulf son of Béowulf of Wulfingháma in the Eastfold. He is one of Isenbert’s ceorls."

"Ah, Isenbert of Isenbrandingsdale," Thandir said with a nod. "Well that explains much. I think the fox has decided to turn and fight, Thengel King."

"But we have no way of knowing if my mother was a party to this or not," Thengel said, then sighed. "Even so, our laws are clear. Those who are of noble blood or are gently born cannot suffer aught but exile. We do not execute our nobles."

"No, only their slaves," Celegrýn said pointedly and Thengel blushed under the implied reprimand.

"Hush, child," Thandir said quietly to the younger Elf. "This is why we have few dealings with Men. Their ways are not ours and it is best not to get involved."

"And yet you did," Aragorn said, speaking for the first time since the discussion began. "I am still at a loss as to why. You did not just happen to decide you were going to visit Edoras on my account. We had met and had spoken and you could see that I was well. There was no need to come here. So why did you? What game do you play, Thandir of Imladris?"

There was a tense moment as the two stared at one another. Aragorn did not flinch, nor was he belligerent in his stance. He stood with easy grace and confidence in himself before the Firstborn, a confidence Thandir had not noted in him previously. But then, he thought to himself wryly, I last saw Estel when he was a raw youth hungering to join his brothers on patrol. Now before me stands a Man in the full flower of his strength, though not yet in wisdom.

"If game I play, Thorongil of the Dúnedain," the Elf said quietly yet with cold disdain, "it is a game of my choosing. Be glad that I do so, or else Rohan might even now be mourning a beloved daughter, or the king himself."

None of the Mortals could dispute that. None of them liked the implications either, least of all Aragorn.

Framhere was executed and the matter dropped, but not forgotten. The next day Aragorn took leave of the king and his family and the friends he had made. He and the three Elves, along with a contingent of warriors, including Wídfara, rode out of Edoras with the dawn, the Elves riding without tack upon borrowed horses.

****

From Edoras to Helm’s Deep lay nearly thirty-seven leagues of open steppe. Once they crossed the Snowbourn they rode steadily, though not at a ground-eating pace. Aragorn’s company would take five days to travel along the royal road where the land was relatively flat for most of the way, though the road itself was in poor condition, even nonexistent in some spots.

The Elves rode in silence among the Mortals and when they spoke they spoke only among themselves in their own language, though should any of the Rohirrim address them, they switched to Westron. While the men were chary around them, the Elves proved good hunters and always fresh game was added to the cooking pot when they stopped for the night. They also took their turns at the watch, sometimes not even bothering to wake the next person, standing through the night, singing softly as the dawn crept across the land. The Rohirrim little liked it, believing they were being treated as children incapable of standing watch, and Aragorn said as much to Thandir, but the Elves paid little heed, smiling knowingly and with some condescension.

"At least we all get a good night’s sleep out of it, though," Wídfara said with a wry grin. He, alone of all the Rohirrim, was easy among the elves and even got up the nerve to speak to them, shyly greeting them with an "Aur vain" every morning (Thorongil had taught him that much of the Elvish language), to which the Elves courteously responded in kind.

Aragorn, for his part, was unsure what was going on. Something had changed between the time he had unexpectedly met Thandir and the orc-hunting party and when Thandir and his companions arrived unlooked-for in Edoras. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, but he was concerned. The Elves rarely, if ever, interfered with the doings of the Secondborn unless it directly impacted upon them and he could not see how the troubles of Rohan were of any concern to them. As he had no answer and Thandir refused to supply him with one that satisfied him, he had no choice but to let it go. That did not mean he would not keep his eyes open.

So, they continued on. The mountains loomed closer as the road swung southward, bringing them to the Deeping-coomb which was the entrance to Helm’s Deep, that redoubtable fortress that had often been used as a refuge in times of trouble for the Rohirrim. Aragorn was surprised that the Elves insisted on accompanying them, for he assumed they would continue on.

"Imladris will still be there waiting for us, Estel," Thandir chided the young man. "For now, we are enjoying the trip. Once past Helm’s Deep we will be going on foot again, for we will not take these fine steeds with us."

Helm’s Deep was the staging post for the éored patrolling the Westfold and the Westmark. The West Emnet lay to the east but it was the land between the Gap of Rohan and the River Adorn south of the River Isen that was the main focus of the patrols, for it was here that the Dunlendings tended to strike. The villages were many and widely scattered in this rich region that stretched forty leagues from the Isen to the White Mountains and nearly fifty leagues between the Gap and the Adorn, though only the northern reaches of the Westmark were firmly under Rohirric control. South of where the mountains bent eastward, Rohan’s suzerainty did not hold with any degree of certainty.

Hilderic’s command was extensive and very short of men. It was impossible for the éored under him to patrol the area with any degree of success. The depredations by the Dunlendings were increasing and the villages were demanding better protection. Into this situation rode Aragorn and the Elves with only a small contingent of Riders, about thirty men.

If he was disappointed by the number of men joining his command, Hilderic gave no sign. Instead he greeted the captain of the troop with welcoming words and high praise. Aragorn he greeted warmly as a brother and the Elves with deep respect bordering on awe. Gilhael greeted his cousin with heartfelt gladness and spoke familiarly with Celegrýn, for they had often hunted together in years gone by.

"Well do I remember our last hunt together," Gilhael said with a laugh. "I never climbed a tree so fast in my life."

"And you without any Silvan blood in you," smirked the Elf, whose grey eyes danced with delight at meeting his friend.

"How long do you plan to stay?" Gilhael asked Thandir.

"For as long as we choose," Thandir replied and he ignored the surprised looks and grimaces among the various Mortals around him. "That is, if your captain has no objections."

Hilderic shook his head. "None, my lord. You are welcome to stay for as long as it pleases you." He did not look entirely pleased himself, but Thandir merely bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Gilhael raised an eyebrow at his royal cousin but Aragorn only scowled and shook his head as he followed Hilderic into the redoubt. Thandir merely smiled.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Cyrtenfolc: Fair Folk. Cyrten is pronounced "churten".

Mellyn nîn: (Sindarin) My friends.

Ceorl: A member of the lowest class of freeborn citizens within the Mark; a peasant. The word is pronounced "churl". 

Aur vain: (Sindarin) Fair morning.

Note on geography: The dimensions of the Westmark are based on Karen Wynn Fonstad’s Atlas of Middle-earth. The actual distance between the Gap of Rohan and the River Adorn is 48.6 leagues (146 miles).

10: A Midnight Conversation

Aragorn leaned against the parapet of the Deeping Wall, looking out onto the Westfold, smoking his pipe and thinking. The steppes lay before him, tall grasses undulating like waves on a dark waterless ocean. Above him Elbereth’s stars were ablaze, sparkling with careless beauty in the deep wells of night.

Behind him Helm’s Deep slept. He had drawn the first watch and was just now gone off duty, but he was not sleepy and so he stood there gazing across the midnight-canopied land of Rohan, his thoughts elsewhere. He felt rather than heard Thandir approach him, treading silently as was the way of the Elves. Aragorn sighed and tapped the ash from his pipe before stowing it away. Without bothering to look around he spoke.

"It’s all right, Thandir. Come and stand by me."

The Elf glided on ghost feet to come beside the Dúnadan. For a long time neither spoke, each lost in his own thoughts. Then Thandir turned his amaranthine gaze upon the Mortal he still thought of as ‘Estel’.

"You are angry," he said quietly, without emotion.

Aragorn shook his head but did not look at the Elf. "I am confused and I little like feeling so."

"But you are angry."

Aragorn sighed and finally faced the immortal. "Yes, Thandir. I am angry."

"With me."

"No, mellon nîn. With my adar."

Thandir raised a delicate eyebrow, his grey eyes shining silver in the light of the stars. He waited for an explanation. It was not long in coming. Aragorn turned back to look out into the night, his tone harsh, and to Thandir’s practiced ears, young.

"I am angry that he trusts me so little that he needs must send you to look after me."

"Ah, I see."

"The orcs..."

"They were real enough, never fear, child," Thandir assured him. "We did indeed track them across the Wold into the Eastfold and thence to the Ered Nimrais. We do not know where they were heading. Whatever their destination, they will not reach it now. Haldir and his people are even now returning to Lórien. Celegrýn, Gilgirion and I decided to return to Imladris. That your adar suggested to us that we look you up was fortuitous, else we would not have come to Edoras when we did."

"How did Adar know...."

"Child, the Firstborn are possessed of powers of which you Mortals do not know, for we do not speak of them. Trust that Elrond was able to communicate his concerns and I but seek to assuage them... and my own curiosity."

Aragorn sighed, leaning against the parapet. "I have lived among the Elves nearly all my life, yet I still do not understand you."

Thandir smiled, leaned over and gently kissed the Mortal on the brow. "That makes two of us. You Children of Men are such a mystery. I think the only one who truly ever understood you was Finrod, for he loved you beyond all reason or hope."

Aragorn glanced at the Elf in surprise. "Did you know him?"

Thandir nodded. "I served under his banner. I helped to patrol the forests of Dorthonion until Morgoth overran them and turned them into woods of terror."

"What was he like?"

Now Thandir sighed. "He was... starlight on calm waters, reflecting beauty with such reckless disdain. He cared not for pomp, for all he was our king. He loved the hunt and often sought solitude among the trees of Region. He was...." He shook his head and when he spoke again it was in a whisper that was barely heard by the Mortal beside him. "I loved him... I would have died for him... I would still die for him if he but let me."

Aragorn stared at the Elf in wonder and for a long time there was no sound between them but the wind on the grassland. After a time, he sighed, turning his attention back to the stars glittering like shards of ice above them. "I wish I could have known him," he finally said, sounding wistful.

Thandir put his arm around the young Man and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "He would have liked you, Aragorn son of Arathorn. You would have reminded him of Beren, whom he loved."

"Truly?" the Dúnadan asked in surprise. Thandir nodded, giving the Dúnadan a sad smile.

"You wear his ring, you know," the Elf said. "I am surprised you wear it openly though. The Enemy knows that ring, knows it intimately and hates it and the one who wears it. I would hide it away for now if I were you. A time may come when it should be worn openly and without fear, but that time is not yet, Little One."

But Aragorn shook his head. "It was the only thing I brought with me to remind me of who I am. I will not hide it even from myself."

Thandir gave the Mortal an appraising look and sighed. "Stubborn. Your father was the same, though I think you are worse than he ever was."

"Did you know my father well, Thandir?" Aragorn asked shyly.

The Elf shrugged. "I knew him, Estel, for a brief time, but I cannot say I knew him well. I’m sorry."

The Dúnadan sighed. "I have no memory of him. Nothing. He is just a name to me with no reality attached to it."

"You favor him in looks, though there is much of Gilraen in you as well. He was tall for a Mortal, taller than you by perhaps a couple of inches. He did not laugh much but he was not averse to telling a joke now and then. And always he smoked. I had thought that would be one habit you would not pick up living among us Elves, but I guess it was too much to hope for. You are a Mortal after all and Mortals do strange things."

"The same could be said of some Elves I know," Aragorn said with a light laugh and Thandir joined him.

"It grows late, Estel," Thandir said once the laughter had died down. "You should rest."

Aragorn nodded and took a few steps along the wall to the stairs that would take him down into the courtyard fronting the main doors leading into the Deep. He stopped and turned to find Thandir staring out into the night, softly singing.

"Thandir."

The Elf stopped singing and turned to face the mortal, his expression unreadable. Aragorn hesitated for a moment. "Thank you," he finally said.

"For what, child?"

"For caring."

Thandir smiled and the beauty of it smote Aragorn’s heart. The Elf reached out and took Aragorn’s head in his hands and kissed the Man on the brow. "Ú-moe a channad nin, hên nîn, ar ci melin."

"Ar le melin," Aragorn whispered as the Elf released his hold on him. In a short while Thandir found himself alone upon the parapet, looking out into the star-spangled night, raising his elven voice in a joyous song in praise of Elbereth. The sentries further down the wall on either side stood in shocked silence, listening to the Elf singing, tears running down their faces, though they knew not why.

****

Ú-moe a channad nin, hên nîn, ar ci melin: (Sindarin) "It is not necessary for thanking me, my child, for I love thee (familiar)".

Ar le melin: (Sindarin) "And I love thee". Aragorn uses the formal "you" because he is speaking to one he considers his superior, not his equal. He would most likely use the formal "you" with people like Glorfindel and Erestor but not with Elladan and Elrohir, since they are his "brothers" nor with Elrond except in formal occasions when he is addressing the Lord of Imladris rather than his adar.

Aragorn and Thandir speak the Imladrian dialect of Sindarin which is heavily influenced by the Quenya spoken by the Noldor who reside in Imladris, thus, their use of the borrowed conjunction ar rather than the more normal a.

11: Strategies from the Past

The next morning Hilderic met with Aragorn, Gilhael and the three Elves, along with his second-in-command, a taciturn older man named Heruthain. They were gathered in an inner chamber of the fortress which the Marshal had converted into a private study and office. There was a large map of Rohan hanging on the wall behind his desk. The villages of the Westmark and the Westfold were clearly marked. It was an impossibly large area to cover with only a single éored.

"You can see the problem I have right off," Hilderic said without preamble when Aragorn stood in front of the map and sighed. He nodded.

"You need twice as many men as you have," the Dúnadan said, "and even then it might not be enough, especially with Dunlendings attacking outlying villages."

"Most of the raids have been here between the Royal Road south to the mountains before one enters the Westmark proper," Heruthain commented gruffly, pointing to several villages that spanned the northern border where the River Isen flowed westward to join with the River Adorn. It was a narrow stretch of land, perhaps no more than twenty leagues in length where the distance between the White Mountains and the Isen was the shortest. "These villages have been set upon since the beginning of summer. Always they are attacked after our men have been past the village and always when they are just far enough away to be too late to effect a rescue. It’s almost as if someone is able to tell the Dunlendings where we are."

"Spies?" Aragorn asked. It was the most obvious answer, though he could see problems with it almost at once.

Hilderic shook his head. "None that we’ve detected and I can vouch for every man under my command. None would betray Rohan to Dunland. None have any reason to."

"What about scouts on the other side of the Isen?" Gilgirion asked, but Thandir shook his head.

"No cover," he answered. "Beyond the Isen the land remains flat for miles and there are few trees. My guess would be they are coming from the Westmark itself. Its people have never fully accepted the overlordship of the King of Rohan have they?"

Hilderic shook his head. "It was my first thought as well, but truly, I do not think that is where the main threat lies. The people of the Westmark are of mixed blood, true, and while poor, thrive well enough in their lands. They have no need to raid into the Westfold. No, I don’t think we need concern ourselves with the Westmark."

"And yet, the Dunlendings are getting their information from somewhere or someone," Aragorn stated. "From the sound of it, these raids are too organized."

"Especially for Dunlendings," Hilderic said with a snort. He sighed then. "My men are already stretched to the limit and the level of frustration keeps rising. The men my uncle sent with you will help but not that much. I need more men."

"Thengel has other concerns beside the Westfold, my friend," Thandir said slowly, gazing at the map. "You will have to make do with what you have."

"Fine advice, Elf-lord," Heruthain said with a sneer. "Any suggestions?"

"Heruthain! You forget yourself," Hilderic reprimanded sharply and his second blushed but did not apologize.

Thandir, for his part, merely smiled, lifting an eyebrow. His two companions’ expressions were unreadable. "Split the éored. Have them come from opposite directions. That might confuse whoever is directing the Dunlendings in their raids."

Hilderic shook his head in dismay. "We are too few to risk it. Even had I three times as many men it would still not be enough."

Thandir shrugged dismissively. "Well, that’s my suggestion. What about you, Thorongil? Remember you the lessons you were taught in Elrond’s halls?"

Aragorn gave the Elf an appraising look. "Better manners, for one."

Thandir threw back his head and laughed. "But entirely useless against Dunlendings, I imagine. Come, child, you can do better than that. I did not idle away a summer tutoring you for no good purpose when I could have spent it engaged in more important, and more interesting, pursuits."

"Such as?" Aragorn said with a challenging smile.

"Why, speaking to the trees and singing praises to Elbereth, of course," Thandir countered in a tone that implied that he was stating the obvious.

The other Mortals stood in open-mouthed bewilderment at the verbal sparring match between Aragorn and Thandir. Even Gilhael was shocked and feeling not a little nervous for his cousin. Elves, he knew, were a temperamental lot at best and did not always follow the rules of propriety that Mortals held so dear. He well remembered one incident while on patrol with Lord Glorfindel that even now, two decades later, left him feeling faint whenever he thought about it. Looking at his cousin, though, he realized that Aragorn had no fear for himself in that regard. Apparently, growing up among the Elves had inured him to such things. Gilhael wondered briefly if that really was a good thing.

"As I recall, you did that anyway," Aragorn said dismissively. "I do not see how you were discommoded, especially when you volunteered to tutor me that summer."

Now Celegrýn got into the act. "Estel, Thandir only volunteered because he managed somehow to break his leg and Lord Elrond refused to let him go back on patrol. It was either tutor you or spend the rest of the summer peeling potatoes." He laughed, as did Gilgirion. Thandir tried to look affronted but was not able to maintain the front and joined in the laughter. Aragorn grinned, but the other three Mortals just looked on in confusion at the swift change in moods.

"Regardless, child," Thandir finally said. "I know you know the answer. Quit stalling."

Aragorn turned his back on the Elf and stared at the map. No one else moved or ventured to speak. Finally, the Dúnadan nodded to himself, then turned back to face Thandir.

"Beren."

Hilderic gaped in confusion. "Your father?"

Aragorn turned to the young Marshal with a smile. "I am speaking of Beren son of Barahir who wrested the Silmaril from the Iron Crown of Morgoth, but before he did that..." He turned his attention back to Thandir who had stood there smiling patiently. "The Westmark is not Dorthonion and the Dunlendings are not Morgoth’s orcs."

"And yet..." Thandir said encouragingly.

"And yet," Aragorn nodded in agreement. He stole a glance at Gilhael and straightened somewhat, giving his cousin a hard glance. "Gilhael! Lasto na bith nîn! Echuio ar atholo ammen!" The timbre of his voice deepened with these words and there was a sense of power in them that the two Rohirrim had never felt before.

Gilhael responded as if someone had thrown cold water on him. He suddenly came to himself with a gasp and he swayed from the shock of it. Celegrýn grabbed his arm to keep him standing. Thandir frowned and went to stand before the Ranger, holding Gilhael’s head between his hands and gazing intently into the Ranger’s eyes. Gilhael tried to look away, suddenly frightened, but Thandir did not release him.

"No, child. Do not fight me. Let me see." Gilhael gave a slight whimper of resistance, then stilled, sinking into Celegrýn’s embrace as Thandir continued to gaze into his eyes. After what seemed like an eternity but was only a moment or two, Thandir released him, placed a hand on the Ranger’s forehead and said something too low for the Mortals to hear. Gilhael gave a shuddering gasp and then fainted outright. Celegrýn caught him and picked him up as if he were no heavier than a child.

"What should I do with him?" the Elf asked.

Thandir looked at Hilderic, who stood there in shocked amazement, unsure what was happening. "Is there someplace where he may rest?" the Elf asked.

The Marshal nodded. "My room is just across the hall," he said in a strangled voice.

Thandir nodded to Celegrýn. "Stay with him until he wakens." Then Celegrýn left with his unconscious burden and Thandir turned his attention to Aragorn. "That was not the first time."

Aragorn shook his head. "It’s happened once before while on our way to Rohan. I was able to call him back to himself, but it was not easy."

"Do you remember what triggered the last episode?" Thandir asked with a frown.

Aragorn shrugged. "We had camped for the night and were sitting around the fire. It was too early for us to set watches so we were both up. I started singing part of the Lay of Lúthien when I noticed Gilhael was no longer ‘there’. It took me some time to... er... find him."

The Elf nodded, deep in thought. "Do you recall what part of the lay you were singing?"

Aragorn shrugged again. "Lúthien dancing before Morgoth."

Thandir had a rather pained look on his face at that, as if he were remembering something, then he shook his head and sighed. "He was nearly at the Gates of Mandos before I was able to reach him and pull him back."

"But that makes no sense," Aragorn protested. "He is not dying and why would mentioning Morgoth..."

"Or Beren," Thandir rejoined. "Or the Silmaril. It could be any of these or none of them. I don’t know, but you will need to keep an eye on him."

Aragorn thought for a moment. "Do you think I should send him back to Imladris? If he is ill..."

"It is an illness not even Elrond can cure, Thorongil," Thandir said with certainty. "Sending him back will not help him. All it will do is shame him."

"But if he is a danger to us..." Hilderic broke into the conversation.

Thandir gave the Marshal an appraising look. "I doubt that he is, but certainly caution must be taken to ensure that he does not suffer such an episode while on patrol."

Hilderic nodded. "That’s easy enough to remedy. Since joining my éored, Gilhael has proven himself a good tactician and I have kept him here at Helm’s Deep with me planning strategy while Heruthain leads the patrols. I will continue doing so."

"He will not like it," Aragorn said. "I suspect he’s merely been waiting for me to join you before insisting on going out on patrol when I do. He’s very protective of me, you see." This last was said with a deprecating smile.

"Perhaps," Hilderic said with an answering smile. "Let us wait to see how he fares before making any decisions. What I want to know is what just happened."

Aragorn gave Thandir a sideway glance before turning back to Hilderic with a sigh. "I think he is suffering from...delayed shock. Last year... one of our villages was destroyed by... orcs. Gilhael...."

Hilderic raised a hand to forestall Aragorn, his expression a combination of shock and sorrow. "You need not elaborate, my friend. We will do what we can to keep him busy. Now, why don’t you tell me what you meant about this Beren and Dor... dorth..."

"Dorthonion," Thandir supplied. "A region of Beleriand that fell under Morgoth’s sway. Beren and his father, along with some others, became a band of outlaws who refused to leave their home and harrassed the orcs who now ranged through the highlands. Eventually, though, they were betrayed and only Beren survived."

"How does that help us with the Dunlendings?" Heruthain asked skeptically.

"We can play the same cat-and-mouse game with them that Beren played with the orcs and other fell creatures of Morgoth," Aragorn supplied.

"You mean, turn the tables on the Dunlendings and start attacking their villages?" Hilderic asked in surprise, a look of displeasure on his young face. "There is no honor..."

"There is no honor in dying at the end of a barbarian’s sword, either," Thandir retorted. "But I would not countenance attacking villagers, only the men who are raiding."

"If we can find them!" Hilderic said with some heat, his frustration evident.

Thandir suddenly smiled and Gilgirion said something in Sindarin that made Aragorn’s eyebrows go up.

"Leave that to us, Lord Hilderic," Thandir said. "Give us leave to join your next patrol and we will find your raiders for you."

Hilderic gave the Elf a jaundiced look then turned to Aragorn for confirmation. The Dúnadan nodded in affirmation. "I will go with them." It was not a question, nor did he seek permission.

Hilderic glanced at Heruthain for a brief moment and then turned to the Elves and Aragorn again. "The next patrol leaves tomorrow at dawn."

****

Aragorn was sitting by the bed smoking when Gilhael awoke.

"How long have I been sleeping?" he asked, taking in his surroundings.

"Half the day," Aragorn said, puffing on his pipe. "It’s past noon."

Gilhael scowled as he started to sit up. "Well, that’s just great!" he said in disgust. "Hilderic and the Elves must have loved my little performance. I shouldn’t have agreed to come with you, you know." His tone and expression was one of shame at showing such weakness before others, especially before his Chieftain and the Elves.

Aragorn stared at him steadily for a moment before he took his pipe out of his mouth. "You have had your moment of self-pity, Cousin. I will not permit you to indulge in it any longer."

"You won’t permit it?" Gilhael gave his cousin a scathing look then remembered to whom he was speaking. He closed his eyes and lay back down. "Forgive me, my lord. I fear I’ve forgotten myself. I meant no disrespect." He opened his eyes and looked at Aragorn bleakly. "Are you going to send me away?"

"Gilhael, I’m the last person to condemn you but self-pity does neither one of us any good. What happened, happened. I do not know what triggers these episodes, but I will not send you away. Thandir assures me that not even my adar can cure you. You must come to terms with what happened yourself. That is the only way you will find healing."

For a long moment there was only the sound of Aragorn quietly smoking. "So, what now?" Gilhael finally asked.

"You will remain here in Helm’s Deep," Aragorn said, then raised his hand to forestall Gilhael’s protest. "Nay, Cousin. This is not a punishment. Hilderic tells me you’ve been very helpful to him. You know our history as well as anyone. I want you to dredge up every scrap of knowledge you have about Beren and the outlaws. Thandir thinks it’s important and so do I." He gave Gilhael a piercing look. "Beren survived the horrors of Dorthonion alone before he found himself in Doriath. I want to use what he did against Morgoth’s minions to our benefit."

"And what are you going to do while I remain here?" Gilhael asked suspiciously.

Aragorn smiled. "Why, I’m going on patrol with the Elves. After all, someone has to keep an eye on them. You know how flighty Elves are even at the best of times."

Gilhael threw back his head and laughed. "Flighty indeed, and Thandir’s the flightiest of them all."

Now both men were laughing.

Standing outside the room on guard, Celegrýn smiled broadly at nothing in particular.

****

Lasto na bith nîn! Echuio ar atholo ammen!: (Sindarin) "Listen to my words! Awake and return to us!" [athol- "return", from ad- "back, again"+ tol- "come", with soft mutation and assimilation].

12: Into the Westmark

Dawn stole across the Westfold like a thief, robbing the earth of darkness. First there was just a greying of the sky as high, thin fallstreaks swept across the firmament, turning salmon and rose with the coming of Anor. Then, light, fragile yet inexorable in its beauty, illuminated the sharp crested foothills, the dying grass glowing like burnished copper as Arien looked down upon Arda from her exalted height. Mountains leapt with joy as the Last Light of Laurelin kissed them and the sky became a sapphirine canopy as birds of every hue and song greeted the new day.

Aragorn and the Elves rode with the Rohirrim under the dawn sky and the Elves sang a paean in Quenya to Arien that had first been composed two ages before by one who had witnessed the first rising of the Sun. Aragorn had met that Elf, now living in Imladris, though he did not speak of it to any of the other Mortals. Heruthain, leading the éored, asked him what the song was about and Aragorn translated the words as best as he could into Rohirric.

     Ai yávë Laurelingo, ambanima elenion, nai uvor tyeluval sisíla.

          O fruit of Hanging-Gold, most beautiful of stars, may it be thou shalt never cease to shine.

     Ámen lavë, hínilyar, i narë melmelyo sinomë nu aldarembina Endórë.

          Grant unto us, thy Children, the flame of thy love here under tree-entangled Middle-earth.

     Tári elenion Vardo, Arien, ámenna tirë rainavë ar á colë cyerminnar herilyanna.

          Queen of the stars of Elbereth, Arien, look graciously upon us and carry our prayers to thy Lady.

The song was joyous and beautiful beyond endurance and not a few of the warriors riding across the Westfold wept unashamedly as the music of the elven voices smote their hearts. Then, the Rohirrim themselves began a low sonorous song of their own. It began softly but swelled as first one voice then another joined in. It reminded Aragorn of the very steppes across which they rode — wide-open spaces, wild and free, with the wind beckoning across the plain.

They rode for hours, stopping once at midday to rest and water the horses before continuing. It was only a little more than eight leagues from the Deeping-Coombe to the Gap of Rohan where the Fords of Isen were. Heruthain was planning on camping just south of the Fords and then continuing south towards the Westmark the next day.

"The first village is only three leagues from the Fords," Heruthain explained to Aragorn and the Elves as they rode along. "But that village was completely burned out. Most of its citizens were slain or taken captive as slaves, we deem. The few survivors have moved eastward into the Westfold or further into the West Emnet where raids are few."

"Where are the raiders crossing?" Thandir asked. "Surely the Fords are guarded."

Heruthain grunted in agreement. "We think they ford where they will. The river is not overly deep though there are no places that I know of where horses may cross with safety except at the Fords."

"Have any of your scouts attempted to backtrack their trail?" Aragorn asked, but Heruthain shook his head.

"Most tracks are obliterated by the time we get there and our scouts are not that knowledgeable, I’m afraid," the Rohir captain said ruefully. "We have had little need for them until now. Ever has our strength been in the swiftness of our horses, not in the cunning of our pathfinders," he concluded apologetically.

"Then my friends and I have come to the right place," Thandir laughed and the other two Elves echoed him. Heruthain gave Aragorn a puzzled look, which Aragorn returned with a shrug.

****

That night they camped in the shadow of the mountains where they curved southward. The Isen was a thin blue strip in the middle distance. To the north they could just make out the dark green smudge that marked the southern eaves of Fangorn Forest. All three Elves stood staring at that ominous and ill-favored wood with expressions that went beyond longing, ignoring the mortals setting up camp around them. None of the Men, including Aragorn, were able to look at them directly. Only Aragorn dared to approach them and even he could be seen to be keeping a respectful distance as he bade them to join him by the fire to eat, speaking in the strange lilting tongue of the Firstborn.

Thandir was the first to stir from his reverie and the look he gave Aragorn caused those nearby to reach for swords and bows, as if suddenly confronted by an enemy. Aragorn never flinched, though many saw him pale slightly. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Thandir’s eyes came back to the present and they were merry once more. The Imladris scout punched Gilgirion in the arm and said something in Sindarin that caused Aragorn to grin. Celegrýn made a retort that had the other two Elves in stitches as they turned from that ancient forest to join the Dúnadan by the fire that he was sharing with Heruthain.

"We will be gone when you awaken," Thandir said quietly as he accepted a bowl of venison stew from Aragorn. "Continue your patrol as usual. We will join you in three days time."

"How will you find us?" Heruthain asked, clearly puzzled. "You do not even ask for the route we will take."

"Nor would it mean anything to us if we did," Thandir said. "One mortal village is much the same as another to our eyes. Do not worry. We will find you." Then he smiled slyly. "Or rather, we will find our horses." He turned to Aragorn. "You will care for them while we are gone."

It was not a question, and Heruthain looked at Thandir in surprise at the tone of command in the Elf’s voice. Aragorn merely nodded as if he had expected no less. "The usual signals?" All three Elves nodded.

"Three days," the Dúnadan said, giving each of the Firstborn a hard stare. "Then I’m coming after you."

"Which means we better be back on the night of the second day," Celegrýn said with a laugh, "or Estel’s going to make our lives miserable."

"He is his father’s son, after all," Thandir said with a warm smile for the Dúnadan, and Aragorn was left wondering which father the Elf meant.

****

The Elves were indeed gone when the camp awoke and none of the men on watch could honestly claim to have seen them go, though Wídfara thought he had seen a wisp of mist that disappeared northward.

"Elves can travel unseen by Mortals if they so wish," Aragorn said casually as he went about the task of helping to break camp. Wídfara gave him a strange look which Aragorn ignored. Soon they were on their way, their destination a small village that nestled against the mountains.

"We will do a circuit of the villages," Heruthain explained to Aragorn, "moving south through the foothills, then swinging westward where the mountains curve to the east. From there we will go towards the Isen and then make our way back north in a serpentine pattern as we go from one village to the next until we are at the Fords."

"How long does such a patrol normally take?" Aragorn asked.

Heruthain shrugged. "Depending on the weather and such... about three weeks, maybe four."

Aragorn nodded and an easy silence ensued between the Rohir captain and the Dúnadan. Then, diffidently, Heruthain ventured to ask a question that had been on his mind since the night before. "Were you serious... about going after the Elves?"

Aragorn gave Heruthain a piercing look. "Yes," he said simply, "I was serious."

"You would have gone even without my permission?"

Now Aragorn shook his head. "I would have sought your permission first and hoped that my explanation would be acceptable, but regardless, I would have gone." He paused and Heruthain detected an air of sadness about the northerner. "Thandir tends to be... reckless. You see, a year before Eorl the Young came to Cirion’s rescue he lost his wife to orcs. He only remained in Middle-earth rather than follow her to Mandos because at the time they had two children who needed him still. Since then though...."

"He seeks death?" Heruthain asked quietly.

Aragorn shrugged. "I think he seeks redemption. I think he blames himself for Eluwen’s death and has never forgiven himself."

"Yes," Heruthain nodded in agreement. "Such men become reckless with their lives... and the lives of others."

"Elves even more so, I’m afraid," Aragorn said, "though they are careful not to involve the younger races in such pursuits. I only know about his story because he told me that summer he remained in Imladris and tutored me."

"Over four hundred and forty years...." Heruthain’s eyes went blank trying to imagine such a distance of time. Four hundred and forty-seven years ago, Eorl the Young rode out of the north to the aid of Cirion of Mundburg and Rohan was born, and in all that time an Elf grieved for a dead wife. It was difficult to comprehend.

****

They reached the village, called Dunwulfstun for reasons best known to its inhabitants, around noon. It was a typical daub and wattle village with a central meeting hall constructed of wood. It was a small hall, not more than forty paces long and half as wide, yet it served its purpose. Heruthain met the village headman, whose name was Cedric, before the doors of the hall. Aragorn saw a man with silver-tinged braids who was missing part of his right arm, yet otherwise appeared hale and hardy. He greeted Heruthain warmly.

"Westu, Heruthain, hál!" Cedric exclaimed as he hugged Heruthain and kissed him gladly on the cheek in greeting, which Heruthain returned with equal joy. "It is good to see you once again, sweordbroðor."

"As it is good to see you, as well, my friend. Let me make you known to Lord Thorongil, a Dúnadan from the north, who has taken service with Thengel King." Heruthain gestured for Aragorn to join them and Cedric eyed the young man critically, giving him a short bow in greeting.

"Well come, my lord. Well come to Dunwulfstun."

"Thank you, Cedric Héafodmann," Aragorn said politely.

"Come, my friend," Cedric turned to Heruthain with a broad smile. "Let us share a flagon of mead and you will tell me what has happened in Edoras since your last visit and I will tell you about the latest exploits of my newest grandson born just this past fortnight."

Heruthain laughed. "The mead I will accept, my friend, but save your tales of your grandson and the wondrous deeds that he has performed before your eyes for another time. I wish to acquaint Lord Thorongil with what has happened here in the Westmark and I would have your counsel."

Cedric sobered somewhat and nodded. "Come then. We will talk." He led them into the hall which was darker than Aragorn expected and it took several seconds for his eyes to adjust. Cedric brought them to a trestle table set against one wall. There was a flagon and several wooden cups on the table and Cedric deftly poured the mead into three cups, giving the other two men a salute before they downed the honey-sweet drink. Aragorn was reminded of the mead that Beorn had offered him and he thought wistfully of the peace and serenity he had felt within Beorn’s hall. He brought himself back to the present when he realized that Cedric had asked him a question.

"Forgive me, Héadfodmann, I fear I was... elsewhere. Your mead brought back pleasant memories of a recent visit to Rhovannion. You were saying?"

Cedric gave the younger man a shrewd look. "I asked if you have ever been on a patrol before?"

Aragorn smiled. "Since I was fifteen, actually. I spent some time among the Elves in Rivendell and they took me on their own patrols of the Hidden Valley and then I was formally admitted among the Dúnedain when I was twenty. I have been on more patrols in the last six years than I care to remember. If we weren’t fighting orcs, it was wargs or incursions from Angmar. Believe me, sir, I am well experienced in the dangers of patrol."

Cedric nodded, apparently satisfied, then turned his attention back to Heruthain. "Now, tell me about these Elves again."

Aragorn realized with chagrin that Heruthain had already apprised Cedric about the assassination attempt in Edoras and the Elves’ role in foiling it while he had been reminiscing and vowed to pay more attention to his surroundings. Getting lost in memories might work well for Elves, but it was a dangerous occupation for a Mortal in these perilous times.

"Rumor has it that the Westmark is becoming dangerous," Cedric said at one point as the three men were unceremoniously herded out of the hall by no-nonsense matrons wishing to prepare it for the evening feast which was an expected event whenever Heruthain’s patrol came through.

"How so?" Heruthain asked as they settled themselves on a couple of benches off to one side of the porch that surrounded the hall.

"The raids are increasing and they’re moving southward," Cedric explained. "And there’s another thing."

"Well, what is it?" Heruthain demanded somewhat acerbically.

Cedric grimaced. "The raiders are reported to be Rohirrim."

"What!?" Heruthain stood up in shock and then just stared at his friend in disbelief. Aragorn, on the other hand, nodded. "Makes sense."

Cedric gave the Dúnadan a shrewd look, then glanced at Heruthain standing there with his mouth agape, and smiled with grim amusement. "Close your mouth, sweordbroðor. You look ridiculous."

Instead of responding to Cedric’s barb, Heruthain turned to Aragorn angrily. "What do you mean, it makes sense? Do you accuse...."

Aragorn raised a hand in protest. "Nay, Heruthain, I do not, but think about it. The people of the Westmark do not recognize Thengel’s authority over them, but neither do they cleave wholly to Dunland from what I’ve been told." Cedric nodded and Heruthain sat back down, looking thoughtful. Aragorn continued. "If it appears that certain of the Rohirrim are attacking the villages in southern Westmark, it may be seen as a retaliation for the depredations visited upon the villages in the Westfold and here in the northern reaches of the Westmark where the villages do hold allegiance to Thengel."

"If the Westmark rises up in retaliation, my friend...." Cedric left that thought unspoken and Heruthain shivered in spite of himself at the images the words evoked.

"Thengel King is beset by conspiracies to undermine his rule, both from within and without," Aragorn concluded. "I do not think the two are connected, but certainly both groups of conspirators may be taking advantage of each other to further their own cause."

Silence reigned between the three men for a time. Aragorn glanced idly around, noticing children playing near the village well as their mothers drew water and gossiped. The cling-clang of metal being systematically pounded by a blacksmith’s hammer could be heard though the smithy was not in view. Horses neighed and goats bleated. Village life went on around them, oblivious of the weighty matters being discussed by the three of them. Finally, Aragorn turned back to Heruthain and Cedric.

"We need to find those raiders," he said quietly yet decisively. Cedric nodded. Heruthain looked skeptical, but did not contradict the Dúnadan.

"Let’s hope your Elves bring us news," he said somewhat reluctantly.

Aragorn smiled. "Not my Elves, Heruthain. They belong to themselves and I have no claim on them save friendship."

"And that is more than most Mortals can claim, Lord Thorongil," Cedric said shrewdly.

****

They stayed in Dunwulfstun for four days. "I always stay the longest here in Dunwulfstun," Heruthain told Aragorn. "Cedric is a wily old bird and knows much that goes on in the Westmark. He is always a font of useful information... when I can get him to stop talking about his dratted grandchildren, that is."

The captain of the éored laughed and Aragorn joined him, for he had been a victim of Cedric’s obsession on more than one occasion during their stay. Not that he minded. He had realized early on in his Chieftainship that listening to his people prattle on about mundane matters helped to keep his own burdens in perspective and served to remind him to what he was dedicating himself: that ordinary people were free to prattle to their hearts’ content made his own sacrifices worthwhile.

Thandir and the other two Elves showed up on the evening of the third day, just as everyone was sitting down in the hall for dinner. Aragorn had already informed Heruthain that if the Elves were not there by dawn he would be going after them. Heruthain did not try to argue. Cedric said nothing, but his eyes were knowing. It was with some relief on Heruthain’s part when the doors of the hall opened and three ethereal figures entered.

As the Elves glided into the hall, all conversations came to an abrupt halt. Several mouths hung open at the sight of them. Thandir threw back his hood and smiled towards where Aragorn was sitting on a bench next to Heruthain with Cedric across from him. At least one maiden gave a strangled sigh at the beauty of that smile and fainted, much to the consternation of those sitting around her.

"I hope you’ve saved some of that delicious smelling stew for us, Estel," Thandir said with a laugh, speaking Westron. "We’re starved."

Aragorn gave Thandir a teasing grin. "Only if you help with the washing up afterwards."

Heruthain and Cedric, not to mention everyone else, just stared at the Dúnadan in disbelief. Ask one of the Firstborn to wash your dishes!? Why not just ask Lord Béma to curry your horse for you while you’re at it?

Thandir must have felt the same way, for he lifted a delicate eyebrow at the Mortal and said, with all the haughty arrogance of one who’s seen three Ages of Arda and more, "I haven’t trekked through fen and forest just to wash your dishes, Estel."

Aragorn’s smile deepened as he calmly picked up a spoon, dipped it into the trencher and took a sip of the stew, smacking his lips appreciatively. Then, before anyone could respond, Thandir pulled his bow off his shoulder, whipped out an arrow and shot it so that it rammed into the table within a hair’s breath of Aragorn’s hand. Everyone at the table rose in shock, backing away. Everyone, that is, except Aragorn, whose only reaction was to move his trencher half an inch to the left, as if to give the arrow more room.

At that, Thandir threw back his head and laughed. Celegrýn and Gilgirion grinned, exchanging amused glances. "Dishes it is," Thandir said with restored humor, "but only if you help."

Aragorn smiled at his friend and moved over to make room for the elves on the bench. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

For days and weeks afterwards no one in Dunwulfstun could speak of anything else but of the sight of three of the Firstborn elbow deep in hot water and suds, happily singing in their lilting tongue as they washed dishes while Lord Thorongil and Captain Heruthain dried.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Dunwulfstun: Mountain-wolf’s village.

Sweordbroðor: Sword-brother.

Héadfodmann: Headman, captain.

Historical Notes: Celebrían, wife of Elrond, was attacked by orcs as she and her entourage were crossing the Misty Mountains in 2509 on the way to Lórien. Thandir’s wife, Eluwen, was part of the escort for Celebrían; she did not survive the attack. Eorl the Young came to the rescue of Cirion at the Battle of the Fields of Celebrant in 2510.

Thandir is a Noldorin Exile who fled Aman under Finrod’s banner. He was born a millennium before the Darkening of Valinor. Celegrýn and Gilgirion were both born during the Long Peace (First Age 75-455) in Nargothrond. Both their parents originally came from Aman.

13: Another Threat Looms

Author’s Note: A description of the aftermath of an attack on a village may be upsetting for some readers. I have tried not to make it too graphic, but some descriptions just cannot be avoided.

****

"We found traces of Men crossing the river here and here," Thandir said the next morning, pointing to two areas on a map that lay on a trestle table. The Elves were gathered in the hall with Aragorn, Heruthain and Cedric, breaking their fast as they gave their report. "In each case the tracks lead towards one of the villages."  

"How old are the tracks?" Heruthain asked.

Thandir shrugged. "Hard to say, but at a guess, no more than two weeks old."

The captain of the éored stared at the map and then glanced at Cedric who shook his head. Aragorn turned to the Elves standing there patiently, as if they had all the time in Arda, which of course they did, he reflected wryly to himself.

"The tracks lead towards the villages," the Dúnadan said, "but no tracks were found leading away from the villages."

Thandir shook his head. "I didn’t say that, Estel. I said we found tracks leading from the river. There are no tracks going back to the river, but there were plenty of tracks leading elsewhere."

Cedric grunted. "Would you care to explain that, Master Elf?"

Thandir sighed as if what he had just said should have been obvious even to a child. "We followed the tracks to the villages. In each case the village had obviously been attacked recently. The tracks led into the village but did not return to the river. Instead they headed north."

"What?" Heruthain exclaimed. "But that would have put them in the path of the returning éored. How could we have missed them?"

The Imladris scout shrugged dismissively. "That is something you will have to learn on your own. My friends and I have done our part and we would leave you now to decipher this puzzle for yourselves. Imladris calls for us and we would go."

Heruthain looked ready to argue the point but Aragorn stepped in, speaking somewhat formally. "Thank you for your help, my friend. Please give my best regards to the Lord of Imladris when you meet." Then he switched to Sindarin. "Tell my adar he need have no fear for me, Thandir. I am well, as is Gilhael."

For a moment the Elves did not move, then Thandir gave the Mortals a slight bow of the head. "We leave now. Thank you for your hospitality, Cedric Héadofmann." Then, without another word the three Elves turned and left the hall, walking with such fluid grace that it left the Men watching them feeling incredibly clumsy and earthbound.

When the Elves had disappeared the three Mortals at the table turned back to the map. Heruthain muttered an oath under his breath. Then he gave the other two men a sour glance. "Earntungol, tell the éored to mount up. We’re heading out."

Aragorn gave the captain a bow and left, calling for Wídfara to alert the other men. Inside ten minutes the éored was heading south to their next destination. Looking northward, Aragorn sought for signs of the Elves, but, of course, there weren’t any, nor did he actually expect to see them. Within twenty minutes, Dunwulfstun was out of sight as the éored followed a bend of the mountain.

****

The next village on their route was even smaller than Dunwulfstun and Aragorn suspected it didn’t even have a name, or if it did, he never learned it. The denizens greeted the éored politely enough and news was passed between them, along with the beer, but Heruthain lingered just long enough to assure himself that all was well with the village before giving the orders to move on. They ended up bivouacking some six leagues beyond. The mountains loomed menacingly above them to the east and the plains stretched out all about them. The River Isen was lost to sight; not even a thin ribbon of blue on the horizon marked its path.

As was their habit, Aragorn and Heruthain shared a fire. Wídfara joined them this time, looking somewhat morose. Aragorn gave him a smile.

"What is it, my friend? What has you looking as if you’ve lost your best horse in a bet?"

Heruthain snorted at that and gave the younger Rohir a shrewd look. "Methinks the lad is pining for his elvish friends."

Aragorn saw Wídfara blush and nodded his understanding. "I rather miss them, too," he said reflectively and saw the Rohir give him a grateful smile.

"Are they always so... so...."

"Mercurial?" Aragorn supplied with a smile.

"Graceful," Wídfara corrected the Dúnadan and Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"It is natural to them, my friend," he said carefully, suddenly understanding Wídfara’s mood. "It is nothing to which any of us Mortals can aspire."

Wídfara nodded and sighed. Heruthain looked questioningly at Aragorn and the Dúnadan shook his head before returning his attention to the younger Man. "That does not mean we do not have our own grace, for we do and we should rejoice in it."

"What grace do we have that would rival the grace of the Firstborn?" Wídfara asked, unconvinced by Aragorn’s words.

"I did not say that our grace rivals that of the Firstborn. I said that we have our own grace with which the One endowed us and we should rejoice in it and develop it to the best of our abilities."

"And what grace would that be, young man?" Heruthain asked with a scowl. "For I will admit me that when the dwimmorfolc were in my presence I felt clumsy and uncouth, something I have not felt since I was younger than Wídfara here. I little liked the way they made me feel."

Aragorn nodded, aware of how Elves often affected many Mortals. He did not speak immediately, but gathered his thoughts carefully. "It is the grace to pick ourselves up and continue on against all odds of survival."

"Huh?" Wídfara said. "That doesn’t sound like any grace to me."

"Does it not?" Aragorn countered and shrugged. "Compared to the Eldar, we Mortals are weak in body and spirit, yet there is a core of adamant within us that always surprises the Firstborn when it manifests itself. Where even they would have given up, we go on, though it lead to our deaths. We can never surpass them in either beauty or grace, but we can hold our own alongside them and that is a special grace that could only have come from the One who created us both."

Heruthain took in a breath and there was a look in his eyes that told Aragorn that he had touched the older man on some level. Wídfara looked less convinced, but even his posture was more thoughtful and his dark mood had lifted somewhat. Aragorn nodded, then he excused himself to take up the watch.

****

For the next few days the éored fell into a routine of stopping at the villages, making sure all was well with them before moving on. It was now the height of the harvest and most of the villagers were abroad, reaping the fields. It was not unusual for the members of the éored to give them a hand on occasion. It was hot and sweaty work and Aragorn was convinced he would have a permanent crick in his neck, but it brought the harvest in all the quicker.

Some of the éored took a few of the village men and older boys and put them through their paces, training them to better guard their people.

"Do not try to save the crops," Éomund would tell them. The doughty warrior was usually assigned by Heruthain to train the villagers. "Crops can be resown, lives cannot. The granaries of the king are full and there is a surplus. Do not concern yourselves with preserving foodstuffs or livestock. Concentrate on preserving the lives of your families instead."

It was sound advice but Aragorn did not think too many would heed it. It was difficult to stand by and watch the fruits of your labor go up in smoke or be carted off by others, but Éomund was right: crops could be resown, lives were forever lost.

The éored swept south and west, swinging away from the mountains at last, and headed northwest across the Mark towards the River Isen. Here, the distance between the mountains and the river was at its widest and it would take them more than a week to traverse it.

"There are several villages between here and the river," Heruthain told Aragorn. "They are quite prosperous and ripe for the picking, I deem, for the raiders had not gotten this far south when last we patrolled this area."

"Cedric said the raiders were moving southward," Aragorn said reflectively, "but there must be two groups, one of which disguises themselves as Rohirrim."

Heruthain nodded. "Yes, and we will have to address that eventually, but I am more interested in finding this other group of raiders and putting an end to their marauding."

****

They saw the smoke before they saw the village. It was nearly twilight and Heruthain had planned to spend the night at this particular settlement. From the looks of things, though, they were not likely to receive any kind of warm welcome.

They came upon the first bodies in the newly gleaned fields surrounding the village. From the looks of it, these people had been fleeing the village and had been struck down even as they fled. Women and children, mostly, Aragorn noted with rising fury that was all the more frightening to see for the Dúnadan’s expression was cold and implacable. The Rohirrim were grim-faced and they drew their weapons to the ready.

Then, Aragorn spied something to the right and with a whisper to Mithfaron, he slid from the horse’s back. "Heruthain, do not follow," he commanded in a hiss and before the captain of the éored could respond, Aragorn was gone. Heruthain was tempted to call the young man back but was afraid of making any loud noise in case the raiders were still about. The sun had set in a blaze of glory not long before and they were all in shadow.

After a few tense moments, the Rohirrim saw the Dúnadan return, bent over as he studied the ground. As he approached the éored, Heruthain hissed. "What have you found?" Aragorn didn’t answer immediately but climbed onto Mithfaron’s back.

"Answers," came Aragorn’s hoarse whisper. "Come, this may be worse than we think." He gave Mithfaron quick instructions and the elven-bred horse set off in a gallop across the darkened plain. Heruthain muttered an angry curse and ordered the éored to follow.

It was when they reached the first burning building that Heruthain suddenly understood what Aragorn had meant.

"Béma help us," he whispered and he and the other Rohirrim sat upon their horses looking upon a scene of absolute carnage. Bodies were strewn about, broken in ways not to be considered by any sane person — men, women, children. Most were headless and when they made their slow way into the village center, they saw why.

Heruthain reeled in his saddle, unaware that Aragorn had caught him before he fell out of it. "Steady, man," Aragorn said in a hiss. "Whatever horror they suffered, they are beyond it and safely in Lord Námo’s hands. No more harm can touch them now, nor any evil."

"Wh-what does this mean?" Wídfara asked after being violently sick. He was not the only one, but he seemed to recover more quickly than some of the other Riders.

Aragorn looked grim in the firelight as they all gazed upon a scene from their deepest nightmares. "No Dunlending did this," he said bruskly. "This was done by orcs." Then his gaze fell upon the severed head of a child amidst the jumble of heads stacked haphazardly in the town center and he allowed himself to weep.

****

Morning just made the carnage seem worse. The éored had allowed the fires to burn themselves out and left the village to set up camp a half league away and upwind from the smoke and the smell of burning flesh. No one slept and when dawn finally appeared, they made their way back to the village to care for the dead and garner what clues they could. It was a terrible task and more than one Rider was seen running to the edge of the village to become violently ill. Aragorn spent most of his time practically crawling upon the blood-stained ground looking for clues. There were precious few, but Aragorn made some shrewd guesses based on what he found.

"They came from the mountains," he told Heruthain once the grisly task of burying the dead had ended. They were all taking turns at the village well, washing the blood and grime from them as best they could. "They went back that way too but not directly."

"What do you mean?" the captain asked as he accepted a pail of water for himself.

"It appears the orcs went south before turning east again. That’s why we missed them coming from the other direction. I suspect several leagues separated us from them, for which we can be thankful."

"Why do you say that, Outlander?" Éomund asked harshly, standing nearby. "Think you we are cowards or untrained youths to run even from orcs?"

"Peace, Éomund," Aragorn said placatingly. "I meant no such thing, but from the evidence I found the orcs easily outnumber us three to one."

All who heard him paled at the thought.

"Even if we had a full éored we could not have bested them," Heruthain said in a defeated voice.

"These villagers never had a chance," Aragorn said with a nod, looking immeasurably sad. This was not the first orc-depredated village he had ever seen, but it was the most horrific in scope. He wondered briefly if the orcs Thandir and the other Elves had sought and killed had been heading to join up with their fellows.

"So now we have three groups of marauders," Heruthain said with a weary sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had a monumental headache and he feared it was about to get worse.

"The one group disguising themselves as Rohirrim, I think, we can ignore for now," Aragorn ventured, "though, if they are not stopped soon, the rest of the Westmark may well rise up against us. The greater threat is the orcs. They will not stop at just one village and there is the whole of the Westmark for them to plunder. No one is safe."

"What if we send people to the south to warn them?" Wídfara ventured somewhat hesitantly. He was the youngest member of the éored and had no real standing among the older men, but his friendship with the Dúnadan gave him some measure of respect and his words were not dismissed out of hand.

"Would they believe us, though?" Éomund asked and many there shook their heads, knowing well how suspicious the people of the Westmark were of the Rohirrim. Their allegiance was suspect and there was much distrust between the two peoples.

Aragorn shook his head. "It would do no good, I deem, for while we are at one village giving warning, another may well be attacked. And can we really afford to split our troop? Our only chance is to seek out the orcs’ den and destroy them, but for that we would definitely need more men."

Wídfara gave the Dúnadan a worried look. "H-have you fought against orcs before, Lord?"

Aragorn gave the younger man a sympathetic look. "Yes, I have, though never against such numbers as these. We often wondered where the surviving orcs went after the Battle of Five Armies. Now I think I can guess." He closed his eyes. "I need to get word to Imladris. Lord Elrond must hear of this, and Thengel must also be warned. This is a far graver threat than any can imagine."

"And why would the Dwimmorfolc care if we are being preyed upon by orcs?" asked one of the other Rohirrim who came from the lands around Helm’s Deep.

Aragorn gave the man a piercing look, but his voice was soft and there was no anger in it. "Lord Elrond has fought against orcs since the First Age, Grimhelm. Though he has not wielded a sword these last three thousand years, still, his sons ever hunt down orcs in memory of the ones who nearly destroyed their mother, forcing her to forsake these lands for the Blessed Realm. Lord Elrond has dedicated his life to protecting all those who fall prey to the Shadow, however it manifests itself. He needs to know, as does Thengel King."

"How will you get such a message to him, then?" Wídfara asked excitedly, wondering if the Dúnadan knew of some Elf-magic that would speed his message on.

Aragorn smiled at the younger man’s excitement and cast a wry glance at Heruthain, who was equally amused. "Why? Are you volunteering to ride to Imladris to deliver the message yourself?" he asked in a teasing voice.

Wídfara visibly paled. "Me?" he squeaked in surprise and the men standing around him laughed good-naturedly at that.

Aragorn shook his head. "Don’t worry, my friend. There are other ways for me to get a message to the Lord of Imladris without depriving this éored of a valuable Rider such as yourself."

The younger man almost preened at those words and the other Rohirrim looked upon the Dúnadan with open respect, for as much as they might tease Wídfara for his youthful eagerness, they recognized his abilities as a warrior and a Rider and were pleased that this Outlander also recognized the young man’s worth.

"So what do we do, Heruthain?" Grimhelm finally asked. "Continue as we have or forsake the patrol for Helm’s Deep?"

Heruthain thought for a moment, then shook his head. "We continue as we have, but we linger not, staying only long enough in each village along the way to give them warning. If we maintain a steady pace we can be back in Helm’s Deep inside a fortnight."

"And perhaps," Aragorn added, "we might run into the Dunlendings and put an end to that threat at least."

"One can only hope," Heruthain said with a grim nod.

****

They left the village shortly thereafter, all of them heartsick and weary, so they did not go far that day but camped early when they came to a small spring-fed pool. Heruthain suddenly declared to no one in particular that he needed to bathe and many of the men nodded, understanding what he really meant. Thus it wasn’t long before all but a few of the Rohirrim were standing in the cold water, eagerly scrubbing their bodies with cleansing sand, even as they hoped to scrub the memories of the previous night from their minds and souls. Aragorn elected to stand watch with one or two others, singing softly the Lay of Nimrodel in Sindarin. Even though they did not understand the words, those who heard him sing were oddly comforted.

Night gathered about them and the cooking fires were lit. Few had any real appetite, but none refused to eat, knowing that they needed to keep up their strength. The stars blazed forth and when Eärendil appeared, Aragorn sighed and gave the star a brief bow before retiring for the night, having been excused from the nightwatch by Heruthain.

"You stood watch earlier," the captain said when Aragorn protested, "when most of us were too busy washing away bitter memories. There’s no reason for you to stand two watches. Get some sleep, young man."

So, Aragorn was asleep when disaster struck.

It was the sound of someone screaming that brought the Dúnadan awake. His dreams had been somewhat troubling but not enough to disturb him completely. He was out of his tent with sword in hand before he was even fully conscious. All around him was chaos as men grappled with dark shapes that in the flickering firelight were made more hideous.

Orcs!

But worse than that. Aragorn saw that dark-haired men fought alongside them against the Rohirrim.

Dunlendings and orcs as allies!

Aragorn had no time to ponder this new information for soon he was being set upon and he found himself fighting for his life and the lives of his friends. It was wearying and the only thing that saved the Rohirrim was their horses, who, upon being released by Dunlendings attempting to steal them, promptly stampeded and began to attack the enemy, crushing the attackers wherever they could, so that soon Dunlendings and orcs were fleeing into the darkness. Aragorn’s own steed, in fact, led the way, the horses of the Rohirrim following the Elf-horse in their stampede.

Heruthain called for the fires to be stoked so they could see better what damage had been done. Most of the Rohirrim had survived the attack, but two were dead and one was likely not to live to see the dawn. The survivors looked after their wounded and began the grim task of giving any wounded orcs that they found a knife in the throat. The Dunlendings who were wounded they ignored for the moment, merely removing all weapons from their reach. Some would not survive the night as it was, so serious were their wounds, while the one or two who were not so gravely wounded would be questioned rather mercilessly in the morning. Whether they would be brought to Helm’s Deep as prisoners or slain outright remained a question none were eager to answer just then.

Of Aragorn there was no sign.

Wídfara called for his friend, searching the bodies of the dead and the wounded, tears running down his cheeks. He himself had suffered only scratches, though he was covered with blood and gore, all of it black. Then, luck found him and he stumbled over the body of an orc. He heard a groan from underneath the corpse and, pushing it off, found Aragorn. In the dark it was difficult to ascertain the man’s condition and Wídfara called for a brand. Heruthain came himself, bearing a torch.

"He does not appear to be too injured," Wídfara said with some relief, but when Heruthain went to lift the Dúnadan up they both gasped. Before the orc had died on Aragorn’s sword, it managed to slice the man’s left leg almost to the bone. The evil looking knife was still embedded in Aragorn’s thigh. Heruthain pulled it out with a vile oath. The wound was grave, but luckily the knife had missed the main artery. That wasn’t his main worry, though. Heruthain shoved the blade towards the light of the torch that he had given Wídfara to hold and nodded grimly.

"What is it, Heruthain?" Wídfara whispered fearfully.

"Poison, lad. The blade is covered with it."

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Dwimmorfolc: Elves, cf. Dwimmordene as a Rohirric name for Lórien.

Historical note: The Battle of Five Armies took place in T.A. 2941 when Aragorn was ten years old. See The Hobbit for further details.

14: Retreat to Helm’s Deep

Aragorn’s first thought when he came to was that perhaps he had been sleeping too close to the fire, for his lower extremities appeared to be burning, but when he opened his eyes he saw that he was inside his tent and all was dark. He started to move and then thought better of it when excruciating pain flashed through him, leaving him gasping.

"Keep still, Earntungol. You are gravely injured."

"Wídfara?" Aragorn managed to whisper, sounding weak and unsure. He wished desperately for the fire in his left leg to ease, and wondered what had happened.

He felt someone lift his head slightly and then a metal cup was pressed against his lips and he drank thirstily of the cool water. As his head was lowered once more he sighed and slipped into unconsciousness before he could ask his next question.

****

When he woke the next time it was morning. Pain was all about him and he had trouble focusing his eyes. Movement caught his attention and then Wídfara came into view and he relaxed.

"What happened?"

"You were poisoned, my friend," Wídfara said without preamble. "It took some time to flush it out and we’re not sure we got it all."

"Let me see," Aragorn said and struggled to a sitting position. Wídfara helped him, for everything started to spin but then the world righted itself. He could see that his left thigh was thickly bandaged.

"The wound is deep but we have not stitched it yet, for we were not sure about the poison," Wídfara explained.

Aragorn nodded. "Let me see," he said again and there was enough of a command in his voice that the younger man complied without even thinking about it. Soon the bandages were off and Aragorn clamped his lips together in a grimace. The wound was definitely infected and if he didn’t act now he could well lose the leg... or his life.

"Wídfara, listen to me carefully," the Dúnadan instructed. "If we are to save the leg you must do exactly as I tell you."

"Wh-what are you going to do?" the Rohir asked doubtfully.

"What I must," Aragorn replied grimly. "I need boiling water and in my saddle bag is a thin wooden box. Get it for me."

"Earntungol, are you sure? Perhaps I should get Heruthain..."

"There’s no time for that, my friend," Aragorn said hurriedly. "Go, get me some boiling water and clean cloths and bring me the box."

Wídfara hesitated only for a moment before complying. He found the box first and handed it to Aragorn, who began leafing through its contents. Wídfara, meanwhile, went in search of boiling water, which he brought soon after along with Heruthain.

"What are you doing, Earntungol?" the captain asked in concern. "You are too weak to be moving about like this."

"If I don’t act quickly the poison that yet remains will be drawn into the rest of my body. Even if I don’t lose the leg I could very well lose my life and my death will not be quick and painless either. Lend me your knife."

He held out his hand and with some reluctance Heruthain gave him his knife. Aragorn plunged the blade into the pot of boiling water for a moment, then used it to cut away at the skin around the wound, removing the obviously necrotic tegument already turning black. He hissed in pain and his fingers became nerveless.

"Here, let me do that," Heruthain said brusquely. "And Wídfara, if you’re going to be sick, do it outside."

The no-nonsense tone helped to steady the younger man and he busied himself with holding Aragorn steady as Heruthain continued removing as much of the dead skin as possible. When he was finished, Aragorn breathed on some crushed leaves and then threw them into the water, which had cooled somewhat by then.

At once the air was filled with a fresh scent that the two Rohirrim could not identify yet it left them feeling immeasurably better. Even Aragorn’s color had returned. "Lave the wound with the water," Aragorn then ordered, "and place these other leaves inside the wound and bind it."

Heruthain did as he was bid and in a short while Aragorn’s leg was rebound. Then he lay back down with a weary sigh. "Now we wait." With that he closed his eyes, unaware that neither Rohir left his side while he slept.

****

The next time he woke he was feeling feverish but not delirious. His leg still burned but a close examination showed only healing skin. He ordered hot water again and crushed the leaves in it once more before washing the wound with it once again. More leaves were placed within the wound replacing the other leaves that had turned black as they had soaked up the poison. What blood seeped from the wound was now bright red rather than black. He took some nourishment and fell promptly back to sleep, though not before enquiring about the rest of the éored.

"We lost three," Heruthain told him, "and many more were wounded, though none as gravely as you, it seems."

"Do we know from which direction they attacked?"

"From the west," Wídfara answered. "And most of them fled that way or north rather than east."

Aragorn frowned but said nothing and indeed he found it difficult to think and soon he was asleep. Wídfara and Heruthain exchanged worried glances. "Can he ride?" the younger man asked.

Heruthain shrugged. "He’ll have no choice. We cannot linger."

****

The sound of people breaking camp woke Aragorn the next time. He was feeling better, and his appetite was returning, but he was still very weak and his left leg was uncooperative. He had to have Wídfara’s help to walk to the latrines and by the time they came back to the camp he was in a cold sweat. Someone had already taken down his tent by then, and had packed his saddlebags. Heruthain came and looked him over.

"We cannot linger," he said. "We must ride."

Aragorn nodded in understanding, then gave a piercing whistle and everyone gave him strange looks as Mithfaron left the picket line and came directly to his master. "Sah, sah, Mithfaron, mellon nîn. I would ride you but I need your help to stay mounted."

The horse neighed and nodded his head and then to the amazement of all, knelt before the Dúnadan. With Wídfara’s help Aragorn managed to get his right leg over the horse’s back and then the great grey was up and Aragorn was patting him on the neck, looking down at Heruthain with a faint smile.

"Fear not! Mithfaron is Elf-trained. He will not allow me to fall from his back."

The Rohir captain looked skeptical but said nothing, merely nodding to the Dúnadan before turning to his men and issuing the order to mount up and ride. In deference to those who were wounded they did not ride quickly. Nevertheless, they rode as swiftly as prudence allowed. Their first goal was a village that lay northwest from their encampment.

"There was an actual healer there last time I rode through," Heruthain explained to Aragorn as they rode along. "He can stitch you up, for I have not the skill, nor do any others in the éored."

"And I cannot perform such a procedure on myself, for I am too weak yet," the Dúnadan said, nodding his acceptance of Heruthain’s plan.

They did not have far to go, perhaps only five leagues, but Aragorn was reeling with fatigue by the time they reached the village, which was intact, much to everyone’s relief.

"A band of men did come through here yestereve," one of the village guards said to Heruthain when he enquired. "They avoided us and continued northward. As they did not threaten us, we did not seek to stop them."

Heruthain grimaced in disgust. "Such is always the case," he opined privately to Aragorn as they made their way towards the village hall. "As long as we are not threatened we care not for the safety of others. Such selfishness will be our downfall, I fear."

Aragorn said nothing to that, as he was now too far gone in pain to respond anyway. He had to be helped off his horse even when Mithfaron obliged by kneeling again. They brought him into the hall and called for the healer, who turned out to be a wizened old man with clear blue eyes and a sharp tongue. He took one look at Aragorn and roundly told everyone off for incompetence. Then he made them bring Aragorn to an inner room where he was put on a bed. By now the Ranger was nearly unconscious, so he was unaware of the gentle care with which the healer treated him, competently stitching up the wound while humming a wordless tune.

****

Softness and the smell and feel of clean sheets greeted his senses when he came to. It took him a while to figure out why he was staring at a wood beamed ceiling instead of a cloth tent, but then memory came slowly back and he attempted to sit up.

"Here, let me give you a hand."

Aragorn turned at the unfamiliar voice to see an old man with scraggly white hair and bright blue eyes that looked much younger than the lined face that surrounded them. Yet, there was still strength in the man’s arms and Aragorn welcomed them.

"My thanks, sir," he said in a hoarse whisper.

The old man merely nodded, then handed Aragorn a wooden cup. He drank thirstily until there was nothing left.

"I am Haleth son of Déor," the man said.

"You’re the healer."

Haleth nodded and grinned. "So they call me, and so I am. You did a fine job of keeping the wound clean, young man. One would almost think you were a healer as well."

"I am," Aragorn said simply. "I was trained in the healing arts by Lord Elrond of Rivendell himself."

Haleth raised an eyebrow. "Indeed! Even I have heard of the wondrous healing abilities of Lord Elrond." He gave a brief sigh. "I’m afraid my meager skills in the art are barely enough to keep these people whole."

Aragorn shook his head. "Do not disparage yourself so, friend. That these people have someone to care for their hurts is a blessing few are given. I am grateful that you were here. If I had to I would have stitched the wound myself, but..."

"Yes, it would have been very difficult for you," Haleth said with a nod. "Well, let’s take a look, shall we? I was about to change the dressing anyway when you woke up."

The bandages were promptly removed and Aragorn was glad to see that no further necrosis had set in. The wound had been competently stitched together and the flesh was pink with health. "I could not have done better, Haleth son of Déor," he finally said. "Indeed, not even Lord Elrond could have closed the wound any more competently than you have done. Thank you."

The old man practically beamed from the praise and Aragorn wondered how much the people of the village took the old man and his skills for granted. When the bandages had been replaced, Aragorn asked after Heruthain and the others.

"All are resting," the healer said. "The wounded have been looked after and none are in danger of dying. Captain Heruthain says that as soon as you are strong enough to ride, the éored will depart."

"Tomorrow, then," Aragorn said confidently. "I will be ready to ride by tomorrow."

Haleth gave the Dúnadan a skeptical look and grunted as he busied himself with gathering all the healing paraphernalia he had brought with him. "Perhaps you should let me be the judge of that, young man."

Aragorn shook his head. "Tomorrow."

****

Heruthain visited him later and was just as skeptical about Aragorn riding on the morrow as the healer was, but he had known the Outlander long enough to know that the lad made no idle remarks.

"I do not say that the ride will be easy for me or even comfortable," Aragorn said when the captain expressed his doubts, "but I will manage." With that, Heruthain had to be content. Then Aragorn asked the one question that had been on his mind ever since they’d been set upon by the orcs and Dunlendings.

"Why were we attacked?"

"What mean you, lad?" Heruthain looked at Aragorn in puzzlement.

"That band of orcs and Dunlendings avoided every village along the way, but they attacked us, an armed encampment. Why? And where were they originally headed?"

Heruthain drew in a breath at Aragorn’s words. "They were heading for the White Mountains."

The Dúnadan nodded. "Yes, my thought exactly, though it still doesn’t explain why they attacked us when they could have easily avoided us and we would not have been any the wiser."

"Well, perhaps if we ever catch up with the ones who fled, we can ask." Heruthain gave the younger man a wicked grin and Aragorn laughed, then he sobered somewhat.

"Which still begs the question. Are these the same Dunlendings who have been attacking the villages or a different group altogether?"

Heruthain grimaced. "Now you’re giving me a headache trying to keep all these groups straight."

Aragorn gave the older man a wicked grin of his own. "Just spreading the pain around a bit. Why should I have all the fun?"

The captain of the éored threw back his head and laughed long and loudly at that.

****

The next morning dawned grey and cold. A thick fog lay heavily upon the ground and there was the smell of rain in the air. It was decided that with as many wounded as they had it would be best to make their way back to Helm’s Deep as quickly as possible, warning what villages they came upon about the orcs and Dunlendings.

"We must trust that those villages we can warn will send warning to the villages we cannot get to for our route will be straight north," Heruthain said to Aragorn as they were mounting up. "Hilderic needs to be told what is happening here and a message needs to be gotten to Thengel King as well."

"How long will it take to reach Helm’s Deep from here?" Aragorn asked.

"If we ride as steadily as possible, making as few stops along the way as we can, we can be back in Helm’s Deep in five days, maybe six. Weather will be a factor," he added, "for the rains will come in earnest now that we are past the harvest and that can slow us up."

Aragorn nodded, shifting his position on Mithfaron a bit to make himself more comfortable. "Then we had best ride as quickly as we can while we can."

Heruthain gave the younger man an appraising look, then gave the signal for the éored to move out. Haleth, having helped Aragorn to his horse, called out to the Dúnadan. "Take care of that leg, young man. I don’t want to hear that all my good work came to naught in the end."

Aragorn leaned down and offered the old man his hand which the healer clasped. "You have my thanks, Haleth son of Déor." Haleth nodded then let the Dúnadan go and soon the eóred was lost to sight as they rode into the mist surrounding the village.

****

The route Heruthain chose was actually more northeast across the plains where there were few habitations. Only one small village did they encounter in the three days they had been traveling. The rains held off the first two days, but late in the morning of the third day they were quickly bogged down in a morass of mud as the sky suddenly opened up and they found themselves in the midst of a deluge. Aragorn was by then feeling feverish again and some of the other men were also experiencing trouble with their wounds.

"We need to find shelter and quickly," Wídfara said to Heruthain at one point. "Lord Earntungol is in a bad way." The younger man had taken upon himself the task of keeping an eye on Aragorn, making sure he was not in too much discomfort, for which the Dúnadan was grateful, even when he half-resented his weakened state.

Heruthain glanced back to where Aragorn was riding in the middle of the éored and even in the gloom of the rain he could see the man was ready to collapse. His was the gravest injury and the éored had set its pace to accommodate him. The captain nodded.

"There’s a village just ahead, if memory serves. It’s not much, but we should be able to find shelter there."

True to his word the village came into sight about an hour later. It was a dismal place and Wídfara suspected that even in bright sunshine the place would still be depressing. The villagers looked upon the éored with unfeigned suspicion but grudgingly allowed them to take over the sorry excuse for a hall that was the only sound-looking building there. Even so, the roof leaked and Wídfara had the feeling that a good strong wind would blow the place over. Still, once a fire was lit and a hot meal was provided, everyone felt more cheerful.

Everyone, that is, except Aragorn, who was again feverish, though the leg wound appeared to be healing nicely. Then the fever turned to chills and Wídfara was busy finding more blankets to put over him. The bout of chills and fevers lasted through the day and into the night, though sometime after midnight they ceased and the Dúnadan fell into a restful sleep. Wídfara collapsed on a pallet next to the now sleeping Ranger, exhausted from having tended his friend all day. Heruthain had helped when he could and others had taken their turn as well in order to give their youngest Rider a rest, but the onus of caring for the Outlander had fallen upon his shoulders and he was feeling it now. Yet, as exhausted as he was, he could not seem to fall asleep, so he was still awake when Aragorn woke up feeling hungry. Wídfara was at his side the moment the Dúnadan began to stir.

"How are you feeling, my friend?" the Rohir whispered, giving Aragorn a hand in sitting up.

"Better. Hungry."

Wídfara smiled. "I think there’s some stew left and a hunk of bread if you can manage it."

Aragorn nodded and soon he was holding a bowl of the hot savory stew and eagerly eating it, sopping up the meaty broth with some bread that was only slightly stale. It felt like a feast. When he was finished he looked around him with interest. Most of the éored were asleep, their pallets scattered about the hall. In the dim light of the fire he could see the sentries posted at the door and suspected others guarded any other exits not in view. Heruthain was not taking any chances and Aragorn remembered the surly looks of the villagers earlier.

He also noticed how exhausted Wídfara looked. "You should sleep," he said quietly. "I fear I’ve kept you from your proper rest."

"I can’t seem to fall asleep," the younger man said with a sigh. "I think I’m too tired."

Aragorn nodded. "Why don’t you lie down anyway and I’ll sing you an elvish song. It might help."

Wídfara nodded and lay down next to Aragorn’s pallet and the Dúnadan began singing a lullaby that his adar used to sing to him when he was small and disinclined to sleep. The lilting cadence of the song in an unknown language soon put Wídfara asleep, but Aragorn continued singing. As softly as he sang, though, many of the men lying nearby heard him even in their sleep and smiled.

****

The rains did not let up for two more days. Most of the men took advantage of the enforced inactivity to repair equipment, rest or play board games scratched on the rough floor boards, much to the villagers’ dismay.

Aragorn was almost fully recovered by the time the rains stopped, much to everyone’s amazement, for such an injury as he had received would have left a lesser man incapacitated for weeks. "It is a gift of my people, that we heal faster than other Men," Aragorn explained to Wídfara when the younger man expressed surprise at how rapidly Aragorn’s wound had healed. However, the Dúnadan decided to leave the stitches in until they reached Helm’s Deep.

"My cousin can remove them then," he told Heruthain. The captain merely grunted.

They left the village as soon as the rains stopped, for Heruthain did not want to linger any longer than necessary. The villagers, a surly lot for the most part, were glad to see them go. It was slow going, for the ground was thick with mud. It was also still very wet and their camp that night was cheerless, for there was no dry wood for fires.

"I almost miss the constant drip-drip from where the hall roof leaked," Wídfara grumbled at one point as he huddled in his blanket against the damp cold. Aragorn merely smiled. Inclement weather and miserable camping conditions were nothing new to the Dúnadan Ranger.

It took them another three days to reach the spur of the White Mountains that marked the boundary between the Westmark and the Westfold. Rains came again two days after they had left the nameless village and they were all wet and weary by then. Aragorn, especially, was beginning to feel ill again, his wound throbbing, but said nothing to anyone. He forced himself to stay alert and appear seemingly well, though neither Wídfara nor Heruthain were fooled by this. The sight of the steppes spread before them, however, was heartening to them all and they quickened their pace, though it was grueling, especially for Aragorn. They stopped only twice in the nearly eight leagues that lay between them and Helm’s Deep, reaching the Deeping-coomb an hour past sunset. Their arrival caused quite a stir, for they had not been expected back for another two weeks. Gilhael took one look at Aragorn and went pale.

"What happened, Cousin?" he asked in Sindarin as he helped Aragorn from his horse. Aragorn was surprised at how shaky he was feeling and he had trouble focusing on Gilhael.

"Yrch," was all he said and then everything started spinning and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

"Valar help us," Gilhael whispered as he and Wídfara gathered his cousin in their arms and led him into Helm’s Deep.

****

Yrch: (Sindarin) Plural of orch: orc.

15: Recovery

It was the grueling trek in inclement weather that did Aragorn in and he became feverish again, but this time he was also delirious for a day or two. Thus, it was nearly a week before he was sufficiently recovered enough to join the others in a council of war. They were in Hilderic’s office: he, Hilderic, Heruthain, and Gilhael. Wídfara had been given the honor of being assigned guard duty and stood diligently in front of the door to ward off any who would seek to interrupt the meeting.

Aragorn sank gratefully into a chair, not caring that he was still feeling weak. Gilhael had removed the stitches earlier that morning and the scar itched and he was hard-pressed to ignore it. He waved away the mug of ale Heruthain offered him.

"I want my wits about me, Heruthain," the Dúnadan said, "and having just risen from my bed after nearly a week, I do not trust myself with anything stronger than tea."

The Rohirric captain nodded. "A wise decision, Earntungol. Frankly, I’m amazed you’re even out of bed. You looked like death warmed over when we brought you into the keep."

Aragorn smiled thinly. "I felt like death warmed over, my friend, but I assure you I am better now."

"Better, but not well," Gilhael said as he handed Aragorn a cup of tea. "Which means I have the unenviable duty of sitting on you until you are. Otherwise you’re likely to run off after the orcs on your own."

"I’ll have Wídfara give you a hand there," Hilderic said with a grin. "The boy adores you, Earntungol, and would not willingly wish to be parted from you, so he will be only too happy to make sure you stay put, my lord."

"I’m not that bad, am I?" Aragorn exclaimed, wondering what they were on about.

Gilhael rolled his eyes. "In your delirium you do not remember trying to get to Mithfaron, insisting you had to go after the orcs. It took four of us to hold you down long enough to dose you."

Aragorn gave his cousin a piercing glance to make sure Gilhael wasn’t jesting, but the absolute sincerity in the man’s eyes convinced him that he wasn’t and he blushed. "Sorry. I don’t remember."

"Just as well," Hilderic said gravely. "Otherwise, I might have to come up with a suitable punishment for all the things you called me when I refused to let you leave your room."

Aragorn blushed even more. "Forgive me, my lord, I fear I don’t remember, truly. I hope you won’t take anything I might have said to heart."

"Well... most of it was trifling, though I’m curious about... seron-en-orch," Hilderic paused as he watched Aragorn go absolutely white with mortification. "Your cousin refuses to translate it for me..." He watched as the Dúnadan breathed a sigh of relief. "So I might have to make you teach me Sindarin just so I can learn what you did call me..." Aragorn closed his eyes and muttered something no one quite caught, though Gilhael raised an eyebrow when he realized his cousin was cursing in Quenya, a language he did not know himself except for a few words. Hilderic merely smiled, as if he’d scored a point in some game. "Then again," he continued, ignoring Aragorn’s dark looks, "I might be so busy I will forget about it because a certain Dúnadan Ranger under my command is not bringing himself to my notice by disobeying a direct order not to leave the redoubt unless I tell him to."

Now Aragorn gave Hilderic an appraising look and after a moment’s hesitation admitted defeat and nodded. "It will be as my lord commands," he said quietly, bowing his head slightly in respect.

"Yes, it will," Hilderic said, trying not to sound too smug about it. "In the meantime, we still need to address the situation in the Westmark. I’ve sent word to my uncle informing him what has happened. I hope to have a message from him in the next day or two."

"Speaking of messages," Aragorn said, turning to Gilhael, "did you..."

Gilhael nodded. "Wídfara told me you wished to get a message to Lord Elrond. I made sure it was sent."

Hilderic looked upon the two Dúnedain with some puzzlement. "How, my lord? I do not recall you sending any messenger off without my leave."

Gilhael shook his head. "Nor did I, but there are ways of getting a message to one of the Elf-lords other than by the usual means. Elrond knows by now, that is all that matters."

The two men of Rohan stared at the two Dúnedain with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Aragorn and Gilhael stared back with equanimity and Hilderic felt a shiver run through his body at the implications of Gilhael’s words. He had to remind himself that here sat two who could trace their lineage back to the Sea-Kings of Númenor and even he had heard the legends of their great powers.

The young man shook himself mentally and gathered his wits about him. "Well, that is really neither here nor there at the moment," he finally said, and was pleased that his voice sounded almost normal. "We still need to deal with the Westmark."

"The only good thing about any of this is that it’s too late in the year for any possible campaign," Heruthain said with a slight grunt. "Winter approaches, so the villages will be safe until next spring."

Aragorn shook his head. "Not necessarily. Orcs care not what the season is and will attack whenever they please. The villages might not be as safe as you would like."

This was a sobering thought. Hilderic shook his head. "It’s impossible for us to mount a winter campaign. The Westmark usually sees more snow than we and the winters there can be brutal. There is no way we can hunt down the orcs in the winter."

Aragorn thought for a moment. What Hilderic said was true. Winter campaigns were almost unheard of because of the danger to both men and horses from the snow and the cold, but that was not to say they did not occur. His heart warned him that the orcs would not be deterred. Even their Dunlending allies would be forced to join them in their marauding and the orcs would not care if any of the Men died of exposure along the way.

"Then the villages need to be warned," he finally said, "and perhaps scouts can be sent into the Westmark to learn where the orcs and Dunlendings are holing up. They must have a base somewhere. That band that attacked us came from the west, not the east."

"They also fled west, not east," Heruthain added. "That means they knew of a place wherein they could take refuge."

"West and north," Aragorn said musingly, staring at the map on the wall, his eyes distant with thought.

"What are you thinking, Cousin?" Gilhael finally asked.

But Aragorn merely shook his head. "I do not know, yet, Cousin. There is too little information. We need to send scouts back into the Westmark. I must go..."

"No!" Hilderic practically shouted and the others looked at him in amazement. The young leader of the éored swallowed visibly but did not back down. "I forbid it. Dúnadan you might be, Thorongil, but you are also mortal and you are still recovering from fever and a grave wound. You are not to leave Helm’s Deep without my leave. You may be an excellent scout but there are others who can fill that role."

The other three men stared at Hilderic in silence. Heruthain’s expression was one of amusement at the sight of the two Outlanders gaping at his young lord, who suddenly reminded him of the lad’s father. Hildebrand could be just as forceful and woe betide anyone who thought to contradict him. It seemed that Hilderic was taking a page from his sire’s book.

Aragorn and Gilhael just looked at the young man as if they had never seen him before and Hilderic was hard-pressed not to squirm under their considered regard. In spite of the fact that Thorongil was younger than he, Hilderic had the uneasy feeling that in many ways the Dúnadan was immeasurably older and of course Gilhael indeed was older. Aragorn was the first to break the silence with a sigh.

"You are, of course, correct, my Lord Hilderic," he said quietly. "I spoke out of turn and ask for your forgiveness. Gilhael might go in my stead, for he has been a Ranger longer than I and is well-versed in the ways of orcs."

Hilderic nodded. "A good idea. It’s bad enough having one Dúnadan Ranger underfoot... having the two of you together is too much for me to handle." Hilderic managed to say all that with a straight face, but at the sight of the two Dúnedain in question raising almost identical eyebrows in disbelief, he broke into a wide grin and then the four of them were laughing.

In the end, Hilderic decided to send a small sortie into the Westmark, with Gilhael leading. "I know you have the superior knowledge of both scouting and orcs," he told the older Dúnadan. "I will let you choose whom you will take with you, but keep the party small, no more than five or six."

Gilhael nodded, well aware of what he needed to do. "I will ask Heruthain to introduce me to those whom he thinks are the best scouts. We will leave in two or three days."

Hilderic nodded his approval. Aragorn resisted a sigh as he absently rubbed his left thigh trying to relieve the itching of his scar.

****

Gilhael left three days later with three other men — Háma, Éobeorht and Guthwulf. Aragorn tried not to show his disappointment in not being able to go but his cousin was not fooled.

"Now you know how I felt being left behind," he said and Aragorn had the grace to blush slightly at the unspoken reprimand.

"Take care of yourself, Cousin," he said, giving Gilhael a warrior’s clasp. "Don’t let what happened last year affect you to the point that your companions’ lives are endangered."

Gilhael paled somewhat at Aragorn’s words. "Be bith lîn, hir nîn," he said quietly, recognizing that Aragorn had spoken not as his cousin, but as his Chieftain.

Aragorn nodded. "No bedithar iBelain ah le."

****

Hilderic did not give Aragorn time to brood. He called the Dúnadan into his office shortly after Gilhael left. "My uncle will want every scrap of information we might have concerning the Dunlendings and the orcs. I would like you to write out all you can remember of the attacks. Any detail you can recall will help us to plan a more effective strategy against them. Also, anything you can tell us about how your people have dealt with orcs will be helpful."

Aragorn nodded. "My people have long had to deal with orcs and worse over the years, including fighting them in the depths of winter. I will put together everything I know for Thengel King."

Hilderic sighed. "In the meantime, I had better see to making sure Helm’s Deep is ready to receive any refugees if it comes to a winter campaign. What worries me is where those orcs and Dunlendings were heading when they attacked your encampment."

"What worries me even more," Aragorn said with a frown, "is where they went when they fled."

"Back to Dunland?" Hilderic ventured, staring at the map.

"I doubt it," Aragorn said. "Yet they obviously went somewhere." He sighed. "I cannot get it out of my mind."

"What?"

"Why were we attacked? They avoided every village along the way, but they deliberately attacked us, an armed encampment. Why? What did they hope to gain?"

Hilderic shook his head. "I have no answers for you, my friend."

And that was the most troubling thing of all, to Aragorn’s mind: there were no answers.

****

Over the next few days, Aragorn worked towards regaining strength in his leg, sparring with Wídfara, Heruthain, and even Hilderic, when the Marshal’s duties permitted. The Rohirrim were amazed at the skill with sword and bow that the Dúnadan exhibited, though Aragorn was unhappy with his performance, which he labeled as "mediocre".

"Ever since the boar fell on me," he complained at one point, "I have not been at my best."

"Such an injury takes time to heal, lad," Heruthain said knowingly, smiling sympathetically at the impatience of youth.

"It’s been almost a year!" Aragorn exclaimed, sounding frustrated.

Hilderic shook his head. "From what you told me, you shouldn’t have been able to walk at all. Be thankful for small favors, my friend."

Aragorn grimaced, but realized the truth of the Marshal’s words and nodded somewhat reluctantly. "You are right, of course. I guess I just haven’t seen it that way."

Wídfara, meanwhile, had said nothing during all this and Aragorn turned to see a worried look on the younger man’s face. "What troubles you, my friend?"

Wídfara looked at Aragorn and there was awe in his eyes as he faced the Dúnadan. "If your performance just now was... mediocre, what is your best like?"

Aragorn smiled and there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. "If I ever regain my former strength, you’ll find out."

All three Rohirrim gave the Dúnadan measuring looks. Aragorn merely bowed, and walked away.

****

A week after Gilhael and the scouting party left it snowed during the night, continuing into the early morning.

"A bit early," Heruthain commented as he and Aragorn stood on the Deeping Wall looking out over the plains. Large fat flakes were falling lazily, slowly covering the steppes in a blanket of white.

"It will not stick, though," Aragorn said, pointing. "The sun will banish it soon enough."

"True," Heruthain agreed, nodding, "but it is a sign that perhaps the winter will be harsher than usual."

"That might be a good thing," Aragorn said. "It will mean that even orcs might stay put."

"Then I suppose we should pray for a hard, cold winter, heh?" Heruthain replied with a glint of humor in his eyes.

Aragorn nodded with a smile, then stiffened as he gazed out into the Westfold. "A rider approaches," he said, pointing eastward.

Heruthain squinted his eyes, looking to where the Dúnadan pointed. "You are aptly named, my lord. You have the eyes of an eagle, for I see no one coming."

"Yet, one does. Wait you for a moment and you will see him. Perhaps he is a messenger from Thengel King."

It was another moment before Heruthain could see the lone rider approaching and, calling out, alerted the guards at the gate. "If it is a messenger from the King, Hilderic will want to know."

"I will find him," Aragorn said, making his way down from the parapet and across the courtyard where the statue of Helm Hammerhand stood to enter the keep itself. It did not take him long to find Hilderic, who was in an inner salle with some of the younger members of the éored going through maneuvers.

"A rider approaches, my lord," Aragorn said with a bow to Hilderic. "From the east."

Hilderic looked up at Aragorn and nodded. "Garwulf, take over," he said to his second-in-command. "Thorongil, come with me."

Hilderic strode out of the salle towards the changing room where he doffed his helm and hauberk, allowing Aragorn to help him, then he gave himself a brief wash before donning his tunic, belting his sword as he made his way towards the front of the keep with Aragorn beside him. By the time they reached the front gates, joining Heruthain, the rider was at the ramp. Aragorn could not see who it was, for the rider’s hood was up against the falling snow, thereby hiding his features, but when the man reached the top of the ramp, he threw back his hood. Aragorn gave an involuntary gasp.

Sitting on the horse was Grimbold, the man who had assaulted him. Grimbold, in his turn, saw Aragorn and gave the younger man a sour grin. Hilderic, seeing the interplay between the two men, sighed and grimaced at no one in particular.

"As if orcs and Dunlendings aren’t bad enough," he muttered, then in a louder voice, addressed the rider, who by now had dismounted. "Whatever possessed my uncle to send you to us, Grimbold?"

The man shrugged. "I was the only one available, Lord Marshal. Would you hear my message here or shall we..."

Hilderic grimaced again. "Come, let us adjourn to my study. Thorongil, Heruthain, join us."

"As you command, my lord," Aragorn said reluctantly, giving Hilderic a short bow and Grimbold a sour look, which the older man returned with a leer before falling into step with the Marshal.

Hilderic stormed through the redoubt with a grim look on his face and no one dared greet him as was their wont, stepping aside to let the small party pass without a word. When they entered the Marshal’s office he turned to face Grimbold, his eyes blazing.

"I rather doubt that you of all people were the only one available to be sent by my uncle, Grimbold," Hilderic stated baldly. "Understand this, I do not know what game you play, but I will not tolerate it. One false move, one wrong word to the wrong person at the wrong time, and I will feed you to the orcs that are ravaging the Westmark myself. Do I make myself clear?"

Grimbold paled somewhat at Hilderic’s words and his arrogance was deflated. When he spoke, it was with respect. "What I said was true, Lord Marshal. Thengel King is beset with troubles from the Eastfold, thanks to his mother’s machinations, and had few he could trust to deliver his message to you."

"Trust?" Heruthain asked in disbelief.

Grimbold reddened, though not in embarrassment, as he turned to face the other man. "Yes, Lord Heruthain. Trust. Thengel King knows well my skill at horse and my knowledge of the hidden ways to Helm’s Deep. He wished my going be remarked by as few as possible and there are not many among the king’s éored who know all the unmarked ways between here and Edoras. Thus, he gave me the task. Hardbeorht it was who was given the task of riding openly to Helm’s Deep." He paused, looking troubled. "That he is not here... I fear some evil may have befallen him, for he should have reached Helm’s Deep before me."

Hilderic grimaced at that. "Heruthain, have a company sent out immediately along the east road in search of Hardbeorht. Perhaps he has only been delayed by weather or a lame horse rather than by something more... sinister."

Heruthain gave the Marshal a salute. "I will lead the search myself, for Hardbeorht is my sister-son’s son, and dear to me."

Hilderic nodded and Heruthain left. Then the Marshal turned his attention back to Grimbold and sighed. "What you say is true, Grimbold, but what I say is equally true: I do not trust you, not after what you did to Lord Thorongil here. If I get even a hint of trouble from you...." Hilderic left the threat unsaid, but Aragorn and Grimbold both recognized the sincerity of his words. Grimbold gave the Marshal a stiff bow in acknowledgement. The young Marshal nodded. "What is the message my uncle entrusted to you?"

Aragorn was surprised when Grimbold did not hand Hilderic a message tube, but began speaking the message right then and there. He realized then that Thengel had decided to have the message be given verbally as a safeguard against it being lost or stolen, as message tubes could be. Now he understood Grimbold’s reference to ‘hidden ways’. Messengers could be waylaid and he wondered what trouble had arisen in Edoras that Thengel needed to use this subterfuge to assure a message reached Hilderic. That Hardbeorht, a young lad whom Aragorn vaguely remembered, had been given the task to ride as decoy was troubling to the Dúnadan, though he suspected the Rider had volunteered. Thengel would not willingly order such a dangerous role upon another. Aragorn gave himself a mental shake and concentrated on listening to the message, which was brief and to the point.

"‘I regret, Nephew,’" Grimbold intoned, keeping his voice neutral as he repeated Thengel’s message to Hilderic, "‘that I cannot send you more troops at this time. The situation in Edoras worsens. Another assassination attempt was made against your aunt and I myself am riding to Aldburg to confront your grandmother. Do what you can against the orcs and Dunlendings. The Valar, and Lord Béma especially, be with you.’"

Hilderic went white at Grimbold’s words. "Aunt Morwen! Is she..."

Grimbold held up a hand. "The Lady Morwen is unharmed. The attempt on her life was foiled by young Théoden, if you can believe it." Here, he gave them both a feral smile and Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that.

"How did it happen?" he asked quietly.

Grimbold turned to the Dúnadan. "I see your command of our language progresses, Outlander."

"And how have your language lessons been coming along?" Aragorn retorted, speaking Westron. Grimbold gave the younger man a sour look.

"Well enough," he replied in the same tongue but said no more about it, reverting back to Rohirric as he described the events surrounding the latest assassination attempt against the royal family. "The Lady Morwen was sitting in her solar with her women doing embroidery. The royal children were also there, the maidens sitting alongside their mother while the princeling played nearby. Then, an old woman came in, carrying a basket. None had ever seen her before, but they took no note, for there had been much coming and going of servants throughout the morning. However, something about the woman did not sit well with the lad, from what I can gather, and as the woman approached his mother, reaching into the basket, he suddenly screamed out a warning that brought guards running. Morwen managed to move aside, dragging her daughters with her, just as the old woman threw an adder in her direction."

"What?" Hilderic and Aragorn both yelled almost at the same time, the same expression of shock and disbelief on their faces as Grimbold nodded. "The guards seized the woman and killed the snake. Had the lad not yelled out when he did...." He paused and looked appraisingly at Hilderic. "I admit me that I little care for the fact that your uncle married a foreign woman and brings foreign ways to his court, against all custom of the Rohirrim, yet, the thought of anyone dying such a horrendous death...." He shook his head, unable to say more.

Aragorn began to see the older man in a different light. Belligerent and hostile towards foreigners Grimbold might be, yet, there was a core of honor in him that bespoke of a man who found such attempts against another’s life distasteful and contemptible. Perhaps Thengel’s trust in the man was not as misplaced as Hilderic thought.

"What happened to the woman?" Aragorn asked quietly.

Grimbold gave the Dúnadan a grimace. "Died under torture, but not before revealing that she was of the old queen’s household."

For several minutes no one spoke, each alone with their thoughts. Finally, Hilderic looked up with a sigh. "I understand now why my uncle could not send any more men to me. If the Eastfold rises in rebellion against his rule, he will need all the men he has to quell it."

"Let us hope that it doesn’t come to that," Aragorn said. "If the Rohirrim must needs fight on two fronts, Rohan will be in danger of being destroyed, both from within and without."

"I will die before I see that happen!" Grimbold said with great feeling, and Hilderic nodded in agreement.

"Then, let us think how we may avert such a disaster," Aragorn replied. "Let us work together to see that Rohan is not destroyed by her enemies, whoever they may be." The Dúnadan held out his hand to Grimbold, who hesitated only for a moment before clasping Aragorn’s hand. Hilderic added his own on top of theirs.

"Let us even so," he said quietly and all three men grinned ferally at one another at the unspoken pledge between them.

****

Seron-en-orch: (Sindarin) Orc-lover; considered to be one of the gravest insults in Sindarin.

Be bith lîn, hir nîn: (Sindarin) "According to thy word, my lord".

No bedithar iBelain ah le: (Sindarin) "The Valar go with you".

16: The Scouts Return

Heruthain and his men returned two hours later, their expressions grim. Heruthain held a youth in his arms, obviously the missing Hardbeorht, looking waxen. Hilderic, Aragorn and Grimbold were at the entrance before the ramp to meet him.

"Is he dead?" Hilderic asked quietly.

Heruthain shook his head. "But he is sorely wounded."

Aragorn gestured for Heruthain to give the lad over to his waiting arms and the older man complied. "Grimbold, help me," he ordered as he attempted to ease the unconscious man to the ground so he could take a look. Grimbold did as he was told. Wídfara ran up at that moment with a thin wooden box in his hands and held it out to Aragorn.

"Here, lord," he said breathlessly. "I’ve brought you your medicaments."

Aragorn smiled up at the young Rider. "My thanks, Wídfara. Hold you the box for a moment."

Wídfara nodded and stood to one side while Aragorn swiftly but competently took stock of Hardbeorht’s injuries. The head wound was the worst and explained the lad’s continued unconsciousness. There was an arrow stub lodged in his back, just below the ribcage, miraculously missing the major organs. "He must have fallen from his horse," he half muttered to himself, "that would explain the head wound."

Heruthain, who had since dismounted to crouch beside his nephew’s son, nodded. "No sign of the horse, and we wouldn’t have found him in the tall grass had not Grimhelm seen a glint of metal shining in the sun."

Aragorn nodded. "We need to get the arrow out. Help me to the infirmary and I will do what I can. He’s lost much blood and the head wound is worrying. He may not live."

Heruthain grimaced at that and the faces of those around them darkened into something near to grief, but there was silence as a litter was brought and Hardbeorht carefully placed on it. Aragorn took his medical box from Wídfara with a nod of thanks and followed the litter. Hilderic stayed Heruthain with a hand.

"Thorongil will do what he can to save the lad. I need you to tell me all you saw while out there. How close to Helm’s Deep was he when he was felled?"

Whatever Heruthain answered, Aragorn did not hear as he continued into the keep. Once at the infirmary he ordered Hardbeorht stripped and boiling water brought. Wídfara and Grimbold were with him and acted as his assistants. The arrow was lodged closer to the heart than Aragorn liked, but he did not think dangerously so.

"Heruthain was wise not to try to remove the arrow," he said, "else the lad would have bled to death before they reached the Deeping-Coomb. As it is, he may still bleed to death. Is the water ready?"

It was, and for several tense moments all watched as Aragorn carefully cut around the barb. "Normally, I would just push the arrowhead through, but this close to the heart..." He grimaced and continued working until he was able to remove the arrow. As soon as it was out blood gushed but he had been prepared for it and began packing the open wound with Grimbold’s help. Eventually the blood flow slowed and the packing was carefully removed, one layer at a time until Aragorn could examine the wound more closely.

"At least the arrowhead wasn’t poisoned," he said with some relief. Then he took some athelas from his store of medicinals, breathed on the leaves and crushed them before throwing them into a waiting bowl of cooling water. The air became redolent with the smell of horse and spring rain and all there felt immensely refreshed. Even Hardbeorht, still unconscious, seemed to breathe easier and his color returned. Then Aragorn began laving the arrow wound as well as the head wound with the athelas-water, cleaning the areas around them before reaching for his sewing kit. In the meantime, on his orders, a poultice was made from comfrey root and he had Wídfara prepare some willow-bark tea.

"We need to get some of it in him," Aragorn explained as he began the tedious task of stitching the wounds. "It will help stave off infection. He’s already feverish."

When the wounds had been closed, the poultice was smeared on them and they were bound up. By this time, to Aragorn’s relief, Hardbeorht was beginning to stir though he did not regain full consciousness. Still, it was enough to allow him to take a few sips of the tea before slipping into a more natural sleep. Grimbold and Wídfara made him as comfortable as possible while Aragorn washed the blood from his hands and began the cleaning up.

"He is not out of the woods yet, but he is young and strong and healthy, so he has a chance of recovering," he reported to Hilderic and Heruthain some minutes later when he went in search of the Marshal and his second. The two men sighed with some relief and Heruthain gave the Dúnadan a warrior’s clasp in gratitude.

"Thank you, my lord," he said fervently. "My sister-son will be relieved to know that his only child yet lives."

"Time will tell," Aragorn cautioned, but he himself was optimistic that the boy would recover. He did not, however, voice his concern about the head wound. There was no guarantee that some damage to the brain had not occurred but he would not dampen Heruthain’s optimism at this point. Time enough for that when Hardbeorht wakened and his physical and mental states could be better assessed. In the meantime...

"Where was he found?"

Heruthain went to the wall map and pointed to a spot not far from Helm’s Deep. "About here. He was within an hour of reaching us."

"He rode all that way, only to be felled so close to his destination?" Aragorn asked disbelievingly. "Was he still carrying the message tube?"

Heruthain shook his head. "No, or rather, his horse probably did, but whether it simply ran off or was taken, I do not know. I only know that the lad was left for dead."

The bleakness of the man’s tone touched Aragorn and he laid a comforting hand on Heruthain’s shoulder. "That you found him when you did is a blessing not to be dismissed. Hardbeorht has a good chance for a complete recovery. Those who sought his life will be disappointed that they did not succeed."

Heruthain gave the Dúnadan a grateful nod.

"I have already apprised Heruthain of my uncle’s message," Hilderic said then. "I fear we are on our own."

"That Hardbeorht was attacked this close to Helm’s Deep rather than earlier is troubling," Aragorn said as he eyed the map. "Why did they wait so long before waylaying him? Had he been attacked soon after leaving Edoras, he would surely have died before anyone could find him."

Hilderic gazed thoughtfully at the map, then turned to Heruthain. "Find the horse."

Heruthain nodded, gave the Marshal a salute and left. Aragorn nodded. "Find the horse, and we may find some answers."

"Answers we sorely need," Hilderic agreed.

****

Over the next two days, Aragorn stayed close to Hardbeorht, tending to him with Wídfara’s help. The man regained consciousness briefly, long enough for Aragorn to know that there appeared to be minimal brain damage, for Hardbeorht knew who he was, recognized Heruthain and remembered his mission for Thengel, but had no memory of the actual attack.

"Not an uncommon thing with head injuries," Aragorn assured Hilderic and Heruthain after Hardbeorht had fallen asleep again. "Often the events surrounding the injury are lost to memory. That he is cognizant of his surroundings and recognizes others is heartening. I have every confidence that he will make a full recovery."

Both men breathed sighs of relief. There had been no sign of the horse as yet, but Hilderic had sent trackers who were well acquainted with every nook and cranny between Helm’s Deep and the Snowbourn and was confident some trace of the horse or the attackers would be found. In the meantime, it was a waiting game.

"Gilhael should return soon," Aragorn said at one point. "He’s been gone long enough to either find what needs to be found or to get into trouble. I just wish I were there to haul him out of it if that is the case."

Heruthain gave the younger man a grim smile. "The price of sending men out on missions, my lord," he said as he, Aragorn, Grimbold and Hilderic sat in the Marshal’s study sipping ale and going over the logistics of a winter campaign. "I am a man of action myself and little like sitting around like some grandam waiting for her grandchildren to visit."

Aragorn chuckled. "You should take up knitting to while away the hours, then," he suggested teasingly. "I understand it’s very relaxing."

Heruthain grunted and took a swallow of his ale but he was smiling behind his mug and did not take offense.

"I do need a new pair of socks, now that I think about it," Grimbold said to Heruthain with a straight face. "Perhaps you could knit me a pair."

"Ga ásúgan æg," Heruthain said amiably.

The other men laughed uproariously at that. Then the four of them spent the next half hour teasingly suggesting possible hobbies for each other, each suggestion more outrageous than the next.

A knock on the door sobered them and when Hilderic bade the person to enter they saw Wídfara there, looking somewhat grim. "Lord, the scouting party to the Westmark is returning. One... one of the horses is riderless."

Aragorn was the first one out the door, running pell-mell through the redoubt to the front gate, reaching it just as the party in question was making its way up the ramp. The others were right behind him. The Dúnadan went white when he realized he could not see Gilhael.

"What happened?" he cried out. "Háma, where is my cousin?"

Háma gave Aragorn a sorrowful look. "He ordered us to return, lord."

"Is he alive then?"

The Rohir scout nodded. "When last we saw him. He was running towards the Isen."

Aragorn was about to ask for more details when Hilderic intervened. "Háma, come with us. The rest of you, see to your horses and go you to your rest. Are there any injured?"

There were none, so Hilderic dismissed them. Aragorn, Heruthain and Grimbold followed Hilderic and Háma back into the redoubt and to Hilderic’s office. Wídfara followed as a matter of course. As they were making their way through the fortress, Háma suddenly reeled, putting a hand to his head. Aragorn caught him just in time.

"Wídfara," he ordered the young man, "go you and bring me my box of medicinals and have someone bring boiling water."

Wídfara nodded and ran off to do Aragorn’s bidding even as Háma was protesting. "I am not injured, lord, only weary."

"Then I have just the thing to revive you, my friend. Come, the Marshal’s office is not far and then you can rest."

The room proved overly small for them all, so Hilderic bade that the door be kept open to emit more air. Within minutes Wídfara came and Aragorn took the box, selecting a couple of leaves and a tincture, mixing them together into the pot of boiling water that also had been brought. At once the room was infused with a fresh scent that left them all feeling better. Aragorn let the leaves steep for a few minutes and allowed the water to cool somewhat before pouring some into a goblet and handing it to Háma who took the proffered drink gratefully.

"Now, tell us what happened," Hilderic ordered the scout.

Háma complied, after taking a couple of sips of the tea. "We went into the Westmark, but not back to the place where the éored was attacked. Tungolfród led us instead towards the Fords...."

"Why the Fords?" Háma asked Gilhael as they rode together.

"The Fords are the only place where any can cross the Isen safely. That band of orcs and Dunlendings were heading in this direction. I want to see if they made it to the Fords themselves."

"And if they didn’t?" Éobeorht asked, riding on the other side of the Dúnadan. Guthwulf was taking his turn riding point.

Gilhael gave them a feral grin. "Then it means that they either crossed the Isen elsewhere or..."

"Or they’re still in the Westmark, hiding," Háma finished the thought for him. Gilhael nodded.

"But where could they possibly hide that we could not find them?" Éobeorht asked with a troubled look on his face.

"Somewhere in plain sight, I suspect," Gilhael replied with a sigh.

The two Rohirrim gave him questioning looks. Gilhael smiled grimly. "If you want to hide a tree, where would you hide it?"

For a moment the two men said nothing, both deep in thought. Then they both gasped almost as one, stealing glances to the north where the dark smudge that was Fangorn Forest could be dimly discerned. Gilhael merely nodded as they continued riding.

When they reached the Isen they found that it was running swiftly with the autumn rains, although not so much as it would in the Spring with snow melt. Still, while the Fords were yet passable, care needed to be taken in the crossing. The scouts were not planning to cross.

Gilhael and the other men dismounted and began spreading out in search of signs of recent crossings of the Fords. They were hoping the recent rains would not have washed away all traces, but would have allowed signs of Men and orcs passing through to still be visible even after all this time. It was a dim hope, but all they had. They spent two days ranging north and south of the Fords with no luck.

"They did not cross here," Gilhael concluded as they sat around the fire on the evening of the second day. "Which means they either crossed the Isen somewhere further south or they are hiding in the Westmark."

"Where could they hide?" Éobeorht asked, not for the first time. It troubled the Rohir scout that the marauders might even now be hiding in one of the villages, holding the inhabitants hostage. What they might be doing with those villagers....

"That’s what we are here to discover," Gilhael said decisively. The others all nodded in agreement.

The next morning they set off to the south. Nearly three leagues from the Fords they came to the ruins of a village. Gilhael’s trained eyes could see that whatever depredations occurred here had happened some time ago.

"This was the first village to be attacked," Háma explained to Gilhael. "Its inhabitants were killed or taken. We found no survivors."

Gilhael pulled his horse to a halt and the others did the same with theirs. "My lord?" Háma asked uncertainly.

For a moment Gilhael said nothing, merely sat his horse, thinking. Finally, he spoke. "Háma, has anyone been back to the village since it was burned out?"

"No, lord," Háma replied, "not as far as we know." He gave the other two men a glance but they both shook their heads.

Gilhael nodded to himself. "That’s where they’re hiding."

Éobeorht gave the Dúnadan a skeptical look. "How can you be sure?"

Gilhael shrugged. "Only one way to find out, isn’t there?" He dismounted and the others followed. "The orcs will have holed up, possibly within the remains of the feasting hall."

"And the Dunlendings?" Háma asked.

"Scattered about, possibly. They will not need to hide from the sun, so they might have sentries."

"Dunlendings?" Guthwulf asked disbelievingly and the other Rohirrim snickered. Gilhael smiled thinly.

"Well, in any case," he said once the laughter had died somewhat, "we need to check the village out, just to be sure. Let us retreat somewhat to a less exposed spot and wait for tomorrow’s dawn. That will be the best time to scout as the orcs will be intent on reaching shelter and the Dunlendings will be fighting sleep."

So they made their way back towards the Isen and set up a fireless camp, keeping watch to the east where lay the village. They were undisturbed during the day. As night encroached upon the land, Gilhael made a decision.

"We’re not waiting until the dawn," he announced to the others. "I’m going to scout the village tonight."

The others were ready to accompany him, but he refused them. "My darker features will blend in better with the Dunlendings. Stay you here and if I’m not back by an hour before dawn return to Helm’s Deep and let the Marshal and my cousin know what has happened."

All three Rohirrim protested Gilhael’s plan but in the end the Dúnadan prevailed....

"Tungolfród decided to wait until the middle watch before going into the village," Háma told Hilderic and the others as he came to the end of his tale. "We agreed to wait until an hour before dawn and if he had not returned by then we would ride to Helm’s Deep with what we knew. Tungolfród warned us not to come after him."

Aragorn nodded reluctantly. "He would not wish to put any other lives but his own in danger."

"You said that you last saw him running toward the Isen," Hilderic said.

Háma nodded. "The hour of his return came and went and still we waited, but no sign did we see of Tungolfród. Finally, just as dawn was nigh, I gave the order to break camp." He sighed, as if admitting defeat.

"Following orders is never easy," Aragorn said sympathetically and Háma nodded.

"We were making our way north around the village where the land folds somewhat, providing us with some measure of cover from hostile eyes, when suddenly a great shout came from the village and we saw Tungolfród running towards the Isen, but further south from our camp. Right behind him were Dunlendings giving chase."

The Rohirrim all paled at that and they saw the Dúnadan grip the arms of his chair so tightly that he actually snapped the wood.

"I’m going after him," Aragorn said in a voice that brooked no dissent.

"Nay, Estel, you will not go, but we will."

Aragorn gasped in shock as did the Rohirrim, Grimbold even going as far as to reach for his sword. Standing in the open doorway was Thandir, looking grimmer than Aragorn had ever seen him. Behind him were Gilgirion and Celegrýn, looking equally dour.

"Thandir," Aragorn whispered, "Man sí cerilir?"

"Change of plans, Estel," the Elf said in Westron as he entered the room. He ignored everyone but Háma, staring at the Man intently, his eyes shining with the memory of the Two Trees, though none of the Rohirrim knew this. Even Aragorn knew little enough. Háma quailed and rose, backing away from the Elf, who never took his eyes off him.

"Now child," Thandir said with cold implacability, "you will tell me every detail of what happened."

Then Háma son of Bryttawald did a thing he never thought he would ever do — he fainted.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Ga ásúgan æg: "Go suck an egg".

Man sí cerilir?: (Sindarin) "What do ye here?". Aragorn employs the courteous second person plural form since he is actually addressing all three Elves.

17: Confrontation

Háma was brought around by the simple expedient of Thandir picking up a pitcher of water and pouring it over the Man’s head while the other Mortals looked on with various expressions ranging from amused resignation (Aragorn) to disbelief (Grimbold). Háma sputtered awake and looked up at the Elf standing over him and cringed, trying to crawl out of Thandir’s reach. Thandir, of course, was not in the mood for games, and calmly reached down and pulled the hapless Mortal to his feet and pushed him into a chair. Aragorn had to admit the poor Man looked somewhat pathetic, sitting there dripping water with an Elf standing over him, an Elf who, in spite of his present occupation as one of Elrond’s scouts, was a scion of a noble Noldorin family high in the councils of the Noldóran, and obviously knew how to act as such. Thandir had a presence about him that suddenly reminded Aragorn of Glorfindel when that particular Elf chose to reveal himself as the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, rather than as Imladris’ Seneschal and Captain of the Guards.

"Now, begin at the beginning, child," Thandir said softly, though his tone brooked no dissent, "and leave no detail, however small, out of the telling. Gilhael’s life depends on it."

So Háma reiterated what he had told the others, perhaps adding additional details at Thandir’s prompting, but otherwise telling the same tale.

"Where precisely was Gilhael running to?" Thandir asked at the end of Háma’s tale. "Could you tell if he had a specific destination in mind?"

Háma shook his head. "It wasn’t towards where we had camped, but more southwesterly. If he did not swerve in his route he would have ended up at the banks of the Isen, but there is nowhere he could have gone that would have led to safety. Eventually, the Dunlendings would have caught up with him."

"How swiftly is the Isen flowing at this time of year?" Aragorn asked and was rewarded with an approving look from Thandir.

Háma thought for a moment. "The recent rains will have swelled the waters though not to flood levels. Still, it will be running swiftly enough." He paused and gave Aragorn a puzzled look. "Is that what you think, that Tungolfród intended for the Isen to take him out of the reach of the Dunlendings?"

Aragorn nodded. "If he had enough of a head start he could have taken to the river and be well away before any of the pursuers reached the banks."

"If he had enough of a head start," Hilderic repeated, sounding uncertain.

Thandir moved to the map. "Show me where lies this village."

Hilderic pointed it out to him and the Elf stared at the map for several minutes. No one spoke. Finally he turned to his companions and spoke in rapid Sindarin. Celegrýn nodded and Gilgirion grinned; both of them gave Thandir a brief bow and left. Aragorn gave Thandir a piercing look.

"Even if that’s true," he said in Westron, "there’s little chance of him surviving."

"Have you given up hope already, Thorongil?" Thandir said with a teasing look in his eyes that made the Dúnadan scowl.

"I’m going with you," Aragorn said.

Thandir shook his head. "No."

Aragorn found himself bristling at the Elf’s tone. When he spoke he did so in Sindarin, his eyes flashing with barely concealed anger. "He is my cousin and I am his Chieftain. You have no say over my comings and goings, Thandir. If you do not wish for my company, I will go alone, but go I will."

Thandir, for his part, remained calm, seemingly unaffected by Aragorn’s words, but there was a light in his eyes that even Aragorn had never seen in any of the Elves of his acquaintance and the Dúnadan found himself taking an involuntary step back. "Child, when I say ‘no’ I mean it," Thandir said, speaking Sindarin as well. "You will not come with us nor will you go alone into the Westmark. That is not your destiny. Your destiny lies to the east. Return you to Edoras. I will bring your cousin to you, never fear. Go to Thengel. He has need of you."

"No," Aragorn said as coldly as he could, refusing to allow Thandir to command him as if he were still a child. Thandir took a step forward, all the other Mortals in the room forgotten as Edhel and Dúnadan confronted each other. Aragorn forced himself not to flinch from the Elf’s mien. Not even Glorfindel had ever looked this dangerous to him.

"More is at stake here than your wounded pride, Estel," Thandir said softly, speaking now in Westron. "Do not abuse our friendship with your intransigence, child. I have seen three Ages come and go and have survived terrors you could never comprehend. When I tell you your destiny lies to the east, I do not speak frivolously nor am I dismissing your abilities as a Ranger. Your coming to the Westmark with us will not change the outcome of your cousin’s fate, but your presence in Edoras may well tip the balance towards good. Evil stalks this land, Estel, evil that I have tasted before in the hinterlands of Beleriand and in the forests of Eriador long before your ancestor Elendil ever reached these shores from drowned Númenor, evil that has the stench of the Nameless to it, though he is lost in the Void. Go to Thengel, child. Defend the King."

Aragorn stared at the Elf for a long moment and whatever he saw in Thandir’s eyes convinced him that defying the ellon would be more than foolhardy; it would be dangerous. He felt himself blushing and looking away, unable to meet the Elf’s steady gaze. He had never felt this way before among the Firstborn and it was unsettling. Then Thandir took him into his embrace and held him for a moment.

"I will bring Gilhael back, Estel," he whispered in Sindarin. "I will bring him back to you, iôn nîn."

He stepped back and gave the Dúnadan a brief smile. "We will leave now for the Westmark. Hebo nedh 'ûr gîn i phith nîn, Estel." Without acknowledging the other Mortals, Thandir exited the room, his footsteps too soft for any of them to hear. For a long moment no one moved or spoke, then Aragorn felt his knees buckle and he crumpled to the floor, his expression stricken as the enormity of what had just happened irrupted upon his consciousness. He was barely aware of Heruthain holding him as he allowed himself to let go.

****

"I cannot leave the Westfold," Hilderic said some time later, after Aragorn had recovered somewhat, though he still looked as if he were in shock. "I must send the éored to that village and destroy whatever lurks there." He gave Aragorn a searching look. "You, however, I can send back to Edoras with all that we’ve learned about the dangers besetting us. Grimbold and Hardbeohrt, if he is well enough, will accompany you."

Aragorn nodded listlessly, only half paying attention. The confrontation with Thandir had left him feeling oddly detached from his surroundings and he was finding it difficult to concentrate. He did not see Hilderic give Heruthain and Grimbold a worried look. It was Grimbold who spoke then, giving Aragorn a rough pat on the shoulder.

"Thengel King needs us, Earntungol," the Rohir said with gruff camaraderie. "The Elf was right in that much. Come, let us depart and I will show you the hidden ways between here and Edoras that no outsider has ever been shown."

For a long moment Aragorn merely stared at the older man, and then, reluctantly, he nodded. "Let us depart," he echoed quietly.

In the end, it was decided that Wídfara would travel with them. "He is loyal to Thorongil and will see to his needs," Hilderic said in explanation to Grimbold and Heruthain and the other two men agreed.

Thus, the day after Thandir and the Elves left for the Westmark, Aragorn was riding east to Edoras, fear for his cousin foremost in his mind, fear for himself deep within his soul.

****

Noldóran: (Quenya) King of the Noldor, at this time, Arafinwë (Finarfin).

Edhel: (Sindarin) Elf.

Ellon: (Sindarin) Male elf.

Iôn nîn: (Sindarin) My son.

Hebo nedh 'ûr gîn i phith nîn, Estel: (Sindarin) "Keep in your heart my words, Estel".

Note: ‘The Nameless’ (in Sindarin, iBen-eneth) is a title originally given to Morgoth, though Sauron was also called thus by the Gondorians.

18: Licweg

By the time Aragorn and the others reached the Snowbourn, he was feeling more himself. The trip back to Edoras had been uncomfortable for all of them as Aragorn attempted to regain his equilibrium. Wídfara was the most affected and Aragorn had just enough presence of mind to realize the younger man was suffering on his account. He made a conscious effort to pull himself out of his preoccupation and relieve the Rohir’s mind. The effort to do so seemed to help him as well, for after a few days, he was less moody.

Now they were approaching Edoras in the late afternoon five days after leaving Helm’s Deep. The city looked much as Aragorn remembered but the three Rohirrim grimaced as Grimbold pointed to Meduseld shining golden in the sun.

"The King’s standard is missing," he said shortly.

"What does that mean?" Aragorn asked.

"Usually it means he is not in residence," Grimbold replied. "Yet there is always the Cægheorde’s standard, but that does not fly either."

"You said that Thengel was planning a campaign into the Eastfold when you left Edoras," Aragorn reminded him.

"Let us hope that is the meaning of this," Grimbold stated with a nod, "but it worries me that Gléomer’s standard does not fly where it should."

When they reached the gates of the city they were amazed to see them closed against all custom. Wídfara and Hardbeorht both went white with shock and Grimbold’s mien darkened to something undefinable but definitely dangerous. He loosened the ties on his sword and Aragorn automatically did the same as did the two younger Riders. Grimbold motioned for the other three men to remain where they were while he urged his horse closer to the gates.

"Hwær cwóm geatweardas?" he shouted. "Hwæt sind gatu inbelocen intó fréondum?"

The answer was not long in coming. Without warning a bolt came flying from an arrow slit high on the city walls to land only just before Grimbold’s horse. The horse reared in surprise and Grimbold was hard-put to bring his steed under control and move out of bow-range. Aragorn and the other two Riders swiftly followed suit. Grimbold’s expression was stony as he brought his horse to a halt a half a mile from the city.

"Treachery!" he spat. "Now the riddle of the standards is answered."

"Yes, but who has taken the city?" Aragorn asked. "And what has happened to Lady Morwen and the children? Are they prisoners or have they escaped to some refuge?"

Grimbold sat on his horse staring back at the closed city, pondering Aragorn’s words. The other two Riders were white-lipped with barely suppressed fury, for treachery against one’s lord was considered the greatest evil among the Rohirrim. It was a negation of the concept of oathgiving which was the hallmark of their society. The giving of an oath was held sacred above all other obligations. That someone would deliberately renege on his oath to Thengel was the worst crime any could commit in their eyes.

"I must find a way into the city to learn what has happened," Grimbold finally said.

"Easier said than done," Aragorn stated, looking dubious. All three Rohirrim nodded reluctantly, for Edoras sat upon a hill and was heavily fortified. "Is there a culvert or some other bolt hole known to the king’s household wherein the royal family might escape during times of trouble?"

"If there is," Hardbeorht replied, "it would not be common knowledge, and none of us would be in a position to know of such a thing."

"There is a passageway, though, that leads into the city," Wídfara said. "It is little used and, as far as I know, not guarded. One end of the passage begins in the midst of the barrows, for it has sometimes been used by those who have business with the Dead."

