Day 24, From Minas Tirith south

Éomer had set out with his most experienced men, those, who were able to find a deer’s trace with keen eyes even after rain or drought. Men, who had served in those long years before and had survived the enemy’s attacks. They were skilled and strong and reliable. Knowing the search might take long he had chosen to leave behindthose men who had family. With a fading smile he remembered the complaints. He was proud of his men.

Still he heard Lady Arwen’s pleading to not rest until her husband – Éomer’s friend – was found. The Lady had also told him about Faramir’s missing, and the King of Rohan had frowned, unable to accept the fact as a coincidence. But Éomer had no time to spare; the Prince’s guards were already searching for Faramir, and his task lay on another path. With the same determination he had shown throughout the war against Sauron’s evil army, he had elaborated a plan to search the southern part of the kingdom and ride beyond its borders, if necessary, to find the King. The map of Gondor was lined with marks in his precise handwriting when he was finished. ‘He is still alive,’ the Lady had said, and Éomer was eager to believe it.

Though the traces were old, the group from Rohan went to the place of the fight first and rode from thereon south, crossed the stream, and headed further south for five days. Weather was on their side, and their horses trudged through hard grass, and along riverbeds without delay. Along the ways the folks of this area had used for centuries they asked the peasants on the fields, and the people in the villages if they had seen a tall and lean man wearing clothes like a Ranger, but whereverthe Rohirrim stopped the answers were the same – no one had seen the King. The further south they came the fewerpeople had ever seen the King since his coronation for he had had not yet the time to travel his whole kingdom. But the villagers were friendly and helpful, giving them water and food and shelter if it was needed.

Éomer brooded over the rare coincidence of Faramir’s and Aragorn’s missing. Eowyn’s messenger had reported that the horse of the Prince had returned, but when the riders searched the way the Prince might have taken, they found no traces of a fight. Cliffs lined the River Anduin, and Eowyn feared that her husband might have fallen into the depth. Éomer shook his head. Faramir was too experienced to fall off the cliffs if he had not been pushed. But if there had been no accident the question remained who had attacked the Prince.

* * *

Day 31, the castle

Vlohiri had no clear recollection of how many days had passed since Aragorn had been brought to the castle. He knew day from night and autumn from winter, but his days did not bear many diversions so it was of no importance to count them. But he knew that he had been working in the mine for more than the few days Bayonor had promised because Narana had complained to the guard about the long hours Vlohiri had to serve in that cold and bitter place. The guard had not reacted but ordered the boy for another day to go and serve water and food.

So it happened that Vlohiri saw Aragorn every day during his shift and recognized how deplorable the prisoner looked like. He still had to wear the harness, and the handcuffs remained, beingonly lengthenedor shortened as needed.Every time the boy caught his glance Aragorn seemed to try to convince him that he would be able to go on. He would not give in, no matter how much his captors demanded. Lt. Medros forced him to do the hardest work – pulling the cart with stones, and carrying the wooden bridge on his shoulders on which, at both ends, the full buckets with water hung. And the prisoner was, for that long time, not allowed to speak.

Vlohiri felt the pity raise to a point he could no longer keep still, but he did not dare to speak to Lt. Medros openly. He knew that this man would shove him aside (if he was lucky) or sentence him to work in the mine for all times (which was more likely). But before he could reach the decision to ask any guard for help he heard Bayonor talk to Medros.

“I do not know why he is still here.” The hissing, hateful sound made the boy shiver, and he did not dare to pass them with his bucket. He did not even breathe in the darkness. “He could as well have been sentenced to death by Lady Saborian! She was too generous to grant him his life. I, for my part, would not have done this. – He stabbed me!”

“You were rewarded for your bravery, my friend, and I told you more times than I wanted to that you shall keep quiet about this! We only have to make him work as long as she does not command otherwise.”

Vlohiri swallowed hard and trudged away with his bucket when the two guards had left the tunnel’s ending. But the question remained: He had seen other prisoners who were not treated as badly as he was – unless they refused to work more than a few seconds. No one of them was gagged all the time, and only few wore handcuffs. So, why was he treated worse than the others? ‘Because he attempted to escape,’ a voice in his head said. But Vlohiri recalled all the things he had heard about the prisoner – the talk of the guards one evening; that the prisoner had been brought to the Lady (which was a rare occurrence for everybody); the fact that a poacher before had only been sentenced to three weeks in the dungeon (even if it were four weeks, Vlohiri knew that he would have been gone by now); the denial of Aragorn and that he claimed to have been some place else when he was captured. Vlohiri could not push away the thought that this might be the strangest poacher ever imprisoned in this castle.

Narana had once a night told him about the Lady’s achievements and that under her supervision no prisoner had died in the mine. She had been glad to reveal her knowledge to him, and, while he ate another bowl of porridge, told him all about the mine, the ore, and the wealth of the family of the Lady.