Grimbold nodded. "Yes, I remember now, the old licweg. You are wise, young Wïdfara, to have recalled such a thing, for I do not think its purpose is even remembered these days."

"Can we reach it without being seen by those holding the city?" Aragorn asked, intrigued.

Wídfara nodded. "Yes, lord, under cover of darkness it will be easy enough to avoid being seen by any who man the walls."

Grimbold gave the city another glance. "Let us away. Let us be seen to depart back to the Westfold. There is a place near the Snowbourn where we may hole up for the day. Then we will assay the licweg and hope that in doing so we will not be walking to our own graves."

They urged their horses to a gallop and were soon out of sight of Edoras and whoever held it.

****

Grimbold led them to a dell hidden by trees not far from the Snowbourn. Edoras was less than a mile to the east, Meduseld’s golden roof turning red with the setting sun. Aragorn and Wídfara hunted while Grimbold and Hardbeorht set up camp. Soon they had a small smokeless fire going and a rabbit stew in the pot. Grimbold was describing the licweg to Aragorn as they ate.

"It is a passage that runs between Meduseld and the barrows. Originally, it was used by the royal family to visit their ancestors’ graves without having to go through the city to reach the barrows."

"So, no one would necessarily know that anyone was visiting the barrows," Aragorn said and the others nodded.

"None but the royal family knows where the entrances are at either end, though," Wídfara said, looking apologetic. "It’ll be difficult to find it among the barrows, but it was the only route into the city I could think of."

Grimbold clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "It was a good thought, but you are in luck, because I know where the entrance is."

Wídfara and Hardbeorht stared at the older man in wonder. "How is this possible, Uncle?" Hardbeorht asked.

But it was Aragorn who supplied the answer. "That’s how you were able to sneak out of the city without anyone knowing," he said with a smile. "Thengel must have shown you the route."

Grimbold gave the Dúnadan an appraising look. "You are correct, Outlander. In my anger at the treachery we have found I had completely forgotten about it until young Wídfara reminded me. Mind you, I only saw the barrow entrance once, but I memorized its location. It will be more difficult to find it again in the dark, but I should be able to."

"Is it not barred, though, from the inside?" Wídfara asked. "How are we to get in if it is?"

"It will be locked, but not barred," Grimbold answered. "Thengel King gave me a key, for he thought perhaps I might need to return to the city the same way I left."

The others looked thoughtful at that. Soon, it became dark enough for them to return to the city unseen. Grimbold ordered Hardbeorht to remain at the camp with the horses. "For you are still recovering from your wounds and someone needs to stay with the horses."

The younger man looked rebellious, but Aragorn shook his head. "Grimbold is correct, Hardbeorht, and as your personal healer, I tell you that I would not let you join us. Remain here as Grimbold says and keep all in readiness for swift flight. Something tells me that we may well need to flee before the night ends."

Hardbeorht looked somewhat mollified by Aragorn’s words, and the matter was decided. The other three men made their way silently towards the barrows with Grimbold in the lead. He brought them over the dike and made his way along the western edge of the cemetery where nine barrows lay. They kept as quiet as they could; Aragorn walked nearly soundlessly compared to the other two men.

"Here," Grimbold whispered, coming to a halt before what appeared to be a barrow, but was much smaller than the others. "The door is on the other side away from the wall."

Aragorn and Wídfara followed Grimbold around the barrow to a small door. "Anyone coming upon this would think it a caretaker’s hut," Grimbold whispered in explanation as he fished out a heavy looking key from under his tunic and eased it into the keyhole. In the dark silence of the night, Aragorn feared that the opening of the door would be heard by any manning the walls, but Thengel must have seen to its oiling for when Grimbold pushed it open, it did so soundlessly.

They went inside and Grimbold closed the door, but did not lock it. With the door closed they were in utter darkness but Aragorn had seen a couple of torches lying on the ground beside the entrance and was already working on his striker to start a flame. Soon, they had a torch going. Looking about they saw a narrow passage that was just barely high enough for them to walk upright. It was wide enough, though, for two to walk abreast.

"This passage runs under the city and comes out inside the Hall, in the King’s own bedroom, to be exact," Grimbold said as they made their way down the passage. "There’s a bit of a climb and we must take care to make little noise for there are vents to allow air in here and sound travels."

"What about light?" Aragorn asked. "Will not those outside see the light of the torch and investigate?"

Grimbold shook his head. "Thengel King described to me the manner of the vents. They are placed in such a way that they allow air in, but none can see them from outside so no light escapes to betray us. Come, let us discover what we may of what has befallen this city."

With that, they continued in silence, Aragorn taking the rear position. They came upon a set of stairs carved into the rock of the hill on which the city sat. They were narrowly cut and sometimes it was necessary to climb sideways, but eventually they reached the top to find the passage here was smoother, the walls looking more finished. Grimbold waited until they were all together before speaking in a low whisper.

"We are now inside Meduseld itself," he said, pointing upward. "We must take care to make as little noise as possible. Wídfara, remain you here by the stairs. Look, here are more torches. You will not have to wait in darkness. Earntungol and I will continue on and try to find the royal family or news of them. Not all within the city will have joined the traitors."

Wídfara looked ready to protest, but Aragorn forestalled him. "You must be ready to lead the way back, my young friend, for Grimbold and I may not be in a position to do so."

Wídfara gave the Dúnadan a measured look and then nodded, though the older men could see his reluctance. Giving Wídfara an encouraging smile, Aragorn followed after Grimbold as he continued down the passage. It made a number of twists and turns and then they were climbing again, and Aragorn realized they must be climbing between the walls of the Hall. Eventually they came to a door and again Grimbold took out his key and unlocked it. There was a small grille in the door. All was dark on the other side and there was no sound of breathing that they could hear. They eased open the door, their swords out and ready and slipped into the room. Aragorn realized they must be behind the arras that would hang at the head of the king’s bed, effectively hiding them from the rest of the room.

Grimbold touched Aragorn on the shoulder and gave it a squeeze and a gentle push to the left and Aragorn understood that he was to go one way around the arras as Grimbold took the other way. Moving around the arras, Aragorn saw that not all was in darkness. A single candle sat on a side table. By its guttering flame he could see three figures sleeping in the bed — a woman and two children. Grimbold stood on the other side. He saw Aragorn and nodded. Slowly the two men reached down and each held a hand over the mouths of one of the children. Aragorn also held a hand over the woman’s mouth while Grimbold gently shook her. Morwen woke with a start, as did her daughters, and there was fear in all their eyes.

"No dinen, hiril nîn," Aragorn whispered. "It is I, Thorongil. Make no noise, little maids," he admonished the girls in Sindarin and was pleased to see them both nod in understanding. With a nod to Grimbold the two men released their holds on them.

Morwen sat up cautiously. "Thorongil, how did you get here?" she whispered in the same language.

"Through the licweg, lady," he answered, switching to Rohirric for Grimbold’s sake. "Come, we must get you away. Where is Théoden?"

Morwen grimaced, glancing briefly at her daughters lying white-faced beside her. "They took him from me," she said bleakly. "I fear they may have... harmed him."

The two men were quick to realize what she actually meant, knowing she spoke in generalities for the sake of her daughters.

"If they have," Grimbold stated baldly, "then they have lost whatever bargaining power they hoped to have over Thengel King."

"Grimbold is correct, lady," Aragorn said with a nod. "Your son lives, of that I have no doubt. I suspect they separated him from you as a hostage to ensure your continuing good behavior. Come, we must leave."

Morwen shook her head. "I will not leave without my son."

All this time Théodfrid and Théodhild had remained still, but at their mother’s urging, they now climbed out of the bed. It was only when the covers were thrown back that Aragorn saw the swell of Morwen’s belly and realized she was with child, something he had not known about when he left for Helm's Deep. That complicated things, for she was gravid enough to slow them down.

"Do you have any idea where they may be keeping him, my lady?" Grimbold asked as he helped her out of the bed while Aragorn bundled the two girls in their cloaks and led them behind the arras, admonishing them in softly spoken Sindarin to remain still and make no sound. He rejoined the others in time to hear Morwen reply in the negative.

"We need to get out of this room and find the boy," Aragorn said. "Is there a guard outside?" he asked Morwen, who nodded. "Then let us see if we cannot convince him to join our little party."

Aragorn smiled grimly as he moved to one side of the door, while Grimbold, with an equally grim smile, moved to the other side. Aragorn removed a knife and held it at the ready, then nodded to Morwen who suddenly screamed and then cried out, "Oh no! The babe! Help!" She screamed again for good measure as Aragorn heard the rattle of keys on the other side of the door. It swung open and the hapless guard ran in, never seeing Aragorn knocking him out with the hilt of his knife. Grimbold closed the door and grabbed the keys. They tied the guard up and gagged him, using strips from the bedsheets, then put him in the bed and covered him.

"Which key locks the room?" Aragorn asked Morwen and after a brief look she pointed to the correct key. Aragorn nodded. "Grimbold, take the Lady Morwen and the girls. I will look for the boy."

"Why you?" Grimbold asked somewhat belligerently, not liking the way this Outlander was taking command.

"Because the Elves trained me to walk silently and unseen, my friend," Aragorn replied, not taking offense at the other man’s tone. "Also, the boy speaks Sindarin, as do I, and knows me from the schoolroom."

Morwen nodded. "Lord Thorongil is correct, Grimbold. Théoden knows him whereas he does not know you and you may waste time trying to convince him of your loyalty."

"How will you find the boy, then?" Grimbold asked, relenting.

"I will just have to ask someone, won’t I?" Aragorn replied with a feral smile, then his expression sobered. "Do not wait for me. I will meet you where we are camped. If I am not with you by tomorrow night, I will not be coming at all. Get you away to whatever refuge you deem appropriate."

Grimbold nodded, fully understanding Aragorn’s words. Morwen put a hand on his arm and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "No bedithar iBelain ah le," she whispered, then stepped back and allowed Grimbold to escort her behind the arras. Aragorn then went to the door and, listening carefully, detected no sound from the other side. He eased the door open and slipped out, trying to get his bearings. The corridor was empty. Aragorn moved silently down the hallway in search of someone who might have the information he sought.

Somewhere in Edoras a young prince awaited rescue. Aragorn son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, was determined to find him... and the Valar help any who stood in his way.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Licweg: Corpse-road; pronounced 'LICH-way'.

Cægheorde: Steward, literally, "Keeper of keys". Hlafweard might also be used, its literal meaning being "Keeper or Guardian of the bread". The hlafweard was simply the person who held a feudal estate under a king, thus a steward. One of the functions of the king’s household steward in Anglo-Saxon society was to ensure that any who suffered poverty was provided food from the king’s own pantry. Eventually hlafweard became contracted to hlaford which was further contracted to lord.

Lady comes from hlafdige "Maker of the bread". Tolkien follows this etymological practice in Sindarin with the words bassoneth and bessain, both meaning "bread-giver" and the Quenya cognate massánië, which was used as a title of the highest woman among any Elvish people, since she was the keeper and giver of the coimas (lembas). These Elvish titles are sometimes simply translated "Lady".

Hwær cwóm geatweardas? Hwæt sind gatu inbelocen intó fréondum?: "Where have the gatewardens gone? Why are the gates shut against friends?"

No dinen, hiril nîn: (Sindarin) "Be silent, my lady."

No bedithar iBelain ah le: (Sindarin) "The Valar go with you"; literally, "Be it [that] the Powers will go with you".

19: A Prisoner Freed

Aragorn decided that there were only two logical places they would have put the boy: either in his own rooms or in the dungeons. Since the nursery was not far it made sense to check that out first. If the boy was not there, then he would check the dungeons. And if Théoden was not in the dungeons...

Well, he would cross that bridge when and if he got to it. In the meantime, he continued along on cat-feet, keeping an eye and an ear out for servants and guards. The upper floor was empty, as was the nursery. Aragorn grimaced. That meant the dungeons and reaching them would be problematic.

He thought about it, bringing up a mental map of Meduseld’s layout. There was one possible route that would avoid most of the public areas of the king’s palace and luckily the nursery was on the south side of Meduseld facing the White Mountains. Leaving the room he made his way further along the corridor to a door that led to the back stairs used by servants. He made his way down them cautiously as there was no light. At the bottom of the stairs he paused to listen at the door, but heard no sound. Easing the door open he found himself in the palace kitchens. A banked fire provided a little light by which to see.

He continued moving quietly around worktables, careful to avoid hitting his head on pans and utensils and the occasional ropes of garlic hanging from the rafters. He almost stepped on a young lad sleeping next to the stove. The boy stirred somewhat and Aragorn bent down and laid a hand on his cheek, gently stroking it and singing softly. The child gave a sigh and fell back to sleep without ever opening his eyes. Aragorn smiled fondly at the lad before stepping over him and making his way down a side corridor that was dimly lit with torches at either end of it.

This corridor led towards the guardroom situated at the west side of the Hall with the entrance to the dungeons just beyond. Here would hold the most danger for the Dúnadan, for he would need to retrieve the keys from the guardroom which would be full of sleeping (and not sleeping) men. He slowed his pace a bit to think things out. The door to the dungeons itself would not be locked, merely barred. If he could sneak past the guardroom unseen he might be able to lift the bar without making too much noise, but that still left him without the keys necessary to open the cells below.

He was pondering what course to take when he heard footsteps approaching from the direction of the guardroom that lay just around the corner and ran as softly as he could back toward the kitchens, for there were no other doors along the corridor. He stepped quietly to the left where there was a shallow alcove, pulling his hood over his eyes and crouching behind a couple of bags of potatoes just as two men entered, one slightly older than the other, both looking grim.

The first man was carrying an empty pail; the second a knife aimed at the other man’s back. That surprised Aragorn, but he schooled himself to stillness and waited. The men walked over to a sink where there was a pump. As the first man began drawing water, he whispered, "This is a bad business, Rædwulf."

Rædwulf shrugged, leaning casually against a table. "Bad or not, Cyneric, it is what it is and there is little we can do about it."

"You were willing enough to forsake your oaths...."

"I forsook nothing!" Rædwulf snarled, still keeping his voice low. "Your family is safely away at your father’s steading, but my wife and child are here and hostage to my obedience. I will do nothing to risk their lives or mine. I cannot protect them if I am dead or in prison."

Cyneric finished pumping and looked at Rædwulf sadly. "Why does the king not come?" There was a note of hurt and confusion in his voice. Rædwulf shrugged again and sighed.

"I do not know, my friend. I only know you were foolish to defy Waldamer. He is a vicious bastard and you may thank Lord Béma you still live. Now let us go. I don’t trust Waldamer or his cronies not to torment the prisoner in our absence." Rædwulf waved his knife at Cyneric, motioning him to walk in front. The younger man sighed and gave a slight grunt as he lugged the now full pail. Aragorn let them pass him and waited for a count of twenty before easing himself from his hiding place to come behind Rædwulf, grabbing him and holding his own knife against the man’s throat. The guard gave a gurgled gasp that alerted Cyneric. The younger man turned and stared in shocked surprise as Aragorn took Rædwulf’s knife.

"Softly, my friends," Aragorn admonished them. "I mean you no harm."

"Who are you?" Rædwulf snarled, fear tinging his voice.

"I am Lord Earntungol sent by Thengel King," Aragorn answered, stretching the truth a hair. "I heard you talking by the pump."

Cyneric gasped, his eyes widening. "Good sir, please do not harm my friend. He is no traitor..."

"Silence, you fool!" Rædwulf exclaimed. "You babble like a child on leading strings."

Cyneric paled at that and tried to stammer an apology. Aragorn released his hold on Rædwulf and stepped back.

"Peace, Rædwulf," he said. "Fear not, Cyneric. I am not here to judge. That is for Thengel King to do. I have come for the boy, for young Théoden. You will take me to him."

Cyneric shook his head. "We cannot, lord," he said, sounding fearful, "for he is not here."

Aragorn grimaced. "Then who is the prisoner of whom you spoke?"

"Lord Gléomer," Rædwulf answered. "Thengel King’s Steward."

"Where then is the boy?" Aragorn asked, sounding frustrated and perplexed. The night was advancing and Grimbold awaited him. Dawn was not far off and the longer he tarried the more dangerous it would become, for the watch would soon be changing.

"I cannot say, lord," Rædwulf answered. "Only, when the traitors took the city, a rider was seen with the bundled body of a child before him. Lady Morwen and her daughters were captured and locked in the king’s bedroom, but no sign of the princeling did we see."

"How long ago was this?" Aragorn asked, thinking furiously.

"Two days ago, lord," Cyneric replied. "We did not even know what was happening until that swine Waldamer came and announced that he was in charge of us now. Of Captain Folcwine, there has been no word or sign. We... we fear the good captain is dead."

Rædwulf nodded grimly.

"Who holds the city?" Aragorn then asked. If he could not rescue the boy, he could at least find out as much as possible. It may be that Théoden had been spirited out by a friend in the confusion of the attack.

"Guthláf of Gálmódingsdale," Cyneric said, grimacing. "Fengel King banished him years ago."

"The only thing that king did right," Rædwulf opined, shaking his head in disgust. "Several of the men with him were also banished. Waldamer, for instance, was forced to flee when Thengel King returned because of his part in the attempt to prevent Thengel from taking his father’s throne."

"Ah," Aragorn exclaimed softly. Suddenly, things were becoming clearer.

Rædwulf gave Aragorn a nervous look. "We cannot linger, lord. Already we tarry longer than we should have and Waldamer will be suspicious and will send his men to find us."

Aragorn nodded his understanding. "Go then, and I will follow. But wait, how do I get the keys to unlock the prison?"

Cyneric answered. "There is but one guard at the top of the stairs leading to the dungeons. He it is who holds the keys. What do you intend, lord?"

"I mean to rescue Lord Gléomer and learn where Théoden has been taken," answered Aragorn, giving them a feral smile even as he returned Rædwulf’s knife to the guard. Both Rædwulf and Cyneric gave the Dúnadan a skeptical look, then Rædwulf shrugged and motioned for Cyneric to go on. Aragorn kept several paces behind them. The two men turned the corner and disappeared from view. Aragorn slowed his pace.

"What kept you?" he heard a rough voice growl. "If you were plotting any treachery..."

"You’re one to talk, Grimbeorn," Aragorn heard Cyneric say and winced at the sound of the slap and the man’s gasp of pain.

"Keep yer opinions to yerself, boy," Grimbeorn snarled. "Come along. Waldamer is tired of waiting."

Aragorn waited for the sound of the footsteps to fade away before venturing around the corner. Just ahead he saw the door to the guardroom on the right closing and sighed with relief. He had no doubt that Rædwulf was behind that, for normally the guardroom door remained opened at all times. He walked quickly but quietly past the door, which he saw was not completely closed — that would indeed have been foolish on Rædwulf’s part. The door leading to the dungeons lay just beyond around a second corner. Aragorn held his knife under his cloak and walked briskly around the corner as if he had every right to be where he was. The guard had only a moment to realize that the person walking towards him was not one of his fellow guards before Aragorn had his knife to the man’s throat.

"One false move, friend," Aragorn whispered with unfeigned menace tinging his voice, "and you are dead." The guard nodded mutely as Aragorn relieved him of his weapons. "Now, we are going to go down to the dungeons. You will take me to Lord Gléomer. Are there any others beside the Steward who have been imprisoned?"

The guard shook his head and Aragorn nodded, stepping back just far enough to allow the man to open the door and start down the stairs, the Dúnadan’s knife still inches from his throat. Aragorn grabbed a torch from a wall sconce and they made it to the dungeons without mishap. The guard led Aragorn to a certain cell which Aragorn made him open. The two of them entered and Aragorn saw an older man of around fifty lying on a pallet of dirty straw. The man groaned and held his arm to his eyes against the sudden light of the torch.

"Help him up," Aragorn ordered the guard and after a brief second of hesitation the man complied and gave the old man a hand. Aragorn could see that Lord Gléomer had been beaten rather severely but not enough to prevent him from fleeing. The problem would be the guard. Making a quick decision, he motioned for the guard to go before him with the prisoner, then, sheathing his knife, he grabbed the hapless guard from behind and slowly pressed against the man’s windpipe until he fell unconscious. Lord Gléomer stood there reeling somewhat and looking stupidly at the fallen guard. Aragorn took the man’s arm.

"Can you walk, my lord?" he asked. "I will lead you to a place of safety, but we must get hence before any come looking for this man."

Gléomer nodded, giving Aragorn a piercing look. "You are the Outlander Thengel King has taken into his service. How....?"

"We must away, my lord. Explanations must come later. Are there no other prisoners?"

"Lady Morwen..."

Aragorn shook his head. "She and her daughters are safely away, but Théoden is missing."

Gléomer shook his head. "I know not the fate of the princeling."

"Never mind, my lord," Aragorn said solicitously. "Let us hence. We will find the boy and rescue him. Come."

He led the Steward out of his cell and took a moment to lock it behind them then started towards the stairs, but Gléomer stopped him.

"There is another way out," he whispered and Aragorn nodded. The old man turned and they went back down the corridor, passing the cells. Aragorn was no longer concerned about reaching the hidden licweg, for already an hour had passed and he knew that Grimbold and Wídfara would be making their way with the Lady Morwen and her daughters to their camp. Grimbold would not risk the lady’s welfare for his sake, of that Aragorn was sure.

"If we can get out of the city," Aragorn said, "there is a place we can go where others await us."

Gléomer nodded his understanding. "There is a culvert that leads out of the city from here, coming out near the middens on the south side of the hill. It will not be a pleasant route, but none will see us."

"Then lead the way, my lord, and I will follow."

The old man brought them to a grate set in the floor at the end of the corridor. It took Aragorn only a few minutes to pull it open and help Gléomer down before joining him. There was no way to replace the grate but it hardly mattered. Gléomer took the torch Aragorn offered him and the two men went on their way. There was a noisome smell and water trickled at their feet, but they ignored both, for indeed they had no choice. Their route was fairly straight, leading downward. Eventually they came to another set of bars, larger than the first set and immoveable, but the space between them was wide enough for them to pass through with care. Then they were outside at last, the night already lightening to their left with the approaching dawn, the mountains before them looming menacingly in night’s shadow.

"We must make for the Snowbourn," Aragorn said, taking Gléomer’s arm. The older man was reeling from fatigue and pain, but he forced himself to remain standing and nodded, allowing Aragorn to help him cross the middens. Finally, they reached a copse that hid them from any eyes on the city walls and Aragorn helped Gléomer to the ground.

"Here we may rest," he said, "but we cannot linger. They will discover you gone and the route we have taken. There is a camp not far from here where the Lady Morwen waits for us. If we leave now while it is still dark, we will not be seen crossing the open fields."

Gléomer nodded where he lay. "Give me but a moment to catch my breath, my lord, and I will be well."

Aragorn was not so sure, for the man’s face was pasty looking and his breathing was labored, but they had no choice. The alarm would come soon enough if it hadn’t already and they were running out of time. Yet, only a minute or two passed before Gléomer struggled upright and let Aragorn help him up. "Lead the way, young man," the Steward said, "and fear not for me. I am old but I am not dead."

Aragorn could not help but smile at the man’s words and nodded. Soon they were working their way across a field, stepping carefully for they had no torch to light their way, for Aragorn had abandoned their torch when they emerged from the culvert. It was not an easy walk and Aragorn feared that they would be seen with the growing light, but looking back he realized that trees hid the city from view. It was possible that they themselves would not be noticed should anyone be looking in this direction. Gléomer noticed Aragorn’s look of concern and chuckled.

"Fear not," he said, "the southwest side of the city walls are not as well manned as the north or the east. I deem we are safe from prying eyes."

"The camp is not far from here," Aragorn said, pointing towards where the Snowbourn ran. It was now full day and Aragorn was beginning to feel the strain of the night’s work. It took them another hour of walking though to reach the camp where they were greeted with joy. Morwen began to cry when Aragorn told her the news about Théoden.

"Fear not, my lady," the Dúnadan said, attempting to comfort the grieving woman. "We will find the boy. It may be that he was rescued by a friend and even now is safe with Thengel King. Yet, even if that is not so, I vow to you that I will find him and bring him to you."

"Which begs the next question," Grimbold then said. "Where should we go? We must hide and quickly for they will be looking for us as soon as it is learned that Lady Morwen and Lord Gléomer have escaped. Where can we hide that is not too far from here?"

There was a long moment of silence between them all. Aragorn noticed Morwen gathering herself together, forcing the tears away and giving Gléomer a piercing glance which the old man returned with a measured look of his own. Some kind of communication passed between them and then Morwen nodded. "Dunharrow," she said. "We will be safe at Dunharrow."

The other Rohirrim nodded in agreement. Aragorn did not dispute them. "Dunharrow, then," was all he said. Ten minutes later the camp was abandoned. Aragorn placed Théodfrid before him on Mithfaron while Hardbeorht took up little Théodhild. Morwen rode with Grimbold and Gléomer rode with Wídfara. They followed the Snowbourn up the valley towards the White Mountains and a ghost-haunted dale, leaving behind a beleaguered city held by traitors.

20: Dunharrow

It took several hours to reach Harrowdale and the road leading to Dunharrow. The last time Aragorn had come this way the valley had been shrouded in fog and he had seen little of it. Now, he could well admire its grim beauty and majestic setting. As they approached the valley he could see three mountains forming a juncture. Grimbold pointed to the closest one.

"That is the Írensaga," he said, then moved his finger. "And to the south is the Starkhorn. The one in the middle is Dwimorberg of dire legend, for it is the most haunted of all the mountains here. We must make for the Stair of the Hold that lies to the east."

So saying, the Rider led the way through the narrowing valley towards the Dwimorberg, towering high and grim with its peak enshrouded by snow and clouds. Even with the sun shining high it had a menacing look to it and young Théodfrid cowered somewhat in Aragorn’s arms, turning her head from the view.

"Fear not, little shieldmaid," Aragorn whispered encouragingly. "It is but a mountain."

Théodfrid looked up at Aragorn and seeing the compassion in his eyes, nodded and smiled gamely, turning back to face forward, her posture straight. Aragorn hid a smile even as he admired her attempt at courage.

The road to Dunharrow proved to be a narrow switchback path that zigzagged up a sheer cliff. At each turn of the road Aragorn saw a stone figure shaped like a man. When they came to the first one, Aragorn slowed his horse to take a closer look. The others slowed as well.

"We call them Púkul-men," Grimbold explained.

"Who carved them?"

Grimbold shrugged. "Our ancestors found them as you see them," he said then urged his horse forward. Aragorn and the others followed suit.

It was slow going and required steady nerves on the part of the riders, but they climbed the path without mishap. At the top of the path they came to a level grassy field. The road continued towards the Dwimorberg and was lined on either side by uncarved standing stones forming an avenue. The stones were at least twice the height of a man and evenly spaced.

"This is the Firienfeld," Grimbold said as he helped Morwen down before dismounting. He pointed down the road. "That will lead to the Dimholt and beyond that..." he shivered suddenly and turned away, refusing to elaborate. Aragorn raised an eyebrow and gave Morwen a glance, but she merely shook her head, as much at a loss as he over the Rider’s reticence in speaking about where they were. He gave Théodfrid a hand down and then dismounted.

"Why have we stopped, Earntungol?" Théodfrid asked Aragorn, looking perplexed. "Do we not go to Dunharrow?"

It was Grimbold who answered her. "It is best to see if we will be welcomed first, my lady," he said with a grim smile. "I will take Earntungol with me. Let the rest of you remain here and be ready to flee back down the Stair if it goes ill with us."

With that he gave Aragorn a nod and started towards the redoubt. The Dúnadan bent down and spoke softly to the two girls who were now standing together holding hands, both looking a bit frightened. "I would leave Mithfaron in your capable hands, little shieldmaids," he said with a smile and was rewarded with smiles and eager nods in return. He gave Mithfaron a soft command in Sindarin which the horse acknowledged with a nod of his head then followed Grimbold down the stone-lined avenue towards the keep that made up the refuge.

It lay to the west of the avenue, some several hundred yards from the edge of the cliff, hard against the mountainside. The keep itself was behind a ditch that Aragorn saw was quite deep, perhaps the height of three tall men and half as wide. A thicket of brambles grew wildly along the keep side of the ditch, further deterring any would-be attackers. The keep itself was behind a high stone wall pierced by a gate between two round watchtowers. A wooden causeway crossed the ditch at this point and Aragorn could see that it was a simple drawbridge that could be taken up to further frustrate anyone foolish enough to attack. The gate was made of bog oak banded with iron.

As they approached the causeway, Aragorn saw men on the wall and a contingent of warriors came forth from the gate to greet them.

"Westu hál, Grimbold," one of them cried out and Grimbold smiled and greeted the man with a smile.

"Westu hál, Alric," he said, giving the man a hearty clasp. "So what mischief have you been up to lately my friend?"

The other man laughed. Aragorn saw a tall man coming into middle age, though he was still obviously hale. His hair was darker than most of the Rohirrim, nearly the shade of autumn brown, and his eyes were more grey than blue. Aragorn wondered if the man had any Gondorian blood in him.

"So what do you here, my friend?" Alric asked, giving Aragorn a quick glance that missed nothing.

Grimbold frowned. "What news of Edoras have you had of late?"

Alric raised an eyebrow. "None. You are the first to come from there... assuming you did indeed come from there."

Grimbold nodded. "I have the Lady Morwen and her daughters with me. Thengel King is gone to the Eastfold and... there is trouble." The Rider did not elaborate, but Alric apparently was shrewd enough to understand and only nodded.

"Then by all means bring the lady within that we may see to her comfort until such time as her lord comes to claim her and their children." Alric paused and gave the two men a troubled look. "You speak not of the prince. Did Thengel King take his heir into the Eastfold with him?"

Grimbold shook his head. "He did not, but I will not speak further of this here in the open." The finality of his tone alerted Alric and with a single nod the Captain of Dunharrow turned and began issuing orders, while Grimbold gave Aragorn a nod, the meaning of which the Dúnadan understood, for he turned and went back to where the others waited, assuring them that all was well.

Soon they were all crossing the causeway into the keep. Aragorn saw that there was but a single wall surrounding a courtyard where outbuildings and a small stable were situated. The keep itself turned out to be a series of caves fronted by a stone entrance built before the mountain and closed by a single door of bog oak. The caves were not very large. Indeed, the largest was perhaps only half the size of the throne hall in Meduseld. This was the main cave and served as a general meeting hall. Other, smaller, caves served as sleeping quarters and storage rooms. It was even rougher than Helm’s Deep for it was never meant to be more than a temporary refuge in times of trouble.

Alric greeted Morwen with respect and smiled warmly at the girls, asking them questions about their favorite foods and games and Aragorn suspected that the man had daughters of his own or perhaps granddaughters. Gléomer, Aragorn insisted, was taken to one of the smaller caves where the Dúnadan then examined him to ascertain the extent of the injuries garnered from his imprisonment. There had been no real opportunity for Aragorn to see to any of the Steward’s hurts. When Grimbold assured Alric that Aragorn was a healer as well as a warrior, the captain ordered one of his men to see that the Ranger was given whatever he needed to treat Lord Gléomer.

Luckily, in spite of the man’s age and the ill treatment he had been given, Aragorn found little wrong with Thengel’s steward other than fatigue and ordered the man to get some rest after they had all had a hot meal. Morwen also pleaded fatigue and was soon shown to Alric’s own quarters, patently the best the keep had to offer, and she and her daughters were soon asleep.

Aragorn, Grimbold and Alric sat together in the main cave to discuss what was going on while drinking ale. Hardbeorht and Wídfara were seeing to the horses (on Grimbold’s orders) and then getting some rest (on Aragorn’s orders).

Grimbold quickly filled Alric in on what they knew, which was little enough.

"Lord Gléomer was able to give us some details," he told Alric. "Apparently, within a week of Thengel leaving for the Eastfold a troop of Riders approached the city from the east claiming to have been sent by Thengel to help protect Edoras. None questioned them, but no sooner had they entered the city than they occupied Meduseld, and took Lady Morwen prisoner along with Lord Gléomer. Those on guard at the gate and walls were quickly overthrown and before anyone truly understood what was happening, the city had been taken. It was only then that Guthláf of Gálmódingsdæl made himself known and declared himself lord of Edoras." The man spat in disgust and Alric went white when he heard the traitor’s name. "That was the situation as we found it when we arrived from the Westfold," Grimbold added. He then went on to describe how they had entered Edoras and rescued Lady Morwen.

Aragorn then picked up the tale and described how he ended up rescuing Lord Gléomer while searching for Théoden. "The two guards knew not who had taken the boy," he said in summary. "They only knew that Théoden was not within Edoras. Even Lord Gléomer does not know what the boy’s fate is. I promised Lady Morwen that I would find her son and bring him back to her."

"How do you plan to do that?" Alric asked, not entirely sure if he trusted this Outlander, though Grimbold seemed to accept him, which was telling enough. "You do not know where to look."

"I know where not to look," Aragorn answered with a grim smile, "and that’s a start." He paused for a moment to take a pull on his ale. "I think we may find the answers we seek at Aldburg. Is that not where Thengel King was heading? Wherever Théoden is, Thengel needs to be apprised of the situation. I doubt he even knows that Edoras has fallen into traitors’ hands."

Both Rohirrim grimaced at that but did not contradict the Dúnadan. "What should we do then?" Grimbold asked. "I think the road to the Eastfold will be watched and we will not get far."

Aragorn nodded in agreement. "There is always the back door."

Alric raised an eyebrow at that, but Grimbold merely smiled, though grimly. "Aye," he said, "there is always the back door."

****

Morwen wanted to go with them to Aldburg when she learned what Grimbold and Aragorn planned. Both men looked at her in surprise, each one surreptitiously glancing at the gentle swell of her belly before returning their gaze to her face. She realized what they were doing and blushed in a combination of embarrassment and anger, unconsciously placing a protective hand across her abdomen.

"I’m pregnant," she proclaimed, "not dead. I can ride. The babe is in no danger from that."

"No," Aragorn said firmly before anyone else could speak. "No danger from riding to be sure, but there are other dangers my lady and as a healer..."

"Not my healer," Morwen retorted.

"As a healer," Aragorn reiterated, speaking a little more forcibly, "I would advise against it, my lady." He was suddenly reminded of his adar whenever one of his brothers decided to argue with Elrond about recovering from an injury. He did his best to keep the smile from both his face and voice. "The trail is rough and the destination is uncertain for we do not know what we will find when we reach Aldburg."

"Théoden is my son," the lady said plaintively, clutching at her gown.

"Yes, he is, my lady," Grimbold said. "But to be blunt, he may also be dead and you may well be carrying the king’s new heir."

Morwen went white and reeled slightly. Aragorn grabbed her by the elbow and led her to a seat, ordering Wídfara to bring the lady some water. He gave Grimbold a glare, which the Rider ignored.

"I would give you wine, lady," Aragorn said solicitously as Wídfara came with the water, "but my adar cautioned me about giving wine to pregnant women, especially in the early stages of their pregnancy. He thinks that spirits may be detrimental to the health of the unborn, though he has never been able to prove it to his own satisfaction. However, I trust his judgment in these matters."

Morwen merely nodded, only half listening as she accepted the goblet from Wídfara, trying to regain her composure. "He’s not dead," she whispered. "My son is not dead."

"Nor do I think it," Aragorn said gently, kneeling before her and checking her pulse. It was a bit fast but slowing and her color was returning. "But the sad truth is we don’t know and until we do we must assume the worst. For that reason alone you must remain here in Dunharrow with your daughters. They will have need of a mother’s comfort in the coming days whatever the outcome of all this."

Alric spoke up then. "There is also this to consider, my lady... the refugees from Edoras who make their way here."

Morwen gave the captain a questioning look.

"Oh, there will be refugees, never doubt it, my lady," the man said somberly. "Guthláf may hold Edoras but he cannot hold the people. Some will find their way out of the city, especially if they learn of your escape, and make their way here. It will comfort them to find you here to greet them in the King’s name."

For a long moment there was silence as the men waited for Morwen to think things through. Finally, she nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Then it behooves me to be here to so greet them when they do arrive, Captain. My thanks for reminding me of my duty to my lord and land." She bowed her head and Aragorn could see her struggling not to weep. He placed a hand on her arm and she looked up at him.

"I promise you, my lady," the Dúnadan said, "I will do all in my power to find your son and if he is in the hands of your lord’s enemies, to rescue him and return him to you."

"As do I," Grimbold said.

"And I," Wídfara echoed, somewhat defiantly. Grimbold and Alric gave the younger Rider an appraising look but Wídfara remained steadfast in the face of his elders’ skepticism.

"It will be well, Wídfara son of Éonoth," Aragorn said, rising and holding out his hand to the Rider. "I welcome you to the hunt. You have proven yourself a true friend and a valiant Rider."

Wídfara’s eyes widened in surprise but he grasped Aragorn’s arm and gave him a grateful look. Grimbold and Alric exchanged glances but Grimbold merely shrugged at Alric’s unspoken question.

"I will not forbid it. Lord Hilderic included Widfara in our group for Lord Earntungol’s sake. If Earntungol wishes the lad to accompany us, I will not gainsay it."

"When do you leave?" Morwen asked, rising somewhat unsteadily but determinedly.

"Tomorrow," Grimbold announced baldly and Aragorn and Wídfara both nodded in agreement.

****

The next morning, however, brought snow. Lots of it.

It came during the night with the clouds lowering from the Írensaga as they swept across the face of the mountains. Dunharrow was soon blanketed in white, an eerie silence descending upon the Firienfeld as dawn crept across the land. The standing stones stood stark against the lightening sky like silent sentinels, shrouded by drifts as the wind raced itself across the open plateau, whistling strangely and sounding like the ghosts of the cursed Men of the Mountains. Or so Wídfara claimed as he and Aragorn and Grimbold stood upon the parapet of one of the towers and looked out.

"Ghosts there may be," Aragorn said with a faint smile, "but I doubt even they would want to be out in this. Do we brave the mountain trail or wait this out?"

Grimbold shook his head. "There is no trail now, my friend. The snow will have hidden it. We must wait this out." He cast a knowing look at the grey-white sky. "This will not last but it may well be several days before we can move on."

Aragorn shrugged. "There is nothing we can do about that, but I fear the delay. I fear what may become of the boy."

Grimbold put a hand on the Dúnadan’s shoulder. "As do I. We must pray that no harm has come to the æðeling."

The snow fell all that day, but by evening the storm had passed and the night was now white with stars glittering like ice shards in the black velvet sky. Théodfrid and Théodhild were happily playing in the courtyard. The two girls had been cooped up all day as the storm raged and, while they had tried to be good, it was obvious that they needed release from their confinement and their mother needed relief from their presence.

"I will take them off your hands, my lady," Aragorn had told Morwen, who accepted his offer with gratitude. The pregnancy was not going as smoothly as her previous ones and she was tiring more frequently.

Aragorn recruited Wídfara and together the two young men helped the girls to build a snowman and then to engage in a riotous snowball fight that managed to rope in half the Riders. Alric and Grimbold looked on in amusement at the antics of the men playing with the royal children. When Théodhild invited them to join in the fun they both claimed to be too old for such games. Aragorn responded by deftly hitting them both in the face with snowballs. When the two men finally caught up with him, they showed the Dúnadan no mercy, but all three were laughing by the end of it.

Another storm hit Dunharrow late the next afternoon but this one blew itself out after about an hour. Aragorn consulted with Alric who assured him that if no more snow fell they might try to leave in a couple of days.

"Let’s give the sun time to work on the snow a bit," the captain said. "That trail is treacherous enough without the snow adding to your misery."

Aragorn had no choice but to agree. Luckily, the snow held off and the sun burned bright the next day, warming the plateau enough that much of the snow melted, much to the girls’ chagrin. The men, however, were relieved.

"We’ll give it another day," Grimbold told Aragorn. "We will leave in two days' time. If we depart at dawn we can make it to the other side before sunset. I do not care to spend the night out in the open, not with the chance of storms."

So it was decided.

Late in the morning of the next day, Aragorn was standing on the parapet of the northern watch tower with Wídfara. Neither was speaking. Wídfara sat with his back to the battlement, his cloak wrapped around him, simply enjoying the fresh air. He was finding the enforced stay at Dunharrow to be not to his liking and yearned for the open steppes. Aragorn was looking out upon the Firienfeld, puffing on his pipe and ignoring the cold, thinking and wondering what they might find when they finally reached Aldburg. The movement of people approaching the keep caught his attention and he straightened, staring intently out into the blank white that surrounded them. Wídfara was alerted by Aragorn’s stance.

"What is it, Earntungol?" Wídfara asked, struggling to stand. "Why stare you so where there is naught to see?"

"There are people moving towards us," Aragorn said grimly.

"Are you sure?" the younger man asked, peering out into the snow-blanketed land. He could not see anything.

"Yes," Aragorn said with a nod. "I think Alric’s refugees are about to descend upon us." With that, he turned and made his way down through the tower and out into the courtyard, running towards the gate. Wídfara ran to the keep to alert Alric.

Aragorn did not bother to wait at the gate itself but crossed the causeway and ran towards the small group struggling through the high drifts. As he came closer he saw that there were about twenty people, mostly women and children with a few old men and one or two teenaged boys. The group stopped as he reached them, looking wary.

"Are there others?" Aragorn asked without preamble. "Are any injured?"

None of the refugees moved or spoke at first, too surprised at the sight of the dark-haired stranger who towered over them, for he was easily the tallest person there. Finally, a young woman spoke up, clutching at her clothes. A teenaged boy who looked to be about sixteen stood next her, carrying a babe wrapped in a wool blanket in one arm while the other was draped protectively over the woman’s shoulders.

"We are all you see, my lord," the woman said. "None suffer injury save what the cold would do to us."

"That is well. Come, there is hot food and warm shelter awaiting you all." With that Aragorn urged them forward and the refugees eagerly complied. Aragorn gestured to the young man and after the woman gave him a nod, he put the baby into Aragorn’s arms. The Dúnadan covered the sleeping child with his own cloak. The woman gave him a grateful smile.

"I am Ashlind and the little one is Wulfstan," she said, shifting her cloak to cover herself again. "You are the Lord Earntungol."

"Yes," Aragorn said as he walked beside her.

"My man told me of you," the woman said. Aragorn gave her an enquiring look. "Rædwulf," she answered and Aragorn nodded.

"I am glad he was able to see you safely away from Edoras. How did you escape?"

"The same way as you, my lord," came the answer from behind him, and Aragorn turned to see the older boy grinning at him. He returned the grin. "Aldred son of Aldwine, my lord," the lad introduced himself, giving Aragorn a brief bow of the head. "Ashlind is my older sister. Her husband led us to the same culvert from which you escaped."

"Is this all that managed the feat?"

The boy shook his head. "I do not know, lord. Rædwulf would only say that he would try to get as many away as he could." He frowned then. "I hope he is not found out. He is a good man and a worthy warrior... even if he did marry my sister." He gave a merry laugh as Ashlind turned and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Lord Earntungol!"

Aragorn looked up to see Wídfara running towards him with Grimbold and Alric right behind. The refugees stopped as one. Aragorn continued on a couple of paces then stopped to wait for the three men to come to him.

"Refugees from Edoras as you predicted, Captain," he said without preamble. "They appear to be the first wave. There may be others."

Alric nodded grimly, then turned his attention to the refugees. "Be welcome to Dunharrow. Come, let us see you inside and away from this cold." He gestured and with an encouraging nod from Aragorn, the group set off again.

Soon they were all within the keep. Alric issued orders for a small group of men to go to the Stairs and see if other refugees were making their way towards them. Morwen was there at the entrance of the keep along with her daughters. The sight of her put heart into the small band and there were glad cries all around. With practiced ease, Morwen went among the women and children and enquired after their families even as Théodfrid proudly ladled out soup and Théodhild distributed bread. Aragorn, meanwhile, went among them and quietly and unobtrusively checked to see that none had suffered unduly from the cold. Except for a few sniffles, though, all seemed in good health and anything wrong with them would be quickly cured by warm food and sleep.

Alric and Grimbold began organizing the distribution of bedding, moving the guards out to the two watchtowers for the duration while the inner caves were given over to the refugees. Wídfara returned with the group that had gone to the Stairs to report that they had espied a second band of refugees making their slow way up the mountain.

"I think there may be injured," Wídfara said, "though I cannot be sure."

Aragorn nodded and without another word left the keep and headed to the Stairs to see for himself. This second group was smaller, perhaps only six or eight people, not including the babes being carried. Aragorn saw one woman stumble, nearly falling off the path. He made his way to her.

"Go up, go up," he admonished the others, who had stopped at his approach. "There is food and shelter waiting for you." He bent down and helped the woman who had fallen to stand, then seeing that she was near to fainting, he scooped her into his arms and followed the others who now were climbing as quickly as they could manage, knowing that a warm welcome awaited them. The Dúnadan cast a knowing eye over the small band making note of those who appeared to be suffering from frostbite. One older man also had a gash on his head, the blood having frozen in the cold.

Wídfara and other guardsmen were at the top of the Stairs to aid them. As they continued towards the keep, Aragorn gave Wídfara quiet orders and when they came into the courtyard, the younger man deftly separated out the three suffering from frostbite and the man with the head wound and led them to an inner cave. Aragorn followed with his own burden, now unconscious. It took a while to treat them all to his own satisfaction. The woman who had fallen regained consciousness long enough to sip on some broth before Aragorn sent her back to sleep with a quiet song. He was concerned about her condition for he could not see a reason for her being unconscious for so long. She had a slight fever but that was all.

The frostbite victims were also asleep. The man with the gash, one Offa, remained awake long enough to fill Alric and the others in on what was happening in Edoras while Aragorn stitched him up. He was one of the king’s stablemasters and had gotten the gash when he twisted his ankle on some ice and fell.

"Death stalks the city," the man said grimly.

"What do you mean?" Alric asked.

Offa gave the Captain of Dunharrow a grave look tinged with fear. "Plague is what I mean, Captain Alric. Plague has entered Edoras and spares no one, whether loyal to Thengel King or not."

"Plague?" Aragorn whispered, stopping his ministration to stare at the stablemaster in horror and stealing a quick glance at the unconscious woman.

"Aye," Offa said. "Twelve of us fled Edoras together. Four... four died along the way. We did not know they were carrying the plague with them."

"Alric, go and bring the rest of those from the second group of refugees here," Aragorn said with great authority, "they must be isolated until we know for sure none carried the plague here."

"It may already be too late, Earntungol," Grimbold protested even as Alric grabbed one of the guardsmen and began issuing orders.

Aragorn nodded. "Perhaps, but they have just arrived and few have yet interacted with them, for those from the first group are asleep. My main concern is Lady Morwen and her unborn child."

Grimbold paled at that. Aragorn, meanwhile, finished his task of sewing up Offa’s head. "How does the plague manifest itself?" he asked the stablemaster.

"It begins with a fever that is followed by a wracking cough which brings up a bloody phlegm," the man answered. "It acts quickly from what I have seen. Those who come down with it are dead within a day or two."

"How soon do people who have been exposed to it come down with the first symptoms?" Grimbold asked. Aragorn was now checking on the woman, feeling her skin.

Offa shrugged. "Of that I am not sure, but those of our group who died did so within a day of each other and the last one died yesterday. No one else seems to be suffering any symptoms as yet."

"We will need to keep a watch, though," Aragorn said, rapidly thinking. He turned to Alric. "Those guardsmen who helped to bring this group into the keep should also be isolated for now. Grimbold is correct. It may already be too late for us, but it’s all we can do at the moment until we know for sure. Until then, it is best that we not allow any more refugees into the keep. They will have to set up camps in the Firienfeld."

"How long before we know for sure?" Alric asked, frowning.

Aragorn shrugged. "I think if no one comes down with it by tomorrow night, we will be safe enough, but all future groups of refugees should not be allowed inside the gates until we know for sure they are not carrying the plague."

Alric grimaced, nodding at the same time. "You are correct, of course. But you know what this means?"

Aragorn sighed, giving his own nod. "It means that we may already be dead."

No one disputed his words.

****

Æðeling: Prince, heir to the throne.

21: Plague

By evening the unconscious woman’s fever began to rise. No one knew her name, though Ashlind thought that she might be the wife of one of the gatewardens. Aragorn had her removed immediately to one of the smaller caves, forbidding anyone from entering it.

"If she indeed has this plague Offa told us about," he said to Alric as the two stood at the entrance of the cave where the woman lay, "I have already been exposed by my handling her. There is a chance that others may escape it. Only time will tell. In the meantime, I’m afraid we cannot permit anyone else either to enter or leave the keep."

Alric grimaced, the specter of death stalking the keep sending shivers through his soul. "I will see to it. Let me know what you will need."

Aragorn nodded, looking equally grim. "I would recommend that Lady Morwen be sent outside the keep for the sake of her unborn child, though it may well be too late for her as well as for us." Alric sighed in agreement, then he left to issue the necessary orders. Aragorn went to see how the woman was doing, disturbed somewhat that he did not know who she was. It seemed cruel that if she were to die she would do so nameless. That was an indignity he thought none should have to suffer.

"I think I will call you Lalaith," he whispered to her as he plied a cool cloth to her burning forehead, "for I can see the laugh lines around your eyes. I hope that you will once again have cause to laugh." Lalaith did not respond, though her restlessness seemed to abate somewhat at the sound of Aragorn’s voice, so he spoke to her of inconsequential matters, mostly describing his life in Imladris, as he continued to care for her.

"Earntungol."

Aragorn looked up to see Wídfara standing at the cave entrance, though, he noted with approval, not too closely. He was carrying a tray.

"How are you faring, Wídfara?" Aragorn asked, for he was concerned that the young Rider might come down with the plague.

Wídfara shrugged. "I am fine. I brought you something to eat and some broth for the lady."

Aragorn smiled. "My thanks, mellon nîn. Put the tray down and I will take it once you’ve left. Are any others showing signs of fever?"

Wídfara shook his head as he followed Aragorn’s instructions. "None of whom I am aware, but Captain Alric has alerted all his people to keep an eye out for any who might be ill."

Aragorn nodded absently as he applied the cool cloth to Lalaith’s head again. He suddenly realized that Wídfara was too quiet. He looked up from his ministrations to see the younger man looking pale and distraught.

"What is it, Wídfara?" he asked in alarm, standing to face the Rider.

"Are... are we going to die?" the young man asked in a whisper. "From plague, I mean."

Aragorn sighed, running a hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes before answering. "I will not lie to you. There is a good possibility that we will all die of this plague, if plague it be, but often enough some contract an illness and survive or never come down with it. There is no way to tell. I will only say that I will do my best to assure that none die if it is in my power to do so. All else is as Eru wills."

Wídfara nodded, looking less distraught though by no means relieved. "I do not fear death... for myself... it’s just that..."

"I understand," Aragorn said compassionately. "Nor do I think any the less of you for such thoughts, for they run through my mind as well."

The Rider seemed mollified by Aragorn’s words. "Is there aught else I can do?"

"More boiling water would be good," Aragorn said with a brief smile. "I want to make some willow bark tea for the fever."

Wídfara nodded, returning Aragorn’s smile with one of his own. "I’ll bring some." Then he was gone and Aragorn was left alone with Lalaith.

****

Lalaith continued to be feverish through the night, never fully waking up, which Aragorn considered a mercy. From the description Offa had given him, he suspected that her death might be extremely painful. Yet, he thought on what his adar had taught him about the various plagues which his people had been subjected to by the Dark Lord over the long centuries, plagues that had wiped out Cardolan and Rhudaur and had reduced Arthedain to a mere memory amongst the survivors.

Elrond had carefully described each and every plague that had beset Eriador and Gondor, giving symptoms and probable causes and any cures or preventions that the Elf-lord had devised. He had made young Estel memorize the list.

"It has been many years since the last plague struck your people," the elven healer had told him, "but that does not mean Sauron will not send more. Best to be prepared."

Aragorn could not dispute that and so as he sat beside Lalaith’s bed waiting to see how this particular illness would run its course, he thought about all that his adar had told him concerning the various plagues Sauron had sent against his people and the cures, if any, that his adar had discovered in the hope that somewhere in that catalogue of woes was the key to curing this particular plague... if plague it was.

Towards midnight, Lalaith began coughing up blood and Aragorn began the grim task of holding vigil. He wondered at the quickness of the incubation period and thought perhaps Sauron might have had a hand in it, but wasn’t sure. He began checking his supplies of herbs to see if he had the ingredients for an infusion to counteract the lung hemorrhaging. He ran through a mental list: hûn-e-mamandil, nardh-e-mamandil, nardhalab, pân-nestad.

"And maybe some rîf-e-doron for good measure," he said to himself as he began steeping the herbs in hot water. When he was finished he let the infusion cool a bit before attempting to get some of it down the woman, but it was rather difficult to do and he knew he was going to need help.

He sighed as he went to the cave entrance and called out. "Wídfara!"

The young Rider came almost at once and Aragorn suspected that he had been waiting for such a summons. "I hate to do this to you, mellon nîn," Aragorn said with a sad smile, "but I cannot do what I need to do for Lalaith without aid."

"Lalaith?" Wídfara asked, looking perplexed.

"My name for her," Aragorn said. "If she must die from this illness, she should not have to die without a name."

Wídfara’s eyes widened at that but he nodded, saying only, "What do you want me to do?"

"It will mean exposing you to the plague..."

"If I’m not already exposed," the Rider interrupted, looking both grim and resolute. "Just tell me what you need."

Aragorn gave the Rider an appraising look. "Come help me get this tea down her."

Wídfara nodded and stepped into the cave without hesitation. "Why ‘Lalaith’?" he asked as he lifted the woman into a sitting position so Aragorn could give her the tea, rubbing her throat to stimulate the swallowing reflex.

"It means ‘laughter’ in the language of the Elves," Aragorn answered. "I hope that she will have cause to laugh once more."

"I hope we all do," Wídfara replied soberly, but there was no fear in his eyes as he spoke and Aragorn admired the younger man’s courage.

"I will give her some more in four hours," Aragorn told Wídfara as they settled the woman back on to the bed, "though I will need additional supplies as I have only a limited amount of the herbs necessary."

"What will these herbs do?" Wídfara asked.

Aragorn shrugged. "I am hoping that they will slow the rate of hemorrhaging in the lungs, perhaps long enough for her to fight off whatever is causing the illness. Often people die not because of a plague itself but because their bodies don’t have time to fight it off. They weaken too quickly before that."

Wídfara looked thoughtfully at the still unconscious woman and nodded. "Tell me what you need."

"You cannot leave this cave, Wídfara," Aragorn admonished him.

"I know, my lord," Wídfara acknowledged, "but others there are who will do what they can to help."

"Then let us summon them and tell them what we will need, both for Lalaith and for ourselves."

In the end, it was Grimbold who volunteered to act as their supplier, giving Wídfara a measured look when he discovered the young Rider on the ‘wrong side of the entrance’, as he put it. Aragorn ignored his comment, and simply told him what was needed. "It is unlikely that you will be able to find either Shepherd’s heart or Shepherd’s knot here in the highlands, but mistletoe and knotgrass should be readily found hereabouts," Aragorn explained. "If we can get more oak bark that will have to do as a substitute."

"I’ll see what I can find," Grimbold said. "Tell me what else you may need for your comfort and I will see that you get it. Captain Alric has already said that you are to have priority over all others with regards to supplies."

"My thanks to the captain," Aragorn said with a nod. "Go. Find what you can and I will let you know what else we may need when you return."

Grimbold nodded and left.

****

In the end, Grimbold was able to obtain not only the oak bark, mistletoe and knotgrass, but also some Shepherd’s knot, but no Shepherd’s heart. Aragorn shook his head when he saw what the Rider had brought. "I’m surprised that you even found any Shepherd’s knot."

Grimbold gave a brief grin. "One of the refugees had it on her. Said it made a good wash for cleaning the mouth. She was rather reluctant to give it up, until I told her it was for Lady Morwen’s sake."

The Dúnadan merely nodded, not really caring how the herbs had been garnered, giving Grimbold his thanks before sending the man away. He turned to Wídfara and began giving him instructions and soon they had more of the infusion made. Lalaith, meantime, continued to cough up blood, but Aragorn noticed that with the second dose of the herbs she was coughing less and the phlegm that did come up was pinkish rather than bright red. He hoped that that was a good sign.

After they had dosed the woman Aragorn bade Wídfara to rest. "I will keep watch for now and then wake you in a few hours when it is time to dose her again. After that, you may keep watch while I sleep."

Wídfara agreed and soon only Aragorn was awake, gently wiping the sweat from Lalaith’s forehead or holding her when a coughing spasm wracked her. He softly sang songs of healing and hope that he had learned at his adar’s side.

****

Aragorn was sleeping soundly when a slight noise entered his dreams. He came awake instantly, automatically cataloguing his surroundings, his training, both as a healer and as a Ranger, taking over. Lalaith, he noticed, seemed to be resting more comfortably, and that gave him some hope, but the sight of Wídfara kneeling on the floor coughing up blood did not.

Immediately he was up, taking the young man by the shoulders, and holding him against the spasms. He felt Wídfara’s forehead. It was hot, hotter than Lalaith’s had been. He was not sure why the Rider had not exhibited signs of fever earlier, but pushed all speculation aside as he helped Wídfara to lie down after the last spell of coughing, wiping the man’s mouth and giving him some water. Wídfara was only half conscious by then, worn out by the coughing.

With practiced ease Aragorn made an infusion of the tea, adding some willlow bark and a few precious leaves of athelas to the mixture. The fever and coughing had come together too quickly. Wídfara, it seemed, was suffering more acutely than Lalaith and that worried Aragorn. He hoped the extra herbs, especially the athelas, would help counteract the illness. Luckily Wídfara had not yet succumbed to unconsciousness so Aragorn was able to get the tea down him without resorting to calling for aid. He was reluctant to expose others to the illness any more than they already had been.

Soon Wídfara was asleep and Aragorn turned to check on Lalaith to find a pair of blue eyes, clouded with pain and confusion, staring up at him.

"Hello," Aragorn said quietly. "How are you feeling?"

The woman merely stared at him and Aragorn suspected she was trying to mentally sort out the events that had brought her there. He took a goblet and filled it with water, then knelt beside the woman’s bed to help her sit up. "Here is some water. It will help."

The woman nodded weakly as she struggled to a sitting position, letting Aragorn do most of the work. She drank thirstily then gave a sigh. "Wh-where am I?" she whispered hoarsely, grimacing slightly at the pain, for Aragorn suspected her throat was sore from all the coughing.

"You are at Dunharrow, lady," Aragorn said soothingly. "I am Thorongil, though among the Rohirrim I am usually called Earntungol."

Lalaith nodded weakly. "I have heard of you, lord," she said. Her gaze wandered around the cave and then fell upon the sleeping Wídfara. She gave Aragorn a questioning glance.

"His name is Wídfara," Aragorn said. "He is one of Thengel King’s Riders."

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

The woman shook her head. "My man helping me into the culvert... making my way across the middens and then..." She frowned as if trying to dredge up the memory and then began to open her mouth when she started coughing. Aragorn held her through the spasms and noticed with satisfaction that no phlegm came up with the cough. She moaned slightly at the end and Aragorn helped her to lie down again.

"Rest now, lady," he said soothingly. "I will make you some tea to ease the pain."

The woman nodded but did not otherwise speak. Aragorn stood up and went to check on Wídfara first, finding that the man’s fever seemed to have abated somewhat. Then he made up more of the tea for Lalaith. She was dozing when he returned to her side but woke enough to accept the goblet from Aragorn, drinking without aid. Soon she was asleep. As Aragorn left her side to check on Wídfara again, he realized, somewhat ruefully, that he had forgotten to ask the woman her name.

****

Aragorn was holding Wídfara through another coughing spell some time later when Grimbold appeared bearing a tray. The Rider took one look, muttered an oath, and came into the cave, putting the tray down.

"No, Grimbold!" Aragorn said. "Stay away."

"Too late for that, Outlander," Grimbold growled as he knelt in front of Wídfara . "I came to tell you that five others have come down with fever, though none have yet begun coughing."

"Lady Morwen?"

"Safe, as far as I know. Captain Alric had her and her daughters removed from the keep and sent outside. They have a tent near the Dimholt." He said the last with a grim smile and Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"No one is likely to disturb them there, so close to the haunted mountain," the Rider explained.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Aragorn found himself grinning at Captain Alric’s deviousness. He jerked his head in the direction of a small table. "He needs medicine. There’s a cup of tea on the table over there."

Grimbold nodded and got up to fetch the tea, and between them they managed to get it down the now sleeping Wídfara. As they laid him back down on the cot, Aragorn enquired after the other cases. "Who has come down with it?"

Grimbold shook his head. "None of our people. The victims are refugees who arrived yesterday." He grimaced. "They had two companions who died within an hour of reaching us. Captain Alric has stationed guardsmen at the foot of the Stairs to forbid any more refugees from coming up here."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that, then nodded in understanding. "He fears that if more and more people come who carry the plague we will all be stricken."

"Although it may already be too late," Grimbold acknowledged, giving Wídfara a sad look.

"I’m sorry, Grimbold," Aragorn said softly. "But I needed help with Lalaith and..."

"Who?"

"M-my name is Beornwyn," came a whisper behind them and the two men turned to see the woman staring up at them. Aragorn was at her side immediately, checking for signs of fever. To his relief, there were none.

"How fare you, lady?" he asked solicitously, helping her to a sitting position while Grimbold poured some water into another goblet and handed it to him.

"Better, my lord," the woman said after taking a sip or two of water. "Although I ache all over."

"I suspect from the coughing," Aragorn said as he held her wrist to check her pulse. It was strong and steady and any weakness she was feeling was due to the lingering effects of the illness. "Do you think you can eat something?"

Beornwyn nodded slowly. "Perhaps some broth..."

Grimbold went and brought the tray of food he had set down and offered her the bowl of broth that he had brought. The two men helped her to sit up to eat. Afterwards, Aragorn insisted she also drink some of the herbal concoction with which he had been dosing her. Beornwyn grimaced at the taste but drank it all before sinking gratefully back down and falling asleep almost immediately. Aragorn gave Grimbold a wintry smile.

"She is recovering nicely. I think in another day or two will see her on her feet."

"This... draught is the cure?" Grimbold asked doubtfully.

"No," Aragorn said. "What it is is a chance for the victim to recover. All this does is give a person time to fight off the illness on their own. Too often people die of an illness because they can’t muster the strength to fight it off. This draught gives them that strength but it does not cure the plague. I do not think any plague can be completely cured... or at least that is what Lord Elrond told me."

Grimbold gave the Dúnadan a strange look but did not comment further. Instead, he went over to the still sleeping Wídfara and gazed down at him, his expression grim.

"I need to check on the other victims," Aragorn said, heading for the cave entrance. "If it isn’t too late, they may yet be saved with this draught."

Grimbold, however, stopped him by quickly blocking the entrance. "Your primary duty is here, Earntungol. Captain Alric will not permit you to leave the keep."

Aragorn shook his head. "I am a healer, Grimbold. Captain Alric cannot forbid me anything in that regard, nor am I under his command."

"Perhaps, but..."

"Are there other healers here?" Aragorn asked, already knowing the answer.

Grimbold shook his head, but his expression became sly. "No, there are not, but there are guardsmen."

Aragorn gave the Rider a questioning look. Grimbold merely grinned. "Guardsmen who know how to follow orders. Tell me what needs to be done and I will see that they are properly instructed as to how to care for the other victims."

The Ranger gave Grimbold a measured look before nodding. Then he went over to the table where all his medical supplies were, motioning for Grimbold to follow him. "The draught usually is made with equal parts of Shepherd’s knot, Shepherd’s heart, knotgrass and mistletoe, but since there is no Shepherd’s heart available, I’ve been adding oak bark instead...."

****

Grimbold left, leaving Aragorn to his vigil. Lalaith... no... Beornwyn, he amended to himself, was resting comfortably and it appeared that she would recover. His main concern was Wídfara. The younger man’s condition was worsening in spite of the herbal infusion that he had been given. Even now, Wídfara was restless, more so than Beornwyn had been, and that worried him. He stretched out his long legs and sighed, rubbing his hands across his face. Then he stiffened as Wídfara gave a low moan. Instantly he was at the man’s side in time to hold him down as the Rider went into convulsions. Aragorn shouted for help but no one came. Then he felt rather than saw someone at his side.

"He’s gone into convulsions," he shouted without looking up to see who was there. "Help me open his mouth and hold his tongue down so he doesn’t choke."

It took only a matter of seconds for the other person to help thrust a piece of leather into Wídfara’s mouth. Only then did Aragorn bother to look up to see Beornwyn kneeling beside him looking white but determined. Before he had time to say anything to her, though, she collapsed the rest of the way to the floor in a faint just as Wídfara’s convulsions ceased and the young man lay perfectly still.

Too still....

****

Note: An infusion made from an equal amount of the first four herbs listed below has been used to stop lung hemorrhages. For good measure I have Aragorn add oak bark to the mix:

Hûn-e-mamandil: Shepherd’s heart, another name for Shepherd’s purse (Capsella bursa-pastoris). The herb is used.

Nardh-e-mamandil: Shepherd’s knot, a common name for Tormentil (Tormentilla erecta). The rootstock is used.

[Technically, mamandil "sheep-friend" is Quenya but there is no Sindarin equivalent and it’s the best I can come up with. The practice of mixing Sindarin and Quenya elements is at least attested with personal names, sc. Boromir, Faramir, etc., so it’s not unlikely this would carry through in other cases.]

Nardhalab: Knotgrass or Knotweed (Polygonum aviculare). The flowering herb is used and flowers until October.

Pân-nestad: "All-heal", another name for the European mistletoe (Viscum album). The plant is used.

Rîf-e-dathar: Willow bark (Salix albus) — anodyne (pain relief), and febrifuge (reduces fevers).

Rîf-e-doron: [English] Oak bark (Quercus robur) — febrifuge and an astringent (stops internal hemorrhages).

22: Ierre

Wídfara looked about him, wondering where he was and how he had gotten there. He was standing in a field surrounded by tall grass undulating gently in a breeze that reminded him more of summer than the tail-end of autumn. There was the scent of grass and water and... something else.... something that seemed familiar, or at least welcome, but he could not quite place it.

He shrugged, not really caring. Turning slowly he saw nothing but the open steppes rolling forever to the horizon. He tried to recall what had brought him here. He remembered helping Lord Earntungol with the woman and then lying down to catch some rest. After that....

Something made him shy away from the memory and he shook himself, feeling suddenly afraid. Then the breeze wafted through his hair and caressed him and the sense of fear left him. He decided standing around wasn’t going to get him anywhere so he started walking, randomly choosing a direction. He headed toward the West, never realizing that any direction he might have chosen would have taken him into the West.

How long he walked he did not know, nor did he care. He felt lighthearted and lightfooted and the day was beautiful. Climbing to the top of a rise he stopped in amazement. There before him on an endless plain was a building, though Wídfara suspected that ‘building’ was too weak a word for what he saw. It was enormous, easily twice as tall as Meduseld and he thought perhaps that Edoras itself would be swallowed by it. The facade was of black marble flecked with gold. Fluted pillars held up the roof, forming a colonnade. He made his way towards the edifice, awestruck by its sheer size and beauty. Doors made of gold and mithril and crystal that formed a pattern of the Sun-in-eclipse slowly opened of themselves. Wídfara felt drawn to them even as the sight of them sent a frisson of fear through his soul. He slowly approached, suddenly reluctant, knowing, without knowing how he knew, that if he crossed the threshold he would somehow be forever lost. He swallowed nervously as he stood before the entrance and peered into the darkness beyond.

"Wither dost thou go, Child of Eorl?"

Wídfara turned around with a startled gasp and found himself facing...

The... man was tall, taller than Earntungol. He wore a simple knee-length sleeveless tunic of dark green silk split in the front and back for riding. The hem, slits and neckline were embroidered with gold and silver threads in a pattern of running horses. Underneath was a shirt of fine lawn with bloused sleeves dyed an olive-yellow. Over this was a deep rose and lavender-shot silver-grey robe of heavy brocaded silk open in the front with a high collar and coming to mid-calf. The sleeves were slit in three places and tight to the wrist so that the sleeves of the shirt showed through. The robe was trimmed all around with sheared mole fur of a shade that was closer to rose than brown. It was lined in a figured silk the same shade as his shirt. He wore olive suede leather leggings and black boots, which came almost to his knees. The tunic was belted and a sword hung from it, the scabbard made of black tooled leather. The hilt was of mithril with a single large emerald on the pommel. His long hair was blue-black and braided in an intricate pattern that reminded Wídfara of the Elves. His head was graced with a simple coronet of gold set with a single emerald cabochon.

Wídfara could only stand there and stare, fear beginning to creep into the marrow of his soul as he began to realize that perhaps things were not as they seemed. The... man stood there patiently waiting for an answer.

"Whither dost thou go, Child?" he asked again and now Wídfara found himself on his knees, trembling.

At that point, another... man appeared and Wídfara knew only awe. This person was as tall as the first, but lighter of coloring, his hair a rich auburn and flowing unbraided down his back. He wore a simple hunting tunic of dark green worsted wool with a linen shirt of unbleached muslin underneath. His leggings were undyed leather and his boots were made from black bear fur. Over all, he wore a greenish-grey hooded cloak that fell below his knees. It was trimmed with black fur and clasped at the throat with a mithril-wrought star set with a white opal. A mithril circlet set with a single white opal surrounded by four cut sapphires graced his head. A baldric crossed his chest and Wídfara saw that a mighty horn chased with gold hung from it.

"Why are you frightening the child, Námo?" the person said, speaking mildly and smiling kindly upon Wídfara, his hazel eyes warm with love for this Child of the Mearas.

Námo merely gave his brother Vala a considering look, amusement brightening his slate-grey eyes. "Is that what I am doing, Béma?" The Lord of Mandos deliberately addressed Oromë by the name by which he was known among the Rohirrim and had the satisfaction of seeing the mortal child’s mouth drop open.

Oromë ignored Námo, turning grave eyes upon Wídfara. "Dost thou know where thou art, my son? Dost thou not know the danger thou art in?"

"D-danger, lord?" Wídfara whispered.

Oromë nodded and Námo took over. "Thou standest before the doors of Mandos, son of Éonoth," the Vala said gravely. "Thou standest upon the threshold of Death."

Wídfara felt his eyes widen at that and stole a glance at the doors that stood open behind him, beckoning to him. He trembled as he stood up, feeling the draw of Death upon him. He looked again at the two before him, their expressions unreadable. "I-I don’t want to... to die," he finally said, his voice full of despair.

"Then why art thou here, Child?" Oromë asked softly. "Why dost thou linger? Shouldst thou not be among the Living?"

"I-I don’t remember the way back, lord," Wídfara replied.

"I do."

Wídfara turned in surprise to see Aragorn standing there, his arms open to receive the younger man’s embrace. "Earntungol!" he cried, hugging his friend. "Are you dead, too?" he asked in confusion as Aragorn hugged him back and held him.

The Dúnadan looked up at the two Valar standing there patiently watching and gave them a brief bow of the head in acknowledgment.

"Greetings, Estel," Námo said. "I am glad to see you have arrived in time to lead this child back to where he belongs."

"Lead me back?" Wídfara asked from the safety of Aragorn’s arms. "But we’re dead, aren’t we? We... I... th-the door..."

"Is that what thou truly desirest, Wídfara Éonothsson?" Námo asked, his eyes hooded. "To be counted among the Dead?"

Wídfara glanced up at Aragorn, confusion in his eyes. "C-can we go back, Earntungol?"

"If you so desire it, sweordbroðor," Aragorn answered and Wídfara’s eyes widened with shock at the epithet, for he did not think himself worthy to be addressed as such by one whom he held in great esteem.

Wídfara stepped out of Aragorn’s embrace and stared at him for long moments. No one moved, all waiting for the decision that the young man needed to make which would determine his fate. Finally, he nodded. "W-will you lead the way, lord?" he whispered, sounding uncertain.

Aragorn nodded and held out his hand. Without hesitation and without acknowledging the Valar standing behind him, Wídfara took Aragorn’s hand. And then everything changed....

****

"...how I found them, Captain."

That was Grimbold. Wídfara felt absurdly pleased that he recognized the gruff man’s voice. He was not sure what was happening, only that he seemed to be caught in another fit of coughing and someone was holding him.

"How is the lady?"

That was Captain Alric. Again, Wídfara felt immensely pleased with himself, though he was in misery from the coughing.

"She has merely fainted," Grimbold replied. "What of Earntungol? He was nearly as dead as Wídfara appeared to be."

"He’s alive and I think he is coming around," Alric commented.

Wídfara found himself frowning at Grimbold’s words, not sure what they meant, but too exhausted from the coughing fit to really care. His head was lifted and a goblet of water was pressed to his lips. He drank eagerly and felt strong enough to try to open his eyes to see Grimbold staring down at him, his face full of anxiety.

"Hello, Grimbold," the younger Rider said, or at least that’s what he thought he had said. It didn’t seem to come out right but Grimbold didn’t seem to mind, smiling down at him. Wídfara closed his eyes briefly, trying to remember what had happened.

"Wídfara."

The Rider opened his eyes again to see Aragorn kneeling beside him. "Earntungol," he whispered. "H-how did you find me?"

"It is a gift that has been given me," Aragorn said. "I-I was not sure it would really work. I have never had to call someone back from Death before."

"I-I am glad you did... sweordbroðor," Wídfara said somewhat shyly.

Aragorn smiled and bent down and kissed the younger man on the brow before straightening up. "As am I, sweordbroðor. As am I."

Neither he nor Wïdfara noticed the looks of surprise that were exchanged between Grimbold and Alric as they stood there listening.

****

Námo breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to Oromë, who watched his fellow Vala with faint amusement. "Thank you for helping me to distract young Wídfara long enough for Elessar to come and fetch him," Námo said.

Oromë nodded. "Why didn’t you just throw him back into Life as you’ve done with others whose time to leave the Circles of Arda is not yet?"

Námo shook his head. "Normally I would, but Eru decreed that the choice was to be his, and his alone."

"Yet, you did not wish him to cross into Mandos," Oromë stated, giving Námo a shrewd look.

The Lord of Mandos gave the Lord of Forests an elegant shrug. "No. I did not wish it." He smiled slyly. "Not that I’m not grateful... but why did you come just now?"

Now it was Oromë’s turn to shrug. "I have decided to call a Hunt and both Wídfara and Elessar are needed."

Námo raised an eyebrow in surprise. "A Hunt! You have not called one in over an Age, not since that incident with Glorfindel. Why now?"

Oromë grimaced and his voice went cold. "The Shadow is stirring. Soon our brother Aulë’s fallen servant will rise again... but he is not the only one."

Námo sighed. "No, he is not." Then he quirked an eyebrow. "Tea?" he asked, deciding to change the subject. "Vairë has made scones."

Oromë grinned. "Has she now?" He nodded. "Yes, I think I will join you."

The Lord of Mandos gestured toward the open doors, giving his brother Vala a short bow. Together they stepped across the threshold and the doors of Mandos closed silently behind them.

****

Ierre: (Adjective) Wandering, gone astray, confused.

Sweordbroðor: Sword-brother.

23: Recuperation

Aragorn woke, blinking up at the wood-beamed ceiling, wondering where he was. He felt lethargic, a rarity for him, and was in no mood to move any time soon. Still, there was something odd about the ceiling. His gaze wandered to the rest of the room and he saw that the walls were not made of stone, as he was expecting, but of logs. That woke him up the rest of the way and he sat up quickly, only to lie down again more slowly as everything started spinning and he closed his eyes.

"Easy now."

Aragorn recognized the voice though he couldn’t quite place it. He felt someone put a gentle hand on his forehead and the touch alone gave him relief. He sighed and may even have slipped into sleep again, but he wasn’t sure, for he opened his eyes again to find that the person had not moved from his side.

"M-mithrandir?" he whispered in disbelief.

The wizard nodded, looking less worried than he had when Aragorn first opened his eyes. "Yes, dear lad, it is I."

"Where am I? What are you doing here?" Aragorn struggled to sit up and still seeing the logs making up the walls of the room he shook his head, trying to bring memory to the fore and failing. "What is this place?"

Mithrandir held Aragorn’s head and gazed intently into the young man’s eyes. Aragorn felt a familiar sense of being encompassed by a wave of love and deep concern and he allowed himself to sink into it, to let it wash over him and refresh him. He sighed deeply and sank back onto the bed, his eyes half closed.

Only then did Mithrandir speak. "Wherever you are, child, you are safe. Rest now and feel refreshed. When next we meet, it will be under different circumstances."

Aragorn wasn’t sure what the wizard meant by that but found that he was not unduly upset. He nodded, yawned and rolled over into a ball, content to merely sleep again. He never felt the coverlet that was placed lovingly over his shoulders....

****

It was the sound of weeping that woke him the next time. He opened his eyes to confusion, for, instead of the warmth of wood, he again looked upon cold stone walls. He felt a momentary panic which quickly subsided as the weeping he had heard became more insistent and he slowly sat up to see who was crying so. It was Wídfara, lying on a cot next to him. Beornwyn, he saw, was still sleeping. There was no one else in the chamber.

He slowly got up, feeling oddly weak, though the sensation passed quickly enough once he was on his feet. He made his way to where Wídfara lay and shook him gently. "Wídfara," he whispered, not wishing to startle the younger man nor wake Beornwyn. "Wídfara, wake up, sweordbroðor. It is but a dream."

Slowly, Wídfara’s weeping stilled and he stirred, opening his eyes to gaze at Aragorn. "You’re alive," he whispered, and there was a sense of awe mingled with relief in his tone.

Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed. "As are you, my friend. Is that why you were weeping, thinking me dead?"

Wídfara nodded. "I... I was dreaming. I was... somewhere and I couldn’t find you. I looked for you for a long time, or so it seemed, and then... someone was there... someone I’ve never seen before... a man dressed in grey robes. He told me you weren’t there, that you had gone home. I... I thought he meant you had died and... and that’s when I... I mean...."

Aragorn smiled at the embarrassment spreading across the young Rohir’s face, realizing what he meant. "There is no need to feel ashamed, sweordbroðor," he said, gently running a hand through the younger man’s hair, surreptitiously examining him for signs of lingering fever. There were none. "Your tears were honestly come by and as you say, it was but a dream, no doubt induced by the fever you had earlier. All is well now. You’re alive and so am I. That is all that matters at the moment. How do you feel otherwise?"

Wídfara sighed as he allowed himself to succumb to Aragorn’s ministrations, the sense of unease he had felt upon waking flowing out of him, leaving him feeling weak, but content. "I feel sleepy and hungry at the same time," he said.

Aragorn smiled. "Well, why don’t we find you something to eat and then you should sleep again. Sleep is the best medicine for you right now. You came very near to dying and your body needs to recover from that."

Wídfara nodded but otherwise made no other move. Aragorn stood up and looked about. He was surprised, given the circumstances, that no one was here to watch over them and wondered at that. However, before he could formulate a plan of action he heard movement coming down the passageway leading to the cave and going to the entrance saw both Grimbold, carrying a tray, and Alric approaching. Both men gave him huge smiles when they saw him standing there.

"You are well, Lord Earntungol?" Alric said in a low voice.

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, thank you, Captain. I was just about to seek someone to bring us food, and lo! my wish is granted before I could even utter it to myself."

Grimbold and Alric chuckled at that as Aragorn moved aside to let them enter. Both men’s eyes brightened when they saw that Wídfara was awake and attempting to sit up. Aragorn went over and gave him a hand.

"We brought some broth," Grimbold said as he laid the tray of food down on a nearby table. "If you can keep it down we’ll bring something more hearty next time."

Aragorn nodded even as Wídfara grimaced. "That is good," he said, accepting a bowl and spoon from Grimbold. "Let’s see how well you manage this, Wídfara. You’re still recovering from the plague and must not overtax your body at this point."

Wídfara sighed and took the bowl but found himself feeling weaker than he thought and nearly dropped it. Aragorn neatly took it from him and handed him the spoon. "I’ll hold the bowl while you eat." He was suddenly reminded of when his adar had done the same thing for him not too long ago.

When the soup had been eaten, Aragorn helped Wídfara to stand and Alric and Grimbold led him to the privy, while Aragorn checked on the still sleeping Beornwyn. By the time they returned, Wídfara was nearly reeling, and sank gratefully back on the cot. He was asleep in seconds. Aragorn checked him over, and satisfied that the fever was gone, turned to the other two Riders.

"Any more deaths?" he asked quietly.

Alric nodded. "Just one, an old man. The others seem to be recovering."

Aragorn nodded, pushing a hand through his hair. "I will check on them later. Right now, all I want is a hot bath, clean clothes and a warm meal that isn’t broth."

Both men chuckled softly. "I think we can manage all three," Alric said. "Grimbold will stay and watch over these two. He’ll call you if anything changes."

Aragorn nodded. "Beornwyn should be able to eat something more substantial than broth at this point. Perhaps some softly boiled eggs and dry toast."

Alric nodded. "We’ll see to it. Come, I will show you where you may bathe."

As they were about to leave, Aragorn stopped. "What of the Lady Morwen and her daughters?"

The Captain of Dunharrow smiled. "All are safe. The Lady still resides in a tent near the Dimholt at her own suggestion. She feels it would be best to remain in seclusion until all have recovered from the illness. We are not allowing any other refugees to climb the Stair. We have set up a camp on the field below and my men are ministering to those who have taken ill. The rate of refugees has ebbed over the last two days. I doubt we will see too many more."

Aragorn grimaced. "I only hope that those who helped the refugees to escape have not come to any grief."

Grimbold shook his head. "There is naught we can do about that but hope and be grateful that as many as did were able to escape. I fear that when Thengel King comes to reclaim his city, he will find it a graveyard."

There was nothing more to say to that so Aragorn merely nodded and followed Alric to where a hot bath was waiting.

An hour later, freshly bathed, dressed, and fed, Aragorn made the rounds, visiting all who had been ill. There were nearly a hundred refugees spread across the Firienfeld as well as within the keep. Only a dozen or so had contracted the plague, for which Aragorn was extremely grateful. Those who had died Alric commanded to be burned as a means of preventing the plague from spreading from the dead to the still living. It was a grim task but necessary.

Aragorn found that Ashlind and her young son were still well, but her brother had fallen victim to the plague. Luckily he had survived but was now too weak to move very far. Aldred was pale and listless but his eyes were bright and he smiled when he saw Aragorn enter the tent where he lay.

"My lord," the young man said in a hoarse whisper. "It gladdens me to see you still well."

"As it gladdens me to see you still alive," Aragorn replied, competently checking the lad over as Ashlind watched from the corner of the tent where she was nursing a sleepy Wulfstan. "You must recover your strength, my young friend, and soon, for it is unfair to leave the burden of caring for your nephew solely to your sister... and Thengel King will need every able-bodied man to help him retake Edoras when the time comes."

This last caused Aldred to gasp. "I am no Rider, lord, to storm the walls of Edoras. I am but an apprentice cooper."

Aragorn shook his head. "You are one of the Eorlingas. The blood of your Northern ancestors who came to the aid of Gondor flows through your veins. Apprentice cooper you may be, but even the humblest amongst you has reason to hold their head up in pride. Not all wars are fought with spear and sword. You will be needed, never fear, and Thengel King will welcome your service gladly and reward it."

"But what service can I offer my king?" Aldred asked bewilderedly.

"The service of your heart to see your people free," Aragorn replied solemnly. "But do not worry about any of this yet. Concentrate on getting well first. The rest will follow." He stood up, giving the lad and his sister a broad smile. "Now I must go and see how the Lady Morwen and her daughters fare." He gave them both a brief bow and left, heading for the Dimholt.

Morwen greeted him with a smile, her daughters with glad cries and hugs. Aragorn laughed and knelt before them. "You are well, little shieldmaids?" he asked them and they nodded enthusiastically. He glanced up at Morwen with a questioning look and she nodded serenely back. Turning his attention back to the two girls, he smiled. "I have it on the best authority that there will be wild berry pies for dinner. Why don’t you two go to the keep and ask the cooks to let you be their official tasters. We want to make sure the pies are the very best."

Both girls turned to their mother, who merely smiled and made shooing motions with her hands. "Go and tell the cooks that the Queen of Rohan has a craving for wild berries and rich cream and that you must make sure that all is properly prepared."

The two girls smiled at their mother, their eyes glowing with glee. Théodfrid grabbed her sister’s hand and the two flew out of the tent towards the keep, laughing gaily. Aragorn and Morwen shared a quiet laugh between them.

"How do you fare, my lady?" he asked her, speaking Sindarin, as he got up off his knee. "How is the babe?"

"We are fine on both counts, my lord Thorongil," she answered in the same language and gestured for him to sit in one of the camp chairs even as she took her own chair. "Neither I nor my daughters suffered unduly from the... plague. We suffered from boredom and enforced inactivity more than anything else."

Aragorn nodded. "I am making the rounds even now to determine if all have recovered. As soon as I am satisfied that there are no new cases of the plague, I think it will be safe for you and the maids to return to the keep. I regret the necessity of this." He gestured vaguely at the tent and Morwen nodded.

"It is not how I’d hope to spend Yule," she said quietly, then gave a wry smile. "But then, I suspect the same can be said for all, including you."

"I know," he replied with a small grin. "But that is neither here nor there. There is still the matter of finding Théoden and getting word to Thengel King. Grimbold tells me that there has been no new snowfall so the mountain trail to Aldburg should be passable if care is taken." Here he grimaced, running a hand through his hair in an unconscious manner. "I chafe at the delay, but I do not wish to leave Wídfara behind. It would break his heart and I promised he would ride with me to Théoden’s rescue." Morwen nodded.

"He is a good lad, and will be one of my husband’s greatest riders, I deem. He has a noble spirit that is rare even among those who breed nobility as easily as they breed their horses. It grieved me to learn that he had succumbed to the illness but I rejoice that he has since recovered."

"He is young and should recover quickly," Aragorn said. "We are gwedyr, and I would hate to lose him now."

Morwen raised an eyebrow at that but otherwise did not comment. After asking her permission, Aragorn conducted a brief but thorough examination of the lady and her unborn child. He gave the woman a warm smile. "The babe appears well, though I think you tire more easily of late," he said, giving her a shrewd look.

"This pregancy is more difficult than the others," Morwen admitted with a rueful look.

"Rest is the best thing for you, for you both," Aragorn said, gesturing towards her swollen belly and Morwen nodded in silent agreement.

Once he was finished with the examination, cautioning her not to overextend herself, he bade her good-bye, promising to check on her again in the morning. The rest of his rounds were completed by dinner time. It was too late to descend the Stairs to see to the refugees below. He would have to do that in the morning.

****

Wídfara’s condition improved over the next two days until he was nearly at his former strength. Aragorn consulted with Alric and Grimbold.

"I have had the path checked," Alric informed them, "and it appears to be relatively clear, though care must still be taken. Mountain storms come suddenly and without warning. Still, I deem that you can reach the other side of the defile by sunset if you leave at dawn."

Grimbold concurred and so, three days later, Aragorn, Grimbold and a still wan Wídfara left Dunharrow with the blessings and well-wishes of those staying behind, making their way up the valley, camping for the night before the entrance to the mountain path. They were making their way along the path early the next morning even as the sun shone through the mountains. Each wondered if they were already too late, each hoping that they were not.

****

Gwedyr: (Sindarin) Plural of gwador: sworn brother.

24: In Search of a Lost Prince

They made it through the mountains with little trouble. Some of the going was slow because the path was still clogged with snow, but they worked their way along at a steady pace. Wídfara was confident that they would reach the other side before darkness descended upon them.

"That is well," Aragorn said. "I do not wish to be here overnight if at all possible."

Wídfara and Grimbold both fervently agreed and as it was they did come out of the mountains and into the dale where Aldburg lay with an hour of daylight to spare. Aragorn decided, however, not to approach the city just then.

"We’ll move further up the valley where we can light a fire without being seen," he told them. "Tomorrow will be soon enough to approach Aldburg. I am uneasy in my mind and would prefer to know what the situation is before coming before the gates of the city."

"What do you intend... brother?" Wídfara still found it hard to think of Earntungol as such but Aragorn had insisted and indeed had encouraged him to call him that and whenever Aragorn called him ‘brother’ Wídfara felt great affection for the Dúnadan.

"I think it best if I scout the area first," Aragorn said as they made their way back along the defile until they were out of sight of the plain. "All this time, there has been no word from Thengel King. I cannot believe that he is unaware of what has happened. I can only conclude that something prevents him from acting."

"Something... or someone," Grimbold said darkly and Aragorn nodded in agreement.

They found a suitable place beside a small rill and quickly set up camp, the warmth of the fire welcome after their cold ride. The light faded into night and the stars blazed brilliantly across the heavens. Aragorn saw that Eärendil rode the evening sky and felt somewhat comforted by the sight of his ancestor’s ship sailing serenely above him. Somehow, it made all the uncertainties of life seem... petty, was the only word he could think of. Whatever troubles might assail him in this world, he knew that there were places where evil could not go and that thought gave him much hope when all else seemed hopeless.

They ate in silence, each thinking of what might lie ahead, each wondering about the fate of a king... and a small boy. After eating, they set the watches. Aragorn took the first watch while Wídfara settled himself down to sleep. He was still recovering from his illness and so sleep came readily to him, exhausted as he was. Grimbold stayed up for a little while longer as he would be taking the last watch. He and Aragorn spoke softly for a while, but within an hour, Aragorn was left to stand watch alone. He lit his pipe and settled by the fire, thinking. By the time he woke Wídfara for his watch he still hadn’t come to any real conclusions.

****

Dawn saw them all awake. Aragorn had decided that he would scout the area alone, leaving the other two men with the horses. "One man alone is less noticeable than two," he said with a shake of his head when Grimbold volunteered to accompany him.

Both Grimbold and Wídfara had to agree to that, however reluctantly, and so while the shadows were still deep in the valley, Aragorn made his way towards Aldburg, taking what cover he could to avoid being seen by the sentries on the wall. As he got closer to the city he saw that the king’s standard flew from the rooftop of the main hall. That was heartening, yet troubling at the same time. He made his way across the plain, working his way north and west where the shadows still lingered. He was somewhat surprised that there weren’t sentries on the wall and could not fathom why that would be so. However, all thoughts of such matters flew out of his head as he made his way closer to the city and saw a small army camped outside its gate.

That gave him pause and he crouched down to keep himself hidden in the tall grass as he looked towards the tents, noting the sentries on duty and trying to discern the meaning of the banner that flew from the largest tent in the encampment. It was definitely not the king’s banner, but the sigil of a starburst on a black field was unfamiliar to him.

It was not a large encampment and the longer he stared at the figures moving about the more convinced he was that this was not a true army with tight discipline. The sentries that he could see were lax in their duties, preferring to spend their time talking to one another, or even sleeping. Their armor seemed somewhat haphazardly put together and one or two of them did not even carry swords, but had short pikes that, to Aragorn’s practiced eye, looked more ceremonial than dangerous.

Yet, there they were, encamped before the gates of Aldburg with the king supposedly inside. He did not know how large a troop Thengel had taken with him into the Eastfold, but he suspected it was not so large as to risk lifting the siege. Aragorn lay in the grass, trying to decide what he should do. The day was advancing and he needed to find a better hiding place. It would not do to be caught out here. He inched his way backward by slow degrees, stopping every once in a while when he thought one of the more alert sentries was looking his way. Eventually, he found himself surrounded by a copse of firs and oaks. He made his way back up the valley, using the woods for cover as much as possible. It was slow going but it also gave him time to formulate his plans.

Thus, it was nearly noon before he reached their own camp where Wídfara and Grimbold had awaited his return with impatience. The older man had gone hunting and had found a brace of conies which Wídfara had made into a stew. Aragorn thankfully accepted a bowl. As they sat together eating Aragorn told them what he had seen and what he was planning to do.

"I think I must first infiltrate the encampment and discover who is behind all this. Perhaps Théoden is there if the king’s enemies have taken him. He would make a good hostage."

Grimbold grimaced at that. "And if he isn't there?"

Aragorn shrugged. "Then we must hope that he is inside Aldburg with his father. At any rate, I mean to rescue the lad if I can."

"Then what?" Wídfara asked. "Do we return to Dunharrow or try to get into the city and find the king?"

Aragorn hesitated before answering, knowing that the younger man would not take his suggestion well. "I was thinking to have you take Théoden back to Dunharrow while Grimbold and I..."

Wídfara stood up in hurt surprise. "No! Do not ask this of me, I beg you. I will not willingly leave your side, sweordbroðor."

Aragorn sighed and gave Grimbold a wry glance, which the older man returned. "Sit down, lad," Grimbold said, not unkindly, but the tenor of his voice brooked no denial and Wídfara sat, now looking somewhat chagrined at his outburst.

Aragorn decided on a different tack. "If, and I stress if, we do find Théoden, I do not want him where he can be taken again easily. There is no defense out here and he will be safer with his mother in Dunharrow than here with us. At the same time we need to find Thengel King. Someone has to take Théoden to safety."

"Why me?" Wídfara asked.

Aragorn glanced at Grimbold again. The older man gave him a slight nod. The Dúnadan returned his attention to the younger Rider. "Théoden is going to be very frightened, even if he does not show it." He smiled thinly and the other two men nodded. Wídfara even smiled a bit. "You are closer to his age than either Grimbold or myself. He is more likely to trust you than Grimbold, especially if he knows that you are my gwador."

Wídfara gave him a confused look. "It means sworn-brother in Sindarin. It is equivalent to sweordbroðor, but has deeper meanings than that. Théoden will trust you simply because I name you gwador."

The young Rider had a thoughtful look on his face as he sipped on the stew. Aragorn turned to Grimbold. "What can you tell me about Aldburg? I cannot believe there is only the one gate."

Grimbold scowled. "I have never been there, but I do know that there is indeed only one gate. It is in fact common knowledge. That is why the city is not surrounded. Everyone knows there is only one way in or out of Aldburg."

Aragorn shook his head. "That makes no sense. No walled city of Men or Elves has ever been built without more than one way in and out."

"It is said that Eorl the Young himself declared that if Aldburg were ever to be taken it would have to be through a single entrance and those within would not retreat even if a back way were offered them," Grimbold answered, his expression neutral.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that. "I see," was all he said, not wishing to say anything disparaging about the founder of the Rohirrim. Eorl the Young was held in greatest esteem by his people and Aragorn respected that, whatever his own opinions about the man might be.

Grimbold gave him a sour grin. "I think it’s stupid too, lad," he said and Aragorn gave him his own thin smile.

Wídfara snickered at that and then they were all quietly laughing. After a few moments though, Aragorn spoke again. "It does not help us to get into the city, though."

"One thing at a time, my friend," Grimbold said. "Let us concentrate first on finding young Théoden or at least being sure that he is not in the hands of those camped before the gates of the city."

Aragorn nodded. "You are correct of course," he replied. "I will attempt to infiltrate the encampment tonight. The guards that I saw were somewhat lax in their duty. I should have no trouble getting in."

"Where will you look?" Wídfara asked.

"The central tent," he answered. "It will be the best place to look. Do any of you recognize the sigil of a starburst on a black field?"

Wídfara shook his head, but Grimbold furrowed his brow in thought. Finally, he spoke. "It sounds familiar but I cannot place it. Perhaps it will come to me."

Aragorn nodded. "I will endeavor to discover to whom that banner belongs while I hunt for the boy." He sighed. "There are too many questions and not enough answers."

Grimbold gave a short laugh. "That’s just the way life is, lad, and sometimes, most of the time, the questions are never answered, leastwise not on this side of the grave."

To that, neither of the other men had a reply, so they continued with their meal and later Aragorn rested, knowing that the night would be fraught with danger and he would need his wits about him.

****

There was only a sliver of moon that night, just enough light by which to see his way down the valley towards the city. Aragorn actually had left the camp at sunset to give him time to find a safe place to wait until the middle watch when he suspected discipline would be even more lax than it already was. He reached the copse of firs and oaks he had hidden in before and settled down to wait. Waiting was something he had learned to do long before joining the Dúnedain, a lesson the Elves had been at pains to teach him, especially his brothers. Thinking of them, he found himself smiling and suddenly wished they were there beside him, guiding him and guarding him as they had when he was younger.

The night deepened and Aragorn allowed himself to sink into a trance-like state that his adar and Glorfindel had taught him, allowing him to be aware of his surroundings yet able to rest both mind and body until action was needed.

The moon rode low in the west and finally the stars turned and the midnight hour approached. Aragorn stirred himself and made his slow way towards the encampment. He had noted earlier where there seemed to be a gap in the sentry posts furthest from the city gate and he made his way there, keeping as much to the shadows as possible, moving slowly and stopping frequently when he detected movement along the perimeter of the camp.

Finally he came to the gap he had detected earlier and discovered it was where the latrines had been dug. He grimaced at the smell but took shallow breaths and made his way past them into the camp proper. He had studied the layout of the camp earlier and knew that from this point the tents were set up in a haphazard manner. He had to tread carefully.

He put his hood up and began to walk purposefully towards the middle of the encampment. No one challenged him, for most of the men were asleep. Most of the camp was dark with only a few torches lit and one or two campfires. Aragorn kept to the shadows. Reaching his destination he paused and looked from the shadows to the lone sentry standing inattentively before the tent’s entrance. He crept towards the unsuspecting guard and quickly subdued him, dragging him into the tent.

It was dark inside and it took several seconds for Aragorn’s eyes to adjust. He laid the now unconscious guard on the ground and looked around. The tent was not overly large, and in fact was not even divided, but was a single room. There was a cot against one wall and Aragorn could make out a small form lying on it. Moving cautiously, he found himself looking down on the sleeping form of young Théoden. The boy was not bound, which Aragorn thought odd, but realized why when he sought to wake him.

Théoden did not respond. It was then that Aragorn spied the small table near the cot with some bottles on it. Picking one up and discovering it was empty he smelled it and grimaced. Poppy juice! And judging from the size of the bottle, lots of it. The boy would be out for hours if not days.

Making a decision, Aragorn bundled the boy up in a blanket and cradled him in his arms, wrapping his cloak around the still figure. Then, checking the entrance to see that there was no one about, he stepped out and made his way as quickly towards the perimeter as he could, eschewing stealth for speed. He was almost at the edge of the camp when a hue and cry sounded from behind. Apparently the guard he had overcome had wakened.

Now he ran, hoping to reach the woods before anyone saw him, but in that his luck ran out. One of the more alert sentries spotted him and gave the alarm. Now he was forced to swerve back into the camp and towards the city gate. He dodged half-wakened men climbing out of their bedrolls and jumped over guideropes and campfires in his haste to leave the camp. He was determined not to be captured. There was only one hope left, thin and fraught with danger, but the only avenue now left open to him.

He ran towards the gate, yelling, "Open! Open in the name of Thengel King! It is I, Earntungol, and I have Théoden æðeling with me. Open or all is lost!"

Such was the force of his commands that the two guards on duty at the city gate hastened to comply and even as Aragorn came to the gate, even as arrows were flying from behind, missing him only by inches, the gate slowly opened just enough for him to squeeze through before it shut inexorably behind him.

He stood there panting, still cradling the drugged child, slowly realizing that archers covered him from above. He did not move save to shrug back his cloak. The guards gasped when they saw the boy in his arms and with a quick word, one of them ran towards the Hall.

"He has been drugged," Aragorn told the remaining guard as the archers relaxed. "I must take him to his father."

"Wait, lord," the guard said. "Thengel King comes even now."

And indeed, such was the case. The king ran down the main street with Erkenbard and Grammund running behind him. "My son, my son," Thengel cried, "show me my son."

Aragorn lifted the boy up and handed him to his father. "He has been heavily sedated with poppy juice, my lord," Aragorn said, "but otherwise appears unharmed."

Thengel nodded, not paying too much attention. His eyes were only on his son and he bent down and kissed the child’s brow, rocking him, as tears flowed from his eyes. Finally, he looked up, and spoke. "Thank you," was all he said but the depth of gratitude in those two words was evident.

Aragorn bowed. "You are most welcome, my lord."

"Come," Erkenbard said, motioning with his hand. "Let us away to the Hall and see to the child’s comfort and you may tell us what has fared with you, Earntungol. When last we heard you were in the Westmark."

The men made their way back up the street to the Hall. Théoden had been rescued, but now he and Aragorn were trapped behind the walls of Aldburg with Thengel King and his men with apparently no way out.

25: The Secret of Aldburg

They brought Théoden into the King’s Hall, placing him in the room that was his whenever he came with his family to Aldburg. Aragorn quickly explained the situation in Edoras and how he happened to be in Aldburg.

"Grimbold and Wídfara are camped further up the valley," Aragorn told them. "If I do not return, they will look for me and in doing so endanger themselves."

"We will discuss our options," Thengel said somewhat distractedly, "but first I would see to my son’s comfort. Do you know how much poppy juice they gave him?"

"Too much," Aragorn said with a grimace. "There were two empty vials by his cot when I found him."

The others all hissed in shock at that.

"What about a purgative?" Erkenbard asked.

Aragorn shook his head. "Too much has entered into his system for that to be effective. The only cure at this point is sleep."

Thengel nodded his understanding, though his frustration was evident. He sat beside his son’s bed and lovingly stroked the boy’s hair. Finally, he looked up at Aragorn.

"Thank you," he said simply. "Thank you for my son."

Aragorn bowed. "iBelain ah hon ar nin fuin hen," he said softly.

Thengel nodded and stood. "Go with Erkenbard and take what rest you will, for you have earned it. Time enough on the morrow for deciding our next move. I will remain here to watch over my son."

"Grimbold and Wídfara...." Aragorn started to protest, but Erkenbard cut him off.

"There may be a way to get a message to them," he said, "though it cannot be done immediately. Come, let me show you to your room and I will do what I can to warn them."

Aragorn wasn’t happy about it, but saw he had little choice, so he agreed and was soon asleep in a small room not far from where a king kept silent watch over his beloved heir.

****

When Aragorn entered Théoden’s room later that morning it was to find that Thengel had barely moved from his position by his son’s bed, though he had spared some time to freshen up and change his tunic.

"He has not stirred," Thengel informed him as Aragorn entered the room, "yet his sleep seems more natural."

A quick examination showed Aragorn that indeed the boy was no longer in a drug-induced coma. He looked up at Thengel with a smile. "He sleeps indeed, sire, and will awaken sometime today."

Thengel’s entire posture became more relaxed. "That is good news," he said with a relieved sigh. "I have asked Erkenbard to join us here for I will not leave my son’s side until he opens his eyes and knows me."

Aragorn nodded in sympathy. He remembered not too long ago when his foster father had remained by his side, waiting for him to recover from a blow on the head that had left him unconscious for nearly three days. He well recalled the look of utter relief on Elrond’s face when he finally opened his eyes and smiled at his adar in recognition.

Shortly thereafter Erkenbard arrived with a couple of servants bearing trays of food. Thengel raised an eyebrow at the sight. Erkenbard gave his king and friend a hard stare.

"You need your strength, nýdmæg," he said, gesturing for one of the trays to be placed before the king. "You will do your son no good when he awakens and you are fainting from hunger."

Thengel sighed and gave Aragorn a feigned grimace. "I was unaware that ‘spymaster’ and ‘nanny’ were synonymous."

Aragorn couldn’t help but laugh at that and soon the other two men joined in. Thengel accepted the tray with good grace and began to eat. Erkenbard gestured to Aragorn to take the other tray and the younger man proceeded to break his fast. While he and Thengel ate, Erkenbard filled them in on what was happening.

"The army that camps before the gates appears to be in turmoil," Thengel’s spymaster informed them with a slight grin. "No doubt last night’s activities have them still all agog."

Aragorn choked on a piece of toast. Erkenbard gave him a wicked grin and began slapping him on the back. Thengel grinned as well, and handed the younger man a mug of small beer, which Aragorn took gratefully.

"At any rate," Erkenbard continued, "I managed to sneak someone out of one of the side posterns while everyone’s attention was elsewhere. He will have found Grimbold by now with the news."

Aragorn looked relieved and gave the man his thanks. Erkenbard waved his hand in dismissal. "That was the easy part," he said. "Now we must decide what we will do ourselves."

"Yes," Thengel said gravely, "While Théoden was a hostage I dared not go against them."

"Do you know whose sigil is the starburst on a black field?" Aragorn asked.

Both Thengel and Erkenbard grimaced. "Only too well," the king said darkly. "It is the sigil adopted by my mother."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "It was she who had her own grandson as hostage?" he asked in disbelief.

Thengel gave him a feral look. "And I promise you she will pay for that."

"How is it that you are here inside Aldburg and she is outside?" Aragorn asked, hoping he didn’t sound accusatory.

"Trickery," Erkenbard exclaimed with a disgusted snort.

"My own arrogance," Thengel replied at the same time.

The two men looked at each other and then they both chuckled. Thengel turned to Aragorn with a sheepish smile. "Perhaps a little of both," he offered.

"What happened?" Aragorn asked, keeping his expression and tone neutral.

Thengel sighed, running a hand through his hair. "When Morwen and the children were threatened I knew I could no longer stand idly by. I gathered my éored and came to Aldburg to confront my mother, only to find her gone."

Erkenbard took up the tale. "She summoned me one night, claiming that she wished to discuss a matter of importance, though her note failed to say what." He paused and grimaced. "I suspected nothing, so I was unprepared when upon entering her room I was overpowered and knocked out. Why she didn’t just have me killed I do not know. I only know that when I came to, I was locked in a cell beneath this hall."

"When I came to Aldburg," Thengel then said, "I discovered a strangely deserted city. There was no sign of my mother and none knew where Erkenbard was. I was too busy trying to find answers within that I failed to notice the army approaching without until it was too late."

"Where did Éolind get herself an army?" Aragorn asked in confusion. He remembered the old lady at Dúnælfenedale. Formidable without a doubt, but to be able to gather an army to her...

"She didn’t," Erkenbard stated baldly, "but Isenbert and Léodward did."

"The two men she met at Dúnælfenedale," Aragorn said, suddenly understanding. Both Thengel and Erkenbard nodded. Aragorn thought for a moment. "The attack on Queen Morwen was obviously meant to draw you away from Edoras whether the attack was successful or not."

"And you say Edoras has fallen," Thengel said, his expression bleak.

Aragorn nodded. "But your queen and daughters are safe in Dunharrow, as are many who managed to escape. And now, your son is also safe."

As if on cue, Théoden began to stir. At once the three men were around the bed. Aragorn examined the boy then turned to Thengel. "Call to him, my lord. Call to your son."

Thengel knelt by the bed and stroked his son’s head. "Théoden, hên nîn, i-lû an echuiad."

The boy started blinking his eyes and looked up at his father sleepily. "Ada, man sâd nana?" he asked with a yawn.

"Safe, hên nîn," Thengel said gently, still brushing the boy’s hair. "How are you feeling?"

Théoden stirred a bit and tried to sit up. Then his eyes widened and he turned white. Aragorn, half-expecting such a reaction, grabbed the wash basin and shoved it under the boy’s chin just in time. By the time he was finished being sick, Théoden was in tears, trying to apologize. Thengel held him in his arms and rocked him until he fell asleep again.

Aragorn took care of the basin and then returned. "Sleep is the best thing for him, my lord," he told Thengel, smiling. "When he wakes again, he’ll be feeling more himself."

Thengel nodded distractedly, still rocking Théoden. "We must break this siege," he said softly yet with great finality. "I will not stay here any longer than necessary. Winter approaches and I would away before the snows trap us more surely than that army outside these walls."

"What do you intend?" Aragorn asked.

For a moment Thengel did not answer, merely rocking the boy for a bit longer before laying him down and covering him up, planting a loving kiss on his forehead. Then he stood up and the look in his eyes was deadly.

"Erkenbard, go to my study and bring the maps on my desk."

Erkenbard bowed and left. Five minutes later he returned bearing several maps. There was no room to lay them out except on the floor at the foot of Théoden’s bed. The three men crouched on the floor, flattening the maps with books and knives. The top map showed Aldburg and its environs. Someone — Aragorn suspected Erkenbard — had neatly drawn in the besieging army indicating every tent and sentry post. Along the edge were notes detailing the rotation of the guards and the estimated strength of the army. Aragorn glanced at the map, mentally estimating how difficult it would be to dislodge Eólind’s besiegers.

"You only have one éored with you, lord?" Aragorn asked as he perused the map.

The king nodded. "I was not expecting treachery, though looking back, I realize I should have, but I feared to leave Edoras defenseless." He gave them a deprecating grin. "For all the good it did."

"We will retake Edoras, sweordbroðor," Erkenbard said emphatically.

"Your people will support you, Thengel King," Aragorn added. "Many were able to flee the city and are encamped at Dunharrow and, if they have not been found out, I suspect there are many within Edoras itself who will rise up against the usurpers when you come to retake the city."

Thengel nodded. "Then let us see what we can do to effect our freedom and begin the retaking of our realm."

****

They pored over the maps while Théoden continued to sleep. One map, older than the others, showed the layout of Aldburg itself. Aragorn could see the truth of what Grimbold had said — there was no other way out save through the front gates. And yet...

"This street here," he said, pointing to a line that ran behind the King’s Hall, "does not seem to go anywhere."

It was true. In fact, the street began just behind the king’s house and ran along the southern wall, ending at the east wall, yet no other streets were connected to it. The three men examined the map more closely.

"I never noticed that," Erkenbard said ruefully. "Indeed, I was unaware that such a street even existed."

"It doesn’t," Thengel said and the other two men gave him surprised looks. The king returned their looks with a sour grin. "Look closely. It is not a street. It’s more an alleyway, very narrow. People don’t know it exists because no one has ever seen it."

Aragorn gave Thengel an appraising look. "A secret passage?"

Thengel nodded. Erkenbard looked upset.

"And you never thought to tell me? All this time..."

Thengel raised a hand. "Peace, Erkenbard. I did not tell you because I never learned the secret of opening it."

"Why not?" Erkenbard asked, now more intrigued than angry.

Thengel gave him a rueful look. "The secret of opening the hidden passage has been passed down through the generations since the time of Eorl. Each heir, upon reaching his majority, is told the secret." He raised a hand to still the protest that was on both Erkenbard and Aragorn’s lips.

"I know what you are going to ask: how could the secret be passed down from father to son when the line of kings has been broken twice?"

"That’s one question," Erkenbard acknowledged, his face darkening again.

Thengel nodded. "And the other is: why do I not know the secret?" He sighed before continuing. "As to the first question, always the king’s sister-son was also told the secret as a precaution. You will recall, Erkenbard, that we were embroiled in a coup at the time of my majority. Father never told me the secret because I did not stay long enough in Rohan for him to do so. The only other person who would have been told was an eleven-year-old boy."

"Fréawine," Erkenbard said with a nod.

Now Aragorn understood. "So the secret is lost."

Thengel shrugged. "I was shown the entrance as a child and it was explained to me that the secret of its opening lay in a rhyme of the Sea Kings."

Aragorn gave Thengel a surprised look. "Do you know this rhyme?"

Thengel closed his eyes, as if to better call to mind that memory of a small boy. Slowly, hesitantly, he began to recite the rhyme:

"Tall ships and tall kings, three times three. What brought they from the foundered land, over the flowing sea? Seven stars and seven stones and one White Tree."

Aragorn felt a frisson of shock run through his soul. That that particular rhyme should be preserved among the Rohirrim....

"Show me," he commanded, his eyes bright with a light that Thengel thought of as elvish in its strangeness. "Show me the door."

"Théoden..."

"Will sleep and will not waken for some time," Aragorn said authoritatively.

"Call one of your servants to sit with him," Erkenbard suggested when Thengel hesitated and the king nodded.

Thus, it was not long before Aragorn and Erkenbard were following Thengel down a little used corridor that came to a dead end. A faded arras showing a hunting scene graced the wall before them. Thengel pushed the arras aside to reveal a door. From a pouch he retrieved a key which opened it. A flight of narrow stone steps descended into the bowels of the hall. They lit some torches and made their way down, traversing a narrow passage running eastward. Eventually, they came to another dead end where they found themselves facing another door.

This door, however, was truly remarkable. It was an oak door, intricately carved, and there was no handle. There were five panels, a large central one and four narrow ones surrounding it. The central panel had a leafless tree carved in low-relief. Above it in an arc were seven stars while below its roots were seven globes or stones. On each of the two side panels were three ships also carved in low-relief. The top panel consisted of a single ship upon which stood a crowned figure. There was writing on either side of the ship. The bottom panel was similar, except there were two ships with crowned figures with writing carved between the ships. Incongruously, the corners where the panels met were carved with running horses, as if to make a concession to the fact that this was a Rohirric door and not a Gondorian one.  A close look at the upper and lower panels revealed that the writing was in elvish script. There were two lines on either side of the single ship and two lines between the two lower ships.

Aragorn saw the door and stared at it in wonder. Thengel frowned, trying to read the words, while Erkenbard just stood there dumbfounded.

"The words make no sense," Thengel finally said. "Look." He pointed to the first line. "The first and fourth words aren’t in any language I know but the rest of this is in Sindarin."

"The first word is ciryar," Aragorn said musingly as he scanned the carved text. "It is Quenya, the language of the Blessed Realm. It is the same as the Sindarin cîr."

"Ships?" Erkenbard asked in Rohirric.

Aragorn nodded.

Thengel then pointed to the fourth word. "Arani... the same as... erain, isn’t it?"

"Yes," Aragorn said, "it is the same word. Both words mean ‘kings’."

"These are the words of the rhyme," Thengel then said. "But why are some of the words in Quenya?"

"Why isn’t the rhyme written in Rohirric or even Westron?" Erkenbard asked, clearly puzzled.

"I think the door was designed by Gondorians," Aragorn answered. "I think Cirion had this made for Eorl."

"Are there any other words in this Quenya?" Erkenbard demanded, clearly intrigued.

Aragorn nodded, pointing to two words on the fifth line and the last word on the sixth line. "The words for ‘stars’, ‘stones’ and ‘the White Tree’."

Erkenbard stared at the carvings for a moment. "Ships... kings... stars... stones..." he muttered to himself, then paused before speaking more loudly. "Have you noticed how everything is in low relief except for the ship on the top, that star in the middle and this stone here that is also in the middle? These are all in high-relief."

Aragorn took a closer look, and in the torchlight noticed a thin crack along the base of the ship. Acting on instinct, he reached up and pressed his hand against the carving. It moved slightly. Pressing harder, it moved further in until it became flush with the rest of the door. He heard Thengel and Erkenbard gasp. Without stopping to think, he pressed the center star, which also moved. Crouching down he did the same to the center stone, suddenly realizing that these must represent the palantíri.

He stepped back, but nothing happened.

"Ship, star, stone..." Erkenbard muttered.

"Tree!" Aragorn exclaimed.

They took a closer look at the tree. It was obviously the White Tree as Gondor knew it now, as Cirion had known it — dead and leafless — and yet...

"There!" Thengel said suddenly, pointing to one branch. Aragorn brought the torch over and then he saw it: a single leaf. He glanced up at Thengel, who nodded, then pressed his hand against the leaf. Almost at once the door began to swing silently open. All three men drew their swords, shielding their eyes against the glare of the sunlight streaming in.

When their eyes had adjusted they found themselves staring across the vale looking east, with an arm of the White Mountains jutting out before them several leagues away. Thengel started to cross the threshold but Aragorn stopped him with a hand on his arm, his expression puzzled.

"Why did Eorl lie?" he asked. "Why did he deceive his people?"

Thengel and Erkenbard exchanged looks that Aragorn could not interpret before the king turned to the younger man, giving him a sympathetic smile. "Why do you think, son?" the King of Rohan asked gently. Then he gestured to the outside. "What do you see?"

Aragorn shrugged, "The vale, the mountains, the..."

Thengel held up a hand. "Perhaps I should have asked: what don’t you see?"

Aragorn gazed out across the vale, the grass sere in the late autumn. The air was chilled and frost rimed the ground. The land was empty....

"There is no army before the door," he finally said and Thengel clapped a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder, nodding his approval.

"Exactly." He turned to Erkenbard, his tone decisive and commanding. "Go. Bring two of your best scouts. Have them pack enough food for a two-day’s journey."

Erkenbard did not hesitate, but gave Thengel a bow and left. Aragorn stepped closer to the threshold and looked out. "I should go to Grimbold and Wídfara and bring them here."

"No, Thorongil," Thengel commanded. Aragorn looked at the king in surprise, but any protest he might have made died on his lips at Thengel’s expression. "Grimbold and Wídfara are safe enough where they are and I have a different task in mind for them, or at least for Wídfara."

But what that was, he did not elaborate and Aragorn had to content himself with staring out into the vale. Erkenbard arrived shortly thereafter followed by two men dressed in green and brown motley to better blend into the landscape. Thengel addressed them briefly, pulling off one of his rings and handing it to one of the scouts.

"Take this to Lord Fréawine of Brandingsdale and give him this message: Tôl i-lû ir gwist phain coren vaer."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at the words but remained silent as he listened to Thengel patiently repeat the message and correcting the scouts’ pronunciation until he was satisfied that both men could repeat the words flawlessly.

"Tell him what has happened here," Thengel instructed them. "Tell my cousin that I will meet him before the walls of Edoras by the full moon of the third month after Yule, for winter is nigh, and Edoras cannot be taken before Spring."

The two men bowed and Thengel gave them one more set of instructions. "Remain with Lord Fréawine and put yourselves in his service."

The scouts nodded their understanding and with bows, they silently slipped outside, making their way, not east, but south. At first Aragorn wondered at their route then realized they were keeping the bulk of Aldburg between them and the besieging army. Eventually, he knew, they would head eastward along the edge of the mountains towards Brandingsdale.

Only when the scouts were out of sight did Thengel speak again. "Let us make plans."

With that, they closed the door, though Aragorn thought it best to test it by pressing the carvings again. It opened as silently as before. Satisfied, the three men returned to Théoden’s room to plot their escape from Aldburg.

****

All words are Sindarin unless otherwise noted.

iBelain ah hon ar nin fuin hen: "The Powers [were] with him and me this night".

Nýdmæg: (Rohirric) [Male] Cousin, near kinsman, blood-relation.

Théoden, hên nîn, i-lû an echuiad: "Théoden, my son, time to wake up".

Ada, man sâd nana?": "Papa, where’s mama?"

Tôl i-lû ir gwist phain coren vaer: "Comes the time when all oaths [are] made good".

26: Lifting the Siege

When they returned to Théoden’s room it was to find the boy awake and eating a bowl of gruel. He was not looking very happy about it, but his eyes lit up when Thengel entered.

"Ada!"

Thengel went to his son and hugged him and tried to kiss him.

"Ada, I’m eating," Théoden protested in boyish disgust.

All the men laughed.

"Are you feeling better, iôn nîn?" Thengel asked.

"Yes, Ada, now that I’m with you."

Aragorn came to the other side of the bed. "Any dizziness or double vision, my prince?" he asked.

Théoden shook his head. "I’m fine, Thorongil, just hungry." He turned to Thengel. "Can I have something besides gruel, Ada? This is awful." He made a face and pushed the bowl away.

The men laughed again and Thengel ruffled his son’s hair. "Thorongil is the one you must ask, Théoden, for he is your healer."

The boy looked up at Aragorn with a hopeful expression. Aragorn smiled. "Finish the gruel and if you can keep it down I will order some eggs softly boiled and some dry toast. If you can keep all that down then you may eat what you will."

Théoden glowered at the offending bowl of gruel and Thengel gave him another hug.

"Do as Thorongil says, child. You must be strong for the journey we will make soon."

"What journey, Ada?" the boy asked in confusion.

"Why, to see your nana, of course!" Thengel feigned surprise. "She’s waiting for us at Dunharrow along with your sisters."

The boy considered this, then sighed and began to spoon the gruel, all the while muttering deprecations against the cooks in Sindarin. Aragorn and Thengel traded smiles and moved away from the bed along with Erkenbard.

"So what are our plans?" Erkenbard asked softly.

Thengel stared at the map of Aldburg still lying on the floor where they had left it. "We lift the siege," he said finally, then he crouched down to look at the map more closely. "Let’s get Hildebrand and his son in here so we can discuss this."

The order was given and soon the First Marshal and his heir arrived. They all gathered around the map. Thengel pointed out the hidden passage to them. "We will send most of the éored out through the secret passage," he said. "Half will position themselves to the east under Hildebrand’s command, the other half to the west, under Hildered’s. The rest of the éored will mount and we will sortie out of the gates. At the blowing of the horns, the two flanks will attack, hopefully sowing enough confusion that we can rout this army."

"When will we attack?" Aragorn asked. It was a risky plan, but their options were thin on the ground.

"We will send the men out after midnight. There will be no moon tonight for clouds are coming in and it may even snow before dawn. At dawn we’ll attack. The last watch will be less vigilant and the rest of the camp will still be asleep."

"As good a plan as any, my lord," Erkenbard stated. "Risky, to be sure, but better than the alternative." Hildebrand grunted his agreement.

"I will not surrender to my mother," Thengel said baldly. "I hope to take her when we attack. There is much for her to answer for." He stole a glance at Théoden still working on the gruel.

Théoden looked up when he felt his father’s gaze on him. "Grandmama isn’t there, Ada."

They all looked at the boy. "What do you mean, Théoden?" Thengel asked. "Did you see your grandmama?"

Théoden nodded. "She said I was a... a com... commody."

"Do you mean ‘commodity’?" Thengel asked, frowning.

Théoden nodded. "She wasn’t very nice to me, Ada."

Thengel went to his son and hugged him, giving him a kiss, to which the boy did not this time object, and rubbed his back to comfort him. "I’m sorry to hear that, child. You said your grandmama isn’t in the camp?"

"No," Théoden replied. "Before they... they made me drink the poppy juice, I heard her say she was going to Edoras. She said something about... about securing the throne." He looked at his father in confusion. "Why does grandmama have to secure the throne, Ada? Don’t you have it?"

"Yes, Théoden, I do, but not in the way you think. Your grandmama does not understand, but we will teach her a lesson she won’t soon forget."

That last was said with such finality that Aragorn shivered in spite of himself. Thengel’s expression was grim and even Théoden’s expression was equally solemn. Looking at the boy, Aragorn had a sudden vision of an older Théoden leading the Rohirrim in battle with an equally grim expression. It seemed to be before the walls of a white city which Aragorn knew had to be Minas Tirith. The vision lasted only for a second, but he had no doubt that he was seeing the future. He gazed thoughtfully at the child, seeing the man he would become.

Then Théoden was a boy once again, holding out the now empty bowl. "Eggs and toast, please," he said with an impish grin and the men all laughed as Aragorn took the proffered bowl with a nod.

****

Well before midnight they were ready, but before Thengel sent the éored out, he issued one more order to Aragorn. The Dúnadan had been arming himself, borrowing mail from Erkenbard, when Thengel summoned him. The king was in his study and Théoden was with him. The boy was warmly dressed in a wool cloak lined with marten fur, a rucksack on his back.

"You sent for me, my lord?" Aragorn asked as he entered.

Thengel nodded. "Yes, Thorongil. I would ask you a favor, one I’m sure you will not like." He gave the younger man a wry smile.

"What favor, lord?"

Thengel motioned to Théoden, who came to his father. The king turned to Aragorn. "I would ask that you take Théoden to Dunharrow."

Aragorn stood perfectly still, his expression neutral. "You do not wish for me to fight by your side, lord?" He thought he succeeded in keeping the sense of disappointment out of his voice but he wasn’t sure.

Thengel shook his head, looking sympathetic. "I would like nothing better, but I do not trust my son with anyone but you. There is treachery among my people and it grieves me that I must place the safety of my son and heir in the hands of a stranger. Thus, I do not command, only ask."

Aragorn raised a hand. "Fear not, Thengel King. I am honored by your trust in me and will do all in my power to assure Théoden arrives safely in Dunharrow." He gave Thengel a shrewd look. "That is why you would not permit me to go to Grimbold and Wídfara."

Thengel nodded. "Grimbold you must send back to me along with Erkenbard’s messenger. When I am finished here I will meet you at Dunharrow."

Aragorn nodded and Thengel leaned over and gave Théoden a hug and a kiss on the head. The boy offered no protest and Aragorn suspected that Thengel had already spoken with his heir.

"Come, my prince," Aragorn said, "and I will show you the secret of Aldburg." He offered his hand and the boy took it. Thengel nodded at Aragorn in approval.

"Dunharrow," he said.

"Dunharrow," Aragorn echoed with a single nod of his head. Then he and Théoden left the king behind to plan the lifting of the siege.

****

Aragorn led Théoden along the secret passage, hiding a smile at the boy’s wide-eyed expression. He stopped before the carved door, lifting Théoden up to let him see the writing. Théoden ran his hands over the carving.

"This is Quenya?" he asked as he traced the tengwar.

"Yes. The language of the Noldor and the language of Aman," Aragorn replied as he set the boy down.

"Could I learn it?" Théoden asked as he looked over the rest of the carvings.

Aragorn shrugged. "Perhaps, though there are few who speak it even among the Elves."

"Do you speak it?" Théoden then asked.

"After a fashion," Aragorn said with a smile.

Théoden gave him a shy look. "Would... would you teach me?"

Aragorn smiled down at the boy. "Yes, I will teach you and here is your first lesson." He pointed to the first and fourth words on the first line of text. "In Quenya plurals are formed by adding an ‘r’ at the end of words ending in a tehta, or by adding ‘i’ to words ending in a tengwa. So cirya ‘a ship’, but ciryar ‘ships’. The same with aran ‘a king’, but arani ‘kings’...."

He pointed to the other Quenya words, giving the singular and asking Théoden for the plural forms, which he did without making a mistake.

"Very good, my prince," Aragorn said encouragingly. "Now, why don’t we continue our lesson outside? We must be far from Aldburg before the fighting begins. Perhaps you would like to open the door?"

Théoden nodded and with a little help from Aragorn managed to depress the various carvings and watched in wide-eyed wonder as the door silently opened. They stepped through to find two guards. Aragorn identified himself and Théoden and the guards gave their prince a salute. Théoden suddenly looked doubtful and gazed back down the passage.

"I... I don’t want to leave Ada," he said in Sindarin.

Aragorn knelt to be more at eye level with the boy. "Nor do I," he said, speaking Sindarin as well. "But your ada will fight the better knowing you are safe. You would not want him to be worried for you and not fight as well as he should, would you?"

Théoden shook his head, still looking doubtful. Making a quick decision, Aragorn stood. "I know a place where we can watch the battle in safety. If we leave now we’ll be in a good position to see it begin, though we must not linger there long. Your ada wishes you safely in Dunharrow and I have pledged to see you there as quickly as possible. Would you like that?"

Théoden nodded, smiling shyly, and took Aragorn’s proffered hand. Aragorn then led him south and west before eventually heading northwest, cautioning the boy as to where to walk, for Théoden’s eyes were not as night-sharp as the Dúnadan’s. Going as slowly as they did, it was nearly three hours before Aragorn called a halt. They were now in the copse of firs and oaks, from which, Aragorn knew, they would be able to see the gates of Aldburg. Also, it would be easy enough to slip away unseen. Aragorn intended for them to stay just long enough for Théoden to see his father lead the charge before they must away.

Théoden was reeling with fatigue by then. Aragorn undid his cloak and placed it on the ground under a towering oak. Then he encouraged Théoden to lie down and sleep. "I will wake you before the battle begins," he told the boy and in minutes Théoden was fast asleep while Aragorn took the watch.

****

An hour before dawn, Aragorn gently woke Théoden and led the still sleepy boy to a certain oak tree on the edge of the copse that would give them the best vantage point. He boosted the boy up onto one of the lower branches, then climbed nimbly up beside him, pointing eastwards where the sky was beginning to lighten.

"We will stay long enough to see the sortie, but we must not linger," Aragorn told Théoden. "I must have your promise, my prince, that when I give you an order you will obey without question. Both our lives might well depend on it."

"I promise, Thorongil," Théoden stated simply and he stared out across the vale towards Aldburg. The sky had lightened enough that Aragorn could now see what neither the besieging army nor Théoden could yet see — a third of Thengel’s éored placing themselves in position, awaiting the signal to battle. Aragorn felt the youngster sitting beside him tense in anticipation and put a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Then, just as the sun breached the horizon, horns blew, wild and defiant, from within the city. The warriors of the éored gave a great shout and advanced upon the enemy’s flank, just as the gates of Aldburg opened and Thengel rode out upon his great bay, his sword out. Beside him, Aragorn could see Erkenbard guarding his shield side. Théoden gasped as he saw his father ride out and in a single stroke take the head of one of the sentries standing near the gates.

"Ada! Ada!" the boy shouted and then promptly leaned over and was sick. Aragorn grabbed him in time to prevent him from falling out of the tree. When the spasms ended, Aragorn pulled Theóden closer to him and silently handed him a water bottle. Théoden took it gratefully, rinsing his mouth of vomit before taking a long swig. He refused to look at the battle still raging before the gates of the city.

"Time to leave, my prince," Aragorn said gently and Theóden nodded meekly, allowing Aragorn to help him down to the ground. He was subdued and Aragorn could see the lad was burning with shame. Without a word he took the boy’s hand and led him deeper into the copse before stopping, taking a seat on a fallen log and gesturing for Théoden to join him. When the boy was seated Aragorn began to speak.

"I was fifteen when I was allowed to go on my first patrol," he said softly. "I was so excited and would not listen to my brothers’ warnings that battles were ugly affairs. All I could see was the glory of fighting." He paused to let his words sink in before continuing. "We encountered a band of orcs during our patrol. I was never so scared and excited in my life and the first time my sword killed one of the orcs..." He sighed, and gave Théoden a rueful look. "I was sick for days afterwards. My brothers were ready to send me back home when we encountered a second band of orcs. This time I was only sick once."

"It got better?" Théoden asked in a small voice.

"No, child," Aragorn answered, wrapping an arm around Théoden’s shoulders and giving him a hug. "I was merely able to control my nausea better. Even now I take no pleasure in taking a life, even that of an orc. I suspect that your ada feels the same way, especially if that life is that of a fellow countryman. You need not feel any shame, Théoden. When next you see your ada why don’t you ask him about his first battle?"

Théoden nodded and gave Aragorn a watery smile.

"Come then," Aragorn said with a smile of his own, and stood. "Let us away. Your ada will look for us at Dunharrow. It would not do to arrive after him."

Théoden giggled and soon they left the copse, making their way along the western eaves of the forest-covered mountains. It took them a couple of hours to reach the place where Aragorn had left Grimbold and Wídfara. When the younger Rider saw them approach, he gave a glad cry and soon Aragorn and Théoden were surrounded by three who were starving for news. Sitting around the fire enjoying some stew, Aragorn related all that had happened.

"By now the siege will have been lifted," he told them. "Thengel King has charged me and Wídfara to seeing Théoden safely to Dunharrow, but you, Grimbold, and Hereward are to return to the city."

Grimbold nodded and Hereward, the scout Erkenbard had sent as a messenger, grinned ferally.

"Then we will depart at once," Grimbold said.

"As will we," replied Aragorn with a nod.

In minutes the place was deserted, with no sign that anyone had ever camped in the small dale.

****

Théoden took turns riding, first with Aragorn and then with Wídfara. Aragorn had decided to make the journey in two stages, for the lad was exhausted and indeed fell promptly asleep in Aragorn’s arms once they started. They rode until noon, stopping for a brief time to eat and rest the horses. They continued at an easy pace with Théoden now riding with Wídfara. The young boy was still somewhat subdued but he answered Wídfara’s questions about his kidnapping readily enough.

"I never knew the man’s name," Théoden said to them, "the one who took me from Edoras. He claimed to be a friend of nana’s and he did have the same dark hair and grey eyes that nana has, but..."

"What is it, Théoden?" Aragorn asked. "What troubles you?"

Théoden gave Aragorn a stricken look. "They killed him."

"They?"

Théoden nodded. "We were on the road to Mund... I mean Minas Tirith and men in armor came upon us and they killed him. He tried to protect me, but... I never knew his name...." He was weeping now and Wídfara gathered him into his embrace, murmuring something in the boy’s ear.

"The men who attacked..." Aragorn asked after a moment, waiting for Théoden to collect himself, "they brought you to Aldburg?"

Théoden nodded, scrubbing his face on the sleeve of his tunic. "When I saw grandmama, I was happy, but then...."

"It’s all right, Théoden. I know what happened after that and why. Do not become overwrought. All is well now. Tomorrow we will be in Dunharrow and you will see your nana again."

Théoden nodded and sighed. "I wish I knew his name, though," he said forlornly and both Aragorn and Wídfara grieved for the child whose innocence had been stolen by acts of brutality and they grieved also for the unknown man who had tried to protect Thengel’s heir.

****

They camped that night before the entrance of the defile that would lead them to Harrowdale, starting early the next morning. No new snow had fallen since they had last come this way so the going was relatively easy. They came out upon Harrowdale by midafternoon and sunset saw them making their way up the Hold Stairs. Sentries at the top allowed them to pass on once Aragorn identified himself.

Soon they entered the courtyard of the keep to find Morwen waiting for them. Théoden scrambled off his perch on Mithfaron and ran into Morwen’s arms, weeping. No one seemed to mind and several of the battle-hardened warriors standing about were seen to wipe their eyes at the sight of mother and son being reunited. Aragorn and Wídfara exchanged bittersweet smiles as they watched the scene before them. Théoden was safe, but Thengel’s fate was still unknown.

27: Waiting Game

The waiting was interminable for them all. Théoden and his sisters were moody and fractious, trying Morwen’s nerves to the point that Aragorn had to order her to bed and the children banished from the keep. He had Wídfara take them back to the tent near the Dimholt.

"Keep them occupied," Aragorn told him, "even if you have to tie them up to do it."

Wídfara had merely grinned as he herded the protesting children away.

That solved one problem, but not, for Aragorn, the most immediate. Alone, his thoughts came crashing down upon him and his fears for both Thengel and Gilhael became almost overwhelming. At odd moments the memory of his confrontation with Thandir would assail him and he would find himself trembling, but whether from fear or something else, he could not say.

He was standing on the wall of the keep one evening, smoking his pipe and looking out into the night. It had snowed earlier that day but now the sky was clear and brilliant with stars. Menelvagor rode the sky in pursuit of the White Stag. He heard someone call out the hour and knew that the sentries would be making their rounds soon. All of a sudden, he was back at Helm’s Deep and Thandir was there, commanding him, deep inside his mind. Then, somehow, he found himself crouching against the parapet of Dunharrow’s highest tower with no memory of ever leaving the wall. He was weeping, rocking himself as if he were a child yearning for his naneth’s embrace, or his adar’s. Then, Wídfara was there, cradling him.

"What’s wrong, sweordbroðor?" the young Rider whispered.

"Th-thandir..."

Wídfara gasped but said nothing, merely holding Aragorn tighter until the spasms stopped and he was calmer.

"He shouldn’t have hurt you," Wídfara said quietly. "Elf-lord or not, he shouldn’t have hurt you."

"H-he didn’t," Aragorn protested weakly.

Wídfara gave a snort of disbelief but otherwise made no other comment, merely holding Aragorn as the Dúnadan attempted to collect himself.

"He didn’t hurt me, Wídfara," Aragorn reiterated more forcibly. "He did, however, overwhelm me and sometimes... sometimes the memory...." He shook his head, not wishing to go there again. He struggled up with a bit of help from Wídfara whose expression indicated that he was not entirely convinced by Aragorn’s words. The Dúnadan gave him a watery smile.

"It will be well, Wídfara," he said. "I promise."

"If you say so, sweordbroðor."

"But why are you here?" Aragorn then asked. "Should you not be minding the children?" There was a teasing light in his eyes when he said that.

Wídfara merely grinned. "They’re fast asleep and I needed the fresh air."

"I see," Aragorn said with a genuine grin. "Well, I am glad it was you who found me," he said, looking around. There were no sentries about, for which he was grateful. "I don’t remember coming to the tower, though." He gestured towards the wall. "My last memory was of standing over there smoking my pipe."

Wídfara nodded. "I was coming towards the keep when I saw you running toward the tower. I don’t think anyone else noticed, as the sentries were on their rounds."

Aragorn grimaced. "I hate this not knowing. I hate this waiting. Where is Thengel and what has happened to my cousin? I wish there were news."

Wídfara nodded. "As do I." He gave Aragorn a wry look. "Perhaps it would help if we waited together."

Aragorn gave him a grateful smile. "I’d like that, sweordbroðor. I’d like that very much."

They moved to stand against the parapet, looking out upon the snow-shrouded field, both lost in thought, with only the stars keeping them company.

****

A blizzard greeted them on the morning five days after Aragorn and Wídfara brought Théoden to Dunharrow. Aragorn’s heart sank when he woke to find everything shrouded in white. Wídfara had brought the royal children back into the keep and many of the refugees also sought shelter and safety from the storm behind the walls. Standing on the wall it was impossible to see the ground below.

"I fear the way to Dunharrow will be blocked," Aragorn said to Wídfara and Alric when he joined them in the Captain’s office.

"Five days since the siege was lifted and still no sign of Thengel King," Alric said, his frustration evident.

"Assuming the siege was indeed lifted," Aragorn retorted darkly, his mood sour.

"We must think positively," Alric declared. "We must believe the king succeeded."

"But where is he?" Aragorn demanded.

The older man shrugged. "I do not know, son. I only know that we must have hope... and wait."

As if we really have a choice, Aragorn thought to himself with a sigh.

The blizzard lasted another two days.

****

When the storm finally blew itself out, the sun seemed to shine with greater brilliance, as if to make up for the three days of gloom. Aragorn’s mood lifted and he felt more hopeful. He even permitted himself to be drawn into a snowball fight with the children, both the royal children and those from the refugee camp. Wídfara and some of the off-duty guards joined them.

Thus it was that in the midst of the game, one of the sentries at the head of the Hold Stairs came running along the narrow path that had been dug out as soon as the snow had ceased to fall.

"Thengel King approaches!" he shouted. "The king returns!"

Immediately, Aragorn and Wídfara ran towards the Stairs, arriving in time to see horsemen ride up the dale, the king’s banner in full view.

"Make sure the children stay here," Aragorn ordered Wídfara. "Do not let them descend the Stairs. I will go and let the queen know."

Wídfara nodded, grabbing Théoden just in time as Aragorn sprinted back towards the keep. Morwen had kept to her room, her condition causing her to tire easily. It was proving to be a most uncomfortable pregnancy, more so than the previous ones. Aragorn had kept a close eye on her, prescribing bedrest and giving her draughts to ease some of the discomfort.

Morwen was standing at the door of her room when Aragorn came upon her. She was dressed in a midnight blue gown trimmed with pearls and silver thread embroidery in a style that was more Gondorian than Rohirric. Her dark hair was caught in a pearl-encrusted netted snood; her grey eyes were bright with anticipation. In spite of her condition, though, she looked every inch a queen.

"Is it true, Thorongil?" she asked breathlessly. "Does my beloved Thengel come at last?"

"Yes, lady, he does."

The look of joy mingled with relief on the queen’s face was unmistakable. Then, she clutched her swollen abdomen.

"My lady?" Aragorn asked with concern, going to her. She waved him away, a look of wonder on her face.

"The babe... it moved."

Aragorn smiled, pleased. "If you will permit me, my lady?"

Morwen nodded and with much delicacy, yet with professional competence, Aragorn placed his hands on the queen’s belly, feeling for the babe within. He was rewarded with a kick and both queen and Dúnadan laughed.

"A strong babe," Aragorn said, releasing her. "Obviously she heard that her ada approaches and is eager to greet him."

"She?" Morwen asked in amusement.

Aragorn nodded. "An elvish gift that sometimes manifests itself among those who can claim descent from Elendil, however distant the relationship. I seem to have inherited the gift in full and Lord Elrond helped me to develop it. You carry a girl-child, my lady."

Morwen gave him a strange look and then smiled. "You will forgive me if I don’t take your word for it, Lord Thorongil."

Aragorn bowed, smiling back. "Only time will tell if I speak truly."

Morwen nodded. "But come, my lord approaches and I would greet him at the gates as is meet." She gathered her cloak and Aragorn offered her his arm, which she accepted gladly. "Where are the children?" she asked as they made their way through the keep.

Aragorn chuckled. "No doubt making Wídfara’s life miserable. I left him at the head of the Stairs with explicit instructions not to let the children past him."

Morwen actually giggled at that. "If he succeeded I will gift him with a ring or two for his agility."

"I’m sure he’ll appreciate it," Aragorn said with a laugh.

They reached the gate where they also found Alric and an honor guard waiting. Alric turned to Morwen with a bow. "Thengel King approaches the Stairs even now, my queen. He should be here presently."

And indeed, the Captain of Dunharrow spoke true, for within a matter of minutes they saw the king riding up with Théoden sitting before him. Théodfrid and Théodhild were riding with Hildebrand and Hildered, respectively. Of Wídfara there was no sign at first and then Aragorn spied him riding with one of the other Riders in the king’s éored.

Thengel saw Morwen and smiled at his queen. "My children greet me at the head of the Stairs, yet my queen chooses to wait here."

"Only because my personal physician refused to let me run into your arms, my lord," Morwen proclaimed with a laugh, a protective arm around her stomach.

"Then I forgive both you and your physician," Thengel said as he put Théoden down before dismounting himself. "I would not wish to have you endanger yourself or the child you carry, my love." Thengel reached out and, ignoring all who looked on, gathered his wife into his embrace and kissed her with great passion, which she returned in kind.

Aragorn noticed Théoden rolling his eyes and looking disgusted while his sisters had contented smiles on their faces. He tried not to laugh as he shared a knowing look with Wídfara, who had since dismounted and had joined him by the gate.

"How did you convince the children not to descend the Stairs?" Aragorn whispered to his sweordbroðor.

The younger Rider gave a diffident shrug. "I threatened to shoot them in the back with arrows."

"You didn’t!" Aragorn exclaimed in surprise, speaking much louder than he had intended.

Wídfara merely gave him a faint satisfied smile.

Thengel and Morwen separated, laughing, having heard the exchange between Aragorn and Wídfara. Thengel gave Wídfara a mock glare. "Threatening my children with bodily harm is a grave offense, youngster," he said gruffly, and then gave his thegn a wicked grin. "On the other hand, I must applaud you on your ingenuity."

Morwen laughed. "I told Thorongil that if Wídfara managed to keep the children from descending the Stairs that I would gift him with a ring or two."

Thengel raised an eyebrow at his wife and then nodded. "In that case, I have no choice but to add this armlet to your gift, my dear." He then followed words with deed by removing a gold-wrought armlet etched in knotwork and encrusted with gems, presenting it to the flustered Wídfara.

"Come," Thengel then said, gesturing to his children. "Let us go inside where it is warm and we will exchange tales."

At that they all followed Thengel and Morwen into the main hall. Alric walked beside the king, giving him a report on the situation in Dunharrow while Aragorn and Wídfara trailed behind, admiring the king’s gift.

****

The exchange of tales actually took place later, for Morwen pleaded fatigue and Thengel took her to her room, or actually, their room, and neither was seen again for several hours. In the meantime, Alric ordered a feast, or as much of one as was possible given their circumstances. Thus, it wasn’t until they were sitting down for the night meal that they heard what had happened in Aldburg.

"We broke the siege with little loss of life on either side," Thengel said as they enjoyed a venison stew. "The rebels were taken by surprise and offered little resistance."

"Why did you delay in coming, husband?" Morwen asked.

Thengel shook his head. "I did not, my love. Erkenbard and I spent the greater part of three days interrogating the ones identified as the leaders, though the true leaders had long fled to Edoras. Still, they eventually gave us information that will prove important in the retaking of Edoras."

"What happened to the besiegers?" Aragorn asked in curiosity.

Thengel grimaced. "Those who were willing to give me their parole are helping Erkenbard to defend Aldburg. The others...." He paused and everyone knew what was left unspoken.

There was an uneasy silence for a time as everyone attended to their meal, then Thengel looked at Aragorn. "Any news from the Westmark?"

Aragorn shook his head. "None, lord," he answered. "We have had no word from Hilderic and my cousin’s fate is still unknown."

"I sent scouts," Alric then said, "but none have yet returned."

"Then we must hope for the best," Thengel replied gravely. "I fear that with winter upon us we will be cut off from any news, be it good or ill, until Springtide."

It was a sobering thought and Aragorn couldn’t help sending a prayer to the Valar that all was well with Gilhael... and with Thandir.

****

Menelvagor: (Sindarin) Swordsman of the Sky; Orion. The reference to the White Stag is from Misty’s story "Shoot the Moon", which can be found on this site.

Note: A netted snood is essentially a medieval hairnet intricately woven with gemstones and used to keep the woman’s hair in place.

28: Red Deer and Danger

The season the Elves of Imladris would call Rhîw came stealing across the mountains and the snows deepened, cutting the people of Dunharrow off even from Harrowdale. Thengel’s scouts reported that the villages of Harrowdale appeared to have been taken over by the rebels as well, for the white horse of Rohan no longer flew over the ramparts of Upbourn and the gates of Underharrow were closed to them.

Thengel grimaced at the news but said nothing, merely giving Morwen a sad look. Morwen returned the look with one of determination, her grey eyes lit with an inner fire that made her look dangerous in spite of her gravid condition. "We will reclaim our land and our people, my husband. Innas e-Belain coren."

Thengel smiled then, and gave his queen a brief but heartfelt kiss. "Your eyes blaze like sunlight on sword’s edge," he said with a twinkle of humor in his own eyes. "I think I will have to call you ‘Stýlescýne’ from now on, my love."

Morwen merely laughed, but those among the éored who heard the exchange gave one another satisfied nods, for they had come to love their lord’s lady for her own sake in the four years since Thengel had taken up his crown.

In spite of the dearth of news out of the Westmark and the uncertainties of their existence, Thengel and Morwen determined that the Yule festivities, curtailed though they might be, would still be held, for the sake of all the children now living in Dunharrow, if for no other reason. To that end, Aragorn, Wídfara and others of the éored were commissioned to hunt for game to supplement the meager fare taken from the storerooms of Dunharrow. They were already rationing supplies in anticipation of a long hard winter, but for this one day Thengel would not begrudge his people some cheer.

"I will eat the offal of pigs before I allow even one of my people to go hungry on this of all days," he declared at one point. "This year has ended badly for us, but not so much so that we cannot allow a small indulgence. I would not have my children or the children of my people suffer for my own arrogance and stupidity."

Thus, Aragorn and Wídfara and a number of the Rohirrim set out on a clear, if brilliantly cold, day about three weeks before Yule to hunt for the Yule feast. They left the Firienfeld, making their way down the Hold Stairs to the lower reaches of the mountains. Their destination was eastward, along the eaves of the forests clinging to the mountains. There was no actual path, except those made by wild animals, but Aragorn had no trouble finding his way in the mountain wilderness. The Rohirrim who accompanied him watched in awe at his tracking skills and were amazed at how silently he moved through wood and glen.

"Like a ghost," Wídfara commented at one point, but Aragorn merely snorted.

"The Elves would say that I make enough noise to wake the dead, and actually mean it," he replied with a self-deprecating laugh.

They were expected to be gone for at least a week and all hoped that Lord Béma would look favorably upon them and the hunters would return with much game.

"Perhaps we will even bring back a boar," one of the hunters said hopefully. Only Wídfara noticed how pale Aragorn went at those words, but did not comment.

For two days they found no trace of larger game, although rabbits were plentiful and they hunted these for their own meals. It was on the third day that Aragorn found a faint trace of game.

"Deer," he said, pointing not to tracks, for the snow had covered them, but to the chewed edges of leaves and broken branches which indicated the passing of large animals. The other hunters grunted, though whether in agreement with the Outlander’s assessment or in surprise at his finding such slim clues that would have gone unnoticed by others, none could say, least of all Aragorn.

"They passed this way recently," he continued, ignoring the looks of the others. Only Wídfara seemed unfazed by Aragorn’s abilities.

"Then perhaps we will have that feast after all, sweordbroðor," was all he said, giving Aragorn a broad grin, which the Dúnadan returned.

"Come," Aragorn said, "let us see if Lord Béma favors us this day."

To that the other hunters had no objection and soon they were moving swiftly and as silently as they knew how, following the faint traces which only Aragorn seemed to find. They had found the first clues in midmorning but it was well past the noontide before they came into a hidden glen deep in the mountains. It was rock strewn and the snow was less than in other places. A small mountain stream danced merrily around the rocks, not yet frozen, though ice was beginning to form near the banks. All around them were towering pines and balsams with the odd oak and mountain holly. The sight of this last delighted them for now they could return with some of the holly as decoration for the keep, along with the hoped-for game.

Aragorn signaled silence as they crept into the glen, keeping an eye out for any telltale sign of the deer. They had spread out among the trees. Aragorn and Widfara walked close to the stream without leaving the cover of the trees that stood back somewhat from the banks, for the ground was particularly rocky and there was little purchase for plants except further up the glen. Then, without warning a herd of red deer came bounding like ghosts out of the forest from an unexpected direction, heading downhill, for most of the hunters assumed the deer would be near the stream drinking.

"'Ware!" one of the hunters named Ragnawulf cried.

Aragorn had a fleeting glimpse of red streak past him before he was able to shoot. Only luck or the guiding hand of the Lord of Woods allowed the arrow to find its mark. Other arrows were flying as the herd swept pass them. In minutes five deer, including a six-point buck, were downed and soon the hunters were busily dressing the carcasses.

Aragorn did not help though, preferring to stand guard. Something made him feel uneasy. The deer shouldn’t have run the way they had, certainly not towards the hunters. He glanced up at the sound of a hawk’s cry in the distance. Other than that, all was quiet... too quiet.

"Listen!" he exclaimed, motioning for the others to silence. It took a moment or two for the Rohirrim to obey and they gave the Outlander puzzled looks.

"What..." Wídfara started to ask but Aragorn cut him off with a chop of his hand, signaling silence.

"Shhh. Listen," he repeated in a whisper and the urgency of his tone stilled the others and some of the older hunters stood up and gazed about in concern.

"I don’t hear anything, sweordbroðor," Wídfara whispered apologetically.

"That’s it," Aragorn said with a nod. "You don’t... not even birdsong."

And that alerted the others, for now they realized that whereas, before the deer had crashed through the woods, there had indeed been birdsong and even the occasional chattering of squirrels, but now... all was silent.

The men began to eye one another, their expressions worried.

"What can it mean, Earntungol?" Ragnawulf asked. "Is it the shock of seeing us where Men seldom come that has silenced the forest?"

"Nay," another hunter named Déorhunta countered. "There is some mischief abroad. Something has caused the deer to run and the birds to go silent and it wasn’t us, for the birds were singing even as we stalked the deer."

"What can it mean, then?" Wídfara asked, perplexed. He knew little of mountains, for all that he had lived within their shadows all his life.

Aragorn shook his head. "Nothing good. Quickly! Let’s wait until we are away from this glen before we smoke the meat. I would be gone from here before nightfall. I do not like the feeling of this place. It seems too much like a trap to me."

No one argued with that and not a few of the men cast worried looks at the dark forest surrounding them, wondering what menace was hidden from them. There was no bantering between them as they went back to work. In less than an hour they were ready to move on, the deer carcasses strung on poles. The hunters made their way down the glen, following the stream. By now it was late afternoon and the sun was well behind the mountains to the west and the eastern sky was already turning indigo and mauve. It was even darker beneath the trees and they found they had to walk carefully, burdened as they were.

They had almost reached the place where they had originally entered the glen when the ground shifted underneath them and several men cried out in alarm, fighting for balance. Then, the stream did a most remarkable thing: the water began to flow backward, exposing the stony bed. At first none of them could fathom what had happened or why, and then in a rush the water returned and the earth shook even more, sending most of them to the ground.

"Earthquake!" someone screamed and that was all anyone had time to yell, for suddenly the trees began to fall about them even as deep fissures started to open up. One appeared near the banks of the stream and water began to flow into the crevasse. Aragorn grabbed Wïdfara and Ragnawulf, both of whom had been standing next to him when the earthquake struck.

"Run!" he screamed. "As you value your lives, run!" He pushed them away from him, pointing them towards the entrance of the glen. Several of the hunters heard him and followed suit, though they still hung onto the deer, which slowed them down.

"Forget the deer!" Déorhunta cried, dropping his own burden. "It’s not worth dying for."

The others were somewhat reluctant to abandon the meat, but when another, deeper, tremor hit them, they let prudence outweigh desire and the carcasses were abandoned. Now they ran in earnest, leaping fissures that opened up before them, dodging boulders and falling trees, for now they had the added worry of an avalanche to contend with. Large rocks were rolling down the glen at frightening speeds. One of the smaller boulders slammed into Aragorn’s back as he was attempting to avoid a falling pine tree and he let out a scream as his world was reduced to burning pain that swept through his body. He stumbled to the ground, his vision going dark as all around him chaos reigned. His last sight before slipping into oblivion was seeing a fountain of boiling water come gushing out of a fissure that had opened up just in front of him, scalding him, though the pain was nothing to what he was already experiencing. Then he knew no more.

****

Aragorn woke and immediately wished he hadn’t. Pain was all about him, blinding him to all else. He might have screamed or simply whimpered, but suddenly someone was there, though his eyes refused to focus long enough for him to see who it was.

"Easy now, Earntungol," said a gruff voice that Aragorn recognized as belonging to Déorhunta, an older Rider and veteran hunter. "Here, drink this. It should help."

He felt Déorhunta lift his head and then something cool touched his lips and he swallowed the water thankfully. It seemed to help, for the pain began to recede enough for him to focus his eyes. Only he couldn’t see anything.

"Wh-why can’t I see?" he rasped a whisper.

"Sorry, we haven’t had time to start a fire yet and clouds cover the stars," Déorhunta explained. "Can you sit up?"

Aragorn gave a brief nod and with help was able to rise to a sitting position, though it cost him for he could feel the fire running down his back. His hands and face itched with the burns from the scalding water, though lying in snow seemed to have helped to cool them down. He gasped as the pain coursing through him threatened to overwhelm him.

"At least your spine was not broken," the older hunter said with gruff relief. "Wídfara..."

"Wídfara!" Aragorn cried. "Is he...."

"I am here, sweordbroðor," came Wídfara’s voice some distance away.

"Wídfara, how fare you?" Aragorn asked anxiously, for he heard the sound of pain in his brother’s voice.

"My leg is broken, but otherwise, I am well," came the reply.

"Aye," Déorhunta said. "You and young Wídfara are no doubt beloved of Lord Béma for only he could have kept you two from departing from us forever. It is amazing that neither of you now lies dead this night."

"What of the others?" Aragorn asked with concern, ignoring Déorhunta’s commentary. "Were any others injured?" By now his eyes had focused enough that he could finally make out shadows and saw Wídfara lying not far from him. Of the others, though, there was no sign.

"None of the others have suffered more than minor scrapes and bruises," Déorhunta said. "You are the worst injured. Tell me, Earntungol, how fare you now?"

Aragorn breathed deeply, fearing to feel pain along his ribs that would have indicated broken or at least cracked ribs, but except for the aching along his shoulder blades and a nagging pain in his lower back, he could breathe easily enough. He made to stand and with some help from the other man managed to make it to his feet, though he immediately became dizzy and feared he would be sick. Déorhunta led him to a nearby boulder and helped him to sit. Aragorn put his head between his knees and then accepted some more water when offered to him. Soon the dizziness passed and he straightened.

"I think I will live," he said with a ghost of a smile on his lips that neither Rider could see in the darkness.

Déorhunta chuckled. "That is well. I did not look forward to lugging your sorry carcass over the mountains just to dump you into the ground anyway."

"Deorhunta!" Wídfara exclaimed. "You forget yourself."

"Nay, sweordbroðor," Aragorn responded with a laugh, "for I would’ve said the same thing had our positions been reversed."

Wídfara sighed. "If you say so, sweordbroðor." But he didn’t sound all that convinced.

Aragorn turned to Déorhunta. "Where are the others?"

"Some have gone back up the mountain to see if any of the deer can be salvaged, though I have little hope they will succeed."

"It is a foolish venture," Aragorn said grimly. "The earth tremors may come again. They could well find themselves in worse trouble than they already are."

Déorhunta shrugged. "They would not be persuaded from their plans. I elected to remain here and take care of you two. The rest are out scouting around, save for Ragnawulf. He is gathering wood for a fire. You haven’t been unconscious for too long and we only just found you. Ah, look... Ragnawulf has returned."

Aragorn turned his head to see a dark shape loping towards them. It was indeed Ragnawulf, carrying a bundle of wood. He saw Aragorn and even in the darkness, his smile was bright. "Good, good. You are awake. How fare you?"

"The next person to ask me that will wish they hadn’t," Aragorn growled.

Wídfara snorted, and Deorhunta chuckled. Ragnawulf merely raised an eyebrow as he dropped the wood at his feet. "It was just a question."

Aragorn sighed. "Forgive me, my friend," he said remorsefully. "I did not mean to snap at you. I am in much pain, though it seems to have subsided somewhat. My back hurts abominably and I have a vicious headache, but I am alive and that is all that really matters."

Ragnawulf nodded. "I’ll get a fire started then. What of the others? Haven’t they returned yet?"

Déorhunta shook his head. "Nay, and that worries me. Whether they had found the deer or not they should have been back by now."

"Well, let’s get a fire going," Aragorn suggested sensibly. "I’m beginning to feel frozen and I will need light to see to Wídfara’s injuries."

"You’ll be seeing to nothing, Earntungol," Ragnawulf admonished him. "We are quite capable of setting a broken leg. You are injured as well, in case you’ve forgotten."

"I have not," Aragorn returned, speaking sharply. "Indeed, I will need the fire at any rate to boil water so I may make some willow-bark tea. Wídfara and I are both in need of it."

Déorhunta nodded and Wídfara sighed. "Wretched stuff, willow-bark tea," he opined darkly, "but it does the trick and I for one will welcome it."

"Then I’d best get this fire going," Ragnawulf said with a chuckle. "And maybe some of the deer will have been found and we can have our own feast. I could do with a hot meal right now, myself."

The other men all agreed to that, and while Ragnawulf tended the fire, Déorhunta went to where the stream still ran, though no longer along its original route, and filled a pot with water while Aragorn went through his rucksack and found the necessary herbs for the tea. Soon, the water was boiling and the bitter smell of willow-bark filled the night air. The fire was welcome for its light and warmth and its blaze apparently drew the other men back to the makeshift camp. The scouts appeared first, claiming that the glen’s entrance was not blocked, though the number of fallen trees and fissures would make traveling that much harder.

"Still," Elfbeorht, the oldest Rider next to Ragnawulf, said, "it’s passable and that’s all that matters."

"Aye," Aragorn said as he sipped his tea, grimacing at the taste, for there was no honey to sweeten it. "We should try to leave as soon as it’s daylight, though I do not know how we will get Wídfara home."

"We can construct a travois," another Rider suggested and Aragorn was reminded of the one Glorfindel had made when Aragorn had fallen off the cliff. He nodded.

"A good idea," he said. "We will take turns dragging our youngest hunter back home. Of course, I’m not sure how he’ll ever be able to repay us for our generosity," he drawled and the others all chuckled.

Wídfara scowled. "You mean ‘pay back’ for every bump and jolt along the way, for I will hold you accountable for every one of them, sweordbroðor."

"Me?"Aragorn exclaimed in mock dismay. "Why me?"

Wídfara smiled then. "Because you don’t have any kinsmen in Rohan who will come after me if I do something nasty to you."

"Oh?" Aragorn said with a raised eyebrow. "What about Gilhael?"

Wïdfara waved a hand in dismissal. "Gilhael will be the first to help me wreak my revenge on you."

At that Aragorn threw back his head and laughed. "He would indeed and consider it his bounden duty to do so."

The others chuckled at that and a couple of the men set out to find wood suitable for a frame, while Déorhunta and Ragnawulf put together a meager meal from what stores they had on hand. All the while, everyone wondered what had happened to the others who had gone in search of the deer meat they had been forced to abandon with the start of the earthquake.

****

Aragorn was dozing, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulders, when he felt an earth tremor and sat up quickly. All around the other men stopped what they were doing, looks of concern and not a little fear marring their faces. The tremor did not last long and nothing was disturbed, not even the fire or the pot of rabbit stew bubbling over it. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"These tremors will continue for some time," Ragnawulf said. "They should lessen in intensity, but there’s no guarantee that another major tremor won’t strike at any time."

Aragorn nodded, remembering the lessons Erestor had attempted to pound into a young Mortal’s rather hard head about such things. "We need to get away from here as soon as we can." He glanced up at the sky. Most of the clouds had flown, leaving gaps through which he could see the stars. "It will be dawn in a few hours. If the others have not returned by then, we’ll have to go search for them."

Déorhunta scowled and muttered a few choice curses. "I will kill them when we find them."

"You will have to get in line behind me, then," Ragnawulf said with a grim smile.

"And you will have to get behind me," Aragorn replied with his own grim smile.

Wídfara, not to be undone, then spoke up where he was lying, his right leg neatly splinted. "And when you’re all finished killing them, you can make them carry me."

The other men stared at the young Rider for a moment and then burst into laughter.

****

Dawn came and so did the snow. There were many curses making the air even bluer than it already was. Wídfara fretted at the thought of having to remain in the camp. Ragnawulf and Déorhunta were all set on convincing Aragorn to remain in the camp as well, but the Dúnadan insisted he was recovered enough to join in the search.

"We won’t be going far," he said, pointing up the glen. "We cannot be more than a league from where we were when the earthquake struck. We were nearly at the entrance to the glen."

In the end, it was agreed that Aragorn would go with Ragnawulf, Heremund and Éothain, while Déorhunta and the other two uninjured Rohirrim would remain in the camp with Wídfara. The travois still needed to be finished at any rate before they could leave the glen.

Aragorn was sore and his muscles, especially along his back, protested every step, but as he walked the kinks worked themselves out and after half an hour he was feeling less sore, though he still stepped carefully, more so than he normally would. Still, he was determined not to slow the other hunters.

About two hours later, they reached the area where the deer had been abandoned. There was no sign of the missing men. Aragorn scouted around, bending low to the ground, though it cost him to do so and straightening up was an act of courage on his part, for the pain was intense.

"The snow has covered their tracks," he said, "but here they made camp." He pointed to where a fire pit had been built, now full of wet ash and snow.

"So they were alive and well last night," Ragnawulf grunted. He looked about him and sighed with frustration. "So where are they? Did the earth swallow them?"

"Remember that tremor we felt last night?" Éothain asked. "Could something..."

Aragorn shook his head. "There is no sign that any new fissures opened up."

"Any other clues?" Heremund asked with interest. The older man considered himself a fair tracker but Earntungol’s skills far surpassed anything he had ever seen before and he stood in awe of the young Outlander.

Aragorn started to shake his head but something caught his eye. Some distance from the abandoned camp was a stand of holly trees and something was gently swaying in the branches, something that shouldn’t have been there. He walked over to it and glanced up.

"What is it?" Ragnawulf asked as he and the other Rohirrim followed the Dúnadan. "What do you see?"

Aragorn pointed silently up as the other men reached him. For a moment they simply stared at what was nearly hidden from view.

"That... that’s Haleth’s bow," Ragnawulf said disbelievingly. "See the horn nocks? Haleth preferred horn to antler for the nocks."

So it was. They could see that the bow was nearly broken in half, hanging just out of their reach by the bowstring.

"What’s it doing up there?" Heremund asked in confusion.

"And where is Haleth?" Éothain asked almost at the same time.

The men sent nervous glances around the snow-shrouded forest, dark with pine and forebodings. All was silence, not even the sound of birdsong broke the quiet. Even the stream seemed to flow more sedately than before the earthquake.

"Where indeed?" Aragorn muttered with a grimace. The expressions on the other men were equally grave.

The silence and the mystery of the missing men hung over them like a pall even as the snow continued to fall.

****

All words are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Rhîw: (Sindarin) Winter, which begins on 23 Hithui (29 November). Rhîw lasts 72 days, ending on 4 Nínui (9 February).

Innas e-Belain coren: (Sindarin) "The will of the Valar be done".

Stýlescýne: Steelsheen. Morwen’s title among the Rohirrim. The spelling is deliberately archaic, even for Old English, to remind the reader that the language of Rohan is NOT Old English.

29: Mysteries Abound

They spent the better part of an hour searching the surrounding area for the missing hunters. Éothain, being the youngest of them and lighter in weight than the other men, was chosen to climb the holly tree and retrieve Haleth’s bow. Aragorn scoured the area while the others looked on, realizing they were likely to miss all but the most obvious clues. Yet, even Aragorn could not find ought and the frustration and fear that the broken bow had engendered in all of them merely grew.

"This makes no sense!" Heremund exclaimed after Aragorn admitted that he could find no trace of the missing men. "How could they have just disappeared? Why was that bow in the tree? Who put it there?"

"And where is my cousin Éofred?" Éothain demanded, his expression bordering on fear for one he loved as a brother.

"Not to mention Haleth and Léofred," added Ragnawulf grimly.

Aragorn sighed, feeling equally frustrated. The snowfall had hindered his investigation, wiping out almost all trace of the missing Riders. Only the fire pit remained to show that they had even been there.

Ragnawulf frowned. "Do you think the tremors of last night could have anything to do with this, Earntungol? You say there are no new fissures, but could the earth have opened up and then closed again?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I honestly do not know, my friend. I have never experienced an earthquake before. Have any of you?"

They all shook their heads. These Riders rarely braved the mountains with their air of mystery and dark tales best told beside a comforting hearthfire. Aragorn sighed, wishing one of the Elves of his acquaintance were there. It was inconceivable that any Elf who had lived even a few lives of Men would not have experienced an earthquake. He remembered Erestor telling him about one that had occurred only fifteen hundred years previously that had done some serious damage to Imladris. Only...

Aragorn found himself smiling to himself at that. He obviously had been living with Elves too long if he, a Mortal, was beginning to think that something that had happened when his ancestors were recovering from the war with Angmar that had seen the destruction of Amon Sûl had occurred just last week.

"You find something amusing in all this, Earntungol?" Heremund asked somewhat aggressively.

Aragorn looked up from his ruminations, schooling his expression to one of cool disdain. "I was remembering something one of my elven tutors told me about an earthquake. He spoke about it in great detail as if it had happened only the month before, rather than some fifteen hundred years ago."

The Riders gave him considering looks. Ragnawulf was the first to recover. "Did he tell you anything that might be of use to us here?"

Aragorn grimaced and shook his head. "No. I do not remember anything specific that would help us solve this particular mystery. I am sorry."

"Not your fault," Ragnawulf said with a sigh. "Let us return to the camp and let the others know what has happened. I for one do not look forward to returning to Dunharrow and having to explain to Thengel King how we managed to return without any meat for the Yule feast and with three men missing."

The others all grimaced at that, well imagining their king’s reaction to the news. With only the broken bow to show for their efforts to find the missing hunters, they set off back down the valley to where the rest of their party awaited them.

****

"What do you mean, there was no trace of them?" Déorhunta asked in disbelief as he stared at the broken bow that Éothain held out to him. "There has to be a trace. Men just don’t disappear into thin air. And three men at once!?"

Ragnawulf scowled. "We searched for an hour for any sign. Earntungol found nothing and he’s the best tracker we have. I have no answers for you, Déorhunta, for there are none to give."

"Thengel King is going to be rather put out by all this," Wídfara said, his expression bland as he spoke from the travois where he lay. They had planned to leave for Dunharrow as soon as the others had come back with the missing hunters and the camp had been struck in anticipation of this. Now, however....

They all looked at him, their expressions dark at the seeming flippancy of his words. Then the absurdity of the understatement hit them and they started laughing, though their mood was still grim.

"Indeed," Ragnawulf agreed. "He’s not going to like this at all."

"So now what?" Déorhunta asked, looking at Ragnawulf.

For a long moment there was only a heavy silence. The snow that had fallen earlier, erasing all trace, if there had been any, of the missing men, had stopped by the time Aragorn and the others had returned to the camp. The sky was still leaden, though, and the daylight murky and uncertain. It was getting colder as well and several of the men shifted their cloaks closed to keep in the warmth of their bodies. Finally, Ragnawulf looked up, his expression grim.

"We return to Dunharrow," he said with merciless finality.

No one was willing to dispute him.

****

It was a rather disheartened group that made its way back to Dunharrow. The snowfall of the last day or two made traveling difficult and Wídfara’s injury slowed them even more. The young Rider entertained them with his vivid imagining of what he planned to do to them all for every bump and jolt he suffered. The others grinned with grim humor, glad to have even that to distract them from their dark thoughts.

Éothain especially was distraught over his cousin and was the most reluctant to abandon the search. It took the combined force of Ragnawulf, Déorhunta and Aragorn to make him see reason but finally the young Rider agreed that there was nothing they could do then.

Aragorn especially was disturbed by all that had happened though he maintained an air of calm about him as he took his turn at pulling the travois. The broken bow in the holly tree was especially unsettling and ominous. He hoped that the mystery would eventually be solved, but he had his doubts. Now, more than ever, he wished Thandir....

"Sweordbroðor!" Wídfara nearly screamed as Aragorn stumbled and fell to his knees gasping. "Ragnawulf! What’s happening?" The injured man tried to look over his shoulder to see what was occurring.

The others had stopped in amazement and Ragnawulf was running to the Dúnadan. Aragorn had his arms wrapped around him, his eyes wide open but seeing nothing as he knelt in the snow, trembling and whimpering. The Rider held him tightly while ignoring Wídfara’s insistence on being allowed up to go to his sweordbroðor.

"Earntungol," Ragnawulf exclaimed, "what ails you?"

Aragorn, however, did not answer, merely continued to rock himself, clutching tightly to his body as if in extreme pain.

"Earntungol!" Ragnawulf repeated more loudly, shaking the Dúnadan.

"Hold, Ragnawulf!" Wídfara demanded, trying to undo the lacing that held him in place. "He cannot hear you. Someone help me out of this stupid contraption."

When no one moved to help, Wídfara began cursing loud and long. "Béma take you all!" he fairly screamed. "I know what to do for him. Now help me to my sweordbroðor!"

Éothain, the next youngest member of their party, finally went to Wídfara’s aid. All this time, Aragorn sat huddled in misery, unseeing and unhearing anything that was going on around him. The others stared on in dismay, unsure what to do for the Outlander. Finally, Éothain undid the final lacing on the travois and helped Wídfara over to Aragorn, placing him on the ground so that the Rider was sitting next to the Dúnadan but facing in the opposite direction. Then Wídfara wrapped his arms around Aragorn and held him tightly.

To the utter amazement of the other Rohirrim, Wídfara then began to softly sing, not in Rohirric, but in a tongue few of them had had the pleasure of hearing, for it was the tongue of the Elves. Wídfara was singing the same lullaby Aragorn had sung to him in the nameless village where they had taken shelter during the retreat to Helm’s Deep. Wïdfara had insisted his sweordbroðor teach it to him. Aragorn never knew that Wídfara had sung the lullaby to him as he lay huddled against the parapet of the keep of Dunharrow. Somehow the young Rider had instinctively hit upon the one thing that would bring the other Man out of his state.

So, ignoring the looks of surprise and disbelief on the faces of his companions he began singing, softly, yet loud enough for all to hear, though none understood the words.

     "Sedho pen dithen, avo nallo,

     thinna i galan, Anor losta,

     dan Gil-Estel ar Ithil reviol

     calar i menel a chened lîn

     men lîn erin vâd en-elei

     na-den athôl i aur."

As Wídfara came to the end of the lullaby, Aragorn visibly relaxed, his eyes no longer wide and unseeing, his body no longer wracked with seeming pain. He sighed, closed his eyes and sank into Wídfara’s embrace, seemingly asleep. The Rider continued to hold him and rock him, softly humming the tune of the lullaby. Finally, the Dúnadan stirred, blinking uncomprehendingly around him. The others simply stood like statues, unsure what to do. Aragorn focused on Wídfara’s face that was full of sympathetic concern and sighed.

"It happened again, didn’t it?"

Wídfara nodded. "No ci mae, mellon nîn?"

"Mae, ci hannon," Aragorn replied automatically, feeling too confused at that moment to be surprised that Wídfara had spoken to him in Sindarin rather than in Rohirric.

Ragnawulf gave the younger Rider a considering glance. "Since when do you speak the tongue of the Ælfcynn, Wídfara?"

Wïdfara gave the older Rider an amused look. "I don’t actually. Just a few words and phrases and that one song that Earntungol has taught me."

Déorhunta crouched down beside the two still sitting in the snow and gave Aragorn a hard look. "Well, Outlander, do you want to tell us what this is all about?"

"Leave off, Déorhunta," Wídfara almost snarled. "Can you not see this is neither the time nor the place. We need to keep moving. I’m freezing my backside sitting here and my sweordbroðor isn’t going to tell you anything."

Déorhunta raised an eyebrow at the younger man’s tone. "Quite the little champion, aren’t you?" he said somewhat sarcastically. Wídfara blushed but did not offer a retort. "I did not think this Outlander needed anyone to come to his rescue," the older man practically sneered.

"He does not," Aragorn said, looking up at the Rider, the light of his elven ancestry shining brightly in his eyes, forcing the other to look away, "but I welcome my sweordbroðor’s help nonetheless. Come, it grows dark. Let us find a suitable camp. Éothain, help me put Wídfara back onto the travois."

With that, Aragorn forced himself to stand and, ignoring everyone else, reached down to lift Wídfara up. Éothain came to Wídfara’s other side and together the two managed to get the young man onto the travois, though Wídfara muttered curses in three languages as they settled him in. Aragorn smiled at hearing some of the words.

"Now, I didn’t teach you that," he said in mock disapproval.

Wídfara looked up and grinned. "No. Gilgirion and Celegrýn taught me."

Aragorn threw back his head and laughed. The last shreds of whatever had held him in its grip faded along with the chancy daylight.

"There is a stand of trees not too far away," Déorhunta said, pointing further along their intended path. "We should be able to find shelter there for the night."

Everyone agreed to that and without another word Aragorn grabbed the poles of the travois and began walking towards the trees. The others followed with Éothain and Ragnawulf slipping ahead to scout out the area. Within a short amount of time, a bright fire was going and what little they had in the way of food was being shared by all. Wídfara remained lying in the travois, though the laces had been untied.

"No sense in moving unless I need to," he told them. Aragorn agreed and, noticing the lines of pain on the younger man’s face, set about boiling snow melt and throwing in some willow bark for tea. Wídfara grimaced at the mug Aragorn offered him but drank its contents down nonetheless. In minutes, the pain lines were easing and soon the Rider was drifting off to sleep.

Ragnawulf looked at Aragorn from across the fire, his expression troubled. "You want to explain what happened?" he asked, speaking softly so as not to waken Wídfara.

Aragorn sighed and shook his head. "I wish I could, Ragnawulf, but I honestly cannot because I do not know. All I do know is that on a previous occasion I... blanked out. It was while we were awaiting news of Thengel King after I brought Théoden back from Aldburg."

Ragnawulf nodded in encouragement. Aragorn continued his narrative. "I was standing on the wall of the keep, thinking, wondering what was happening with Thengel and where was my cousin and if he were safe and then...." Aragorn shook his head again. "The next thing I knew I was up in the highest tower cowering against the parapet with Wídfara seeking to comfort me and I have no idea why."

"Were you thinking of your cousin now?" Déorhunta asked.

"No," Aragorn answered. "I was thinking of...." he took a deep breath as if to steady himself, then continued. "I was thinking of Thandir."

"The Elf-lord who saved Lady Théodfrid from the assassins?" Éothain asked.

"He would claim to be no Elf-lord," Aragorn replied somewhat sardonically, "but I suspect that in truth he once was." He quickly explained to those in the group who were unfamiliar with what had happened in the Westmark and the role the Elves had played. "When it was learned that my cousin Gilhael was missing in the Westmark I wanted to go to his rescue, but Thandir would not let me. We had a... confrontation," the Dúnadan said softly, painfully. He gave the others a grim smile. "I lost."

Ragnawulf snorted in disbelief. "I think there is more to this than you are saying, Earntungol, but I will not insist you tell us. I little like the idea of dealing with the Ælfcynn. It is not a good thing for Mortals to involve themselves with them."

Aragorn gave him a nod of understanding. "Well, my people have had dealings with the Elves of Imladris for many generations of Men, and I’ve known Thandir most of my life."

Déorhunta grunted. "Well, we’re not going to solve that mystery any more than we’ve been able to solve the other one. Earntungol, take the first watch along with Éothain." He then assigned the other watches to the rest of the party save Wídfara. "Might as well let the lad sleep," he concluded, casting a fond look at the still sleeping Rider. "He was in much pain today."

Aragorn nodded. "I will make up some more willow bark tea for him. Should he awaken during the night at any time, give him some, or call me if ought else is wrong with him. I expect him to contract a slight fever. That is normal, so there is no need to be alarmed, but if the fever rises, wake me."

The others nodded their understanding and then went to their rest. Éothain checked the perimeter while Aragorn went about making more willow bark tea.

****

Sometime in the middle of the night Aragorn woke to the sound of someone screaming.

"Earntungol! Earntungol!"

He felt someone shaking him and as he came fully to himself, he realized with chagrin that it had been him screaming. He opened his eyes, gasping, to see all the men staring at him. Ragnawulf was kneeling beside him. It had been he who had been shaking him. Wídfara, his eyes full of pain, attempted to sit up and tried to reach him. The healer in him pushed the nightmare away and without a word Aragorn was up and at Wídfara’s side.

"Nay, sweordbroðor," he said softly. "Lie down. I don’t want you shifting that leg any more than necessary." Aragorn gently pushed the weakly protesting man back down, surreptitiously checking for fever. There was none, but it was obvious that the Rider was in a great deal of discomfort. He stood up to go to the fire so as to fetch more willow bark tea, but Ragnawulf stayed him, giving him a hard stare.

"What was that all about?" he whispered angrily. "You were yelling loudly enough for the people of Mundburg to hear you."

"Not now, Ragnawulf," Aragorn replied shortly. "Let me see to Wídfara’s comfort first."

The older Rider stared at the Dúnadan for a moment before giving a curt nod and stepping back. Aragorn gave a short bow of his head then went to the fire and checked the tea. Someone had kept it warm so it took only a moment for him to prepare a mug which he handed to Wídfara who took it gratefully. The Rider drank the contents, only grimacing slightly at the bitter taste, before settling back down on the travois and giving Aragorn a knowing look.

"Thandir again, wasn’t it?" he asked.

Aragorn nodded as he spoke with great hesitation. "I... I can’t remember what I was dreaming, but... I think I was seeing something... something that was happening now... or may happen, I don’t know for sure, and Thandir... Thandir was there."

"What mean you, Outlander?" Déorhunta demanded.

Aragorn looked up to see expressions of suspicion and even fear in the eyes of the other Riders. He sighed and wished he were back among his own people who were used to their Chieftain having foresight, though admittedly this was the first time he’d ever dreamt a seeing.

"Among the Dúnedain," he said quietly, "there is given to some the gift of foresight. I have the gift in part, though this is the first time I’ve ever experienced it while sleeping." He shook his head in dismay. "I... I think I saw my cousin and Thandir beset by orcs."

"Could it have simply been a nightmare, brought upon by your worries for them?" Éothain asked sympathetically. He would never admit it to the others, but he too had been suffering a nightmare concerning his beloved cousin Éofred and what might have happened to him and the other missing men.

Aragorn sighed again. "I would like to think so... but it was too... real, as if I were there as well. Foresight has a different... flavor to it than a mere dream or night terror. I’m sorry I woke you all....

Ragnawulf merely snorted, waving a hand in dismissal. "Well, I had to get up in another hour for my watch anyway." He cast a wry look at the younger man and Aragorn couldn’t help but to grin shyly as those around him snickered. He felt a hand squeeze his and looked down to see Wídfara giving him a sympathetic nod.

"Well, I suggest you get some rest," Ragnawulf continued. "Morning will be coming soon enough. Heremund, Elfbeorht, Isenhelm, go to your rest as well. Déorhunta and I will take the remainder of your watch."

Soon all was quiet again in the camp. Ragnawulf stirred up the fire to give him and Déorhunta more warmth against the night’s brittle coldness. Stars shone down upon them in crystal glory and a slight wind stirred the trees.

The two older Riders sat in companionable silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Déorhunta, casting a glance at the now sleeping Dúnadan, sighed and gave his friend a worried look. "One more mystery to plague us."

Ragnawulf nodded. "And who is to say which is the greater mystery."

To that the other Rider had no answer as the night made its inexorable journey towards morning.

****

All words are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted:

No le mae, mellon nîn?: (Sindarin) "Art thou well, my friend?"

Mae, le hannon: (Sindarin) "Well, I thank thee".

Ælfcynn: Elf-kind.

A semi-literal translation of the lullaby sung by Wídfara:

     "Hush little one, do not cry,

     the daylight fadeth towards evening, the sun doth sleep,

     but the Star of Hope and the wandering Moon

     light the heavens that thou may see (literally: for the purpose of thy seeing)

     thy way upon the Path of Dreams

     until the morning cometh again."

Historical note: In 1409 (1548 years earlier), Angmar surrounded the fortress of Amon Sûl and destroyed it, though the palantír was rescued from the ruin. Arveleg I of Arthedain was slain. His son, Araphor, not yet full-grown, eventually repelled Angmar with the aid of the Elves of Mithlond, Imladris and Lothlórien. [Appendix A (iii), "Eriador, Arnor and the Heirs of Isildur"]

30: Return to Dunharrow

It took them longer than they had expected to return to Dunharrow and not just because of Wídfara’s injuries. For one thing, they found they could not return along the same route as before; the earthquake had apparently changed some of the landscape. Valleys were blocked or had disappeared altogether. Streams had changed their courses. The hunters found they had to move closer to the steppes rather than cut directly across the mountains on the trails they had used previously. Several of the men worried for what the earthquake might have done to Dunharrow or even Edoras.

"We’ll find out soon enough," Déorhunta muttered to no one in particular when Éothain wondered about that aloud.

The weather hadn’t helped either, for winter was settling in in the mountains and they had to battle the elements almost daily. A few times they were forced to hole up for a couple of days to wait out a blizzard, and, of course, it got colder. The only bright spot was that two days out from Dunharrow they came upon another herd of deer, not as large as the other, and the meat was not as plentiful, but it cheered them as nothing else had and they felt less like failures.

"Or cursed," Isenhelm opined. No one was willing to dispute him, since they were all thinking the same thing.

Aragorn remained quiet, worry lines etched on his face. He did his part in towing Wídfara, or in scouting ahead for a way through or in bringing down game for them, but he was silent and he rarely entered into the conversations around him. Even Wídfara was unable to break through the barrier the Dúnadan had set around himself, and finally left him alone, though all could see how worried the young Rider was for his sweordbroðor.

Thus, it was only four days before Yule when they finally arrived at Dunharrow to find that while there had been some damage to the keep, the effects of the earthquake had not been felt as deeply as they had experienced. They were eagerly welcomed back, for they were late in returning, the deer meat gladly accepted. Other hunting parties had fared better or poorer but all had found something to contribute to the Yule feast. The fact that they returned with three fewer men and one severely injured cast a pall upon their arrival. When the hunters assembled in the main hall of the keep where Thengel held court, Aragorn found he could not look the King in the eye, feeling as if he’d somehow failed him. It was left to Ragnawulf and Déorhunta to explain what had happened.

Thengel gave them all a strange look as the tale was told, but said nothing. Aragorn kept his eyes on the ground before him, mentally tracing the steps he had taken to ascertain the fate of the missing men even as Ragnawulf recounted the search, wondering if he’d missed some vital clue because he’d been suffering such pain at the time. Had he allowed the pain to distract him? It had been a question that had haunted him since they had given up the search. The episode of foreseeing had haunted him as well. He wished suddenly, as he stood before Thengel, that he were back in Imladris where his adar or Glorfindel or even Erestor would have been able to soothe his distress and help him to find the answers he so desperately needed.

It was only when Éothain gently placed a hand on his arm that Aragorn realized that Thengel had spoken to him. He raised his head, blinking away fatigue and heartache. "My lord?" he asked, silently berating himself for being inattentive. What his brothers would say to that did not bear thinking on.

Thengel gave the younger man a sympathetic look. "I asked if there was anything you wished to add to Ragnawulf and Déorhunta’s account."

Aragorn had to think about that for a moment, realized he’d barely heard what the other two hunters had said and sighed. "No, my lord. I have nothing to add."

For a moment Thengel looked at him and Aragorn forced himself not to flinch from the King’s regard. Finally, Thengel nodded. "Go, all of you," he commanded gently, "and seek what rest you may. I place no blame on any of you for what has happened."

The hunters bowed, save Wídfara, still strapped to the travois which had been placed to one side of the chair that Thengel had designated as his throne in Dunharrow. He had insisted on being present when the others faced the King. He merely nodded his head. Thengel gave him a warm smile.

"And how fare you, youngling?" he asked solicitously.

"Well enough, Sire, now that we are back," Wídfara answered with his own smile. "Though I hope I’m not confined to this contraption for too much longer. I would like to sit in a hot tub of water and count all the bruises I’ve endured from these louts pulling me. I’ve promised them all grave retribution for finding every rock or hole to drag me over or in."

The other Rohirrim in the room chuckled when Ragnawulf feigned taking a swipe at Wídfara’s head while Éothain stuck his tongue out at his friend. Even Aragorn allowed himself to be drawn into it by rolling his eyes and muttering something in Sindarin that only Thengel and Morwen caught. Both were smiling.

"Go, all of you," Thengel commanded again. "I have ordered a hot meal and baths for you all that you may be eased in body and soul."

"I will see to Wídfara’s comfort, Thengel King," Aragorn said, putting aside his own concerns to act the healer again. "I wish to check his leg and resplint it. I doubt he’ll be able to sit in a tub though," he added with a sympathetic smile to his friend. "I’m afraid it’s a sponge bath or nothing for at least another week."

Wídfara grimaced but did not otherwise protest.

Thengel nodded. "I will see that you have all that you need."

The hunters bowed again and started to leave. Thengel held out a hand to stay Aragorn, who was about to help in transporting Wídfara. "We will speak later in private with you, my son," the King said quietly and Aragorn merely nodded before taking one end of the travois while Éothain took the other end and they left the King’s presence.

****

Wídfara grumbled about not being able to take a proper bath, but brightened at the news that he would be able to walk as soon as crutches were either found or made.

"You must take care, though, when you step outside," Aragorn warned him. "The flagstones in the courtyard will be slippery and if you fall you may do even more damage to the leg."

Wídfara nodded his understanding as he allowed Aragorn to help him remove his clothes so he could at least take a sponge bath.

"Come," Aragorn said with a sympathetic smile, holding out his arms. "I’ll help you to stand while you wash."

Afterwards the two friends ate a light meal before falling into their beds. Aragorn was asleep in minutes but Wídfara found himself perversely awake, so he entertained himself by humming the Sindarin lullaby until he finally drifted off to sleep himself.

****

When Aragorn woke it was to find that he’d slept the rest of the day and night away and it was now nearly noon of the next day. Glancing over at the other cot he found Wídfara sitting up grimacing at him. He immediately got up and went to his friend, concern written all over him.

"What is it, Wídfara?" he asked, automatically checking for signs of fever. "Are you in pain?"

Wídfara gave him a blank stare and then started laughing. Aragorn was so surprised he ended up sitting down on the edge of his own cot staring at his sweordbroðor rather stupidly. "What did I say?"

That just made the Rohir laugh even harder. Finally, he got himself under control. "Nay, brother, I’m not in any pain, except for my sides hurting now from laughing so hard." He gave Aragorn a wide grin. "No, I was frowning because I’d just lost a bet with Grimbold."

When Aragorn merely raised an eyebrow in disbelief, Wïdfara found himself giggling again. "Sorry...." he gasped, "we were betting on how long you would sleep, and I lost." Now Wídfara was looking sheepish and gave Aragorn a shy look.

Aragorn found himself grinning. "So what were the stakes?"

Wídfara sighed. "Loser has to do your laundry for the next month."

"What?" Aragorn exclaimed in surprise, laughing in spite of himself. "And what does the winner get?"

"The pleasure of watching the loser do your laundry, of course."

Aragorn and Wídfara looked up to see Grimbold standing at the doorway with a tray of food in his hands, beaming. He came inside and set the tray on a nearby table and gave the other two a considering look. "I take it I won?"

Aragorn started laughing. "Apparently so, from the expression on Wídfara’s face when I awoke. I thought he was experiencing pain from his injury."

"No, just to my pride," Wídfara said with a grimace. "I hate doing laundry."

Now Aragorn and Grimbold both laughed. "Well, I think it was a useless bet to make," Aragorn finally said. "You’re in no position to do even your own laundry, never mind someone else’s." He looked pointedly at Wídfara, then turned to Grimbold. "And I’m quite capable of doing my own laundry, thank you very much."

Now Grimbold and Wídfara exchanged looks that Aragorn couldn’t interpret. Then the two of them started laughing again.

"All right, you two," he said, looking at them suspiciously. "What’s so funny?"

Finally, Wídfara gasped out, "You lose, Grimbold."

Grimbold nodded, smirking. "That I did, lad," he said equably. "I was sure he’d actually fall for it."

"Fall for what?" Aragorn demanded, beginning to feel frustrated and angry.

Grimbold took pity on him and explained. "The bet was not about when you would wake up but how you would react to finding out what the stakes of the... er... imaginary bet were. I figured you’d just accept it, but Wídfara claimed you would refuse to allow anyone to touch your clothes and would insist on doing your own laundry."

"And what were the stakes for the real bet?" he asked, now feeling mildly amused.

Now the two of them looked sheepish and refused to say. Aragorn just gave them both an exasperated look and stood up. "I’m going to the privy. You two can do as you please and work out the details of your bet to suit yourselves."

With as much dignity as he could muster, he left the room, and heard the two men laughing as he padded down the hall, his own face wreathed with a grin.

****

True to his word, Thengel sent for Aragorn later that afternoon. The Dúnadan found the King standing on the parapet overlooking the Firienfeld, a rich burgundy velvet cloak lined with marten wrapped around his body. Aragorn had the cloak Legolas had gifted him on his birthday the previous year. Thengel saw it and smiled in admiration.

Aragorn smiled back. "A gift, from a friend," he explained as he drew the cloak closer to him, for the air was brittle with cold.

"A princely gift," Thengel said with a nod.

"From a prince, no less," Aragorn replied with a short laugh.

Thengel nodded and then gestured. "Come. Let us walk. It is far too cold to be standing still for long. I’ve even ordered the sentries to keep walking and not stand at their post and I’ve shortened their duty time by an hour."

Aragorn nodded, pleased at the thoughtfulness of this king for the welfare of his people. It was a rarity among Men he feared, though, admittedly, he had had only the barest introduction to that world. He was still learning about his own people and found himself always measuring others against the Elves that he knew. Not that the Elves can claim to have acted purely in all things, he thought wryly to himself, knowing well the treachery, betrayal and death that littered the landscape of elven history. Still the Elves he knew personally were honorable to a fault and it was against them that all others were measured in Aragorn’s eyes, for better or for worse.

For several minutes the two Men walked the wall. The parapet was in fact wide enough for three to walk abreast. They passed one of the sentries walking the opposite way and all three saluted one another as they passed. Finally, Thengel led him into a sentry shed where a brazier burned brightly and they warmed themselves before it.

"You cannot blame yourself for what happened, Thorongil," Thengel said without preamble. "It does little good and achieves nothing except a headache."

This last was said somewhat drolly and Aragorn found himself smiling in spite of himself, though the smile did not last. He sighed. "Had I not been injured..."

"Had you not been injured, things may well have happened as they did anyway," Thengel respondedly shortly. "Second guessing also does no good, my son. It is a waste of time, as I eventually discovered on my own."

"How do you mean, sir?" Aragorn asked respectfully.

Thengel gave the younger man a wry look. "When I went to Gondor I spent the first few months in the White City berating myself and blaming myself for all that had happened in Rohan when my cousin led the revolt. I kept playing the events over and over again in my mind, wondering what I could have done differently, or even if I should have done something differently. Turgon, in his wisdom, allowed me to wallow in self-pity just long enough so that even I was beginning to tire of it... and me." He chuckled at that then gave Aragorn a more sober look. "Blaming yourself is a waste of time. You did all that you could, all of you. The three who have gone missing have no one to blame for their ill-luck but themselves. If they did not listen to Ragnawulf or Déorhunta, their own captains, what makes you think they would have listened to you? Their fate is not your concern. We must trust to Béma and the other Valar that they are well and if not...."  He grimaced slightly and sighed. "If not, we can only trust that their end was swift and they are already in Námo’s care."

For several long seconds Aragorn pondered the King’s words, recognizing the wisdom of them, little though he wished to do so. Finally, he gave a nod. "Thank you, my lord," he said quietly and Thengel clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come. Let us return to the keep and leave this shed for those who need it the most."

So saying King and Dúnadan left the warming shed and headed back to the keep in search of some mulled wine. Aragorn excused himself long enough to check on Wídfara who was being fitted with crutches, much to the young man’s delight. Seeing that his sweordbroðor was in good hands, he returned to Thengel, who was sitting at a trestle table in the main hall with a decanter of wine before him, sipping from a wooden goblet; Morwen was by his side. The two royals looked up as Aragorn entered and Thengel waved him over.

"Sit and have some of this wine," the King ordered, pouring some into an empty goblet. "It will warm you. My lady and I were discussing the upcoming Yule festivities, such as they will be."

Aragorn complied with Thengel’s command, noticing with approval that Morwen’s own goblet held mulled cider. He seated himself across from Thengel, accepting the goblet from the King’s hand, sipping on the steaming hot drink. He sighed as tension he did not know he was carrying slipped from his shoulders as the wine did its work.

Morwen gave him a knowing smile. "What traditions do the Dúnedain of the North keep for Mettarë, Lord Thorongil?" she asked curiously.

Aragorn looked pensive as he answered the Queen. "Well, we do not call it Mettarë in the North but follow the traditions of the Breelanders and call it Yule, as do the Rohirrim." He paused for a moment, thinking. "And, of course, the Elves do not celebrate it as such, though if Mortals are residing in Imladris at this time of year, my lord Elrond will ensure that some type of celebration is given in keeping with their traditions. The Elves will mark the solstice which generally occurs a few days earlier with song and merriment, though I suspect that for most Mortals, their celebrations would seem... tame."

"And what of the Dúnedain?" Thengel asked with a nod of understanding. "How do they celebrate the season?"

Now Aragorn smiled. "With holly and ivy, with yule logs and feasting, with mistletoe hung from the rafters in strategic places as traps for the unwary."

All three chuckled at that. Aragorn continued. "There is much singing and dancing and the giving of gifts, and of course, drinking." Here, he stopped and looked suddenly sheepish, which intrigued the older couple.

"Something you want to tell us, young man?" Thengel asked in his best fatherly voice. Aragorn had a sudden feeling that it wasn’t Thengel who sat across from him but his own adar and he found himself reddening and gave an embarrassed chuckle.

"As I said, the Elves tend not to celebrate Yule or Mettarë," he paused to give Morwen a nod. "They celebrate the New Year in Súlimë, or Gwaeron, as we tend to call it in the North. Last year, I was in Mirkwood at that time and I was given some Dorwinion... lots of it."

Both Thengel and Morwen raised eyebrows at that. "A powerful wine, not to be taken lightly," the King said.

Aragorn nodded. "So I learned to my... discomfort." He went on to describe the events of that night and their subsequent consequences and before he was finished with his tale all three were laughing.

"Oh dear," Morwen gasped, wiping tears from her face. "It is well your naneth was not there to see you. You might not have survived the night."

That set them off laughing again, for Aragorn opined that that was most likely true. "Adar was furious at what happened, though he did not show it, but naneth would have skinned me alive and would not have cared who watched her do it."

"Nenith are like that," Thengel said with a sad smile and for a moment their levity fled and the weight of their circumstance crushed them. Then Morwen looked up and smirked. "This naneth, however, is the very soul of sweetness and light.... Just ask my children."

Thengel threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "Indeed."

At that moment, Wídfara entered on crutches, his face strained and sweating with the effort of propelling himself along. Grimbold was walking by him. Aragorn stood and went to meet his friend halfway. Wídfara stopped and gave him a sickly grin.

"It’s harder than I thought," he said faintly.

Aragorn nodded and with Grimbold on the other side helped Wídfara to the seat he himself had just vacated. Thengel signaled to one of the attendant guards and presently another goblet was on the table and Aragorn was pouring some cider into it.

"It will get easier, I promise," he said to Wídfara as he handed the goblet to him, sitting down beside the younger man. "In fact, you’ll just get used to getting around quite well on them when we will take the splint off and then you will have to learn to walk all over again." He and the others laughed at Wídfara’s rueful look.

"Figures," he muttered darkly as he took another sip of the cider, but his natural optimism could not be quashed for long and soon he was smiling again, glad to be able to get around on his own. Being trapped in the travois except for short periods of time, usually when he needed to attend to personal business, had been a trial to him and he hoped he would never have to suffer such indignity again.

Shortly after, Alric joined them, after having seen to the proper disposition of his duty as Captain of Dunharrow, along with Hildebrand and Hildered and together they began planning the Yule festivities that would commence in two days’ time.

"It will be little enough cheer, I fear," Alric opined. "Our supplies are meager and with three of our people missing...."

"Not to mention the fact that we are here in Dunharrow and not in Edoras," stated Hildebrand gruffly. "My only consolation is that I convinced Hildegard to take the children to Hildegrimsdale for safety’s sake."

"Where is Elfhelm?" Aragorn asked, speaking of Hildegard’s husband and the father of Elfgar and Elfhild.

"I gave him leave to escort his family into the Westfold," Thengel replied. "I truly did not think all this would happen." He shook his head in disgust. "Arrogant... and stupid. A deadly enough combination in a common man but in a ruler...."

"You were not to know, my husband," Morwen said solicitously. "Your mother is a dangerous woman.... I fear you will have little choice in your judgment against her if you want your son to survive to rule after you."

Her tone was cold just then and there was a look in her eyes that reminded Aragorn of Gilraen at that moment, those few times when his naneth had become angry. Thengel sighed and patted his wife’s hand and gave her a rueful smile. "I think we will put aside the question of judgment until such time as my mother is actually in my hands for me to so render it. Meantime, I am more concerned to see that our children and all the children in Dunharrow have some sort of Yule, however threadbare it might be. Better something than nothing."

To that, they all agreed and so they spent the rest of the time before the evening meal discussing it and fleshing out details.

****

Nenith: (Sindarin) Plural of naneth: Mother.

31: A Dunharrow Yule

The plans for Yule went apace though the adults were somewhat lackluster in their enthusiasm given the circumstances. Yet, as the first bough of holly and ivy was put up across the lintel of the doorway leading into the main hall, the children all squealed with delight and asked to help. Their excitement and obvious joy was infectious and soon the adults entered into the spirit of things more fully.

Even Wídfara was able to help by entertaining them all with songs of cheer. He had a pleasing voice and knew how to use it to its best advantage. Aragorn also sang for the company as he helped with the decorating, drawing on his knowledge of the songs of both Elves and Men. He sang hymns to Elbereth and Yavanna as well as comic tales he had picked up among his own people and the Hobbits of the Shire, though he did not speak of them to the Rohirrim, saying only that the songs were commonly sung in the North.

Thengel and Morwen lent an air of solemnity to the business by moving among the off-duty guardsmen and refugee women who were helping with the decorating, passing out goblets of mulled cider or wine and speaking to them softly, asking after family. By the king’s order, the people who had camped below the Stairs were brought up to the keep now that the danger of plague had passed. It made for crowded quarters but no one really minded. Many of the guardsmen moved out to the Firienfeld, setting up tents for themselves. They, at least, were used to winter camping, though they welcomed the warmth of the keep whenever they were on duty.

The cooks were busy preparing what they could, based on what they had, which was little enough. They welcomed the meat the hunters had brought and were busy deciding how best to prepare it that would be in keeping with the holiday. In spite of the dearth of goods, the cooks proved themselves creative and soon enticing smells were coming from the kitchen, causing everyone to grin in delighted anticipation.

Given the crowded quarters, Aragorn made it a point to see to it that none suffered from the less than ideal circumstances. He asked Thengel’s permission to insist that none come to the table without first washing their hands and that a regular regime of baths be set up, especially for the women and children.

"They are the most vulnerable to any disease that may manifest itself in these crowded conditions," Aragorn explained. "Regular bathing and washing of hands before meals will help keep the possibility of disease down. The last thing we need is another plague."

To that Thengel agreed and so ordered it. The guardsmen grumbled a bit at what they thought was an imposition but obeyed their king nonetheless. The women all appeared grateful. Many of the children, however, looked rebellious at the idea of regular baths, but seeing themselves outnumbered by the adults, gave in with bad grace and much complaining. When Thengel threatened to cancel the Yule festivities if the children remained uncooperative, they quickly complied, even seeming to be eager to be washed, much to everyone’s amusement.

So it went and finally the decorations were all put up and the food all prepared. There was little in the way of gift-giving, for they had nothing in the way of material goods that could be used as gifts. It was Wídfara who came up with the idea that everyone should gift everyone else with a song, a tale or poem. Children were encouraged to present a play. ‘Gifts of the heart’ he called them and everyone agreed to the idea. Thus, during the next two days many were seen sitting by themselves or in small groups mumbling verses of songs or poems or going through their repertoire of tales old and new. Some few had instruments and had gathered together to provide music as their gift. Children huddled in odd corners giggling at one idea after another and then running to a storage cave where they could practice their skits in private, though Thengel quietly ordered one of the guards to always stand at the other end of the passage to ensure the children did not get into any trouble. The cave system was not extensive but the unwary could easily lose themselves in it and children tended to be less attentive than adults. Aragorn found it amusing to be standing on the parapet of the keep and watching as one of the guards on duty sauntered by softly singing snatches of one song after another as he tried to find just the right one to sing at the feast.

To make it even more festive for all, Thengel suspended the duties of the sentries on the wall for two hours so they could eat with everyone else and have the opportunity to give their ‘gifts’ to the hall and listen to the singing and storytelling as well. In deference to the children, the usual Yule ceremony was held shortly after sunset rather than waiting until midnight. Everyone worked to clean themselves up and to wear festive clothing even if it were simply a colorful swatch of fabric wrapped around a waist or a wreath of winterberries in their hair. Thengel and Morwen were seen speaking quietly with the cooks early on Yule day, but what was said between them was not known and most merely thought their sovereigns were discussing the upcoming feast.

Just as Anor slipped behind the horn of the Írensaga, turning the snows of the mountain blood red and the sky a dark purple streaked with gold and rose, all the lights of the keep were doused save one. This was a single coal taken from the main fireplace in the main hall and carefully kept in a metal container until it was needed for the ceremonies. Then, as the last gleam of light from the sun disappeared, all gathered solemnly around the king and queen and their children. Only the cooks were excused to keep an eye on the food.

Thengel looked out upon the sea of faces, all known to him by now and precious in his eyes, for they were but a remnant of his people and his heart ached for what was happening to his land. He admitted to himself that he had been loath to return to the land of his birth and would have been content to live out his days in Gondor as one of Ecthelion’s trusted advisors. Now, however, looking upon the children standing beside their mothers, their expressions at once fearful and hopeful, he knew that he would gladly give his life’s blood for the very least of them. They were his people and he was their king and he silently gave thanks to Lord Béma and the other Valar that this was so.

"Tonight," Thengel intoned with solemn joy when all were gathered around him, "we welcome the return of the sun and the vanquishing of the darkness. We give thanks to Lord Béma and the other Powers for this chance in the coming New Year to make amends for our failings and we pledge to become better people: better parents, better friends, better lovers, better sons and daughters, better Men whom the Creator has endowed with many Gifts to use or abuse. We have seen how the abuse of these gifts have led us here to Dunharrow. Let us pledge to use our gifts to restore our land to peace in the coming year."

He paused and went to where the bit of coal sat on a nearby table. He took the metal box carefully wrapped in thick cloth and paced to the fireplace which had been swept out earlier in the day and a new fire laid. He took tongs and lifted the coal out, handing the box to his son and then knelt to place the burning coal in the midst of the kindling.

"May this flame of the old ignite the flame of the new and give us light, hope and new purpose in our lives as we face the future with all the grace with which the Creator has endowed us."

Then he stood, replacing the tongs and all watched as the kindling slowly but surely caught fire and soon a bright and merry flame was burning and everyone cheered. Long tapers were thrust into the fire and soon the hall was awash with light as candles and rush lights were lit. Then Thengel and Morwen led in the singing of the traditional Yule hymn in praise of Béma and light. Afterwards they all sat down to the feast.

It was not much and not as plentiful as past feasts, but the cooks had outdone themselves and everyone praised them and enjoyed the dishes all the more, knowing that they could well have been in Edoras possibly starving or even dead. Thengel had sent some of the éored to scout the surrounding area between Harrowdale and Edoras, reporting any movements of troops or refugees. There had been none in the last few days and many wondered at the fate of their families and friends left behind perforce.

The children helped to keep the adults around them focused on the present rather than on regrets of the past or fears for the future. As they ate, Thengel called for people to begin presenting their ‘gifts’, beginning with the sentries due to return to their duty soon. The hall had been arranged so that the trestles were placed in a U-shape with an opening at the end nearest to the kitchen so the courses could be easily brought out. The only way in which the high table could be distinguished from the others was the fact that the king’s standard hung behind his chair, otherwise he and his family were sharing a table with Ashlind, her brother Aldred, and the woman Beornwyn along with Aragorn and Wídfara. Thengel had insisted and Morwen had concurred that this night at least there would be no protocol; all would sit where they pleased or fortune allowed.

Aragorn, in fact, had invited the three from Edoras to join him and Wídfara and they had shyly accepted his offer. Beornwyn, he knew, was all alone, and Ashlind’s son, Wulfstan, had been teething and was very restless. Aragorn had seen how worn both Ashlind and Aldred were from ministering to the fractious child and wished to relieve them of their burden by volunteering to hold the baby. He had concocted a soothing syrup that he blended into the bowl of hot oatmeal that was Wulfstan’s Yule dinner and fed the child while holding a conversation with Thengel on the proper woods to use for horse bows as opposed to hunting bows. The syrup helped to numb the pain the baby was feeling and soon he was looking and feeling much happier. His mother and uncle gave Aragorn grateful looks as they concentrated on their own meals. Morwen and Thengel exchanged amused smiles.

One by one, in groups or singly, boldly or shyly, people stood and moved into the center of the hall to sing a song, recite a poem or tell a story. Some danced and others played musical instruments. However good or poor their performance, all were highly praised by king and queen and thanked for their ‘gift’. None returned to their seats in shame and all felt honored by the fact that Thengel addressed each by name. The play that the children had devised, telling the story of Eorl the Young and Cirion of Mundburg, was well received and there was much laughter when young Théoden, playing Eorl, nearly hit one of the servers passing him with his wooden sword in his enthusiasm. The server, an off-duty guardsman, took it with good humor but threatened to hang the young prince from the rafters if he weren’t careful and Thengel laughingly said that he would supply the man with the rope. That set everyone off again and when the play was finally finished (with no further mishaps), everyone rose and cheered long and loud, much to the children’s delight and embarrassment.

Perhaps the most notable ‘gift’ was Aragorn’s telling of the tale of Túrin and the Dragon, a tale none but the royal family had ever heard before. The Dúnadan proved a gifted storyteller and all were enthralled by his power of evoking images with his words. Even the most restless child sat quietly, drinking in the tale with wide-eyed wonder. When he finished, Thengel rose after the applause had died down and gave him a bow.

"Never have I heard that tale told with such skill and power. You are truly a gifted storyteller, young Thorongil."

"Thank you sire," Aragorn replied with a bow of his own. "It is a favorite among the Dúnedain of the North and I heard versions of it sung in the Hall of Fire in Imladris. There are a few Elves in Imladris who remember that time and actually met Túrin. I think listening to their first-hand accounts helped me to make the story more real."

"Indeed," Thengel said as he resumed his seat. "Do the Elves have any song for the season that you would care to sing for us?"

Aragorn smiled and shook his head. "The Elves of Imladris do not celebrate Yule as such unless there are Mortals residing there at the time and in honor of their traditions they will do what they can to make the day festive. They do mark the solstice with solemn hymns and a quiet feast, though. Shall I sing one of my favorites for this hall?"

All signified agreement.

"This is a hymn to the sun which the Elves call Anor," Aragorn went on to explain. "It speaks of a time when no sun was in the sky and Beleriand was enthralled by the darkness of Morgoth the great Enemy."

"I thought Sauron was the Enemy," Wídfara said suddenly, looking confused.

Aragorn nodded. "In this age he is, but there was a time when Sauron was but a servant of Morgoth. When the Powers captured Morgoth and thrust him outside the Walls of the World, Sauron pretended to repent of his rebellion against Eru and the Powers but soon fell back into evil and replaced his master as the Dark Lord. Sauron was once numbered among the Maiar, but Morgoth was the greatest of the Powers ere he fell."

This revelation sobered the listeners but Aragorn merely smiled. "At any rate, this is a hymn in praise of the first rising of the sun and the victory of light over darkness."

Thengel nodded and the hall settled down to listen to Aragorn sing. He stood for a moment, his eyes half closed as he ran the words through his mind one time before singing:

     "Ae môr aer, i-ngiliath hílar nan aglar,

     An ab vôr hen, Anor athelitha.

     Anann i-amarth e-Goth ’wathrant Ennorath...."

Suddenly he stopped and a look of surprise crossed his face as he turned towards the main doors of the hall. It took a few seconds for others to understand what was happening and then they heard it: somewhere in the distance voices were raised in song, ethereal and otherworldly, beautiful beyond the ken of Mortals. The listeners dimly understood that the unknown singers were singing the very hymn Thorongil had been singing... and the voices were coming closer:

     "Ír iBelain ammen óner fael Anor a chaliad guil nîn.

     Girith nan estel, iArdhon nîr cân an ngell

     An ennas breith’ aur hain ar aglareb."

As the final words of the hymn were sung the great doors to the hall were flung open and six figures entered, throwing back their hoods. There was a collective gasp as all saw that five of the strangers were Elves, two of them so close in likeness to one another that none could tell them apart. The Elves stood there smiling but said nothing, obviously enjoying the shock their entrance had caused. Then, the sixth figure pushed his way forward and all could see that this one was definitely not an Elf. He saw Aragorn and smiled.

"Well, Cousin, aren’t you going to invite us to dinner?"

"Gilhael!" Aragorn shouted and soon the two cousins were embracing and there was much laughter and joy throughout the hall at this unlooked-for reunion.

****

Translation of the Elvish hymn sung by Aragorn and the elves:

O holy night, the stars shine with glory,

For after this night, the Sun will return.

Long did the doom of the Enemy overshadow Middle-earth,

When the Powers gave to us the Sun’s gleaming brilliance

     for the purpose of illuminating our lives.

A shuddering of hope, the weeping world shouts for joy

For there breaks out suddenly a new and glorious morn.

32: Welcoming Guests

Aragorn drew his cousin further into the hall, his arms around him, unwilling to let Gilhael go. The elves followed, their expressions indulgent. At first, those in the hall cheered the safe return of the Dúnadan, but their welcome was less hearty where the Elves were concerned. This was especially true of the refugees, common folk who had not seen the Elves before. Even those who remembered Thandir, Celegrýn and Gilgirion from before were hesitant to greet them when they saw the two stranger Elves, as alike as two peas. Some noticed a marked resemblance between these two elves and the Dúnedain cousins, with their dark hair and grey eyes.

Aragorn led Gilhael before Thengel and Morwen, both of whom stood in deference to the Elves.

"My lord, my lady," Aragorn said with undisguised relief, "see you. My cousin whom I thought lost has returned."

"And we are right glad that you have done so, Tungolfród," Thengel said with a brief bow, which Gilhael returned. "We would have regretted the loss of so talented a Rider and warrior as yourself and we rejoice that Lord Béma has looked kindly upon you and returned you to us and your cousin safely."

"I thank thee, my lord," Gilhael said, "for thy kind words. I have longed to returned to thee and to my cousin and I am thankful that the Powers were with me."

Thengel nodded and turned his attention to the Elves, speaking now in Sindarin. "Mae govannen, brennyn nîn. I am glad to see you again. I thank you for rescuing one who has become dear to us."

Thandir gave the king a gracious nod of his head. "It was our pleasure, Thengel King," he said with a soft smile. "We did not, however, rescue this one for your sake but for the love we bear for his cousin. If anything had befallen Gilhael, we would never have heard the end of it, would we?" He said this last to Aragorn who merely smiled.

Thengel chuckled. "Well, whatever your motives for doing so, we are pleased with the end result. Now, perhaps you will do us the favor of introducing your fellows." He gazed intently at the twin elves who remained impassive before the King of Rohan’s regard.

Thandir raised an eyebrow at Thengel’s words, then turned to the two stranger Elves and said something in Quenya that caused Aragorn to redden in embarrassment and the twins to smile broadly. One of them replied in the same language and now everyone could see Aragorn turning white. Even though Gilhael had no more idea than the Rohirrim what the Elves were saying he could see how it was affecting his younger cousin. He sighed, shook his head and then did the most remarkable thing. He turned toward Thandir and smacked him across the back of his head.

Everyone froze, even the twin Elves. Thandir turned slowly around to glare at the Dúnadan who glared equally back. "You are embarrassing the youngster here and being incredibly rude to your hosts," Gilhael admonished him in Westron, then shot a look of disapproval at the twins. "And Lord Elrond would be terribly disappointed in your behavior, my lords, as well you know."

"Not to mention Lord Glorfindel," Aragorn managed to put in, giving the Elves his own cool stare now that he had recovered from his shock and embarrassment at what had been said.

Oddly enough, the mention of Glorfindel’s name seemed to have more of an effect on the five Elves than Gilhael’s mention of Elrond, for they all visibly paled. Aragorn nodded in grim satisfaction and many noticed the twin Elves giving Earntungol looks of respect they had not thought to see from any of the Dwimmorfolc.

Thengel, noticing the interplay, gave Aragorn a shrewd look. "I would think that the ire of the Lord of Imladris would be more feared than that of this Lord Glorfindel."

Aragorn smiled at the looks of dismay on the Elves’ faces as he responded to Thengel’s comment. "Lord Elrond is indeed the Master of Imladris, but Lord Glorfindel is their Captain," he nodded towards the Elves. "And when your Captain fought and killed a balrog and died over sixty-four hundred years ago only to return from Mandos and be sent back to Middle-earth by the grace of the Powers, you have every reason to fear his wrath above all others."

The silence that followed that statement was palpable. Thengel found himself blinking several times in surprise, not sure how to respond to Aragorn’s words. Then the tension was broken by Théoden whispering rather loudly to his father from where he was seated with his sisters at the next table over. "Ada, what’s a balrog?"

For some reason that set the twin Elves laughing and as one they approached Thengel and bowed. "Forgive us, Thengel King," one of them said. "Gilhael and... Thorongil were correct in admonishing us. We crave pardon for our rudeness. I am Elladan, elder son of Elrond of Imladris. This is my twin, Elrohir."

"We welcome you, my lords," Thengel replied graciously, "though we regret that we are unable to greet you in our own hall."

Elladan gave an elegant shrug. "Were this a shepherd’s hut, my lord, it would matter not. It is not the place that gives dignity to the people who dwell therein, but the other way around. Those who sit in Meduseld have no honor and therefore their welcome would be meaningless were we to go there." Then he turned his grey eyes upon Théoden, who visibly gulped at being the center of attention. "As for a balrog, child," the Elrondion said, "it is a thing of flame and shadow and it is a wonder to us that anyone could have defeated such a foe, yet two there were who did so, though it cost them their lives."

Théodfrid wrinkled her nose. "But Ada," she protested, "how can anyone fight something that is only flame and shadow?"

Thengel looked to the Elves but none responded, their expressions cold and distant. He turned to his daughter. "That is a very good question, Théodfrid. Perhaps in the coming days we can all sit down together and discuss it. For now, though, we must needs greet our guests in the proper manner."

So saying, he turned to Morwen who had been quietly issuing orders while Thengel had been speaking with the Elves. Now she came around the table carrying a large, intricately carved, footed bowl in which wine had been poured. It was not a proper guesting cup but it was all they had on hand. Morwen slowly approached Gilhael and the Elves with grave dignity. Instinctively, she presented the bowl to Elladan first, sensing that he was perhaps the leader of the Elves by virtue of being the elder son of the fabled Lord of Imladris.

"Westu hâl, my lords," she said as she held out the bowl to Elladan. "Let you be welcomed to our hall, rude though it may be."

Elladan smiled broadly and bowed over the proffered bowl, then, taking the bowl, he spoke in flawless Rohirric, much to the amazement of many. "To the lady of the hall we give thee thanks for thy fair greeting. To the lord of the hall we give thee our friðborh. May Béma bless all who dwell within this hall." With that he drank deeply before handing the bowl to his brother, who then handed it to Thandir. Eventually the bowl came to Gilhael, who bowed to Morwen before draining the bowl of what was left of the wine. Morwen then accepted the bowl back as Elladan addressed the king once more.

"Now, I think your lady wife has stood long enough, Thengel King," the Elf-lord said with a gentle smile to Morwen, who blushed prettily at his regard. "Perhaps we may join you at table, for we did not stop to eat this day since breaking our fast at dawn, intent as we were on reaching Dunharrow this night."

Thengel assented. There was much shuffling of bodies and benches to make room for the new arrivals, but no one minded. Soon all were seated. Additional trenchers were brought out and for a time Gilhael and the Elves concentrated on eating while everyone else sat and watched in silence. Before it became too uncomfortable for them all, Aragorn spoke up, addressing a question to Thandir.

"How did you even know to come to Dunharrow, rather than to Edoras?" he asked.

Thandir gave the Dúnadan a brief smile. "We...er... found one of Thengel King’s scouts," he explained as he gave a nod towards the king, who raised an eyebrow but otherwise did not respond, "as we approached the Snowbourn."

"Actually," Elrohir said with a faint smile on his lips, "Gilhael found him for us by tripping over the poor Man."

Gilhael choked on his half-swallowed wine, sputtering with indignation. "I never did!" he protested. "I knew precisely where he was."

All five Elves gave him cool disbelieving stares. "Then all that shouting, cursing and thrashing about on your part was solely for our benefit, was it?" Thandir asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Gilhael effected a surprised look, as if the answer were obvious. "But of course!" he exclaimed. "You Elves were much too busy hugging trees and singing hymns to Elbereth to pay attention to anything that was going on around you."

"I’m sure the poor soul you stumbled over did not appreciate the difference," Elrohir retorted with such a bland expression that Aragorn found himself snorting wine as he tried not to laugh. The other Elves merely smiled as Gilhael turned red and muttered half-heard imprecations in Adûnaic, of which ‘nûphî’ and ‘urukthôrî’ were the mildest.

The Rohirrim exchanged bemused looks while Thengel and Morwen shared an amused smiled between them. "Be that as it may," Thengel then said in a dry tone, "we hope that you left our scout more or less intact."

Elrohir smiled. "Fear not, Thengel King!" the younger son of Elrond said, "Halga was well when we left him, if a bit bruised."

"I am glad to hear that," Thengel replied. "We bid you welcome to Dunharrow, especially on this night and we hope you will gift us with the tales of your adventures, for we feared it might have gone ill with you, Lord Tungolfród, especially after your cousin experienced a foretelling that disturbed him."

Gilhael gave Aragorn a worried look. "I assure you, Cousin, that all is well with me."

Aragorn nodded, clapping the older Man on the shoulder. "And right glad I am that you are. Your returning to us is a gift unlooked for and we give thanks to the Powers for your safe return."

"There is one thing that must be done ere you tell us your tales, my lord," Thengel announced. "We crave your indulgence." Gilhael and the Elves gave Thengel gracious nods and the king continued. "Though we are in straitened measures this Yule, I would not let this night pass without something for the children." He gestured to Alric who nodded once, stood and went to the kitchen. Shortly after, he returned with a number of others, all cooks or kitchen assistants, carrying large trays of traditional Yule sweets: ginger biscuits, two yule log cakes, and candied fruit, though these last were made from dried fruits rather than fresh. The children didn’t mind. They all squealed and clapped their hands, oohing and aahing as the trays were passed around and each child was allowed one biscuit and one fruit. The cakes were carefully cut into small pieces and handed out. What was left over was shared by the adults.

Aragorn noticed the indulgent smiles on the faces of the Elves as they watched the children enjoy their treat. Elrohir turned to him and winked. Aragorn smiled back, remembering his own excitement over Yule as a child, the only child, in Imladris. He wondered if, before he and his naneth had come to live there, the Elves had ever bothered to celebrate Yule in quite the manner in which it was celebrated as he was growing up. Thinking of the way the Elves around him had responded to him he began to realize what Thandir had meant when he had told Aragorn how his coming to Imladris had saved their souls.

When the children had finished their treats and the traditional songs had been sung bidding in the New Year and the blessings of Lord Béma and all the Powers, the children were hustled out of the hall and towards their beds, much to their disappointment, but the rest of the evening was for the adults and soon all the children were safely abed. Mulled cider was replaced by spiced wine and ale as the adults settled comfortably in their seats, nibbling on what little of the feast remained.

Thengel looked out across the hall and sighed inwardly. This was not Meduseld but they were his people and it was enough... for now. He turned his gaze upon Gilhael and the Elves. "And now, my lords, perhaps you will entertain us with your tales, for we are curious to know what has happened and also I would fain have news of the Westmark and what fares there. How fare the men at Helm’s Deep? How is my nephew, Hilderic?"

Thandir spoke. "Your nephew is well, Thengel King, have no fear. He and his men were all well and send their best wishes and hopes for a quick resolution to all your problems."

Thengel nodded. "I am relieved to hear it. But come, let us hear your tales now."

The Elves looked at each other and then at Gilhael. He nodded and stood, moving towards the center of the hall so all could see and hear him. He took a sip from his tankard of ale and then began his tale.

****

Friðborh: (Rohirric/Anglo-Saxon) Peace-pledge; surety that one comes in peace.

Nûphî: (Adûnaic) Fools.

Urîkthôrî: (Adûnaic) Sons of Orcs.

Note: Aragorn states that Glorfindel died over 6400 years ago. For those wondering how this is calculated: Gondolin was destroyed and Glorfindel died in the year 512 of the First Age and that Age ended in 590, so 78 years. The Second Age lasted 3434 years and this story takes place in the years 2957-58 of the Third Age. Thus, 78 + 3434 + 2958 = 6470 years.

33: The Dúnadan’s Cousin’s Tale

"As some of you know," Gilhael began, "there have been signs of orc incursions into the Westmark along with the usual Dunlending attacks."

Several of the listeners nodded. Rumors of orcs possibly hiding in the White Mountains had spread through the encampment and Gilhael’s words merely confirmed them.

"With the approval of Marshal Hilderic," Gilhael continued, "I went to the Westmark with Háma, Guthwulf and Éobeorht." The Rohirrim nodded again as Gilhael named his companions, for these three were well respected for their tracking and scouting skills. "We searched for signs of the orcs and Dunlendings crossing back over the Isen but there were none. At last we made our way southward until we came nigh to the abandoned village of Æsctun, as I learned had been its name. It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps that was where the orcs were hiding, since no one had ever gone back to the village once it had been abandoned. I decided to sneak into the village to see what I might discover and..."

"A foolish endeavor, Cousin," Aragorn interrupted sternly, his eyes dark, "and a dangerous one. Had our Chieftain been there he would have forbidden it."

"And gone in my place instead?" Gilhael retorted with some heat, refusing to back down.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at his cousin’s tone, but refused to be baited. The tension between the two Men was palpable and some wondered at what was being intimated by their words. Thengel noticed how the Elves had gone very still at the beginning of the exchange and that gave him much food for thought. Gilhael finally broke eye contact with Aragorn and sighed, closing his eyes momentarily before looking at his Chieftain again. "Your pardon, Cousin. You are, of course, correct. It was foolish and dangerous and I nearly paid for my folly with my life."

"That you appear to have survived relatively unscathed," Aragorn conceded, "gladdens me, though when Háma told us what you had done, I could have cheerfully throttled you right then and there."

Everyone chuckled at that and the mood lightened somewhat. Gilhael just snorted. "I didn’t say I came out of it unscathed, merely alive."

Aragorn grinned at that, nodding. "Say on, then, Cousin. Let us hear what befell you."

Gilhael nodded, taking another sip from his goblet before continuing. "The village was a ruin, most of the houses burned to the ground, though there were some that were still relatively intact. The main feasting hall was less damaged than I thought it might be and I realized that was where the orcs most likely were holed up during the day. As for where the Dunlendings might be hiding...."

****

Gilhael waited until Ithil was hidden behind clouds before slipping into the village. Ithil’s light was dimmer than it had been only a few days before as his light was steadily being swallowed up, but it was still bright enough to show him to any sentry that the Dunlendings might have. He had to agree with the assessment of the Rohirrim: the idea of these Dunlendings having any kind of discipline as to set up a watch was rather ludicrous, but the fact that they were allying themselves with orcs was another matter entirely. Orcs were brutish and deadly but some of them were nearly as intelligent as any Man and capable of thinking past the next kill. It was possible that at least one of the orcs had enough brains to order a watch, so he had kept to shadows as he moved slowly towards the ruins.

Dark clouds scuttled across the midnight sky, blocking the light and he took his chance, moving silently as only a Ranger could move, passing between two burned-out houses. So far he had seen no other signs of life. He doubted the Dunlendings were holed up with the orcs. Whatever alliance held them together, it would not hold them so tightly that the Men would comfortably rest beside any orc. No, he surmised, the Dunlendings would be elsewhere, perhaps scattered amongst the less damaged buildings. He cast an eye about, deciding to move towards the center of the village where the feasting hall would be. He needed to ascertain the strength of the marauders and then escape back to the others. Hilderic and Aragorn needed to know and sooner rather than later.

The clouds proved cooperative and kept Ithil’s light from shining through. He took a quick look about and then shifted his location one deep shadow at a time, making his inexorable way towards the feasting hall which towered over all the rest of the village. He could see that the hall had sustained heavy damage, but it was not entirely ruinous. Coming from the northwest, he could not see if the main doors, which faced east, were still intact, however he could see where parts of the roof had fallen in and the gable at this end of the hall was gone.

Gilhael stopped suddenly as the moon peeked out from under cloud cover, bathing the landscape with an eerie white light that cast more shadows than anything else. He crouched beside a fallen beam, and kept his senses alert. He had heard nothing, seen no one and yet...

Every hair on his body prickled and he felt himself shivering for no particular reason. Then Ithil went behind clouds once again and the feeling of dread fled, he knew not where. Making a decision, he went to all fours and slowly crawled towards the hall. If this was like any other hall of the Rohirrim, there should be space between the floor and ground used for storage of dry goods and weapons. It might be possible to sneak under the raised flooring and learn what he needed to know. He had to trust to luck and the Valar that these storage areas were not otherwise occupied....

****

"You were going to sneak into the hall?" Aragorn asked incredulously.

Gilhael gave his cousin and lord an annoyed look. "Not into the hall, Cousin," he replied in exasperation, "under it." He was at pains to emphasize that last so there was no mistake as to the distinction, but Aragorn either couldn’t, or more likely, wouldn’t see the difference.

The Dúnadan turned to Thandir, his expression puzzled. "Do you think those... episodes he’s been having lately... of blanking out at odd moments, I mean... have affected his ability to reason coherently?"

Thandir gave the Mortal an indecipherable look. "Anything is possible, child," the Elf said with grave sagacity, "but that is not to say that something is probable. I suspect that Gilhael was merely acting as every other Ranger of the Dúnedain I have ever known tends to act, and I’ve known them all since Aranarth became your first Chieftain."

"And how do they act?" one of the sons of Elrond asked in curiosity, though it was obvious from his expression that he already knew the answer and agreed with it.

Thandir turned to Elladan with a smile. "Why, with thoughtless abandon for their or anyone else’s safety."

"That is true," Elladan said with a nod. "I well remember Aragorn," — no one but the Elves noticed the Dúnadan’s start at hearing his name, their attention fixed on the conversation between the Firstborn — "getting himself killed protecting the Breelanders from an incursion out of Angmar." He shook his head, his eyes full of sorrow. "His son Arglas was not yet of age. He was still being fostered in Imladris when his father died in my arms. One of his uncles acted as his steward until he reached his majority."

"Ah, yes, I remember that," Thandir said, his expression equally sad "It wasn’t so long ago either... only about six hundred years...." His immortal eyes swept the hall before lighting on Aragorn. "And still the Dúnedain are reckless to a fault."

Aragorn forced himself not to squirm under the Elf’s regard. He was saved from responding by Gilhael clearing his throat and giving Thandir a sour look. "Do you want to hear my tale or are we going to spend the evening discussing the history of the Chieftains of the Dúnedain?"

Thengel laughed. "As much as I find this discussion of ancient history interesting," — he studiously ignored the shocked looks of the Elves at the word ancient — "I much prefer to hear what happened to you, Tungolfród."

"As do I," Aragorn said. "Our ancestors’ foibles are not the issue here. Let us hear the rest of your adventures, Cousin, for I would fain also hear how Thandir and his fellows found you and as well I would hear the reason for the sons of Elrond being here rather than in Imladris... where they belong." He gave his elven brothers a rather pointed look that did not go unnoticed by some of the Rohirrim, especially Thengel.

"All in good time, Estel," Elrohir said with a gentle smile, ignoring his brother’s tone. "It’s best to tell our tales in their proper order."

"Then let us hear it," Thengel said, his voice decisive, as he nodded to Gilhael to continue.

Gilhael gave the King of Rohan a brief bow, then straightened, taking another sip of his ale before speaking. "I was in luck," he said, "for when I reached the hall I discovered that part of the northwestern wall had caved in just enough to allow me entry into the cellars beneath the hall...."

****

The timbers holding up the floor at this end of the hall were charred but not ruined. However, part of the wall had caved in, allowing ingress to the cellars. Gilhael stepped carefully, being mindful of the orcs above him. He could just make out a buzzing sound that he decided must be voices speaking further in and up. He was wishing for more light to see his way when the clouds parted and Ithil shone forth again. His light did not reach where Gilhael was, but the sky brightened, allowing him to see somewhat better. Much of these spaces were empty, but he needed to be careful nonetheless.

As far as he could determine he was approaching the center of the west wall of the hall, staying well away from the actual center where the fire pit would normally stand. Even with what little light there was he could see that that part of the hall had suffered the most damage and parts of the flooring had either caved in or simply disappeared. Anyone above would have to walk around the gap. No, he was actually near the west door and could see that sections of the foundation wall here were also in ruins. There were gaps in the structure which made his location more exposed than he liked but he didn’t dare move too much further in. There was a set of steps leading to the entrance and he was just behind them. He could now make out individual words being spoken above him, all in Westron, but only when someone shouted, otherwise what he heard was meaningless and he forced himself not to sigh in frustration.

Then luck, or something else, came his way. A set of footsteps thudded hollowly above him, and he heard the door opening and feet pounding the steps until a cloaked figure made his way around the stairs and stood facing him. The Ranger didn’t move and quickly slitted his eyes to keep the whites from showing without losing track of the figure. He thought perhaps he had been discovered and was prepared to take as many as he could before death found him. The Man, for now Gilhael could see it was indeed a Dunlending, was fumbling with something at his waist and the Ranger was sure he was going for his sword but instead there was a sigh almost of relief from the Man’s lips and Gilhael suddenly heard the hot hiss of urine striking the ground just before him.

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud at the very ordinariness of the situation, but even as he was stifling his laughter he was planning his next move. The Man finished relieving himself and again fumbled at the lacings of his breeches as he began to turn away. That is when Gilhael attacked, moving silently behind, pulling his knife from his belt and striking the Dunlending in the head with its hilt, rendering him unconscious. It was only a matter of minutes before he had dragged the hapless Man under the hall. He removed the Dunlending’s cloak and tied him up using the Man’s own belt, wrapping it around a post so it would be impossible for him to escape and gagging him as well, for he would not kill in cold blood. Then he removed his own cloak and threw it over the Dunlending to hide him further, grabbing the Dunlending’s cloak and putting it on him as he moved back towards the steps. He threw the hood up and made his way up the steps and inside the hall where....

****

"You did WHAT!" Aragorn cried in disbelief, leaping up in shock. Then, before anyone could act, he was upon Gilhael, grabbing him by the shoulders, shaking him and screaming at him in Adûnaic. Wídfara, who had been sitting next to the Dúnadan, was stunned by the anger his sweordbroðor was exhibiting. The Man was clearly incensed and not even speaking a language the young Rohir understood. The harshness of the syllables told him that Earntungol was not speaking any Elvish language. He could only make out a couple of words, and only because they tended to be repeated several times. One word sounded like noof and the other ooreek but their meanings escaped him.

The quickness of Aragorn’s attack on Gilhael was such that most were still staring in stunned surprise even after several seconds. However, the Elves were less impressed by what they were witnessing. Celegrýn and Gilgirion sat there motionless, their expressions bordering on boredom. Thandir gave a sigh and rolled his eyes at the twin sons of Elrond, both of whom had identical unreadable expressions on their faces. Finally, one of them, Elrohir as it turned out, stood up and went over to where Aragorn and Gilhael were shouting at one another, grabbed the backs of their heads and banged them together.

"Ow! What did you do that for, Elrohir?" Aragorn and Gilhael said almost at the same time, their expressions dazed. Gilhael even reeled a bit and would have fallen save for the fact that Elrohir was holding him steady with a single hand on the Man’s arm. The Elf did not appear to notice Gilhael’s weight as he sagged; he might as well have been holding up a feather for all the effect Gilhael had on him. If it hadn’t been so serious, it would have been funny, but Wídfara noticed that no one was laughing, least of all the Elves, and stealing a quick glance at Thengel, neither was the King. Elrohir merely stared at the two Mortals with an expression of disdain marring his fair immortal face.

"I weary of your histrionics, Estel," the Elf said coldly and everyone saw the young Dúnadan pale at the reprimand. "While Gilhael’s actions were... ludicrous to the extreme, they weren’t anything you wouldn’t have done in his place, so please let’s not pretend otherwise."

For the longest moment there was complete silence. Finally, Thengel cleared his throat and all turned their attention to him. His face was grim, though Wídfara thought he detected a glint of amusement deep in the king’s eyes. "I do not countenance the attacking of one of my Riders by another, however justified, Lord Thorongil," Thengel said softly, which just made his reprimand sound a hundred times worse than if he’d shouted. "You owe me, your cousin and this hall an apology for your unwarranted behavior."

Aragorn glanced at Gilhael and then at Elrohir, neither of whom gave away of what they were thinking, before turning back to Thengel, giving the king a bow. "I beg pardon, my lord, for my... rashness," he said quietly, yet without hesitation. "I fear the thought of my beloved cousin placing himself in such danger overrode my good sense." He turned to Gilhael, his expression more chagrined. "Please forgive me, Cousin, for my harsh words. You know how much I love you and would not want any evil to befall you."

"Yet, it did not," Elrohir said with inexorable logic, "for does he not stand before you, hale of body, if not necessarily of mind?" The last was said with such studied drollness that most of the listeners did not catch it. Aragorn, however, gave his elven brother a searching look and then recognizing the truth of the Elf’s words, nodded and bowed to him.

"You are, of course, correct, Lord Elrohir," he said formally. "I thank you for pointing out the error of my thinking."

Elrohir merely nodded but said nothing, the weight of twenty-eight centuries behind his air of authority as he looked upon this scion of his Uncle Elros whom he loved as his own brother, but whom he would not let get away with unwarranted behavior.

Then Aragorn turned to the rest of the hall. "And I crave pardon of you all," he said with another bow. "My actions were uncalled for and I regret my loss of temper. It will not happen again." This last was said more towards Thengel, who nodded his acceptance of Aragorn’s apology.

"Then it is forgiven and forgotten," Thengel said. "Come then," he reached over and took up a flagon of mead, pouring some into his own goblet. "Let you both drink from my cup in token of your reconciliation one with the other and with me."

Aragorn gave Gilhael, who had not spoken all this time, a glance and his cousin nodded. Together they stepped forward as Thengel rose with goblet in hand. The King addressed the entire hall. "Oft anger clouds reason between those whom we call kin, for blood calls to blood and fear for our loved ones can bring even the most sanguine of us to a state of wrath. It is the wise man who recognizes this tendency within himself and guards against it." He looked pointedly at Aragorn, who merely nodded. "Drink then in pledge of this: that you will endeavor not to kill your cousin in our presence again. At least wait until after we have left the hall."

Aragorn was not sure he had heard the king correctly and looked to Gilhael, who seemed equally uncertain as to what Thengel had just said. Turning back to the king, however, he saw the glint of humor in Thengel’s eyes and realized that, though his words were to be taken seriously, no breach of the king’s peace was intimated. Wídfara stifled a giggle from where he was seated and several other’s were smiling outright as Thengel offered his cup, first to Aragorn, who then offered it to Gilhael after drinking a third of its contents. Gilhael drank another third and then returned the goblet to Thengel who drained it in a single gulp.

"This matter between you and me is settled," Thengel stated as he sat down. "Now, I believe Tungolfród was about to do something both brave and foolish," he said with a smile. "Shall we hear him out ere we judge just how brave or foolish he truly was?"

Aragorn nodded, smiling shyly. "Aye, lord, let us even so."

"Lord Elrohir," Thengel then said, turning his attention to the younger son of Elrond. "We thank you for your timely intervention in restoring peace in our hall."

"The pleasure was all mine, Thengel King," Elrohir responded with a slight nod of his head, his mouth quirking at the corners in amusement.

Thengel nodded. "So now, let us resume listening to your tale, Tungolfród," he said. "I confess me that I’ve not been so entertained in many a long evening of late."

The others in the hall muttered their agreements to this statement and Gilhael bowed to the king as Aragorn and Elrohir returned to their seats. "As I was saying before I was so... er... rudely interrupted..." — soft laughter rang through the hall at that while Aragorn blushed again — "I entered the hall, keeping to the shadows, which were many for no fire had been lit. By now it was close to dawn and I knew I could not remain very long but I still hoped to learn something to our benefit. In the dimness of the light I counted a handful of orcs and perhaps four Dunlendings. They were apparently arguing as to where they should strike next. The orcs seemed to want to go further east while the Dunlendings were more inclined to head south...."

****

Gilhael kept as far away from the others as possible without seeming not to be a part of the group since he obviously should be. His main worry would be being noticed. He had no idea who the Man was whom he was replacing. He did not know if the Dunlending was an important leader of the group or a mere guard. So he tried to remain unobtrusive and gather as much information as possible. He was in luck in that other Dunlendings were standing about with their hoods up against the frigid temperature within the hall, but it was the only piece of luck he was to find, for whatever the final decision would be as to the course these marauders would take, he was doomed never to hear it.

One of the Dunlendings who had been talking turned half towards him. "What say you, Ulrad?" the Man asked. "Should we not head south rather than east?"

It took a fatal moment for Gilhael to realize that he was supposed to be this Ulrad. It didn’t matter that he did not answer, for it became abundantly clear to everyone there that he was not Ulrad when the dawn light came streaming through the slits between the timbers and open gaps in the east wall and illuminated everything. The orcs gave a shout and the Dunlendings weren’t far behind. Gilhael drew out his sword and struck down two Men and an orc before he was able to bolt for the door, praying that he would be able to escape the village. He made it down the steps and kept running without looking back, weaving between the burned-out buildings and dodging Men still blinded by sleep and the rising sun. It did not take long for them to realize what the to-do was about, however, and now Gilhael found he had to avoid being shot in the back as black-fletched arrows went whirring by him.

He cleared the village and headed straight for the Isen. It never occurred to him to run towards the other scouts. In fact, he simply assumed that they had actually followed his orders and left him....

****

"Háma said you were nearly at the river by the time he and the others were making their way from their campsite, but they did not wait to see if you’d made it," Aragorn told him.

Gilhael nodded. "It does not really surprise me that they endangered themselves by staying until it was almost too late," he stated equably. "I am only glad they had the good sense not to try to effect a rescue. That would have been suicide."

Thengel gave him a considering look. "Would you have obeyed such an order yourself, given the same circumstances?"

Gilhael shook his head. "Nay," he replied with a grin, "but then, I’m merely a reckless Ranger." He stole a look at the Elves whose expressions gave nothing away as to their thoughts. "Anyway, even if I were sure they were still at the campsite," he added, "I wouldn’t have led the Dunlendings towards them. Drawing the enemy after me was their only hope of leaving the area undetected."

Thengel nodded, satisfied by Gilhael’s answer.

"So did you make it to the river?" Wídfara asked impatiently, wanting to hear the end of the tale.

Gilhael chuckled along with the others in the hall. Even the Elves gave the young Man amused looks. "Aye, lad," the Ranger said. "I made it to the river, but only barely and I did not escape the Dunlendings cleanly....

****

Gilhael refused to look back, knowing such a move would slow him down, perhaps fatally. From the shouting coming from behind him, though, it was obvious the Dunlendings were in full pursuit. He did not think the orcs had followed now that Anor was up, but he would not discount it either. He was panting from the exertion now. The cloak had been long abandoned and now he was reluctantly divesting himself of sword and belt without bothering to slow down. He would have to wait until he was in the river before removing his boots, but he needed to be as unencumbered as possible if he were to succeed in escaping capture or death.

The sounds of pursuit were getting louder and the arrows were getting closer to their mark. Gilhael was almost at the river when he felt a burning pain in his back. Stifling a scream, he stumbled as waves of agony threatened to engulf him. He fought to stay conscious now that his goal was only a few feet away.

Then a second arrow found its mark in his upper right shoulder. This time he did scream, losing his balance at the edge of the bank. As he fought to right himself, he fell headlong into the river, banging his head on some driftwood, and then he knew nothing more...

****

"Well you obviously didn’t die," Aragorn said sardonically, giving his cousin a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Not for lack of trying, though," Thandir quipped before Gilhael could respond to Aragorn’s words. This set everyone laughing.

"So what happened next?" Wídfara asked but before Gilhael could respond Thandir stood.

"Nay, good Wídfara," the Elf said with a smile for the young Man. "The next part of this tale is ours to tell." He gestured to the other Elves who all nodded.

The young Rohir sighed dramatically even as Gilhael bowed to Thandir and took his seat next to Aragorn. The other Rohirrim grinned as goblets were filled with more mead or ale and legs were stretched until all were once again settled. Then Thandir took the floor and with a brief bow to Thengel he began to speak.

****

Æsctun: Ash-tree town.

Note: Aragorn I was killed in T.A. 2327, 631 years earlier. The manner of his death and the regency of his heir are non-canon.

The words in Adûnaic that Wídfara heard as ‘noof’ and ‘ooreek’ are nûph ‘fool’ and urîk ‘orcs’.

34: Being the First Part of the Elves’ Tale:

The Meeting of Friends, the Death of Enemies

Warning: This chapter contains scenes of a battle between the Elves and the orcs and Dunlendings. While not overly graphic, the scenes are intense. Elves do not fight pretty.

****

"We came upon the campsite that Gilhael and the others had made just west and north of the ruined village," Thandir began without preamble. He gave Aragorn a bright smile. "Perhaps while you are here, Estel, Thengel might have you and Gilhael teach his warriors how to hide the evidence of their presence in the wilds more completely. I could have found that campsite blind, it was so obvious."

"But then, you’re an Elf, Thandir," Aragorn replied equably with his own bright smile. "And we all know that Elves are notorious for doing things blindly."

Gilhael snorted the ale he was downing and there were many in the hall who sat there blinking rapidly in disbelief at the interchange. Thandir walked towards Aragorn, his smile never leaving his face. Aragorn, for his part, just waited, not at all surprised when the Noldo grabbed the front of his tunic and lifted him easily to his feet. "Not so blindly, child, that I cannot see thy sally for what it is," the Elf said softly, though all in the hall heard.

"And what is that?" Aragorn asked just as softly.

But Thandir did not answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at Thengel. "Is he always so annoying, Thengel King?"

Thengel raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Mayhap no more so than thou’rt unto thine own lord methinks, Thandir of Imladris."

At that Thandir threw back his head and laughed, releasing Aragorn as he did. Elladan raised his goblet and saluted Thengel. "I can attest to that, Thengel King," he said with a light laugh. "Adar is always having Thandir before him to answer for one misdeed or another." His twin chuckled in agreement.

Thandir turned to the Elrondionnnath with a scowl. "Misdeeds often of your making, Little Ones," he retorted. "I remember well the two of you on a certain trip overmountain and the..."