It was noon again, and Vlohiri set down the empty bucket – the ninth as he had counted (for he could count and was very proud of it) – and grabbed the pottery with bread and apples instead. His shoulders ached badly, and he hoped that his shift would soon be over. He did not know the time of day, but hoped that one of the guards coming in would simply release him. Turning he watched Aragorn arrive with another two buckets from the fountain. Medros trailed off behind, shouting orders to another guard disappearing in the northern direction, while this part of the tunnel was empty except for a worker taking water from the bucket. The prisoner arrived, telling Vlohiri with a shake of his head to not hesitate any longer, but Vlohiri waited until Medros caught up. Aragorn squatted to let the buckets be taken off. He looked weary, andclosed his eyes for a moment of relief while the worker carried the full buckets to the wall and quickly, under Medros’menacing stare, returned to his work and out of the reach of the chief of the guards. His steps echoed in the hollow darkness.

The Lieutenant looked at the boy.

“Bring water. And you remain silent,” he growled as he took off the gag.

Vlohiri brought the ladleand glanced from Aragorn to Medros and back. The prisoner could judge by a look that the boy was up to something. He drank and kept the eye contact a little longer, telling him to keep quiet. Vlohiri might have done that. He was even thinking about backing out when Medros pulled the gag out of his pocket again.

“Up!” the Lieutenant ordered harshly. Aragorn swallowed, breathed, and seemed too exhausted to walk the way back. “Right now, prisoner!”

“He can eat first,” Vlohiri said shyly but audible and put the ladle back into the bucket.

“What?” Medros hissed, and the boy’s heart sped up like a horse on flight. “What did you say?”

“I said…” Vlohiri locked eyes with Aragorn. The man stared at him with his still shining grey eyes, urging him to shut up. Vlohiri lifted his gaze to meet Medros’ stare. “I said, he can eat first,” he repeated louder. He could not breathe. Something thick was in his throat; he feared it was his heart. Vlohiri swallowed, but it did not work. He could not even evade the Lieutenant’s stare.

“I say when a prisoner is allowed to eat,” Medros decided in an icy tone that made the boy shiver. But he remembered what the cook had told him – about the Lady’s justice, her will to improve the working conditions. It all came to his mind and he thought that the Lieutenant should know that too.

“The Lady had said that all workers – prisoners or not – shall have water and food,” Vlohiri quoted quivering, and hoped atthe same moment that Medros would not kill him instantly. He looked like he would want to strangle him with his bare hands. Vlohiri stepped back. He suddenly knew he had gone too far and that his life hung by a thread.

“You naughty little bastard! I will make you…”

“Leave him alone, Medros!” Aragorn shouted.

“And you will pay for this, too!”

“He is just a boy with a sense of justice!”

“You will remember this day, prisoner! And you, boy…!” Medros made a menacing step forward, but the left side of the wooden bridge connected with the back of his thighs, toppling him over. He hit the ground with a thud.

“Run!” Aragorn shouted, and Vlohiri, frozen in midhis retreat, felt his legs move again, carrying him out of the tunnel, out of the mine and into the cold and bare garden of the castle.

* * *

Day 30, Ithilien

Never before, not in the brightest sun and highest summer, not in all these years that he had set his eyes on the walls of his home had he been so relieved to see the old trees in front of the house, the colored windows and the banner of Ithilien flying high up in the wind. He sighed deeply. Exhaustion slowed his path, but he would make it before dusk. The cold wind crept through his cloak, and he shivered violently. Faramir had to pause for a moment, catch his breath. His arm still ached and he would need time until he could use a bow again or lead the sword with his right hand. What worried him most was that he still could not see who wanted to see him dead. The old foes had been killed, and the folks of Ithilien would not set out for war.

The sun had set when Faramir climbed the slope. His breath was raspy now; he would not endure this muchlonger. He already stumbled more than he walked. The guard at the gate stirred.

“Who goes there?”

“Faramir,” he shouted back, and instantly more guards left their posts, torches in hand, and met him half way.

“My Lord, come, let me help you!” The first man reaching him pulled Faramir’s left arm over his shoulder, the second took the sack and carried it upstairs. “Where have you been? We searched all over.”

Faramir was unable to domore then smile weakly. His legs were trembling with fatigue. It had been a march too hard for a wounded man, and he remembered all too vividly how often he had been on the verge of a breakdown. But the thought of coming home, being welcomed and embraced by the woman he loved had made him endure the long walk and the cold nights.

“It was a long journey. Send someone for Eowyn.”

“It is done, my Lord, she is right here.”

Eowyn ran down the stairs, and with her blonde hair flying behind her and the long gown blown by the wind she looked elf-like to him. With a smile turned into a sob she greeted him, flung her arms around him and guided him up the last stairs into the main hall. He sank on a thick fur at the fireplace, exhausted enough to sleep, but excited to be home again.

“Faramir, my love, I thought you were lost,” she whispered and carefully stroked his haggard cheeks. He closed his eyes, letting out his breath. She kissed him, overwhelmed with happiness.

“I will always return to you,” he answered, pulling her softly down to kiss her again. “No matter how long it takes me.”