Both sons of Elrond visibly cringed at that, much to the amazement of the onlookers, but then Aragorn actually chuckled, though he quickly wiped the look of glee off his face when all the Elves turned their immortal eyes upon him. Elladan stood up and gave his mortal brother a hard stare.

"How do you..."

Now Aragorn surreptitiously started backing away, but Thandir, though his eyes were on Elladan, reached out and grabbed Aragorn before he could move too far, forcing the young Man to stand his ground.

"Hm... well... er... when I was traveling with... um... Lords Elrond and Glorfindel last year... it... um... sort of slipped out."

"It sort of slipped out?" Elrohir echoed the words in disbelief, rising to stand beside his brother.

Aragorn nodded, wishing he’d kept quiet, but when Thandir mentioned the incident in question he couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of his adar and Glorfindel telling the tale. The twins stared at one another, silently communicating. No one else moved or made a sound, too enthralled by the drama being played out before them. Finally, Elrohir smiled evilly. "I’m going to kill him," he said softly.

"Who? Ada?" Elladan asked in confusion.

Elrohir shook his head. "Glorfindel."

"But only if I get to play," his twin replied with an equally evil smile.

"And why would you go after Glorfindel and not your adar?" Thandir asked out of curiosity, still keeping his hold on Aragorn, much to the young Man’s annoyance. "Lord Elrond I suspect is the one who told young Estel the tale, not Glorfindel."

"But Glorfindel is an easier target," Elrohir stated. "You know Ada is off-limits."

"I know no such thing, youngling," the scout retorted with a laugh that was echoed by Gilgirion and Celegrýn. "You are too young to remember the times Glorfindel and Erestor and your naneth harried your adar with their own brand of revenge whenever Elrond played a jest on them."

Now both twins stared at the older elf in disbelief. "Naneth?" Elladan asked, his expression unreadable. "Ada?" Elrohir asked at the same time, his own mien blank as well.

Thandir’s expression softened, becoming sad and wistful, his eyes darkening with pain that was so deep it was frightening to see and many of the Mortals had to look away. "Yes, your naneth," he finally said, speaking softly, "and your adar wasn’t so above it all that he did not play his own jests on others," he added, his eyes brightening as his humor was restored. "While your adar’s jests were rather subtle, he was nonetheless quite deadly in his execution of them."

Elrohir was shaking his head. "Rather hard to believe Ada...."

"Ah, but, you know him only as a great healer, youngling," Celegrýn chimed in with a gentle smile. "You never saw Elrond as Gil-galad’s Herald and Second-in-Command of the armies of the Elves during the Last Alliance. Your adar, for all that he has not lifted a sword for nearly three thousand years, is a cunning and consummate warrior in his own right. Never forget that."

Both sons of Elrond nodded, looking more introspective. Thandir, meanwhile, released his hold on Aragorn and cleared his throat. "Now, where was I... ah, yes," His eyes glinted with amusement as he glanced at Thengel. "Please forgive this little... er... interruption, Thengel King," he said with a bow. "I fear I allowed myself to be... um... sidetracked."

Thengel bowed his head graciously. "Not that it hasn’t been entertaining," he replied with a sardonic smile, "but we are more interested in hearing what happened in the Westmark than in the doings of the household of Imladris."

The reprimand, for such it was, was accepted by the Elves and Aragorn with good grace and bows to the king. Aragorn and the sons of Elrond resumed their seats while Thandir returned to the center of the hall to resume his narrative. "We avoided the village for the time being," he said, "preferring to see if we could follow Gilhael’s trail to the river. It wasn’t hard to find even after nearly a week. The Dunlendings’ trail followed the river only for a short while before returning to the village. We suspect they only followed Gilhael long enough to convince themselves that he was dead." He gave a look of disgust. "Fools!"

"But understandable under the circumstances," Thengel rejoined. "It would have been a reasonable assumption on their part that Tungolfród was dead and the Isen flows swift there below the Fords. They would not have been able to keep up with a body caught in the river’s current."

Thandir shrugged, not really caring. "At any rate," he continued, "we had a bigger problem than finding Gilhael’s body, if indeed he was even dead."

"And what problem was that?" Wídfara asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. He would have thought looking for Gilhael would be the Elves’ chief concern. It was, after all, why they had gone in the first place.

Before Thandir could answer though, Aragorn spoke. "The village, Wídfara," he stated simply. "Thandir couldn’t leave the threat of the orcs and Dunlendings holed up in the village unaddressed. It would have been foolish for them to do so."

"But three Elves?" the young Rohir retorted in disbelief.

"Five, actually," Elladan said then.

"Ah... I was wondering where you two came into this tale," Aragorn said with a nod, "though I fail to see how you come to be here at all, for when Gilhael and I were leaving Imladris to come to Rohan you were both planning to travel to Mithlond later in the autumn to see Círdan. I believe Lord Elrond had a mission for you."

Elladan nodded. "And we were halfway to Mithlond, but then...we both had the feeling we were needed... elsewhere."

"You abandoned your mission to Círdan to come here?" Aragorn asked in disbelief, looking between Thandir and the twins. Gilhael, he noticed, was making a point of not looking at any of them, but then Aragorn realized his cousin had already heard all this.

"Not exactly abandoned," Elrohir stated in a reasonable tone, "just... um... postponed."

"I truly want to be present when you explain that to Lord Elrond and Lord Círdan," Aragorn finally said with a wicked grin and was pleased to see the twins flinch slightly, though he doubted any of the Rohirrim noticed. Except, he amended to himself, possibly Thengel; he was beginning to suspect that little escaped the eye of Rohan’s king.

"Well, be that as it may," Thandir now interjected with an amused smile, "Celegrýn, Gilgirion and I were making plans to deal with the orcs and Dunlendings that we knew were still inside the ruins when these two" — he gave a nod towards Elladan and Elrohir — "showed up, large as life, as the saying goes...."

****

The three Elves had timed their arrival to where Gilhael and the Rohirric scouts had set up camp for just before dawn, knowing that those in the village would be less vigilant and these Elves, Thandir especially, had the ability to move unseen by Mortal eyes. The three of them grimaced. They could practically smell the orcs hiding nearby and their blood ran cold with fury barely contained. Thandir well remembered the Dagor Bragollach and he unconsciously fingered the long knife hanging from his belt as he stood guard with bow and arrow while Celegrýn and Gilgirion set up their campsite.

"When do you want to attack?" Gilgirion asked suddenly, eyeing his captain shrewdly, as he went about the task of making breakfast.

Thandir took the time to steal a glance at the younger Elf and smiled. "Are you so sure we should attack?" he asked even as he continued his vigilance.

Now Gilgirion snorted and Celegrýn grinned widely. "That’s a rhetorical question, I will assume?" Gilgirion asked without looking up from the fire.

Thandir shrugged, not willing to answer either yea or nay to that. Celegrýn was about to comment when they all stiffened. Thandir, who had been looking southeast towards the ruined village, now moved decisively to face northwest. The other two Elves flanked him, their bows strung and arrows nocked. They saw two riders at the Fords, some leagues away, though even they could not tell who the riders were at that distance. It was several minutes before they realized they were seeing two Elves heading unerringly towards them. Thandir had to consciously remember to close his mouth as the two sons of Elrond rode up, identical smiles on their faces.

"Mae govannen, Thandir, Celegrýn, Gilgirion," Elladan greeted them as the two leaped lightly off their steeds. "It’s been, what, nearly ten years since last we saw any of you?"

"Mae govannen, Elladan, Elrohir," Thandir returned their greeting, giving them both a warrior’s embrace. "Might I enquire as to what brings you to the borders of the lands of the Horselords?" he asked blandly.

"Yrch," Elrohir muttered darkly, staring southward.

The three Noldor gave the sons of their lord measuring looks. Thandir frowned. "How did you know..."

"We did not," Elladan said with a shake of his head, "until now. We only knew that we were needed somewhere in Rohan. Estel..."

"Is well," Thandir assured them. "He is in Helm’s Deep, but Gilhael had a run-in with what lurks in that village yonder. The last anyone saw of him he was heading for the river." He pointed to the southwest. Elladan and Elrohir narrowed their eyes.

"He has not been found?" Elrohir asked.

Thandir shook his head. "Nay. His tracks clearly lead to the river and then stop. We found traces of blood just at the riverbank. We think he was shot with at least one arrow, then fell into the river, for there are signs that he struggled for balance before falling in. Those chasing him apparently decided he was dead and did not follow."

"And you are not even now searching for Estel’s cousin, why?" Elrohir retorted somewhat accusingly.

Thandir merely smiled at the younger Elf. "As you said, ‘yrch’." He pointed to the ruined village. "Yrch a Gwathuirim."

"They still hide there, then," Elladan said.

"We were just deciding how to take them when you showed up," Celegrýn said without expression.

"And with your usual impeccable timing," Gilgirion added with a small smile, "as we were also just about to break our fast."

Elladan grinned. "Thought you’d never ask."

The three scouts laughed lightly at that and soon all but Thandir were sitting around the fire, sharing bowls of porridge and mugs of hot sweetened tea. Celegrýn and Gilgirion brought the Elrondionnath up to date while Thandir remained on guard, accepting only a mug of tea while chewing on some lembas.  When the twins had been apprised of all that had been happening in Rohan, they sat there in silent thought. Finally, Elrohir addressed Thandir. "What exactly did you do to Estel?"

Thandir turned to the younger son of Elrond with a surprised look. "What makes you think I did anything to him?"

"Thandir," Elrohir replied, "you are a Noldo of great power though you hide it behind a façade of being but a lowly scout for Imladris. But we know that Ada relies on you for more than just your tracking abilities and Daeradar and Daernaneth treat you with greater respect than a mere scout deserves, almost as if you were their equal. So, yes, I’m rather of the opinion that you stopped Estel with more than your winning personality and wit."

Thandir raised an eyebrow at the younger Elf’s tone. "I assure you, I did nothing to the lad that will affect him too adversely."

Neither twin spoke for a time. "That’s saying much yet not enough," Elladan finally stated, "but I suspect you will not be any more forthcoming with details than that."

Thandir shrugged, not really interested in continuing with the conversation. "When you see Estel you may judge for yourselves. At the moment, I am more interested in what to do with the enemy. We cannot search for Gilhael until we’ve neutralized the threat these have over the Westmark."

"Orcs and Dunlendings together," Elrohir remarked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"A strange marriage to say the least," Celegrýn allowed. "I fear there is more to it than we know."

"Perhaps," Thandir conceded, "but let us concentrate our attention on eliminating them and worry about why they are working together later."

To that the others agreed and while the day lengthened towards dusk they sifted through several ideas, abandoning most of them but holding off an opinion on one or two until they were satisfied that the plan they finally devised was the best option available.

"We will strike just before dawn then," Thandir summed up their plans. "Let us prepare ourselves then for the coming battle."

With that they spent the remainder of their time before setting off honing their blades and rechecking their bows and arrows. An hour before dawn they left the camp and made their way towards the village....

****

"So, five Elves against how many orcs and Dunlendings?" Thengel interrupted the narrative, staring at Thandir and the other Firstborn in disbelief.

Thandir turned to the other Firstborn. "How many did we count?"

"Two dozen Dunlendings and two score orcs, or thereabouts," Elrohir answered negligently and the other Elves nodded in agreement. Among the Mortals, only Aragorn and Gilhael evinced any nonchalance.

"Thirteen to one?" Wídfara asked in awe. "You fought with thirteen to one odds?"

"Only if you count the Dunlendings," Celegrýn answered with obvious disdain. "They were of little account. The orcs, however, were a different matter, but then we’ve all had many, many centuries experience fighting them."

"Some of us longer than others," Thandir said with a grim smile. "The first time I killed an orc was shortly after the First Rising of Anor when we finally reached the Hither shores and Fingolfin led us unto the very gates of Angband."

"Only one orc?" Aragorn asked teasingly, unable to resist and wishing to lighten the pall that had settled over the hall with the Elves’ talk.

Thandir stared at him for a moment before he laughed. "Nay, though it being the first time I’d ever seen any, one was more than enough."

"So, what happened?" Aragorn asked, taking a sip of his ale and stretching his long legs to make himself more comfortable.

Thandir smiled wryly. "Well, it’s rather difficult for five people, even if they are Elves, to actually surround a village, however ruined, but we managed...."

****

There was no moon that night for which the Elves were thankful and being Elves they saw perfectly well under starlight, so they had no trouble navigating their way towards the village. As they had planned, Elladan, Elrohir and Celegrýn moved south to approach the village from that direction while Thandir and Gilgirion continued eastward to come from the north. They timed their approach so that each was in their designated position well before sunrise. They meant to finish their grisly task before Anor rose.

Thandir nodded to Gilgirion when the Elf stopped at the northwest corner of the village while he continued on. The plan was for them to enter the ruins from different directions, silently finding the hiding places of the Dunlendings first and dealing with them before going after the orcs. Of course, they all knew that as soon as they made their moves, their plan would be obsolete; long experience had taught them that the first thing to be thrown out in any battle was the plan that put the battle into motion in the first place.

Still, they were rather confident that they would be able to deal with the situation with a minimum of fuss. "Not even enough to muss my hair," Elladan quipped and the others snickered, well aware how fastidious the ellon was about his appearance at all times.

There had been little or no movement within the village all that day, but each of the Elves had taken turns to scout the area and memorize where every fallen beam and gutted building lay and watched where the Mortals went. Of the orcs there was no sign but they could smell them and one or two had to forcibly hold themselves back from attacking the village right then and there. Elladan and Elrohir especially had both returned from their scouting trips with eyes wild with fury and Thandir had to actually hold Elrohir tightly in his arms and whisper an invocation in Quenya over and over again until the ellon came back to himself. It had been some time since either Elrondion had had that particular half-crazed look in their eyes and Thandir silently grieved to see it there again. He, himself, had long reconciled himself to what had happened. The last decade with his children in Lórien and speaking with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel had helped. He would never be whole, not until his beloved Eluwen was released from Mandos and he was once again with her. He did not enjoy the prospect of returning to Aman, even if no further than Tol Eressëa, but it would be the only way of ever seeing his wife again, and so he was resigned to that fate, though that day was many years away as Mortals reckoned it.

In the meantime, the Elves were moving into position. Thandir glanced negligently at the stars, automatically gauging the hour by their positions. It was time. He move soundlessly and nearly invisibly, like mist through the dark, easily avoiding the fallen debris that littered the ground, aiming for his first target, a low building near the edge of the village that had once been a byre but now housed some of the Dunlendings. There was a lone sentry making his rounds on this side of the village; he never made it to his next post. Thandir left the body where it dropped and continued towards the byre.

He was almost at the door when shouting from the southwest where Elladan should have been rang through the night. The Elf smiled grimly and with the ease of long practice strung his bow and had an arrow nocked before the door of the byre flew open and several Dunlendings poured out. Two of them were dead before any of them knew what was happening. The other three rushed at Thandir almost at once. The Noldo drew out his long knives and made quick work of killing the others.

Commotion and shouting and the screams of the dying alerted Thandir to the necessity of reaching the feasthall. The Gwathuirim were not the problem; the yrch were. He was fortunate, for there were no Men to stay or delay him and he was soon at the feasthall where he was joined by Elrohir. By this time, the orcs had roused enough to start pouring out of the doors to join in the battle.

"I’ll take the twenty on the left," Thandir shouted at Elrohir who was closer to the western door than he.

"Save some for Elladan else he’s going to be mightily vexed," Elrohir shot back even as he raised his sword and waded into battle with a cry of "Tôl acharn!"

Thandir followed that up with his own battle cry, one heard among the Edain just before the Nirnaeth Arnediad: "Lacho calad! Drego morn!"

By now the eastern sky was turning grey, so it was easier for them to see to kill. The orcs, on the other hand, became more desperate and ferocious, knowing that they were fighting against the sun. They were doomed, for the fell light that shone from the eyes of the two Elves was terrible to behold. The one or two Dunlendings that had so far survived the slaughter saw the same fell light in the eyes of the other three Elves methodically making their way towards the feasthall and quailed. Some even threw down their weapons but the Elves showed them no mercy. They had decided when making their plans that in this instance those who allied themselves with orcs were no better than orcs. Elladan and Elrohir had been initially reluctant to countenance it, but they were outnumbered by three who remembered well the misplaced trust in and the treachery of the Easterlings at the Nirnaeth and the debacle that had followed. They were not about to make the same mistake where the Gwathuirim were concerned.

And so the Dunlendings died under the merciless regard of the five Firstborn and the orcs fared no better. By the time Anor rose above the Ephel Dúath far in the east, the only sound in the ruined village of Æsctun was that of the Elves’ heavy breathing. They stood there before the doors of the feasthall, bloodstained, though they themselves were uninjured save for the usual nicks and cuts that occurred during any swordfight. They stood nearly knee-deep in the bodies of orcs and Dunlendings. Celegrýn and Gilgirion were already calmly cleaning their knives and retrieving arrows. Thandir took a moment to clean his own knives then went to the Elrondionnath, who stood there, swords in their hands, eyes blank with fury that was turning cold as the battle-rage slowly left them. He took them, one at a time, into his embrace.

"Atholo nan galad," he whispered into their ears. "Ú-lathro i-vorn."

Slowly, hesitantly, the two younger Elves came to themselves, looking both shamed and confused. "It’s over, mellyn nîn," Thandir said softly. "Go, clean your swords. We still have work to do."

"Wh-what work?" Elrohir whispered.

"We need to burn the bodies," Thandir said baldly.

The sun was rising halfway towards noon when they finished their grisly work of piling the bodies inside the feasthall, then setting it afire. They were at the river cleaning off the blood from their bodies when the roof of the hall fell in.

Far to the north, there where the ancient Númenóreans had built a tower, eyes both curious and hateful saw the black smoke rising in the south and wondered.

****

All words are Sindarin.

Elrondionnath: Class plural, literally meaning, "All the sons of Elrond". As Elrond only has two sons that is the total number within the class.

Mithlond: The Grey Havens.

Yrch: Plural of orch: Orc.

Yrch a Gwathuirim: Orcs and Dunlendings, literally "Shadowy people".

Daeradar: Grandfather.

Daernaneth: Grandmother.

Tôl acharn!: ‘Vengeance comes!’ Húrin’s exclamation [see The Wars of the Jewels, ‘The Wanderings of Húrin’, HoME 11].

Lacho calad! Drego morn!: ‘Flame light! Flee darkness!’, the battle-cry of the Edain among the House of Hador. [see Unfinished Tales, ‘Narn iHîn Húrin’].

Atholo nan galad. Ú-lathro i-vorn: ‘Return to the light. Heed not the darkness.’

Historical Notes:

‘But as the host of Fingolfin marched into Mithrim the Sun rose flaming in the West; and Fingolfin unfurled his blue and silver banners, and blew his horns....At the uprising of the great light the servants of Morgoth fled into Angband, and Fingolfin passed unopposed through the fastness of Dor Daedeloth while his foes hid beneath the earth. Then the Elves smote upon the gates of Angband, and the challenge of their trumpets shook the towers of Thangorodrim....’ [The Silmarillion, Chapter 13, ‘Of the Return of the Noldor’]

The Dagor Bragollach or Battle of Sudden Flame occurred 6,527 years earlier in First Age 455.

The Nirnaeth Arnediad or Battle of Unnumbered Tears occurred 6,511 years earlier in First Age 471.

Thandir’s wife, Eluwen died in Third Age 2509 in the same attack by orcs in which the twins’ mother was captured and tortured.

35: Being the Second Part of the Elves’ Tale:

Hunting the Lost

For long moments the only sound in the hall as Thandir finished describing the slaughter of the orcs and Dunlendings was the crackling of the fire. No one moved; all sat in stunned silence. Even Aragorn, used to the ways of Elves, looked nonplused and said nothing.

"But what happened to Tungolfród?" a small voice piped up.

Everyone stirred and Thandir even smiled. Both Thengel and Morwen, however, did not. The King turned to see his heir standing in the shadows dressed in his nightshirt and robe, his eyes wide as saucers. He sighed and gave his spouse a rueful smile, then gestured for the boy to join them, picking him up and setting him on his lap.

"What are you doing up, my son?" Thengel said softly as the other adults looked on with indulgent smiles.

"I wanted to hear what happened to Tungolfród, Ada," the boy answered, snuggling in his father’s arms, stifling a yawn and blinking rapidly as if to drive sleep away.

"Ah, well, we were just coming to that part," Thengel said, then looked down at his son, his face troubled. "How much have you heard?"

Théoden shrugged. "Thandir...."

"Lord Thandir," Morwen corrected gently.

"Lord Thandir was killing orcs... twenty of them, Ada!" the youngster said, his expression one of awe rather than fear or disgust and Thengel was amused to see his son gaze adoringly at the Elf still standing in the middle of the hall. The hero-worship in Théoden’s eyes was plain to see and Thengel noticed that the other Elves were giving Thandir unsympathetically amused looks of their own at the Elf-lord’s expression of discomfort under the boy’s regard.

"I had help," the scout protested. "Elrohir killed twenty, also," he said, pointing to the Elf in question, hoping to divert the Mortal child’s attention, but young Théoden was not easily moved from his hero-worshiping and Elrohir didn’t help.

"I only killed a dozen," he said, shaking his head with a laugh. "Elladan and Celegrýn took out the others."

Thandir scowled at him as the listeners laughed at the byplay. Thengel laughed along with the others. "Well, regardless of who killed which orc," he said to Thandir, "I’m assuming that particular threat to my people has been eliminated?"

Thandir bowed. "Yes, Thengel King. We stayed long enough to see that all the buildings burned to the ground so the village can never again be used as a hideout for your enemies. There is naught of Æsctun save the memory of its name." He gave them a dangerous smile and several of the warriors went instinctively for swords that were not there before stopping themselves, looking shamefaced. "Indeed," he continued, ignoring the reaction of the Rohirrim, "I would suggest renaming the place Ascantun if I were you, Thengel King."

Théoden, not at all abashed by his hero’s mood changes, snickered and the sound of the youngster’s delighted chuckle lightened the mood. Thengel gave his son a brief but warm hug and a kiss on his brow. "Indeed," he said. "Now, perhaps you would continue your tale, good Elf, so that my son can finally go to sleep."

"Ada!" Théoden protested sleepily, fighting another yawn and snuggling even closer into Thengel’s lap as Morwen tucked a warm wool blanket around him that she had ordered one of her maidens to fetch while her husband and the Elf had talked.

There was light laughter at that and Thandir bowed to Thengel and gave Théoden a smile. "Your wish is my command, Thengel King." He paused long enough to take a sip of wine from the goblet that Aragorn had quietly topped for him while he was speaking to Thengel. "As I said, we stayed long enough to clean ourselves off, watch the village burn completely to the ground and take some rest. We set out at dawn the following morn, leaving the horses behind, for we knew we could travel more swiftly without them. Elladan and Elrohir I made to cross the Isen and check the west bank in the event Gilhael reached that side whilst the rest of us scouted the east bank. It was nearly three days before we found our first sign of the Dúnadan...."

*****

"Here."

It was Gilgirion who found the first sign. Thandir loped over to where the scout was crouching by the riverbank. Gilgirion looked up at Thandir’s approach, handing him a scrap of material. Thandir took it and gave it a cursory glance. "His tunic," he said, identifying the material.

Gilgirion nodded, pointing to a clump of reeds that separated them from the river itself. "Snagged on these, but there’s no way to tell for how long and if he was still alive at the time."

Thandir nodded. Celegrýn came up to them, staring at the piece of cloth in Thandir’s hand before gazing across the river. Elladan was visible further downstream but Elrohir was not in sight. The scout gave a piercing whistle and was pleased to see the heir of Elrond stop and head back. Of Elrohir there was still no sign and the older scout frowned with impatience.

"Elrohir’s gone missing again," he said quietly to his two companions. Gilgirion grinned and Thandir merely shook his head.

"Tell Elladan what we’ve found," he commanded. "I’m going to go back upstream for about a mile and recheck the area. Gilgirion, do the same downstream. We’ll meet back here." The scout nodded and set off without another word, while Thandir turned to Celegrýn, his expression grim. "If and when the younger Elrondion ever shows up, tell him he’s got kitchen duty for the next three days... every meal."

Celegrýn grinned, for Elrohir was notorious among the denizens of Imladris for hating to cook, though he was in fact a better one than his twin. "Perhaps this time he has an actual excuse," he offered slyly.

Thandir merely snorted, unconvinced, and without another word set off to the north, even as Elladan came parallel to them from the other side of the Isen. He heard Celegrýn calling out to the younger Elf about the scrap of fabric that Gilgirion had found as he loped away, putting the twins from his mind as he concentrated on finding additional clues to Gilhael’s fate. That scrap of cloth was the first clue they had found since leaving the ruined village. Already they were well inside the Westmark, though the nearest village was still two days away. He hoped that the Dúnadan had survived long enough to get that far and obtain help. He was not sanguine about it though and dreaded having to return to Helm’s Deep with the Man’s body, or not even that. Estel was obviously devoted to his older cousin and not just because he was his Chieftain.

The Elf scoured the bank, checking every reed and rock as he made his way back along their route. It had been a frustrating three days and it looked not to be any better the further south they went. He resisted a sigh as he thought about their journey. Elrohir had been moody and nonresponsive from the moment they set out. It was one reason he had sent the twins to the other side of the Isen — he didn’t want the distraction. At one point during their trek Elrohir simply walked away from them without a word and headed west towards a clump of trees, disappearing into them and not emerging for nearly three hours. Elladan gave the other three scouts an apologetic look but said nothing. Thandir and the others decided to ignore the twins. The three of them had been traveling together for so long, they barely needed to speak to one another. They really did not need the Elrondionnath with them.

"They should have continued with their mission to Círdan," Thandir muttered to himself as he rose from his crouch to continue on his way, only to find Elrohir standing on the opposite bank, a broken arrow in his hand.

"Then you would’ve missed this, had we done so," the younger Elf said in a neutral tone.

Thandir raised an eyebrow at the other ellon’s tone. He motioned with his hand. "Come to me, elfling," he said, his expression brooking no dissent. Elrohir stood for a moment before tucking the arrow into his belt and then pointing upstream. "It’s shallower about a quarter mile up where the willows come down to the river. I’ll meet you there."

Thandir nodded and waited for Elrohir to lope off before following him, keeping him in sight, an arrow loosely nocked. If Elrohir were going to try and disappear again, Thandir would shoot him. Elladan would hate him forever after, he was sure, no matter how minor the injury to his brother, but Thandir decided he could live with that. Elrohir’s attitude of late was beginning to annoy the older Elf and he wasn’t putting up with it any longer.

They came to the spot Elrohir had mentioned in a few short minutes and even as Thandir reached it, Elrohir was making his way across. ‘Shallower’ was a relative term, for the river was running swift with autumnal rains from the mountains and Elrohir was dripping with water by the time he reached the east bank. Thandir pulled him up.

"Show me," he commanded without preamble.

Elrohir pulled the arrow, or what was left of it, out and handed it to Thandir. It was the shaft of the arrow, fletched with black feathers as was typical of orc arrows.

"He was alive long enough to break the shaft off," Elrohir offered, his expression still blank.

"He may still be dead if the arrowhead was covered with poison," Thandir cautioned, staring at the arrowshaft and not really paying attention to the other ellon.

"Won’t be the first time."

That caught Thandir’s attention and he looked up into dead eyes and nodded, but more to himself than to Elrohir, understanding now what was wrong with this particular Elrondion. He tucked the shaft into his belt and gestured to the younger ellon. "Let’s go join the rest. You’re cooking dinner tonight by the way."

Elrohir stood there for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said tonelessly, then without another word jumped into the river and made his way back across, disappearing into the stand of willows. Thandir, feeling frustrated, had gone so far as to raise his bow, but knew he could never shoot Elrond’s youngest. Not only would Lord Elrond look unkindly at that but Glorfindel would take particular delight in teaching him the meaning of pain from the inside out, regardless of the fact that they were friends. He sighed and lowered the bow as Elrohir made it to the other bank. Shaking his head, he took off back to where the others were waiting for him, thinking about the Captain of the Guards of Imladris and their curious relationship.

He and Glorfindel were of an age with one another, both scions of Noldorin nobility, though Glorfindel was probably closer to the Noldorin royal family than he. The ironic thing, of course, was that their two families hated each other. Thandir chuckled at that thought. He wondered what his adar would think if he knew that his only son now took orders from the son of his hated rival. Yet, so much had changed with the Rebellion. He stopped, his thoughts taking a strange turn.

It was the Helcaraxë that changed them. He and Glorfindel had eagerly joined the Rebellion under the banners of Lord Arafinwë and his sons, but the antagonism of their respective families proved too much and Glorfindel had attached himself to Turucáno’s banner, leaving Thandir to follow Lord Findaráto. Yet, in spite of their initial mistrust of one another, each had had the opportunity to save the life of the other during the Crossing and while they never became friends (at least then), they had done what none of their elders had been able to do: they had made peace between themselves.

When, centuries later, news came to him of Glorfindel’s death as he helped succor the refugees from fallen Gondolin, Thandir had wept. When, nearly thirteen hundred years later, Glorfindel had stepped upon the quay at Mithlond and made his way to Gil-galad’s court, Thandir had wept again, though for different reasons....

Upon entering Aran Gil-galad’s court and seeing Thandir standing in attendance beside Lord Celeborn, Glorfindel smiled so brilliantly, his joy so completely unadulterated, that Thandir did not know where to look and felt unaccountably ashamed. He only looked up when he felt Glorfindel take him into his arms and give him the kiss of one kinsman to another.

"I’m glad to see a familiar face, Cousin," the golden-haired ellon whispered to him. Then he stepped back, giving him a searching look. "Art thou mine enemy?" he said unexpectedly, asking the question he had asked Thandir all those centuries past when neither knew if they would survive the frozen hell which they were crossing.

Thandir shook his head and then did the only thing he could think of: he knelt before this Reborn ellon, offering Glorfindel his knife. "If thou seest an enemy before thee, lord, let him be slain," he whispered the words he had said all those long yéni ago. "Yet if in thy heart thou seest a friend, let this knife be witness to our pledge of amity."

For a long moment Glorfindel did not move and Thandir was acutely aware of Gil-galad’s court looking on with undisguised curiosity at the tableau before them. Then Glorfindel took the knife from Thandir’s hands and with a single motion sliced his palm before returning the knife to its owner. Without breaking eye contact with Glorfindel, Thandir sliced his own palm and then they joined hands.

"Let the Valar be our witnesses that in the mingling of our blood I see naught but a friend before me," Glorfindel intoned softly, a gentle smile on his face.

"As do I," Thandir said, repeating the same words he had spoken under the silent regard of the shimmering curtains of light that were ever present in their trek across the Ice. Then Glorfindel pulled him up into a tight embrace again and Thandir wept....

Thandir gave himself a mental shake and smiled at nothing in particular. He and Glorfindel had gone on to forge a lasting friendship and he felt no shame in his feelings for the Reborn ellon. He gladly served Imladris under its Captain and Seneschal and he found himself grinning at the thought of just what his adar would say about that should he ever learn of it.

He moved on and when he reached the spot where he had left Celegrýn, he saw that Gilgirion was back as well. The ellon looked up as Thandir approached, shaking his head at his captain’s unspoken question. Elladan was also there, having crossed from the other side after checking downriver as he’d been instructed. He, too, had nothing to report. Thandir pulled out the arrowshaft and showed them. "Elrohir found it," he said, then gave Elladan a piercing look. "Your brother disobeyed a direct order from me," he said coldly. "Go find him and bring him here. He was working his way through a stand of willows a quarter of a mile up. We’ll establish camp for the night over by those trees." He pointed to a copse of oak and birch and maple that lay several hundred yards to the southeast.

Elladan’s expression was one of surprise which quickly turned to resignation. He nodded and loped away, his shoulders sagging in defeat. Elrohir’s actions of late were beginning to wear on his twin. Celegrýn and Gilgirion watched the younger Elf move silently away then turned to Thandir with concerned expressions.

"It’s bad, isn’t it?" Celegrýn asked.

Thandir nodded. "I haven’t seen his eyes so dead in... in centuries," he said and sighed as the other two ellyn grimaced at one another. All knew the killing spree the Elrondionnath had gone on after Lady Celebrían had sailed. Thandir had been tempted to join them, but with two elflings to care for and comfort he could not afford the luxury. Thank the Valar Glorfindel had been able to reach the sons of Elrond eventually and turn them around though it had taken nearly two hundred years to do it. Giving himself a mental shake, he pointed to the copse. "Let’s set up camp."

Elladan arrived with Elrohir in tow by the time they had a fire going. The twins were silent, greeting no one. Elrohir plopped down several ducks, already dressed and spitted. Gilgirion looked up from where he was tending the fire with a smile.

"For me?" he asked coyly.

Elladan gave the scout a jaundiced look; Elrohir just crouched down without saying a word, taking the tripod and setting it up and replacing the stake they had used to carry their catch with the metal one so the ducks were above the fire. Celegrýn sat back, his eyes hooded as he watched Elrohir silently begin preparing their meal, never looking up or acknowledging anyone else’s presence. He glanced up at Elladan, who was still standing by his twin. Elladan just shook his head, then walked away to report to Thandir....

****

"Ada, what was wrong with El... I mean, Lord Elrohir?" Théoden asked suddenly, looking at his father in confusion.

"I do not know, my son," Thengel answered quietly. "Perhaps Lord Elrohir will tell us."

Théoden gazed at the Elf in question, his expression quizzical. Elrohir gazed back with equanimity, his expression neither forbidding nor inviting. The young prince looked up at his father and sighed. "I don’t think Lord Elrohir is in a talkative mood tonight, Ada," he said in a forlorn whisper and cast a surprised look around when light laughter rang through the hall. He saw Elrohir smiling and the Elf gestured to him.

"Come here, Théoden Prince," the younger Elrondion said.

With a glance at his parents for permission, Théoden slid off Thengel’s lap and went to stand before the dark-haired ellon. All could see that the boy was struggling not to look nervous or frightened, though his wide-eyed look betrayed him. Elrohir gave him a warm smile and laid a hand gently on the boy’s shoulder, gazing into his eyes.

"Do you know what pain is, Théoden Prince?" Elrohir asked.

Théoden blinked, not expecting such a question and could only nod.

"Do you know what it feels like to have pain in your heart, in your soul?" the ellon asked quietly.

Théoden looked down, shuffling his slippered feet against the rushes. When he spoke it was barely above a whisper. "When th-they killed the man who... who rescued me and I never learned his name..." He looked up at Elrohir, his blue eyes troubled. "I never learned...."

Elrohir took the boy into his embrace and held him tightly, rubbing his back to comfort him. Thengel and Morwen both made to rise to go to their grieving child but Elrohir shook his head, continuing to hold the young prince until his sobs quieted.

"Then you will understand some of what I will say to you, child," Elrohir whispered to him, though in the silence of the hall all heard him. Elrohir turned the boy around and sat him on his knee. "I was in pain, Théoden," he said, his expression mournful. "Not pain of the body, but pain of the spirit afflicted me."

"Wh-why?" Théoden asked, sniffling and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe, much to his mother’s dismay. Elrohir smiled and took the bit of cloth Elladan handed him and gave it to Théoden who used it to wipe the tears from his face.

"I lost my mother...."

There was an audible gasp from the listeners and the other Elves, Elladan especially, went so still they could have been statues. Théoden, however, was concentrating solely on Elrohir and what he was saying.

"That’s sad," he commented, wondering what it would be like to lose his mother, but the thought skittered across his consciousness and he let it go, unwilling to face such a possibility yet.

"Yes, it is," Elrohir agreed. "She was poisoned by orcs and we had to send her to the Undying Lands to be healed."

"Did she get better?"

Elrohir shook his head. "I don’t know, child," he said softly. "None who sail to the Undying Lands ever return. My family and I can only hope that the Valar were able to heal her where we could not, but every time I must fight orcs I remember the pain I felt when we found her and the pain I felt when we watched her sail away. Do you understand?"

Théoden nodded. "It makes you sad."

Elrohir glanced at Thandir and then Elladan before answering. "Yes, it makes me sad."

Théoden gave Elrohir a considering look and the Elrondion could see in those piercing blue eyes the man this young boy would some day become. "You’re not sad now, though," the prince commented. "What changed?"

Now Elrohir actually laughed. "Thandir put the fear of the Valar in me."

The other Elves chuckled at that and Théoden gave the Elf captain a frown before turning back to Elrohir. Then he gave Elrohir a wicked little smile and leaned over to whisper conspiratorially into his ear, though they could all hear. "Nana does the same thing with Ada when he won’t behave."

"Théoden!" Morwen exclaimed in dismay, but Thengel merely laughed and gave his son a wink. Théoden wore a smug smile as he sat there on Elrohir’s lap while all around him was laughter. Elrohir, everyone noticed, laughed the loudest.

"So what happened?" Aragorn asked, smiling at the sight of his brother with Théoden. It reminded him of when he was the boy’s age and the way his two brothers would comfort him at times. 

Elrohir gave his Mortal brother a smile. "As to that..." he nodded to Thandir.

"Yes," Thandir said looking sternly at Théoden, "if his Highness is finished interrogating Lord Elrohir?"

Théoden gulped and gave the Elf a chagrined look. "Sorry."

"Don’t be, youngling," Elrohir said with a smile. "Thandir just likes to hear himself talk, so your interruption was quite welcome. Now, why don’t you sit here between my brother and me and we’ll pretend we’re very interested in what Thandir has to say, shall we?"

Thandir gave him a scowl, which was ignored, while Théoden nodded. Elladan pulled the boy off Elrohir’s lap and placed him on the bench between them, removing his cloak and wrapping it around the boy’s shoulders, giving him a fond smile. The solicitousness and tenderness with which the two Peredhil fussed over their prince did not go unnoticed by the Rohirrim and many an opinion about these strange visitors was revised towards the favorable at the sight of these Elf-lords treating Théoden like a younger sibling.

Thandir waited until the Elrondionnath had settled Théoden to their liking before continuing. "So, where was I?" he said rhetorically to his audience.

"Cooking dinner," Aragorn supplied facetiously with a smile.

Thandir gave him a short laugh. "No, Elrohir was cooking dinner. I think the ducks were meant to be a peace offering, and a very tasty peace offering they were, too." Everyone laughed at his smug expression. "At any rate," he continued when the laughter had died down, "I knew we could not continue on our course until and unless whatever was eating at Elrohir was resolved....

****

"Elrohir, walk with me."

Elrohir looked up from where he was licking the last of the grease from his fingers to see Thandir standing over him, his expression neutral. The younger son of Elrond resisted a sigh, wiped his hands on a scrap of cloth and rose gracefully to stand beside the older Elf. As much as he desired to refuse Thandir’s command he knew he could not, indeed dared not. Thandir was as much his superior as Glorfindel and no one ever refused Glorfindel anything, at least, not after the first time.

Without another word, Thandir moved away from their encampment, walking towards the river in the early dusk. The nights were colder now, though neither Elf felt it. Still, stepping away from the warmth and light of the fire into the cold and dark of the Westmarkland steppes was something of a shock and both Elves drew in a deep breath. Thandir continued walking to the river, the waters rushing away south into the gloaming. When they reached the bank, Thandir stopped and for several minutes he neither moved nor spoke. Elrohir forced himself not to exhibit any sign of impatience, for Glorfindel had taught him well. Then, without any warning, Thandir turned to the peredhel, grabbed him by the placket of his tunic and threw him into the river.

"Wha...!" Elrohir’s cry was drowned out by the sound of the splash he made. Thandir never moved, merely waited for the younger ellon to come to the surface, which he did, sputtering and shouting invectives in several languages, including, surprisingly, Orkish. The current had taken him several yards further downstream before he surfaced and made his way to the east bank, climbing out and heading back towards Thandir.

"What by all that’s holy was that for?" Elrohir shouted as he neared the other Elf, his expression of anger less effective than he would have liked with his dark hair plastered in front of his eyes and his feet making squelching noises that sounded to Thandir’s ears almost obscene.

"Feeling better or should I throw you in again?" Thandir asked, sounding almost bored.

Elrohir stopped and stared at the Noldo and had the uncanny feeling he was looking into Glorfindel’s eyes, though his were a bluer-grey than Thandir’s. He shivered and not just from the dunking he’d gotten, for the Isen was running cold with mountain run-off and even an Elf would feel its bite. He swiped futilely at his dripping hair, the braids all awry and felt his anger deflating. He stared at his feet and sighed. "Sorry," he finally said. "It won’t happen again."

For a long moment Thandir remained silent, then he nodded. "Go dry off. You have first watch."

Elrohir bowed, still not looking at Thandir, then went back to the fire where, unbeknown to him, Celegrýn and Gilgirion had had to hold Elladan down when they heard Elrohir’s shout and then the splash. They were just getting off Elladan’s chest when Elrohir arrived, refusing to look at anyone. Elladan wisely refrained from asking what had happened, for it was obvious to them all. The younger son of Elrond went to his bags, pulled out dry clothing, changed, and then grabbed his sword and bow and quiver to take up his sentry post.

Thandir returned several hours later to relieve him....

****

"You got thrown into the river?" Théoden asked with an incredulous look.

Elrohir smiled at the boy and nodded. "It worked too," he said. The rest of the hall stared at Thandir with a mixture of incredulity and amazement and not a few were very happy they would never have to be disciplined by an Elf-lord, whatever their faults.

"So after that?" Aragorn asked, taking a sip of his ale, clearly enjoying the tale.

"After that, we continued our hunt, staying close to the river," Thandir replied. "Two days later we found ourselves on the outskirts of a village wondering if we would find our... quarry" — he gave Gilhael a brief smile — "at last or if we would have to travel further afield."

"And that’s where I come in again," Gilhael exclaimed, standing up. "This next part of the tale is mine to tell."

"Then let us pause for a few minutes to stretch our legs and fill our tankards before hearing your tale, Tungolfród," Thengel suggested, taking his own advice and standing. "We will resume in fifteen minutes."

The announcement was welcomed by all and for the next several minutes people stood and stretched, some leaving to relieve themselves, others raiding the kitchen for additional food. Morwen went to where Théoden was nestled half asleep against Elrohir.

"He should be in his bed, my lord," she said softly, running a hand through her son's dark golden locks. Théoden never stirred.

"Perhaps, lady," Elrohir replied with a smile, "but I think he will waken if we try to move him now and then he will only insist on remaining to hear the rest of the tale."

"We’ll see to him, lady," Elladan said to Morwen. "It’ll be like old times." He gave his brother a bright smile which Elrohir returned. Then the two looked past Morwen with fond expressions on their fair faces.

Morwen turned to see the object of their regard and saw Aragorn speaking companionably to Wídfara. She gave them a shrewd look but when they turned their immortal gazes upon her she merely smiled and nodded. "That is well, then. I thank you, my lords." She looked up and saw Thengel returning to his own seat. "Ah, I believe the entertainment is about to begin again. If you’ll excuse me, my lords?"

The twins chuckled and bowed their heads gracefully as Morwen gave them an abbreviated and somewhat awkward curtsey due to her condition and returned to her husband’s side. Everyone else soon settled in their seats, their expressions eager and attentive as Gilhael returned to the center of the hall to resume his narrative.

****

Ascantun: (Rohirric/Anglo-Saxon) Thandir is making a slight play on words between Æsctun "Ash-tree village" and Ascantun "(Burnt)-ashes village".

Peredhil: (Sindarin) Plural of Peredhel: Half-Elf. Technically speaking, Elrond’s children were not considered Elves though they enjoyed the benefits of the Firstborn. They, like their father, were Half-elven and their fate was dependent upon the ultimate choice they would have to make. Arwen made the choice of Lúthien and shares the fate of the Secondborn; Tolkien never clearly states what choice her brothers made, but it is believed that they were permitted to delay their choice until after Arwen’s death. Until the choice was made, however, the children of Elrond were counted among the Firstborn and treated as such.

36: Being the Continuation of the Dúnadan Cousin’s Tale:

And the Lost Shall Be Found

"When I fell into the river, I hit my head on a log floating by and lost consciousness," Gilhael began without preamble. "I do not know how long I was out. I only know that somehow I managed to cling to the very limb that was the cause of my head injury so that I did not drown."

He paused and grimaced. "I had escaped the orcs and Dunlendings, but I had not escaped unscathed and I was still in danger of dying..."

****

Gilhael came to and looked blearily about, the sight of the riverbank rushing by making him feel sick and dizzy. He was in excruciating pain and the coldness of the water had crept into his bones and he could not stop shaking. He was still clinging to the tree limb and thanked the Valar for small mercies. The limb had swept him further downriver than he could have done swimming. He ignored the pain in his shoulder and back and with what strength he had left he kicked against the current, forcing the limb towards the right bank where reeds choked the waters, slowing down the current somewhat. He managed to send the limb floating towards the reeds before it became too much for him and he fainted again.

He came to, wondering why his head felt so heavy. Just as he tried to lift it there was a pressure and then a release as something large jumped off the top of his head. The sound of cawing rang in his ears and the sight of black wings flapping away woke him up completely. He shivered, not wanting to think of the implications of what had just happened. Groaning he attempted to pull himself out of the water, but he was too weak and the bank here was steep and slippery. He splashed about until he could at least sit in the mud. His first order of business was to break off the arrow shafts. He knew from experience that he had no hope of removing the arrows themselves without help. He prayed that neither arrow was poisoned, though thinking about it, he decided that had they been he would already be dead.

The arrow in his shoulder was easy enough to reach, in spite of the mind-numbing pain that followed the movement of breaking off the shaft. The one in his back though proved too difficult to get to. He did not believe it had hit anything vital and obviously he was not paralyzed but he knew the arrow needed to be removed and soon. It was in a more potentially fatal spot than the arrow in his shoulder.

Glancing about, Gilhael wondered at his options. They were rather thin on the ground. His only real choice was the river. Somewhere further down was at least one village that he remembered seeing on Hilderic’s map back in Helm’s Deep. If he could reach it, he could get help.

And there was the rub... he needed to reach it alive. His shivering was becoming constant and his vision was blurring again. He needed to make a decision and fast. Taking a deep breath, he inched his way back into the frigid water and grabbed hold of the limb that had entangled itself in the reeds. Here by the bank the river was shallow and he could walk towards the middle. When he felt the current he leaned onto the limb and kicked off, stifling a scream as pain lanced through his body at the movement, letting the river take him.

The pain of his wounds dulled but he became feverish in spite of the coldness of the river. At one point he started retching. That took all his strength away and as the last of the spasms left him he slipped into darkness....

****

"That must have been the arrow shaft El... I mean Lord Elrohir found," Théoden exclaimed sleepily.

The adults around gave him indulgent smiles and Elrohir hugged him. Gilhael nodded at the prince. "Indeed, it must have been."

"Did it really hurt a lot?" the child asked.

"Yes, my prince," Gilhael said softly. "It was very painful."

Théoden nodded. "I fell out of a tree once and broke my arm." He held up his left arm for all to see. "I cried a lot."

That admission was unexpected by all. Elrohir looked down at the sleepy child and kissed the top of his head. "I fell off a cliff once when I was about your age and cried too."

Théoden looked up at the Elf in surprise. "I didn’t think Elves cried."

"Why not?" Elrohir asked.

The boy shrugged, staring down. "I... I guess I just thought it was something Mortals do... because we’re... we’re weak."

All five of the Elves stirred at that. Elrohir sighed and held the youngster closer. "Do you think Lord Gilhael weak, or Lord Thorongil... or your adar?"

Théoden looked up in shock. "Ada’s not weak!"

"No, he isn’t," the Elf agreed. "Neither are Gilhael or Thorongil or any of your people, including you."

"But...."

"Tears are not a sign of weakness, youngling," Thandir interjected. "It takes a strong person, be he Elf or Mortal, to admit to tears. Crying when you are in pain is normal, though usually as you get older you learn to hold back the tears."

"Because then everyone thinks you’re a baby," Théoden opined sagely.

"Nay, Little One," Elrohir replied with a chuckle. "Because you’re too busy cursing your stupidity for getting hurt in the first place to worry about tears." At that the other adults all chuckled. "Now, why don’t we find out what happened next, shall we?"

Théoden nodded and turned his attention back to Gilhael who smiled and gave the boy a wink.

"The next time I awoke," he said, addressing the entire hall, "I was staring at a wooden beam with no idea why...."

****

It took Gilhael several precious minutes to remember what had happened to him and why. He started to move but the pain he felt stopped him and he settled back down on the rough cot on which he was lying. Glancing about he saw a narrow room with a rickety chair and a clothespress. There was a small washstand in one corner and another table beside the cot where a candle stood, providing him with the only illumination as there was no window. There was also no door, simply a colorful patchwork quilt hanging from the lintel.

"Hello?" he called out, remembering to speak Rohirric. "Is there anyone there?"

There was the sound of a gasp followed by movement as the quilt was pushed aside and a loop caught on a nail so it stayed back. Gilhael saw a young woman, barely out of childhood, staring at him with wide eyes. She had light brown waist-length hair bound in two braids. Her dress was homespun but even in the candlelight Gilhael could make out some embroidery around the neckline. The girl wore a smock over her dress with which she was wiping her hands.

"You’re awake!" she exclaimed.

Gilhael nodded. "Aye, child, and in need of answers and... ah... I think a chamber pot right about now."

The girl blushed and pointed. "It’s under your bed, sir. Should I get it for you?"

"If you would, my dear," he answered, attempting to sit up, wincing from the pain as he did so. The girl came further into the room and bent down to grab the chamber pot. She held it out to him as she straightened and Gilhael could see that her eyes were a warm brown. He took the proffered pot and when she made no move to leave he gave her a wry smile. "A little privacy might be nice."

The young woman gasped in dismay and reddened in embarrassment. "Oh! I’m sorry... I... I’ll just go and... check on supper." She started backing away, her expression one of chagrin as she slipped the loop off the nail and let the quilt drop. Gilhael waited another minute until he heard the sound of a knife chopping something and the girl started humming. Loudly.

The Ranger chuckled to himself as he saw to his personal needs. Shortly thereafter he called out and the girl returned to take care of the chamber pot while he sat back against the wall trying to piece together his memory. A quick examination of his body showed that both his ribs and shoulder were tightly bound. The pain from the arrows was manageable for now, though he suspected he was going to need some willowbark tea soon. He felt his head where he had hit it against the limb and while it felt tender he did not detect any stitches. The girl returned with the cleaned out chamber pot and placed it beside the bed.

"Are you in pain?" she asked.

"A little," he admitted, "but I can manage for now. Do you have any willowbark tea?"

"Aye," she said with a nod. "I’ve been dosing you rather regularly these past three days."

Gilhael’s eyes widened. "Three days?"

The girl nodded. "My da found you floating in the river and brought you to me." She blushed a bit and looked down. "I’m the village leech, or at least what passes as one. My name is Helewis."

"My name is Tungolfród," the Dúnadan replied.

Helewis gave him a quizzical look. "You’re not of Rohan or Dunland, yet you bear a Rohirric name and speak it passably well, if with an accent."

Gilhael smiled. "I am from the North originally, but I have taken service with Thengel King for a time along with my cousin."

"Ah," was her only comment. Then she gave him a smile. "I have some barley broth if you would like some."

"That would be fine, thank you."

She nodded and left, disappearing to the left where the pulled-back quilt blocked his view. What he could see of the other room was a wooden table where a chipped blue vase filled with late autumn blooms was set. There was a wooden bench shoved under the table out of the way. Swags of dried herbs hung from the rafters, providing a pleasing scent of rosemary, basil, lovage and he knew not what else. A door opposite the bedroom must lead to the outside. He could see little else from his position. When Helewis reappeared bearing an unglazed bowl and wooden spoon, he asked the one question that burned in his mind.

"Where am I and how was I found?"

Helewis handed him the bowl and spoon and sat down on the chair. "Well, this is Isenby, so called because there’s an eyot sitting in the midst of the river nearby. It shallows out the river don’t you see and that great limb you were hanging onto washed up on the eyot where my da found you. He had a time of it getting to you though and needed help from some of the other men but eventually they got you to me and I’ve been tending to you ever since."

"For which you have my thanks, fair maiden," Gilhael said and grinned as the young girl blushed.

"It’s little enough that I’ve done. The worst was... was digging out the arrowheads." She blanched somewhat and wrung her hands nervously in the folds of her smock. "Never done that before. My da had to hold you down for even unconscious you seemed to have felt the pain." She looked down, her expression turning to one of embarrassment. "Once I had you all stitched up, I... um... well I ended up becoming sick."

Gilhael gave her a sympathetic smile and carefully leaned over to put his hand on her knee. She glanced up, looking wary. "I am only grateful that you waited until you finished stitching before getting sick," he said drolly.

Helewis snorted at that and gave him a weak grin. "I mostly just fix up various herbs to give as tonics and such. I’ve had little experience in having to stitch someone up, especially from... from war wounds."

"Not much in the way of war," Gilhael said. "I was... waylaid by Dunlendings while traveling to Edoras." He decided not to give her the full truth, for he did not wish to alarm her and Dunlendings waylaying travelers was a common enough event not to arouse suspicion. She nodded in understanding, then pointed to the now empty bowl.

"Would you like more or I can get you something else?"

"Nay, I thank you," the Ranger said. "I think I have expended as much of my strength as I am able. Perhaps something for the pain and then I would sleep some more."

"Of course. I have some willowbark tea ready for you." She took the bowl and went back out, returning shortly with a small goblet of the tea which Gilhael downed quickly then lay back on the cot, easing himself into a more comfortable position. He felt, rather than saw, Helewis leave again, pulling down the quilt to give him some privacy and then he was asleep.

****

Gilhael woke to the sound of voices, specifically the rumble of a man’s voice coming from the other side of the curtain. He spent a minute or two trying to decipher what was being said, but could make out no words until he heard Helewis speaking.

"He’s no Dunlending," he heard her say, "for all he claims to be from the North. His speech is too fine for one of them, even if his accent is funny."

Gilhael grinned at that. The man’s voice rumbled after that, still too low for Gilhael to make out. Deciding he wasn’t going to learn anything from lying there staring at the ceiling he let out a loud yawn to let them know he was a wake. He was struggling into a sitting position when the quilt was pushed back and Gilhael found himself wincing somewhat as the brighter light from the other room momentarily blinded him.

"Oh, did you have a nice nap?" Helewis asked as she entered and Gilhael smiled at the artless question.

"Aye, Ides, I did," he replied. "Thy leechcraft hath done me well."

Helewis gave an embarrassed laugh. "No lady am I, Lord Tungolfród, just a ceorlgefæmne with little skill."

Gilhael shook his head. "Not so, good Helewis. I deem thou’rt no mere lybbestre who uses simples and magic to attempt a cure but one who is well versed in the healing arts, a lácnestre."

He watched with amusement as she blushed at the compliment. "If you are feeling well enough," she said, "would you like to join us at the table for your supper? I’ll have my da help you to dress."

"I think I can manage that, thank you," Gilhael replied.

Helewis nodded and turned so as to allow a man to enter the room. Gilhael eyed him with interest. He was not as tall as most men of Rohan but he was burly and the Ranger suspected this one was a smith. He had hair that was a golden-brown and his eyes were the same brown as his daughter’s. He smiled down at the Dúnadan.

"My name is Beornhard," the man rumbled. "I see you’ve fallen under my daughter’s spell like every other young fool in this village."

"Da!" Helewis protested.

Gilhael grinned. "I am Tungolfród, one of Thengel King’s Riders. Thank you for saving me."

Beornhard nodded. "Let’s see about getting you dressed. Helewis managed to salvage most of your clothing but your shirt was ruined. You can have one of mine, though I think it’ll be overlarge for you."

"I’m sure I’ll manage," Gilhael said as he started to throw off the blanket. He heard a startled gasp from Helewis and then the quilt was being pulled down. The two men looked at each other and they both started laughing as Beornhard reached down to give Gilhael a hand.

****

Even though he only had to walk a half dozen steps from his cot to the table, Gilhael was winded and feeling weak by the time Beornhard helped him into a chair. The Rohir handed the Ranger a wooden stein and bade him to drink. It was a light ale and Gilhael drank carefully wishing it were water instead.

Beornhard sat beside him on the bench while Helewis puttered about, laying trenchers on the table in front of them as well as platters of winter greens and a roasted chicken with small potatoes. A loaf of coarse bread and some butter and a crock of honey completed the fare. Helewis made sure that Gilhael was served first before she and her father took their share. As they ate, Beornhard asked about Gilhael’s recent adventures.

"I was on a scouting expedition for Lord Hilderic," Gilhael told them and Beornhard nodded, recognizing the name. "I was careless and allowed myself to be seen by some Dunlendings. They shot my horse from under me and I was running to the river to escape them when I too was shot. I managed to get to the river though and the rest you know."

For a long moment as they continued eating there was silence and then Beornhard gave Gilhael a searching look. "An interesting tale," he finally said. "And I would almost believe you save for the fact that that was no Dunlending arrow in your back, youngster. I know an orc arrow when I see one."

Gilhael returned Beornhard’s suspicious stare with equanimity. "It is the tale I will tell whoever asks," he retorted quietly. "The news of orcs in the Westmark must not be spread too widely for fear of panic. Those were my orders and...."

****

"But that’s a lie!"

Gilhael sighed and the adults stirred. All stared at young Théoden, his face red with indignation. "Why did you lie?" he demanded, his young eyes glaring with hurt and confusion.

Gilhael was about to answer but Thengel forestalled him. "Théoden, come here," he said quietly, gesturing to his son. The boy got up and went to his father who took him and sat him on his lap.

"Tungolfród wasn’t lying," he said.

"But...."

"Listen to me," Thengel admonished softly and the young prince subsided, his expression still one of confusion. "What Tungolfród did was to tell a version of the truth that would not unduly alarm the good folk who had taken him in. Would you like to know that there might be orcs running about and making mischief?"

"But I do know, Ada, for you’ve told me," came the plaintive answer and there were quiet snorts of amusement from the listeners.

"Aye, I did, didn’t I?" Thengel said with a smile. "But think of it this way: you’re a stranger in a land not your own and at the mercy of people you do not know if you can fully trust. What would you do in such circumstances?"

Théoden puckered his lips and furrrowed his brow in thought for a moment and then gave his father a hesitant look. "N-not tell them the whole truth until I knew I could trust them."

Thengel smiled at his son and nodded. "And that is what Tungolfród did. He was just being cautious."

"Unfortunately, Beornhard knew I was lying," Gilhael spoke up, looking rueful, "but in the end he and Helewis agreed that the full tale would only alarm the other folk of the village."

"What happened then?" Aragorn asked. "How long before the Elves found you?"

"I was there for another two days," Gilhael replied. "I did not venture any further from my bed than Beornhard’s smithy which is attached to his home. It was given out that I was still recovering from my wounds so I was not importuned by the other villagers."

"We arrived at the village," Thandir then added, nodding to the other Elves, "just before sunset three days after we destroyed Æsctun. Luckily, Beornhard’s smithy lies near the northern edge of Isenby, and it just so happened that Gilhael was sitting out front, keeping the smith company as he was finishing up for the day."

"By that time I was sufficiently recovered that I was able to leave the next morning," Gilhael continued then paused and gave them a broad grin. "Beornhard and Helewis were rather disconcerted at entertaining five Elves for the night, but we managed to keep that bit of news quiet from the rest of the villagers. Instead, Thandir and the others left before dawn and then I made a public departure, thanking Beornhard and Helewis for their help. Helewis, of course, played the role of leech quite well and pretended to be upset that I would leave before I was completely healed but I assured everyone that I needed to return to Helm’s Deep as soon as possible. They even lent me a horse, which has since been returned to them. I met Thandir and the others a league north of the village and we made our way north to retrieve the elves’ horses and then on to Helm’s Deep where we told Hilderic what had transpired before making our way here."

"And so the threat of orcs rampaging through the Westmark is no more," Thengel said, but Gilhael and the Elves all shook their heads.

"Nay, Thengel King," Thandir said. "The threat of the one band of orcs and Dunlendings has been eliminated but forget not the other group of orcs hiding in the White Mountains. They must be found and destroyed."

Thengel nodded, looking grim. "Aye, that they must," he uttered. Then, his visage cleared and he gave them all a warm smile. "But that is for the future. For now, we thank you for your entertaining tales, my lords, and we give thanks that you have returned to us hale and whole, Lord Tungolfród." Gilhael and the Elves all nodded their heads. "Now, it grows late," Thengel continued, "and this one," he looked down at his son nestled in his arms fast asleep, then looked up to share a smile with Morwen, "this one should be abed." He and Morwen stood and all rose with them. "We bid ye all good-night," the King said and the royal couple with their heir exited the hall as all gave them bows. Aragorn volunteered to show Gilhael and the Elves where they might sleep and soon all were seeking their beds, save for the guards on nightwatch.

****

All words are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon).

Ides: Lady. Not a common term, more poetical or archaic. Gilhael here is acting the romantic.

Ceorlgefæmne: Common woman, one not nobly born.

Lybbestre: Sorceress, literally ‘charm-woman’, a woman with no formal training in leechcraft, but is more apt to employ charms and incantations to effect cures; from the root word lybb ‘drug, poison, charm’ The masculine form is lyblæca, literally ‘charm-leech’.

Lácnestre: (female) Healer, from the verb, lácnian ‘to heal’. -estre is a fem. agental suffix. Gilhael is again being chivalric, since the more common word for healer is læce ‘leech’ used by either gender.

37: A Confrontation Reprised

The next two or three days were spent in quiet pursuits and in resting. Aragorn spent the time mostly with Gilhael, the sons of Elrond and the other Elves, though he was also careful to include the Rohirrim, Wídfara and the other men from the ill-fated hunting trip in particular. They were all sitting together in the common hall eating lunch on the second day when Aragorn described to Gilhael and the Elves what had happened. Thengel was there, as well as Hildebrand and Hildered. The Elves all went still and their expressions became totally unreadable even to Aragorn as they listened to the tale. When he pressed them, though, they declined to offer any opinions as to what the fate of the missing Men might have been, saying only that such things had been known to happen from time to time. It was not a satisfactory answer but it was all they were going to get from the Firstborn. It escaped no one’s notice, though, that the Elves were later seen speaking quietly amongst themselves as they stood upon the parapet of the fort looking east and gesturing at the mountains.

Wídfara waited until the third day after Yule to approach Thandir. It had snowed the previous night and the Elves, much to everyone’s amusement, were busy helping the children make snowballs and stockpiling them for a planned ‘war’. Thandir, in fact, was showing some of the older children the proper method for building a fort while Aragorn and Gilhael were teaching the younger ones how to throw for good effect.

Wídfara sighed to himself. He had spent the better part of the previous night debating with himself and mustering the courage to confront the Elf on his sweordbroðor’s behalf. He had hoped to corner Thandir after breakfast, quite forgetting that the Elf probably did not bother to sleep and may have broken his fast with the changing of the watch. Now, he carefully crossed the courtyard to where Thandir and the other Elves were assisting in the building of the two forts for the upcoming game. It took longer than he hoped to cross the snow-crusted pavement, for he had to step carefully with his crutches.

"Lord Thandir," he said somewhat breathlessly when he finally reached his destination. "Might I have a word with you, at your convenience, of course?"

Thandir looked up as Wídfara approached, giving the young Rider a smile, his expression quizzical. "Is there aught wrong, Lord Wídfara?" he asked politely.

"Nay, lord," Wídfara answered, "but I would like to speak with you if I may... in private."

Thandir raised an eyebrow and cast an amused glance at the other Elves who returned his expression with studied indifference. Aragorn had noticed his sweordbroðor speaking to Thandir and wandered over to see what was happening.

"Perhaps we may speak after lunch," Thandir finally said. "I would not wish to miss this upcoming battle." He smiled, glancing at the youngsters ranged around them, listening unabashedly.

Wídfara followed his gaze and smiled as well. "Nor would I wish to miss seeing it. After lunch will be fine. I thank you for your indulgence."

Thandir nodded and Wídfara moved to return to the keep. Aragorn stayed him with a hand on his arm. "What is this about, Wídfara?" he asked softly.

Wídfara looked back at the Elves for a moment before addressing Aragorn. "It’s personal," he said just as quietly. His expression became closed and Aragorn decided not to press, though he promised himself that he would contrive a way to be at the meeting. Instead, he nodded and gave Wídfara a faint smile.

"Care to make some snowballs?" he asked and after a second’s hesitation, Wídfara nodded and Aragorn helped him over to a nearby bench where he sat and made snowballs from the piles of snow the younger children gathered for him.

****

The snowball war, as it was called, was a huge success and it was decided in the end that everyone won, mainly because Thengel determined that the Elves were cheating, sneaking back and forth between the two camps indiscriminately and helping the children while fighting against each other. Aragorn and Wídfara sat on the bench and laughed at their antics, especially when Elrohir and Elladan ended up on opposite sides at one point and began accusing each other of providing their "team" with an unfair advantage.

In the end, Morwen ushered all the 'little heroes' into the hall for lunch, but told the Elves in no uncertain terms (speaking Sindarin to make her point) that they would not get a bite to eat until the snow had been completely cleared from the courtyard. The Elves gave her respectful bows even though their expressions were ones of amusement, and in a trice they were grabbing besoms and sweeping the courtyard for all they were worth, singing softly a song that Aragorn identified to Wídfara as a hymn to Manwë and Ulmo in praise of snow.

Finally, the courtyard cleared, Aragorn and Wídfara joined the Elves and the other adults for the noon meal, laughingly analyzing their strategies during the ‘war’. Thandir told the twins that he would speak to Glorfindel when they returned to Imladris to arrange for additional lessons in fighting in snow. "Your techniques were way off," he told them with a mock scowl. "I would be ashamed to have you on my next patrol." The twins responded by simultaneously throwing hunks of bread just fast enough that he couldn’t duck in time, setting everyone laughing.

Afterwards, Thandir approached Wídfara where the Rider was still sitting sipping his ale and speaking quietly to Hildered. "Well, youngster," the Elf said, "you wished to speak to me, in private, I believe?"

Wídfara looked up and nodded warily. "If you please," he said, grabbing his crutches and pushing himself upright. Both Thandir and Hildered gave him a hand and he acknowledged their help with a nod. Aragorn, sitting on the other side of the trestle, also stood, a concerned look on his face.

"What is this about, Wídfara?" he asked.

Wídfara turned to Aragorn with a scowl. "It’s about you, Earntungol, in case you haven’t guessed."

"Me?" Aragorn responded in surprise. "What about me?"

"Perhaps Thorongil should join our discussion," Thandir suggested, raising an eyebrow at the interplay between the two Mortals.

Wídfara gave the Elf a sidelong glance then sighed, nodding. "As you wish," he muttered and started hobbling away. Aragorn and Thandir stared at one another for a moment, the Elf’s expression unreadable. Finally, the Dúnadan shrugged and together he and Thandir followed the young Rider from the hall.

Wídfara led them to a chamber that had been taken over by the Queen and the other women of the camp where they normally spent the day sewing and mending, but now it was empty. Aragorn wondered if Wídfara had made arrangements with Lady Morwen earlier for the use of the room. The young Rider sat on one of the chairs near the fireplace with a grateful sigh, putting his crutches on the floor. Aragorn grabbed a padded stool and gently placed the splinted leg on it. Wídfara smiled his thanks, waiting for the other two to find seats before speaking.

Neither Elf nor Dúnadan knew, though Aragorn could guess, of the internal struggle waging in Wídfara’s soul at that moment, for he quailed at the thought of confronting one of the Firstborn on a matter about which he had little knowledge, yet he reminded himself that, young though he might be, he was still one of Thengel’s Riders and a proven warrior and he was not about to shirk what he thought was his duty towards his sweordbroðor. He gave a shuddering sigh and looked directly at Thandir.

"What did you do to Earntungol?" he asked baldly.

Aragorn gasped but said nothing, waiting for Thandir’s response. The Elf-lord stared at the young Rider, his expression blank of any emotion. "When?" he finally asked.

"At Helm’s Deep," Wídfara answered. "You did something to him because ever since...."

"Wídfara!" Aragorn exclaimed with some heat, his expression going cold with anger. "You forget yourself...."

"Do I, sweordbroðor?" Wídfara rejoined with equal heat. "Thrice you have been brought low because of something he did to you." He pointed at Thandir, though he was still looking at Aragorn. "I want to know what it was and how to... to cure you."

Thandir gave Wídfara a considering look, nodding. Then he turned to Aragorn, his expression somewhat colder and brooking no argument. "Tell me."

"It was nothing, Thandir," Aragorn said faintly, waving his hand as if to wave away any concerns on the part of his friends. "Wídfara exaggerates...."

"I do not exaggerate!" Wídfara fairly screamed. "And if I were not bound to this splint I would challenge you for that affront, sweordbroðor or no."

Thandir raised a hand to still any further outbursts from either of them. He gave Aragorn a scathing look. "You do your gwador a disservice, Estel, speaking so. I think it would be best if you apologize to young Wídfara for your words."

Aragorn swallowed a retort and with a sigh he stood, placing his right hand over his heart and bowing to Wídfara who sat there whitefaced with anger and hurt. "I regret my words, sweordbroðor," he said with all sincerity, "and beg that you will pay them no heed. They were words spoken without thought, but they were not meant to impugn either your truthfulness or your right to be concerned on my behalf."

Wídfara sat for a moment, taking deep breaths to get himself under control and finally nodded. "Hit is forgieten ond forgiefen," he said quietly. He held out his hand and Aragorn grasped it and then leaned down and gave him a kiss of peace, which Wídfara returned. When Aragorn resumed his seat, looking somewhat embarrassed, Thandir smiled.

"Now that that is settled, I want you to describe to me exactly what has happened, Estel," he said. "Leave no detail out, however insignificant it might seem."

So Aragorn told him, reluctantly and slowly, struggling not to show either anger or embarrassment at what he was being forced to reveal to this Firstborn. When he began describing the nightmare (as he insisted on calling it), Thandir’s expression, went completely blank so that not even his eyes gave anything away. He turned his immortal gaze upon Wídfara for a moment before returning his attention to Aragorn. Wídfara let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, very glad he was no longer the subject of the Elf’s regard. Aragorn fared little better, going white as he finished his narrative, his expression stricken at the eldritch light emanating from the Elf’s eyes. Thandir had to consciously look away to give both Mortals time to recover.

For the longest time no one spoke. Aragorn made himself get up and put another log on the grate, for the fire had burned down as he was speaking and there was a definite chill in the air. Wídfara simply sat there, not looking at either of them, and waited. Thandir sat in deep thought. He was beginning to regret agreeing to Elrond’s wishes with regard to Estel, but realized that more was going on than any of them knew and wondered if Elrond had not had some kind of foresight regarding the situation here in Rohan. The Enemy was waking and forces were moving into place. He well remembered the Wars of Beleriand and the final War of Wrath against Morgoth. Sauron might not be as powerful as his master, but he was powerful enough and it behooved them all to do what they could against him, and any allies he might have garnered for himself over the last Age.

The Elf shook his head and sighed, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. He looked first at Wídfara. "I thank you, Wídfara of the Mearc," he said in flawless Rohirric, "for bringing this to my attention. You have much courage and I see why Estel named you his sweordbroðor."

Wídfara reddened slightly at the praise, keeping his eyes down, so he failed to see the quirk of a smile on the Elf’s face. Thandir then turned to Aragorn, his expression somewhat graver, switching to Westron rather than to Sindarin, as Wídfara half expected. "I understand why you did not mention these episodes earlier, Estel, but I wish you had come to me about them rather than making your gwador do so. That was an untenable position in which to place him."

Aragorn nodded, looking chagrined. "Truly, I... I just didn’t want the fuss...."

"It is not a fuss, Estel," Thandir said sharply. "What is happening to you can prove to be dangerous to others and we need to address it just as Gilhael has needed to address his own particular problems of blanking out. This is no different, except it seems that in some respect I may be the inadvertent cause of your blanking out and that I deeply regret."

"So what can you do?" Wídfara spoke up then. "What did you do, anyway?"

Thandir raised an eyebrow at the young Man’s presumption, but answered readily enough. "I’m afraid that in the urgency of the moment I allowed myself to exert my Will upon your sweordbroðor, overriding any of his normal defenses." He sighed and his expression was sorrowful as he gave Aragorn a rueful look. "For which I apologize, Estel. I never meant to cause you distress in that fashion but I fear I allowed my flash of foresight to overcome my good sense and judgment. I knew you were needed by Thengel and that nothing you did otherwise would affect the outcome of your cousin’s fate. Do you understand what I say?"

Aragorn nodded. "Little though I liked it," he replied, "I saw the truth of your words when we came upon Edoras closed against us. Yet, I fear that these episodes will only continue and with no warning. How...."

Thandir raised a hand. "Let me consult with Elrohir and Elladan first," he said. "Nay, do not scowl, youngster. The sons of Elrond are gifted healers in their own right and their knowledge of the workings of the mind and spirit are greater than mine. They may offer a solution to this situation that I do not see."

"And what if there is no... cure, as Wídfara puts it?" Aragorn retorted. "What then?"

"Then you deal with it as best you may," Thandir stated quietly.

Aragorn scowled and stood up, facing the fire. He leaned a hand on the mantle. "It’s the uncertainty more than anything else, not knowing when or if it will happen again."

"And for that I truly do apologize, child," Thandir said, rising to stand behind Aragorn, his hand on the Man’s shoulder. "Let me see what the Elrondionnath have to say first." Aragorn nodded without looking at the Elf. "Now your... nightmare as you call it, is a different matter," Thandir continued, "and most intriguing."

Aragorn turned and gave the scout a sardonic grin. "I’ll gladly trade you my nightmares for your dreams if you wish."

Thandir gave an amused snort. "Thank you, but I will decline the offer, if it’s all right with you." Wídfara snickered and Thandir gave him a wink before sitting down again, motioning for Aragorn to join them. The Dúnadan complied and when he was seated Thandir looked at the two Mortals with a more sober expression.

"This dream I deem is more a foreseeing than a nightmare," he stated without preamble. "Yet, as such foreseeings go, it tells us little." He shrugged. "The only advice I can give you about it is to keep your eyes open for the moment. It may be that what you dreamt was but a possible outcome of all this brought on by your own fears for your cousin’s well-being. I do not know and will say nothing further on the subject."

"So we’re no closer to figuring out what all this means than before," Wídfara said with a sigh. He gave Aragorn a worried look. "Too many uncanny things are happening around you, Earntungol, and I fear my fellow Riders will find you an uncomfortable companion."

"And you do not?" Aragorn asked quietly.

Wídfara smiled, though it seemed somewhat forced. "Oh yes, I do, but you are my sweordbroðor so I have to put up with your... oddness, just as you have to put up with mine."

Aragorn gave him a mock look of surprise. "You’re not odd," he said with all seriousness. "A little obnoxious, maybe, but...."

He got no further as Wídfara launched a pillow at him and Thandir smiled at their levity.

****

Later, as the three of them entered the hall for the night meal, Thandir went to speak to the sons of Elrond. Elrohir glanced up and locked eyes with Aragorn while Elladan did the same with Wídfara, which unnerved the young Man so much that he almost dropped one of his crutches and only the quick reflexes of an Elf-trained Dúnadan saved him from a serious fall. Aragorn scowled at the twins who merely looked on with amusement as their brother helped Wídfara to sit. The intensity of the Elf’s gaze and the near fall had rattled the young Rider somewhat and it took a few moments for him to calm down.

Gilhael came by and handed the Rider a stein of beer. "What’s that all about, then?" he asked Aragorn, nodding in the direction of the Elves with his chin.

Aragorn shook his head. "A private matter, Cousin. Pray do not concern yourself too much over it." The words were mildly spoken but Gilhael recognized Aragorn’s tone: he was not speaking to his younger Cousin, but to his Chieftain.

"As you wish," he said with a bow of his head. "You know where to find me if you need me."

Aragorn gave him a genuine smile, that was just on this side of being wicked. "Unfortunately, I do." He managed to skip out of Gilhael’s range with a laugh, the younger Cousin once again.

Gilhael merely shook his head with a slight smile and winked at Wídfara who snickered. Then Thengel and Morwen entered the hall with their children and it was time to sup.

After they had eaten, Thandir approached Thengel and whispered in his ear, though none heard what was said, not even Morwen. Thengel’s eyes widened at whatever the Elf was saying to him and his gaze sought out both Wídfara and Aragorn, then the sons of Elrond who stood to one side of the hall in that stillness of being that the Mortals were beginning to recognize as a normal mode of the Firstborn when they were not in swift motion. Thengel looked back at Thandir and nodded, speaking a few words. Thandir nodded as well and then gave the king a brief bow before heading to where the sons of Elrond stood, gathering the two Mortals with a gesture. Aragorn helped Wídfara up and they started to follow the Elves when Gilhael stopped them.

"Is aught wrong, Cousin?" he asked solicitously, his expression troubled. "I’ve known Elrond’s sons for many years and they both have that same disinterested expression on their faces that their adar always has whenever he’s about to perform a healing."

"I assure you there is naught to trouble yourself with, Cousin," Aragorn said with a smile. "It’s just that a situation arose while you were pretending to seduce the fair Helewis that needs attending."

Gilhael gave Aragorn a jaundiced look. "I never pretended to seduce anyone," he said in mock affront. "I was very blatant and above-board about it." He sniffed disdainfully. "Just ask her father," he added smugly.

Both Aragorn and Wídfara laughed along with the others around them as they left the hall. The three Elves were waiting for them in the corridor and they set their pace to Wídfara’s awkward gait. Thandir led them back to the ‘solar’ where they had had the earlier conversation and once all were seated and made comfortable, Elladan took over.

"We will speak Westron," he said, "so there is no mistaking what is meant here." Everyone nodded in agreement and Wídfara actually sighed with relief. He suspected that the three Elves could speak his language with practiced ease, though he noticed that whenever Thandir spoke Rohirric, the Elf had used some phrases that sounded archaic to his ears, but he knew that his sweordbroðor was less fluent still. He himself spoke Westron passably well, his father having insisted that all his children learn the Common Tongue. Lord Éonoth had even gone so far as to specifically hire Gondorian workers from nearby Anórien who spoke only Westron so his children would be forced to learn the language in order to communicate with these men who helped run their father’s holdings.

The others gave Wídfara amused but understanding smiles at the obvious relief on his face, then Elladan continued. "Thandir has told us something of what has happened and has given us his thoughts about it." He then turned to Wídfara. "Normally, we would not permit you to be present at this examination, but you are the only witness to the first episode Estel suffered, so your observations will be helpful for our diagnosis."

Wídfara nodded his understanding and gave Aragorn a sympathetic look. "I’m sorry sweordbroðor," he said sincerely. "You would not speak of it and I feared...."

Elrohir leaned over and placed a gentle hand on the Man’s knee, giving Wídfara a smile. "You did well, young Wídfara. Estel is fortunate that he has a gwador such as yourself watching his back. Be not disturbed." He paused until he was sure the young Rider was less agitated, then continued. "So, let us examine the first episode." He turned to Aragorn. "Begin with what you were doing on the parapet and what you were thinking."

Aragorn complied, dredging up every detail he could muster, however insignificant, even mentioning which way the wind was blowing that night. Wídfara then told them what he had witnessed and what he had done. The twins gave him appraising looks when he told them about singing the Sindarin lullaby.

"Earntungol was shouting something," Wídfara explained. ‘I do not know what, but it wasn’t in either Westron or Rohirric. There were words that sounded like Sindarin so I decided to sing the lullaby. It was all I could think of to do as I held him. I was remembering doing something similar for my younger sisters when they were frightened or just being fractious."

The Elves nodded, their expressions ones of deep interest. "Do you recall any words specifically even if you do not know their meanings?" Elladan asked.

Wídfara furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember. "Avanno nin ada," he finally said, shaking his head, "or something like."

The others looked thoughtful, especially the twins. Aragorn actually muttered the words under his breath. "Avo ’wann' o nin, Ada," he finally said in a strained whisper, his expression one of deep pain. He turned to Wídfara. "Is that what you heard?"

Wídfara nodded. "It sounds like it," he said.

Thandir and Elladan gave Aragorn sympathetic looks; Elrohir’s expression was somewhat more wistful. "You used to scream that when you first came to us, waking from nightmares," he said, speaking Sindarin.

Aragorn could only sit there, looking pale. Wídfara gave him a concerned look. "It means something to you, then?"

Aragorn nodded, his lips set in a thin line. "I lost my father from an orc attack when I was not quite two," he told Wídfara, his expression distant. "I think it is something I cried out in my sleep when I was very young. I really don’t remember."

"Yet something that Thandir did has triggered the memory and has left you incapacitated," Elladan observed. "Is it always when you think of Thandir or when...."

He was just in time to grab his brother when Aragorn hunched over and nearly fell out of his chair with a cry. Elrohir was instantly beside them and together the two eased the Dúnadan into his seat. Aragorn’s eyes were shut tight and he was whimpering, rocking himself. "Avo, Ada." they heard him muttering, sounding incredibly young. "Avwann o nin... avwann o nin," he continued to lisp, as both his elven brothers held him in their embraces and began to softly sing the same lullaby Wídfara had sung to him. Thandir, meanwhile, sat in disbelief at the tableau, his expression one of great distress. Wídfara, on the other hand, looked concerned, but seeing that the sons of Elrond had his sweordbroðor well in hand, he sat back and waited for Aragorn to recover. It took a few more minutes for him to return to himself, but suddenly he stopped crying and opened his eyes, an expression of defeat emanating from them.

"It happened again, didn’t it?" he said with a sigh.

"Can you tell us what you were thinking just before it happened?" Elrohir asked quietly, brushing a hand through the Dúnadan’s hair to comfort him.

"I... I think it happens whenever I consciously recall our confrontation at Helm’s Deep," Aragorn answered, looking directly at Thandir.

Both Elrondionnath nodded. "Thandir told us something about it," Elladan replied, giving the older scout a significant look. "Then it isn’t Thandir specifically that triggers these episodes but the memory of what occurred at Helm’s Deep."

"But why?" Aragorn asked plaintively, struggling into an upright position. "What happened between us to make me do something like that?"

"We have no answers, as yet, Estel," Elladan said quietly. "Tell me, what was your state of mind afterwards? Do you recall?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Not really. I seem to have been in a fog for most of the time. I don’t think I fully... um... woke up until we were nigh Edoras." He gave Wídfara a questioning look and the Rider nodded in agreement.

"You were barely conscious at times," he said. "Grimbold was rather concerned, but you seemed to be more yourself before we reached the Snowbourn."

Some kind of communication passed between the twins as they gazed into each other’s eyes, then Elrohir turned to the others and spoke. "This is not something that can be... cured... at least not in the traditional meaning of the word." He looked down at his lap. "If Adar were here... well, that’s neither here nor there. We need time to think about what we have learned." He turned to Thandir. "You are far older than any of us," he said, "and I know Adar and Glorfindel respect your opinions. If there is anything in the lore of the Noldor that might be of help...."

"I will think on it," Thandir said, his expression suddenly weary. "It has been too many centuries since I thought about some of the powers of the mind we Noldor developed while in Aman. For the most part, we have... forgotten them, we few who still remain on these shores."

Elladan nodded in understanding. "Whatever you can remember, however insignificant...."

"And in the meantime?" Wídfara demanded. "What about Earntungol?"

Elrohir turned to his younger brother. "Now that you know what triggers these episodes, you have the wherewithal to guard against them. Do you remember some of the mind games Glorfindel used to play with you, to teach you to keep your thoughts from being read by the Enemy?"

Aragorn nodded, frowning slightly. "Yes, I remember."

"They may help in this case, or at least mitigate some of the effects until we can come up with a more permanent solution, if there is one," Elladan said.

Thandir rose then and went to stand before Aragorn, his expression sorrowful. "Believe me when I say this, Estel... I never meant for this to happen and I will do all in my power to undo this."

Aragorn stood. "I know you did not, Thandir, and I do not blame you." He awkwardly put his arms around the Elf’s shoulders and Thandir permitted the familiarity, even going so far as wrapping his own arms around Aragorn and giving him a hug.

Wídfara glanced at the twins, giving them a nod and a satisfied smile, which they returned. They were no closer to a solution than before, Wídfara knew, but at least there had been a reconciliation between his sweordbroðor and the Elf-lord and that had to count for something.

****

Hit is forgieten ond forgiefen: (Rohirric/Anglo-Saxon) ‘It is forgotten and forgiven’.

Avo ’wann' o nin, Ada: (Sindarin) ‘Don’t leave me, papa’, literally ‘Do not depart from me, papa’ [avo 'do not' + lenited and elided form of gwanno 'depart']. Avwann o nin: During the episode Aragorn lisps the words as if he were a young child of two or three.

In reference to the Elves’ hymn to Manwë and Ulmo in praise of snow:

"And Ilúvatar spoke to Ulmo, and said: ‘Seest thou not how... Melkor has made war upon thy province? He hath bethought him of bitter cold immoderate, and yet hath not destroyed the beauty of thy fountains, nor of thy clear pools. Behold the snow and the cunning work of frost!....’

"Then Ulmo answered: ‘Truly, Water is become now fairer than my heart imagined, neither had my secret thought conceived the snowflake.... I will seek Manwë that he and I may make melodies forever to thy delight!’ And Manwë and Ulmo have from the beginning been allied, and in all things have served most faithfully the purposes of Ilúvatar." [The Silmarillion, ‘The Ainulindalë’]

38: Scouting the Enemy

For most of the next week after the ‘consultation’, as Wídfara called it, nothing more was said or done about the situation.

"At least they didn’t make you drink some nasty potion," Wídfara said to Aragorn at one point.

Aragorn flashed him a wry smile. "Not yet."

Wídfara actually winced and nodded, looking a little glum. His leg was taking longer than he thought to heal fully and he feared he would not be able to partake in the upcoming attempt to retake Edoras which Thengel was planning. Aragorn divined the younger man’s thoughts.

"You’re healing on schedule, Wídfara," he said, clapping the Rider on a shoulder. "I think the splints will be off in another week or so. There will be plenty of time for you to regain your strength before Thengel makes his move. You know nothing will be done until the snows in the passes are cleared, signaling the end of winter’s hold on these lands."

"I know," Wídfara said with a sigh. "I just feel useless. You’re going on that scouting trip and I’m stuck here." He looked at Aragorn with a troubled expression. "What if you have another... er... episode? Who will bring you out of it?"

"That’s why Elladan is going with us," Aragorn said. "He will know what to do if something like that happens, but I don’t think it will. Now that I know what is triggering the attacks, I’m able to guard against them."

"Well, I still wish I were going. I’m sure Lord Elladan is competent and all, but I’m the only one who knows how you like your meat cut." He gave Aragorn a sly look and for a moment the Dúnadan just stared at him before bursting out laughing, grabbing him in a bear hug.

"Hey! Watch the leg, watch the leg!" Wídfara protested as Aragorn continued holding him tightly, rubbing his fist across the top of the younger man’s head, which elicited a yelp from the Rider, though he was laughing as well.

****

Besides Aragorn and Elladan, Gilhael, Hildered and Ragnawulf were also going on the scouting trip to ascertain what state Edoras might be in. The prospect of a siege did not sit well with Thengel and the city’s defensive position would make it difficult for a frontal assault to be successful.

"Which is why my ancestors built Edoras where it is," Thengel said wryly when he gathered the men together to discuss the upcoming retaking of the city. "They knew what they were about."

Thus, the purpose of the expedition was to ascertain whether the two known ways into the city, either through the culvert below the dungeons or the licweg were still accessible from the outside.

"We may well have to take the city by secret ways," Hildebrand said at one point during the discussion. Thengel scowled but otherwise did not contradict his First Marshal, knowing the man’s words were true.

Déorhunta and the other members of the ill-fated hunting expedition wanted to go as well, but Thengel had decided on a different mission for them, one that he spoke to Thandir about. The Elf came away from that meeting with a strange expression on his face, and not even the sons of Elrond dared to speak to him for some time afterwards. Thandir was later seen speaking to Celegrýn and Gilgirion; neither one of them appeared very happy about whatever Thandir told them.

Thus, two groups left Dunharrow a week after Yule. Aragorn’s group headed up the dale, skirting Underharrow and Upbourn, while Celegrýn and Gilgirion led Déorhunta, Isenhelm, Elfbeorht, Heremund and Éothain back east in search of answers about the missing hunters.

"Why do you not go with them?" Wídfara asked Thandir as the two stood on the parapet and watched the parties head towards the Stairs.

"Elrohir and I need to discuss certain things relating to the healing arts," Thandir answered readily enough. "We want to see if there is something we can do for Estel when he returns from the scouting trip."

Wídfara nodded. "I hope there’s a solution," he said sincerely. "Earntungol deserves better." It was as close to a reprimand as the young Man was willing to utter to the Firstborn.

Thandir looked down at Wídfara, noticing the look of longing and devotion in the young Mortal’s eyes as he watched his sweordbroðor move out of sight. "Yes, he does," the Elf said softly, then gave the Rider a warm smile. "Let me help you off the wall, young Wídfara. I will have Elrohir take a look at your leg and see how it’s healing."

Wídfara nodded and allowed the elven scout to help him down the steps to the courtyard below.

****

The trip to Edoras was done mostly in silence. Just shy of the city they met up with the scouts who were keeping watch and got what news they had, which was little enough.

"There has been no movement in or out of Edoras since a week before Yule," Halga said. "Someone left Upbourn and made their way to Edoras just before that and the postern gate opened for him, so someone is alive in there, but that’s about all we know."

"Did you recognize the person from Upbourn?" Ragnawulf asked, for he came from that town.

Halga shrugged. "All swathed in cloak and hood he was," he replied, "but he did carry a sword. That much at least we could make out."

Hildered thanked the scouts and bade them to return to Dunharrow. "Others will take your place. Go you and take your ease. Report all you have told us to Thengel King."

The scouts gave them relieved smiles as they quickly broke their camp and in a few minutes were on their way back up Harrowdale. Hildered decided that the scout’s campsite was as good a place as any, for it was hidden from the city, yet they could see the ramparts well enough. So, they went about setting up camp. Elladan stated he would scout further up the Snowbourn to the Royal Road and would return ere dark.

"Then I will assay the hidden passage that many of your people took to escape the city and ascertain if that way is still open to us."

"How will you see in the dark?" Hildered asked.

"There will be a moon tonight, though the clouds will obscure his light," Elladan answered. "Still, it will be enough for me to see by." With that he left, barely leaving a trace as he walked silently upon the snow.

"How does he do that?" Ragnawulf asked, shaking his head in amazement. Gilhael and Aragorn merely shrugged, not willing to try to explain the ways of the Firstborn.

An hour before sunset, Elladan returned. "There has been no traffic coming from the Westmark," he told them as he accepted a bowl of rabbit stew from Aragorn. "There has been some traffic from the east."

"How recently?" Hildered asked, furrowing his brow.

Elladan shrugged. "Hard to say. Since the last snowfall else even I would not have found traces."

"Any clue as to what kind of traffic?" Aragorn asked. "Horses? Wagons?"

"Horses for sure," the Elf answered. "Possibly at least one wagon, but of that I cannot be certain."

"Where could they have come from do you suppose?" Gilhael asked. "I thought Aldburg was safely in Erkenbard’s hands?"

"It is," Hildered said flatly. "But forget not the steadings of the Eastfold. Isenbert and Léodward have many friends there."

The other Men grimaced at that reminder. Elladan ignored them, concentrating on his stew and mentally readying himself for the night’s scouting. He went over the route Aragorn had described to him earlier, making sure he knew how to find the grate even in the dark. When he finished eating he wandered from the camp for a while to seek solitude among the leaf-barren trees, singing softly a hymn to Elbereth. The Rohirrim watched him go with no little wonder in their eyes. Aragorn and Gilhael exchanged knowing looks and smiles but said nothing.

Darkness had descended when the Elf returned, silently appearing before the fire that was carefully screened so that it could not be seen from the city. The two Rohirrim jumped at the sudden sight of the Elf standing there, the firelight reflecting darkly in his grey eyes. Gilhael smiled at Hildered and Ragnawulf but Aragorn merely looked up at his brother with a raised eyebrow.

"Did you forget something, muindor nîn?" he asked Elladan in softly spoken Sindarin.

Elladan merely stared at him, his expression totally unreadable. Then he turned to Hildered. "I leave now. If all goes well I should return before daybreak."

"And if all does not go well?" Hildered asked.

Elladan gave the young Man a faint smile. "I doubt I will be in a position to care either way." Then he looked directly at Aragorn. "If it goes ill with me," he said, speaking Sindarin, "tell Elrohir he is not to follow me to Mandos. Adar will need him more than ever if I fall."

"You will not fall, Elladan," Aragorn retorted, also speaking Sindarin, "because if you do, I’ll make sure you never hear the end of it."

Gilhael actually snorted in amusement and Elladan’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. Without another word he turned and faded into the night, as silent as a ghost, perhaps more so.

"Do you think he’ll be successful?" Ragnawulf asked doubtfully.

Aragorn shrugged. "Successful or not, we need to know if that way is still open to us. The only other avenue is the licweg."

"And even if the culvert is accessible," Gilhael added drily, "we’ll still need to check this licweg. We can’t have the rats scurrying out one hole even as we scurry into the other."

Aragorn grunted in agreement but otherwise did not speak. For a time there was only silence between the men as they each contemplated the coming days, for Thengel needed as much information as he could get concerning the state of the city. They needed to find a way in so they could learn how the inhabitants fared. The presence of the plague amongst the refugees was a cause of worry and many feared that they would be taking a city of the dead.

"It’s possible those in charge of Edoras allowed the ones who were carrying the plague to leave in the hopes that Thengel King and his men would succumb to it," Gilhael opined at one point.

"I thought of that," Aragorn stated rather clinically. "There’s a certain amount of logic to such evil. I wondered just how the plague was started, for it came rather quickly. Usually, from what I’ve been told, plagues of that sort only occur after an extended siege period. The time frame was, to my mind, too short."

"What are you saying?" Hildered asked, his face going pale with shock. "Someone deliberately brought the plague into the city and then....?"

"I do not know, Hildered," Aragorn said softly, not looking at anyone in particular. "The suddenness of the disease and its virulence.... and then there was something that happened when Wídfara nearly died."

"What? What happened?" Hildered demanded.

Aragorn shook his head. "I really don’t know," he answered, looking directly at the young Rider. "More is going on than I think we realize. Something is happening that may have nothing to do with Thengel regaining Edoras, but I do not know what. Those men disappearing the way they did...." he sighed and shook his head, closing his eyes in sudden weariness.

"Celegrýn and Gilgirion will find the answer to that riddle," Gilhael said confidently.

"How can you be so sure?" Ragnawulf demanded a bit more forcibly than he had intended.

Gilhael merely shrugged. "Those two have not survived the War of Wrath and the Dagorlad without learning a thing or two along the way."

There was silence after that for several minutes and then Hildered gave Aragorn and Gilhael a shy look. "Um... what was the War of Wrath?"

Both Dúnedain exchanged considering looks and then Aragorn gave Gilhael a barely perceptible nod. Gilhael leaned back on a fallen log and stretched his legs a bit to ease some cramping. "Well, now," he drawled, "let me tell you about that. It all started when the greatest of the Elf-smiths of Valinor, Fëanor son of Finwë, captured the Light of the Two Trees in three jewels he called Silmarils...."

Aragorn sat back and watched with faint amusement as he noticed the rapt attention the two Rohirrim gave his cousin as Gilhael spun his tale of the First Age.

****

Elladan returned sooner than they had expected. Aragorn was on watch and it was still several hours before dawn. The Dúnadan had been making a circuit of the camp and when he returned to the fire discovered his brother crouched before it, his hands out to the warmth. Aragorn joined him, giving him a quizzical look.

"What did you discover?" he whispered.

"Someone reinforced the grate before the midden in such a way that no one can squeeze through the bars," Elladan replied just as softly. "That way is closed to us."

Aragorn sighed. "I feared it might be so, one way or another. We will have to try the licweg then."

Elladan nodded. "Get some sleep, Estel. I will watch for what is left of the night."

Aragorn knew his brother well enough not to argue and in minutes he was fast asleep and the camp was silent save for Elladan softly singing.

****

In the morning Elladan told the others what he had learned.

"Fools," Ragnawulf muttered, shaking his head.

"Why do you say that?" Hildered asked, looking perplexed.

"They’ve cut off an avenue of escape for themselves," Ragnawulf replied. "It would have been better for them if they had merely placed a guard on the way into the culvert from the dungeons. Now, even they will not be able to use that way to flee if they so desire."

Aragorn nodded. "Which makes me wonder what we will find when we assay the licweg. I do not think the secret passage remained secret for long once it was known that Lady Morwen and the maidens had escaped. Their captors would have torn the room apart looking for answers. Once that arras behind the bed was taken down the doorway would have been obvious."

"You may be correct, Estel," Elladan said softly where he sat beside the fire idly cleaning one of his knives. "But we will have to make sure before we can return to Dunharrow. Thengel King needs to know what all his options may be."

"He may well have to besiege the city and starve the rebels out," Gilhael said, "though the thought of the innocent dying...."

"The innocent are always dying," Elladan retorted, his expression forbidding in its coldness. "They are often the first casualties of any war, however justified."

To that none of them had an answer, for what the Elf said was true. They spent their time idly keeping watch on the city, waiting for the time when they would move northward to where the grave mounds were situated. They had decided it would be wiser to wait until the sun was westering so anyone looking in their direction would be blinded by the light of the setting sun. Thus it was that they were witness to an interesting sight around midmorning. It was Elladan who alerted the others, having heard the soft jingle of bells approaching.

"Someone comes," he whispered as he leapt down from the tree in which he had been sitting.

Immediately, the others grabbed their weapons and moved silently towards the forest’s edge. In moments they saw a small group of people on horseback coming from the direction of Edoras. There were six riders. Four of them appeared to be guards, for they surrounded the other two riders, their eyes alert and always moving, their hands holding the reins of their horses loosely so they could easily reach for weapons if necessary. Ragnawulf and Hildered both hissed at the sight, for they recognized some of the riders it seemed. The two other riders were swathed in cloaks and hoods so it was difficult to ascertain their features, though one they assumed had to be female, for she rode sidesaddle upon a palfrey and was being led by the other rider who rode a destrier, but beyond that they could not see who they were. The scouts waited until the party had moved away from their hiding place before silently returning to their camp.

"If we had more men, we could have stopped them," Hildered said with a grimace. "I have a feeling the woman in their midst could well be the old queen."

"Think you so?" Elladan asked in curiosity. Hildered shrugged. "I could follow them to see where they go," he then suggested.

Aragorn nodded as did Gilhael, but the two Riders looked dubious. "There are only two places they could be going," Hildered said, "either to Upbourn or Underharrow, so I see no reason to waste our time..."

"You forget Dunharrow," Aragorn interrupted. "If that is indeed Éolind, how do you know she does not go to Dunharrow to parley with Thengel King?"

Hildered gave him a surprised look. "You mean surrender?"

The Dúnadan shrugged. "I cannot say. Certainly, the party does not appear to be a war party. Elladan is correct. We need to know for sure where they are heading."

"Upbourn and Underharrow are close together," Elladan pointed out. "If she bypasses the first town, she may be going to Underharrow, but once she passes its gates, her only destination will be Dunharrow."

Hildered still looked dubious, but he nodded. "Go then, but hurry back, for wherever that party is going we still have our own mission to accomplish. This changes nothing."

"Agreed," Elladan said with a slight smile, then he was gone, disappearing silently through the woods as if he had never been. Hildered sighed and gave the others a wistful smile. "What I wouldn’t give to be able to do that." The others smiled back.

Elladan returned around noon. "The party was met at the gates of Upbourn by a second party coming from the direction of Underharrow," he told them. "Then they all entered Upbourn. Soon after a flag was raised: black with a starburst."

Aragorn grimaced. "The same banner that flew before the gates of Aldburg," he said. "So it is as we feared. The Lady Éolind still lives."

"Even more disturbing is knowing that Upbourn and Underharrow are under rebel control," Ragnawulf said with a frown. "That will make the king’s task of retaking Edoras all the harder. We have not the strength to neutralize the threat of those two towns."

"Would there be many warriors in either?" Gilhael asked.

Both Riders shook their heads. "No more than a single garrison," Hildered stated, "and they share that between them."

"Yet, the rebels apparently had enough of an army to take not only Edoras but these two fortified villages," Elladan stated.

"Only through treachery could that have happened," Ragnawulf retorted. "I doubt if the good citizens of either town would have countenanced it otherwise."

"Well, there is nothing we can do about it at the moment," Hildered said, "except to complete our own mission. Uncle will not be pleased to know that both Upbourn and Underharrow are definitely in the enemy’s camp, but at least he will know where he stands with them and can plan accordingly."

"The sun will be setting in a few hours," Aragorn said. "Why don’t we move closer to Edoras so some of us are not thrashing about in the dark. I need to see the lie of the land in daylight anyway in order to get my bearings."

"You’re sure you know the way to the licweg door?" Hildered asked in concern even as they went about breaking camp.

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, I memorized the way Grimbold took, but it will still be helpful for me to see the way in daylight first before we assay it at night."

In short order they were on their way, keeping the trees between them and the city, skirting along the near frozen Snowbourn as they headed towards the royal road, for they meant to approach from the west rather than from the south. It did not take them long to reach the spot where Aragorn, Grimbold, Wídfara and Hardbeorht had encamped before making their way through the cemetery. While they waited for the sun to set, they ate a cold meal, for they dared not risk a fire this close to Edoras. Aragorn, meanwhile, explained the route he meant to take, drawing a map for them in the hardpacked snow. They were quietly discussing what their options might be should the licweg prove accessible when again Elladan alerted them to riders approaching.

This time they were coming from the south rather than the north. They watched as the same party of riders they had seen that morning returned, now augmented by two other riders. These were not cloaked as deeply as the others and Ragnawulf swore softly as the cavalcade rode by, heading for the gates of Edoras.

"What is it?" Aragorn hissed at the older warrior.

The look on the Man’s face was one of mingled anger and shame. "The one riding the black horse," Ragnawulf whispered, "his name is Folcscyld, he’s the Héafodmann for Underharrow."

Hildered nodded in confirmation, his own expression grim.

"And the other?" Gilhael demanded, seeing the man hesitate. "Who is the other?"

Ragnawulf grimaced, his face pale in the westering light. "His name is Isenwulf," he whispered. "He... he is my fædera." He turned suddenly from the sight of the riders and, throwing up the hood of his cloak, strode away. Hildered, his own expression one of deep pain and anger, made to go after him, but Elladan held him back, shaking his head.

"Give him some time alone, youngling," the eldest son of Elrond whispered. "This is a shock to him."

"A shock to us all," the young Rider hissed in anger. "I’ve never met Isenwulf of Upbourn, but mine Uncle has always spoken highly of him as a man of honor. This news will be hard for him to accept."

Aragorn shook his head and sighed, looking at his brother. "Elladan, would you go after Ragnawulf and bring him back? It will be dark soon and we need to leave."

The Elf nodded and left. Gilhael put a hand on Hildered’s shoulder. "I am sorry that there is so much pain for you and your family to endure, seeing those you trusted betray you."

"It will be well, Hildered," Aragorn then said. "Thengel King will prevail. You must trust in that, if nothing else."

"Sometimes I wonder," Hildered admitted somewhat shamefacedly.

"As does any sane man," Gilhael replied, "even your uncle. There is nothing wrong with such feelings, for they help us to remain focused on reality instead of fantasies. We may well lose this war, and we must prepare ourselves for that possibility all the while believing that we will prevail, for otherwise we have already lost."

Hildered nodded and started to say something but Elladan and Ragnawulf returned just then and other matters took precedence. The older Rider was grim-faced, but calm and he merely gave the others a nod, though he said nothing else. By now the late winter sun was setting and the stars were appearing. The two Rohirrim watched with faint amusement to see the two Dúnedain and the Elf look up at the stars and sigh almost in relief at seeing them, then Ragnawulf glanced towards the city and uttered a curse that brought everyone’s attention back to earth.

Aragorn groaned in despair and the others looked equally dismayed. Where the cemetery lay they could see torches as men moved back and forth, finally settling in one place.

"They’ve found the licweg," Aragorn said in a dejected tone. "Edoras is closed to us."

****

All words are Rohirric/Anglo-Saxon.

Héafodmann: Headman of a village.

Fædera: Uncle, literally, ‘father’s brother’.

Note: The use of a side-saddle has been traced back to the 9^th century, although there is evidence of its earlier use among the Greeks.

39: Æt þone Grundléaslican Landmearcan Ealdorceare

Warning: Certain scenes depicting the destruction of Underharrow and its aftermath may prove disturbing to some readers.

****

They decided to return to Dunharrow two days later. During that time they kept note of the traffic between Edoras, Underharrow and Upbourn. It was obvious to them that plans were in the making for the spring campaign all knew would come.

"At least we know that some have survived the plague," Gilhael said at one point. "I don’t think there would be this much activity between the rebels if they were decimated in numbers."

"Or perhaps they plan to pool their resources," Hildered opined. "Have you noticed there is more traffic into Edoras today than is going out? I wonder if they plan to abandon Underharrow altogether if not Upbourn as well."

"Strategically, it would make sense," Aragorn said, "but on the other hand, if they are all in Edoras, that means that we can recruit from the other two...."

"What is it?" Elladan asked his brother when he noticed Estel’s expression. He had kept pretty much out of their discussions about the upcoming war, for he had no intention of getting involved in it, none of the Elves did, but he was concerned for his brother. This would be the first time Estel would face such a situation. Patrolling the boundaries of Imladris or the road to Bree does not necessarily prepare one for siege warfare and its grim results.

Aragorn stared at the Elf, his expression one of confusion. "Why would they let the citizens of these two towns join Thengel against them? Why abandon the towns to retreat into Edoras at all? If they hold Upbourn and Underharrow as well as Edoras, Thengel’s resources will be stretched to the limit and he will be less effective. Underharrow and Upbourn could harass us and wear us down before we ever reached Edoras."

The Elf nodded, secretly pleased that his brother was learning to apply what he, Elrohir, Glorfindel and Erestor had been teaching him all these years. "The only reason for them to abandon either of those two towns is if they know the inhabitants who are not with them pose no threat or will be unable to join the king’s forces against them."

"How could they assure that?" Hildered asked in confusion. "Unless they kill everyone...."

That thought stopped the young Rider cold and Ragnawulf began cursing in Rohirric. Hildered sprang up and began to grab his gear. Aragorn stood and grabbed him. "What do you intend to do?" he demanded.

"Warn mine Uncle," came the determined answer.

"Warn him about what?" Elladan asked in a reasonable tone.

"The people of Upbourn and Underharrow are in danger...."

"Indeed," Aragorn stated. "Yet, what exactly can you tell Thengel that isn’t mere supposition on our part? He will demand actual evidence before he can make a move."

"But how can we allow them to murder...." Hildrered protested.

"We do not know if that is what they intend," Gilhael interjected. "We do not even know if they plan to abandon either of the towns. All we do know is that there is more traffic going into Edoras than out. That’s it, nothing more."

"Well, at any rate, we will learn little more by staying here," Ragnawulf said. He had been distant from the others since seeing his uncle riding in Éolind’s train. The thought that Isenwulf of Upbourn might be a traitor had cut him to the quick and he had kept mostly to himself ever since, so his speaking now was unexpected.

"Should we return to Dunharrow, then?" Gilhael asked in surprise.

"Thengel needs to know that Edoras is closed to us and that Isenwulf might be in league with Éolind," Ragnawulf stated baldly with little emotion in his voice. "The king will need to change his strategy and make some hard decisions as to how he wishes to conduct this war."

Elladan nodded. "You are correct, Ragnawulf," he said as he went about gathering his own gear. "There is little more we can learn here. I wish to return to Dunharrow at any rate. Camping in the snow is becoming tiresome."

"Says he who’s spent the last twenty-five hundred years running around Eriador doing just that," Aragorn quipped with a wicked smile.

Elladan refused to dignify that statement even with a raised eyebrow and the others merely snorted in amusement, beginning to get used to the odd relationship between the two. There was some discussion about having someone remain behind on watch but Hildered refused to consider it. "I am not sanguine about leaving any of us behind alone," he stated and so they broke camp and made their way up the Snowbourn towards Dunharrow.

****

Dunharrow was close to twenty miles as the crebain flew from Edoras. Upbourn and Underharrow lay approximately ten to fifteen miles up Harrowdale along the east bank of the Snowbourn. Once they were in the dale itself they headed east to avoid Upbourn altogether, skirting along the western slopes of the mountains towering above them. The land was hilly, the only flat space was where the river carved its way through the mountain dale as it made its way into the Eastfold to flow into the Entwash.

They left Edoras behind them late in the afternoon and so they did not get too far before night overtook them and they had to stop, although Elladan mentioned somewhat diffidently that he could easily see in the dark with only the stars to light his way.

"Then you are free to continue on, muindor nîn," Aragorn told him, speaking in Sindarin, and sounding a bit piqued. "The rest of us, however, will take what rest we may until morning."

Elladan gave his brother a searching look, then grinned slyly. "I may just do that," he said, and without another word melted into the darkness of the fir-shrouded hills as silently as any ghost.

The Mortals all stared at the place where the Elf had been only moments ago. Aragorn scowled and would not answer Hildered’s questions concerning Elladan, leaving it to Gilhael to explain. "Elladan has gone on ahead to do some scouting since as an Elf he sees as well by starlight as we do by day." He gave his cousin an uncertain glance before continuing. "I don’t think he expects us to wait for his return. If he’s not back by dawn we should continue on. No doubt we’ll meet up with him along the way."

Hildered gave the two Dúnedain a sharp look, his brows furrowed. "I think more is going on than you say," he finally stated, "but I will not press the matter. To tell you the truth, Lord Elladan’s presence makes me somewhat uneasy, though I cannot tell you why." He gave them an apologetic look and there was a silent plea for understanding in his eyes.

Gilhael nodded, giving the younger man a clap on a shoulder. "They do have that effect on most Mortals. The Dúnedain have had more dealings with the Firstborn than most, but even for us who are used to their ways, they can be somewhat disconcerting at times. I would not worry about it."

"Let’s set up camp," Aragorn said then, sounding brusque. The others turned to him with expressions of surprise and concern, but he ignored them, not wishing to discuss his own ambivalent feelings about the presence of the Elves, especially his brothers.

Silently the two Riders went about setting up the camp while Aragorn and Gilhael headed further into the mountains in search of game. They returned about a half an hour later burdened with the carcass of a buck and some edible roots to add to the stew. It was not long before they were all sitting companionably around the fire enjoying the smell of the stew bubbling away, quietly sharing their hopes and dreams for the future and wondering at the uncertainty of the times.

"I hope Thengel King can reclaim his throne with little bloodshed," Aragorn said with a sigh at one point. "We Dúnedain are familiar with the horrors of kinslaying, for it is part of our own history."

Ragnawulf nodded. "So I have heard it said. I little like..."

What more he planned to say was left unspoken, for suddenly Elladan was in their midst, his expression one of deep distress. All the Mortals startled at his appearance. Even Aragorn went for his sword before he realized who it was. The Elf ignored it all.

"You must come," he demanded softly yet with much authority. "There is grave evil afoot this night."

"What?" Hildered asked.

Elladan shook his head. "I do not know. I only know something Evil is abroad this night."

"Orcs?" Aragorn asked even as he was dousing the fire while Gilhael rapidly began digging a hole in which to bury their half-cooked meal and the rest of the carcass that they had planned to smoke over the fire later.

"Nay," Elladan said blankly. "This has the smell of the evil perpetrated by Men."

The two Rohirrim gave him dark looks but the Dúnedain merely nodded, well aware of the sensitivity of the Firstborn to evil in its many forms and habitations. The evil of Men, while nearly on a level of that of orcs, was not nearly as corrupt, though it sometimes came close.

"Let us go, then," Aragorn said as he grabbed his bow, ready to follow his brother even if no one else did.

Elladan nodded and set off, not caring if the others followed or not, though he knew that Estel would as a matter of course and that meant his cousin would not allow his Chieftain to face whatever evil lay in wait for them without him. What the two Rohirrim did was not his concern at the moment. In the end, muttering curses, Hildered and Ragnawulf followed the others into the dark.

The Elf slowed his own steps so the Mortals would not lose him, though every nerve in his body screamed at him to hurry. Hurry where, he could not say. He had walked only a league or so when an overwhelming feeling of hate and terror and despair assailed him. He had rushed back to Estel and the others in fear for their lives, grateful to the Valar when he saw them safe, yet knowing that Evil still stalked the land, Evil that had a Mortal smell to it. Like a hound on the trail he led them unerringly through the dark, chafing at the seeming delay at the slowness of their steps. Estel and Gilhael had no trouble keeping up, for were they not both of the line of Lúthien? It was the Rohirrim who delayed them, unable to see as clearly in spite of the clear night spangled with brilliance.

"I smell something," Ragnawulf said suddenly, sniffing the air. "Smoke."

Elladan nodded. He had in fact been smelling the smoke for some time and was following its scent, knowing with a sick heart what it must mean. He did not bother to look at the others. Gilhael, he suspected, had a fair idea, and perhaps the older Rider, but he doubted if the two younger Men understood the significance of what they were smelling. Not yet.

It wasn’t until they topped a rise along a ridge of land that overlooked the valley of the Snowbourn that they could see the origin of the smoke. In the darkness of the moonless night it was difficult to ascertain details but one thing was clear — a contingent of horsemen rode through the dark away from Underharrow, heading north and leaving behind them a burning town, its gates closed. Screams could be heard even from where they stood at least a league away, and there was a sudden clarity amongst them all as to what was happening.

"Béma, no!" Hildered screamed and began racing down the side of the ridge, heedless of his path, nearly plunging headlong over a precipice save that Elladan caught up with him first and pulled him back in time.

The young Rider fought against his rescuer, intent only on reaching the doomed town, but Elladan’s elven heritage stood him in good stead that night, and Hildered was helpless against it.

"Estel!" the eldest son of Elrond shouted, speaking Sindarin, as he continued to hold the still struggling and cursing Rider. "Follow the west face of the ridge, it’s the only safe means down to the valley. I will bring Hildered."

Aragorn wasted no time in arguments but convinced Ragnawulf to follow him; Gilhael was already checking the intended route, seeing what the Elf had meant. The east side of the ridge facing the Snowbourn was nearly a sheer precipice at this point. They had come up from the northwest, following a line of old oaks and dark firs. Now, the only way down was to descend the western face of the ridge and come around to the south where there was a fold in the land allowing passage to the river valley.

"We’ll never reach them in time!" Hildered protested as tears streamed unheeded down his cheeks.

"We will never reach them at all if we are dead," Elladan said remorselessly. He knew perhaps better than the others what their chances of rescuing any of the inhabitants of the doomed town were, but he would not voice those concerns aloud. There might still be some who could be brought out of the inferno.

They reached the lower slopes of the ridge, making their way through a crease in the land where the roots of the mountains to their left met the hills bordering the valley. Elladan took the lead then, for it was too dark here for the Mortals, even Aragorn, to see clearly where they should go. It seemed to take forever and always in the clear winter night the screams of the dying rent the still cold air while stars shone down with indifferent brilliance. At last they crossed over into the valley itself and could clearly see the conflagration illuminating the landscape in a nightmarish light. Far to the north, disappearing around a bend of the river was the fleeing contingent of murderers and traitors.

Now that their way was clearer, they made better speed and in spite of the deep drifts through which they were forced to wade at times, they finally reached the doomed town. Flames licked at the wooden ramparts and a question they had all had as they raced to the rescue was grimly answered: Why hadn’t people climbed the ramparts and jumped? True, there was the risk of broken limbs or even death, but in jumping there was a chance. Remaining behind the walls was assuring a grisly death. Only when they reached the gates did they understand.

"Oil!" Ragnawulf growled. "They soaked the walls with oil and set them afire first."

Elladan nodded, his expression cold as granite under the unforgiving light of the stars and the all-consuming flames reaching heavenward. "Thus preventing any from escaping by climbing the ramparts and jumping. They must have spent several hours at it while the inhabitants slept."

"Look!" Hildered pointed in horror. "They’ve barred the gate from the outside."

"We need to get this gate open," Ragnawulf said. "It’s their only chance, if any still live."

The five of them ran to the gates, dragging cloaks off their shoulders and wrapping them around their arms and hands to pull at the planks that were nailed athwart the gate. They hissed in pain as the fire scorched them, the intensity of the heat driving them back. Dimly they realized that they had not heard any screams for some time and they all shied away at the thought of what that might mean.

"It’s no use," cried Hildered. "They nailed the planks too well to the wood."

"If we had an axe," Ragnawulf muttered helplessly.

"Is this the only entrance into the village?" Aragorn asked, a glimmer of an idea coming to his mind.

"There should be at least two small posterns on the river side," Ragnawulf answered. "Come, I can show you."

"Wouldn’t they have bolted those as well?" Gilhael asked even as they abandoned their fruitless rescue and followed Ragnawulf northward around the town towards the river.

"Perhaps," Aragorn answered, "but they may not have bolted them as tightly, believing most people would try for the main gate instead."

It took only minutes for them to reach the river and there they saw a heartening sight: people huddled by the bank as well as in the water itself, keening in pain and bewilderment. As the five approached, several men rose from where they were crouched with farming implements and rusty swords in their hands. Hildered called out to them.

"Westu hál! It is I, Hildered son of Hildebrand, First Marshal of the Mearc, with friends."

At once the five would-be rescuers were surrounded by the survivors of the conflagration, a pitiful number of the inhabitants, perhaps only three score in total, who managed to escape when someone used an axe against the postern, weakened by the fire, or so they learned once Hildered demanded silence and everyone stopped speaking at once.

"Are there any injured?" Aragorn asked once they ascertained that all who could escape had. "We need to get away from here. We’re too close to the fire."

That was true, for the walls of the town and the banks of the river were separated by only a thin strip of cleared land, perhaps no more than fifty feet, and they all were in danger from flying embers and the heat. By now Underharrow was almost entirely consumed by flames, the stench of oil and burning flesh searing the back of their throats, parts of the ramparts beginning to collapse. One of the older men, Gríma by name, who turned out to be a master tanner and the only member of the town’s Geþeaht to survive, answered him, "Some few with burns," he said gruffly. "Most are suffering from the smoke. We’ve been soaking those with burns in the river."

"We must leave this place," Aragorn reiterated, speaking to Hildered. "We need to find shelter for these people and treat their injuries."

Hildered nodded. "And mine Uncle the King must be told of this."

"We are not far from Dunharrow," Ragnawulf pointed out. "If I leave now, I can be there by dawn or shortly thereafter."

Hildered gave his assent. "Go and bring what aid you can. We will move further up the dale. If memory serves, there is a place just upstream where we can shelter."

Ragnawulf nodded. "I know whereof you speak. I will be as quick as I can." With that he set off into the night.

Meanwhile, Aragorn, Elladan and Gilhael were organizing the survivors, pairing those who were the most severely injured with those who were not. The townspeople shrank away in fear when they realized that these were not men of the Mark, that indeed, one of them was an Elf. However, when Elladan spoke softly in Rohirric, his lilting voice soothed them and they allowed themselves to be herded together by the three strangers who cast critical eyes upon the injuries that had been sustained. The look that Elladan gave Aragorn told him that some of these people would not survive the night, for it was chill with frost and most had little in the way of clothing, having been rudely waken from sleep. The worst were the few children who had managed to escape, most of them now orphans. They were in a deep state of shock and were barely responsive. Making a quick decision, Aragorn turned to Hildered.

"These people will not survive the night, especially the children," he said softly in Westron. "What is this place whereof you speak? How far is it?"

"Less than half a league, I wager," said Hildered. "It’s a glade near the river protected by woods on three sides. It’s the best we can do under the circumstances."

"Warmth is what they will need the most," Gilhael said, joining the conversation. "Can you and Elladan handle the crowd while Hildered and I take a couple of the men who are not suffering greatly from injuries to this glade and see if we can’t get a bonfire going?"

"I think some of the fire has died down some so we might be able to get close enough to make some torches to light our way and for the bonfire," Hildered suggested, pointing to where part of the wall had fallen forward, away from the conflagration, the embers smoking in the snow.

"That sounds good," Aragorn said. "Elladan and I can manage."

Hildered issued orders and a couple of people headed to where a stand of trees hugged the riverbank several yards north of the town. They came back with suitable fallen branches which were wrapped with strips of cloth from Elladan’s undertunic to make the torches. Once that was done, Hildered, Gilhael, Gríma and two other men went on ahead, while Aragorn and Elladan herded the rest along as quickly as they could, though the going was slow with so many suffering from burns and other injuries. There was little weeping as they were forced to leave their dead to the pyre that Underharrow had become, for the shock was too deep. One or two of the children, however, tried to run back into the flames, screaming for their mothers or fathers, before Aragorn and Elladan caught them and brought them away.

It was a nightmarish journey, made even more so by the fact that clouds had come up in the meantime and snow began to fall. Even walking on the relatively flat land beside the river, it still took them nearly two hours to reach the glade and three people, including a girl-child of around ten, never made it. They were forced to leave them where they dropped, their corpses shrouded by the pristine snow falling gently around them. The rest of the survivors were too numbed by shock and pain to do more than walk around the bodies. Elladan suddenly raised his voice in a lament sung in Sindarin. His eldritch song sent shivers down more than one spine but some oddly enough found comfort in it and they suddenly found themselves weeping in release of the deep sorrow that consumed their souls as surely as the flames consumed their homes.

Faint hints of false dawn were in the eastern sky as they finally reached the glade to find a huge bonfire blazing away. By now the snow had stopped falling, for which they were all grateful. A large patch of ground had been cleared of snow around the fire and logs had been set up for people to sit on and as many as could huddled around the fire while Aragorn and Elladan went from person to person to check their injuries, bathing burns with snow and cleaning blood-encrusted feet, for many had been forced to flee unshod and the two healers feared that some would eventually lose toes to frostbite. Until supplies arrived, there was precious little either of them could do to alleviate the pain and misery of the refugees, though Elladan sang over some of the more severely injured and Aragorn was able to coax them into a healing sleep.

Gilhael and Hildered, meanwhile, had gone hunting, knowing that the survivors, especially the children, would need something to eat. They returned about an hour later with a couple of snow rabbits and a young buck. Water from the Snowbourn was placed in the single pot that the scouts had brought with them and the meat was thrown in. It was decided that they would share out the broth in shifts, adding more water and meat as necessary, feeding the children and the most severely injured first. It was time consuming with only the one small cooking pot, and before they could feed everyone, five more people, all elderly, succumbed to their injuries and the cold. Their bodies were removed into the woods to await proper burial.

"Ragnawulf should have reached Dunharrow by now," Hildered said to his three companions at one point as they took a brief break in their ministrations. "Uncle will send men to help at once. They should arrive before nightfall."

"Let us hope they bring warm blankets and food," Elladan said grimly. "Even with this bonfire, we will lose more people if they must endure the night without better shelter."

"What about making lean-tos?" Aragorn suggested. "It won’t be much, but it might spell the difference between life and death for some."

That suggestion met with approval and so they set about constructing rude shelters from pine branches, clearing the ground underneath of snow. The shelters were placed as close to the still blazing bonfire as they dared and as many as four people were squeezed inside them. This proved a better solution than they had thought for the closeness of their bodies generated heat enough to keep them alive. Some of the less injured began to help with the shelters once they were given suitable instructions, so it was not long before most of the people were lying snug under pine branches.

Thus it was that when Thengel King himself rode into the glade at the head of his éored an hour before sunset, he found most of the survivors huddled under the lean-tos, while Hildered, Aragorn, Gilhael, and Elladan stood watch over their charges, the two Dúnedain and the Elf softly singing in Sindarin a song of healing and protection, invoking the aid of Lady Estë and Lord Manwë, while Hildered hummed along.

****

Note on title: Æt þone Grundléaslican Landmearcan Ealdorceare: ‘Through the Vast Country of Great Sorrow’. The title is inspired by a line from Rainer Maria Rilke’s Duino Elegy: Tenth Elegy: "And gently she guides him through the vast landscape of Lament...." (translated by Stephen Mitchell).

Geþeaht: Assembly, council, consisting of the ealdorman, or chief magistrate, and guild masters of the town.

40: Sifting Through the Ruins

Warning: Certain descriptions of what is found when Thengel and others go to Underharrow to investigate its destruction may prove disturbing to some readers.

****

Thengel’s people brought many needed blankets, clothing, food and medical supplies, as well as extra horses for Aragorn and the other scouts. It was decided that they would not send any of the refugees to Dunharrow until the morning. Elladan elected to return with them saying that he would be of more use helping his brother with the burned victims and those suffering from frostbite. Aragorn was tempted to return to Dunharrow as well, but Thengel bade him to stay.

"You are, after all, under my command, in case you’ve forgotten," the king reminded him gently and Aragorn acquiesced with a bow.

The other members of the scouting party also remained. Ragnawulf was with them, having traveled back with the king and the éored. That night as the refugees slept Thengel demanded that the scouts describe everything that had happened. They told him about the traffic between Edoras, Upbourn and Underharrow and seeing Isenwulf of Upbourn in the company of Éolind and the other traitors. Thengel did not appear too surprised by this and they realized from Ragnawulf’s expression that he must have told the king something of what they had learned as they made their way to the refugees.

"Tomorrow I will go to Underharrow," Thengel said when they were finished giving their report, "and see for myself the perfidy of mine own people." His voice was cold and unforgiving and his eyes were dark under the stars. Aragorn fought a shiver as he looked upon this scion of Eorl the Young. The Rohirrim might not have as ancient or as noble a lineage as the Dúnedain, but they were mighty and fell in their own right. Thengel’s puissance could not be doubted, nor his determination to see the murderers of innocents come before his justice.

"What about Upbourn?" Hildered asked then. "Do you think the town too is burning even as we speak? There was no one to send to check," he ended apologetically.

Thengel gave him a brief hug in comfort. "I ordered some of my éored to continue on to Upbourn and ascertain what, if anything, has happened there," Thengel replied. "If the same thing has occurred there as here there is naught we can do about it."

"I do not think Upbourn is in danger of being destroyed," Elladan interjected, much to everyone’s surprise. "We had already passed Upbourn and the evil I sensed emanated further up the dale in the direction of Underharrow, not Upbourn."

"Sense evil, you say?" Thengel asked in surprise.

Elladan nodded. "I have fought against orcs and occasionally Men for nearly three thousand years. The stench of orcs is quite recognizable, but so is that of Men who commit atrocities, though it differs in degree."

The matter-of-fact manner in which he spoke chilled the Mortals and one or two listening to the conversation bristled at the implied insult to Men offered by the Elf’s words. Thengel merely sighed and closed his eyes. "In that, you are correct, Lord Elladan, much to my sorrow and chagrin."

"Men do not have sole claim to perfidy, Thengel King," Elladan replied with a tight smile. "The kinslaying of Elves against Elves at Aqualondë, Doriath and the Eithel Sirion is testament to that."

Thengel nodded at Elladan’s words, then commanded Hildered and the other scouts to seek their rest, assuring them of his approval of all they had done and tried to do. "No one could have done more than you did," he told them when Aragorn demurred. "Go now and rest. You have earned it. The watch will be the duty of my éored. Tomorrow, we will go to Underharrow and do what is needful for the victims."

They all gave Thengel their obeisance and then went to the tents which had been set aside for their use. Thengel, however, remained long beside the bonfire that still blazed, his thoughts dark and dangerous as the stars wheeled slowly above him in indifferent splendor.

****

The men Thengel had sent to check on Upbourn returned in the early morning hours to report that the town was quiet and the ramparts manned. Everyone breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving for that. As soon as it was light enough, the refugees were on their way to Dunharrow with a suitable escort while Thengel led the rest of the party to Underharrow. The King ordered the bodies of the refugees who had died to be brought with them so they might be buried with their fellow victims. These were wrapped with blankets and securely tied to some of the horses. It was a grim ride and when they came upon the bodies of the three who had fallen along the way, they stopped. Thengel dismounted and knelt beside the body of the child, brushing the snow off her and cradling her in his arms, weeping. No one else moved and it was several minutes before the king got himself under control. He laid the child’s body down and stripped off his cloak, wrapping her in it. The other two corpses were wrapped in blankets and these three bodies were brought along as well, Thengel insisting on carrying the child in his arms.

As Underharrow came into view they all stopped in shock and at least one of the younger men was heard to gag at the sight. There was something horribly obscene about it, Aragorn decided as he gazed upon the ruins: the blackened walls, most of them fallen, with smoke still rising while all about was pristine snow under a winter-blue sky. The Snowbourn, where it was not iced over by the banks, sang merrily as it coursed its way northward through the Westfold before turning east into the Entwash. Even the tracks the refugees had made to the camp were gone. It was the sight of carrion crows wheeling overhead however that made the scene worse and Thengel cursed under his breath. He urged his steed forward but the horses balked at the smell and the heat of the fires still smoldering within the ruins, so they were forced to leave the horses some distance from the ruins and walk the rest of the way.

Close up, the destruction was even more terrible. The main gate still stood, though the ramparts on either side were nearly burned to the ground. The planks that had barred the gates were still evident, though they were now mostly charcoal. Approaching where the ramparts had fallen into ash they were forced to pick their way carefully as they climbed through the breach in the walls to the left of the gate, for the wood still smoldered. The snowfall the night before had done little to put out any of the major fires.

As they stepped through the break into the village itself they stopped in sick amazement. It was a scene out of Angband, Aragorn thought, remembering some of the tales of the dread dungeon from his childhood. The smell of oil and burning flesh permeated the air and they all were forced to tie strips of cloth over their mouths and noses. Two or three lost their breakfast.

Thengel stooped and brushed a gloved hand across one section of the ramparts that was still somewhat intact, removing the snow. The beam was not overly large, having been a brace holding up the parapet. He sniffed it, dropping the beam with a grimace. Then he stood and surveyed the area.

"You say you think they fired the walls first, then boarded the gates so none could escape?" he asked Hildered who was standing next to him.

Hildered nodded. "We saw them nailing the beams to the main gate before they rode off," he said, "but by then all the outer walls were on fire and Elladan said he could see fire arrows let loose to fly over the walls and onto the thatched roofs. Then they rode off."

"By the time we reached the town," Aragorn picked up the narrative, "the fire was too intense for us to reach the gate and try to remove the planks. Then we remembered the posterns."

"Apparently the murderers were not as careful about blocking one of the posterns," Hildered continued. "Someone from inside had an axe and was able to hew his way through the door, otherwise, I doubt if even we would have found any survivors."

Thengel nodded. "Spread out," he commanded quietly. "I doubt anyone survived this hell, but I want to know for sure. Bring the dead to the square."

Then the gruesome task of sifting through the ruins began. It was slow and tedious for there were some places where the fires still burned enough that they had to bring piles of snow to put out the flames. Most ignored (or tried to) the huddle of bodies they found leaning against the main gate.

"Why did they not go to the posterns?" Gilhael whispered to Aragorn as they set about removing the bodies and shifting them to the square. The Dúnedain had volunteered to deal with the bodies by the main gate and any others that were out in the open while the others searched through the rubble of houses and other buildings. "Why did they stay by the main gate when they had no hope of opening it?"

Aragorn pointed. "Some of them attempted to climb the ramparts, but look, it collapsed on most of them. I think the others were too overcome by heat and smoke to think clearly enough to move away and seek other egress."

"Do you think if they had stayed in the center of the town here by the well they could have survived long enough to escape once the flames died down?" Hildered asked as he passed them to search the feasthall.

Thengel who was standing to one side, shook his head. "The fires have died down but at the height of the conflagration everything, including the people, would have burst into flame. They had no hope."

And so the search for bodies went on. More than once one of the men was seen running towards a stand of trees by the river, which was now easily accessible, where they became violently ill. Slowly, as the Sun made her way inexorably across the sky, they moved the dead into the square. Aragorn kept an eye on his cousin for this was too similar to what had happened to Gilhael’s village the year before and Aragorn was concerned that Gilhael might suffer from one of his ‘episodes’. Yet, the older Dúnadan went about the grim work silently and competently. Once, catching Aragorn’s concerned eyes, he gave his Chieftain a wintry smile that did not reach his eyes before returning to pulling yet another charred body that was more blackened skeleton than anything else out of the ruins.

"There are too many to built a proper cairn for them," Thengel said at one point, his expression sorrowful, "and the ground is too hard yet for burial. We will have to burn the bodies. I will not leave my people to the crebain and we cannot risk pestilence once the weather warms and the bodies decay," he declared.

That announcement did not go well with any of them but no one offered a protest, knowing full well that Thengel was right. It went against their natures but the circumstances dictated otherwise.

"Someone is going to pay dearly for this horror," Hildered whispered, and all agreed. His expression was beyond bleak and he had been sick twice, weeping uncontrollably upon finding two small charred bodies hiding under the remains of what must have been their sleeping cot. No one disparaged him for it, for they were all feeling the same sense of loss and despair.

It was two hours past noon before they finished their grisly tasks. Faggots were gathered from the charred wood all around them and placed strategically around the bodies. There were too many for a single pyre so they made four piles. Thengel waited until all the bodies had been placed on the pyres and then gently took the corpse of the child they had brought with them and placed her on one of the piles, leaving her wrapped in his cloak.

They all gathered around to hear the king’s words: "We commend the souls of these people to Lord Béma and the other Powers. May they be welcomed into the Halls of our Fathers with joy, and given every comfort, for whatever their loyalties, their murderers deemed them unworthy of life and so I claim them for my own and name them þegnlic and I shall exact þegnwer for each one of them. This I swear by my ancestor Eorl and those who committed this atrocity will suffer our fullest wrath. Now, let us return these people to the earth whence we all come."

That was the signal for the pyres to be lit. Aragorn, Gilhael, Hildered and Ragnawulf begged leave of Thengel to stand guard over the pyres while the rest of the éored made camp north of the ruins near the river. "Everyone should wash as thoroughly as possible in hot water and soap," Aragorn instructed Thengel. "We do not want any pestilence to follow us into Dunharrow."

Thengel agreed and the command was given. "You may stand the first watch," he told the four men, "for that honor belongs to you, but I think others will wish to stand watch as well. We will rotate every two hours until the embers have died."

So they stood, each before one of the pyres, and watched until their relief came. It escaped no one’s notice that Thengel himself stood off to one side throughout most of the night, never leaving to seek his own rest until long after midnight.

The next morning, while the éored broke camp, Thengel and Hildered entered the ruins one more time alone. Hildered carried a metal coffer that had been found in the ruins of the feasthall. The metal had buckled a bit but the coffer itself was still sound. Thengel had decided to fill it with ashes taken from each of the pyres. "When I have regained my throne, I will bury these ashes with full honors in the barrows below Edoras," he said.

Finally, Thengel and Hildered joined the others, with Hildered carefully placing the box into one of his saddlebags before mounting. Thengel looked back at the ruins of Underharrow. "We will rebuild," he said in an uncompromising tone and several of the Riders nodded grimly in agreement.

Then, they set off for Dunharrow, leaving behind ashes and disappointed carrion birds.

****

All words are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon):

Þegnlic: Loyal, noble.

Þegnwer: Thane’s ‘weregild’.

41: Leithian

The return to Dunharrow was done in silence and when they arrived, shortly before noon, Thengel quietly thanked each member of the éored individually before dismissing them. Some found themselves with tears in their eyes and Thengel was seen to embrace them before moving on to the next person. He spoke last to Aragorn and Gilhael as the others made their way to stable the horses. Only Hildered remained behind at Thengel’s request.

"For what you did to succor my people, I will be forever grateful," the King told them. "Rohan owes you a debt."

Aragorn shook his head. "There is no debt between us, Thengel King. As long as you hold our service, the people of Rohan are as our own people. We could have done no less than we did."

"Though we wish we could have done more," Gilhael added, his expression still bleak and Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder to offer him his support, knowing that his cousin was thinking of another burned out village far to the north.

"We did what we could," the Dúnadan Chieftain said quietly. "It is all we are ever asked to do, even by Eru Himself."

Gilhael gave his Chieftain a searching look before nodding his understanding. "Thorongil speaks truly, and I will not forget," Thengel said, embracing them both before moving on to enter the keep with Hildered by his side, the casket of ashes in the younger Man’s hands.

Aragorn and Gilhael went to stable their own horses before seeking out their friends. Elrohir, Elladan and Wídfara, they found, were taking a short break from tending to the fire victims, relaxing in the common room of the keep. Aragorn and Gilhael joined them at the table where they were quietly having their noon meal. Wídfara gave them a watery smile.

"How are you?" he asked quietly and the two Rangers nodded as they sat down.

"We are well, Wídfara," Aragorn answered for them both. "Have no fear for us." He turned to his brothers. "What about you?"

"And where is Thandir?" Gilhael added.

Two sets of identical eyebrows rose at the questions, but only Elrohir deigned to answer. "We are well, brother. Elladan and I have finished treating the last of the burn victims. Thandir is resting, for he was up all night with one of the children."

"How are they?" Aragorn asked quietly and they understood that he was speaking about the children of Underharrow who had survived the fire.

"They are... healing" Elladan replied, "though some will probably never fully recover from the shock of what happened."

"Did you learn anything more about that?" Gilhael asked.

Elladan shook his head. "None knew how the fires were started and there is no way to ascertain who participated in the... arson and who died."

Aragorn nodded as he tore off a piece of bread. "Until we find the rebels we have no way to know."

"It will be a sorrowful day when kin look upon kin and realize that the one countenanced the death of the other," Wídfara stated with a heavy sigh.

The others all nodded but made no further comments. Instead, they concentrated on their meal, keeping their thoughts private. After a time, though, when hunger was assuaged and trenchers were cleared, they sat around the table nursing beer (Wídfara, Aragorn and Gilhael) or mead (Elladan and Elrohir). Without prompting Aragorn and Gilhael took turns describing what they did at Underharrow while Elrohir filled them in on what was done for the victims upon their arrival at Dunharrow.

"The keep is becoming overcrowded," Elrohir commented at the end, "my brother and I will speak to Thengel about moving the more able-bodied citizens to camps below the Stairs. It won’t be as pleasant but it will be healthier for us all."

Aragorn nodded. "We need to ensure that everyone washes on a regular basis and that sanitary provisions are adequate for the numbers. Being the middle of winter will make it hard to build additional latrines if we move people into the valley."

They spent some time discussing the problems of sanitation and cleanliness and the best way to ensure that threat of plague was kept at a minimum. Wídfara did little to contribute to the conversation save to explain the layout of the keep and how waste, both human and animal, was dealt with. Listening to the Elves and the two Northerners, Wídfara began to feel uncomfortable. He considered himself highly civilized by the standards of his own people, though he vaguely knew that the Gondorians had a higher form of civilization even if he could not articulate in what manner, but until he sat there listening to the Elves and his two friends discuss drainage and such, he did not realize just how uncouth he must appear to them. Somewhere along the way Thengel joined them and then the discussion became more animated. In the end, the King agreed with the Elves and Aragorn.

"North of the Stairs is a series of shallow caves," Thengel stated. "We can house people in them or use them as latrines. The Snowbourn runs fairly close to them and with a little effort we could divert part of the river to flow through the caves. It’s not an ideal solution but it should do for now."

"I will take a look," Gilhael said, "if you can have someone show me the way. I can tell you tonight what would be the best way to utilize them."

Thengel nodded and called to one of the éored, giving him his instructions. In a short while the Rider was leading the Dúnadan away while the others remained behind. "There will be a council tomorrow," Thengel told them, "to discuss what happened at Underharrow and to finalize our plans for retaking Edoras. You will all attend." This last was not a question and they nodded their acquiescence before Thengel took his leave of them.

When the King was gone, Elrohir turned to Aragorn. "As long as you’re here, Estel, we should discuss your problems. Thandir and I have been doing some thinking and we may have a possible solution."

"What?" Aragorn asked with some trepidation.

"We’ll have to wait until Thandir awakes," Elrohir replied, "but here is what we’ve come up with so far...."

****

"Compulsion?"

Elrohir nodded. "So it would seem."

"What does that mean, though?" Wídfara asked, not a little confused. He had not been involved in any further discussions with the two Elves about what had happened to Aragorn, so he was unsure about what was being said.

Elrohir addressed the young Rider. "We think that when Thandir was attempting to... persuade Estel to go to Edoras, he unconsciously placed a mental command in his mind. I’m afraid that in his haste and concern for Gilhael, he was not gentle about it."

"To say the least," Aragorn muttered darkly.

The two Elves raised eyebrows and Elrohir shook his head. "Thandir is an Elf of mystery, Estel. You know him only as one of Adar’s scouts, but there are rumors that he is in fact the scion of a noble Noldorin family in Tirion, one that is closely allied with the royal family. He hides his lineage but cannot always hide his power."

"Power such as Glorfindel has?" Aragorn asked.

"Something like, but not quite."

They looked up to see the object of their discussion walking towards them with a mug in his hands. Elrohir said nothing, merely making room for him on the bench beside himself and Elladan, while the two Mortals gave the Elf their full attention.

"Who’s Glorfindel?" Wídfara asked. All these strange sounding names were beginning to confuse him.

"The Captain of the Guard in Imladris, what you would call Rivendell," Aragorn answered for them. "He is one of the Noldor who came to Middle-earth from Valinor before the first rising of the Sun."

"He is very powerful," Thandir added, "in more ways than one."

"And... and you’re like him?" the Rider enquired.

The Elves and Aragorn started laughing. "Hardly," Thandir replied, "and Glorfindel would be the first to agree."

"Elrohir was explaining what you two had decided about... me," Aragorn stated, giving Thandir a questioning look. The Elf nodded, his expression more regretful.

"Believe me, I never meant...."

"It is well, Thandir," Aragorn said quietly. "I hold no grudge against you for this." He gave the Elf a wintry smile. "You always complained about my hardheadedness. I guess this just proves your point."

Elrohir grinned as Thandir winced slightly. "You should have seen him dealing with me and Elladan when we were younger. He was even less gentle then."

"Only because there were two of you at the same time giving me grief," Thandir rejoined. "There was often no time for niceties with you and your brother. I was always amazed that Glorfindel didn’t skewer you two on the edge of his sword, because you certainly provoked him... us often enough."

Elladan smirked. "I surmise it is only because he was unsure whom he should skewer first so in the end he decided we weren’t worth the aggravation of explaining to Adar why his sons were giving Lord Námo Glorfindel’s regards."

Thandir gave a rueful chuckle, while Elrohir and Aragorn both grinned. "I suspect you are correct, Elladan," the Imladrin scout averred. "We all fear Glorfindel’s wrath and Glorfindel fears Elrond’s, so I suppose it evens out."

"So what about this compulsion? Can you remove it?" Wídfara interrupted, sounding a bit annoyed. He was tired of them talking about places and people he’d never seen or heard of and wanted to know what was going to be done to help his sweordbroðor.

The three Elves and the Dúnadan gave him knowing looks but he refused to back down and kept his gaze on Elrohir as steadily as he could, which lasted for about ten heartbeats before he looked down at his mug, muttering an apology. Thandir reached over and lifted the Man’s chin with a finger.

"Do not apologize, Wídfara of the Mearc," he said in flawless, if slightly archaic, Rohirric. "Thou’rt correct in reminding us of our obligation toward thy sweordbroðor." He gave the others a quick glance. "Come, let us deal with this." With that he stood and the others followed, Wídfara grabbing his crutches to walk beside Aragorn.

They made their way to the small room in one of the towers where the Elves were housed. It was too small really for all five Elves and there were only three cots, but Thandir assured Wídfara that since Elves did not require as much sleep as Mortals, they took turns. "Unless I over-extend myself," he explained, "I will not require true sleep for another week, having just rested."

Wídfara looked a bit dubious at that but otherwise did not argue the point. Instead, he sat on one of the cots at Thandir’s bidding while Aragorn was told to lie on the cot next to the Rider. "You should be as comfortable as possible," Elladan said, "so remove your boots and your belt." Aragorn complied and soon he was recumbent. Thandir and the sons of Elrond sat on the third cot, facing Wídfara, with Thandir in the middle.

Wídfara glanced at the Elves and frowned. "I do not know why I am here," he said.

"You’re here, because I want you to be here, and they know it," Aragorn answered before any of the Elves could open their mouths.

Elrohir nodded when Wídfara cast them a questioning look. "Estel is correct, Wídfara," he replied. "You have been with him from the beginning. Your presence will be comforting for him, because this may prove... strange and disquieting for him... for all of us. To the best of my memory, nothing like this has ever been attempted."

He gave Thandir a measuring look and the ellon shook his head. "Never that I have heard. I suggest you two elflings pay particular attention, for I have no doubt your adar will have many questions about this."

"And why will he be asking us and not you?" Elladan demanded, raising an eyebrow.

Thandir gave them a wide grin. "Because I have no intention of being anywhere near Imladris when you tell him what happened."

"Coward," Aragorn said with a smile, looking up from where he lay.

Thandir merely laughed. "So be it, but I still have no intention of being anywhere near Elrond’s reach..."

"Or Glorfindel’s," Elrohir interrupted with a wicked grin.

"...Elrond’s reach," Thandir continued as if he’d never heard the interruption, "when he finds out what I did to you."

"So what will you do to me now?" Aragorn then asked, all levity forgotten.

It was Elrohir who answered. "We do not think it will be possible to remove the compulsion that was set...."

"What exactly was this compulsion, any way?" Aragorn interrupted with a frown, looking directly at Thandir. "All I know is that if I consciously think about our... confrontation, I find myself in a state of panic."

Thandir nodded. "I am afraid that in my concern for Gilhael, whom I have known for far longer than I have known you and whom I love as if he were my own brother, and in my haste to be off and make sure you went to Edoras, I planted within your mind a command never to disobey me."

"And whenever I thought about that scene and my desire to defy you...."

"Your decision to not obey conflicted with my command to obey, hence the sense of panic and confusion," concluded Thandir.

"You said you cannot remove this... command that you’ve set in Earntungol’s mind," Wídfara said. "How then do you hope to help him?"

"By planting yet another command to ignore the first," Elrohir answered. Both Wídfara and Aragorn gasped in consternation and the Dúnadan went so far as to sit up in an attempt to escape, but Elladan held him down with a negligent gesture of a single hand on his chest while speaking to his twin.

"A risky move and I am not sanguine about adding more compulsions on top of this one. I wish Adar were here to consult. I am more inclined to have Estel return to Imladris with us instead and have Adar deal with this."

"I’m not going anywhere," Aragorn said heatedly.

Elladan stared down at his younger brother struggling to rise and his eyes brightened with amusement. "Obviously," he said pointedly. "Lie still, Estel." Such was the force of his command that Aragorn complied almost instantly, long habit of obedience to his older brothers too ingrained to ignore even now.

Elrohir was shaking his head. "We actually thought about that..."

"Thanks for not telling me," Aragorn groused.

"Shush, brother," Elladan admonished without taking his eyes off Elrohir.

"... but decided it would be counterproductive," Elrohir finished. "For better or worse, we need to deal with it now rather than later."

"What if you were able to ease the command rather than try to negate it with another one?" Elladan asked Thandir.

"But the compulsion would still be there," Wídfara protested on his sweordbroðor’s behalf.

"It would still be there regardless, youngling," Thandir responded. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Your solution may work," he said to Elladan, then looked down at Aragorn. "Do you understand what we are saying, Estel?"

Aragorn nodded a little uncertainly. "I think so, but if you only ease the compulsion will I not still suffer panic attacks?"

"Perhaps," Thandir averred, "but they may be just mild enough that you will be able to control them, much the way you control your fear at the start of a battle."

Even Wídfara nodded at that, for they were all warriors and understood that fear was never absent from a battle, merely shunted aside until victory or death made that fear moot. For a long moment no one spoke, all waiting for Aragorn’s decision. Finally, the young Chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain nodded. "Do as you think best," he commanded quietly, easing himself back with a sigh and closing his eyes. If the Elves noticed him surreptitiously reaching a hand out to Wídfara, who took it, giving it a comforting squeeze, they elected not to make mention of it. Instead, Thandir turned to the sons of Elrond.

"Both of you have healing skills and have been well taught by your adar," he said to them. "You must help me to do this, by lending me both your strength and your knowledge."

"We will guide you," Elrohir said softly. "Clear your mind of all thoughts except the need to reach Estel in ósanwë. When you are ready, just nod and let us do the rest."

"I will monitor Estel for any signs of distress," Elladan told them and Thandir nodded.

"And what do I do?" Wídfara asked, confusion and some fear marring his features. He was not sure what the Elves were talking about but his sweordbroðor did not seem too disturbed.

Thandir gave the young Man a warm smile. "Just what you are doing, being here for him."

"It doesn’t seem like much," Wídfara countered.

"On the contrary, Wídfara of the Mearc," Thandir said in a tone of authority, "it counts for much. Now you must remain silent while we attempt this."

Wídfara nodded, giving Aragorn’s hand another squeeze. Elladan, in the meanwhile, had been gently rubbing his hand over Aragorn’s chest, willing calmness and serenity, speaking softly to the Dúnadan in Sindarin. Aragorn’s breathing began to slow and then Elladan nodded to Thandir and Elrohir and Thandir reached over to place his fingers on either side of the Man’s temples, slowing his own breathing to match that of the Mortal.

Silence fell upon them all like a cloak, smothering them, for this room had no window and they had closed the door for privacy. Wídfara stared down at Aragorn who twitched slightly and grimaced, wondering what his sweordbroðor was experiencing....

****

Aragorn wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming or something else. At first he had concentrated his attention on Elladan’s slowly, softly spoken words, the sound of Sindarin soothing him, taking him back to an earlier, happier time when he was a child. He felt himself drifting, drifting and then....

He opened eyes he was unaware had been closed to see Thandir standing before him smiling. "How do you fare, Estel?" the Elf asked.

"I am well, Thandir," Aragorn replied and realized that the words were true. He did feel well. The aches in his body from the last few days’ trials were gone and so was the fatigue he had been feeling earlier. His mind felt alert and he gazed about him in wonder. "Where are we?"

Thandir looked about him as well. "That certainly is the question, isn’t it?" he rejoined with a chuckle. "I think it safe to assume we are somewhere in your mind. I promise not to tell your brothers."

Aragorn felt himself blush at that. They appeared to be in a wooded valley with a mixture of aspen and pine and the occasional beech or birch only just beginning to green with new leaves. In the distance they could see the Last Homely House. "This is Imladris."

"Obviously," Thandir said, his expression nonjudgmental. "It makes sense that you would think yourself to a place of safety, but I’m curious to know why this particular dell? I would have thought you would think yourself in your rooms or some other place closer to Imladris."

Without thinking, Aragorn blurted out, "This is where I met Arwen for the first time, thinking she was Lúthien."

At the surprised look on the Elf’s face, a look that swiftly turned shrewd as many things became suddenly clear to him, Aragorn reddened even more. Thandir merely nodded. "As I said, I promise not to tell your brothers."

The seriousness of Thandir’s tone relieved Aragorn and he nodded his own thanks. "So what do we do now?"

"Hmm... good question," Thandir said with a rueful chuckle. "My tutors in Aman never taught me anything like this. When I left Aman under Lord Finrod’s banner, I was only about a thousand years old and was considered too young for some of the more... er... advanced courses in the mental arts."

Aragorn gave him a look of disbelief. "That’s not comforting to hear, Thandir."

"Oh, come now, Estel, have a little faith," the Elf admonished with a wicked grin. "Have I ever let you down?"

"Is that a trick question?" Aragorn couldn’t resist asking with an equally wicked grin of his own.

Thandir threw back his head and laughed. "Much better. Come, let us walk and enjoy the beauty of this place. I confess that even though it has only been ten years since I last saw Imladris, I am anxious to return there, for it is my home and I miss it."

They started walking through the silent woods, for in this dreamscape there was neither wind nor birdsong. Aragorn found himself relaxing again, enjoying the sense of serenity and joy this memory always evoked in him.

"Let us try this," Thandir suddenly said, stopping to face Aragorn. "I’m going to give you a command, one that you will find distasteful. Let us see how you react to it. The intensity of your reaction may give me an idea just how far to ease the original compulsion." Aragorn nodded his understanding. Thandir stared at him with great intensity. "Hit me," he commanded in ringing tones.

Aragorn’s hand came up almost without his realizing it, closing into a fist, and he had to force himself to step back and lower his arm, shaking his head as he did so. "Hit me!" Thandir demanded more forcibly and Aragorn almost complied again but managed to stop himself in time. Tears were running down his cheeks as he struggled against the command.

"Please, Thandir, no!" he begged, nearly weeping in frustration. "Do not do this... I cannot...."

"HIT ME!" Thandir yelled, putting the full power of his voice behind his words. With a shuddering gasp Aragorn raised his hand once more and then lashed out, even as he stood there weeping. Thandir easily grabbed the fist and held the Mortal where he stood. Then he took the young Man into his embrace and rocked him gently to calm him. "Ha mae, mellon nîn," he crooned. "Dartho na hîdh ar lasto na bith nîn. Le Leithion oth thang nîn. Avaphado i-phith nîn i vedir dan innas annûr lîn."

The words rolled over him like an inexorable wave and he gave a sigh of relief as if some tension he was unaware he even held within him was swept away. There was a slight feeling of dizziness and then it passed. He opened his eyes again to find himself looking up at Thandir with his brothers and Wídfara also there. They were back in Dunharrow.

"Did it work?" he whispered.

"We will find out," Thandir said. "Rest for now. Sleep and be refreshed."

Aragorn found himself unable to resist the Elf’s command and in minutes he was deep asleep while the others remained quiet, keeping watch.

****

Aragorn woke to the sound of whispering. Opening his eyes, he looked around and saw that his brothers and Wídfara were gone, but Thandir was standing by the door speaking in low tones to Gilhael. Judging by the fact that his cousin was still dressed for the outdoors, Aragorn assumed that Gilhael had just returned, apparently with news.

"What is it?" he asked, sitting up. "Where are Wídfara and my brothers?"

Thandir and Gilhael moved towards him. "Is all well with you, Cousin?" Gilhael asked, his expression one of concern.

"I am fine, Gilhael," Aragorn assured him. "Now, why don’t you answer my questions."

Both Gilhael and Thandir raised eyebrows at Aragorn’s tone, recognizing that he was addressing them as Chieftain of the Dúnedain and not as Estel or even Aragorn. They sat side-by-side on the cot facing Aragorn, who was sitting on the edge of his own cot, trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep from his mind.

"While you slept," Thandir said, "Elladan decided that Wídfara’s splint could come off and Elrohir went to check on the people of Underharrow still in need of care. Gilhael just arrived with news."

"What news?" Aragorn asked, giving his cousin an enquiring look.

"I met Celegrýn and Gilgirion on my way back to the Stairs," Gilhael answered, his expression unreadable. "They found the missing hunters."

****

All words and phrases are Sindarin unless otherwise noted.

Leithian: Release.

Ósanwë: (Quenya) Interchange or communication of thought; what we would call telepathy.

Ha mae, mellon nîn: ‘It is well, my friend’.

Dartho na hîdh ar lasto na bith nîn: ‘Remain at peace and listen to my words’.

Le Leithion oth thang nîn: ‘I release thee from my compulsion.’

Avaphado i-phith nîn i vedir dan innas annûr lîn: ‘Follow not my words which go against thy deepest (most deep) will’.

42: Home Are the Hunters

By the time Aragorn, Thandir and Gilhael made their way to the main room of the keep, quite a crowd had already gathered. Aragorn saw Wídfara and Elladan, the former still using crutches but no longer encumbered by the splint. The three made their way towards where Celegrýn and Gilgirion were standing with the other hunters, their expressions set. All around them people were shouting questions and demanding answers.

"Be silent!"

All noise ceased as Thengel, with Morwen on his arm, entered the hall. Captain Alric walked behind them, acting as guard. A pathway was hastily formed as people bowed to the royal couple. Thengel and Morwen came before the Elves and hunters, their expressions solemn. Thengel gave the four Men and two Elves a searching look, then sighed, seeing in the eyes of his own men if not in the eyes of the Elves the answers he sought.

"Tell us," he demanded quietly, then, without another word, escorted Morwen to their usual seats while everyone else quickly found their own seats. The two Elves and their companions remained where they stood, quietly discussing something. Finally Celegrýn nodded and the others took their own seats, while he remained standing. Thengel gave some whispered commands to Alric who was standing behind him and the captain nodded, moving away towards the kitchens.

Aragorn, Gilhael and Thandir joined Wídfara and the sons of Elrond at their usual table. Wídfara’s expression was sad but resigned. Aragorn gave him a brief smile of understanding. While people settled where they would to listen to Celegrýn’s report, the cooks came out with platters of meat, cheese and bread and flagons of mead and beer. At a gesture from Thengel they served the hunters and the two Elves first before bringing anything to their king and queen. Celegrýn and Gilgirion satisfied themselves with goblets of mead but the four Men fell upon the repast with delight. Other members of the kitchen staff, supplemented by some of the older boys and girls from among the refugees, went around the hall serving beer and mead to everyone else.

When all were set, Celegrýn gave Thengel and Morwen a brief bow. "The others have chosen me to be the bearer of news," he said without preamble, "and I fear the news is not good."

A sigh went up among the listeners and one or two women began weeping, though not so loudly as to disrupt Celegrýn’s tale.

"It took us longer to reach the dale where your Riders went missing than anticipated," the Elf continued, "for some of the trail through the mountains has, as you know, disappeared and we had to make new trails. Also the snows hindered us."

"Hindered us, you mean," Déorhunta interjected, stressing the pronoun as he pointed to the other three Men. "As I recall, you two walked on top of the snow as if it wasn’t even there, while we were forced to slog through it."

"That’s just how it is, friend Déorhunta," Gilgirion replied with a smile and a shrug.

"What he means, Déorhunta," Aragorn couldn’t resist adding with a wicked grin, "is that Elves, being the fastidious creatures that they are, don’t like to get their feet wet or their hair mussed, which is why they spend an inordinate amount of time showing off how wonderful they are by doing things like walking on top of the snow instead of through it like the rest of us."

"But we are wonderful," Thandir replied with a sniff, refusing to let the Heir of Isildur get away with his barbs, "and so naturally we must show off. We are as Eru made us. Would you have us go against our nature and therefore Eru Himself?"

"It wouldn’t hurt you to try for a little more humility," Aragorn retorted.

"Is that word even in their language?" Wídfara asked with a wicked smile.

"Hmm.... now that I think about it...." Aragorn started to say, but Celegrýn cut him off.

"Do you mind?" he demanded, his expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation. There was soft snickering through the hall at the banter.

"Sorry, Celegrýn," Aragorn said with a grin. "Pray continue."

"Thank you," the Elf replied with a sniff. "As I was saying, it took us longer than we had hoped to reach the dale...."

****

"Does anything look familiar to you?" Celegrýn asked the Men as they made their way up the dale. It was late afternoon and the Men at least were cold and tired; the two Elves, however, looked neither as they walked beside the Mortals. They had only recognized the entrance to the dale because Ragnawulf had had the foresight to leave a cairn marking the place before they had left for Dunharrow, for there were many mountain dales in this area and they all looked alike.

Déorhunta looked about, trying to remember. The ground was snow-covered and the mountain brook was mostly frozen over. He pointed towards the left to a stand of pine and mountain aspen and holly. "We camped there," he said. "The site where traces of the missing men were found is another league further up, I believe." He turned to Éothain and Heremund for confirmation and the two hunters nodded.

"Let us go then," Gilgirion said. "By the time we reach it, it will be nearly full dark. We’ll have to wait until morning to begin our search."

The others nodded wearily and the Elves cast them sympathetic looks, being careful to walk no faster than the slowest of the Mortals, their eldritch eyes marking out the best path to take. The Men were grateful for the solicitousness of the Elves, though they were still somewhat wary of them. Still, there was no outright animosity and the Rohirrim found that they had many things in common with these Eldarin warriors.

As predicted, they reached the area where they had found Haleth’s broken bow just after sunset. Éothain recognized the site because, like Ragnawulf, he had marked the area with a cairn of small stones next to the abandoned firepit. It was only a matter of minutes before a new fire was laid down and they were enjoying the warmth. The two Elves slipped silently away into the woods that hugged the eastern slope of the dale, returning about an hour later with game for their evening meal.

"We will start our search in the morning," Celegrýn told them. "Do you remember where you conducted your own search? It will be a good place to start our own."

Éothain and Heremund exchanged looks. The older Man answered the Elf. "As I recall, we ventured no further up the dale than perhaps a mile, keeping to this side of the stream."

"You never crossed over to the other side?" Gilgirion asked and the two Men shook their heads.

"We found Haleth’s bow and everything got so... strange," Éothain explained, "that we all just wanted to leave, so we did not linger."

"Also, though he sought to hide it from us," Heremund added, "we could all see that Lord Earntungol was in a great deal of pain. We decided the best thing was to rejoin our fellows though we were left with too many unanswered questions."

The two Elves nodded. "We will search again on this side but I think it would be well to search to the west," Celegrýn said. "I want to be able to report to Thengel King that we left no stone unturned even if we must return empty-handed."

They all nodded at that and, as with the previous nights, the Elves stated categorically that they would take the watches. The Mortals had learned early on not to dispute the statement but to accept it as a gift. Soon, only the two Elves were awake, singing softly to the stars that peeked now and then from behind thin high clouds....

****

"I wasn’t in that much pain," Aragorn protested.

"Don’t speak such foolishness, Lord Earntungol," Ragnawulf admonished him. "You were fortunate that the boulder only gave you a glancing blow. Your spine could have been broken or your legs crushed. You could well have died. There is no shame in admitting to injuries as grave as yours were. That you were able to function at all was nothing short of miraculous, I say."

Éothain and Heremund were nodding even as Aragorn grimaced at the reprimand. Thengel gave the Dúnadan a sympathetic smile. "The mark of a brave man is one who carries on in spite of everything, but the sign of a strong man is one who also admits to his pain before others even as he carries on. You then become a standard by which others may measure their own bravery, for many think that to admit to pain is to admit to weakness, when it is just the opposite."

Aragorn gave the King a thoughtful look and slowly nodded, sighing. "I guess I was in greater pain than I wanted to admit to." He turned to Celegrýn. "Gilhael says you found the missing hunters. Where? How? What clue did I miss?"

"You didn’t search across the stream," the Elf answered baldly.

"They were there all that time and in my arrogance...."

"Say rather in your inexperience," Elrohir interrupted Aragorn gently. "From what we’ve been told, you were in excruciating pain and were probably not thinking straight. Under such circumstances, it would be easy enough to miss clues or simply forget to think the situation through. Had you not been in such pain, you would probably have thought to check to the west."

"I think when we found Haleth’s bow in the holly tree, we all felt spooked," Éothain added. "Well, at least I was and I wanted nothing more than to leave that cursed and haunted spot and return to Dunharrow even if it meant not finding the answers we sought."

"And that sense of disquiet and ill ease helped contribute to your being less than thorough," Thandir said to Aragorn.

"I should have...."

"Well, you didn’t, Cousin," Gilhael intervened. "I think you needs must be less harsh on yourself and simply accept this as a lesson learned."

Aragorn glanced about the hall and, seeing a nod here and there among the older members of the King’s éored and a gracious smile from Morwen, he finally nodded in acquiescence, turning to Celegrýn. "So what did you find?"

"We were fortunate," Celegrýn answered, "for the next day dawned clear, making our search that much easier...."

****

They started on the east side of the stream. "Just to be thorough," explained Gilgirion and the Mortals did not argue. Éothain and Heremund showed them where Aragorn had concentrated his own search and where the broken bow had been found. After an hour of scouring the area and finding nothing it was decided to try the other side of the stream.

"Do you think they really went that way?" Heremund asked the Elves. "Why did they not run down the dale to us, instead, and what happened to the deer meat? Did they take that with them as they fled?"

"Assuming they fled anywhere," Isenhelm interjected with a scowl. "The night before there was an after tremor. It wasn’t as large as the initial earthquake, but it was large enough. We thought perhaps a fissure opened up and swallowed them."

"A possibility," Celegrýn said, his tone noncommital. "We may never know. Come, let us cross over and check the area."

The brook, which was almost completely frozen over except in the center, was not overly wide or even very deep and with careful placement of their feet the Mortals made their slow way across. Gilgirion simply leaped across, landing about halfway upon a flat-topped boulder that stood in the midst of the frozen stream, then leaping again to land on the other bank. Celegrýn wasn’t that flashy, but he did walk backwards, grinning at the four Men. Déorhunta gave him a sour look.

"I could almost come to hate you, Celegrýn, if it weren’t for the fact that you tell interesting tales. They almost make up for your... your... superiority."

"I don’t think his tales are all that interesting," Éothain opined with a grimace as his foot slipped and plunged into the icy waters. "My ieldramódor tells better stories."

"Your ieldramódru are both dead as I recall," Isenhelm said with a laugh.

"Which tells you something right there," retorted the younger Rider and now even the Elves laughed.

When all were safely across they began scanning the land. "It’s doubtful there are any real clues left after all this time," Heremund said with a sigh.

"Nonetheless, we should search," Celegrýn replied. "Let’s make our way towards the mountains. If something forced them across the stream at this point they might have simply decided to run straight."

"Do you think something could have attacked them?" Isenhelm asked, his brow furrowed. "But what? What haunts this dale that would drive hardened warriors and hunters into a panic?"

"Perhaps we will discover that," Gilgirion said. "Let’s widen our search a bit. Spread out and head west."

They did so, though they kept one another in sight. It was Déorhunta who found the first clue. "Over here!" he shouted and soon they were all gathered around a low thornbush on which was snagged the tattered remains of a cloak. "This looks like it might be Léofrod’s. See this bit of trim?"

They looked closely at a scrap of fabric that was embroidered with a running stag.

"Léofrod’s all right," Heremund grunted. "His wife’s embroidery if I’m not mistaken."

While the Men were examining the remains of the cloak, the Elves scanned the landscape, trying to imagine where the missing Men would have gone from this point. "That way," Celegrýn said, pointing northwest where the land actually dipped slightly into a narrow dell. "The land falls away at this point. It would be the easiest path for them to take."

Down they went, keeping a closer eye for more clues but none presented themselves. However, about a mile further on the dell widened and they found themselves facing a short span of open land that ended with a wall of mountain, which was a jumble of rocks and boulders.

"Hey! There are caves here," Éothain exclaimed, pointing upward to a shelf of rock where an entrance could be seen. Looking about, they noticed several other dark openings.

"Take care entering any of them," Heremund cautioned the younger Man. "See you where there have been rock slides? I think some caves may well be blocked."

"Do you think that’s what happened to them?" Isenhelm asked. "They ran into a cave for protection and then a rockslide sealed them in?"

Éothain looked ill at that thought and the others grimaced. "We won’t know for sure until we find them," Déorhunta answered.

They spread out, each one checking the openings they could see first. Most of the caves were little more than shallow depressions and none interconnected with the others. When they were satisfied that all the caves they could find were empty they began searching for entrances hidden behind the rock slides. It was tiring work and the Elves forced the Men to stop and rest around noon, refusing to allow any of them to continue searching until they had eaten something and rested for at least an hour. The Rohirrim grumbled at the ‘mother-hennish’ attitudes of the Elves, as Éothain put it, but they complied, however unwillingly.

About an hour after they resumed their search they found what looked like a sizeable cave behind a screen of rocks and boulders. It was hot and heavy work to shift the rocks without causing an additional slide, but eventually they were able to gain entrance to the cave. This one appeared to be larger than the others.

"Certainly large enough for three Men to squeeze into," remarked Déorhunta and the others nodded.

It was decided that Celegrýn and Déorhunta would enter the cave alone while the others waited. "If they are in there, we don’t know what condition they will be in," Déorhunta said gently to Éothain when the younger Man protested. "Let us go in first. They may not be there at all."

With that the Rider entered the cave with the Elf right behind him, stooping slightly to clear the top of the opening. For a long moment there was no sound or movement, then Celegrýn poked his head out, his expression unreadable. "Come," he said, gesturing with a hand and the others wasted no time in following him into the cave.

It took several minutes for their eyes to adjust to the dimness but when they did....

"Éofred!" Éothain shouted, going to his knees before the body of his cousin and embracing him. Isenhelm put a comforting hand on the younger Man’s shoulder as Éothain wept his grief.

"They look as if they are sleeping," Isenhelm said. "Did you..."

"Nay, Isenhelm," Déorhunta denied. "We touched them not. They are as we found them."

The three missing Men were lying side-by-side, and it indeed looked as if they were merely sleeping. There was no sign of trauma and their expressions were calm.

"How did they die then?" Heremund asked in confusion. "If they ran in here and then the rock slide sealed them in, should we not have found them nearer to the entrance as they died trying to escape?"

"One would think so," Celegrýn said, his tone even, "but it does not seem to be the case. Given the way they are positioned, I think the cave was blocked after they were already dead."

"Then what killed them?" Éothain demanded, tears still running down his face as he continued to hold his cousin’s body to his breast. "What killed my cousin and these others?"

The two Elves exchanged glances before Gilgirion answered. "There was an earthquake and you said you felt tremors even after the initial one." The four Men all nodded. "This cave, unlike the others we saw, runs further into the mountain. It is possible that when the second tremor hit, they were already in the cave, for whatever reason, and gases were released with the tremors, gases that may have no scent but are very deadly. They would never have known what hit them."

"You have seen this before?" Déorhunta asked.

Both Elves nodded. "It’s been known to happen," Celegrýn stated, his expression compassionate. "The gases released would have killed them almost instantly, or may have rendered them unconscious too quickly for them to act and then the cave was sealed by the rock slide and they simply died in their sleep."

For a long moment no one spoke, then Éothain laid his cousin’s body down again. "At least their deaths were painless. That knowledge will comfort their kin."

They all nodded. "Do you wish to bring them back to Dunharrow?" Gilgirion asked gently, his expression as compassionate as Celegrýn’s. The four Men glanced at each other and when Éothain shook his head, Déorhunta spoke for them all.

"Let us reseal this cave and leave them to their rest. We will take such small tokens as we can to give to their families so they will know we speak truly."

So it was decided and so it was done. Once the cave was resealed the four Men spoke brief words about each of the dead Men, then, by mutual consent they made their way north towards the dale’s entrance intent on spending the night away from the tomb....

****

"Here are the tokens," Déorhunta said, standing to remove a small satchel from around his neck. "We took their cloak pins and belt buckles and we brought away their swords which we have left outside with the rest of our gear."

Thengel nodded, gesturing for the Man to bring the tokens to him. Déorhunta complied, placing them all on the table. It was a pitiful looking pile, all that remained of three stalwart warriors the King could ill afford to lose. Thengel sighed. "I will see that these are taken to their families, if any still live." He then stood and bowed to Celegrýn and Gilgirion. "We thank you for the aid you have given us in finding the lost. We are in your debt."

"There is no debt between us, Thengel King," Celegrýn said. "We did what we did because we were asked to lend our skills in tracking. While I sorrow for the deaths of your men, I am glad that we were able to help solve the mystery of their disappearance."

"I wonder what made them flee, though?" Wídfara asked, his expression one of puzzlement.

"We may never know," Thandir replied. "Be grateful that they suffered not at the hands of orcs or other foul creatures of the Enemy. Their deaths are tragic, as all deaths are, but take comfort that they did not suffer in their dying nor were their bodies molested."

"But to die in that manner...." Wídfara protested.

"A better grace than most are granted, child," Thandir retorted, his expression becoming cold and forbidding. There was old pain in his eyes that was at once too deep and too intimate for any to endure and the Mortals sitting around him had to look away.

Murmurs of agreement spread about the hall at the Elf’s words. Thengel nodded and addressed the hunting party. "You did well to leave them where they are," he assured them. "We will hold a funeral feast for them tonight and remember them as they lived, not as they died."

To that there were no objections and soon preparations were being made to remember the victorious dead.

****

Ieldramódor (Plural: Ieldramódru): Grandmother.

43: Council of War

Thengel called a council of war three days later. Besides Hildebrand and Alric and several of the older warriors in his éored, he invited Aragorn, Gilhael and, to his ever-lasting surprise, Wídfara. The Elves were also asked to attend, though Thandir scowled when he heard the summons.

"We will not involve ourselves with this conflict," he said to Aragorn. "I think we have overstayed our welcome."

"Perhaps," the Dúnadan said in a reasonable tone, "but before you leave I think Thengel would appreciate some input from you. You alone have had more experience in these sorts of matters than all of us put together. Thengel needs to regain Edoras and your help is sorely needed." He paused for a moment and gave Thandir a deprecating grin. "Chieftain of the Dúnedain I may be, but I have had little real experience in warfare. I am as much a novice in this as Wídfara. Please, Thandir, help me to help Thengel whom I have grown to love, whose people may someday be my allies when I most need them."

For a moment Thandir did not speak, but seeing the earnestness in his young protegé’s eyes, he finally nodded. "We will come then, but we will not fight. This war is not our concern."

Aragorn grinned. "As far as you know," he couldn’t help saying and was rewarded with another scowl on the fair face of the Elven scout.

****

The war council met in the common room, for there was no other place in Dunharrow large enough to accommodate everyone. To ensure privacy, Alric had several of his men stationed at each entrance into the main hall to prevent others from unwittingly interrupting.

"Except for the door to the kitchen," Thengel had ordered with a smile. "I would have easy access to the ale. Thinking is thirsty work."

"Especially when one is unused to it," quipped Hildebrand, giving Hildered, who was standing next to him, a wink. Both the Marshal’s heir and Thengel laughed, knowing full-well what Hildebrand meant.

There was some grumbling when Thandir and the other Elves showed up for the council. "Don’t see why we need them here," one of the older, more traditionally-minded warriors muttered to no one in particular, though all heard him, as he meant them to.

Thandir and the other Elves maintained indifferent expressions but Aragorn could see that Elladan and Elrohir at least were hurt by the Man’s words and sighed, looking at Thengel. The king was frowning.

"Whom I choose to grace my councils, Wulfred, is my concern and mine only," Thengel said quietly, raking his eyes across the assembly. "I asked Lord Thandir and the other Elves to this council because I suspect they all have had experience in siege warfare, experience that may help us to regain Edoras with as little loss of life on either side as possible."

Thandir actually smiled. "I’m sure Celegrýn, Gilgirion and I can help you there, but Elladan and Elrohir are only youngsters. They’ve had no such experience."

Now Elladan and Elrohir exchanged amused glances and Elladan spoke. "Thandir speaks truly, Thengel King. My brother and I are too young to be of any use to you in that regard. We were born a century or so after the Last Alliance."

The Rohirrim gave the twins disbelieving looks and Aragorn hid a smile as he saw some of them mentally doing some figuring and realizing just how old these ‘youngsters’ were, then glancing surreptitiously at the other three Elves and wondering just how old they were.

Thengel nodded to Thandir, a faint smile of amusement on his face. "I will keep that in mind, Lord Thandir, and try not to overtax the... er... youngsters with weighty matters."

Thandir laughed and the two older Elves snickered, though both twins had affronted expressions on their faces. Aragorn couldn’t resist sticking his tongue out at them, which made them even more affronted. Thandir tapped Aragorn lightly on the head with his knuckles. "Behave," he said, "or I’ll send all you children away to play."

That sobered them and Aragorn couldn’t help noticing the looks of amusement on the older Men’s faces at the by-play. Thengel raised an eyebrow. "If we can get on with it..." Everyone gave the King of Rohan their undivided attention. Thengel nodded. "The problem as I see it is that the two other entrances into the city, either through the drainage pipe below the dungeons or the licweg that opens up in the cemetery, are closed to us."

"Unless we were able to overcome the guards at the licweg," Hildebrand interjected. "I cannot believe that there can be that many guarding that particular entrance."

"True, but we don’t know if only the guards at the door are all we would have to contend with or if there are others," Thengel admitted. "Still, it’s something to keep in mind. It’s possible that during the dark of the moon some few could overpower the guards without alerting any sentries on the walls or inside the licweg itself and then make their way into the city."

"When were you planning to take the city?" Aragorn asked.

"We cannot hope to lay siege before the end of winter," Thengel explained. "I will need to bring several of my outlying forces in. Hilderic and Erkenbard both have Riders that we will need. Even if I were to send messages now, neither could come with a sufficient enough force before the beginning of Rethe." The king sighed, running a hand through his greying locks. "I want this over with before the time of the spring planting. We cannot afford to let this go on longer than that."

"That may not be something you can control, Uncle," Hildered said, looking older than his years. "I think Grandmother will not give Edoras up so easily."

"How well stocked are they for a siege?" Ragnawulf asked. "If Upbourn offers them supplies and arms...."

"It could prove a very long-drawn affair," Wídfara ventured, looking grim.

"It could be," Thengel allowed, "but it will not be. I will not let this continue into the summer. We will all suffer otherwise."

"What are your plans, then, Thengel King?" Thandir asked. He had participated in two sieges, and neither one of them truly succeeded. The Last Alliance did not destroy Sauron, only made him impotent for a time, and the siege of Angband.... He grimaced at the thought of how arrogant they had all been in believing they could keep Morgoth behind the Leaguer forever. Siege warfare was perhaps the ugliest form of warfare, for it turned the besieged into desperate animals and the besiegers into callous murderers of the innocent.

Thengel gave them all a searching look. "Rethe is not called ‘cruel’ for nothing, but if we wait until the following month we will lose much of the planting season. I would like to avoid that if possible. Our first order of business is to cut off any aid that Upbourn might give to Edoras. We need to take that stronghold first or we will be fighting on two fronts. Then I will offer peace to the traitors in Edoras in hopes of avoiding bloodshed...."

"They will not accept it," came the blunt words of Hildebrand, who grimaced at nothing in particular.

Thengel nodded. "Perhaps not, but I will offer terms nonetheless. If that fails then we will see. Until all my troops are in place there is little any of us can do."

"What about attempting the licweg again?" Aragorn suggested. "We noticed that during the night watch there was little going back and forth of the guards. A small band of infiltrators could take them out and secure the way. Are there other exits besides the one that debouches in your chambers, my lord?"

Thengel nodded. "Yes, there are a couple of other places though I don’t know for sure if they are even accessible any more. There is one that lets you into the royal stables, another I think lets you out into an alley behind the smithy."

"If we can get into the licweg and then find these other doorways," Hildebrand mused, "that would give us the advantage."

"The trick is getting into the licweg and finding these other ways quickly," Gilhael ventured. "It would be too risky for any of us to assay the king’s chamber." He cast a knowing look at Thengel. "I have no doubt that someone has... um... taken that chamber for themselves."

Thengel nodded, his expression sour. "No doubt."

"Is there anyone who would know where these other entrances are located along the licweg?" Hildered asked.

There was much shaking of heads among the Rohirrim. Few had even known that such a place even existed, though many had wondered. Thengel shook his head as well. "I never learned about the other ways," he said with a grim smile. "Father never got around to showing me, if even he knew of them."

For a long moment there was silence and then, surprisingly, Alric spoke up. "There might be someone...."

All turned their attention to the captain of Dunharrow. "Who?" Thengel demanded in surprise.

The captain shrugged. "Among the refugees is an old man who claimed to be one of your stablemasters. I remember when he was brought in that he made mention of the fact that he had escaped through the licweg rather than through the drainage pipe. I didn’t think anything about it at the time for there were too many refugees to contend with."

"Do you know who he is?" Thengel asked.

"Offa, I believe his name to be," Alric stated.

Aragorn started at the name. "He was one of the refugees whom I treated."

Thengel nodded, then turned to his personal guard, Éoward. "Find this Offa," he commanded and the Man saluted and left.

"If it is true that this Offa escaped Edoras through the licweg," Aragorn said, "then there is a chance...."

"But only if he recognizes the way from this side of the door," Wídfara interjected. "He may know the way from the other side but not necessarily from this end."

"We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it," Thengel stated. "In the meantime, let us proceed on the assumption that such a route is feasible. What then? Who will assay the licweg and what shall they do once they are inside Edoras?"

For nearly half an hour they discussed all the possible ramifications while waiting for Éoward to return with Offa. Many plans were offered and most discarded. The Elves stayed quiet, listening and watching as these Younger Children in the Thought of Ilúvatar planned for war and the retaking of Edoras.

Eventually Éoward returned with Offa in tow. The old man looked nervous and unsure of himself amidst the warriors but Thengel greeted him warmly and with respect and soon the stablemaster was feeling more at ease.

"Aye," he said to Thengel’s enquiry, "I made my way from the stables to the licweg right enough."

"Could you find the way back in if you needed to?" Thengel asked.

The old man stroke his scraggly beard, his eyes hooded in thought. Slowly he nodded. "I believe I can. As I recall I came into the licweg just above some stairs that went down towards the cemetery."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "I think I know where he means, my lord," he said. "From the cemetery, as you know, there is a short flat way that leads to a flight of stairs, but at the top it becomes flat for a while before the path begins winding further up into Meduseld. I do recall that there was a side passage on our left just before we started to climb again. I paid little heed to it but it seemed that it sloped downward. That must be where Offa means."

Offa nodded. "That sounds about right, Thengel King," he replied. "I recall that once inside the secret passage I had to climb upward for a short bit until I reached a level area and then there were stairs leading down." He then looked apologetic. "I fear I do not know the means by which the door leading into the stables can be opened from inside the licweg. I only know it from the stable side."

"That the knowledge of such an entrance exists is enough, good Offa," Thengel said with a smile. "There are ways of discovering the means by which such doors may be opened, never fear. I thank you for your service to us, Offa son of Gram. It shall not be forgotten."

Offa gave the king an embarrassed bow and then took his leave with Éoward escorting him back to his tent on Thengel’s orders. When the stablemaster was gone the council resumed its discussion of what they had learned.

"Grimbold, Wídfara and I have assayed the licweg before, Thengel King," Aragorn said at one point. "We are more familiar with it than most others. Perhaps we should..."

Thengel shook his head. "I will not risk you in such a venture," the king stated categorically. "There are others who will attempt the licweg. I have other plans for you, Thorongil, you and Gilhael both."

The two Dúnedain exchanged confused looks before returning their attention to Thengel. It was Gilhael who spoke for them both. "We are yours to command, Thengel King."

"Yes, you are," was Thengel’s only reply.

Shortly thereafter the council broke up. Aragorn and Gilhael left with the Elves while Wídfara went to speak with Hildered about something. No one spoke as they made their way outside to take some fresh air. The afternoon was crisp and cold but there was a hint of spring coming and that gladdened their hearts. They made their way beyond the causeway to walk among the standing stones leading towards the Dimholt.

"When do you leave?" Aragorn asked Thandir without preamble and the Elf gave him a thin smile.

"Trying to get rid of us so soon?"

Aragorn stopped, his expression sober, for he was in no mood for levity. "You are the one who keeps insisting this war is not yours."

"And it is not," Thandir averred. "That is not to say that our time here is at an end. We will leave, but not yet."

"Why do you stay at all?" Gilhael asked, his brow puckered in confusion. "It’s not as if either of us need to be minded like children."

Elladan gave him a smirk. "Are you sure about that? The two of you seem very eager to get into as much trouble as you possibly can."

Aragorn sighed. "Jest all you wish, Elladan," he said with a slight scowl marring his face, "but eventually you will have to let us... let me go my own way. I am not little Estel anymore."

The Elves gazed upon the two Dúnedain with something close to sorrow in their ancient eyes. Finally, Thandir nodded. "No, you are not little Estel anymore."

Aragorn looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling chagrined. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "I can’t help growing up."

"Nor should you apologize for doing so," Elrohir said, taking Aragorn by the shoulders and giving them a brief squeeze. "We will always mourn for the little boy who stole our hearts when we were not looking, but we rejoice in the man you have become in these last few years. Before, you were our little brother, but now, you are our brother-in-arms and our equal."

Aragorn gave him a lop-sided grin. "I’ll never be your equal, Elrohir, in anything."

The Elf smiled. "Perhaps, but we can always pretend."

That set Aragorn laughing and soon the others joined him and their mood lightened. Thandir gave the two Men a piercing look. "We will not fight in this war, for it is not ours to fight, but we will stay and help as we may. Thengel is a good Man and deserves better."

"And the Lady Morwen may need our aid soon enough," Elrohir said and Elladan nodded.

Aragorn gave them both piercing looks, then nodded as well. "You sense what I sense... that all is not well with her."

"This pregnancy appears to be very difficult for Lady Morwen," Elladan stated. "Yet, the child thrives and she will soon be born. Elrohir and I would like to make sure that both mother and child survive the birthing."

"As would I," Aragorn said. "I would welcome your help when the time comes."

"When the time comes you shall have it, Little Brother," Elladan assured him with a smile.

The breeze picked up just then as the sun began setting over Írensaga and both Aragorn and Gilhael shrugged their cloaks closer to themselves. The Elves gave them sympathetic looks. "Come, let us go back inside before you two catch your deaths," Thandir said as he noticed Aragorn shivering. Neither Mortal bothered to argue.

****

Rethe: Equivalent to our March. The name was used in the Shire for this month and is derived from the language of Dale and Rohan so I use it here. See Appendix D. The actual Old English word was Hreðemónað, literally ‘cruel month’.

44: Questions of Risk

The month called Frery slowly made its way towards Solmath. A continuous watch was kept on both Upbourn and Edoras but there was little to report. The initial flurry of exchanges between the capital and Upbourn ceased about mid-month, just in time for two snowstorms that inundated the area and made travel anywhere impossible. Thengel kept his people busy though with preparing as best they could with the resources they had for the retaking of Edoras. When the snows were not hampering them, the éored was out drilling. Even the civilians were engaged in checking and repairing weapons, armor and tack, as well as more mundane tasks, such as preparing bandages and such for the inevitable injuries that follow any battle.

The Elves stayed out of everyone’s way, barely seen by any except Aragorn, Gilhael and Thengel. That suited most people just fine, for these Firstborn, unfailingly polite and helpful though they were, made many of the common folk uneasy and, in some cases, feel inferior. Thandir, being aware of this, gave orders to the others that they were not to volunteer to do the work that the Mortals were quite capable of doing themselves.

"We may see them as children," he told the other Elves, "and in many ways they are, but in more important ways they are not. They are no less capable than we. The Edain have always been resourceful and we should allow them to express that particular gift which Ilúvatar has given them."

The one thing they did do was to keep a close eye on Lady Morwen. Elladan and Elrohir went with Aragorn to Thengel and told them of their concerns for the queen’s health.

"She has made no complaint to me," he said with some chagrin, "yet I can see the shadows under her eyes and she tires more easily than she did when she carried the others."

"The privations she has suffered these last months have not helped either," Elrohir said. "Yet, we sense that the babe is strong and healthy and eager to be born." He smiled at that and Thengel couldn’t help smiling back.

"We just want to make sure that both mother and child survive the ordeal of the birthing," Elladan added. "Yet we hesitate to offer our services without your permission, Thengel King."

Thengel nodded. "You did well to come to me first. I will speak with Morwen. She is from Gondor of the line of Númenóreans. I do not think she will object to your leechcraft. She has already accepted Thorongil as her healer-in-residence."

"Thorongil is a Mortal, as is she, so her acceptance of him is understandable, but she may not feel the same way towards us and we would not wish to cause her any more distress at such a time with our presence if it is unwanted."

"I understand, and I thank you for your consideration," Thengel acknowledged. "I have no objections myself, but then, I’m not the one who will be giving birth." He gave them a deprecating smile and there were nods of understanding all around.

In the end, though, there was no need for concern, for when Thengel broached the subject to Morwen, she gave her heartfelt consent and began pestering all the Elves to tell her if the babe would truly be another daughter as Thorongil had said, but they merely laughed and told her "Wait and see" and with that she had to be content.

Thereafter, the Elves could be seen spending their time with Morwen, singing songs and telling tales. Some frowned at this, but many who saw how much stronger their queen seemed, and noticed that her eyes were no longer dimmed with fatigue, but bright once more, rejoiced, for they loved their queen, foreign-born though she be, and were grieved that her health was so poor of late.

Thengel, meanwhile, was busy with certain plans, plans that involved Aragorn and Gilhael. On a blustery morning towards the end of Frery, he called the two Dúnedain, along with Ragnawulf and Wídfara, into Alric’s office where maps were strewn across the good captain’s desk. One of them was a layout of Upbourn. Thengel was tapping a finger idly upon it when the four men entered.

"Before we can take Edoras, we need to deal with Upbourn," he stated without preamble. "I need information."

"What are you thinking, my lord?" Aragorn asked.

Thengel gave them all a shrewd look, lingering the longest on Ragnawulf. "I want Isenwulf," he finally said. "There are some questions I would ask him."

Ragnawulf paled. "Our last report has him in Edoras...."

Thengel nodded. "But he returns to Upbourn on a regular basis. I want you there when he does, or rather I want Thorongil and Gilhael."

"Us! Why us?" Aragorn exclaimed. Gilhael looked equally surprised by Thengel’s words.

"You managed to infiltrate my mother’s encampment and rescue my son right under their noses...."

"Just barely...."

"Yet it was more than anyone else managed to do," Thengel retorted. "Two of my men tried... and failed."

There was a pause as the ramifications of what the king was saying hit home. "Nevertheless," Gilhael started to say, "I still don’t see how...."

"I spent many years among the Rangers of Ithilien," Thengel interrupted. "I learned many tricks of infiltration and extrication during my time with them. I suspect you two have similar skills." He gave the two Dúnedain a shrewd look. Neither attempted to deny his words.

"What about me, lord?" Wídfara asked, unable to contain his curiosity. "Why am I here?" He understood, and agreed with Thengel, as to why Thorongil and Gilhael were the best choice for sneaking into Upbourn and bringing the traitor Isenwulf out, and Ragnawulf, of course, would know about his uncle’s habits, so he would be valuable for that reason, but he was at a loss as to why he was at the meeting, for he knew nothing about sneaking in and out of any place and even less about Isenwulf of Upbourn.

Thengel gave him an indulgent smile. "You are here, young Wídfara, because while Thorongil and Gilhael are dealing with Isenwulf of Upbourn for me, I need you to ride swiftly by the hidden paths to Helm’s Deep with a message to my sister-son. It is time to bring in reinforcements."

"Alone?" Aragorn asked with some concern.

Wídfara looked somewhat affronted and crushed at the same time and Aragorn realized he might have overstepped his bounds.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply...."

"Nor do I think so," Thengel said, placing a hand on Wídfara’s shoulder, "even if Wídfara believes otherwise, for you are correct. I do not mean for you to journey alone." He said this last to the young Rider, who gave Thengel a surprised look. The king shook his head, giving Wídfara a fatherly smile. "Ragnawulf will go with you after he has given Thorongil and Gilhael all the information he has on his uncle and Upbourn. The times are too dangerous to risk a lone Rider."

Now it was Ragnawulf’s turn to scowl but he did not contradict Thengel. Wídfara looked a bit less upset and nodded in acquiescence.

"Good," Thengel said in wry satisfaction. "Now that we’ve cleared that up, let us speak about how to get you two into and out of Upbourn without getting caught or killed."

The king pulled the map of Upbourn closer so all could see. "My spies have been marking the watches on the walls of the town and they tell me that the good people of Upbourn cannot be bothered keeping watch on the river side."

Ragnawulf snorted, shaking his head. "No one ever expects an attack from the Snowbourn."

"More fool they," rejoined Gilhael with a sneer.

"We have had no enemies in a long time," Thengel said mildly, casting the Dúnadan ranger a wry grin.

"Until now," Gilhael retorted, then instantly regretted his words and looked apologetic.

Thengel merely nodded, not at all upset. "Until now," he repeated.

"I’m sorry, my lord...."

Thengel held up his hand. "Do not apologize Lord Gilhael. We indeed do have enemies, and unfortunately, we have lived so long without any except for the Dunlendings that I fear some have become... careless." His expression went cold and Aragorn found himself shivering slightly, glad that he was not Thengel’s enemy. "That... mistake will cost Upbourn."

For a moment, no one else spoke, then Ragnawulf cleared his throat. "If Thorongil and Gilhael were to use the Snowbourn to reach Upbourn they could do so virtually unseen. The moon grows dark again in another week...."

Thengel nodded, clapping a hand on the Rider’s shoulder in approval. "Good, Ragnawulf, good. Work out the details with Thorongil and Gilhael. They will need a raft of some kind, cleverly disguised just in case. Hmm... I think I’ll put some of our refugees to work."

"There is a young lad, an apprentice cooper, who could perhaps help. His name is Aldred son of Aldwine," Aragorn volunteered, remembering the young man who had wondered how he could be of help in retaking Edoras for his king. "His sister, Ashlind, helps in the kitchens, I believe."

Thengel nodded. "Excellent! Thank you. I will certainly have this young cooper assist in the making of the raft."

With that, they turned their attention to other details and Thengel also spoke to Ragnawulf and Wídfara about the message he wished to send to Hilderic at Helm’s Deep.

****

"Ithil will be completely dark in three days and will set early in the evening so you should not have any light betraying you when you leave," Thandir said to Aragorn and Gilhael as they were taking the evening air after the night meal. The three of them were wandering towards the Stairs of the Hold, stopping to gaze out across the valley of Harrowdale northward. It was the middle of the first week of Solmath and already the month was living up to its name. The weather had turned mild and there was a definite thaw, though they were all weather-wise enough to know it was a temporary thing and soon the cold would return as winter gave them a final gasp before giving way to spring.

"The raft is finished and all our supplies are ready," Gilhael said. "All that remains is for us to execute the plot."

"A dangerous gamble about which I am not sanguine," Thandir said.

The two Dúnedain snorted in amusement at that. To say that the ancient Elf was not sanguine when he heard of Thengel’s plans was putting it mildly....

****

"He wants you to do what?" Thandir demanded in disbelief.

"You heard correctly, Thandir," Aragorn said, refusing to get into an argument.

"Is Thengel insane, or are you?"

Gilhael scowled. "It’s no more insane than some of the schemes you’ve hatched over the years, my friend. Remember the time we wanted to..."

"Yes, yes," Thandir interrupted impatiently, "but we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about Estel."

"I thought we were talking about Upbourn," Aragorn said stiffly, beginning to understand why Wídfara had taken umbrage at his words earlier. Really! Would these Elves never let him grow up?

Thandir gave him a cold look. "You are the Heir of Isildur, Estel. You are the last hope of your people. Risking your life this way...."

"Risking my life?" Aragorn demanded angrily. "When am I not risking my life, Thandir? If I were not here in Rohan do you honestly think I would be safe at home in Imladris? I am indeed Isildur’s Heir. I am also Chieftain of the Dúnedain and, the Valar willing, perhaps one day I may claim the winged crown of Gondor and the Scepter of Annúminas. Whether here or in Eriador I risk my life. The Enemy hunts me even now. Why do you think I walk under the skies using an assumed name? Do not speak to me of risk, Thandir. I know the risks."

For a long moment there was a tense silence between the two. The other Elves and Gilhael who were witnesses to the conversation remained quiet, though Gilhael idly noticed the silent communication going on between Elladan and Elrohir, eyeing their ‘little’ brother in a different light.

"If Elrond were ever to find out...."

"What! You mean you haven’t told him yet?" Aragorn retorted with a disgusted scowl. "You’re slipping in your duties as my nanny, Thandir." With that he turned away and strode out of the room, no longer interested in listening to yet another diatribe from some damn Elf about how young he was. He heard Gilhael call after him, but ignored it, striding purposefully towards the doors leading outside, suddenly in need of fresh air.

It was several hours later before he saw the others again. By then, his mood had lightened, though he had no intention of backing down from his position. He had pledged himself to Thengel King for as long as he was needed and he would do as the king asked, no less than any other liegeman. How could he expect others to serve him if he were not willing to do the same? He would apologize though, he had decided. Thandir did not deserve his umbrage and even in his anger he had noticed the shock and hurt on the Elf’s face at his last words.

He tracked Thandir down in the room set aside for the Elves. He was alone, sitting cross-legged on a cot, oiling one of his bone-handled knives. Thandir looked up at Aragorn’s entrance, his expression unreadable.

"Goheno nîn," Aragorn said softly, "I should never have...."

Thandir shook his head, laying the knife aside and rising gracefully to go to the young Man, placing his hands on Aragorn’s shoulders. "Nay, it is I who should apologize." He gave a heavy sigh and then grinned wryly. "You are no longer the young Estel who pestered me for a whole summer for tales of the First Age."

"That’s what happens when you go away," Aragorn couldn’t resist saying with a teasing grin.

"I suppose so," the Elf conceded with a nod, then he gave the Dúnadan a glare. "And I am not your nanny. That’s Gilhael’s role."

Aragorn merely laughed. "Nay, Gilhael is my naneth."

Thandir joined him in laughter. When the two came to the night meal together jesting with one another, more than one person in the hall breathed a sigh of relief....

****

"You will watch over Lady Morwen, while I am away?" Aragorn asked Thandir as they continued looking out over Harrowdale, now lost in darkness.

The Elf nodded. "Though I suspect you’ll be back before anything happens. The babe has yet to turn."

"I know, but I’ve been uneasy about this pregnancy since I became aware of it," Aragorn stated. "It would ease my mind knowing that you and my brothers will be here for her if I am delayed."

"How long do you expect this to take?" Thandir asked.

Aragorn and Gilhael both shrugged. "It depends on how long it is before Isenwulf returns to Upbourn," the older Ranger answered. "If he holds to his previous habit, he will leave Edoras tomorrow and will remain in Upbourn for at least a week or two."

"Then the sooner you are able to take him, the better," Thandir said. The two Men nodded. Thandir sighed. "I’m still not sanguine about this."

Aragorn and Gilhael exchanged exasperated looks but wisely made no comments.

****

A runner came the next night informing them that Isenwulf of Upbourn had left Edoras and was now back in Upbourn. Thengel gave Aragorn and Gilhael permission to carry out their assignment and so on the first night of what the Elves tended to call Ithilvorn the two made their way down the Stairs of the Hold towards the Snowbourn where a raft, cleverly disguised as flotsam, awaited them. Ragnawulf and Wídfara accompanied them, for their own journey to Helm’s Deep would begin as well, using the moonless night as cover. They would cross the Snowbourn at the ford a couple of leagues north of Upbourn and make their way along the hidden paths that meandered through the forests that hugged the mountain slopes.

The four made their farewells to one another and then Aragorn and Gilhael climbed aboard the raft, pulling tree branches over them as cover. Wídfara undid the moorings and Ragnawulf pushed the raft away with a well-placed foot. "Béma be with you," he called out. If there was a reply, the two on shore never heard it as the raft was borne swiftly away. When it was finally lost to their sight, the older Rider turned to the younger. "Come. We have a way to go ourselves."

Wídfara nodded and in minutes the two were mounted and heading downdale, each hoping their two Dúnedain friends would fare well and their mission would be successful.

****

Frery: January; derived from Old English fréorig: freezing, frozen, chilly, cold, as well as sad, mournful. The Anglo-Saxons (and Hobbits) called the month Æfterra Geola or ‘Afteryule’. Frery is the name given to the month by the Breelanders, according to Tolkien. See Appendix D.

Solmath: February; derived from Old English Solmonaþ, literally ‘mud-month’.

Goheno nîn: (Sindarin) ‘Forgive me’.

Ithilvorn: (Sindarin) Moon-dark; the time of the new moon when it is invisible.

45: Infiltrating Upbourn

The ride down the Snowbourn was uneventful, though near the end they had a struggle getting their raft to shore. They sped past Upbourn with the intention of coming back to it from the north, surmising that any watch would be concentrated to the south where the king was. They were soaked by the time they reached the shore, but had planned for that, pulling out dry clothing from waterproofed bags, stowing their wet things and making their way back towards Upbourn.

Ragnawulf had told them about the postern gates on the river side, explaining that they were rarely bolted from the inside even at night, so secure did the inhabitants think themselves. "No one ever imagines an attack from the river," he had told them, "and leaving the postern gates unbolted allows for escape in case the town is taken."

"That’s why they bolted the gates of Underharrow from the outside," Gilhael stated with disgust. The others nodded their understanding.

"So, do we try one of the postern gates?" Gilhael asked Aragorn as they made their slow way in the moonless dark. Upbourn loomed before them, a square shadow rising from the snow.

"I think not," Aragorn replied, "though I suspect we’ll need to use one of them for our exit."

"Over the wall then?" Gilhael asked. "Rather more dangerous."

"Agreed. I think, however, it’s our best bet. Ragnawulf did say that at the southwest corner of the ramparts there was a huge boulder that partially obstructed the view of the river."

"Seems strange to me that they did not remove the boulder," Gilhael opined.

"Indeed, it does, but that may work to our advantage. The sentries apparently cannot see around the boulder, so they rarely bother to keep a constant watch on that part of the wall."

"Ah... now I see what you’re getting at. You are quite clever, Cousin, for all that you are barely sprouting whiskers."

"I was raised by Elves, don’t forget," Aragorn said, smiling, though it was too dark for Gilhael to see it. "I learned how to be devious from those who have had long practice in the art."

Gilhael chuckled softly. "That is certainly true. Here, we’ll want to move towards those willows. They’ll give us the necessary cover until the sentries on this side move off."

They made their way towards a stand of willows gracing the riverbank and waited. They had timed their journey with the intention of being in position just as the watch was changing. There was always some level of confusion as sentries were replaced and they were hoping to use that to their advantage. They did not have too long to wait, and as the one sentry they could see moved eastward along the wall, they made their way along the river until they were hugging the west ramparts, stealing along from one pool of darkness to the next until they had reached the southwest corner without incident.

They could see the boulder, a shapeless granitic megalith that was wider at the base than at the top and easily two and a half times Aragorn’s height. It obviously had proven impossible for the Rohirrim to move. Ragnawulf had admitted to them that the original builders of the town had miscalculated where the ramparts should go and by the time they reached the southwest corner it was too late to tear everything down, so the planners compromised by building around the boulder, leaving it outside the wall.

"They would’ve done better to build so the boulder was inside the walls," Gilhael commented in a whisper. Ragnawulf had told them that the boulder was pocked enough with gouges that a determined person could climb it and hence make it over the wall.

"We must remember to thank whichever Vala inspired the original builders not to do so, then," Aragorn said with a chuckle and Gilhael echoed him, even as he gave the younger man a boost up so he could reach the nearest handhold. He had to grope for the next one for there was no moonlight to aid him. It was tedious and treacherous; one small misstep and he could end up crashing down on Gilhael who was right behind him. A sound from the ramparts froze him with one hand outstretched in search of the next handhold. He felt Gilhael bump him and smiled as he imagined what his cousin might be thinking but didn’t dare say out loud.

The noise got louder and now Aragorn recognized it as a sentry making his rounds. He didn’t dare move to try to get a better grip on the rock for fear of alerting the man and so was forced to hang there by one hand until he went past and had turned the corner to walk along the river side of the ramparts. Aragorn’s arm was trembling with the strain of holding himself in place and, in spite of the cold, he was sweating with the effort. Gilhael may have sensed his discomfort for Aragorn felt his cousin inching up by slow degrees until Aragorn’s feet were directly over Gilhael’s shoulders and he understood that his cousin was willing to take the strain off him. He breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his hold a bit.

The sentry finally disappeared into the night and Aragorn began his climb again. He came to the crest of the megalith and stopped to catch his breath. He was not quite on a level with the top of the rampart but the builders had apparently decided to build the wall as close to the boulder as they could, not bothering to take into account the possibility of this being a weak point in their defenses.

Which is just as well, he thought, allowing himself a brief ironic smile as he inched his way around the boulder until his back was to the rampart. There were perhaps no more than six inches between him and the wall, so he carefully leaned against it and, using it as a prop, turned himself around so his back was now to the boulder. Then he reached up and grabbed the posts and pulled himself up and over, landing as quietly as he could. He took a few seconds to make sure he had not been noticed before standing up and reaching over the wall to assist Gilhael up. In minutes the two Dúnedain were crouching in the corner where the south and west walls met, attempting to get their bearings in the dark.

Gilhael pointed east. "The nearest set of stairs down is in that direction," he whispered, "but Isenwulf’s home is on the other side of the town from here."

Aragorn nodded though it was doubtful Gilhael could see. "Best to take these stairs rather than risk being accosted by a sentry if we attempt to get across the town by way of the wall. Come. The sooner we find him the sooner we’re out of here."

They stole along the south wall until they were about half-way to the next corner. There, they found wooden steps leading down, bringing them into an alley between two houses. The ground, though snow covered, proved uneven and so they stepped carefully along, keeping to shadows when they could, risking open spaces when they had no choice, flitting from one building to another in a zig-zag pattern that eventually brought them into the main square where the feast hall stood.

The hall was dark. Indeed all along the way they had noticed that most of the houses were dark and silent. Once they saw a dim light spill from under shutters and heard the creaking of a rocker as a mother attempted to soothe her fractious child with her milk and a lullaby. Otherwise, all was silent, save for the soft calling of the sentries as they made their rounds. Nowhere did they see anyone about and surmised that the town was under curfew.

"This makes it easier for us," Aragorn whispered to Gilhael as they crouched by the town well to get their bearings. "Isenwulf is more likely to be in his own home than elsewhere. Have you noticed that even the inn across the way is shuttered? It is not so late in the night that it would not normally be open."

Gilhael nodded in agreement, then pointed slightly east of north. "That way. Isenwulf’s house is along that alley and facing the river."

Without another word the two Rangers crept across the square like two liquid shadows, noiseless and barely seen. Too bad we cannot walk on snow as the Elves do, Aragorn thought to himself as they reached the intended alley and moved silently along, then we would truly leave no trace and wouldn’t that be a fine puzzle to leave these good people? Gilhael reached out and tapped his cousin on the shoulder to bring him to a halt. Someone was approaching from the other end of the street. A quick glance showed their only avenue of escape was the way they had come and that might prove too dangerous. Making a quick decision, Aragorn motioned for Gilhael to flatten himself into the doorway of the nearest building while he went back a short way to the next house to do the same.

He pulled his hood as far forward as he could and tucked his chin into his neck to avoid being noticed. It was inconceivable that whoever was making his way down the alley was not carrying a torch or lantern and he hoped that the person would be more intent on reaching his destination than examining the doorways along the route. Assuming he isn’t making his way towards either of these two houses, Aragorn thought with a frown, and slowly reached down and kept a ready hand on the hilt of his knife.

The figure they had heard approaching was not walking surefootedly, but to Aragorn’s mind somewhat hesitantly, yet not in a sneaking way, for he could hear the man humming a tune and as he came closer Aragorn could tell that the man was, if not drunk, certainly tipsy. He held his breath, hoping that the man’s inebriated state would make him less likely to notice him and Gilhael hugging the shadows of the doorways. Yet, as luck would have it, the man actually slowed his walk and stopped directly in front of the doorway where Gilhael stood. There was a sense of hesitation and confusion in his stance as he stared at the Ranger blocking his way.

"Hey! Wash y’doin’ in m’doorway?" the man demanded, reeling slightly from drink.

Aragorn cursed silently to himself, already removing his knife from its sheath as he started forward, but was stopped by Gilhael’s voice.

"Your pardon, friend," he heard the older Dúnedan say softly in flawless Rohirric. "I stopped for a moment to get out of the cold."

"Oh," came the reply. "Ish it cold? I hadn’t notished."

"No, I supposed you hadn’t." Aragorn could almost see his cousin’s smile. "Well, I will be on my way, friend. Thank you for the use of your doorway." Gilhael stepped around the man who nodded.

"’S fine. G’night." The man fumbled at the latch of the door and then stepped into the house without a backward glance at Gilhael.

"And a fair night to you as well, friend," Gilhael said softly with a chuckle as the door closed behind the other man.

Aragorn came to him, resheathing his knife. "That was close," he whispered and felt rather than saw Gilhael nod. "Will he remember you, do you think?"

Gilhael shook his head. "I do not know. Come, Isenwulf’s house is just ahead. Let us get on with this. The longer we are in Upbourn the more dangerous it will be for us."

Aragorn could not help but agree and so he willingly followed his cousin toward Isenwulf of Upbourn’s house, which was larger than its neighbors, with its gabled roof. The house actually overlooked a small square, facing west. Unlike the other houses surrounding the square, this one showed evidence of someone still awake within for light filtered through the single shuttered window. The two Dúnedain looked at each other.

"What do you suggest?" Gilhael asked.

Aragorn shrugged. "It’s impossible to sneak into a house where at least one person is awake. We can either wait until that person retires or...." He paused, as if thinking.

"Or what?" Gilhael asked after a moment when Aragorn did not appear willing to continue.

"Or we simply invite ourselves in."

Gilhael sucked in a breath at that, but really, it wasn’t a bad thought. Crazy, but then the whole venture was insane, so why not? He felt himself grin and a feeling of recklessness coursed through him. "Are you going to knock or should I?"

Aragorn chuckled and made his way to the door. Gilhael was right beside him and the younger man noted with approval that his cousin held a knife at the ready. Aragorn removed his own knife from its sheath and with the other hand lifted the latch to the door, praying that the door was not locked, and it wasn’t. He slitted his eyes just before opening the door, knowing that his night sight would be compromised as soon as he stepped into the lighted room. They would need to make this quick. He opened the door just enough to allow himself and Gilhael to slip through before closing the door again. Gilhael blocked the way while Aragorn stepped further into the room and saw a typical keeping room with a kitchen fireplace along one wall and a table and chairs occupying the center. A curtain marked off what must be a bedroom and a rude ladder along the opposite wall from the fireplace led to a loft. Before the fireplace were two chairs, one of them a rocking chair. Both were occupied. On the right was an older Man, his greying hair braided in the Rohirric style, who looked up at the intruders without a hint of surprise in his eyes. The other—

"Ah... Good evening, gentlemen. We’ve been expecting you."

"Mi-mithrandir?" Aragorn stuttered in disbelief even as he heard Gilhael gasp in shock.

The old Wizard sitting in the rocking chair nodded, smiling benignly as Isenwulf of Upbourn started laughing.

46: Mithrandir and Isenwulf

"Mithrandir!" Aragorn said, his expression one of shock and disbelief. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Why, waiting for you, dear boy," the Wizard said with a wink. "Did I not tell you that when next we met it would be under different circumstances?"

"What!? B-but that was just a dream!"

"Was it? Ah, well, perhaps it was at that." Gandalf sucked on his pipe and gave Isenwulf a knowing smile.

Aragorn stared at the Wizard for a long moment and then in three quick strides he was at the doorway leading into what was obviously a bedroom, pushing back the curtain that separated it from the main room and standing there, still as a statue. Gilhael never moved from the door and the two older men remained seated. After a long moment Aragorn turned around, his expression one of confusion and perhaps even of fear.

"It’s the same room," he whispered. "It’s the same room. How is that possible? What devilry is this?" He staggered, putting a hand to his head, feeling suddenly dizzy.

At once both Gilhael and Gandalf were at his side, gently leading him to the chair the Wizard had vacated. Isenwulf, meanwhile, rose and poured some ale into an empty cup, thrusting it at Aragorn. "Here, youngster," he said in heavily accented Westron. "Drink this."

Until that moment, Aragorn had been unaware that he had automatically addressed Gandalf in Sindarin and the Wizard had replied in kind. Now, however, he made a conscious effort to speak in Westron after taking a quick sip of the heady brew, shaking his head. "It’s not possible. How could I..."

"Ah, well, as to that," Gandalf supplied with a sympathetic smile. "I think my Lord Irmo had a hand in that, perhaps preparing you for this moment. Do you remember what I told you in the... er... dream?"

Aragorn gave the Wizard a searching look. "You said I was safe."

"And indeed you are," Gandalf replied with a nod. "You need have no fear of betrayal under this roof. Isn’t that correct, Isenwulf?"

The older Man nodded, giving them a grin through his mustaches. "Yes, safe. You are all safe under my roof."

"But now, my friends," Gandalf said. "You must explain why you are here."

"Thengel wants to speak with Isenwulf," answered Gilhael. "He asked us to... er.... invite him to meet him at Dunharrow."

"Hmm... well that might not work," Gandalf said with a frown, rubbing a finger and thumb on his chin in contemplation.

Isenwulf shook his head. "I cannot leave here as yet. It would not be safe...."

But Aragorn was no longer listening. Memories of Underharrow and all that had happened of late came rushing to the fore and before anyone could react he was on his feet, a knife suddenly in his hand, as he grabbed Isenwulf by the placket of his tunic and pushed him up against a wall.

"Safe?" he fairly snarled. "How safe were the children of Underharrow, my lord? I should kill you now for your treachery against innocent folk...."

"Estel!" "Cousin!"

Aragorn felt rather than saw Gilhael by his side, pulling him away from the Rohir, who never flinched, his blue eyes steely and calculating, as the older Ranger dragged his younger cousin from him, pushing him into a chair and pulling the knife from his hands. Gandalf gave the younger Man a stern look.

"Enough! I will not tolerate such histrionics from you or anyone else. Do not presume to know everything, young man, for you do not. What happened at Underharrow was unfortunate but...."

"Unfortunate?" Aragorn leaped up yelling, his expression one of outrage, his grey eyes flashing with disgust. "You were not there when Thengel laid a child, a child!, on the funeral pyre wrapped in his own cloak. You were not there when he later sifted through the pyres to collect the ashes of his people who were callously murdered by their own. And he!" — he pointed at Isenwulf who never left his place by the wall — "he consorts with traitors. How do I know he didn’t order the burning of Underharrow himself?"

"Peace, Estel, peace." Gandalf said as he took the younger Man by the shoulders and gazed intently into his eyes.

Aragorn found he could not look away and suddenly felt awash with a wave of compassion and sorrow too deep for him to comprehend or fully accept. He closed his eyes and sagged into the Wizard’s embrace, sobbing. Gandalf held him, refraining from speaking, merely offering him comfort. Neither Gilhael nor Isenwulf moved. Finally, after several minutes, the sobbing slowed and the young Man moved out of his friend’s embrace, wiping a sleeve across his eyes, looking much younger than his years with that single gesture.

"I think we can all do with something soothing to drink," Gandalf said as he gently guided Aragorn to a seat. "Isenwulf, let us have some tea."

The older Man grimaced. "Bah! Tea is for old women and sick children."

"And for old Wizards," Gandalf said, giving his friend a knowing smile. "I am sure that Reinhild has some stashed in the cupboard somewhere."

Isenwulf nodded once and went to the cupboard where dry goods were stored, rummaging about until he found what he was looking for. Soon, a kettle was on the hob boiling away. Meanwhile, Gilhael stationed himself by the door, not sure what he should be doing. Nothing was going as planned and he wondered what other surprises were in store for them this night. Gandalf stood next to Aragorn, gently rubbing his shoulder, willing calm. For several moments no one spoke. Soon, though, Isenwulf was laying out the tea paraphernalia. With a little urging from the Wizard, Aragorn found himself sitting at the table with a mug of hot sweet tea in his hands. Taking a cautious sip so as not to burn his mouth, he felt himself relaxing even more and sighed with relief. The other three men took their own seats with Gilhael facing his cousin.

"Now that’s much better," Gandalf exclaimed, taking a sip of his tea and smiling benignly upon them all. Isenwulf grunted, but whether in agreement or not, it was difficult to say.

"Mithrandir," Gilhael finally ventured. "What are you doing here in the enemy’s camp?"

Gandalf frowned. "Enemy camp? A rather harsh judgment, my boy. We are all friends here and most of the good people of Upbourn would fight for Thengel if given the chance."

"They closed their gates to Thengel," Aragorn said baldly.

"The rebels closed the gates, youngling," Isenwulf said gruffly. "Most of us had no say in the matter."

Aragorn stared at the man he still considered a traitor to Rohan whatever Mithrandir might say to the contrary. "You must come with us, sir. Thengel demands your presence and I will not deny him the pleasure of your... company."

The older Man shook his head, his eyes more sad than angry. "I cannot go. To do so will mean death to my family."

Both Dúnedain raised eyebrows at that statement. "What do you mean?" Gilhael asked.

Isenwulf gave the Ranger a steely look. "Think you that I would betray my oaths to Thengel King for... for that woman? My wife, Reinhild, and my youngest daughter, Isenhild, are kept as hostages in Edoras to ensure, if not my cooperation, then at least my good behavior." He snarled at the mug in his hand as if its very presence affronted him and he stood to retrieve his goblet of ale, topping it before sitting down again. He took a large swig before setting the stein down. "If I am missed, they and others will be summarily put to death."

"Others?" Aragorn asked softly. He was beginning to understand that more was going on than met the eye.

Isenwulf nodded, looking suddenly morose. "Aye... most of the children...."

"Where are they being held?" Aragorn demanded.

Isenwulf glanced up at the younger Man, his expression puzzled. "There is a barracks to the left of Meduseld where...."

"I know where it is," Aragorn said, giving Gilhael a significant look, which his cousin recognized.

"Oh no, my lord," he said, switching to Sindarin, "we are not going to Edoras to rescue anyone."

"Oh?" Aragorn said and Gilhael cringed at his cousin’s tone, mentally cursing his Chieftain and all the Valar.

"We came here to get Isenwulf and that is all," he insisted. "Besides we have no way to get into Edoras."

"I can get you in."

The two Rangers stared in surprise at the Wizard who gazed back with a faint smile on his lips.

"Well, even if that’s true, Mithrandir," Gilhael averred reluctantly, switching to Westron again, "how do we get them out without anyone noticing? One or two people, yes, I have no problems with that, but...."

"How many hostages are there?" Aragorn asked Isenwulf.

"Twenty, not including my wife and daughter. They were taken to keep the little ones in line."

"How old?"

The Rohir shrugged. "The youngest is perhaps five and the oldest about eleven or twelve." He pulled another swig of the ale and gave them a defeated look. "I was able to convince Éolind that taking babes as hostages meant taking their mothers and half the nurseries in Upbourn. Too much trouble. I tried to get them to take someone other than the children as hostages but...."

Gandalf leaned over and placed a comforting hand on his friend’s arm. "You did what you could to keep your people safe, old friend. Do not despair. We will save your wife and daughter and the children."

"And how do you propose to do that, Mithrandir?" Aragorn asked. "You said you could get us into Edoras, but can you get us and everyone else out?"

"Oh, to be sure, to be sure."

Gilhael suddenly laughed though it held little humor. "It is said: Go not to the Elves for advice for they will say both ‘no’ and ‘yes’, but no one ever warned us about asking Wizards, for they will only say ‘maybe’."

Gandalf hrumphed as he took a sip of tea but his eyes were twinkling with veiled amusement. "And they would be correct," he said, "for all paths are equally evil and none can say which road will lead to victory and which to ruin. Not even the Powers in the West can say. So if I am chary with my words it is for good reason, my dear Gilhael. Rest assured though that I do not speak idly or to offer vain hope. A way can be found to bring you into Edoras and a way will be found to bring you out safely."

"This is madness, Cousin," Gilhael exclaimed, switching to Adûnaic. "We have not the time or permission. Do not forget that others await us and will likely do something... rash if we do not return in time."

"Others, you say!" Gandalf interrupted, frowning. "What others?"

"My brothers," Aragorn explained, smiling grimly at the Wizard’s startled look. "They wait for us near the ruins of Underharrow."

"And you know full well, Mithrandir, that if Estel is even five minutes late..." Gilhael began but stopped when the Wizard raised a hand, his eyes shuttered as he sat deep in thought.

They all sat in silence while Gandalf continued thinking, wondering what the Wizard would do next, so they were rather surprised when he opened his eyes more fully and nodded. "Well, that puts things in a different light. I suggest we all sleep on it and wait and see what the morning brings."

"What?" Aragorn demanded, standing. "You know Elladan and Elrohir will tear this town apart with their bare hands if necessary to find me. They will not rest until they do and innocent people may well be hurt or killed along the way."

They had switched back to Westron during the last bit so Isenwulf was able to figure out something of what was being said. He gave Aragorn a smile. "Your brothers I can see are very protective of you, but I do not think they will get far with a frontal assault and they are only two, after all."

"Except these two happen to be the sons of Elrond of Imladris," Gandalf said with a chuckle. "and they have spent the last five hundred years destroying orc armies singlehandedly. If they want to raze Upbourn to the ground they will have no problem doing so, though I doubt they will go that far." He turned to Aragorn. "I assume they know how to find this place."

Aragorn nodded. He ignored the look of disbelief on the Rohir’s face as Isenwulf stared at him. There was no time to explain and Aragorn was not in the mood.

"Good, good," the Wizard said. "Then we can just wait for them to show up."

"My friend," Isenwulf said with a resigned look on his face as he turned his attention to Gandalf, deciding to shelve the enigma of the young Dúnadan for another day. "You only get more mysterious as the years go by."

"Heh?" Gandalf said, giving the older Man a skeptical look. "Well, be that as that may, I think it’s time for all of us to retire. The curfew is long past and we do not want to draw undue attention to ourselves."

Isenwulf nodded and in a few short moments he was showing Aragorn and Gilhael the loft where his children normally would sleep. "My sons are grown and now ride with Hilderic in the Westfold and my other daughters live elsewhere with their own families. Only my Isenhild is left." He swallowed noisely and Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Fear not! We will rescue your Isenhild and all the others. You have my word."

Isenwulf stared at the younger Man for a moment before nodding. "My sons’ cots are on the other side of the curtain. Good night."

They heard him make his way down the ladder and then there was a dousing of lights so only the banked coals in the fireplace gave any illumination. Gandalf, it seemed would be taking Isenwulf’s bed while the Rohir camped out before the fireplace on a pile of rugs and furs. The two Rangers divested themselves of their gear and lay down on the cots. For a long moment there was only the sound of sheets rustling and beds creaking as they settled towards sleep.

"So, how long do you think they’ll wait?" Gilhael asked his cousin, speaking softly.

"They are already making their way here," came the sleepy answer as Aragorn yawned.

"What do you mean?" Gilhael asked and even in the darkness Aragorn could hear the confusion in his cousin’s voice and smiled to himself.

"My brothers will be here before dawn," was all he would say and then he rolled over, pulling the thin quilt about his shoulders and settling himself to sleep. After a moment, he heard Gilhael sigh as the older Ranger also drifted towards sleep and then only Isenwulf’s snores broke the silence.

****

Aragorn felt a hand over his mouth and without conscious thought a knife was in his hand and at the throat of his assailant. He opened his eyes to see Elrohir grinning down at him, a finger to his lips. He gave a quick nod even as he removed the knife from his brother’s throat. The Peredhel moved slightly to the left, allowing Aragorn a glimpse of Elladan waking Gilhael in similar fashion. The older Ranger’s reflexes were just as sharp as ever and in a second he had Elladan pinned to the floor with a knife to the Half-Elf’s throat.

"And good morn to you," Elladan said with a grin before he did some impossible move that Aragorn could not see in the predawn light filtering through the small shuttered window at the other end of the gable. In short order Elladan had Gilhael disarmed and was now straddling him instead.

Gilhael glared up at the grinning heir of Imladris. "Ever hear of knocking?"

The two Peredhil laughed softly as Elladan released his hold on Gilhael, smoothly rising and giving the Mortal a hand up. Aragorn gave his cousin a smug smile as he too rose from his bed. "Told you they would be here before dawn."

Elrohir rewarded him with a quick slap on the back of his head. "Breakfast is waiting," was all he said and he and his brother made their way down the ladder like twin ghosts, silent and ethereal in their movements.

Aragorn and Gilhael went through their ablutions quickly and were soon downstairs where they found a bemused Isenwulf sitting at the table with an amused Gandalf while Elrohir was fiddling with the kettle and Elladan was laying out plates and mugs. The two Rangers took turns using the privy and then joined everyone in the common room just in time for the twins to serve them fried eggs and bacon, along with some toasted bread. There was also tea and even Isenwulf did not refuse any in his bemusement to see two whom he could see were Elves making breakfast for him. As they sat and ate the twins and Gandalf spoke softly in Sindarin, the Wizard catching them up on everything that had been discussed the night before.

Aragorn noticed his brothers exchanging looks that even he could not read for all that he had grown up with them. They turned their attention back to the Wizard. "So, you want us to help with the rescue attempt?" Elladan asked. Of the two, he was the better at devising strategies, though Elrohir had a firmer grasp of logistics.

Gandalf nodded, looking calmly at the Elrondionnath. For a long moment no one spoke. The twins gave each other significant looks and it was obvious some sort of silent communication passed between them. Then, they looked at the three Mortals and one Wizard and smiled as one. "Well, Estel. It looks as if you’ve gotten yourself and us into another mess."

"That’s right, Elladan. Go ahead and blame me," Aragorn snarled, not at all pleased at the teasing looks on his brothers’ faces.

"Oh, don’t worry, little brother," Elladan rejoined. "I have every intention of laying this one at your feet when Thandir starts asking embarrassing questions."

Gilhael snickered, which earned him a glare from his Chieftain. Then Aragorn sighed, realizing that they were only jesting. If anyone was going to be blamed for this hare-brained scheme it was going to be a certain Wizard with a fondness for Halfling leaf. The Chieftain of the Dúnedain was going to make sure of that.

"So, what’s the plan?" Elrohir asked and soon they were deep in discussion about an impossible mission to rescue hostages out from under the very noses of their captors as Anor rose in the east.

47: Rescuing the Hostages

"Tomorrow" Isenwulf told them, "I will be going to Edoras. Four of Éolind’s guards will come to fetch me." He grimaced, the thought of having to be fetched by anyone, let alone by a female, obviously rankling him.

"Four guards, you say?" Elrohir asked, looking thoughtful. "Neither more nor less?"

Isenwulf shook his head. "And always the same four guards."

"Which will make my task easier," Gandalf said with a grunt.

The others gave him enquiring looks. "Would you care to elaborate?" Elladan asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Not at the moment," Gandalf replied, looking rather smug.

"Hmph," the elder son of Elrond said. "Keep your secrets, then. We have plenty of our own."

"We do?" Elrohir looked at his twin in surprise. When Elladan gave him a meaningful stare the ellon changed his tactics. "Oh yes, we do!" he said brightly before casting a brief scowl at his brother. "In fact, they’re so secret, even I don’t know anything about them."

Elladan rolled his eyes and gave his twin a swat on the back of his head. Gilhael and Aragorn both snickered. Isenwulf just looked bemused while Gandalf huffed on his pipe, the only indication of any emotion from him being a simple uplifting of an eyebrow that reminded the Peredhil and the Dúnedain of Elrond.

"Regardless," Aragorn waded in, "four guards and there are four of us. The trick is to be able to pass for them and to keep them quiet and out of the way while we play their roles."

"I think that between you and the Elrondionnath you should be able to concoct a sleeping potion that will keep them down for a time, especially if the potion is reinforced with an induced healing sleep," Gandalf commented.

Elrohir frowned. "I hesitate using that technique where no healing is needed."

"Assuming they won’t need it when we finish manhandling them," Gilhael retorted mildly giving them a wry smile.

"He has a point," Elladan said to his brother and Elrohir nodded reluctantly, still not sanguine about having to inflict pain on those who were not orcs.

"Assuming we can pull it off," Aragorn asked, "what then?"

"Then you go with Isenwulf to Edoras and free the hostages," Gandalf replied, sounding far too reasonable for anyone’s comfort.

"You’re being very helpful," Gilhael retorted, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

"You do not realize just how helpful I will be, young Gilhael," the Wizard said equably, though there was a look in his eyes that warned them that further questioning would be useless.

At that point the twins rose almost as one. "We’re going scouting," Elladan said.

Aragorn stared at his brothers in disbelief. "In broad daylight? Don’t you think you won’t be hard to miss?"

Elrohir gave him a sniff and Elladan simply refused to answer the question. "We’ll be back in a couple of hours." With that they made their way to the loft, the sound of a shutter opening and closing the only clue that they had left the house.

Gandalf continued to puff on his pipe; the other three just sat there, not sure what to do or say. Finally, Isenwulf stood, his expression still one of bemusement. "I’ll boil some water for the dishes."

Gilhael bestirred himself. "Nay, my cousin and I will do that. I think he needs the distraction. Sit you and keep Gandalf company. Come, Cousin, let us repay our host for his hospitality."

With that, the two Dúnedain stood and began clearing away the remains of breakfast while Gandalf and Isenwulf continued to sit beside the fire and talk.

****

It was actually nearly dusk before the twins returned by the same means as they had left. When more than the stipulated two hours had passed Aragorn began to fret and fume, muttering dire imprecations about what he would do to his brothers separately and collectively if they got themselves caught, or worse, killed. Most of his threats were uttered in Sindarin so Isenwulf was unaware of what was said, though he could guess by the tone and constant scowl that marred Aragorn’s face. Finally, the older Man decided that enough was enough and set both Dúnedain to peeling potatoes and cutting up other vegetables for the evening’s stew. "There is little enough for any to eat in Upbourn," he said, "so our meal will be lean."

"It will do well enough," Gandalf assured him. "Elladan and Elrohir can go long without sustenance and these two are used to surviving on rations while on patrol in the Wilds."

Neither Aragorn nor Gilhael protested, and in fact welcomed the distraction. Thus it was that Aragorn was stirring the stew when the twins returned. "Smells good, little brother. We’re famished."

Aragorn turned to see Elladan grinning at him while Elrohir was sitting beside the fire looking as if he’d not moved from that spot in hours. "You said you would be back in a couple of hours," Aragorn said with a scowl. "You are now six hours late. Find your own dinner."

Both twins looked at him in surprise. "Truly we did not mean to be gone as long as we were," Elladan said. "We ran into a little trouble."

"With you two ‘trouble’ is rarely little," Aragorn retorted, unwilling to listen to reason. "Let us hope ‘trouble’ did not follow you here."

Elrohir stood then and took Aragorn by the shoulders, forcing the young Mortal to look him in the eyes. "Our delay was unavoidable but to good purpose. We overheard some Men speaking about Underharrow."

Both Aragorn and Gilhael went still, visibly paling. "What did you hear?" Aragorn whispered, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists.

"Feed us and we will tell you," Elrohir answered.

For a long moment no one spoke. Finally, Aragorn gave a single nod. "You two do the dishes afterwards."

It was not a question and the twins took it in good stride, nodding in agreement. They went to wash up and in a few minutes they were all seated around the table partaking of the meager fare. No one complained; they all had done with less in their time.

When the meal was mostly over, Elladan began to tell of their scouting adventures. He spoke in Westron to avoid any confusion as to meaning. "The language of the Rohirrim has changed somewhat in five hundred years," he explained. "We found some of the words we overheard difficult to understand."

"But we are not our father’s sons for naught," Elrohir added, "so we were able to fill in the blanks and figure out what was being said."

"And what was that?" Aragorn asked.

"It seems that one Guthláf of Gálmódingsdæl was banished some years ago by the last king, Fengel," Elladan said.

Isenwulf nodded. "Aye, I remember that. It was over a maiden, one Æðelgiefu, if I remember correctly. She was the daughter of Æðelwine, a lord of Underharrow. Guthláf desired her for his wife, but Æðelwine had already promised her to another. Guthláf, in a fit of rage at being denied what he thought was his by right, raped and then killed the girl. He tried to make it look as if the other suitor were to blame but he made the mistake of assuming that Æðelgiefu was dead when he left her. She lived long enough to identify her attacker. Guthláf was banished, though many thought he should have been put to death for what he had done. Fengel, unfortunately, was not above taking bribes and so the matter was dropped. Guthláf left, vowing to wreak his revenge on Æðelwine for his misfortunes."

"You think the burning of Underharrow was Guthláf’s doing?" Gandalf asked the twins.

Both Peredhil nodded. "We heard two men, obviously in league with Thengel’s enemies, discussing how this Guthláf boasted that he had gotten the last laugh over Æðelwine and the good citizens of Underharrow," Elladan answered, his expression blank.

"A bit excessive," Gilhael said with a snort.

"Guthláf was always given to excess," Isenwulf replied, looking tired and several years older all of a sudden. "And little good did it do him for Æðelwine died two winters ago. He burned Underharrow down for nothing."

"Not to his way of thinking, if you can call it thinking," Elrohir said. "It sounds as if he is deep in the throes of madness."

"Undoubtedly," Gandalf said as he puffed on his pipe, his expression thoughtful. "Well, that’s for another day. Our primary concern is the hostages and how to release them. Tomorrow will be the turning of the tide for many and not all will welcome it."

"As usual, my friend," Aragorn said with a smile, "you speak in riddles."

"A Wizard’s stock in trade," Gandalf quipped and they all laughed, glad to put aside the sad tale of a young girl and her unfortunate demise.

****

The next morning they were ready. According to Isenwulf, the four guards always entered the house, so it was just a matter of subduing them and removing their gear. What would happen next was anyone’s guess, for Gandalf refused to tell them of his plans. "You will see when it happens," was all he would say.

On schedule the four guards appeared and entered Isenwulf’s house, arrogant and surly in their manner towards the older Man. The Dúnedain and the Peredhil waited until all four were inside before coming out of hiding and attacking them, swiftly knocking them out, for the element of surprise was theirs.

"Quickly now," Gandalf chivvied them. "Change into their gear, then lay them out on the bed."

They did as he bid and soon the four guards were lying on the bed with the Peredhil and the Dúnedain standing at its foot. Gandalf then came into the room, making it a very tight fit, and placed one hand on the forehead of the nearest guard and the other on Elladan’s. Everyone else remained still, barely breathing. At first, nothing much happened but then Elladan’s features began to shift and in a matter of seconds they were all staring, not at the eldest son of Lord Elrond, but at the guard’s twin.

Gilhael whistled in admiration, but Gandalf did not stop, only shooing Elladan out of the room so he could do his brother next. In a matter of minutes the four of them now wore the shapes of the guards. Isenwulf stared in amazement. "If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it."

"Well, it will not last long, just long enough to get you all inside Edoras. After that, you’re on your own. Go now with the blessings of the Valar," Gandalf said once Elladan and Elrohir had placed the hapless guards into a healing sleep, showing the Wizard how to bring them out of it if necessary. Then, without another word they all left, leaving Gandalf alone with the sleeping guards.

****

With whispered instructions, Isenwulf directed the four fake guards towards the gates and in a matter of minutes they were on their way towards Edoras. Other guards accompanied them so there was no talking but Isenwulf had already told them all they needed to know about the Men they had replaced. Fortunately, there was little speech between the parties so the ride to Edoras was done mostly in silence. They reached the beleaguered city around noon, admitted without question. The bulk of the guards went their way, leaving Isenwulf with his four ‘guards’ as he had told them would happen.

"The barracks are that way," he said with a nod. "I am permitted only a quarter of an hour’s visit, just long enough to assure myself that all are well, then I am normally escorted to Éolind in Meduseld. She usually keeps me here overnight before sending me back to Upbourn."

"Then we need to free the hostages before that," Elrohir said, his tone giving nothing away as to what he was thinking or feeling. He may as well have been commenting on the state of the rose garden in Imladris.

"What’s that building behind the barracks?" Elladan asked.

"One of the stables used by the éored," Aragorn answered, well acquainted with the layout of the city.

"Hmmm," Elladan muttered.

"What are you thinking, brother?" Elrohir asked.

"We need transportation for twenty-two people, twenty of them under the age of twelve," Elladan muttered. "Horses would be helpful."

"And so we will just borrow twenty-odd horses and walk out the front gate," his twin retorted.

Elladan shrugged. "You have a better idea?"

"Actually no, but that doesn’t mean your idea will work."

By now they had reached the barracks and the two guards standing before the doors stepped aside an allowed them entrance. As he stepped inside Aragorn saw that someone had strung rope across one part of the room and flung blankets over it to provide the hostages with some modicum of privacy. When they entered, there was no one in sight.

"Reinhild," Isenwulf called softly. "Reinhild, my love."

The curtain of blankets shifted and a Woman stepped out. She was nearly as tall as her husband and though her fair hair had more grey than yellow in it, she stood straight and held herself regally. Her eyes lit up at the sight of her husband, but in the presence of the guards, she remained distant.

"Isenwulf, my husband," she said, "I am glad to see you again."

"And I," the Man replied, taking her by the hands. "We have not much time so you must listen carefully. These guards are not who they seem to be and I will not explain any further. You must trust me. Gather the children and tell them they must remain quiet."

Reinhild gave her husband a jaundiced look. "What trick is this Isenwulf? What do you...."

"There is no time, Reinhild," Isenwulf interrupted. "Go and gather the children. We are running out of time."

She gave him a hard stare and then a brief nod before leaving them. Isenwulf turned to the ‘guards’. "Now what?"

"Wood," the guard with Elladan’s voice said.

"What?"

"It burns."

"Ah, you are getting devious in your old age, brother," the guard with Aragorn’s voice said with a smile.

"You mean to set fire to the barracks?" Isenwulf asked, sounding incredulous.

Elladan shook his head. "No. I mean to set fire to Edoras."

With that he and the guard who in reality was Elrohir brought out their bows and arrows which they had hidden under their cloaks and using the meager fire that was the only source of warmth and light in the entire building they began constructing torches with their arrows. In the meantime, Aragorn and Gilhael made their way to the other end of the barracks where there was a privy attached to the building. They passed the children who were all huddled on their cots, staring at the two Men with wide and frightened eyes. Next to the privy was a door that obviously led towards the stables. This was barred from the outside, so Gilhael went back to the front door, calling for the two guards to come in, quickly subduing them with Isenwulf’s help, then walking out and going to the back door and unbarring it.

By now Reinhild had gathered the children near the center of the barracks where Isenwulf was speaking to them. "You older children must keep the younger ones in hand," he told them. "In a few minutes there will be a fire and there will be much panic and confusion. Do not let that distract you. Follow Mistress Reinhild and my daughter and obey these men, for they are on our side."

Elrohir came up to them at that point and several of the children gasped and cringed. The Peredhel raised an eyebrow as he looked at Isenwulf who smiled grimly. "Your disguise is slipping," was all he said.

"Ah, well Mithrandir said it would not last long." Elrohir turned to the children and going down on one knee gave them a smile. "My name is Elrohir and I and my brothers are here to help you escape. Who can ride?"

More than half the children raised their hands. Elrohir gave them an amused smile. "I mean who can ride a horse?"

Now about a third kept their hands up and the Peredhel nodded. "My brothers and I will take the little ones who cannot yet ride, while those who can ride ponies will double up with those who can ride horses. Is that clear?"

They all nodded. Elrohir rose and called out softly in Sindarin. Elladan, Gilhael and Aragorn now joined them all in the center of the barracks. All of them had resumed their usual shapes and the eyes of the children were wide with surprise and awe. Elladan handed his brother his bow and a set of arrows wrapped in rags soaked in oil gotten from the lamps hanging from the rafters.

"We’ll set fire to as many buildings as possible and meet you in the stables," Elladan said. "With luck the confusion will allow us to escape through the front gates."

"The Valar make it so," Gilhael said fervently.

"Did you see anyone about while you were outside?" Elrohir asked Gilhael.

"No. The way to the stables should be clear and luck is with us, for a fence blocks the view of the path between the barracks and the stables. If everyone stays low they will not be noticed."

"Good enough," Elrohir said. "Go now and get the horses ready. If there are more horses than we need, open their stalls as well. We can use them as a distraction."

With that, Isenwulf, with his wife and daughter’s help, began to chivvy everyone towards the back of the barracks while Elrohir and Elladan went to the front where they checked to make sure no one was about. Then they slipped out, closing and barring the door behind them. Aragorn and Gilhael led the way to the stables, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who might see them, but they were in the clear and soon all of them were inside.

"We do not have time to saddle all these horses," Aragorn said to the children, "so we will have to make do with bridles and saddle blankets."

"What about our own horses?" Gilhael asked.

"Go fetch them," Isenwulf replied, "and bring them here. Since they are already saddled we can tie these other horses to ours. All the children have to do is hang on and they’ve all been taught that much."

Gilhael nodded and in a few minutes the five horses were brought to the stables. "Nothing’s happening," he told them as he brought the horses inside. "Are you sure this is going to...."

Suddenly a scream rent the air. "Fire! Meduseld is on fire!"

Other voices joined with the first and then there were calls for a water brigade. Gilhael gave Aragorn a wry grin. "Never mind."

Aragorn laughed and mounted his horse, allowing Isenwulf to place two little ones before him. Reinhild and Isenhild found suitable mares for themselves and also had a couple of the youngest children sitting with them. Gilhael and Isenwulf helped the older children to climb upon the horses selected for them and then they too were doubling up with the other children. Just as the last of the children were accounted for, the twins ran into the stables and without a word jumped upon their own horses and giving a great cry led the cavalcade out.

As soon as they left the stables they found themselves in the midst of great confusion. There was smoke billowing everywhere and the snap-hiss of flames licking eagerly at the thatched roofs of nearby buildings. All around them people were running and screaming as more and more buildings caught fire. The horses shied at first but the children proved themselves sons and daughters of the Rohirrim with their firm handling of their steeds to the approval of the Peredhil and the Dúnedain. The twins led everyone on a circular route to avoid the mass of people. As they neared the gates, Elrohir took his bow and shot at the guards, who panicked, fleeing for their lives and leaving the gates wide open. With a cry in Sindarin the Peredhil urged the horses to a faster gallop. In short order they were all out of the city, including about a dozen riderless horses who followed along.

Aragorn had feared the possibility of either some of the children falling off their horses or guards on the walls shooting at them, but neither happened. These children were Rohirrim, most of whom sat their first pony before they could properly walk and the guards were too busy trying to help put out the half dozen fires now plaguing the city to worry about escaped horses.

The twins maintained a hard pace for some distance, for there was always the possibility of pursuit, but it never came. Only when Edoras itself was out of sight did they slow to a walk to allow the horses a chance to breathe.

"Where do you take us?" Reinhild demanded at one point.

"Dunharrow, my lady," Aragorn answered. "Thengel King is still waiting to have words with your husband."

"Upbourn will be punished," Reinhild said firmly. "Éolind will not allow us to escape with impunity."

"Upbourn must look to itself," her husband replied. "If they know their children are free...."

"And how will they know that, Father?" Isenhild asked. She was a young woman of about twenty summers who looked much like her mother though her eyes were definitely Isenwulf’s.

"We will tell them," Elrohir answered. "We have to pass Upbourn anyway."

"And do you think the traitors who rule in Upbourn will allow us to pass?" Isenhild asked scornfully.

"Probably not," Elrohir responded with a shrug, "but only one of us needs to give the news. The rest of you will continue to Dunharrow without stopping."

"What the people of Upbourn do with the news is up to them," Elladan added.

"But will they believe you?" Isenwulf asked. "Should it not be I who tells them?"

"It is best that you continue on to Dunharrow," Elladan answered. "But let me have one of the children who will be recognized. If they see him with me, they should believe my message."

"I will accompany you, lord," Isenhild said. "I am well known to everyone in Upbourn. If they hear me confirm your words they will have no choice but to believe."

"Very well," Elladan said with a nod. "Come. You and I will ride ahead while my brothers lead the others further east to avoid being seen. We will meet up with them at Underharrow."

"What about Mithrandir?" Aragorn asked in Sindarin.

Elladan shook his head. "I suspect that by now the good Wizard is long gone from Upbourn. We may even meet him on the way to Dunharrow or he will have gone elsewhere on business of his own."

So they rode on. Elrohir and Isenhild could be seen some distance ahead and as they reached the gates of Upbourn (Aragorn noticed with approval that his brother stopped just shy of bow range) Elrohir called out, speaking in perfect, if somewhat archaic Rohirric. "People of Upbourn, rejoice, for your salvation is at hand. Here is Isenhild daughter of Isenwulf whom you well know. She is freed from hostage-bond as are your other children who even now make their way safely to Dunharrow. Free yourselves and join Thengel King in his war against those who would destroy Rohan."

With that, he turned his horse and together he and Isenhild rode swiftly away. There was no pursuit and it would be some time before they learned the reason for it. But for now, the two made their way to the ruins of Underharrow where they met up with the larger party. Without any words being spoken they continued deeper into Harrowdale towards Dunharrow, where Thengel King awaited them.

48: War Plans

"You did what?" Thengel fairly shouted as Aragorn, Gilhael and the Peredhil stood before him in the main hall of the keep. Isenwulf was also there, though Reinhild and Isenhild were not. They were with the children in the kitchen where food was being provided for them. Morwen was overseeing the allocation of rooms for them all.

Aragorn flinched at Thengel’s tone and Gilhael’s eyes darkened in disapproval. Elladan and Elrohir merely looked bored. Thandir and the other two elven scouts stood to one side. Their expressions were completely unreadable.

"Burning down my city was not part of your mission," Thengel snarled, glaring at them all.

"Your city is still intact, Thengel," Elladan said with a sniff, eschewing giving the Mortal the honorific due him. "My brother and I are not fools. We fired certain areas of Edoras to create as much smoke and confusion as possible. If your people were quick enough, any damage by fire would be minimal."