For a long moment the crackling of wood in the fireplace was the only sound. They both enjoyed their renewed company, laidbeside each other, not disturbed by anyone. She brought him water to refresh him and wine to drink. A servant quickly carried a tray with food, but left it on a table nearby. The news of Faramir’s safe return was already on its way from mouth to mouth; Eowyn could hear the cheers from afar. She smiled at her husband. Forlong days she had hoped he would return and had sworn to herself that she would not give up until his body was found, and now he had returned on his own.

Getting up after a last kiss Eowyn could no longer conceal her thoughts.

Faramir propped on his left arm and watched his wife, frowning.

“I can see that something troubles you, my love. Share it with me.”

“I do not know how to say it.” She indulged in his presence a few heartbeats longer. “The King is missing.” Faramir rose, deep concern in his eyes. “It is been for thirty days now that the soldiers search for him, but they could only find three of his friends dead in the forest.”

He stepped closer.

“There had been a fight?”

“Yes, but the traces were hard to read. Lady Arwen sent a messenger to ask you for help.”

Faramir shook his head, disbelieving.

“Did you send help?”

“Yes, and told her about you beenmissing.”

“There has to be a connection. Not two of these incidents happen at almost the same time. Some evil wants to hold claim over us.”

Eowyn embraced her husbands once more.

“We will not let it get to us all.”

* * *

Still Day 31, the castle

With the rush of blood in his head Medros did not know what was worse – to be thrown into the mud or the fact that the boy had dared to doubt his decision. He was outraged when he got up. Turning around he saw that the boy had fled, but Aragorn had kept his position.

“Leave him, Medros, he did nothing wrong.”

It took one step to bridge the distance and punch the prisoner so hard he fell on his back. Aragorn’s hands were bound to the wood; he could neither block the attack nor steady himself. Medros did not care. He did not care even if the Lady herself had watched. Unable to stop himself he breathed down on the prisoner lying in the black dust of the tunnel.

“I decide what is right or what is wrong,” he hissed pressing his opponentdown that it hurt. The King did not flinch.

“Is that all you can do?Hit me while I’m defenseless?”

“You will learn the lesson the hardest way you can imagine – and I will make sure that this brazen broomstick will learn it, too.” Medros got up.

“He is just a boy!” Aragorn shouted.

Medros clenched his teeth, and this time he thought about the Lady and her opinion, but that did not keep him from kicking the man on the ground. He just let him alive.

“He will learn to obey,” he closed, breathless.

Two of the guards had heard the quarrel and arrived. Looking puzzled they asked what should be done with the prisoner. Medros tried ineffectively to clean his tunic. Anger and embarrassment mingled in his features, but he kept his voice loud and strong.

“He shall work till nightfall. Then I will take care of him. Right now, I have other things to do.”

Vlohiri reached the kitchen out of breath, crying like a little child and so afraid he could not speak. Narana left her place at the window where she had sewed a new apron and looked if she could help. The boy escaped into the farthestcorner, hid under the big table and made himself so small that he could hardly be seen. Only his sobs were audible.

“It is all right, Flea, calm down, take your time” she cooed him, but he did not move, only trembled violently. “I will see if…”

At the same moment the Lieutenant entered the room like a very angry bear. A whip hung from his belt. Narana instinctively stood upright and in the Lieutenant’s way.

“Give me that lad!” Medros bellowed. “I know he is here! I must punish him!”

“There will be no…”

“Narana, do not try to tell me otherwise!”

“I tell you to get out of my kitchen, Medros!” she answered still blocking his way.

“You cannot keep him from being punished!”

 “You can tell me what he did wrong and I will see to his punishment. He usually works here. He should not be in the mine.”

“You are not…”

“Tell me! Or we let the Lady decide.”

Medros gnashed his teeth.

“As I said,” he continued stepping back, but still piercing Narana with his glare, “I gave an order, and he contradicted. That is never heard of.”

“And will truly not be punished with your whip,” Narana replied.

“If it is not that – he will work ten more days in the mine. And that,” he cut the cook of, “will not be reversed.” He turned on his heels and was gone.

Narana exhaled. Now she was shaking like the boy in the corner. With eyes full of tears he looked up to her from under the table.

“Thank you,” he stammered, “thank you.” And broke into tears again.

It took her some minutes to make Vlohiri tell her about the incident.

“How many times have I told you not to object an order?” she finally asked him, giving him a cup of thin wine to calm him down. “Sometimes your mouth outruns your mind, lad.”

Vlohiri drew up his nose, clinging to the cup with both trembling hands.

“But… you said the Lady is just. And he was not. She would not want that, right? The others got food, he did not. And he was so tired. I could not…”

Narana shook her head, frowning.

“Flea, these people are bad – they did bad things. Very bad. You should not pity them. If they worked as we do this would not have happened to them. Lt. Medros did what he thought was right.”

He rose, wiped his cheeks with the sleeves of his jacket and left dirty smears in his face.

“Did you… did you ever hear that a prisoner was taken to the Lady?”

“No.” Narana was truly astonished. “Why?”