"Nevertheless...."

"Nevertheless, you have what you wanted, Thengel King. Be satisfied with that," Elrohir stated categorically, his expression cold and his tone glacial. More than one Mortal in the hall shivered involuntarily. He turned to Thandir, deliberately speaking Sindarin. "I think we’ve outlived our welcome here. Elladan and I still have our mission to Círdan to complete. We will leave tomorrow before dawn."

Aragorn turned to his brothers. "You promised to stay and help me with Lady Morwen," he said, also speaking Sindarin. "Her time of confinement is nearing and I fear I do not have the skills to see her and the babe safely through the ordeal."

Thengel’s expression changed to one of deep concern. "Is it true?" he asked, speaking Sindarin as well. "Is Morwen in danger...."

"Her pregnancy has been difficult, my lord," Aragorn said, "and there is some concern about the babe surviving the labor. It is why I welcomed Lord Elrond’s sons to help with the delivery, for their healing knowledge is greater than my own."

Thengel actually paled and Isenwulf did not hesitate to go to his king’s side and steady him, issuing orders that wine be brought. Aragorn also was at his side, solicitous and concerned, ordering him to sit and drink the wine. When he was sufficiently recovered, Thengel looked almost pleadingly at the twins.

"I beg of you, do not let my initial anger send you from my halls at this time. Morwen..." He could not continue and all there were nothing but sympathetic towards the king.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances and some kind of communication passed between them, punctuated by a raised eyebrow on Elladan’s part and the pursing of lips on Elrohir’s. Then they turned as one to face Thengel again.

"We will remain at least until the babe is born," Elladan said softly and the look of relief, both on Thengel’s face and Aragorn’s, did not go unnoticed by any in the hall.

"Thank you," Thengel said with all sincerity and the two Peredhil bowed.

"I think you should rest, my lord," Aragorn suggested, "or at least go to your wife and spend an hour with her and your children. Whatever needs to be done can be done by others and Lord Isenwulf is not going anywhere. Time enough later to speak with him." Isenwulf nodded in agreement.

"Wise words, Thengel King," Thandir said suddenly and everyone looked at the Elf in surprise, for he had not spoken a word since being summoned to the hall. Thandir naturally ignored the stares. "Tomorrow will be soon enough for a council of war. I would hope that Mithrandir would make an appearance before then, for his wisdom would greatly enhance whatever decisions are made concerning the upcoming siege."

"Was there no sign of him?" Thengel asked and the others shook their heads.

"Nor was there any pursuit from Upbourn," Elrohir said, "which I find even more disturbing, odd though that may sound."

"The silence from Upbourn is very disturbing," Isenwulf said with a nod. "I, too, feel uneasy about it all and wish we could have spoken to Gandalf."

"I will order the sentries to keep an eye out for him," Thengel said. "It is not wise to meddle too closely in the affairs of Wizards, I have been told." He gave them a weak smile which was reciprocated by the Elves and the Dúnedain. "But in this case," he continued, "I would welcome him gladly to my councils." Then the king stood, shaking off the assistance of Isenwulf and Aragorn. "I will go to my family. Tomorrow, after we break fast, we will meet in council." Then he was gone.

Aragorn glanced around as the crowd of Rohirrim drifted away, leaving him alone with his cousin and the Elves. "Do you think there’s time before the evening meal for a bath?" he asked, looking innocent.

The Elves smiled and Gilhael rolled his eyes. "Only if you don’t take all the hot water," Elladan said. "We want one as well." Elrohir and Gilhael both nodded.

Thandir gestured for them to follow him. "Give me credit for some foresight. I’ve already made arrangements for tubs of hot water to be filled in the bathing room off the kitchen. Go gather your things and have fun."

None of them had to be told twice.

****

Gandalf did not make an appearance that night nor was there any sign of him in the morning. Aragorn felt saddened, for he missed the Wizard and had looked forward to seeing him again. Something about him made the Dúnadan feel... well not safe, but certainly more hopeful in outlook. He tried to explain it to his cousin as the two were dressing and Gilhael nodded.

"Mithrandir has a way of brightening any darkness and offering, not as you say, security, but at least hope that things will turn out well," Gilhael stated as he belted his tunic, "or at least that things will not turn out as badly as we fear."

"I wish he were here, though," Aragorn said somewhat forlornly, shoving a foot into a boot. "I would like to have spoken to him some more."

Gilhael shook his head. "I learned long ago to expect the unexpected when it comes to Wizards. Mithrandir will come if he feels he is truly needed. I have the feeling that he likes to see us come to decisions on our own instead of handing them to us on a silver platter."

Aragorn nodded and gave his cousin a wry smile. "Less cause for resentment if anything goes wrong."

Gilhael chuckled and the two made their way towards the central hall where breakfast was waiting.

****

They were not the only ones disappointed that Gandalf had not as yet made an appearance, but Thengel decided that they could not wait for the Wizard, for they needed to finalize their plans for the retaking of Edoras. Solmath was almost gone and Rethe would soon be there. Already the heavy snows of winter were fading, turning brown with mud. Soon, the rains would stop and the ground would become drier, making it easier to maneuver the horses down the dale.

"Upbourn is our first concern," Thengel told them as the council began. Besides Hildebrand and Hildered as his chief advisors, Isenwulf was in attendance. Alric, as captain of the garrison was there as well, and several of the king’s Witan who had managed to escape from Edoras sat there. Aragorn, Gilhael, and the Elves sat to one side. "Isenwulf has informed me of the situation. We both feel that with the hostages safely away, the people of Upbourn will be more willing to join us against the rebels, but we need to know for sure."

"I can go back...." Isenwulf began, but Thengel shook his head.

"No. That would prove too dangerous for you and if all is not well in Upbourn you could very well die. I need you here." He sighed, running a hand through his greying locks. "I will not risk anyone’s life that way. I will set a watch on the town. We will see what sort of commerce there is between Edoras and Upbourn, if any."

"What of the garrison at Helm’s Deep?" Hildebrand asked. "Do you intend for my son to lead them here or meet us before Edoras?"

Thengel gave his First Marshal a small grin. "That remains to be seen. I gave Wídfara and Ragnawulf certain instructions. Hilderic will follow them as circumstances dictate."

"Aldburg is firmly in our hands, is it not, my lord?" Beornwine asked Thengel.

"Erkenbard sent me his latest report just two days ago," Thengel said with a nod. "All is well there."

"Can we expect other aid?" Beornwine insisted. He was Thengel’s chief councillor among the Witan, or what constituted it in this hideaway and was wont to be more direct than the others. Thengel did not mind and in fact welcomed Beornwine’s forthright manner. He never cared for the fawning sycophants surrounding Turgon in Minas Tirith.

"As to that, there is no way to say. We must make our plans accordingly. I will not depend on help that may not come."

With that they set about discussing their options. Thengel had already decided that the retaking of Edoras would occur no later than the spring equinox. "I want this over with as quickly as possible," he told them. "I am hoping that the loss of the hostages will have demoralized the rebels somewhat, knowing that we were able to infiltrate the city so easily."

There were nods all around though not everyone appeared hopeful. Aragorn exchanged glances with Gilhael and Thandir but their own expressions gave nothing away of what they were thinking.

"If we can be sure that Upbourn is ours," Thengel continued, "we will have the advantage. The rebels made a mistake in burning Underharrow."

"It may not have been the rebels who ordered the burning," Aragorn said and proceeded to tell them what his brothers had discovered. The faces of the Rohirrim were grim.

Thengel sighed, looking weary. "Guthláf of Gálmódingsdæl. He was ever a thorn in our side. My father’s desire for gold over justice was what drove me away. It seems I must finish what he refused to start."

"Then let us finish it," Hildebrand declared as he stood. "Let us put an end to this farce once and for all. You are our king, Thengel son of Fengel. We want no other. Rohan needs no other."

The Rohirrim stood at those words. "Westu, Thengel, hál!" they all shouted as the king sat there, his expression unreadable. Only the two Dúnedain and the Elves did not join in the acclamation.

49: New Life, New Hope

Aragorn was awakened in the middle of the night by someone shaking him. He opened his eyes to see Elladan looming over him, holding a stub of candle.

"Lady Morwen is in labor," his brother said quietly.

Aragorn rose immediately, automatically pushing his feet into boots. "It isn’t time," he whispered harshly. "The babe is not due to come until mid-Rethe."

Elladan smiled. "Tell that to the babe."

"Where’s Elrohir?" Aragorn asked as he snatched up his box of medicinals.

"Already there, fighting with the queen’s ladies," Elladan said with a smirk. Aragorn merely nodded, his mind already on the upcoming task of ensuring that both mother and child survived the night.

They made their way down the corridor to a small wing set aside for the royal couple and their family. Thengel was pacing outside the doors leading to their bedroom. His older children were nowhere about and Aragorn assumed that they still slept, oblivious to all the commotion. And won’t they be disappointed when they find out what they’ve missed, he thought wryly to himself. Thengel saw them and gave a sigh of relief. "She is in great pain," he said simply. "It does not look good."

"We will do what we can, my lord," Aragorn said with an encouraging smile. "Both your lady wife and the babe are strong."

"Strong-willed," Thengel said with an attempt to break the tension they all were feeling.

"A point in their favor," Elladan said seriously. "Come, Estel, we mustn’t keep the newest member of the Rohirric royal family waiting."

Aragorn chuckled then put a hand on Thengel’s shoulder, no longer his liegeman but a healer. "It will be well. All is in Eru’s hands."

Thengel nodded. "Do what you can and fear not any reprisal if it goes ill for either of them. I will not hold you to blame. Such things happen all the time and, king though I be, I am no more exempt from the vagaries of life than the next man."

Aragorn and Elladan nodded, then stepped into what was now the birthing chamber to find Elrohir in the middle of a gaggle of women all screaming at him. Morwen was on the bed, her eyes closed, moaning. Aragorn noticed that Ashlind was also there but she was busy wiping Morwen’s brow with a wet cloth and not paying any attention to the fracas. Elrohir was a study in stone. Only his eyes betrayed his emotions. The women all seem to be trying to tell him that he, as a male, had no business there.

"Silence!"

They all turned around to see Thengel at the door, his expression stony. "Lords Elrohir and Elladan are here at my request, as is Lord Earntungol as my wife’s personal healer. You will do as they say or you will leave."

"But my lord," one of the older women protested, "it is unseemly...."

"Unseemly or not," Thengel countered. "It is my command as it is also the queen’s." He then turned to Aragorn. "Lord Earntungol, feel free to dismiss whomever you wish. You are in charge, you and the Peredhil."

Aragorn bowed as did the the twins. The women, save Ashlind, looked scandalized. Morwen simply moaned, oblivious to all but her pain. Aragorn decided to exert his authority while Thengel was still present. He gave the women who were still surrounding Elrohir a searching look and made a decision. "Please leave, all of you," he said with quiet authority. "The last thing Lady Morwen needs right now is people who are incapable of remaining calm in a crisis. No, Ashlind, you may stay. It is obvious that you are more concerned for the queen’s well-being than you are about... proprieties." He raked the other women with his gaze and they all looked affronted, casting sour glances at Ashlind, who ignored them. Their scowls deepened when Elladan made a sweeping motion with his hands as if to herd them out of the room, but they made no other protest as they filed out. Thengel gave Aragorn and the twins a nod and cast a worried glance at his wife before closing the door.

"Well done, brother," Elrohir said in Sindarin. "Now, let us see to the lady."

The three males turned as one to the bed where Ashlind was still wiping Morwen’s brow, whispering encouragements to her. Aragorn spoke to her in Rohirric, giving her an encouraging smile. "Ashlind, continue with your ministrations. I will have you care for your queen and see that her modesty is preserved as far as possible."

"Yes, my lord," Ashlind said with a slight bow, then flashed him a mischievous smile. "I am glad you got rid of that gaggle of useless geese. They were giving me a headache."

Elrohir chuckled. "You’re not the only one."

Speaking softly in Sindarin, Aragorn said, "Elrohir, will you monitor Morwen and let me know if her heart falters? Elladan, can you tell me if the babe has actually turned? I will prepare myself in the meantime."

The two Peredhil nodded and went to do as Aragorn had directed. Elrohir laid a hand gently on Morwen’s forehead and began singing softly. Almost at once she ceased to moan in pain and became calmer. Elladan stood midway along the bed and placed a hand on her swollen abdomen. He closed his eyes, concentrating. Then he looked up, his grey eyes troubled.

"I think the babe is breech, Estel," he said in Sindarin.

Elrohir nodded. "That is where the pain is coming from." He looked up at Ashlind, resorting to Rohirric. "Has the queen’s water broken yet?"

She nodded. "Yes, lord. Just before you arrived. It is why those women were so upset. All know that when the water breaks the babe is coming for real and men are not welcome in the birthing room."

Elrohir gave her a wry smile. "Well, seeing as how I am not a Man but an Elf, I don’t think they had anything to complain about."

Ashlind put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. "My lord, I meant no disrespect...."

"Peace, lady," Elrohir said, holding up a hand. "I am merely jesting with you. I knew what you meant."

Elladan gave his twin an indulgent smile. "My brother likes his little jokes, lady. Pay him no mind."

Aragorn, all this while, had been busy washing his hands and preparing the necessary tools and herbs he knew he would need. He took a goblet and mixed some herbs in water and honey, handing it to Elrohir with the spoon. "See if you can get her to drink this. It will keep her calm without putting her to sleep. I need her awake for this."

Elrohir nodded and with Ashlind’s help he managed to spoon most of the tonic down Morwen’s throat. Elladan was softly singing, his hand still on her belly and Aragorn knew his brother was singing to the babe, encouraging it to turn on its own if possible or to be patient until help came. Morwen started moaning as another contraction hit her, her body arching in pain. All four of them held her down until the spasm ended.

"They are coming almost constantly now, my lord," Ashlind said to Aragorn, casting a worried look upon the queen as she continued to wipe the sweat from Morwen’s brow.

All three men nodded and Aragorn looked at his brothers. "Continue as you are. I will attempt to turn the child."

The twins nodded. "Remember all that adar taught you, Estel," Elladan said softly, "and do not hesitate to call on us for help if need be."

"You have my word," Aragorn replied then crouched at the end of the bed, lifting the sheet that covered Morwen’s lower extremities and, reaching up under it, he began the task of turning the child. Morwen moaned again, her breath becoming shallow and rapid.

Elrohir held her face between his hands and spoke to her. "Open your eyes, Morwen," he commanded softly, but such was the power of his voice that she obeyed. "Keep your eyes on mine," he said. "That’s right. Now, breathe when I tell you to. I want you to breathe in short pants like this." He demonstrated and Morwen started to copy him, but he forestalled her. "No. Only when I tell you to and do not bear down unless I say. I know how hard it will be not to but it’s important that you do not, for you could hurt the babe."

"M-my child...." Her voice was paper-thin and weak.

"She’s doing just fine," Elrohir said with a smile.

"She...." Morwen smiled weakly and Elrohir nodded.

"Almost got it," Aragorn said. "Just a little more... come little one, you need to turn or you will cause your mama too much pain.... that’s it... a little more... there!"

At the same time, Morwen screamed as a contraction, this one more powerful than the previous ones, hit her. Elrohir and Elladan held her down. "Breathe, Morwen, the way I showed you," Elrohir said. "That’s it. Just follow what I do. " He started panting shallowly and she copied him, keeping her eyes on his all the while.

"There’s too much blood," Ashlind whispered as the sheet covering Morwen became red.

"Quickly!" Aragorn said to her. "Find more sheets and towels. Elladan, how does the babe?"

"She’s anxious to come, Estel."

Aragorn nodded. "Then let us bring the child forth, my brothers," he said, speaking Rohirric for Ashlind’s sake. "Let us greet this new princess of the Rohirrim. I am afraid young Théoden will be disappointed that he does not have a younger brother." He flashed them a wry smile and the Peredhil smiled back.

"If I know older brothers," Elrohir said with a twinkle in his eyes, "the princeling will fall immediately in love with her and dote on her."

There were nods all around and then they returned to the business at hand. Elladan again began singing, now a song of encouragement to the child, welcoming her into the world while Elrohir quietly gave Morwen the necessary instructions to ensure that her babe entered the world at all. It did not take long before Aragorn was holding up a squirming, crying, wet girl-child, just as a ray of light streamed through a high-set window, announcing the dawn. Ashlind gave a whoop of joy in spite of the tiredness in her posture and the twins began singing a traditional song of welcoming to the babe.

"Behold your new daughter, my lady," Aragorn said with a smile and gently laid the infant into Morwen’s waiting arms.

"She’s beautiful," she whispered.

"Just like her mother," Elrohir said, marveling anew at the miracle of life. He cast a glance at his twin and saw that he was just as enthralled. Aragorn was busy dealing with the afterbirth and cutting the cord, then dealing with the bleeding, instructing Ashlind in the correct procedure to slow its rate. Once he was satisfied that the bleeding was at a more normal level and that there was no danger of Morwen dying of blood loss, he and Ashlind began cleaning up.

Meanwhile, Elrohir took the babe from Morwen. "We will bathe her while Estel and Lady Ashlind change your bedding and help you into a clean nightgown." With that, he and Elladan went to where a warm bath awaited the newborn princess and began cleaning her. Morwen gave them a dubious look but Aragorn chuckled.

"I understand they did the same with their sister when she was born. They were already over a hundred years old by then and this is not the first Mortal birthing to which they have attended." He casts the twins an indulgent smile. "In fact," he added, "I have it on the best authority that they were present at my father's birth."

Both twins turned as one, nodding and smiling, before returning to their task.

That seemed to mollify the queen who then allowed Ashlind and Aragorn to make the necessary changing of bed linens and clothes. "Thengel...." she started to say as the two of them helped her settle back into bed, pillows plumped about her, then stopped as Elladan made his way back to the bed, carefully holding a clean newborn. She reached out and took her joyfully into her arms, pushing down the neck of her gown to offer her daughter a tit, which, with a little encouragement, she took.

"I will send him in," Aragorn said with a smile and Morwen nodded.

Going to the door, Aragorn flung it open to see Thengel and what seemed like half the population of Dunharrow crowded in the hall. Thengel was still pacing but stopped when the door opened.

"Morwen..." he said, his voice strained. "We heard a cry...."

"Your wife lives, Thengel King, as does your daughter," Aragorn exclaimed and smiled at the look of relief and wonder on the king’s face.

"Daughter? I have a daughter?"

Aragorn nodded. "She was reluctant to come into the world but I think she’s happy enough now that she’s here."

"Théoden will be very disappointed," Thengel said with a wry smile.

Aragorn smiled in return. "For about five seconds," he said as he stepped aside to allow Thengel entrance, then closed the door on the others, who were already celebrating, singing and cheering at the news. He turned to see the king standing before the bed gazing down on his wife and daughter, both of whom were now asleep. Thengel bent down and brushed the hair from his wife’s face and gently kissed her, then did the same with the babe. Straightening, he gave each of them a nod. "You have my gratitude and my thanks, all of you."

Elladan and Elrohir bowed. "The Valar bless you and your new child, Thengel King. May she know only joy and love in her life."

"I thank you for your kind sentiments," Thengel said.

Then he turned and brought a chair from the corner and sat down next to the bed, content to sit and gaze upon mother and child.

"What name will you give your daughter, sire?" Ashlind asked shyly.

For a moment, Thengel did not speak, but bent over and gently rubbed a calloused finger down one of his daughter’s cheeks. The babe yawned and put a fist to her mouth but did not open her eyes. Without lifting his eyes from his daughter, he said, "Théodgiefu. Her name is Théodgiefu, for she is indeed a gift to all of us, her coming a sign of hope that all is not lost."

"A beautiful name, my lord," Aragorn said. "We will leave you for now."

Thengel nodded without looking up and the four of them exited the room. The corridor was now empty but they could dimly make out the sound of singing and realized that people had gathered in the main hall to celebrate the good news.

"Captain Alric no doubt has opened a cask or two of ale for everyone," Elladan said and they all laughed. Then Ashlind gave Aragorn and the Peredhil a curtsey.

"If you will forgive me, lords, I will leave you now," she said. "I left my brother looking after Wulfstan and dare not stay away too long."

Aragorn gave her a smile. "My thanks for all your help, Ashlind. Go, and be with your family."

She nodded and left them. Elladan clapped a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. "A fitting birthday present, helping a new life into this world, wouldn’t you say, ’Roh?"

"Indeed," Elrohir said with a smile.

Aragorn stared at his brothers in confusion. "What are you two jabbering on about?"

Both elves gave him disbelieving looks. "Surely you cannot have forgotten what day this is, little brother," Elladan said in mocked dismay.

It took a moment for Aragorn to understand what his brothers were saying and he groaned. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," the twins said in unison, wide smiles wreathing their immortal faces. "Happy birthday, Estel!" Then they gave their younger brother hugs and kisses. "Come," Elrohir said, "let us join the others in the hall and help them celebrate. Perhaps there is enough ale left to toast your birthday, little brother."

Neither Aragorn nor Elladan had any objections to that suggestion.

****

Théodgiefu: People’s gift.

Author's Note: My thanks to Surgical Steele for providing me with information on the correct procedure for when there is concern that the woman will bleed out during childbirth.

50: Prelude to War

Théodgiefu’s birth brought a much needed sense of rightness to the world for everyone at the refugee camp. In spite of the miserable weather — a sudden mountain storm that inundated them with three days of rain, sleet and even a brief spat of snow — people wandered through Dunharrow with smiles on their faces and usually a song on their lips. Every female over the age of fifteen wanted to ‘help’ the queen with the baby and not a few of the warriors — fathers themselves — offered to hold the ‘wee one’ and sing her a lullaby (always about horses) whenever she proved fractious.

Thengel and Morwen looked upon it all with some bemusement. Morwen was still feeling weak and listless but she refused to give her newborn daughter to a wet nurse, though several women volunteered for the role.

As predicted, Théoden was very disappointed when he woke to find he had another sister. He was definitely not happy, though his sisters both squealed with delight at the sight of the lýtling.

"Oh Ada," the little boy groaned, "not another girl. They’re so useless."

Both Théodfrid and Théodhild sniffed in disdain. Thengel looked upon his children with fond amusement. He gathered the boy into his warm embrace and kissed him. "Trust me, iôn nîn, it’s not as bad as all that. Now come and greet your new sister properly."

Théoden sighed and allowed his father to lead him into the bedroom where Morwen was nursing. She smiled sympathetically at the pouting boy. "I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a brother, Théoden," she said, "but I’m sure once you get to know your new sister you will like her well enough."

Théoden did not look convinced but dutifully took a look at his new sister. She was still nursing but her eyes were wide open and staring directly at him. He found it somewhat unnerving yet he couldn’t look away, captivated by her regard before he realized it. She reached out with a pudgy hand and the boy offered a finger. He was amazed and delighted at her strength, for she refused to give his finger back when he attempted to extricate it from her grasp.

He looked up at his father with a wondering expression. "She’s so strong."

Thengel chuckled. "So does she meet with your approval?"

Théoden nodded and with an indulgent smile to his wife, Thengel left his ‘sunu ond ierfa’ sitting on the edge of the bed happily making funny faces at his little sister.

****

Aragorn and his brothers stopped by later in the morning to see how mother and daughter were doing. Morwen smiled tiredly up at them as Aragorn gave the baby a quick but thorough examination. "Thank you, all of you, for your help."

"It was our honor, Lady Morwen," Elladan spoke for himself and his brother, smiling warmly. "To bring new life into the world is one of our greatest joys. Too long have we been warriors, dealing out Death. It is a pleasure to be instruments of Life every once in a while."

Elrohir nodded. "Our adar was a warrior but after the Last Alliance brought Sauron down, he put aside his sword and vowed never to take it up again. Instead, he has devoted himself to the healing arts, teaching us how to heal even as he recognized our need to learn how to kill."

"A difficult path to tread," Morwen said soberly. "Yet I think your adar must be very proud of you, and your naneth as well."

At Morwen’s reference to their naneth, the twins’ expressions became shuttered and their manner coldly distant. Morwen instantly noticed and started to apologize, remembering too late that their naneth had sailed to the Undying Lands. Elrohir was the first to respond, stilling her words with a slight gesture.

"You have no need to apologize, lady," he said quietly. "It was a long time ago and we have made our peace with what happened."

Morwen’s expression was sorrowful. "I am so sorry. I hope someday you and she will be reunited again."

Elladan shrugged. "It will be as Ilúvatar wills." His tone was noncommital and Morwen wisely did not say anything more.

Aragorn had remained quiet during this exchange, but now came forward with Théodgiefu. "Would you like to hold her?" he asked his brothers. "That is, if her naneth doesn’t mind," he gave Morwen a grin.

Morwen smiled back and nodded. "Oh yes. It’s only meet that the lýtling’s ‘uncles’ hold her."

Elladan and Elrohir gave her shy grins at that and gladly took turns holding the infant, cooing at her, making funny faces and singing little songs in their lilting voices while Morwen and Aragorn looked on with amusement.

****

With Rethe well underway, the preparations for the upcoming siege went apace. There was a frenzy of planning and everyone — young and old, warrior and maid — became involved. Only the five Elves remained aloof from it all. Elladan and Elrohir spoke almost daily of leaving but they did nothing about it. Thandir kept his own counsel, while Celegrýn and Gilgirion spent most of their time in the mountains hunting, biding their time until their captain deemed it meet for them to leave. Aragorn wisely did not press them either way, his own feelings about their presence ambivalent. Gilhael, too, kept silent, knowing that his counsel would be unwelcome to all parties concerned. Still, he thought the Elves would leave sooner rather than later; it was just a matter of when, not if.

Thengel held daily meetings with his captains, including Aragorn, constantly refining their plans as new information came to light from Thengel’s scouts or new ideas were broached. No idea was dismissed, for even the most outlandish thought could contain the key to their success.

"Wídfara and Ragnawulf should have reached Helm’s Deep by now if they did not encounter anything untoward," Thengel said during a council meeting. It was a week after Théodgiefu’s birth and the king was gently rocking his new daughter in his arms while she slept in contentment. The others in the room tried to keep the amused looks from their faces. It seemed rather incongruous to see their king speaking of warfare while holding the babe. "Her mother needs some rest," was his only explanation when he entered the main hall where the planning was taking place carrying Théodgiefu. His other children were also attending the meetings. "They need to understand what is at stake," he said when one of the older men questioned the need for children, even royal children, to be there. "It is their inheritance, and more importantly, the inheritance of my son, for which we are fighting."

After that there were no further objections and soon the warriors became used to seeing Thengel with his infant daughter as he wandered through Dunharrow or the refugee camp in the valley below, seeing to the preparations. Indeed, the common folk smiled and cheered when they saw their king with all his children in attendance. Aragorn noted with approval that Thengel always took the time to explain to his older children why something was being done the way it was and why certain preparations were being made but not others. Théoden was years away from experiencing war firsthand but already he was asking intelligent questions and learning what it meant to be not just a king but a good king. While his sisters were less enthusiastic, they, too, were learning the price of being responsible for the welfare of others from the way their father interacted with all whom they met.

"Do you think Hilderic will be able to join us in time?" Aragorn asked, worried for his two friends, hoping that they had indeed reached Helm’s Deep safely.

"My son will not allow anything to prevent him from fulfilling his oath to lord and land," Hildebrand answered before Thengel could speak. His tone suggested that perhaps Aragorn had insulted his son.

Aragorn held up a conciliatory hand. "I meant not to impugn your son, my lord Hildebrand. I only ask because so far we have planned for the possibility of going to war alone but as yet we have not planned for others joining us. Where will Hilderic be placed? What troops will he bring? What arms? And what about other allies? How will we incorporate them into the mix?"

"These are weighty questions," Thengel said, "and I have not forgotten the possibility of allies joining us, so let us now think upon these things. Let us begin by assuming that Hilderic reaches us before we begin our assault on Upbourn." He reached across the table to pull a map showing Harrowdale and pointed at a spot north of Upbourn, close to the river. "Now I was thinking that perhaps we can best employ his éored here...."

****

So the plans continued as the weather vacillated between cold and warm but finally, the skies began to clear and the sun warmed the land. Mountain flowers began to bloom and trees put out young leaves. The snows receded from the valleys and children were seen playing amongst the standing stones lining the route to the keep.

Thengel reviewed his troops one last time on the Twenty-second of Rethe, for he had decided to take Upbourn two days later when the moon would be nearly full. They would come upon Upbourn at sunrise so that the light would be at their backs. The moon was due to rise near sunset and remain in the sky all night, setting at the next dawn. Thus they would have all the light they would need to do what was necessary.

"Now all we need is Hilderic to come and we will be set," Thengel said once he was satisfied with the final preparations. It was an hour after sunset and he was gathered with his captains in the main hall to give them their final instructions, though all knew what their roles would be in the upcoming battles. He was about to say more when the doors leading to the outside burst open and one of Alric’s sentries rushed in, forgetting to bow to his king in his excitement.

"My lord, riders approach!" he exclaimed as he reached the trestle where Thengel and the captains were gathered.

"How many?" Thengel demanded.

"I do not know, lord," the sentry admitted, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Aragorn pushed a goblet of watered wine into the young man’s hand. He gave the Dúnadan a grateful smile before quaffing the drink. Then he turned to Thengel. "One of the scouts came ahead and said that a large band is making its way stealthily down the vale, riding within the eaves of the forest to the east. He could not see who they were for he was too far away to make identification and dared not reveal himself in case they were unfriendly."

Thengel nodded. "Where is the scout now?"

The young man shrugged. "As soon as he delivered his news he went off again to keep track of the riders. I think he is hoping to identify them before they reach the encampment."

"Good," Thengel said. "You have my thanks, Harding. You may return to your post."

The sentry bowed and rushed back out of the hall.

"Do you suppose it could be Hilderic?" Hildebrand asked hopefully.

"We will learn soon enough," Thengel said, looking thoughtful. "Alric, Thorongil, see to it that the women and children are brought up to the hold in good time. If it be an enemy approaching I do not want them to become victims. Hildebrand, you and Hildered check the perimeter. Make sure it is fully manned. The rest of you, arm yourselves and join me at the head of the Stairs in five minutes and pray to Lord Béma that it is indeed Hilderic with his troops from Helm’s Deep."

With that, Thengel dismissed them all and headed towards the royal apartments to inform the queen of this latest development.

None of them, not even Aragorn, noticed the Elf standing in the shadows as all rushed to fulfill the king’s orders.

****

Lýtling: Infant.

Sunu ond ierfa: Son and heir.

51: And So It Begins

Gilhael joined Aragorn and Alric in helping the refugees up the Stairs to Dunharrow. Luckily, Thengel had insisted that all refugees be ready to flee into the hold at a moment’s notice so there was little need for arguments; all obeyed instantly. Children were gathered up and some of the men hastened to don what little armor they possessed and pick up any sharp implement at hand to act as a weapon. It was a pathetic sight in one respect, but Aragorn could not help but admire these people who had lost everything yet still were willing to fight for what little they did have, but more, were willing to fight for their king and for Rohan.

In minutes all of them were on their way up the Stairs. Aragorn and Gilhael stayed just long enough to ensure that they were safely at the top before rushing to don their own armor and grab their weapons. Alric, as captain of Dunharrow, remained behind to oversee the disposition of the refugees and to order his own men out in force upon the walls, ready to defend the king’s stronghold if need be.

Of the Elves, there was no sign.

Coming down the Stairs, Aragorn and Gilhael joined Hildebrand and Hildered standing next to Thengel at the forefront of the wall of warriors facing down the dale, weapons at ready. Torches and campfires had all been doused so they were standing in darkness. The night was milder than it had been lately, but the stars glittered coldly like shards of ice. The Moon had already risen some four hours earlier and while he was not yet full, they could see well enough by his light.

However, they heard the approaching cavalcade before they saw it. Thengel motioned for everyone to hold still. Finally, they saw the troop as it made its way out of the eaves of the forest hugging the eastern slopes of the dale and make for where Thengel and his people were waiting. Just as the first line of horses cleared the woods, someone blew a horn and standards were unfurled. Even though the troop was still too far away to make out any details, in the moonlight Aragorn could see the white horse on one of the standards and knew that this was not the enemy.

"The horse of Rohan flies on the standards, my lord," he whispered to Thengel, knowing that his eyesight was superior to those of the Rohirrim.

"You are sure of this?" Thengel asked.

Aragorn nodded and Gilhael did as well. "I think this must be Hilderic come at last, lord," the older Ranger added.

As if to underscore the Dúnadan’s words, three of the horsemen broke rank and galloped towards them. They could hear one of them shouting, "Westu hál, Thengel King! It is I, Hilderic come as thou hast commanded me." The younger Rider leapt off his horse and all could see in truth that it was indeed Hilderic while the other two Riders turned out to be Wídfara and Ragnawulf. There were glad cries of welcome and Aragorn found himself hugging Wídfara while the younger Man laughingly protested that he could not breathe. In the meantime, the rest of Hilderic’s troops reached them and Thengel was ordering his own men to help with settling the newcomers in. A space to the north of the refugee camp was allotted for Hilderic’s men and soon there were the sounds of tent pegs being pounded into the half-frozen earth and campfires being built. Orders were given to allow the refugees to return to their own encampment and shortly thereafter Thengel was left with Hildebrand, his two sons, Aragorn, Gilhael, Wídfara, Ragnawulf and his uncle Isenwulf as they made their way back up the Stairs to Dunharrow.

"Let us have some mulled wine," Thengel announced as they reached the main hall. "I suspect your trip was a bit on the frozen side," he added with a smile at Hilderic, who did indeed look a bit blue with cold.

The younger Man smiled. "To say the least. We dared not light any fires once we reached the Snowbourn." He paused long enough to take an appreciative sip of the wine which Aragorn handed him. "These last few leagues were the worst actually," he added. "We did not know what the situation was. The information that Ragnawulf and Wídfara had was old and anything could have happened in the meantime, so I took the precaution of keeping as close to the eastern flanks of the mountains as possible."

Hildebrand nodded. "One of our scouts saw you approach and warned us. He was unable to identify you so we decided to treat you as a threat until we knew otherwise."

Hilderic smiled at Thengel. "My own scouts noted the locations of your scouts, Uncle, but I gave orders that none were to be waylaid or molested. Once past Upbourn and Underharrow I knew that anyone we encountered would belong to you."

Thengel returned Hilderic’s smile with one of his own, though it was more ironic than not. "I thank you for your forbearance, Nephew. I’m rather fond of my scouts and would not wish them to be molested even by family members."

The others laughed and soon they were busy exchanging news and discussing the upcoming siege. Thengel clapped a hand on Hilderic’s shoulder once they were finished with the debriefing. "I am glad you are here, Nephew. You came in good time."

"I am glad as well, Uncle," Hilderic answered. "I would see thee returned to thy proper place and Rohan restored to peace. We still must deal with the troubles in the Westfold, but until Edoras is restored to us...." he shrugged and everyone nodded in silent agreement.

"In two days," Thengel said quietly. "In two days we will begin and may Béma grant us the victory."

****

Later, Aragorn sought out Thandir and the other Elves to see what they were planning to do. He did not think they would join in the battle and was not surprised when Thandir told him as much. He was surprised, though, at the Elf’s next words.

"This is not your battle either," Thandir stated baldly. "Neither you nor Gilhael should be involved in this."

"But we are," Aragorn retorted quietly.

"These are not your people," Thandir said, his expression unreadable.

Aragorn lifted an eyebrow in reply. "Are they not? Rohan has ever been a friend and ally to Gondor. Should I who may one day wear the winged crown abandon them at this late date? Thengel is a worthy king and the blood of Númenor flows in his children’s veins. For that reason alone would I fight beside the Rohirrim."

"You do not belong here, Estel," Thandir replied.

For a long moment silence reigned between them. Aragorn gave the Elf a considering look. "What upsets you more, Thandir? The fact that I am no longer the brash and eager fifteen-year-old who constantly begged you and my brothers" — here he nodded towards the twins who were silently watching the tug-of-war between Elf and Man — "to join you on patrol or the fact that I am acting as Dúnadan and making decisions of which you obviously disapprove."

"Both and neither," came the enigmatic reply and there was just a hint of a smile on the Elf’s lips that did not quite reach his eyes. "You will always be ‘Estel’ to me, I fear." He sighed, and his smile turned more rueful. "It is hard to see you as the leader of Men that you are. My apologies."

Aragorn nodded. "Adar has a difficult time as well, so you’re not alone." Then, deciding to change the subject, he asked, "Will you ride with us?"

"Only in so far as our road follows yours for a time," Thandir answered. "When the king reaches Upbourn we will continue on our way. I think we have outlived our welcome anyway. The upcoming war is a Mortal concern and we Elves have no desire to be embroiled in it any more than we have."

"Will you tell Thengel?" Aragorn asked.

Thandir nodded. "When we deem the time is meet," was his reply and Aragorn was wise enough to leave it at that.

"What about the Westmark, though?" Elladan asked. "There is still the threat from the Dunlendings and possibly more orcs to be dealt with."

Aragorn flashed him a smile. "One battle at a time, brother. We are, after all, only Men."

There was a brief silence between them and then the twins were chuckling. "In that case," Elrohir said, "we’ll give you a week before we expect you to tackle the troubles in the Westmark."

"You’re so generous," Aragorn said, his expression dead-panned.

The twins laughed outright at that and gave Aragorn warm hugs while Thandir exchanged grins with Celegrýn and Gilgirion.

****

Thengel’s éoreds left Dunharrow at midnight the following night. Thengel’s plan was for them to be in place at Upbourn before the dawn. Scouts ranged down the dale and reported that the ruins of Underharrow were empty of any threat of ambush and the gates of Upbourn were closed, though there did not seem to be as many guards on the ramparts as there once had been. Thengel thought long and hard about the news which the scouts brought to him, but in the end decided to continue as originally planned.

"We will have to see what is happening there," he told them as he ordered the troop onward. "I wish I had been able to speak to Gandalf before this. His absence worries me. Why did he not come to Dunharrow?"

"He is a Wizard, Thengel King," Thandir stated. "It is best not to look too deeply into the motives of the Ithryn. Even we Elves are chary of them. Allies they may be but they cannot be relied upon."

Thengel nodded and no more was said as they made their way down the valley, passing the dark ruin of Underharrow. Many of them kept their eyes forward, not willing to look at the burnt-out town, though Aragorn noticed a few of the older Riders making signs of warding. In the waxing moonlight Thengel’s expression was harsh with fury at what had been done at Underharrow, but even he refused to look in that direction. Instead, he urged the cavalcade to move more quickly. No one objected.

Their route between Underharrow and Upbourn swerved eastward towards the mountains. It was Thengel’s intention to come to Upbourn from the east rather than the south. "Otherwise, my left flank will be exposed to archers from the ramparts," he had explained during one of their briefings, "for the land before Upbourn will not allow for us to move out of shooting range. We need to come at Upbourn from further east so we will do what Hilderic did only in reverse."

Thus, the army made its way along the eaves of the mountain woods, which slowed them down, though from the position of the moon as he began sinking behind the western flank of the mountains they could tell they were making good time. The last few leagues however would be the most difficult for by then the moon would be lost from view and it would be yet another hour or so before the sky would begin to lighten in the east, heralding the coming dawn and the beginning of Thengel’s campaign to reclaim Rohan.

It was here that Thandir and the other Elves proved useful, for with a single word from their leader, Celegrýn and Gilgirion went ahead to scout out the land, the lack of moonlight no deterrent to their elvish sight. Elladan and Elrohir joined them as well and between the four of them Thengel was able to bring his men safely before Upbourn while darkness still reigned upon the earth.

Now came the dangerous part of the king’s plan. It had been decided that Hilderic would lead his men north and circle around to the west to come upon Upbourn from the river side in an attempt to block any retreat by its citizens. Therefore, the Elves volunteered to lead the Riders through the darkness.

"We will do this for you, Thengel King," Thandir said, "but after we have seen your nephew and his men in place we will continue on our way. Imladris calls to us and these two" — here he nodded towards the Elrondionnath — "must needs continue their own mission to Lord Círdan."

Thengel nodded. "I thank you for your assistance, my lords, and wish you a good journey. Elennath Elbereth sílar or le."

"Farewell, Thengel King," Thandir said, speaking Rohirric. "Lord Béma grant you success in your endeavors to win back your throne." He raised a hand in salute and then turned his horse to join Hilderic at the front of the line. Soon the éored was lost in the darkness.

For a while no one spoke, then Thengel turned to Aragorn and Gilhael. "Your friends did not farewell you." There was the sound of a mild reproof in his tone.

"We said our farewells in Dunharrow," Aragorn said softly. "Elves rarely bother to farewell Mortals for they know all too well that it may indeed be the final parting, so brief are our lives in comparison to theirs."

"It must indeed be a grief to them," Thengel commented.

"Which is why they rarely befriend us Mortals," Gilhael said, "though the Elves of Imladris have always succored the Dúnedain at need and are more willing to interact with Mortals than the Elves of other realms."

Thengel nodded in understanding then looked toward the east where the very faintest hint of grey streaked the sky. "Now we wait," he said.

****

It had been decided that Thengel would not move his troops until Hilderic was in place, therefore the main army was to wait for the signal: a single horn blown in a particular pattern. Dawn was advancing, the sky turning first mauve and purple and then blue. Stars faded and birds began to sing. Horses and men became restless as the first rays of the sun turned the snow-covered mountains peaks around them golden-red. Then...

Clear notes rang through the morning air, cold and distant, barely heard but echoing through the mountain walls.

"Mount up," Thengel ordered and in less time than one would think the éored was heading down from the hills into the valley where lay Upbourn just as the sun rose above the mountains, bathing all in its auroral light.

As they reached the open land before the town, Hildebrand took a third of the warriors and moved southwest while Hildered took another third and headed northwest. Both flanks moved faster than the center so that in due course they formed a half ring before the gates of the town, though keeping well out of arrow range. Aragorn and Gilhael were with the king as were Wídfara and Ragnawulf. Isenwulf was also there and had begged the king’s leave to act as his herald before Upbourn, thus he held the king’s standard on Thengel’s left. When Hildebrand and Hildered were in place, Thengel nodded to Isenwulf who spurred his horse forward until he was directly before the gates. All could see several men on the ramparts, though fewer than they would normally expect.

"Something is not right," Aragorn whispered to Gilhael in Sindarin.

The other Ranger nodded, giving his cousin a grimace. "Too few men on the walls," he whispered back. "Why are there not more men? An alarm should have sounded through the town by now and we should be facing a wall of arrows, but I count fewer than ten men at the gates and none appear to be archers."

Thengel, nearby, overheard their speech and nodded. "This troubles me as well," he answered, speaking Sindarin also. "It smells almost like a trap."

At that moment Isenwulf brought his steed to a halt, still out of arrow range but close enough for those on the walls to hear him. "People of Upbourn," he called out clearly, "the time of choosing is upon ye. Thengel your king demands your surrender. Open ye the gates and lay down your weapons and ye will be treated kindly. The king knows that not all are guilty of sedition against him and will render mercy as well as justice. Choose quickly and wisely, for though your king has been patient, abiding his time when he would treat with ye, patience hath its limits."

With that Isenwulf swung about and headed back towards Thengel and the waiting army.

"Now we will see what happens next," Thengel said with a nod as Isenwulf approached, taking his place on the king’s left.

Anor rose further into the sky and still they waited, for there was no movement that they could discern from the town. The number of men on the walls neither increased nor decreased and none could fathom its meaning.

"It’s almost as if they are merely statues," Aragorn opined at one point. "I have yet to see any of them actually move."

There was a hiss of anger from Thengel at that as he turned to the younger Man. "You are sure of this? I confess my eyes are not as young as they were and the glare of the sun makes it difficult to see clearly what is happening on the walls."

"Thorongil speaks truly, lord," Gilhael answered. "None of the men on the walls have moved so much as a hand in this last quarter hour. Indeed, I would venture to say that none have moved at all since we approached."

"What can that mean?" Wídfara asked in frustration. "What is happening behind those walls? Why has there been no answer, either yea or nay, to the king’s ultimatum?"

"There’s one way to find out," Aragorn said.

"And what way is that?" Thengel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We should move closer to the gates, within arrow range in fact," Aragorn answered. "Or rather, one of us should and see what reaction we get."

"A dangerous ploy," Thengel said, "but I agree that we need to do something."

"Then let us get on with it," Wídfara replied with the impatience of youth and without waiting for leave he spurred his horse forward, galloping towards the gate.

"Wídfara, wait!" Aragorn nearly shouted and was about to go after the brash younger Man, but Thengel and Gilhael held him back.

"Let him go," Thengel ordered. "If the enemy doesn’t kill him for his temerity, I will certainly kill him for his... stupidity."

If the situation hadn’t been so grave, Aragorn would have smiled, but all he could do was watch helplessly as his friend risked his life. He had been all set himself to go to the gates, the thought that others would have objected to his going never crossing his mind. They watched as the young Rider reached the place where Isenwulf had spoken and then continued on until he was definitely in arrow range, yet none of the men on the walls made so much as a gesture. Aragorn held his breath as Wídfara came ever closer to the gates and noticed that the Rider had slowed his horse almost to a walk and then stopped while still several feet from the walls and looked up. He sat there for a moment and then quickly turned his horse about and galloped back to the line.

As he approached them, they could see his face was drained of any color. "I... I do not think... anyone is th-there," Wídfara stuttered as he brought his horse to a halt before them. "The men on the ramparts..." he paused, gazing back at the town before turning his attention back to them, his expression one of horror. "I... I think they are dead."

****

Ithryn: (Sindarin) Plural of Ithron: Wizard.

Elennath Elbereth sílar or le: (Sindarin) ‘Elbereth’s stars shine over you’.

52: What Happened in Upbourn

Warning: Certain scenes in this chapter may prove upsetting to some readers.

****

"Dead?" Thengel demanded. "What do you mean dead?"

Wídfara flinched slightly at the king’s tone but stood his ground. "They do not move, lord. I stood well inside bow range and none of them so much as looked at me. There was no movement at all, as if they were statues or... dead."

The others exchanged wary glances. Finally, Thengel nodded. "Thank you, Wídfara. You were very brave to do what you did." He paused at the look of pleasure that stole across the young Riders face. "You were also very foolish and we will discuss this at a later time, assuming we both survive the upcoming battles." Thengel almost smiled at the deflated look Wídfara gave him as he turned to the others. "We need to get into the town. I need to know what is afoot."

"We can enter the same way as before," Aragorn suggested, nodding to Gilhael as he spoke. "If indeed these guards are only statues or... dead, we should find no resistance."

"It could be a trap, though," Hildered suggested. "There could be an entire army behind those walls."

"But why?" Wídfara asked in confusion. "We have the town surrounded. We could simply starve them out."

"He has a point, my lord," Isenwulf said to Thengel. "The captain of the garrison here is not a fool, whatever else he might be. None of this makes any sense."

Thengel thought for a moment before nodding. "Thorongil’s suggestion has merit. If some of us can enter the town without mishap they can open the gates for the rest of us." He turned to Aragorn and Gilhael. "Very well, we will try your way in, Thorongil."

"Um... we, my lord?" Aragorn asked with some trepidation.

Thengel smiled, even as he dismounted. "Yes, we, and Wídfara may join us. Young and rash though he is, he has shown much bravery and I think he deserves a look at these... statues close up."

At once there was great protest among Thengel’s advisors. Hildebrand, especially, was quite vocal in his dispute, but Thengel would not back down. "Enough!" he commanded in ringing tones that silenced everyone. "King I may be, but I was a Ranger in Ithilien for many years. Indeed, were my life my own, I would still be there. As it is, I want to see for myself what lies behind these walls and I will not wait for others to open the gate for me. Hildebrand, the Rohirrim are yours. Thorongil, Gilhael, lead the way. Wídfara, stay with me." He gave them all a sardonic look. "You can be my bodyguard. That should satisfy everyone."

It actually satisfied no one, but all were acquainted enough with Thengel as their king to keep silent, though there were many scowls and muttered oaths among them as the four men moved off, heading due south to keep out of range of arrows. "In case those statues decide to come alive," Aragorn muttered to Gilhael, who only nodded.

It did not take them long to reach the southwest corner of the walls, but what they found there gave them a shock. Lounging by the boulder were the twin sons of Elrond.

"About time you showed up," Elladan whispered with a grin.

"What are you two doing here?" Aragorn hissed.

"Thandir sensed something was amiss inside the town walls," Elrohir answered. "We were sent to find out what it is."

"The guards at the gate do not move," Thengel said with a nod. "They are either statues or dead men. We’re going to see which."

The twins both raised eyebrows at that. Then, Elladan gestured upward at the rock. "Who gets to climb first?"

"You do," Aragorn said before Thengel could reply. "Elrohir can take the rearguard."

The Peredhil nodded and without waiting for permission Elladan started climbing effortlessly up.

Thengel cast an amused expression at Aragorn. "Any particular reason why Lord Elladan gets to go first?"

Aragorn gave him a sly grin. "He’s the oldest and you know what they say: age before beauty."

"I heard that," came the amused whisper from above them.

Thengel’s own amusement deepened. "And why does Lord Elrohir take the rearguard, then?"

"I’m the prettiest," Elrohir supplied with a straight face, though all could see the humor in his eyes.

"I heard that, too," Elladan retorted and the Mortals were hard-pressed not to laugh out loud.

Once Elladan had gained the top of the wall and ascertained that the way was clear the others began climbing. Aragorn went next along with Thengel with Gilhael and Wídfara behind them.

Wídfara glanced up at the rock in wonder as his turn to climb came. Coming from the Eastfold, he had never been to Upbourn and so was not familiar with it. "Do you think the Powers put this here on purpose, lord?" he whispered.

"Anything is possible, young Wídfara," Elrohir whispered as he followed the young Rider up the rockface. "Including knowing we would need this manner of entrance at this time."

Wídfara shuddered at that. Soon all of them were standing on the wall. Elladan gestured to Thengel. "My brother and I will go to the northwest corner," he whispered, "and signal for Hilderic to approach the postern gates."

"Do you sense anything?" Aragorn asked.

Both peredhil shook their heads. "As I said, Thandir sensed something was wrong, as did we. There is no life within these walls but our own," Elrohir answered.

The Mortals exchanged worried looks but then Thengel nodded. "Let’s get our people inside and then we’ll look for answers."

So Elladan and Elrohir slipped silently away as the four Mortals made their way to the southeast corner. Thengel had drawn his sword and the others followed suit, all of them crouching to keep themselves hidden from anyone who might actually see them. The two Rohirrim were not sure about what the Peredhil had told them. The thought that only the dead inhabited the town did not sit well with either of them. Aragorn and Gilhael were more used to the ways of the Elves and if the sons of Elrond said that none lived inside the walls, then they believed them, though admittedly neither one of them felt comfortable with the idea any more than their two companions did.

It took only minutes to reach the southeast tower and then they stopped to sight along the wall to where they could see several figures who were not so much standing as leaning against it. Nothing moved save the flapping of cloaks in the early morning breeze. Thengel turned to the two Dúnedain. "What do your eyes tell you?" he whispered.

Both Men shook their heads. "We cannot tell if they are true men or statues, lord," Gilhael answered. "We would need to get closer."

Before anyone could respond, Aragorn stood up and sheathed his sword, pulling his hood over his head to hide his features and strode out of the tower towards the gate. Gilhael attempted to pull him back but was too late. Thengel gave him a wry look. "These youngsters are so rash, are they not?" he commented quietly.

Gilhael grimaced. "If he ends up dead because of this, I’ll kill him."

Thengel’s smile broadened but he made no further comment, merely glancing at Wídfara who was attempting to look innocent without much success. Then his attention was drawn back to where Aragorn was now approaching the guards.

"Fair morning to you," he heard the Ranger say, but the guards never moved. Aragorn stopped a mere foot from the first guard, then tentatively reached out, but at the slight touch of his hand on the guard’s arm, the guard slumped to the floor of the parapet. Almost as if that were the signal, the other guards also slid into boneless heaps. The three watching all gasped and then Aragorn was gesturing for them to approach even as he knelt down beside the first guard and examined him.

He looked up as the other three reached him, his expression dark. "They are indeed dead, my lord," he said, turning the body over. "It has been cold enough especially at night that they have only just begun to decompose, which is why we did not smell any putrefaction."

"How long, can you tell?" Thengel asked, looking grim.

Aragorn shook his head. "Days, perhaps, but I would guess not more than a week else Gilhael and I would have seen even from the tower that they were indeed dead."

Thengel sighed in frustration. "I need answers. Who were these men? Were they loyal to me or to my mother?"

"How did they die?" Wídfara asked, trying not to be sick.

Aragorn turned to Gilhael. "Check the ones over there. I’ll check these here."

The older Dúnadan nodded and stepped carefully over the fallen dead to kneel by one of them. A quick examination of three of them convinced him that they had all died in the same manner. "They were garrotted," he said.

Aragorn nodded. "Yes. These as well. In fact, from the looks of it, they all were. These men were executed, not just killed in a fight."

For a moment silence stretched between them as they considered the implications of Aragorn’s words. Then Thengel shook himself, grimacing. "Wídfara, let us go open the gates while Thorongil and Gilhael bring these bodies down to the street."

They did as Thengel commanded and in a short while the gates were opened and Hildebrand was leading the Rohirrim into the benighted town, staring in wonder as they saw Aragorn and Gilhael carry down the corpses, laying them out along one side of the gatehouse. Wídfara was now helping them.

"What does this mean, Uncle?" Hildebrand asked as he dismounted. "What happened here?"

"That is what I mean to find out," Thengel answered. "Isenwulf, do you recognize these men?" He gestured to the bodies and the old warrior walked over to view them. He shook his head.

"Nay, I do not, but I did not know the faces of all the men at the garrison."

Thengel nodded, turning to his troops. "I want every house searched," he ordered. "Hildered, take you some of the men and head for the postern gates on the river side. Lords Elladan and Elrohir will be there to let your brother and his men in. I want you and Hilderic to have your men start searching in that part of the town. If you discover anything, you will find me at the feast hall. Thorongil, Gilhael, go with him. Wídfara stay by me. You will be my secretary for the nonce."

Everyone scattered to obey the king’s commands. Wídfara sighed as he watched his sword-brother move off. Thengel clapped the younger Rider on his shoulder, giving him a brief smile. "Come. We will go to the feast hall and wait and while we wait I will tell you what happened to me when I was about your age and did something almost as rash as what you did."

Wídfara simply nodded and followed his king meekly enough down the main street leading to the feast hall.

****

Aragorn and Gilhael joined with Hildered as he and his éored made their way swiftly towards the west wall. The Rider gave them a puzzled look. "I thought the Elves were leaving us," he said.

Aragorn noddded. "So did I but when we got to the southwest tower we found them waiting for us. Apparently Thandir sensed something amiss and sent them to investigate. They should be letting your brother and his troops into the town by now."

And so it proved. Even as they found themselves at the northern-most postern gate, they found Elladan and Elrohir, along with the other three Elves, talking to Hilderic as the rest of Hilderic’s éored filed through the gate, spreading out along the wall.

"What is happening, brother?" Hilderic asked, giving his twin a hard look as Hildered and the others approached. "What says the king?"

"We’re to search every house," Hildered answered. "Uncle is even now making his way to the feast hall. If we find anything, or even if we do not, we will report to him there."

Hilderic nodded and quickly gave the orders. His men swiftly moved away, heading towards the side streets. Soon only the Elves, Hildered, Hilderic, Aragorn and Gilhael were left. Aragorn was filling the others in with what they had discovered at the main gate.

"They were all hung by their necks and then propped up against the parapet wall to seem as if they were guards," Aragorn concluded. "Lord Isenwulf was not able to identify them, though, so we still do not know if they had sided with the rebels or not."

Thandir shook his head. "This mystery grows ever deeper. I wish I knew if Mithrandir had anything to do with this."

Gilhael frowned. "I do not think he would have countenanced these executions even if richly deserved."

"No, in that you are correct," Thandir replied. "I still wonder what happened after you left him, though."

"Why don’t we check Lord Isenwulf’s house?" Gilhael suggested. "That is the last place we saw him."

Hildered spoke then. "Go. My brother and I will supervise the search from here."

The Elves and the Dúnedain nodded and set off with Elladan and Elrohir taking point. It did not escape Aragorn’s notice that the Elves in fact were keeping the two Mortals in the middle of their group. The said Mortals exchanged grimaces but otherwise did not object. It did not matter anyway, for at no time did they come upon anyone except for other Riders checking houses. In fact, they came upon Isenwulf’s house just as the old lord was stepping out, a sheet of parchment in his hand, staring at it with great puzzlement.

"What is it Lord Isenwulf?" Aragorn asked.

For an answer the Man thrust the parchment into Aragorn’s hands. Taking a quick look he gasped and realized why Isenwulf had seemed so puzzled. He looked up at his companions. "Come. We need to see Thengel immediately."

With that, he set off, not giving any of them a chance to ask questions. With no other choice the others followed, mystified.

****

They found Thengel in the feast hall, surrounded by scrolls and books as he sat at a trestle table. Wídfara was leafing through a ledger, reading something out loud while Thengel was taking notes. The two looked up when Aragorn and the others burst in.

"What is it? What did you find?" Thengel demanded as he remained seated.

For an answer Aragorn handed the piece of parchment to him. Thengel took a moment to read what was written there, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. Then he looked up, his expression one of surprise. "He’s taken them to Helm’s Deep?"

"Who? Who’s taken them to Helm’s Deep?" Isenwulf demanded in frustration. "I found that on the table in my house but I cannot read it."

"That is because it is written in Sindarin," Aragorn answered. "Gandalf wanted to make sure that if an enemy found it, they would be unable to read what was written."

"You’re saying Mithrandir took the entire population of Upbourn to Helm’s Deep?" Thandir asked in disbelief. Thengel handed him the parchment for him to read for himself. The other Elves looked over his shoulder to read as well.

"So it would seem," Thengel said musingly, staring at nothing in particular.

"He did not take everyone."

They all looked up to see Hildebrand striding into the hall, looking grim. His two sons were with him, both looking pale and sick.

"What do you mean?" Thengel demanded.

Hildebrand’s expression darkened even more. "We found what’s left of the garrison." He paused, giving his sons sympathetic looks before turning back to Thengel. "They’re dead and they did not die easily."

For a moment there was just stunned silence. Thengel rose from his seat. "Show me," he commanded and then they were all following Hildebrand and the king out of the hall.

It took them only about five minutes to reach the barracks. Riders were ranged around the building looking grim. Hildebrand paused at the doorway and turned to Thengel. "It isn’t pretty."

Thengel nodded. "Let me see."

Hildebrand then flung open the door. The others could see that it had been barred from the outside with planks that now lay broken and splintered. It was only then that they noticed that the two front windows on either side were similarly barred, though no one had bothered to remove the planks yet. Therefore the interior was darker than normal and several oil lamps smoked fitfully as they hung from the rafters.

"In here," Hildebrand said as he motioned them past the two front rooms, officer quarters as it turned out, leading them further into the barracks. As their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light there were gasps of dismay all around, even from the Elves, and there was much gagging at the sickly smell that greeted them.

Aragorn shuddered and closed his eyes at the sight. Several of the cots were occupied, the men lying in them tied to the bedposts. They were obviously dead, surrounded by their own excrement.

"The Valar help us," he whispered in horror.

****

Author’s note: For those of you trying to figure out the time frame, two weeks have passed since Aragorn first entered Upbourn. Most people can survive without water for up to ten days and without food for longer, so it is plausible that these men would be dead if they were left as they were shortly after news reached Upbourn of the release of the hostages and the citizens revolted against the garrison. Chances are, though, given the time of year, and with no available heat source, these men probably died of exposure long before they would have died of thirst.

53: Nú ða æfter Gramfærnesse, nú ða æfter Gebrosgnunge...

The Elves, less affected by death than the Mortals, were the first to move, quickly and clinically checking each of the bodies before turning back to Thengel and the others. Elladan spoke first. "Most of them have been dead for perhaps a week."

"One or two of the hardiest might have survived a little longer," Elrohir added, "but not by much."

"How did they die?" Thengel demanded, his eyes cold with fury. Whoever these men were, whatever their crimes, real or imagined, those responsible had arrogated to themselves a royal prerogative in executing them.

"Exposure," Aragorn answered, having recovered from his shock enough to examine some of the bodies for himself. The Elves nodded in agreement. "We may be at the doorstep of Spring but the nights have still been cold and the days damp. Without adequate heat and left as they were...." He did not finish his sentence for it was obvious what had happened.

Thengel’s expression was as grim as any recalled seeing. "Cut their bonds," he ordered, "then bring them to the main square. Ragnawulf, go with some of the men and bring the bodies by the gate as well. Whoever these poor wretches were, they did not deserve this."

Men scattered to do the king’s bidding as he with his captains, Aragorn, Gilhael, the Elves and Wídfara made their way back to the feasting hall. "I cannot imagine Gandalf sanctioning any of this," Thengel said as they made their way into the hall. "Where is that missive he left behind?" he asked and Wídfara, still acting as his secretary, rushed to the trestle and found the parchment in question, handing it to Thengel who had moved to the central firepit where a fire was blazing, rubbing his hands together to warm them from the chill, a chill that had less to do with the early Spring dampness and more to do with what he had just witnessed. He gave Wídfara a smile in thanks and took the missive, reading it out loud, automatically translating it into Rohirric for the benefit of those untutored in Sindarin.

"‘I have done what I could to mitigate the ire of these good people, but I am only one and they are many in their anger. The dead are those found guilty either of the burning of Underharrow or of taking advantage of their position and abusing the citizens of Upbourn most foully.’" Thengel paused, looking up at Isenwulf. "Rape?" he hissed.

Isenwulf nodded reluctantly. "And the occasional torture when they were bored," he answered.

"Do you recognize any of those from the barracks?" Hildebrand asked.

"One or two but not all, for I was often away in Edoras and knew only the captain of the guards and those who were my escort. None of them are among the dead, by the way."

"Would they have gone with Gandalf and the others to Helm’s Deep?" Wídfara asked.

Thengel shook his head. "It seems not," he said and continued reading. "‘Those of the garrison who decided their loyalties lie with your mother were permitted to leave unmolested, presumably to make their way to Edoras. I am leading the rest to Helm’s Deep, for these good people have decided they want nothing more to do with this war. They are grateful that their children are safe and pray that the king will not punish them for their parents’ sins.’" Thengel scowled. "As if I would ever do that to innocent children. What does he take me for?"

"I doubt Mithrandir thinks anything of the sort," Elrohir said. "These are not his words but the words of your people."

"And apparently my people have little trust in my mercy or justice," Thengel retorted.

"They are fearful, and angry, my lord," Aragorn said, "and I think some may well have been maddened with grief at what was done to them."

"Thorongil speaks truly, Brother," Hildebrand said. "These people, to do what they did, were on the brink of madness, I deem, a madness born of grief at the destruction of Underharrow. Many of the people of Upbourn had kin in that town."

Thengel nodded, though his expression was still grim as he continued reading. "‘This is not how I wished it, my friend, but I can only inspire not command and so I will see these poor children to safety and trust that you will do what is needful to regain your throne and your kingdom. Lord Béma and the other Powers be with you.’"

"That explains much, but not enough," Aragorn said.

"With Mithrandir, that is often the case," Thandir said with a brief smile.

"I wonder why those of Edoras have not retaken this place," Gilhael said. "I’m guessing there’s been at least a week since this place has been deserted."

"That assumes the members of the garrison allowed to leave went to Edoras at all," Isenwulf answered. "The captain was appointed by Guthláf for his ruthlessness though he had nothing to do with Underharrow."

"Which is probably why he is not numbered among the dead," Hildebrand suggested.

"I doubt he would have been happy to report to his master the loss of such a strategic place as Upbourn, though," Isenwulf added with a nod, "so I would not be surprised to learn that he and his men never went to Edoras."

"Well, it’s a moot point," Thengel said with a sigh. "Those in Edoras have not been here and we are. If nothing else, this saves us much trouble and grief. Hildebrand, have a funeral detail dig a large enough grave to place all those men in it. There’s no time for us to dig individual graves and from what I suspect they hardly deserve burial at all, but I will not lower myself to the level of those who executed these wretches. Also, continue the search of the town. I want to make sure there are not other bodies stashed away somewhere. We will set out for Edoras as soon as that’s done. I wish to be before the gates by dusk."

Hildebrand bowed to his king and left, taking his sons with him. Silence stretched between those in the hall, all deep in thought. Thengel stared at the Wizard’s letter for several minutes as if memorizing its contents, then suddenly he crushed the parchment into a ball and threw it into the fire. "Damn you, Mother!" he shouted at no one in particular. When they saw tears streaming from his eyes, most were rooted in shock at the sight, save Thandir, who moved to embrace him.

"Be at peace, Thengel," the Elf said softly. "Do not let your righteous anger cloud your judgment or distract you from your goal. Remain focused and concentrate on what is before you. Upbourn is yours and can offer you no further threat. What happened here was horrific but such is the price of war and trust me when I say that I have witnessed worse."

"They are my people," Thengel whispered through his tears, "yet they trust me not...."

"Say rather, they trust themselves not," Thandir interjected, giving the king a firm clap on the shoulder. "That they chose to remove themselves from the temptation of divided loyalties speaks well for them, or perhaps for Mithrandir’s powers of persuasion. After you have regained Edoras will be the time to deal with the people of Upbourn, but not before."

Thengel nodded. "Le hannon," he said simply and Thandir gave him one of his brilliant smiles.

"We will leave now," he said, gesturing to the other Elves and the Peredhil. "We have stayed overlong and what follows is not our concern."

"As far as you know," Aragorn said.

Thandir nodded. "As far as we know, yet even with foresight we make our choices rooted in trust that all will turn out as it should."

"That is not to say that all will turn out as we wish, though," Thengel said with a grim smile.

"You are wise, Thengel King," Thandir replied, giving the king a nod. "Use that wisdom to good advantage." Then he turned to Aragorn and Gilhael and gave them both a hug and a kiss on their foreheads in benediction. "Nai Eru tye mánata," he said to them. Then he and the other Elves bowed to Thengel and departed.

Elladan and Elrohir remained behind to give their brother their own farewell. "Stay out of trouble, brother," Elladan said as he gave Aragorn a hug. "We don’t want to have to come back and rescue you again. Either of you." He said this last as he offered Gilhael a warrior’s handshake.

"I could say the same for you two," Aragorn said with a smile as he and Elrohir hugged. "Give my respects to Lord Elrond and all in Imladris." He was careful not to speak of his ada before the Rohirrim.

The twins both nodded and after bowing to Thengel and giving Wídfara hugs, which surprised and pleased the young Man no end, they, too, departed; the hall seemingly darker than before without the light of their presence.

Thengel sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Come, let’s see to the burial of those wretches and be on our way. I have no taste to remain here any longer than necessary. Wídfara, gather those papers we were examining; we will take them with us." He turned to Aragorn and Gilhael. "I found the journals of the geþeaht. They may prove... interesting reading."

Aragorn and Gilhael merely nodded their heads, well aware of what Thengel meant. "We will help Wídfara gather the papers," Aragorn suggested and with a nod Thengel left them, his expression set. The two Dúnedain gave each other knowing looks before turning to help Wídfara with the documents.

****

The funeral, such as it was, was brief and to the point. Thankfully, no other bodies were found in the town. The dead were covered with blankets and taken outside to the cemetery which lay to the south of the walled town. A grave had been dug that was just wide enough to lay out three bodies side-by-side, which meant that the others were stacked on top. It was a grisly sight and the Rohirrim and two Dúnedain were grim-faced. There were no songs of farewelling for these dead men, no words of blessing or praise, only silence as the bodies were thrown into the pit and dirt was piled over them.

At the last Thengel nodded. "It is done. Let us go."

Fifteen minutes later, Upbourn was left deserted, save for the memories of the dead.

****

They reached Edoras an hour before sunset. There were no signs of life. Even the walls were empty of sentries. The sight was disturbing to them all.

"What has happened?" Thengel mused aloud, not really expecting an answer from anyone as the Rohirrim ringed the tor upon which the city sat, though remaining outside bowshot.

Hildebrand shook his head. "I know not, but it either bodes well for us or ill."

Thengel gave his brother-in-law a wry grin. "Care to be more specific?"

"I only meant that the walls not being manned could mean that they are planning a trap for us or that there are none alive to man the walls," Hildebrand explained. At Thengel’s pained expression though, he hastened to apologize. "Forgive me. I fear what we found at Upbourn has clouded my good judgment...."

Thengel waved away the apology. "We are all somewhat rattled by what we found there. Let us look on the bright side and assume they are plotting a trap for us instead."

The drollness of the king’s tone set more than one listener sniggering and then looking guilty for it, yet the mood lightened somewhat as they went about setting up the encampment. Just before the sun set, Thengel sent Hildebrand with his standard to ride before the city gates and declare the king’s intentions to retake Edoras and his throne, commanding that those inside surrender or suffer the king’s wrath. Silence was their only answer.

"So be it," Thengel said with a heavy sigh. "We will offer terms again tomorrow and for two days after. If they do not surrender or give answer by the third day we will decide on our next course of action."

The others nodded grimly, well aware that the siege could take longer than expected. Aragorn wondered to himself if Thengel would have to burn the city down first if they could find no other way in. He grimaced at the thought, knowing full well that such a course might well have to be taken.

The waiting for dawn was interminable, for none in the camp slept. When the first rosy hints of morning seeped across the night-shrouded sky, Thengel sent Hildebrand before the gates again with the king’s ultimatum. The answer remained the same: silence.

Aragorn exchanged a worried glance with Gilhael after Hildebrand returned to the camp. They were in Thengel’s tent along with the king’s other captains and councillors. "Lómë lanta Rocconórenna," the older Ranger whispered gravely to his cousin while the Rohirrim responded more vocally to the news.

Aragorn could only nod, his expression more sad than grim at what the silence from Edoras might portend.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Old English) unless otherwise noted:

Nú ða æfter Gramfærnesse, nú ða æfter Gebrosnugne...: ‘Now for Wrath, now for Ruin...’

Nai Eru tye mánata: (Quenya) ‘God bless you (sg. familiar)’; an attested phrase.

Geþeaht: Assembly or council, consisting of the ealdorman, or chief magistrate, and guild masters of the town.

Lómë lanta Rocconórenna: (Quenya) ‘Night falls on Rohan’.

54: Unexpected Allies

Silence remained the answer from Edoras on the second day of the siege and the expressions on the faces of the besiegers became even more grim. Thengel sent men under cover of darkness later that night to spy out the two known exits to see if there was a way through but the reports were inconclusive. The sewer drain was indeed barred as had been reported by Elladan and there was no hope of removing the obstruction without alerting whoever remained inside the city. When they tried the door to the licweg, for Thengel still had his key, they realized that not only was it locked but also barred. They could break the door down eventually, but it would not be easy and the danger was too great, for those attempting the feat would be too exposed to bowshot from the walls. It was a disheartening picture all around.

Then, on the third morning, something unexpected occurred. As he had done for the last two dawns, Hildebrand rode before the gates to issue the king’s ultimatum. He had barely begun to speak the words when the gates began to open, moving ponderously. Hildebrand sat on his horse in indecision, not sure what to expect. By the rules of warfare the besieged should have simply sent a spokesman to the walls to answer the king’s demands and if they were suing for peace, discuss terms. Even in the camp the besiegers stood around uncertainly, not sure what was happening or why. That proved nearly fatal.

Hildebrand, being closer, realized that he was in deadly peril only seconds before a troop of horsemen rode out of the gates directly towards him. In a flash he was racing for his life, for it was obvious that the horsemen were in no mood to treat him properly as a herald. Arrows flew and Hildebrand was only just able to dodge them, though one hit the back of his saddle, narrowly missing him and his horse.

In Thengel’s camp chaos reigned, for most of the Rohirrim were unarmed and unarmored, not expecting such a sortie at this time. Thengel called for his Marshals and Captains. Aragorn and Gilhael were right beside him in seconds, the only two who were already in battle dress, for they were Dúnedain and never ceased their vigilance as a matter of course. Wídfara was not far behind them, having copied them in remaining battle ready at all times.

Hildebrand managed to reach the camp ahead of the horsemen, calling for his weapons which he had left behind when acting as Thengel’s herald. His sons raced up in time to hand him sword and shield before they sprinted for their own horses.

"Where did they come from?" Wídfara screamed as he ran with Aragorn and Gilhael to the horses. Aragorn, as usual, did not bother with tack and stood guard over Gilhael and Wídfara while they quickly saddled their own horses.

"I suspect from the Eastfold," Gilhael answered but did not elaborate for there was no time with the enemy upon them.

The chaos that ensued was terrible and many of the Rohirrim encamped before the gates were lost, unable to reach their horses or weapons in time. Only the fact that part of Thengel’s army was surrounding the tor and so not in direct conflict saved the king. While the enemy horsemen turned the camp before the gates into a killing zone, others of Thengel’s men rallied together and came at the enemy from behind, their fury at what they saw as treachery knowing no bounds.

Thengel managed to gather the remnant of his men at one point and began winning back his camp. Eventually, the enemy horsemen began to withdraw, for though they had wreaked havoc upon Thengel’s army, they were still outnumbered. At a signal from the wall, they fell back and now there was another race as Thengel’s men chased the horsemen to the gates, hoping to overrun them and take the gates themselves, but a volley of arrows from the parapet slowed them and they were forced to break off the pursuit to save themselves.

There were howls of anger and anguish at the perfidy of the enemy and Thengel’s men were demoralized by the unexpected attack and subsequent slaughter. Thengel ordered the dead taken to the east of the camp, separated into two piles. Dispassionately he and his Marshals went among the enemy dead in an attempt to identify them. Their conclusion was that most seemed to have come from the Eastfold though not Aldburg.

"Why has Erkenbard not come?" Hildebrand asked Thengel as they returned to the camp. "He should have been here before us."

Thengel shook his head. "I do not know," he said, his expression both grim and worried, for he had been counting on the Seneschal of Aldburg to augment his own meager troops.

"Could he have betrayed us?" Hildebrand pressed.

Thengel stopped, his expression now gone cold. "He has not!" he exclaimed with such vehemence that Hildebrand took a step back in surprise and the others with them went still, not wishing to be the object of the king’s ire.

Hildebrand bowed. "Forgive me, Uncle," he said contritely. "I did not mean...."

Thengel merely shook his head and continued towards the camp, the others following him, clearly uneasy, unsure of the king’s temper. The chaos of just an hour ago was gone as the Rohirrim went about salvaging what they could of the king’s camp. It was a dreary scene, nonetheless, and the men went about their tasks with grim determination.

"Why did they not announce their intentions before attacking?" Wídfara asked Aragorn as the two followed Thengel back to the camp.

"I do not know," Aragorn said. "I fear these rebels have no honor."

"We were caught off-guard," Gilhael opined. "They were counting on that, I think. That’s why they did not answer the king’s challenge immediately, hoping we would become complacent."

"I think you have the right of it, Gilhael," Thengel said. "I will not make that mistake again."

Aragorn excused himself then to go and help with the wounded, lending his considerable healing skills to succoring those who were in need. Thengel gave both Gilhael and Wídfara leave to accompany him. "Do not let him overextend himself," the king ordered them. "He is more valuable to me as a warrior than as a healer at this moment. I do not want him unable to fight at need."

Gilhael and Wídfara assured Thengel that they would keep an eye on their friend and then went to offer their aid. The Rohirrim welcomed the Dúnedain’s help, for they had few who were conversant with leechcraft and their knowledge of the healing arts was rough and untutored. "Though they do well enough," Gilhael said softly to his cousin as they watched the few Rohirric healers at their tasks.

Aragorn nodded but otherwise did not speak, concentrating instead on providing the wounded with whatever relief he could offer them. Thus, it was late in the afternoon before he and the others were done, saving those who could be saved and removing the bodies of those who were too grievously wounded to survive. A burial detail had been ordered by the king and two large pits were being dug on either side of the road. Many of the warriors were upset that the enemy dead were even being accorded burial but Thengel was adamant that even the enemy had certain rights.

"They are our kin, led astray by those who have betrayed their oaths to me," Thengel explained. "As such, they deserve our mercy and forgiveness rather than our wrath which we reserve for those who lead this rebellion."

"Do you think they will attack again?" Hilderic asked at one point as supper was being prepared for them.

"If so, we will be prepared," Thengel answered. "They will not find us with our leggings around our knees again."

"We cannot hope to break this siege with so few troops, though," Ragnawulf offered with a scowl. "Would that we had taken the gates and stormed the city when we had the chance. I doubt me that we will be given another opportunity."

"We must hope that a way will be found to end this deadlock," Aragorn answered.

The mood of the camp that night was dismal, the men sitting around their campfires in silence as they mourned their losses. No one sang.

"They gave no warning," Wídfara said morosely at one point as he, Aragorn and Gilhael sat around a fire. "I still don’t understand why they did not announce their intentions," he said, shaking his head, his tone one of disbelief.

"They have no honor," Gilhael replied baldly.

"And they were counting on us not to be prepared for such an attack," Aragorn said.

"Do you think our cause is doomed?" Wídfara asked with some uncertainty, fearing that perhaps they would all be forced into exile if the king failed to take Edoras.

Before either of the Dúnedain could answer, behind the walls of Edoras came the ghostly sound of singing. Wídfara’s expression became stricken and he burst into tears. Aragorn threw an arm around the younger Man’s shoulders and held him, offering him whatever comfort he could. He shared a look with his cousin, both of them grim-faced as they sat and listened to the revelry of the enemy.

****

For two days nothing more happened and everyone was on edge, wondering why those within the walls of Edoras would not respond to their demands to parlay. Thengel ordered the men to be battle ready at all times and many of them now went to their bedrolls only partly unarmored with their swords and bows readily at hand. A spate of rain on the second day after the sortie drove the morale of Thengel’s men into an abyss, for they were now surrounded by a field of mud that would make any fighting, if it came to that, more dangerous and nothing was dry. Thengel worried that he might find his men deserting him.

"It’s happened before," he said to his captains. "Men become so demoralized that they see no point in sticking around to be slaughtered."

"They love you, Thengel King," Aragorn said. "They will not desert you. Too many have lost too much as it is. They want to be avenged for what these rebels have done. Underharrow still burns in most of their hearts and they will neither forgive nor forget what was done there."

"All we can do is wait," Hildebrand said with a scowl. "These rebels have the upper hand at the moment."

"Had we been able to breach the licweg or the drainage system, I think we could have ended this sooner," Thengel opined, "but those ways are closed to us and so we must wait them out and hope that their resources are scantier than ours."

"The planting season is upon us," Ragnawulf said. "If we do not end this soon, there will be precious little for us to harvest before next winter."

"That cannot be helped," Thengel said shortly. "We will survive as best we can."

"So what more can we do to shorten this siege?" Gilhael asked.

For an answer Thengel pulled out one of his maps of Edoras. "Let us see if there are any weak spots we have overlooked that may help us breach the walls of the city."

Thus, they spent some time pouring over the maps in their possession, but even as they did, not a few of them paused during the discussion to glance eastward, wondering why Erkenbard of Aldburg had not arrived.

****

It was the middle of the last watch, only an hour or so before dawn, three days after the attack when the gates of Edoras opened again. Men scrambled into their armor and grabbed their arms still half-awake and befuddled.

"Are they insane?" was the most common response to the sight of the defenders of Edoras charging out upon the field in the pearly grey of the pre-dawn light, their shapes indistinct in the half-darkness.

Caught off-guard as they were, Thengel’s men were nonetheless more ready to defend themselves than the last time. The sentries had alerted the troops as soon as they detected movement coming from Edoras, so the enemy did not have as large an element of surprise as before. Still, it was obvious that the rebels were better prepared to fight than Thengel’s men and it looked as if the slaughter would be complete this time. It did not help that many of Thengel’s troops were unable to come to the king’s assistance, for even as the enemy horsemen bore down on them, archers at the walls and others who came undetected through the sewers and the licweg pinned down those of Thengel’s troops ranged around the tor, keeping them from their horses.

"We need to retreat, my lord," Aragorn shouted to Thengel at one point, even as he skewered one of the enemy who was about to lop off Wídfara’s head. "We cannot hope to defeat them with so few warriors mounted."

Thengel snarled an oath but knew that the Dúnadan was correct. Indeed, he had come to the same conclusion only minutes earlier but had been loath to sound the retreat. Yet, he could not in conscience remain and see his men being slaughtered. He turned to Hildered who was acting as his standard-bearer and herald. "Sound the retreat," he ordered.

Hildered nodded grimly and raised his horn to his lips but just at that moment other horns to the east rang in the dawn. The sound of them startled everyone and even the enemy horsemen paused in surprise. Thengel shaded his eyes against the glare of the morning sun on the horizon, hope unlooked for rising within him. Again the horns sounded and now many there realized that not all the horns were of Rohan.

"Gondor!" Hildered shouted all of a sudden and at that realization, many throats echoed the prince’s cry.

"Gondor! Gondor!" and then as the new arrivals came closer and all could see the standards fluttering in the early morning breeze the cry changed: "Erkenbard! Erkenbard of Aldburg comes!"

Aragorn glanced at Thengel whose expression had turned from one of disbelief to one of joy. "How is it that Gondor comes to our aid, lord?" he asked the king.

Thengel gave him a sly grin. "Fréawine," he answered. "He sent for them."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that. "Your cousin," he exclaimed, making the connection. "The one whom you pretended to blind on your father’s orders."

Thengel nodded, a wide smile wreathing his face. "He has ever been my truest friend and most loyal subject. I never doubted he would come through for me."

And then there was no more time for talk for suddenly the new arrivals began to charge upon the field and the enemy knew themselves outnumbered and began to flee back to the city. Thengel ordered pursuit in the hopes of cutting off their escape but the archers on the wall were able to provide their comrades with covering fire and Thengel called off the pursuit when he realized how fruitless it was.

In the meantime, Erkenbard of Aldburg was dismounting, along with two other men, one of them dark of hair and grey of eye, verily a scion of the Sea-kings of old. The three men met Thengel near the center of the camp and their greetings were loud and merry. Aragorn, Gilhael and Wídfara made their way towards them and Thengel made the introductions.

"Lord Thorongil son of Beren," Thengel said, "let me make you known to my beloved cousin, Fréawine son of Léodláf, lord of Brandingsdale."

Aragorn bowed to the man who stood beside Erkenbard. He was typical of the Rohirrim with light golden-brown hair braided down his back, his face wreathed with long mustaches and a beard. He was not as tall as Thengel but he held himself as a warrior and his blue eyes were clear and absent of any guile. Aragorn greeted him respectfully, liking what he saw. Then Thengel turned to the other man, the Gondorian, who appeared to be no older than Aragorn himself, and who stared at Aragorn and Gilhael with something that was more than just mild interest. It made the younger Dúnadan feel nervous for some reason, though he did not let his feelings show.

"And this is my Lord Ecthelion’s son, Denethor, heir to the Stewardship of Gondor," Thengel said.

And so, for the first time, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Sixteenth Chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain and crownless king of Gondor, met one whose fate would be forever twined with his.

****

Note: Denethor son of Ecthelion was born in TA 2930, one year earlier than Aragorn.

55: Explanations and Revisions

"You are late," Thengel said to Erkenbard, giving him a frown, though it was swiftly followed by a grin, "but you came in good time, so I forgive you."

Erkenbard bowed to his liege. "Thank you, my liege. We feared we would come too late, for several things delayed us." The Seneschal of Aldburg cast a look at Denethor, who nodded.

"Lord Fréawine came to Minas Tirith to find the city in something of a panic," the Steward’s son said.

Thengel raised an eyebrow at those words and then gestured for them all to follow him to his tent, which, remarkably, was still standing. He ordered food and drink to be brought so that he and his captains and the new arrivals could break their fast. Other orders were given for the men to go about the business of cleaning up the battlefield, separating the dead as before and putting the camp itself to rights.

When they were all seated in the tent waiting for food to be brought, Thengel addressed Denethor. "In what way was the city in a panic? Has aught happened to your father?"

Denethor raised a hand to still the king’s questioning. "Nay, lord. Father is well and sends you his greetings and," here the young man smiled knowingly, "he wishes he were here in my stead."

Thengel laughed, vastly relieved. "That’s Ecthelion to be sure. He always resented missing out on some of the fun whenever I was engaged in a sortie with the Haradrim or orcs and he was not." When he had sobered somewhat, he cast a shrewd look at the Gondorian. "So tell me what was amiss."

"I was," Denethor said with an easy smile. "Truly, Father would have sent us sooner to Rohan’s aid when Lord Fréawine arrived with your message...."

"I still do not understand how you were even able to contact Lord Fréawine or what message you were able to give him," Erkenbard interrupted, casting a frown at Thengel.

Before Thengel could answer, Aragorn spoke up. "The scouts," he said and all turned their attention to him. He forced himself not to blush as he stammered on. "The two men you sent from Aldburg with a strange message."

Thengel nodded, smiling. "‘Tôl i-lû ir gwist phain coren vaer: Comes the time when all oaths are made good’. Before I left Gondor to take up the crown of Rohan, Ecthelion and I made a pact that should either of us send a messenger who spoke those very words, it would mean that there was a need for the one to come to the aid of the other. This was arranged in the case that the beacons could not be lit and of course that is what happened here. I knew the traitors would have sent their own men to guard the beacons to prevent us from lighting them so I did not bother with them." He paused to take a bite of bread, washing it down with a goblet of small beer. "So, as I traveled through the Eastfold on my way to Edoras, I stopped at Brandingsdale to visit with my beloved cousin and told him about the message, hoping against hope that I would never have to send it." He sighed and gave Fréawine a rueful look which the younger lord returned. "Yet, I knew that if anyone could reach Gondor without being stopped it would be he," he added, saluting the lord of Brandingsdale with his goblet.

Fréawine nodded and gave them a winning smile. "I know of ways along the mountains’ edge that most do not. It was easy enough to avoid the traitors gathering around Isenbrandingsdale and Alorharadsdale." He grimaced as if the very names left a bad taste in his mouth and took a long pull of his drink.

"And then you came to Minas Tirith to find what?" Thengel prodded.

"To find me gone and rumors flying telling of either my capture or demise at the hands of the Haradrim," Denethor answered with a mirthless chuckle.

Eyebrows rose all around and they all waited patiently for the young lord of Gondor to explain. Denethor took a bite of cheese and nodded.

"I had been sent to South Ithilien to investigate rumors of an incursion of Haradrim into the area," he explained. "I must have left a couple of weeks before Lord Fréawine arrived. Anyway, there was indeed a small band of mercenaries making life interesting for the people around Pelargir. My men and I gave chase and we followed them nearly to the Poros when we were ambushed." The young lord gave them an abashed look. "My own stupid fault, really. I should have known better."

"Yet you obviously escaped," Thengel said.

Denethor nodded. "Just barely and in fact we were thoroughly routed." He grimaced at that and touched his left side, rubbing it in an unconscious manner.

"You were injured," Aragorn said and it was not a question. His healer’s eyes had noticed the pallor of Denethor’s skin when first they were introduced.

Denethor turned to Aragorn, his grey eyes widening as if only just noticing the Dúnadan. "You are from the North," he said, giving Gilhael a glance as well, "yet you are here fighting alongside the Rohirrim."

Both Dúnedain nodded, though it was Gilhael who answered. "Ever have some of us traveled southward to take service for a time with Rohan and even Gondor." At Denethor’s look of surprise, Gilhael smiled. "I’m sure if you check your records you will find references scattered about of Dúnedain of the North coming to Gondor and serving in Gondor’s army or among her Rangers for a time. I, myself, served for a time under Fengel, though it was not a happy time and I did not stay long. When my young cousin expressed a wish to do the same I joined him, wishing to see what changes had been wrought in Rohan since last I rode with the Horselords."

Denethor gave them both a considering look. Thengel, deciding the issue of the Dúnedain was of no real importance, returned them to their original topic of discussion. "Is Thorongil correct?" he asked Denethor. "Were you injured?"

"Aye, and nearly dead for my troubles," the younger man answered readily enough, a sour expression marring his patrician face. "I suppose that’s why the city was in an uproar. Somehow one of my men managed to elude the Haradrim altogether and make his way to Minas Tirith with the news that I had fallen."

"And that’s when I arrived," Fréawine said with a deprecating grin. "Naturally, Ecthelion was more concerned for the status of his son and heir than he was about Rohan."

"Naturally," Thengel said with a nod, not at all upset.

"What happened?" Aragorn asked Denethor. "How did you manage to escape?"

"My second, Damrod, made the unprecedented decision to go not towards Minas Tirith but to Mordor, or rather to the Ephel Dúath, contrary to the expectations of the Haradrim."

"Why?" Thengel asked.

"I was unconscious, perhaps even dead, so far as he knew, but on the off-chance that I was still alive he knew that there was nowhere in South Ithilien that we could reach safely to tend to my wounds. There are, however, numerous caves in the mountains and Damrod hoped to reach one of them where they could set up a defensive perimeter against the Haradrim."

"Surely they would have followed you," Wídfara stated.

Denethor nodded. "Indeed they did, but warily and my men were able to reach the mountains well ahead of them and set their own ambush. I was still unconscious so all I say at this point is hearsay. I only witnessed the results, not the actual event."

Everyone nodded their understanding.

"Obviously, the ambush worked," Thengel said with a brief smile.

"Oh yes," Denethor replied, his eyes dark with memories. "By the time I regained consciousness it was all over. My men fought bravely and well and none of the Haradrim lived to return with their own tales, but my wounds were grave and they dared not move me too soon, nor would Damrod risk sending word to Minas Tirith in case the Haradrim were still out there somewhere. It was nearly a week before I had regained sufficient strength to mount a horse and by then our scouts assured us that there were no Haradrim or even orcs anywhere. So we made our way back to Minas Tirith."

Fréawine picked up the narrative. "Lord Ecthelion, all this time, was assembling an army to go to his son’s rescue or to at least retrieve his body if that were his fate, when outriders appeared at the gates with news that Lord Denethor’s troop had been sighted and that Lord Denethor was alive."

"Father was both relieved and furious at the same time," Denethor said with a wry grin.

Thengel smiled as well. "I can well imagine. I’m sure he was torn between hugging you to death and flaying you alive."

The Steward’s heir laughed gaily. "Indeed, those were his very words when we finally met. Once he was assured of my continued health, he began his plan to come to Rohan’s aid. He had already decided that I would lead the army, so we waited through the winter months while I healed. Lord Fréawine insisted we should go first to Aldburg before continuing to Edoras, only when we got there we were snowed in from a blizzard, else I believe we would have gotten here a few days ago."

Denethor looked at Erkenbard for confirmation and the older Rider nodded. "It was just bad timing or Lord Béma’s will that the blizzard appeared just before Lord Denethor’s army came to the gates of Aldburg."

Denethor grimaced. "We had good weather all the way through Anórien but as soon as we crossed the Mering Stream it was as if some inimical force was trying to prevent us from reaching our goal."

"Oh?" Thengel asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I am not a superstitious man, Thengel King," the Steward’s son said, "but I swear that something or someone was trying to slow our progress if not necessarily stop us altogether. Horses would suddenly lose a shoe for no reason, forcing us to stop. And it wouldn’t be just one horse but several all at the same time. Then a dense fog arose without warning from the Entwash and swept down upon us so none could see his hand before his face. We were forced to stop for nearly two days at one point because we feared getting lost in the fog. It was unnatural to my mind and so it went. By the time we approached Aldburg, none of us were all that surprised by the sudden appearance of the blizzard, only grateful that we made it to Aldburg’s gates without loss of life."

"It took us longer than planned to dig our way out once the storm passed," Erkenbard took up the tale, shaking his head.

The others in the group exchanged uneasy glances, wondering silently if there was more to this than bad luck or mere happenstance, but none came to any ready conclusions. "Well, the important thing is that you are here now," Thengel said, "and for that I am forever grateful."

Denethor nodded, his expression becoming almost feral. "So, what’s our next move?"

The expressions on the faces of the others in the tent were nearly as feral. "Twice they caught us off-guard," Thengel explained to Erkenbard and Denethor. "They have ignored all the protocols of war, denying us an answer to our challenges." He went on to explain the situation to Denethor and Erkenbard.

"They must either be desperate," Denethor offered once Thengel's tale was done, "or they believe they have the upper hand."

"Either way, it doesn’t get us into Edoras," Hildebrand said sourly.

"No, it doesn’t," Denethor admitted with a graceful nod, his grey eyes darkening and his brow furrowing in thought. "You’ve found no other way into the city save the drainage pipe leading to the middens and the... what did you call it... leechway?"

Thengel nodded, his expression grim as were the expressions on the faces of all the Rohirrim sitting in the king’s tent. Only Aragorn’s and Gilhael’s expressions were unreadable.

Denethor smiled thinly. "Rather poor planning on the part of your ancestors, lord king. When you must someday travel the final road to the Halls of your Fathers, you should tell them so."

There was a stunned silence at the Gondorian’s words and then Thengel threw back his head and laughed. "Indeed," he said as he calmed down, giving the younger man a warm smile, "I will make it a point to do so. Thank you, Denethor. I had quite forgotten about your odd sense of humor."

Denethor smiled back. "Father says I get it from Mother and Mother insists that I get it from Father."

"Well, whomever you get it from, it is most welcome," Thengel said. "I fear these last few days have been rather demoralizing for us all. So, let us see what our options are. Your coming may well have tipped the scales in our favor. We need to exploit that sooner rather than later before the rebels are able to regroup."

As battle plans were being discussed, Aragorn surreptitiously studied the Steward’s heir with interest as he interacted with Thengel and the other Rohirrim. It was uncanny how very similar Denethor’s features were to his own. With their dark hair and grey eyes, they could almost be mistaken for brothers. Denethor was nearly as tall as Aragorn and it was clear that the blood of Númenor flowed strongly in him, for all that the men of the House of Húrin had wedded at times with women from the lesser folk of Gondor. Aragorn was equally pleased at the man’s sharp mind and martial abilities. That Ecthelion was allowing his only son and heir to lead the Gondorian contingent rather than staying behind in Minas Tirith, which actually would make better sense politically, spoke well of him in Aragorn’s eyes. It had always been the Dúnadan’s intention to journey to Gondor and take service with Ecthelion and he looked forward to being able to work side-by-side with one who could very well be his own Steward should fate permit him to retake the throne of Gondor.

"What do you think, Lord Thorongil?"

Aragorn blinked a couple of times, forcing himself to focus on what was being discussed by the others, and gave Thengel a thin smile. "Forgive me, lord. I fear my mind was elsewhere for a moment."

Gilhael sighed dramatically. "Letting your mind wander when it shouldn’t is going to get you into trouble one of these days, Cousin," he said with a shake of his head. "You need to pay more attention to your present surroundings or you’re going to end up dead."

Aragorn took the reprimand in good grace, for he knew that he had been remiss in this. "You are correct, Cousin. I will endeavor to be more attentive from now on. My apologies." This last was addressed to the rest of the men who merely nodded in acceptance of the Dúnadan’s expression of regret.

Wídfara, though, was less pleased with Gilhael’s reprimand of his beloved sweordbroðor and gave the older Dúnadan a scowl. "Thorongil’s musings oft lead to sound ideas, Tungolfród. You should not dismiss them out of hand."

"Peace, Sweordbroðor," Aragorn said with a smile for the young Rider. "In this instance, my cousin was right to berate me. My thoughts were not on war."

Wídfara seemed only slightly mollified by Aragorn’s words as the others looked on with indulgent smiles. Denethor gave both Aragorn and Wídfara a measuring look.

"At any rate, son," Thengel said, bringing everyone’s attention back to the business at hand, "Lord Denethor was suggesting a midnight sortie over the walls and I wondered what you thought of the idea."

Aragorn nodded, giving Denethor a respectful bow. "I had entertained that very thought some time before, but dismissed it as impractical, for the enemy does not seem to post sentries on the walls and there is no way to tell if any sentries are about though hidden from our view. If there were guards making rounds we could estimate the amount of time needed to get over the wall unseen, but so far they have not accommodated us with that information."

"Hmm..." Denethor said, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Is there one place along the walls where, due to an architectural flaw or the natural lie of the land, it is less likely that sentries would be posted?"

"To the south," Hildebrand answered. "That way leads to Harrowdale. No enemy can approach from that way."

"Move the men now surrounding the tor so that all are before the gates," Denethor suggested. "Let them think we mean to give them a frontal assault."

"Keep their eyes looking north," Aragorn said and Denethor nodded.

"Would they not become suspicious if we move everyone, though?" Wídfara asked and several of the older men shook their heads.

"It would make more sense strategically," Thengel explained. "They know that we have suffered grave losses in the two sorties. Lord Denethor’s men and those of Aldburg barely replace those whom we lost. Our forces are too stretched as it is. Bringing everyone together would make more sense in the long run anyway."

"And while those behind the walls of Edoras are watching as your men move north around the tor, they will not be watching for any to scale the southern wall," Denethor added.

"The question is when do we do this and who goes?" Hilderic interjected. "The moon rises later every night and I estimate that tomorrow night there will be almost three hours between sunset and moonrise."

"If we wait one night more, though," Ragnawulf suggested, "there should be almost five hours of darkness before the moon rises. That will give those who will attempt this more time to circle the tor and find the most suitable place for the climbing."

"Is there one spot that is better than another?" Aragorn asked.

Thengel nodded, pulling forth a map of the tor. "Here," he said, pointing to an area along the southeast corner. "There is a shelf of rock that raises the ground somewhat higher at this point. At best it will only lessen the climb by a foot but it’s your best option."

"I think delaying our move another day may prove risky," Denethor put in, "yet is three hours enough time to get us over the wall?"

Aragorn noticed with amusement how Denethor casually included himself in the party that would attempt the wall when none had been selected as yet. He himself intended to be of that party and no doubt Gilhael and Wídfara would insist on coming. He had his doubts as to how many they could safely include in the party.

"I think it will be sufficient," Thengel said. "See here. The tor rises at its highest point along the southern flank. You will need to start your climb where the sewers open up, for that will be the lowest point and the climb will not be as strenuous. Still, care will need to be taken and only those skilled in climbing should attempt it, especially when it will be done in total darkness."

"Unless there is starlight," Aragorn replied, "though it would serve us better if the skies were clouded over."

"Just so long as those clouds bring no snow or rain," Wídfara muttered darkly and everyone chuckled.

"Who goes then?" Gilhael asked the fatal question. "My cousin and I are both skilled in climbing, having scaled some of the sheer cliffs of the Misty Mountains in our time."

"I, too, have done similarly in the White Mountains," Denethor replied.

"I will not be left behind," Wídfara said then. "My family’s dale lies hard against the White Mountains, as well, and ever was I climbing the steep cliffs surrounding us in search of loss sheep."

"We should keep the number to a minimum," Aragorn stated. "I would advise no more than four of us should attempt it. Any more than that and we might call attention to ourselves."

"And what would our objective be, once we are within Edoras?" Denethor asked, looking at Thengel.

"Beyond staying alive, you mean?" the king asked with a humorous glint and everyone laughed. "Well, your objective is to make for the gates and remove the guards there and then at dawn open them so that we may enter and put an end to this siege."

"That will be a long time in waiting," Gilhael stated, making swift calculations. "At least an additional five hours before sunrise, assuming it is nearly midnight before we are inside."

"Yet, it may take us some time to reach the gates, avoiding any who may still be about," Aragorn pointed out.

"And in the meantime we might be able to do some damage along the way," Wídfara added, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, "or even to find allies. Not all who are within Edoras are traitors, I deem."

"You speak truly, young Wídfara," Thengel said gravely. "Yet, heed: do not go looking for allies among the people who are there. Their fear of those who hold power over them may betray you. Concentrate on the gates. We’ll deal with the rest later."

"Then let us put this plan into action," Hildebrand said.

Thengel nodded. "Let us see to the dead today. Tonight, let it be us who sing songs of victory, then in the morning we will begin ordering the troops surrounding the tor to break camp and come hither. Tell the captains to make a great show of it so all eyes in Edoras are on them."

"In the meantime, we four will make our way south by a circuitous route," Aragorn said, "so that we are in place before nightfall tomorrow. I suggest we leave after sunset tonight. Even with the moonlight we will not be visible to those manning the walls of Edoras, for I mean to be far up Harrowdale before we turn again to come to Edoras directly from the south."

So they were agreed and they spent some time fine-tuning their plans before Thengel dismissed them so he might go to view the dead and see to their proper burial. Aragorn, with Gilhael and Wídfara in tow, went among the wounded and helped as they could. Denethor followed them, quietly impressed by the healing skills of the Dúnedain, especially those manifested by Aragorn. Denethor’s thoughts strayed to legends among the people of Gondor that spoke of the healing hands of the king and pondered.

56: Over the Wall

With the sunset, Aragorn, Gilhael, Wídfara and Denethor took leave of Thengel and headed north and west into that part of the camp that was still seething with movement as the last of the troops that had been to the south were making their way to their new campsite. Aragorn surmised that if any were watching on the walls they would not take note of their movements, masked as they were by the constant movement of the troops (on Thengel’s orders). That the four of them were garbed as though common soldiers themselves made it possible to hide in plain sight. The glare of the westering sun also helped to confuse the eyes of anyone watching until they were well away from the camp, crossing the Snowbourn and making their way up Harrowdale from the other side where the trees lining the river masked them even further. Aragorn planned to recross to the east once it was full dark. There was a place about a mile upstream where the river made a wide bend, shallowing out enough that they might easily ford it. From there they would travel halfway to Upbourn before doubling back. They would have to lie low for most of the next day, but once the sun started slipping to the west they would resume their journey, timing their arrival at the base of the tor just as it was growing dark.

The journey was done in silence for the most part, save for whispered instructions on Aragorn’s part, for he was the one leading them to where they would set up camp far away from any prying eyes. "Fortunate we are that Upbourn lies empty," he whispered at one point as they made their way along the Snowbourn. "We need not fear attack from that direction."

"Why is Upbourn empty and what of Underharrow?" Denethor asked quietly.

As they continued their journey Aragorn told Denethor what had happened to the two towns. At the mention of Gandalf, Denethor hissed. "Mithrandir! Father always welcomed him to his councils but I sometimes have had my doubts as to his good intentions. It is dangerous to meddle in the affairs of Wizards they say."

"He has ever been a friend to the Dúnedain and the Elves of Imladris," Aragorn replied somewhat coldly.

Denethor did not respond and the rest of the journey continued in silence while the heir to the Steward’s Chair mulled over the Dúnadan’s words.

****

They made camp beside the Snowbourn, hidden from prying eyes by a grove of beeches and willows, but they lit no fire.

"It’s going to be a cold night," Wídfara sighed and the other three smiled.

"In the morning we will light a small fire," Aragorn assured him, "one that cannot be seen, but in the night there is too much danger of the light of the flames being seen from a distance."

"Who could possibly be out here besides us?" Wídfara asked in surprise. "Surely you do not expect to find a band of rebels lurking about?"

"We do not know where the captain of the troops stationed at Upbourn led his men," Gilhael pointed out. "We assume they made their way to Edoras, but that is not an assumption on which I wish to base my life or the lives of others."

Wídfara nodded, suitably chastened and feeling incredibly young for all that he was only a few years Thorongil’s junior. Only Gilhael was actually old by the Rider’s standards.

Denethor, feeling sorry for the younger man, cleared his throat. "Perhaps, Wídfara, you could give us a tale or two. The night will seem less chilled and long for the entertainment."

"That is an excellent idea," Aragorn said, grateful for the Gondorian’s suggestion. "Why don’t we all share a tale and then we will draw lots for the watches."

They all agreed to this and soon Wídfara was entertaining them with a tale of the gifting of the Mearas to the ancestors of the Rohirrim by Lord Béma himself.

****

With morning came a small fire, much to everyone’s relief and breakfast was merry if quiet, for they were still wary of their surroundings.

"We will set out as the sun begins to slip into the west," Aragorn told them. "I wish to reach Edoras while it is still twilight, for we must see what we are to climb and decide our course. So, let us spend the day resting and making contingency plans."

"Contingency plans?" Denethor asked. "I thought the plan was to open the gates of the city to Thengel King."

"And that is our main objective," Gilhael answered, smiling somewhat superiorly at the younger man. "But as anyone who’s ever been in a battle knows, all plans go by the wayside the moment they are put into execution. We have no idea what we will encounter once we are over the wall."

"And so, we must make plans in case things go wrong...." Aragorn interjected.

"And they will," Gilhael added with a grim nod.

Denethor also nodded, well aware of the truth of what they were saying. "So what do you suggest? I have never been to Edoras so I do not even know its layout."

"In that case, let us draw you a map," Aragorn said with a smile and reached for a stick, drawing a map of the city on the ground with Wídfara and Gilhael pointing out errors of execution until they had an accurate representation. Aragorn pointed to the southern wall. "Here is where we will climb just to the east of Meduseld. As I recall when I was exploring Meduseld and Edoras while recovering from Grimbold's attack" — Denethor gave him a surprised look but did not interrupt — "there is a blind spot where the outer wall meets with this corner of Meduseld. I think we should...."

They spent the better part of the morning instructing Denethor as to the layout of Edoras and coming up with alternative plans for reaching the gates. After a quick lunch they settled down to rest, for the night would be long and they needed to be alert.

Only Aragorn remained awake, tending the fire, softly singing an ancient lay attributed to Maglor, his thoughts far away to the north where lay his heart.

****

They set out about two hours before dusk, keeping to a steady pace. Aragorn intended for them to come nigh to Edoras at a time when the shadows would be long and eyes would be uncertain as to what they saw as the light shifted towards darkness. They also intended to approach Edoras in such a way that the middens were between them and the city, keeping low to the ground where the grass was already beginning to spring up from winter’s sleep, affording them additional cover. As they had hoped, they saw no sentries manning the southern wall, but they still remained cautious as they made their way closer.

"There is the drain," Aragorn whispered to Denethor who was crouched on his left, pointing it out. "The cliffs at this point are indeed less sheer as Thengel promised."

"I have climbed cliffs that were more sheer than these," Denethor assured him confidently, "though I admit never at night." He cast the Ranger a wry smile.

"If it makes you feel better, neither have I," Aragorn responded with his own smile.

"That makes three of us," Gilhael said on Denethor’s other side, causing the other two to chuckle.

They looked expectantly at Wídfara who was crouched on Aragorn’s right, waiting for him to speak. The Rider just shrugged. "Sheep don’t care if it’s night or day," he said nonchalantly.

Aragorn gave Denethor and Gilhael an amused look, rolling his eyes, and the other two smothered their laughter while Wídfara merely smirked.

"We must wait until the sun has truly set before we climb," Aragorn whispered. "Yet, I think we can move closer to where we wish to start the climb and ready ourselves." He cast a knowing look to the west. "The sun will be gone in a quarter of an hour."

The others nodded and they slowly set out, keeping low and using the piles of refuse as cover. Soon, though, they reached the drain. A quick check by Gilhael confirmed that the grate had been reinforced so that none could squeeze through it, nor could it be removed. So they dismissed it from their minds though they kept a wary watch on it as they set about to climb above it to the wall.

Stars were blossoming forth from the twilight, though Eärendil’s Star was not visible, having actually set just before the sun, when they began the climb. Wídfara went first, being the lightest of the four. They had managed to trace out a possible route up with their eyes but only in the doing would they know if their guesses were correct. While the cliff face above the drain was indeed not as sheer as elsewhere, this was the tallest side of the entire mount. Wídfara estimated that it would take at least an hour to make the climb.

"Closer to two would be my guess," Denethor said, giving the cliff a practiced eye and the Dúnedain agreed.

It was nerve-wrackingly slow going, for each fingerhold and foothold had to be tested and they had no climbing gear. Aragorn followed after Wídfara, not wanting to be too far behind his friend in case the younger man encountered trouble. Denethor came next with Gilhael following. The older Dúnadan thought it ironic that they were making the climb by age rather than by experience, but he kept that observation to himself.

The trickiest part was where the tor ended and the wall began. It was here where their strength would be sorely tested. The space between the cliff’s edge and the wall was so narrow that there was nowhere where one could safely stand and throw a grappling hook. It was Thengel who had given them a solution.

"Use these to climb the wall," the king had said, handing them a set of four knives. "You should find enough cracks in the wood to plant these so they do not slip out. Then, pull yourselves up."

Thus, when the time came for them to assay the wall, the order of their climb changed. Gilhael went first, armed with the knives. He thrust two knives into the wood as far above his head as he could reach and pulled himself up so that Aragorn could slip underneath him and take his cousin’s weight onto his shoulders, both of them hugging the wall. Once he was steady, the older Dúnadan took the other two knives and did the same thing. Then came the most dangerous part. Gilhael grabbed the handles of the knives above him and pulled himself up, but only so far as to allow Aragorn to do the same with the first set of knives, thus letting Denethor slip underneath Aragorn’s feet to take the Dúnadan’s weight. A soft signal from Aragorn alerted Gilhael that his cousin was now settled enough on Denethor’s shoulders so he could lower his feet onto Aragorn’s shoulders.

Gilhael’s head was now only two feet below the top of the wall. Listening carefully for any sound on the other side, and detecting none, he slowly reached up and grabbed hold of the edge and carefully pulled himself up, feeling Aragorn releasing his legs as he did so. He swung his left leg over the parapet, pausing again for any sign that he’d been detected and then pushed himself the rest of the way over until he was firmly standing on the walkway. Not taking time to breathe a sigh of relief, he slipped off the rope he’d wrapped around his waist and lowered one end while tying the other end to a nearby post.

Aragorn grabbed the rope and when he felt the tug that was Gilhael’s signal, he simply climbed up the wall with the aid of the rope and was soon over the top. Denethor then climbed as well. Once the Gondorian was safely over the wall, Wídfara tied the end of the rope around him and, giving a pull as the signal, allowed himself to be drawn up, stopping along the way to retrieve the knives.

"We don’t want anyone else to use the same method against us," Thengel had told them when he presented them with the knives along with the admonishment not to leave them behind. "Let them guess as to how you managed it."

Thus, they were all over the wall before the first glow of the moon made its appearance on the horizon to the east. They huddled against the parapet to catch their breaths, easing the aches in their muscles from the climb as they kept a wary eye out for sentries.

To their left loomed the bulk of Meduseld, its steep-roofed gable blocking the view to the west. Only about three feet separated the back of Meduseld from the parapet and there were no windows facing south. The wall, in fact, continued on past the king’s house for a few more feet before angling to the north. This was the least vulnerable spot for attack in all of Edoras, or so the Rohirrim had always believed. Tonight four men (one of them of Rohan) had just proved them wrong.

They ignored the wall running to the east, for their goal was the alley that ran between the wall and Meduseld. There was no chance of anyone spying them descending into it. Once down though, it was decided that they would split up rather than remain together as originally planned, with Gilhael and Wídfara going west and Aragorn and Denethor east. They reasoned that they doubled their chances of at least one team reaching the gates undetected.

Wídfara was none too pleased to be separated from Aragorn, and felt slighted by what he saw as condescension on the part of the three older men. Gilhael salvaged the Rider’s pride somewhat by pointing out that he (Gilhael) was less familiar with the city than Aragorn, having left to serve in the Westfold soon after arriving in Rohan.

"And much of the city has changed since last I was here when Fengel ruled," he reminded the young Rider, "so your knowledge will save me from getting into trouble and ruining everything."

"I trust you to look after my cousin, Sweordbroðor," Aragorn then said in all seriousness. "Gilhael has a tendency to attract trouble without half trying."

Wídfara thought about it for a moment before addressing Aragorn. "My word that no harm shall come to your cousin, Sweordbroðor. I will see it done."

Aragorn nodded. "My thanks, Sweordbroðor. Lord Béma guide you. We will meet at the gates." With that, Wídfara set off towards the southwest corner of Meduseld to check to see if the way was clear. Aragorn gave Gilhael a knowing look and the older Dúnadan nodded once before following the Rider. It was clear to Denethor, watching the exchange, that in truth Gilhael would be the one doing the protecting and smiled in approval, though Aragorn did not notice.

"Nicely done," he whispered to Aragorn as they set off towards the southeastern corner of Meduseld. "Young Wídfara is... well, young," he said, and Aragorn could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yet for all that, he is a true warrior and I would trust him with my life," Aragorn replied. "Indeed, I have done so on several occasions."

"It is well to have a gwador watching your back," the Gondorian said, switching to Sindarin.

Aragorn gave him a nod but did not speak for they had now reached the corner. This side of Meduseld opened up into the city proper. Before them the alley entered a street lined with houses. Most of them were already dark; only one or two of them showing any light through the cracks in the shutters or under their doorways.

"The barracks lie further north and along this side of the street," Aragorn whispered. "Getting past them unseen will be tricky."

"Must we use this street at all?" Denethor whispered back. "Is there no other way?"

Aragorn thought about it for a moment. "If we continue further east until we reach the wall again we could make our way down to the gates that way. We will still have to be careful though in case the walls are manned."

"It seems odd to me that there are no sentries," Denethor stated.

"None that are visible at least," Aragorn said in agreement. "That is why I deem using the wall as a guide to be trickier than using this main street, yet, I, too, would prefer not to chance the barracks. We do not know how well guarded they are."

"Or how well patrolled the streets are," Denethor added.

"True," Aragorn sighed. "I only hope that my cousin and Wídfara do not encounter any difficulties along the way."

"Wídfara has the advantage of being one of the Rohirrim," Denethor pointed out. "In the darkness, his identity will not be discerned by unsuspecting eyes."

Aragorn nodded, though it was doubtful if Denethor could actually see him. "Come. Let us follow the wall to the east and see what happens. It will be interesting to see which party makes it to the gates first."

Denethor chuckled. "We should have laid bets between us."

"We’ll have to remember to do so the next time we do something like this again," Aragorn replied with his own chuckle and then all levity was put aside as the two men hugged the shadows and made their way east through the dark streets and alleys of Edoras.

****

Wídfara and Gilhael were having their own discussion about bets as they made their way towards the gates. There was not much here in the way of buildings, for this was the steepest part of the tor. The single street that ran down between the bulk of Meduseld and the west wall consisted mainly of storehouses with stables further down closer to the gates. The two were making their way along the wall where the shadows were deepest when their discussion was cut short by the sound of several men approaching from further along the wall. They froze, suddenly indecisive, and then Wídfara spied an alley nearly opposite them.

It was more a wide space between two warehouses and he could not see how far back it went but it was their only chance. He quickly pointed the opening out to the Dúnadan, who had noticed it as well, and together they flitted across the street and into what turned out to be a cavity formed by a spur of rock that had made it impossible for the two buildings to be built with a common wall. The gap was actually too narrow and too shallow for them both to face outward, so Gilhael shoved Wídfara down so he was crouching against the rock spur, his hood and cloak covering as much of him as possible. Gilhael plastered himself against the north wall. With his darker features he would not be readily noticed in the shadows should anyone bother to look into the gap. Since the men were approaching from the north though, it was unlikely that any would bother to crane their necks to check. As the sound of their footsteps became louder, Gilhael moved as far back from the opening as he could without stepping on Wídfara and held himself ready, his hand on his sword hilt just in case.

It was either coincidence or just bad luck that the troop of about twenty men stopped directly before the gap. Gilhael lowered his head so his eyes would not reflect the torchlight that now illumined the area, for several of the men were carrying brands.

"Spread out," one of the men said in a gravelly voice, apparently the leader of the troop. "Check all the storehouses and the wall."

"Do you really believe there are intruders, Waldamer?" one of the other men asked sarcastically.

"Silence!" the first man hissed. "Whether I believe it or not is unimportant. What is important is that they believe it," here he gestured upward towards where the dark bulk of Meduseld, now limned with moonlight, sat brooding over them all. "Now enough jabbering. Do as you’re told."

The men shifted about and began to break up into groups of two or three, each group with a torch. They moved up and down the street, some to check the various buildings, others to man the wall. Gilhael risked a small movement to lay a hand on Wídfara’s head, as much to comfort him as to keep him in place, and wondered how long they had before they were discovered.

****

Aragorn and Denethor never made it to the wall. They had crossed the main street, flitting from shadow to shadow, heading towards an alley. Aragorn admired the near soundless steps of the Gondorian and realized that Denethor had probably been trained as an Ithilien Ranger, of whom even he had heard. He was not to know that Denethor was entertaining similar thoughts about him as the Steward’s heir watched the Dúnadan slip like a ghost into the alley that was their goal.

Once in the alley the two of them easily skirted the refuse littering the ground as the moon rose higher in the sky and gave them some measure of light by which to see. It was not a long alley and it debouched onto a very narrow cobblestoned street lined with houses. They could see the east wall before them rising towards the heavens, but they could not find a suitable alley that cut across to the east.

"What about going back up to the south wall?" Denethor suggested in a whisper. "There is bound to be a way along to the east wall."

Aragorn agreed, but here their plan turned awry for when they set off up the hill they discovered the street dead-ended, not at the wall as they had expected, but before a house, somewhat larger than the ones on either side of it. There was no other choice but to turn back and hope that they would either find a way eastward or the street would prove empty of patrols and they would be able to get to the bottom of the tor and thence to the gates.

It was not to be.

They passed the alley that had brought them onto the street and were several houses further along when torchlight appeared around a bend showing what they feared most: a patrol of about twenty or so men. Immediately, Aragorn and Denethor hugged the wall of the house before which they were standing, trying to gauge distances.

"We’ll never make it back to the alley before they spy us," Denethor hissed at Aragorn who merely nodded, knowing the truth of the Gondorian’s words.

He looked around in hopes of finding somewhere for them to hide, but there was nothing. He felt a momentary despair, for they were only minutes from being discovered, and sent a fervent prayer to the Valar, hoping that Wídfara and his cousin were faring better than they.

57: Friends in Low Places

Gilhael felt a hand on his leg and realized that it was Wídfara trying to get his attention. He patted the younger man’s head as a signal and then felt Wídfara’s hand shift so it was touching his own, but there was something in it, something cold and lethal and Gilhael realized it was one of the knives he had used to scale the wall. In the press of the moment, he had forgotten that the Rider still had them. He wrapped his hand around the knife and then slowly brought it close to his body to take it into his right hand. Then he felt Wídfara’s hand on his leg again and realized that the Rider meant to give him a second knife so that they both had a pair. It was small comfort, for the knives were flimsy weapons, but the older man appreciated the gesture on Wídfara’s part.

All this time, the soldiers were inspecting the various buildings, most of them locked for the night. Some patrolled the wall. None had yet discovered the cubby-hole. Gilhael could tell from the way the search was being conducted that someone was bound to find them and wondered what he would do. Even if he managed to kill their discoverer, he could not kill all the others who would follow. He feared they were doomed.

His fears were justified when a dark figure came abreast of the opening and, pushing a torch toward it, peered in. The man was standing just far enough away that Gilhael could not take him without lunging and the soldier would have enough time to shout a warning before he killed him. So the Dúnadan did the only thing he could think of. As the man spied him, his eyes widening in shock, Gilhael smiled, put a finger to his lips and winked. He knew it was a futile gesture, but he was not going to go down cowering like a whipped dog. The soldier apparently did not notice Wídfara crouched further back in the darkness, his eyes solely on the Dúnadan.

"Hey, Cyneric! Did you find something?"

Both the soldier, obviously Cyneric, and Gilhael flinched at the unexpected voice coming from one of the other soldiers. Gilhael was the first to recover, merely giving the other man a nod of understanding, keeping his expression neutral, hoping that the look of respect that he gave the soldier would let the man know that he held no animosity towards him for doing his duty. This was war after all, and in war there were always casualties. Gilhael was not so arrogant as to assume he would be exempt from that harsh reality and accepted his fate with stoicism. His one true regret was Wídfara, but that could not be helped.

Then, much to the Dúnadan’s everlasting surprise, Cyneric, who never took his eyes off of him, answered his fellow. "No, nothing. I thought I saw something, but it was just a rat." Then, he turned, blocking the opening so the other man could not see into it. "There’s not enough space in that hole to hide even a child never mind a grown man, so let’s move on to the next building." With that he took his companion by the arm and steered him away.

Gilhael wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but didn’t dare, for they were not out of danger yet. There was always the chance that someone else would look in, if only out of curiosity, and then they would be just as dead. Yet, as the minutes went by, that did not happen. Finally, the one called Waldamer snarled an oath.

"Nothing! Nothing!" he nearly shouted in frustration and anger. "Just a wild goose chase, then. All right, let’s form up and return to barracks."

The other men were quick to do as ordered, for it was late and they had been roused out of their sleep for what appeared to be a fruitless search for intruders. None of them could figure out how any intruders could have gotten into Edoras anyway and most of them didn’t care, having been conscripted by their new overlords into working for them, their families held hostage to their continued obedience.

In moments the patrol was on its way back down the street and soon Gilhael and Wídfara were alone. The Dúnadan kept a hand on the Rider’s head to keep him still until he deemed it safe for them to leave. He counted slowly to a hundred before he stirred, bending down to lift the younger man up. Then they stepped cautiously out, still wary.

"I thought we were dead for sure," Wídfara whispered into Gilhael’s ear, careful to barely breathe the words for fear that the sound of his voice would travel.

Gilhael merely nodded, silently thanking the Valar for small favors. He did not know why Cyneric had not betrayed them, but he was thankful to the man nonetheless. Without saying a word, he took Wídfara’s arm and together they followed the unsuspecting patrol. Both of them wondered if their friends were faring any better than they.

****

"How many do you think we can take with us before they kill us?" Denethor whispered to Aragorn as they hugged the doorway of the house where they were trapped. The Gondorian had his hand on his sword hilt, ready to sell his life dearly. Aragorn gave him a shake of his head.

"They will try to take us alive," he said, "so unless you plan to fall on that sword of yours...."

He got no further, for two things happened almost simultaneously. The first was that they were spotted. With a shout the approaching patrol began running towards them. The second was that the door they had been pressing themselves against suddenly opened and with a startled oath they fell through, arms hurriedly grabbing them and pulling them into the house. The door slammed shut and a bolt was thrown. There was no light so neither man could see who their rescuers were, if indeed they were being rescued.

By now the patrol had reached the house and someone was pounding on the door, demanding that it be opened while others were checking the shutters to see if they could gain entry through the windows. All this while, Denethor and Aragorn were being held tightly by their unseen rescuers, who silently led them unerringly through the room, stopping them at one point. Above the noise of the patrol trying to force their way in, Aragorn could detect the sound of scraping and then a shaft of light blinded him momentarily when a trapdoor sprang open.

"Quickly, down these steps," someone whispered loudly and neither Aragorn nor Denethor offered any protest. In minutes they were down in a cellar surrounded by a half dozen others, all of them clearly Rohirrim. The last man down lowered the trapdoor, shutting out the dark.

Before either Aragorn or Denethor could speak, another of their rescuers gestured them towards one of the stone walls. "There is a tunnel here. We must away."

"Will they not find the door to the cellar?" Denethor enquired.

The man smiled grimly. "The latch is cleverly disguised as a knot in the wood," he explained, "and the door lies flush with the rest of the floor. They are not likely to find it until it’s too late."

"Who are you?" Aragorn demanded. "How is it you were there to rescue us when our need was great?"

"We will explain it all later," the man said somewhat impatiently. "Come. We must away. We are not entirely safe here."

They had to be satisfied with that and with a nod of acceptance, Aragorn followed the man with Denethor right behind. The other rescuers trailed them and the last one into the tunnel shut the door and Aragorn realized that to the casual observer, that part of the cellar wall would look no different from any other part.

The tunnel was carved from dirt shored up by thick posts. It was also narrow and low so that the taller men had to crouch slightly. It was not a straight path either, winding in a random pattern and Aragorn suspected that the route followed the contours of the mount on which the city stood. Their passage was swift and before long they were coming to a seeming dead-end. The man who had spoken to them earlier pressed a hidden lever and a door opened into another cellar. This one was also occupied by both men and women, most of whom stared at the newcomers with a mix of wonder and trepidation.

"Ah, you found them."

Aragorn glanced around and saw someone limping towards him. "Gléomund!?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

The royal tutor smiled and the two men embraced in greeting. "Ah, Lord Thorongil, glad I am to see you again."

"But how?" Aragorn demanded.

"How do I come to be here, or how do you come to be here?" Gléomund replied with a laugh.

Aragorn shook his head, giving the man a rueful smile. "Both, I suppose."

The royal tutor nodded. "Let us make you comfortable first and I will endeavor to explain, but first, who is your friend whose looks are so similar to yours? Has a brother or cousin from your homeland come to aid you?"

Aragorn laughed and Denethor just smiled. "Nay, good Gléomund. Let me make you known to Lord Denethor, son of Ecthelion who is the Ruling Steward of Gondor. My lord Denethor, this is Gléomund who is or rather was the tutor of Thengel's children... and mine."

Denethor had had long experience in keeping his thoughts to himself and so showed no surprise at Aragorn’s words, merely offering Gléomund a brief but courteous bow. "Westu hál, Gléomund."

"And to you, Lord Denethor," the tutor replied with his own bow. "Come. We have not much but what little we have we will gladly share as we trade tales."

Thus saying, Gléomund escorted them to a trestle while a couple of the women in the group hastened to place trenchers and mugs on it. The men sat on benches and the rest of the party gathered round, some sitting on barrels, while others crouched on the dirt floor. The fare was poor by any standards — some slightly stale dark bread, a couple of onions and watery beer — but both Aragorn and Denethor accepted the meal graciously, thanking the serving women, who responded with shy smiles and awkward curtsies.

No one spoke as the meal was shared, but eventually Aragorn pushed his trencher from him and gave Gléomund a hard look. "You were reported dead," he said baldly.

Gléomund nodded, not at all upset. "Most of the people in this room have been presumed dead."

"So, how did you know I was here in the city and in need of aid?" Aragorn demanded.

"Well, as to that," the royal tutor said, "you were spotted when you came up the street."

Both Denethor and Aragorn exchanged surprised looks while Gléomund and the others watched with amusement. It was Denethor, however, who turned to the tutor and asked the questions burning in both their hearts. "How? Who?"

Gléomund gestured to one of the men leaning casually against a nearby wall. By his bearing and the weapon at his side, Aragorn and Denethor knew this one was no common warrior but a leader of men. Gléomund introduced him as the man stepped forward. "This is Folcwine son of Folcred, once Captain of the Guards of Meduseld."

Aragorn showed a measure of surprise as the man gave him a bow. "Cyneric will be glad to know you are alive, Captain Folcwine," the Dúnadan said.

Captain Folcwine raised an eyebrow. "How do you know young Cyneric?"

"Oh, I ran into him while I was scouring Meduseld in search of Prince Théoden," Aragorn said with a straight face, though his eyes were bright with merriment at the dumbfounded looks on most of those there, including Denethor.

Gléomund chuckled. "I heard about that. This is, what, the third time you’ve penetrated the enemy’s stronghold?"

Aragorn grinned. "Something like that."

Denethor gave the Dúnadan an appraising look. "You’ve been busy my friend."

Aragorn just shrugged, then turned to the tutor, his demeanor more sober. "Gléomund, explain please. More than just our lives are at stake here. What has been happening in Edoras?"

Gléomund sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What hasn’t been happening, you mean. When you managed somehow to enter Edoras and free the hostages from right under Éolind’s nose, you set off a firestorm of repressive measures upon the good citizens of this city. Life became suddenly more dangerous and many were forced to flee into this warren of cellars."

"How did these cellars come to be connected in the first place?" Denethor asked. "One doesn’t need to be a Dwarf to see that much labor went into the making of the tunnels."

Gléomund nodded. "It was during Fengel’s reign when first these tunnels were made. It was an unhappy time for all and many feared the knock on the door at midnight."

"Would not some of the rebels know of these tunnels, though?" Aragorn asked.

Folcwine gave them a mirthless chuckle. "Well as to that, the knowledge of the tunnel system is rather limited. Most people, if you ask them, will deny their existence, claiming they were merely stories. Not everyone in the city was busy making these tunnels, you must understand, just some who saw or perhaps even foresaw the need. There were always rumors of their existence, but no real proof and those who knew the truth kept the knowledge to themselves. Even I did not believe in them until I was forced to by present circumstances." He cast a rueful look at Gléomund, who merely smiled, giving the captain a nod as he picked up the tale.

"When I was no longer capable of riding with the éored," he said, pointing to his lame leg, "I spent my days while healing in the company of the court bard, a second cousin on my mother’s side, who took me in as I had no other family. He was a learned man, even by the standards of Gondor, for he could read and write, not only in Rohirric but in Westron as well. As I had nothing better to do with my time, I learned all he was willing to teach me... including of the existence of the tunnels."

"Ah," was Aragorn’s only reply, nodding for the man to continue.

"Yes, well, when the invasion began, I was happily in the one room in Meduseld where one of the tunnels began."

"Interesting," Denethor said with a raised eyebrow. "Any room in particular?"

Gléomund gave the Gondorian a rather wry look. "The kitchen privy."

For a moment there was disbelieving silence and then Aragorn threw back his head and started laughing. It wasn’t long before Denethor joined him, enjoying the joke as well. The others in the room all had wide smiles.

"There was no way to warn anyone," Gléomund continued, "so I took to the tunnels and contacted some people whom I knew were also aware of the tunnels. Slowly, we’ve been gathering our forces and biding our time, seeing as many of our family to safety as we could."

Aragorn nodded, glancing about at the expectant faces of their allies. "Most of them fled to Dunharrow. Only a few died along the way. Your families thrive and are eager to return to a freed Edoras."

There were sighs of relief and excited murmurs among them but they died as Gléomund continued his explanation. "One of the last to be rescued was Captain Folcwine. He was on the point of being executed when we were able to extricate him from his predictament."

Folcwine laughed. "He means, a group of men, craftsmen all and not a warrior among them, stormed the guard barracks where I was being kept and made away with me, leaving my guards unconscious, most having been attacked by rolling pins and the odd pitchfork."

Gléomund gave the man an indulgent smile. "It worked, so you should be grateful."

"As indeed I am," Folcwine laughed. "I almost pity the poor guards who had to explain how it is they lost me to someone wielding a rolling pin, though. I would love to have been there for that."

Everyone else joined in the laughter. When they were calmer, Aragorn spoke, his eyes on both Gléomund, as the group’s obvious leader, and Folcwine. "Thengel King means to break this siege. My companions and I were sent to open the gates at dawn. We need your help."

"Companions?" the tutor enquired, casting a glance at Denethor who responded with a thin smile.

"Four of us came over the wall behind Meduseld," he said and there was a collective gasp among the listeners; Folcwine’s only response was a raised eyebrow. "We split up," Denethor continued. "Lord Gilhael and young Wídfara are even now making their way along the western wall towards the gate."

"The western wall, you say?" Folcwine demanded. At Aragorn’s and Denethor’s nods, he grimaced and shook his head. "I fear your companions are in grave danger then. That part of Edoras has been forbidden to all on pain of death. Only certain guards are allowed along that way and none of us have been able to ascertain the reason for it."

"There is a feeling of... wrongness," someone interjected. Aragorn saw a young man, a boy really, whose expression was fearful. "I tried to sneak into that area to see what was going on there, but I had to turn back. There was something... evil lurking in the shadows down by the gates." He looked somewhat abashed, as if admitting to a weakness.

Folcwine patted the youngster’s shoulder and his expression was sympathetic rather than condemnatory. He turned to Aragorn and Denethor. "I, too, have attempted to wander into that area, but there was a miasma of darkness that I did not understand nor did I wish to investigate further. I cannot explain it."

Aragorn and Denethor exchanged worried glances. "Neither my cousin nor Wídfara mentioned feeling anything like that when they started on their way," Aragorn told them. "Gilhael, especially, would have been attuned to any sense of evil, for he has had long experience in combating the dark arts of the Enemy who appears to have risen once again. If there had been any trace of such evil, Gilhael would have returned to us immediately to warn us."

There were furtive glances among the others as they tried to figure out the meaning of it all. "We’ve never attempted to approach the western wall from behind Meduseld," Folcwine said, staring at Gléomund, who gave him a confirming nod. "We deemed it too risky so close to Meduseld itself. The entrance at the other end we thought would be safer."

"I sensed no evil where we came over the wall," Aragorn said.

"Nor did I," Denethor added, "and I, too, have had experience in combating the evils sent by the Nameless One."

"Then whatever lies there must be at the northern end of the street," Folcwine said. "I pray your companions do not find themselves walking into a trap... or worse."

For a second, looking at Aragorn in pity, Denethor thought he saw deep pain and guilt in the Dúnadan’s eyes. Then, the moment was gone and Aragorn’s expression became unreadable. Denethor would never know that Aragorn had spared himself a moment to grieve for the possible fate of his cousin and friend before putting aside all grief to become once again the Chieftain of the Dúnedain and Isildur’s Heir, already formulating plans for what must be done to end the siege.

58: What Is Decided

"Gléomund, I need your help," Aragorn said, and the tone of his voice caused many to stare in surprise, for it was as if Thengel King himself was amongst them. Even Denethor unconsciously straightened, for a moment thinking it was his father speaking rather than a mysterious Ranger from the North. Gléomund leaned back, his dark blue eyes shadowed by the flickering candlelight, his expression wary.

"In what way do you wish for my help?" he asked. There was something about Thorongil, some indecipherable quality of the man that the tutor could only call ‘royal’. It was a quality that Thengel possessed and Fengel never did. The old man began to wonder just who Thorongil truly was.

"I need you and your people to open the gates for Thengel while Denethor and I go to our friends," Aragorn explained. "I will not let Gilhael and Wídfara face alone whatever this Darkness is of which you all speak."

"Are you mad?" Captain Folcwine demanded suddenly. "Your friends, if they are not already caught, will surely be before you can even reach them. Their only hope is, as you say, for you and Lord Denethor to open the gates for the king’s army."

Aragorn’s eyes narrowed, and Denethor had the distinct impression that this lowly Ranger was unused to being contradicted. Here was a leader of men, he thought, for all that he has taken service with the king of Rohan.

"Madness or no," Aragorn replied coldly, "I will not abandon them. Had we not found one another this night I would have continued our mission as planned, but you are here and you say you are ready to fight. This is your chance to do so, even if it’s only to open the gates at dawn."

There was silence for a moment or two, save for the uneasy shuffling of feet. Then the young boy who had spoken earlier, stood and gave a surprisingly courtly bow. "I will go to the gates for you, Lord Thorongil, for you and for Thengel King."

Denethor stared at the youngster in amazement and half expected to hear Thorongil politely refuse the boy’s help, but was shocked to see the almost kingly expression on the Ranger’s face as he addressed the young man, speaking almost as if he were his father, Ecthelion, sitting in court.

"What is your name?" Aragorn asked.

"Sigefred son of Sigebeorht, m-my lord," the boy said, looking suddenly nervous.

"His father was a gatewarden," Gléomund said softly, giving the young man a fatherly look. "He was killed in the initial sortie when the traitors took Edoras. His mother is dead as well and so he is alone."

"Not alone, Gléomund," the boy protested. "I have you and Captain Folcwine, do I not?"

"Indeed you do," Gléomund said with a smile.

Aragorn smiled as well, but when he spoke, it was with grave authority which caused many who heard him to wonder, including Denethor. "I thank you Sigefred son of Sigebeorth for your offer. Thengel King shall know of this as well."

"And now both you and the boy have shamed us," Gléomund said ruefully, though there was no anger and he looked upon Sigefred with fondness when the young man blushed. "It is not that we would not aid you, Lord Thorongil, but our army, such as it is, is made up of craftsmen and women and young boys. Captain Folcwine is about the only soldier we have in our ranks."

"Yet these same craftsman, you said, risked their lives to free your captain," Denethor interjected. "Should taking out the gatewardens and opening the gates for your king be that much harder?"

It was Folcwine who answered. "Nay, it would be easy enough, for the ones who guard the gates are few and somewhat lax in their duties I have observed, especially those of the last watch when men dream of sleep or sleep indeed."

"How many men do you have?" Aragorn asked the captain.

Folcwine gave him a wry smile. "You are looking at them, my lord," he answered gesturing towards the others. "Too few made it to the tunnels, but there are those above who are in secret league with us, helping us with food and clothing and weapons where possible. Many of the guards are loyal to Thengel but are forced to work for the traitors for fear of reprisals against their kin."

Aragorn nodded, fully understanding the situation. "Has anyone seen Éolind since she entered Edoras?" he asked, suddenly wondering about the old woman.

Gléomund shook his head. "Not since before Yule, actually. All is done in her name but I doubt that she holds any real power. My guess is Guthláf of Gálmódingsdæl is the true power behind the throne, he and his cronies, Isenbert of Isenbrandingsdale and Léodward of Alorharadsdale."

Aragorn nodded. "This... Darkness of which you speak... how long after the traitors took Edoras did you notice it?"

Silence settled amongst them for a time as they pondered his question. Gléomund looked at Folcwine. "You were being held captive in the barracks to the north. Did you sense anything while you were there?"

Folcwine shook his head. "No, though to tell you the truth, one doesn’t begin to feel uneasy until you pass into the Scamelas further west."

"And you do not know what causes this sense of unease?" Denethor asked.

Folcwine shook his head. "Nor do we know why it is even there. Granted, since Edoras was taken meat has been scarce and the butchers no longer display their meats, so that street is virtually empty."

Aragorn thought for a moment, mentally calling up a map of Edoras in his mind, but he had to admit he did not know all the streets and lanes and alleys. He had his suspicions about the Darkness these people felt but until he knew for sure....

"Could you draw me a map of that area of the city?" he asked Gléomund. "I am not familiar with it."

Gléomund nodded and turned to Sigefred. "Find me a bit of coal, son," he said and in a short space of time the youngster returned, handing the coal to the old man. In the meantime the table was cleared of trenchers and mugs and Gléomund proceeded to draw a rough sketch of the city.

"Here is Meduseld," he said, "and here is the gate. The barracks where Folcwine was being held are here, near to the stables. Further along this lane, moving up the tor is the Scamelas. Your companions, coming down from Meduseld will have to enter this street to reach the gates."

"How far up does the Scamelas run?" Denethor asked.

"Only to here," Gléomund said, pointing to a spot that ran beneath Meduseld. "Beyond this point there is nothing except the wall, for it is too narrow for buildings."

"Hmm..." Aragorn said, his eyes narrowing in thought. "And directly outside the walls at this point is...."

"The cemetery where the kings of old lie," Sigefred whispered, looking uneasy.

Aragorn nodded. Denethor seemed to sense something from his expression. "You know what the Darkness is," he said, making it more a statement than a question.

The Dúnadan shook his head. "No, but I know where it is."

Folcwine gave him a puzzled look. "But we just said it lies somewhere in the Scamelas."

"No, Captain," Aragorn said firmly. "Not in the Scamelas, under it." He traced a path from Meduseld to a point outside the wall. "The Darkness, whatever it might be, lies in the old licweg."

There were gasps from the others, though Denethor, not being familiar with the language of the Rohirrim, looked momentarily puzzled. "Licweg? Ah... the corpse-road."

Aragorn nodded. "Yes. It runs directly under the Scamelas."

"How do we reach it?" Denethor asked the next logical question.

"There are two or three ways in," Aragorn said. "One can enter from the cemetery or from within Meduseld. I have heard there is a way through one of the royal stables, but I do not know which one."

For a long moment silence ensued as Denethor contemplated the rough map and pondered the Ranger’s words. Then, he flashed Aragorn a wry smile and there was the light of battle in his grey eyes. "Well, my friend, it seems we must do the impossible once again. I’ve always wondered what Meduseld looked like from the inside."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and a slow smile crept across his face as his own eyes glittered in the candlelight. "You may get your chance sooner than you think, son of Ecthelion."

The others stared at the two scions of Númenor as if they had lost their minds.

****

Gilhael and Wídfara did not get very far before the younger man doubled over as if in pain and then started being sick. Gilhael was also assailed by a bout of nausea but managed to control his body and concentrated on supporting Wídfara through the spasms. He pulled the young Rider back up the street and forced him to sit against one of the empty stalls.

"Take deep breaths," he whispered as he crouched before the younger man.

"Wh-what was....?"

"I don’t know," Gilhael said. "Some miasma of evil, but I do not know for sure."

"You felt it," Wídfara gave him an accusing glare, "but it did not affect you."

Gilhael smiled at the other man’s obvious suspiciousness. "Do you think not? Nay, good Wídfara, I felt it but I have dealt with the evils of the Enemy before and so I was better prepared to face it and to control my body’s urges to be sick."

The explanation seemed to mollify the younger man, who glanced down the street, his expression now puzzled. "The guards... why weren’t they affected?"

Gilhael shrugged. "Perhaps they have become inured to it or they have some protection against it."

"But what is it doing here in Edoras?" Wídfara demanded, his expression turning to one of disgust and anger. "Never have the Eorlingas trafficked in sorcery and dark magic. Who could be responsible for this?"

"I suspect someone from the rebels," Gilhael replied softly. "Perhaps they decided they needed a little... help." He gave Wídfara a wry grin.

The Rider snorted in disgust, then his expression turned to one of dismay as he stared at the Dúnadan. "What do we do now? Do we dare the street or retreat and find another way to the gates?"

Gilhael glanced up at the sky, gauging the time from the position of the stars and the moon, now shining down upon the city. "To retreat and find another way will take too long," he said. His gaze lowered to the rooftops of the stalls. "Perhaps we should seek a way around the street."

Wídfara craned his neck to see what Gilhael was staring at and winced. Behind the stalls was the section of the tor on which Meduseld sat. It rose above them, the cliff nearly sheer though in the moonlight they could see that it was pocked rather than smooth.

"Ah... Gilhael," the young Rider said, his voice apologetic. "That bit about sheep not caring if it’s night or day?"

"Yes?" Gilhael responded neutrally. He had a feeling he already knew what his companion was going to say.

"I lied," Wídfara said baldly and cringed a bit, expecting to get an earful from the older man.

Gilhael stared at the Rohir for a moment before flashing a smile. "I know." He stood and clapped Wídfara on the shoulder, his expression more sober. "So, are you with me?"

Wídfara just stared at the Dúnadan for a moment in surprise, then nodded, standing as well. "The moon is bright enough, though it is past full, that we will be quite visible."

"Only to those manning the wall here," Gilhael answered, "but there are no sentries, so I do not think we need worry about it. I don’t intend to climb to the top, for that will put us before Meduseld and I want to avoid that. No. I was thinking of simply using the cliff to work our way down to the gates. I am hoping that as we near the area where the barracks and stables are located we will no longer be disturbed by whatever lurks here."

Wídfara nodded. "That makes sense," he said. "Men might be able to endure the scent of evil after a while but not horses."

"Then let us see if we can avoid this... this darkness," Gilhael said as he crouched down and cupped his hands so as to give Wídfara a boost up to the roof of the stall.

The younger man scrambled up to the peak of the roof, then reached down as Gilhael threw him one end of the rope that he still had wrapped around his waist. In a moment the rope was anchored around a roof post and Gilhael hauled himself up. Once he was with Wídfara he looked about. The stalls abutted the cliff and Gilhael wondered if there were storerooms carved into it. Then he dismissed the thought and peered at the cliff itself, his superior eyesight giving him an advantage over Wídfara. He pointed to a place just to their left.

"There," he whispered. "Do you see that seam running off at an angle from where the roof edge meets the cliff?" Wídfara nodded. "If we are careful we should be able to use it to climb and it heads in the right direction," the Dúnadan continued.

"Can we not just jump from roof to roof, using the cliff as a guide?" Wídfara asked. "See, there is only a short gap between eaves."

"Jumping may make too much noise and we cannot assume that the space between roofs will always be as narrow as this one here," Gilhael explained. "Plus, I’m not sure what the radius of the evil may be. Its effect could be just as strong along the roofs as it is along the street. I suspect though that if we rise a little higher we will be able to stay out of its range until we need to descend again."

Wídfara sighed but otherwise made no other comments. "I will go first," he said.

"And why is that?" Gilhael asked, though in truth, he had no objections.

"Because Edoras is my city and these are my people," Wídfara said solemnly. "It is for me to find a way to the gates."

"Then lead on, good Wídfara," Gilhael said in all seriousness, "and may Lord Béma smile on us and grant us good fortune."

With that, the two men inched their way down the roof slope and soon they were climbing the cliff.

*****

"What do you mean to do first?" Gléomund asked Aragorn. "Infiltrate Meduseld or go to your friends?"

"I will go to the Scamelas," Aragorn stated, "for I need to feel for myself the evil of which you speak. Also I wish to find my cousin and Wídfara and make sure they are well, and rescue them if they have been caught."

"They will be taken to Meduseld if they are," Folcwine said.

Aragorn nodded. "In which case, I will need to get into Meduseld the same way Gléomund left it. After that, I will deal with what I find there."

"We will deal with what we find there," Denethor said firmly. "I will not let you venture out alone."

Aragorn smiled. "I would welcome your company," he said.

Denethor snorted a brief laugh. "I would think you would welcome my sword more."

"That too," Aragorn replied and the two men smiled at one another, each seeing in the other a comrade whom he could trust.

"Take Sigefred with you," Gléomund said suddenly, stilling the boy’s protest with a gesture. "He knows these tunnels like the back of his hand."

"Oh?" Aragorn raised a quizzical eyebrow as he glanced at the younger man.

"My grandsire and my father helped build the tunnels," Sigefred said proudly. "I used to play in them when I was younger."

"How old are you, Sigefred?" Aragorn asked suddenly.

"Fifteen," the boy replied a little too quickly.

Both Denethor and Aragorn raised almost identical eyebrows in skepticism while the men around them rolled their eyes and the women smiled knowingly. Sigefred, seeing that no one believed him, sighed. "I’ll be fifteen next month," he admitted, not looking at anyone.

Aragorn and Denethor exchanged amused glances. Denethor barely nodded and Aragorn shrugged. "Close enough I suppose. All right, Sigefred, you will lead us to the Scamelas."

The young man’s smile was nearly blinding. Technically, under Rohirric law, Sigefred was still considered a child. Boys were deemed men when they turned fifteen. That was the theory. In practice they were usually not given any real adult responsibilities before they were eighteen, but under the law, they were allowed to attend the Geþeaht, the assembly of elders in any village, beginning at age fifteen. They had no voice in the assembly but they were considered adult enough to begin making their own choices. If Gléomund and Folcwine, who seemed to have adopted the boy, had wished, they would have been in their rights to deny Sigefred a part of their schemes. But war turned children into adults far sooner than any would like. Aragorn would not demean the boy’s willingness to help and this close to his fifteenth birthday, it made little difference to his mind.

"The night grows old," Gléomund said. "If we are to reach the gates in good time and do what is necessary, we must start now." He stood and Denethor and Aragorn followed him. "Come. Our paths lie together for a time before we must part, each to his own task."

With that, the old man led them to another part of the cellar, opening another secret door. Soon, only the women were left behind, quietly gathering blankets, ripping sheets for bandages, and inventorying their meager supply of medicinal herbs, knowing all too well that such things would be needed before the day was out.

****

Scamelas: Pronounced ‘SHAM-eh-las’. The word remains today in the form shambles (British dialect), literally, ‘benches or stalls on which butchers placed their meat for sale’. Here, Folcwine is speaking of the area of Edoras where the butchers have their shops.

Licweg: Pronounced ‘LICH-way’. Literally, ‘corpse-road’.

59: Into the Scamelas

They reached a point in the tunnel system where it split, with one fork heading almost due west, according to Gléomund and the other heading more or less north.

"Here we come to a parting of ways," the old tutor said to Aragorn. "Sigefred will guide you to where you can leave the tunnels and show you the way to the Scamelas."

"The tunnel does not go all the way?" Denethor asked.

Gléomund shook his head. "No. Or rather it does go a little further southwest beyond where Sigefred will bring you up to the surface, but it deadends and there are no other ways out at that point. I never understood why until you mentioned the licweg, Lord Thorongil. It never occurred to me that it actually existed or that is why the tunnels did not go any further west than they do."

Aragorn nodded. "Perhaps the tales were enough to prevent anyone from tunneling further west."

"Or not," Denethor said with a faint frown.

"Explain," Aragorn demanded, wondering what the Gondorian was thinking.

Denethor shook his head. "This is pure supposition, of course, but what if they didn’t stop short, but actually met up with the licweg, realized what they had found and decided to block the tunnel at that end. That would explain why the tunnel continues further than the exit to street level."

"Has anyone actually examined that dead end?" Aragorn asked Gléomund.

"No, at least not to my knowledge. The maps we have of the tunnel system do not even indicate that the tunnel continues beyond the exit. We only learned of it when we came down here but as there was no obvious exit at the dead end we just assumed that work was disrupted at that point for some reason and never resumed."

"No obvious exit," Aragorn mused aloud, looking pointedly at Denethor, who nodded.

"And what was blocked can always be unblocked."

Aragorn nodded as well. "You may be correct, my friend," he said, "and it would be worth exploring if Sigefred can take us there, but first we must find my cousin and Wídfara." He turned to Gléomund and clasped the man in a warrior’s embrace. "Thengel is waiting for the gates to open at dawn or thereabouts. I know you will not fail him."

"We will not," Gléomund replied. "Thengel King shall have his throne back before day’s end."

"Lord Béma guide you and may Elbereth’s light shine upon you," Aragorn said solemnly.

"And with you, son," the old man said with great emotion. "Take care of Sigefred for me. He shows great promise and if we both survive this day I hope to take him under my wing and teach him all that I know."

Sigefred gave an exasperated sigh. "But Gléomund, I want to be a warrior like Captain Folcwine or Lord Thorongil. I don’t want to spend my days surrounded by boring books and dusty scrolls and...."

"We’ll talk about it later," Gléomund said firmly. "Right now, we both have our tasks to perform if ever Thengel King is to reclaim his rightful heritage."

The young man nodded glumly and Thorongil cast a knowing smile at the royal tutor before clapping a hand on Sigefred’s shoulder. "Come. The night grows old and there is much that must be done ere daylight."

With that the two groups parted and Sigefred led the way for Aragorn and Denethor. The tunnel was low and both men had to stoop a bit to avoid banging their heads on the ceiling. It snaked its way first south and then north but always moving westward. They could hear Sigefred muttering to himself and Aragorn caught some of the boy’s words and smiled to himself.

"....books and scrolls. Bah! Swords and spears are better."

After a few minutes though, the boy came to a halt and put a finger to his lips as he turned to the two men. "We are coming close to the surface," he whispered. "You must make no sound for it will be heard."

The two men nodded their understanding and then they resumed their trek. Less than five minutes later, Sigefred stopped again and using hand signals motioned his companions closer and pointed upward. Just above them was a trapdoor with an iron ring in its center. Sigefred motioned for Aragorn, who was the tallest of them, to reach up and pull on the ring, which he did. As the door was pulled open, straw fell down around them. When the last of it had fallen Aragorn looked up into darkness. He hoped that there was no one around to see them come up but Sigefred appeared unconcerned, so he kept his worries to himself.

Still silent, Sigefred mimed being hoisted up and Aragorn cupped his hands while the boy handed their torch to Denethor. As soon as he was up, he scrabbled about for a moment and then a rope ladder was thrown down, its upper end tied firmly to the door. Sigefred knelt at the edge of the opening and reached down to take the torch from Denethor, freeing the man’s hands for climbing.

Aragorn found they had come up into a narrow windowless room, perhaps no more than ten paces across, which explained why Sigefred had been unconcerned. Small bales of straw were stacked at the north end. A few bales were set along the east wall as well. As soon as they were all out, Sigefred handed the torch to Denethor again, reaching back down to roll the ladder up into a small bundle, undoing the ties and shoving it into a small and obviously secret cubbyhole in the east wall. Then he reached down and pulled the door up by the ring set on its upper side. The door closed with a soft snick and Sigefred let the ring fall into a depression in the wood that put it flush with the rest of the door. Standing, he took out a small knife and cut the binding rope of a nearby bale, strewing the straw about until the door was hidden. Satisfied with his efforts, he grinned at the two men and, still remaining silent, motioned them forward, taking the torch once again, heading for a door at the south end of the room. Sigefred put his back to the door and motioned the other two closer so he could speak to them.

"This door leads out onto the street that runs from the gate to the Scamelas," he said softly. "We turn right as we leave."

The other two nodded. Then Aragorn dared a question. "Why was there no sign of straw in the tunnel?"

Sigefred grinned. "Usually, if anyone needs to use this exit, at least two others come with him and collect the straw to take away. New bales are added to the pile here every once in awhile. This is actually a storage alley for the stables. Those who are responsible for the bales know enough not to place any above the door."

"Surely not all who handle the bales know about the tunnel," Denethor whispered in surprise, "and the straw does not completely hide the door."

Sigefred shook his head. "True, but the one in charge of the bales is a friend and if any asks he just tells them that the door leads to a cold cellar for ice."

The two men nodded, impressed by the simplicity of the ruse, for blocks of ice were generally stored in such cellars insulated by straw. Sigefred then turned back to the door and removed a knot in the wood that was at eye level, revealing a small hole through which he could look out. Seemingly satisfied, he replaced the knot and Aragorn noticed that it did not lie completely flush to the door, making it easy for someone to pull it out. Meanwhile, Sigefred cautiously opened the door and then slipped outside with the other two following. Aragorn was surprised that the door had no lock but on second thought realized there was no need. The bales were for the nearby stables. It would be wasted effort to always have to hunt for a key whenever new bales were to be stored or removed.

Closing the door softly the three glanced nervously about, but the street was dark and empty. Sigefred moved to the right and they headed west. A hundred paces on they came to another street lined with empty stalls. "The Scamelas," Sigefred whispered unnecessarily. It was a narrow lane that seemed to wander rather than move straight up along the side of the mount where Meduseld loomed and Aragorn realized that was because it actually followed the shape of the cliff to their left. They stepped cautiously along, keeping to the shadows where the moon, now nearly at zenith, shone down, illuminating the area enough that Sigefred doused their torch without being told, much to Aragorn’s approval. The boy shoved it into his belt, rather than dropping it, knowing that they might need it later.

His eyes roamed the area and he strained his ears to hear the footfalls of anyone coming down the street but there was nothing. He wondered how far up the Scamelas they needed to go to sense the Darkness. It didn’t matter, for suddenly he felt a wave of nausea strike him and then he was falling back into one of the stalls, gasping for breath. Denethor was leaning against a post, his eyes tightly shut while Sigefred was kneeling above a pool of vomit. Aragorn gathered his scattered wits and went to the boy, pulling him upright.

"Take a deep breath," he whispered, pulling out his water flask and giving it to the boy who rinsed out his mouth before speaking.

"I... I forgot..." he stuttered. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize, youngster," Aragorn said, giving him a comradely smile. "Are you well?"

Sigefred nodded, still looking sheepish. Denethor came to him, his face pale but composed. "There is definitely something evil here, though it does not have the stench of the Enemy."

Aragorn nodded. "Nay. Its aura is cold, not hot."

"Any sign of your friends?" Sigefred asked.

"If they were taken...." Aragorn started to say, but then a sound, indistinct yet loud enough to alert him, sent him pushing Sigefred into a pool of shadow. Denethor followed silently and both men drew their swords, looking about for the source of the sound. Then, it came again, a sort of scraping and it came, not from the street, but from above them. Sigefred gasped and pointed and Aragorn looked to see two dark figures clutching the cliffside, inching their way down to street level. From their shapes he recognized Gilhael and Wídfara and smiled. He glanced at his companions, put a finger to his lips and motioned for them to remain where they were, then made his way across the street to where he guessed the climbers would descend to the street. There were spaces between the stalls and Aragorn could see that the two would reach the ground just past where they had encountered the wall of evil. He slipped quietly from shadow to shadow until he was in position and then waited.

Gilhael and Wídfara were making their way down cautiously and Aragorn smiled when he heard a heartfelt sigh of relief coming from Wídfara when that young man touched ground. Gilhael was right behind him. He clapped the younger man on the shoulder and then the two of them made their stealthy way between the stalls to the street. Aragorn, hidden in the shadows and absolutely still, waited until they were past him, indeed until Gilhael was more than a sword-length beyond him before he stepped out of the shadows.

"Lovely night for a stroll, don’t you think?" he asked softly, speaking Sindarin to alert his cousin of his presence.

Wídfara actually jumped in fright, stifling a yell even as he fumbled for his sword, only to have his feet tangle themselves so that he found himself overbalanced, crashing into Gilhael. They ended up in a heap in the middle of the street with Gilhael, who had not had a chance to draw his own sword, cursing softly in Sindarin as he pushed the now embarrassed Wídfara off him. Aragorn just stared down at the two of them in unfeigned surprise.

"And now that you’ve alerted everyone in Edoras...." he couldn’t help saying as he bent down and gave them both a hand up, still speaking Sindarin.

Gilhael scowled while Wídfara tried not to look at anyone. By now Denethor and Sigefred had come to them, the latter wide-eyed while the former tried to hide a grin at the discomfiture of the two arrivals and failed.

"So what were you doing scaling the cliffs?" Aragorn asked.

"You don’t know...." Wídfara started to say but Aragorn shook his head.

"In fact, I do, but come, we are too exposed here. Sigefred, back to the tunnels. Denethor stay with him. We’ll be right behind you."

"What..." Wídfara insisted but Gilhael took him by the arm and shook it slightly.

"My cousin is correct, youngster," he said softly but firmly. "Time enough for questions and explanations later."

With that he pulled the Rider with him, following Denethor while Aragorn took up the rearguard. The trip back down the street was done in fraught silence, for they feared that the unintended commotion might have alerted someone, but luck held and soon Sigefred was ushering them into the storage room, lighting the torch he had stuck into his belt with his flint and tinder. In minutes the trap door was lowered, but they didn’t bother with the ladder. Gilhael took Wídfara’s arms and lowered him to the floor and then did the same with Sigefred. The three older men simply jumped down one at a time, then Sigefred pushed the door closed.

"Well?" Gilhael asked, glaring at Aragorn. "Was that really necessary?"

Aragorn had the grace to look sheepish but he couldn’t resist the grin. "You should have seen your faces," he said and Gilhael just rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Enough of this," the older Dúnadan said. "Tell us quickly what is happening. Why are you not at the gates?"

"Why were you climbing the cliff?" Denethor asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.

Gilhael sighed and nodded, gesturing that they should all sit, which they did, bunching the straw to act as cushions. Quickly the two groups exchanged news and when they were done they sat in silence for a time, digesting all that they had heard. Then Gilhael glanced at Sigefred. "Can you show us where the tunnel ends?"

The boy nodded and leaping up, grabbed the torch which he had pushed into a nearby sconce before sitting. "Follow me," he said and soon they were trailing him further west. The tunnel made a slow curve to the south and then they were all gagging and making a quick retreat as waves of evil swept over them, stronger than they had felt before. When they had recovered their senses, they stared at one another, their expressions grim.

"Well, there’s no way to see if we could reach the licweg that way," Denethor said with a gasp as he tried to clear the stench of evil from his lungs.

"I like not the feel of this, Cousin," Gilhael said coldly. "It smacks too much of the Barrowdowns."

Aragorn nodded. "My thought as well. Would that the Elves were with us. They would not be as overwhelmed and their powers are greater than ours. They would be able to defeat what lies there."

"Well, they are not here," Gilhael said shortly. "We’ll just have to do what we can."

The two young Rohirrim stared at them with trepidation and Sigefred, much to his shame, could not stop trembling. Aragorn absently put an arm around the boy’s shoulders, wrapping his cloak over him to give him extra warmth.

Denethor, meanwhile, was frowning in thought. "I said earlier that this Darkness did not have the same sense of evil as I am accustomed to feel when dealing with the Enemy. What are the barrowdowns and what lies within them?"

Aragorn answered. "They are the graves of the kings of Cardolan that once was part of Arnor. Tyrn Gorthad the Elves call it. Some evil wights inhabit the grave mounds. It is a dangerous place and often the Dúnedain, together with the Elves of Imladris, have had to place spells of binding upon them lest they roamed free. Someday it is hoped that the wights may be expelled altogether, but for now we are content to merely contain them and their evil influence."

"And this is a similar thing that you sense here?" Denethor demanded and both Dúnedain nodded.

"D-do you know how t-to kill it?" Sigefred asked, still not fully recovered from the experience.

Aragorn gave him a sympathetic smile. "One cannot kill what is already dead, Sigefred."

"Th-then what will you do?" the boy asked bleakly.

"What we can," Gilhael answered, his expression grim and determined.

"But first we need to find a way into the licweg," Wídfara pointed out, his face abnormally pale and his eyes full of fiercely controlled fear.

"There’s a way into Meduseld from these tunnels," Aragorn said. "Sigefred can show us the way."

"Then let us go," Gilhael said. "Dawn comes nigh and whatever lies in the licweg I deem is meant to be used by the traitors against Thengel. We must not allow that to happen."

"No," Aragorn said, nodding. "Above all else, we must not allow that."

Wídfara sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I should have stayed at home with my da and raised sheep," he muttered.

The three older men chuckled and even Sigefred managed to scare up a tremulous smile. Then Aragorn turned to Sigefred. "Are you up to leading us again, youngster?"

Sigefred still looked ill and his trembling had not ceased entirely but he nodded gamely. "Yes, lord," he said simply. "Come. I will lead you to Meduseld."

With that, he pulled himself out of Aragorn’s embrace and took the vanguard with Aragorn right behind him. Denethor and Wídfara followed with Gilhael taking the rear.

The sky to the east was beginning to lighten to grey, heralding the coming dawn, while four men and a boy made their way through the dark tunnels to face a deeper darkness than any of them had ever known before.

60: Tómiddes Sceadwe

"Here is the entrance into Meduseld," Sigefred whispered as they came to the end of the tunnel. "It leads into the kitchen. I think the cooks will already be up but I am not sure."

"We’ll have to risk it," Aragorn said, drawing out his sword. The others did the same, except Sigefred, who had no weapon. Aragorn clapped the boy on the shoulder. "You have done well this night, Sigefred. Go now and join the others at the gate if you will. Your role in this is over."

"B-but I want to go with you!" Sigefred protested as loudly as he dared, his eyes dark with hurt in the smoldering light of the torch which Denethor was holding.

"No, boy," Gilhael said sternly. "You have no weapon and if there is fighting I don’t want to have to worry for you while trying to keep myself alive."

"Tungolfród is correct," Wídfara said almost as sternly. "You are a true son of Rohan but you have no training as a warrior."

"Captain Folcwine has been teaching me... a little," Sigefred declared, his expression one of mingled hurt and shame. They could see him struggling not to weep before them.

"Show us the way to open the door from both sides," Denethor said, speaking kindly. "We may need to take this route again."

Sigefred sighed, knowing he was outnumbered. He went to the door. "Here is the latch on this side," he said. "There is a similar latch on the other side, though it’s somewhat disguised. However, if you know where to look it’s easy enough to find. The door opens into the tunnel." He started to pull the latch when Aragorn stopped him.

"How do we know there isn’t someone... er... using the... um....privy?" he asked with a wry grin and Sigefred’s eyes widened at the image that rose in his mind.

"Uh... I think Gléomund told me there’s a... a peephole," he stuttered, now looking rather embarrassed. "Here," he said, having checked the door and finding a plug of wood sticking out. He pulled the plug away and put his eye to the hole, but almost immediately pulled away, looking, if possible, even more embarrassed, quickly replugging the hole.

"Um... I think you... er... need to wait a bit," he muttered, not looking at anyone in particular.

The others just grinned at the boy’s discomfiture.

"What about the kitchen?" Wídfara asked. "How will we know if it’s empty so we can safely enter?"

"There’s another peephole," Sigefred informed them. "Actually, it’s a rather large hole just above eye level allowing air and light into the privy."

They nodded. "When we are gone," Aragorn said to the boy, "make your best way to the gates. Find Gléomund or Captain Folcwine and tell them where we are and what we hope to do. Tell them, no matter what happens, those gates must open at dawn. They must not fail."

"They will not," Sigefred said firmly. Then he sighed, still looking unhappy. "I still wish I could go with you," he muttered, his eyes downcast.

Aragorn put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. "I know you do," he said gently. "When I was your age I wanted nothing more than to go out on patrol with my brothers. My father would not let me, saying I was too young yet. I disagreed and determined to sneak away and join my brothers anyway."

"Did you succeed?" Sigefred asked, caught up in Aragorn’s tale.

"Yes... and no," the Dúnadan said. "I did indeed join them but I almost got them and myself killed for my... stupidity." Here he stole a glance at Gilhael, who merely raised an eyebrow as a comment, his expression otherwise unreadable. Aragorn turned back to Sigefred. "I was foolish and arrogant as only the young can be. My father was, shall we say, livid. It was two years before he allowed me to finally join the patrols, a year later than he had originally planned for me to do so. Needless to say, I learned my lesson well."

Sigefred thought about Aragorn’s words for a moment before sighing. "I will go to the gates," he said, still sounding forlorn.

Wídfara went to him, drawing out a slim dagger. "Give me your hand," he ordered the boy and Sigefred thrust his right hand to him without hesitation. Wídfara held the hand and made a very shallow cut across the palm, just deep enough to draw blood. Sigefred gave a hiss of pain but otherwise did not flinch. Then the older Rohir did the same to his own hand, clasping his hand to Sigefred’s, staring intently into the boy’s eyes.

"We are now brothers in blood and spirit," he said softly. "If Lord Béma grants that we two survive this day, my oath that I will take you into my inhired and teach you the warrior’s way."

There was a look of awe on the young man’s face as Wídfara then took Sigefred into a brief but heartfelt embrace, kissing him in the manner of a lord to his vassal to seal his pledge. Aragorn, in the meantime, had torn off strips of cloth from his undertunic as bandages, which the two wrapped around their hands. The others said nothing, but there were looks of approval on their faces.

"Shall we see if the way is clear now?" Gilhael asked and the others nodded. Aragorn removed the plug and took a look, nodding to the others as he replaced it.

Wídfara gave Sigefred a warm smile. "Off you go now, bróðor," he said warmly. "We will meet you at the gates."

The boy nodded, thrusting the map into Wídfara's hands. "Here, you may need this if you are successful and need to get to the tunnels again." Then, without another word, he took the torch from Denethor and made his way purposefully down the tunnel.

The others huddled around the door. Aragorn opened it cautiously and stepped through. The space was too small for them all and they had to wait until Aragorn had checked the kitchen. He recognized it from his previous foray and saw the doorway leading to the back stairs used by the servants. He turned to the others and nodded, opening the privy door. They were in luck, for the kitchen was still dark except for the banked fire in the largest of the fireplaces. The shadow of a figure lying near the fire alerted them to the presence of the spit-boy. One by one they crept out of the privy with Aragorn pointing silently the direction they must go, remaining where he was until the others were all out. He then returned to the privy to check where the latch was on this side. He didn’t want to waste time trying to find it if they were in a hurry to escape. Satisfied, he rejoined the others, silently closing the privy door before heading for where the others awaited him.

Without a word, he led them down the short passage, stopping at the foot of the stairs and motioning them all forward. "The entrance to the licweg lies behind the bed in the royal bedroom," he whispered. "We must take care, for it may be occupied and if so, there may be a guard."

The others nodded and with Aragorn again in the lead, they made their way up the stairs as silently as possible. It was dark, with only a single torch in a wall sconce giving them any light. At the head of the stairs, Aragorn paused to listen at the door to determine if there was anyone on the other side, but the door was thick and he could hear nothing. Grasping his sword tightly he slowly inched the door open a crack and looked out. Again there was only a single torch which lit the hall. He saw no one and opened the door further.

Their luck held and in moments they were before the door of the royal bedroom. Again, Aragorn listened at the door but could hear nothing. Taking a deep breath he started to open the door but was stymied by the fact that it was locked. That surprised him, for a locked door meant that something on the other side was meant to remain there. He gave the others a questioning look, for there was no sign of a key. It was Denethor who supplied them with an answer.

Giving them a wry grin, he sheathed his sword, motioning the others back. Then he knelt beside the latch, removing a very thin-bladed dagger from his right boot and carefully inserting it into the key hole. Aragorn exchanged amused looks with Gilhael and Wídfara and then watched with interest as the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor expertly picked the lock. A soft snick alerted them that the door was now free and Denethor quickly stepped back, replacing the dagger and taking his sword in hand once again.

"You’ll have to teach me how to do that," Aragorn whispered to him, giving him a smile.

"How do you know how to do that?" Wídfara asked almost at the same time.

Denethor merely gave them a smug smile and gestured at the door with his head. Aragorn nodded and Denethor cautiously opened it just wide enough to allow Aragorn space to peer in. It was quite dark, for the one window this room boasted was tightly shuttered so that no light of moon or sun could steal in. It took Aragorn a few tense minutes to allow his eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness of the room. He strained all his senses and could detect no telltale sign of breathing. In fact, there was a coldness to the room that had nothing to do with the season or the early morning. He pushed the door open wider so they could all enter. Wídfara took a moment to walk over to the single torch lighting the hallway and grab it, figuring they would need it. With the torchlight they could see that the room was empty yet there was a sense of a presence, cold and inimical to the living. Aragorn quickly suppressed the frisson of fear that crawled up his spine. Yes, there was definitely a barrow-wightish feel in the air.

"Close the door and lock it," he ordered Denethor. "If anyone comes along and notices the torch missing, they will search the rooms." He then led them to the bed and pushed back the arras, revealing the hidden door. It only took him a moment to open it and when he did they all had to turn away, gagging at the fetid air that greeted them.

"Something died," Wídfara muttered in a low tone.

"Or someone," Denethor said just as low.

When they had recovered a bit, Aragorn gave Gilhael a knowing look. "Do you know what to do?" he asked.

Gilhael nodded grimly. "Lead the way. I will lend you my strength."

"And us?" Wídfara demanded, pointing to himself and Denethor. "What do we do?"

"Stay alive," Aragorn replied and before the younger man could utter a retort, he took the torch from his hand and plunged into the licweg with Gilhael right behind him. Denethor and Wídfara glanced at one another.

"Is he always like that?" the Gondorian asked mildly.

Wídfara shrugged, looking resigned, and entered the secret passage. Denethor chuckled mirthlessly to himself as he brought up the rear, being careful to pull close the door behind him.

The fetid air did not dissipate but became stronger as they descended into the stygian depths. They were forced to pull their cloaks over their noses and breath through their mouths. The further they went the more pronounced was the feeling of coldness and foulness. The light of their torch did little to dispel the darkness, for there was a deeper, more malevolent darkness lurking somewhere ahead and they could all sense it.

Aragorn slowed his steps on the steep stairs and concentrated on a memory of Lord Elrond speaking to him about the Barrowdowns and what waited there for the unwary....

****

"They are evil spirits," the Elf-lord told him, "sent from Angmar long ago."

"Can you not destroy them or rid the land of them, Ada?" the young Mortal asked, wondering why the Elves of Imladris had not done so already. He could well imagine Glorfindel using his powers to destroy such evil creatures.

Elrond gave his youngest son a wintry smile. "How do you kill something that is already dead, Estel?"

Young Estel, just past his fourteenth birthday, pondered his adar’s words for a moment. "They are like the Houseless then?" he asked somewhat hesitantly. He had heard about Elves who had died and refused the summons to Mandos, but his young mind could not really believe in them and suspected they were but tales with which to scare younger brothers.

"Like but not like," Elrond said, "for Mortals have no choice but to heed Lord Námo’s call."

"Then what are these barrow-wights, as you call them?" Estel asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

"They are evil spirits, as I said," Elrond stated. "They are undead."

"L-like the... the Nine?" Estel stuttered, growing pale. He knew enough never to utter the word ‘nazgûl’ within the protected valley of Imladris. Evil did not enter the valley and he was not fool enough to invite it in simply by using one of its names.

"Except these have no rings to bind them to the graves," Elrond said. "They were called up by the Witch-king using dark sorcery."

"Then nothing can defeat them," Estel said with a sigh. His adar was right. How did one kill something already dead? It was impossible.

Elrond smiled again, a little more warmly. "I never said that," he replied. "I said they cannot be killed. That is not the same thing."

Estel gave Elrond an enquiring look. "Then how....?"

"I will tell you," Elrond said solemnly, "for there may come a day when you will need to know the way to defeat a barrow-wight. What you must do is...."

****

Aragorn flinched a bit when he felt Gilhael’s hand on his shoulder and looked back to see the concerned expression on his cousin’s face.

"Are you well?" he asked, speaking Adûnaic.

"Have you ever done this?" Aragorn asked in return, speaking Adûnaic as well, ignoring Gilhael’s question. "Have you ever had to deal with a barrow-wight?"

"Once, before you were born, I think," Gilhael answered, "but I was with... your brothers and they dealt with it more than I."

"Adar taught me what to do," Aragorn said, "but I’ve never...."

Gilhael clapped him on the shoulder. "Then you know more than I, for I only watched as the twins handled the incantation. You will do well, Cousin. I have every faith in you and as I said, I will lend you my strength."

"Is there naught we can do to help?" Denethor asked. He recognized the language but had no real knowledge of it himself, for the nobles of Gondor had forsaken Adûnaic for Sindarin. Even Westron was rarely spoken among them unless addressing commoners or those of other nations. Still, he could sense that the two Dúnedain were troubled. "I have had some experience...."

"With the undead?" Aragorn retorted, though his tone was kindly. He shook his head. "We need you and Wídfara to guard us. There will be a critical moment when Gilhael and I will be most vulnerable to attack."

"By the beorgwiht?" Wídfara asked, looking rather pale, wondering how one defended oneself from a ghost.

"No," Aragorn countered. "By those of flesh and blood who may sense the battle between me and the evil spirit and will come to investigate."

"Why would anyone come, though?" Wídfara asked, now looking confused. "I would think people would want to stay away."

"Just those who had no hand in calling this barrow-wight here," Gilhael answered. "These evil spirits must be summoned; they do not simply show up and decide to take residence in a graveyard. Someone brought this... thing here. Someone will want to investigate."

Denethor nodded. "Understood," he said grimly and Wídfara, deciding he did not wish to know any more about such things, remained silent, giving his own nod.

"How is this tunnel laid out?" Gilhael asked.

"Beyond these stairs the tunnel runs smoothly downhill almost in a straight line," Aragorn told them. "There is a place where it widens out into a natural cavity. I suspect that is where we will find it. A few hundred paces or so beyond the cave brings you to the door leading to the barrows."

"Let’s get on with it then," Denethor said. "’Tis almost dawn."

"I still don’t understand the reason for having a barrow-wight though," Wídfara said as they continued on their way. "What purpose would it serve?"

"The spreading of terror among your enemies," Aragorn answered.

"But would not your own troops feel the terror as well?" Wídfara countered.

"Unless they are given some kind of protection by the summoner of the spirit," Gilhael answered.

The Rider nodded in understanding, looking both pale and grim. Dark sorcery, magic of any kind, was anathema to the Rohirrim, who relied on strength of arms to deal with their foes, not necromancy. Such tactics were considered cowardly and unworthy of warriors. That the rebels, that the old queen herself, would countenance such a ploy spoke volumes to the young man. These traitors had no honor. But then, he realized wryly, if they had any honor they would not be traitors.

By now the waves of coldness and death and terror were mounting and it was only sheer will power that kept them going. All of them had felt the evil before so they were in a sense inured to its effects, but Aragorn seriously wondered how he would be able to concentrate long enough to send the evil wight into oblivion and he feared for Denethor and Wídfara, neither of whom had ever encountered such evil before....

****

"A barrow-wight’s greatest weapon is terror," Elrond told Estel. "Keep the terror at bay."

"How?" the young Man asked, wide-eyed with the new knowledge his ada had been imparting to him.

"Recall your most precious memory, the one you treasure the most," the Lord of Imladris replied. "Shield yourself with that and listen not to its words. They are lies!"....

****

"Think of the most precious moment in your life," Aragorn urged them. "Keep hold of the memory and do not let it go. Use it as a shield against the terror you are feeling. And another thing: no matter what, do not listen to anything the wight says. It will be a lie."

The others nodded grimly even as they continued along the licweg. The light of the torch flickered and sputtered, casting grotesque shadows, but they could see that the tunnel was now widening, the ceiling opening up. Aragorn slowed his steps, gathering his courage, knowing he would have very little time to do what was necessary. The spirit would not hesitate to attack as soon as it felt threatened. He would have to be quick. Taking a deep breath in spite of the fetid, cloying scent of death that permeated the air, he ran through the incantation Elrond had taught him one last time. It was important that it be said correctly, without mishap, or there would be a backlash of power and he and his companions would be dead. Worse, he and his companions would most likely join the wight in haunting the cave, enslaved by the evil creature.

They entered the cave with Gilhael at Aragorn’s right shoulder, ready to lend him the strength of his spirit as the sons of Elrond had taught him when the three of them had faced a similar situation. At the same time, Denethor and Wídfara unsheathed their swords, taking up guard positions on either side of the tunnel’s mouth. All of them stopped in utter shock when they saw clearly what lay before them. Aragorn sighed, moving a few paces forward to stare down at the desiccated corpse of the old queen lying on a slab of rock. She was bound and her mouth was frozen open in an endless scream of terror and denial of what was done to her. From the gaping hole in her chest, it was apparent that someone had ripped her heart out.

"Well, at least we know how the barrow-wight was summoned," Gilhael muttered softly.

Before anyone else could comment, though, they heard a strange eerie sound echoing off the walls of the cave. It started low but became louder until it nearly overwhelmed them. It was the sound of laughter and it was evil.

****

Tómiddes Sceadwe: ‘Into the Midst of Shadow/Darkness’. Sceadu means both ‘shadow’ (literally and figuratively) and ‘darkness’. The preposition takes the dative case.

Inhired: Family, household. Wídfara, by his pledge, is essentially saying that he will take Sigefred into his own household and give him training as a warrior. Since Sigefred is not well-born, he would most likely not be accorded the title of þegn, but rather inhiredmann ‘member of a retinue, bodyguard (belonging to a household)’. As Wídfara’s retainer, Sigefred would be entitled, not only to a place at Wídfara’s table, but to weapons and armor supplied by Wídfara as his employer.

Beorgwiht: Barrow-wight, ghost. In the later Old English period leading into Middle English, medial ‘g’ was pronounced like ‘w’. Barrow-wightish was coined by Tolkien. Merry uses the word in The Fellowship of the Ring, Book 1, Chapter XI, when the Hobbits and Strider come to Weathertop.

61: Riddles and Runes

As the laughter continued to ring through the cavern, Aragorn came to a decision. Doffing his cloak, he covered the body of the queen, the one who had brought them all to this and had paid the ultimate price. Whispering a quick prayer to the Valar for mercy on Éolind’s soul, he then motioned for the others to step away from the crude altar and retreat the way they had come. When they were some distance away, he spoke.

"Gilhael, I know you will help me," he said then turned to Denethor, "but your aid is needed here too."

"In what way?" the Gondorian asked with a frown. "I have had no experience with these... barrow-wights, as you call them."

"But you have the blood of Númenor in your veins," Aragorn stated. "There is much power there, power that I will need to drive this wight away, for I am not an Elf and I cannot do this alone. Also, we must hurry, for I have no doubt that whoever called forth this creature will be aware if it is being attacked and will come to investigate. Already they may be alerted and are on their way."

Denethor eyed the two Dúnedain Rangers and saw the same look of determination on their faces. Whether he joined them in their battle with this undead creature or not, they would go forth and do what they needed to do, even if without him they were doomed to failure. He gave them a single nod. "I will help. Tell me what to do."

"And me?" Wídfara demanded, feeling left out and outnumbered by these sons of the ancient Sea-Kings while he was but a lowly Rider whose ancestors had been rough and uncultured nomads. "What do I do?"

Aragorn clapped his friend on the shoulder and gave him a fond smile, as if he knew what he was thinking. "You have the most important task of all."

"What’s that?" Wídfara couldn’t help asking, his eyes widening in both excitement and dread. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever his sweordbroðor wanted from him.

"Talk to it."

"Huh?" Wídfara stared at Aragorn in disbelief.

The Dúnadan nodded. "Keep it occupied and uninterested in us. I must teach Gilhael and Denethor their roles in what I would do and the wight cannot know. You must distract it."

"How!? And for how long?" the young Rider nearly wailed, fear like ice coursing through his veins.

"I’m sure you will think of something, Sweordbroðor," Aragorn answered gravely, though his eyes held glints of amusement as well as sympathy in them. They were playing a dangerous game and if they failed, death would be the least of their worries. "Keep it occupied for as long as you can. I will signal you when we are ready."

"Why don’t you tell it a joke?" Denethor suggested, half in jest so as to relieve some of the terror he could see in the Rohir’s eyes. He was almost willing to switch roles with Wídfara but he knew that Thorongil was right: the blood of Númenor did flow through his veins and he knew something of its lore. Wídfara simply did not have the innate power needed, though it was clear that he was an able warrior and a true friend, else he would not be there.

Gilhael’s reaction to Denethor’s suggestion was a raised eyebrow but no other comment. Aragorn gave the Gondorian a knowing smile, but it was Wídfara’s reaction that was the most telling. He straightened his shoulders and the fear that had been bubbling near the surface was now pushed resolutely away. In its place was, if not nonchalance, then at least a determination to do what was being asked of him.

"I’ll do better than that," he said. He gave them all a nod and stepped back into the cavern.

"Do not reveal your name or ours," Aragorn warned him in a whisper as Wídfara passed him, "nor our purpose here and remember, it is evil. It will seek to deceive you. Do not believe it or anything about it."

Wídfara gave him a nod of understanding and continued back to where Éolind’s body lay,taking the torch with him. Aragorn and the others watched him for a moment and then the Dúnadan Chieftain motioned the other two men closer. "This is what you must do...."

****

Wídfara stopped just before the make-shift altar and grimaced, suppressing a shiver of disgust. He could feel the waves of cold, inimical evil sweep over him as the griming made itself visible. His first instinct was to run, to get as far away as possible. The sense of wrongness that he had experienced in the Scamelas was even stronger here and it was all that he could do to stand where he was and fight the need to be thoroughly sick. The wight appeared first as a shadow that was darker than the shadows cast by the flickering torchlight, and then it seemed to gather form as it stood opposite him with the queen’s enshrouded body between them. Wídfara gasped, taking an unconscious step back, unsure he was seeing correctly in the fitful light. He glanced down at the cloak-shrouded figure as if to assure himself that the Dowager queen was indeed dead, for standing there was Éolind herself!

Or, Wídfara hastily amended his thoughts, something that appeared to be the old queen.

The specter smiled and it was not pleasant. "What do I see before me then?" it said in a rustling whisper that grated on Wídfara’s nerves. He had never met Éolind in life, but if this was how she had sounded when she still breathed, he was glad of it. "A Rider of Rohan if my eyes mistake me not." The smile turned uglier and the specter’s eyes darkened with anger. "Have you no respect for your queen, ceorl? Why do you not show me proper reverence?"

Wídfara glared at the griming for a moment before answering. "I know of only one queen of Rohan and you are not she." He purposely refrained from using the polite address he normally would have used when speaking to either Thengel or Morwen.

"You dare!" the specter screeched and Wídfara winced, forcing himself not to cover his ears. "I should kill you now, insolent puppy," it said with a cold hungry look which made it look uglier as it moved closer to him, completely ignoring the stone altar between them.

As much as he wanted to, Wídfara refused to step back. "Then you will be deprived of the entertainment I had devised," he said with a sneer. He tried not to show any fear, though his heart was fairly leaping out of his chest and his mouth felt drier than sand.

That stopped the wight and Wídfara forced himself not to shudder at the sight of it standing in the middle of the altar seemingly unaware that it was passing through stone and flesh. "And why would I wish to be entertained by the likes of you, little man, when I could simply entertain myself with slowly killing you?" It laughed.

The Rider shrugged, as if unconcerned and started to turn away. "Well, if that’s your attitude, I’ll just leave you then."

"Wait!" the false queen demanded. Wídfara stopped and turned back to see the specter looking uncertain. "What form of entertainment did you have in mind?"

"Ah... I thought a riddle-game would be an amusing way to pass the time while my friends think of a way to get rid of you." He was gambling on the specter’s sense of self-importance in its belief that none could destroy it and it would dismiss his claim out of hand and he was not disappointed.

The griming laughed in contempt and sneered at him. "Ah... so that is why they sent you as a lamb to the slaughter, is it? The mighty men of Westernesse have no need for you save as a sacrifice. Typical."

Wídfara struggled to maintain his composure. In the back of his mind, he had wondered why Thorongil had no need for him in the actual act of ridding the wight. The griming noticed his hesitation and grinned.

"They see you as weak," it crooned almost lovingly in a grotesque attempt at solicitude. "You are not of the blood of the Sea-kings, little Rider. You are expendable in their eyes."

"That’s not true," he uttered, but the words came out in a hoarse whisper and he felt his knees grow weak in the face of the griming’s insidious words. "I am their sweordbroðor and...."

"You are their tool," the wight retorted, "nothing more. They only pretend to be your sweordbroðor, for you are just an uncouth Eorling in their eyes who lives in a thatched barn and calls it a palace." It laughed and the sound of it struck Wídfara’s soul like a brumal wind, cold as death, and his spirit withered against the onslaught.

"No...." he whispered, a sense of dread creeping over him.

"Yes," the wight replied triumphantly.

Wídfara shook his head in denial, but there was the nagging thought lodged in his brain that perhaps the wight was telling the truth. He recalled his time with the Dúnedain and now it seemed to him that Thorongil and Gilhael had treated him, not as an equal, but as someone less than they, as someone whom they could never truly call ‘friend’. After all, he was only a Rider of Rohan and no scion of the Sea-kings, those great lords of power who numbered Elves among their kith and kin. He felt tears rolling down his face, frozen in place by his sense of worthlessness.

The wight moved closer, reaching out with its clawed hands, its mouth wide with a death grin, its eyes pools of dark hunger and Wídfara stood there as a blanket of darkness descended upon him. He closed his eyes and felt icy fingers caressing his face as would a lover. He shuddered as an overwhelming smell of the charnel pit assaulted him but he could offer no other resistance to the wight’s advances. He felt his soul withering in the face of the evil that emanated from the wight and he feared he would be smothered by it and be forever damned. Almost he crumpled to his knees as wave after wave of darkness rolled over him and the wight’s laughter sliced through him like a sword. His fingers felt nerveless and the torch nearly fell from his hand, its flame burning low.

No matter what, do not listen to anything the wight says. It will be a lie.

It was almost as if Thorongil were standing beside him, speaking to him. He grasped at the words like a drowning man would at a rope and tightened his grip on the torch.

Think of the most precious moment in your life. Keep hold of the memory and do not let it go. Use it as a shield against the terror you are feeling.

The words themselves were like a shield and the flame of the torch brightened somewhat as he struggled to recall the memory that he had kept before him as they descended into the licweg. It flickered on the edge of his consciousness and he latched onto it with all his remaining strength. It was the memory of his first meeting with the Elves. He had been both frightened and awed by their ethereal beauty, a beauty so fundamentally different to the ugliness of the griming before him. Slowly, painfully, the dark tendrils of doubt and despair uncurled themselves from his soul as he held onto the memory of Thandir smiling at him and calling him elvellon.

He straightened and forced himself to smile at the specter. "Perhaps, or perhaps not," he said with studied nonchalance. "At any rate, shall we play?"

The wight fell back, its grimace of triumph turning into one of anger and Wídfara steeled himself against what he assumed would be another onslaught of evil. Yet, the wight did not advance. Instead, it gave him a calculating look.

"And the stakes?" it demanded. "What good is a game without stakes?"

"True," Wídfara answered. "These are the stakes then: if I fail to guess correctly I die."

That seemed to startle the specter for a moment, but it nodded, an evil gleam in its eyes. "And if I fail to answer your riddle?"

"You die."

Now the specter laughed again. "Silly fool," it said contemptuously. "I cannot die."

"We’ll see," Wídfara said with a shrug. "Shall we play?" he asked again.

The specter nodded. "I will let you go first," it said magnanimously, "even though you are the challenger."

"Fair enough," Wídfara said and then he gave the first riddle, having already thought of it:

     "On my back I bear the water

     that once wrapped earth-dwellers,

     Flesh and Spirit.

     Say who shrouds me and what I am called

     who carry these burdens."

The specter sniffed. "Too easy, little Rider. The answer is ‘Wind’."

Wídfara nodded. "Well, I thought to start out easy and work my way up to hard," he answered with a grim smile. "Your turn."

The griming smiled evilly.

     "I saw a creature wandering the way:

     She was devastating-beautifully adorned.

     On the wave a miracle: water turned to bone."

"Hmm...." Wídfara pretended to hesitate, as if unsure of the answer, though he knew it readily enough. He noticed the gleam of anticipation brightening in the wight’s eyes, assured of its victory so soon. "Ice," he said as if suddenly coming to the answer. He gave her a smug smile. "Water turned to ice."

The specter grimaced. "Say on then," was its only response.

Now it would get harder, Wídfara knew. He licked lips that had gone dry as he thought of a riddle that would make the griming think. He dared not glance back at his friends, for fear the specter would take note, but he silently prayed that whatever preparations they needed would be done sooner rather than later.

"Well, then," he said, "try this one:

     Sometimes I swallow my tempered foe,

     Thrust a long limb through a hard hole,

     Catch hard the keeper of the heart’s pleasure,

     Twist with my tongue and turn back

     the midnight guardian of my lord’s treasure

     When the conquering warrior comes to hold

     the gift of slaughter, the joy of gold."

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to speak that particular riddle. Perhaps it was the thought of those who had conquered his own land and the sense of outrage he felt whenever he thought of what Éolind and her cronies had wrought. At any rate, it appeared that the specter was not finding this riddle as easy as the first.

"Give up?" he asked lightly.

The griming snarled. "Patience, boy! I merely need to figure out the key... ah! That’s the answer, isn’t it?" it smiled triumphantly. "Key. The answer is a key."

Wídfara gave it a small bow. "Your turn," was his only response, but inwardly he wondered if he would succeed in keeping up the game. He had no idea what riddles the wight might throw at him and if he failed... but no, that thought he drove out of his head. Failure was not to be thought on. His only real task was to keep the griming occupied until Thorongil was ready.

The specter grinned. "You are an insolent child," it said. "I will enjoy killing you slowly."

"I’m sorry," Wídfara said as cooly as he could. "Was that the riddle?"

"Bah!" it replied with a snarl. "Here then, and see if you can guess its meaning:

     The least of creatures shaped by Nature,

     I have no soul, no life,

     Yet I move everywhere in the wide world.

     I have no blood or bone, yet carry

     comfort to the children of Men in Middle-earth.

     I have no limbs, yet I live!

     If you can solve this riddle quickly,

     say what I am called....

Else, little man, I will surely kill you," it added and laughed evilly.

Wídfara could not suppress the shudder at the sound of it. For the life of him, he could not fathom the riddle’s meaning. What has no soul yet lives and moves across Middle-earth and brings comfort to the children of Men? he wondered and he could feel panic rising in him as he tried to find the answer. He noticed that the wight had taken another step or two forward so that it now stood entirely in front of the queen’s body, its expression one of eager anticipation. Slowly it held out a clawed hand, as if ready to grab him but he took a step back and glared at it. He was still at a loss for an answer and wished heartily that he was anywhere but there. Dying did not frighten him but he preferred his death to be cleaner, at the end of a sword point rather than as a barrow-wight’s victim. His eyes fell to the shrouded image of the corpse lying there and for the first time he felt pity for the old queen. However wicked and wrong-headed she might have been, no one deserved that kind of death.

"Death," he whispered, not really paying any heed to the specter before him.

It stopped its advance. "What was that?" it demanded.

Wídfara looked up into the face of the wight, blinking away his earlier thoughts and trying to remember what he had said. "Death. I said death. Is that the answer?" he asked, knowing full well that that is what it had to be.

The specter smirked. "Very good," it said, "but I grow weary of this game and I think I will kill you and your companions anyway."

"Well that isn’t sporting," Wídfara replied with a disdainful air, "and it wasn’t the terms of our agreement. I should be given the chance to say one more riddle I would think."

"Oh very well," it said almost petulantly. "Say on, but know that I will kill you regardless."

"You can try," Wídfara retorted with more coolness than he felt. "Here then is my riddle:

     I stretch beyond the bounds of Middle-earth,

     Shrink down smaller than a hand-worm,

     Grow brighter than the moon, run swifter than the sun.

     I cradle oceans and the green plains in my arms.

     I rise to Over-heaven and into the depths of Death-hall I tread —

     filling all of Middle-earth with myself.

     Say what I am called."

And while he waited for the specter to either answer or attack, he sent a fervent prayer to Lord Béma that whatever his friends were planning that they would get on with it. He feared he was running out of time if not riddles.

****

Aragorn was half-listening to Wídfara and the barrow-wight playing a riddle game as he quietly instructed Gilhael and Denethor in the words of the invocation they would speak to drive the wight out, marveling at the coolness and cleverness of his sweordbroðor in coming up with the idea of riddles. It was an ancient traditional form of a challenge. He kept half his attention on Wídfara, for if the specter chose to attack, they would have to come to their companion’s aid.

"Are you ready?" he asked the other two. Gilhael, he had no doubts about, for he knew his cousin was more familiar with this formula than Denethor, but the Gondorian had a quick mind and easily memorized his part in the ritual they would perform.

Both men nodded.

"Remember," he admonished them, "there can be no errors and no hesitations. Your wills must be as steel and nothing can distract you."

"We are ready," Gilhael answered, including the Gondorian in his statement, a testament to his faith in Denethor even if they really knew little of his mettle. Confidence, however, was the key to their success and there could be no doubts of failure for any of them.

Denethor nodded. "We will not fail," he said simply.

Aragorn gave them a sour grin. "Keep Wídfara between you," he instructed them and then turned to see how his sweordbroðor was faring.

".... Middle-earth with myself. Say what I am called." The young Rider was speaking the end of his riddle.

"Let’s not give it a chance to answer," Aragorn suggested and with a nod from the other two they stepped back into the cave.

Gilhael and Denethor came abreast of Wídfara, flanking him. He gave them a startled smile, for they had moved silently and he had been concentrating all his attention on the barrow-wight. They returned his smile with ones of their own, then turned their attention to Aragorn, who had slipped around the altar so that he was facing them. The specter’s attention at the moment was on the two flanking Wídfara.

"Ah... I see your friends have come to join us," it said evilly. "I’m looking forward to killing you all."

Denethor leaned closer to Wídfara to whisper into his ear. "When I tap you on the shoulder, throw the torch to Aragorn."

Wídfara nodded slightly, even as he addressed the griming. "You still haven’t answered my riddle."

"Bah! What need I to answer it," it sneered. "Think you that I would have honored our agreement. I will kill you regardless." It started forward and the three men took an involuntary step back, though Wídfara continued to speak to it.

"Yet, the challenge was that if you did not answer my riddle then you would die, not I. Do you forfeit the game, then?"

The specter paused as if considering his words. Wídfara did not know if the specter would be stopped by the threat of forfeiture. The rules of the riddle-game were ancient but he doubted that such an evil creature would truly honor them. It did not matter, because even as it paused in its advance, Gilhael began to speak. Chills ran up and down Wídfara’s spine as the cadence of the words in what he realized must be Sindarin, took on the power of a spell and he realized that a mighty rune was being uttered.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel, le nallon sí di’nguruthos, lasto na bith nîn!"

Then even as the wight shrieked at the name of the Star-Queen, Denethor took up the invocation:

"A Manweg, Aran Einior, le nallon sí di’nguruthos, tiro nin!"

"Noooo!!!!" the wight screamed, actually covering its ears with its hands.

Aragorn was next and at the sound of his voice the wight turned and snarled, even going so far as to move towards him, passing right through the altar and the queen’s body.

"A Bannoth, Hîr en-Gorthrim, le nallon sí di’nguruthos, tolo na dulu nîn!"

No sooner had he finished, then Gilhael spoke again, diverting the specter’s attention back to the other three men. "Fae e-morn! No pelinnen di’ngiliath Elbereth."

"No adleithannen o gwîdh lîn nan thûl Manweg," Denethor exclaimed.

"No neithan sîdh e-harch nan innas Bannoth," Aragorn cried.

All this while Wídfara could feel the power of the invocation rising, filling him, and he felt weak in the face of it, but locked his knees and stood where he was. The wight was writhing now, its screams crescendoing beyond the hearing of Mortals, its form fading in and out as it struggled to remain. It snarled and made to lunge at Wídfara, but it was as if a wall stood between them and it could not reach him. Almost as soon as Aragorn finished speaking the three of them chanted together:

"Gwanno, dae e-gorthad, awartho i gaew lîn! Ú-bresto Dôr-i-Guinar dan drego ned Gast ui! No goren i Innas lîn, A Eru!"

Even as they uttered the final phrase, Wídfara felt a light touch on his shoulder. Immediately he threw the torch, watching in fascination as it passed right through the specter. Aragorn caught it nimbly and with a single flick of his wrist he threw off the cloak covering the queen and then laid the torch directly into the hole where her heart had once been.

"No!" Wídfara and the wight screamed at the same time, their looks of horror almost identical.

Gilhael and Denethor grabbed the younger man and held him tightly. "Stay, good Wídfara," Gilhael whispered to him. "This is the only way to break the link between the wight and the sacrifice that brought it here."

Wídfara sagged in their hold, watching in distress as the queen’s body burst into flames, flames that seemed to the young Rider to be unnatural in the manner in which they consumed the body. He had no love for Éolind, but the idea of immolation did not sit well with him. It was a barbaric custom to his mind but he understood the necessity of it.

Meanwhile, the wight continued to writhe and shriek, and fade, though not all at once. It glared at Wídfara with baleful eyes glowing with consummate hate. "I should have killed you first off," it snarled.

Wídfara pulled himself out of his friends’ grip, taking a step forward, and smiling. "Too late and, by the way... the answer to my riddle? Creation. Just so you know."

With a final wail the wight faded from their sight even as the queen’s body fell into ashes. The putrid smell of decay, death, and burnt flesh permeated the air, but the coldness surrounding them was the natural cold of the tunnels and not that of evil. For a very long moment none of them moved. Then Wídfara started to collapse, feeling suddenly drained.

"Steady," Gilhael said as he and Denethor grabbed him and held him up. "You did very well, my friend, very well, indeed."

"Yes," Aragorn said, coming around to their side of the altar, shrugging his cloak around him. "A riddle-game." He gave his sweordbroðor an admiring look. "You will have to tell us what riddles were used some time. I think this will be worthy of a song or two."

Wídfara shook his head in denial. "You’re the ones who vanquished it," he protested. "I just..." He shrugged, giving them a deprecating look as if to say, ‘You’re the heroes, not I’.

"We all did our parts in driving away this evil," Aragorn stated firmly. "We could not have succeeded if you had not kept the wight occupied while I taught the invocation to Gilhael and Denethor. You bought us the time we needed and I thank you." With that he clasped the Rider by the shoulders and gave him a kiss on the forehead that was a benediction. Surprisingly, to Wídfara’s mind, Gilhael and then Denethor did the same.

"Now, we must depart from here," Aragorn said. "I have no doubt that whoever summoned the wight will know that it has now been vanquished. They will come here to learn why and we must not be caught."

"Which way should we go, then?" Gilhael asked. "Should we try for the cemetery door? It is probably only barred on this side and we can easily leave the licweg."

"Only, Thengel has troops watching the entrance, archers if I remember correctly," Denethor reminded them. "They may be inclined to shoot first and ask questions later."

Aragorn nodded. "And to retrace our steps would be futile for we would only run into whoever is coming from the other direction." He paused a moment, taking a look at their surroundings. "Wídfara, do you still have Sigefred’s map?"

The Rider nodded, fishing for the map that he had shoved under his boiled-leather vest for safe-keeping, handing it to Aragorn. The Ranger unfolded it and spread it on the ground before them. They all knelt to get a better look. The map was drawn in such a way that surface landmarks were inscribed along the tunnel routes so that they could see approximately where they were within the city. The entrance for Meduseld was clearly marked. Aragorn traced a finger down the page towards where the Scamelas would be. Without taking his eyes off the map he spoke to his cousin.

"Go down the tunnel towards the cemetery entrance," he ordered. "Count the number of steps it takes to reach it."

"Starting from where?" Gilhael asked, standing and taking the torch that Aragorn handed to him.

"Where this cavern ends."

Gilhael nodded and set off, leaving the other three in darkness. "What are you thinking, Thorongil?" Denethor asked.

"Wait until Gilhael returns," Aragorn answered. "Then I will know how to answer."

The wait seemed interminable in the darkness but after awhile they saw the glow of the torch coming towards them and soon Gilhael appeared. "Three hundred and five paces," he said as he joined them, crouching down. "Now, will you tell us what that’s all about?"

Aragorn took the torch from Gilhael and pointed back at the map. "If my calculations are correct, we are nearly under the Scamelas, which means that tunnel that deadends just before you reach the Scamelas..."

"Has to be somewhere near by," Gilhael finished the thought with a nod.

"You mean to find the tunnel and try to escape that way," Denethor said. "Do we have the time? Even if we find it immediately, how can we be sure we can break through? We have no tools for digging."

"I think I would rather take my chances with the men outside in the cemetery," Wídfara offered. "At least we can call to them and identify ourselves before we’re shot down."

"Yet, the action will not be outside the walls," Aragorn pointed out reasonably, "but inside. Already the sun rises and if Gléomund and the others reached the gates undetected, Thengel should be riding into his city at this very moment."

"Which may explain why we have heard no one coming as yet," Denethor said. "They’re too busy protecting their own hides to worry about what is happening down here."

"Well, why don’t we do this?" Gilhael suggested. "Why don’t we see if we can find the tunnel entrance? At the very least we can assure ourselves that it will be impossible to break through any time soon. If that’s the case, then I suggest we head back to Meduseld. I would rather face the enemy than flee from it, though it means certain death to do so."

For a moment they stared at one another, gauging each other’s reaction to Gilhael’s advice. One by one they nodded their assent to the idea. Aragorn stood and the others followed. Holding the map in one hand and the torch in the other he gestured to his left. "Let’s take a look," he said and the others followed him in search of the unfinished tunnel.

****

All words are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Griming: Specter.

Ceorl: Pronounced "churl". While its original meaning was ‘a freeman of the lowest class, peasant’, it has come to mean ‘a rude, boorish person’ and it became a word of contempt. The specter, using the term here is insulting Wídfara’s rank, since only those of the thegn-class could become warriors.

Elvellon: (Sindarin) Elf-friend.

The Riddles: These are actual riddles from the Exeter Book and published by Craig Williamson in The Old English Riddles of the Exeter Book (1977) and A Feast of Creatures: Anglo-Saxon Riddle Songs (1982). An online version of these riddles can be found at:

http://www2(dot)kenyon(dot)edu/AngloSaxonRiddles/texts(dot)htm

The riddles in the order in which they are spoken are: 1, 66, 87, 37, and 64. The numbering is based on Williamson. In some cases they have been adapted to reflect the cultural mindset of Middle-earth, thus, for example, in Riddle 64, ‘Death-hall’ is a direct translation of déaþsele which came to mean ‘hell’, but in the context of Middle-earth, I consider it the Rohirric term for Mandos. An examination of the original poem reveals that the more common word helle is used, reflecting the Christian slant of the riddle-maker.

Translation of the Sindarin rune Aragorn, Gilhael and Denethor chant:

     O Varda Star-kindler,

     to thee I cry now beneath death’s shadow,

     hear my words!

     O Manwë, Elder King,

     to thee I cry now beneath death’s shadow,

     look towards me!

     O Námo, Lord of the Dead,

     to thee I cry now beneath death’s shadow,

     come to my aid!

     Spirit of Darkness!

     Be withered under the stars of Varda.

     Be released from thy bonds by the breath of Manwë.

     Be deprived the peace of the grave by the will of Námo.

     Depart, shade of the barrow, abandon thy lair.

     Trouble not the land of the living

     But flee into the everlasting Void!

     Thy Will be done, O Eru!

Author's Note: My thanks to Sunny for her kind encouragment and suggestions which helped me to improve this chapter.

62: Battle in the Licweg

"Here," Gilhael said, pointing at one part of the cavern wall. "See how the soil here appears to be a lighter shade than the rest of the wall? And look. It only extends this far." He passed the torch before them and they could see how the lighter soil appeared to be the height of a door but slightly wider than two men standing together.

"I think you are correct," Aragorn said as he pulled out a knife and began digging at the soil in the middle of the patch, which was looser than the soil surrounding it. It only took a minute or two for him to dig a hole and then they heard a dull thud and the blade went no further in than half way to the hilt.

"There’s something behind here," Aragorn said. "Gilhael, see if you can breach the opening on that side and I’ll try again over here. Denethor and Wídfara, go back up the tunnel and see if there is any sign of someone coming. I cannot believe that whoever summoned the barrow-wight will not come to investigate its disappearance."

The two men nodded and made their way back to the upper tunnel while Aragorn resumed his task of opening the wall. They were doomed to failure though. Almost at the same time he and Gilhael both encountered an obstruction. Wordlessly they began to attack the wall again in different places, now pulling the loosened soil away until they found themselves confronting a brick wall. Aragorn tapped the wall with the hilt of his knife, trying to gauge its thickness and permanence. He shook his head in dismay.

"They must have replaced the dirt from the hole they had made so that at first glance it would not be obvious from this side that anything was amiss, then they built this wall to protect the secret of the tunnels."

"Could we dig along an edge and see if we can loosen the bricks enough to open the way?" Gilhael asked.

"We can try, but I suspect that it might not work." He gestured for Gilhael to take the right side of the brick wall while he took the left. They attempted to insert their knives where the bricks appeared to meet the unbroken wall, but after another frustrating minute or two they realized that the builders of the wall had extended the bricks past the actual opening.

"It’s no use," Gilhael said. "Even if we had the equipment it would take too long to break through."

"I wonder why they decided against using the licweg as part of the tunnel system," Aragorn mused as he sheathed his knife.

"Probably superstition or simple fear held them back," Gilhael replied. "Or perhaps an innate respect for the privacy of the royal family and their dead."

Aragorn nodded and started to comment when they both heard a loud hiss from the tunnel. They turned to see Wídfara there, motioning for them to join him.

"Denethor thinks he can hear someone coming," the Rider whispered. "I thought I heard something but couldn’t be sure. What of the tunnel? Can we not go that way?"

The two Dúnedain shook their heads. "The opening is blocked by a brick wall. We have neither the means nor the time to break it down. Come. Let us go to Denethor."

The three men made their way back along the tunnel a few tens of paces to find the Gondorian crouched along the wall, his sword drawn. He turned slightly at their approach. Aragorn knelt beside him along with Gilhael and Wídfara.

"I count at least three or four men," Denethor whispered to them, "but there may be more. The echoes are deceiving."

"What do you suggest?" Aragorn asked.

Denethor gave him a surprised look but answered readily enough. "By now the battle before the gates will be joined if our friends were successful. There’s no point going out. We should see what mischief we can make within Meduseld itself. If Thengel cannot take Meduseld, all will be for nothing."

Aragorn nodded, then looked to the other two men for their reactions. Gilhael gave a single nod of his head while Wídfara simply grinned, the light of battle glinting in his eyes.

"So the question is, do we take the fight to whoever is approaching or wait for them here?" Aragorn asked.

"They have the advantage of terrain," Gilhael replied. "They can defend the stairs while we would have to approach them one at a time."

The others nodded and Aragorn gestured for them to move back into the cavern. "Then we make our stand here," he said. "Douse the torch, Cousin, after we are in position. I suspect they will be bringing their own light with them so we won’t need ours. Wídfara, you and Denethor stay to the left of the tunnel. Gilhael, stay to the right. Try not to be seen until all of them are fully within the cavern."

"And where will you be?" Gilhael asked, his expression one of amusement.

Aragorn gave them a grim smile. "I’ll be right here," he said, going to stand before the altar where Éolind’s ashes still lay, leaning nonchalantly against the stone, his arms folded before his chest and his legs crossed. "After all, it’s only polite to greet our host, is it not?"

The other three grinned ferally, then Gilhael threw the torch to the ground and stamped on it and they were plunged into darkness.

"Keep your eyes half closed," he whispered loudly so they could all hear him, "so you are not blinded by the torchlight when the enemy enters the cavern."

Then they waited, but not for long. Perhaps five minutes passed before even Wídfara could hear the muffled tread of several men moving towards them. The tunnel was brightening with torchlight and the three on either side of the opening crouched as far back as possible to avoid being seen immediately, keeping their swords under their cloaks so the light would not fall on them and give them away. Aragorn never moved.

Denethor’s estimate turned out to be somewhat short of the truth. When the enemy entered the cavern, Aragorn could see that there were more than a dozen armed men led by one who appeared unarmed, though he suspected this was not the case. What surprised him was the fact that some of the men were clearly not Rohirrim, but had darker features, perhaps those of Harad, though that was pure supposition on his part, never having seen any of the Haradi. The one leading them was also a surprise, for he could have passed as one of the Dúnedain from his looks, though he was an inch or so shorter than Gilhael and his features were somewhat darker. He wore a dark robe the color of blood and his face was contorted by an evil glare as he spotted Aragorn before him.

Aragorn smiled. "Good morning. I’ve been expecting you." On a hunch he deliberately spoke Adûnaic and saw a fleeting look of surprise on the leader’s face which was quickly replaced by anger.

"Who are you? How did you come here?"

"Oh, I was just wandering about," Aragorn said lightly, "and decided to do some spring-cleaning when I found your barrow-wight. I’m assuming it was yours. Rather careless of you to leave it lying about for just anyone to find."

"You insolent pup!" the man screamed, the fury in his eyes making them smolder. "I will enjoy hearing you beg for death before I finish with you."

"I think not," Aragorn said coldly, uncrossing his arms and legs and reaching for his sword. Even as he drew it the other man gestured to his henchmen.

"I want him alive," he said. "He will do just as well for a sacrifice as did the old hag."

Swords rang out and Aragorn moved forward to engage with the two men who had flanked their leader. Torches were thrown to the ground as their comrades reached for their own swords, their light casting an eerie glow over the scene of the battle.

"Elendil!" Aragorn cried as he crossed swords with one of them, then ducked as the other came at him from his left. He quickly parried the attack and soon only one henchman was left standing.

The other men started forward but when one of them screamed, falling into their midst they turned in shock to see three swords slashing at them. Instantly, it became a melee. Gilhael had been the one who had taken the one henchman from behind, forcing the others to defend themselves.

"Eorl!" Wídfara yelled as he entered the fray, slashing with controlled fury at one of his own kinsman.

Denethor and Gilhael refrained from shouting anything, but went about the business of killing with grim determination in their eyes, their skill with the blade evidently greater than their opponents, for in short order, four more men were dead. Wídfara accounted for his man but came to grief when his rage made him careless and he missed a parry from another. His opponent, one of the dark-featured men, taller than he by a head, grinned evilly as he thrust past Wídfara’s sword and stabbed him. Only the fact that at the last minute Wídfara was able to twist his torso so that the sword slid into his left side rather than into his belly saved him from an agonizing death. The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced and his screams echoed through the cavern. His opponent snarled in disgust at having missed such a clean shot but never got a chance to rectify his error, for Denethor was upon him, standing over the fallen Rider and with a quick flick of his wrist the Gondorian had the man unarmed.

"Morgoth take you," he said scathingly as he beheaded the man. Before the body even began to fall, he reached down and dragged the now unconscious Wídfara away from the fray, standing before him to protect him while the enemy came at him. He could see that Aragorn had taken the second man and was fighting a third, obviously trying to reach the red-robed leader whom Denethor had recognized as a Black Númenórean from Umbar. By now eight men were down, but that still left eight more. Three were attacking Gilhael all at once while Aragorn battled with two. Denethor had two as well while one remained at the Umbari’s side, acting as a guard.

He concentrated on keeping himself from being skewered while protecting Wídfara whose ragged breaths told him the Rider still lived. He did not know how serious the wound was but hoped the youngster would live. He had seen the mutual love as between brothers which Thorongil and Wídfara had for each other and knew that the Rohir’s death would be a great blow to the Ranger.

The Umbari was standing in the midst of the carnage, the fury he had exhibited before replaced by cold calculation. Denethor wasn’t sure, but he thought the man was mumbling something. Whatever it was, it could not be good. He gave a yell of frustration even as he ducked under the sword coming at him from the right and kicked out with his left foot at the other attacker, sending him into the wall. Coming up, he slashed at the midriff of the first man, sending him into death’s embrace, then did the same with the other man who was struggling to regain both his breath and his sword. Then, he picked up a rock and hurled it at the Umbari, hitting him on the side of the head.

The man gasped in pain as he lurched forward, saved from falling by his guard who grabbed him, then dragged him backwards toward the tunnel, yelling, "The lord has been hit. Retreat!"

At once the two men still fighting Gilhael and the one fighting Aragorn broke off their attacks and fled after the guard and their lord. Both Gilhael and Aragorn made to go after them, but Denethor stayed them with a shout.

"No! Wídfara has been struck down. He needs aid."

Aragorn gasped as he went to the Rider, for he had not known that Wídfara had been wounded. The young man was still unconscious, his life’s blood seeping out of the slash on his side, staining his leather vest and the ground beneath.

"Wídfara!" Aragorn cried. "Sweordbroðor!" But Wídfara did not stir, though he gave a soft moan when Aragorn attempted to examine the wound. "It missed the vital organs," he said in a whisper to Gilhael and Denethor, "but he must be tended to immediately. He’s lost too much blood."

"We can’t take him with us if you mean to follow the Umbari," Denethor pointed out.

Aragorn gave the Gondorian a surprised look. "Is that what he was? A Black Númenórean?"

Denethor nodded. "We of Gondor have had long dealings with the pirates of Umbar."

"They have ever been in league with Sauron," Gilhael said. "I sensed some black power in this one. I deem he may be a practitioner of the dark arts."

"Be that as it may, we must think of Wídfara first," Aragorn said, staring down at the younger man, his expression troubled as he attempted to staunch the flow of blood. "We need to get him out of here."

"Yet, if you will abide by my rede," Denethor replied, "the Umbari must be stopped. He was attempting some spell when I hit him. He could still do much harm to Thengel’s men if allowed to roam free."

"What then do you suggest?" Gilhael asked.

"One of us takes Wídfara through the cemetery entrance while the other two go after the Umbari," Denethor said.

"I will take Wídfara, then," Gilhael offered, "and open the licweg to Thengel’s men. The enemy won’t be expecting an attack from this quarter."

"Are you sure?" Aragorn asked with some concern.

Gilhael nodded, already hefting the still unconscious Rider onto his shoulder as he stood up. "Thengel’s men know me. Hopefully I can convince them not to shoot before I am able to identify myself to them."

"Go then," Aragorn said, rising as well. "iMelain ah ci. Warn the men not to disturb the ashes on the altar as they pass through."

Gilhael nodded. "Araw ar Tulcas dirir i megil gîn,’ he said, then took the torch that Denethor had retrieved for him and set off.

Aragorn watched his cousin disappear down the tunnel with Wídfara, his eyes dark with worry for them both. Denethor, meanwhile, had retrieved a second torch. "Come," he said, handing the torch to Aragorn. "There is a necromancer we must stop before he has a chance to do more harm."

Aragorn nodded. "Let us go, then," he said. Together Dúnadan Chieftain and the future Steward of Gondor strode back up the tunnel, leaving the dead behind.

****

All words are Sindarin.

iMelain ah ci: ‘The Valar be with you’.

Araw ar Tulcas dirir i megil gîn: ‘Oromë and Tulkas guard your swords’.

63: Opening Gambit

Gilhael put Wídfara down when he reached the door leading out into the cemetery. He checked the younger man’s wound, which was still seeping blood but the flow had slowed. Still, it was a vicious gash and if it wasn’t treated soon the boy would die. Wídfara opened his eyes, his expression one of deep pain.

"Wh-where are we?" he whispered, trying to sit up. Gilhael pushed him back down as gently as he could, but in truth Wídfara was too weak to do more than lift his head. He settled back with a groan.

"Next time, youngster," the Dúnadan said with a wry look that did not hide his worries for the Rider’s life, "try to keep your anger in check. You were very careless back there."

Wídfara merely nodded, too tired to care.

"As to where we are," Gilhael continued, trying to keep the youngster conscious, "we’re at the door leading out to the cemetery. I’m about to open it."

"Thorongil..."

"He and Denethor are on their way back to Meduseld," the Dúnadan replied. "They wish to find the necromancer and do what damage they can while they’re at it." The smile was genuine this time and Wídfara responded with a weak smile of his own. "Now, we need to get you out of here and to the healers." Gilhael continued, "so try not to die on me before that. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Sigefred now, would you?"

"No," came the whisper of a reply, but Wídfara did not succumb to unconsciousness, as much as he wanted to. "Help me up," he said. "I will walk out of here on my own two feet."

Gilhael shook his head. "It is best if you stay where you are. You will only weaken yourself more if you try to move unnecessarily."

"I do not wish to appear helpless before the Rohirrim," Wídfara protested weakly and he did not try to stand on his own.

"I doubt if your friends will think any less of you, my friend," Gilhael said with a smile. "Now, I will open the door, but only slightly. I fear that the first response will be arrows from whoever is watching this exit."

Wídfara nodded. "Let me call out to them," he said, gathering his strength for the ordeal to come.

Gilhael nodded and threw back the bolt, praying that the door was unlocked, for they did not have the key, and sighed with relief when the door opened readily enough. As he suspected, no sooner did he open the door a crack than several arrows thudded against the wood. Wídfara shuffled closer to the opening, though Gilhael held him away from any possibility of an arrow finding its way through the space. After the darkness of the licweg, the early morning light was nearly blinding to them.

"Hold!" Wídfara yelled as loudly as he could. "It is I, Wídfara, with Tungolfród. Do not shoot."

"How do we know you are who you say you are?" came the gruff reply from one of the sentries.

"Because, Hardbeorht Heruthain’s sister-son," Wídfara said in exasperation, having recognized the speaker, "I rode with you from Helm’s Deep along with Earntungol and Grimbold. Now, stop wasting our time with silly questions. I am wounded unto death and would prefer to die under the open sky rather than in this dismal tunnel."

He gave Gilhael a weak smile, and then passed out, having expended all his strength. Gilhael scooped him into his arms and yelled out. "We’re coming out! Hold your fire!" With that he pushed the door open with a foot, squinting in the bright sunlight, and stepped cautiously out into the open. He stood there for a moment to let the archers, hidden behind the barrows, see him and hopefully recognize him and Wídfara.

Then, one of the archers stood up, his expression one of surprise and anguish. "Wídfara!" he called as he ran up to Gilhael. Others followed him, their faces creased with worry for their fellow Rider.

"He lives," Gilhael assured them, "but for how much longer I cannot say. He needs a healer now."

Hardbeorht nodded. "I will take you," he said. "What of the others, Lord Earntungol and Lord Denethor?"

"They have gone back into Meduseld," Gilhael explained, "to see if they can cause some mischief for Thengel’s benefit."

The others smiled grimly. Now that he was outside, Gilhael could hear the sounds of battle and assumed that Thengel was making his way through the streets of Edoras to reclaim his throne. "The way is open," he continued. "Take what men can be spared from the gates and go. But heed! When you reach the cavern, you will find a crude altar. Do not disturb the dust that lies on it for your life. Caution all who enter to keep wide of the altar."

The others looked at him with varying degrees of dismay and wonder. "What....?" Hardbeorht started to say but Gilhael shook his head impatiently.

"There is no time to explain. Only heed my warning. Now, I will take Wídfara to the healers." With that, he strode away. He could hear Hardbeorht giving orders and then the Rider was running to catch up.

"I will lead you," he said. "The healers are not far."

 Gilhael just nodded, concentrating on making his way through the barrows with his burden. "Stay with me, Wídfara," he said softly to the unconscious man, speaking Sindarin. "Do not heed Lord Námo’s call just yet." If the young Rider heard him, he gave no sign.

****

Aragorn and Denethor reached the top of the stairs and paused to catch their breaths, for they had taken them at a near run in hopes of catching up with the Umbari and his guards. "Do you think the Umbari will have reinforcements?" Denethor asked in a whisper.

"I do not know," Aragorn said truthfully. "We can only hope that there are too many other things on the rebels' minds to worry about us."

Denethor nodded. "Then let us see what awaits us beyond the door. If it’s possible we must keep the way clear for Thengel’s men who will follow."

"Douse the torch," Aragorn said. "It will make us less a target if anyone is waiting on the other side."

"Let us hope they did not bar it."

"I doubt that it can be," Aragorn replied. "There is little space behind the arras as you saw and the bed is too heavy to move."

With the torch doused, the two were plunged into darkness. Aragorn took hold of Denethor’s arm and waited for a moment or two until his eyes had adjusted to the dark. They were not in total darkness, as he had feared, for up ahead he saw a faint outline of the door and realized it had been left open. Squeezing Denethor’s wrist as a signal, he released his hold on the Gondorian and slowly crept towards the door, his sword in hand. Denethor followed silently behind him.

When they reached the door, they paused again, this time to listen for sounds from the other side, for they could see nothing of the room save the back of the arras which concealed them from the eyes of anyone on the other side. They could detect no sound, but that did not assure them. Aragorn nodded to Denethor, his expression grim and determined. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he thrust his sword forward to move the arras out of the way and at the same time crouched low as he ran out in case there were archers. Yet, when he straightened, he found the room empty.

"Come," he said to Denethor. "The way is clear."

Denethor came out and together they made for the door, only to find it locked. Denethor gave Aragorn a wry smile. "And do they think a little thing like a locked door would deter us?" he asked rhetorically, even as he crouched down to pick the lock a second time.

"How do you know how to do that?" Aragorn asked.

Denethor gave a chuckle. "Damrod, my second," he said. "A man of many talents, not the least of which is getting himself in and out of trouble the way others get in and out of their tunics. Lockpicking comes in handy when one finds oneself in prison."

"He escaped from prison?" Aragorn asked incredulously. "Why was he in prison?"

"A minor offense," Denethor said, "and normally he would have been sent to the quarries for his troubles, but I saw great potential in him and decided to recruit him for the Rangers. Father never approved, but Damrod has never disappointed me."

As he finished speaking there was an audible click and then the door was swinging open. Again they found the corridor empty. "I suppose they figured a lock door would be enough of a hindrance," Denethor said with a contemptuous shrug. "So which way do we go? Back to the kitchens or...."

"Let us see what is happening in the central hall," Aragorn said. "If there is any defense being planned against Thengel, it will be there."

The Gondorian nodded and allowed Aragorn to take the lead again. They traversed the corridor leading away from the back stairs, making their way stealthily towards the throne hall. They came to another set of stairs. "This leads to an anteroom behind the throne dais," Aragorn explained. "There are bound to be guards below."

Denethor nodded. "We’ll just have to take our chances."

Yet, when they came to the anteroom, there was no one. The place was eerily silent. Moving quietly to the door that led to the main hall, Aragorn opened it just a crack and peeked out, then closed the door as silently as he could, motioning for Denethor to follow him out of the room and back to the stairs.

"The hall is full of people," he said. "I could not see much for there is a guard standing just before the door, but there was much scurrying about."

"I heard voices yelling, but could not make out the words," Denethor said.

"They were speaking Rohirric," Aragorn replied. "Someone was issuing orders to set guards around Meduseld. Apparently, Thengel has indeed entered Edoras and makes his way here."

"The rebels have the advantage over Thengel, though," Denethor said, "for he will have to climb the tor to reach Meduseld and will be fired upon from above."

"Unless we offer the rebels enough of a diversion that their attention is drawn away from the king and his army."

"Any ideas?" Denethor asked with a quirk of his lips, his eyes dancing with merriment. The odds were against them, for they were only two against an unknown number of the enemy.

"Go back to the licweg and wait for Thengel’s men. Let them know what is happening."

"And what will you be doing?" Denethor demanded with a scowl, for he did not like the idea of the two being separated. There was too much danger for them both.

"I will remain here and make sure none come through. Also I want to find out what has happened to the Umbari," Aragorn said. "He can still be a danger to us with his spells."

"He was wounded," Denethor pointed out. "It’s unlikely he will be in the middle of the fighting."

"Wounded, yes," Aragorn agreed, "but perhaps not incapacitated. He may have other surprises in store for Thengel’s men. I mean to make sure he is unable to bespell them."

Denethor’s expression was one of exasperation. "He could very well be in the hall with the others."

"Most likely. I hope to find out just where he is, though, for I mean to take him out before all else. He is the most dangerous of them all."

Denethor scowled more deeply. "I like not this plan of yours, yet I have none of my own to offer. I will do as you say and lead the Rohirrim here when they come. Take care, brother, for I would have us draw swords together once again."

"We will," Aragorn assured him. "I will not take any foolish risks." He gave him a broad smile. "We Dúnedain of the North are well trained in stealth."

Denethor simply nodded. "I will go then. Don’t start anything until I get back," he admonished Aragorn with a grin of his own. Then he was bounding up the stairs and Aragorn was making his way back into the anteroom to listen at the door once again.

He pondered what could be done with however many men would join them from the licweg. He could not count on an entire éored, not even half of one, so their options would be limited. He opened the door again. The guard shifted slightly from his stance, but the view did not improve and he could not see very far into the hall. He realized, somewhat belatedly, that most likely the guard was invisible to anyone in the hall because of where he was standing. Only someone directly in front of him would see him. Perhaps if they timed it just right, they could remove the guard and replace him with one of their own men with no one the wiser. Then it would be easy for them to sneak into the hall and confront those within. That would certainly disrupt any plans they might be making against Thengel.

He smiled, running the plan through his mind. It might just work, but even if it didn’t, having some of Thengel’s men storm the hall from within might be just enough of a diversion to help the king.

Aragorn carefully closed the door again and waited for the reinforcements, wondering how Gilhael and Wídfara were faring and just where Thengel might be in all this.

****

Gilhael was in a dilemma. Once he got Wídfara to the healers, he planned to return to the fighting. He had already decided not to go back through the licweg but to enter Edoras through the gates and look for Thengel. Yet, when he reached the healers’ tent he wondered if it would not be better to stay there and offer his aid. All about were men, both Rohirrim and Gondorians, who were wounded or even dying, their moans of pain and distress an eerie descant to the shouts and clashing of swords that could be heard coming from the city where the battle raged. He was not the healer his cousin was, but his skills were greater than those of the few leeches who were tending to the wounded. Most of them were women who had followed the army, having some knowledge of herblore, but there were not enough of them and Gilhael knew that as the fighting progressed more and more wounded would be making their way here. Soon, he feared, the healers might be overwhelmed and many who could have been saved would be lost. Wídfara, at least, was safe and his wound had been tended to, so Gilhael felt his duty to the young Rider was done, yet, looking about at the others waiting to be treated, he was torn.

"Do you mean to stand there all day, lord, or will you return to the fighting?"

Gilhael looked to see Beornwyn standing there. He remembered her as the woman Aragorn had saved from the plague. Her expression was one of polite indifference and he had to smile. "With your leave, mistress, I would stay and help with the wounded. I have some knowledge of healing and one more sword will not make a difference as to the outcome of this day’s fighting."

Beornwyn nodded, her expression one of approval. "Then your skills will be welcome here, lord. And think not that you will not be fighting in any more battles today, only that the battle being fought here is of a different kind."

Gilhael nodded, knowing the truth of her words. "Where would you like me to start?" he asked.

"You may start with that one," she pointed to one of Denethor’s men who had suffered an arrow through his shoulder.

The Dúnadan bowed to the woman and went to check on his first patient.

****

Thengel and his men were waiting for the moment when the gates would open, having formed their lines while it was still dark. Now the sky was turning blue with the coming sunrise. Without warning, though, the postern gate opened and someone stepped out waving a piece of white cloth as a token of surrender. Thengel did not know what to make of it, but decided to investigate. Ordering Hildebrand to accompany him, he made his way to the gate, wariness turning to delight at the sight of Gléomund standing there. Their meeting was a glad one, though brief.

"What is happening, my friend?" Thengel said. "I feared you were dead."

"Not I, lord," the old tutor replied with a short laugh. "As to what is happening, Lord Thorongil and those with him have gone into Meduseld by a secret way. He bade us to open the gate for you."

"Us?"

Gléomund nodded. "Come. I will show you." He led the two men back through the postern to be greeted by Captain Folcwine and the others who had helped to capture the gates. Thengel noticed several men sitting against the wall of the guardhouse, trussed up and gagged, glaring balefully at them all, even as he clasped the captain by the shoulders in welcome.

"Another whom we thought dead," he said. "Glad I am that it is not so."

"As am I, Thengel King," Folcwine said with a smile, "though it nearly was so and only by the bravery of your people was I rescued from death."

Thengel nodded. "And for that I am thankful. What resistance will we find?"

"We think that most of the rebels are holed up in Meduseld and that is where the greatest resistance will be," Folcwine said. "Many of the common soldiers and guards who had nothing to do with the rebellion have been placed in the lower sections of the city, forced to comply with the commands of the rebels out of fear of retaliation against their kin. They will be goaded to fight against you but their hearts will not be in it. I think, though, that given the right incentive, they will turn on their masters."

"What incentive do you suggest?" Thengel asked, his expression curious.

Folcwine smiled grimly. "Me," he replied. "Most believe me dead, but if they see me alive and fighting by your side...."

Thengel nodded his understanding, then looked at the old tutor. "You say that Thorongil and the other three have entered Meduseld by a secret way?"

"Aye," the man said. "It leads into the kitchens. I can show the way."

Thengel turned to Hildebrand. "Tell Wulfred to choose twenty men, those skilled in stealth and archery as well as in swordplay, and bring them to me."

The First Marshal nodded and went back to the waiting éored, issuing orders. A few minutes later he returned with Wulfred and twenty other men, a mixed group of fighters from Rohan and Gondor. Thengel told them what he wanted from them and soon they were away with Gléomund and Sigefred. In the meantime, the main gates were opened and Thengel then turned to Folcwine. "It is unlikely that we will be able to take Meduseld, for the rebels have the advantage of terrain, even if we have the advantage of surprise. Therefore, let us keep them occupied while Wulfred and his men make their way there. Hopefully they will meet up with Thorongil and the others and be able to attack from within. We will concentrate on convincing those unfortunates who will be forced to fight for the rebels to turn on them and join us."

Folcwine nodded, drawing his sword. "For Rohan! For Thengel King! Forth Eorlingas!" he shouted and those around him took up the cry, their voices reverberating through the city. Thengel’s army stormed into Edoras on foot, for the narrow streets would make fighting from horseback nearly impossible. As they entered through the gates, Hildered and Hilderic led the charge, while several men veered off as planned and made for the stables to keep them from the rebels.

Thengel had hoped to take the city by surprise with the dawn attack, and he mostly succeeded, but Folcwine’s estimation as to the rebels’ strength fell short, for there were many more pouring out of the barracks in the lower city than originally thought. Thus, resistance was greater than anticipated as the rebels began attacking Thengel’s army, often from strategic locations throughout the lower city that offered suitable ambush. Even with the addition of Erkenbard’s men from Aldburg and those from Gondor, Thengel’s army was still outnumbered, yet they had no choice but to continue fighting. If they retreated now, Edoras would be lost and Thengel would have missed his one chance to regain his throne. In the eyes of many of Thengel’s warriors, death was preferable to permanent exile, which would be their fate if they failed to take back the city.

Slowly Thengel’s army made their way towards Meduseld, though not in as straightforward a manner as they had hoped. Often they found that the most direct routes were blocked by enemy fighters and thus were forced to make detours.

"Why are they trying to force us into the Scamelas?" Hildebrand shouted to Thengel even as he parried a blow that would have struck the king, who was busy fighting off another man. It was true that the enemy forces that had attacked them now appeared to be falling back into a more defensive position, leading the king and his men westward.

"An ambush, I deem," Thengel replied as he smote his attacker, sending him into the arms of death.

"It’s narrow enough for one," the First Marshal averred. "I only hope my sons are not having as difficult a time as we," he added, for Hildered and Hilderic were leading their own men in sorties against the rebels.

"There’s more to it than a simple ambush," Folcwine said, fighting on Thengel’s right, "but there is no time to explain. Something evil lurks in the Scamelas, though I cannot say what it might be. We should turn back."

"We might have no choice," Hildebrand said, "for see you, more enemy soldiers are closing in from behind."

It was true. Thengel and a dozen of his thegns along with Hildebrand and Folcwine had been cut off from the main fighting force, which had moved south and east, and were now being driven west where the streets were the most narrow and abutted right against the mount where Meduseld sat. Thengel and his men passed what had once been a warehouse but presently housed many of the enemy, who were now pouring out onto the street behind the king’s forces, cutting off their escape. The fighting became more fierce then. At one point Thengel stumbled on the uneven cobblestones and would have been decapitated right then and there save for Folcwine coming in and neatly parrying the downward swinging blade. In a few swift movements he unarmed the assailant and slit the man’s throat. Thengel, meantime, found his footing and gave the captain a nod of thanks before rejoining the fight, slaying two men who had thought to take advantage of the king’s momentary inattention.

They were still outnumbered, but Thengel’s men were slowly winnowing the number of enemies down to make the fight more even. Yet Thengel sensed a rising anticipation among the enemy fighters, as if they knew that they had the upper hand. The beleaguered king wondered, but there was little time to ponder the meaning of what he felt for now they had passed into the Scamelas itself and for the first time Thengel despaired.

Waiting for them were nearly a score of the enemy, fresh and ready for battle, while Thengel and his men were already tiring from the day’s fighting. They were trapped.

64: The Tide Turns

Aragorn turned from where he was crouched by the door leading to the main hall to see Denethor coming into the room followed by Wulfred and Hardbeorht and thirty other men, ten of them archers. The Gondorian smiled broadly at the look of disbelief on the Ranger’s face.

"We met outside in the corridor," he said softly. "Thengel sent Wulfred through the tunnels with Gléomund’s aid."

"We were told you might be in need of assistance, Lord Earntungol," the Rider said with a grin.

Hardbeorht grinned as well, though his look was more sheepish. "I fear I could only round up a few men, lord," he said, indicating the archers who had watched over the barrows in case any of the enemy attempted to leave the city through the licweg.

Aragorn gave the younger man a warm hug. "Your archers are most welcome, as are you, Wulfred. Glad I am that Thengel King has entered the city. Let us see what we might do to help him to regain his throne."

He quickly filled them in as to the situation in the outer hall. "I cannot see the actors but I can hear them clearly enough," he told them. "Somewhere in the crowd is a practitioner of the dark arts, an Umbari."

The Riders exchanged uneasy glances but refrained from commenting.

"Do not concern yourselves with him. He is my responsibility. Concentrate on the others. We want the leaders alive if at all possible. I have no doubt the king will want to hold very public trials after he has regained his throne."

They nodded grimly. "How do you propose to take the hall?" Denethor asked. "We do not even know what numbers we will be facing."

"I know, but I came up with a plan while waiting for your return. I did not know how many men we would have so I kept it very simple, but with this many we should have a better chance of succeeding."

"What is your plan, lord?" Wulfred asked.

Aragorn smiled and the others listened attentively as he outlined his idea. Slow smiles spread across their faces as they realized just what the Dúnadan meant to do, smiles that were anything but pleasant as the light of battle glittered in their eyes.

****

In the end, Wulfred decided that he would be the one to take the guard’s place. "I am closer to his build than the others," he said after taking a peek through the door. "With the helm over my head, and standing in the shadows, I will not be recognized as other than what I seem."

So it was decided. Aragorn, however, insisted that he be the one to take the guard out. "I have skills at stealth that you do not," he said to Wulfred and the Rider reluctantly agreed. The others all stood back from the door, dousing all but one of their torches, leaving them in near darkness. Silently, Aragorn opened the door just wide enough to slip through while Denethor stood by. The Dúnadan moved cautiously behind the guard who shifted uneasily as if he knew something was not right but was unsure what. Aragorn did not give him time to react, but rose from his crouch and grabbed him with his left arm around his throat while simultaneously covering the man’s mouth with his right hand. He then pulled the hapless Rohir back into the room.

Denethor quickly closed the door while Aragorn subdued the guard, sending him into unconsciousness before stripping him of his cloak and helm, handing them to Wulfred who donned them and grabbed the guard’s weapons as well. When he was ready, he nodded to Denethor who opened the door again, first checking to see if anyone had noticed the guard’s absence and then Wulfred slipped past him to take up his station.

The entire maneuver took less than two minutes to accomplish. Aragorn, meanwhile, had trussed up the guard with strips of cloth torn from the man’s own tunic and pushed him behind a settee where he was not likely to be found immediately. Then he signaled to the others who followed him and Denethor out into the hall, quietly slipping into the corners of the room behind the dais, waiting for Aragorn to give them the signal to attack.

Aragorn, however, wanted to find the necromancer first. He deemed him to be more dangerous than any of the Rohirrim who were a part of the rebellion. It sickened him to think that Umbar, and through the Black Númenóreans, Sauron, might gain a foothold in the Riddermark. If that ever happened, then Gondor would certainly be doomed and the North would be threatened as well. He hoped that with the squashing of the rebels and Thengel’s return to the throne, that threat would cease, but he had no illusions. Once a toehold was found, it could be used to open up doors to further evils.

He moved silently to Wulfred’s right, gliding Elf-like as his brothers had taught him to stand behind a pillar. He gazed out into the hall, trying to identify the Umbari among the sea of Rohirrim and Haradi. Luckily, there was only a handful of the darker skinned Southrons and they appeared to be clustered around one area to the left of the throne, where a Rohir sat in negligent ease. He was old, perhaps as old as Thengel, for his straw-colored hair was mostly grey, as were his mustaches. While his body was still lean and muscular, there was a hint of fat around his middle that spoke of a life of ease. In spite of that, Aragorn was not so foolish as to assume the man could not hold his own in a fight. There was a hard-boiled look in his cold blue eyes that spoke of one who was used to giving pain, and more, enjoyed the giving. Aragorn’s eyes shifted to the knot of Haradi and saw the Umbari amongst them. His head was swathed in a bandage and he looked to be in a foul mood.

"I tell you the licweg has been breached," the necromancer fairly screamed, speaking in Westron with a heavy accent, clutching his head. Aragorn hoped the man was suffering a major headache. "Our little surprise for Thengel is gone."

"So come up with another surprise, Kadarphazgân Zigûr-bên," the man on the throne said with a sneer, waving a hand in dismissal. Aragorn grimaced at the title by which the Umbari had been called. "Four men and one of them wounded, perhaps unto death. I doubt they will cause too much trouble."

"Where there are four, there will be others, Guthláf," Kadarphazgân sneered. "I wouldn’t be too complacent if I were you. Sixteen men you sent with me and how many returned?"

Guthláf scowled, obviously not pleased with the reminder. "I will send some men to deal with the intruders," he said dismissively. "They are not going anywhere with the door locked. You, on the other hand, promised me that Thengel’s army would run screaming." His eyes went dark and dangerous as he leaned forward to glare at the Umbari. "Well, they’re screaming all right. They’re screaming their way up the tor even as we speak."

"It will take me some time to gather my spells...."

"Don’t bore me with the details, Umbari," Guthláf snarled. "Just get on with it, I...."

He was interrupted by someone running into the hall at a fast clip. Guthláf glared at the runner. "What is it, Waldamer?" he demanded impatiently. "I thought I told you to take care of...."

"Forgive me, Lord Guthláf," Waldamer said, "but you should know that Thengel has been driven into the Scamelas. He is trapped."

Guthláf smiled unpleasantly as he turned his attention to the Umbari. "Thengel will fight whatever the odds. He could very easily be killed. I don’t want that. I want him alive. Go with Waldamer and see to it that he does not suffer so much as a scratch." There was an unspoken threat to his tone that escaped no one’s notice, least of all the Umbari’s. Guthláf then turned back to Waldamer. "Kill anyone else who is with him, but bring Thengel to me alive."

Waldamer bowed and started back down the nave of the hall, stopping beside Kadarphazgân who glared daggers at both men before nodding. "So be it, Guthláf." He gestured to one of the Haradi. "Tammuz, come with us. I will need you for the spell I shall cast."

Aragorn noticed the look of terror mingled with hatred in the Haradi’s eyes and how the other Haradi seemed to shrink away from their hapless companion without actually moving, but the man did not refuse his master. Even as the three started back down the hall, Aragorn gestured to Hardbeorht who was hiding nearby and the Rider stole to his side. Putting his lips to the Rider’s ear Aragorn whispered, "Take the Umbari, but do not kill him."

Hardbeorht nodded, stepped to the side for a better view of the Umbari and shot an arrow. The man cried out in pain as the arrow drove into his shoulder, spinning him around. That was the signal for the other archers to loose their own arrows, having already chosen their targets. The sight of the Umbari falling with an arrow in his shoulder sent the rest of the hall into a panic. Guthláf rose from his seat, and backed away from the dais, screaming for his guards to cover him.

Many of the other men in the hall were drawing swords, trying to form into a defensive force, looking around for the source of the arrows but they were given little chance to form up, for after the barrage of arrows, Wulfred drew his sword, holding it up high. "Forth Eorlingas!" he shouted and the cry was taken up by the rest as they ran into the hall, their own swords drawn, ready to strike the enemy.

"Elendil!" Aragorn shouted as he joined in the fray.

"To me, men of Gondor!" Denethor exclaimed as he too ran out from the shadows and the nine Gondorians who had joined Wulfred’s group rallied to their Steward’s heir even as he was striking a blow at one of the Haradi.

There was a great deal of confusion as the two sides clashed. Aragorn grieved in his heart to see Rohir killing Rohir and shuddered as he remembered the tales Erestor had told him about the Kin-strife that had nearly destroyed Gondor fifteen hundred years earlier. He was fighting one of the traitorous Rohir himself, trying to reach the Umbari’s side. Waldamer had fled, leaving Kadarphazgân lying on the floor near the fire pit with only Tammuz standing over him, but none approached him, for Aragorn had stressed that only he or Denethor should take the necromancer. Denethor, he could see, was holding his own against one of the Haradi, taking him down and going after Guthláf, who had drawn his own sword but still kept within the circle of his men, unwilling to fight yet himself. His expression was murderous though and Aragorn had little doubt that the man could be deadly with the sword when there was need. He pushed the traitor from his mind, concentrating on reaching the Umbari. Even wounded, he could prove more dangerous than the rest.

Slowly, inch by inch, he made his way towards the center of the hall, dodging soldiers until he was facing the Haradi standing over his lord, his scimitar at the ready.

"Why do you fight for him?" Aragorn asked, speaking in Westron, even as he came near. "He would have sacrificed you to his dark arts. What hold has he over you?"

For an answer the Haradi merely snarled. Then he attacked with a vicious sweep of his curved blade that forced Aragorn to jump back in order to avoid being sliced open. He brought his own sword up and his heart sank. He had seen the fear and hatred in the man’s eyes when Kadarphazgân had singled him out from his fellows and had hoped to win him over, but one look at the Haradi’s expression and he knew the necromancer had too firm a grip on the man’s soul. However much he might fear and hate the Umbari, he would not desert him. Then all thoughts about saving the Haradi fled as the ferociousness of the man’s attack forced Aragorn to concentrate on saving his own life.

****

Thengel stared at the soldiers standing further up the Scamelas, their weapons drawn, waiting, while his thegns attempted to keep the enemy behind them at bay and sighed wearily. He was tiring and he knew that he and the few troops who had followed him into the trap could not possibly survive the slaughter that awaited them. He turned to look at Hildebrand and Folcwine, both wearing grim expressions on their blood-streaked faces and cast them a wry look. "I can take the ones on the right while you deal with those on the left," he said half in jest and the other two snorted at the king’s attempt at humor.

"Just so long as you do not try to claim all the glory for yourself, Uncle, I suppose that will be fine," Hildebrand said with a straight face and Thengel laughed at the absurdity of it all.

"Then let us see what we can do to make our ending as glorious as possible," he said. Then he raised his sword. "For Rohan!" he cried.

"For Rohan! For Thengel King!" Hildebrand and Folcwine shouted almost at the same time and the three charged up the street ready to sell their lives as dearly as possible. Behind them Thengel’s few remaining thegns battled on, hoping to buy their liege a few extra minutes of life. None of them expected to see the sun’s setting. One of them began to sing a dirge which the others picked up on and their fighting became more frenzied as they attempted to take as many of the enemy with them before they fell into death’s embrace.

Thengel heard the singing behind him even as he engaged the first of the fighters waiting for him and he laughed again, more loudly than before. It had been a good run, he thought, and his only real regret was that he would never see his wife and children again. At least, if Lord Béma was kind, they would find safety in Gondor. He and Morwen had discussed it before he left Dunharrow and she had promised to flee with their children to Gondor and seek asylum with Ecthelion. He smiled, content in his heart that at least his son and heir would live and perhaps someday with Gondor’s aid, he would be able to reclaim his father’s throne.