“He… this man… this poacher… I saw him. He was… brought to her.”

“How do you know that?” The old suspicion was back in her voice, but this time Vlohiri went on.

“I saw them – the man and the guards. They took him up to her. With chains and hood. Did you…?”

“Well, no.” She frowned. “She does not bother with this scum once she has sentenced them. She leaves this to the guards.” Vlohiri drew up his nose again and nodded, waiting that Narana would makethe next step herself. “You mean… this man, you speak of, is no poacher? Ah… well, I do not know.” She shook her head again. “The Lady has her own head, I would say. She can rule as she pleases.” She looked at him with her lenient but now concerned eyes. “Beware of the Lieutenant, Flea. He told you to work for ten more days in the mine. It might look like heavy punishment, but you should think about it. It is better than feeling the whip. Do not object him any further, understood?”

“Yeah… and thank you.”

“You said that. Now, off you go! I’ve got work to do.”

* * *

Still Day 31, the castle, night

The voice of reason in Vlohiri’s head told him not to be too bold. The voice stopped him after he had hid some pieces of bread and two apples under the new jacket Narana had given him. He hesitated in the empty corridor, knowing that he would only need one more mistake and not even Narana would stop Lt. Medros from punishing him more severely than with work in the mine. His heart raced by the thought of the mean, more killing-look of the Lieutenant. He shivered involuntarily. ‘It is foolish,’ the voice said again. ‘Narana said the prisoners deserve their sentences.’ At the cross of two corridors he came to a halt. In his mind gruesome ideas formed ofwhat Medros would do with him. His palms were sweaty, and yet – it was night. The guards slept, as well as Medros. He had seen the last three guards leaving the fireplace in the hall some time ago. Only the night watch would be near the dungeon and could easily be avoided.

Vlohiri swallowed. The gallop of his heart was the only sound he heard. Ten more days in the mine were an unbelievingly long time for him. He could not think of it without trembling. But there would be a worse punishment if the Lieutenant found him at the poacher’s door.

Another minute crept away, and the cold wind made him shiver. He could turn and go to bed; he was tired enough to sleep where he stood. Or he could cross the corridor to the eastern wing and make for the dungeon’s stairway. He tried to find the courage to make his legs move forward. Still he thought about the moment when he had opened his mouth to contradict the Lieutenant. He must have been crazy to expect that man to change his mind. He never would.

Then he thought of Aragorn, and he suddenly realized his escape would have been impossible without his help. Slowly and with great care he crossed the corridor to head for the eastern tower.

The weight of the food slowed him, and he checked the ways behind and in front of him to be sure he was alone. But there was no need to worry. The castle lay in deep sleep, and the boy made it safelyto the cell.

“Aragorn?” No more than a whisper. The shadows behind him were deep. He did not want to wake them. He still feared that Medros would suddenly step out from behind and grab his hair to pull him out. It seemed to be the worst nightmare. “Aragorn?” The light was too dim to look further into the cell. He heard moans, and then, after another wait that seemed too long for the boy to stand, a chain clanked. Vlohiri peered through the bars, exhaled with relief when he finally saw the figure in the dark sit up. “I brought you something,” he announced as quiet as before. It took some more time – hours in Vlohiri’s opinion – until Aragorn came to the bars. Though the boy wanted to smile that he made it this far he could not. The sight of Aragorn’s face alone made him gasp. “I… I brought you something,” he repeated and handed the prisoner the first piece of bread.

“You should not be here,” Aragorn said wearily. He looked completely exhausted.

“It’s no one around. I made sure.”

“Did Medros hurt you?” Vlohiri was too startled by the prisoner’s compassionate tone to answer. He just stared at him. “Did he punish you? I feared for you.”

“I… I hid,” Vlohiri stammered, “in the kitchen.” He gave the prisoner an apple he had truly snatched before he had left Narana. “The cook… she made Medros go, but…” He saw the dark entrance of the mine before him; he could smell the dirt, the stones. Tears ran over his cheeks.

“What is it?” Aragorn asked, and through his tears Vlohiri looked up into theman’s eyes full of sorrow.

“I… I have to… have to work in the mine… ten days, he said.” When he reached up another piece of bread Aragorn gently touched the boy’s fingers.

“I’m sorry, Vlohiri.”

“I don’t want to go there,” Vlohiri sobbed, shaking his head. “It is… an awful place. And… and the Lieutenant… he will…” His voice trailed off. He leaned his shoulder against the door, and for a moment they both stood silent in their misery. Drawing up his nose, the boy looked at the prisoner again. “Did… did he… the Lieutenant… punish you?”

Aragorn’s mouth twitched, and his breathing was laboured when he answered.

“Well, nobody hits the Lieutenant of the guard and gets away with it.”

“I know I should have kept my mouth shut.” His chin dropped. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for what you did. You’ve got some courage, boy.”

“My mouth outruns my mind… That is what Narana says. I’m stupid.”