He laughed again, a fey mood taking him as he dealt out death and then he began singing his own dirge. A moment later he heard Hildebrand and Folcwine joining him.

****

Cyneric stood among the troops at the top of the Scamelas in dismay. He hated what he was about to do, for he was loyal to Rohan and to its rightful king. Circumstances, however, had forced him to bow to the traitors who now held Edoras. When he learned that Thengel had come to reclaim his throne he had been secretly glad but knew that there was little chance of the king succeeding. Now he was among the troop about to slaughter the king and his loyal thegns. Cyneric swallowed nervously, fear stealing through his veins like ice, robbing him of his courage. He was just a simple city guard, pledged to see to the safety and well-being of the citizens of Edoras. The most dangerous thing he had ever done until now was to chase after some chickens that had escaped from Widow Éothryth’s coop. And now, he was about to become cyningslaga.

At least he was not in the first row of fighters, for the street was narrow, perhaps three men wide. He watched in growing despair as Thengel and two of his men rushed them. It was only as they drew closer that Cyneric recognized the man on the right. He gasped in disbelief and then in growing excitement.

"Folcwine!" he screamed. "Captain Folcwine for Thengel!" And then, heedless of the furor his shout was causing among the troop, he drew his sword and swiped at one of the hated traitors, a guard captain who had enjoyed tormenting him. "Save the king! Folcwine lives!" he fairly screamed, turning to attack yet another of the troop. "Up Thengelingas! Now is the hour to fulfill your oaths to lord and land!"

Others among the troop who were still secretly loyal to Thengel took up the cry and began setting on those among the troop known to be in league with Guthláf and the old queen. Suddenly Cyneric found himself facing his closest friend, Rædwulf, who had helped the traitors, fearing for the safety of his family. Even when his wife and child were safely out of the city, he had continued aiding Waldamer and his cronies. Cyneric had tried to convince him not to turn against his own people, but Rædwulf would not listen. Now, they were staring at one another.

"Fool!" Rædwulf snarled. "Do you think Thengel will win against them, against the Dark One and his magic?"

"Only if we remain true to our oaths and fight for him, Rædwulf," Cyneric pleaded. "Will you condemn Ashlind and Wulfstan to exile, bereft of kith and kin because you yielded to the traitors? Do they deserve that from you?"

"It’s too late for me," Rædwulf said in a hoarse whisper. "If I survive and Thengel regains his throne, death or exile will be my lot."

"No, Rædwulf," Cyneric insisted. "Join me. Fight beside me as my brother-in-arms. The king is wise and merciful. He will understand why you did what you did, but only if you help him now. This is your chance to redeem yourself. You will never get another."

"And if Thengel fails to regain his throne?" Rædwulf demanded hotly. "What then?"

"Death is preferable to the alternative, my friend," Cyneric said bluntly. "Better to die fighting for what you know is right than to stand aside in hopes that the outcome will be in your favor. This is the moment, Rædwulf. Choose now. Join me, or fight me. Which will it be?"

For a moment Rædwulf stared at his one-time friend and saw the sincerity in his eyes, as well as the resolve to fight him if he had to. He glanced about him. The two had wedged themselves between two stalls to hold their debate and had been ignored by all. The battle had moved further down the street and had become a melee as a few of the guards turned on their fellows. The shock of it had given them the advantage at first but they were still outnumbered by the traitors and it was obvious that Thengel and his men would not long survive. Yet still they fought on.

Cyneric pointed to the captain of the guard, long thought dead at Waldamer’s hands. "Look!" he said. "We all thought Captain Folcwine dead. Yet there he stands fighting beside his king. Not all is lost, brother. If we are to die today, let us at least die fighting for the right side. Let us not be known forever more as cyningslagan."

Rædwulf hesitated for another moment, then stole a glance at Cyneric who gazed at him steadily. Then he nodded. "For Thengel," he whispered and then with a yell he raised his sword and ran down to join the fighting with Cyneric behind him. "Folcwine lives!" he yelled even as he started slashing at his opponent, one of the men who had helped take Meduseld and claimed that Captain Folcwine had been executed. "Waldamer lied. Folcwine lives and so does our king. Men of Edoras, throw off the shackles of slavery. If we die, let us die as free men." With a sweeping arc of his sword he slashed the other man’s throat.

That seemed to be the impetus that some of the other men needed and now several more of them declared themselves for Thengel and began attacking those who still fought for Guthláf. Side-by-side, Cyneric and Rædwulf fought and when Rædwulf began singing an old battle song as counterpoint to the dirge that was being sung by Thengel’s men, Cyneric joined right in. Soon others took up the song. Shivers ran up and down Cyneric’s spine when he realized that Thengel himself had joined in the singing.

He felt his spirits lift. Death might well be his lot that day, as Lord Béma willed, but it would be glorious and that was all that mattered to him at that moment.

****

Kadarphazgân: (Adûnaic) ‘City-conqueror’.

Zigûr-bên: (Adûnaic) ‘Wizard’s Servant’. Zigûr was the Adûnaic form of Sauron [see ‘The Notion Club Papers’ and ‘The Drowning of Anadúnë’, HoME vol. 9, Sauron Defeated].

Cyningslaga: (Rohirric/Anglo-Saxon) King-slayer. The plural would be cyningslagan. The act of regicide would be cyningslege.

65: Triumph and Tragedy

"Kill them! Kill them!" Aragorn heard Guthláf scream as he ducked under the sweep of the Haradi’s scimitar. He had lost track of Denethor in the melee and was unsure where Wulfred or Hardbeorht were. The archers had done an excellent job of sowing confusion among the traitors with the judicious use of their arrows, especially when several men rushed in from outside, having heard the fighting or been warned of it. Once the struggle began in earnest, though, they had put aside their bows and had taken up swords with equal deadliness.

Aragorn and the Haradi had moved away from the central fire pit, though the Dúnadan kept one eye on the Umbari, still lying where he had been struck down. He needed to defeat his opponent and secure the necromancer before the man regained consciousness and attempted to flee or cast a spell. Unfortunately, the Haradi was more skilled than Aragorn had anticipated and he was placed almost immediately on the defensive. The Haradi gave him an evil grin, his expression one of confidence that he would win this bout. That confidence, however, proved short-lived. As the man brought his scimitar down for yet another killing blow, Aragorn suddenly dropped to the ground, forcing the Haradi to overbalance when the expected parry never came. The Dúnadan rolled on his back in time to bring his own sword up so that the man neatly impaled himself on the point. There was a blank look of surprise on the Haradi’s face and then his eyes closed in death, his body sagging further down the sword.

Aragorn managed to wiggle his way out from underneath and pull his sword from the man's body, casting a quick glance around to see what was happening. He spied Denethor with three other Gondorians as well as a couple of the Rohirrim fighting the soldiers surrounding Guthláf, who still stood there screaming orders but was not joining in the fight itself. Hardbeorht was down and Aragorn could not tell if the young man was dead or merely unconscious. Of Wulfred there was no sign.

Throughout the hall, men lay dying or dead, but it appeared that Thengel’s men had the upper hand. Aragorn watched as Denethor slew another of Guthláf’s men, thereby creating an opening in the defensive circle around the traitor. Immediately, before Guthláf’s men could close the gap, Denethor dropped his sword and then recklessly charged at the man, bowling him over before he even had time to bring his sword to bear, knocking the sword out of Guthláf's hand in the process. Denethor rolled onto his back so that Guthláf was now acting as a shield. With a flick of his wrist the Gondorian had a dagger at the man’s throat.

"Stop or he is dead," he yelled.

If he was expecting immediate obedience, however, he was disappointed, for, if anything, Guthláf’s men fought even more fiercely than before. Guthláf, in spite of his perilous position sneered. "We’re already dead, Stanlending," he said contemptuously. "Your threat is meaningless."

Aragorn saw the smile on Denethor’s face and shivered involuntarily. "Then, you won’t be disappointed when I slit your throat here and now," the Gondorian said in a conversational tone. He made to do just that but Guthláf yelled, "Stop! Stop! Do as he says!"

But some of the men refused to do so. They knew that they were already dead men, for Thengel would show no mercy to them for betraying him, so they fought on in desperation, but it was a lost cause, and soon they were dead. Two or three simply fled, and Denethor let them go.

"They will not get far," he said as a couple of his men hauled Guthláf off him and began securing the traitor.

Aragorn, meanwhile, had secured the still unconscious Umbari, gagging him for good measure to ensure he would be incapable of casting any spells. He bound the man’s wound and gestured for two of the Rohirrim to stand guard over him. "Let none near him and if he awakens, call me."

Then he went to check on the condition of some of the other men who had fallen. Hardbeorht, he found, still breathed, though his wounds were grievous and Aragorn was unsure if the young man would live beyond the morrow. He was attempting to bind the Rider’s wounds when Denethor approached.

"Where’s Wulfred?" Aragorn asked, not bothering to look up from his task as the Gondorian knelt beside him.

"I saw him running after the man Guthláf called Waldamer," Denethor answered. "What do you want to do now?"

"We need to secure all of Meduseld," Aragorn replied. "How many men did we lose?"

"Fewer than I feared we would," Denethor said. "Hardbeorht appears to be the worst wounded, and my man, Anborn, has a broken arm. We lost three or four but the rest are able to fight still."

Aragorn nodded. "See if you can find the king’s standard that we may place it where all can see. Let all know that Meduseld is now in the hands of the king."

"Even though Thengel is not here and may even now lie dead in the streets of his city?" Denethor asked incredulously.

"Even so," Aragorn said firmly. "If the king’s standard is seen flying then perhaps the rebels will lose heart and those in hiding will find the courage to come out to do battle for their king."

Denethor nodded. "I will see to it, then. What will you do?"

Aragorn gave him a quirk of his lips. "Find Thengel and let him know that he can claim his throne whenever he’s not busy."

Denethor snorted. "I will see that Meduseld is secured and the wounded treated while you do just that."

The two young men exchanged grins, clasping each other in a warrior’s salute. "Before I go," Aragorn said, "I wish to see Guthláf and the Umbari into the dungeons where they can do no more harm."

Denethor nodded. "That will be the wisest course." Then he cast the Dúnadan a sly smile. "Would you happen to know where they are?"

Aragorn smiled. "Follow me," he said and led the way down to the dungeons. In a short while the outlaw and the necromancer were placed in separate cells. For good measure neither was unbound and they continued to be gagged. Two men, one Rohir and one Gondorian, were chosen to stand guard over the two prisoners. The other rebels, at least those who were alive, were herded into the kitchen and forced to descend into the cold cellar. A heavy table was overturned and shifted to block the cellar door, effectively imprisoning them.

Once the prisoners were secured, Aragorn left in search of the King of Rohan while Denethor led a search throughout Meduseld looking for other rebels who might be hiding, but none were found, only frightened servants who had been forced to serve Guthláf and his cronies. One of the scullery maids, a young woman barely out of childhood, came forth with a ragged piece of green cloth, thrusting it at Denethor.

"They was gonna t’throw it on the rubbish heap, they was," she said in Rohirric, which one of Wulfred’s men translated into Westron for him. The Gondorian unfolded what turned out to be the king’s banner, soiled and torn but still recognizable. "I waited ’til dark and rescued it. Kept it hid under m’mattress."

Denethor stared at the maid in wonder, the girl blushing in embarrassment, her eyes down. "What is your name, young lady?" he asked gently as he handed the standard to one of the Rohir archers, giving him a nod. The man nodded in turn and then left to raise the banner over Meduseld.

"Dernwyn, lord," she said, giving him an awkward curtsey.

"Thank you, Dernwyn, for saving the king’s standard. I will make sure Thengel knows of your brave act."

The maid blushed even more, murmuring something unintelligible before fleeing to the safety of the kitchen and her work. Denethor and the men with him smiled indulgently at her retreating figure. Then the son of Gondor’s Steward sighed, rubbing his hand across his eyes. "I only hope Thengel is alive to hear of it."

The others nodded grimly, silently hoping the same. Then Denethor gathered himself. "Come. Meduseld is ours," he said as he strode briskly back to the main hall. "Let us ensure that it remains so. I want every conceivable entrance into the Hall covered, especially the main doors and...."

****

Aragorn slipped out of the main doors of Meduseld to behold a grim sight. Wulfred lay dead surrounded by the bodies of several other men, including Waldamer. The loyal Rider had made a good account of himself before he died, Aragorn saw with grim satisfaction as he checked to see if any were yet living. There were none. He rose from his crouch just as some of the warriors who had followed Wulfred into Meduseld came out to secure the front entrance. They gathered around the fallen warrior, giving him a warrior’s salute before they went about the grim business of clearing the bodies away. Wulfred they lifted reverently and took him back inside the hall to lie in state. The rebel dead were pushed to one side though Aragorn had no doubt they would be given proper burial when the time came. Thengel would see to it, if he still lived. The Dúnadan scanned the city from his vantage point, trying to see what was happening, hoping to find some evidence that Thengel still lived. He remembered Waldamer saying something about the Scamelas and swept his gaze in that direction, shielding his eyes to see better in the sun’s glare. By now it was nearly noon and the battle for Edoras had been going on for nearly six hours, longer if one considered the battle against the barrow-wight and the necromancer.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the gold-washed armor of the king glinting in the noonday sun. Thengel was still alive and it appeared that he and his men were winning against their foes. He turned his attention to other fronts and saw that slowly the enemy was being forced back towards the tor. It was important that they not gain entrance to Meduseld itself. He turned back to the hall and found Denethor standing by the fire pit surrounded by a ring of warriors as the Gondorian issued orders.

"Thengel King lives," Aragorn announced without preamble. "I saw him still fighting in the Scamelas."

All eyes turned on him and there were obvious looks of relief on the faces of the Rohirrim. Denethor nodded grimly. "And the battle, how goes it?"

"The enemy forces are being driven to the tor," Aragorn said. "We need to make sure that they don’t make it all the way here or they may overrun us."

Denethor nodded. "We have a dozen or so archers still able to draw their bows. Think you that will be enough to force the enemy to surrender?"

Aragorn grinned. "Why don’t we go find out?" he said as he picked up a bow from one of the fallen archers and gathered arrows for himself.

Just then, the Rider who had taken the standard returned, informing them that the banner was aloft. "Though I doubt anyone has noticed," he said.

Denethor turned to Aragorn. "Go and see what you and the archers can do while I hunt for a way to let all know that Meduseld now belongs to Thengel King."

Aragorn nodded and led the archers away. Denethor grabbed the man who had raised the king’s banner. "Dúnstan, we need to get people’s attention. Do you know where the battle horns are kept?"

Dúnstan grinned, gesturing for Denethor to follow him. "The armory is this way, lord."

****

Thengel leaned on his sword, catching his breath. He was weary but he knew the battle was not yet won. Beside him stood Hildebrand, sporting a deep cut on his sword arm which he was bandaging with Folcwine’s aid while the three of them stood between two of the meat stalls, keeping out of the way of the fighting that was still raging around them. Assured that his First Marshal was in good hands, Thengel scanned the street, nodding in grim satisfaction. His men were holding their own now that they were joined by some of those who had originally opposed them. He had been both surprised and pleased when the young guardsman had called out, declaring himself for his king. It was a brave thing to do and he hoped the man had survived so he could reward him suitably. He happened to look up towards the tor towering above them and felt his eyes widen in disbelief and then he smiled.

"Look!" he said to the two men beside him.

They glanced in the direction in which he was pointing and both gave startled gasps. "He did it, then," Folcwine said in an awed whisper. "He actually did it."

"Indeed," Thengel said, his eyes brightening with renewed hope. "Let us therefore make sure...."

"’Ware!"

Before any of them could react, someone rushed in front of Thengel, his sword upraised, attempting to parry the blow that had been aimed at the king. The man however failed to deflect the sword and the thrust meant for the king instead found its way into him. Thengel was in time to raise his own sword and cut the assailant down. Then he knelt beside the guardsman who had placed himself between him and the traitor’s sword. The man still lived though there was no doubt that he was only minutes away from death.

"Rædwulf!"

Thengel looked up to see a young man come running towards them, his face stricken with grief.

"Rædwulf," he called again as he knelt beside Thengel. Folcwine and Hildebrand were now standing in guard position to ensure their safety.

"That is his name?" Thengel asked and the young man nodded, tears streaming unheeded down his cheeks.

Rædwulf opened his eyes though he seemed not to see them, his gaze fixed on something else. He gasped for breath. "Th-the king... he...."

"He lives," Thengel said softly. "Thanks to thee. Go now in peace, knowing thou hast the king’s favor."

Rædwulf shook his head. "Nay," he said in a rasping voice. "I... I betrayed...."

"No, Rædwulf," the other guardsman said, soothing Rædwulf’s brow with a gentle hand, "You redeemed yourself. I swear it." The look of anguish when he glanced at Thengel told the story and the king nodded.

"He speaketh truly, Rædwulf..." he paused, looking up at the other man with a questioning look.

"Son of Wulfstan," the young man supplied. "I am his friend, Cyneric son of Cyneward."

Thengel nodded, then looked down at the dying man. "Cyneric speaketh truly, Rædwulf son of Wulfstan. I, Thengel son of Fengel, declare thee ‘unforcúð ond unforworht’. Let thy sacrifice be thine uncéast between us."

Rædwulf blinked, giving Thengel a brief nod, then he turned his head slightly, his gaze now on his friend. "Ash...Ashlind... m-my son..."

"They will be cared for," Cyneric promised, weeping all the while. "I will bring them into my own household. Have no fear for them. They will never know want. I swear it, Rædwulf."

Rædwulf closed his eyes. "Good," he whispered and a smile crept across his face even as he breathed his last.

Cyneric stifled a sob and looked at the king with pleading eyes. "He... he was afraid... we all were...."

Thengel laid the dead man gently on the ground, then clasped the other by the shoulders. "He died a hero’s death," the king said kindly. "He will be honored as such. No stain will fall upon his wife and child." Then he gave the young man a searching look. "You are the one who declared himself for me."

Cyneric nodded. "I am many things, Thengel King," he said, "and I have done things of which I am not proud, things done in fear and doubt, but never let it be said that I was cyningslaga."

Thengel was about to comment but before he could draw breath, a horn sounded from above them. Its notes were sweet and silvery and Thengel felt joy leap in his heart. He stood and, shading his eyes, looked up and saw Denethor standing before the doors of Meduseld, surrounded by archers. The horn itself he recognized: cunningly wrought all of fair silver with a baldric of green. He knew that wrights had engraven upon it swift horsemen riding in a line that wound about it from the tip to the mouth; and there were set runes of great virtue. It was the Horn of Eorl the Young, made by the dwarves and taken from the hoard of Scatha the Worm, which he had brought from the North and it was a great heirloom of Thengel’s house.

As the notes of the horn rang across the city, the fighting slowly ceased as all looked up in wonder, unsure of what it portended. The sound of it caused many different reactions among those who heard it. Joy and hope entered the hearts of Thengel’s men, while fear sapped the wills of the traitors. Many of Thengel’s men who lay wounded or dying through the city felt heartened by its music. Outside the city walls, Gilhael, checking on Wídfara, felt his heart race and he had to steel himself from immediately leaping up, sword in hand, to answer that call. Wídfara, who had been moaning in pain, suddenly ceased, a smile on his lips as he slipped into deep healing sleep. All around the healing tent many of the wounded also had contented looks on their faces, their pain lessened, if only for a brief time.

Back in the city, Denethor blew the horn one more time, then, as the last note drifted away on the breeze, he lowered the horn, looking out upon the city.

"Men of Rohan," he shouted, "look ye upon the banner that flieth above the roof of Meduseld." He pointed upward without looking. "It is the King’s banner. Thengel King holds Meduseld."

Thengel, when he heard Denethor’s words, gave Hildebrand and Folcwine a wry grin. "It’s nice to know I can be in two places at the same time," he whispered and the two men grinned back.

"Cease your fighting, ye who have taken arms against your rightful lord," Denethor continued. "Guthláf is taken prisoner and your cause is lost. Surrender now and mercy may yet be yours."

"He’s assuming much," Hildebrand said with a scowl.

"He is attempting to minimize the number of dead," Thengel said with an approving nod. "Rohir against Rohir... that we have succumbed to kin-strife even as the people of Gondor once did...." he sighed, shaking his head as he looked down at Cyneric cradling his dead friend’s body, still mourning, though there was the same look of hope in his eyes that he saw in others standing about, listening to Denethor’s speech. "I would have it end, here and now," the king continued.

Hildebrand and Folcwine exchanged glances and then nodded to one another, as if coming to some mutual decision. The First Marshal turned back to Thengel. "Then, we should get you to Meduseld as quickly as we may, so that Lord Denethor’s words are true in fact as well as in spirit."

"If the traitors see you there," Folcwine said, "they may well surrender."

Thengel nodded and looked around at the men standing uncertainly, still staring up at the tor. "Put down your weapons," he ordered. "Surrender and I will see that you are all treated with justice and not with vengeance. I know that some of you fight for Guthláf for fear of your kin’s safety and not because you are disloyal to me. Surrender now and prove yourselves true men of the Mark."

Such was the force of his words that, first one, then another dropped their weapons, standing mutely with expressions ranging from sorrow to relief. Soon all had surrendered. Thengel nodded, pleased, and addressed his own men. "Secure them but do not mistreat them. They are your kith and kin who have been misled or coerced into fighting against us. Then see to the dead."

Those thegns still living as well as those, such as Cyneric, who had declared themselves for Thengel early on, took charge of herding the prisoners back down the Scamelas to the warehouse where many of them had been housed. Meanwhile, Thengel, Hildebrand and Folcwine followed.

They progressed through the city towards the stairs leading to Meduseld with Hildebrand shouted, "Make way, make way for Thengel King." Folcwine remained at the king's side, his sword drawn in guard position.

As Thengel passed through the throng, his men began to cheer. The sight of Thengel seemed to take the heart out of those who had willingly opposed him even as those who had fought unwillingly gladly handed over their weapons in surrender. At every turn Thengel instructed the army to treat the prisoners and any enemy wounded or dead with respect. "For I will have none dishonor themselves with petty vengeance," he concluded and so what many had feared would happen to them did not. Only a few of the worst betrayers would not surrender and they were either killed or they fell on their own swords.

As the three men reached the stairs leading to the Hall, they were met by Hildebrand’s sons, each with a prisoner in tow. Thengel recognized them as Léodward of Alorharadsdale and Isenbert of Isenbrandingsdale. The former appeared dazed and there was a deep gash on his head, roughly bandaged. Isenbert merely looked murderous and he was gagged. Thengel gave his nephews an enquiring look.

Hilderic, who was dragging Isenbert along, grinned. "He was saying some unflattering things about you, Uncle. I decided I wasn’t interested in listening to them."

Thengel nodded. "Bring them along," he ordered as he began climbing the tor. He noticed Hildered gently speaking to Léodward who gazed at him with a look of innocent trust as the young man led him up towards Meduseld. "What happened to Léodward?" he asked.

"Tripped in the mud and blood and banged his head against stone," Hildered explained. "I thought he was dead at first. When he came to, though, he appeared witless." The young man frowned. "I’m not even sure if he knows where he is or what has happened."

"We will let Thorongil take a look at him," Thengel said. "His healing skills are quite profound and he may be able to help him."

By now they had reached the porch. He saw Thorongil and Denethor standing together. Denethor still held the horn while Thorongil had relinquished his bow and stood beside the Gondorian, a smile creasing his face at the sight of Thengel coming up the stairs. Denethor also smiled as he bowed to the king, handing him the horn.

"Welcome, Thengel King," the son of the Steward said formally. "Thy throne awaits thee."

Thengel took the horn and nodded, saying nothing, for in truth, he knew not what to say at that moment. There were too many conflicting emotions running through him and his one real desire was to fall into the arms of his beloved Morwen and weep. Instead, he walked regally into Meduseld with the others following. Down the central nave he strode and up the dais to stand before them. He gazed across the sea of expectant faces and smiled faintly as he sat on his throne, the horn lying on his lap.

After a long moment of silence he spoke. "It is good to be back home," he said softly.

At once, a great cheer rose from those in the Hall. "Westu hál, Thengel!" they all shouted. "Westu hál!"

And as the men continued to cheer, Thengel, sixteenth King of Rohan, sat on the throne of his fathers, clutching Eorl the Young’s horn, and wept.

****

Standlending: Gondorian, literally ‘Stone-land person’.

Unforcúð ond unforworht: 'Honorable and innocent (of wrongdoing)'. Unforcúð also means ‘brave, noble’.

Uncéast: Oath of reconcilation.

Note: The horn which Denethor blows is, of course, the very Horn of the Mark that Éowyn and Éomer will give to Merry many years later. The description is taken directly from The Return of the King, Book VI, Chapter 6, ‘Many Partings’.

66: Pearls of Grief

When the acclamations died down, Thengel looked up, his eyes red-rimmed though his tears had abated and he appeared calmer. He stared out upon those in the Hall and took a deep centering breath. "Now begins the hardest part of all," he said, his voice ringing through the Hall. "Now we must gather our dead and wounded and begin the task of rebuilding, rebuilding lives as well as homes. Underharrow lies in ruins and much of Edoras is also damaged. Much must be done. Hildebrand, you will organize the people into work details. The first order of business is clearing the city of the dead ere pestilence finds us and succoring the wounded as well as gathering up prisoners."

"What of the traitors," Hildebrand asked, "and those in the city who sided with them?"

"Those, whether wounded or dead, who can be identified as citizens of Edoras are to be treated with respect, for many of them were forced to fight against us out of fear for their loved ones being held hostage to their obedience and many of these in the end turned against their masters and aided us. As for those who can be identified as having followed Guthláf and the other leaders of the rebellion into Edoras...." he sighed, shaking his head. "Let those who are dead be separated from our own. The wounded are not to be mistreated but keep them separate as well."

Hildebrand nodded and began to issue orders. Thengel motioned for Aragorn and Denethor to approach him. He gave them a steady look. "In all of this you have not mentioned my mother," he said in a low voice, his tone harsh with grief and anger at the waste of it all. "Where is she?"

The two scions of Númenor exchanged looks of dismay before Aragorn addressed the king. "I will show you," he said, his demeanor one of resignation.

Thengel nodded and followed Aragorn and Denethor into the private part of the Hall. He was surprised when they came to his own bedroom and Aragorn opened the way into the licweg. "What does this mean?" he demanded.

Aragorn shook his head even as he held a torch for Denethor to light. "It is best if we show you, lord," he said grimly.

"Then show me," Thengel said, mentally steeling himself for what he might find.

They made their way through the licweg, keeping silent, until they reached the cavern. Thengel paused for a moment in confusion as he spied the crude looking altar covered with black ashes. Aragorn and Denethor continued walking until they stood before it, their expressions blank.

Thengel felt a frisson of fear course through him and he suppressed a shiver as he joined the other two. He felt his stomach twist sickeningly as he stared down at the ashes clearly delineating a bodily form. "My mother," he said dully.

"Yes," Aragorn replied tersely and then went on to tell of the evil that all could sense emanating from this area, pointing up to the Scamelas above them. Then, he explained how he, Denethor, Gilhael and Wídfara had found the barrow-wight and destroyed it. He took great pains to highlight Wídfara’s role in all of it, ending with the encounter with the Umbari necromancer and what came of it.

"That is why they were herding us into the Scamelas," Thengel finally said after a long moment of silence as certain pieces fell into place.

"Yes," Denethor said. "They themselves were given some immunity from the terror the wight was generating, so they did not realize that there was no longer any terror to be felt."

Thengel stared down at what remained of the Dowager Queen, his expression hardening. "And in the end you were betrayed even as you betrayed, Mother. May the Valar have mercy on you for had you lived you would have found none in me." He glanced at the two men standing there with looks of dismay on their faces. "This will remain our secret," he said. "She was old and in ill health. Death was not unexpected."

"How will you explain the fact that there is no body?" Aragorn asked.

"I will not," Thengel replied firmly. "I will have the ashes gathered up and sent to Aldburg in secret. Her death will be announced at a later time. There will be no funeral dirges sung for her. I will not accord her that privilege."

"I will look for a suitable coffer," Aragorn said with a brief bow. "It is best that none handle the ashes but myself. The evil has been banished but...."

Thengel nodded then clapped Aragorn on the shoulder, giving both men a wan smile. "For what you have done, words cannot express the depth of my gratitude. This war was not your concern, yet you made it so."

"Rohan is an ally of Gondor," Denethor said, "but more importantly, thou’rt a friend of Father. Gondor is proud to come to Rohan’s aid in her hour of need."

Thengel held out a hand to the son of Ecthelion which the young man took. "Then let us renew the Oath of Friendship between us when the time is meet."

"And while there is no Oath between Rohan and the Dúnedain of the North, as was given between Eorl and Cirion," Aragorn said solemnly, and unknown to the other two men, speaking as the Chieftain of the Dúnedain as well as the rightful king of Gondor and Arnor, "still we of the North recognize Rohan as an ally as well. When I took oath with thee, Thengel King, I made this war my concern, as did my cousin. Even if I had been but a stranger passing through, still I would have fought by thy side, for to do otherwise would have been to betray my own honor."

"For your words," Thengel said, giving both men a brief bow, "I thank ye." He cast a final glance at the ashes that were all that remained of an old and bitter woman whom he had once called ‘Mother’ and sighed. "Let us leave this dismal place. Later, I will have this altar torn down and the cavern rehallowed, but for now, we should bar any doors leading into the licweg."

The other two nodded and Denethor offered to go down to the cemetery door while Thengel and Aragorn started back up the tunnel towards Meduseld. "I have a coffer that you can use," Thengel said to him. "It is in the bedroom or should be unless it has been taken."

"It does not appear as if anything in Meduseld was looted, lord," Aragorn said, "but in truth, I did not stop long enough to take an inventory."

Thengel chuckled at the attempted levity. They stopped when they reached the landing, waiting for Denethor to catch up. Thengel looked down the tunnel that he now knew led to the stables. "We should bar this door as well," he said, pointing into the darkness, "even though I suspect that only Offa knows of this way."

Aragorn nodded. "I will see to it," and he strode down the tunnel and shortly came upon a door and bolted it, then returned to where Thengel still stood but now Denethor was with him. They made their way into the king’s bedroom and Thengel went to a clothespress and began rummaging in it.

"Ah, here it is," he said in satisfaction as he pulled out a coffer. He stood and showed it to them. Aragorn saw that it was made of mountain ash, cunningly carved in low relief with figures of horsemen on its sides. The lid was inlaid with enameled pieces in a colorful design of a running horse. "My father had this made for my mother to put her jewels in," Thengel explained. "For some reason, when she went to Aldburg, this was left behind. I always meant to send it to her, but...." He shrugged and handed it to Aragorn. "I believe this will be appropriate enough."

Aragorn took the coffer and opened it. The inside was laid with green silk but otherwise was empty. He looked up into Thengel’s eyes. "I will see to it, lord, and until you are ready to send her remains to Aldburg, the coffer will remain in the licweg."

Thengel nodded. "I had best see to other matters. When you are done, if you will, go among the wounded and succor them. I must find out if Léofwine survived," he said, naming his court healer.

Aragorn nodded. "He may well have escaped into the tunnels. Gléomund should know. As soon as I finish here I will go in search of my cousin and see how he and Wídfara fared, then I will do what I can for the wounded."

"And I will help with organizing patrols to keep peace in the city," Denethor offered. "Emotions are running high and some might seek vengeance or take advantage of the general chaos and attempt to loot the dead or even the living."

"Yes," Thengel said grimly. "There is always that after any battle. Go then, and find either Hildebrand or Folcwine and tell them I sent you for this very purpose." Then he strode out of the room. Denethor gave Aragorn a quick smile. "Do you need help?"

The Dúnadan shook his head. "This is a gruesome task best left to me. Go and do as you have said. I will meet up with you later. Look for me among the healers."

Denethor nodded and left. Aragorn stared at the coffer in his hands for a moment before letting out a sigh. Then he grabbed a torch and made his way back down the licweg to gather the ashes of a dead queen.

****

Gilhael looked up from ministering to one of the wounded to see Aragorn standing at the entrance to the healer’s tent, scanning the area. His eyes lighted on his cousin and the lines of worry and fatigue smoothed away into a heartfelt smile as he crossed the distance between them. Gilhael rose and the two embraced.

"I wondered if I would ever see you again," Gilhael said in softly spoken Sindarin.

"I saw little in the way of battle," Aragorn replied in kind. "Thengel has sent me to help."

Gilhael nodded. "As you can see, there is much need of your other skills."

"Wídfara?" Aragorn asked, looking about but not seeing his friend.

"Rest easy," Gilhael said. "He is well. He is in another tent. This one is for those who have been identified as having joined the rebellion. The few leeches who are about are more concerned with tending to Thengel’s loyal troops. As you can see, I am about the only one here to see to these men."

Aragorn nodded. "Then I will stay and help you. Rebels and traitors they may be, but they deserve healing and not all these I deem are true traitors, but were forced into joining the rebellion because of oaths given to their lords, oaths which their lords betrayed. I think Thengel will show mercy on these men."

"Good," Gilhael said as the two began to attend to the wounded. "Many of these poor souls, as you can see, are young, some of them barely out of boyhood. It would grieve me to see them banished from their homes or hanging from a gibbet."

Aragorn knelt beside one such youngster, perhaps not much older than sixteen or seventeen, his face contorted with pain and fear. "Do not fear," Aragorn said in Rohirric, smiling, "I am a healer and will help you."

"Wh-why?" the lad asked perplexed. "Th-they will k-kill me anyway."

"Who told you this?" Aragorn asked as he began cleaning the sword cut along the lad’s left leg. It had luckily missed the artery, else he would already be dead. As it was, Aragorn did not think the lad would ever be able to walk unaided; for the hamstring had been cut.

The young lad shook his head, his eyes full of pain and dread. "Th-they said we would all be... be killed," and now he was weeping, lost in despair.

Aragorn stopped what he was doing and gathered the lad into his arms, gently rocking him. "Hush now," he whispered. "All will be well. What is your name and where are you from?"

"H-hámamund s-son of Hámafast." the boy answered, wiping the tears from his face. "I come from Alorharadsdale. M-my father is Lord Léodward’s geréfa."

"Well, Hámamund son of Hámafast," Aragorn said. "I promise you, no harm will come to you. Thengel King is wise and will know who fought against him willingly and who did not."

"Father said we had to fulfill our oaths to Lord Léodward," Hámamund said forlornly. "I... I didn’t want to come but Father said...." He started weeping again and Aragorn held him more closely, humming a lullaby that his mother used to sing to him. Eventually, Hámamund succumbed to a restless sleep while Aragorn continued to treat his wounds.

"I fear his story is not unique," Gilhael said, speaking in Sindarin, having overheard the exchange between the young lad and his cousin as he worked on another man nearby.

"No, I doubt that it is," Aragorn said. "These people pride themselves on keeping their oaths to lord and land and it must be terrible to know that one’s oaths are betrayed by the very lords to whom one has sworn service."

Gilhael nodded. "They are caught between fulfilling their oaths to their lords and thus betraying their king or refusing to fulfill their oaths to their lords and perhaps sufferring death for it. Either way they are condemned as oathbreakers. It is a terrible dilemma."

"Indeed."

The two healers looked up from their ministrations to see Thengel standing there, his expression grim. They started to rise but Thengel waved them back down, walking over to where Aragorn was still treating Hámamund. He looked down at the lad, moaning in pain but not fully awake, his face slick with sweat and grime.

"So young," he muttered, speaking Sindarin as well, shaking his head.

"His name is Hámamund son of Hámafast Geréfa of Alorharadsdale," Aragorn said. "He did not want to come here but was given no choice."

Thengel nodded. "So I am hearing from others. Léoward and Isenbert and the other lords of Eastfold who rebelled against me have much to answer for."

"How is Lord Léodward?" Aragorn asked. "That head injury should not be allowed to fester."

"Léofwine is looking after him," Thengel said. "You were correct that he managed to escape into the tunnels. Léodward appears dazed and almost childlike, unsure where he is or why. Léofwine thinks that the blow on his head brought about a brain storm and now he is as you saw him, biddable as a child and with less wit than a five-year-old."

"He may recover yet," Aragorn said. "I have seen it happen before."

"Perhaps," Thengel said as he knelt beside Hámamund and gently stroked the lad’s hair, which seemed to calm him somewhat. "At any rate, he has been housed in the royal nursery under guard. He seems content there and I didn’t have the heart to have him thrown into prison. It just didn’t seem right."

"When will you begin the trials?" Gilhael asked in curiosity as he moved to another patient and began cleaning the man’s wound.

Thengel sighed. "Too much else must be done before we begin the trials. Too much grief must be assuaged first. I will not reside over any trials until I am able to do so without hatred in my heart."

"Thou’rt wise, Thengel King," Gilhael said gravely, stopping his ministrations to regard the king solemnly. "Gather thou thy pearls of grief and string them together, and as thou dost, release thine anger and sorrow. When all thy pearls are strung, tie them together and put them away for safekeeping, for such pearls are not for wearing lest they burden thy heart unnecessarily. When thou thinkest thyself ready, take them out and examine each pearl, acknowledging them and honoring them, then put them away again and go on with thy life."

"Pearls of grief," Thengel muttered.

"Something someone said to me after orcs destroyed my family," Gilhael said softly. "It took me a long time to string them, but eventually I did."

Thengel looked at the older Ranger and saw something there that he had not noticed before, a calm acceptance of what was. He nodded in understanding. "Your words are wise, Lord Gilhael. I will remember them. May I ask who spoke these words to you?"

"Lord Elrond of Imladris," Gilhael said.

Thengel’s eyes widened with the revelation and then he rose with a sigh. "I think I should go and begin gathering those pearls," he said sadly. "There are quite a few of them and it will take me time to string them all." Without another word he strode out of the tent, leaving the two Dúnedain alone with the wounded once more.

****

Geréfa: Reeve. Pronounced yuh-REE-vah. The reeve was generally appointed by the king or a lord to maintain the peace in a particular area, such as the lord’s demesne, a port or a shire. The word scirgerefa ‘shire-reeve’ eventually became our word sheriff.

Note: The title is taken from Ranier Maria Rilke’s Duino Elegies: The Tenth Elegy:

     ‘She is Lament....

     She waits for girls and befriends them. Shows them gently,

     what she is wearing. Pearls of grief and the fine-spun veils of patience. —

     With young men she walks in silence.’

67: The King’s Justice

The days and weeks that followed were busy with cleaning up after the battle. The wounded were treated and the dead buried. The fight for Edoras had delayed the planting season, so there was little hope that the harvest would be as plentiful as in previous years, but Thengel encouraged those who farmed the royal estates to do their best.

"We will need all the grain we can harvest," he said to his councillors. "This winter will be hard on us but less so than the previous one and next year will be better."

"I will ask Father to help with that," Denethor said. "Our granaries have been overflowing and there’s more than enough to spare. I have no doubt he will even offer you a discount on the price for friendship’s sake." This last was said with a straight face, though his eyes were twinkling with merriment.

Thengel threw back his head and laughed. "I would expect nothing less from Ecthelion," he said, "and I am grateful for whatever help Gondor sees fit to give us."

It was evident that the common people of Edoras suffered terribly during the winter, eking out their meager supplies while the leaders of the rebellion feasted on the spoils. Many were gaunt and not a few were ill from near starvation. Aragorn, Gilhael and the other healers spent as much time dealing with the hurts and illnesses of the citizenry as they did treating the wounds of the soldiers.

Two weeks after the battle, Morwen arrived with her children. Everyone flocked to see the newest princess, not even two months old yet, and the sight of her nestled in their queen’s arms brought cheers and a new sense of hope to the people. Théodgiefu was a sign to them of better days.

There were joyful reunions with those who returned to Edoras with the queen and some that were less joyous. Aragorn, who was on hand to greet the returnees alongside Thengel, watched as Cyneric took Ashlind and her brother Aldred aside to tell them the news about Rædwulf. He saw the look of hope in Ashlind’s eyes transmute into one of shock and despair. He had heard of Rædwulf’s sacrifice from Cyneric himself and had been glad that the guardsman was able to redeem himself in the end. He worried for the young widow and her son but was relieved when Cyneric told him of his plan to bring her into his own household along with Ashlind’s brother. When he saw Cyneric grab Ashlind as she started to faint, Aragorn excused himself and made his way to the small party of mourners. Aldred had taken little Wulfstan into his arms and was trying to comfort the toddler who, while he did not understand that his papa was dead, knew that his mama was upset and had begun crying in sympathy.

"Let’s take you to where you can have some privacy," Aragorn said softly as he came to them. Cyneric and Aldred gave him relieved looks and soon the Ranger was leading them into a nearby guardhouse where a fire was burning brightly on the grate. One of the off-duty guards was there and he looked up at their entrance.

"Will you make some tea for the lady?" Aragorn asked. "She’s had a bad shock."

The man nodded and soon a kettle was on the fire. Aragorn stayed with them to see that Ashlind drank the tea, speaking softly to Cyneric and Aldred about their memories of Rædwulf. Aldred was grieving as much as his sister and Aragorn realized that the young man had looked upon Rædwulf as an older brother and not just as his sister’s husband.

"He was always good to Ashlind and me," the boy said, his eyes wet with tears. "Our parents were dead and he treated me like a younger brother instead of an extra mouth to feed."

"He made mistakes, but in the end he did the right thing," Aragorn assured them. "Thengel declared him innocent and Rædwulf lived long enough to reconcile with the king. He died a hero and no stain lies upon his memory. Take comfort in that at least."

Aldred nodded and when Aragorn took his leave to attend to his other duties, Ashlind thanked him for his words of comfort.

****

Thengel delayed the inevitable trials until he felt secure enough to preside over them without letting his deep-seated anger take over. Also, evidence needed to be gathered for and against those who were deemed responsible for the rebellion or who took part in it. It took time to sort out all the details, for Thengel had declared that he would not necessarily punish the retainers who followed their lords for the sake of their oaths if they could be charged with no other crimes. He reminded those responsible for gathering witnesses to take care not to confuse vengeance with justice.

"Many may seek to give testimony out of malice, as a way of striking back against their oppressors," Thengel said. "I have no desire to satisfy their bloodlust. Be careful to discern between those seeking true justice from those seeking revenge. If in doubt as to the sincerity of the witness or the evidence, set it aside for others to examine." He did not say that those others would be Thorongil, Gilhael and Denethor. As outsiders with no kin ties to anyone in the Riddermark, they would be able to examine the evidence and the witnesses with complete disinterest.

Thus, it was the first week of the month that the Rohirrim called Þrimylce and the Elves Lothron before the trials began. To facilitate the crowds, the trials were held on the porch before the doors of Meduseld so all could witness the king’s justice. He was surrounded by his loyal thegns and those of the witan that had survived. Morwen sat beside him with little Théodgiefu nestled in her arms, sleeping contentedly. The older children were seated on either side of the thrones with Théoden sitting on Thengel’s right as his heir. Aragorn, Gilhael and Denethor were also there but standing more to the side to show that they were spectators and impartial witnesses to the trials.

The first to be brought forth were those warriors who had surrendered to Thengel’s troops willingly. They came before the court in two main groups, those from Edoras and those from the Eastfold. It had been determined earlier that these men and young boys had been forced into fighting against Thengel out of fear for the safety of their kin or because of oaths given to their lords who were behind the rebellion.

When the Eastfold men were brought forth it could be seen that many stood before the court with fear in their eyes, though a few simply looked resigned, believing that they would suffer exile or even death. Aragorn saw young Hámamund standing beside an older man who had an arm wrapped protectively around him and knew he was seeing the boy’s father, Hámafast, once Lord Léodward’s gerefa. Aragorn could tell from their expressions that they were not expecting to be pardoned for participating in the rebellion, so he could not help but smile when their expressions of fear and resignation turned to one of dawning hope when Thengel announced that they were forgiven.

"You were caught between breaking your oaths to your lords or to me, thus becoming oathbreakers no matter what you did," Thengel said to them. "And, I know that not a few of you were forced to fight out of fear of reprisals against your families. Your lords betrayed your trust and many suffered death or injury for that betrayal. Therefore, I will ask only that you renew your oaths to me and I will let you return to your homes. New lords will be found whose loyalty to me is known and I will see to it that you are treated fairly by them."

One by one the Eastfold men knelt before the King and gave him their oaths. It took the better part of an hour and when Hámamund and Hámafast finally stood before the king, Thengel stayed them from kneeling. Instead, he stood, taking the goblet of water that sat on a small table next to his make-shift throne, offering it to the boy who was white as a sheet, for he was only just lately released from his sickbed and was not completely healed of his wound. Hámafast, in fact, had to hold him up even though the boy was using a cane to help him walk. Aragorn moved to Hámamund’s other side, offering him his support. Thengel waited until the boy was looking steadier before speaking.

"It grieves me that you were so wounded, son. I am glad that both you and your father survived. Now, I will accept your father’s oath for the both of you, while Lord Thorongil sees that you do not embarrass yourself by falling flat on your face." He gave them a warm smile and Hámafast looked upon the king with gratitude while his son offered a weak smile. Thengel remained standing while Hámafast gave him his oath on behalf of himself and his son and when he was finished, Thengel raised him and gave him a warrior’s clasp. Then he took off a ring from his left hand and gave it to a surprised Hámamund.

"I have been told, young Hámamund, that, reluctant to fight though you were, you nonetheless fought bravely, protecting your father and taking the sword thrust meant for him. Such courage and sacrifice should not go unrewarded and so I give you this small token in honor of your love for your father and your loyalty to me."

Hámamund stammered his thanks, now looking bashful. Thengel gave him a fatherly smile and turned to Hámafast. "You are Lord Léodward’s geréfa," he said and Hámafast nodded. "I have heard that you served him faithfully and well in your office and that you tried to dissuade him from joining in the rebellion."

"And I failed," Hámafast said sorrowfully.

"Perhaps," Thengel averred, "but your reputation for honesty and fairness is known among the Eastfold folk. I would ask that you continue to act as geréfa while I determine to which of my loyal thegns I will give Alorharadsdale. I promise that whoever I choose will not dismiss you from your duties but if you wish, you may resign from the office after serving your new lord for one year. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Indeed, lord, that is more than I had hoped for," Hámafast said with obvious relief. "I feared I would have no means of supporting my family. I will serve whomever you send as faithfully as I know how. Neither he nor you will have cause to complain."

"That is good," Thengel said, clapping the man on the shoulder. He then dismissed them to take the oath of the next man waiting in line.

When it came time for the men of Edoras to appear before the king, he allowed them to take their oaths to him as a group. "For I know that in your hearts you were loyal to me," Thengel said. Then, Cyneric was brought before the king separately and Thengel looked upon him with great fondness.

"Cyneric son of Cyneward, you declared yourself for me rather than be accused of kingslaying even though you stood in the midst of the enemy. It was a brave act and I thank you for encouraging many of your fellow soldiers to turn against their oppressors. Without your declaration of loyalty I fear that even had the day been won I would not have lived to enjoy it. I need no oath of loyalty from you, for it was given that day on the battlefield. Later, I will give you a suitable reward, but for now accept my heartfelt thanks."

"To see you back on the throne of your fathers, Thengel King, is reward enough," Cyneric said with a low bow and then allowed himself to be led aside to stand next to a fully recovered Wídfara who gave him a warm smile and a brief hug.

A smaller group of men were then brought forth. They were those against whom evidence existed of their willing complicity in the plot to overthrow Thengel or were accused of mistreating the people of Edoras and taking delight in their torment. Thengel had little forbearance towards them. He gazed upon them gravely, his eyes cold. "That you sided with the traitors I can almost forgive," he said, "for many were forced to do so, but that you took equal delight in mistreating and tormenting your neighbors, spying on them and harrassing them out of spite or pure malice, that I cannot forgive. Yet, neither am I willing to banish you from Rohan or have you executed. Neither solution solves the immediate problem of restoration. Underharrow lies burned to the ground and I vowed that I would see it rise from the ashes. Much of Edoras has also suffered destruction and I would see it restored to its former beauty. Therefore, I sentence you to ten years of hard labor. You will be fed and clothed and a small stipend will be set aside for each of you. If you serve your term faithfully, you will be given the money to start anew. Your families will not be forced to share your punishment and I will see to it that they neither suffer harm from others for your crimes nor go without if there is none else to support them."

Then the men were led away amidst much whispering among the populace. Thengel could not tell if they were pleased or angry at his judgment. Morwen leaned over and gave her husband a light kiss. "They may grumble for now," she whispered, "but in the end they will recognize your wisdom and your mercy."

"Let us hope," he said as he stood, for with this last group the trials were over for the day. Tomorrow the trials for the ringleaders would begin.

****

It was decided to try the ringleaders separately, rather than as a group. The first brought before Thengel was Léodward of Alorharadsdale. He was brought unchained, for he had never fully recovered from his head injury. Aragorn had examined him along with Thengel’s personal healer, Léofwine, and they both came to the conclusion that the man would remain imbecilic. Hildered led him before Thengel, for it turned out that Léodward was more tractable in the young man’s presence and seemed to trust him when he trusted no others. Thengel sighed as the man stood before him, gazing around in curiosity and smiling.

"There is no chance that he is faking it?" Thengel asked Aragorn, who had stepped forward to explain the man’s physical and mental condition. Thengel had decided that it would be best to give this a public hearing so all might see that there was no hint of improper treatment of the prisoner.

"No, lord," Aragorn answered. "A man may act the imbecile when he knows he has an audience, but not when he believes himself alone and unseen. Also, there are certain signs of behavior that are self-evident of an injured mind if one knows what to look for. Most people might think they can act childlike but few can successfully pull it off consistently. Neither Léofwine nor I nor any of the other observers have seen anything to indicate otherwise. Lord Léodward is unlikely to ever recover fully from his injuries. As you see him now so will he remain." Aragorn refrained from mentioning the possibility that Elrond of Imladris might have been able to reverse the damage done to Léodward’s mind, knowing that taking the Rohir lord to Imladris was out of the question.

"Then, it is your opinion that Léodward of Alorharadsdale is unfit to stand trial for his treachery."

"Indeed, lord," Aragorn replied. "When we questioned him about it he did not understand our words. He was more interested in... er... playing with your children’s toys." He gave the king a rueful look. When the royal children had returned, Thengel ordered Léodward removed from the nursery. The man started screaming as the guards began dragging him away until little Théodhild ran to him and gave him one of her stuffed toys. He calmed down immediately and Thengel had reluctantly allowed him to stay when Théoden promised to look after him. He had become a favorite of the children and it had been both amusing and heartbreaking to see this once proud warrior playing happily with them.

Thengel nodded. He, of course, had discussed Léodward’s condition and possible fate with Aragorn, Léofwine and Morwen at great length over the previous weeks and the solution they had arrived at seemed the only fair one. This hearing was merely for show and Thengel would not have subjected the man to the public eye except that he felt it necessary that the people see the truth for themselves. "We will consider his ultimate fate later," Thengel said, "but for now, let him continue to live in Meduseld under the watchful eyes of my children." He looked down at his four older children with a fond smile. "I understand they have adopted him."

There were quiet chuckles from those standing nearby and Hildered led Léodward back to the nursery. All heard the young man praising him for being good and promising him an extra sweet for his noon meal as a reward, speaking to him much as a parent would speak to a young child. There were murmurs from the crowd and much shaking of heads at the sight.

Isenbert of Isenbrandingsdale was brought to Thengel next. Unlike Léodward, he came in chains. His demeanor was haughty and supercilious. Thengel’s frown deepened at the sight. At his nod, Hildebrand stood forth and read out the charges of sedition and betrayal and when asked if he denied any of the charges, the man spat. "I deny nothing," he snarled.

"Then the only question that remains is: Why?" Thengel said. "Was my rule so onerous to you?"

Isenbert drew himself up as fully as he could given the chains. "Fengel was a fool and avaricious to the point of excess and many suffered under his rule, but not all. Some of us did quite well under him but when you came to the throne with your foreign wife and ways, with your annoying sense of honor and generosity, I knew that unwelcome change was in the wind."

"Unwelcome by you, perhaps," Hildebrand said, "but not by the rest of us. Too many of us suffered under Fengel’s rule, even to the point of driving away his own heir."

"And so you decided to join my mother in rebellion simply to maintain your lifestyle?" Thengel asked.

Isenbert sniffed. "Not entirely. You see, I knew about Fréawine." He cast a knowing glance at the lord of Brandingsdale who stood among the king’s party and sneered. "A clever ruse. I was often tempted to tell Fengel about it, but decided I could profit better by keeping silent."

"And by blackmailing me," Fréawine retorted.

Thengel gave his cousin and friend a questioning look and Fréawine nodded. "He came to Brandingsdale shortly after my mother passed on and told me he knew the truth of what happened. Threatened to go to Fengel about it unless I paid him a certain sum. I almost refused him, but I feared for what Fengel might do to my people in retaliation. So I paid the sum."

"How much was it?" Thengel asked softly.

"Twenty gold coins," Fréawine answered through gritted teeth as he glared daggers at the unconcerned prisoner. There were murmurs of surprise among the spectators at that. For that price, one could buy oneself enough land to be eligible for thegn-status. "And that was just the first payment," Fréawine continued. Now there were audible gasps of shock among the people and even Thengel looked momentarily nonplused until anger took him and his expression darkened.

"So we have extortion to add to your list of crimes," he said and Isenbert shrugged smugly.

"What can you do to me, Thengel? Our laws are quite explicit. I’ll pay any wergild you wish, and will except exile...."

"You ought to hang!" young Théoden shouted, suddenly leaping up from his seat, his expression one of fury and deep pain. "You’re a bad man and you... you killed my friend." The boy broke down sobbing and Thengel took him into his embrace to comfort him. There was an uneasy silence as the king attempted to calm his son down.

"What do you mean, Théoden?" he asked. "Which friend did Lord Isenbert kill?"

"I... I don’t know..." the youngster sniffed, ignoring his mother’s handkerchief for the sleeve of his tunic to wipe the tears from his face. "He... he never told me his name. He tried to save me but he," and now he pointed at the prisoner, "came with some others and k-killed him and took me to grandmama. Th-they laughed when they threw his... his body into a ditch." Now Théoden started weeping again in earnest and Morwen gave Théodgiefu to her eldest daughter to hold while she gathered her only son into her arms and rocked him.

Thengel gave Isenbert a hard, unforgiving stare. Isenbert just shrugged, smiling smugly. "It was war. I did what I had to."

The king’s eyes narrowed. "Who decided to bring Guthláf into this? Who solicited the help of the Swertings and an Umbari necromancer?"

"Léodward brought in Guthláf," Isenbert sneered, "but we had nothing to do with the Swertings or the spellcaster." He spat at this, his disdain clear. "Guthláf brought them with him. Éolind wasn’t too happy with the situation and castigated Léodward for it, but the damage was done and Guthláf did prove useful in taking Edoras."

"Did you sanction my mother’s death?" Thengel asked softly, leaning forward, so that only those closest to him could hear.

Isenbert’s sneer slipped and he shook his head. "Guthláf and the hag had an argument over the use of dark magic," he said just as softly. "Éolind was many things, but even she drew the line at that. Guthláf disagreed." He shrugged.

"And you did nothing to stop it," Thengel said.

"Neither Léodward nor I were present at the... er... discussion. We had no love for Guthláf’s pet magic user and stayed as far away from him as possible. We were usually busy keeping the city in order and never stayed at Meduseld. We didn’t even know what had happened until Léodward happened to wander through the Scamelas. It was he who demanded we be given protection against that thing."

"I am surprised that you allowed Guthláf so much power," Thengel said, leaning back in his seat.

Isenbert shrugged. "We would have taken care of him eventually." His eyes were cold and there was no remorse in them.

Thengel sighed, rubbing his hand across his eyes. "You are mistaken about one thing, Isenbert," he said quietly. "You believe that your position saves you from death, but you knowingly consorted with a necromancer, and the penalty for that is death regardless of one’s status."

"I had nothing to do with that," Isenbert snarled. "He is Guthláf’s pet, not mine."

"A minor technicality," Thengel said offhandedly and Isenbert’s bluster faded away at the implacable look the king gave him. "Who ordered Underharrow burned?"

The unexpectedness of the question threw everyone and for a moment there was complete silence. Isenbert swallowed nervously. "It was a... joint decision," he muttered, not looking at Thengel.

For several tense minutes silence reigned, the only noise being the flapping of banners in the wind. Finally, Thengel nodded. "You and Léodward caused much grief for no other reason than to profit from other people’s losses. You appear unrepentant and there is no guarantee that sent into exile you will not cause me further trouble and I would not foist your sorry self upon innocent and unsuspecting people. So, you will indeed pay the wergild. All your lands and moneys are forfeited to the crown and you and your heirs are stripped of all titles. You will join the other malcontents in the labor camps helping to rebuild what you tried to destroy. They have been sentenced to ten years of hard labor, but you, Isenbert, once of Isenbrandingsdale, I sentence for life. Take him away."

Isenbert paled at Thengel’s words. "You can’t do that!" he protested, struggling against the guards who were dragging him back to his cell.

"I can and I will," Thengel said calmly. "And there is no one who will gainsay my right to do so."

Isenbert continued to scream invectives until he was out of sight and hearing. Thengel sighed and turned to Hildebrand. "Dismiss the people," he said.

"We still have Guthláf and the Umbari to try," the First Marshal reminded him.

"It can wait until tomorrow," Thengel said as he rose. "I cannot face them today."

There was understanding in the eyes of those around him and Hildebrand stepped forward announcing the end of court for that day while Thengel took Morwen in his arms and led her away, their children following.

****

Þrimylce: May, literally ‘three milk-givings’ because in this month the cows gave milk three times a day. Pronounced ‘thrimilch’. The Hobbits called this month Thrimidge. [See Appendix D].

Lothron: (Sindarin) May/June of the Gregorian calendar.

Swertings: Haradrim.

68: Storm Warnings

The next morning brought rain clouds though the rain held off for a time. Brisk winds whipped around the tor and all huddled in cloaks against the unexpected cold.

"Feels more like the end of Gwaeron," Gilhael muttered to Aragorn and Denethor as they made their way to where Thengel’s outdoor throne was set up. Workers had hurried to raise a pavilion over the area to protect the king and his entourage from the worst of the weather.

"It’s a good thing we only have to deal with Guthláf and the Umbari today," Aragorn said as he huddled into his cloak. "It should go very quickly. I doubt Thengel will waste much time on them."

"He will spend as much time as he feels it necessary to show his people that he judges with justice and not with vengeance in his heart," Denethor said gravely. Then he gave them a quick smile. "Though I hope he sees fit to either move the trial inside or postpone it until the weather is more seasonable."

"Certainly the crowds will be less in this weather," Gilhael predicted, but he was proved wrong.

Braving the cold wind and the threat of rain were most of the populace of Edoras. No amount of inclement weather was going to deter them from seeing justice done. Guthláf was already a proven outlaw; his death was assured. Aragorn suspected that it was the Umbari’s trial that most interested them. Thengel had earlier determined that the Haradrim soldiers who accompanied Guthláf and Kadarphazgân should be sent back to Harad, but when he learned that doing so would result in their executions, most likely as sacrifices to Sauron, he changed his mind and sentenced them to servitude for life. They would help rebuild Edoras or Underharrow alongside the other traitors and then be sent to the Westmark where they would be dispersed among the different villages to live out the rest of their lives. Thengel assured them that they were not slaves, but indentured servants who would be paid for their services and be afforded a modicum of freedom as long as they proved themselves cooperative. One or two found ways to kill themselves rather than accept the king’s judgment but the rest appeared grateful that they would not be sent back in disgrace to Harad. Their guards were already teaching them Rohirric, preparing them for their new life.

Thengel made his way to the pavilion with Morwen at his side. All the children except for the baby were there as well, bundled up in winter cloaks. When all were assembled, the two prisoners were brought forth. Thengel had decided against trying them separately for he wanted to get it over and done with. He was heartsore and weary of it all.

Guthláf was tightly bound, as was Kadarphazgân, but only the Umbari was gagged as a precaution. Both men glared balefully at the assembled court. Thengel decided to keep the interrogation short and got directly to the point.

"Who hired you, Guthláf?" he asked brusquely.

The outlaw sneered. "Léodward of Alorharadsdale approached me through various channels."

"Why would he do that?" Thengel demanded. "I am surprised he even knew where to start looking for you."

"Oh, Léodward has had dealings with Gondor for years and through Gondor with other interests further south and east," the man answered. "When your father exiled me, I had few options. There was nothing to the north for me so I made my way into Gondor, figuring I could find work there. I was living in Pelargir when Umbari pirates attacked. I had the misfortune of being taken captive and was eventually sold to Kadarphazgân here." He gave the Umbari a sour look.

Thengel pursed his lips. "Yet, you entered Edoras as a lord and not as this one’s slave," he said.

"Kadarphazgân gave me my freedom a few years later," Guthláf answered with a shrug. "I decided to remain in Umbar. It proved... lucrative. When Léodward’s agents contacted me I went to my former master, suggesting an alliance. He agreed and the rest you know."

"Which brings us to you, Umbari," Thengel said, nodding to the man’s guards to remove his gag. Aragorn had warned against it but Thengel needed answers that only Kadarphazgân could give. He had agreed to keep the questioning short and to the point. He stared at the Black Númenórean, keeping his expression neutral. As a Ranger in Ithilien, he had had dealings with the pirates that plagued the southern fiefdoms of Gondor with their raids. He had no love for them or for those who dabbled in the dark arts. Kadarphazgân’s fate was sealed from the moment he employed his magic against Rohan. Now all Thengel wished to know was who ordered his mother murdered as a sacrifice. He believed Isenbert when the man had told of his distaste for what Guthláf and the Umbari were doing. If Guthláf had had any aversion to the use of magic he apparently had lost it during his time in Umbar.

"Which one of you decided to use my mother for your nefarious deeds?" he asked, keeping his language vague. He had already had Éolind’s death publicly announced, stating only that she who had betrayed Rohan had in turn been betrayed by her cohorts and murdered. Most of the citizenry considered it poetic justice and left it at that.

Guthláf sneered and the Umbari began speaking in an unknown language. Aragorn shifted his stance, stepping forward. "Kibithahê bêthî nê-saphudim!" he barked. "Kibithahê Anadûniyê!"

The Umbari scowled and everyone else stared at Aragorn in surprise, all but Gilhael, who hid a smile.

"You understand what he is saying?" Thengel asked.

Aragorn nodded. "It is the language of Númenor spoken by the common people in daily use and when Ar-Gimilzôr forbade the speaking of the Elvish language it became the primary language among the nobles as well, though the Faithful still spoke Sindarin in secret. It fell out of favor among the Faithful who came with Anárion and Isildur to Gondor, though Westron is heavily influenced by it. In the North, it is still spoken among the Dúnedain. The Black Númenóreans of Umbar also speak it as their native language."

Thengel nodded, then turned his attention back to the prisoners. "I will ask you again, Umbari. Whose decision was it to murder my mother? If you decide not to answer in Westron then I will have Lord Thorongil translate for us and Lord Gilhael will corroborate his translation."

"You assume that I will answer at all," Kadarphazgân said with a scowl.

"I suppose it matters not in the end," Thengel said. "We know your hand did the deed and we know why."

Aragorn, who had not stepped back, now turned to Thengel with a bow. "With your permission, Thengel King, there is one question I would ask the prisoner."

"Ask then," Thengel said.

Aragorn turned to the Umbari. "Whom do you serve, Kadarphazgân of Umbar?"

"Lord Zagarthôr...."

"No, Kadarphazgân," Aragorn said coldly. "Whom do you truly serve?"

For a moment the two men stared at one another and the tension was palpable. Finally the Umbari sneered. "You already know the answer to that, nûph ’n urukthôr!" he spat.

"What does he mean, Lord Thorongil?" Thengel demanded.

Never taking his eyes off the Umbari, Aragorn answered. "I overheard Guthláf call this one Zigûr-bên."

Gilhael sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. "You are sure of this, Cousin?" he asked and Aragorn nodded.

"And?" Thengel asked impatiently.

"The translation would be ‘wizard’s servant’ but Zigûr was the name by which Sauron was known in Númenor," Aragorn answered.

Thengel’s face paled at the implications of Aragorn’s words and his eyes narrowed as he turned to Guthláf. "Sauron! You would have sold Rohan into slavery to that one?"

Guthláf did not answer, his expression stony.

Thengel eyed the outlaw with contempt. "Our laws forbid that nobles found guilty of crimes be executed, but that is something I intend to change. Too long we have sent our noble criminals into exile to have others deal with them as they would, not willing to take responsibility for them ourselves. Léodward I cannot punish as I would like, for his head injury has left him with the mind of a child and he remembers not his crimes against me and Isenbert will spend the rest of his life in servitude to us. You, on the other hand, I will punish along with your... friend here. Necromancy is forbidden in Rohan and the practice of it carries a death sentence regardless of the person’s status. That you consorted with one and allowed such evil purchase in our land also condemns you, Guthláf of Gálmódingsdale."

"You think you’ve won, Thengel son of Fengel," Guthláf said with a cold sneer, "but I tell you true: your victory is only partial. Watch yourself, King of Rohan. There are forces ranged against you of which you have no knowledge. Not all of your enemies hide in the shadows. Some there are who walk under the broad light of day and not all enemies come from the east."

Thengel leaned forward as he gave Guthláf a hard stare. "Thank you for the warning, but I figured that much out for myself." He leaned back. "I will give you this one mercy, Guthláf, though it is more than you deserve. You and the Umbari will be taken outside the walls and executed by beheading. I have been assured by the one who will perform the execution that he will be able to do it with one blow." He then gestured to the guards who hustled the two condemned men away with Guthláf shouting curses down on Thengel’s head.

The Umbari’s eyes were dark with fury and he began shouting in Adûnaic. "Bâr ’n Dulgathâni uphazga! Kâtha Sakalaban akalba ugru-dalad!"

When Aragorn started to translate the Umbari’s words, Thengel stayed him with a brusque gesture. "He has nothing to say that I wish to hear." Aragorn gave Thengel a bow and remained silent, casting a concerned look at Gilhael, who frowned and shook his head.

The rain clouds, which had darkened all during the trial, suddenly opened up into a torrent as the prisoners were led away. Lightning flashed followed by the peal of thunder, drowning out the prisoners’ invectives. Morwen gathered the children and headed back into Meduseld, but Thengel, along with the rest of the court followed after the condemned men, determined to see these executions first hand.

"When they are dead," the king said to Hildebrand who was walking beside him, "arrange for their bodies to be burnt. I would cleanse the evil of their presence in fire. When that is done, place the ashes together into a plain coffer. I will have it sent with Lord Denethor when he returns to Gondor and ask him to drop it into the ocean. I don’t want even their ashes to despoil our land or those of our allies."

Denethor, having heard Thengel’s words as he walked a few steps behind the king, promised to see to the disposition of the ashes personally. "I am due to visit Dol Amroth this summer," he said. "I will arrange with Lord Adrahil to have the ashes taken far out to sea."

"That is well," Thengel said and then he remained silent as they continued out of the city to where the executions would take place. The storm reflected the mood of the spectators and the gloom made it difficult to see what was happening. Several guards were forced to hold the two writhing prisoners down while the executioner, his face covered with a black cloth to hide his identity, made quick use of his axe, the flash of lightening that struck just as the Umbari was beheaded casting an eerie light over the scene. Not a few felt shivers that had nothing to do with the cold and rain.

When it was over, Thengel sighed and nodded in grim satisfaction. Then, wordlessly he turned away and headed back into Edoras while Hildebrand made the necessary arrangements for the disposal of the bodies. They would have to wait until drier weather before burning them, but for now they were placed in a disused guardroom that had suffered enough damage during the battle to be presently unlivable.

When Thengel reached Meduseld, he doffed his cloak and went to stand before the blazing fire to warm himself. Morwen came carrying Théodgiefu and placed their newest daughter in his arms. The king automatically started rocking the baby as she gurgled and squirmed. When his other children joined them with little Théodhild leaning contentedly against him, for the first time in days Thengel felt himself relax in the warmth of his family’s love and he smiled.

****

By mutual consent Aragorn, Gilhael, Denethor and Wídfara made their way to the rooms set aside for the Dúnedain, leaving Thengel alone with his family.

"I’m heartily glad that’s over with," Wídfara said with a relieved sigh as he settled into the one chair the room could boast, accepting a goblet of mead from Aragorn who was acting as host. While he was fully recovered from his wound, his body ached from the cold and the rain and he was noticeably pale. Aragorn had insisted Wídfara take the chair while the other three sat on the beds or, in Denethor’s case, on a pile of furs which he claimed was more comfortable than the cots.

"We all are," Gilhael said as he took an appreciative sip of the honeyed drink. Then he shook his head, looking more sorrowful. "So many needlessly dead: Wulfred, Hardbeorht, Rædwulf, Déorhunta... the list goes on."

"Yet it does not go on forever," Aragorn said solicitously. "We lost good men, but I do not think they would begrudge their deaths knowing that they helped to secure Thengel’s throne for him and for his son."

The others nodded and there was a companionable silence between them as they contemplated the friends and comrades whom they had lost. After a few minutes and before the mood of the men became too maudlin, Wídfara stirred and gave Aragorn a puzzled look.

"Just what was that Umbari shouting about at the end, anyway?" he asked.

"Nothing complementary, I assure you," Aragorn said with a frown. Then he translated the words for both Wídfara and Denethor.

The Gondorian frowned. "They hoped to get a toehold in Rohan, thus surrounding Gondor. It has only been a few years since the Nameless One declared himself openly, and Barad-dûr is now rebuilt. Mount Doom burst into flame just three years ago and now Ithilien is completely deserted save for our Rangers who keep watch. Father thinks that the Enemy will strike soon. I think what has happened here in Rohan was the opening gambit."

"Perhaps," Aragorn conceded, "though there seems to be other forces at work here. The increasing attacks against the Westfold, not only by Dunlendings but by orcs is worrying and I doubt they were inspired by Sauron."

"Agents of his sowing seeds of shadows and unrest?" Gilhael asked.

"Possibly," Aragorn said, "but who those agents could be is anyone’s guess." He shrugged and took a sip of his mead, his eyes not focused on anything in particular as he thought things through. "Guthláf’s admission that Léodward had dealings not only in Gondor but possibly in Harad and Umbar is troubling and I doubt me that he was the only one."

"The people of the Eastfold have always done trading with Gondor," Wídfara said somewhat defensively, "though mostly with the farming communities in Anórien. Under Fengel’s rule trade between our two peoples was discouraged, though it still went on. When Thengel returned, there was more open trading. In fact, in Hærfestmónað the farmers from the Eastfold and Anórien hold a fair at the Mering Stream to celebrate the end of the harvest."

Denethor nodded. "Father was glad that trade between the Eastfold and Anórien increased after Thengel came to Rohan. He hopes that now our alliance will be strengthened once again. Fengel gave lip-service to Eorl’s Oath but we knew that he would never truly honor it. If the Enemy means to strike, Gondor will have need of Rohan."

"Sauron is patient," Aragorn said. "It may be many years before he is ready to wage war against the West. We still have time."

"How can you be so sure?" Denethor asked with some concern.

"Because he does not have Isildur’s Bane," Gilhael answered grimly.

Denethor visibly shuddered at that. Wídfara started to ask for an explanation, but a knock on the door cut him off. Aragorn went and opened it to find one of Thengel’s guards there.

"Lord Thorongil," he said, "Thengel King bids you and these other men to attend him. Gandalf Greyhame has just arrived."

The men all gasped at the news and the guard was nearly bowled over by the rush of bodies as Aragorn and the others quickly made their way to the main hall.

"Mithrandir!" Aragorn cried as he entered the hall and espied the Wizard sitting beside Thengel next to the central fire pit, warming himself.

The Wizard looked up and his face creased into a broad smile as he rose and held out his arms to embrace the young man. "My dear boy, it is good to see you again," he said. "And you too Gilhael, Wídfara. Ah, and the son of Ecthelion as well."

Gilhael and Wídfara greeted the Wizard warmly, though Denethor gave him a perfunctory bow, his expression guarded.

"Gandalf was just telling me about the people of Upbourn," Thengel said.

They looked at the Wizard expectantly as he resumed his seat. The others gathered around. Thengel had sent word to Helm’s Deep soon after taking Edoras informing the people of Upbourn that they were free to return to their homes. In the ensuing weeks, when there was no response to Thengel’s message, many wondered. Hilderic offered to return to Helm’s Deep to see what was happening, but Thengel declined the offer, stating that his nephew was needed more in Edoras. Hilderic and his brother had taken upon themselves the task of maintaining order in Edoras and it was Hilderic, along with some of his own éored who had gone to Dunharrow to escort Morwen and the refugees back home.

"So what happened?" Wídfara asked eagerly. "Why did the people of Upbourn not return to their homes?"

Gandalf gave the young man a fond smile. He could see that Wídfara had suffered gravely from the fighting but was well on the road to full healing. There was a new sense of maturity about the young Rider that had not been present before. His eyes told of experiences both dark and joyful and the Wizard was as eager to hear the lad’s story as Wídfara was to hear his own.

"They did not immediately leave Helm’s Deep out of fear," Gandalf replied and nodded at the quizzical expressions on their faces. "As I was just telling Thengel King, I tried to dissuade the people from exacting revenge on those guards who had tormented them." He sighed, his expression deeply sorrowful. "Unfortunately, I can only persuade, not command, and I am only one, whereas they were many."

"I’m sure you did what you could," Thengel said softly, "though I found the manner of the guards’ deaths disturbing."

Gandalf nodded. "As did I and I made careful note of those among the people who advocated and carried out the executions." He gave Thengel a wry smile. "As soon as we reached Helm’s Deep I had Erkengar separate them out and hold them for trial."

"Erkengar!" Thengel exclaimed. "I thought Heruthain was left in charge of Helm’s Deep?" He cast a questioning glance at his nephew Hilderic, who along with Hildered and their father had joined them.

"So he was," Hilderic said.

"Unfortunately, Heruthain was badly wounded when he took a patrol out against a band of Dunlendings who were harrassing the Westfold," Gandalf explained. "When he was wounded it seems that Erkengar’s estate was close by. Heruthain’s men took him there to recuperate and Erkengar volunteered to return to Helm’s Deep. He told Heruthain that while his legs might not work, his mind was intact. I think Heruthain was grateful for the offer and accepted it with little protest. So when I arrived, Erkengar was in command."

"And Heruthain?" Hilderic asked, his eyes clouded with worry for his second-in-command.

"Fear not!" the Wizard said. "He has fully recovered from his wounds and is back in Helm’s Deep. When you return there to take up your duties as Third Marshal, you will find all is well."

"So the people of Upborn feared to return," Thengel said musingly.

"At first, but Erkengar and Heruthain finally convinced them that hiding in Helm’s Deep would not be healthy." Gandalf gave them a mirthless grin. "Heruthain even threatened to use them as target practice for his men and Erkengar castigated them to the point of shaming them into leaving the stronghold. I volunteered to bring them back."

"They are back in Upborn then?" Aragorn asked. "I'm surprised we did not note their arrival."

"The storm and the trial kept everyone’s attention, I think," Thengel said.

Gandalf nodded. "So I assumed. We came upon the Snowbourn around the time the storm broke. I saw them safely on this side of the river and on their way up Harrowdale. They will be wet and cold but at least tonight they will be sleeping in their own homes."

"And the ones you singled out for trial?" Thengel asked.

"They are still at Helm’s Deep awaiting your pleasure," Gandalf answered.

Thengel nodded, staring at the fire for a moment or two in thought and then sighed. "I had hoped today’s trial would be the last. I had not forgotten Upborn but I was willing to forgive what happened there. Now, though, you have left me no choice but to hold additional trials."

"I regret this happened," Gandalf said sadly, placing a hand on the king’s shoulder. "None of the people of Upborn are completely innocent. They all agreed to the executions, but these few were the ones who carried them out and did so gladly. They were after revenge, not justice. I think the rest of them are too weary to care anymore. They just want to reclaim their lives and move on."

"As do we all," Thengel said. He took a deep breath. "Well, we’ll worry about that later. In the meantime, we have much to celebrate." He gave the Wizard a wide grin. "You have yet to meet my new daughter, who would not be here were it not for Thorongil and the Elves."

Gandalf smiled broadly. "I am looking forward to that, my friend, but even more, I am looking forward to a hot meal and a warm bed. These weary bones have had enough of travel for a time."

Thengel laughed as he stood. "Then, let us go see my new daughter and then afterwards we will see about that bed. I was in no mood for a feast after the trials so tonight you will dine with me and my family and we will trade tales."

"Good, good. I’m looking forward to it," Gandalf said as he followed Thengel from the hall while the others remained behind, talking quietly among themselves.

****

All words and phrases are Adûnaic unless otherwise noted.

Gwaeron: (Sindarin) March/April in the Gregorian calendar.

Kibithahê bêthî nê-saphudim!: ‘Speak words we understand!’

Kibithahê Anadûniyê!: ‘Speak Westron!’. Anadûniyê is constructed [anadûni ‘western’ + -yê ‘tongue, language’] based on the attested word Nimriyê ‘Nimrian [Elvish] tongue, i.e. Quenya’. In contrast ‘Adûnaic’ would most likely be Adúnayê ‘Númenórean tongue’. See ‘Lowdham’s Report on the Adûnaic Language’, Sauron Defeated, HoME IX.

Nûph ’n urukthôr: ‘Fool of a son of an orc’.

Bâr ’n Dulgathâni uphazga!: ‘The Lord of the Black-land will conquer!’.

Kâtha Sakalaban akalba ugru-dalad!: ‘All Middle-earth will fall under shadow!’ [*Sakalaban, literally, ‘Shore-realm’].

Note: phazga and kalba are in the aorist (timeless) tense, usually translated using the present simple ‘conquers’ and ‘falls’, respectively. Adûnaic does not employ a future tense, but it can be implied through the aorist tense. In the context of Kadarphazgân’s diatribe, therefore, it is obvious that Sauron has not yet conquered anything and Middle-earth has not yet fallen under his Shadow, hence the use of the future tense in the translation.

Hærfestmónað: (Rohirric/Anglo-Saxon) Harvest-month, i.e. September. According to Appendix D, Harvestmath was the name used in the Breelands. In the Shire, the month was known as Halimath from OE Háligmónað ‘Holy month’. This was an alternative name for September in Anglo-Saxon culture.

69: The King’s Reward

Spring was advancing in all its glory and mid-summer was fast approaching before things began to settle into some semblance of normalcy for the people of Rohan. A week or so after Guthláf and the Umbari were executed, Thengel dealt with the men from Upborn whom Gandalf had said were the most guilty of the executions of the guards. In the end, Isenwulf agreed to oversee their punishment.

"They can help rebuild Underharrow," he said, "and then they will spend the rest of their days as servants to the families of the men who were killed."

Thengel approved of the plan and that was the end of the matter. Then he saw to the disposition of the lands in the Eastfold that had been confiscated to the crown after the rebellion, awarding them to some of his more faithful thegns. He wanted to give Alorharadsdale to Aragorn as a reward for his services, and approached him privately with the idea, but the Dúnadan politely refused.

"I will not always be here, lord," he reminded Thengel. "Someday I must return to my own people. It is better that the estate be given to one of your own. I’m sure there must be someone who will be suitable."

Thus, when Thengel held court to reward those who had been faithful to him during the crisis, he eventually called Wídfara before him after he had already settled the disposition of Isenbrandingsdale and other estates belonging to the traitors. "Other lands you have, I know," he told the young man, "and you stand to inherit from your father, but if you are agreeable to my idea, I would ask that you consign your right of inheritance over to your younger brother, Wídsith, I believe is his name."

Wídfara nodded but said nothing, trying to keep his expression neutral, wondering what Thengel had in mind for him, though his confusion was obvious to all present.

Thengel hid a smile. "I tried to give Alorharadsdale to Lord Thorongil, but he pointed out that he has other commitments to his own people and that it would be best if the estate remained in the hands of one of the Rohirrim. I agreed. Therefore, if you are willing, I would give you Alorharadsdale, its land and its title."

Wídfara stole a glance at Thorongil, Gilhael and Denethor standing nearby and grinning, then he returned his attention to Thengel sitting on his throne, waiting for an answer. He swallowed once, twice, before he felt he could speak without embarrassing himself. "Do you mean you want me to be the new...."

"The new lord of Alorharadsdale, yes," Thengel said, now smiling, "but only if you wish. As I said, it would mean foregoing all rights to your father’s lands and titles but I don’t think that will be too onerous for you. Alorharadsdale is, according to Léodward’s geréfa, a prosperous estate. Whatever Léodward’s failings, he was a good lord to his people and treated them and the land well."

"What of Léodward, my lord?" Wídfara asked. "What will be his fate?"

Thengel sighed. "He had no heirs except a cousin who joined him in rebellion, so the question of inheritance is moot. No other family survives, for his wife died young in childbirth along with the babe and he never remarried. Thus, it is left to the crown to see to his well-being for the remainder of his days. I had thought to keep him here in Edoras, though the idea does not sit well with me."

"Let him return to Alorharadsdale, then," Wídfara suggested. "I will see to his well-being. Perhaps in more familiar surroundings his mind will improve."

Thengel gave the young man a shrewd look. "You would accept the charge? Why? Why would you burden yourself with him?"

Wídfara shrugged. "I do not see it as a burden. There will be those who will tend to him and see to his daily needs. I will merely supply him with a place to live. Alorharadsdale is his home, after all, even if he no longer remembers it. It’s only right that he be allowed to spend his final years there."

Thengel was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "Then, you may take him into your household... Lord Wídfara of Alorharadsdale." He smiled as Wídfara blushed and the rest of the court laughed. "I would have your oath now," the king said then, rising. Wídfara knelt, though Aragorn had to help him, for his wound, though healed, still left him feeling stiff. He placed his hands in Thengel’s and spoke the oath of allegiance as Lord of Alorharadsdale. When he was done, Aragorn helped him to rise as the rest of the Hall cheered.

"I would ask one boon of thee, Thengel King," Wídfara said once the cheering faded.

"Ask and, if it is in my power, I will grant it," Thengel replied.

"I promised young Sigefred son of Sigebeorht that if we both survived I would take him into my own household and train him as a warrior."

Thengel nodded. "I understand he is an orphan. I have no doubt that he will prosper under your tutelage. And this is the boon you would ask? Why, though? Certainly you are in the right to do so and need not my permission."

"The boon is that when the time is meet, he be granted thegnship," Wídfara stated. "I will gift him with the lands you gave me for my service. He will not inherit Alorharadsdale, but he will have his own lands for himself and his own heirs."

"His father served me faithfully to the end," Thengel said with a nod. "Then, thy boon I give to thee. Sigefred son of Sigebeorht will go with thee to Alorharadsdale where thou shalt train him in the thengly arts and when he is of sufficient age, I will raise him to the thegnship. My oath on it." He held out his hand and Wídfara grasped it, thus sealing the promise.

Then the young Rider smiled at them all and his eyes twinkled. "Just let this be our secret," he said. "When the time is meet, I wish to surprise him." They all laughed at that, for, as it happened, Sigefred was not present at court that day, having had the misfortune of tripping over some loose stones while helping to shift some debris and breaking his leg just the day before. He was now lying comfortably in the barracks where he had been living as Captain Folcwine’s ward until Wídfara could claim him as promised. He had been most upset to miss court, for he had been told he would be presented to the King to be thanked for his services. When Thengel heard of the accident he came himself to the barracks and spent nearly a half an hour with the boy. Before leaving, he gifted Sigefred with a jeweled armband and two gold coins. Sigefred was speechless — "A rarity with him, so let us enjoy the silence," Folcwine had quipped with a laugh in which all present had joined, except Sigefred, of course.

"I did promise Léodward’s geréfa, Hámafast, that he could continue in his office for one year until the new lord of Alorharadsdale found a suitable replacement," Thengel said after the laughter died down.

"I have spoken with Hámafast," Wídfara said. "His son and I ended up in the same tent while we were healing from our wounds. He is a good man, honest and honorable. If he gives me a good accounting I will not dismiss him, though if he wishes to leave my employment he may do so. Hámamund is a bright boy and I know he worried that now that he is virtually a cripple he would be useless to his father or to whoever became lord of Alorharadsdale. I think I will have him help me tutor Sigefred, since he is lettered and knows all about running an estate from his father. If they become friends perhaps I can convince Sigefred to take Hámamund with him when he claims his own lands and let Hámamund be his geréfa. One does not need full use of one’s legs to oversee an estate."

"An honorable solution," Thengel said. "One that I will support wholeheartedly when the time comes."

After that, Cyneric was called forth. The young guardsman approached with Ashlind, carrying little Wulfstan, and Aldred in tow. They gave the king awkward bows, for they were unused to courtly ways. "For your bravery, Cyneric son of Cyneward, in defying the traitors, I have decided to reward you with the title of Burggeréfa of Underharrow if you are willing to move there once the town is rebuilt."

Cyneric stood there in shock, his mouth opening and closing in a futile attempt to say something. Aldred, young enough not to be impressed, nudged his friend with an elbow and whispered none too softly, "Just nod, Cyneric."

That brought gales of laughter as Cyneric closed his mouth and did as he was told, turning bright red in embarrassment. Thengel smiled warmly at the young man. "Then that is settled. In the meantime, you may resume your duties...."

"Excuse me, Thengel King," Cyneric managed to say at last, "but with your indulgence, if I am to be Underharrow’s new burggeréfa, I would prefer to help oversee its rebuilding."

"And I’ll help," Aldred said, not wanting to be left out of things. "So will Ashlind," he added, including his sister though he had not thought to ask her opinion. He studiously refused to look at her.

Thengel eyed them shrewdly and then turned to the young widow. "Do you agree to this, child?" he asked kindly.

Ashlind nodded. "Aye, lord," she said demurely. "Cyneric has already taken me and my son into his household and I would not be averse to moving to Underharrow with him and my brother. Cyneric has already promised to raise little Wulfstan as his own son."

The King gave Cyneric an enquiring look and the young man nodded. "I promised Rædwulf that neither his wife nor his son will ever know want."

"Then, I accept your offer to help with Underharrow’s rebuilding. No oath will I have from you at this time. When the town is rebuilt we will have a proper ceremony installing you in your new office."

The three bowed and moved aside and it escaped no one’s notice when Cyneric took the toddler and held him in the crook of his left arm, wrapping his right arm around Ashlind’s shoulders in a protective manner. Aragorn turned to Gilhael and Denethor with a smile and whispered in Sindarin, "I think that when the period of mourning for Rædwulf is over, there will be a wedding."

The two men smiled. "I think you are correct, Cousin," Gilhael said. "Glad I am that out of this tragedy some good has come." To that, Aragorn and Denethor could only agree.

Denethor was called before Thengel next and the two men gazed at one another with great fondness and friendship. "Words cannot express the depth of my gratitude for your assistance, Lord Denethor," Thengel said warmly. "I would gift you for your service but I know you will take nothing save my thanks and the thanks of all Rohan."

"You and my father are good friends, Thengel King," the Steward’s son said with a brief bow. "You served Gondor faithfully and with honor for many years. Your children are half-Gondorian. Father was more than willing to repay the debt of your service to him in this manner. He will be very pleased to hear from me that all is well with you and your family."

"Then, let us renew the Oath of Friendship that lies between Rohan and Gondor," Thengel said and he stood and in a loud voice he spoke the ancient words of Eorl the Young:

"Hear now all peoples who bow not to the Shadow in the East, by the gift of the Lord of the Mundburg we will come to dwell in the land that he names Calenardhon, and therefore I vow in my own name and on behalf of the Éothéod of the North that between us and the Great People of the West there shall be friendship for ever: their enemies shall be our enemies, their need shall be our need, and whatsoever evil, or threat, or assault may come upon them we will aid them to the utmost end of our strength. This vow shall descend to my heirs, all such as may come after me in our new land, and let them keep it in faith unbroken, lest the Shadow fall upon them and they become accursed."

When he finished speaking these words, Denethor then spoke: "Vanda sina termaruva Elenna-nóreo alcar enyalien ar Elendil Vorondo voronwë. Nai tiruvantes i hárar mahalmassen mi Númen ar i Eru i or ilyë mahalmar eä tennoio."

Then Thengel embraced Denethor and bestowed upon him a kiss as between friends which Denethor returned. Denethor then stepped back and bowed. Thengel looked upon him with great fondness. "May our two peoples never falter in the giving of aid and friendship one to another."

"Valar valuvar," Denethor said and then repeated the words in Westron for the benefit of the Rohirrim, "The will of the Valar be done."

Finally, Aragorn and Gilhael were called before Thengel’s throne. The two men gave him their obeisance and Thengel smiled on them benignly. "Neither of you will accept any gift from me for your service, yet I would be remiss if I did not reward you in some way. I know you are inseparable and I would not deprive either of you of the other, so, in consultation with my witan and with their approval, I have decided to give you your own éored and you will share the captaincy between you."

Both men looked stunned and neither could speak. Denethor, standing near by, gave them a wicked grin and in a voice that could be heard through the hall said, "Just nod, you two," causing everyone else to laugh.

That seemed to break the spell they were under and the two Dúnedain blushed. Gilhael was the first to recover. "I think I will leave the captaincy to my cousin," he said to Thengel with a bow. "I will gladly act as his lieutenant."

Aragorn gave him an astounded look. "But you are older and far more experienced than I...."

Gilhael shook his head. "You are more than competent to lead the éored, Cousin," he said. "I prefer not to be saddled with the burden of command."

"You are so kind," Aragorn muttered darkly, speaking Adûnaic.

Gilhael smiled. "I am your humble servant, my lord," he replied in the same language, and was secretly pleased that he was able to address his Chieftain with a proper title for a change. He was hard pressed not to laugh out loud at Aragorn’s scowl.

"I take it you are arguing over the captaincy?" Thengel asked in a mild tone.

Gandalf, who was standing with the crowd in the front row, gave a laugh. "Not likely, my lord," he said, casting a merry look at the two Rangers.

"No argument, Thengel King," Gilhael said quickly, wishing to forestall whatever the Wizard was going to say next. "My cousin was merely thanking me for my trust in his abilities to lead others. As I said, I will be happy to act as his second-in-command. It is a position I am used to taking and am comfortable with."

"And you, Lord Thorongil?" Thengel said. "Are you willing to take up the captaincy of the éored?"

Aragorn was tempted to decline but he realized he had no real reason to do so. As much as he hated to admit it, Gilhael was correct. He was, after all, used to leading the Dúnedain, even though he had only been doing so for about six years. This would be no different and in truth he could feel a rising excitement within him at the thought of leading his own éored. He looked up at Thengel. "Where would we be stationed?" he asked, implicitly accepting the position.

"Hilderic would like to see a greater presence of our warriors in the Westmark," Thengel said. "You will take your men there. I think some arrangements can be made to provide you with suitable accommodations."

"Dunwulfstun," Gilhael said suddenly. When the king gave him an enquiring look, he continued. "It’s a small village in the Westmark, hard by the mountains. I’ve not been there myself, but Thorongil described it to me. It would provide us with adequate protection and the rest of the Westmark is easily accessible from there."

Aragorn nodded. "That is true. I had forgotten about that and Cedric, the village’s héafodmann, was a former Rider. He would be more than happy to help us establish a presence in the Westmark."

"Then I will leave it to you to make your arrangements."

"And my... our éored?" Aragorn asked.

"I think you will have no end of volunteers, son," Thengel said with a wry laugh. "Some of the éoreds were decimated enough from this conflict that they are in danger of being disbanded. Choose among those, and choose wisely, for the Westmark is still an unsettled place and you will need the very best to help keep the peace there."

Aragorn nodded, his expression pensive as he thought certain things through. "We know that the Dunlendings will continue to harass the Westmark and the Westfold, and there is possibly a band of orcs hiding in the mountains that will need to be found and eliminated."

"You have your work cut out for you, then, both of you," Thengel said. "You have until mid-summer to form your éored and then you must set out."

Aragorn and Gilhael bowed and thanked the king for his generosity. With that the court was concluded and all went to the feast that had been prepared for the occasion.

****

Two days later, Gandalf left with Denethor for Gondor. "I need to see Ecthelion on a matter and then head up north to visit with my fellow Wizard, Radagast," the Wizard told Aragorn and Gilhael as he was getting ready to leave. "I plan to be in Imladris before the winter. Any messages I should pass along to your families?"

"Just assure them that we are both well," Aragorn said. "We will write letters to send north soon anyway so most likely they will arrive before you do. Still, if by any chance you see Thandir while you’re in Imladris, tell him ‘Thank you... for everything’. He’ll understand."

Gandalf nodded. "I will do so. Be well, both of you, and be wary. Something tells me that all that has happened in Rohan of late is but the opening gambit of a larger game, one that I cannot see very clearly."

"We have felt the same," Gilhael said. "Someone was hoping to isolate Gondor by bringing Rohan in league with the Enemy. That they failed does not mean the danger is over or they won’t try again at some later time when Rohan is less vigilant."

"No, it does not," Gandalf said with a sigh. "Well, we will have to deal with it if and when the situation arises. In the meantime, serve Thengel faithfully and to the best of your abilities."

"That goes without saying," Aragorn said and they spoke no more about it.

Their farewell to Denethor was brief but heartfelt. "If ever you tire of serving Thengel," Denethor said to them, "come to Minas Tirith. My father could use you in his service and I would welcome you both as comrades-in-arms."

Aragorn and Gilhael gave him a warrior’s embrace. "Perhaps someday we will do so," Aragorn said, "though that day is far off."

"I will look for your coming, however long I must wait," Denethor said as he mounted his horse. "I look forward to the day when we may draw swords together against Gondor’s enemies. Until then, farewell. May the Valar watch over you."

With that, Denethor gave the order for his troop to move out and soon the cavalcade disappeared into the east.

"Do you plan to go to Gondor?" Gilhael asked Aragorn quietly as they stood at the gates watching the Gondorians fade into the distance.

"You know that eventually I planned to do so," Aragorn said. "With Thengel putting in a good word and with Denethor’s support, we should have no problem finding a position with Ecthelion’s Rangers. But, as I said, that day is far off. For now, we are bound to Rohan."

"With our own éored," Gilhael said with a smile. "Won’t your brothers be jealous when they find out."

Aragorn smiled back. "Only if someone tells them." Then the two of them started laughing as they went back into Edoras.

****

About a week before mid-summer a rider came to Edoras from the north, arriving at the gates an hour or two after the noon meal. He asked to see Thengel, Thorongil and Gilhael, claiming that he had important news for them. The guards were reluctant to admit him at first, but agreed to send the token he gave them to Lord Thorongil.

"He will recognize it and will want to see me," the rider said confidently, handing the doorwarden a green stone.

Five minutes later, both Aragorn and Gilhael were at the door, identical looks of surprise on their faces. "That you are here is beyond belief," Aragorn exclaimed as he ushered the rider in, returning his token. "I’ve sent for Thengel. He will be here shortly."

The rider smiled but said nothing, sweeping his gaze around the central hall of Meduseld, admiring the tapestries and the woodwork. "An interesting place," he murmured, "and very Mortal."

"I assume that is not meant to be an insult?"

The rider turned and swept back his hood as Thengel entered from a side door. The King stopped in amazement at the sight of an Elf standing there and would have offered him a bow but a single gesture from the Firstborn ellon stayed him.

"Do not bow to me, Thengel King," said the Elf, his hair like spun gold and possessing a light of its own, "and no, it was not an insult. I am Glorfindel from Imladris. I have messages for you as well as for... these two." He gave the Dúnedain a cheeky grin. Aragorn raised an eyebrow and Gilhael rolled his eyes.

"A message from whom?" Thengel asked, taking a seat by the fire and motioning for the others to join him, his expression one of confusion.

"From someone you have never met," the Elf said. "The Lord of Imladris has heard of your recent troubles and wishes to convey his congratulations to you for successfully routing the traitors and securing your throne. He hopes that your reign will be long and prosperous."

Thengel frowned. "Why would Lord Elrond care if I or anyone else reigned in Rohan? What is Rohan to Imladris?"

"A fair question," Glorfindel answered. "Let us just say that a strong Rohan in the hands of its rightful king benefits those of us in the North, even the Elves. We are as often beset by the Dunlendings as is the Westfold, but our forces, even combined with those of the Dúnedain, are not as numerous as your own. We do what we can to deter any raids out of Dunland, but...." The Elf gave an eloquent shrug.

Thengel nodded. "Then I thank Lord Elrond for his gracious words and wishes. Please tell him so when you return to Imladris."

Glorfindel gave him a respectful bow then turned to Aragorn and Gilhael, pulling out two bundles of parchment tied with blue ribbons from the satchel he had draped over a shoulder. "Here are letters from your families," he said, handing one bundle to Aragorn and the other to Gilhael. "When it was learned that I would be coming this way, they begged me to carry these to you. If you have any letters you wish to send back I will take them with me when I depart."

"How long can you stay?" Aragorn asked.

Glorfindel gave them a sly look. "Well, if I were my gwador Finrod, I would say for as long as you fed me." He gave them a merry laugh at the startled looks on all their faces. "But, alas, I can only stay the night. I have other places I must be."

"Then be welcome to Edoras and Meduseld, even if only for the night," Thengel said solemnly. "I would be pleased if you could join me and my family for dinner tonight. Thorongil and Gilhael will be there as well."

"Your invitation is gracious, Thengel King, and I accept."

"Good," Thengel said as he stood; the others followed suit. "No, no need to rise. Stay and take your ease. I’m sure you have much news to share between you. Until this evening." He gave them a brief bow and strode away.

When they were alone, Glorfindel gave Aragorn a fond smile. "Well, Estel, aren’t you going to open your letters?"

Aragorn started at the sound of his childhood name and, with a wordless nod, he untied the ribbon and began to sift through the pile of letters even as Gilhael was doing the same with his. The two Men and the golden-haired Elf spent the rest of the afternoon sharing the contents of the letters and other news.

"You have done well this first year in Rohan," Glorfindel said once the two Men told him all that had happened to them. "Some had their doubts, but I never did. I trained you well, Estel, and I am pleased that you and Gilhael are flourishing here in Rohan. It was a good decision on your part."

"Mithrandir deserves some of the credit for giving me the idea," Aragorn said.

Glorfindel nodded, well aware of this. "When I return to Imladris I will tell them that I have no worries for you," the Elf said. "I think you are going to succeed in all your endeavors, whatever they may be."

"Valar valuvar," Aragorn said fervently.

"Násië," Glorfindel replied solemnly.

****

Words are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Burggeréfa: Pronounced BURH-yuh-REE-vah. Chief magistrate of a town, provost, mayor.

Héafodmann: Headman.

Gwador: (Sindarin) Sworn brother.

Valar valuvar: (Quenya) The will of the Valar be done. 

Násië: (Quenya) Amen, may it be so.

Note: The Oaths of Eorl and Cirion are taken directly from ‘Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan’, Unfinished Tales. The Quenya is translated by Tolkien as follows: ‘This oath shall stand in memory of the glory of the Land of the Star, and of the faith of Elendil the Faithful, in the keeping of those who sit upon the thrones of the West and of the One who is above all thrones for ever’.

70: Epilogue: Shadows of the White Wizard

Ten years later:

"Are you sure I can’t change your minds?" Thengel asked one more time. He didn’t expect a positive answer but he felt he needed to ask.

He was alone in the main hall of Meduseld with Aragorn, Gilhael and Wídfara. The farewell feast had been held the night before and there was nothing left but for them to leave. The three had already said farewell to Thengel’s family, little Théodwyn, now five, clinging to Gilhael’s leg and weeping inconsolably. Théoden, now twenty, finally took her away with promises of taking her riding with him later on if she remained good. Morwen and her other daughters excused themselves to attend to their respective duties.

"It is time, lord," Aragorn said with not a little regret. He had grown to love the Rohirrim and their ways and had learned much about them and from them over the last decade, yet, he knew in his heart that it was time to move on. Gondor called and he greatly desired to look upon Minas Tirith and renew his friendship with Lord Denethor. They had not seen each other since the rebellion but they had exchanged letters and in each one from Denethor there had been a plea for him and Gilhael to come to Gondor. Now was the time.

"We will miss you," Thengel said simply with genuine sorrow.

"As we will miss you, lord," Aragorn replied, equally sad, "and Rohan. I thank you for welcoming my cousin and me and granting us a place at your side." Gilhael nodded but said nothing. "And we thank you for your letter of introduction to Lord Ecthelion."

"Your éored will miss you," Thengel replied, merely nodding in acknowledgment of Aragorn’s words.

"I doubt it," Aragorn said with a wry smile and both Gilhael and Wídfara snorted in amusement. Aragorn had taken to the captaincy of the éored Thengel had given him as if he’d been born to it (and, Gilhael reflected, that wasn’t too far from the truth). He had been hard but fair and had not shirked in taking on tasks other captains might consider beneath them. He had, in fact, won the undying devotion of the warriors under his command and both he and Gilhael would be sorely missed. "Besides, Dúnstan will do well enough as their captain now," Aragorn continued. "Gilhael and I trained him, after all."

Thengel nodded, well aware of the young Rider’s abilities. "Then, I suppose there is naught else to say, except may the Valar speed you on your way and see you safely to Minas Tirith."

The three men bowed. Then Thengel gave Wídfara a shrewd look. "I hesitated in allowing you to go with these two, as you know. I trust you will not do anything to bring shame to me or to our people."

"You have my word, Thengel King," Wídfara said solemnly, giving him a proper bow. Then he gave him a sly look. "Of course, I can’t vouch for my two traveling companions," he couldn’t help adding.

Thengel laughed. "I will not hold you responsible for their actions," he said.

"And I will not be gone long," Wídfara said then. "While I’m away, Hámafast and Isenhild will see to Alorharadsdale," he added, naming his steward and his wife. It had been a surprise to many when the youngest daughter of Isenbert and Reinhild of Upborn had consented to be his wife a couple of years after the rebellion. She gifted him the following summer with their firstborn son, whom they named Earnfród for their adopted ‘uncles’, Thorongil and Gilhael, though the boy was often called Thôreg by his family. Over the ensuing years, Wídfara had learned Sindarin with Thorongil and Gilhael’s help and was teaching his son. Isenhild made no attempt to learn to speak it, but father and son quickly discovered to their dismay that she had no trouble understanding the language. Now, with Earnfród a rambunctious seven-year-old, Wídfara felt secure enough to leave his family for a time to travel to Minas Tirith with his two closest friends. It was his fondest wish and he hoped to establish some trading ties with certain merchants while he was there.

"Then I will not delay your departure any longer," Thengel said. "I know you are anxious to be on your way." With that he accompanied them outside and went with them to the gates, the people of Edoras lining the streets to see them off. Morwen joined them there, having been alerted by one of the servants of their exit from Meduseld. She bore the traditional stirrup cup, bidding the three travelers a safe journey. With a final wave, they set out. Aragorn cast one last look at Edoras as the three made their way towards the Eastfold and Alorharadsdale, where they would spend a few days before continuing on to Gondor.

"Any regrets?" Gilhael asked him softly as they rode side-by-side.

"Not really," Aragorn said as he turned his gaze forward again. "My only regret is that we never did learn who was behind the Dunlendings and the orcs attacking the Westmark and the Westfold."

"We rid the area of both menaces, though," Gilhael pointed out.

"True, but for how long?" Aragorn replied.

"Thengel will keep a strong presence in the Westfold," Wídfara pointed out as he rode on Aragorn’s other side, "and Dúnstan is a good leader. He and his éored will help patrol the area and keep the Dunlendings from doing too much harm."

"We can only hope," Aragorn said somewhat pessimistically.

"You can always stay here in Rohan if you feel your presence is all that stands between us and disaster," Wídfara retorted, though he was smiling when he said it and they knew he was merely jesting.

"I do not think I’m that arrogant," Aragorn said with a smile. "No, going to Minas Tirith at this time is the right decision."

"Then let us ride," Wídfara said. "I would be in Mundberg sooner rather than later."

And they did.

****

Far to the northwest, in the valley known as Nan Curunír, the White Wizard pondered his options. His spies had alerted him to the fact that the Dúnedain Rangers who had taken service with Thengel were now moving on to Gondor. That suited him just fine. The two of them, especially the one known as Thorongil, had been thorns in his side ever since they brought an entire éored into the Westmark, taking up residence in Dunwulfstun. That had put a stop to his own plans for the Dunlendings and the orcs, some of them his own uruk-hai, to harass the settlements and make their way into the Westfold, sowing confusion and despair.

He had been forced to bide his time, just as he had been forced to do so earlier when the Dowager Queen had tried to usurp the throne. It had been a stroke of genius on his part to encourage the fool Léodward to contact Guthláf and have the man bring in the Umbari necromancer. Pity that his plan for Umbar to take control of Rohan did not pan out, but he had not counted on the Dúnedain interfering... or the blasted Elves.

He sneered to himself as he thought about it. Léodward and the others involved in the rebellion never knew that they were merely pawns in a much wider game. Éolind might have suspected, but she was dead and no longer a threat. Isenbert was also dead, killing himself about a year or so after his defeat. His guards had become lax and careless and the man had taken advantage of it. Léodward was still an imbecile, happily playing with the children at Alorharadsdale, no longer aware that it was even his own estate and he had once been its lord. The Wizard had once contemplated having the man eliminated but in the end decided it wasn’t worth it. Léodward was getting on in years and would soon be dead anyway.

And that was the one thing he had that the Rohirrim did not — time. Thengel was in his sixties and it was doubtful he would live too much longer. Théoden was young and if he took his father’s throne in the next few years he could be easily manipulated by those whom the Wizard placed in the king’s court.

He sat back and smiled, pleased with his analysis. Yes, time was on his side, for was he not immortal? He would wait a few more years and let the guard on the Westfold become lax, as it was bound to do. Mortals, after all, were prone to laxness and complacency when no threats were imminent. Yes, time... there was plenty of that for him. Putting aside the question of Rohan for the moment the White Wizard turned his attention to other affairs. He frowned and looked about his study.

Now where did he put those notes he’d been writing on improving the physical strength of his uruk-hai....?

****

Earnfród: Wise eagle; obviously a blend of Earntungol (Thorongil) and Tungolfród (Gilhael).

Thôreg: (Sindarin) Little Eagle, Eaglet; cf. honeg ‘little brother’.

****

Chronology of Stirrings of Shadow: an asterisk before a date indicates events that are true for this story but are not strictly canon.

2905: Thengel son of Fengel is born.

2922: Morwen of Lossarnach is born.

2923: Thengel leaves Rohan for Gondor and takes service with Turgon, then Steward of Gondor.

2943: Thengel weds Morwen ‘Steelsheen’.

2948: Théoden son of Thengel and Morwen is born.

2953: Fengel dies; Thengel recalled from Gondor to take the throne.

*2957: Aragorn and his cousin Gilhael take service with Thengel. The year of the Rebellion.

*2958: Thengel regains his throne.

*2960: Wídfara son of Éonoth weds Isenhild daughter of Isenbert and Reinhild of Upborn.

*2961: Earnfród son of Wídfara and Isenhild is born.

2963: Théodwyn, last child of Thengel and Morwen is born.

*2968: Aragorn and Gilhael leave Rohan for Gondor. Wídfara travels with them.

2980: Thengel, aged 75, dies; Théoden, now 32, becomes King of Rohan.

Character List

Characters are listed alphabetically under the appropriate category. New characters will be added as they appear. The chapter in which a character first appears, even if not necessarily named, or is mentioned by another character is given in parentheses. Those who are original characters or are canon characters unnamed by Tolkien are so indicated by (OMC) or (OFC). † before a name indicates that the character is deceased at the time of this story.

THE DÚNEDAIN AND OTHER NON-ROHIRRIM

Anborn (OMC): (mentioned) Gondorian soldier under Denethor’s command (65)

†Arathorn Aradorion: (mentioned) Fifteenth Chieftain of the Dúnedain and Aragorn’s father; killed by orcs when Aragorn was two years old (10)

Aragorn Arathornion: Sixteenth Chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain and Isildur's Heir. Also called Thorongil and Earntungol among the Rohirrim, Estel among the Elves and Elessar by the Valar (1)

†Aragorn Aravirion: (mentioned) Fourth Chieftain of the Dúnedain. Died in T.A. 2327 (33)

†Aranarth: (mentioned) Son of Arvedui, first Chieftain of the Dúnedain (2)

†Arglas Aragornion: (mentioned) Fifth Chieftain of the Dúnedain (33)

†Arvedui Last King: (mentioned) Fourteenth and last king of Arthedain (2)

Beorn: (mentioned) Chief of the Beornings of Rhovanion (12)

†Beren son of Barahir: (mentioned) Hero of the Quest for the Silmaril; married Lúthien daughter of Elu Thingol and Melian; ancestor of Aragorn (10)

Beren (Ranger) (OMC): (mentioned) A Dúnedain Ranger whom Aragorn (as Thorongil) pretends is his father. Gilhael’s paternal uncle and father of three daughters: Idril, Andreth and Melian (2)

†Celebrindor: (mentioned) Fifth king of Arthedain (2)

†Cirion: (mentioned) Gondorian, Twelfth Ruling Steward of Gondor [T.A. 2489-2567] (12)

Damrod: (mentioned) Gondorian, Denethor's second among the Rangers of Ithilien (55)

Denethor son of Ecthelion: Gondorian, heir to the Stewardship (54)

Ecthelion son of Turgon: (mentioned) Gondorian, Twenty-fifth Ruling Steward of Gondor (54) 

Gilhael Mallorion (OMC): Aragorn’s cousin and traveling companion. Also called Tungolfród (1)

Gilraen: (mentioned) Mother of Aragorn (2)

Kadarphazgân Zigûr-bên (OMC): Black Númenórean, from Umbar, in the pay of Guthláf of Gálmódingsdæl (62)

Region (OFC): (mentioned) Wife of Beren (Ranger) (2)

Tammuz (OMC): Haradi soldier (64)

†Turgon: (mentioned) Gondorian, Twenty-fourth Ruling Steward of Gondor [T.A. 2914-2953] (5)

Ulrad (OMC): The Dunlending whom Gilhael impersonates (33)

THE ROHIRRIM

†Æðelgiefu (OFC): (mentioned) Daughter of Æðelwine of Underharrow, raped and murdered by Guthláf of Gálmódingsdæl (47)

†Æðelwine of Underharrow (OMC): (mentioned) A lord of Underharrow who became the enemy of Guthláf of Gálmódingsdæl, father of Æðelgifu (47)

Aldred son of Aldwine (OMC): Brother of Ashlind; a refugee from Edoras who comes to Dunharrow (20)

Alric (OMC): Captain of the garrison at Dunharrow (20)

Ashlind (OFC): Wife of Rædwulf, mother of Wulfstan (infant), older sister of Aldred; a refugee from Edoras who comes to Dunharrow (20)

Beornhard (OMC): A blacksmith in the village of Isenby in the Westmark and father of Helewis (36)

Beornwine of Beorningsdale (OMC): One of Thengel’s councillors (8)

Beornwyn (OFC): A refugee from Edoras who comes to Dunharrow; called Lalaith by Aragorn (21)

Brego (OMC): (mentioned) A member of Hilderic's éored, how helps find Hardbeorht(16) 

Cedric (OMC): One-armed Héafodmann (Headman) of Dunwulfstun; former Rider, sword-brother to Heruthain. (12)

Cyneric son of Cyneward (OMC): A member of the Guards of Meduseld (19)

Déorhelm (OMC): One of the scouts sent by Thengel to Fréawine (25)

Déorhunta (OMC): A member of the ill-fated hunting party (28)

Dernwyn (OFC): A scullery maid in Meduseld (65)

Dúnstan (OMC): A Rider among Thengel’s éored under the command of Wulfred (65)

Earnfród (OMC): (mentioned) Wídfara and Isenhild’s son, also called Thôreg (70) 

Elfbeorht (OMC): A member of the ill-fated hunting party (28)

†Elfrid (OFC): (mentioned) Wife of Léodláf, mother of Fréawine of Brandingsdale (5)

Elfgar (OMC): Son of Elfhelm and Hildegard, age 9. He will become the father of Elfhelm, one of Théoden’s marshals during the War of the Ring (4)

Elfhelm of Eastfold (OMC): (mentioned) Father of Elfgar and Elfhild (4)

Elfhild: Daughter of Elfhelm and Hildegard, age 7. She will become Théoden’s wife (4)

†Elfnoth of Dúnælfenedale (OMC): (mentioned) He and his family were supposedly murdered on orders of Queen Grimhild (6)

Éobeorht (OMC): A Rider of the Westfold who joins Gilhael’s scouting expediton (15)

Éolind Cyninge (OFC): (mentioned) Daughter of Éoric, widow of Fengel, mother of Thengel. (5)

Éomund (OMC): A Rider of the Westfold (13)

Éofred (OMC): Missing member of the ill-fated hunting party; cousin of Éothain (28)

†Éoric (OMC): (mentioned) Father of Éolind, mother of Thengel (7)

†Eorl the Young: (mentioned) First King of Rohan (12)

Éothain (OMC): Member of the ill-fated hunting party; cousin of the missing Éored (28)

Éothryth (OFC): (mentioned) A Widow living in Edoras (64) 

Éoward (OMC): (mentioned) One of Thengel’s personal guards (6)

Éowulf (OMC): Gatewarden of Aldburg (6)

Erkenbard son of Erkenwulf (OMC): Seneschal of Aldburg and Thengel’s spymaster (6)

Erkengar (OMC): (mentioned) Former First Marshal of the Mark, now paralyzed (3)

†Erkenhelm (OMC): (mentioned) Son of Erkengar (3)

Erkenscyld (OMC): (mentioned) Infant son of Erkenhelm, who will become the father of Erkenbrand, the Lord of Westfold during the War of the Ring (3)

†Fastred and †Folcred: (mentioned) Twin sons of Folcwine, died on the Pelennor in battle against the Haradrim (6)

†Fengel son of Folcwine: (mentioned): Fifteenth King of Rohan, father of Thengel (1)

†Folca: (mentioned) Thirteenth King of Rohan, father of Folcwine (6)

Folcscyld of Underharrow (OMC): Héafodmann (Headman) of Underharrow (38)

†Folcwine son of Folca: (mentioned): Fourteenth King of Rohan, father of Fengel (6)

Folcwine son of Folcred (OMC): (mentioned) Captain of the Guards of Meduseld, presumed dead (19)

Framhere (OMC): An assassin sent from the Eastfold; executed (9)

Fréawine son of Léodláf (OMC): (mentioned) Thengel’s cousin and Lord of Brandingsdale (6)

†Fréawyn (OFM): (mentioned) Thengel’s aunt (5) 

Garwulf (OMC): A Rider of the Westfold, one of Hilderic’s lieutenants at Helm’s Deep (15)

Gléomer (OMC): Cægheorde (Royal Steward) to Thengel in Edoras (1)

Gléomund (OMC): Former Rider, now tutor to Thengel’s children (4)

Goldwyn (OFC): (mentioned) Sister of Thengel, wife of Hildebrand, mother of Hildered, Hilderic and Hildegard (2)

Grammund (OMC): One of Thengel’s personal guards (6)

Gramscyld (OMC): One of the scouts sent by Thengel to Fréawine (25)

Grimbeorn (OMC): A traitor to Thengel under the command of Waldamer (19)

Grimbold son of Háma (OMC): A Rider among Thengel’s eóred (3)

Grimhelm (OMC): A Rider of the Westfold (13)

†Grimhild (OMC): (mentioned) Wife of Folcwine and mother of Fengel (6)

Grimwulf son of Beowulf of Wulfingháma (OMC): An assassin who is killed by Thandir; a ceorl of Isenbert of Isenbrandingsdale (9)

Guthláf of Gálmódingsdale (OMC): (mentioned) Declares himself lord of Edoras; banished by Fengel years before (19)

Guthmund (OMC): Doorwarden of Edoras (1)

Guthwulf (OMC): A Rider of the Westfold who joins Gilhael’s scouting expediton (15)

Haleth son of Gambard (OMC): Missing member of the ill-fated hunting party (28)

Haleth son of Déor (OMC): A healer of the Westmark (14)

Halga (OMC): (mentioned) One of Thengel's scouts keeping an eye on Edoras (32) 

Háma son of Bryttawald (OMC): A Rider of the Westfold who joins Gilhael’s scouting expediton (15)

Hámafast Geréfa (OMC): (mentioned) Léodward of Alorharadsdale's reeve, father of Hámamund (66)

Hámamund son of Hámafast Gerefa (OMC): A young man from Alorharadsdale in the Eastfold wounded in the battle for Edoras and tended by Aragorn (66)

Harding (OMC): A sentry at Dunharrow (50) 

Hardbeorht (OMC): A Rider, sent by Thengel to the Westfold, sister-son to Heruthain (15)

Helewis (OFC): A leech in the village of Isenby in the Westmark and daughter of Beornhard. (36)

Heremund (OMC): A member of the ill-fated hunting party (28)

Hereward (OMC): One of Erkenbard’s scouts, sent as a messenger from Aldburg to Grimbold and Wídfara after Aragorn rescues Théoden (25)

†Herubrand of Brandingsdale (OMC): (mentioned) Fréawyn’s husband (5)

Heruthain (OMC): Hilderic’s second-in-command at Helm’s Deep (11)

Hildebrand of Hildegrimsdale (OMC): First Marshal of the Mark; father of Hildered, Hilderic and Hildegard (2)

Hildegard (OFC): (mentioned) Daughter of Hildebrand and Goldwyn, wife of Elfhelm of Eastfold (4)

Hildered (OMC): Oldest son of Hildebrand and Goldwyn; twin brother to Hilderic (1)

Hilderic (OC): Youngest son of Hildebrand and Goldwyn; twin brother to Hildered, Marshal of the Westfold (2)

Isenbert of Isenbrandingsdale (OMC): A lord of the Eastfold who plots rebellion against Thengel (8)

Isenhelm (OMC): A member of the ill-fated hunting party (28)

Isenhild (OFC): (mentioned) Youngest daughter of Isenwulf and Reinhild of Upborn, held hostage in Edoras (46) 

Isenwulf of Upbourn (OMC): Ragnawulf’s uncle (38)

†Léodláf (OMC): (mentioned) Son of Fréawyn and Herubrand of Brandingsdale, cousin to Thengel; died during a coup attempt against Fengel (5)

Léodward of Alorharadsdale (OMC): A lord of the Eastfold who plots rebellion against Thengel (8)

Léofred (OMC): Missing member of the ill-fated hunting party (28)

Léofwine (OMC): Chief healer at Edoras (4)

Morwen of Lossarnach: Wife of Thengel and Queen of Rohan. Also called Stýlescýne (Steelsheen) (1)

Offa son of Gram (OMC): One of Thengel's stablemasters and a refugee from Edoras who comes to Dunharrow (20)

Ragnawulf (OMC): A member of the ill-fated hunting party (28)

Rædwulf son of Wulfscyld (OMC): A member of the Guards of Meduseld (19)

Reinhild (OFC): (mentioned) Wife of Isenwulf of Upbourn, held hostage in Edoras (46)

Sigefred son of Sigebeorht (OMC): A young man in hiding in Edoras (57)

Thengel: Sixteenth King of Rohan, son of Fengel (1)

Théoden: Son of Thengel and Morwen; heir to the throne of Rohan, age 9 (1)

Théodfrid (OFC): Eldest daughter of Thengel and Morwen, age 12 (1)

Théodgiefu (OFC): Newest daughter of Thengel and Morwen, born on 1 Rethe 2958 (49)

Théodhild (OFC): Daughter of Thengel and Morwen, age 6 (1)

Théodwyn: Youngest child of Thengle and Morwen (70)  

Waldamer (OMC): (mentioned) A traitor to Thengel who takes over the Guards of Meduseld (19)

Wídfara son of Éonoth (OMC): A Rider, Thengel’s newest Thegn and Aragorn’s closest friend among the Rohirrim (7)

Wulfred (OMC): A Rider among Thengel's éored (43) 

Wulfstan (OMC): Infant son of Rædwulf and Ashlind (20)

ELVES

Arafinwë: (mentioned) Known also as Finarfin and called the Noldóran and Aran Golodhrim (King of the Noldor) (7, 17)

Celebrían: (mentioned) Wife of Elrond of Imladris; now residing in Aman (12)

Celegrýn (OMC): A Noldorin Elf of Imladris (9)  

Elrond: (mentioned) Lord of Imladris (2)

Elladan: Son of Elrond, twin brother of Elrohir (mentioned in chapter 2; first appear in chapter 31)

Elrohir: Son of Elrond, twin brother of Elladan (mentioned in chapter 2; first appear in chapter 31)

Erestor: (mentioned) Elf of Imladris, Elrond’s Chief Administrator (4, 64)

†Eluwen (OFM): (mentioned) Sindarin Elf of Imladris, wife of Thandir; now in Mandos (12)

Finrod Felagund: (mentioned) Former King of Nargothrond, now residing in Aman (10)

Gilgirion (OMC): A Noldorin Elf of Imladris (9)

Glorfindel: Former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower in Gondolin and presently Captain of the Guards at Imladris (first mentioned in chapter 4; makes an appearance in chapters 35 and 70)

Haldir: A Sindarin Elf of Lothlórien (7) 

Legolas: (mentioned) Prince of the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood, son of Thranduil (3)

†Lúthien: (mentioned) Daughter of Elu Thingol and Melian; wife of Beren son of Barahir

Maglor: (mentioned) Second son of Fëanor, presumably still alive in Middle-earth (56)

Thandir (OMC): A Noldorin Elf of Imladris (7)  

Thranduil: (mentioned) King of Woodland Realm of Mirkwood, father of Legolas (3)

VALAR, MAIAR AND ISTARI

Mithrandir: Istar, also called Gandalf Greyhame (23)

Morgoth: (mentioned) Fallen Vala, now residing in the Void; also called "The Nameless" by the elves (in Sindarin: iBen-eneth) (10)

Námo: Vala, Lord of Mandos (22)

Oromë: Vala, Lord of the Woods who calls a Hunt; known among the Rohirrim as Béma (22)

Saruman: Istar, plots against Rohan (34, 70)

Sauron: (mentioned) Fallen Maia, Lord of Mordor (22)

Vairë: (mentioned) Valië, wife of Námo (22)