“No, Vlohiri, no – you have got a great heart. Not many people I know have it.” The boy looked up to search the truth in Aragorn’s eyes. He saw gratitude, too. “But even the bravest should know when to stop and wait.”

Vlohiri blotted his face with the sleeves.

“I know. Narana said I shall not object. Not any more.” He sighed deeply. “Did they bring you food…this time?” Aragorn’s hands clutched on the bars as he grimaced with pain. “Aragorn…are you all right?” Without thinking he put his hands over the prisoner’s, but could not steady him. He lost his grip and slid to the ground. “Please…”

“Go now, Vlohiri.” His voice was weak, and the boy pulled himself up at the bars to peer into the cell. He could only see the man’s outstretched and shackled legs.

“What? Why?”

“Go.”

* * *

Day 32, the southern part of Gondor

The King of Rohan felt as if he had never been on a mission more difficult to fulfill. They had ridden all known pathsto the south, then turned west, crossing from southern villages to northern farms, covering most of the settlements in the plains, but still they had not even found someone who recognized Aragorn by the given description. Or had seen men with a prisoner between them. It was obvious that the men, who had taken Aragorn captive, must have brought him by horse or cart to their hideout. Given the fact that they could not make themselves invisible some people must have seen that group. They needed food and water. Éomer studied the map before him. Only a few villages – no more than a few houses at one spot with a noble family living in their great houses nearby – remained for their search. In the far west there was no more but a little village and one castle. He only knew the name of the noble lady living there – Lady Saborian. He had never met her nor did he know anything about her. He hoped that maybe she was able to help his search. He did not want to let his hope fail him, but little was left. He only had Arwen’s word that she had felt him – weeks ago. Even if he had been alive at that time – he did not want to doubt that – he might be dead by now. It was a dreadful thought, and Éomer sighed before he folded the map and ordered the Rohirrim to mount their horses.

* * *

Day 32, the castle

Noratis and L’Adarac were present when Lady Saborian entered the main hall with her son. Tebenor followed them and closed the door. When all sat and had wine and food at their places the Lady’s glance wandered from one to the other.

“Word goes that the search continues. Is this correct?”

“Yes, my Lady,” Tebenor nodded. “Though more than thirty days have passed Lady Arwen still believes her husband to be alive.”

“King Éomer of Rohan met Lady Arwen in Minas Tirith,” L’Adarac continued. “My man told me that he set out with a number of Rohirrim to ride south.” He put down the globlet and looked straight into the Lady’s eyes. “It is quite obvious that the King of Rohan will pay you a visit. It might take him some time, but do you not think…”

“If you propose again to kill the King, L’Adarac,” Lady Saborian cut him off, “I advise you to keep your tongue in check. As I told you all the King will serve this castle. He already does.”

“Would you mind telling us?” Tebenor asked with a mocking undertone. “Maybe there are some skills in him…”

“I said he will be guarded here. You do not need to know more.”

“The treason connects us all,” L’Adarac objected. “If you didnot kill him – where is he then? I do not see him serve the table.”

Tebenor smirked. The Lady stared the grin out of his face.

“His work lies elsewhere. It truly would not be wise to let him walk around in the castle.”

“But he does work?” Tebenor sounded disbelieving. “He did not resist?”

“He was given no room for resistance,” she replied coolly.

“When we all saw him he was fighting with all strength he had. How did you break his will?”

The Lady was obviously annoyed with the subject.

“The Lieutenant of the guard knows ways to make a prisoner work.” She thought about the incidents - the attempt to escape and the struggles the guards had to endure until the harness had been used. With the limited freedom of movement even a King was no longer able to resist.

“He did not attempt to escape?”

“He did not succeed.”

“I let my men talk to some villagers. The most not even knew that Aragorn was proclaimed King or that he vanished. And truly no word reached anybody that he is here,” L’Adarac stated and emptied his goblet. “We better see that it stays that way.”

When the noble men had left Sadur still stood at the door, looking at his mother.

“There is a risk that cannot be denied,” he said cautiously.

She spun around.

“If I had wanted to see him dead I would have ordered it before. So do not question my decision.”

“Even if I do not, the others will. Noratis seems to be the weakest among them, and if the King of Rohan truly searches every spot he will meet Noratis, too.”

“Noratis once killed a maid in his own house. He owes me more than just his gratitude for my help to escape from Minas Tirith. He will do as he is ordered.” She challenged Sadur with her stare.

“Do not question my loyalty, mother. But you should bear in mind that some people might have seen the King. And Éomer is his friend. He will not rest until Aragorn is found – dead or alive. So he will ask everybody he meets.”

“I do not fear his visit. There are places in this castle where you could hide horses and men if necessary. There is enough room – even for a King.”

Sadur bowed and left.

* * *

Day 35, the castle

The whole day his heartbeat did not calm down. He fled every minute it seemed, but still the Lieutenant was always behind him like a walking threat. Vlohiri did not try to breathe when the big man passed him, and more often than not Medros bellowed at him, shoved him aside or ordered him to work faster. Every time Vlohiri obeyed and dodged away under the outstretched hand, hurrying as much as he could. He said not a word; he ran instantly. It was a horrible moment when Medros came up to him to fetch water – and the bucket was empty! Though he was exhausted Vlohiri ran like a deer on flight to change the buckets. He knew that Medros would not be satisfied – no matter how fast the boy worked. And though he hated the work in the mines he told himself that it was better than being whipped.

Again he carried a heavy bucket through the hardly lit tunnel, careful to not spill the water. He might have cried of exhaustion and pain in his whole body, but his eyes remained dry. He knew that he was not the only one who suffered under Medros’ cruel decisions. He stopped and looked back. The voice made him shudder and he hurried on. A worker on the right side called for him, and Vlohiri almost jumped. He handed the man the ladle and waited restlessly to move on.

“Wait!” Medros yelled, and the boy trembled so badly he almost dropped the ladle he just got back. He swallowed anxiously and was close to fleeing when he saw the angry face of the big man again. “Here…give him water.” The boy hurried to oblige while Medros opened the gag of the prisoner. Intimidated Vlohiri avoided to look at Medros or Aragorn, who spat on the ground the moment the gag was gone. He just saw the long, rolled up whip hanging at the Lieutenant’s side, and hoped he would do everything right. He did not want to anger Medros any further. He had made a mistake and had been punished for it. One more false step could mean the end of him. He knew that the mighty man could whip him if he wanted – even to death. And as he saw it, Medros would even enjoy whipping him in front of Aragorn. Narana was far away, and no complaint would ever reach the Lady. Vlohiri had only glanced at her a few times. Enough to know who she was, but he had never got close to her or her son. In the hierarchy of the castle he was the lowest member, easy to neglect, for he had neither father nor mother to protect him. He knew this now, and he feared it would never change, even when he was older. It was a depressing thought.

He put the ladle back and for a second he exchanged glances with Aragorn. He saw pity, sorrow, and, more than anything else, pain. He had to look away, and quickly took the full bucket to hurry into the opposite direction. Medros gagged the prisoner again, made him go on, and Vlohiri could not help but to stop and gaze after them. For a moment he was safe.

“Hey, you, over here!” Vlohiri turned and followed the call. Two prisoners waited to get water. “Afraid?” the stout man asked with a worn-out smile. The boy found no words, just nodded. “Will always be. Get out of his way.” He gave the ladle to the second man. “Drink! The last time.” And when the boy’s eyes widened, he added with relief, “Yeah, last day in this rotting hole! I make for the borders of her land right tomorrow morning.”

“You will go home?”

“I counted the days, lad. Yes, tomorrow I will be a free man again.”

The ladle fell back into the bucket. The men took up the pickaxes again. Vlohiri walked on, thinking that Aragorn’s weeks would not come to an end.

* * *

Day 36, the wilderness in the south of Gondor

Winter came swiftly now. Cold, piercing winds with snow and icy drizzle blew in their faces. The men drew up their hoods and tightened their cloaks, but the bitter bites of stormlike waves made it almost impossible to move on. Hands and feet were so cold they could no longer feel them, and only their experience in the wilderness allowed them to survive. The horses’ faces were covered with snow and ice, and their breathing was labored. The hard soil bore slippery spots where water had frozen, and more than once they had to slow down to find a safe way.

Éomer knew his men could endure cold and privation, but their ride had been long, and both men and beasts were too exhausted to go any further. He had to turn and ride back to the village they had left in the morning, hoping to find a dry hut and hay for the horses. He despised the thought that their search would be delayed, but he could not help it. They would be no help for the King of Gondor if he and his men were too sick or weary to go on.

* * *

Day 36, Minas Tirith

Faramir entered the main hall of Lady Arwen’s home and was rewarded with a warm welcome by the Lady herself.

“I was delighted to hear about your return! Are you feeling well?”

“Yes, my Lady.” Faramir took off the wet cloak with his left hand, and sat near the fireplace. Outside the weather had turned, and the gusty winds were accompanied by rain, turning into snow. He was glad to have reached the White City before nightfall. Lady Arwen handed him a goblet of wine. “Thank you. Any news from the King?”

“Not yet. Éomer will send a messenger as soon as he finds him.” She tried a feeble smile and sat opposite to him. “It might take days – even weeks.” She avoided his glance.

“They will find him…or my men will find him.”

“Lady Eowyn already sent men to help. This was very generous of her. They rode north, but I have no word from them.”

“But I, too, did not come alone. We will see what we can do. Éomer rode south?” She rolled out the map for him and explained the routes the Rohirrim would take. “There are only few people living in the wilderness south of the mountains and far away from each other. Small villages and farms. If the captorsmade their way through this land they might not have been seen.” He concentrated on the map again. “We will cross their way north and south and make sure that no farm is left out, no hunter or man of the woods left unquestioned.” His encouraging look did not reach Arwen.

“The people begin to think it is hopeless.  They already mourn him, I fear.” She spoke in a low voice full of sorrow. “He has been missing for forty days now.”

“But you said you could feel he is alive. And as long as you can feel him, there is hope, my Lady.”

“There is only darkness now – a hole, deep and black. I cannot look through it, cannot reach Aragorn anymore.” Within a wave of sadness she rose. “I still hope that I would know when he is killed. But I…” She paused and her voice trembled when she went on. “I lost him three weeks ago. For a short while I felt him with all his strength and even more – I had the impression of… wood and soil, of beasts.”

“Hounds perhaps?” Faramir asked calmly.

“I do not know. I was not given that power to see.”

“Please, continue.”

“There had been a fight and… he lost it.” She closed her eyes for a moment to regain control. Her voice was only a whisper. “After that I felt like… torn apart. It was an awful feeling. So much sorrow and loss…And despair.”

Faramir rose and gently touched her shoulder.

“There is hope, my Lady. They did not kill him during the first encounter in the forest, and they will not have killed him when he lost that fight you felt. There is a reason behind this evil doing, and we will find out.” She turned to him, trying to believe the words. “I was attacked on my way home…a hooded man threw me off the cliffs. I could not see his face, but I am sure he wanted to kill me. There has to be a connection between these two occurrences (not “occurences”). My Lady, can you think of anything that happened in the White City since the day of the coronation? Did the King antagonize someone?”

“Aragorn was welcomed here. I cannot think of anyone who wants to harm him.”

“Who knew he would go for a hunt?”

“It was no secret at all. Aragorn had spoken about it for some time.” She frowned. “I do not see that anyone from the City would want to do him evil. He is well respected.”

“Respect can be envied. There are men out there who do not want to see him rule Gondor. These are the foes we have to find. There are some people I want to talk to. I will ride out tomorrow. The whole Kingdom shall know that the search is not over.”

* * *

Day 38, southern Gondor

Éomer and his men were weary with fatigue, hunger and thirst when they reached the little village again. The first winter storm had delayed them more than he had expected, and the people had closed their huts against the fierce cold. When the King asked where they could rest for the night, he was shown the way up the hill to a bigger house with pillars in front of it, bearing curved markings embedded in black and gold signs. When they reached the entrance and dismounted, they were greated by a friendly man in his forties, well dressed and with good manners. They had not seen him before, and though Éomer still worried about their delay he found it quite pleasing to meet a man of higher standing in hope to get an answer that would finally lead him to his friend. He asked Éomer and his men to sit with him at the fireplace, and the King gratefully accepted.

“Tell us your name, my friend,” he then asked when seated near the fire.

The head of the household handed him a goblet of wine.

“My name is Noratis, son of Norinmor.”

“I am Éomer, and these are my men, the Rohirrim. We thank you for your hospitality.”

“You are welcome, Éomer, and your friends as well. You can stay for the night – or longer, if the weather stays as bad as it is. There is enough room for you adjacent to this one. And I can see that your horses are tended, too.”

“This is very generous, but we will not linger more than necessary, Noratis.” He sipped the wine and put down the goblet. “Tell me, Noratis, did you see a man on your lands – tall, lean, brown hair, and grey eyes? He was clad like a Ranger. Maybe accompanied by other men?”

Noratis frowned as if he was trying to remember. Éomer eyedhim closely, not sure how to interpret the man’s haggard features.

“No, I am sorry, but I cannot recall meeting a man of that description.”

“It must have been some time ago that he passed through here. At the end of autumn, I suppose.”

“He is a friend of yours?”

“A good friend of mine, yes. He went hunting and did not return.”

“Did he carry something special with him – something that goes by his name?”

“A sword – a long sword with engraved elvish signs, and a silver chain with a jewel,” Éomer explained. “If you had met him, you would have seen them.”

Noratis shook his head slightly in regret.

“I am truly sorry to be of no help for your search. I can only serve you wine and food and hope that you will find your friend elsewhere. Are you sure he is still alive?”

“I will not give up searching for him until I see him.”

Noratis bowed and went to fetch bread and wine for Éomer’s riders.

* * *

Day 40, the castle

Vlohiri lived through an almost lucky day. Medros did not show up in the mine to torment him, a fact that lifted his heart as much as Narana’s fresh bread. It also meant that Aragorn was allowed to have food as well as all the others working in the tunnels. The boy smiled slightly when he handed him a piece of swede,but stood in shocked silence when the prisoner thanked him. Lanar did not even look, but talked to a second guard he had just met, and the feeble smile returned to Vlohiri’s face.

After his work he got a piece of meat from Narana, and though he did not find it tasty, he ate it. His appetite grew with every day. He even ate some porridge left over from breakfast, and then, with two apples and bread, directed his steps to the eastern tower. Behind the main entrance to the hall he was about to evade in the shadows when a lean man, not taller than one of the older children, stumbled over him in his haste. Vlohiri dropped his prey, the man cursed and kicked the apple aside.

“Stupid brat!” he bellowed and hurried on.

Vlohiri quickly collected the apples and bread and escaped. At the next corner, in the shadows, he halted and gazed after the man, whosegarment was covered with snow. He was clad in warm boots, thick looking trousers and a warm coat. And he looked like he had been on a hard and long ride. The man had stopped at Medros’ bench and exclaimed that he had to see the Lady immediately. His urgent tone made the Lieutenant rise and with him he quickly headed for the private quarters. The boy exhaled and made his way to the dungeon. He had to wait until the guard on duty passed by, then hurried down the stairway to deliver a late supper.

“You are very friendly, Vlohiri, as your mother called you,” Aragorn said in his low and smooth voice, and the boy somehow felt great to be praised like that. “You might not have noticed… I got food today.”

Now a grin broadened on Vlohiri’s face.

“I did notice,” he replied nodding foolishly.

Aragorn ate the rest of the apple, then asked:

“Does your father work in the castle, too?”

The grin faded.

“I have… I don’t know him. My mother works here.”

“What does she do?”

“She is a maid.” Vlohiri did not want to talk about her, so before Aragorn could open his mouth, he asked, “Do you have a wife?”

The prisoner sighed deeply and let a moment pass before he answered sadly.

“Yes, I am married to the most beautiful Elf in Middle Earth. Her name is Arwen. She lives in the White City with me. - Have you ever heard of the Elves?” The boy shook his head slightly, and Aragorn sighed again. “Why do the good times only last a short while?” Vlohiri did not know what to answer. He lived through good times when he did not need to work and had enough food to fill his stomach. “Have you always lived in the castle?” the prisoner asked in the lasting silence.

“Yes. I have to go to the village from time to time – to fetch milk and carrots or bring something to the saddler or smith. But then… I live here. And you? Did you always live in the White City?”

“No, I was raised in Rivendell – a home where Elves lived.” And when he saw the boy frown he added, “I am no Elf, if you thought that. But I spent all my childhood with them. I had many friends there.”

Vlohiri’s heart sank.

“I have no friends here,” he whispered. “They don’t like me at all.”

“Who?”

“The other children. The boys.” He swallowed. Never before had he told a grown-up about his misery. “They tease me.. call me names. Punch me… but I can run faster and know good hideouts.”

“That is why you came to the dungeon in the first place?” Vlohiri nodded, staring at the floor. “So you get around in the castle, I suppose.”

The boy nodded, and answered with more self-confidence.

“Yes, I spend some time strolling around. I know some really secret ways, and I can climb! I know how to get up the towers from the outside. Well, not the southern tower, it’s more a ruin. But the others…”

“Please, lower your voice!”

They both listened holding their breath. When Vlohiri turned back he saw Aragorn smile.

“Sorry,” he said and a similar smile tugged at his lips.

“I knew some secret ways in Rivendell, too. If I had to avoid some work I did not like to do.”

“Like changing linens.” Vlohiri grimaced. “I don’t like that. But cleaning the dishes is okay. Narana is…”

“Hide!”

On Aragorn’s command Vlohiri jumped away from the door and hastened to the far end of the tunnel, his heart beating fast enough to burst his rib cage.He squatted in the shadows, trying to melt with the cold wall in his back. He hardly breathed for Lt. Medros was coming down the stairway. And with him came three guards.

“Open that door!” he ordered loud enough to make the walls tremble, and Vlohiri made himself even smaller. Closed his eyes. “We take him down there. Right now!” Boots drew nearer, halted at the cell. Others moved on into the opposite direction. “Turn and kneel, prisoner! We will not take any chances with you.”

“And what kind of evil has now grown in your mind, Medros?” Aragorn asked in a tone that bore more superiority than Vlohiri had ever heard. “Or does the traitress wait again to show me to some other guests?”

“I said, kneel! Or we will make you!”

“You are still afraid of opening the door, Medros, aren’t you? You should send someone down with more courage.”

Vlohiri squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Even the bravest should know when to stop and wait.’ Why did he not follow his own words?

The Lieutenant fumed.

“You will see my courage, prisoner!” The key was put into the lock and turned. Vlohiri was so afraid he almost cried. The door opened. Boots marched in, and the boy swallowed hard at the sounds of punches and the rattle of chains. A bitter groan followed muffled screams. “Now we will take you where you belong,” Medros growled. The clanging and slurring steps echoed for a short while and were gone suddenly.

Vlohiri sat in the quiet darkness, not knowing for how long. He could not move a muscle. He feared that more guards would come into the dungeon, search it all over for they had found out that a boy must be here. But the quietness stretched to a time when he thought it would be safe to leave his hideout. Then, as if some evil spell was spoken against him, Medros and the guards returned.

“Take everything out! Straw, blanket – everything! I want this cleaned out right now!”

“This isn’t not our work!” another voice protested.

“It is now.” Medros’ heavy steps trailed off, but Vlohiri had to wait until the guards had finished sweeping the cell, and his heart sank when he finally passed the open door. He felt miserable and could not explain it. They had taken him to another place and he could not find any reason why this should have been done. Except for one – he was taken to be…

Vlohiri swallowed and shut his mind of. He did not want to think about this possibility.

* * *